Dances with Wolf (5 page)

“You mean if you had it to do all over again, you would have given up your dream just so you could take me to the prom?”

“It felt like a one-shot deal at the time—like if I said no, I was shutting the door on the rodeo life for good. What I didn’t realize was that there would have been other chances to compete, but there’d never be another chance to…”

“To what?”

He was struggling for the words, white-knuckling the salt shaker like he could squeeze the answer out of it. “To be with you, Abby,” he said. “Just to be with you.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She thought he’d never given it a second thought. “Why couldn’t you have just told me that, instead of avoiding me all this time?”

“I haven
’
t been avoiding you, Abby. My life
’
s been crazy ever since then. I haven
’
t been home for more than a long weekend in years. But…you
’
re right. I was a stupid kid who thought that by ignoring a mistake, I could make it go away. And the longer I put off apologizing face-to-face, the harder it was to do it.

“But I am sorry, believe me. Sorrier than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t easy to do it in the here and now, either. And I accept your apology.” She wasn’t sure what to do. It would have been too weird to hug across the table with all of Norm’s looking on. Seeing no better option, she held out her hand for him to shake.

“Thank God.” He took her hand. “You won
’
t regret it, Abs.
I mean, we were never really boyfriend and girlfriend, but we were more than that, weren’t we? We were, we
are
, practically family.”

There it was, proof that he still thought of her as a quasi-sister, a little kid to whom he was involuntarily obligated. “Yep, practically siblings,” she said.

“Aww, man, you
’
re the best,” he said. Her hand still in his, she watched the relief flood through him. So, they were on good terms again. But had he just called her
man
?

Chapter Six

Wolf could hear Bridget singing in her room above the whir of her hair dryer. His timing was good—it was a rare moment when his sister wasn
’
t hogging the house
’
s single bathroom—so he walked inside and locked the door behind him. He turned his back to the full-length mirror while he put on the new dress jeans and jacket and shirt. The Roper shirt with its pearl snaps hugged his six-pack. He zipped up the new midnight-blue denims, turned around and saw that, yes, he looked good. More importantly, with his apology to Abby delivered at long last, he
felt
like a million bucks. Until now, he
’
d had no idea how much that had been weighing on him.

Luther pounded on the door. “Stop primping, bro, I gotta pee.”

“Where you been, Luther?” asked Wolf, opening the door.

“Fixing fences, like Dad asked.”
That makes two of us
. “While you hung out in K-Spell on a date with Abby Macready. She is looking
fine
lately, huh?”

“It was no date, believe me. Who said that—Bridge?” If his sister were under the impression he
’
d been hitting on Abby, he
’
d have her to deal with, too. Couldn
’
t the Olsen household just sit still, at peace with itself, for more than five minutes at a time?

“It was Mom, actually. She says you can
’
t afford to screw up with Abby again. Or the Macreadys in general, after all they
’
ve done for us.” Luther
’
s obnoxious smile could have only belonged to a seriously overshadowed little brother.

Wolf nodded. Luther didn
’
t know that, in order to halt the foreclosure on their property, Wolf had been contributing his circuit winnings ever since leaving town, sending nearly all of his cash home—at first, a monthly minimum of five hundred a month, and eventually, to speed up the repayment process, up to three thousand. He was still making those monthly payments, but thank God, he had only two more to go. He could almost taste it; he was so close to financial freedom, both for his family and himself.

Luther had been too young to do anything about the family
’
s financial trap, too young to know about the screw-ups of their dad’s that had created it in the first place. And now that the ranch was just about safely secured, he
’
d never need to. Wolf wondered whether Abby had ever caught wind of it, but after today, he could guarantee she had no clue. If she knew, she would have probably forgiven him years ago. She
’
d approve of Wolf
’
s loyalty to his family—a personality trait that had cost him their date to the prom as well as a chance to march with his class at graduation. But she could never know about how that trouble had gotten started in the first place. Only three people knew about that: Dad, Doc, and Wolf. And he was determined to keep it that way.

“
I don’
t want you or Dad or Mom, or Bridge especially, to get all anxious about Abby and me.”
Like there could ever be an Abby and me
. “She
’
s got her life, and I
’
ve got mine. If we intersect now and then, it
’
s all good. If not, life goes on. You get that, right?”

Luther nodded in the mirror. “All’s I know is, I heard Bridge tell Mom to make sure you weren
’
t allowed anywhere near Abby.”

“You
’
re kidding.”

“She thinks you
’
re a ruthless lady-killer. Which, bro, is exactly why you
’
re my hero.” Luther grinned. He was
always
grinning. “So, you think you could clear the bathroom for a few minutes? If you don
’
t, you
’
re going to be hurting
me.
I
’
m dying here.”

