“Yeah, like I said. Promise.”
“Well, I’m kind of just finding my footing too, so…”
Wolf pulled her close to him. “And you’re…nursing your own injury, maybe?”
Her smile was equal parts joy and melancholy. “You may be on to something, sure.”
“And we’re not talking about a hock here…”
“Nope. We’re definitely not talking about a hock.”
He covered her eyes with one hand. “Just tell me if I’m getting warm, okay?” He paused for a minute, then placed his hand on her heart. “Right around here?”
He didn’t know why he was doing this. The whole morning, he’d been hoping to get her into bed one last time before she left, not just for the sex, but for the chance to lie there with her, to simply be with her a few moments longer. Now that urge had gone away and been replaced by another one. He could feel her trying to still herself under his touch, and all he wanted was to hold her close and protect her from…what? Himself? The hurt he’d caused her before?
“Abby, I’m so sorry…for everything.”
What was he apologizing for? Not the prom, again. For much more: the time they’d missed out on, maybe. All those years they could have had together, but were now simply gone. When she looked up at him, he felt no further need to explain. Somehow, she seemed to understand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay now.” She squeezed his fingers.
“Bye, sweetie,” he said. He never called anyone sweetie. What in God’s name was happening to him?
“Bye bye…Wolfsie,” she teased, winking at him.
She turned toward her truck where Stella, dry as a hot August day, lay sprawled across the front seat. The dog raised her head to watch them as the rain misted the windows. Wolf knew he had to let her leave now, but his heart ached at the thought of not having her there by his side anymore. Before she’d even pulled out of the driveway, he’d invented a half-dozen reasons for her to come back.
Chapter Fourteen
Halfway across the Divide, Abby pulled the truck over to check her tires. Her cheeks still flushed when she thought of Wolf’s send-off, the way he’d dropped his bad-boy act and just held her like that. She hoped she’d be ready to be held again, soon enough. But waiting for it, wanting it this badly even though she’d just left his side two hours earlier—wasn’t that a pleasure in itself?
She checked the bars on her phone. There hadn’t been decent reception for forty-five minutes, but that always changed at this point in the Divide, so she dialed Bridget.
“Finally,” Bridget answered. “You’re home?”
“Almost. Be there in two hours.”
“Well, call me then. This is face-to-face news.”
“Bridge, come on, don’t be mean. The suspense is killing me.”
“Well, I waited through a forty-eight hour storm. The least you can do is wait a couple more hours.”
“Just tell me—this is good news, right? Everything’s okay?”
“I’m fine, Mark’s fine. The world’s a wonderful place, etc. etc. etc.” Bridget paused. “He asked me to marry him, that’s all.”
Abby whooped. Thank God, she liked Mark, had always hoped he’d be the one. What a disaster if her best friend were marrying some loser. “Really, Bridget? He did?”
“Yeah, but you weren’t even here. And that made me want to keep the news from everybody till I could tell you myself.”
“You haven’t told anybody?” she asked. “Not even your parents?”
“Not even Ma and Pa Olsen.”
“Oh my God, I feel awful.”
Bridget held two long beats, then cracked up. “Just kidding, of course I’ve told everybody.” Except your brother, Abby thought. “I waited for about a half a day, but after that, I couldn’t restrain myself. And neither could Mom, once I told her. She even called all the relatives in Stockholm, people I’ve never even met!”
“You have relatives in Stockholm?”
“Only about a million. Dad nearly had a migraine over that. If one of them comes to the wedding, fifty will. ‘You don’t know the chaos fifty Swedes can cause,’ he said.”
Abby laughed, but for just a moment—it felt like an actual, physical jolt to her heart—an unnamable sadness took hold of her that seemed like the very definition of loneliness. Why, though? Because she was “losing” her best friend? That was silly; she’d probably see Bridget as much as ever. Because it was Bridget’s happiness being celebrated, and not her own? Because she was so close to the perfect love, but still so far away? Everything about her last two days with Wolf had been so great, but there was no way it could last. Long-term relationships and the rodeo were sworn enemies. Everybody knew that. If she and Wolf lasted a month, it’d be a miracle.
