A COWBOY'S GIFT

by Anne McAllister

  "Oh." He took a deep breath. "That's all right then."

  But he still used excruciating care as he eased her car back and drove slowly out of the parking lot. Taggart was already heading up the onramp onto the interstate.

  Gus could just see his taillights ahead and he stepped on the gas a little harder in an effort to catch up.

  If he'd thought that he'd charm her in their time together, he soon realized he couldn't. He had to concentrate on the road.

  Gus had driven in his share of bad weather. He'd seen gully washers and tornadoes, blizzards and ice. He'd survived dust storms and flash floods and one Louisiana hurricane. He'd considered them a challenge. He'd relished the experience.

  He wasn't relishing this.

  What if something happened? To the car? To Mary? To the baby?

  He wasn't used to having the responsibility for another person. It was sobering. Daunting.

  "Trust me," he'd said blithely an hour before.

  But he wondered more than once as they bounced and slid, over the pass and down the other side, if she ought to be trusting him at all.

  And by the time they finally turned off the highway into Elmer, Gus felt like he'd ridden a bucking bronc for eight hours, not eight seconds. And as they turned onto Apple Street, he took a deep, relieved breath.

  One moment too soon.

  The car hit an icy patch as he tried to stop. It skidded sideways and slid straight into Mary's front hedge.

  "Cripes! You okay?" He almost didn't dare ask, afraid of what the answer might be.

  But Mary gave a giddy laugh. "Wonderful!" And he looked over to see her smiling all over her face. "You did it! Thank you!" And she kissed him hard on the mouth!

  It was the last thing he expected, nothing he'd dared hope for.

  But before he could hope at all, she jerked back. Fast. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

  He grinned. "Don't apologize."

  "I just … I was just … saying thank you. I was relieved, you know." She was backpedaling as fast as she could go.

  "You can thank me anytime you want." He started to lean toward her again when suddenly the passenger door was wrenched open and Becky poked her head in.

  "Everything okay? My dad wants to know if you're okay," she said to Mary.

  The color still high in her cheeks, Mary twisted around toward Becky. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. We were just…"

  "Kissing," Gus said softly.

  Mary shot him a glare. "I'm just getting out."

  "You hit the hedge," Becky said to Gus. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine." He was still smiling. He could still feel Mary's lips on his own. Then Taggart was there, helping Mary out of the car and saying to Gus, "What the hell were you thinking? You hit the hedge, for God's sake!"

  Gus just grinned at him, too.

  Mary got her briefcase out of the back seat and hugged it against her middle. "He did fine. He got me here," she said to Taggart, carefully not looking at Gus. "All safe and sound." She smiled at them all. "I'll just go in now. I just…" She still didn't look at Gus, not until the last moment. Then she darted a glance at him. "Thanks. Thanks to all of you." She headed for the house.

  Gus went after her. "I've got your keys."

  She held out her hand for them, but he shook his head, took the briefcase away from her and held out his arm.

  She hesitated just a moment. But short of making a scene in front of Taggart and Becky, which he knew she wouldn't do, she had no choice. She took hold of his elbow and let him lead her up the steps and to her door.

  "Thank you." She even sounded like a schoolmarm now. All frost and hairpins.

  Gus grinned. He reached around her hand, outstretched for the keys, and opened the door for her. Then he set her briefcase inside. "There."

  When he straightened up again, they were only inches apart. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. She was close enough to kiss.

  "How 'bout it, Mary?" he whispered.

  She didn't even pretend not to know what he meant. She gave a quick sharp shake of her head. "It was a mistake, Gus. I was overwhelmed with gratitude."

  "Is that what you were?" He lifted a mocking eyebrow.

  "Yes. It was a thank-you, Gus. Nothing more. And I am not going to do it again. You've been thanked. And Taggart's waiting."

  "Let him wait."

  "Gus!"

