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You’ve been dating the woman for about three months,he told himself.You started out oddly, that’s why it feels bad, almost like a breakup. You don’t normally move in with a woman andthenstart having sex with her. And it probably isn’t normally this comfortable.He said, “Anyway, it’ll be good to have Christmas at her parents’ house, won’t it? You were pretty sad last year, when it was the three of us.”
“Because it had been hardly any time, that’s why,” Janey said. “But we went to the beach, and that was OK.” She sighed. “I don’t mind snow. I just wish it weren’t socold.I wish we could go to Aussie for the school holidays, at least.”
“I don’t get those kinds of long holidays here,” he said. “We’ll go for a week when school’s over.”
“Seriously? Only aweek?”
“Yeah. A week’s all I can do. This project’s a crunch. But we’ll do it then.”
42
COWGIRLS DON’T CRY
Quinn cut another strip of rubbery shelf liner for a kitchen drawer, settled it into place, then moved on to the next one.
Cowgirls don’t cry.Her dad had told her that a long time ago, when she’d fallen off her first pony. He’d said it plenty of other times, too, but he hadn’t needed to for long, because she’d known. When you fell, you got back up again, and if you hurt—well, something always hurt. You almost never died from it, so you dusted yourself off and went on. No choice, not if you wanted to have a life worth living. That was how she’d ridden, that was how she’d swum, and that was how she worked. In her job, and in her life. She didn’t need any more nights like the one when she’d made a fool of herself in front of the entire golf club. Sure, she’d tried to justify it to herself, but she knew what she’d been.
Somebody who’d lost and couldn’t stand it. Out of control, for Craig and everyone else to see.
Right now, she was setting up this all-white, totally modern kitchen and hearing Beckett’s voice from the living room around the corner, telling the movers where to put the couch. Which was a midcentury-modern beige thing that was going on the modern rug that was laid on the gray fake-wood floor, in front of the gas fireplace with the blank wall above it where you’d hang the big-screen TV.
She finished lining drawers—the kitchen had drawers under the countertops instead of cabinets, which was efficient and practical. She could totally see that—picked up her box cutter, and started taking the dishes out of the dishwasher where she’d run them through the rinse cycle. They were not quite white and a little bit irregular in shape and had a sort of dimpled texture. Attractive, unusual, and organic. Dishes selected by a woman with an assured sense of her own taste.
Grocery store tomorrow,she told herself, stacking bowls. Beckett and the kids were sleeping at her house tonight, to make it easier. They’d move out for good tomorrow. Sunday. She had another week of work before Christmas, but she had to do her own grocery shopping anyway, and she could easily add on to it, because setting this place up was going to take Beckett a while. She could have arranged a day off work to help, but—
No. Stop it. He doesn’t want you running his life. You bought drawer liners, and he raised his eyebrows aboutthat.Because this is not your life!
She tried to forget what her mom had said on the phone last week. She couldn’t manage it, because there it was.
“Honey,” Bam had said, then hesitated.
“What?” Quinn asked. They’d been talking about Christmas dinner. What? Her mom wasn’t sure whether to ask her to bring appetizers? She had time. Christmas was on Sunday, and her vacation days were after that, but she’d have Saturday. Plenty of time to make her part of the meal, since she wouldn’t have swim class. Or anybody else to worry about.
“You sure you’re OK with Beckett and the kids moving out?” Bam asked. “I only ask because, well, you seem almost like a … family.”
“Of course we do,” Quinn said. “Man, woman, two kids, dog, big old house? Cookie baking, bedtime stories, and man who can fix anything? We’re a walking cliché. But hey—he’s finished my attic and insulated my sun porch. His work is done.”
“So you wouldn’t want them to stay,” Bam said.
“Mom.” Quinn’s throat closed despite herself. “That’s not my choice to make.”
“Have you asked him to?” was her mom’s next helpful question.
“No. Of course not. He’s signed a lease, and moving out was always his plan anyway. What, I’m some kind of black widow, and now that he’s in my web, he can’t get out? If I want our relationship to be over, that would be a great plan. Anyway, that’s not me. It’s never been me.”
“Sometimes I wish,” her mom said, totally unexpectedly, “that you had a little less of your dad in you.”
“What?”
“That pigheaded independence,” Bam said. “Not my favorite quality in him.”
“Pigheaded? Do you tell Dad that often?”
“As often as he needs it. Also that stupid pride that usually only men have. Not wanting anybody to see you hurt, or admitting that you need anything or anybody. That’s not my favorite, either.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to be needy? Beckett told me he liked that Iwasn’tneedy. Heck,Craigtold me he liked that. That’s my finest quality in Man World!”
“And how’s that worked out for you so far?” her mom asked.
