Best Man in Wyoming

by Margot Dalton

  “I wondered...” She’d hesitated, twisting the phone cord. “Rex, I hoped we might be able to get together this evening and talk about something.”

  “Talk about what?” His tone sounded wary, almost evasive.

  “Just...something.” Lindsay took a deep breath. “Could I buy you dinner, Rex?”

  The long silence had shown how startled he was. But when he spoke, his voice once again held all of the smooth professional charm she’d grown to dislike so much.

  “Well, that’s the best offer I’ve had all day. How about the Beefeater at eight o’clock?”

  “Good. I’ll see you there.”

  Lindsay had hung up quickly before he could ask any more questions. Now she was rummaging through her closet, wondering what to wear for her long drive to Casper and the awkward meal that was certain to follow.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be all that upset, she told herself bravely, holding up a long denim skirt with a silver belt, then casting it aside.

  After all, Rex must have known they wouldn’t get off scot-free when he’d allowed himself to be offered for sale at a bachelor auction. And they’d already discussed going through with some kind of a charade for the sake of appearances.

  She put on a coppery silk blouse and searched her jewel case for the earrings that matched, tipping her head critically to study the effect.

  Then, barefooted, wearing only the blouse and a pair of cotton panties, Lindsay continued to burrow through her closet.

  The problem was that she and Rex had turned into such completely different people. He wanted to go off for some luxurious weekend at a resort, the kind of place where men like him gathered to lie around the pool and talk about their investment portfolios.

  But Lindsay scorned such self-indulgent behavior. She was actually looking forward to the trail ride and a camping trip with a group of her boys, though she couldn’t take them out for that long without some additional adult supervision, and Sam was supposed to be on vacation for the summer.

  She drew out a pair of black pleated slacks, pulled them on and added a coppertone belt and loafers, then ran a brush through her short blond hair and dabbed on some makeup.

  Rex probably wouldn’t be thrilled by her appearance, Lindsay thought, looking at herself in the mirror. The few times she’d seen him with a date in recent years, he’d invariably been escorting gorgeous creatures who looked as if they spent their whole lives going from the tanning salon to the hairdresser and manicurist.

  Well, sorry to disappoint you, Rex, but that’s not my style.

  Lindsay tugged impatiently at an unruly lock of hair next to her ear.

  Nevertheless, she took the time to remove a smear of mascara from her right eyelid and reapplied it more carefully, then blotted her lips and headed downstairs to her car.

  As she pulled out of the ranch yard she noticed Sam sitting on a fence rail in the sunset, looking forlorn. She waved but her uncle didn’t see her. He just kept chewing on a long stalk of grass and gazing moodily into the distance.

  Lindsay would have liked to scramble onto the fence and perch next to him, chatting for a while in the mellow twilight. But she glanced at her watch and dismissed the wistful idea.

  Rex, who was obsessively punctual, would probably be waiting for her long before she arrived at the restaurant.

  * * *

  AS SHE’D EXPECTED, he was already in the leather booth when she arrived, sipping a martini from its shallow flared glass. He wore a sport jacket over a black turtleneck, and she had to admit he looked more handsome than ever in his studied, sophisticated manner.

  “The lady is exceptionally gorgeous tonight.” He raised his glass in an admiring salute while Lindsay slid onto the opposite bench.

  “I’m not gorgeous,” she said with a flash of annoyance. “Don’t start giving me that suave crap, Rex. You know I can’t stand it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So I’m not even allowed to pay you a compliment?”

  “Not when it’s insincere.”

  “Come on, Lindsay, what makes you so certain I’m insincere?”

  “Because my nose is peeling, my hair is getting all dry and bleached from too much sunlight, and I have this paint under my fingernails that won’t come out no matter how hard I scrub.”

  She extended her small, callused hands to show him the residue of green paint from a stable she and the boys were painting.

  Rex smiled at her stained fingers, then called the waiter over, casting Lindsay a questioning glance.

  “I’ll just have a glass of white wine, please,” she said.

  “The martinis are good here,” Rex told her. “You really should try one.”

  “I think martinis always smell just like paint thinner,” Lindsay said curtly, hating his air of sophistication. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and punch him, just to ruffle that smooth composure.

  He was watching her with a maddening smile that tugged at her heart, reminding her vividly of the boyish crooked grin she’d loved so much when they were young.

  Lindsay felt a brief flood of sadness and a crazy impulse to ask him why her old friend had disappeared, leaving behind this elegant shell of a man.

  “Well, I’m fairly certain it’s not just the pleasure of my company you’re after,” he was saying. “So you must have something on your mind to have asked me out for dinner, right?”

  Lindsay took a deep breath to steady herself, and smiled gratefully when the waiter delivered her wine. She took a long sip, then began to tell Rex about the two women from the L.A. station and their veiled reference to fraud in the bachelor auction.

  “They can’t be serious,” he said in genuine surprise. “After a whole year? I’d assumed that whole thing was a dead issue by now.”

  “Apparently not. These media people never let something die while there’s still a bit of scandal or human interest to be squeezed out of it.”

