“You have to ask him yourself.”
“I will, but I wanted to clear it with you first. Please, Daddy?”
“It’s up to you.” Billie heard the disapproval in his tone, but it seemed to wash over his daughter.
“Great!” She disappeared back out the door, leaving wet footprints behind.
“Sylvie is going to be the top junior rider in the country,” Richard said.
“She is?”
“Now that she’s riding for Dale.”
Bo appeared at the door.
“Where’s your sister?” Richard asked.
“I led her around for a bit. Now she’s putting her bridle away and playing with her toy ponies.”
“Don’t just leave her alone!”
“Jeez, Dad. You and mom left me and Sylvie alone plenty.”
Richard sighed. “Still. Go to her.”
“In a moment,” Bo said. “I want to get my fiddle first and take it out there.”
“Really?” Billie asked. “You play?”
Richard answered for him. “He does. He’s actually quite good.”
“I’d like to hear you,” she said.
Bo shrugged and picked up a violin Billie hadn’t noticed propped on a chair in the corner.
“Sylvie wants you to take her rides,” Richard told him as Bo started to leave.
“I know. I saw her. It’s not like we have a chance anyway,” Bo mumbled.
“Do the best you can, Bo. That’s all I ask.”
“Sylvie’s going to beat me on Dale’s horse.”
“She’s a better rider. She’d beat you anyway.”
“Sad,” Bo said. “Want to come watch me get whopped by my talented sister next weekend?” he asked Billie.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to.”
She and Richard ate silently, sitting on stools pulled to the kitchen window that overlooked the swimming pool. Red-tailed hawks hunted in cottonwoods that screened the pool from the barn. Billie was relieved he didn’t need to talk anymore, and she didn’t need to entertain him or answer him. When they had finished eating, he cleared the dishes, refusing her feeble offer to help. He carried everything to the sink, filled it with water and soaked the plates. Then he poured her another glass of wine and opened a third beer for himself.
Billie filled her mouth and swallowed.
His shirt mesmerized her, teal-colored cotton tucked loosely into jeans so it bloused at the waist. The button-down collar was unbuttoned, exposing a triangle of rusty curls flecked with grey. She could so easily have reached up to adjust that collar, to brush that hair with the backs of her fingers. She focused on the short whiskers he had missed when he shaved, the edge of his jaw softened by middle age.
He ran his index finger down her forearm and circled her wrist with his hand. She closed her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her, pressing his lips harder against hers. Then he pulled away. “Is this all right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You want me to stop?”
“No.”
He stopped kissing her when the phone rang but let it go to voice mail. Billie heard a woman’s deep Southern accent. “We need to talk, Richard.”
Billie pulled away, watching him as he listened.
“I’ve got tickets for the kids’ trip home, and I want you to arrange for them to be picked up at the airport. Beau Pa’s in the hospital getting his pacemaker adjusted, so I don’t think I can get to the airport to pick them up myself. You can call Hacker’s Hacks…” She left a phone number for him to call. “So you call me, hear? By tomorrow noon.”
Richard sighed when she hung up. “The kids’ mother,” he said.
“I thought you were divorced.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re right. It’s just what I thought.”
“I will be divorced. We’re separated, obviously,” he said softly, his fingers hot little branding irons on her forearm. “She’s in Tennessee. I’m here. We’ll probably get divorced.”
Billie pulled her arm away. “Probably? Separated? I’m heading home.”
“Wait! Don’t you want to see the barn? Meet the horses?”
“Maybe some other time.”
He sighed. “Well, suit yourself.”
Three children, she thought as she finished her drink. Separated but not divorced. God, I’m an idiot. All she needed in her bed was a married father of three with a history of torturing horses.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do at home.” Billie slung her bag on her shoulder, fished out the keys to her truck, and headed for the door.
Richard caught her wrist in his hand, pressing the keys into her palm, and turned her to him. His hands massaged her shoulders, her neck. He kissed her forehead.
“We’re looking for a venue for the next horse show,” he said. “How about if we have it at your place?”
Billie shrugged although she was seeing images of trucks and trailers pulling into her barnyard, unloading potential customers who might want to board their horses with her.
“You’d get an admission fee percentage,” Richard said. “And a use fee per horse. It could add up. Think about it.”
She didn’t need to think for more than a minute.
“Sure,” Billie said. “But I mean this. No soring.”
He kissed her lips, opening the door for her to leave. “No soring.”
CHAPTER 13
BILLIE DROVE HOME from Richard’s without turning on the truck’s air conditioning, just rolled down the windows and let the night air blow over her. She had had enough to drink that she was grateful to be on dirt roads, nowhere near the highway. She noticed that she was driving pretty well though.
In the casita, she poured another glass of wine, folded herself onto the futon, looking out the window at the sky. Gulliver curled up on her lap. A full moon slipped from behind the clouds. Her fingertips beat a soft tattoo on Gulliver’s back, soothing him.
She ignored the blinking red light on the answering machine. Unpaid bills again, or something else she didn’t want to deal with. If it was Richard, he could wait until tomorrow. If it was Frank, he’d probably ask where she had been when he’d called, which was none of his business anymore. Still, she wanted to hear his voice, even if they argued. Talking to him made her feel tethered, even if it shouldn’t.
She almost reached over to push the play
