Wild Mustang Man

by Carol Grace

“Hi,” she said.

  Just the sound of her voice threw his carefully controlled emotions into turmoil. Just when he thought things were getting back to normal, Max getting well, Molly’s parents gone, his parents back, something made him call her. He didn’t have to call her. He’d wanted to call her. He was using Max as an excuse to call her.

  “I’ve missed you,” he blurted. What was wrong with him. Why hadn’t he practiced this conversation before he took the phone. “It’s seems like a long time.” It seemed like forever since he’d seen her smile at him across the table, seen her hazel eyes light up at something he said, felt the warmth of her hand in his. “I’d...we’d both like to see you. If you’ve got any time, that is. My mother was just here. She left some food.”

  At that, Max, who was bouncing up and down on his mattress with excitement, grabbed the phone out of Josh’s hand.

  “It’s fried chicken,” he yelled into the phone. “And potato salad. And tapioca pudding. She made it for me. But you can have some, too.”

  When Josh got the phone back, Bridget was laughing. “Are you sure it’s all right,” she asked.

  “It’s more than all right,” he said. “It’s imperative.”

  Bridget tied her hair back with a scarf to keep cool, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went down to her car. The hot dry wind blew tufts of sagebrush across Main Street A woman stepped out of the bakery and waved to her. Bridget waved back. There had been moments during this past week when she thought of going back to San Francisco—-just until Max got well and they could proceed with the photo session.

  But the thought of the cool gray city by the bay with hordes of people rushing around and horns honking didn’t hold any attraction for her. She knew her friends would think she was crazy, spending her free time walking in the hills above the town, taking pictures of a occasional wildflower under a cloudless sky and finding beauty in the stark landscape.

  It was strange how her life back there seemed so far away. And so insignificant she thought. She had no desire to reenter the rat race. There was really nothing she could do until Max got well. So she’d just stay there in Harmony, and try not to think about the most intriguing, most rugged, most down-to-earth, honest man she’d ever met. Too honest. He’d made it clear he’d never fall in love again. Never get married again. In short, he was unavailable. And yet as soon as he called her, she was running to see him, making herself available anytime he called, anytime he said he missed her. This was the last time, positively the last.

  She argued with herself all the way to the ranch. Told herself she was going to see Max. That he was sick and he needed her. That was partly true. She’d missed the little boy. She’d worried about him, pictured his pock-marked face, his glazed eyes, his feverish brow and wondered how he was doing. He sounded full of energy this morning. So much energy it took more than one adult to cope with him.

  She shook her head, wondering how—if he were hers, and she was a single parent—she could possibly handle him. Since the first day she’d seen him, a tangle of cuts and bruises and dirty legs, and he’d put his hand into hers to lead her up the hill to his house, she’d felt a kinship with him. And even more, she’d felt responsible for him, even though he’d run into her.

  And then she’d met his father. Was it her imagination or had he changed since that fateful day she’d stood outside the fence taking pictures? Well, he’d changed his mind about being the representative of Wild Mustang men’s cologne. Other than that, he was just as gruff, just as determined, just as stubborn as he’d ever been.

  There were other qualities she hadn’t noticed that day. There was passion, there was tenderness and there was loyalty. The passion and the tenderness he was willing to give. And she was more than willing to take. But the loyalty was unswerving. And it was reserved for another woman. A dead woman. This was important to remember, because when she saw him, she was likely to forget She was likely to concentrate on what she could have and not what she couldn’t have. On what he could give and not on what he couldn’t

  When she arrived back at the ranch, she slipped back into their lives as if she’d never been gone, as if she was part of their lives, when in reality she’d only spent that one day there. She molded play dough figures with Josh, ate fried chicken with them at lunchtime, and forgot about what she was supposed to remember, until Max took a nap and she had coffee with Josh at the kitchen table.

  “Did your parents enjoy their vacation?” Bridget asked, keeping the conversation light, away from the personal. Away from anything that mattered.

  “Yes, but they felt terrible when they heard Max was sick.”

  “How was the weather in San Francisco?” she asked.

  “Foggy.”

  “Figures. You know I haven’t worn shorts in the summer for years. Since I went to Girl Scout camp. I think I’m getting freckles. At my advanced age.”

  He tilted his chair back and let his eyes roam over her body. She felt the heat from his gaze as it lingered here and there. “On you they look good.”

  “What?” It was an effort to keep her voice steady when he unnerved her so with just a look. She couldn’t even pick up her coffee cup for fear of spilling it all over the table. “The shorts or the freckles?”

  “Both,” he said with a sexy grin.

  If she didn’t know better, if she didn’t know he was the most unavailable unmarried man she’d ever met, she would have sworn he was flirting with her.

  “Did something happen this week?” she asked, a tiny flicker of hope stirring in her breast. Maybe he’d changed his mind about devoting his life to the memory of a dead woman.

  “Did something happen?” he asked. “My son got sick, my in-laws were here, my parents went away and came back. You were here. And now you’re back. That’s the best part. Why do you ask?”

