A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  He looked more human now and less sure of himself, more like the old Luke Charlotte had known. She smiled. “That’s because it happened when you weren’t looking.”

  “I feel like I’ve been caught in a time warp,” he murmured softly, “but believe me, I do like you this way. You’re quite…beautiful.”

  “You must be crazed with hunger. You need something to eat. I’ll talk to you later, when you’ve had your supper and I’ve found my cow.”

  “Let me help you look.”

  She shook her head, her eyes flickering briefly over the suede jacket he wore. “You’re not dressed for a cow hunt. You find food, I’ll find Princess. Knowing Sam, I’m not sure which of us will have the most trouble.”

  She was smiling, but she didn’t fool Luke. He’d hurt her.

  In an instant, she stepped into the lengthening shadows of an alley and disappeared from his sight. The wind whispered past his ear, and the town was as empty as if she had never been there.

  Had he conjured up Charlotte Malone out of the food and sleep deprivation and isolation he’d subjected himself to in the round-the-clock driving marathon he’d done to cross the country in a few days? No, he couldn’t have. Not in a million years could he have imagined her beauty, her hair, her presence. She seemed as much a part of the land as the mountains behind her. The amazing thing was, her spell was so powerful it made him feel as if he belonged here, too.

  That was a hell of a lot of magic.

  Luke opened the door to the saloon, and it was as if he had never left. Every sound was familiar, the clunk of heavy glass steins against solid wood as Harry and Mike put their drinks down to look at him, the bass rumble of the jukebox playing an old seventies tune, the crack of a billiard stick hitting the ball. There was even a couple dancing in that small space between the tables, if that full body contact in an upright position could be called dancing. The lady’s arms were wrapped around the guy’s neck, and his hips were welded to hers.

  Not too many years ago, he’d sneaked in here with Richard Malone and a fake ID. The bartender had pretended to accept it, but he’d gone to the phone and called Luke’s father. Rich had barely made it out the back door before Henry Steadman came storming into the place, his temper worse than the cantankerous mustang horse Luke used for bucking practice. Strange to think that now Luke didn’t know this bartender, and that he was thirty-five and looked it, and nobody in the world would think to ask him for identification. He really was ancient.

  Luke ignored Mike’s curious look and slid onto a stool at the end of the bar closest to the door. When the bartender, who Luke assumed was Sam, asked what he wanted, Luke said, “Hamburger, well-done. And a beer.” The bottle appeared at his elbow, cap off, moist with coolness. Luke drank deeply and was setting it back on the bar when Mike said, “Getting yourself a little fortification before you go home, are you, me boy?”

  In the city, those words would have rankled. Here, he knew them for what they were, heavy-handed teasing. Luke glanced up into the bar mirror, saw the reflection of Mike’s broad face, his red hair gone grayer than when Luke had last seen him. Mike was twenty years older than Luke, a shrewd hustler who’d never thought twice about beating the socks off Luke at billiards and taking his money. “How are you, Mike?”

  The older man’s eyes flickered over him. Luke couldn’t tell whether Mike liked what he saw or not. Finally Mike said, “Not bad for an old fella. How’s yourself?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are you now?” Mike murmured, an eyebrow canted.

  Did every damn body in town know his business? Luke controlled the flare of anger by turning his head toward the billiard table. “We’ll have to have a game sometime.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure,” said Mike, his eyes as shrewd as only a half-century-old Irishman’s could be. “I won’t mind taking your money.”

  “If you still can,” Luke drawled. “An old man like you.”

  Mike laughed loudly, enjoying Luke’s subtle feistiness.

  Luke took another swallow of beer, hoping Mike would take the hint that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Damn, he’d forgotten what a small town was like. They must know it all, from the end of his disastrous marriage to the loss of his job, right down to the balance in his bank account. They’d even figured out the less-than-happy reception he’d get from his father.

