A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  Charlotte waited, watching his face go utterly blank of emotion. Oh, this was ten times worse than marshaling her meager financial forces to fight Henry Steadman in court.

  Her chin came up. “Say something, Luke. Please. Don’t just stand there looking at me like I’ve sliced you at the knees.”

  The sun sank lower and disappeared. The flag snapped again, and the breeze sent cold chills over his cheek. Luke saw things he didn’t want to see—her fifteen-year-old truck, which he remembered cruising around in with her brother, Rich, the frayed sleeves on Charlotte’s obviously hand-medown jacket, clear indications that she wasn’t exactly flush with money. Not an unusual circumstance for a small rancher. And yet…The wind blew her jacket open to reveal a very, very nice pair of breasts filling out a dark knit shirt. He felt the sudden and unwanted clenching of desire. Damn! He’d been living in a fool’s world. This lady was a grown woman, capable of all the things an adult was capable of, from lovemaking to larceny. He didn’t know her at all. “I must say you don’t look particularly…prosperous. It makes a man wonder. Have you come upon hard times, my dear?”

  She didn’t flinch. “Not till you arrived.”

  She turned around to the truck, went two steps, then whirled around to him again. She turned a face up to him that was fierce and beautiful. “Let me tell you something, Luke Steadman. It makes a woman wonder why you showed up here, now. Maybe you’ve come home to ensure that when your father finally succeeds in taking away everything I own, it’s all done legally.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Once the floodgates opened, she couldn’t stop. Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe she needed to vent all the worry and tension that had been keeping her awake nights. “He wants my ranch, Luke. He’s willing to settle out of court if I deed over the ranch to him.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “I wish it weren’t true. But it is.” Her gaze locked on his face. “I didn’t steal your father’s cattle, or alter his brands. Somebody else did it, somebody who knows your father would love to believe I’m stealing from him.”

  “That’s…an odd little story. Why would someone go to so much trouble to frame you?”

  “It’s an easy way to acquire my land.” He looked bland, and totally unmoved by her story. How could he look any other way? He was a Steadman, after all. “It’s the truth, whether you believe it or not.”

  “The truth will out, as they say,” he murmured.

  “I hope so. And the sooner the better.”

  She turned away to get into the truck.

  God help him, he couldn’t let her go like this. He said her name, and it came out husky and half caught in his throat. She went still, and for a moment he thought she was going to ignore him, climb into the truck and slam the door in his face. But she didn’t. When she turned around, her face was so open, so vulnerable, that he lost the ability to breathe. He didn’t know what she expected of him. He only knew he wanted to…make amends, in any way he could. “You’d better take my hat,” he said, holding out his expensive Stetson to her.

  She was tempted. It would be wonderful to take home some part of him. A sudden picture flashed, a memory buried for years. Easter Sunday, she’d been seven, Luke seventeen. She’d been wearing a wonderful child’s hat, heavy with pink flowers. After the service, she’d been standing outside with her folks when the wind lifted her beautiful new hat and sent it sailing toward a muddy ditch. Luke had heard her cry out, and he’d jumped and spun with athletic quickness, snatching her hat in midair. He’d walked over and given it to her, and she’d thanked him shyly. It hadn’t been until she was older that she understood why Luke’s father had frowned at him for his good deed and her own father had scowled in the front seat of the car all the way home.

  “Go ahead, take it,” Luke said softly, bringing her back to a cold world where her parents no longer existed. “I don’t need it, and you do.”

  Tears stung in Charlotte’s eyes. This was a charity hat. The great Luke Steadman spreading noblesse oblige.

  “No, thank you, Luke. I don’t take things I haven’t earned.”

  It was a direct shot. He felt the irritation rise. He wanted to shake her. “Charlotte—”

  “You don’t understand how things are here. I really wish you hadn’t come back. I liked you better as a memory.” She turned her back to him, slid onto the tattered seat and slammed the door.

  The truck coughed and sputtered to life and rolled away into the darkness, Princess trotting complacently behind.