  “So which are we?” he asked. “Scandal or human interest?”

  “It all depends.” Out of sight beneath the table, she twisted her hands together nervously in her lap. “I think we need to do something together, Rex, just to satisfy them the auction was all aboveboard. If we don’t they’ll keep hounding me, and maybe even publish some kind of documentary about fraud.”

  “There was no fraud,” he said calmly. “You made the highest bid on me, and you paid the money.”

  “But they suspect we colluded to get the bids artificially inflated, and you had no intention of honoring the purchase. I think,” she added reluctantly, “that Angelique Parrish might be putting them up to it, just out of spite.”

  “It sounds like Angie’s style, all right.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “But, Lindsay, you have to admit it’s the truth, don’t you?”

  Again Lindsay had an urge to punch him. “Of course it’s true. But you know we can’t have that kind of shadow over us or all our new funds could start drying up again. I want to avoid the slightest appearance of impropriety.”

  Rex shrugged and accepted another martini from the waiter. He removed the olive, shook it and placed it carefully on a napkin, lining it up beside the first with tidy precision.

  “I don’t see any problem,” he said. “I’d be happy to take you away for a holiday. In fact—” his eyes flitted over Lindsay, making her feel hot and unkempt “—you really look like you could use a break and some pampering. So where shall we go?”

  “I was thinking...”

  “We could fly to Greece,” he mused. “I know somebody who owns a villa on one of the islands. It’s really beautiful, Lin. And there’s even a world-class spa nearby where you could spend a day or two. If we get it booked soon enough, that is.”

  “Greece?” She stared at him in disbelief. “But, Rex, I’ve already...”

  “Or I
reland, if you want something a little cooler. Two years ago I found this nice bed-and-breakfast in Connemara, not much more than a thatched cottage, really, but with comfortable beds and marvellous food. It looks out over the ocean, and on Saturday evenings some of the locals come up and...”

  “Rex,” she interrupted in growing despair, “please just listen to me for a minute! We’re not going to a villa in Greece, or a seaside resort in Cabo San Lucas, or some charming little cottage in Ireland. I already told those television people where we’ll be spending our weekend together.”

  “You did?” His eyes brightened with a flash of the old teasing sparkle. “Lindsay, don’t tell me you’ve been making plans without consulting me.”

  “Yes, I guess I have,” she said without an answering smile. “Look, I purchased your services, remember? And according to the auction rules, you have very little input.”

  “So tell me, where are we going for this romantic holiday?”

  “To the mountains,” she said bluntly. “With six boys from the ranch, fourteen horses and a ton of camping equipment.”

  “You’re kidding, of course.”

  “Come on, Rex. Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said after a brief study of her face, then returned to his drink.

  At least he wasn’t taking it quite as badly as she’d feared. Lindsay twisted her napkin and glanced at him cautiously. “Can you ride at all anymore? It must be years since you’ve been on a horse.”

  “It’s been a while,” he said. “But I assume it’s like riding a bicycle. Or making love,” he added, looking directly into her eyes. “Some things you don’t forget no matter how long it’s been.”

  She flushed and turned away, grateful for the brief distraction when the waitress arrived with their soup. Rex watched the woman set out the steaming bowls.

  He picked up his spoon and poked at a crouton. “What’s the matter, Lin?” he asked suddenly when the waitress was gone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I get the feeling there’s been something bothering you for a long time. Look,” he added, “even if you don’t like me much anymore, we used to be pretty good friends. It might help to talk about it.”

  Lindsay’s stomach tightened in alarm and fear as she stared down at the soup bowl. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “Except this camping trip and all the supplies we’re going to need. I’d like to go next week, Rex. It’ll take a lot of planning and hard work to be ready on such short notice.”

  “I’ll talk about the camping trip if you’ll tell me what your problem is.”

  “My problems are none of your business,” she said, more curtly than she’d intended.

  His hand tightened on the soup spoon, and she felt a pang of regret for her sharpness. It seemed perhaps Rex Trowbridge still had a few cracks in his veneer of sophistication.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” Lindsay reached over to touch his arm. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really have no interest in heart-to-heart talks about my private life, with you or anybody else.”

  He shrugged, his sardonic mask once again firmly in place. “Well, I guess that’s your choice, isn’t it? I just thought you might make a small concession to twenty years of friendship.”

  “But those years are long gone. We were both completely different people in our teens than we are now, Rex.”

  He studied her with disconcerting steadiness. “How were we different? I don’t see that you’ve changed much, Lindsay, except that you’re a little more quiet and withdrawn than you used to be.”

  She toyed with the saltshaker. “Maybe I am. And you’re a whole lot more sophisticated,” she said. “So I guess that makes us even.”

  “Sophisticated?” He raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Come on, Rex,” she said, unsettled by the turn of the conversation. “Let’s not discuss our differences right now, okay?”

  “What should we talk about? The prospect of spending a fun-filled week sleeping under the stars?”

