Dances with Wolf (13 page)

The announcer called Rider Number 20. That was Wolf. He mounted Bullet, his right leg swinging easily over the mare’s broad girth, and checked his equipment one more time. Then they shot out of the chute, Bullet’s head held high as Wolf crouched low in the saddle. He swung the lasso as soon as the calf was released. The rope, as if it had a mind of its own, circled the calf’s torso like a halo before settling around its hind feet in a single try.

Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.
Wolf leaped from Bullet as she planted her hind legs firmly in the arena’s thick sawdust. Then he ran to the calf and made a single wrap and a hooey. He held both hands up for the judges to view. His eyes shot to the clock: 8.3 seconds. Damned close to his personal best.

His thoughts blurred through the next two riders, until it was time to sit up and take notice. “Number 23. Ty Calvert. Collegiate All-Round. A big welcome to Great Falls,” the announcer called. Wolf looped the reins through his hand and walked Bullet ringside. The mare was still trembling with excitement. Wolf cupped his hand over her muzzle. “Bully-girl, you’re the best,” he said softly. He couldn’t wait to tell Abby.

Ty shot out into the arena after his calf on a showy chestnut with a flamboyant blond tail. Then his calf stumbled and practically fell into the kid’s wide “O” of a lasso. Ty flung himself across the calf and tied it with a few lightning-fast motions, then popped to his feet, arms raised toward the grandstand. Wolf blinked, then looked sheepishly at the clock. Eight seconds flat. End of story. Not much to brag about now.

Wait a minute. What had Abby said? “Go easy on her, that’s what a win will look like.”

Wolf reached for his phone as the announcer called out the final times. Yep. Ty Calvert had won this time, he and Bullet were second. But he tried to tell himself that second place wasn’t a bad place to be, not when you were nursing your partner back to health. Abby would approve. Abby might even rejoice.

Chapter Sixteen

Abby parked her truck in front of Max’
s Soup Caf
é
and sat for a few minutes, taking in the bright morning. She’d checked in with all her clients, and to her surprise, things were back on track, despite her having missed a total of six appointments while she was away. It was a funny thing about horse whispering: once she’d taught them a few of the techniques, most riders couldn’t wait to work again with their “problem” horses. Even Matt Markley’s belligerent mare, Roughhouse, was doing figure eights without protest in the ring by the time Abby had left them the afternoon before.

Matt had made his usual offhand suggestions that Abby go out to dinner with him, but she’d deflected him. He was a good man, but next to Wolf, he faded like an old rodeo poster on a weathered shed. Despite her constant reminders to herself—
take it slow, it’ll never work, you’re all wrong for each other
—the Polson rodeo was only three days away, and she could barely wait.

Abby’s daydream came to a halt as Bridget’s truck U-turned into the spot next to hers. Before she could react, Bridget opened the passenger door and slid across the seat to give her a boisterous hug.

“You are
so
happy, aren’t you? Really, really happy?”

“It’s all happening so fast. I just had an appointment with my obstetrician.”

“Gerta Phillips? The woman who took over Dad’s old office?”

“She’s awesome. It would have been great, of course, to have your dad deliver the first grandchild, but even though that’s not in the cards, Gerta’s cut from the same cloth. She’s very open to a home birth.”

“Home birth, really?”
Cut from the same cloth?
Abby couldn’t picture her dad delivering a child outside the hospital.

“Mark’s all for it. It’s what we both want. And there’s something else we both want, Abby. We want you to be the maid of honor.”

This was no surprise, but tears came to Abby’s eyes nonetheless. “Phew, I thought you were about to say ‘midwife.’”

Bridget cry-laughed, a huge exhalation, the sound of a deep, whole fulfillment.

“Will you, though? I’m not asking you to take Lamaze classes with me, or deal with the placenta—”

“
Oh my God, don
’t be disgusting!” Abby cried.

“—I’m just asking you to make sure I don’t trip all over myself up the aisle. And of course, to be right next to me when I marry Mark.”

“Of course, I will!” They hugged. She whispered into Bridget’s ear, “It’ll be my greatest honor.”

After a moment, Bridget pulled back. “There’s just one catch.”

“Uh oh,” Abby said. “Why am I suddenly terrified?”

