Free My True Cowboy by Shelley Galloway Page A

of wine down, Betsy looked directly at Susan. “See, the thing of it is…ol’ Gene thinks I’m a lot more like you than, well…me.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œSee, the thing of it is…Gene doesn’t know I’ve been around the block a time or two.” She bit her lip. “Or twenty. As soon as I started getting the idea that he’s on the conservative side, I started telling him all about how I rarely go out to bars. How I usually stay home at night and watch old television shows.” She frowned. “Things kind of spun out of control after that.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with you, Betsy. I stay homebecause I have Hank and because I like to watch TV on the couch. It’s nothing to try to emulate.”
    â€œI know that. But for some reason, there at the bar, I just started spouting half truths like nobody’s business. Gene seems to really like the idea of me being able to cook.” Looking despondent, she added, “Gene can’t wait to taste my pecan pie.”
    â€œPecan pie? Do you even bake?”
    â€œNot yet. I’m going to have to practice baking all the time now.”
    â€œNot if you tell him the truth.”
    After pretty much gulping the rest of her wine, Betsy said, “I would. But, Susan, I’m so tired of being alone, you know?”
    Unfortunately, she knew about that feeling all too well. “What are you going to do now?”
    Betsy’s eyes lit up. “I have a plan. Gene likes to double-date. Him and me and you and Steve.”
    Full-fledged panic set in. “Who the heck is Steve?”
    â€œHis widowed neighbor.”
    This was getting worse and worse. “Oh, Betsy.”
    â€œCome on, it won’t be so bad.”
    â€œIt won’t be so good.” Susan imagined sitting at a restaurant with Betsy and two men, all the while Betsy pretending she was Betty Crocker and Susan pretending she still remembered how to talk about anything other than work.
    â€œSusan, please say you will. If you go out with us, I can kind of follow your lead. When you talk about working with old people all day, I can act like that’s interesting.”
    This time it was Susan who was chugging her wine. Was that really how Betsy saw her? As a boring woman who watched reruns on TV, never went out and only hungout with people old enough to be her parents…or grandparents?
    â€œListen, Betsy, if Gene asked you out again, he obviously likes you. And it’s probably for a whole lot more reasons than him wanting a piece of pecan pie. Just be yourself. He’ll be glad to know you.”
    Betsy looked appalled. “Hell, no, he won’t. He thinks I’m sweet, like you.” Mumbling under her breath, she added, “He thinks I’m almost virginal.”
    â€œUm, I have Hank, Betsy. I really did give birth to him. I’m no virgin.”
    â€œYou’re close, though.” She scratched her head. “Ever since you’ve moved in, you work and take care of Hank. That’s it. What’s more, you don’t even act like you’re sad about missing out on dating.”
    â€œHey, now—”
    But Betsy just kept talking. “You don’t even act like you’re sad about not getting all hot and bothered between the sheets.”
    â€œI don’t…all that much,” she admitted.
    â€œWhy not? Do you not like sex?”
    Oh, this was horrible. “I like it fine.” Well, she did…back when she was having sex. Seven years ago.
    â€œBut you don’t miss it?”
    Of course she did! But, well, she missed a lot of things. She missed feeling pretty and having someone to get pretty for. She missed candlelight and sweet, suggestive smiles. She missed anticipation.
    But all she ever got by “missing” was yet another bout of sadness and melancholy. “I can’t afford to miss things,” she murmured. “I have a