Dances with Wolf (4 page)

Chapter Four

Wolf was back home for his dad, just as he
’
d left home for the old man six years earlier. Not that his dad had actually asked Wolf to come back for his best friend
’
s sixty-fifth. He was too proud for that. No, it was Wolf
’
s mom who had posed the question, practically begging him to come back for the “party of the year.” But the request had his dad
’
s stamp on it. He was a tough old man, but sentimental, too, far more soft-hearted underneath his gruff exterior than his mom. He was the one who wanted the whole family together again. Wolf had been away for too long. He had his reasons, but it had been
far
too long.

As he browsed indifferently through the clothing racks at Hansen’s, he gazed out the window. Nothing much happening in Kalispell. Nothing much had
ever
happened in Kalispell, though the town continued to grow and expand as the big-box stores bought up ranch land north and south, creating shopping mall upon shopping mall.

When he
’
d been in high school, the lack of attractive women in the Flathead had been a regional joke. With the exception of Abby, who had come back home, all the cute girls either left for Seattle or stayed and had three kids by twenty-five. Still, he hadn’t given up hope that he’d run into somebody worth pursuing. Ah¸ the pursuit…outside of the ring, it was his greatest God-given talent.

All he had to do was flash a certain look—his mom called it his Elvis Presley sneer—and he could reel in nine girls out of ten. The trick was to show interest, make eye contact, and then immediately turn his attention to something, or someone, else. If the girl he wanted thought he didn
’
t care too much about her one way or another, she
’
d start chasing him, and closing the deal was a cinch.

“Son,” his dad called to him. “Pick something, anything. Let
’
s get this over with.”
Here goes nothing
, Wolf thought.

A few minutes later, he stood in front of the dressing-room mirror and tried on a crisp blue houndstooth-checked Roper shirt with pearl snaps, the kind of shirt that would likely bite you in the face if you landed on the wrong side of a bull. But on the dance floor, no worries. He zipped up the midnight-blue bootleg denims. With their powerful glutes and overdeveloped haunches, rodeo guys like Wolf were notoriously hard to fit, but these jeans felt like softly aged leather caressing his muscled thighs. The jacket was dark-gray corduroy with black suede patches on the elbows and unusual triangular buttons on the pockets. The kind you
’
d see in a movie about Switzerland, one with singing children and milkmaids and mountain men who yodeled in their sleep.

Okay, not so sure about the jacket. Too professor-y?
He turned back to the mirror and took a good long look at himself. Would Abadabun like the way he looked in this? The thought just popped into his head, and he did his best to shake it off.

From the next dressing room, he heard his father laughing at himself.

“Let
’
s see, Dad,” he said.

They emerged together. His dad had on a black version of Wolf
’
s Swiss mystery coat, a maroon bolo tie with a steer skeleton, and a light-blue denim shirt. Perversely, he wore the same jeans with holes in the knees he
’
d worn to the barn at dawn.
Oh well
, thought Wolf.
That
’
s Mom
’
s department.

“Let
’
s do it,” his dad said. “And get the hell out of here.”

“My treat.”

“Can
’
t let you do that, son.”

“I
’
m rolling in it this month. I insist.”

“What we do for the ladies in our lives.” His dad sighed, patting Wolf on the back.

Wolf handed the clerk his debit card and waited for the purchases to be bagged.

“Heck, you didn
’
t tell your sister where we were shopping, did you?” The old man, even though he was back in his day clothes, couldn
’
t have sounded more embarrassed if he
’
d been caught at a strip club.

“No, sir. Why?” Wolf glanced casually out the window to see Bridget and Abby walking down the street. His heart started kicking around in his chest like a freshly roped steer. Only problem was, he couldn
’
t tie the damned thing into submission the way he could an animal in the ring. Luckily, the girls hadn
’
t spotted them.

“I thought it might be awkward with Abby, you know,” his dad said. “Figured you
’
d want to meet up with her alone, without any of us around to bug you.”

“That
’
s real nice of you.” Wolf was so surprised that he could hardly form the words in his mouth. It had always shocked him that his family knew every detail of his past with Abby, and that it was still on their minds so many years later. But that was small town life for you. “Abby and I already had a talk, though, yesterday in the barn, when she was working over your endurance mare.”

“Okay.” He looked skeptical.

“What?”

“
Well
…you sure about that?”

“How do you mean?”

His dad cleared his throat, and Wolf could swear the old man
’
s pink face turned a shade darker. “
Well, it
’
s just that I overheard your mom talking to Marcie Macready. She
’
s of the opinion that this whole, uh, prom thing still hangs pretty heavy on Abby.”

