A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  There was a lingering essence of power in the way Henry rose, a quiet dignity in the way he slipped into his jacket and turned to face Luke. “I always thought it was the Malone boy you liked so well that you had to sneak around behind your father’s back. I should have known better.”

  Something broke and shattered inside Luke, a thousand barriers he’d erected against his father in his mind. His father had been hurting, too. “You…knew?”

  “Of course I knew. You can’t really believe you could keep a secret in this small community. You were the delight of the gossips, several of whom couldn’t wait to tell me who they’d seen you with.”

  “Why didn’t you…say something?”

  “I’d said all I had to say. I told you I didn’t want you befriending Malones, you did it anyway. What else was there to say? You kept your nose clean and stayed out of trouble. I was thankful enough for that.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest.”

  “So am I.” Henry took the five steps to the door, and neither Luke nor Athena moved when he turned back. “Told any lies since?”

  “None that weren’t legal.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess.”

  The screen door slammed behind him, and quiet reigned in the kitchen. “We think we’re so smart when we’re kids, don’t we?” Luke murmured.

  “We think we’re so smart when we’re adults, too, and sometimes we’re even dumber,” Athena replied.

  The door thumped again. Startled, Luke turned to see Henry framed in the doorway, his eyes owlish behind his glasses, his coat and boots on. In that suspended moment, Luke stilled, and so did Athena. If there was a clue to Henry’s mood on his face, Luke couldn’t see it—as usual. “Did you forget something?”

  “No, I remembered something. I remembered you are my son.”

  That had the effect of a small bombshell in the kitchen. Athena recovered first. “About time,” she muttered.

  “I’m a logical man,” began Henry—rather illogically, it seemed to Luke, “and you must be, too. Have to be, to work in your profession. You’re used to dealing with evidence. Should have remembered that. Have something to show you.” Henry frowned at Luke. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get your boots on and come on.”

  Caught off guard by his father’s sudden determination, Luke did as he was instructed, leaning against the porch wall to stamp his feet into his boots.

  The barn was quiet, dark, scented with the stuff of life, alfalfa hay, corn mash, milk and animal. Like a general leading the troops into battle, Henry headed down the aisle behind the old cow stalls that had once held stanchions for milkers. As apprehensive as any buck private, Luke followed, his boots crunching on the fresh straw.

  “There,” Henry said. “Look there.”

  Two yearling steers, Hereford whitefaces, three hundred pounds each of contented cow oblivion, munched on their morning ration of hay. One was curious enough to lift his head and gaze at Luke with doe eyes. The second stood with his rump to Luke, his side glossy from indoor feeding. Emblazoned on his hip was the lazy M Malone brand.

  “What are you doing with Charlotte’s steers?”

  “Look closer.”

  In the half light sprinkled with dancing dust motes, the Steadman flying S curled underneath, clearly visible.

  Luke felt chilled, but he reacted as he had learned to do to unpleasant information—he went very still, controlling his mouth, his face, his eyes. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  He might fool a jury, but he couldn’t fool his father.

  “Hard to deny what you see with your own eyes, isn’t it? I thought you should see these cows before you went calling. They’re evidence I’m keeping for the sheriff. You’re a lawyer, you know about evidence.”

  Yes, those blasted cows were obvious evidence. Too obvious. Too pat. And altogether too damn handy. “The most damning evidence can be circumstantial.”

  “Do you call two steers with her brand burned over mine circumstantial? I’d say it was substantial evidence, not the other kind.”

  Luke started the inquiry. The top brand looked as if it had been drawn with a single-line running iron. Did his dad agree? Yes. Where were they found? In her pasture. How long ago? Three weeks ago, during the last spring snowstorm. Any others missing? Wouldn’t know for sure until the spring roundup.

  “Clumsy job,” Luke said.

  “Done in a hurry, probably. Hard for a woman to handle a steer that size alone.”

