The Great Montana Cowboy Auction

by Anne McAllister

There were way too many things you wouldn't do if you were a mom. All the fun, stupid, really messy things a guy could think of he'd just have to forget if he was going to do only what his mom did.

  What kind of life was that?

  Besides his mom was really pretty good as far as moms went. Some of his friends' moms were a lot worse. It was hard on her, he figured, because his dad was dead and she had to do the dad stuff, too. She wasn't bad at that, either. At least, he didn't think she was.

  Jack didn't remember his dad real well. Except, riding on his shoulders and being taller than everybody else. Jack remembered that. And he remembered his dad's laugh. And he remembered wrestling on the floor with him.

  Moms didn't wrestle.

  And even when they tried not to, they worried.

  Jack didn't want her to worry. But he wasn't going to stop being a boy, either. So he had worked out his own rules for getting along. Basically he tried to avoid the things that would get him killed. He tried not to mention the ones that would make his mom nuts. And he did the other stuff because how was a guy supposed to learn if he didn't try things out.

  What Jack was learning this afternoon was that it wasn't as easy to wrangle bunnies as it was cattle.

  Maybe stampeding cattle were tricky to control. He wouldn't know about that. But the times he'd gone with his grandpa to drive the herd to the summer range, it had been easy as pie. Herding rabbits wasn't.

  Rabbits didn't like being herded. They didn't want to be in a group. They bolted and darted and ran all over the yard, which meant Jack was bolting and darting and running all over the yard, too. He'd given up trying to herd them, now he was just trying to catch them and put them back in their cages. "Hi, there."

  A woman's voice made him jerk around. She was tall and blonde and almost as pretty as his teacher, Ms. Stanton, who was just about the prettiest person Jack had ever seen.

  "Hi," he said, out of breath and gasping. Then a black rabbit darted past and he flung himself after it.

  "You must be Jack."

  He grabbed the rabbit around the middle and hauled it against his chest, then stood up. "Yeah."

  She beamed. "I thought so. Sloan mentioned you."

  "Sloan? Gallagher?"

  "Yes. We're very close. Is he here?" The lady looked past him toward the house.

  "Nope. He left with my mom. But then he got mobbed and I don't know where he is. You could walk around and look for the mob," he suggested.

  "I don't think so," she said, still smiling at him. "I don't like crowds. Is he staying with you?"

  "Yeah."

  She studied the house again. "It looks nice and big. You must have lots of room."

  "Not so much," Jack put the black rabbit back in its cage and started going after the others. "There's lot of us."

  "But if you have room for Sloan…"

  "He slept in my mom's bed."

  The blonde lady pressed her lips together. "I see." She wasn't smiling now.

  "Could you maybe try and catch one?" Jack suggested as three rabbits hopped in her direction. He had two cornered, but then he tried to grab one and both of them got away.

  "Damn! Er, sorry." Jack flushed. Swearing in front of company was something his mother wouldn't do, and she'd have his head if she knew he'd done it. But if she wasn't going to help, he wished she'd just leave. He had to get these rabbits back in their cages. He dived for another one and, thank heaven, caught it. But as he stood up a shadow fell across him.

  Oh, no.

  But it wasn't his mom, thank goodness.

  "M-mmm… Hi, Jace!" he beamed, relieved at the sight of Jace Tucker standing by the fence. "Wanta help me catch these rabbits?"

  Jace didn't look as if he wanted to do anything of the sort. "Not now. I need to talk to your aunt."

  "She's cuttin' hair," Jack said. "Can'tcha help me catch just a couple? My mom's gonna be home soon. Please. Aunt Celie's busy anyhow, fixin' Ina Grace Leibold's hair. You don't wanta interrupt that." No one wanted to interrupt Ina Grace.

  Jace hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. Let's catch your rabbits."

  "I'll help," said the blonde woman. She gave Jace lots more of a smile than she'd given Jack.

  Jace blinked, then stared. "You're—" He stopped.

  "Tamara Lynd. Pleased to meet you, Jace." She held out her hand.

  And that was when Jack figured out who she was. He'd seen her in a movie. She'd been Sloan's girl. They'd kissed right at the end. And then she'd pushed him into a swimming pool.