“Mark’s asking Wolf to be his best man.”

“Wow.” Of course, she’d predicted it herself. She imagined Wolf to Mark’s right, beaming at her across the altar. It was, indeed, all happening so fast. Part of her still felt fourteen, but they were twenty-two, fully entering adulthood now.

“So, listen, I’m craving some of Max’s carrot soup, bowls and bowls of it. Should we get a table?”

And I am craving some time with your brother,
Abby thought.
Bowls and bowls of it.

The two of them linked arms and took seats in a booth near the kitchen. But when the menus arrived, Abby felt her appetite ebb. As Bridget chattered about the merits of rose petals versus lavender buds for the couple’s departure from the wedding reception, her thoughts drifted. Would she and Wolf be able to hide what was happening between them, while on such public view? Best man and maid of honor seated on either side of the bride and groom at the reception. Best man and maid of honor, second couple out on the dance floor. Best man and maid of honor—captured in every photograph, in every video, in everyone’s memory. How would she be able to keep her hands off him? How would she be able to fake it?

She thought about telling Bridget right then and there that she’d slept with Wolf. After all, it wasn’t going to get any easier to tell her as the wedding drew closer. But Bridge looked so peaceful, so beatific, thinking about her baby-to-be. She couldn’t ruin this delirious spell, not now. Bridget deserved this feeling of uninterrupted bliss. Somehow, Abby would find a better opportunity.

Between spoonfuls of soup, Bridget described her vision for the wedding. “Smallish,” she said, “but not because we’re hiding anything. I don’t care
who
knows I’m pregnant, but we just want the closest friends and family. I’m so proud to be carrying Mark’s baby. You have no idea what this feels like.”

Unable to stop herself, Abby reached across the table to touch Bridget’s stomach. Bridget burst out laughing. “You won’t feel it move yet. But it won’t be long, I promise.”

“It?” asked Abby. “Don’t you want to find out the gender?”

“Too soon for that, too. But I know it’s a boy. We’re only picking out boy names.”

Abby thought,
you know no such thing
, but said, “
Let me guess.
Colt or Lachlan; Cody or Grant.”

Bridget laughed again. “Well, aren’t you on trend? Hopefully we’ll be a little more original than that. Mark’s mother has a Bible with all the names from their family back to the Battle of the Big Hole. You won’t believe the names—how does Ezekiel strike you? Or Lazarus?”

Abby covered her ears and frowned. “Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I may not ask your advice about names. But yet again, we have to find something for you to wear, and I need you to help me find something, too. A dress I can fit into four weeks from now.”

“White?” Abby asked.

“You bet. Something those old biddies from the Hockaday Museum Board can gossip about if the wedding pictures appear in the
Interlake.
” Bridget leaned forward, her now more ample cleavage displayed on the Formica like a menu item. “As soon as you’re finished, we’ll head over to the Blue Lagoon. I’m thinking lace and rhinestones on top with a drop waist—that’s Waist with a capital W—and a full skirt.”

Abby groaned. She was happy for her best friend, of course. But it was well established that she couldn’t stand shopping. Plus, she needed some time to reflect on everything that had happened between her and Wolf, and she always got her best thinking done atop a horse. How many hours before she could sink her boots into loamy pasture and lead her gelding, Beau, to the gate for a good gallop? How many hours before she could watch Wolf compete atop Bullet?

She checked her watch: two days, sixty-eight minutes, thirty-three seconds, and counting…

Back home, after Blue Lagoon, where they’d found Bridget a beautiful dress and headpiece, Abby thought about her oldest friend. In twenty-two years, their friendship had come full circle. Now that she was the maid of honor, Abby could picture how Mark’s and Bridget’s new lives would unfold together, but always include her. No matter how things turned out with Wolf, she and Bridget would always trade stories and secrets. They were friends for a lifetime, and nothing that Wolf did or said would unbind them. But how could she keep what she felt for him a secret?

She couldn’t, she concluded. Not for much longer.

She wished that the doubts she’d felt at lunch about being paired with Wolf in public at the wedding would float away on the midsummer breeze. She’d never wanted to become one of those women who checked her phone every hour for messages. She’d hoped she was liberated from the tyranny of waiting for a man to make the first move, but here she was, waiting for Wolf. Just waiting for Wolf.