  He tried desperately to think of a reason to get her to see him again. He couldn't waste this advantage. "You remember what I said about J.D. and Lydia gettin' married? Well, it’s … gonna be next weekend. You wanta come?"

  The minute he said it, he knew he'd not only wasted whatever advantage he'd gained, but he'd dug himself into a hole a hundred feet deep.

  A wedding—any wedding—was the last place Mary would go with him! It would bring back too many memories of what they hadn't had together—of what he'd walked out on.

  Gus shut his eyes and damned his feeble brain. He could have kicked himself from here to Murray.

  "Forget I said that," he muttered.

  When he opened them again, it was to see that her smile was a little strained. "Thank you, but I don't think so. Give J.D. my best."

  "Yeah. I'll do that."

  He turned away, then turned back. "I'm not just walkin' away, Mar'," he said determinedly. "Not now that I've found you again."

  She opened her mouth, but he wasn't going to listen to her argue—not when she'd kissed him like that! He knew the difference between gratitude and what that had been.

  "I'll be around," he said firmly.

  "Gus, I don't want—"

  "Yes, you do." He met her gaze squarely. "You still want me, Mary. You do. And I want you."

  "Want has nothing to do with it!"

  "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" She shook her head fiercely. "Nothing. You wouldn't understand!"

  "I'd try. Come on, Mary."

  "No. Goodbye, Gus. Thank you and goodbye."

  He just looked at her. "I'm not walkin', Mar'. You'll see. When you're ready to admit it, I'll be around."

  * * *

  When she was ready to admit it, he'd be around!

  How dare he!!!

  He'd be around! Talk about words that were both threat and promise. Mary was afraid to think which.

  But truly, just as she'd told him, want had nothing to do with it.

  She had wanted Gus years ago. In her heart she'd wanted him all the years he was gone. And yes, heaven help her—though she would never ever admit it to him!—she was willing to admit she wanted him still.

  The trouble was, she didn't trust him a bit.

  And trust was ultimately what it was all about.

  Trust was what relationships depended on. Trust was what made them work. She'd seen that with her parents, with Ruthie and Jeff, with Taggart and Felicity.

  And Mary was determined that if she gave her heart to a man again, she would give it to a man she could trust not to break it.

  Gus had broken it once.

  She did not trust Gus.

  She also could not seem to stop thinking about him. All week long she thought about him. All week long she remembered Gus in the distant past and Gus of the Saturday night drive home.

  She couldn't seem to forget.

  It would have helped if she'd been able to actively resist him all the way home. She'd resisted his driving her—until she realized it would be safer for him to do so.

  But even then she'd expected to have to resist him during the drive. But he'd been too busy driving to pay any attention to her. All his focus was on the road and the car.

  That meant, unfortunately, that she'd been able to study him at length instead of ignoring his very presence.

  At first she'd watched his profile surreptitiously. But once she realized he was too preoccupied with the storm to notice what she was doing, she'd stared at him openly and compared what she remembered of him as a boy with the man he had become.

  She could still catch glimpses of that y
ounger Gus in his profile. In his right cheek she could still see the crease that became a dimple when he grinned. Above his deep-set eyes there were still those impossibly long lashes that she used to tease him about. And his nose still sported a bump where, during his last year of high school, a fence had broken his fall from a bronc.

  But he had changed, too.

  Webs of fine lines radiated out from his eyes now. They were lines that told her Gus had seen more than thirty hard years of an eventful life. They said he'd squinted into his share of harsh sunlight and had laughed and enjoyed what life had brought his way.

  Gus had always enjoyed life. He'd made her enjoy life—had made her laugh, had teased and tickled her, had brought her whimsical gifts and told her crazy jokes. She'd missed the jokes, the teasing, the tickling—the boy.

  How much of all that, she wondered, was still in the man?

  He was still clean shaven. He'd never, as far as she knew, gone for the mustache that many rodeo cowboys wore. But the shadow of whiskers on his jaw was darker than she remembered. It was heavier, rougher, and she'd wondered how it would feel against her cheek, against her palm.