  “Impossible, I’d say.”

  His father turned around to face him, his brows drawn together, his jaw set. “You still believe in those innocent blue eyes.”

  “I learned long ago to disregard innocent blue eyes. The physical fact is, she weighs maybe one hundred and ten pounds soaking-wet. If she did do the branding, she couldn’t have done it alone.”

  Henry snorted. “You’ve been in the city too long. Cows can be roped and tied to a fence post.”

  “By one lightweight woman?” Luke raised a brow. “Come on, Dad, be reasonable.”

  “Think what you like. You will anyway. Haven’t changed that much, I see.” Henry turned and tromped back over the straw.

  Nor have you. Pure waste of time to ask you to think reasonably about a Malone. “Dad, wait—”

  His father’s dark form filled the doorway. “I’ve got work to do, you’ve got an errand to run. Best we each do what we have to do.”

  Damn. The first time his father had reached out, and there his loving son was, giving him the hostile-witness treatment. Luke hustled over the straw to reach his father, put a hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to talk about this—” But he knew by the way his father straightened under his grasp that he was too late.

  “Nothing to say. I followed my conscience, now you follow yours.”

  The half door slammed behind Henry. Luke stared after him, took off his hat, hit his leg with it and said a word appropriate to the barn.

  The saddle creaked under Luke’s weight with an old familiar rhythm. The sun beat down on his back, but the soothing warmth didn’t ease Luke’s mood. The wind kissed his cheek, a meadowlark warbled. He heard, and wasn’t cheered.

  All very well to say the logistics of branding a cow made it impossible for Charlotte to be the thief. But was she?

  Had he fallen for beautiful blue eyes? Beautiful blue calculating eyes?

  He raised a hand to touch his pocket. The butterfly was still there, still safe. Still a reminder of a heady, exciting night spent with a woman who provided all the intoxication. If Charlotte had played him like a fish on a line, she’d done it better than any female he’d ever known. And he’d known his share. A mocking smile lifted his lips. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had used him for personal gain. But it would damn sure be the last.

  Charlotte’s house had never been as impressive as Henry’s, but Luke remembered it as a spanking-clean little white bungalow nestled in the oaks and cottonwoods underneath the Montana mountains. The house coming into his view under greening trees looked like its neglected cousin. The clapboard wore a coat of dull gray and an upstairs shutter dangled askew from one nail. He told himself the house’s downtrodden appearance simply meant Charlotte was short of cash, and he’d already known that, but his lawyer’s voice told him this was one more shred of evidence. He didn’t want one more shred of evidence.

  “Hello, Luke Steadman. It’s good to see you again.” Lettie Cochran answered his knock, her eyes shining with a friendliness that nearly matched the warmth of the sun, her smile as welcoming as her pretty face.

  He tugged off his hat, knowing instinctively that he was in the presence of a generous-hearted lady. “It’s good to see you, too, ma’am.”

  “I’ll just bet you didn’t ride over here to palaver with this old woman.” Her eyes sparkled with good humor. “Charlotte’s down at the barn with Tex.”

  In the presence of her graciousness, Luke felt compelled to set the record straight. “About your husband, ma�
�am. I never meant for one second that I thought Tex was stealing cattle…”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that old man. He likes to fly off the handle regularly just so he doesn’t get out of practice. His bark’s about eighteen times worse than his bite. Just ask me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Luke answered, smiling.

  “Go on down and see them both. They need some company. It’ll take their mind off that horse for half a minute, anyway.

  “What horse is that?”

  “Our Thoroughbred mare, Lady Luck. She’s trying to foal and not doing it very well, it seems. You go on down. I’m sure Charlotte and Tex will want to say hello.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, tipping his hat again to her, thinking she was probably wrong about Tex wanting to see him.

