The Horseman's Bride

by Marilyn Pappano

  “That’s what you said about Gambler—and there he is.”

  A red pickup towing a horse trailer turned into the driveway. Easy set his coffee down, then spilled it as he stood up. Shay set her own cup on the rail and together they went down the steps and headed out back.

  The driver came toward the house, then curved off to the left on the trail that led to the barn. By the time they reached the clearing, he’d turned the truck around so it was pointed out again, climbed out and gone to the back to open the gate and lower the ramp.

  The animal he led out was magnificent. Pure black quarter horses weren’t easy to come by, and they fetched a pretty penny when they sold, but Gambler had been worth double the price for sheer beauty alone. The rising sun gleamed off his coat as he took a long, steady look around his new home, then ducked his head low to delicately nibble the grass in front of him.

  “Oh, Easy,” she whispered. The horse was an awesome reminder of the dozens of times she’d seen them in the arena. They’d looked so incredible together—better matched than any other cowboy and horse she’d ever seen—and they had always performed incredibly, too. They’d been quite a sight—masculine perfection in both human and equine form.

  She took a couple steps forward before it registered that Easy hadn’t moved. Hesitating, she looked back and saw that he was staring at the horse as if it were his worst nightmare come to life. In spite of the cool temperature, sweat beaded across his forehead, and his knuckles were white where they clutched the cane.

  Her heart sank as she returned to him. “Easy?”

  “This was a mistake,” he said, his jaw clenched so tightly that his mouth barely moved. “Tell him to take him back to Texas.”

  “Easy, please—”

  “Tell him.” Spinning around so quickly that he nearly stumbled, he headed back to the house.

  She watched him a moment, then looked back at Gambler, debating which one she should see to first. The horse won. Crossing to him, she held out her hand so he could sniff it, then stroked his neck. “Oh, Gambler, you’re a beauty,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten just how handsome you are. It’s been a long time. You probably don’t even remember me.”

  “Give him lots of attention, and it don’t matter to him whether he remembers you,” the foreman said, then flushed. “No offense, ma’am.”

  “None taken. How was your trip?”

  “Uneventful. The best kind. You want him in there?” He nodded toward the corral. Guthrie had come over the day before, and he and Easy had replaced the broken boards and oiled the gate. Guthrie had brought a small stock tank, a fifty-gallon barrel and a bag of feed to fill it and fresh hay. Everything was ready.

  Except Easy.

  “Not yet. He looks good. Does he require any special care?”

  The man shook his head. “Just feed and attention. His leg’s about as healed as it’s ever gonna get. They had to do surgery—put some pins in.”

  Like Easy. Still perfectly matched. “He hardly limps.”

  “Just a bit. It gets more noticeable when he’s tired. He’s pretty much okay. He’s just not going to be doing any fast or fancy maneuvers.”

  Again, like Easy. Shay walked around the horse, noticing the sheen of his coat, the fine line of muscle and ligament, the obvious impression of power. When she reached the foreman again, she gave him a heartfelt smile. “He’s beautiful.”

  “That he is. It’s a shame he can’t do what he trained for—a shame he can’t be bred.” He looked toward the house, where Easy was just walking around the corner. “It’s a shame he can’t do what he trained for.”

  “No, but he can be bred,” Shay said slyly.

  The man looked startled, as if he didn’t know whether to be amused or embarrassed. He settled on both with an disconcerted chuckle. “You have everything you need?”

  “We’re all set. I’d invite you in for breakfast, but my culinary skills are well-known and well-mocked around here. Would you like a cup of coffee? I didn’t make it.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll stop in town on my way back.”

  “Go to the Heartbreak Café. Tell ’em Shay said to set you up right.”

  “I’ll do that.” He handed her the reins, then closed up the ramp and locked the gate. “Tell Mr. Rafferty that his aunt and uncle send their regards and they’d like to hear from him sometime.”

