The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) (6 page)

He stood in the small foyer curiously scanning the room across the congregants bowed heads. For some reason, it pleased him to find the inside of the building just as he remembered it from when he had sat swinging his legs beside his mother a few rows from the front. The elders, his grandfather and Irvin—a big man with greying hair slicked back—still sat on a hard wood pew behind the pulpit at the front, and the rest of the pews remained in double rows to each side of the main aisle. The floor was the same alternating squares of black and white tile, like a checkerboard.

The morning sun flooded through the swirled yellow hues of stained glass in tall windows, filling the sanctuary with mellow light. It gleamed on the old pulpit at the front, the oak pews worn smooth and shiny from the hands and behinds of many years, and on Katie's blonde head halfway from the front.

She sat next to a tall young man with sandy hair cut short, revealing a sunburned neck and big ears. The sinewy brown arm around her shoulders evidenced a man who worked for a living, and the gentle movement of his fingers on her silky hair showed a man who loved her.

He frowned. The thing might not be as easy as he had thought.

The oldest Campbell brother, Karl, sat with his head bowed on the back pew at the end of a row of young men. Clean cut, solid, and athletic, he had the same kind of light hair and deep-set blue eyes as his sister. On the day they met, Karl's direct gaze in his lean-jawed face had given the impression he didn't tolerate much foolishness.

His grandfather finally finished praying and got stiffly from his knees. He sat next to Karl who acknowledged him with a grin then bowed his head again as another man knelt to pray.

He bowed his head, too, but after a few minutes, he began to scan the crowd. Sister Sylvie was easy to pick out, very old and frail with parchment-like skin drooping over the arm of her wheelchair, pink scalp showing through thin white hair. Definitely not a good prospect for his grandfather—her cooking days were over. Sister Helen wasn't as easy to decide. Several women might be her, but he settled on a plump, middle aged woman with a brush of dark mustache. She wore a smile of pure joy, staring all around like a child, and especially at his grandfather on the front pew. Possibly she could cook, but the facial hair was a little off putting. 

A young man rose to stand at the pulpit with a worn Bible and preach about the children of Israel. He had no idea who the children of Israel were or why anybody would want to know, but just then an uncommonly beautiful young woman of about eighteen rose from her seat, focusing his attention.

Tall, her raven black hair bound up like a Navajo woman's, she perched a light-haired toddler on her hip and walked down the aisle toward the back. Every head on the back pew lifted and eyes fixed on her making her way down the aisle, skirt swaying gracefully. Karl tensed, his gaze riveted on the willowy young woman, but her smooth, brown face remained expressionless and she never glanced at Karl, or anyone on the back pew, for that matter.

He could understand Karl's interest—she was definitely a knockout—but he turned away his gaze. He always avoided girls with kids, himself.

After the young preacher sat down, the congregation sang a song he didn't recognize, but Katie's clear alto harmony was like her—sweet and pretty. He had to figure out a way to get her alone so he could give her the bridle.

When church was finally over, he stood at the back meeting his grandfather's friends, but he kept an eye on Katie. She stayed beside Lance who talked to everyone on his slow procession toward the back. Finally, Lance stopped to talk to the young preacher, close enough for Katie's voice to reach.

"I'll get my purse out of the car, Lance," she said.

Lance smiled at her from his gangly height. "I need to talk to Will for just a minute about the job tomorrow and then I'll meet you at my car."

She made her way outside. He fetched the sack with the bridle from his pickup then stepped up behind her as she slammed the door of her father's station wagon. The sun shone on her glossy hair and it smelled like flowers. She turned, purse in hand.

He grinned. "Hi."

She glanced uneasily toward the church. "What do you want?"

He held out the paper bag. "This's for you."

"What is it?"

"A peace offering."

She hesitated, but then took the sack and pulled out the bridle trimmed with Mexican silver. Her mouth dropped open. She turned to him. "I can't take this."

He flashed his grin at her again. "C'mon. It'll make me feel better about your dog." He held her gaze. "Please."

She stared at the bridle in her hands. "I really can't."

"Why not?"