  Luke opened the barn door and sent dust sparkles dancing in the shadowy interior. At the largest stall, at the end, Charlotte knelt beside a sorrel mare swollen with foal. A stray beam of sunshine gilded the horse’s mane a burnished copper, the woman’s head an iridescent black. Her head bowed, Charlotte caressed the mare with long-fingered, graceful hands. “You’re all right, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  He watched—and burned with need. Damm it to hell. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want her like this. But he couldn’t take that last step on the crisp straw that would announce his presence, break the spell, and snatch away his pleasure of watching her. So he stood there and ached.

  Uncannily, as if she sensed his gaze on her, she turned her head. “Luke!”

  He was there, in the barn, all lean legs and broad shoulders, sexy as hell in his denim pants and plaid shirt, leaning against the wall as if he belonged there. She hadn’t slept much last night, thinking he’d leave and she’d never see him again, wishing she had taken him up on his dare and kissed him a second time till he forgot who he was—and so did she.

  Charlotte blazed a smile at him, as if last night hadn’t happened, and shot to her feet with the ease of a gazelle. “Oh. I must be a mess—” She swatted at her neat little rear with her hands, endearingly self-conscious. “It’s really…good to see you. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” While he watched with narrowed eyes, she shook out her hair wildly and uncaring, like a child might. When she finger-combed those black tresses back from her face, still missing a spear of the alfalfa, Luke’s resolve left him. She might be playing him for the biggest fool in the universe, but—it no longer mattered. He wanted her. And he would have her.

  Luke said, “Charlotte,” and took a step toward her.

  Straw crackled, and Tex appeared from the back of the stall. His red checkered shirt was darkened by sweat, his face was smeared, his mood was irritable. When he caught sight of Luke, his mouth twisted as if he’d just bit a lemon.

  Luke relaxed, put on a cool face. “Hello, Tex.”

  Tex rasped a throaty sound packed with judgmental suspicion and turned his back to Luke. Charlotte smiled at the older man, a benign teacher with a stubborn child. Her black hair swinging loose, she returned her gaze to Luke. “Don’t mind him. His bark is eighteen times worse—”

  “Than his bite, yes, I know.”

  She said, “You spoke to Lettie.”

  Was she struggling to keep the conversation on an even keel, as he was? “She told me you were down here.”

  It took everything he had to control his voice, prevent his body from betraying him. And while he stood enthralled, her animation vanished, the smile left her lovely mouth, and he could swear the sparkle went out of her eyes, as well. He’d really blundered—but how, he didn’t have a clue.

  “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  “Not exactly.” As her cheeks blossomed with that delicate rose and about a bushel of Malone pride tilted her chin at that precise angle, he realized she’d erected the old family barrier. If he had any sense, he’d leave things that way. But the need to ease her pain clawed at him. Instinctively he reached out to pluck away one last bit of hay stem from her hair, to reassure her—to touch her. “You missed one.”

  She dodged back from his hand, the straw crackling under her feet. “Don’t touch me.”

  He felt as if he’d lost a world. “I’d never hurt you,” he said huskily. “Never.”

  “I know that. I just…there’s no sense in our getting things…mixed up.”

  He realized then that she hadn’t stepped back because she was afraid, but because she felt the same sizzling excitement at his touch that he did. “What kinds of things?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like being confused. I thought we settled things last night.”

  “You always did like everything straight and aboveboard, didn’t you? A real aversion to ambiguity.”

  She wouldn’t smile at his gentle teasing. Instead, she took another step back, bumped the stall wall. “No different than most people.”

  “You’re not…most people.”

  Her eyes flicked up to him. She was going to run. Deliberately slowly, he put his left hand on the side of the stall, cutting her escape to the aisle.

  “We can’t do this.”

  “We’re not doing anything. We’re just talking.” He braced his right palm on the other wall, and there she was, trapped in the corner. He liked her like that, her face flushed, her hair almost touching his hand, her body close to his.

  “What…are you doing?”

  “Just looking. I like looking at you.” He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I like kissing you, too. Will Tex get the whip if I take a little taste?”