  Luke stood watching the truck’s one red taillight disappearing into the dusk. In the growing darkness, the wind chilled his cheeks with icy cold. He looked up into the endless sky. “Damn fine to be home.”

  Chapter Two

  Night drifted in, turning the sky into an indigo canopy studded by one star, darkening the town with long, empty shadows. Luke got back into his car and drove into the lingering sunset, past the last building in town, past the fence that was Charlotte’s, past the hole Princess had walked through, up onto the curving road that led to the corner of Montana sky that belonged to Henry Steadman.

  Luke’s city car, with its low suspension and wide tires, rattled the cattle guard. A familiar sound. He remembered coming home late at night, knowing there was no way to sneak over the damn thing. Ahead of him wound the narrow lane that led to Henry’s pens, where, ten years ago, customers had hoisted a booted foot over a fence rail and scrutinized the sale calves. Now Henry sold calves by satellite in truckload units of fifty thousand pounds.

  Apple-tree limbs fat with leaf buds cast spidery shadows over the car’s windshield. In the corral next to the barn, three curious Appaloosas jostled for position on the fence to check out the strange car, then exploded into a frenzy of racing. Luke smiled. At thirteen, he’d wanted to breed Arabians, pleaded with Henry to purchase a mare.

  It had been a yearlong argument. Then Luke had become interested in Charolais cattle and been wild to begin a small herd on the ranch. His father had said no. That was when Luke had finally realized that any idea he had would be vetoed. His father liked control. And would keep it. Luke had known the only thing he could do to save both his and his father’s sanity was to give up the struggle. So Luke had withdrawn from the running of the ranch, and concentrated on his studies, football, girls and bronco riding, in roughly that order. Being practical and doing what he knew had to be done to preserve the family peace had earned him his father’s exasperation and ire. And, finally, Henry’s animosity. Luke had been sorry, but in his youth and hotheaded energy, it had seemed obvious to him that he couldn’t be interested in the ranch when he had so little to say about the running of it.

  Unfortunately, his father had attributed Luke’s lack of interest to indifference and laziness. Luke had taken the easier path and let him think what he would. Nick had been quick to take advantage of the situation, and had become more and more the perfect son, agreeing with everything his father said. Luke had borne it all stoically. He’d had no choice. He’d needed a place in the world where he could make decisions about his life and work. The Lazy S Ranch had not been that place. And so he had left Henry to his undisputed rule of his horses, cattle and land.

  Henry had done well, without Luke’s help. He had the best of everything.

  Others made do with what they had. A frayed sheepskin coat and no hat, black hair flying wild and free. Charlotte, her eyes brilliant sapphires, her lashes a sweep of soot without the mascara his ex-wife, Elisa, applied before she drank her morning coffee. Luke hadn’t realized until he saw Charlotte again how much a part of his life her fierce loyalty had been.

  Had she been stealing his father’s cattle? If she had, why would she tell him about it? To gain his sympathy?

  All the lies and mistrust of his past swirled up to haunt Luke. No one was honest. No one was true.

  Except Charlotte.

  He didn’t know what was going on. Until he did, he had to be sensible an
d stay neutral. He sure as hell couldn’t hold on to a memory.

  Luke swore and stood on the brake, too hard. He threw himself forward into his seat belt, and thought it was the least of what he deserved.

  When he got out of the car and stumbled over the top porch step, his mood deteriorated. Why was it so darn dark? The yard light should have gone on automatically.

  It hadn’t gone on because it wasn’t there. The big old vapor lamp that had kept Luke the child from dodging scary shadows at night was gone.

  Disturbed, he turned around to look at the house—and saw that the shutters were gray with weathering. The barn didn’t look all that spruce, either.

  Henry Steadman had too much pride in his ranch to ignore the upkeep of his buildings. What the hell was going on here?

  Luke balled his fist to knock, then shook his head and dropped his arm. This was his home.