  “I will.” Shay led Gambler away from the truck, then watched as the man drove off. When he was gone, she turned the horse loose in the corral, put out feed and checked the water, then leaned on the fence and simply watched him for a time.

  Finally, with a shiver, she returned to the house. She collected her mug from the porch rail, picked up Easy’s where it’d fallen under the swing, then went inside.

  He was working in the front bedroom—the room farthest from the corral, with nothing out the windows but empty pasture. She stopped in the doorway, leaned against the frame and folded her arms over her chest. “He’s gone.”

  He stopped sanding the window frame to face her. “Thank you.”

  His expression was so heavy with relief that she knew he’d misunderstood. It almost made her hate what she had to say next. “Gambler’s out back.”

  His features grew hard and dark. “Why?”

  “Because you sent for him.”

  “I told you—”

  “And I ignored you.”

  His eyes glinted dangerously. “Get him out of here. I don’t want him here.”

  She took a deep breath, seeking patience, and blew it out slowly as she moved farther into the room. “He’s not a package that you can just toss on the first truck headed out of here. This is a horse who’s made a long trip at your request. He’s tired, he’s settling in, and he’s not going anywhere.”

  “I hauled him all over the damn country. He’s used to long trips. Head toward town, catch the foreman, and have him take him back.”

  “No.”

  “Then I will.” He dropped the sandpaper to the windowsill, grabbed his cane and started toward the door.

  She waited until he passed her to speak. “Easy, if you send that horse back, then I’m leaving, too.”

  Her words stopped him in his tracks. For a long moment the room was utterly still. Hell, the entire world had gone utterly still. No birds sang, no planes flew overhead, no one even breathed. There was just silence—cold, stunned silence.

  Then he moved. The floor creaked. The rubber cane tip squeaked on the wood plank as he turned. Slowly she turned, too, to face his anger.

  “What did you say?” His question was deadly quiet, his dark eyes made darker by scorn.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hearing. I said if you send Gambler away, I’m leaving, too.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Shay.”

  “It’s not a threat.”

  “What happened to you love me, you want to marry me? What happened to ‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll work it out’?”

  She knotted her hands together as she approached him. “Easy, I’m willing to make all the concessions in the world if you’ll just make one. I’ll be a damn recluse. I’ll live out here with you and we’ll never go anywhere, never see anybody, never do anything. I’ll do all the things couples are supposed to do together by myself. I’ll even marry you with no one but Mom and Dad and Guthrie and Olivia and old Judge Thompson in the living room. But you have to give me something in return.”

  He stared at her for a time, then gave a stunned shake of his head as he turned away. “Jeez, I guess I got stupid somewhere along the way. I thought that marrying you, having a relationship with you, that I was giving you—Well, hell, I don’t know. Me. Obviously you don’t agree. You see marrying me as some great sacrifice that you’re willing to make for—for what? If I’m not giving you anything, why in the hell would you want to marry me?”

  Heat flushed her face and made her voice unsteady. “That’s not what I meant, Easy, you know—”

  “What do you get out of being wi
th me? Do the people in town think more highly of you for your kindness to the poor Indian cripple? Are you just stroking your own ego—proving that even though I left you six years ago, you’ve still got what it takes to bring me to my knees? Are you that eager to get married, afraid those kids won’t come if you wait much longer? What the hell is it, Shay?”

  He shouted the last words, and they vibrated between them, making her flinch. Still, when she spoke, her voice was quiet, steady. “You know I love you, Easy. I’ve loved you so long and so much that I wouldn’t know how to stop if I wanted. I loved you when you were brash and bold, and I still love you now that you’re not. Just being with you makes my life complete. But I can’t make your life complete. I can’t give meaning or purpose to your life. But that horse can. That horse can make the difference between your living or merely surviving.”

  “You could have done it, Shay. I thought you had done it.” He shook his head bleakly. “Like I said, I must’ve gotten stupid somewhere.” His limp was more pronounced than usual as he walked to the door, where he paused. “Make whatever arrangements you have to, but I want the horse out of here.”