“Dad…” Wolf warned. But his dad was no meddler, and this subject, the subject of
why
Wolf had needed to change his plans the night of the prom, was normally one he would have been all too happy to ignore. No, Wolf
’
s mom had to have put him up to this—or worse, his sister. He couldn
’
t believe something as silly as the prom could still be this big of a deal after so much time. But a small town was like a soap opera: you could leave it for years, and when you came back, nothing had changed.

“I
’
m sorry, son. If you cleared things up, you cleared things up. None of my business.”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t addressed his issues as directly as he should have. And he didn’t want these awkward scenes between them to cast a shadow over his whole visit. As much as he dreaded it, they needed to have an
actual
talk.

“That
’
s okay. ‘Don
’
t shoot the messenger,
’
right?”

His dad smiled and winked, obviously relieved to be done with the topic.

Outside, he found the girls a half-block away. Abby was wearing a pair of form-fitting jeans and a khaki shirt with rolled-up sleeves—not her usual horse-trainer outfit—and her hair was loose, floating around her shoulders. Good God, she was gorgeous. She looked embarrassed, though, and for a minute, Wolf was grateful that he wasn
’
t the only amateur actor who
’
d forgotten his lines.

“Long time, no see, Abby,” he said in a voice that was confident and loud. Maybe a little
too
loud.

“Look, I had no idea we’d all be converging like this.” She splayed out her hands, a beautiful filly, mistakenly caught in the roving spotlight of a nighttime rodeo.

“I didn
’
t, either,” Wolf said. His sister shot him a threatening look before hustling his dad toward the other end of the store. “But what would you think if we ditched these two and got a quick cup of coffee, just you and me?”

He stared at her face as if he were seeing Abby, the twenty-two-year-old Abby, for the first time. Had her eyes always been so big?

“I have a lot of chores to get back to,” she said.

“Me, too. Come on, just a quick cup.”

“Well…okay, one cup. And I don
’
t think much of those cookie-cutter, five-dollar latt
é
places.”

A woman after his own heart. “We
’
ll go to Norm
’
s. Bet you haven
’
t been in ages.” She smiled, thank God, a wordless acceptance.

“Great,” Wolf said. “I
’
ll tell Bridge and Dad. Meet you there in a couple?”

“Sounds good.”

He watched her walk down the street, her heart-shaped ass perfectly outlined in worn denim, and reminded himself he needed to mend fences, not chase skirts. Not this particular skirt, in any case.

Chapter Five

Norm
’
s News was one of those rare survivors of the previous century, even in quiet Northwest Montana. An ice-cream parlor with red-and-white-striped awnings, a long counter filled with glass jars of candies, and a real soda fountain with locally made ice creams in round cardboard bins. The espresso machine was a recent addition, but the local kids barely seemed to notice it. The burgers, floats, and shakes were just too tempting. It was the parents who stopped in for a caffeine fix while their children dangled their legs from the counter stools and elevated their blood-sugar levels the good old-fashioned way.

Abby sat in a booth near the back and wondered what the hell she was doing there. What had her mom told her half a lifetime ago, even before Wolf appeared on the horizon?
Never seem too eager to be with a boy. If you turn him down the first time, he
’
ll be back for a second.
But that strategy didn
’
t apply to Wolf. She didn
’
t need to play hard to get, because this was never going to go anywhere anyway.

She crossed her legs under the table and looked at the menu, even though she
’
d memorized it at age eight. She
’
d come here countless times as a little girl with Bridget, Wolf, and too often, one of Wolf
’
s here-today-gone-tomorrow girlfriends. Too shy to talk to him face-to-face, and too jealous to watch as he kissed and cuddled with another girl only inches away, she would bury her nose in the menu, pretending to study her options even though she always got a cheeseburger and a mint-chip milkshake. Wolf used to tease her about her shyness—“Get your nose out of that menu, Abs!”—and labeled her a “mint-chip addict.” Surely, this was how he remembered her, if he thought of her at all. She was nothing more than a little girl, a child who couldn
’
t even maintain eye contact with an adult without collapsing into giggles.

Why was she wasting her time thinking about this? The truth was, she wasn
’
t a little girl anymore—she was a grown woman with a business to build, a mission to accomplish. She
’
d settle down one day, but not with a guy who got paid a boatload of cash to abuse horses, steers, and bulls. She
’
d wait for the right guy, someone grounded and mature, who respected and supported her, and her new method of treating the animals she loved.

“Just two coffees,” she told the waiter, declining the cream and sugar. If she was lucky, she’d be out of here in twenty minutes.

