by Carol Grace
“Don’t thank me,” he said.
“I’m not. It’s just a figure of speech.” She spooned some baked beans onto her plate so vigorously they splashed on her new shirt “Oh, damn,” she muttered.
“Here, let me.” Before she could jerk away, he’d pulled out his handkerchief and was mopping up the brown juice just under the red fringe of her shirt. Just under the fringe and just over her breast Despite her efforts to be cool and detached, his touch caused her nipples to harden and peak under the soft cotton. By the gleam in his eyes and the smile he was trying to smother, he knew what he’d done and he wasn’t one bit sorry. Damn him.
If he didn’t know it now, he would soon know how upset she was. Just as she was about to let loose with an angry outburst, in a refined and dignified way, of course, Josh casually fingered the fringe on her shirt.
“Nice shirt,” he said. “All you need is a hat and boots.”
“All I need is a glass of cold water to throw in your face.” A sheepskin jacket would be nice, too, to conceal her traitorous body’s response to his touch. But she would have to get along without either the water or the jacket. She’d just have to get herself under control. She’d have to forget how it felt to have him cup her breasts in his hands, brush her nipples with his thumbs. Her face flamed at the memory. He misread the high color in her cheeks.
“You’re mad. I understand that. I was way out of line, talking to you the way I did the other day. After all you’ve done for me.”
“Forget all I’ve done for you,” she said hotly. “I don’t want your gratitude.”
“What do you want, Bridget?” he asked softly.
Your heart. That’s what I want. But it isn’t yours to give. Not anymore. The words she could never say stuck in her throat “Nothing,” she said. “I have everything I want, thanks to your agreeing to be the Wild Mustang Man. I’m the one who’s grateful to you. Not to mention the fact that you’re having the crew overnight. I appreciate that.”
He shrugged. “Where else could they stay? Besides, Max is looking forward to them coming. He wants to take pictures, too. Ever since that day you let him use your camera, he’s been talking about it. Making movies, being in the movies. Maybe he’ll turn out to be a cinematographer.”
“I thought you’d want him to tame wild mustangs like you do.”
“He couldn’t care less about horses. I’ve given up on that.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if he turned the barn into a sound studio?”
“As long as it doesn’t scare my horses.”
A tall man in a wide-brimmed hat came up behind Josh and slapped him on the back. “Gentry,” he said. “I’ll be damned if it isn’t our class president. God, it’s good to see you. Sorry to hear about Molly.”
Bridget froze. Watching, waiting to hear what he’d say.
“Thanks,” Josh said. “How’ve you been, Dave?”
She exhaled. That was it. If only he felt the way he sounded, resigned but ready to move on. But she knew he didn’t.
“Good. Hey, your son gonna be a football player like you?”
Josh shook his head. “Not interested in football. Or horses. Only thing he cares about is riding his bike. Wants a motorbike next. And he’s only five.”
“Give him time. He’ll come around,” Dave said, spearing a piece of barbecued chicken. “What about a little scrimmage after lunch in the backyard. You up for that?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t played since that last game senior year.”
“Homecoming,” Dave said with a nostalgic smile. “We beat Anniston thirteen to twenty-one. What a game. I kept the football. And I brought the picture from the front page of the Harmony Times. Heard you’d be here today.” He reached into his shirt pocket for a yellowed clipping. “Here’s you, here’s me,” he said proudly.
Bridget leaned over his shoulder. The face that looked up out of the old clipping was the ail-American boy, so young, so tough, with the mud-splattered football uniform, and yet so vulnerable her heart stopped. What if she’d known him then? He wouldn’t have looked twice at her, Bridget told herself. He was in love with his Molly. Bridget dragged her gaze from the old newspaper. Tally spotted her and waved her over to her table. A few minutes later, Josh had found a place at the table between her and Tally’s husband, Jed. Bridget turned and gave him her coolest look, the one that said, if you want to avoid me, if you find me such a buttinski, an annoying thorn in your side, then why are you following me around this party?
By the way he’d wedged himself onto the bench next to her, he seemed oblivious to her apparent dislike for him, and he seemed determined to throw himself into the conversation with his old friends and classmates, to show everyone he hadn’t become a hermit or a recluse.
“I’ll never forget that night after the prom at the beach,” Jed said. “By shoving me in your car when I was drunk, you probably saved my life, Josh. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”
“No need,” Josh said. “You would have done the same for me.”
“I guess none of us has forgotten that night,” Tally said softly. “And the wishes we made.”
Bridget held her breath. They talked as if she’d been there, and she almost felt like she had, hearing them all wish on a star as they sat on the sandy beach. Tally turned to Bridget, as if she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t been there.
“What would you have wished for, Bridget?” she asked. “If you’d been there.”
“Me? I...I don’t know,” she said, conscious of Josh’s thigh pressed next to hers, his arm brushing hers as he set his glass of beer on the table. “I guess I’ve always wanted to find love and happiness, and I also wanted to accomplish something. I’m not quite there yet,” she said wistfully.
