A COWBOY'S GIFT

by Anne McAllister

  * * *

  She missed him.

  It was perverse. Ridiculous. Foolish in the extreme.

  She shouldn't even be thinking about Gus Holt. But she was. She thought about him a lot—24/7, or so it seemed.

  She remembered his kiss—and his words. "Love you, Mar'."

  And she found herself expecting to hear his boots on her steps on Saturday evening after he got done with broncriding school. But eight o'clock turned into nine o'clock and nine got close to ten and still he didn't come.

  He hadn't said he would, of course. And she didn't really care.

  But he'd said he loved her!

  She paced around the little house. She poked her head between the curtains to stare down the hill toward the highway. She scanned the street for battered red pickup trucks.

  There were no signs of Gus anywhere.

  Well, fine. So much for loving her.

  He was probably out carousing with his buddies. She wondered if he was over at the Dew Drop this very minute. Not that she cared!

  Still, something made her go and put on her heavy jacket and do the contortions necessary to stick her feet into her boots. Then she went out for a walk. It was time to return a magazine she'd borrowed from Alice last weekend. She'd had it longer than she expected.

  It had nothing to do with Alice's house being on the street behind the Dew Drop.

  Gus had done a marvelous job of shoveling her a path to Cloris's. And from there Mr. Gilliam had continued. So she didn't have any trouble reaching Alice's place. But when she got there, all the lights were off.

  Not surprising, really, as it was after ten. Well, she would leave the magazine inside Alice's storm door, then continue on her constitutional. It wouldn't hurt to go around by Main Street and then walk back.

  And if she just happened to see Gus's truck, she just happened to see Gus's truck.

  But she didn't see Gus's truck at all.

  Of course he could have ridden in with someone else. She wasn't sure how she would really know if he was in there unless she went in herself.

  No way was she going to do that!

  But just as she was passing, a group of four cowboys, laughing and shoving each other, came out.

  "Oh, hey!" one said. "How ya doin', Miz McLean?"

  She recognized him from Thanksgiving dinner at Felicity and Taggart's. She smiled. "Fine. Just … fine. Out … taking a stroll. Got to get in my exercise every day, you know. For the baby."

  All four cowboys gulped and nodded. "Yes, ma'am." They shuffled back to give her a wide berth on the sidewalk, as if what she had might be contagious.

  "Did, uh, Gus … come into town with you?" she asked. The words were out before she could stop them.

  "No, ma'am," the tallest one said. "He went on up to Taggart's. Said he had to help Becky with her homework."

  "Gus?" Mary had to work hard to keep her jaw from dragging on her toes.

  "Yes, ma'am. Somethin' about a social studies project," said the shortest one.

  "Well," she said. "Hmm," she said. She smiled vaguely at the cowboys who bobbed their heads as she passed. "That's interesting."

  It didn't make a whole lot of sense. But at least he wasn't in the Dew Drop—or anywhere else—socializing. And somehow that pleased her.

  It shouldn't, she told herself.

  But it did.

  * * *

  Sunday night Becky and Susannah relented and let him call her.

  "You can ask her out," Susannah said.

  "Out?"

  "On a date," she explained patiently. "You're courting, remember?"

  "Right." Gus scratched his head. Where the hell was he going to take her courting in Elmer?

  "You don't have to take her to some place in Elmer," Becky said when he asked. "You could take her out to dinner in Livingston. Or to a movie."

  "Or both," Susannah said magnanimously. "Go ahead and call her."

  He called. He asked her out for Wednesday night. He refused to wait until Friday to see her again. He wanted Monday, but Susannah and Becky told him he couldn't, that he needed to give Mary at least a couple of days.

  "Hey," he said when she answered. "It's me. I wondered if, um, maybe you'd like to go to dinner and see a movie? We could go over to Bozeman."

  If he didn't take her that far away, he was afraid Becky and Susannah might find a ride into Livingston and stand there and watch to make sure he did it right.

