A Cowboy's Tears

by Anne McAllister

  "Interesting that you're so big on responsibility," Jenny said, "when you've just walked out on me."

  "For your own good," Mace countered, stung.

  "The hell it is!"

  "It is," he insisted. "You'll thank me someday."

  She gaped at him. "I'll thank you? Oh, sure. Maybe you expect me to even name my first-born son after you?"

  He felt the blood drain from his face.

  He shoved Neile at Jenny so firmly this time that she had no choice but to open her arms. Then he jumped in the truck, slammed the door and gunned the engine.

  "Mace! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, Mace. Don't go. Don't! Damn it, Mace."

  But the thought of Jenny with a first-born son that was someone else's was more than he could take.

  Jenny told herself she was foolish. She told herself she wasn't ready for this. She told herself that she'd be sorry. But there was just so long you could bang your head against a wall—or against the hardheaded stubbornness of your husband—and get nowhere. She had to do something.

  So Jenny took Felicity's suggestion: she was going on a date.

  Well, it wasn't precisely a date. It was dinner at Felicity and Taggart's with Becky and the twins and Felicity's newly arrived brother, Tom.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," she told Felicity.

  "Relax. It will be good for you."

  "But I'm not interested in another man!"

  "Maybe it's time you get interested." Felicity's tone was sympathetic, but firm. She was more of a realist than Jenny.

  Still, it turned out better than she'd expected. Maybe it was because Felicity's judgment was generally to be trusted. Maybe it was because, when she met Tom Morrison, he didn't seem threatening to her peace of mind.

  Mostly it was because he was nothing like Mace.

  Tom Morrison had warm brown eyes and shaggy blond locks that were as different from Mace's sea blue eyes and short-cropped black hair as day was from night. He was lean, but not hard. His conversation had more to do with books, politics and National Public Radio than it did a bull's breeding line or the price of feed this coming winter.

  Jenny began to relax.

  While Felicity put dinner on the table and Taggart juggled a fussy baby, Tom lounged in the porch swing and, bouncing a happy baby on his knee, talked about a book he was assigning for a course in African literature he was teaching in the fall.

  Jenny sipped her margarita and listened, letting Tom's conversation wash over her. It was so pleasant. So nondemanding.

  She found herself surprisingly interested in the book he was talking about, which she'd never heard of. Not surprising. There were always too many chores to be done for her to settle down with a book. The most she ever got to read, it seemed, was the newspaper.

  Now he piqued her interest. The course he was teaching sounded interesting, too. Once upon a time she'd have liked to take a course like that. She said so.

  Tom smiled. "They probably have a similar course at Montana State. Why don't you look into it?"

  "I've never taken any college courses," Jenny confessed. "We never had time … or the money."

  She felt a little like she was betraying Mace when she said that, so she added quickly, "I never minded, really. I like being a teacher's aide."

  "You can still be a teacher's aide if you take classes," Tom said.

  "Yes," Felicity said, coming out onto the porch. "Why don't you check it out, Jenn? You could start work on a degree."

  "Oh, no," Jenny said. "I couldn't. I have no time." Then she stopped, and felt her face flush.

  The fact was, this summer she did have time. This summer she wasn't working with Mace because he made it so obviously clear he didn't want her to. She'd tried to help, but his determined cold shoulder had made her mad. If he thought he could handle the ranch on his own, fine, she thought. Let him.

  Since then she hadn't saddled a horse.

  Now, though she had some time, the thought of taking a class at the university was daunting.

  "I haven't taken classes in years," she protested. "And I've never taken any in college. I'd probably fail."

  "Lots of nontraditional students feel that way," Tom said easily. "In fact, most of them do better than the kids. They're motivated. Professional. Adult." He gave her an encouraging smile over the top of his margarita glass.

  His faith in her was surprisingly touching. Jenny found herself smiling back. "I wouldn't know where to start."

  "All colleges have admissions counselors. Why don't you go see one?"

  "I don't know…" Jenny nibbled at the salt on the rim of the glass, then ran her tongue over her lips. It seemed like a huge departure from her real life. See a counselor? Think about college?

  What would Mace say?

  Would Mace even know? Or care?

  She took another sip of her drink. "Maybe I will."

  The next morning Jenny was convinced her brave statement had been the margarita talking. She wasn't seriously thinking about going back to college, was she?

  She looked around the small ranch house she and Mace and their friends had built. In it she saw the embodiment of Mace's dreams, Mace's hopes.

  She had taken them on, had been very happy with them, but they hadn't been hers. Not to begin with.

  Her dream had been a college education. A job teaching, not just being an aide to someone else who taught. She'd had the grades for it. As valedictorian of their small high school, she'd had offers of plenty of scholarships and grants.

  But she hadn't wanted scholarships or grants or the college education as much as she'd wanted Mace. And now?

  She didn't have Mace.

  She briefly entertained the possibility that she wouldn't win out, that she might never have Mace again. She didn't really believe it. But…

  Go see an admissions counselor?

  Maybe she would.

  He didn't let himself dwell on Jenny's first-born son.

  He didn't let himself dwell on Jenny.

