“Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“I just got under the covers with Stella. She says hi. How’s it going so far?”
“Bullet traveled down real easy. I bandaged her hock, but not too tight, just like you suggested. I think she’s starting to crave the extra attention.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
She laughed under her breath, and his heart soared. He pictured her in a sheer nightgown, that flawless, muscled body just waiting there for him.
“I kind of wish you were driving over here tomorrow,” he said. “You know, just one last look at Bullet.”
“I thought you said she was a hundred percent.”
“She is, it’s just…”
“You want some company, that it?”
“Well, Bonner’s not going to make it. There are just a couple of guys here to hang out with. Celebrate with,” he corrected himself. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to witness one of your first professional triumphs. That’s all.”
“Wow, we are sure of ourselves, aren’t we? Just don’t ride her too hard tomorrow and undo everything you’ve been working on this week.”
“No worries, I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t have entered her if I thought she wasn’t ready.” Wolf tried to soften his voice. In the echoing silence at Abby’s end, he came across like a bit of a jerk, didn’t he? “Hey, forget what I just said. I’m grateful to be here, and I owe it all to you.”
“You’re very welcome. Anyway, you’ve been checking in a lot this week and I appreciate that. I think she’s probably ready. As long as you take her slow on the curves, let her find her own pace once you’ve roped the calf, I don’t think she’ll let you down.”
“Got it.” Wolf wiped his palm on his jeans. He was sweating, and it was a cool evening. What the hell was happening to him?
“Change of subject,” she said. “Have you gotten a call from Bridget?”
“Nah. She’s not big on texting, you know. She likes the old face-to-face. You’re bringing her down with you to Polson next weekend, right? Mark, too?”
He pictured his sister, cringing in the stands with Abby. Bridget hated bull riding. He sure hoped Abby didn’t agree with her. Some animal lovers got carried away.
“I think you should call her. She’s…got a lot going on.”
Bridget was the last person on his mind. He was only thinking about Abby. He longed to wrap his arms around her, pull her into the whole scene. The sequin-topped girls, the dusty-kneed guys, the tricked-out trailers parked nose to nose. It would all be so much more tolerable if she were here. But this wasn’t her gig, was it? She’d probably consider all the rodeo excesses a nightmare, offensive even. Plus, he was starting to freak himself out a little bit, with Abby constantly on his mind. He would need to take the neediness down a notch or two.
“I’ll call Bridge in the morning. I’ve got a whole day to kill. I’d try to pry it out of you if I didn’t know how tight you two were.”
“It’s big news. But very, very good news.”
“Will do,” he said. “’night, Abby.”
“Be safe.”
So Bridget was marrying Mark, an all-around good dude, somebody Wolf would be proud to consider a brother and a friend. Bridge marrying Mark was a no-brainer.
…
A parade down the main street the next evening signaled opening night, followed by fireworks over the arena specifically designed to freak the hell out of every horse within a thirty-mile radius. You’d have to be an idiot not to understand that fireworks and horses were totally incompatible, but Wolf kept hold of Bullet’s halter during the display to settle her. Then, feeling like an absolute fool, and looking in each direction to make sure no one saw, he blew into her nostrils to calm her further. He’d die if he got busted by one of his fellow competitors doing something that kooky-looking. But it worked, just like Abby’d said it would.
It was twenty minutes before they’d call his event. He looped Bullet’s reins over his arm and cupped his mouth, trying to calm himself with his own deep breathing. Abby had sworn that humans were in need of whispering, just like horses were. Maybe she was right about that, too. He’d called his sister, and the details of her news had really floored him. As much as he liked Mark, he’d expected a lengthy engagement, not a wedding three weeks from now, and a kid in time for Christmas! Bridget, after all, was practically a kid herself.
“Listen,” he’d told her. “You’ve always known what you were doing. But this is a forever kind of decision.”
Bridget laughed. “I know it is. It’s the forever part I’m looking forward to.”
