A COWBOY'S GIFT

by Anne McAllister

  "…a decree was issued by the Emperor Augustus for a registration to be made," Polly was intoning.

  "That's us," Mary said. "Go."

  Taggart stared at her, stupefied.

  "Go on!" she urged him. "The quicker the better."

  Something about her look or tone galvanized him. "Right!" He tugged the donkey forward. It jolted and shuffled along after him. On its back, Mary shut her eyes and prayed.

  She didn't even realize she was still clutching Gus's hand until everyone in the audience started to murmur. Then her eyes jerked open and she saw Gus standing right behind her, grimly hanging on.

  Taggart went straight to the inn and banged on the door.

  It opened.

  Otis Jameson poked his head out. "No room!" he growled, and shut it again.

  Taggart started to knock again when Gus said, "Damn it, she's going to have this baby. Hurry up and get this over with!"

  As a showstopper, that was all it took.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^

  She wasn't having the baby.

  Not now! Not yet!

  She couldn't be having the baby!

  It wasn't due for six and a half weeks. Not until Valentine's Day.

  It was the stress. Mary knew she had been working too hard. Thinking about the pageant, about the songs, the plays, the kids, the livestock.

  About Gus.

  She shot him a quick glance now as he drove hell-for-leather for Livingston. From the grim set of his mouth, she knew he was worried, too.

  "I'm not having it," she said, though whether to reassure him or herself, she wasn't sure.

  He reached out a hand and without even glancing her way, took hers unerringly in his. He gave it a squeeze. "I damned well hope not," he said roughly.

  "If I do—" her voice wavered "—if I do … do you th-think I might l-lose it."

  "You're not gonna lose it." His voice was gruff and hard and firm, and he flicked her a quick glance. "You won't lose it," he promised. "We won't let it happen."

  She didn't know why now, of all times, she believed him. But the sheer force of his determination buoyed her weary spirit. She clung to his hand.

  "No," she whispered. "We won't."

  * * *

  Gus hoped to God she believed him He wasn't sure he believed himself.

  He wasn't nearly as confident as he tried to sound.

  What the hell did he know about having a baby?

  He'd played midwife to a few mamma cows over the years, but it could hardly compare. You didn't have to help them with their breathing. And they didn't hang on to your hand as if you were a lifeline.

  Oh, wow, Gus thought. Oh, God. Oh, wow.

  Felicity had called the hospital to let them know Mary was on her way. Thank heavens the doctor was already there when they arrived.

  So was Cait. She gave Mary a hug and a smile and a thumbs-up sign. She took Gus by the arm.

  "I'm just going to show him where to sign in," she told Mary, "and I'll be right back."

  When she had him around the corner her smile faded. "What happened? How long has it been going on?"

  He tried to tell her. He tried to remember all the stuff she'd told them during class to notice. He relayed it as best he could.

  Cait listened. She nodded. She knew about Mary's circumstances now, knew this wasn't your run-of-the-mill pregnancy. Mary had told her after the first class.

  She knew Gus wasn't the father, but she seemed to understand that he needed to be there.

  "Okay, then." Cait squeezed his hand and her soft-blue eyes met his. "You ready?"

  Gus cleared his throat, then nodded. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

  She gave him a grin. "That's the spirit. You just keep her going. We're not going to let anything happen to this little one." She gave his arm a squeeze. "Or Mary."

  * * *

  He was a rock.

  Her rock.

  Steady. Solid. Unflappable. Cool. Calm. Grace under pressure.

  That was Gus.

  "Steady now. Ride it out. Easy, easy. Breathe with me." He locked his hands with hers as he locked his eyes with hers. It was as if there was no one else in the world.

  No doctor saying, "Right, right. Just hold it now." Then, "Okay, pant. Pant. Now push. That's it. Push!"

  No Cait saying, "You're doing fine, Mary. That's a girl. Steady, steady. That's it. You're doing it."

  Mary knew she wasn't doing it. Not alone. Gus was doing it with her.