  She'd knotted her fingers even more tightly, afraid that they might reach out and touch him—might decide of their own accord to find out what it felt like to touch Gus Holt again.

  Determinedly she'd shut her eyes and looked away. But it wasn't long before she'd been looking at him again.

  She'd found a small scar on the right side of his jaw that hadn't been there a dozen years ago. It was maybe an inch long, crescent shaped. A hoof? A horn? A broken bottle?

  She'd had to bite her tongue not to ask him about it.

  She wondered again now.

  He hadn't come back since he'd brought her home that night. But he hadn't left her alone, either—not really. He'd been in her thoughts and in her dreams all week long.

  He might not have come by school. He might not have called. He might not have dropped by her house. But he didn't have to be there physically to be present.

  He was driving her nuts.

  It wouldn't last, she assured herself. Once he was gone, the memories would fade. And, despite what he said, she was sure Gus would go.

  His ability to cool his heels in any given place had always rivaled the shelf life of a loaf of bread. His work with Taggart Jones and Noah Tanner was a casual thing. He wasn't moving in. He was hanging out.

  This weekend, in fact, he'd be gone. He'd be heading up to Murray by Friday at least to attend his brother's wedding.

  That ought to solve the problem right there. This was Gus, after all—a man allergic to marriage.

  He'd doubtless take one look at his brother reciting vows that promised forever—a forever he'd chosen not to promise—and he'd keep right on going without once looking back.

  Mary took heart from that.

  * * *

  Subtle was not a word in Gus's vocabulary. He was a here-and-now man, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get, no-nonsense kind of guy. He flirted and teased, but he didn't play games.

  He'd said what he meant to Mary last Saturday.

  He meant what he'd said. He wanted her. She wanted him.

  So why didn't she come to her senses and admit he was right?

  He hadn't expected her to call the next day. She had a right to make him sweat a little. He hadn't handled the breaking of their engagement well, and they'd been apart a long time.

  He'd been willing to concede a day—or even two—so she could come to terms with the fact that he wasn't nineteen any more. He was grown-up now. And still interested in her.

  Very interested.

  But Monday came and went and so did Tuesday.

  He wanted Mary to make a move.

  She didn't make one on Wednesday. On Thursday he began to realize she wasn't going to.

  She was going to pretend she didn't care.

  How juvenile was that?

  It would serve her right if he went to J.D.'s wedding and kept right on going. But when Becky asked him, after dinner Thursday night when he was throwing his gear into his truck so he could make an early start tomorrow, if he was coming back, he'd said, "You bet I'm coming back."

  And he'd been pleased to see Becky beam. So pleased he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  At least one female would be glad to see him return Sunday night.

  Well, Mary would be glad—eventually.

  * * *

  Gus hadn't wanted to be his brother's best man.

  Ever since he'd bailed out of his own wedding, he'd pretty much headed in the other direction anytime anyone had mentioned words like best man, wedding, groom, vows, till death do you part.

  So Rance Phillips had stood up for J.D. But Gus had been an usher, and he'd stood close enough to feel like he was right next to J.D. And hearing his brother say the words, Gus felt an odd, inexplicable yearning he hadn't felt before. It seemed to be rooted somewhere deep inside him, and though he felt it there, still knotted up, it didn't feel as tight as it had once been.

  He wondered what it would be like to make those vows. And the thought didn't even send him bolting from the church.

  Maybe it was seeing the way J.D. looked. He was so … so … so damned happy!

  Gus wasn't used to his brother being that cheerful.

  J.D. had always enjoyed a good time as well as the next guy. But he'd had a chip on his shoulder, too, as long as Gus could remember—one that over the years a lot of guys had tried their best to knock off.

  It seemed to Gus that the one who'd finally knocked it off was Lydia—and she'd done it by loving him, not by punching his lights out.

  It gave a guy pause for thought.