“Look, I know you have a lot to catch up on when you get back, a whole herd of horses you’ve got to teach how to walk on water. But can you please leave some time this week to help me look for a dress?”
“Already?” Abby asked. “What’s the rush?” Hadn’t they just gone dress-shopping? Oh right, that had been for Abby.
“Don’t get all weepy on me, promise?” asked Bridget.
“Promise.”
“We’re having a baby. We just found out.”
“Oh my God!” Abby had to actually hold the phone away from her mouth so Bridget wouldn’t hear her having a semi-panic attack. She was genuinely happy for her best friend, but she was overwhelmed, too. Bridget, a mom? While she, Abby, was playing mother to horses, fending off creepy farm hands in the local bars, and having totally unworkable flings with hot cowboys who also happened to be related to this newly minted mother-to-be?
“Mark’s so psyched. We’re not quite at three months, and—”
“Three months! I thought you’d just found out.”
“Well, relatively speaking.” Bridget giggled. “I just thought it was bad luck to say anything before the second trimester, even to you. Even to Mom.”
“Are you showing?!”
“Depends on who’s looking. Mark and Mom swear they see a little bump.”
“Wait, I thought you hadn’t told your parents.”
“Mom knew I was expecting. But my dad? He was clueless until day before yesterday.”
“Holy cow. No idea, huh?”
“Nope. No idea that in less than three weeks, he’ll be giving my hand in marriage. But he’s happy about having a grandchild, believe me. Now that the shock’s worn off.” She cackled. Abby had never heard her this happy. “Who else is going to settle down any time soon? Luther? Wolf? Fat chance.”
“Yeah. Fat chance.” Abby looked out at the mountains. What had she just done these last couple days, playing so fast and loose with her heart? Wolf wouldn’t marry her, not in a million years. He didn’t even want to let people know they’d wound up in bed together. No matter how much fun she’d had, maybe it had been the mistake of her life. She had to start taking more responsibility for her own emotions. She’d changed in every possible way but that.
With a snap of his fingers, Wolf had been able to rope her back in.
The Macready kitchen smelled of cinnamon and almond, and Abby’s mom’s secret piecrust ingredient, cardamom. Every woman Abby knew seemed to have at least one top-secret ingredient at her disposal. Wondering when she would discover her own secret ingredient, Abby snuck up behind her mom and gave her a kiss.
“Oh, it’s you!” Her mom hugged her, hard. “Thank God you’re back. Do you know how many times Bridget and I tried to call you?” She braced her arms on her hips and turned her flour-dusted face toward her daughter.
“Did you get my messages?” Her mom had called again after they’d spoken. Maybe twice. Abby couldn’t remember.
“I’m sorry, Mom. You know there’s barely any cell coverage that far over the mountains.”
“It’s fine.” Her smile was genuine. “So you’ve heard Bridget’s news?”
“She’s gonna be a bride and have a baby in the same year
? I can’t believe it!” She felt the excitement again, and the almost delirious panic.
“And I’ll bet I’m looking at the maid of honor,” her mom said. “Either Luther or Wolf will be best man, don’t you think?”
“Wolf, I guess. He’s the oldest.” She’d seen Wolf in every shade of dressed-up cowboy in the last few weeks, but best man in a formal wedding? Bow tie, cummerbund, white tux, the works? Now, that would be a sight to behold.
“So how was your time with him?” Her mom’s fingers again fluted the pie shell. “Am I allowed to ask that?”
“He has a decent spread down south of Choteau. Real nice accommodations for horses. A river goes through the property, but there’s high ground for when it gets wet, and he’s put up a three-stall barn. I was impressed.” Abby knew this wasn’t the answer her mom had wanted, but it was all she felt like giving her.
“Sounds like a very professional visit,” her mom said. “Suspiciously professional. You’re sure there’s not something else you want to share with me? Something a little more interesting than a three-stall barn?”