  She studied his face. “Just wondering. You seem different”

  “I’m relieved. Max is getting well. The worst is over.” He stood and pulled her out of her chair. Despite her resolve, her fingers closed around his wrists. “I missed you so much,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

  Goose bumps rose all over her arms and bare legs. Drums beat a rhythm in her ears, almost drowning out the warnings. She ached to feel his arms around her, to feel his mouth come down on hers, hard and demanding. She longed to slip her hands inside his denim shirt, press her palms against the muscles of his chest and feel his heart beat in time to hers. But this was not going to happen. She was a fool if she thought she had a chance at happiness with him, with someone who had loved once and would never love again.

  He ran his hands down her arms, settled on her waist. She stiffened. He sensed her hesitation and drew back to look at her, furrowed lines deepening across his forehead. She broke away, went to the sink, took a drink of water, then turned to face him.

  “This was a mistake,” she said. “I shouldn’t have come. I can’t come here anymore, Josh.”

  “I’ve asked too much of you, haven’t I?” he asked, frowning. “Taking care of Max. I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s just the opposite. You haven’t asked enough.”

  “I thought you liked it here,” he said. “You fit in so well.”

  “I do like it, I like it too much. But I don’t fit in. There’s no room for me here. If I don’t break away now, I...I—” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “It’s my own fault. When I came here to Harmony I was in a vulnerable state. Feeling good about my career, but terrible about my personal life. I told you how I’d been dumped and it would be only natural the next man who came along—”

  “The next man,” he said, “meaning me.”

  “Yes, you. You’re so solid, so honest. I couldn’t help but see the contrast. I lost my head a little bit. I really like you, Josh.” She bit her lip. “But from now on it’s got to be strictly business between us and that’s all. Not that it was ever really more,” she assured him. “But I can’t keep hanging around here, dying to fi
t in, when I really don’t fit in at all.”

  “Max told my in-laws about you,” he said, straddling the kitchen chair. “And they told me they’d understand if I found someone I wanted to marry. I think they would almost welcome it in a way.”

  “Maybe to give Max a mother,” she suggested soberly.

  “I wouldn’t do that. I’d never marry someone just so Max could have a mother. It wouldn’t be fair to her. The fact is that everyone—my parents, as well as my in-laws— wants me to remarry. They don’t seem to understand.” The frustration in his voice was unmistakable.

  Bridget wanted to blurt out that she understood, as well as anyone could who hadn’t lost a loved one. For all she knew she’d do just the same. Swear off love forever.

  “I shouldn’t expect them to understand how I feel. No one can unless they’ve gone through it”

  “But, Josh...” She hesitated only a moment, then she took a deep breath and continued, because if she didn’t say it now, she’d never say it. “Okay, you’re the only one who knows how you feel. You’re the only one who’s gone through it But maybe people like your parents think you’ve spent enough time mourning. Don’t you agree that life is too short to cut yourself off from love? When you have so much to give. Not that you, not that I—”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear another word. Not from her. Not from anyone. He was tired of being told what he should do and how he should feel. No one knew how he really felt. How he struggled with guilt every time he thought about Molly, wishing he’d been a better husband, a better person. He could never compound that guilt by falling in love with someone else, someone so different, so completely different. Someone who didn’t belong here, who’d leave the minute she realized what life was really like in Harmony. ‘“Not that you know anything about it,’ is that what you were going to say?” he asked.

  “I know that I wouldn’t wish a lonely life on anyone,” she said, crossing her arms at her waist.

  “What makes you think my life is lonely?” he said, knocking his chair over with a loud bang in his haste to get to his feet. “I have a son, parents, sisters. You’re the one with the lonely life. Is that why you’re telling me this? Because you’re projecting your own feelings on me? Because if you are, I don’t want to hear it Save your advice for someone who wants it” He didn’t mean for his words to sound so harsh and so unfeeling. But that’s the way they came out.

  Bridget winced as if he’d struck her, then shivered as if she felt the chill in the air. She opened her mouth to say something, but she must have changed her mind. Without speaking, she turned and marched out the door, her chin in the air. He watched her go, already regretting the way he’d lashed out at her. Wishing he could stop her. Wishing he could take his words back. Because although part of what he said was true, he’d lied to her. He was lonely. Lonelier now since he’d met her than he’d ever been.

  She was right about one thing. He’d certainly heard it all before. Could everyone but him be wrong? Right or wrong, hearing it again from an outsider, realizing that even a stranger could size up his situation in such a short time and be so damned outspoken had just made him mad. Mad and even more determined to never love again. To never hurt again. It didn’t matter what anyone thought. No one knew how he felt but himself.

  Granted, it was a lonely life, but it was his life. He was so tired of hearing people tell him how he should live it. It was bad enough hearing it from his parents, then his parents-in-law. But to hear it from Bridget, too, had pushed him over the edge. Still it didn’t give him the right to hurt her like that He sighed and went to check on Max.

  When Bridget called him the next day, she kept her voice as frosty as a morning in winter and asked him when to schedule the photographers. She was holding her appointment calendar in her hands, so afraid he’d tell her to forget the whole thing her hands shook. But he didn’t. He said one more week ought to do it Max would be completely over the chicken pox. She wrote down the times and dates in a shaky scrawl she could barely read. Gathering her courage, she asked if he knew where the three-man crew could stay overnight. He volunteered the spare room in his house as long as it was only for a night.