  Mike did take the hint, shifting his attention to ordering another beer with a whisky chaser. Luke finished up his hamburger and his beer and was ordering another mug when a voice beside him murmured, “If you’re through eating, maybe you’d like to dance.”

  She had three layers of mascara on each eyelash, a loose sweater falling off one shoulder, and tight jeans tucked into her boots. And she was young enough to be his daughter. Well, almost. She made him feel…old. Older. He’d stop when he got to ancient.

  The thought of Charlotte brought the beginnings of a smile—and the local nymphet slid up on the stool beside him. Dammit, he’d encouraged her without meaning to. “Aren’t you out past your bedtime?” he drawled.

  “Sure I am,” she said, surprising him. She sensed his slight interest in her honesty, and her chin came up. “Why don’t you make it worth my while by giving me a dance?”

  He recognized the vulnerability in the girl. He was conscious, too, of the quiet surrounding them, the waiting. Even the other lady, already engrossed in dancing, raised her head to see what would happen.

  A week ago, a day ago, an hour ago, he wouldn’t have given a damn if he hurt some strange female’s feelings. But out there on the street, Charlotte had understood and been kind to him. Sitting here, warmed by that kindness, Luke found it hard to be rude to this girl. He was filled with a strange reluctance to make her look foolish in front of her friends. But he didn’t want to encourage her, either.

  Life was packed full of difficult choices, and he seemed to make all the wrong ones. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

  That got a stifled laugh. Her cheeks flushed. “No, I don’t have any homework. I’m not a child.”

  She might not be a child, but she wasn’t grown up, either. What in hell was he going to do with her? “I can’t dance, I have a beer to finish. If you’d like something…”

  “Great. I’ll have a gin and tonic—”

  “The lady will have a cola,” Luke said to Sam.

  “I’ve got an ID,” the girl said defensively.

  “Made it yourself in your basement, no doubt,” Luke said. He turned back to Sam. “The lady wants to live it up. Throw a slice of lemon in that cola.”

  “I do have a name,” the girl said, half sulky, half provocative.

  An earthy word echoed in his head. This was all Charlotte Malone’s fault, with her mountain-scented hair, her husky voice, and her kindness. She’d revived his old habit of being nice to the opposite sex.

  That was magic spell number two.

  The girl beside him frowned, knowing she’d lost his attention. “My name’s Kim.” She waited for him to respond in kind. When he didn’t, she said, “You’re Luke Steadman, aren’t you?” The mascared lashes swept down once, then up in a defiant challenge. “Everybody’s been talking about you.”

  “A fact I don’t find particularly cheering…or interesting.” He cast an indifferent glance on her, with a twist to his mouth that made far more sophisticated women say politely that they’d just seen someone across the room they really needed to talk to.

  “You’re a celebrity in this town.”

  “Which says there isn’t much for entertainment here,” he drawled.

  Sam slid the beer along the bar toward Luke, and followed it with a cola and an I-could-have-told-you-so look written all over his face.

  Luke drank, thinking he was out of his league. He’d been away too long. He shouldn’t have felt sorry for this girl who was determined to hero-worship him, no matter what.

  The back door burst open, and a cow clumped in, hooves banging on the wood floor, udder swinging. She hu
stled past the pool table, past the jukebox, and trotted right up to Luke.

  While the dancing couple broke apart and stood there in astonished silence, Charlotte scurried in behind the cow, all annoyance and exasperation. “Princess, you get out of here or I’ll send you to cow heaven.”

  Princess knew an empty threat when she heard one. She just stood where she was, cast big brown eyes up at Luke and slobbered on his arm.

  Charlotte lunged for the cow, hair flying. Luke thought she looked like the most beautiful avenging angel he’d ever seen.

  “Charlotte!” Sam roared at her. “You’ll pay for that door!”

