by Carol Grace
What was wrong with her? He’d made it clear to her they had no future. She was at work, in the middle of a project. Yes, it must be the heat. Or Harmony. Or Josh. Or all three.
She blinked to clear her mind of these subversive thoughts. She looked at her watch. She called to the crew. They stretched, got to their feet and shot reams of film all afternoon, until sunset when they finally got the shot Bridget knew was going to be the one. The sky was a palette of orange and crimson. Josh and his horse made a stunning picture outlined against the sky. It was all there—power, strength, sex appeal. Bridget licked her dry lips and remembered that first moment she’d seen him. That magic moment when she knew he was the one. The Wild Mustang Man.
She heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever happened, whatever came of this trip to this remote corner of Nevada, she’d gotten what she came for. She’d gotten more than that So much more. No, she couldn’t let herself think about how hot the sun felt at high noon on Main Street in downtown Harmony, how dusk fell over the ranch, throwing shadows over the pasture, how Max’s little hand felt in hers, and how those things would be only memories after tomorrow.
She forced herself to think about dinner. This was not the time to reflect on her experiences in Harmony. She couldn’t afford to start feeling melancholy about leaving. Before she could sink into that morass she hustled into the kitchen and while the crew took turns in the shower and Max watched TV, she constructed a casserole with the broccoli, chicken, rice and sour cream she’d bought in town. It was one she’d made before at home, so she didn’t have to concentrate too hard—fortunately, because her mind kept wandering, thinking of tomorrow. Tomorrow, her last day.
When she looked up, Josh was standing in the doorway, fresh from the shower, his damp hair hanging over his forehead, wearing clean jeans, a polo shirt and bare feet—exuding power, strength and sex appeal. She knew how he’d smell if she went up and brushed his hair back from his forehead, then linked her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face against his neck. He’d smell like soap and leather and clean clothes and not a hint of cologne, Wild Mustang or any other. He didn’t need any.
He was sexy enough as he was. More than enough. For a moment she was struck with doubts about the necessity of a men’s cologne. But all men weren’t as sexy as Josh. Some men could use a little help. Those men could use a little Wild Mustang men’s cologne. With a huge effort, she tore her eyes away from his broad shoulders and tapered hips.
“I was wrong about your being able to go about your work while we took pictures of you. We’ve taken up your whole day, and I apologize,” she said, opening the oven door to check on the chicken.
He shrugged. “I suspected as much. I planned for it. Tomorrow, too. Don’t worry about it I’ll have plenty of time to work after you leave.”
After she left. It was obvious he could hardly wait until she left so he could get back to work. He’d made that clear to her since the first day she’d arrived. It shouldn’t still hurt so much to hear it again. “The shots of you and your horse against the sky all orange and red were really beautiful,” she said, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t see how we could do any better in the morning.”
“Then you don’t want to get up for sunrise?” he asked, stacking dinner plates on the table.
“Oh sure, of course. If I don’t, I’d always wonder what if.” As if she wasn’t going to wonder what about other things. What if she told Josh she loved him, that she’d stay here forever if he asked her? That she’d...she’d...what would she do here in the middle of nowhere when her life was back in the city? Nothing. How long would she last? About ten minutes, according to Kate.
But what about the way she felt here on the ranch, out in the corral or the pasture, inside the warmth of the kitchen, with Max’s arms around her knees? Or what about Josh’s sexy teasing banter? What about it? she asked herself. It adds up to nothing. Nothing she could count on. Nothing but a brief fling. Nothing but a brief working vacation where she had learned more about life and love and herself in a matter of weeks than she’d learned in years. And now it was over. Or it would be tomorrow.
While Josh answered questions over dinner about Nevada’s climate, geography and history, the crew dug into Bridget’s chicken divan casserole, salad and ice cream sundaes with huge appetites. So did Max and Josh when they weren’t too busy talking about ranch life, about how Max had made a bike trail all the way to his grandparents’ house and how Josh had been training wild mustangs since he was old enough to sit in a saddle.
After dinner the crew went out to smoke cigarettes on the front porch. Max followed them and Josh and Bridget cleaned up the kitchen.
“I’ve worked with these guys before,” Bridget said, filling the sink with soapy water. “I’ve never seen them so interested in anything as they are in your way of life. Usually they’re pretty blasé.”
“Do you always cook for them?” Josh asked. “Put them up overnight?”
“Oh, no. We’ve never gone this far afield on location. It’s quite an experience for them. They must feel like they’re in another world. I do.”
“Looking forward to getting back to your real world?” he asked, pausing at the dish cabinet.
“Of course,” she said a little too quickly. “But I’ve had a wonderful time here.”
“You don’t have to be polite, Bridget. Harmony must seem like a backwater. I understand.”
She let that go. She wasn’t going to tell him that she’d never felt so welcome anywhere. That she’d gotten hooked on the fresh air and the wide-open spaces and the nice people. She even liked the dry heat and the sagebrush.
“Ever been to San Francisco?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said leaning against the counter.
“Maybe you’ll come for the introduction of the cologne in the fall.”