  Inside, the house smelled of dust. He could see it lying heavily on the top of the old coatrack. It wasn’t like Athena to allow a speck of dust to fall anywhere in Miss Laura’s house, though his mother had been gone for thirty years. More uneasy than ever, Luke tossed his hat and coat on the oak settee. In an old habit, he ran a hand around his waist, checking to see that his shirt was tucked into his pants, before he entered his father’s presence.

  The hallway had two doors, one leading to the mahogany-paneled dining room and one leading to the library den. His father would be there, having his one drink of the day.

  The thud of Luke’s boots on the pine floor sounded strange to his ears. They carried a man’s weight now, instead of a boy’s.

  His father sat in the old aqua horsehair chair that his mother had hated, a stubby manhattan glass in his hand, the expression in his eyes shielded behind his glasses.

  When Luke went to New York and immersed himself in his profession, he’d discovered a frenzied peace of sorts. When his work was stripped away and he was left with nothing except his own resources, he’d discovered there was only one real victory in life, and that was survival.

  He would survive this encounter with father and brother.

  His half brother, Nick, stood beside Henry, one shoulder butted up to the mantel, those long fingers of his wrapped around the handle of a half-empty beer glass. Nick was the son of the woman who’d made the mistake of taking Henry Steadman into her arms the night his true love, Maureen McIntosh, married his rival, Sean Malone. Henry hadn’t married Rose, but he’d taken the baby—and done everything in his power to give Nick a place m his house as his honored firstborn son.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “Hello, Luke.” The high forehead was the same, as was the leonine head of white hair. Henry had Luke’s height, but he had lost weight since Luke had last seen him.

  His father’s eyes met Luke’s, gleaming as brown as Luke’s own in the firelight. There was no welcome in them.

  Calling himself a fool to be disappointed, Luke forced himself to smile as he crossed to his father and held out his hand. “Good to see you.”

  His father was slow to react to Luke’s good manners, but Luke felt it wasn’t because his father meant to slight him. His father seemed to be struggling with some emotional upheaval that made it difficult for him to maintain an outward appearance of civility. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “I hope you’ve been keeping well, sir.” To Luke, Henry Steadman’s hand felt cool and papery, despite the heat in the room. It struck Luke suddenly that his father was getting old. He’d never imagined it could happen.

  His father withdrew his hand, as if he felt the difference in warmth and strength, too. “Say hello to your brother.”

  The old resentment rose up, but Luke swallowed it. He raised his head to look Nick in the eye. Nick was still in shadow, his expression unreadable. “How are you doing, Nick?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Nick said smoothly. He shifted his beer glass to his other hand, moved forward and grasped Luke’s hand. His palm was cool, and his fingers were slender but tensile. Luke knew from long experience that Nick was stronger than he looked. Nick withdrew his hand first, a smile of undefined emotion on his lips. He was two years older than Luke, two inches shorter and at least thirty pounds lighter. He’d always had that lean and hungry look. Women liked that look of need, and Nick always seemed to have a current lady, but he hadn’t ever brought one home to Henry, as far as Luke knew. Luke wondered what had prompted Nick to ask Charlotte out.

  Nick, moving with an economy of motion Luke had almost forgotten, lifted his beer stein and drank deeply. Without so much as a lifted eyebrow, he tossed the glass in the fireplace.

  Luke froze. The sound of breaking glass was all the more shocking in the complete silence that followed.

  Nick turned to Luke, the picture of composure. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry. I thought a celebration was in order for the return of the prodigal son.”

  Henry’s mouth lifted in a smile. “You’ll have to forgive Nick. I’m sure he’s feeling a little unsettled. I told him there was no need, that you wouldn’t be interested in taking over the ranch.”

  “Frankly, that’s the last thing on my mind.”

  Another silence.

  “What happened to the old yard light?” Luke said, picking the only topic he knew would interest his father. “Must be a lot harder to see down at the stock pen without it.”

