Her Forever Cowboy

by Debra Salonen

  Anne was proud of her novice gardening efforts. Her tomatoes were growing. Her basil was fragrant. Her snap peas made Joy's stir-fry. But something was eating her beans, and the culprit wasn't human.

  She walked to the shed. Sunlight filtered through the cobwebbed curtains framing the corners of the room's single window. Anne upended an empty five-gallon plastic pail and sat down to study the laminated cheat sheet her mother had left.

  What am I missing? The fledgling plants came up with vigor. They sent out wiry feelers to attach to the strings she and Zoey had laced between the upright poles. Green leaves back-filled the gaping holes. Baby beans formed. Then, just prior to harvest, the beans disappeared.

  Anne hunched forward, resting her chin in her palm. Was this a metaphor for her life? Carefully nurtured plans that never fully matured? Her marriage. Her career.

  A pain radiated outward from behind her eyes and she rubbed her knuckle between her brows. "Crap," she muttered.

  "Professional gardeners prefer the term manure," a voice said.

  Anne's chin came up. "Will," she exclaimed. "That was a short chat."

  "We're men. We manage to say almost everything in five sentences or less." His jest was one of the few she'd heard him utter in her presence since their close encounter of the sexual kind.

  She made a tsking sound. "Update your handbook, mister. Men are talking more and saying less than ever before. Pretty soon you'll all be politicians."

  He laughed. The sound poured over her like warm honey. She suddenly realized just how much she'd missed him. Their repartee. Their end-of-the-day chat, when they shared both triumphs and failures. Had she been totally off base to turn him down? Sitting in her mother's potting shed, Anne had no doubt what choice Esther would have made.

  "A.J. wanted me to give you a message," Will said. "Apparently, your mother left Zoey a present. It's on the top shelf of the closet in her sewing room. It might not have her name on it because Esther usually bought a special card closer to the actual day."

  Anne rose. "Mom was one amazing lady, wasn't she?"

  Will nodded. Even though he hadn't entered the shed--just stood casually in the threshold, one shoulder resting on the jamb--his presence made the place too crowded. Or, maybe it was the elephant-size awkwardness between them that made the room seem so small.

  Anne pitched the garden guide to the bench. "I think mice are eating my beans."

  "Little furry mice or little mice girls?"

  “Zoey? Intentionally eating green vegetables? Not likely.” Even Anne's cherished creamed peas and potatoes recipe had received a mixed response--the child loved the creamy potatoes but built a Mayan temple out of the perfect green globes. "The former, I'm sure. Most eight-year olds aren't big on crudités, and Zoey is no exception."

  Will's mirthful grin said he might know something about her daughter that Anne didn't. "Well, if the critters are to blame, I suggest you set a trap. They're creatures of habit. They travel the same path over and over to get what they want. You should catch one without much effort."

  "What would I do with it if I caught one?"

  "Slow, methodical torture?"

  Before she could protest, he laughed to show he was joking. "If you use a humane trap, which I happen to know is the only kind your mother would allow, you set him free in the field the next morning. He gets a vacation with his rural cousins, you get the satisfaction of seeing your beans develop into dinner."

  He stepped forward. Anne braced against his touch, but Will made sure that didn't happen. He reached overhead and plucked a matchbox-like container from the rafters. "Here you go," he said, offering it to her.

  The printing on the sides had faded, but she could make out the words Mouse Jail. "Bait it with a little cheese. Or peanut butter."

  She took it with both hands. "Okay."

  An almost visible sizzle arced between them. One careless spark could have burnt down the whole place. Anne started to speak, but Will beat her to the punch. "Look, Anne, I'm sorry. I've been an ass these past few weeks. When Gramps mentioned he might be coming back early, I realized that I didn't want to spend what time we have left being mad at each other. Can we put that night behind us?"

  She let out a hesitant breath. "I'd like that, too."

  He put out his hand as if to seal the deal.

  Anne took his proffered olive branch. Unfortunately, the contact went deeper, much deeper, and Will felt it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and his grip tightened. He reached out to touch her cheek. From the frown on his lips, she knew the movement went against his better judgment.