Wolf strode past him without further comment.

“Woo-hoo!” Luther preened in front of the mirror. “
Wait
’til the hometown hotties see us.”

“They
’
re all yours.” Wolf turned back and swatted Luther on his backside. “All yours.”

Ruthless lady-killer.
It wasn
’
t true, hadn
’
t been for a long time. But if this was how his own family saw him, what did the rest of the world think? He was determined to improve his reputation, but it was clear—he had his work cut out for him.

…

Abby tried to hide her annoyance as she bustled through the hallway and up the stairs. A fast ride on a beautiful horse usually cured whatever ailed her, but today was different. She’d taken her own gelding, Beau, out for a ride, but she hadn
’
t been able to get her mind off the party. Wolf
’
s apology should have diffused the tension between them, but had it? She couldn
’
t just change the way she felt, like flicking a switch on her heart. The very idea of being in the same space with him got her riled up, which was inconvenient, considering his total lack of interest in her.

Her mom had carefully placed her Blue Lagoon bag on her bed. Abby pulled out the dress, but before trying it on, looked through the window past the circle of budding lilacs and down to the driveway. She saw men unloading round tables and lattice-backed chairs, leaning them against the tent that lay in thick folds on the ground.

There was a knock, and Abby stuffed the dress back inside the bag. “Any luck, sweetheart?” Her mom’s head popped out from behind the bedroom door. She
generally
respected Abby
’
s privacy, but the party was making her forget the usual boundaries.

“You
know
I found something, Mom.”

“Yes, but I didn
’
t expect you to pick white.”

“You looked?” Abby
’
s voice rose.

“Not really. I
’
d much rather see it on you.”

Abby scowled. She was too old to have a mom who snooped through her things. Maybe it was time for her to move into town, get an apartment with Bridget as a roommate, or even rent a place herself. “I
’
m grubby. Just took Beau and Stella around the loop.” She held out her hands. “If I even touch a white dress right now, I
’
ll ruin it.”

“Well, get yourself cleaned up, then.” Her mom folded her arms and sat on the end of Abby
’
s bed. “I can wait.”

Abby sighed and headed for the shower with Stella at her heels. The dog smiled and licked the condensation from the glass door. Abby felt her black mood lift. Dogs were more emotionally perceptive than most humans. Maybe she would keep Stella by her side tonight. She could sniff out Wolf—a fellow canine—and come back to Abby with a final judgment: were they meant for each other, or would they remain “practically family” forever?

She grabbed the Blue Lagoon bag—her mom was still waiting, glancing through Abby’s bookshelf like she had all the time in the world—then wiped the last of the red dust from her calloused feet and put on the sassy Frey boots. The rhinestones glinted in the light from the bathroom chandelier.
Why did I let Bridget talk me into these? I look ridiculous.

Abby opened the door and walked toward her mom, who clapped her hands in response. “Wow, it works!”

Next came a whistle. Abby looked up to see her dad at the door.

“Abadabun. Who could wish for a nicer present than you in that dress?” He pulled her into a warm hug. Abby looked up at him as he slowly released her.

There were tears in his eyes. “
I don’
t say this often enough, but we
’
re so proud of you. You know, this party’s as much about celebrating you coming back here as it is about me joining the ranks of Certified Old Men.”

Abby was speechless. Her father was a man of many good deeds, but few words. “That means a lot to me. I wasn
’
t sure you approved of my dropping out.”

“You followed your intuition,” said her mom. “And it
’
s already begun to pay off.” She leaned over and grasped Abby
’
s hand. “Now, about those hot pink boots.” She gave Abby a quizzical look. “Bridget picked them out, right?” Abby nodded.

“I like ’em,” her dad said. “Makes you stand out from the crowd.”

“As if a man would care about what you
’
ve got on your feet,”
her mom sighed,
“when you
’
re wearing that lovely dress.”

Her dad’s left eyebrow lifted teasingly. “
I don’
t suppose there
’
s anybody you especially had in mind when you bought it?” he asked, about a millisecond before her mom slapped his hand and gave him a death-stare. (Apparently she was the only parent allowed to grill Abby on her love life.) But he continued anyway: “Matt Markley was the first guy to RSVP.”

“She
’
s not interested,”
her mom said.
“Something about a Jiffy Lube.”

Abby laughed at her dad
’
s perplexed expression. “Yup. Matt Markley
’
s definitely on the no-fly list.”

“How about Wolf, then?” her dad said. He was so sweet, but
so clueless
, too. “I know you’ve always carried the torch for him, haven’t you?”