  "Wednesday? I can't, Gus," Mary apologized. "I just signed up for Lamaze childbirth classes at the hospital."

  "You're taking a class to have a baby?" It sounded weird to him, but other people thought going to school to learn how to ride a bronc was strange.

  "It's about breathing techniques. Breath control and that sort of thing. So you're prepared when the time comes."

  He thought fast. "How you gonna get there? I mean, if the roads are bad? I could drive you."

  "Well, I—"

  "I wouldn't mind. Really. What time does it start? Maybe we could have dinner first."

  She hesitated again. Then, "Thank you," she said. "It starts at seven-thirty. That would be great."

  * * *

  They ate at a place Taggart recommended. A nice place with dark paneling and soft light that served good fish and even better steak.

  Mary was surprised. "I thought you meant a burger place," she said when they went in.

  "Why would you think that?"

  "It's where we always went before."

  "I told you," Gus said firmly, "things are different. Lots of things."

  And he was determined she would know it.

  He had no idea just how different things would be, though, until they'd finished eating and he took her to the hospital for her class.

  "Where do you want me to wait?" The small reception area seemed full of people who were coughing, moaning or dripping blood. Gus had been in his share of hospital waiting rooms, but he'd always had a reason for being there.

  He guessed he could go sit in the truck.

  Mary regarded him for a moment, then got a wicked, challenging look in her eyes. "Well," she said, "I suppose you could always come along."

  He gulped. "To your class?"

  She smiled brightly. "Why not?"

  Gus cocked his head and grinned. "Is this a dare, Mar'?" Dares from Mary were always interesting. One had got him a scar on his jaw, another the chip in his front tooth.

  "Of course not." But her tone was just a little too bland.

  "You think I won't do it. You think I'll turn tail and run." Gus could see it in her eyes. "Like hell," he said. "You're on."

  * * *

  She should have known better!

  It wasn't enough that she'd practically dared Gus to come with her to the class, hoping, and failing, to discomfit him. Then she was discomfited herself when the instructor thought he was the dad!

  Mary had met the instructor before. Her name was Cait Blasingame, and she worked with the doctor Mary had chosen to be her obstetrician. Cait was about Mary's age, though taller and considerably more slender—especially now. She had long brown hair that she wore in a braid down her back, and she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that made her look more like a rancher than the nurse/midwife Mary knew she was.

  The doctor had encouraged her to sign up for Cait's class, and when Mary had, they'd chatted for a few minutes, but they hadn't discussed the circumstances of Mary's pregnancy.

  Apparently they should have.

  "Listen, all you dads," Cait said briskly, eyes traveling from one nervous, awkward, get-me-out-of-here guy to another and, to Mary's horror, lingering on Gus, "you are very important to this process. Your part in this wasn't done six or seven or eight months ago. You don't get to go pace in the waiting room and let the little missus do all the work. No sir. You're going to be working right along with her. So let's get our jackets off and get ready to buckle down and get to work."

  Half a dozen men began shedding their jackets. So did Gus.


  Drat him! Why didn't he just say he wasn't a father?

  Why didn't she?

  Mary opened her mouth … but nothing came out.

  "All right, now, ladies," Cait went on. "Let's stretch out on these mats on the floor. And fellas, you come kneel alongside."

  Gus knelt beside her. Mary wanted to die.

  "You don't have to," she hissed at him.

  He grinned. "I want to."

  "Well, I don't want you to!" She felt like a child in the middle of a squabble.

  "Is there a problem?" Cait called from the front of the room.

  "No problem," Gus said cheerfully, and his own grin dared Mary to contradict him.

  Mary sighed. "No problem," she muttered.

  Gus Holt wasn't the only one who could take a dare!

  But if she thought stretching out in front of Gus's interested gaze was bad, things immediately got worse.

  "All right, gents," Cait said briskly. "You can help best if you know how things feel. So I want each of you to put your hands on your lady's belly."

  Gus needed no urging to do that. At once his hands spread against the curve of her abdomen.