  "Jace," Jack said impatiently because Jace had shaken hands with Tamara Lynd and he hadn't let go. "You gonna help me catch these rabbits or not?"

  "Uh, yeah. Sure." But Jace was still staring at the actress. "You come for the auction, Ms., um, Lynd?"

  "Tamara, please." She gave one of those tinkly bell kind of laughs. "And yes, I guess I did. Sloan talked a lot about it when we were together in Key West. We're very close."

  "Jace!" Jack implored.

  "Right. Right." Jace still looked a little dazed. Jack was disgusted. Tamara Lynd wasn't that beautiful.

  "I'll herd 'em toward you, an' you catch 'em," Jack directed. He started moving, shooing rabbits out of hiding places in the snow and beneath the steps and under the woodpile. "Here comes!"

  He counted on Jace's instincts to get him moving and he wasn't disappointed. As he flushed two of the rabbits out, they skittered toward Jace. He dived for one. So did Tamara Lynd.

  They landed together in a heap in the snow, Tamara shrieking and Jace laughing. "Got one!" Jace said, clasping a rabbit. Tamara Lynd kissed him.

  The shrieking in the yard distracted Celie.

  Not that she hadn't been basically distracted all day. She'd tried to behave normally, to act as if nothing had happened, as if her whole fantasy life hadn't passed before her eyes as she'd stared at naked bits of Sloan Gallagher this very morning!

  But she had. And what was worse, she'd acted like an idiot after.

  The woman she knew she was inside—or outside or somewhere in her being, the one who was kind and loving and tender and sane—vanished and had been replaced by a blithering idiot who tossed coffee mugs.

  She had wanted to run as far and fast as she could. So she had. She'd run to the Spa. The day's worth of appointments, of hair to wash and cut and perm and style, had been her salvation. She could do that without even thinking. And she had. Even though every woman who came in wanted to talk about Sloan Gallagher.

  She thanked God she hadn't had to work at Artie's today. She couldn't have faced Jace Tucker's knowing gaze and smart mouth.

  Her panic had mortified her, made her aware of how silly she had been. He was only a man—a naked man, yes, a gorgeous man, certainly—but a man like any other.

  She'd idealized him beyond all good sense. And she had humiliated herself by her reactions.

  It was time to get a grip. It was time to face the facts.

  She'd had the day to do it.

  She hoped she would develop some semblance of sanity by the time Polly and Sloan—Sloan, she made herself say it again in her head casually, matter-of-factly—came back this evening.

  By then, she assured herself, she would act like an adult.

  She would smile, she would be polite. She would meet his gaze and not drop things and blush.

  Yet when she heard the shrieks, her resolve wobbled and her fingers trembled.

  "Careful there!" Ina Grace Leibold snapped. Ina Grace didn't have a lot of hair, and what she had she expected Celie to take exceptionally good care of.

  "Yes, yes." But Celie had to put the scissors down for just a minute. She had to close her eyes and draw a deep breath and tell herself that she could do this.

  The shrieks continued. Celie heard laughter.

  "Is that Sloan Gallagher coming?" Ina Grace asked. She preened in a futile attempt to look gorgeous.

  "It must be," Celie said, trembling a little. "I'll just look." She wiped her palms on the sides of her jeans and went to look o
ut the window. She saw Jack chasing rabbits, whooping and shrieking as he went. And she saw two people, a man and a woman, rolling and laughing in the snow.

  Sloan? And who else?

  Celie stared intently as they staggered up, both still laughing. And Celie saw that it wasn't Sloan at all, but Jace Tucker who stood there holding a rabbit and grinning like a fool.

  And then the woman—My God, was that Tamara Lynd?—leaned forward and kissed him!

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  It was the coolest sleepover Jack had ever had.

  Sloan Gallagher was in his bottom bunk!

  "You still awake?" Jack whispered loud enough for Sloan to hear if he was, but not loud enough to bring in his mother telling him to quiet down and go to sleep. Jack didn't want to sleep. At all.

  "Still awake," Sloan confirmed.

