The Horseman's Bride

by Marilyn Pappano

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded vaguely, as if she wasn’t entirely sure that she shared his sentiment. “Elly says you can’t have horses no more. Do you want to go see my horse?”

  “I—” Would rather not. Would rather never see another horse again. Don’t want to get that close to Buck. Don’t want to see that paint or the gray or the chestnut or even the ponies.

  “My horse’s name is Angel, and he’s very gentle,” Emma said. She got to her feet and held out her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He stared at her hand for a long moment—so small, so steady—and wished for some easy way to say no, but his mind was blank.

  “It’s late, Em,” Guthrie said. “Maybe he would rather—”

  “It’s all right.” The words came in his voice, though Easy would have sworn on his life that It’s all right were the last words on his mind. Agreeing to limp all the way back to the corral to look at horses was definitely the last thing he wanted to do. But instead of taking the words back, he reached for his cane and got to his feet, and Emma tucked her hand into his right hand.

  “I wanna come, too,” Elly said, jumping up from the quilt, and her father stood up, too.

  Elly raced ahead, came back and circled around them, then ran forward again. By the time they reached the corral, she was straddling the top fence rail and Cherokee was nuzzling her. Emma climbed onto the rail, too, and gave a sharp whistle. From the opposite corner of the corral, her pony trotted over.

  “This is Angel,” she said proudly.

  Easy stood a half dozen feet back and wished it were a half dozen miles. “He’s a beauty.”

  “He’s a pinto,” Emma said matter-of-factly, “and he’s got good color.”

  He smiled faintly at hearing the technical term in that soft, little-girl voice. “You’re raising two horse-smart kids,” he remarked to Guthrie, standing beside him.

  “El’s going to be a rancher someday,” Guthrie replied, his voice low enough that the kids couldn’t hear. “We thought Em was going to be the prissy, spoiled wife of a rancher, but she might surprise us all and go into your business.”

  He didn’t have a business, Easy thought with a lump in his throat. He didn’t have much of a future at all, except Shay.

  “Would you believe, when they came here in June, Liv wouldn’t go near the horses and Emma was terrified of everything? Now they act like they’ve lived here all their lives.”

  “And, of course, Elly just fit right in from the start,” Easy said dryly.

  “You bet. If they’d stayed in Atlanta, I can’t imagine how she would have fit into the pampered Southern-belle role. Not too well, I think.”

  They watched the girls for a moment, identical twins petting almost identical ponies. As Elly rubbed Cherokee between the eyes, Guthrie broke the silence again. “It’s a sign of complete trust for a horse to let you touch him in his blind spot. You taught me that. It’s pretty much the same for Emma to make a gesture of friendship to an adult”

  “I thought so.” Easy hesitated before adding, “I’m honored.”

  “You should be.” Guthne’s grin slowly faded as Buck came to the fence. “What happened to your horse?”

  “My horse?”

  “I assume he was with you when you had the wreck. Was he injured?”

  Easy’s chest grew tight. “Yeah. It—it tore up his leg—condylar and spiral fractures of the metatarsal. The first person to come along was a local rancher. He called the state police and his vet. It required a lot more effort and manpower to get Gambler out than me.” The rancher had promised him they’d do their best to save the horse, and they had. He’d been so grateful.

  So damn grateful—and yet he hadn’t seen Gambler since. Hadn’t checked on him. Hadn’t helped with his care. Hadn’t even called to ask how well he had recovered.

  “But you didn’t have to put him down.”

  Easy shook his head.

  “Where is he now?”

  “At my uncle’s place down around Austin. He can’t be ridden ... certainly can’t be used to compete anymore.”

  “He’s living the easy life, huh?”

  The easy life. He supposed that was one way of looking at it.

  “What about you?” Guthrie asked.

  Easy turned his head sharply to look at him. “What about me?”

  “What are your plans? What are you going to do, besides make up for lost time with Shay?”