“You’re getting close, though, aren’t you?” Tally asked.
“With Josh as your Wild Mustang Man you’ll surely accomplish something. You’ll make him famous.”
He shook his head. “I never wished for fame,” he said soberly. “All I ever wanted...”
“I know,” Tally said. “I remember. To live the same kind of life your parents lived. To have what they had. It seemed like you had it all within your grasp. I remember thinking that night that you had everything. I was so envious I could hardly stand to be around you. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.”
“As I remember, sweetheart, you didn’t sound one bit sorry for yourself,” her husband said. “You had your career all planned out, how you were going to work hard and get a horse of your own, then a ranch.”
“That was just talk. An act I put on so no one would feel sorry for me. I never really thought I’d have those things. But I couldn’t let on. Nobody wants pity.”
Bridget glanced at Josh. He was looking at her. For just a moment their glances held. And in that moment she knew that he realized how badly he’d hurt her by what he’d said. How badly she’d hated being on the receiving end of his pity.
Tally broke the serious mood by going to get coffee for everyone. The talk went back to happier times, to memories of class pranks and dances and sports. Bridget listened, amazed at how different Josh seemed from the angry man she’d first met in his bathroom. Relaxed, easy-going, recalling old teachers, telling stories, laughing and joking. Was this all an act to show her and everyone else he was fine, to prove to her especially that he wasn’t lonely, that he not only had a big family, he had friends, as well? If it was an act, it was a good one.
After lunch people drifted away to play touch football on the side lawn. Somebody called Josh to join them, but he lingered at the table. Bridget lingered, too, though she knew she should get up and mingle. But with the sun filtering through the cottonwood tree that shaded Suzy’s house, a cup of coffee in front of her, warmed by the companionship as well as the sun, she just didn’t want to move. But when she saw she and Josh were the only ones left, she pressed her palms against the table and looked around nervously.
“Don’t go,” he said, capturing her
wrists in his callused hands. “I want to talk to you.”
“I thought you’d said it all the other day,” she said, looking down at his large hands, hands that could tame a wild horse, soothe a sick child or drive a woman crazy with desire.
“I said too much,” he said. “About your having a lonely life. I didn’t know what I was talking about. You don’t have a lonely life. You couldn’t have. You attract people like...”
“Like flies, is that what you were going to say?” she asked.
He let her hands go and brushed her cheek with his knuckles, a sensual gesture that caused her to tremble. “Like honey. Like bees to honey. That guy that let you go. He was a fool. An idiot. You’re better off without him. But you know that. What you don’t know is that you’ll find someone else. Hell, you don’t even have to look. He’ll find you. You’ll have success, too, and you’ll have someone who will love you for what you are—a. ..a...” Josh wanted to say a gorgeous woman, a beautiful woman, inside and out, but he didn’t. If he did, he’d embarrass both her and himself.
He was trying to make up for the other day when he’d hurt her feelings, but he couldn’t seem to say what he felt— that she was warm, sweet, sexy and beautiful. It was true, but he couldn’t say it. It was also true that she’d made him feel alive again, that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. Including Molly. Molly was his boyhood dream. Bridget was his adult fantasy. He couldn’t say that, either. He shouldn’t even think it. Because the way she was sitting there, her beautiful hazel eyes flecked with green gazing at him expectantly, he had a strange feeling that she could read his mind.
“Yes?” she asked, a smile tilting the corners of her mouth. “Go on.” Her mouth tempted him. He knew exactly how it would feel if he kissed her now. So soft, so warm, so responsive. Her anger had melted as fast as the springtime thaw. If he was lucky, she’d kiss him back A whole string of hot, passionate kisses that would cause his heart to shift into overdrive.
He leaned forward—and caught himself just in time. What was he thinking? He couldn’t do it, couldn’t kiss her now, not even once. Because once wasn’t enough. Once led to twice, and then he’d lose count, right in the middle of this picnic with everyone he’d ever known within shouting distance. What would they think? They’d think he was the luckiest son of a gun in the world, he realized, to have found someone like Bridget And to have found love twice in his life. Love? Who said anything about love? What he felt for her was something else. It had to be. He just didn’t know what to call it.
Chapter Eight
Tired of waiting for the football star to join the game, Suzy organized three-legged sack races. When they were over, two of Josh’s former teammates came to get him, dragged him away from the table and tossed him the football. He caught it just as easily as he’d done fifteen years ago and ran down the length of Suzy’s backyard for a touchdown As he jogged back to the huddle he saw that Bridget was still at the table, engaged in animated conversation with some women from his class. It was almost as if she belonged there.
Bridget had a way of fitting in, he noticed, whether it was with his family or his classmates. It startled him to see her in that Western outfit, elbows on the table, chattering away as if she was a native Harmonian. But there was more to Bridget than that There was her guts, as Suzy put it, there was her caring, nurturing side—witness her care of Max when he was sick—and there was her playfulness, as he’d seen in the video she’d made with Max. And that wasn’t all....