“Mom, no. I spent the night, yeah. But we didn’t do anything. Not like that’s any of your business. I’m just helping him with his horse. Really.” Okay, now she was lying to her mom, too? She tried to keep a poker face, but this was brand-new territory. Why had she just denied it, before even giving herself a chance to think?
“Okay, subject closed. Promise.”
Abby and her mom were closer than most mothers and daughters Abby knew, though she wasn’t sure why. All through high school, through college, even through her relationship with Ben, she’d told her mom everything. Maybe it was because she’d been adopted, or because she was their only child, but she’d never gone through the rebellious streak Bridget and her other friends had. She’d always felt she owed it to her parents to be honest and forthcoming when they asked her questions—they’d given her so much, after all, and the last thing she wanted to do was to wind up with someone they couldn’t stand. But more importantly, she’d always been perfectly comfortable talking to them. They were both so sweet, and they had good advice, so why not?
This was the first time she’d felt the need to put some distance between her and her mom, and not just because Wolf was probably her mom’s least favorite bachelor in the Flathead. No, it was more than that. For the first time, Abby felt like she wanted this thing between her and Wolf, whatever it was, to be protected within an adult privacy that she’d never felt the need for before. She didn’t want anybody looking over her shoulder or second-guessing her every move.
She would keep Wolf to herself, at least for a little while.
Chapter Fifteen
The night before the Great Falls Roundup, the first rodeo on the Northwest Montana summer circuit, Wolf gripped Bullet’s halter tightly as he walked her down the ramp and tied her to the trailer. She calmed immediately at his touch, warming to the new gentle way he handled her. He thought about giving her a quick slap on the butt, just to remind both horse and master who was boss, but restrained himself.
Wolf had spent the last six days faithfully following Abby’s instructions, and Bullet seemed to have fully recovered. Every morning, by the time the mist had cleared the meadow, he was water-walking her in the deeper pools of the creek, ninety minutes or more until he led her back into the barn and rubbed her down. The left hock was growing stronger, more flexible. Bullet no longer shivered when he ran his hand over the area.
It was a peaceful stretch, the kind of time he’d seldom allowed himself. The ranch was at its best in the early morning, the highest branches of the pines bustling with activity as the ospreys guarded their nests. He heard the plaintive cries of up-all-night owls and took in the scent of the first-cut hay wafting over from his neighbor’s field. Mostly, though, there was stillness, a deep quiet during which he simply could not stop thinking of Abby.
Her body yielding, pulling away, yielding again. Her face, those elegant Salish cheekbones, the strong grasp of her fingers on him. He wanted her beside him again, hogging the sheets at night, and in the morning, her smile the first thing that greeted him. He had never felt such need for a woman before. It was driving him crazy.
He wanted her here, too, at this, the first event he’d competed in since hooking up with her. He’d never needed anyone out there for him, cheering him on, but this rodeo felt different. Like always, he wanted to win, but he wanted to win while Abby watched him do it. It could be their win.
Go ahead. Just send her another text. Tell her how well Bullet traveled, how great she’s doing…nah, she’ll think you’re pestering her. Worse, she’ll think you’re whipped.
Wolf was not whipped, and never would be. So what if Abby hadn’t responded to his message from an hour ago, the one in which he’d told her he hadn’t been convinced by aqua-therapy, not at the beginning? He’d gone on to tell her that he’d done everything she’d asked him to do, and that Bullet seemed happy and healthy. He’d given her props. So why hadn’t she responded?
Maybe Wolf was the one who needed therapy, not in the water, but in some damn head-shrinker’s chair. Somebody who’d tell him that getting involved with Abby probably spelled a lifetime commitment, the kind he wouldn’t be ready for until years from now, when he’d either aged out of the rodeo game, or gotten it out of his system. He wanted to be with her, sure, but not if that meant leaving his rodeo days behind forever.