“Fall’s a busy time for me.”
“You don’t have to be polite, Josh. Just say you’re not interested. I understand.”
“Okay, I’m not interested. I told you before how I felt about men’s cologne. I’m not much for cities, either.”
She stacked the last dish firmly in the rack and turned around. “How do you know if you’ve never been there? You might be surprised. I never thought I’d like Harmony so much, but I do. I’m not being polite, either.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, observing her through narrowed eyes.
At that point she didn’t care if he believed her or not. One more day. Just one more day and then she’d be gone. He’d be glad to get back to his real life. But would she?
“I’m going to put Max to bed now,” Josh said. “He’s not going to like that. He doesn’t want to miss any more excitement. Especially after he was forced to take a nap.”
“I didn’t force him. I didn’t have to. He gave up. He let me know, however, that he wasn’t a baby.”
Josh nodded. “Well, I already gave the crew the guest room, so I’m afraid you draw the couch in the living room.
Blankets and pillow are in the closet,” he said before he turned and left the room.
She bit her lip, surprised and a little hurt he’d dismissed her so brusquely. When would they say goodbye, or wouldn’t they? Tomorrow, at the end of the day, would she just drive off into the sunrise with a casual wave? That was probably better than some teary embrace. “See you at sunrise,” she called. “And Josh...thanks again for your hospitality. We couldn’t have done it without you. I know you didn’t want me here, but—”
“Forget it,” he said over his shoulder. He was clearly uncomfortable with her sincere gratitude. Probably afraid she was going to launch into some emotional discussion with him. But she had to say something, and it was better said now than later. She went into the living room, found the pillow and blanket and tossed them on the extra-long leather couch. Dimming all the lights but one small desk lamp with a cowhide shade, she stretched on the couch and observed the native American wall hangings and rugs that had so impressed her that first
day, trying to forget tomorrow was her last day.
On the mantel above the stone fireplace was a pair of silver candlesticks and next to them the large photograph of Molly, with her soft eyes and her sweet smile. She seemed to be looking straight at Bridget. Welcoming her to Harmony, to her house, to the living room she’d so carefully furnished. Bridget remembered hearing her friends describe her as a saint and the way her picture was positioned between the candles almost reminded her of a shrine. What would she say if she knew Bridget had fallen in love with her husband and her son?
If she really was a saint she might say, “Josh needs a wife, Bridget. His family is right. Just because I died first doesn’t mean he’s supposed to stay single the rest of his life. And Max definitely needs a mother. You’re not quite what I had in mind, you know, a career girl and a city girl to boot, but I believe you have potential. You seem to be fond of Josh. I was. He was the only man I ever loved. If you think you can make him happy, go for it.”
“Go for it...how?” Bridget murmured. “He’s as good as told me I don’t have a chance. Nobody does. Nobody can compete with you. Especially not me. I don’t grow vegetables or make my own jam or roam the county taking care of other people in trouble.”
“What about Max?” Molly asked in Bridget’s mind. “You took care of him when he was sick.”
“Yes, but...”
“The jam isn’t important. Oh, sure, winning first prize at the county fair was a thrill. One of my wishes that came true. Make your own wishes, Bridget. Find a lucky star and make a wish. Then make it come true.”
“Is that how it works?” Bridget asked. “Is that how you got everything you wanted? A husband who adored you, who still adores you and a little boy and—” A sigh of pure envy escaped her lips, and she turned her head toward the landscape paintings of red rocks and desert on the far wall.
Her eyelids drooped. She was tired, physically and mentally exhausted, but when she turned out the light, she couldn’t sleep. It was too early, that was the problem. Too early to go to bed, too late to stay up, and nowhere to go. She couldn’t risk running into Josh and starting another awkward conversation. She heard footsteps in the hall, Josh’s. Voices, belonging to the crew. Max’s voice calling his father to bring him a glass of water. She pictured the little boy sitting up in bed reaching out for the glass, his lively brain thinking up more excuses to put off the inevitable bedtime.
She stared out the large, picture window at the starry night. Was there a wishing star out there for her? She tossed off the wool blanket with the geometric Indian design, got up and went to the window. There were too many stars, and she had too many wishes. And it was too late. Tomorrow night she’d be on the road, back to San Francisco. Back home.
She pressed her forehead against the window. Home. Once she got there she’d be fine. She’d been away too long already. She’d started to think of this corner of the world as home. She’d adjusted to this arid landscape, this small town, these friendly people, faster than she could have imagined.
When she got home, she would plunge herself back into work. She had plenty to do, tying up this Wild Mustang business. Then she had to find another account. Her fragile new business couldn’t rely on one men’s cologne account no matter how popular and lucrative it became. She had to get out there and hustle. To show everyone, including one Scott Marsten and his father’s company that she was not a one-account agency.
“Bridget. What is it? What’s out there?”
She whirled around to see Josh standing in the semidarkness of the living room.
“The stars. I was thinking of making a wish, but I don’t know which star it is I’m supposed to wish on.”
