“See anyone I know?”
She studied him through her lashes. “Reese came in.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to see me.” They were lying so intimately close that she could feel the tension streak through him. It made her laugh softly and practically purr as she moved closer.
“Why, Easy, you couldn’t possibly be jealous of Reese, now could you?”
“Oh, hell, no. Why would I be jealous of him?”
“I can’t think of a single reason.”
He raised his right hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I can think of three offhand,” he muttered.
She caught his hand, holding on tightly when he tried to pull free “I’ve seen your hand before. I’ve touched it It’s touched me. I’m not appalled or sickened or repulsed by it.”
“You should be.”
“Why? Because it’s not as pretty as you would like?” She gave him a chastising look. “Pretty or not, it can still do everything you need. You can get dressed, you can write, you can drive, you can cook, you can undress me.” She punctuated the last with a kiss to his chin, then casually added, “You could saddle a horse. Hold the reins. Give him a good brushing.”
“Don’t, Shay,” he said sharply.
“Tell me you don’t miss the horses,” she whispered. “Tell me your heart doesn’t ache every time you see Cherokee or Buck. Tell me you don’t stand at the bedroom window every morning looking out back at that empty corral and wish there were horses in it—wish you could go outside and feed them and talk to them and just be with them.”
Grasping her arms, he forcibly lifted her away, then sat up and scowled at her. “I wish for a lot of things, Shay, and you know what? I can’t have them. Wishes are useless. Worthless.”
“Wishes can come true. I wished for you, and I got you.”
“That proves my point,” he said grimly as he struggled to his feet without the cane, took the few steps necessary to reach it, then leaned heavily on it. “You got me. Useless and worthless.”
Listening to his progress through the dining room into the kitchen, she blew out her breath, then jumped to her feet and went after him. “Listen up, cowboy—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What would you prefer that I call you?” she asked flippantly. “Stubborn? Pigheaded? Mulish? How about ‘O great love of my life’?”
He was standing at the sink, so all she could see was a small portion of his face, but that was enough to show the muscles in his jaw twitch to keep from smiling.
“How about Ezekiel?” She pronounced each syllable of the name he was none too fond of distinctly, with great emphasis.
“No one calls me that,” he said with a scowl.
“And gets away with it? Ooh. You’d have to catch me to punish me, and I think I can outrun you.” When he turned to give her the full effect of that scowl, she planted her hands on her hips. “Just for the record, one of these days we are going to have horses here.”
“This is my house, my property. You don’t have a say—”
“There’s no way I’m going to raise our children in the country and deny them the thrill of having their own horses.”
“We don’t have any children.”
“Not yet.”
His gaze dropped to her stomach, as flat as it’d ever been. “There’s no way—”
She waited, but he didn’t go on. “No way what? That I’m pregnant? It only takes one time, Easy, and by my count, we have definitely made love more than once.”
“What makes you think I even want kids?”
“Because that’s the only future you ever wanted—you and me, this place, paints and kids. Boys who would break every record their old man had ever set, and girls who would break every heart their mother had left intact.”
For a moment he looked as if he wanted to argue, then he gave in none too graciously. “All right. When we have kids, we’ll have horses.”
“So we’d better start with Gambler.”
He shook his head.
“Easy, you’re not the only one who lost something in that accident. Gambler’s career was ended, too. He went through a lot of pain, too, and he’s still recovering—just like you. Only he lost you. The one person who trained him, rode him, took care of him, traveled with him and loved him walked out of his life.”
“He doesn’t miss me,” he muttered.
“You don’t believe that.”
“He doesn’t need me.”
She shook her head emphatically. “You’re doing the same thing to that horse that you did to us. You feel the need to punish yourself, but it’s Gambler who’s suffering.”
“He’s not suffering. He’s living like a king at my uncle’s place.”
“He should be living like a king here. With you. With us.”
He went to the back door and stared out. She remained where she was, hands clenched, her breathing shallow but steady. After a long, still moment, he spoke. “I didn’t want to go shopping, but I went—for you—and look how it turned out. I don’t want Gambler here, and if I bring him—for you—”
“Don’t do it for me. Do it for you. And for him. Do it for all the years he took care of you—all the years you loved him.” Deciding it was time to lighten the moment a little, she forced a smile. “Do it because, then, the next time I pressure you to go shopping, you’ll have a reason not to go.”
Absently he replied, “You promised yesterday that you wouldn’t ask again.”
“But I probably lied.”
After a time he glanced at her. “What about earlier? When you called me the great love of your life. Was that a lie?”
Solemnly she shook her head. “God’s honest truth. But then, so was the stubborn and pigheaded part.”
His smile was faint and tinged with sadness “I could say the same about you.”
“That I’m stubborn and pigheaded?”
“That,” he agreed, then came to stand only inches in front of her. “And the rest.”
Shay felt warm and tingly, as if he’d just given her the most romantic, flowery declaration of love ever, and his gentle kiss only intensified the sensations. His next words practically made her melt into a puddle on the floor.
