A COWBOY'S GIFT

by Anne McAllister

  "I told you, we used to know each other."

  "I know, but—"

  "I used to be engaged to her."

  "You an' Miz McLean?"

  Gus nodded. He flexed his shoulders, rubbing them against the back of the seat. He turned his gaze back to the road. "A long time ago. I was nineteen. An' we were going to get married an' I … an' I … backed out."

  "You dumped Miz McLean?" Becky gaped.

  "I didn't dump her!" He glared at her, then when she shrank back at his harsh tone, he said, "Sorry," in a quieter voice. "I didn't think I was dumping her," he qualified. "I thought I was savin' us both."

  "How'd you figure that?" Becky sounded somewhere between dazed and scornful.

  "We were too young. I was too young," he modified. "I wasn't ready to settle down. Only I didn't realize it until we were engaged an' things started getting out of hand." His mouth twisted.

  Becky looked at him quizzically, as if she wasn't quite sure what that meant.

  Gus tugged at his shirt collar, then sighed. "I sorta felt like I was choking. Like the walls were closin' in, you know what I mean?"

  Becky scratched her nose. "I think … yeah. Maybe. I guess. Like you think you want somethin', and then when it turns out you might get it, you sorta panic?"

  "Exactly," Gus said, and shot her a relieved smile. "How'd you get so smart?"

  Becky smiled faintly, "Oh, I guess it happens to everyone."

  "Well, it happened to me then," Gus went on. "And I didn't see her for years. Not until that day I came to pick you up. And it was—" he stopped and seemed to grope for the words "—it was, I don't know, just like it used to be, I guess."

  Becky's forehead wrinkled. "Huh?"

  Gus negotiated his way through the snow drifted along the shoulder of the road to turn onto the rural lane that led to the ranch house. Then he rubbed a hand over his face. "I was hot for her," he muttered.

  "Oh." Becky's face turned scarlet.

  "Sorry. I shouldn't be layin' all this on you. I'm just tryin' to explain. When I saw Mary again it was like bein' hit between the eyes. It was like nothing had changed. Except me," he added. His mouth twisted. "I grew up. I tried to tell her that, as best I could. Which wasn't very good," he admitted. "But it's true. And, damn it—" he slapped his hand on the steering wheel "—she feels the same way."

  "She does?" Becky sounded doubtful.

  But Gus was sure. "Yes," he said flatly. "She does. She loves me. I know she does. An' I love her."

  Becky didn't say anything. They bounced along up the rutted lane, the wind buffeting the truck. Finally she slanted a glance his way. "So," she said, "if Miz McLean loves you and you love her, what's the problem?"

  "The problem is she won't admit it. She's afraid to care again. Afraid I'll hurt her again."

  "Will you?"

  "No!"

  "Just askin'!"

  "I'm not hangin' around to hurt her. I love her. I just … need to convince her." His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. "And I'm not doin' a very good job. So, I thought maybe, since you helped your dad and Felicity, maybe you could help me."

  "Get you two together?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you want to marry her?"

  That was laying it on the line.

  "I—" Gus took a quick harsh breath. "Yes. I do."

  It felt like a vow. He meant it like one.

  Becky stared out the window. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if she thought he was a complete idiot. He couldn't help it.

  "Can I ask Susannah to help?" she asked finally.

  Susannah? He grimaced. More young women who would know how incompetent he was. Aw, hell, what did it matter as long as he convinced Mary?

  "Sure," he said, resigned. "Why not?"

  * * *

  They decided he had to be subtle.

  "Subtle?" Gus said doubtfully.

  If he were any more subtle she wouldn't know he was still alive. He hadn't seen Mary since the night he'd brought her home from Bozeman in the snowstorm. He'd debated driving over and banging on her door last night after he'd talked to Becky, but she'd held him off.

  "No," she'd said firmly. "You asked me to do this. I'm doing it. I'm talking to Susannah tonight. We'll get back to you."

  They'd get back to him!

  He had to be insane to put his love life in the hands of a pair of teenage girls!