  That's how it felt. As if she had locked onto him. As if she could hear only him. Respond to only him.

  He was her strength. She hung on to his hands, she gripped his wrists. She might have snapped them right in two at the last when the baby finally pushed its way into the world.

  She sagged back and heard a whimper, a tiny cry. Frail. Then stronger. Lustier.

  "It's a boy!" the doctor said.

  And Mary and Gus looked at each other and wept—and grinned.

  * * *

  All Gus could think was, it was a good thing it had just happened—slap, bang—one minute he was holding Mary on a donkey and the next he was shooting down the road as if a mad bull was after him, and the next he was holding on to her for dear life while she gave birth to this child.

  This child.

  It was here. Now.

  Alive and well.

  He looked at the tiny baby swaddled in a soft blue blanket and nestled in Mary's arms, and he could hardly believe it was real—he was real.

  Sure he'd felt the baby move. Intellectually he had always known that inside Mary there was this … this person … just biding its time, growing strong enough to meet the world on its own terms.

  But he was so tiny, this person. So incredibly small. And so perfect.

  Such a perfect child.

  "He is a gift," Gus said gruffly, his throat tight.

  The whole thing was a gift as far as he was concerned. Not only the baby, but Gus's being allowed to be here, to share in this, was a gift—one he had no right to, had certainly never hoped for, could not have expected.

  Gus had never felt very humble. He felt humble now.

  Mary stroked the baby's soft, peach-colored fuzz that someday might be a head of hair. "He is," she agreed softly. "Jonathan."

  That was the name Ruthie and Jeff had picked.

  "That's what it means—God's gift," she told Gus, eyes shining.

  "Kid's got a name longer than he is," Gus said softly. He stood up and moved to stand beside the bed, to look down on them both. He bent his head and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Should've named him Mary's Gift."

  Mary gave him a watery smile. "He'd get teased on the schoolyard, that's for sure."

  "He could go by his initials. Nothing wrong with M.G. He could tell 'em he was named for a car."

  "Like you?"

  Gus grimaced. "I wasn't named for a car."

  "I didn't think you were." She'd figured out pretty quickly that his middle name was Augustus. It was the first name he couldn't bring himself to tell her.

  "Not Dodge? Not Daimler?" she teased.

  He shook his head.

  "Are you ever going to tell me?"

  "If you'll marry me." The words came out without him even thinking.

  And it was as if the world had come to a stop.

  Mary stared at him. She looked confused. And shocked.

  And Gus, knowing he had said them at the wrong time and far too soon, could hardly retract them now. He had to press on.

  "You know I want to marry you. I've told you I love you. I always have. I just didn't always know what it meant. I admit I'm a little slow. Well, maybe I'm a lot slow. But when I figure something out, I've got it for good. I've got this, Mar'. Do you believe me?"

  She didn't answer. Her throat worked and she blinked rapidly. Her lips trembled and she bent her head, so that her gaze was on the baby not on him.

  No answer was an answer. And though he didn't want to, Gus hea
rd it very well.

  His gut twisted. He swallowed hard.

  "It's okay. I understand." He forced the words past the lump in his throat. He reached out a hand and brushed it lightly over her hair. "Rest," he told her. "Get some sleep. You've had a hard day."

  Heart breaking, he turned and walked slowly out the door.

  * * *

  She wanted to say yes.

  Mary knew as she watched him walk away that she wanted to marry Gus Holt. Wanted them to be together forever. She wanted to call him back. But she couldn't.

  She clutched Jonathan close against her and blinked as the tears brimmed, then slid silently down her cheeks.

  She couldn't offer him her heart. She'd done it once.

  And if he'd changed, she had, too. She wasn't young and trusting anymore. She wasn't innocent.

  She was afraid.

  * * *

  It was the best Christmas ever.

  Ruthie said so. So did Jeff.

  They brought Jonathan home from the hospital to Mary's house on Christmas morning, and they were all there together, snug and warm and joyful.

  "A family," Ruthie said. "At last."

  They were. And Mary was a part of it, too, of course. An important part.

