To Love A Cowboy

by Barbara Ankrum

  “You done that one already,” Gus said. “Twice.”

  Rafe looked up absently past the naked lightbulb illuminating the night-shadowed barn. “What?”

  “I said you done that one twice already. And all the other tack in here, too.”

  Rafe narrowed a glare at Gus, then glanced at the shiny, supple leather hanging neatly in a row on the far wall. He pursed his lips. “So? You got a problem with my cleaning the tack?”

  “Nope. I ain’t got a problem. Just makin’ an observation.”

  “Thanks for sharing.” He scrubbed the leather relentlessly until it gleamed. When he looked up, Gus was still standing there at the doorway, staring. “Haven’t you got somewhere to go, old man?”

  “Yeah,” Gus said. “I’m headin’ to Laurie’s. She wanted me to invite you for supper.”

  “No...I’ve, uh, got too much to do here.”

  “Yeah,” Gus said, arching one hairy brow. “I can see that.”

  “Tell her thanks for me, anyway.”

  Gus braced a gnarled hand against the door frame. “It’s been more’n a week, Rafe. How long you gonna hole up here? You ain’t been off this place once since Carly left. Laurie said to tell ya she’s startin’ to get a complex.”

  “A complex? Laurie? That’ll be the day.” He swirled his rag around and around in the saddle-soap jar. “And I’m not holed up. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Right. Polishin’ tack that don’t need polishin’. Mending fence that don’t need mendin’. And bitin’ everybody’s head off in the process.” Macky, who was lying on the floor near Rafe, lifted his head from his paws and yawned loudly. “See? Even the dog agrees.”

  “I’ve been preoccupied,” Rafe said in his own defense.

  Gus glanced at Rafe’s workbench and caught sight of the picture of Rafe and Carly lying carelessly against the wood. He picked it up and looked at it. It was worn around the edges, as if Rafe had been keeping it in his pocket. “No kiddin’.”

  Rafe looked up at Gus pointedly. “She said she was gonna call. She hasn’t called.”

  “Do ya blame her?” Gus asked. “Pret’ near bit her head off before she left.”

  Rafe scrubbed the reins with unnecessary effort. “You think I was wrong, don’t you?”

  “Ain’t my place to say, Rafe. That’s between you an’ her.”

  Rafe glanced up. “But you think so.”

  “I think there’s a fine line between self-sufficiency and pure obstinance,” he said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

  Dropping his rag, Rafe shrugged the tension from his shoulders. “Maybe I have to be able to live with myself.”

  Gus shook his head. “Yeah, but can you do it without her?”

  By now, Carly was somewhere in Ohio, with a new job and a new life. And he had no one to blame but himself. “I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

  Gus sent him an uninterpretable look. “I reckon that’s up to you.” He turned to go.

  “I’m riding tomorrow,” Rafe told him.

  The blood siphoned from Gus’s weathered face as he turned around. “You’re what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “At the rodeo in town? But I thought—”

  Of course he had, Rafe thought. Everyone assumed he’d give it up, now that he had the land he needed. But it wasn’t over. Far from it. Rafe shrugged. “I’m still riding. It’s the only way I’m gonna earn enough to pay her back.”

  With a shake of his head, Gus stared at him in disbelief. “You are the stubbornest cuss this side of the Continental Divide, Kellard. She bought that land so’s you wouldn’t have to ride tomorrow. And last I heard, she wasn’t requirin’ no payback.”

  Rafe stared down at the gleaming leather in his hands. “I require it.”

  “Ya know, somewhere down the line,” Gus said, “somebody convinced you that accepting help was the same thing as failure, Rafe. And it ain’t. Or it don’t have to be. But that’s somethin’ you’ll have to discover on your own. I just hope it ain’t too late when you finally do.”

  With a foul curse, Rafe swept the tin of saddle soap off the table and sent it clanking into the wall. Gus hardly flinched. “I’m gettin’ goddamned sick of everybody treating me like an invalid. There was a time I was on top, when everybody knew me and what I was capable of. Now, suddenly, I’ve got a hundred mothers all tittering over me like I’m some kind of cripple! Well, I’m not, dammit! If I want to compete, I’ll compete! If I want to risk it, then it’s my business.”