“Of course, and I’m sure you guys’ll have an amazing life together.” He tried to picture Bridget as a bride. She’d be beautiful, sure of herself, as confident as ever. But motherhood? He couldn’t picture it—his party-all-night sister rocking an inconsolable infant to sleep. He wondered if he’d ever be ready for such a step. Not just being tied down to a woman, but the responsibility of another human life—no way. Bullet was as much as he could handle right now.
Ten minutes ’til showtime. He looked around the arena. Ty Calvert and his crew were prepping two stalls down from him. He recognized him by the “Team Ty” T-shirts worn by every member of his huge team. Wolf would be embarrassed to be accompanied by such a huge entourage.
The kid had switched out his baseball hat for a Resistol, but underneath was the same too-broad smile, the tanned, unlined face, the prominent nose poking out from under his brim. Cocky. Cocky and untested. He felt himself tense up. What was he thinking—leaping into the first rodeo of the season on his still-recovering mare? The desire to prove himself to Abby was so powerful, it was toying with his better sense of judgment. Shouldn’t he have waited a week or two until Bullet was ready and willing? Now here he was in a finite area with 1200 pounds of unpredictability. Thank God, the woman he was trying to impress wouldn’t witness his stupidity.
The announcer hailed the first contestant, Rider Number 16, and a calf shot into the ring. The cowboy overshot the calf, dropped sideways off his horse, one foot still dangling in his stirrup, and lost the loop by the time he’d reached the calf. It struggled to its feet and stumbled around the arena, dragging rope until the rodeo clown guided it toward the waiting exit ramp. Wolf winced. In the rodeo, you were either king of the world or a horse’s ass with a clown for a keeper. It required a lot of guts to take this kind of risk. He felt sorry for Number 16, and hoped to God nobody would be pitying him in a few minutes.
Two more horses and riders finished the event with middling times. Wolf recognized the low-slung Appaloosa with a tiny, wiry man at the helm. It was Checci O’Hara, a strong roper, but a little erratic. Checci’s Appaloosa bolted on signal, nearly catching up with the calf in a single stride. Checci’s hat flew halfway across the ring as he overrode the calf, then signaled his horse to halt. The gelding backed up, but without his rider in the saddle. The cowboy’s stirrup had twisted, and though he’d hit the ground without falling, one leg was still stuck up in the air, making the tough Checci look like an awkward chorus girl. By the time he’d untangled it and rushed toward the calf, twelve long seconds had passed. Checci emphasized his error by roping the calf slowly and gently, then bowing in a circle toward the audience. Mechanical error, thought Wolf. A good thing no one, including the calf, was hurt. Abby wouldn’t have enjoyed watching that.
The announcer called Rider Number 20. That was Wolf. He mounted Bullet, his right leg swinging easily over the mare’s broad girth, and checked his equipment one more time. Then they shot out of the chute, Bullet’s head held high as Wolf crouched low in the saddle. He swung the lasso as soon as the calf was released. The rope, as if it had a mind of its own, circled the calf’s torso like a halo before settling around its hind feet in a single try.
Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Wolf leaped from Bullet as she planted her hind legs firmly in the arena’s thick sawdust. Then he ran to the calf and made a single wrap and a hooey. He held both h
ands up for the judges to view. His eyes shot to the clock: 8.3 seconds. Damned close to his personal best.
His thoughts blurred through the next two riders, until it was time to sit up and take notice. “Number 23. Ty Calvert. Collegiate All-Round. A big welcome to Great Falls,” the announcer called. Wolf looped the reins through his hand and walked Bullet ringside. The mare was still trembling with excitement. Wolf cupped his hand over her muzzle. “Bully-girl, you’re the best,” he said softly. He couldn’t wait to tell Abby.
Ty shot out into the arena after his calf on a showy chestnut with a flamboyant blond tail. Then his calf stumbled and practically fell into the kid’s wide “O” of a lasso. Ty flung himself across the calf and tied it with a few lightning-fast motions, then popped to his feet, arms raised toward the grandstand. Wolf blinked, then looked sheepishly at the clock. Eight seconds flat. End of story. Not much to brag about now.
Wait a minute. What had Abby said? “Go easy on her, that’s what a win will look like.”