…

Wolf whistled as he headed down the street toward Norm
’
s. His second encounter with Abby in two days. And mere hours since he
’
d dreamt of her through most of the night. Pausing at the threshold, he tried to blink those dreams away. He
’
d invited Abby here so he could clear the air, not cloud it up all over again.

When he walked in, there was a hush. Two high school girls halted their chatter and swung around on the counter stools to stare at him. Being a local legend, a big fish in a tiny pond, could be a drag sometimes. He thought Norm
’
s might be the one place in town where he could stay anonymous, but apparently not. He walked purposefully past the counter, wishing the girls would drink up their shakes and stop gawking. He spotted Abby in a booth toward the back, and slid into the seat opposite her.
Act natural
, he warned himself.
And keep it light.

But Abby kicked things off herself. “
Your sister’
s a slave driver,” she said. “And sometimes we don’t exactly have the same taste.”

“Oh man, same with my dad and me. Have you ever heard of a Western blazer with elbow patches? I felt like a fraud.”

“You think there
’
s a conspiracy?” Abby grinned. Wolf thought,
wow, we can do small talk just fine when we set our minds to it.

“I know there is at our place. I think Mom hid my good-luck Wranglers in the freezer just to guarantee I
’
d have to buy new clothes.”

“That could have been Bridge.”

“I wouldn
’
t put it past her.”

Abby laughed. “It
’
s my dad
’
s sixty-fifth. They
’
re acting like it
’
s the Oscars.”

The high school waiter, acne-faced and stumbling, delivered a black coffee to each side of the booth.

“Just coffees?” he asked her. “No mint-chip fix for ya?”

She laughed but seemed to catch herself. “Good memory. But I
’
m fine with coffee.”

“Aww, come on. Indulge me.” Wolf felt himself losing control of his impulses, just the tiniest bit.
Keep it light
.

“No…really. I
’
m on a tight schedule.” Her mouth formed a straight line, as tight as her schedule. As tight as her cute little butt, too.

But now an awkward silence fell over the table.
Think of something to say, man.
He couldn
’
t just come out and bring up prom after ninety seconds at the table, though, could he? He needed to warm up to that. He settled on, “So, tell me about vet school. You…decided to leave?”

“It just happened, second year. I was studying hard and doing pretty well. Then one day, our class was assisting with a breech birth over near the race track in Spokane. The horse was thrashing around and my professor was about to shoot her full of Oxytocin. I looked into her eyes. She had no idea what was happening to her. She was just a baby. And Wolf, so help me, she started looking at me, too, like she knew I wanted to help. So I walked over and held her face and talked to her. She quieted down, went into full labor with about half the Oxy they usually give. And twenty minutes later, she gave birth to a healthy filly.”

“Sounds like a miracle.”

“The opposite, in fact. It was as close to a natural birth as that thoroughbred was ever going to come. That
’
s when it occurred to me—by giving the drugs to speed up her labor, we weren
’
t assisting with the birth; we were interfering with it. I decided there had to be a better way.”

“I
’
ll bet the professor was sorry to lose his prize student.”

“Yeah, right. If I hadn
’
t dropped out, they probably would have asked me to leave. I was going on and on about drug-free procedures. I think they were afraid I
’
d start some kind of hippie cult up there.”

“That
’
s great.” Wolf laughed.

“You think so?” she said, looking like she’d never gotten a compliment in her life. “Thanks.”

Wolf looked down at the table top, embellished with pocket-knife graffiti.
Miles loves Julie.
Casey
♥
Caitlin forever.
What had possessed him to take her to Norm
’
s, where half the kids in Kalispell flirted and fell in love? He should have just taken her for a damned walk somewhere. No, that would’ve been even more romantic.
Pull yourself together, man.

“So, Bridget filled me in,” he said. “You were engaged, or about to be?”

“Never one for chit-chat, were you?”

“If you don
’
t want to talk about it, it’s fine.” He looked her in the eyes. “But I’m genuinely interested.”

“Okay, here goes: His name was—
is
—Ben. He was a classmate of mine. It was nothing set in stone. We had different ideas about the veterinary life, that
’
s all. He wanted to open up a big-city practice in Portland or Seattle. I wanted to work with horses exclusively. And I wanted to become a whisperer. Ben had absolutely zero interest in that.” She shrugged. “So that was the end of us.”

“Zero interest in being part of your hippie cult?” said Wolf. “Good riddance, then.”

She laughed, and he realized how long it had been since he’d made a woman do that, outside of a barroom or a bedroom, anyway. He wanted to make her laugh again. “I mean, you
’
re so into horses and doing your own thing. It
’
s hard to imagine you de-worming a cat in some Seattle office,” he said.

