The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) (17 page)

"I'm worried about this, Katie." He caught her hand and held it. "We can't do this anymore."

Still smiling, she nudged Candy away. "I'll see you at church tomorrow."

After church the next day, her face wore a rebellious scowl as she slid into the back seat of Lance's Buick with two other girls.

He stood alone in the parking lot as Lance, with his long jaw set in a grim line, pulled the Buick past him. Briefly, he considered going after them…until he turned for his truck and met Jon's watchful gaze on him.

He had to figure out a way to get on her dad's good side.

***

The next morning, hammering, and the piercing whine of a circular saw sounded from a half-completed calf shed behind Jon Campbell's barn. Gil turned off his truck in the yard and pulled Katie's morning note from his pocket to read again.

If you follow that ridge behind your house all the way around, it ends up right behind my school. Don't bring your pickup. There's a pep rally, so I can meet you in the pine trees behind the water tank at 12:10…

He stared down at the paper on his knee in dismay. She hadn't listened to him at all. Why couldn't she understand—

A sharp tap rattled his window.

Starting violently, he jerked up his head. Katie's father stood staring through the window at him. The blood drained from his heart. How long had Jon been there?

He crumpled the paper on his knee, tossed it to the floor, and stepped from the truck.

"Scare you?" Jon asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Scared the crap out of me."

"Guilty conscience?"

He swallowed. "No. My mind was on…er…bills." He tried to grin. "Keep gettin' 'em in the mail."

That part was true at least. Rod Baker's medical bills arrived regularly—he'd broken Rod's nose and some little bone in his face—and so did the notices for lawyer fees and fines. He'd be paying for popping that jerk in the face for a long time.

"Know what you mean. Hate to get the mail," Jon said. "Why are you here?"

"Gramps had an elder call, so he sent me with his saw." He cleared his throat. "I thought maybe since Katie's not here I could…er…give you and Karl a hand today?" That might help make some points.

Jon narrowly sized him up for a moment longer then turned away. "Suit yourself."

He reached over the pickup bed for the saw then followed Jon toward the hammering.

He worked through the morning, determined not to go to her. The school? Was she nuts? Somebody would see them. A few minutes after that somebody would tell somebody, and then somebody would tell her dad…

At ten o'clock, he checked his watch. Then again at eleven. If he left now, he'd just make it. If he didn't, he wouldn't make it before she had to go back to class. That'd be best.

He glanced at her dad…definitely best.

Five minutes later, he laid down his hammer.

"I forgot I told Gramps I'd get feed for him at the co-op," he said. "I'll be back this afternoon."

He slid his truck to a stop in his grandfather's drive. The old man's truck was still gone. He swore at himself as he threw his saddle on Lucky then galloped the horse up the cedar covered hill behind the ranch house. Lucky laid back his auburn ears and raced along the ridge toward the high school, his long legs driving like pistons.

Finally, he reined in at a grove of pine trees behind a graffiti covered water tank.

Katie wasn't there.

He'd probably half-killed his horse for nothing. He dismounted and led Lucky, blowing and lathered with sweat, into the trees.

The whole thing was crazy. A year ago he would've enjoyed the challenge…now, it just made him sick with dread. Probably half the kids in the high school used this grove as a meeting place. Some knucklehead and his girl would come blundering along in a minute. It'd be all over school that Katie Campbell—the Katie Campbell who'd never done anything bad in her whole life—was meeting an older guy, and then it'd be all over town…

He jerked off his hat and ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair. If they got caught, her dad might dig around and find out about his many brushes with the law in Idaho, including charges pressed against him—later dropped—by a father mad enough about him messing around with his underage daughter to wave a shotgun around. If Jon really wanted to try he could probably find a reason to press charges against him for something. He'd go back to jail. He'd never see her again.

He bowed his head to his saddle and prayed she wouldn't come—sincere words that came from his heart.

Then he prayed they wouldn't get caught if she did.