  He stared hard into the darkness on the far side of the corral. “I don’t have any plans. I can’t ride. I can’t work horses anymore. I can’t do much of anything.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The doctors said—”

  “From what I understand, they also said you probably wouldn’t walk again.” Guthrie gestured toward Easy’s legs. “It looks to me like those are your own two feet, and they get you where you’re going. Besides, you don’t have to ride to raise horses. Remember our plans—my cattle, your paints? I’ve got the cattle. Where are the paints?”

  “I can’t—”

  “Come on, Easy,” Guthrie interrupted. “I never heard you say I can’t in your life. You always thought you could do everything—anything. What happened?”

  “I got older. I damn near got killed. I got smarter.”

  “You got scared.”

  Easy turned to face him. “What is it with you people?” he demanded harshly. “I’m not scared. I’m just trying to accept reality, and for me that reality is—”

  “That you’re scared. There was a time when you were the only man in this entire damn state who had the nerve to get within fifty feet of Buck. Now you’re afraid to walk six feet to the fence and pet him.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Easy said flatly. It was just too damn hard getting close to something he wanted desperately and could never have. It’d be like spending time with Shay while she was happily married to someone else. It would be painful and sad, and he’d had enough pain and sadness in his life. He damn sure didn’t need to go looking for more.

  “Then prove it. Walk over there to that horse whose life you saved fourteen years ago and see if he remembers you. Renew your friendship.”

  Easy looked from Guthrie to the horse, who seemed to know that they were talking about him, then stubbornly shook his head. He started walking, all right—not toward the fence, but back to the house. “I don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he muttered as he went.

  Guthrie gathered the girls and caught up with him too easily. “You’re right,” he said conversationally. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone else—except yourself.”

  “Not even myself.”

  “It’s just that you relate better to horses than anyone I’ve ever known. It seems a shame to waste that.”

  “It wasn’t my decision. Blame whatever or whoever decided to send my truck off that road and let me survive like this.”

  Guthrie stopped him with his hand on his arm. “Like this?” he repeated. “You’re alive. You’re well. You’ve got your property. You’ve got Shay. Hell, you’ve got us. I’d say you’re pretty damn lucky.”

  Pretty damn lucky. Easy looked at Shay, sitting in a pool of yellow light, her head tossed back in laughter at something Olivia had said. After a moment, sensing him, she looked his way, and a lovely, full-of-promise smile slowly lit her face. She was so beautiful, so special. If he lost everything in the world but her, it would be enough.

  He just didn’t know how to stop wanting more.

  Shay was taking a break once the after-church dinner rush was over when Reese Barnett came into the café. He circled behind the counter to get himself a cup of coffee, then joined her in the booth. “You know, Sheriff,” she said dryly, “this is a full-service establishment. We usually try to wait on our customers.”

  He made a negating gesture as he spooned sugar into the cup. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring myself a cup of coffee. Busy day?”

  “The usual.” With a twist—
gossip about Easy. No one had come right out and asked her if Easy really had torn into Chns Taylor, or if he really did present a threat to himself or anyone else, but everyone, it seemed, had mentioned his name. “What are you doing in uniform? I thought the sheriff always got weekends off.”

  “That wouldn’t be quite fair to the deputies, would it?”

  “When they become sheriff, they’ll think it’s more than fair.”

  “I try to give everyone a weekend off now and then.” He shrugged, then changed the subject. “How’s Rafferty?”

  “Easy’s fine. Why? Have you heard different?”

  “I got a call.”

  “Let me guess. From Inez Taylor.”

  “She wanted to know if we were all safe in our beds at night.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Shay said scornfully. “She wanted to stir up trouble.”

  Reese gave her an aggravated look. “I know that. She’s just mad because you two weren’t properly appreciative of Chris’s concern. You know, if the Taylors really are Heartbreak’s social elite, the way they claim, then I’m damn glad I was born poor trash.”