  He was in the hall before she found the courage to ask, “What about me?”

  This time he didn’t turn back. He stopped, and for an instant his shoulders rounded. Then he lifted his head, straightened his spine and coolly said, “I want you out of here, too.”

  It was a lie.

  Not five seconds after the screen door had closed behind Shay, Easy had wanted to run after her and tell her that he’d lied. But he couldn’t run, and even if he could have, he couldn’t have asked her to stay.

  She had come back that night, pulling her car right up to the barn, using the headlights to see while she fed Gambler and checked his water. Easy had watched from the kitchen window, hiding in the dark, and he’d wondered whether she would come to the house to talk to him.

  She hadn’t.

  She’d come back Sunday morning, too, before dawn, repeated the routine and left again. This time she had stopped by the house, but she hadn’t knocked at the door. She hadn’t wanted to see him. She’d just left a note, trapped between the screen door and the frame, saying that her father had agreed to keep Gambler at his place and she would be over to pick him up as soon as Jim returned from a buying trip with the horse trailer.

  In the meantime he worked. The front bedroom was ready for papering and painting. So was the hallway, and he was about half-done with the preparatory work in the bathroom. He didn’t know why he worked. He didn’t have the paper or the paint, and he damn well wasn’t going to go into town to get them. He just needed something to keep him busy, to stop him from brooding.

  Something to keep him away from the back windows.

  He’d made a point of not looking at Gambler. That instant’s glance when the horse had come out of the trailer had been enough—enough to see the limp, to notice the foot-long scar on his leg, to know he couldn’t do this. Gambler was the best horse any cowboy had ever had—loyal, smart, talented as hell—and now he was reduced to living the rest of his life as a cripple.

  And he had Easy to thank for it. Or hate for it.

  He damn well hated himself.

  He was sitting in the dark Sunday evening, nothing but the television, a bowl of popcorn and a beer for company, when headlights cut across the yard. Shifting his gaze to the side window, he watched as a pickup drove past—a pickup without a trailer—then turned back to the television.

  Fifteen minutes later footsteps sounded heavily on the porch, then a knock at the door. He didn’t respond, but Guthne had never waited for an invitation before entering this house.

  He hesitated in the doorway, glanced around, then settled his gaze on the beer. “Mind if I join you in a drink?”

  “It’s in the refrigerator.”

  Guthrie went to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of beer. He hung his jacket on the back of the rocker, then sat down, and in silence they watched television until a commercial break. “Well?”

  Easy didn’t look at him. “Well what?”

  “What went wrong?”

  “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

  “Let’s see... Shay came by the house, and she’d obviously been crying. She’s taking care of your horse while you sit here in the dark and drink. What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Easy said with a harsh scowl.

  The commercial break ended, the movie came back on, and Guthrie fell silent again. Easy stared at the screen, though he didn’t have a clue what the story was about. He wished Guthrie would go home and was glad he didn’t—wished his visitor had been Shay instead and was glad it wasn’t.

  “You know,” Guthrie said, his tone as casual as if he were about to comment on the weather, “I don’t envy the people who had to take care of you after the wreck. In spite of your name, you’re not an easy person.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’re pretty damn difficult to deal with. I don’t get you. You know what I would’ve done if I’d been in your boots fourteen years ago? I would have dragged Shay straight to the nearest justice of the peace. I would have married her, settled down with her, had kids with her, and I never would have given another thought to the poor sap she left behind.”

  “Bull,” Easy said flatly. “If you’d been in my boots, you would have gone and stayed the hell away from her.”

  “You’re wrong. If I had loved her that much, I would have knocked myself out trying to make her happy. I would have proven it to her and the entire damn world. I wouldn’t have wasted our time feeling guilty because she loved me and not someone else.”