Light footsteps sounded on the path outside the grove then Katie brushed past the pine boughs and into the sheltering trees, wind-fresh color burning her cheeks.

"Katie, what're you thinkin'?" he asked. "We can't do this."

She stopped short.

"I care what people say about you even if you don't," he said.

The navy colored turtleneck she wore under her coat brought out the astonishing blue of her suddenly wary eyes. "You didn't have to come."

"Think about this!" he exclaimed. "If I get caught with you here your dad'll make sure I go back to jail."

She stared at him for an instant. Then turning on her heel, she stepped quickly toward the entrance.

He covered the distance between them in a couple of long strides, his boots silent on the carpet of pine needles. He caught her arm. "Katie, c'mon."

"Leave me alone." She jerked away, her eyes flashing. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble."

He caught her arm again. "A few months ago it wouldn't have mattered to me, but now it does. Because of you. If your dad catches us, he'll make sure it's over between us. For good. I don't want that." He tipped up her chin. "Do you?"

"I thought you wanted to be with me."

"I do."

Her eyes flashed again. "Not bad enough."

She shrugged out of his grip. Before he could move, she disappeared through the opening in the pines then stones rattled on the worn path down the hill where he couldn't follow.

He stared after her receding footsteps in bewilderment. His first attempt ever to keep a girl out of trouble had just whirled around and bit his rear.

Chapter Ten

The next morning, a kid with red hair sat in Katie's seat on the bus. Gil found the tree empty, too. Disheartened, he drove to the Rancher's Co-op for the feed he hadn't gotten the day before. He poured a cup of coffee, black and thick like used motor oil, and leaned on the counter waiting for the manager to finish thumbing through a dog-eared parts book for the only other customer.

The bell on the door jingled. Jim Harris, a rancher whose land bordered his grandfather's on the south, hurried in. Expression harassed, Jim acknowledged him with a nod then turned to the manager.

"Bob, you know anybody who can take a pot load of cattle to Kansas?"

"Not off hand. Why?"

"Me and Greg were loadin' out steers this mornin' and he was straddlin' the chute. He slipped, and the whole pen of steers went straight over the top of him. They can't take care of him over there at the clinic, so they're flyin' him to Denver."

"He gonna be okay?" Bob asked, frowning.

"I don't know, but I gotta have somebody take this load."

"I'll have to make some calls," Bob said.

"I can take 'em," he said quietly, the pile of bills on his dash rearing up in his memory. 

The tall rancher gave him a sharp look. "You ever haul cattle before?"

He nodded. "In Idaho."

"Can you leave right now?"

He hesitated. "There's one thing I have to do, but it won't take long."

"Good." The weathered angles of Jim's face relaxed. "Thanks, Gil."

He drove home and told his grandfather what had happened then he climbed the stairs to his room to pack a few clothes. Sitting on the bed, he reached for his notebook.

Katie, I'm taking a load of steers to Kansas for Jim Harris. I need the money to pay for the thing with Rod Baker. I want to get all that stuff cleared up so I can maybe have something to offer you one of these days. I'm sorry I hurt you yesterday. I was there because I love you. I've never said that to anyone before. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I hope only a couple of days. I'll leave you a note as soon as I get back.

That night, he delivered the Harris cattle to a western Kansas feedlot, but instead of sending him home, Jim kept him busy driving between Kansas and winter wheat pastures in Oklahoma in the temperamental Peterbilt, its 'cattle pot' loaded with five-hundred pound calves.

Just over two weeks later—an eternity—he collected his paycheck at the Harris ranch then drove straight to the cedar tree. Empty.

Heartsick, he pulled up his coat collar, his eyes watering in the wind filled with the metallic bite of a coming snow. He turned, scanning the road and winter brown grass of the pastures toward the Campbell place. Only the ridge of the barn roof showed over the brow of the hill almost a mile away, and nothing moved across the vast panorama except a scruffy grey coyote slinking along with an ear cocked toward him.

