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“Give me a name,” she pressed. “Maybe I’ll prove you wrong?”
That’s when Phoebe interjected, “Why did you leave?”
I gripped the steering wheel. I could feel the flashbacks, licking like flames at the edge of my vision. They were coming. Stay in the present, I reminded myself. You are safe in the present.
“It was just time,” I managed to reply.
“Time for what?” she pressed.
“A change.”
Mercifully, we were about moments away from my house, so I took the opportunity to announce, “Welcome to your temporary home,” thus ending all discussion of Texas and my troubled past.
Jo-Beth folded her arms over her chest, but Phoebe leaned forward in the seat, as if to get a good look.
For a moment, I felt a little embarrassed. My house wasn’t much to write home about, no pun intended. Though I’d done my best to gussy it up, plant some grass, et cetera, there’s no way to turn a donkey into a race horse.
It was small — two bedroom, one bath — in a vaguely Spanish style. Big enough to get the job done, but nothing spectacular to look at. Would the girls think I was a small-town bumpkin? Listen to me, I’m clucking about my property like an old hen. I guess a pretty lady will do that to ya.
“It’s lovely,” Phoebe cooed as we pulled up to the driveway and I shifted the truck into park, my hand sweeping against her leg once more. I noticed, with an erstwhile longing, that she didn’t pull away from the touch.
“You think so?”
Jo-Beth opened the truck door, and both girls hopped out. I followed shortly after them, slamming the door shut and rounding the side to join them in the appraisal of my humble abode.
“You take wonderful care of it,” Phoebe observed. “I like those tiles.”
Her long, elegant fingers, nails bare, waved to the blue and white tiles I’d inset on our outdoor steps. It was the tiniest detail, but one I was very proud of.
“How’d you pick up on that?” I laughed.
Without turning to me, she murmured, “I know special when I see it.”
My chest heaved once, but I restrained myself. It felt like her every word cut through the noise of my life. If I listened to long, I’d be a lovesick puppy. And we couldn’t have that.
“It ain’t nothin’ special,” I said, voice gruff, hoping to distract from how off-balance her compliment had got me.
“You’ve made everything so colorful,” Phoebe argued. “It brightens up the whole desert. The little orange outdoor table, and the red planters… you’ve got an artist’s eye.”
I’d been with women before, especially ones who told me everything I wanted to hear. The better they understood you, the more power they had over you. No matter how much I felt myself gravitating to Phoebe, I couldn’t let her insightfulness bind me. That way danger lies.
“That’s your spot,” I told them, pointing to the Airstream as though they couldn’t see her hulking silver mass with their own two eyes. “I remodeled her last year. Took a bit of work, but everything should be comfortable. There are sheets and everything.”
“Very hip,” Jo-Beth said, sounding for the first time just a little bit satisfied with her lodging situation. “It’ll do.”
Biting back a laugh, I replied, “Glad to hear it, ma’am. Gimme a second.”
I bounded inside the house, unlocking the door and grabbing the Airstream’s keys off the hook. Pausing for just a moment, I let myself absorb the realization that Phoebe would be spending the next four days just a matter of feet from where I slept. Not that I would do anything with that information, of course, but I’m a bit of a masochist. I love steeping in knowledge that I can never act upon.
Seconds later, I was back outside with the girls, handing them each a set of keys. I plopped Jo-Beth’s into her palm, and she immediately turned and headed for the trailer. Despite my better angels, I didn’t drop the keys into Phoebe’s palm so much as slowly set them down, enjoying the sickness of the second our fingers collided. I couldn’t have her. I couldn’t have any woman. Didn’t mean I’d stop beating myself up over it.
“You let me know if there’s anything you need,” I told her in a low voice. “Anything at all.”
The sentence left plenty open for interpretation. The double entendres were slipping from my mouth before I could think to stop them. Phoebe’s big brown eyes widened, but she said nothing, until—
“Your home,” she stuttered out. “You’re — it’s — I can feel you in it. Like a real cowboy. Like, you care about things, take pride in them.”
My stars, how did she know just the right thing to say?
Tilting my hat down to cover the rising blush, I replied, “That’s the finest compliment I’ve ever received. Thank you kindly.”