About two hundred yards away, Wolf spotted a twenty-something girl in jeans with Abby’s build, and something like her confident stride, headed toward the arena. He caught his breath. Abby wasn’t supposed to join him until Polson a few days later, but had she changed her mind and driven down here to surprise him? If she had, he’d win the damned rodeo, sweep her up in his arms, and carry her back to a Motel 6. Or better yet, he’d pull her into the trailer and set her down on a fresh layer of hay, and then he’d have good luck stored up for his events. Was there anything sexier than having to suppress your moans and cries, one thin metal door from public view? They’d cover each other’s mouths, fit their bodies together like two puzzle pieces and take their sweet, sweet time. Only Bullet would be the wiser.
But the girl turned around and pulled off her cowboy hat as she signaled someone in the stands. Her hair was bright red on top with stupid stripes of cobalt blue and black underneath. This was no Abby, this was a Tacky Tania, some groupie from Great Falls. Loneliness and yearning shot through Wolf like a maverick virus, and admitting it made him sick at his own behavior. He didn’t need to be thinking about this right now. He needed to be getting into the zone.
Despite himself, though, he crouched down next to Bullet and pulled out his phone. What harm would one more text do? A client-to-trainer communication. Last-minute prep before the main event.
Got over to Great Falls in good time. Bullet 100% sound. Ready to roll. You’d be proud of us. Going to scope out the ring, then bed down for the night. If Bullet could talk, she’d say, Thanks, Dr. Abby, wish me luck.
He thought about writing, “Yours, Wolfsie,” but thankfully got a hold of himself. An hour later he got a reply:
I don’t want to say I told you so but hey! water-walking really works. Am proud of you and Bullet. Just hope you’ll take it easy on her tomorrow. Call me when it’s over. I’ll be waiting.
So, there it was, an invitation from Abby. “Call me…I’ll be waiting.” Wolf, perched on the only empty barstool at the Fatted Calf, downed a pint of Moose Drool before his hand, quite independently of his brain, reached yet again for his phone. He slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter and sauntered through the double doors out to the bar’s rickety porch. A dozen cowboys, their girls in tow, spilled down the steps and out into the Great Falls night. Two or three raised their glasses toward Wolf. He shrugged back, barely acknowledging them.
It was the usual crew: Cal McNair, Woolly Lambert, Checchi O’Hara, their All-Round buckles loosely cinched around well-worn Wranglers. Some dumbass kid with a blonde on
each arm, a burgundy MSU baseball cap worn backwards like the know-nothing teenager he was.
Before he could find a quiet spot down the street, an unwelcome memory crossed his mind. A conversation he’d had with Roy only a week ago.
“You know this kid Ty Calvert, from Billings?”
“Never heard of him.” Wolf had been lying. He’d heard of Calvert, but he hadn’t paid him any mind, not yet. Every year, there was some new hotshot college rodeo kid nipping at his heels, but Wolf had always managed to outclass the competition. This year would be no different.
“Kid just won the National Collegiate. Grapevine says he’s headed our way to do the whole summer circuit.”
“I’m not gonna lose any sleep over Tim Calvert.”
“Ty. Ty Calvert. What’s wrong, old man, you losing your hearing, too?” Roy chuckled. “The kid’s times are pretty good. Damn close to yours, in fact. He takes chances, you know? And he’s got a couple of real good heelers.”
“Must have a rich daddy, too. You know I never had the money to invest in more than one good horse at a time.”
“Well, don’t give this kid even a single chance to one-up you. We’re not getting any younger, you know.” Bonner had stared right at Wolf, then lowered his eyes.
There’d been no missing his meaning. Roy, and Roy alone, knew about Wolf’s recent creakiness. That was a polite word for it, actually. He’d hyper-extended his right knee last season, and it had been making a weird snapping noise ever since. On top of that, he’d pulled an oblique muscle at some point in the late winter. He’d recovered, but he was paranoid. Would he be one of those cowboys who had to retire at twenty-five because his body simply gave up on him?
Under the light of a flickering street lamp, heart pounding annoyingly like he was a know-nothing teenager himself, he made the call.
“Hey, you,” he said.
“Hey yourself,” Abby said.
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