  Easy didn’t bother to point out that Guthrie had never been just “someone else.” Betraying someone else wouldn’t have been a problem. Betraying the other person you loved dearly... That was a problem.

  Instead, he focused on another part of his words. “And just how did you have to prove that you loved Olivia?”

  “I was ready to sell the ranch and move to Atlanta.”

  Easy snorted scornfully. “What the hell would you do in Atlanta?”

  “Damned if I know—but as long as I was with Liv and the girls, what did it matter?”

  Easy stared at the television screen. Guthrie had been willing to give up everything and move halfway across the country to be with the woman he loved. All Shay had asked of him was that he keep his horse here. So Guthrie was a better man. Well, hell, no one had had any doubts about that in their whole damn lives. Guthrie had always been better—smarter, more responsible, more reliable, more respected.

  But Shay had loved him.

  Did love him now.

  Would always love him. He knew it, because he would always love her.

  “What’s the problem with the horse?” Guthrie asked quietly.

  Seeking the words to explain, Easy stared into the past, barely noticing when Guthrie got up to turn down the volume on the TV. His friend was in the rocker again before he found anything to say. “He was—he was the best. From the first time I ever saw him, I knew... knew he was mine.” Like the first time he’d kissed Shay. It’d been that immediate, that certain. He’d known.

  “I loved that horse. He made me what I am—what I was. When we worked together, it was like—he knew what I was thinking. I knew what he was thinking I’ve never connected like that with anyone in my life.”

  “Except Shay.”

  Except Shay, Easy silently agreed. “When the guy unloaded Gambler from the trailer, all Shay saw was this beautiful horse. All I saw was this champion, this best horse I’d ever known, with a limp and a scar and a leg that’s not much good for anything, and it’s my fault. I did that to him.”

  “Yes, you did,” Guthrie agreed. “And even though you didn’t mean to, it’s something you’re going to have to live with. Live with, Easy. Not hide from. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? As long as he’s here, you can’t hide from it. You can’t forget for one minute that he’s in that
corral out back. You can’t forget what you did to him You can’t forget what you did to yourself.”

  “This isn’t about me—”

  “Yes, it is. If you forgive yourself for Gambler’s injuries, then you’re gonna have to forgive yourself for your own injuries. You’re gonna have to accept that there are things you can do.”

  “You mean, can’t do,” Easy said bitterly.

  “No, you’ve got that part down pat. You’ve got to learn that there’s plenty left that you can do. You can’t throw a rope with your right hand...learn to do it with your left. You can’t gentle wild horses...train the gentle ones. The doctors say you can’t ride...prove ’em right. Or prove ’em wrong. Just prove something, damn it.”

  Getting to his feet, Easy paced to the front door, then back to the dining room door. “It’s not that easy! I ca—”

  “If you say ‘I can’t’ one more time, I’m gonna punch you.”

  The threat startled him. He blinked, then asked dryly, “You’d hit a cripple?”

  “No, but I’d hit you.”

  Meaning that he wasn’t a cripple—unless he wanted to be one. He didn’t. God help him, he didn’t. But if he wasn’t, then what was he?

  Good question. Now he needed a good answer.

  “Get your jacket. We’re going to go out and see your horse.” Guthrie surged out of the rocker and grabbed his own coat, walked to the front door, then turned back and gestured. “Oh, and you might want to grab that cane. You didn’t even notice that you’d walked across the room without it, did you?”

  Abruptly Easy realized that he was standing on his feet and only his feet. The cane was propped against the couch where he’d left it when he’d sat down two hours ago

  “You know, Olivia was concerned when you first came back that if this was all you had accomplished in five months, then you might not get any better. But you didn’t even try in those five months, did you? You checked yourself out of rehab long before they were ready to let you go, and you moved in with your mom, who babied you even when you were in the best of health.” Guthrie shook his head in dismay. “God only knows what you could do if you had a reason to try—and I can think of two off the top of my head. So, come on. I want to see this horse again.”