  Shay slapped his hand. “Reese Barnett, you were not! It would break your daddy’s heart to hear you say that! Besides, the only place the Taylors are socially elite is in Inez’s and Chris’s own minds.”

  “They’re so bigoted that they don’t even recognize their own bigotry. Inez thought Chris was displaying such class and generosity by summoning up some pity for the poor Indian cripple.” He shook his head in dismay.

  “Neither Inez nor Chris would recognize class if it bit them on the—” Shay broke off and managed a wry smile. “So what else is going on in Heartbreak?”

  “The same old nothin’. It’s a quiet town, as you well know.”

  “That I do. But it’s home and we love it.”

  The bell over the door rang, drawing their attention that way. “Well, well,” Reese said softly. “There’s someone you don’t see out and about every day.”

  “There’s someone I’ve never seen out and about.” Shay slid out of the booth and went to the counter as Grace Prescott stopped near the end, clutching a thermos in both hands. Her brown dress was drab and plain and gave her a more washed-out appearance than usual. The beige cardigan she wore against the afternoon chill was much too big on her thin frame, and the thick glasses that kept slipping down her nose magnified the shadows under her eyes. The poor kid never looked good, Shay thought sympathetically, but today she looked downright awful.

  “Still fighting that cold, Grace?”

  “C-cold? I—I—” She pushed her glasses up, then bobbed her head and sent them sliding down again. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Shay gestured toward the thermos. “You need some coffee?”

  After another startled pause, Grace bobbed her head again. In her beige and brown, with her big eyes opened wide, she looked so much like a baby owl that it would be laughable, if it weren’t so sad.

  “Can I have the thermos?” Shay asked gently, and Grace abruptly thrust it out, then folded her hands into the too-long sleeves of her sweater.

  Reese left the booth and came to sit a few stools down. “How’s it going, Grace?”

  “H-h-how is—is what g-going?”

  Her response caught Reese off guard. He gave Shay a look, then shrugged. “Life. Is everything okay at the store? At home? Are you keeping busy?”

  “Y-yes.”

  They both waited for her to elaborate, but of course she didn’t. Shay tightened the lid on the thermos, then set it on the counter. “There you go.”

  “How m-much?”

  Shay waved her hand carelessly. “No charge. Just take it.”

  “No, I can’t—” Digging in her pocket, Grace pulled out two one-dollar bills. “My—my father...” For a moment, she seemed to be searching for words, but gave up when they wouldn’t come.

  Shay understood. Jed Prescott didn’t take anything from anyone. He never did anyone a favor and wouldn’t accept one—certainly not from a woman. If Grace went back with two dollars and free coffee, he would be furious. If she secreted the two bucks and went back with coffee and no change, he would also be furious.

  She estimated how much coffee it had taken to fill the carafe, then named a price. “A buck and a quarter—is that enough?”

  Grace nodded quickly and laid the money on the counter, scooped up the thermos and the change and darted out the door.

  With a heavy sigh, Shay picked up the two bills “The first—and probably last—money Jed Prescott ever spent in my café. Just touching it makes me feel dirty.” She deposited it in the cash register, then returned to lean on the counter beside Reese. “Wouldn’t you love to know what goes on in that family?”

  “I’ve got my theories.”

  “We’ve all got theories, Sheriff, but none of us does anything about them.”

  “What can we do? Prescott’s got her afraid of her own shadow. If she doesn’t come to us for help, we can’t help her. And she’s never gonna come to us for help.”

  “If her life were a story, Prince Charming would come galloping up on a white steed and sweep her off to his kingdom to live happily ever after.”

  “Sorry. I think Heartbreak is flat out of Prince Charmings.” Reese paid for his coffee and left the change for a tip, then headed for the door. “See you around, Shay.”

  She waved goodbye, then went back to leaning on the counter, her chin on her hand. Reese was wrong. Heartbreak had one Prince Charming left. Well, okay, so his princely crown was a little tarnished, and he wasn’t always so charming these days, but he would do for her. In fact, he was perfect for her.

