And if he just happened to knock Tom Whatever-His-Name-Was on his rear end as he was passing, well, those things happened.
There. He had everything. Tightening the drawstring on the duffel, he slung it over his shoulder and was starting toward the door when his gaze was caught by the photo on the top of the lingerie chest he'd built for Jenny three Christmases ago.
He knew what was in the photo. He didn't need to look at it. But he couldn't seem to help himself from going over and picking it up.
Faded now with age, it was an eight-inch-by-ten-inch color portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. God, they had been young. He couldn't ever remember being that young. But Jenny—Jenny didn't look like she'd changed a bit.
They had just come out of the church and were holding hands, and Jenny was smiling at him, her eyes filled with hopes and dreams, and he was grinning like he'd just won the world.
For a lot of years he really thought he'd won the world. But that was before being who he was had turned Jenny's dream to ashes. He felt as if a knife was twisting in his gut as he put the photo back on the dresser.
As he went out, he turned on the porch light. At least she wouldn't be coming home to a dark house.
He rode Chug up to the trees again. He didn't need to hang around. He was sure she wouldn't thank him for it—if she knew.
She wouldn't know.
He waited there in the dark. She was his wife—at least for now. He was responsible for her. And if that meant waiting around to be sure she got in safely after a date, well, fine—he could do that.
He dismounted, loosened Chug's cinch and leaned against a tree to wait.
She hadn't left a light on.
Jenny was sure she hadn't left a light on. But when they came around the bend, the house was lit up like Disneyland. What on earth?
One of her hands was clenched into a fist on her thigh. The other, wrapped loosely in Tom's, tightened slightly. "Something wrong?"
She shook her head. "No. At least I don't think so. I … didn't remember putting on so many lights." So who had? Mace? Was he there? Waiting for her?
Her heart leaped and at the same moment her teeth ground together in irritation. God, it was exactly the sort of thing he would do—show up when she was out with someone else and put the lights on for her!
Did he intend to check out his successor?
"Well," Tom said cheerfully, "it's not likely to be a burglar. They usually don't go around putting on more lights."
Jenny managed a brittle laugh. "No, I'm pretty sure it's not a burglar."
"Want me to go in first and check it out for you?"
If it was a burglar, that would be fine. Not if it was Mace.
He might want only to check out Tom. On the other hand, memories of Taggart's bloody nose were all too clear.
The last thing she wanted was him punching out Tom's lights. And who knew what Mace would do these days?
She thought she knew him better than anyone. And now she was beginning to think she didn't know him at all!
"I'm sure it's fine," she said. "You don't need to check things out for me. I was probably so … flustered about our date, I just forgot."
Tom, having recognized and soothed her initial awkwardness, seemed to accept that explanation. "If you say so. But—"
"Really. It's not dangerous," Jenny said. Unless Mace was in there—and then she wouldn't guarantee she wouldn't give him a bloody nose! Now she gave Tom's hand a squeeze and smiled as he pulled up in front of the house.
"I had a lovely time," she said, hoping to get their good-nights said in the car. But he was already out and coming around to open the door for her. So she got out, too, and turned to say thank you there.
He took her hand and led her up onto the porch. His coat brushed her arm. She could feel his breath near her ear. He seemed closer than when their sleeves brushed during the movie. Was Mace watching from behind the window in the door?
She fumbled for her key and nearly dropped it, then gave a nervous laugh.
If he was, she swore she'd kill him.
"Here. Let me," Tom said when she couldn't seem to get the key in the lock. He took it from her and easily slipped it into the lock, turned it, then pushed open the door.
Jenny held her breath. The room was empty. She breathed again.
"See," she said brightly, turning to Tom who came in after her. "Not a burglar in sight." And if she said the words with uncommon loudness, just in case Mace was lurking in the bedroom, Tom would never know.
"I see," Tom said. But he didn't seem to be looking around and noticing the absence of burglars. He seemed to only see her. He was looking at her with an expression both tender and intent.
Quickly Jenny averted her gaze, taking the key and making a fuss over putting it back into her bag. Whatever Tom wanted, whatever that look meant, she wasn't ready for it—whether or not Mace was planning to play jack-in-the-bedroom or not.
"It's really pretty late," she said. "I'd offer you a cup of coffee, but if I kept you out much longer, you might disturb the twins when you got back to Felicity's."
"And you're not ready to offer me a cup of coffee, in any case," Tom said, his voice resigned, his smile rueful.
Jenny raked fingers through her hair, then shook her head. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful or embarrassed that her discomfort was so apparent.
"You're right. I'm not," she admitted. Then she added quite honestly, "But it's not because I didn't have a good time tonight. I did."
"So did I."
"And I … just … want to remember the good time. I don't want to … to—"
"You don't want to go any further. I know," Tom said quietly. "I understand."
"Good." Jenny laughed a little nervously. "I wish I did," she muttered under her breath. She knotted her fingers together. God, she was bad at this. And thank God Mace wasn't watching her make a fool of herself. She edged Tom toward the open door.
"Did you have a good enough time to do it again?" he asked her.
She nodded. "Yes, I did. Yes."