  “I know, I know.” She flashed blazing eyes at Luke. “You could help me get her out of here before she breaks something else.” Charlotte grabbed the cow’s tail and used it to come hand over hand down the cow’s back, reaching to grab hold of the looser neck flesh. But she wasn’t quick enough to deter Princess from nosing over Luke’s beer bottle. It turned like a lawn sprinkler, spraying Luke and the girl. Kim jumped back, and Luke grabbed the bottle and set it upright. But not before his jacket was nicely spotted.

  Luke said solemnly to the cow, “So nice of you to drop by for happy hour.” And to Charlotte, “And you said I’d have to drive to Whitefish for entertainment.”

  In response, Princess turned her head and began to lap up the beer puddles on the bar.

  Kim brushed at her sweater and gestured at the cow. “I don’t see anybody asking for her ID.”

  “Trust me, she’s old enough,” said Charlotte.

  Luke’s gaze met Charlotte’s. He looked so wonderful, trying to preserve his city facade of indifference while the laughter lurked in his eyes and his mouth twitched with his effort to keep it contained.

  “You’ll have to send me a bill for cleaning that jacket, if you don’t mind getting in line behind Sam.” Charlotte leaned on Princess’s back. “What’s that old song about the drinks and the laughs being on me?”

  The man could smile. Oh, yes. About a thousand volts’ worth. Charlotte broke into a husky laugh he almost didn’t recognize. Princess went on lapping, heading for a lost weekend.

  Luke murmured in an urbane drawl, “What’s the penalty for serving beer to a bovine in Montana? Are you guilty, or am I? I bought the beer, but you brought the cow.”

  Sam roared, “Get that four-footed demolition machine out of here!”

  With all the mock severity she could muster, Charlotte took a firm hold on the excitement burning like a firecracker inside her. It was sheer heaven to see Luke drop the barrier. “Now that your jacket is ruined anyway, is that offer of help still open, or not?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Great heaven. Has it been that long since you’ve punched a cow?”

  “Where would you like me to punch her? In the jaw?”

  Charlotte flashed eyes that were brilliant with challenge, interest, life. “You know that part of the anatomy that I said you weren’t earlier? Well, I take it all back. Throw in smart, and you are one.”

  Princess’s tail came up. Charlotte’s mock anger dissolved into genuine panic. “Luke! Help me get her out of here before she disgraces herself.”

  Lightning-quick, Luke shed his city lassitude and reacted like the country boy he was. He grabbed Princess’s tail and whacked it down against her body, making her change her mind about relieving herself.

  Charlotte began crooning an incomprehensible line of flattery and tugged the cow forward by her ear. Princess moved, albeit reluctantly.

  Mike looked at Harry. “Think we should help?”

  Harry shook his head. “Naw. Wouldn’t want to get sued for getting involved.”

  Luke gave Princess a good push, while Charlotte went on crooning nonsense and tugging. Step by step, working together, Charlotte and Luke coerced the stubborn cow into clomping toward the front door. They squeezed her through, with some slight damage to the trim on the left side of the door frame. “I know, Sam, I know. Put it on my bill.”

  “No room left to write on the damn thing!” Sam hollered.

  Safely outside, cow in tow, Charlotte breathed in the cold air with a spasm of relief. “I’ve got a rope in the pickup. I’m parked on the other side.”

  “Are you going to hang her right here?”

  “What a lovely idea. Why didn’t I think of it?” And she gave the cow a brisk slap on the back. Princess accepted the mild reprimand with bovine stoicism.

  “She’s a fence-jumper, is she?”

  “She doesn’t have to jump. She just walks through.”

  “We used to send her kind off to the canners.”

  “She…was a pet of Dad’s.”

  “Ah. I see.” He studied her, saw the color rise in her cheeks. “Not good to get sentimental about a cow, Charlotte.”

  “Don’t…start. Just…don’t. I’ve heard it all, from Tex, from Nick….”

  Luke raised an eyebrow, and she knew she’d ventured into treacherous waters. “You’re seeing my brother?”

  “No, I’m not seeing him. We…we had dinner together. It was Christmas, time of peace on earth and goodwill to men. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It’s none of my business, of course.”