The doorbell rang. It was Mark. She stepped back to look at him. He wore the same loony, lovestruck look as his bride-to-be. God, what a pair he and Bridge were. A walking advertisement for
Marry Me in Montana
, the local wedding planners Bridget had hired. Kind of nauseating, but undeniably sweet, too.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be in the wedding. Bridget’s so psyched.” He squeezed her by the elbows.

“I’m excited, too.”

“You’ll be able to stay after the rodeo? We thought we’d have a little celebration. Olsens, Macreadys, the whole extended family. My parents couldn’t make it, so it would mean a lot if you could.”

“Of course. My mom and dad are planning on it, too.” She glanced up the stairs. “They’re probably driving down in a few minutes.”

“Before we go to the car, would you take a look at this?” Mark cupped his hands, then opened them to reveal a small white brocade box.

Abby opened it gently. A round diamond, surrounded by small pearls, encased in a slender gold band. A second band of even smaller pearls, interspersed with tiny gold flowers, lay next to it.

“It’s just perfect,” she said. “It even looks like the headpiece she’ll be wearing.” Then, realizing her mistake, she closed the box and folded Mark’s fingers over it. “Oops. I’m such a dork. I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything about what she’ll be wearing.”

“I can keep that a secret if you can keep the ring a surprise.”

“When will you give it to her?” she asked, counting the secrets, big and small, that were piling up around her.

“Sometime during the rodeo next week. There’ll be a good moment, I’m sure. Or I’ll pick a not-so-good one. All’s fair in love and war, right?” Mark grinned.

Love and war. Why were they always so inextricably linked? She would never want to be at war with Wolf, for even a single misunderstanding to come between them. She just wanted to hold him in her arms again.

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone. Not a word from him since she’d come back to Bigfork—not a text, not a missed call. Reluctantly, she punched in his number.

“Abby!” First ring. Had he been waiting for her to call? “I was just thinking about you.”

“Me, too. Time seems to be on a long lead rope.”

“What’s that mean in people-speak?” he asked.

“I feel so far away from you.” She couldn’t stop herself, the over-eager voice, the lack of hesitation.

He cleared his throat. “I know…me too.”

“I was thinking we could see each other”—she swallowed hard—“I mean, if you have time.” She imagined him in the pasture as he eyed the horses, the fences that needed mending, his long list of chores.

“Well, I’ll see you for Polson, right? I need you there. So does Bullet. Don’t you, girl?” She heard him pat the horse on the flank.

“Oh, is that her? Hello, Bullet.”

“She says hi right back.”

“Anyway, of course I’ll be there, but so will both our families. I was thinking about some alone time, you know?” She wanted to ask him—
should we tell them?—
but wasn’t ready yet.

“After the rodeo, right? Because I’m still working with Bullet daily here, and then there’s my own training regimen to consider.”

“Oh yeah, of course,
after.
” She’d been thinking before, but obviously she was losing her mind.

“Umm, yeah, sure. I mean, I was planning on staying the night at my parents’ place, after this little shindig of Bridge’s.”

“Great. I thought we could maybe steal away for a few hours and head up to the park.” She meant Glacier, the national park forty minutes north of Bigfork. “We’ll take a hike. Talk about our wedding responsibilities.”

He laughed. “Yeah, sounds good. We can go over them one by one, like a checklist. Or better yet, bring our laptops, and create some fancy Excel spreadsheet.”

“Very funny.” She laughed. “I’ve got a few things I
would
like to go over with you one by one, though.”

“Oh yeah? What things?”

“Well, I didn’t show you everything I know in Choteau. I’ve still got a few…pointers I need to share with you.” She felt herself blush. She’d never talked like this with anyone before.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a little dense that way. You’re going to need to be more specific.”

She could hear the tease in his voice, the dare, but there was no way she was going to engage in phone sex.
Hell no.
“Well, you’ll have to wait and see. But you know how detail-oriented I am.”

He lowered his voice. “It’s true. You’re always—what’s the way to put it—extremely thorough.”

“Bye.” She hung up, hoping she’d leave him wanting more.