  He’d had a good time at the Harrises’ last night. They’d gone home, put on a CD and danced in the moonlight, and then they’d made love, and afterward she’d lain in his arms and thought that she needed absolutely nothing more to be blissfully satisfied. Nothing. Just Easy, the moonlight and the love.

  But this morning she’d awakened once again to find him standing at the window, staring out at the corral with such longing. Maybe she needed nothing else, but he did. He needed a purpose. Another chance. A future.

  He needed a horse.

  But how to convince him of that?

  She heaved a great melancholy sigh and, as if in response, Geraldine came out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you go on home?” the older woman suggested.

  “We’ve only got an hour to close.”

  “Yeah, and a dining room full of nobody. Go on. You look like you could use the rest.”

  Shay straightened and fixed a chagrined look on her. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one robbing you of your sleep. I just call ‘em as I see ’em.” Geraldine’s smile softened the lines of her face. “Go on. Go see that mule-headed cowboy of yours. He’s all you’ve been thinking about all day.”

  “We already let Amalia leave early. What if you get busy after I’m gone?”

  “There’s not a crowd in this whole county that I can’t handle all by my lonesome,” the waitress said huffily. “Go on now. And take some food. That boy’s still recuperating. He doesn’t need to be subjected to your cooking until he’s back to full strength.”

  Shay gave her a dry look as she untied the apron around her waist. “I’ll have you know that Easy doesn’t have any complaints about my cooking.”

  “’Cause he’s too smart to eat it. When’s he gonna come in and see us?”

  “The day you all go blind,” Shay said quietly, regretfully.

  Geraldine clucked her tongue. “Self-conscious about his looks, huh? Like any of us care.”

  “Maybe we don’t, but he does.” She’d learned that lesson yesterday. She wished she could be strong enough to never pressure him about going out again, but she wasn’t. She wanted him to be a part of her entire life, and that meant sometimes going places—to her folks’ house, out to dinner, maybe to a movie once in a while. She would love for him to come by the café and have breakfast with
her or maybe drink a cup of coffee while she closed up in the evening. She’d be thrilled to go with him to the Founders’ Day barbecue in June or to the Christmas parade in Buffalo Plains in December, to a Heartbreak High football game in the fall or to church with her parents on Easter Sunday.

  She didn’t want to live two lives, one safe at home with Easy and the other encompassing everything and everyone else. It wasn’t fair to him or her. It certainly wasn’t fair to any children they might have.

  “Hey, Earth to Shay.” Geraldine gave her a shake. “Get that goofy grin off your face and get on out of here I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Impulsively Shay gave her a hug, then went into the kitchen to fill two foam containers with food. With a wave to Manuel, she headed out the back door and to her car.

  In the hours that she’d been at work, so had Easy. The wallpaper job that they’d started in the living room the afternoon before was finished, and the trim had been painted in the dining room. He was taking a break when she arrived, stretched out on the sofa looking for something to watch on TV.

  “You’re home early,” he said, muting the volume when she walked through the door.

  Home. She liked the sound of that—liked it a lot. “After the church people, we don’t have a lot of business on Sundays, so Geraldine made me leave.”

  “She made you, huh? Doesn’t she work for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So doesn’t that make you the boss?”

  “Not with Geraldine.” She put the food in the refrigerator, then came back to sit beside him. He didn’t have to seriously coax to get her to lie down facing him. “You were busy. It looks good.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  “You have a good eye and good hands. The first time I hung wallpaper, I went through an entire roll before I got it right.”

  “Don’t look behind the couch”

  She raised up to peek and saw several long rolls twisted and glued back on themselves. “Good. I’d hate to think you were that much better than me.” She snuggled close to him again, and he began rubbing her neck and shoulder. “Umm, that feels good. It’s been a long day.”