She laughed again.
Yes!
“You’re right, I don’t work with cats, although they
’
d probably have something to teach me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know the way a cat or a dog
’
ll take off and find a quiet place to soothe itself when it
’
s sick or hurt?”

Wolf couldn
’
t take his eyes off Abby
’
s face. Her cheekbones, high and polished, her full, sumptuous lips. He realized this might be the one time he’d be allowed to stare at her, really take in her beauty, while he was in town, so he indulged himself. “Sure, I know,” he said.

“Well, a horse
’
ll do that in the wild. And depending on the elements, it might not survive. But what if we humans could understand a horse
’
s natural ability to heal itself and combine that with our own skills? I
’
ll bet we could cut equine mortality by half.” Abby shook her hair loose and leaned forward. As she talked to him about these things she cared most passionately about, she had never looked sexier.

“So, Wolf? You with me?” Abby asked.

“Of course. I get what you mean. I
’
m just wondering, would what you
’
re talking about ever apply to rodeoing?”

“Sure, it would.”

“
But don’
t you think a rodeo horse is a different animal entirely?”

“Not necessarily. Depends on its background, on how it was trained. You cowboys are so focused on performance, on the short-term results you need from an animal, you skip all the most important steps. You forget you
’
ve got to build a rapport with a horse.”

“Come on now, don
’
t lump us all together. I love Bullet. We definitely have a—whadya call it—a
rapport
.”

“Wolf, rapport or not, I know how the rodeo works. You pick out a good horse, ride it into the ground, then go out and pick another one. There
’
s no time for a real connection.”

Connection.
That’s what he was enjoying so much about this—when was the last time he’d connected with a woman, with anyone? “Give me a little more credit than that. I treat Bullet like a queen.”

Abby stirred what remained in her coffee cup in slow circles. “That
’
s good to hear,” she said.

Treat her like a queen…
just how Wolf should have treated Abby on prom night, instead of calling to cancel the morning of. Was it his imagination, or was she thinking the same thing he was? It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but he was determined to go for it, anyway.

He took a deep breath, feeling as nervous as he did astride a bull waiting to rocket out of the chute. Maybe more nervous.
Say you’re
sorry, he counseled himself.
Make it sincere. But don’t sell out your dad while you’re at it. Can’t say a thing about the money.
“So, Abs, I think—no, I
know
—I owe you an apology…”

…

Abby almost spat out her coffee. She
’
d been waiting for this moment for so long, but now that it was finally happening, she wished she could disappear, or better yet, clone herself so a tough, unfeeling robot-Abby could listen while the real, human Abby hid behind the booth, safely listening in on this most momentous event—The Apology of Wolf Olsen.

“For…prom?” she asked. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and she barely resisted the urge to take her napkin from her lap and wipe it off.

“Yeah. And for after that. For not explaining.”

“You don
’
t have to—”

“We both know I do.”

“Okay.” He had her there. Why was she getting in his way? “Shoot.”

He ran his hand through his hair. He looked like he was sweating, himself. She
’
d never seen him off his game before. Not once. But he sure was now.

“I wanted to take you, I really did. But you know how I was the runner-up at the American Legion Juniors that spring in Choteau?”

“Please, Wolf. My whole family was there.
Both
our families.
” How could she forget? It was the biggest moment of Wolf’s life, and she’d been his biggest fan. She
’
d been terrified for him, somehow balancing himself atop a thousand pounds of bucking thoroughbred.

“Well, I didn
’
t know it at the time, but Silver Randolph was in the stands watching me.
The
Silver Randolph. You know him, right?”

“I’m a Montana native, Wolf. I know who Silver Randolph is.” Only the idol to a generation of young rodeo boys. Retired now, but a coach with a major eye for upcoming talent. “Go on.”

“Well, the day of the prom, late afternoon, the phone rings. And who do you think it is? Silver. Calling
me
, at home. He tells me that one of his boys has gotten injured, bad, and do I want to sub the very next night?”

“Yeah…” She knew the broad strokes of this story already, and was hoping the apology part was coming sooner rather than later.

“It was a tough choice, believe me. I knew prom meant a lot to you.”

Abby tried not to wince. The prom didn
’
t mean a thing to her, not then, not now. It was Wolf who had meant something to her, had meant the
world
to her.

“So, obviously, I made the choice I did. I went to the rodeo.”

“And you were rewarded for it. You won first prize. Five grand, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I did, and I can’t say the money wasn’t a factor. Just…not in the way you might imagine. ” He blushed—he was actually capable of blushing—and looked down at the table. “Listen, the important thing is this: I
’
ve always regretted the way I handled it. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”