  But not an integral part.

  The day after tomorrow Ruthie and Jeff and Jonathan would be flying home to Phoenix—and Mary would have her life back.

  Sort of.

  She would be fine, she assured herself.

  She had a circle of friends here now, a core of loving, caring people who would be her family. She had Alice and Cloris. She had Felicity and Taggart and Becky and the twins. She had Jenny and Mace Nichols and their family. She had Shane and Poppy and their new baby daughter, Hannah, who had been born just a few hours before Jonathan. She had Jed and Brenna McCall and their bunch. She had a new friend in Cait.

  Cait would be someone to share a video with on a Saturday night. Someone to drive over to Bozeman with to catch a movie. Someone—because Cait lived on a ranch—to lend her a horse to ride up into the hills where she would be able to look out across the valley and the mountains and tell herself she had many blessings, that she ought to be content.

  Mary was determined to be content.

  She would not miss Gus.

  It always came back to Gus.

  She didn't mention Gus to Ruthie and Jeff other than to say he'd been the one to help her through her labor. She didn't tell them he'd asked her to marry him just scant hours later.

  She didn't think about it. It hurt too much.

  She expected he would come along with the hordes of well-wishers who came on Christmas and the day after to visit Jonathan and his parents before they went home to Arizona.

  Half the valley, it seemed, dropped in.

  Cloris and Alice and several of the townspeople came Christmas afternoon. But Gus never appeared.

  The day after Christmas all the Joneses came, even Will and Gaye from Bozeman. So did all the Nicholses—including Poppy and brand-new baby Hannah, who was very nearly as precious as Jonathan and, according to her father, promised to be a pistol. Shane said he was already quaking in his boots.

  "You notice," he said, puffed with fatherly pride, "that she has her mama's red hair."

  Mary noticed. She noticed everything. The babies. The children. The couples. The love, the warmth, the caring that existed between them.

  Mostly she noticed that Gus wasn't there.

  She wanted to ask Becky where he was, but she couldn't seem to say his name. She couldn't ask. She'd wait. Sooner or later someone would mention him. How could they not talk about Gus?

  People did talk about Gus.

  They talked about how much he'd done on the pageant, how funny he'd been with the rabbits, how hard he'd worked building the manger, how attentive he'd been to Mary.

  Taggart told Ruthie how Gus had come right onstage with Mary in the Nativity play. "First time Mary ever had a bodyguard!" He laughed.

  Everyone else laughed, too.

  Jeff said, "He was there when he needed to be, that's for sure, I was glad I got to thank him."

  Mary straightened. When? When had Jeff seen him? When had Jeff thanked him?

  Ruthie nodded, cuddling Jonathan close, as she answered Mary's unspoken question. "He came by the hospital early Christmas morning and brought Jonathan this."

  She reached down, fumbled through the piles of baby gifts and Christmas presents and came up with a fluffy, stuffed black-and-white bunny who looked remarkably like Stew.

  "He said Jonathan should have one as a souvenir." Ruthie giggled and everyone else grinned.

  Mary smiled, too, and swallowed hard. She took the rabbit when Ruthie looked for somewhere to put it down again. She cradled it in her arms and let everyone's happiness and laughter and joy wash over her.

  She wished they would all go home and leave her alone to pull the covers over her head.

  * * *

  "You're a hero," Becky told him.

  "Everybody says so," Susannah concurred.

  "They've got a pretty feeble grasp of heroism," Gus muttered.

  He was clearing out the drawers of the dresser he'd used, tossing his clothes in his duffel bag, wishing Becky and Susannah would just go away.

  "You helped Jonathan get born," Becky persisted. "You got Miz McLean to the hospital and stayed with her and coached her an' everything. Doc Ryan says that without you things might not have gone so well."

  "Cait says you were fantastic," Susannah put in.

  Gus noticed they weren't quoting Mary. He figured Mary had had nothing to say. He shrugged. "I did what needed to be done. No big deal. Anybody would have." Which was nothing but the truth.