  She put her palms flat against his chest. “He won’t, but I should.”

  “Do I put you in the mood for mayhem?”

  “No,” she whispered, “I…No.”

  And like a sunflower seeking warmth, she turned her face up to him, yielding. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist and brought her up on her toes, feeling denim, seeing stars. They were in her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that looked into his soul. He lowered his head. She watched until the touch of his mouth made her black lashes sweep down as if she needed to close her eyes to savor. He took his taste, a light brush of a kiss. One taste wasn’t enough. He went back for more nectar, a hand slipping to her bottom, lifting her up a little more.

  “No, Luke.” With the deftness of a hummingbird, she slipped out of his grasp, her hands on his chest pushing him away. “We can’t do this.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  She shook her head. “You know why not. You’d better just tell me why you came, and then…leave.”

  That was clear enough. His hand went to his pocket, and he brought out the linen-wrapped buttertly. “I came to return this.” The wrap fell away, and the butterfly gleamed like a star, gathering all the light in that shadowed barn.

  She drew in a sighing breath of relief. “I went out to look for it this morning. When I couldn’t find it, I thought it was gone forever.”

  “That’s why I came over as soon as I could this morning.” Gently he laid it in her hand.

  “I’m so glad to have it again.” She glanced up at him, smiling with pleasure.

  “I knew you would be.”

  “Thank you for bringing this back to me, Luke.” The barrier went up, and her smile faded and she said, “You’d better have your handkerchief back.” She went to unfold it from the butterfly, but he caught her hand and wrapped it around the ornament.

  “You keep it.”

  Carefully she withdrew her hand from his, shaking her head. “No, I…No. You take it back. It’s yours. I don’t want your father to think I’ve taken to lifting the linens, too.”

  “Charlotte-”

  A shake of her head stopped his attempt to reach back for that moment of rapport. His brows came together in a sharp frown, but he took the white square, his eyes on her as he folded it and put it in his pocket.

  She looked down, as if uncertain
of herself, for just a moment, then lifted her head and said, “Thank you for coming over this morning and bringing my butterfly back so quickly. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a horse to see to.”

  That quickly, she dismissed him, turning around, hair swinging over her denim shirt. She might accuse him of not playing fair, but neither was she. He couldn’t let her end their meeting like this. “Charlotte.” He reached out, caught her arm.

  She turned and looked at him, and there was a flare of something in her eyes—passion or anger, he wasn’t sure which. Still, she didn’t twist out of his grasp as he thought she might. “What do you want?”

  He wanted to grab her close and kiss her till both their heads spun, but he knew better. He was lucky she tolerated his touch. “What’s the matter with your mare?”

  “She’s never foaled before. The trouble is, neither have I. Tex has seen several births, but they were easy ones. He isn’t quite sure what to do about her.”

  “Lots of inexperience in one place.” Luke smiled. “Mind if I go back and take a look at her?”

  There was quiet in the barn in that instant. She had that determined look on her face again, as if she’d like to tell him she had no need of his help. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  Whether she knew it or not, she’d opened the door again. “I can spare a few minutes.”

  It didn’t take a medical degree to see that the mare was almost ready to foal. “Easy, girl, easy. Let’s have a look at your little one.” Luke knelt between her legs and brushed his long fingers over the bulge of foal, checking the size, running his hands from the mare’s shoulder to her hip. It was a large baby, possibly a colt.

  When he stood up and turned to Charlotte, she had an odd look on her face, as if she’d seen something that moved her. He didn’t know what it was. “I’d say you’ll have your little one sometime tonight. After midnight, most likely.”

  “That the best you can do?” Tex roused up from behind the mare, all prickly defensiveness. “We kinda had that figured out for ourselves.”

  Luke said, “I’m going up in the northwest range today, but I’ll be back tonight. I’ll stop over this evening, if I may.”