  But then he remembered that, as a teenager, Mary had known a whole heck of a lot more about love than he had. Maybe it came with being a girl. Certainly Becky and Susannah had one happy couple who could provide letters of recommendation.

  Still, he was a little dubious when they tracked him down, out by the corral Tuesday afternoon, and laid out their plan.

  "She's coming for Thanksgiving dinner," Becky told him.

  "And so are you," Susannah continued.

  "So you just get me sitting next to her and—"

  "No!" Becky said.

  "You can't sit next to her," Susannah agreed. "It wouldn't be subtle."

  "What's with this subtle?" Gus complained.

  "It's what you have to do when you've blown it the first time around," Susannah said bluntly. "Trust us. You have to be casual. Disinterested."

  "You can say hello," Becky told him. "But that's all."

  "All? You mean I can't—"

  Both girls shook their heads. "No!"

  "But—"

  "Trust us," Becky said again. "There will be a time…"

  Gus's eyes narrowed. He looked at them both a little warily. No. Very warily. They looked back—two pairs of earnest, shining solemn eyes.

  "Trust us."

  He sighed—and nodded.

  They beamed.

  * * *

  When she'd agreed to go to the Joneses' for Thanksgiving, Mary hadn't given a thought to Gus being there.

  Now she couldn't think of anything else.

  Of course he would be. She knew, from seeing his truck on Monday afternoon outside the school, that he had not, as she'd hoped, taken off for parts unknown. He had come back.

  She'd half expected he would turn up on her doorstep that night.

  She went to bed a little later than usual, not wanting to be caught in her nightgown when he did. When he didn't, she'd told herself she was relieved.

  Of course she was.

  But then she was sure he'd drop by on Tuesday. Or Wednesday.

  But he didn't come either day.

  And on Wednesday night, she realized why. He would be there on Thanksgiving. He would undoubtedly contrive to sit next to her. And he would make her uncomfortably aware of him the whole time.

  She considered calling Felicity and begging off.

  She didn't because Gus would know exactly why she had done it—and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

  It started to snow while she was making the two pumpkin pies she'd promised to bring. Once more she considered calling and begging off. They all knew she didn't drive well in snow. She didn't want to get stuck out on a rural road somewhere.

  The phone rang as she was pulling the pies in the oven.

  "Hi," Felicity said. "You're not to worry about driving. Someone will come and pick you up."

  Gus. Mary was sure.

  "It's really not necessary," she began. "I don't want to put anyone out. Don't worry about coming to get me. I have leftovers here."

  "Don't be ridiculous. Just be ready at three, okay?"

  Mary wanted to say no. She sighed and said, "Okay."

  It would be Gus. She was sure it would be Gus. She paced the floor, wrung her hands, went to the bathroom, then did it all over again. She set the pies to cool on the back porch and went back to watch out the front windows for his battered red truck.

  And all the while she gave herself a pep talk on how to resist him.

  At five minutes to three a gray Ford Explorer turned the corner and plowed up Apple Street to pull to a stop in front of her house. An older man got out and c
ame to the door.

  "Mr. Jones?" She gaped, recognizing Taggart's father. He beamed at her. "Felicity called and asked if me and Ma would stop and pick you up on the way to the ranch."

  "Oh! Of course. I'll be ready in a moment." Mary hurried to get the pies and to put on her boots and coat, feeling foolish. She'd been so sure it would be Gus!

  Maybe he wasn't going to be there after all.

  She didn't have time to wonder. As they drove to the ranch, Taggart's mother, Gaye, turned around in front and plied her with questions about her pregnancy, wanting to know how she was feeling, when she was due, and assuring her she thought it was a lovely thing she was doing for her sister.

  In fact, Gus was there when they got to the ranch. He was waiting, but instead of coming to her, he helped Gaye through the snow to the front door while the girls took the pies. Will carried in the food they had brought, and it was left to Taggart to give Mary his arm.

  Thanksgiving at the Joneses' was, Mary soon discovered, a noisy affair.

