The evening wore on, and the tension rose. Calhoun seemed to enjoy dancing with Shelby. Abby stuck with Tyler. Justin sat and drank quietly by himself after he finished his business with the other gentleman, who left. The tall man began to look more coldly violent by the minute.
Toward the end of the dance, Calhoun left Shelby long enough to saunter over to Abby, who was sipping ginger ale while Tyler spoke to someone he knew at a nearby table. Abby hadn’t been watching Calhoun, because he was making her miserable. He didn’t smile at her anymore. He hated her, she was sure of it. So when Calhoun appeared in front of her, Abby grew flustered and nervous and almost spilled her drink.
Calhoun saw the nervous motion, and it gave him hope. “How about dancing one with me?” he asked quietly.
She looked up, her eyes searching his face almost hungrily. “No, I’d better not,” she said softly.
He caught his breath at the wounded sound in her voice. “Abby, why not?” he asked.
“It might hurt Shelby’s feelings,” she said, and turned away, searching the room desperately for Tyler. “I can’t imagine where Tyler got to,” she added huskily.
Calhoun looked like a radio with the transistors removed. He blinked, doubting that he’d really heard what she’d just said. Shelby might be hurt? Surely she didn’t think—It suddenly dawned on him that if Abby was crazy enough to imagine he was getting involved with Shelby, Justin might, too.
He turned toward the table where Justin was sitting like a statue, and whistled under his breath. “Oh, my God,” he breathed. “I’ve done it now.”
Abby didn’t say another word. She watched Calhoun move through the crowd toward Justin and wondered absently if his life insurance was paid up. Justin looked murderous.
There were two full ashtrays in front of Justin, and one half-empty whisky glass. The older man drank on occasion, but usually not when he was angry. If he did, he limited himself to one drink. The glass was what told Calhoun how angry his older brother was.
Calhoun sat down across from him, leaning back to study the older man. “She was lonely,” he told Justin.
Justin drained his glass and rose, his eyes blacker than Calhoun had seen them in a long time. “Then I’ll see what I can do about it.”
While Calhoun was catching his breath, Justin walked to Shelby’s table. He didn’t say a word. He looked at the woman until her face colored, then simply held out his hand. She put hers into it. He pulled her onto the dance floor, and they melted into each other to a slow, dreamy tune.
Abby sighed as she watched them. They were stiff, as if there were more than just space between them, but the look on Shelby’s face was hauntingly beautiful. His expression was less easily read, hard and rigid. But Abby would have bet that he was as close to heaven as he’d been in six years.
“How about that for a surprise?” Tyler murmured over her head, watching. “My God, look at them. They’re like two halves of a whole.”
“Why did they ever split up?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “I think my father was mixed up in it somehow, and one of his friends. But Shelby never talks about it. All I know is that she gave him back his ring and he’s been bitter ever since.”
As the music ended, the couple stopped dancing. Justin released Shelby very slowly and abruptly turned and walked out of the dance hall. After a minute, Shelby went back and sat down. Calhoun returned to the table.
Abby, turning to watch Calhoun bend toward Shelby, felt even sicker when she saw Shelby get up and leave the building, holding Calhoun’s arm.
She toughed it out for several more dances, but when Calhoun didn’t come back, she finally realized that he’d more than likely taken Shelby home. And was still there…
“Can we go home, Ty?” she asked huskily.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Ty asked, his voice full of sympathy.
“I’m tired,” Abby replied, and it was no lie. She really was. She was tired of watching Calhoun in action. First the blonde, now Shelby, and all in one week. But plain little Abby didn’t figure in his world. She didn’t even matter. She looked up at Ty, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “Do you mind?”
“Of course I mind,” he said gently. “But if that’s what you want, we’ll go.”
Abby didn’t speak all the way home. It was unlike Calhoun to deliberately start trouble. It was almost as if he were getting back at Justin for something, but for what? Justin hadn’t done anything to him.
Tyler walked her up the steps onto the long front porch with its graceful arches and porch furniture.
“Sorry the evening ended so abruptly,” Tyler said. “But I hope you had fun.”
“I did, honestly,” she said, smiling up at him.
He took a deep breath and bent toward her hesitantly. When she didn’t resist, he brushed his mouth gently against hers. There was no response, and after a minute he lifted his dark head.
His green eyes searched hers, and he wasn’t smiling. “You don’t have a clue, do you, honey?” he asked gently. “And I think it’s lack of interest more than just lack of experience.”
“You think I’m green as grass, too, I guess,” she sighed miserably.
He cocked an eyebrow and tweaked her chin with his lean fingers. “So that’s how it is.” He pursed his lips. “Well, little Abby, with some cooperation from you I could take care of the green part in about five minutes. But I think that’s a lesson the man you’re mooning over should teach you.” He touched his lips to her forehead. “I hope he appreciates his good luck. You’re a special girl.”
“He doesn’t think so, but I’m glad you do.” She looked up at him with a faint smile. “I wish it could be you.”
His expression hardened for just an instant before the old mocking humor came back. “So do I. Want to go to dinner one night? Just a friendly dinner. I know when a door’s being closed, so you won’t have any worries on that score.”
Her smile grew brighter. “You’re a nice man.”
“Not always.” He touched her cheek gently. “Good night.”
“Good night, Tyler. I had a good time.”
“So did I.”
He took the steps two at a time, and Abby stood quietly, watching him drive off. It was a long time before she turned and went into the house.
She closed the front door and started toward the staircase, only to be stopped in her tracks by an off-key rendition of a Mexican drinking song. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized it as one Justin sang on the very rare occasions when he had had too many glasses of whiskey.
Abby went all the way inside the house and closed the door. Then she slipped down the hall to the study and peeked in.
Justin was holding a square whiskey glass. It was empty. He was sprawled on the leather sofa with his dark hair in his eyes and his shirt rumpled, one big boot propped on the spotless leather seat, singing for all he was worth. On the coffee table beside him were a smokeless ashtray, a crumpled cigarette pack, a fresh cigarette pack, and half a bottle of whiskey.
“No puedo hacer…” He stopped at the sound of her footsteps and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes.
“Oh, Justin,” she moaned.
“Hello, Abby. Want a snort?”
She grimaced at the glass he held up.