  “I never called you a cripple!” Gus practically shouted back. “Nobody with a lick of sense would. It’s your priorities that need some attention. Take it from an old man who let his life slip by until it was almost too late—worryin’ about things that meant nothin’ in the end.

  “Those things, they don’t keep ya warm on a cold December night, Rafe. They don’t sit on your lap and blow dandelion feathers into the air, or sing happy birthday to ya when even you forgot it was your birthday. And they don’t come through for you in a pinch when the whole rest of the world lets you down.”

  He rubbed a hand against his grizzled chin. “You wanna ride? Nobody’s gonna stop you. But you better be damned sure that your reasons for goin’ backwards are worth it. ’Cause if they’re not, you might regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Rafe tightened the leather rigging on the bareback strap circling the massive chest of his bronc, High Chaparral. He’d stayed up most of last night thinking about what Gus had said. Sometime around three, it had started to sound reasonable, but by five he’d been back to square one. Around and around his reasoning had taken him, until nothing seemed to make sense anymore, except to show up.

  So he had.

  High Chaparral—a scruffy-haired sorrel with a cropped mane and tail who’d been known to drag hung-up riders against the arena wall for pure fun—blew out his belly with air and sent a malevolent look back at him. In reply, Rafe brought his knee up under the horse’s ribs and cinched the strap tight.

  “I may have been gone awhile,” he told the animal, “and I may be an idiot for comin’ back, but I’m not fallin’ for that one.”

  Nearby, a dozen other riders prepared for the bareback event. Mel Stratton had shaken his hand earlier and wished him luck. Rafe had watched him inspect the horse he was slated to ride—an awesomely muscled roan named Skoal.

  Rafe looked up and scanned the full stands. Gus and Laurie hadn’t come—not that he’d expected them to. But as he turned his head, someone else caught his eye: a woman with Carty’s blond hair and willowy body, moving with the crowd near the arena rail with her back to him. A boy Evan’s size bobbed along beside her.

  His heartbeat tripled in a fraction of a second. His mouth went dry and his mind blank. Rafe took a step or two in her direction, willing her to turn around.

  “Carly?” he called, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the crowd.

  “Carly!” he shouted again.

  In the next moment, he found himself running after her, pushing through the crowd of surprised spectators, who alternately grunted and cursed him for shoving past. Apologies, explanations and lame excuses flashed through his consciousness as he gained on her. The words moronic, ungrateful and ignoramus leaped to mind, alongside the fear that if he caught her she might just keep walking. God knew, he deserved that.

  His hand closed around her arm. “Carly—”

  The attractive woman—who was definitely not Carly—whirled at the touch with an affronted expression. “Hey, what do you think you’re—?”

  Rafe released her arm as if he’d been jolted by electricity and held both hands up, palms open. “Hey, I’m sorry. I—I thought you were... I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze slid asessingly down him, then back up. With a sympathetic shrug, she said, “That makes two of us.” Gathering her son to her, she turned and kept moving.

  Shoulders collided with his as the crowd moved past him and the woman and boy vanished into the surging mass of
people.

  Idiot. Carly was two thousand miles away in Ohio. What right did he even have to hope that—?

  Oh, hell.

  He rubbed a hand down his face, shaken. He wondered if he’d be looking for Carly in crowds for the rest of his life? Would his heart pound whenever he saw a winsome blonde with a Grace Kelly walk? Or when he heard the sound of a laugh like hers, would his brain go numb, like it had just now?

  Would he end up like Gus, with a lifetime full of regrets?

  You know the trouble with you, Rafe? You’re afraid of love. It terrifies you, doesn’t it?

  Was he? Hell, yes. He was afraid. Afraid he’d jump, only to find the floor gone below him. Afraid he wasn’t up to it all if it was gone. His reasons weren’t a mystery. He had a long and sordid history of snatched-up floors and hard falls.

  Hell, he could ride a bull whose only goal was to stomp him to death, or a bronc who promised to bash his brains against the wall, given half a chance.