  Besides Taggart and Felicity and their children, Taggart's parents, his partner, Noah Tanner, and all his family, there were twenty-four bull-and bronc-riding students, who were spending the Thanksgiving weekend there at Noah and Taggart's four-day intensive school, there were three other families from the valley—the McCalls, two sets of Nicholses, an older man named Jamison and a birdlike older lady called Maddie Fletcher. There were babies and toddlers, big kids and little ones. There were two more pregnant women—one of the Nichols women, who had lots of dark-red hair, was even bigger than she was. And Brenna McCall, the artist Mary had heard so much about, looked to be about midway there.

  Mary wasn't sure what sort of reception the other pregnant women would give her. Some people found her carrying her sister's baby strange and off-putting. But both of them greeted her with warmth and camaraderie.

  "You've got to be a saint," the redhead huffed, out of breath from the exertion of just getting across the room, "to do this for someone else. I'm Poppy, by the way. And you're Mary?"

  "Come and sit down," Tess Tanner dragged both of them toward a sofa. "We don't want any babies born here this evening."

  "When are you due?" they asked each other simultaneously, then laughed.

  "Snap." Poppy grinned. "I'm due in three weeks—if I make it that far."

  "I'm not due until February," Mary admitted. "This is just a big baby."

  "And there's less of you than there is of me," Poppy said ruefully.

  "You look mighty good to me," her husband, Shane, said, bringing them each a glass of milk. He settled down next to Poppy on the sofa and slid his arm around her, pulling her back against him, then proceeded to knead her shoulders.

  "Ah!" Poppy smiled and arched her back. "There. And just a little lower. Yes, like that. Mmmmm."

  Mary caught herself almost whimpering with envy—and instinctively looked around for Gus.

  As if she would ever let him do the same for her!

  No way. She berated herself for even thinking it. But still her eyes sought him—and found him on the far side of the room, hoisting a beer with a group of the students from the school—including both of the very svelte and curvy cowgirls. He hadn't done more than glance in her direction since she'd arrived.

  So much for wanting her.

  He barely seemed to know she was there.

  * * *

  Gus knew where she was every single moment.

  And it was all he could do not to push his way through the throng of people and take his place beside her.

  "Are you sure about this?" he said through his teeth to Becky when she passed, carrying a bowl of cranberry sauce to the table. He didn't like subtle very much at all.

  But Becky didn't bat an eye or so much as glance in Mary's direction. "Of course we're sure."

  Gus wasn't. He hadn't liked leaving her to Taggart to shepherd in from the car. He didn't like letting Shane get her a glass of milk. He didn't have the slightest interest in either one of those annoying wannabe cowgirls from the bronc-riding class who kept cozying up to him and trying their female wiles out on him.

  He ground his teeth.

  Tess came by and put him to work stirring the gravy in the kitchen. Then he had to fill water glasses and mop up Clay Tanner's spilled milk.

  By the time Gus got through the buffet line he wasn't only not sitting at Mary's table. He wasn't even sitting in the same room.

  He glared at Becky when her eyes met his across the room, but she just smiled, then turned back to talk to Tuck McCall.

  Watching them, Gus was reminded of when he and Mary had first become a couple.

  They hadn't been all that much older than Becky and Tuck.

  It didn't seem possible, Becky and Tuck looked so incredibly young! How could he have thought he was serious about a girl at that age?

  And yet he had been.

  He'd dreamed about Mary every night. He'd thought about her every day. Part of it, granted, had been hormones. But there had been a lot of girls willing to assuage what their health ed teacher, Mrs. Plum, had called his "masculine needs."

  But Gus hadn't taken them up on it.

  It had damned near killed him, but he'd waited for Mary—until she was ready, until she was convinced they were going to be a couple—forever.

  He'd thought they were.

  He hadn't realized how fickle he could be—how tempting the horizon would become, how vast the still unexplored world would seem.

  Mrs. Plum had warned them.

  "Biology is not all!" she'd said like she was handing down a universal truth. "Emotions matter, too.