Wolf reached for his phone as the announcer called out the final times. Yep. Ty Calvert had won this time, he and Bullet were second. But he tried to tell himself that second place wasn’t a bad place to be, not when you were nursing your partner back to health. Abby would approve. Abby might even rejoice.
Chapter Sixteen
Abby parked her truck in front of Max’s Soup Café and sat for a few minutes, taking in the bright morning. She’d checked in with all her clients, and to her surprise, things were back on track, despite her having missed a total of six appointments while she was away. It was a funny thing about horse whispering: once she’d taught them a few of the techniques, most riders couldn’t wait to work again with their “problem” horses. Even Matt Markley’s belligerent mare, Roughhouse, was doing figure eights without protest in the ring by the time Abby had left them the afternoon before.
Matt had made his usual offhand suggestions that Abby go out to dinner with him, but she’d deflected him. He was a good man, but next to Wolf, he faded like an old rodeo poster on a weathered shed. Despite her constant reminders to herself—take it slow, it’ll never work, you’re all wrong for each other—the Polson rodeo was only three days away, and she could barely wait.
Abby’s daydream came to a halt as Bridget’s truck U-turned into the spot next to hers. Before she could react, Bridget opened the passenger door and slid across the seat to give her a boisterous hug.
“You are so happy, aren’t you? Really, really happy?”
“It’s all happening so fast. I just had an appointment with my obstetrician.”
“Gerta Phillips? The woman who took over Dad’s old office?”
“She’s awesome. It would have been great, of course, to have your dad deliver the first grandchild, but even though that’s not in the cards, Gerta’s cut from the same cloth. She’s very open to a home birth.”
“Home birth, really?” Cut from the same cloth? Abby couldn’t picture her dad delivering a child outside the hospital.
“Mark’s all for it. It’s what we both want. And there’s something else we both want, Abby. We want you to be the maid of honor.”
This was no surprise, but tears came to Abby’s eyes nonetheless. “Phew, I thought you were about to say ‘midwife.’”
Bridget cry-laughed, a huge exhalation, the sound of a deep, whole fulfillment.
“Will you, though? I’m not asking you to take Lamaze classes with me, or deal with the placenta—”
“Oh my God, don’t be disgusting!” Abby cried.
“—I’m just asking you to make sure I don’t trip all over myself up the aisle. And of course, to be right next to me when I marry Mark.”
“Of course, I will!” They hugged. She whispered into Bridget’s ear, “It’ll be my greatest honor.”
After a moment, Bridget pulled back. “There’s just one catch.”
“Uh oh,” Abby said. “Why am I suddenly terrified?”
“Mark’s asking Wolf to be his best man.”
“Wow.” Of course, she’d predicted it herself. She imagined Wolf to Mark’s right, beaming at her across the altar. It was, indeed, all happening so fast. Part of her still felt fourteen, but they were twenty-two, fully entering adulthood now.
“So, listen, I’m craving some of Max’s carrot soup, bowls and bowls of it. Should we get a table?”
And I am craving some time with your brother, Abby thought. Bowls and bowls of it.
The two of them linked arms and took seats in a booth near the kitchen. But when the menus arrived, Abby felt her appetite ebb. As Bridget chattered about the merits of rose petals versus lavender buds for the couple’s departure from the wedding reception, her thoughts drifted. Would she and Wolf be able to hide what was happening between them, while on such public view? Best man and maid of honor seated on either side of the bride and groom at the reception. Best man and maid of honor, second couple out on the dance floor. Best man and maid of honor—captured in every photograph, in every video, in everyone’s memory. How would she be able to keep her hands off him? How would she be able to fake it?
She thought about telling Bridget right then and there that she’d slept with Wolf. After all, it wasn’t going to get any easier to tell her as the wedding drew closer. But Bridge looked so peaceful, so beatific, thinking about her baby-to-be. She couldn’t ruin this delirious spell, not now. Bridget deserved this feeling of uninterrupted bliss. Somehow, Abby would find a better opportunity.