  But ask himself to let Carly love him—to love her back—and he was suddenly a nuclear reactor in a meltdown. Why was that so damned hard?

  This morning, he’d sat on the porch and watched the sun come up over his ranch, spilling over the mountains like a slow-moving wave. He’d watched the same scene a thousand times from that spot, but never before had he felt the clawing emptiness that was inside him today. Because it had struck him that the land he’d worked so hard to save—the life he’d struggled to build here—none of it meant anything without Carly and Evan to share it. It was an empty promise.

  I did it for you, and for Evan and maybe even for us, Carly’s voice echoed. I love you, Rafe.

  Rafe stood stock-still, staring at the arena and the crowds, and the sounds around him became a blur of noise.

  I love you, Rafe. Love you. Love you...

  And Gus’s voice: Can you live without her?

  It’s your priorities that need some attention.

  Rafe blinked as the announcer on the loudspeaker began announcing the next round.

  The truth struck him between the eyes like a sledgehammer. She’d loved him. Loved him! She hadn’t snatched any floors away. He had. He’d been the one this time, just as he had been the last time. Carly was a constant. Like the moon or that sun pouring over his mountains. Waiting. Waiting for him to wake up and see her for who she really was. Not a ladder-climbing attorney, or a woman with great potential. Just a woman, a good woman who loved him.

  “...Ken Chemus on Wildfire,” droned the announcer’s voice on the loudspeaker as he announced the upcoming event. “Mel Stratton will be riding Skoal off the Angel Blue ranch, and last but not least, we’ve got us a real treat today, folks,” the voice on the loudspeaker continued. “Some of you will remember him. He’s an old favorite here, an all-around cowboy in 1992, NFR champion Bull Rider in ’93. And a list longer than my arm of other championships in the Mountain State pro rodeo circuit and the national finals rodeo. He’s back after a long absence. Let’s hear it for Rafe Kellard, folks!”

  A cheer went up in the stands, but Rafe hardly heard it. He was too busy pulling a slip of paper from his wallet with the names Maynard, Barnes and Griffith on it. It had found its way there late one night, when his hand hovered over the phone in his den. He hadn’t used it then, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  He headed for the pay phone at the end of the arena. Mel saw him go.

  “Hey, Rafe! Where the hell you going? The event’s about to start!”

  “Something came up,” he told him without stopping.

  Mel grinned with a slow nod. “Yeah,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s about time somethin’ did.”

  Rafe punched in the numbers on the keypad and waited until a scratchy-voiced secretary answered.

  “Maynard, Barnes and Griffith. How may I help you?”

  Rafe’s mouth went dry. “Uh, hello. Can I...could you please connect me with Ms. Carly Jamison?”

  “Jamison?” the woman repeated in a perplexed voice. “One moment please.”

  Rafe waited. The next voice belonged to a man.

  “Jonathan Maynard here. Who’s calling?”

  “I think there’s been a mistake,” Rafe said. “I’m trying to reach Carly Jamison. She’s a new attorney at your firm. This is a friend of hers, Rafe Kellard.”

  “Uh,” Maynard hedged, “Mr. Kellard, Ms. Jamison’s not here.”

  Rafe frowned and felt his heart skip a beat. “Not there? You mean...she hasn’t started yet? But I thought—”

  “Not here as in not here, Mr. Kellard. Ms. Jamison changed her mind about our offer. She never came to Cincinnati.”

  Behind him, the crowd roared in response to a good ride, and Rafe covered his free ear with his palm. “What the hell are you talking about, never came? Of course she came. That’s where she was going. I saw her plane tickets.”

  “Well, something changed her plans, Mr. Kellard.”

  “Where is she? Did she tell you where she was going?”

  “I’m afraid I have no forwarding address for her. I’m sorry. Believe me, we were all very sorry to lose her.”

  Rafe hung up the phone and stared sightlessly at the straw-littered floor of the bam. His legs felt filled with lead. Not in Cincinnati?

  Where the hell could she be?

  Ten days.

  She’d been gone ten days. Had she gone back to L.A., where her friends were? Or somewhere else altogether? And why hadn’t she called him?