  She could sympathize. She had no intention of looping her arms around his shoulders, but somehow they did just that. She absolutely, positively wasn't going to kiss him, but she did, with a need that blocked every other thought.

  She tossed the Mouse Jail onto a shelf. Hands groped. Lips slanted for more access. Noises of mutual need filled the dusty quiet.

  They stumbled backward into a thigh-high stack of fertilizer sacks and bags of potting soil. Will lifted her slightly so she was seated. Her legs locked around him and she found the perfect place for their bodies to meet.

  Will allowed it--facilitated it--for a few seconds, then he lifted his head. Eyes closed, he said on an outward expulsion of air, "Joy's calling."

  Anne groaned. "I knew this was a bad idea."

  She tried to push him away, but he stubbornly peppered kisses along her forehead, her nose and, finally, her lips. "Even married couples have trouble squeezing in sex in the afternoon."

  "How would you know?" she asked crossly.

  "I have married friends. Men have been known to gossip from time to time." He stepped back and held out his hand to help her off her perch. "Besides, this isn't exactly the most romantic place on the ranch."

  Anne looked around. The potting shed? Heat filled her cheeks and she dropped her chin so Will wouldn't see her mortification. The sound of Joy's bullhorn-like paging penetrated the walls of the shack as clearly as Will's chuckle, now that the roar of passion had dissipated.

  Will moved aside to give Anne access to the door. She hurried to the threshold and leaned out. "I'm here."

  Joy waved from the porch. "That guy from your office is on the phone. Says he has to talk to you. Right now."

  Anne let out a defeated sigh. "I told Roger I was going to be busy with Zoey's party today," she muttered. The current political wrangling at WHC had Roger edgy and nervous, and he was making darn sure Anne knew it. "Tell him I'll be right there."

  She turned to look at Will, who'd picked up the mouse trap and was sitting where she'd been a moment earlier. "Duty calls," she said, striving for a lightness she didn't feel.

  "Don't top executives ever get a day off?"

  "Well, maybe after you become a top executive. For those of us on the road up, we jump when our names are called. I may have mentioned that Roger wasn't very happy about my request for family leave, but he couldn't turn it down, either. This is payback for the inconvenience I've caused him."

  She expected to hear "So, quit." Instead, he rose and walked toward her. "Here.” He placed the humane trap in her hands. "But I should warn you. It won't work."

  Her heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

  "The garden mouse will enjoy his visit with his cousin in the country, but eventually he'll return to where he's most comfortable."

  She straightened her shoulders. "What if he discovers he likes the country better?"

  "By the time he figures that out, you'll have removed the trap because you think your problem is solved, and he'll be stuck."

  Was he telling her she could be missing an opportunity that might never come again?

  He started to leave.

  Anne cleared her throat. "Did I mention that Zoey is spending the night at Linda's? Her first official sleepover. It's...um, part of her birthday present from me," she admitted, knowing he'd understand how difficult it was for her to let her daughter go.

 
; He hesitated. "I mighta heard a rumor to that effect."

  "I gave Joy the night off, too. The guests are on their own."

  A hint of a smile twitched in one corner of his mouth, but his eyes gave away nothing. "And how are you planning to spend your free time?"

  Anne reached deep for courage. "A glass of wine. Maybe a soak in the tub." She looked at the mouse trap in her hand. "Do you want to join me?"

  He didn't answer until she lifted her chin and their gazes met. "Will there be bubbles?"

  "Probably." In negotiations, it paid to keep your options open.

  "Then you got yourself a date, ma'am. I'm a sucker for bubbles." He started to leave, but stopped abruptly. "I almost forgot. Gramps would like you to take a video of the party, so he can see it when he gets home."

  Anne was touched. Those Cavanaugh men really did seem to have a line on her heart. "No problem."

  He gave a nod. Such a cowboy thing. What was it about the gesture that made her pulse race?