"Then we'll do it again, shall we?"
She smiled. "Please."
"I'd like to please you, Jenny," he said. And then, before she realized what he was about to do, he closed the distance between them and pressed a light kiss against her lips.
It wasn't a possessive kiss. It wasn't at all the sort of kiss that Mace gave her. There was nothing of need or of passion or of love in it.
And yet it sealed something. It was an end … and a beginning.
Jenny gulped.
Tom stepped back and looked down at her, then trailed a finger along her cheek. "Night," he said softly.
Then he turned and went out the open door and down the steps. "I'll call you," he promised. Then, with a grin and a brief wave of his hand, he got in the car and drove away.
Jenny stood in the doorway, fingers touching her lips as she watched until the car went around the bend and out of sight. Even after she could no longer see it, she stood there—touching, feeling, fretting—in the cool stillness of the Montana night.
And then, in the silence, she heard a horse whicker in the darkness.
She heard more—the creak of saddle leather, the chink of the bit, the muffled sound of hooves on pine needles.
Her fingers curled into fists.
Damn him, he was watching!
Well, she hoped he liked what he'd seen!
"Spying, Mace?" she called softly into the darkness, knowing he could hear her as well as she'd heard him. "Show's over. Hope you enjoyed it."
Then she went inside and slammed the door.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
No, thank you very much, he hadn't enjoyed it. Not one little bit.
He never minded if Taggart gave Jenny the occasional peck on the cheek or if Jed or Noah did likewise. They were his friends. He understood all about duty kisses among relatives. His brother, Shane, always enjoyed them a little too mu
ch for Mace's liking. But he tolerated it.
He had a hard time tolerating this.
Mace didn't like seeing Jenny kissed by another man. He didn't like watching a man he didn't even know bend his head and touch his lips to Jenny's as if he had every right to!
Even if he did have every right to, Mace reminded himself.
"Jenny's a free agent," he said aloud for the fiftieth time today, slamming the ax into the log he was theoretically splitting into firewood. He'd been working on it for two hours, and if he went on this way much longer, he could probably corner the world market in toothpicks.
But if a guy wasn't going to haul off and take a swing at somebody, he had to work off his aggression somehow.
Besides, in fewer months than he would like, it would be winter again. Never too late to start firewood.
"Hey." A voice behind him caused him to jerk upright.
He turned to see Jed on horseback, looking down at him.
Warily Mace picked up his shirt from where he'd tossed it over a fence post and mopped his sweaty face, then regarded Jed over the top of it. "Hey, yourself."
So Jed was talking to him now. Did that mean things were getting back to normal?
"What're you doin' up here?" Mace asked.
"Slummin'?" A corner of Jed's mouth lifted slightly, then drew down again. "What the hell you're doin' up here is a better question."
Mace rubbed the shirt over his face once more, then wiped the sweat off his chest. "Cuttin' firewood."
It wasn't the answer to the question Jed was asking, and Mace knew it. But it was all the answer he was going to get.
Jed raised one brow. "In July?"
"A guy can never have too much firewood."
"Or too many brains. Reckon you must've lost some of yours."
No, things weren't back to normal. Normal was Jed talking about the weather or their cattle or the price of feed. It wasn't a leading statement about Mace's mental health.
He turned back to his firewood. Jed ought to know better. A guy didn't stick his nose into other people's business!
He swung the ax over his head and brought it down with a solid thunk into the log. He'd been doing it so long already that muscles were quivering. He waited a second before hefting it again, hoping to hear the sound of Jed's horse moving away.
He didn't. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see its hooves. It didn't move an inch.
Gritting his teeth, Mace raised the ax and brought it down again. And again. And again. Go on, damn it. Get! he urged.
Jed stayed.
Finally, exhausted and furious, Mace jerked his head around. "Enjoying yourself?"
"It's educational," Jed said mildly, "watchin' you make a fool of yourself."
Mace brought the ax down with a hard thwack. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Jed's shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. "Always figured you had it together," he said conversationally. "Better'n most. Better'n me, anyway. Far back as I can remember you always knew what you wanted. This land. This ranch. To build a herd. Always went after it. Al—"
"Some things you can't have, damn it!"
Mace's sharp tone made Jed's gelding pull at the reins. Jed soothed him, but didn't flinch. Nor did he leave. He looked at Mace with brotherly concern and not a little irritation.
"Why can't she?" he asked.
Mace's mouth set in a hard line. "Don't interfere."
"Don't tell me she doesn't still love you and wouldn't be just as good a wife to you! Just because she's got the college bug—"
Mace frowned. "What college bug?"
Jed's eyes widened slightly. He got off his horse and came across the yard. "You mean, that ain't it?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Jenny takin' classes down at Bozeman. English lit and somethin' else. We thought that's what you were all het up about." Now it was Jed's turn to look confused. "It isn't?"
Mace drove the ax into the stump by the fence and jammed his hands into his pockets. He shook his head.
He should have taken advantage of Jed's misconception. He should have encouraged that mistaken notion as the reason for their divorce.
God knew, it could have been.
