To Love A Cowboy

by Barbara Ankrum

  He ripped aside her opened pea coat and his hand found her breast. Carly’s head fell back, and she arched into his touch. Through the fabric of her blouse, his thumb raked over her aroused nipple. His mouth left hers and trailed down her throat.

  Then, he stopped.

  Breathing hard, Rafe lifted his head. Carly did the same, a question in her eyes.

  “This,” he said, pulling the edges of her coat together, “is not a good idea, Carly.”

  Her whole body was on fire. “Why not?”

  He swallowed thickly. “I think you know why.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  He shook his head, silent.

  “Me? Are you afraid of me? The future? What?”

  He slid his hands down her arms, breaking her hold on him. “It’s not fear. It’s common sense. I—I can’t do this now.” He sat up, and she followed.

  “This? You mean us?” A shaking came from somewhere deep inside her, from that place of hopelessness she wouldn’t allow to steer her life. “Do you have a timetable for it, Rafe? Because if you do, I’d really be interested in knowing what it is. I mean, I almost died a couple of weeks ago in an accident that definitely wasn’t on my schedule, and you never know when something like that might come up again suddenly.”

  He looked away and closed his eyes, obviously shaken by her words.

  “Look at me, Rafe, and tell me that what just happened between us—what happened the other night—was just about sex. Go on,” she dared him.

  “In three days, you’re leaving—”

  “What if I wasn’t?”

  Rafe’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

  “What if I stayed here instead?”

  The wind howled outside, rattling the barn. “What are you talking about? You’ve got a job waiting. A partnership...”

  “Answer my question.”

  “It’s not a fair question. It’s not even an accurate one.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

  “I mean, in a week, a month, maybe even a year, you’ll be climbing the walls out of boredom. You’ll grow to resent me for keeping you from what you love—”

  “Dammit, Rafe, you’re—”

  “And when I lose this place, which I’m about to do, then what? You and Evan and I will move into a little apartment in town somewhere?”

  “Do you think that matters to me?”

  “It matters to me!” he shouted, shoving to his feet and stalking angrily to the stall door. He stopped and hung his head, his fist curling against the wood. “It matters to me.”

  She regarded him quietly. “You think you know me, but you don’t. What gives you the right to decide for me what I want or need? It was you who decided I was better off without you nine years ago. You who decided that I could never integrate my life with yours and be happy. So you stepped aside, didn’t you?”

  “And I was right,” he said.

  Shock filtered through her. He’d actually admitted it. “You were wrong then, and you’re wrong now,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love you, Rafe.”

  Rafe froze at her words.

  “Did you hear me?” she pressed. “There, I said it. No more taboos, or unspoken subjects. I love you. I’ve loved you for half of my life, it seems. And I know you better than anyone. Do you think I can’t see what you’re doing here?”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you,” he said tightly, reaching for the shirt he’d left hanging over the stall.

  She shook her head. “That kiss just now—that was honest. Can you look me in the eye, Rafe, and tell me it meant nothing to you? That I mean nothing to you?”

  He turned sharply and met her gaze. “Do you think I don’t wish things could have been different with us? That I don’t lie awake nights wishing you were there beside me? Or that nine years of my life hadn’t just slipped by me unnoticed as my only son grew up under some other man’s roof? But there are things that aren’t meant to be, Carly. The timing’s always been all wrong for us. It still is.”

  “Timing? Love isn’t about timing, Rafe. Timing is how long you cook a turkey...or by how much you missed a bus. Nothing is ever perfect. If it were, this mare would have picked 3:00 p.m. instead of the middle of the night to foal. And that drunk who hit me would have stayed for another cup of coffee instead of skidding into me in the dark. And you and I wouldn’t be standing here wondering why you’re pushing me away.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and slid his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. Fastening the buttons one by one, he shook his head. “What do you want from me, Carly?”

  She let out a long, shaky sigh. “Nothing you’re not willing to give.” Reaching for her crutches, she eased up out of the straw. “If you really believe that bad timing is what’s kept us apart all these years, then you’re welcome to your theory.” She shrugged, disgusted, angry. “Whatever makes it easier, Rafe.”

  He grabbed her shoulders as she turned away and pulled her to him, his mouth angry, his eyes full of the frustration that crackled in the air between them. “Nothing about this is easy, dammit. Nothing.”

  Crushing her to him, he dropped his mouth down on hers in a savage kiss that said everything he could not. His lips slanted against hers devouringly, demanding to be met. His hot tongue plumbed her mouth, and angrily she answered him in kind. Because, though he kissed her until her knees went weak with wanting and his lips softened against hers, they both knew the truth—that this would change nothing. This unvarnished moment between them was simply another in a long string of goodbyes.

  She gasped when he shoved her away to arm’s length and scoured her face with a look that sent shivers down her spine. Breathing hard, his voice a raspy whisper, he said, “Never try to tell me what I feel, Carly. You’d be wrong.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Chapter 12

  In Monday’s mail, a packet arrived addressed to Carly from the law firm of Maynard, Barnes and Griffith. The envelope was contract-size and thick. It disappeared, unopened, into Carly’s possession soon after, and Rafe tried to put it from his mind. He also tried to block out the phone call that came shortly afterward for her, the one she took in the other room.