“Oh my God, Dad, please don
’
t,” Abby said. She went beet-red, and turned toward the window so they wouldn
’
t see.

“If Matt
’
s on the no-fly list,”
her mom said,
“Wolf
’
s a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Sorry,” her dad said. “Mom said you guys had made up, and thought there might be a little more to it.”

“How can you say that, hon?”
her mom asked.
“Wolf isn
’
t worth the dirt under Abby
’
s fingernails. He
’
s shown us that much.”

“Guys…” Abby tried to interrupt. Her parents talked about her like she wasn
’
t even in the room.

“Don
’
t be so hard on the boy,” her dad said. “He
’
s made some mistakes, sure, but he
’
s got a good heart.”

“Mom, Dad, please…”

“He
’
s got the heart of a snake,”
her mom said.
“And the brain of a pack mule.”

“You
’
re too harsh, Marcie.”

Abby silenced them with a deafening two-fingered whistle, one that she usually reserved for the punishment of barn animals.

“What?!” both her parents asked at once.

“I love you, but I need you to stay out of my love life, and get out of my room.” She shooed them away like a couple of meddlesome toddlers. “See you in a few.”

On the way out, her mom
’
s eyes invited intimacy, a shared secret, a whispered thought, but Abby wasn
’
t ready for that and wouldn
’
t be for a good while. She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her, took off the dress—she longed for a nap, just a few minutes to collect herself—hung it carefully in the garment bag, and hooked it to the back of the door. “If I don
’
t have a good time,” she addressed the bag, “you won
’
t be the one to blame.”

I must really be losing it,
Abby thought with a smirk.
I’m having a conversation with a party dress.
It was definitely time to get a place of her own. Before she could banish the thought, she imagined Wolf visiting her there, showing up late at night, finding refuge with her under the covers, holding her to his strong, smooth chest until morning broke.

Chapter Seven

Wolf rode shotgun in Bridget’s truck, while Luther balanced two of their mom’s homemade rhubarb pies on his lap. Their parents followed them, though they certainly didn
’
t need any assistance in navigating the two miles to the Macreadys
’
place. Wolf turned up the song on the radio, “I Lock the Door” by Marcus Troy, and sang at top volume.

“Six of one, a half dozen the other,” he crooned. “God closes one door as he opens another.”

Bridget reached over to turn it off. “How
’
s about we leave the singing to the trained professionals?”

“That bad?”
Wolf said, stung.

“You sound like a heifer in heat,” said Luther through a chuckle.

“Whenever you
’
re nervous, you act out like this,”
Bridget said.
“From the time you were a little kid. Larger than life and louder than thunder.”

“That
’
s not true,” Wolf said.

“It’s
kind of
true,” said Luther.

“What have I got to be nervous about, anyway? This is a party, not a presidential inauguration.”

“Why don
’
t you just come out and say it?” said Luther. “You
’
re scared spitless to see Abby again.”

“Luther, a bull that weighs more than this 4x4? That scares me. Abby Macready? Not so much.”

“That sounds like a load of bull,” Luther said. Wolf took advantage of the joke, unfunny as it was, and allowed himself to laugh. It helped release the tension that he wasn’t about to admit he was feeling.

“Anyway, I saw her yesterday. Everything
’
s sorted out.”

“Sorted out, as in, you
’
re going to dance with her all night before taking her behind Doc
’
s barn to do the nasty?” Luther snarked.

“Nothing like that is going to happen,”
Bridget said.
“
Ever
.” She squeezed Wolf
’
s hand until he winced.

“
Hey, sis, come on,
” Wolf said. “I need to grip the reins with these fingers.”

He shook his hand loose and thought of the last time he
’
d held the reins in his grip. Yesterday, Bullet had seemed a little shaky in the pasture. And not just yesterday. She hadn
’
t quite been herself since the Billings Rodeo, more than three weeks ago. It wasn
’
t physical, he didn
’
t think, but
something
had happened to her. She seemed unfocused, out of it, depressed even.

Wolf laughed at the idea of animal psychology—that was just a racket—but there was a good vet in Polson, Dr. Vickers, who could probably figure out whether Bullet had some kind of deeply embedded virus. He needed Bullet healthy. The season was about to hit high gear, and he depended on her more than anything or anyone. More than that, he hated to see the mare so spiritless. When Bullet was in a funk, so was he.
Wolf Olsen, codependent with his own damned horse!
He could almost hear Abby’s teasing voice. Anyhow, tomorrow he
’
d bring her over and have Vickers give her a once-over.