  Mary felt her face burn. She glared at him. He grinned back, unrepentant.

  "I'm sure you all have a passing acquaintance with this new person who has come between you—" Cait grinned "—but I doubt if you've really taken the time to know what it's really like, minute by minute. So while I tell you what we're going to be doing over the next few weeks and show you a video of an actual birth, I want you to just leave your hands right there. I want you to feel the tension, the movement, the contractions if they happen. It won't be quite the same for you as it is for Mom, but I think it might open your eyes."

  It certainly opened Gus's.

  Cait talked on, discussing the entire labor process, telling them what to expect, talking about how learning proper breathing techniques would help when the time came, how working with the contractions and learning to manage the discomfort could make the labor shorter and easier.

  And all the time she talked, Gus's hands cupped Mary's abdomen. They felt the bump and grind of the small person who moved around inside. They jerked when they were kicked by the small person's foot. They flexed and rubbed almost unconsciously, it seemed to Mary, when her abdomen began to grow taut with one of the many light contractions she felt every day.

  She didn't know if Gus heard a word Cait said. His attention seemed entirely focused on her belly. Mary had to admit to a certain distraction herself at the feel of strong masculine hands in such proximity. She could even get a little short of breath if she stopped to think that this was Gus who was holding her.

  What if he thought she had known Gait was going to ask them to do this? The very notion made her cheeks burn. She actually broke out in a sweat, and her breathing grew quick and shallow.

  "Are you okay?" Gus bent close and spoke softly so only she could hear. He was so close his cheek brushed her hair.

  Mary turned her head away "I'm fine. Of course I'm fine."

  "You're sure?" He sat back on his haunches and lifted one hand from her belly to place it on her forehead.

  "You're hot."

  "It's hot in here!" And getting hotter by the minute.

  "You're right about that," Gus muttered, and Mary wondered if he was as flustered as she was.

  "Okay, let's get comfortable now," Cait was saying as she put a video in the VCR. "Shift around, you fellows, and lean back against the wall so you can support your ladies."

  The next thing Mary knew, Gus was seated against the wall and she was being tugged back to sit snug inside the V of his legs! His arms went around her and settled once more on her belly.

  She felt the distinct urge to pant and it had nothing at all to do with the baby.

  "The film is only twenty minutes. A very abbreviated labor. Don't go getting your hopes up." Cait laughed. "But it will give you some idea of what to expect. Keep your hands on your ladies, gentlemen." And she flipped off the lights and flicked on the video.

  It was the longest—and shortest—twenty minutes Mary could remember. She didn't know how Cait expected her to pay attention to the screen. All she could think about was Gus—and not just about his hands on her abdomen now, but about his breath tickling her ear, about his thighs on either side of hers, about that part of him pressing firm and hard against her backside.

  "Well," he murmured in her ear, "this is interesting." Something—his lips—his tongue—touched her ear.

  She squirmed. "Gus!"

  "Mmm." It was like a throaty tiger's purr in her ear. This time he nibbled. She squirmed again.

  "If you think doing that is helping your cause, you're mistaken," Gus said wryly, and he pressed closer, making his point.

  Literally, Mary thought, and stifled a sound that was half snort, half laughter.

  Gus laughed, too, and his arms tightened around her. "Hold still." His voice was a caress against her ear. He gave her a tug to settle her against him and held her there.

  Mary held still. She tried to focus on the video. Tried to forget Gus's arms, Gus's body, Gus himself wrapped around her.

  "You can tune out distractions," she always told her kids in the classroom. "It's just a matter of willpower."

  Sometimes, she realized, all the willpower in the world wasn't enough.

  Finally, though, the video ended and Cait said, "Okay. Let's do a little practicing. Then you can work on it at home. That will be your homework this week. Ladies, flat-out. Deep breaths now. Really suck it in."

  Mary looked at Gus. Gus looked at Mary. They both started to laugh. It was impossible not to.