The church door behind him opened. She jerked up her head and thrust the bridle at him. He turned as Lance sauntered up to them.

She took Lance's arm. "This is Gil Howard. You know…I told you…?"

An unaccustomed flush of self-consciousness burned his ears. She'd been talking about him to her boyfriend?

"He was showing me the bridle for the horse he bought from Dad," she said, her tone over-bright, but definite.

Lance glanced at the bridle. "That looks a lot like the one you've been lookin' at," he said in a laid-back drawl. He grinned, holding out his hand. "Lance Thomas."

He reluctantly turned his gaze from Katie and shook Lance's hand. "How y'doin'."

"I'm glad it was you that hit Benny instead of me," Lance said. "I don't know how many times he's run out in front of me."

He paused, his ears burning again. "Glad to help," he said shortly.

Lance looked from him to Katie, and then back to him. "You stayin' long?" he asked, his easy-going gaze sharpening.

"Through the summer." He wasn't used to having to look so far up to talk to anyone and it irritated him. "You helpin' move the cattle to the mountain tomorrow?"

"No. We've got a house to roof tomorrow. Besides—" he grinned at Katie—"I'm not much of a cowboy, am I?"

She smiled. Her gentle smile illuminated her eyes, transforming her dainty prettiness to beauty, innocent and completely void of grasping need.

The smile wasn't his, but he could hardly breathe.

"You're not so bad," she said to Lance.

"Then how come you always scream with laughter and tell me I look like a scarecrow on horseback?" Lance asked, grinning.

Katie's smile widened and she pressed his arm against her. "That doesn't mean you're not a good cowboy."

Lance turned to grin at him. "Yes, it does." He slid his arm around her shoulders. "Hate to run, but we've got a hot date."

She flushed and glanced quickly at him from beneath her lashes then she walked away with her gangly boyfriend, leaving him holding the bridle like a complete fool.

Lance opened the door of an old, white Buick and Katie slid in. He folded himself to kiss her lightly, smiling at something she said then shut the door. A moment later, the Buick pulled out of the parking lot.

He jerked open the door of his truck and flung the pretty bridle across the cab. It hit the other door with a clank of metal then slid to the floor in a tangle of black leather and Mexican silver.

Chapter Four

In the pre-dawn darkness the next morning, Shorty blew up his belly like a toad and jerked back on his halter rope.

"Knock it off, Jughead."

Gil gave the horse's underbelly a sharp, open-handed slap and Shorty hopped forward a step, releasing his breath.

He jerked the cinch strap tight, breathing deeply of the chilly morning air, sharp with the smell of cedar and sage, and the heavy, damp smell of irrigated alfalfa.

Anticipation had replaced his bad mood of the day before. Today, he'd have a whole day in the saddle doing what he loved, and with any luck at all, Katie would be helping move her family's cattle to summer pasture on the mountain. If she was, he'd have the whole day to make some time with her, too.

The sky lightened behind the cedar covered knob. A sleepy crow and clucking sounded from the chicken run where his grandfather scattered grain from a battered coffee can. "You girls best step it up a little, or the stewpot's gonna be your next stop."

He grinned at his grandfather's words as he adjusted the bridle over Shorty's ears. Then spurs clinking and the leather of his chaps slapping softly against his jeans, he moved to Lucky.

He swung his saddle onto Lucky's back, singing under his breath. "It's a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin' down to take a look at me…"

Within thirty minutes, he and his grandfather had the cows and calves strung out on the road toward the small community of Lone Tree. Then two miles south of town, the old man's herd of bawling cattle mixed with Campbell cattle like a roaring, muddy red tributary running into a black river.

Through the dust haze, he scanned the horses on the outside edges of the herd for the blaze-faced mare Katie rode. She wasn't riding, but her dad's black pickup with its long stock-trailer crept along behind the herd at a snail's pace—she might be driving. Eyes squinted against the early morning sun, he peered at the driver's side of the truck then grinned.

Riding up to the pickup's door, he leaned down to the open window. Katie wore what appeared to be one of her brothers' castoff flannel shirts over a red tee shirt. Her light hair blew softly around her profile in the breeze. She glanced at him and then away.