  Jack rolled over and hung his head down so he could peer through the darkness at the man in the bunk below. "I never seen so many people as followed you around today. Is it like that all the time?"

  "Not always. But sometimes it get a little hairy."

  "Lotsa girls."

  "Yep."

  "Too many girls." In Jack's opinion. He knew that someday he was supposed to think that having girls paw at you was a good deal, but he couldn't quite imagine it. As far as he could see they tattled on you when you were doing things that weren't any of their business anyway. And if they weren't tattling they were bossing or just getting in the way.

  "More than I need, that's for sure."

  "You could get rid of 'em."

  "Oh, yeah? How?"

  "Easy. Get married."

  "Think that would work?" Sloan sounded intrigued by the possibility.

  "Oh, yeah," Jack said, hauling himself back up onto the bed and flopping down on his back. "There were lotsa girls who liked Gus. But when he got married they went away. Gus says it's lots more restful."

  Sloan laughed. "Hard to imagine Gus enjoying restful."

  "He's not so bad. He still likes to do dumb stuff," Jack said. "Like ridin' broncs for fun. An' him an' me go four-wheelin' sometimes. Girls don't do that so they don't bother you."

  "But if I got married, I'd have one girl around all the time."

  "Yeah, but she'd be an okay girl."

  "You think there are some?"

  "Sure. My mom's an okay girl. So's Mary. An' Mrs. Nichols at my school. She's my friend Mark's mom. I don't know about that Tammy person," Jack added doubtfully.

  "What Tammy person?"

  "I forget. Tammy Somethin'. She said she knew you. She's an actress. She pushed you in a swimming pool."

  "Tamara Lynd?"

  "Yeah. Her. Not so sure about her."

  The bed creaked as if Sloan had sat up. "She's here?"

  Jack leaned down again. "Yep. She came by this afternoon lookin' for you."

  Sloan didn't say anything to that.

  Jack had thought he might say, "Oh, good!" and he'd hoped he might say, "Oh, hell." But he didn't say a word.

  "Is she, like, your girlfriend?" Jack asked after the silence continued.

  "No." It was flat and firm. There wasn't much question about how Sloan felt about that.

  Jack was relieved. "I think she'd like to be."

  "Not likely."

  "She's gonna bid on you."

  The grunt became a groan.

  "She said she was gonna win you."

  "I bloody well hope not," Sloan muttered.

  "Who do you want to win you?"

  Sloan didn't answer right away. "I don't know who's bidding, do I?" he said at last.

  "Guess not. Guess you'll just have to wait and see. That would be terrible. I'd die if Mandy Kramer bid on me! Yuck!"

  "Who's Mandy Kramer?" Sloan asked with a smile.

  "A girl in my class. She sits behind me and she pokes me with her pencil when I put my elbow on her desk, and she kicks my chair when I tip back. She made me tip over once an' the teacher yelled at me!" Jack still felt indignant at the injustice every time he thought about it. He sat up and settled back against his pillows with his arms crossed over his chest.

  "That happens sometimes." Sloan said.

  "Did you ever get in trouble in school?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Lots?" Jack didn't get in trouble lots, but he had been known to talk maybe a little too much. And sometimes he forgot not to punch his friend Randy when they were standing in line.

  "Now and then," Sloan said easily. "All guys do."

  "That's what I tell my mom."

  "Does she believe you?"

  "I think so. She says my dad used to sometimes. She says he was a cut-up." Jack smiled when he thought about things she said his dad had done. "She tells me some stuff, an' Sara tells me things he told her. I don't … I don't remember him much."

  "I do."

  Jack sat up straight. Then he flipped around and hung down again so he could stare at Sloan in the darkness. "You knew my dad?"

  "I lived at Maddie's with him the first year I was there."

  "Whoa. Really? Did you like him? Was he cool? Was he a cut-up?"

  "He was funny," Sloan said. "Sometimes. He was a good guy. And, yeah, I liked him. He always had a good word for everybody."

  "He didn't, like, ever get in fights?" It was kind of hard to live up to that, Jack thought.

  Sloan smiled. "Oh, he fought now and then. He pounded me once."