  Gus thought about it a lot. He thought about it during the wedding. He thought about it during the reception. He thought about it when he was lying there alone in what had once been his bedroom in the old Holt ranch house late that night.

  And he thought, if it could happen to J.D., maybe it could happen to him. Maybe life wasn't destined to be the way he'd thought it would be at age nineteen. Maybe a guy could grow up and become something more, something better.

  He wondered if he could get Mary thinking that way, too. She'd loved him once, and he'd foolishly thrown her love away. Or maybe he hadn't been entirely foolish. Maybe he'd realized he wouldn't know what to do with it if he had it.

  He thought he'd know now.

  Convincing her was going to be a little trickier.

  Gus was good at flirting. Teasing and charming were right up his alley. But he didn't think they'd cut much ice with Mary—not this time.

  He'd thought about asking J.D. how he'd managed it with Lydia, but there was never time before the wedding. And after, well, he could hardly tag along on his brother's honeymoon. J.D. was a pretty good brother, but Gus figured even he would draw the line at that!

  So he drove back to Taggart's, still weighing his options. Maybe Taggart could help. After all, he'd presumably courted Felicity. He ought to know how such a thing was done.

  But when they were out in the barn after Gus got back late Sunday night, and he asked Taggart, his friend scratched his head and said, "Courted Felicity? Not really. I got set up." He grinned ruefully.

  "What do you mean, set up?"

  "By Becky."

  "Becky?"

  Taggart nodded. "Yep. She reckoned I needed a wife. And so she and Susannah figured they'd find me one. And when the two of them put their minds to somethin', boy, a fella's gotta watch out." He winced at the memory.

  "Like how?"

  "They kept throwin' us together. Becky didn't do her homework so I'd get called in to see her teacher. And they tailed her around, so they'd know where she went and when. Then Becky started in needin' to go here or there. Hell, I couldn't buy a loaf of bread or get my trailer welded or take back a library book without runnin' into Felicity. She thought I was stalkin' her!"

  "Becky thought of that?"

  Taggart nodded. "I used to tell people when she was little that
she made life interesting. Boy, I didn't know the half of it!"

  Gus considered that. He didn't think Mary would go for stalking, and since he didn't have an eighth-grader of his own, he couldn't be a concerned parent.

  "You got someone in mind?" Taggart asked.

  Gus lifted his shoulders. "Maybe."

  "Well, ask Beck'. She's a pro," Taggart said cheerfully. "Better you than me," he added, and went off whistling.

  Ask Becky to help him do his courting?

  Gus would have to think about that.

  * * *

  In the end there were no other options.

  And, hey, Becky being a girl, maybe she'd know what sort of thing would appeal. Gus sure didn't. So he volunteered to run errands in town Monday afternoon, and he just happened to time it so he was waiting outside the school when Becky came out to catch the bus.

  She did a funny little double take when she saw his truck. He waved her over and, after a split second's hesitation, she hurried in his direction and settled into the truck beside him.

  He cleared his throat. "I had somethin' I wanted to talk to you about," he said at last. He cracked his knuckles again.

  Becky's head snapped around to look at him. "Talk to me about? Like…" She cleared her throat. "L-like what?"

  "Taggart," he began, then stopped. Then started again. "Your dad, I mean … was tellin' me how he and your mom … I mean, Felicity got together. About how you, um, sort of … got them together."

  Becky groaned. "I was a kid!" Her face turned bright red.

  Becky shrugged her back against the seat. "That's nice of him. But I don't see—" She stopped and slanted him a glance. "So what's the, um, favor?"

  "How'd you like to … maybe try your hand again?"

  Becky's eyes went wide. "What?" Her fingers clenched. "Try my hand at what?"

  "At matchmakin'," Gus clarified, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. "For me an' your Miz McLean."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  "You an'—" Becky seemed to have trouble getting her breath "—Miz McLean?" Her astonishment caused Gus to look at her. The color was in fact really high in her cheeks. "But I thought she didn't even like you."