"I thought you'd be ridin' today," he said.

She hesitated. "I did, too." She paused. "My mom's not feeling good and Dad made me drive the pickup," she said grudgingly.

"How come?"

She frowned, giving him a resentful glance. "Because I'm not a boy."

He grinned. "I'm glad you're not a boy."

She sniffed. "I don't see what difference that could possibly make to you."

"A lot," he said, laughing. "Believe me. You still mad at me?"

She turned a level blue gaze on him. "I'm indifferent to you. Being mad at you would be wasted effort."

"That's what I think."

She rolled her eyes. "You are so full of yourself." 

He grinned. "You can ride Lucky and I'll drive if you want."

"I'm fine."

He glanced up. A red cow was making for someone's green lawn at the turn onto the main street of town.

"I gotta go, but if you change your mind…about anything…let me know." He held her gaze, one brow raised in a meaningful way.

She caught his double meaning and flushed deeply, jerking her gaze to the slow-moving rumps in front of her. "I won't change my mind."

"Neither will I." He grinned and nudged Lucky into his easy lope, cutting the cow back to the herd just as she took her first mouthful of lawn.

To keep the cattle from veering off onto side streets and yards, he and the others urged the herd to a trot through the little town. Dust haze hung over the bawling cattle, the roar nearly drowning the yells of the men, ringing horseshoes on pavement, and the shuffle of hundreds of trotting hooves echoing from the buildings lining the one main street—a café, bar, and post office on the east side, a small grocery, hardware store and bank on the west.

Bringing up the rear just in front of Katie in the truck, he finally reached Dave Campbell where he sat his horse in the parking lot of the general store and gas station at the north edge of town. As cattle streamed across the creek bridge, Dave controlled his restless black with the born horseman's wiry grace while shouting and loudly slapping a gloved hand against his leather chaps. The herd turned away from him to the east and up the long hill out of the valley.

"You want somethin' to drink from the store?" Dave shouted at him as he trotted Lucky past.

"Sure," he yelled. "Get me a couple Cokes."

The blacktop road out of the valley made a long, steep climb, hugging the edge of a cedar covered slope to the right, its precipitous descent ending in the raging creek of snow melt at the bottom. The cows dropped into a slow plod toward the top of the grade.

At the quick clop of a horse trotting behind him, he turned in his saddle. Dave paused his horse at his dad's pickup then ripped three cans of soda from a six-pack, tossing them inside to his younger sister. Urging the black to a trot again, Dave caught up with him and with a challenge in his eyes, tossed two of the Cokes.

Grinning, he effortlessly caught the cans.

"You should've kept playin' baseball," Dave said with an appreciative grin.

He slid one of the cans into his saddle bag. "You like baseball?" He popped the top on the other can.

Before Dave could answer, agitated soda spewed like a volcano into the air and over his hand. Startled, Lucky gave a lunge and started crow-hopping. He swore and clamped his legs tight while Dave shouted with laughter.

He glanced at Katie in the truck. She was watching, so he didn't try to get Lucky under control, just rode him until he stopped bucking of his own accord.

Dave's horse fell into step beside him. "You got any pop left?" Dave asked still laughing.

He shook his can and grinned. "A little."

Dave cautiously popped the top on his own soda and drank.

He eyed Dave's horse. "That's a good horse."

Dave slapped its shining black shoulder affectionately. "Yeah, ol' Studmuffin's a good one."

He laughed. "Studmuffin?"

Dave's grin grew wide and white in his sun-browned face. "Takes after me." He took another drink.

"Yeah. That's why we call mine Lucky."

Dave gave a snort of laughter. Soda spewed from his windpipe and nose.

He laughed heartily while Dave choked and coughed

"Yee haw," Dave said still chuckling as he wiped his streaming eyes. "We should change horses."

A fat black cow broke from the herd at a lumbering run, making for the half-mile wide strip of irrigated hay field on the left. Dave, still grinning, and soda in hand, spurred forward with a 'hup' and turned the cow back.

After that, the two of them rode together talking baseball, horses, and trout fishing.