As the truck ascended the rise, the lights along the Macreadys
’
aspen-lined driveway glittered, a prelude to a Technicolor sunset. Summer was painfully short in the Flathead, but it sure was spectacular. The three of them exited the truck and Wolf ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he couldn
’
t stop himself from making. He felt uncomfortable, not himself in these stiff store-bought clothes, and wished the party were already over. He would have rather sipped a few beers on the porch, even with the hyperactive Luther, than have to mingle with half of Bigfork.

He took in the proceedings. A six-member bluegrass band was mounting a stage in front of the barn. Cocktails and snacks were dispensed from a chuck wagon to its right. Guests milled in circles around Doc and Marcie Macready, hugging Doc, complimenting Marcie
’
s flowery dress. The man of the hour wore a white Resistol and a pale-blue Western suit with fancy stitching on the sleeves. He seemed overwhelmed by the attention, but that was Doc—humble to the core.

Abby was nowhere to be seen. So far, anyway. Luther was already flirting with some redhead Wolf didn
’
t recognize, and Bridget was talking to a friend of hers from the brokerage. Hands in his starchy jeans pockets, he scanned the crowd for a friend of his own.

Suddenly, two slender arms snaked around his waist.
Abadabun?
he thought. But instead he turned to see Heather Stone, a former prom queen from Flathead High, a girl Wolf had flirted with or briefly dated, he couldn
’
t remember which. Heather was wearing a strapless sequined top over metallic jeans. In the deep space between her breasts hung a silver cross on a slender chain, Christ
’
s sacrifice transformed into a tacky trinket. This was exactly the girl he
’
d known, and had decided he’d wanted nothing to do with, at sixteen.

Heather
’
s blond hair lay in artfully arranged beach curls over both shoulders. As she struggled for balance on knife-sharp stilettos not exactly well-suited to a barnyard dance, she grasped his arm for a moment. Wolf remembered that about Heather, that she was always reaching out to touch him, a spider pulling her prey into the web.

“
Wolf Olsen,
” she said breathlessly. “I heard you
’
d be back for this.” She stood away from him, bolder than ever, and looked him over head to foot. “I
’
d say that rodeo life suits you just fine.” She put her hands on her waist and continued to stare at him until Wolf, mostly to stop her from appraising him like a farmer does livestock before a purchase, pulled her into a brief hug, then took a half-step back. He met Bridget
’
s eyes for a moment over Heather
’
s shoulder. She gave him a disapproving look, and he wondered if there was a single girl in the Flathead with whom he was allowed to interact.

“I never expected to find you…still in Bigfork,” he said. He honestly couldn
’
t think of another thing to say to her.

“Bigfork? You
’
ve got to be kidding. I moved to Seattle four years ago. Just took a few days off to see my folks. I
’
m a dental hygienist now.” Heather flashed him the proof, a flawless white smile.

She hooked one arm through Wolf
’
s and began to walk toward the stage. The band was pounding out a bluegrass version of “This Little Heart of Mine.” All over the lawn, guests were beginning to couple up and step onto the dance floor.

“If you
’
re as good a dancer as you were in high school, I
’
m yours for the evening, pardner,” she said. Wolf gently disentangled himself. She opened her eyes wide and smiled up at him.

“I couldn
’
t do that, Heather. I
’
d be making enemies. Must be a dozen guys lining up to dance with you.”

Heather shrugged, as if to say she didn
’
t care much about those dozen guys. There was something premeditated about her, like she
’
d come here specifically to chase him down. Pretending not to notice, Wolf guided her carefully toward a group of Luther
’
s friends, who were clustered near the chuck wagon, sampling some of Doc
’
s beloved single-malts.

Luther, having moved on from the redhead, walked confidently toward Heather, and held out a margarita in a fancy pink glass. “Perfect timing,” he said. “Bartender just mixed this up for the prettiest girl here.” When Heather reached up for the drink, Luther winked at him. “See you later, bro.” Wolf, thankful that his little brother was either smarter or hornier than he looked, turned and made his way through the throng of dancers.

At the far end of the dance floor, he saw Abby. No one else seemed to have spotted her yet. She was alone, though probably not for long. As if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned and looked straight at him. He had seen Abby Macready grown up, and that had taken some getting used to. But he hadn
’
t seen her
made-up
like this, ever. (Of course, he would have if he hadn’t ditched her on prom.) This simply couldn
’
t be his little sister
’
s best friend, a scrawny girl in pigtails, chasing her dog around in the mud. This was someone else entirely.

The image of her burnished skin against the white dress rushed through him. The sun was still high in the sky, not even close to setting at eight o
’
clock, and its yellow-orange rays lit up her hair, her golden skin, her chestnut eyes. Without deciding to go to her, he found himself approaching her at a steady clip, as if his body had a will of its own.

He reached her side in six long strides.