  Jack hung so far over the side he almost fell on his head. "Really? How come?"

  "I did something to upset your mother."

  "Did you spit?" Jack knew that upset his mother.

  "No. I can't tell you what I did. I gave your dad my word that I wouldn't."

  "Oh." Jack would have liked to know—especially because, if Sloan still couldn't talk about it, it must've been way worse than spitting. But he understood. A part of him was glad. It meant Sloan could be trusted. After all, he'd made a promise all those years ago and was still keeping it—even though the guy he'd made it to wasn't even around anymore.

  That was pretty good. The sort of thing you'd expect from a guy who grew up to be a hero.

  Sloan had come back to prove he was a hero.

  Well, maybe not a hero, because he was that only in Hollywood terms, but when Gus had called about the auction, Sloan had agreed not just because he genuinely wanted to help Maddie, and not simply because Polly O'Meara was in charge, but because he'd wanted to show the town of Elmer that, in spite of anyone's doubts, he'd done just fine.

  What he discovered this morning was that the doubts had never been theirs. They'd been his own.

  He'd been a displaced teenager, full of hurt and anger, aching to go home to a family and a life that wasn't there anymore. He'd spurned their overtures of friendship. He'd fought at the drop of a hat. He'd come with a chip on his shoulder. And though Ward and Maddie had succeeded in breaking through his armor and drawing him into the warmth of their love, he hadn't stayed long enough to make friends with many people in the town.

  So he'd remembered them feeling about him the way he felt about them.

  It didn't take long to realize he'd been wrong.

  People remembered him. But they didn't remember him as especially surly or angry or tough. They remembered a dark-haired boy who had just experienced the death of his mother, who was enduring the emotional breakdown of his father, a boy who had seen his family ranch sold at auction, the herd sold, the furnishings carted away. They remembered a boy who was resilient, who was strong, who, as Will Jones had said this morning in an interview they did together, "had been dealt a bad hand and played it as best he could."

  The look he'd given Sloan then wasn't one of pity, but of respect and admiration.

  Other townspeople and ranchers had done the same. They'd come and shaken his hand and told him they were glad to see him back.

  One interviewer implied that they were glad to see him because he'd become a Hollywood star, and for what he could now do for th
em.

  Otis Jamison, the grizzled old rancher he'd been interviewing, had just stared at him.

  Otis never hesitated speaking his mind and had once rightly chewed Sloan's ass for leaving a gate open. Later that summer, though, when Ward had sent him to help out at Jamisons', Otis had trusted him to drive a small herd of cattle up to the summer range.

  It had been a vote of confidence at a time when Sloan had needed one.

  This afternoon Otis had stared unblinking at the interviewer for what seemed like several years, though it was probably not even half a minute. And then he'd shrugged arthritic shoulders and shaken his head.

  "My ol' ma always said, you'll find whatever it is you're lookin' for. You want to look for the worst in people, I reckon you'll find it." Then he'd turned to Sloan, shaken his hand and clapped him on the arm. "Glad you're home, boy."

  Sloan was, too.

  He lay now, with his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the bunk where Jack had finally run down and fallen asleep, and was very glad indeed.

  And there was a laugh for you, he thought wryly.

  He'd come to impress Polly. He'd been hankering to go to bed with Polly.

  That, if the truth were known, was the main reason he'd come. When a guy had carried a fantasy with him as long as he had—even after bedding a fair number of the world's most beautiful women—he became a little obsessed with the one that "got away."

  Not that he'd ever had her in the first place.

  He'd only wanted her.

  He still did. More than ever.

  And yet he was happy just to be here—in Jack's room, in Jack's spare bunk, knowing that Polly was sleeping alone in the bed he'd slept in last night just across the hall.

  Of course he'd have been happier to be there with her. But he'd realized first thing this morning that his fantasy and the reality of Polly's life couldn't possibly mix.

  She had family everywhere. They obviously even felt comfortable barging unannounced into the bathroom if they thought it was Polly in there.

  He expected they'd feel equally at home wandering into her bedroom at any time of the day or night. So, while he would still have enjoyed making love to Polly, he knew it wasn't going to happen here.