  "The hard part is getting them coordinated," she'd gone on. She'd lectured them at length, talking not just about sex and reproduction, but about relationships. She'd probably said a whole lot more than most school boards would have approved.

  Not that her students had listened.

  Or not that Gus had, anyway.

  He'd been a kid—and he'd acted like one.

  "Food's not that bad, is it?" Felicity settled down beside him and looked at his untouched plate.

  "Not bad at all," Gus assured her. "It's fantastic."

  "You can tell by looking? You haven't touched it."

  He reddened. "I'll eat. I was just … thinking."

  She patted his knee and smiled knowingly. "Good for you, Gus."

  He dug into the food on his plate, slanting her a glance, trying to decide if Becky had told Felicity she was match-making for him.

  But she didn't say anything further. Instead she started asking him about some of the students he'd been working with in bronc riding. Did he think any of them had potential? Did he enjoy teaching? Was he going to go back into competition next year?

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary pass through the room, three eager young cowboys creating a wedge like a football special team so she could move through the crowded room unscathed. Gus's eyes followed her, and he didn't answer Felicity's question until she repeated it patiently. Then he stammered something that he hoped made sense.

  He didn't know if he was going back to compete next year, so he could hardly say.

  Hell, he didn't know what he was going to do next week.

  Felicity cleaned her plate, then stood up. "Once everyone is finished, I think we'll have to mix things up a little, make sure all you cowpokes don't just stand around talking about horses and bulls. How are you at parlor games?"

  Gus looked up, horrified. "What?"

  * * *

  Mary had never laughed so much in her life.

  By the time they'd split into teams and worked their way through song-title charades and she'd watched one cowboy pantomime "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing" and another do his best with "Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini," she thought she might wet her pants or have the baby right there on the sofa.

  Then Tess suggested a different game—word associations, this time—and she divided them into teams.

  "You draw a card," she in
structed Mace, "and you have to get the people on your team to guess what the word is on your card, but you can't say any of the words listed below it. And you have a minute to do it. Go."

  He looked at it a moment, then at his wife who was sitting next to Mary on the sofa.

  "Come on," his brother urged as the timer ticked on. "Say somethin'! Time's a-wasting."

  Mace ignored him, his eyes still on Jenny. "What you always wanted to be—besides my wife," he said softly.

  The smile that touched Jenny's face was radiant. "Mother."

  A grin split Mace's face. "One point for our side."

  Some of the words drawn were easy. Some were hard.

  Mary guessed right when she said, "Rope," to Noah's "What headers and heelers use." Gus and half a dozen other cowboys were guessing lariat and lasso.

  "They do so use a lasso," Gus said indignantly when Noah said, "No!" to him.

  "That wasn't the word Noah was looking for," Tess explained. "Last card." She handed it to Mary.

  Oh, heavens.

  For a moment, as Mary stared at it, her mind went blank. She couldn't say fruit. She couldn't say prune in a previous life. She couldn't say purple. She couldn't say sugar or fairy.

  "Come on!" Shane urged.

  "Hurry up," said Mace.

  She looked up desperately and saw everyone staring at her, waiting.

  Her eyes found Gus. "Health ed teacher," she said. "Biology is not all!"

  In the stunned silence that followed, she turned bright-red.

  "Huh?" said Noah and Mace and Felicity and Taggart and half a dozen others.

  "What?" said Shane and Poppy and Jenny and the rest.

  All but one.

  "Plum!" Gus said, triumphant.

  Their eyes met.

  And Mary nodded. "Yes."

  The Thanksgiving party swirled on. More games followed, then music, to which Shane whirled his very pregnant wife into a two-step that continued until they were laughing so hard they had to sit down or, "I'm going to have this baby right here!" Poppy threatened, which sobered her husband at once.

  "You're not!"

  Poppy, smiling, said meekly, "I'll try not."

  But her words took the wind out of Shane's sails. He settled her on the sofa and put her feet up in his lap.

  Gus, watching, would have liked to do the same thing to Mary. He'd connected with her—at last. Over Mrs. Plum, of all the crazy things!