of their clothes and came together, she saw a million glinting stars behind her squeezed-shut eyelids.
Later as they lay spent in each other’s arms, she had listened to the beat of his heart, drifting, dreaming. She’d done a lot of pictures in the summer and autumn—landscapes and wildlife, abstracts with bold splashes of color and subtle shadows hiding in the hollows of space.
“I want to be an artist,” she said.
“You already are.”
“No, I mean I want my paintings to hang in exhibits where anyone who wants to can see them, even buy them.”
“So go for it.” His belief in her was unshakable and straightforward.
She had loved that about him, how he never doubted her. But what did he believe about himself? It used to worry her sometimes, how quiet he was about his own life, so she asked, “What about you? What do you want?”
He’d chuckled without a great deal of humor. “For my mother to quit fucking up.”
Michelle hadn’t known what to say. Tammi Lee Gilmer was holding down a waitressing job at the Truxtop, yet she knew Sam was concerned. If Tammi Lee’s pattern held true, she’d go on a binge, miss work, lose her job, then collect unemployment until it ran out and she drifted to another town, dragging Sam along with her.
It was the only life he had ever known, and thinking about it made Michelle’s heart ache.
“That’s not what I meant, Sam. I meant you. What do you want for you?”
“For me?” He hesitated.
“Come on, you can tell me. What, do you think I’d laugh at you? I’m the one who wants to make a living as an artist.”
“At least you know what you want.”
“So do you. But you have to tell me.” She figured he was headed for the rodeo circuit. Already, he’d placed in a lot of the local shows, riding her father’s bucking stock, competing in team-roping and bulldogging. “Come on. Truth or dare.”
He wiggled his eyebrows comically. “I’ll take the dare.”
“I want the truth.”
Another hesitation. Finally, without looking at her, he said, “Would you believe medical school?”
Michelle had pulled back, studied him. The shaggy light hair, serious eyes, and a mouth that made her melt inside were all so blissfully familiar. But this was a stranger speaking. It was the first she’d heard of medical school. “Since when?”
“Since forever, I guess.” He began getting dressed. The ranch hands were riding fence, and he was an hour behind because of their diversion. “I’ve never told anyone.”
“I’m glad you spilled the beans. You should go for it, Sam.”
He shook his head, flashing a self-deprecating smile. “I’m a high school dropout.”
“You can get a G.E.D.”
“I can’t afford college.”
“My dad could help with—”
“He wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t ask him.”
“Then
I’ll
ask him.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m your dad’s best roper. Why would he want to lose that? And why would I beg some rich guy’s help? Believe me, I wouldn’t be worth a bucket of spoiled oats if your dad ever found out how I’ve been spending my lunch hour.”
“We’re consenting adults.”
“Right. You think that would make a difference to your old man?”
“He’s been a hound dog for years. He’s got no call to talk. I don’t know why you insist on keeping this a secret. I
love
you, Sam.”
He paused, touched her cheek. “Aw, honey. That’s why we can’t let him catch on. He’d try his damnedest to keep us apart.”
“He can’t keep us apart. It’s a free country.”
Sam had laughed at that. “Is that what they taught you in that fancy-ass girls’ school in Cal-if-orny?” His smile was tinged with a weary tolerance that made him seem infinitely older and wiser than Michelle. “That’s not the way the real world works. In the real world, the daughter of a rich movie star doesn’t go out with a waitress’s son. Believe me, your dad wants you to fall for some guy with a golf handicap, not a PRCA
Later as they lay spent in each other’s arms, she had listened to the beat of his heart, drifting, dreaming. She’d done a lot of pictures in the summer and autumn—landscapes and wildlife, abstracts with bold splashes of color and subtle shadows hiding in the hollows of space.
“I want to be an artist,” she said.
“You already are.”
“No, I mean I want my paintings to hang in exhibits where anyone who wants to can see them, even buy them.”
“So go for it.” His belief in her was unshakable and straightforward.
She had loved that about him, how he never doubted her. But what did he believe about himself? It used to worry her sometimes, how quiet he was about his own life, so she asked, “What about you? What do you want?”
He’d chuckled without a great deal of humor. “For my mother to quit fucking up.”
Michelle hadn’t known what to say. Tammi Lee Gilmer was holding down a waitressing job at the Truxtop, yet she knew Sam was concerned. If Tammi Lee’s pattern held true, she’d go on a binge, miss work, lose her job, then collect unemployment until it ran out and she drifted to another town, dragging Sam along with her.
It was the only life he had ever known, and thinking about it made Michelle’s heart ache.
“That’s not what I meant, Sam. I meant you. What do you want for you?”
“For me?” He hesitated.
“Come on, you can tell me. What, do you think I’d laugh at you? I’m the one who wants to make a living as an artist.”
“At least you know what you want.”
“So do you. But you have to tell me.” She figured he was headed for the rodeo circuit. Already, he’d placed in a lot of the local shows, riding her father’s bucking stock, competing in team-roping and bulldogging. “Come on. Truth or dare.”
He wiggled his eyebrows comically. “I’ll take the dare.”
“I want the truth.”
Another hesitation. Finally, without looking at her, he said, “Would you believe medical school?”
Michelle had pulled back, studied him. The shaggy light hair, serious eyes, and a mouth that made her melt inside were all so blissfully familiar. But this was a stranger speaking. It was the first she’d heard of medical school. “Since when?”
“Since forever, I guess.” He began getting dressed. The ranch hands were riding fence, and he was an hour behind because of their diversion. “I’ve never told anyone.”
“I’m glad you spilled the beans. You should go for it, Sam.”
He shook his head, flashing a self-deprecating smile. “I’m a high school dropout.”
“You can get a G.E.D.”
“I can’t afford college.”
“My dad could help with—”
“He wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t ask him.”
“Then
I’ll
ask him.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m your dad’s best roper. Why would he want to lose that? And why would I beg some rich guy’s help? Believe me, I wouldn’t be worth a bucket of spoiled oats if your dad ever found out how I’ve been spending my lunch hour.”
“We’re consenting adults.”
“Right. You think that would make a difference to your old man?”
“He’s been a hound dog for years. He’s got no call to talk. I don’t know why you insist on keeping this a secret. I
love
you, Sam.”
He paused, touched her cheek. “Aw, honey. That’s why we can’t let him catch on. He’d try his damnedest to keep us apart.”
“He can’t keep us apart. It’s a free country.”
Sam had laughed at that. “Is that what they taught you in that fancy-ass girls’ school in Cal-if-orny?” His smile was tinged with a weary tolerance that made him seem infinitely older and wiser than Michelle. “That’s not the way the real world works. In the real world, the daughter of a rich movie star doesn’t go out with a waitress’s son. Believe me, your dad wants you to fall for some guy with a golf handicap, not a PRCA
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