They'd talked about college now and then. He'd always known she wanted to be a teacher. But he'd never imagined they'd be able to afford all those years at university. And what good were two or three classes? he'd reasoned.
So, in the past, whenever she'd mentioned taking classes, he'd always asked, "What for?"
And then invariably he added, "College costs money, sweetheart. Maybe … when we've got an extra ten grand or so."
Then he would sweep her up in his arms and make love to her so she'd forget all about the big wide world out there where she might meet someone or something who'd take her away from him.
And she had forgotten.
Then.
Mace felt a tight heavy feeling in his chest. He sucked in a breath and felt it catch in his throat. He turned it into a cough.
"You all right?" Jed asked.
"Just breathed in a little sawdust."
"You didn't know about her takin' classes?"
Mace shrugged. "She might've mentioned it."
"But you didn't fight about that?"
"No, we didn't fight about that. Hell, Jed, what're you doing? Tryin' to hang out your shingle as a marriage counselor?"
The tan on Jed's cheeks darkened even more. He tugged at the brim of his hat. "Course not. It's just … we been worried about you."
"I'm fine."
Jed glanced at the small cabin, then back at Mace. It didn't hold a candle to the place he'd left—the woman he'd left.
Jed let the silence speak for itself.
"I said, I'm fine. You got something you need?" Mace demanded. "If you don't, I do. I need to get back to work."
Jed scowled at him. "Brenna said to see if you wanted to come for dinner."
"So she can pick at me, too?"
Jed let out a harsh breath. "You really do have a burr up your ass, don't you? Hell, Mace, we're your friends. We grew up together! All I'm doin' is inviting you to dinner!"
"Like you and Tuck ever invited me to dinner before you got married," Mace said dryly.
Jed rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, a rueful expression on his face. "Yeah, well, didn't Madger always say I had no social skills?"
Madge Bowen, the social worker who had been in charge of deciding if Jed was a fit guardian for his nephew, had never given him very high marks in that department. Sometimes she seemed to think him totally lacking in brains, until he'd had the sense to marry Brenna.
"Thank you for the invitation. I don't think it would be a good idea," Mace said evenly now.
Jed shifted from one boot to the other, looking around at the cabin and the woodpile. "You think this is a good idea?"
"I think you've worn out your welcome," Mace said tersely, reaching for the ax again.
Jed backed up, holding his palms up and out. "No need to get violent."
Mace just cradled the ax and looked at him.
Jed shook his head. "I was only tryin' to help."
"Don't." Mace said the word through his teeth. Then he turned and began to swing the ax again. It thwacked into the log resoundingly.
Jed got back on his horse, but didn't leave. Instead he leaned against the saddle horn, watching Mace work.
Mace ignored him. Sweat trickled down his spine and dripped off the end of his nose. His arms began to tremble again. He finished chopping one piece of log, methodically stacked the wood, then began on another.
Still Jed watched. Finally he shook his head, straightened up and settled himself loosely in the saddle, ready to ride.
"Better cut a lot," he said in that slow, quiet way he had. "Reckon you're in for a long cold winter."
Jed was just the first.
Apparently since the cold shoulder hadn't shaped him up, his buddies had decided that more direct intervention
was necessary.
Taggart took a different tack. He made sure that Mace knew that damn Tom Morrison was perfect for her.
Not that Mace had asked him.
It seemed to him that Taggart had taken considerable pleasure in conveying the news when they met at the welding shop in Elmer.
"You haven't been around much," Taggart said, giving Mace a cheerful smile, which was at odds with the scowl he'd fixed on his friend at the last bull-riding weekend. "You haven't even met my brother-in-law. Name's Tom. He teaches lit at some college out in Iowa. Nice guy."
Mace grunted a reply and turned to the man who was welding a crosspiece onto a gate. "If you haven't got time to do this hitch now, Loney, I can come back and pick it up."
Loney Bates, who owned Elmer's Welding, Feed and Video Shop, pushed his safety glasses up on his forehead and scratched his nose as he regarded Mace, who was shifting from one foot to the other. "You got ants in them jeans of yours? Told ya I'd get to it next. You kin cool your heels, you know."
"Just thought I'd make it easier for you," Mace muttered. "I got things to do." And no desire at all to stand around and shoot the breeze with Taggart.
If Jed, who never said anything, had felt compelled to put in his two cents' worth, there was no telling what a guy who could recite the Gettysburg Address on the back of an eight-second bull could take it in his mind to say.
"Get a cup a coffee an' wait," Loney ordered, then dropped his glasses again and went back to work.
"Here." Taggart thrust a full mug of hot coffee into Mace's hands.
"I gotta—"
"You gotta drink this or you're gonna make Loney mad, and then you'll have to go all the way down to Livingston to get your hitch welded, the way you're already goin' down there for groceries."
Mace flushed. Did every damn person in the country know his whereabouts at every moment and the reason for it?
"Prices are cheaper," he muttered into the coffee. But he took the mug and held it with both hands against his belly like a shield.
Fat lot of good it did.
"They are," Taggart agreed. But his penetrating green eyes told Mace that the argument held no sway.
A Cowboy's Tears Page 10