  Bracing one hand on the wall for support, he cursed foully and considered his options. He could call the airline her tickets were on, find out which flight she took out of town. He could hire a private detective...or call the police.

  In frustration, he lifted the receiver and banged it three times against the lever.

  “Wrong number?” came a female voice beside him.

  Rafe whirled. “Laurie!”

  “Or are you angry with the phone company now, too?”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “It’s Carly. She didn’t go to Cincinnati.”

  “I know.”

  “That Maynard guy? The partner? He said she just changed her mind and that he had no idea where she’d—” He stopped short. “What?”

  “I said, I know she didn’t go to Cincinnati.”

  He searched her face for a long, disbelieving moment. “You know? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask, Sherlock. And I wasn’t about to tell you until you got that giant Dorito off your shoulder. Jeez, Rafe, you can really be an—”

  “Where is she?”

  Laurie glanced at his hands, still bracketing her shoulders. He removed them gingerly. “Where is she, Laurie?”

  “She asked me not to tell you, not yet anyway. But frankly, I think she could use a little groveling on your part. She’s been pretty upset.”

  “Where. Laurie?”

  “She’s here in Durango.” She glanced at her watch. “For at least another... two hours, that is. She found a job at a law office in town, but she’s booked on a three-fifty-five flight to L.A. A business trip.”

  “She’s here? She stayed in Durango?” Rafe repeated idiotically. He couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes,” Laurie answered. “But I’ll let her tell you why.” Opening the flap on her purse, she withdrew a business card with the address of a law firm in town and handed it to him. “And if you’ve got half a brain in that thick head of yours, you’ll go and grab her before she leaves, and tell her what a numbskull you’ve been!”

  “Hey, Rafe!” called a cowboy from the standby area. “You’re up in two.”

  Rafe turned to Laurie, his heart pounding against his ears. “Numbskull doesn’t quite cover it, does it?” he said, and with a shake of her head, she agreed. He glanced at his watch and backed away from her, heading down the bam entryway. “Scratch my name with the announcer, will you?”

  She nodded with a self-satisfied grin. “Be happy to. Anything else?”

  “Yeah,
wish me luck!”

  “Good—” she called after him, but he was already gone. “Luck.” A smile spread across her face.

  Dan Burkholt passed a tray of freshly baked New York Bagel Company bagels around the conference table, past Jonathan Lindsey, Kay Header and Errol Halstrom, to Carly.

  “Best damned bagels in town,” Dan told her. “Like lox?”

  Errol made a comical face, and Carly suppressed a smile, slathering only cream cheese on hers.

  “Best damned lox this side of the Divide, too.”

  “You’ll have to forgive him, Carly,” Jonathan told her in a paternal sort of way. “Dan’s passionate about his bagels, which is why he’s part owner of the shop these came from. A shameless self-promoter.”

  “They’re delicious,” she said around her first bite.

  “Good answer,” Errol said, loudly enough for the whole table to hear.

  Dan sent Jonathan a See-there? look and smiled broadly at Carly. “I knew she was bright when I hired her.”

  “You hired her?” Jonathan said. “I hired her.”

  Kay held up the Hamilton lawsuit file, with a smile at Carly. “Now that we’ve established how clever we all are, can we talk about the Hamilton case, considering that Carly is out of here in exactly one hour and fifty-four minutes? I’m sorry this one fell on you, Carly, but with your experience with the L.A. courts, you’re the obvious choice for this one. Have you got everything you need?”

  Carly glanced through the file one last time, thinking not about the case, but about Evan, whom she’d left with Laurie for the three days she’d be gone. If all went well, she’d be back in two.

  To say she was reluctant to travel so soon would have been an understatement, but she’d taken this job with the understanding that she would consult on cases that involved California plaintiffs. She had yet to find her own place in town. Laurie had graciously extended an invitation to stay with her until they could. The search would simply have to wait anther two days.

  “There are one or two things in his deposition that I wanted to discuss—” she began, but a disturbance in the outer office drew all eyes toward the frosted-glass paneled door.