She said something about some guy named Chad who had apparently been a not very scrupulous wheeler-dealer.
"Who's Chad?" Shane asked.
Poppy grimaced. "My ex-fiancé."
Shane hadn't even known she had an ex-fiancé. He felt sort of hollow, thinking about all the things he didn't know.
"Not the most scrupulous of men," her father elaborated. He had what Shane remembered as his "judge face" on. It had made him feel lower than the dirt on the bottom of a rock when he'd had it directed at him.
"What happened to him?"
"He plea bargained and left the state," Poppy said. The judge didn't say anything. His expression said it all.
Share didn't say anything more, either. He sat back and listened. They continued to talk. Poppy smiled at him. He tried to smile back.
But the ache of knowing he was out of place was growing inside all the while, and there was no way to stop it. He knew he ought to get up and say thank you for the nice meal and leave them to it.
But he couldn't. Just a few minutes more, he told himself. A few minutes to pretend that this was his house, his life, his woman. Just a little while longer to sit and watch her, listen to her.
She was, he thought, the most beautiful, sensible, compassionate, intelligent woman in the world. She deserved a man with the same qualities she had.
She deserved Rance. Not him.
It was Rance who stretched and stood up first. "Reckon I'd better be going. I've got a client in Billings in the morning."
"I thought you were staying over tonight," the judge protested.
"Can't. I've got to be fresh bright and early." He gave the judge a comradely smile. "You know how it goes. Gotta be on my toes."
Reluctantly the judge nodded and stood up, too. So did Poppy and Shane.
Rance tugged on his jacket, then crossed the room and took Poppy's hard in his. "Thank you. It was the best meal I've ever had."
Poppy gave him one of her megawatt smiles. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm delighted you came."
"So am I. It was everything the judge promised it would be." There was a pause, and in the space of it his eyes had fastened on hers. And then Rance said, "So are you," and bent over her fingers and touched them with his lips.
Shane's teeth came together with a snap.
Rance glanced up and their eyes met. For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Shane broke off the gaze, stepped back.
But Rance reached out and cuffed Shane lightly on the arm. "Great to see you. I'll have to give Noah and Taggart a shout, and we can get together and do some more catching up."
Then, after shaking the judge's hand and promising to give him a call next week, Rance left.
"Guess I'd better be going, too," Shane said.
Poppy looked startled. "Are you sure? I mean, we barely had…" she colored, but forged on. "We haven't talked."
Shane couldn't talk. Couldn't say what he needed to say. He just had to do it. That's the sort of guy he was. He shook his head. "It's gettin' kind of late."
"He's right," said the judge.
For the first time tonight his gaze and Shane's locked. It was just like it had been fourteen years ago: the judge and the troublemaker.
And the judge had won again.
Shane turned away. He looked at Poppy whose expression was uncertain. She gave him a tremulous smile.
He managed a tight one in return. "Thanks," he said. "I'll always remember this."
"We'll do it again," Poppy said quickly. "You can come and—"
"No. I can't."
"But—"
But Shane just shook his head.
"Good night, Nichols," the judge said. His voice was even, steady. There was no triumph in it. He was wholly matter-of-fact.
Of course he was. He was the law.
Shane was the outlaw.
Fine. So be it.
Shane was who he was. And because he was, he turned and did the last thing the judge wanted.
He took Poppy in his arms and kissed her, long and deep and hard.
It was everything he wanted, everything he'd ever hoped for, all he'd ever dreamed. And for this instant, it was his.
She was his.
But that was a dream. Reality was that he was a broken-down cowboy with no future and a muddy past, and she was a woman who deserved the best.
Shane tore himself away but couldn't avert his gaze. One last time he had to see her, to tell her with his eyes what his lips could never say.
I love you, he said to Poppy in his heart.
* * *
Eleven
« ^
Poppy didn't expect Shane would make love to her in the living room with her father looking on.
She did expect she would hear from him again.
But a day passed and then two. A week passed. He never called.
Her joy turned to worry. Her hopes turned to pain.
He loved her. She was sure of it. She'd seen it in his eyes. She'd felt it in his embrace. And that kiss…! She could still feel the urgency of his last kiss.
But she never heard from Shane.
She wondered if her father had sought him out and warned him off. He had, after all, had another man in mind for her. But she didn't really think so. The judge, for all his heavy-handed meddling, had never been one to discourage the friendship of anyone his daughter really liked.
Granted there was a little more than friendship involved here. But even so—and even if he didn't approve of Shane, which he never said he didn't—she didn't believe her father had done it.
If he had, she was sure Shane would have shown up just to defy him.
She debated calling his brother's house but decided against it. She had done the calling last time. She had invited him to dinner. Yes, he had come. But still, she didn't want to do all the running. The next move ought to be his.
What next move? A very good question.
She couldn't talk to her father about it. There was the matter of Rance, for one thing. But mostly there was the skeptical look he'd given her that night after Shane had left. And his words: "I hope you know what you're doing."
Then Poppy had said, "I do."
Now she wasn't so sure.