  By twelve, he was sitting in the outer room of the doctor’s office, listening to the whine of the saw removing Carly’s bulky cast for the slimmer walking cast that would replace it.

  Even that sounded final to him, as if her cast were the last flimsy piece holding them together and when it was removed, even that excuse was gone. He stuck a finger under the knot of his tie and yanked, feeling like he was being slowly strangled.

  She’d called for a truce as they drove into town today. “Let’s just be together today,” she’d said, “with no past and no tomorrow. We won’t talk about us, or who’s to blame for what. We’ll just—be.” He’d agreed to it—in theory—but that didn’t stop his brain from working on overdrive. It seemed that all he could think about was the future and what it would be like without her and Evan...and about the appointment he had in exactly forty-five minutes.

  “How’s it feel?” he asked as Carly walked tentatively out of the doctor’s office, using her crutches more for balance than for support.

  “A little odd to be on all twos again,” she admitted. “But great. He said I’m healing faster than he thought I would.”

  “Terrific,” he said, forcing a smile.

  She tried for one, too. “Yeah.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  He held open the outer door for her. “There’s a place just down the street.”

  They made small talk over lunch—stuck to safe topics, like the weather and Evan’s progress on Tampico. Rafe did his damnedest to keep his eyes off her, frankly afraid that she’d glimpse the growing panic in his if he didn’t. His heartbeat slammed against his chest as the minutes passed and he glanced at his watch repeatedly.

  “Hot date?” she asked casually over the rim of her coffee c
up. He looked up from his watch guiltily, and she explained, “You don’t usually wear a tie to town.”

  “Ah,” he said, adjusting the knot. “No. Appointment.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “You okay here for a couple of minutes?”

  “Sure,” she said, sounding puzzled. “I’m fine. You go on.”

  “I’ll be right back. This won’t take long.”

  Through the window, she watched him cross the street and disappear behind a hedge of greenery. Whatever his appointment, he looked as happy about it as a gladiator facing Caesar’s lions. For a few minutes, she sipped her coffee, staring out at the cobalt blue of the sky through the café window.

  “Rafe shouldn’t leave a pretty lady like you all alone,” came a voice from the other side of her table. She looked up.

  A good-looking cowboy with a charming dimple and pale hazel eyes stared down at her with a friendly grin. “Mel Stratton,” he said, extending a hand to her. “I’m a friend of Rafe’s.”

  “Oh,” she said, taking his hand briefly. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Uh—”

  “I don’t bite. Promise.”

  She glanced out the window to see no sign of Rafe. Not that she should worry. Rafe had hardly noticed she was along for the ride today. “Sure,” she told Mel. “Rafe will be back in a minute. You can say hello.”

  Mel’s solitary dimple deepened as he took Rafe’s chair. “You’re Carly, right?”

  “Right,” she answered, wondering how he knew.

  “Chicky Green told me all about you. She wasn’t exaggerating.”

  Carly smiled, remembering the flamboyant redhead. “I only met her the other night. She’s wonderful.”

  “She said you were a lawyer?”

  “Yes. Criminal taw. You said you’re a friend of Rafe’s?”

  “An old friend. We used to compete against each other. That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. I was hopin’ you might have some influence over him.”

  Shock settled over her. “Influence? Me?”

  Mel folded his hands in front of him. “He’s entering the Durango pro rodeo competition. I saw him turn in his entry fee on Saturday.”

  Carly felt the blood drain from her face. “I know he intended to ride. I didn’t know he’d actually entered.”

  Mel frowned, staring out the window in the direction Rafe had gone. “He’s in no shape to ride, Carly. Even if he was all in one piece—which he’s not—he’s been away from it too long. He knows that, too. I know it’s none o’ my business, but I can’t just stand by without sayin’ something. And he won’t listen to me.”

  Carly sipped her coffee. “You’re not alone. If you know Rafe, then you know how stubborn he can be.”

  “I just thought—knowin’ that you’re special to him—you might be able to talk him out of it.”

  Carly blushed. “Special? Who told you that?”

  “Nobody had to tell me,” Mel said, folding his arms in front of him and leaning on the table. “It’s written all over his face.”

  She swallowed hard, wishing it was true. The only thing obvious to her was that Rafe couldn’t wait to get on with his life and usher her back out. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr. Stratton.”

  “It’s Mel. And I don’t think so.”

  “Be that as it may, nothing I’ve said so far has deterred him from riding. And I’m afraid nothing will.”

  “Well,” Mel said, “if a lady like you can’t sway him, nothin’ can.”

  She set her coffee cup down carefully. “There may be one thing.” Her enigmatic statement drew a puzzled stare from Mel, but before he could say anything, Rafe appeared behind him.

  “Didn’t take you long, did it, Mel?” he asked with a bite of sarcasm, reaching for Carly’s crutches.

  Mel shot to his feet with a guilty look. “Rafe! We were just talkin’ about you.”

  Rafe’s gaze swung to Carly, and he smiled tightly. “I bet you were.”