  "Ah, good. Here's a nice relaxed couple." Cait pounced on them. "Let's have you demonstrate."

  "Oh, but—" Mary began.

  But Cait had everyone gather round Gus and Mary and she taught them how Mary was supposed to breathe, how Gus was supposed to help her, support her, coach her.

  "Wonderful," she said. "Excellent," she praised as Gus and Mary synchronized their breathing. She clapped Gus on the shoulder. "You're a natural."

  "Oh, yeah," Gus muttered, and Mary was amazed to see a tide of red crawl up his neck and face.

  * * *

  "Of course you don't have to come back next week," Mary said the moment they were out the door. "I never meant for that to happen. I had no idea. I'm sorry. I never thought. Well, actually I thought you'd … you'd…"

  Gus smiled and let her talk. They both knew what she'd thought. They both knew it wasn't what she'd got.

  It was miles better, to Gus's way of thinking, though he had to admit to a certain amount of frustration that his body was just going to have to deal with.

  He didn't imagine it was going to go away, either. But he didn't care. His body could deal with it.

  He wasn't giving this up for anything.

  "Don't get your hopes up, lady. I'm coming back next week."

  "But—"

  "I want to come, Mar'. I liked being there."

  "Because we were … you were…" She looked down below his belt, then away again.

  "That," he told her, "damn near drove me nuts."

  "Well, that's why I said—"

  "It's not just biology now, Mar'. I can live with it. I want to come back. I want to be there with you. I want to coach you."

  Coaching her had been a kick. Of course, holding her had been wonderful. But having his hands on her, feeling the baby move and kick and stretch had been pretty amazing, too.

  "Ruthie's going to coach me," Mary said. "When the time comes. She's taking a similar class."

  "Sure. Fine. As long as I get to be there now."

  "But why—"

  "Because I love you, Mar'."

  She was silent after that.

  They were both silent all the way home.

  He didn't know what she was thinking. She sat with her hands clasped and stared straight ahead. Gus gripped the steering wheel and told himself to keep his own mouth shut
. He could think of a thousand things to say, to use, to try to convince her that he meant what he'd said.

  But somehow he figured that maybe silence said it better. You couldn't argue someone into believing you loved them. You couldn't argue them into loving you.

  He knew that.

  But it was hard. God, it was hard!

  He walked her to her door and, because now he knew Becky and Susannah were right, he forced himself not to ask to come in.

  He said, "I know you must be tired."

  "I am. Thank you for dinner. Thank you for … being there. I didn't mean…" Her voice trailed off again. She didn't look at him for a long moment. Then at last she did, and he saw that she looked worried, nervous, young and scared.

  Gus wanted to make all those things go away. He wanted her to believe in him, to trust him. He wanted her to know that this time he'd be here for her.

  But she didn't know it.

  She wouldn't—unless he showed her. Proved it to her.

  He touched her cheek. Then he leaned forward, dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. Just for a second, he told himself. Just a taste. Just a moment.

  But the moment stretched to two. The kiss deepened. The ache of need inside him couldn't be assuaged with a mere brush of the lips, a gentle caress.

  He needed—

  But what mattered this time was what Mary needed.

  He swallowed hard and, shuddering, pulled away. "Love you," he said just a little unsteadily. "I'll pick you up next Wednesday. We can have dinner again. Okay?"

  Mary took a breath that seemed just a little tremulous, too. He saw her swallow. Then she nodded. "Thanks, Gus."

  "My pleasure." Then he tugged down the brim of his hat and made himself turn and walk away.

  * * *

  Somehow Mary had been sure that pregnant women didn't have erotic dreams.

  How could they, she'd reasoned, when their bodies were ungainly, misshapen things taken over by forces very much beyond their control?

  Well, she'd been right about one thing—the force taking her over was very much out of her control.

  She certainly didn't intend to toss and turn all night reliving the evening with Gus—and translating her body's urges into dreams that recalled vividly just what it had been like making love with Gus Holt.