Between spoonfuls of soup, Bridget described her vision for the wedding. “Smallish,” she said, “but not because we’re hiding anything. I don’t care who knows I’m pregnant, but we just want the closest friends and family. I’m so proud to be carrying Mark’s baby. You have no idea what this feels like.”
Unable to stop herself, Abby reached across the table to touch Bridget’s stomach. Bridget burst out laughing. “You won’t feel it move yet. But it won’t be long, I promise.”
“It?” asked Abby. “Don’t you want to find out the gender?”
“Too soon for that, too. But I know it’s a boy. We’re only picking out boy names.”
Abby thought, you know no such thing, but said, “Let me guess. Colt or Lachlan; Cody or Grant.”
Bridget laughed again. “Well, aren’t you on trend? Hopefully we’ll be a little more original than that. Mark’s mother has a Bible with all the names from their family back to the Battle of the Big Hole. You won’t believe the names—how does Ezekiel strike you? Or Lazarus?”
Abby covered her ears and frowned. “Don’t you dare.”
“Well, I may not ask your advice about names. But yet again, we have to find something for you to wear, and I need you to help me find something, too. A dress I can fit into four weeks from now.”
“White?” Abby asked.
“You bet. Something those old biddies from the Hockaday Museum Board can gossip about if the wedding pictures appear in the Interlake.” Bridget leaned forward, her now more ample cleavage displayed on the Formica like a menu item. “As soon as you’re finished, we’ll head over to the Blue Lagoon. I’m thinking lace and rhinestones on top with a drop waist—that’s Waist with a capital W—and a full skirt.”
Abby groaned. She was happy for her best friend, of course. But it was well established that she couldn’t stand shopping. Plus, she needed some time to reflect on everything that had happened between her and Wolf, and she always got her best thinking done atop a horse. How many hours before she could sink her boots into loamy pasture and lead her gelding, Beau, to the gate for a good gallop? How many hours before she could watch Wolf compete atop Bullet?
She checked her watch: two days, sixty-eight minutes, thirty-three seconds, and counting…
Back home, after Blue Lagoon, where they’d found Bridget a beautiful dress and headpiece, Abby thought about her oldest friend. In twenty-two years, their friendship had come full circle. Now that she was the maid of honor, Abby could picture how Mark’s and Bridget’s new lives would
unfold together, but always include her. No matter how things turned out with Wolf, she and Bridget would always trade stories and secrets. They were friends for a lifetime, and nothing that Wolf did or said would unbind them. But how could she keep what she felt for him a secret?
She couldn’t, she concluded. Not for much longer.
She wished that the doubts she’d felt at lunch about being paired with Wolf in public at the wedding would float away on the midsummer breeze. She’d never wanted to become one of those women who checked her phone every hour for messages. She’d hoped she was liberated from the tyranny of waiting for a man to make the first move, but here she was, waiting for Wolf. Just waiting for Wolf.
The doorbell rang. It was Mark. She stepped back to look at him. He wore the same loony, lovestruck look as his bride-to-be. God, what a pair he and Bridge were. A walking advertisement for Marry Me in Montana, the local wedding planners Bridget had hired. Kind of nauseating, but undeniably sweet, too.
“I’m so glad you’re going to be in the wedding. Bridget’s so psyched.” He squeezed her by the elbows.
“I’m excited, too.”
“You’ll be able to stay after the rodeo? We thought we’d have a little celebration. Olsens, Macreadys, the whole extended family. My parents couldn’t make it, so it would mean a lot if you could.”
“Of course. My mom and dad are planning on it, too.” She glanced up the stairs. “They’re probably driving down in a few minutes.”
“Before we go to the car, would you take a look at this?” Mark cupped his hands, then opened them to reveal a small white brocade box.
Abby opened it gently. A round diamond, surrounded by small pearls, encased in a slender gold band. A second band of even smaller pearls, interspersed with tiny gold flowers, lay next to it.
“It’s just perfect,” she said. “It even looks like the headpiece she’ll be wearing.” Then, realizing her mistake, she closed the box and folded Mark’s fingers over it. “Oops. I’m such a dork. I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything about what she’ll be wearing.”
Dances with Wolf Page 12