  Carly couldn’t miss the grimness in his voice.

  “Is...everything all right?” she asked.

  “Just perfect,” he snapped. “Ready to go?”

  “Hey, Rafe,” Mel said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m serious, man, we were just talkin’.”

  “Sure. Carly?”

  Mel stared at his boots, thumbs tucked into the back of his jeans, while Carly slid the crutches under her arms.

  When Rafe turned to go, Mel pressed a business card into her hand.

  “Chicky asked me to say goodbye to you for her, too. Good luck to you,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, ignoring Rafe’s hostile glare. So much for truces. “Goodbye, Mel.”

  As they walked to Rafe’s car, the silence between them was thick enough to cut. Rafe walked two strides ahead of her and waited with the truck door open until she caught up.

  “You’re wrong about Mel,” she said as she climbed into the seat.

  “Am I?”

  Then it struck her. “You’re jealous,” she said, staring at him in surprise.

  Rafe slammed the door and stomped to the other side. “I am not jealous,” he said deliberately. “I just don’t like a guy like Mel putting moves on you. He’s a cowboy, Carly. Even you can see that.”

  “So are you,” she retorted.

  “My point exactly. You’ve got no business with a guy like that.”

  She didn’t even want to go there. “He’s worried about you, Rafe.”

  “Oh, that’s rich.” He let out a bark of laughter. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yes.”

  Rafe slammed the transmission into first and peeled down the street.

  Carly hung on. “What’s really wrong, Rafe? It’s not Mel who’s got you so upset.”

  His jaw tightened, and he gripped the wheel harder. “The last bank turned me down.”

  “Ohhh...” She felt her heart drop. “Rafe. I’m sorry.”

  “So were they. Sorry the drought’s put me behind on profits. Sorry I spent most of what profit I did make drilling for water that wasn’t there. Sorry my future is looking dim. Just...goddamn sorry.”

  She started to speak, but bit back what she was about to suggest. If she told him what she was considering, he’d flatly refuse. If she didn’t tell him, she risked losing everything.

  Carly stared at the road whizzing by, wondering how everything had gotten so out of control. The card Mel had pressed into her hand was still there. She uncurled her clenched fingers and looked at it. It held the name and address of a law office in Durango, Lindsey, Burkholt and Associates, Attorneys-at-Law. Below that, Chicky had handwritten her own number.

  How curious, she thought, slipping it into her pocket. Why would Chicky send her a business card? And why through Mel Stratton?

  Five miles out of town, a colorful roadside sign slid into view, with just enough time for her to read it. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking. It was an inspired idea, she decided, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. He needed some fun, today of all days. Their time together was almost over. She owed him something for all he’d done for her—and she needed a memory to hold on to when she left.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m having a scathingly brilliant idea.”

  He slid a wary look toward her. “Good, ’cause I’m fresh out.”

  “See that road up there to the right?”

  He frowned. “Yeah? What about it?”

  “Take it.”

  He looked at her as if she were crazy. “What?”

  “Go on,” she told him.

  “I gotta get back,” he said, gripping the wheel tighter.

  “And you will, right after my scathingly brilliant idea. There! Turn there.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” he said, sounding convinced, yet pulling the wheel to the right.

  “I know.” She leaned back with a satisfied grin. “But that’s not a bad thing once in a while, you kn
ow?”

  The road looked innocuous, like a gravel path to nowhere. Rafe followed it with obedient reluctance as it wound through swelling hills and a sharp walled canyon of deep red rock. Midafternoon sun played against the landscape, casting it in shades of lavender and rose and crisply defined shadow. Carly drummed her fingers against the door frame, praying that this direction was right. It was farther than she’d imagined.

  “You know where you’re going?” he asked ten minutes into the drive.

  “This way,” she said, pointing straight ahead.

  He sent her a wry smile. “Funny. I want you to know that I’m only humoring you because I’ve never gone down this road before. And now you’ve got me curious. Where the heck are we going?”

  She just smiled.

  Gravel spit against the bottom of the truck as the canyon opened onto a grassy, rolling plain. It was as if someone had unfurled a rolled carpet through a doorway. Below, nestled in a flattened expanse of green, sat a small visitor’s center and parking lot, looking completely out of place here in the middle of nowhere. To the left, like so many mushrooms sprouting from the grass, stood a handful of anchored hot-air balloons, their colorful tops tugged by the breeze. Three hundred feet up against a starkly blue sky, another was scudding along on a high breeze like a windblown leaf.

  Rafe stepped on the brakes, and the truck skidded to a stop. “You gotta be kidding.”

  She shook her head, feeling like a kid at Christmas. “Aren’t they wonderful?”

  “You wanna go up in a balloon?” he said disbelievingly.

  “Yes, and you’re going with me.”

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Oh—I don’t know. I’ve never gone up in one of those things before.”

  Yes, this was exactly what he needed, she decided wickedly. A little adventure, a dash of romance, a guaranteed rush of adrenaline. Yes, he needed this in more ways than he knew. “You know what they say? There’s a first time for everything. C’mon,” she said. “It’ll be fun. My treat.”