“No promises. But I’ll think about it—about Gambler.”
“That’s all I ever wanted.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave him a slow, deep, hungry kiss that curled her toes and sent shivers down his spine. When she drew back, she sighed dreamily. “Well... almost all.”
Chapter 11
Over the next few days they painted the dining room a pale peach and the living room a deeper coral shade. The new appliances were delivered, the new countertop installed, and Shay was collecting catalogs for Easy to choose furniture from. Not once did she ask him to go anywhere Not once did she bring up the subject of Gambler.
She didn’t need to When he was alone, the horse was all he could think about.
He wasn’t alone now—she was in his bed asleep—but the horse was on his mind so much that he’d dreamed about him. About loading him into the trailer. Securing the gate. Heading off down the road, even though it was late, even though he was tired. Negotiating the narrow, winding highway
The first squeal of tires on pavement had awakened him. His eyes had popped open, and his heart had threatened to pound through his chest. His skin had been slick with sweat, and his breathing had been ragged, but beside him Shay had slept on.
Now he sat on the couch in the darkened living room, the remote in hand, a videotape in the VCR. The tape was one of the few things he’d brought from his parents’ house, and he’d stored it in the back corner of the highest shelf in the bedroom closet. Parts of it had been filmed by a friend’s wife, others by his folks on their rare trips to see him ride.
He’d never watched the tape—had always thought it was something he would save for when he was retired and raising his horses and kids and needed to relive a little of his former glory. He was
n’t sure he had the nerve to watch it now.
But he would never know, he thought as he pushed Play, then Mute, unless he tried.
His rides were never long—out of the gate, rope the calf, truss him up, all in nine seconds or less. It took him longer to collect his rope and leave the arena with Gambler when he was done.
He didn’t remember the particular rodeos, or whether he’d won or lost, but he remembered the thrill. The satisfaction when his time was good. The frustration when he’d been sloppy. The thrill no matter what. He’d loved the rodeo, loved being the best and being with Gambler.
He also remembered the ritual, caught here on tape time after time, of looking up in the stands once he’d secured the calf. He remembered how it felt to see Shay there, her worry turned to relief whether he’d won or not. He remembered how it felt in later years, when she wasn’t there. It had taken away some of his pleasure in the ride—but he’d still loved it.
He watched the tape all the way to the end, rewound it and watched it again. Gambler had been so fast, and he had been so agile, leaping to the ground while the horse was still moving, dropping the calf to the ground, wrapping the pigging string he carried between his teeth around three of the struggling calf’s hooves, throwing his hands in the air when he was finished, then remounting Gambler, putting slack in the rope and waiting to see if the calf stayed secure for at least six seconds. He was so graceful, Shay had often told him, and now he could appreciate the compliment. He had been graceful and quick and limber.
Now he was awkward, clumsy and slow.
He had been a champion. Now he was a loser. Afraid of his horse. Afraid of his life.
He played it one last tune, going through some segments frame by frame. He had expected that seeing himself and Gambler both healthy and whole, working so well together would leave him feeling melancholy, and to some extent it did. He’d been damned good at what he did and, in an instant, he’d lost it. Unlike most cowboys, he hadn’t been given the chance to slow down, to retire, but instead his career had been violently taken away from him, leaving him with nothing.
Except enough money to take care of himself And this house. Thirty acres of good land. An ideal place to pamper a horse who’d given his best. Another shot at being friends with Guthrie. Another chance at being more than friends with Shay.
He’d lost a lot, it was true. But all in all, things could be worse. He could be dead. Alone. Unbearably lonely. And with or without the accident, it had been time for him to kiss that life goodbye. He’d had a good sixteen years, but they hadn’t always been easy. Age had been creeping up on him, making it harder to compete against cowboys practically young enough to be his son. Even without the accident, he would have retired in another year or two, anyway Instead. he had merely retired a year or two early.
Without the accident, he would have come back here to this house, bought some horses and started his next career. Now...he had the house. Down in Texas he had a horse. He just needed the career.
There was a whisper of sound from the dining room, then Shay came through the doorway. She watched the silent screen for a moment, then bent to wrap her arms around his neck. He pulled her onto his lap and held her close while they watched together.
After the last ride on the tape played—his last National Finals championship—he pushed Pause, freezing his image on the screen.
“I remember that day,” she whispered. “I cried.”
“So did I.” A slight exaggeration, but he’d damn sure felt like crying.
“I was so happy you won.”
“And I was so sad you weren’t there.”
“God, you were good.”
“I was.” It wasn’t a boast, just simple agreement. For a lot of years, he’d been the best. But that part of his life was over. He’d always known it wouldn’t last forever, but he’d also known it would be hard to give up “Maybe...maybe I can be good at something else. I might be amazed at what I can accomplish if I just believe I can.”
She twisted around to look at him. “Good advice. Where’d you hear it?”
“From a very wise woman.”
Her smile became smug. “We Stephens women have brains and we’re not afraid to use them.”
“Meaning?”