  Carefully, very carefully, Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and faced Luke. “I told Henry this is the way it would be, that you wouldn’t be here five minutes before you’d try to start running the place. He said I was wrong. I was…but only about the time. It only took you five seconds.”

  Luke didn’t move a muscle. “My comment was a somewhat feeble attempt at making conversation. I’m sorry if it seemed…critical.” Luke’s jaw set. “But as long as you bring up the subject, the buildings look like crap. What the hell is going on around here?”

  Nick took a step forward, but Henry Steadman held up his hand. “Leave him to me, Nick. We might have expected this. You know how important appearances are to Luke.”

  Nick relaxed back against the fireplace, the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips. Luke clamped his teeth together.

  Henry Steadman fastened his dark gaze on Luke. “We’re doing things rather differently since you…chose to leave us. We’re putting more money into improving the herd and less into things like paint and repairs.”

  Luke’s eyes flashed to Nick. “Your idea, I suppose.”

  “We’re in something of a tight squeeze. We need more land to raise more cows. So instead of increasing the number, we decided to improve the herd quality. Your father and I discussed alternatives and arrived at what we thought was a feasible plan. You should come out to the barn and see the champions we’ve imported from Europe.”

  “If you don’t do something about the barn soon, it will be falling down around your improved herd’s ears.”

  Henry Steadman cast a glance at Nick and then smiled at his firstborn. “Luke has a right to express his opinions, even if they are incorrect. We have to make allowances for him. He’s been gone a long time. Sit down, Luke. Have a drink with us.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to have a shower and take off the travel dust.” He waited, feeling like the interloper he was. “But of course, if you rather I wouldn’t stay here, I’ll go back into town and look for accommodations-”

  “Of course you’ll stay here. Your room is ready for you. Where are your bags?”

  “In the car.”

  Nick pulled his hands from his pockets and said, “I’ll help you bring them in.”

  Luke’s eyes sliced over Nick. “Don’t bother, I’ll get them myself.”

  But Nick followed him out into the darkness and stood beside Luke while Luke hauled his duffel bag out of the trunk. “Pretty nice machine.”

  Luke didn’t reply. When he turned back into the house, Nick stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “What the hell are you doing, coming back
here now? Did you need a place to lick your wounds?”

  Luke stood very still and met Nick’s angry look head on, his own face cool and smooth. “Maybe I came home to see how Henry is doing.”

  “Henry’s fine.”

  “Is he?” Luke said, looking straight at Nick. “Well, you ought to know.”

  “I thought once you’d gone, I’d never see you again.”

  Luke’s mouth quirked. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I never could figure you out. The favored son, the legitimate one. And you just gave it all up and walked away.”

  “Some guys just aren’t very smart. How’s your mother?”

  “I don’t see too much of her these days. She understands that my work keeps me here.”

  “Too bad. I always envied you your mother.”

  “I always envied you your name.”

  “It’s your name, too,” Luke said easily.

  “Well, you may be my brother, but I don’t want you here.”

  Luke’s lips lifted. “Is this supposed to be news to me?”

  “You’ll cause trouble for Henry.”

  “Don’t you mean you’re afraid I’ll cause trouble for you?” Luke shifted his duffel bag to an easier grip. “I was never able to do that in the twenty-five years before I left. What makes you think I could do it now?”

  “I don’t want you interfering.”

  Luke dropped his polite tone and let his voice show what he was feeling. “I’d make trouble in a minute for you, if I could do it without breaking my father’s heart. But he thinks you’re God’s greatest gift to mankind, and I’ll be damned if I’ll destroy that illusion now.”

  “You’re so noble you make me ill. Don’t push me, Luke. I can make you very sorry.”

  Luke bent from the waist, bowing. “Thank you so much for the lovely welcome home…brother.” Luke laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder, thinking there must be some way to find common ground with the man who was his half brother. “Look, let me set your mind at rest. I don’t want the ranch, or anything connected with it. I’m not going to be here very long. How about we call a truce, and try to keep the animosity to a minimum around Henry?”