  Every day when he got up, it took Mace less time to remember where he was and why Jenny was no longer beside him, shove the thought away and force himself out of bed to get on with his life.

  Every night when he came back to the cabin, exhausted from a day riding the range, moving the herd, doctoring cattle or fixing fences, it didn't take him long to find something else to do to keep from thinking about her.

  Pretty soon he'd be fine, he promised himself. Before long he wouldn't miss her at all.

  But there was no comfort in knowing it.

  No comfort at all.

  It might have helped a little if he'd had a friend or two. A little camaraderie. A bit of distraction.

  But his friends were Jenny's friends. And that weekend at Taggart's school, it had been all too obvious who they were giving their allegiance to.

  And anyway, if someone did come by, there was always the chance that the conversation would come around to Jenny—and why he was divorcing her. He had no doubt speculation was rife.

  And he had nothing to say.

  The knowledge of his infertility shamed him and embarrassed him still. Every time he thought about what he wasn't capable of doing, he felt like less than a man.

  It was better that they think him a surly, selfish son of a bitch. He didn't want them thinking he was less than a man, too.

  So he stayed by himself.

  When he needed groceries or gasoline, he drove to Livingston. When he needed blackleg medicine or a new cinch for his horse, he drove to Bozeman. When he needed to talk to his lawyer, he used his newly purchased cellular phone.

  The last time he called, Anthony had told him that Jenny had a lawyer and was asking for half the property.

  "Half the property? What's she going to do with half the property?" he yelped. "She won't stay on the ranch."

  "No, but by law she's entitled to a share," Anthony said.

  Of course she was, Mace knew that. But he just thought of her as moving to town or something. He wante
d her to have plenty to live on. She deserved plenty. Trouble was, even in the best of times they'd never had plenty between the two of them.

  And now they were going to have to divide the ranch?

  "I'll have to buy her out," he told Anthony.

  Though how he was going to do that, he didn't know. They barely broke even now. Maybe she'd let him pay her over time. A long time.

  Or, he wondered, was she insisting on half just so he'd drop the petition?

  He didn't know.

  "I'll talk to her lawyer," Anthony said. "I'll see what we can work out. Don't worry."

  Yeah, right.

  Mace hung up and worried all night.

  There was only one really good thing in his life now, and that was that his herd had never looked better.

  It was because he spent hours with them, checking on them, doctoring them, moving them to better grass, catching problems before they had a chance to develop. Doing things the way they ought to be done.

  It just went to show, Mace assured himself, that he didn't need Jenny. And he didn't need his friends.

  But he couldn't suppress the surge of pleasure he felt when he came over the rise above the cabin one afternoon and saw Becky riding toward him.

  He grinned and waved at her.

  "Hey, shadow, haven't seen you in a while," he said when they got close enough for his voice to carry.

  She shrugged. "Been busy," she replied, her voice a monotone. She didn't smile. She looked worried.

  Mace dismounted by the barn and started to take his saddle off while he waited for more explanation. It wouldn't take long. Becky usually talked his ear off.

  But she didn't today. She sat there looking unhappy, and he wondered if things were all right at home.

  "Twins still keepin' you awake all night?"

  "Huh?" She looked almost startled, then shook her head vaguely. "Not really. They're … getting better. A little better," she qualified. She still didn't smile.

  Mace slung his saddle over the fence rail and looked up at her. "You gettin' down or just passin' through?"

  "Um…" For a moment she seemed almost indecisive. Then she said, "Getting down, I guess."

  She dismounted and loosened the cinch, then stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared distractedly at her feet and then out across the valley.

  This was not Becky.

  He studied her down-bent head for a moment, then said, "How about a cup of coffee?"

  "Coffee?" She looked at him, astonished.

  He didn't blame her. He'd never offered her a cup of coffee in her life! She was a kid, for heaven's sake!

  But then she said, "Yeah. All right."

  He led the way into the cabin and put the coffeepot on the stove. Becky followed, but she didn't perch on one of the chairs and tip it back and forth the way she usually did.

  Instead she went to the window and stood still, staring out across the valley. She ran a finger in the dust along the windowsill.

  Mace wondered if living with Felicity had taught her to be critical of his housekeeping skills. He was pretty sure he didn't live up to Felicity's standards, but Becky didn't say anything, just doodled in the dust.

  "So," he said as they waited for the coffee to boil. "What's new at your house?"

  He expected to hear some grumbling about the twins. But Becky turned, her back against the windowsill and said, "Jenny's goin' out on a date with my uncle Tom."

  "What! I mean, what?" His brows drew down. "What Uncle Tom? You don't have an uncle Tom. You've only got an aunt."

  Erin. Taggart's sister. He knew that. She was three years younger than Taggart, lived in Paris, and the last Mace had heard she wasn't married.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" He knew he was scowling at her, but Becky stood her ground.

  "My 'new' uncle Tom," she qualified. "Felicity's brother. He's visiting us for the summer. From Iowa."

  Iowa?

  Jenny was going on a date with some guy from Iowa?

  Already? Talk about a fast worker. Hell, the ink was barely dry on the divorce petition!

  He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. His fists clenched, and he had to consciously ease them, flex them, try to keep from strangling something.