  Lindsay grinned suddenly. “Remember that story Sam used to tell, about the cowboy who woke at dawn and found a big rattlesnake curled up on his chest inside his sleeping bag?”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Rex’s handsome face turn a little pale. But immediately Lindsay felt a pang of guilt, remembering how this man had always abhorred snakes of any kind, even back in his tough-guy youth when nothing had scared him much.

  “Sorry,” she said impulsively, laying a hand on his arm again. “That was mean of me, Rex. Especially when you’re being so nice about this camping trip.”

  “I’m not being nice.” He finished his soup and pushed the bowl aside. “I’m just hoping I’ll be there to watch when that snake winds up inside your sleeping bag. It’d serve you right, you coldhearted woman.”

  She laughed. For a brief moment it felt almost like old times being with him, so warm and pleasant that she realized just how much she’d missed his friendship in recent years.

  But then another lawyer stopped by their table and Rex was immediately absorbed in a conversation about torts and writs, topics so abstruse that she couldn’t even understand what they were saying.

  Lindsay watched him covertly as she sipped her wine, thinking how much he’d changed and how completely this new life suited him.

  At least, she thought with a moment of private satisfaction, he wouldn’t be quite so much in his element out there in the Wyoming mountains.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Gwen McCabe woke to a warm flood of sunshine that lay across her quilted bedspread.

  White muslin curtains lifted in the breeze and a chorus of birdsong trilled beyond the window. Inside the house she could hear the comforting sounds of morning, the bubble of her coffeepot from the next room and her grandson’s boyish shouts down in the other kitchen.

  She smiled drowsily, then remembered the previous day and stiffened in alarm.

  It all came back to her in a humiliating rush. Gwen rolled over, whimpering, and buried her face in the pillow.

  Her eyes filled with hot tears of shame.

  She’d been out for one of her cautious, timid walks, and she’d ventured too far from the house. It was her own stupid fault, all of it.

  Gwen lay rigidly in the bed, trying to get a grip on her emotions.

  Ever since the tragic death of her husband eight years earlier, under circumstances that had forced her and Twyla to leave their old home town and search for another place to live, Gwen’s fears had become more and more overwhelming.

  In time she’d become totally agoraphobic, unable to leave the house for any reason. But then Rob Carter had come along. He was a breath of fresh air, the perfect man for Twyla. With his arrival, all their lives had changed, including Gwen’s.

  As her daughter’s love blossomed and Brian became more happy and secure with his new stepfather, Gwen had determined to overcome her phobias so she wouldn’t be a burden to them. She tried every day to go out for a walk or accompany Twyla into town on shopping trips and errands. For a while these efforts had gone well, making her happy and optimistic.

  Then winter had closed in on southern Wyoming. With the freezing temperatures and deep snow it was often hard to get out, so Gwen decided to settle in the house and wait for spring.

  But even when the weather moderated, somehow Gwen couldn’t summon the energy to begin her recovery again in earnest.

  Twyla and Rob were absorbed in each other and their new marriage, while Brian was growing up and getting more involved in activities at school. Nobody seemed to notice that Gwen’s walks became shorter, and her forays away from the house less frequent.

  She knew there was a real danger of sinking back into the self-imposed prison that had been her life for so many years, and
she was resolved not to let that happen. Lately she’d begun forcing herself to venture a bit farther afield, even though the open skies and empty roads were terrifying to her.

  And she’d been getting a little better with each summer day that passed.

  Until yesterday...

  Gwen shuddered and gripped the pillow, remembering the sheer, gut-wrenching terror of that owl flying silently above her like some malignant sprit, hovering nearer and nearer until its shadow chilled her and its wings felt close enough to brush her head.

  She’d been so far away from the house, on an unfamiliar stretch of road with nowhere to run, no place to hide.

  Her resulting panic attack had been one of the worst she’d ever experienced, so visceral and terrifying that she could still remember the blind horror and resulting nausea in the pit of her stomach.

  And worst of all...

  Gwen shuddered again, rolling her head on the pillow. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  That nice man had come along and helped her. Sam Duncan, his name was. She’d seen him around town a few times and admired his long, spare body, his broad shoulders and faded blue eyes set in weathered creases, his courtly manners and gentleness with the boys who lived at Lost Springs.

  Sam was such a kind man, he hadn’t given any hint that she was behaving like a fool. But of course he must think her a complete idiot. A grown woman, sobbing like a child, frightened out of her wits by an owl, of all things.

  Gwen was overcome by self-loathing. It was even worse when she remembered the man’s consideration, his thoughtful insistence on escorting her right to her door.

  But what had been in his mind as he cantered off, sitting so comfortably erect in the saddle and leading his other horse back to Lost Springs Ranch?

  She felt another hot flood of shame. Maybe at this very moment he was telling the story to his friends at the ranch, and they were all laughing about the crazy woman who’d been reduced to a shuddering mess by an owl flying overhead.

  Gwen shook her head and sat up, running a hand through her tousled curls.

  Sam Duncan hadn’t seemed like that kind of man. She was certain that he wouldn’t tell anybody about the humiliating incident.