  She was surprised—no, she was outright shocked at this display of magnanimousness. She thought for sure he’d tell them to sleep in tents in the pasture. Or at a hotel in Reno, three hours away. She assured him they’d bring sandwiches from the diner for their lunch and go back to town for dinner. He thanked her, she thanked him. Magnanimous or not his voice was as cool as hers. He was all business, just as she wanted it—the way it had to be.

  If that was the way she wanted it why did she feel like going back to bed and pulling the covers over her head?

  She should be glad. After a two-week delay, everything was moving like clockwork. She had the two-day shoot completely planned out on paper, down to the last detail— closeups with horse and without; in the corral and out; on the hill; in the pasture. She was pleased, but she wasn’t happy. How could she be, when she knew that Josh saw her as a pathetic, lonely creature, clinging to him and his son for companionship? No, he hadn’t said it in so many words. He didn’t have to. She got the message.

  She didn’t go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. Recalling Kate’s motto, “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping,” she went down to the dry goods store and bought souvenirs for her friends at home. It was a way of saying to herself, I am going home. I have a home and I’m going there. I have friends, too. She was trying to drown out the words, the words that haunted her ever since he’d spoken them. You’re the one with the lonely life.

  She bought a pair of silver earrings and a slew of bright cotton scarves. After trying on a dozen hats, she settled on a soft white buckskin resistol hat for Kate, and for her father, a hand-tooled leather belt with silver studs like the one she bought for Josh’s father. Feeling a little bit better with every purchase, she bought herself a new pair of white Wrangler jeans and a white Western-style shirt fringed with red and a red scarf to wear to Suzy’s party. Then she broke down and bought herself a hat and boots.

  When she came out of the tiny dressing room to look in the mirror, the owner smiled her approval. “You look like Miss Rodeo,” she said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I’ve overdone it, haven’t I?” she said, frowning at herself in the mirror. There she went again. Trying to be something she wasn’t. Trying to fit in and botching it. She wasn’t Miss Rodeo. She was Miss City Girl. She shook her head at the image in the full-length mirror. She loved the outfit, she really did. But did she have the nerve to wear it? Before she could change her mind, she changed back into her clothes, put the outfit on the counter and told the woman she’d take it. All of it. Everything.

  On the day of the party she compromised by wearing her own white linen shorts, the new shirt, scarf and handcrafted silver earrings. Leaving the boots and hat and jeans back in the room, she walked down Main Street toward Suzy’s house, the little house with the big yard on Sandstone Street. Bridget would have been nervous if she thought Josh would be there. But she felt sure he wouldn’t. Not after that speech he’d given her.

  Josh would certainly have no more wish to run into her than she would to run into him. It was bad enough they had to work together when the photographers came. He wouldn’t be looking forward to it any more than she was. He must be regretting the day he decided to be her Wild Mustang Man. It was to his credit that he hadn’t backed out. A lesser man would have.

  As for herself, Bridget planned to grit her teeth and get through two days of shooting somehow, then pack her bags and go home. But if she thought he’d be there today, she never would have left her room above the shoe repair shop.

  When Bridget arrived, Suzy’s big grassy yard, which wrapped around her small house, was already full of people, music and smoke from the barbecue. Suzy rushed to the gate to meet her.

  “You look terrific,” Suzy said, stepping back to get the full effect of Bridget�
�s outfit. Bridget blushed at the compliment but was reassured. Suzy was so warm, so sincere, she made her feel welcome and appropriately dressed for a Western barbecue. Bridget liked her more every time she saw her. “All you need is a hat and boots,” Suzy added.

  Bridget bit her lip to keep from blurting that she had the hat and boots and someday, somewhere, she’d wear them.

  “Come and meet the gang,” Suzy said taking her by the hand to make introductions.

  Within a few minutes Bridget was in the middle of a group of friendly men Suzy described as the “movers and shakers” of their high school class. She was busy answering their questions about the advertising business, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Josh. She stammered and stumbled over her words before she pulled herself together. It was too late to leave, but there were enough people there that she might be able to avoid him all afternoon. It was worth a try.

  She shifted the conversation to “the movers and shakers” and let them talk about themselves, and all the while she felt Josh’s gaze on her. She could almost feel his hostility radiating across the wide grassy yard. He hadn’t forgiven her for butting into his life and telling him how to live it That made them even. Because she hadn’t forgiven him for the misplaced pity he felt for her.

  Apparently she didn’t try hard enough to avoid him because just as she lined up for the buffet spread out on two long tables, he came up behind her. She held her breath. She wasn’t going to speak to him unless he spoke first. And he didn’t look like he was going to speak at all. Then why was he standing behind her, breathing down her neck? Yes, she could feel his warm breath against her hair, making her spine tingle. The noise and laughter swirled around them, but all she could think of was Josh. If he didn’t say something soon she’d do something desperate like...like—

  “Having a good time?” he said at last.

  She took a plate and heaped a large helping of green salad on it “Yes, thank you,” she said without a glance in his direction.