She couldn't talk to Milly, either. Milly was a nut case these days. She was obviously still in love with Cash but still equally humiliated by his having crashed her wedding.
"Would you rather I'd have let you marry the jerk?" Poppy had heard him yelling at Milly out in the greenhouse one afternoon.
"Maybe!" Milly had yelled back. "He couldn't possibly be a bigger jerk than you! There are no bigger jerks than you!"
Well, maybe there was one.
At least that's what Poppy was beginning to think. Had Shane just been toying with her? Leading her on? But then, how many guys drove clear back from Arizona to lead a girl on?
It didn't make any sense.
At least it didn't until the door opened to her shop late one Monday afternoon and Rance Phillips walked in.
At the sight of her, his lean face lit up with a grin. "Hey, I've been meaning to call you, but I've been running all over the damn state. That was a great dinner you cooked. It was a great evening all around."
At the time Poppy would have agreed with him. Now she managed a wan smile. "I enjoyed meeting you."
"I thought you wished me to hell and gone," Rance said frankly, propping himself against the cooler. "You looked like you had better things to do."
Poppy flushed and looked down at the snapdragons she was arranging. "My mistake," she said quietly.
Rance straightened up. "What do you mean? Did something happen?" The look he gave her was one of almost brotherly concern. "Shane isn't giving you trouble, is he?"
She shook her head. "No, he isn't giving me trouble! He isn't giving me anything! I haven't seen him since that night." Rance was the last person she ought to be laying this on, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.
Rance pushed away from the cooler and came to stand d
irectly across the counter from her, placing his palms flat. "Tell me."
Poppy knew from the way he was standing that he wasn't going to move anytime soon. She imagined that this was the way he confronted a witness—with more or less gentleness.
It was very effective. She sighed. "There's nothing to tell. I thought we … Shane and I … were—" she shrugged "—you know … were. But apparently … I was wrong."
"Did he say so?"
"No. I told you. I haven't heard from him at all. He's probably gone," she added, jamming the mutilated snapdragon into the bouquet.
Rance frowned. "Without telling you?"
"He never made me any promises."
"That kiss looked pretty promising."
"That's what I thought," she said sadly, and lifted her shoulders. "And then I thought maybe my dad scared him off."
"No. No way." Rance was positive about that.
"He didn't much like my father," Poppy said reflectively. "Something to do with a prank he pulled when he was a teenager, I guess. He never said why."
"No. He wouldn't." Rance smiled slightly. "It wasn't one of his favorite memories."
"You know?" Rance nodded. "Tell me."
"Can't."
"But—"
"No. You ask him if you want to know."
"If I ever see him again." Poppy sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Probably I just expected too much. It wasn't like we were a couple. Not really."
"Looked pretty much like a couple to me," Rance said dryly.
"Yes, well, things got a little out of hand. We haven't known each other long, really, but the time we spent together was pretty special," she said wistfully. "I guess I thought there was more to it than there really was. Or maybe I just hoped."
"Based on the evidence, I'd say that was a reasonable hope."
"Then why hasn't he called? Why hasn't he come by?"
"Did he know your dad was bringing me home for dinner?"
"You mean, did he know about my dad's plans for me and you?"
Before she'd met him, she couldn't have imagined telling her father's choice such a thing. Now the words seemed to tumble out.
"Yeah," Rance said wryly, "those plans."
Poppy dipped her head. "That's … why I asked him to come."
"You didn't ask him to come because you loved him?"
Her cheeks burned. "No."
"I see." Rance looked thoughtful. Then he gave a small nod, touched her cheek with his finger, then tapped her on the end of her nose and headed toward the door.
* * *
"Can you ride?" the doctor echoed Shane's question and studied his determined patient over the top of his glasses. "Yes. Should you ride? Doubtful. Will that stop you?"
Together they said, "No."
"You could use a little more rehab," the doctor told him. "I wouldn't go back to the circuit just yet."
But Shane needed the distraction more than he needed the rehab. He needed a future to think about. Something to get his mind off the past.
"Got to," Shane said, leaning forward urgently as if he could exhort more enthusiasm from Doc Reeves if only he looked earnest enough.
"Broke?" the doctor asked with a wry smile. He'd patched his share of rough-stock riders over the years.
"Something like that." It wasn't his wallet. It was his heart.
He didn't know how else to deal with the loneliness. He'd never been lonely before in his life. The world had always seemed like one big party. Maybe it still was. He'd just lost his invitation.
He was doing the right thing, he assured himself. The only thing.
It had been a mistake, his getting to know her in the first place. She was out of his league, far too good for him. He'd always known that.
Their weekend together had been stolen from real life. It wasn't something to build on. Even though, for a few days, he'd tried to tell himself he could have forever—until her father had brought home Rance.
He couldn't compete with Rance.
He wouldn't compete with Rance.
But he couldn't stay around and watch, either. Elmer was too close. Even Montana wasn't big enough. He needed to get away, get moving, get on back down the road.
So he did.
Jenny thought he was crazy. Mace said, "You sure about this?"
Shane was sure he had no future here. That was enough.
He thanked the doctor, tugged down his hat and went in search of a rodeo.