When she shook her head, her hair brushed his arm and the faint, familiar fragrances that had long haunted him drifted up to him. “It’s a long story about wrestling with pigs, suicide, homicide and snatching people bald. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Oh, I do,” he disagreed. “But not at the moment.”
He rewound the tape, listening to the whir until it stopped, then shut off the television, leaving them in the dark. It was cozy in the dark. “Your birthday’s coming up soon. What are your plans?”
“Spending it with you.”
“What are your mother’s plans?”
“She mentioned a party around the pool, provided the weather holds. You should go.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the last time I spent any time alone at one of those parties, I kissed my fiance’s best friend and fell in love.”
“You try that now, and his wife will snatch you bald.”
“I could hold my own against Olivia,” she boasted.
“Hmm.”
“You doubt me?”
“No. Never.” She stretched lazily against him, and he held her closer, absorbing her warmth. By his reckoning, it was after three o’clock, and she had to be at work in just a few hours. He wished she would stay home with him so they could sleep in late and make love when the mid-morning sun finally woke them. But he wouldn’t ask her to. The café was her job, her business. Until they were married, until she got pregnant, his advice on her hours wasn’t called for.
Until she got pregnant... Last weekend when Olivia had made her announcement, Shay had been happy, no doubt, but there’d also been a wistful look in her eyes. The next day, when she’d made a reference to her own eventual pregnancy, the wistful look had been in his eyes. How long would it take? As she’d pointed out, it only took one time. What if one of their many times had already taken? What if she was already pregnant?
He couldn’t imagine anything that could make him happier.
She sighed softly, then stirred. “You ready for bed?”
“Yeah.”
She stood up and stretched, then went to the VCR, removed the tape and returned it to its box. “Be sure you put this up where nothing can happen to it. I want to watch it again.”
“So do I,” he remarked, surprising both her, he suspected, and himself.
They went to the bedroom, and he put the tape in his sock drawer while she climbed into bed. He stripped off his jeans, eased into bed beside her, settled his head on the pillow that smelled of her. “Shay?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“I’m going to call Uncle Tony tomorrow. I’m going to ask him to send Gambler up here.”
She was still for a long time, then she claimed his hand and held it tightly. “I think that’s a good idea, Easy,” she said, her voice husky and quavery.
“So do I,” he whispered.
He hoped they were right.
The first Saturday of October was bright, with the chilly mornings and comfortable days that were typical of early fall in Oklahoma. The leaves were starting to change color, and there was a crisp, clean end-of-summer-get-ready-forwinter smell in the air.
Easy was up, dressed and outside by the time Shay woke. She pulled on jeans and a sweater, poured herself a cup of coffee and went looking for him. She found him on the front porch swing with his own cup of coffee.
She closed the screen door, then leaned against the post at the top of the steps. “Want some breakfast?”
“What would you do if I said yes?”
“Get in my car and drive down to Mom’s to beg a dozen of her doughnuts.”
He smiled but shook his head. “Any chance Mary can teach you to make those doughnuts? It’d be a nice tradition to carry on f
or her grandchildren.”
“Darlin’, you give her grandchildren, and she will happily come over here every single day and fix breakfast, lunch and dinner.” She watched the steam rising from her coffee for a moment before asking, “What time is your uncle’s foreman supposed to get here?”
“Sometime before noon.”
“Are you anxious?”
His smile was shaky. “Yeah. I don’t know—”
“Don’t worry about it, Easy. We’ll work it out.”
He studied her intently for so long that she began to wonder if she’d put her clothes on inside out or sprouted an extra nose overnight. As she shifted self-consciously—brushing her hair, tugging at her clothes—he bluntly asked, “When are you going to marry me?”
Relieved that marriage was all that was on his mind, she smiled. “I’ve waited fourteen years to be asked.”
“Will you marry me?”
It wasn’t the romantic proposal girls dreamed about. There was no candlelight, no soft music, flowers or waiting diamond ring. It was simple and to the point—the straightforward question of a man who knew what he wanted. For that reason, it meant more to her than all the hearts and flowers in the world.
She gave him the same sort of answer. “Yes, I will.”
“When?”
Cupping her hands to the coffee cup, she gazed out across the pasture that fronted the house. In the timber across the road on Guthrie’s property, patches of fog spread where the ground dipped lower, like thin, gray-white clouds come to ground. She watched them for a moment before turning to Easy again. “How about the day you feel comfortable standing up in church in front of our families and all our friends?”
The intensity of his gaze didn’t lessen. “So you did lie—about not asking me to go anywhere.”
“What kind of wedding did you have in mind? You and me, Guthrie and Olivia, Mom and Dad, with old Judge Thompson in the living room?”
“Do we really need your mom and dad?” he asked, then held up his hand before she could respond. “Just kidding. You want a real wedding.”
“For a real marriage. Fancy that.”
One minute passed, then another. She sipped her coffee, watched a hawk swoop from one tree to another and listened to the uneven tenor of her own quiet breathing. Finally he sighed. “No promises. But I’ll think about it.”
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