  "Coffee's boiling," Becky noted.

  Mace reached over and shut it off. Automatically he got two mugs down off the shelf and filled them—or tried to. His hand trembled so much he spilled the liquid all over the counter.

  Wordlessly Becky mopped it up.

  He tried again. His mind was whirling.

  Of course he'd known Jenny would date other men. How was she ever going to meet one to father her children and give her a family if she didn't?

  But he hadn't expected her to jump into it so eagerly—or so soon!

  Wasn't it just a few days ago that she had chased him clear out to his truck to tell him she didn't want a divorce?

  Obviously she'd changed her mind.

  This Uncle Tom person, Mace thought savagely, must be a hell of a stud!

  "He's a nice guy, my uncle Tom," he heard Becky say. She seemed to be almost apologetic. "He's a teacher. A professor really, at a college. He teaches English."

  "Good for him," Mace said through his teeth. He doubted that was what Jenny saw in him.

  She probably saw sperm.

  "He doesn't know as many cowboy stories as you," Becky continued hurriedly. "An' he can't play the harmonica like you can. But he knows a lot about pirates, an' African folktales an' he tells pretty good jokes. He's pretty cool."

  "Swell." Mace's fingers strangled the coffee mug.

  Becky looked at him warily. Then, as if she thought it might be a good idea to change the subject, she said, "We got a lot of company. Susannah's uncle's here, too."

  Mace frowned. "What uncle? Just her uncle?"

  Had Tanner left his wife? Had Luke left his? If either had, it wasn't for the reason Mace had left. Tanner had three kids and Luke, two, at last count.

  Maybe Jenny could go after them, too.

  "Not her real uncle. Her aunt Maggie's dad." Becky's forehead scrunched with the effort of trying to get it straight. "A great uncle removed or something, Dad says. He's really nice, too, except he's kinda sad. His wife just died."

  Mace supposed he would be a little old, but perhaps Jenny would get around to him if this Tom character didn't work out.

  His fingers tightened on the coffee mug. "So, where are they going on this date?" he asked as casually as he could. "Jenny and your, er, uncle."

  "Dunno for sure. Prob'ly a movie. Felicity was reading him the movie schedule last night."

  "Felicity's helping the romance along, huh?" Traitor, Mace thought.

  Becky shrugged uneasily. "It's not exactly a romance. Yet. They've only been out a couple a times and—"

  "This isn't the first time?" Mace demanded.

  "Well, th'others weren't dates really. Monday they went to Bozeman … to the college, I think. Jenny might take classes."

  "Classes? At MSU?"

  Becky nodded. "She got a catalog, and she and Uncle Tom have been going over it, and she said she's thinking about it."

  It seemed to Mace she was thinking about a hell of a lot. And she wasn't letting the grass grow under her feet, either!

  Classes! Men! What next?

  "I wasn't sure I shoulda told you," Becky said. "About Jenny an' Uncle Tom an' all. I mean, it might be nothing." She held the mug of coffee against her lips so she could breathe the aroma as she watched him over the top.

  Mace flattened his hands on the countertop and stared out the window, at the same time giving his best imitation of a nonchalant shrug. "Doesn't matter if it is something," he lied. "It's not my business."

  "You don't care?"

  "We're getting a divorce, you know that."

  "I know, but—"

  "So it's not my business what she does."

  "It is if you want it to be. You could ask her not to go," Becky argued.

  He
wished. His fingers curled into fists. He stared straight ahead and shook his head slowly. "No."

  "You could," Becky insisted. "If you don't want her to go out with him, tell her so. You're still married! If you wanted, you could get back together."

  "No!" It was almost a shout. "No," he said more quietly but just as forcefully. "We can't. We won't. So Jenny can date—" he couldn't quite keep his voice even when he said the words "—anybody she wants. Your uncle. Susannah's uncle. Anybody's damned uncle. It isn't up to me. I told you that."

  "But—"

  "No buts! Damn it, Becky. No." He slapped his palms on the countertop, then turned and glared at her. "Leave it. Thanks for tellin' me. It's very interesting. But it's none of my business anymore. Now just leave well enough alone."

  He picked up his mug, drained the rest of his coffee, then thumped it down again. "I've got work to do. Come on," he said roughly. "You better go on home."

  For a long moment Becky didn't move. She just looked at him, and the look in her eyes was one of such profound hurt that he felt as if he'd kicked a pup. Then, her expression grew shuttered. Her gaze became remote.

  Mace cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just … not something you'd understand."

  Becky dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink and walked past him out the door. "I understand," she said. "I shouldn't have come. I'll go."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  So she'd blown it.

  She'd been torn all week about whether she should tell Mace about Jenny and Uncle Tom.

  Susannah had said that if Jenny dated Uncle Tom—if she married Uncle Tom!—it would serve stupid old Mace right. Tuck said if Mace was the one trying to get the divorce, why should he care what Jenny did?

  But Becky hadn't been sure.

  She would have liked to ask her stepmother, but Felicity was distracted because Willy had an earache and had kept her up all night, and when Becky asked, "Do you think Jenny likes Uncle Tom?" she didn't even know what Becky really meant.