“Sometimes it’s better not to make a wish,” he said walking to the window to look out with her. “What do they say? Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.”
There was such sadness in his voice, Bridget stared at him in surprise. It was too dark to read the expression in his eyes. In the moonlight they were only deep pools of hidden meaning. She could only guess at the grief he felt even now, at the wish that ended too soon. But did he wish he could take back his wish?
“What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought...”
“You thought my wish came true. Yes, I got married to Molly.” He turned to look at her picture on the mantel. Though Bridget couldn’t make out her features from there, Josh must know them by heart. “It was all I ever wanted. That and making my living here on the ranch. But we were only eighteen, too young to know what we really wanted. So we got married. And found out we wanted different things.
“Molly wanted to have children. Right away. She was a great nurturer. A wonderful mother when it finally happened. But it didn’t happen for a long time. A long frustrating time for her while she tried to get pregnant. As an alternative, she devoted herself to helping the people in the community. If there was an emergency, Molly was there. A sick child, an accident in the field, a friend in the hospital—she was on the scene with her homemade bread, her jam and her tireless nurturing.”
“She’d be gone for days sometimes. The gratitude she got, the love she felt for the community, and the appreciation, somewhat made up for the lack of a child in her life. But not entirely. Just taking care of the house and me wasn’t enough. I knew that. I understood, but I didn’t know what to do, how to help her. The harder we tried to have a baby, the harder it was to conceive, and the more frustrated we got. We couldn’t talk about it. But we thought about it all the time. At least she did. She said she didn’t blame me. But I felt like I’d failed her, anyway.”
Bridget took a step backward and bumped into the arm of the overstuffed chair that flanked the window. Her knees wobbled so much she could no longer stand. Her hands were ice-cold. She didn’t know what to say. That Josh would confide in her this way overwhelmed her. To find out that his perfect marriage was not perfect shocked her to the core.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Do? I bought wild mustangs. I broke them, I trained them and I sold them. I became one of the best around here. I didn’t complain. How could I? I’d gotten everything I’d wished for. But I sometimes wondered if I should have gone to college, like Jed did. Learned something about agribusiness, more than my dad could teach me. Or studied art, literature, what have you. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“No, not at all. I think at our age everyone has second thoughts or some regrets just wondering what if. I guess you were a little young, but maybe you were having a sort of midlife crisis. Anyway things must have changed when Max was born.”
“Yes, oh, yes. Molly was consumed with Max. And she still made time for everyone else who needed her. Everyone but me.”
“What?”
“I’ve never told anyone about this. I don’t know why I’m telling you now.”
“Maybe because I’m a stranger. I have no ties to Harmony, and I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“That must be it,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t mean to complain about Molly. She was perfect. The perfect wife and mother and neighbor. That’s what everyone said. And then she died. Before I could tell her how I felt about her. How much I loved her, appreciated what she’d done. What she’d made of herself.”
“But she knew. She must have known,” Bridget said. “For her you were the perfect husband. Just as she was the perfect wife.”
“I don’t understand it. How could God take anyone so good?” Josh asked, his face contorted with anger. He pounded his fist against the woodwork. “How could He take Max’s mother away from him?”
Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. She stood and crossed the floor and put her arms around him, feeling his solid muscles. “Maybe we’re not meant to understand,” she said. “Maybe we just have to accept that.”
Josh closed the gap between them and ran his hands down her back and buried his face in her hair. He was drained. He’d never meant to tell her. He’d never meant to tell anybody. Was it really because she was leaving tomorro
w? Because she had nothing to do with him or his life? Or was it because she understood? That she knew him better than those who had known him all his life?
The heat from her body warmed him, the understanding she felt came through in a wave of overwhelming, heart-wrenching emotion that rocked his body and yet gave him strength. Over her head he glanced up at the framed photo of his wife. His former wife. His late wife. For the first time he thought of her in the past without feeling guilty.
He tilted Bridget’s chin to look at her. Moonlight gilded her face and turned her hair to spun sugar. In her eyes he saw tiny embers of desire flickering in the moonlight. Desire rocketed through him like a tornado, making him want to fan those embers, bring them to flaming passion. It was madness. He’d just finished telling her about his marriage and his former wife, and suddenly he’d been set free. Free from guilt and betrayal. And now all he could think about, all he could feel was a surge of relief and Bridget. Bridget in his mind and in his heart and in his arms.
He kissed her, and she kissed him back Her touch, her scent inflamed him. His tongue slid between her parted lips, seeking, thrusting, savoring. He could finally admit to himself that Bridget’s kisses did things to him that no one else’s ever had. Made him want her in a way he’d never wanted anyone before. He marveled at how her body molded to his, her breasts pressed against his chest her hips locked against his.
It was happening again. Every time he kissed her it happened. Every time she kissed him. Needs swirled around them like tumbleweed, catching at their clothes, threatening to sweep them away in a tide of passion. He didn’t want to love Bridget. He didn’t want to love anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to love him. Not like that. Because he was never going to get married again. He couldn’t risk losing the person he loved.