That night, his grandfather eyed him across the supper table. "What's the matter with you, Son? You've hardly said a word all afternoon."

"Tired, I guess," he said, looking up from his bowl of canned soup.

The old man's too perceptive gaze probed his. He looked away, and they finished the meal in silence.

Later, he sat in his dusty chair beside the stove—its springs had given way long before, leaving his knees somewhere near chest level. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared moodily at a tendril of cedar smoke filtering out of the pipe at the back of the stove.

Had he upset Katie so much she was finished with him? That couldn't be it.

Could it?

Maybe she just hadn't been able to leave him a note. Possibly her dad had found out about them. Or the meetings.

His stomach knotted. Or, maybe he shouldn't have told her he loved her. Maybe she didn't feel the same way… 

At ten o'clock, his grandfather left for bed. He sat until the fire died down. The temperature in the room dropped. He rose to fill the fire box of the stove with cedar logs then turned out the lamp. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the phone rang.

"Gil, it's me," Katie whispered.

Taken off guard, he glanced toward his grandfather's room then moved around the corner.

"What's wrong?" he asked in an undertone. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I need to see you." She was crying.

He stared at the wall, a pale rectangle in the dark. "At your house?"

"No. I'll ride Candy to the old barn by the creek."

He hesitated.

"Please, Gil."

He stretched the phone cord away from his grandfather's room. "Katie, what's wrong?"

A tense silence filled the line, as if she listened for something.

"I've got to go," she whispered. "Please?"

"I'll be there." He hung up.

"Who was that?" the old man called from his bed.

He hesitated. "Wrong number." He turned toward the door. "I'm…gonna drive down through the bottom pasture, make sure we don't have any new calves. May take a while, so just…er…go back to sleep."

His grandfather stayed silent for a long time. He rubbed his hand over his face. The old man couldn't know about…anything. Could he?

"Don't take too long," his grandfather said, finally. His bedsprings squeaked when he rolled over. "It's cold out there."

***

The old barn crouched in the moonlight, a black shape half hidden in trees with bare branches scratching at the sky like claws. He turned off his pickup inside the barn and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. A tumbled pile of old hay bales spilled across the west end.

The air inside the cab quickly cooled. He shivered and checked his watch—forty-five minutes since he'd talked to her. She shouldn't be out alone. Anything could happen.

He opened his door, blinking in the cab light, and then eased it shut with a quiet click. Just outside the barn door, a full moon cast long tree shadows on the ground, and a wash of Milky Way glittered with diamonds in a black velvet sky. Pure air, smelling only of frost, burned his nose and lungs. A chorus of coyote yips sounded from across the creek.

Finally, a horseshoe clicked on stone. He released his breath in relief.

Katie rode her mare out of the shadows and into the barn. He held up his arms for her to dismount. Without a word, she slipped into them. The fragrance he'd come to associate with her enveloped him as her arms slid around his neck.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

Then she kissed him.

The unexpected touch of her lips widened his eyes and jolted his heart…then he took it from there.

Gathering her slender, trembling body close to him, he deepened the kiss. Clean, sweet, amazing…

The past miserable days of uncertainty vanished. He lost all awareness of the fifteen degree midnight in the old barn…and that he shouldn't…she shouldn't—

A glaring image of Jon Campbell silhouetted in the porch light acted as a sudden bucket of ice water on his passion. He wrenched away from her.

Grasping her around the shoulders, he propelled her to the door of the pickup and lifted her in. Then he rolled down the window and shut the door between them to lean his forehead on the window edge and rub his shaking hands through his hair.

She burst into tears. "I shouldn't have come," she cried. "What am I doing?"

He jerked up his head in alarm. "Katie, no—" he pulled her hands away from her face—"don't say that."

"I wasn't going to see you anymore until Dad said it was okay—" she didn't look at him—"but it's been so long and I missed you, and I've lied, and I'm so confused, and they just talked and talked at me, and I know it's not true, and I just want to go away with you where it's just us, and now I've made a fool of myself—"