To his surprise the women jumped up from the table and joined the game, spreading themselves out among the two teams as if they’d planned it. Bridget became a foreword linebacker on the other team, and before the kickoff she stared across the chalk line at him, her hands on her knees.
“You haven’t got a chance, you know that, don’t you?” he asked.
“Why not? You haven’t played for years, I understand,” Bridget said.
“No, but when we did, we beat every team in our conference.”
“That was then, this is now. If you ask me, you shouldn’t rest on your laurels. You looked a little rusty out there,” Bridget teased.
“I looked rusty? We’ll see who looks rusty,” he said with a menacing glare.
“Besides, this is touch football, isn’t it? And I come from a long line of fast runners. Have I told you how my father ran the San Francisco Marathon when he was eighty?”
“Talk about resting on your laurels. I’d advise you to rest on your own laurels, if you have any, rather than on your father’s. When was the last time you ran the marathon, by the way?”
“Well...”
“No further questions,” he said, reaching across the line of scrimmage to tousle her hair.
Josh was so wrapped up watching the fringe on her shirt sway back and forth, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her lace bra and enjoying bantering with her, he forgot about the game. Good thing this wasn’t a conference game. He could see the headlines now in the Harmony Times. “Quarterback blows it. Can’t keep mind on game. More interested in scoring with opposition than against it”
Before he knew it, someone had handed the ball to Bridget and shoved her across the line of scrimmage toward the goal. She zigged around Josh, she zagged around his buddy Dave and took off like a deer, her teammates screaming encouragement. He had to admit, she did run fast, but not as fast as he did. He’d teach her not to brag. He’d almost caught her when a guy named Pete reached her first, tagged her so hard she fell flat on the ground, tripping the woman next to her who tumbled on top of Suzy who was on top of Pete who was on top of Bridget.
Josh couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t going to breathe again until he got Bridget out from under all those bodies. He hadn’t fallen, he hadn’t stumbled, but he felt like he’d been tackled by a 240-pound linebacker and had the breath knocked out of him. Frantically he pulled people off the pile. She couldn’t be hurt. She had to be all right. It was just a game. While everyone else was laughing and groaning as they staggered to their feet she was still lying there. His throat ached too much to even speak her name. His heart pounded as he knelt at her side.
“Bridget” he said finally, gently rolling her over on her side. “Are you all right?”
“Oooooh,” she said, slowly opening her eyes. “What happened?”
“Is she okay?”
“Should I call a doctor?”
She lifted herself to a sitting position. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Josh asked, removing blades of grass from her cheek.
“Just had the wind knocked out of me,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Did we win?”
Josh exchanged a relieved look with Suzy, who said, “I told you, she’s got guts, that girl. Glad she didn’t lose them on the field in the line of duty. Time for dessert, everybody,” she said, deliberately drawing the attention away from Bridget as Josh lifted her in his arms and carried her to a shady spot under a tree.
“I still don’t know what happened,” Bridget said, rubbing her head.
“Do you know your name?” he asked.
“This is a test, isn’t it, to see if I have a concussion?”
“Well, do you?”
“Am I Joe Montana?”
“Who’s president?”
“Millard Fillmore?”
“That’s not funny. I was worried about you,” he said. Worried wasn’t the word. He was scared out of his mind when he saw her lying motionless on the ground. He couldn’t take any more accidents or illnesses. Not from those he loved.
There he went again, thinking he loved Bridget, when he couldn’t possibly love her. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. It was bad enough he had to worry about Max getting sick or in an accident. He was not going to worry about Bridget, too. But damn it, it was too late. This afternoon he’d almost had a heart attack seeing those bodies pile up on top of her.
“I think I’d like some dessert,” she said.
He stood up and looked down at her. “
Sure?”
“If it’s chocolate, I want some.”
“Stay there,” he said, and he went to the house to get something chocolate and some coffee with an extra helping of common sense before he lost his head completely. There was little or no common sense to be found in Suzy’s little kitchen, where a dozen or so of his old classmates were crowded together laughing and reminiscing about old times.
“There he is, the football hero.”
“Josh, the Wild Mustang Man.”
“Hey, what does that cologne smell like?”
“What do you think?” Josh asked. “It smells like horses.”
This reply brought more laughter, retorts and suggestions for what he could do with it
“I like the name,” Tally said. “And I’m going to buy some for Jed as soon as it comes out.”
“Save your money,” Marshall, the town banker, said. “Jed already smells like a horse.”
Jed took a mock swing at Marshall, who ducked and knocked his coffee on the floor.
“Watch it” Josh cautioned. “Bridget might hear you. This is her project. She gets defensive if you knock it.”
“I don’t blame her,” Suzy said, cutting the large chocolate cake into squares. “It’s a great idea, and having Josh for the Wild Mustang Man is nothing short of brilliant Where is she, anyway? Is she okay?”