  Will stood at the window of his cabin and squinted toward the main house. Anne was waiting. And he was almost as nervous as he'd been the last time he'd ridden a bull. Some kind of intuition had warned Will not to get into that chute that night. He'd ignored the precognition and had wound up unconscious on a gurney. For months afterward, he'd asked himself how different his life might have been if he'd listened to that voice.

  Now, his gut instinct told him to stay put. Let it go. Let her go. But he couldn't. Right or wrong, being with Anne seemed fated.

  At one point in the afternoon, Will had been certain Anne was going to change her mind about letting Zoey go home with Linda. Who knew a piñata could bring out such a fierce competitive spirit in little girls? But after a short mother-daughter talk in private, Zoey settled down and the afternoon progressed without loss of life or limb. At four o'clock, all the children had piled into Linda's minivan, Zoey waving with glee.

  Anne had looked momentarily stricken, but before he could offer a comforting hug, a phone call from New York had had her racing to the office.

  He glanced at the clock beside his bed, then at the open doors of his closet. Will couldn't decide whether to wear what he had on--shorts and flip-flops--or jeans and boots.

  With a sigh, he walked to the bathroom. His open shaving kit reminded him of one other possible necessity. They hadn't discussed birth control. Since his shorts lacked pockets and he didn't want to be clutching a handful of condoms if he bumped into any guests, Will opted for jeans.

  When he sat down on the bed to pull on his boots, he landed on the leftover paper he'd used to wrap Zoey's gift. Not the horse she'd hinted at, but a fancy belt with her name tooled into the leather and an ornate buckle of silver with a golden horse rearing.

  She'd seemed genuinely pleased by the gift, hugging Will so fiercely his crotchety rib started to ache. But he hadn't minded. Will knew then that he loved Anne's daughter more than he'd dreamed possible. The thought of telling her goodbye in September made his knees weak.

  He left his cabin before he could change his mind. He didn't bother turning off the outside light. Maybe one of them would come to their senses.

  "Nice night, isn't it?" the couple from Dallas said as Will passed by cabin number three.

  Will took a deep breath. "Beautiful. Look at those stars."

  "You want to see stars, you need to come to Texas," the man said. A moment later, he laughed. "Oh, hell, you've been to our state hundreds of times, haven't you? Why, Lucille and I saw you ride in Abilene. That was one ballistic bull you drew. Missed out on the money, didn't you?"

  Will snickered softly. "Yep. Devil's Advocate. Tough and tricky. I don't think he's been ridden, yet."

  The man cleared his throat. "Well, as a matter of fact, we caught a PBR event in Odessa on our way here. One of the new fellows rode that bad boy for a 94.5, I believe."

  Will felt a punch in his gut--the kind he got every time he picked up a copy of ProBullRider magazine and read the latest stats. Either you were in the money or you were history. "That's good to hear," he said with fake enthusiasm. "Means I can try for a bigger score next time around."

  After a little more chitchat, Will continued toward the house. A silvery-blue light flickered in the windows of Anne's room. Was she watching television?

  He paused outside her door to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. It was a warm night, but it wasn't that hot. He'd ridden with a cracked wrist and felt less trepidation than he felt at the moment. What's the big deal? We're adults. Single. Responsible.

  He rapped softly. The chatter from the television went silent. A second later, the door opened. Anne was dressed in lounging shorts and a loose tank top. She looked cool and relaxed; he felt overdressed and uptight.

  Her gaze dropped to his boots. "You're all dressed up."

  "Cowboy uniform. Force of habit."

  She smiled. "I know what you mean. It's taken me two months to wean myself from panty hose." She stepped back to welcome him. "Come in. I was just watching you on television."

  He froze. "Pardon?"

  "This afternoon when I was looking for the video camera I ran across some tapes marked: Will Bull Riding." She held up the remote control that Will had missed. "It took me a couple of tries to figure out the chronology. Mom was never very good about labeling things."

  Will chuckled. "Like Zoey's present?"

  Anne groaned. "Don't remind me. I should have peeked under the wrapping paper before I brought that gift downstairs."

  Zoey had pounced on the gaily wrapped box from her grandmother, but the whole party had gone silent when she pulled a sexy black negligee out of the box. Anne had turned three shades of red and immediately raced back upstairs to find the real present.