  To Charlotte’s ears, he sounded frostier than the ice on the mountains. “Your father and I were having a border dispute. Nick thought the two of us might settle it if we talked. It…didn’t work out that way. We ended up having a surveyor come out.”

  “At your expense, I’ll wager.”

  “We settled the argument, anyway.”

  He wanted to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about Nick and Charlotte having dinner together, laughing together. Princess bumped him and lapped at him, giving his jacket another symbol of her affection. “Are you going to load her in the back?”

  It was the only time in Charlotte’s life she could remember being grateful to that cow. “No. I’m going to make her walk every step of the way, the same way she got here, the old—” she stopped in midsentence and shot a glance at Luke “-darling.”

  “Don’t hold back on my account. I admire a woman who calls a spade a spade.”

  “I wouldn’t want your soft city ears to get bruised with my plain country speaking.”

  “I think I can stand up to the strain.”

  Charlotte looped the rope around the cow’s neck quickly enough, but she took her time tying the other end to the pickup.

  At last, she faced him, her hair blowing wild and free again, long, silky black strands of it everywhere, catching on her sheepskin collar.

  Luke said, in that same detached voice, “I owe you an apology. I should have insisted you let me help you look for her. We might have kept her out of the building. I guess I’ve forgotten how foolish and curious cows can be.”

  He was carefully indifferent again, more like the Luke she’d seen at first. She shouldn’t have mentioned Nick. She wouldn’t have, if her brain had been working properly.

  “It’s okay. I couldn’t have gotten her out of there without your help.”

  She turned to go, knowing she’d blown it. Ten years of thinking of him, and she couldn’t sustain a reasonable conversation with him for fifteen minutes. Maybe there was a good reason the Malones and the Steadmans had never gotten along.

  Luke reached out and caught Charlotte’s arm. She turned, looking up at him with those brilliant, suddenly hopeful eyes, and he knew that he had no more right to encourage her than he had the girl in the bar. “Let’s get together soon.”

  As cool and as subtle as he, she moved out of his grasp. “I’m sorry, Luke. This is a very busy season for me.”

  There was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice. She hadn’t fooled him for a minute. And he felt uncomfortable with her resistance. “I meant what I said, Charlotte. I’d like to see you again.”

  She faced him, only the Montana wind between them. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Luke stepped away from h
er, his face expressionless.

  He’d retreated again. She’d sent him back into the chilly world he’d been in when he arrived. Yet how could she feel sorry for him? He was, after all, a Steadman. Show him sympathy and he’d go straight for the jugular. How cold the wind was. “Thanks again for helping me with the cow. I hope you have a good visit at home. Please give Henry my regards, even though I’m sure he doesn’t want them.”

  At the break in her voice, his eyes narrowed. “My father isn’t keeping the old feud he had with your dad alive with you, is he?”

  She paused, arrested by the tone of his voice. “You don’t know?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  He sounded impatient. And genuine. She said, “I find that hard to believe.”

  “You’re right. I like standing out here in this cold-as-thehubs-of-hell street arguing with you. It’s my idea of a really good time.”

  “Your father must have told you about—the trouble we’ve been having.”

  “I haven’t spoken to my father for quite some time. What trouble are you talking about?”

  She couldn’t tell him. The words wouldn’t come.

  “Don’t be afraid. You used to be able to tell me any-thing, remember?” He reached out and brushed the hair from her cheek—that was all, just a little gesture of courtesy. His fingertips were cool, but they brought heat to her face…and desire to her body, desire she neither wanted nor welcomed. That was all, just one touch. And she wanted him as she’d never wanted anything in her life.

  “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Charlotte.”

  The power of his presence surrounded her. He was really here, brown eyes shadowed in the darkness, smooth jaw so close, and his mouth dipping towards hers….

  “Your father thinks I’m stealing his cows.”

  His hands, holding her arms, dropped away. Slowly he drew back from her.

  “Three of them have been found with the brands altered to look like mine.”