  "Well, anybody didn't," Becky said indignantly. "You did! So why are you packin'? Why didn't you come with us to see them yesterday? They're gone now with the baby. But Miz McLean's still there. You're goin' to see her, aren't you? Gus!" she said urgently, finally looking around and noticing that he'd stuck everything in his bag. "How come you're packin'? What's the matter with you?"

  He was through. Finished. Done for.

  He had no hopes left.

  He'd rushed his fences, had asked too soon. Or maybe rushing his proposal hadn't made any difference at all. Maybe she would have said no if he'd waited a month, a year, a lifetime. Maybe this had just ended things quicker.

  Maybe Mary would never trust him again, no matter what.

  Not enough to risk marrying him, anyway.

  Maybe you got just one shot at a thing like that. And if you blew it … well, you blew it. Gus understood that. It was like ridin' a bronc. You missed him out of the chute or got bucked off along the way, too damn bad. You didn't win the buckle.

  He hadn't won the buckle.

  And unlike rodeo, there were no re-rides in life.

  He finished stuffing his gear in his duffel and zipped it up. Then he turned to the girls who were sitting on his bunk, and he explained. He forced himself to say the words he'd hoped he would never have to say.

  "I told you I hurt her a long time ago. We were going to get married and I backed out. Just called her up and said I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't face settlin' down. She loved me then, and I loved her. But I still couldn't do it." He rubbed a hand over his hair. "I didn't realize what I was givin' away."

  They sat in silence, watching him pace around the room. He didn't want to talk about it at all, but he'd asked for their help. They'd given it. And it wasn't their fault it hadn't worked. He wanted to be sure they knew that.

  "It was my fault. You guys tried to help. But it was too late. It's always been too late. I'd give anything to do it all over again—but it doesn't work that way. You can't go back."

  "But—"

  He shook his head. "You can't." He smiled at the irony of it. "It serves me right. Mary doesn't want me now. And who can blame her? I let her down when I didn't want to be married to her."

  Becky shook her head adamantly. "She still wants
you!"

  "No. She doesn't."

  "How do you know?" both girls demanded.

  "Because I asked. I asked her to marry me the day she had the baby. The answer was no."

  Their eyes registered shock. They looked like they wanted to argue, but really, what was there to say?

  Gus went to the desk by the window and picked up the letter he had written last night. He handed it to Becky.

  "Give her this, will you?"

  Becky took it. She looked up at him mutely, sadly, and he saw commiseration in her gaze.

  "I got somethin' else for her," he said. "Out in my truck. Will you take it, too?"

  "Maybe you ought to go see her. Give it to her yourself."

  "No." Gus had considered that. He knew he couldn't. There was no sense in dragging this out. No sense in hanging around. "No. You two can do it for me."

  He smiled a little painfully, then hefted his bag and headed for the door.

  They followed him out to the truck. Mary's gift was in the cab. He scooped it up and handed it to Becky.

  She stared at it, then at him, goggle-eyed.

  He smiled a little crookedly. "You'll take it to her tonight?"

  They both nodded. "Yes."

  He tossed his duffel in the back, then came around and gave Susannah a squeeze, then gave Becky a hard hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hope you both get a better man than me someday."

  Becky tried to smile.

  "Take care." Gus got into the truck and started the engine. Then he touched the brim of his hat in the time-honored cowboy salute and headed off into the sunset. It had never looked so black.

  * * *

  She almost didn't answer the door.

  She heard the bell and went right on reading her magazine. She didn't have to answer. She was beholden to no one. Ruthie and Jeff had left with baby Jonathan this morning. She'd taken them to the airport in Bozeman. And after she'd come home to a silent house and an empty heart.

  She would fill it in time. Mary knew that.

  She just needed a little space, a little quiet. Some room to heal.

  "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Ruthie had asked, concern wreathing her face, just before she and Jeff and baby Jonathan had boarded the plane.

  "I'll be fine," Mary had assured her. She'd been calm then. Steady. She'd even smiled brightly.

  And she'd tried to keep smiling all the way home.