  Will couldn't resist teasing Anne, who looked mortified just recalling the incident. "I was kinda hoping that negligee might reappear tonight."

  Anne cocked her head and said, "Well, we'll have to see about that. First, I need you to narrate this video. Tell me who the other people are and what's going on, and--most importantly--why the heck anyone would start riding bulls in the first place."

  Will rolled his eyes. "People ask me that all the time. I usually turn the question back on them and ask how they got involved in their job. Why did you pick a job that doesn't even give you a day off to enjoy your daughter's birthday?"

  She took a breath, which made him all too aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra beneath her loose shirt. Her shorts were the kind that could be worn to bed --extra short, with an elastic waist. Way too easy to take off.

  "You know what? You're right. There was no excuse for what happened today. And I plan to make that clear to my boss the next time he calls." She pretended to consult her nonexistent wristwatch. "Which, knowing Roger, will probably be in six hours. He seems to have no concept of the time difference between here and the East Coast."

  Will liked her best when she lost her defensive posture. He closed the door, listening for the satisfying click of the lock. "Why do you put up with it?"

  Anne shrugged. "Why do you put up with broken bones?"

  "Because it comes with the territory?"

  She nodded. "Exactly. Roger is like a rank bull--see how I picked up the lingo? But if you ever tell him I said that I will have to hurt you."

  He chuckled and walked to the foot of the bed. "I'll remember that." Facing the television, he asked, "So where are you? My early, early years, huh? Your mother and I watched this video last November when I was here for Thanksgiving. She was feeling nostalgic, she said."

  "Do you think she knew she was sick?" Anne sat cross-legged on the mattress, leaving ample space for him to sit beside her.

  Will did so, but his accidental glance at the inviting gap in her shorts made him swallow hard and look back at the screen. "No," he said, shaking his head with more force than necessary. "She seemed fine. Not quite as peppy as usual, but she blamed the weather. They'd had several storms."

  "I know. That's why Zoey and
I didn't come. I was afraid we'd get snowbound. Things were piling up at work and I couldn't afford to lose any time..."

  The regret in her voice made him put his arm around her shoulders. "You made the right decision. I was stuck here two extra days and missed an important event in Laughlin. I was trying to make up for it when I drew the bull that gave me the concussion, which is the reason I'm not riding this summer."

  Her smile said thank-you, and something else. Something inviting, but he couldn't accept until he was clear about what this meant to her. Was this casual sex between two consenting adults or were they taking the first step toward something meaningful? If the latter was the case, Will had to make certain Anne understood who he was and what he did for a living, because that wasn't going to change.

  "Anne, do you want to know the real reason I ride bulls?"

  When she nodded, Will took the remote from her hands and fast-forwarded until he spotted a familiar face. "Him. John Albert Cavanaugh."

  "Your dad?"

  "He was twenty-nine when he died. He left some unfinished business, and it's up to me to get the job done. I started participating in rodeos almost as soon as I could walk. Mutton busting, greased-pig chase, calf riding."

  "Seriously? Those are events?"

  He grinned. "Yes, ma'am. I've been told that I was very good. Not fast enough to catch my little oiker, but close."

  He hit play. Six little boys in boots and hats stood in line, their fathers behind them. Each child had a big black number pinned to his shirt. "That's me," Will said, pointing to a scrawny runt wearing the number six.

  Anne let out a whoop. "Look how little you were. I can't wait to show this to Zoey," she exclaimed. "She's been bugging me about attending a rodeo before we leave. If she sees this she'll want to participate." She frowned. "They don't let girls, do they?"

  "Nowadays it would be dangerous to tell a girl she can't do something."

  A.J.'s infrequent commentary clued them into what was happening. Will pointed out his father and mother, and grandmother when they came into range of the camera. An announcer's voice could be heard. "Okay, folks, give a big round of applause for Mister William Cavanaugh, who's riding his very first bucking bull ... calf. This young man has some pretty big boots to fill since his pappy is rodeo favorite John Cavanaugh."