* * *
He drew a nasty little spinning bull called Frogger's Revenge.
Shane had ridden him once before at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. He'd been stomped once, too, in New Mexico somewhere.
Good, he told himself. It would be a challenge. He needed a challenge. His thumb was stiff. He'd been flexing it on and off all during the drive to the small town rodeo in eastern Washington.
He got to the rodeo grounds not long before the bull riding began, left his truck near the concession stand and carried his rigging bag behind the chutes. He picked up his contestant's number from the secretary and got her to stick it on the back of his shirt.
She looked delighted to see him. "Shane, how are you? I heard about your accident. This your first ride after?"
He nodded. "Couldn't hardly wait to get back." He thought his voice sounded a little hollow. But he felt the adrenaline begin to pick up and he drew a deep breath and looked around, absorbing the sights, the smells, the sounds he'd missed.
She patted his back, then gave him a peck on the cheek. "Good luck."
He winked at her. "Here's hopin' I won't need it."
"Hey, Shane!" A couple of cowboys gave him a wave. Two more looked over from where they stood on the chutes, already preparing. "How ya doin'?"
"Good," Shane said. "Good." He pulled out his bull rope and hung it on the fence, then got out his rosin. Good. But he would be better when he'd finished his ride, when he was fully and completely involved again, when every other thought that raced through his brain wasn't about Poppy.
He was up fourth. And when he scrambled up to put his rope on the bull, habit and instinct began to take over. He pulled the rope up tight, then tighter. He flexed his thumb a few times and prayed it was ready. Then he pulled the glove on his riding hand and settled onto the back of the bull, inching up into the rope, knees in, toes out, shoulders square.
Just like old times.
He nodded his head. "Let's go."
The chute gate swung open. The bull blew out, spun, dipped, kicked, thrust, spun again.
Shane clung. Focused. Shifted. Dipped. The arena whirled around him as if he were the eye and it was the hurricane. The cheering crowd was a blur of faces—except one.
Right at the buzzer when his strength, try and balance all gave out and he went flying, his only thought was:
What the hell was Rance doing there?
Because sure as shootin', that was Rance standing there by the announcer's booth, grinning his head off. Shane scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the fence.
But self-preservation was purely instinct at this point. His mind was on Rance. Wasn't having the girl and the law degree and the future enough for him? Was he still hankering after a gold buckle, too?
Shane didn't know. He wasn't going to ask. Rance might be his buddy, but there was just so much good luck a guy could watch.
"Good job, Shane!" One of the bull riders clapped his on the back.
"Seventy-eight! Not a bad way to come back," another said.
"Yeah," Shane muttered. He stuffed his rope in his rigging bag and headed toward his truck.
"Shane! Hey! Shane Nichols!"
He knew who was yelling. For a moment he didn't even turn. But he could hear the footsteps running after him, and he knew there was no avoiding it. Finally he turned around.
He didn't smile. So what if it made him a poor sport. It was just one more tick against his name at the final accounting. One more in a misspent life like his shouldn't make a helluva lot of difference.
/> "Rance." It was acknowledgment, no more.
"Shane." Rance hesitated, the first time Shane had seen him at a loss. Then he said, "Good ride. How'd the thumb hold up?"
Shane hadn't even noticed. He wiggled it. It was still there. It hurt. Throbbed really. "It's all right. What're you doin' here?"
Rance smiled a little wistfully. "Well. I wish I could say I'd come out of retirement, but—"
"Want to win a buckle to go with everything else you've got?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Why in God's name didn't he shut up? He didn't mean to sound bitter. He didn't want to be spiteful and small.
"If I thought I could, I might come back." Rance took the question at face value. Then he shook his head. "But it isn't gonna happen."
"Then why are you here?"
"You mean, why aren't I home with Poppy?"
Damn it. How like Rance not to pull any punches. It was what Shane always respected about him—that he never hesitated to say exactly what needed to be said.
But damn him for saying it now, for rubbing it in.
But at the same time, Shane knew it served him right. And there was going to be no peace in his life until he accepted it.
"Yes." He tried to sound indifferent. It was hard when the word hissed out between his teeth.
Rance nodded, smiling slightly as he shook his head. "I thought that's what you meant. I was afraid of that. It's exactly the sort of thing you would think. Damn it, man, Poppy doesn't want anything to do with me. She wants you!"
"That's crazy."
Rance grinned. "Yeah, it is. But, hey, there's no accounting for taste."
Shane gritted his teeth. "It isn't a joke."
Rance sobered at once. "No, it's not. It's the absolute bedrock truth, buddy. She's sitting back there in Livingston crying her eyes out over a sorry sucker like you." He fixed Shane in his pale blue gaze. "And you're out here howling at the moon without her."
Shane stared at him. "That's bull," he said, but he couldn't help the surge of hope bursting in him. God, he wished it were true!
Rance just looked at him pityingly. "Right," Rance said. "It's bull." And he turned on his boot heel and started to walk away.
"Wait a minute! Wait just a damn minute!" Shane took three quick strides and grabbed Rance's arm.
The Cowboy Steals a Lady Page 13