The Cowboy Claims His Lady (10 page)

And all she could do was whisper her thanks to him, over and over again.

“S
he's going to be a bit groggy. We gave her something for the pain, but you can take her home. Her arm should be sore for a couple of days, but nothing too bad. If she wants to go riding tomorrow, she can.”

The emergency room doctor checked boxes off the sheet on his clipboard and gave the male nurse the okay to help Lyndie from the examining table.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Hazel said, nodding.

Lyndie walked on her own to the ranch's SUV, refusing Bruce's strong arm. “We shouldn't have called you, Hazel. I'm fine,” she said, embarrassed even in spite of all the painkillers.

“Nonsense,” the cattle baroness huffed. “You sure you don't want to come to the Lazy M and recuperate?” Hazel asked.

“No, no. I'm fine. I'll go back to the dude ranch. Just a sore arm.” Lyndie was adamant.

“Thank God you
are
fine. The way Bruce told it, you were in a pretty good scrape up there on the mountain, and believe me, he's Montana born and bred. He never exaggerates. Doesn't have to,” Hazel added smartly.

Lyndie couldn't even look at Bruce. Her feelings were too raw and confused. “He saved me. I'm still trying to understand all that happened,” Lyndie said, her words slurring from the medication.

“You get a good night's rest. You hear me, young lady? And no more shenanigans!” With a harumph, Hazel went to her Fleetwood in the parking lot.

Lyndie was placed by Bruce in the SUV.

“She's mad at me. You're mad at me,” Lyndie said as they pulled out of the hospital pick-up zone. “And you both have every right to be. I had no business being up on that mountain.”

Through the fog of painkiller, she still knew what she had to say. “I can never thank you enough for saving my life.”

“I don't want you to say it again. You're not the first one to get in trouble up in the mountains and you won't be the last. It comes with the territory.”

“I almost got you killed, too,” she said, her voice shaky with tears. The horror was still too near.

“You are one helluva woman, Miss Clay. In the few short days I've known you, I've got a black eye, a scraped belly, and enough bullshit shoveled at me to last a lifetime.”

He turned onto the highway and headed for the Mystery Dude Ranch. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to never hear the words ‘I'm sorry' out of your mouth again.”

“Okay. Sor—” She put her hand to her mouth.

She thought he pretended not to hear the mistake, and she was grateful. The day had already been too much for her. She couldn't think straight anymore. All she wanted was her bed and blessed sleep.

They turned onto the ranch. The bunkhouse came into sight. She could almost feel her muscles relaxing at the thought of her bed.

He stopped the SUV and helped her out and over to the bunkhouse. Throwing open her door, she looked at the bed, still rumpled from their lovemaking.

The remembrance made her flush.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked, turning around to face Bruce.

But no one was there.

Bruce was already in the SUV, barreling out of the ranch to parts unknown. And Lyndie hadn't the strength to follow.

 

Later that night, Hazel slid onto the tooled leather bar stool. She looked at the man next to her, hunkered down over his whiskey.

“Katherine's put to rest, son,” she said, motioning to the bartender for another round.

Bruce looked down at his glass and swirled the gold liquid. “I know, Hazel, but I'm thinkin' I've had too much. When Lyndie almost died up there on that mountain, something inside me broke. I don't think I can take another woman in my life.”

“Prowling around town for the rest of your life isn't the answer. At some point a man needs one woman. To raise a family. To have a home. You've had a nasty spell of bad luck, Bruce, but saving Lyndie changed that, don't you see?”

“All it changed was me,” he snarled. “Lyndie's sure gotten under my skin, but I won't go through losing her like I lost Katherine. And the only way to guarantee that is to stay away. I can't lose what I don't have.”

“Saving Lyndie was the remedy for all that guilt you've been holding on to, don't you see that?” Hazel implored.

“The only thing I see is this whiskey glass in front of me, old gal. And the only thing I'm going to feel is the thighs of the next woman I bed down with. And then the next woman after that, and after that.”

Hazel stared at him, frustration lining her handsome face. She shoved her whiskey back to the bartender and slid from the stool. “I've never had to admit defeat before, son, but you're buckin' me off good this time. I can't force you to see when you're pigheaded stubborn about being blind.”

She walked to the door and took one last look back at him.

“You got a lot going for you, Bruce Everett. Don't screw it all up out of fear. We all get hurt.” With that, she left the saloon, and minutes later sped away in her cinnamon-and-black Fleetwood.

 

Lyndie didn't see Bruce again for two days. She and the rest of the dude ranch guests were well into the hills heading toward Lookout Mountain when they saw him on the trail coming toward them. He'd led the horse-packers that were to go ahead and set up camp. Then he'd headed back ready to lead them to camp. When the two parties met, there were hoots and hollers. Justin took a ribbing from the other cowboys when Bruce picked him to head the pack train, instead.

Bruce took the lead of their party. With hardly a nod to Lyndie, he headed them out toward the Divide and the jagged peak of Lookout Mountain.

Stunned that after all they'd been through he was now dealing her the cold shoulder, she tried and
tried to make conversation with him, but there was no engaging him.

After lunch Susan took the second place in the line, and Lyndie volunteered to go to the rear.

He seemed to reanimate then. He and Susan shared a laugh when a jackrabbit shot out from the chaparral scrub and scurried away like a shot.

Behind them, Lyndie watched in misery. Her arm ached. In fact, her body was sore, but nothing matched the pain inside when she realized how far she had fallen for Bruce, and how cold he was being to her now.

They arrived at the Lookout campsite well before dusk. From the ridge, the entire Rockies seemed to lay out before them, snowtops beckoning like ice cream in summer.

The wind cut right through Lyndie. They were camping above the tree line, and though it was June in Mystery Valley, up high in the mountains it was subarctic summer.

A few flakes of snow began to fall when the chuck wagon was set up and the steaks were set to sizzling on the grill. Lyndie's tent already had a shimmering dust of white on the chartreuse nylon. All it needed was a red wreath, she thought, and it would feel like Christmas.

Dinner was quiet. The cowhands kept to themselves. She didn't even see Bruce. Roger and Annette retired to their tent early, claiming fatigue.
Only Susan and Kim stayed by the campfire with Justin, drinking a bottle of red wine. Their laughter grated on her.

Lyndie stood and said good-night. In her tent was a paperback thriller by her favorite author, Robert Ruthven. She figured that and a flashlight was better company than the resounding playfulness of the campfire group.

Walking to her tent, she spied the silhouette of a cowboy high on the face of the mountain. He was sitting by his own tent and campfire, moodily staring into the flames.

Bruce.

She studied him for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. There was a lot she wanted to say—but could she get out the right words?

Slowly, she climbed the basalt incline.

He looked up and watched her approach.

“I-I'm leaving tomorrow,” she panted, out of breath from the exertion. “I just wanted to tell you.”

Not moving, he stared at her from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

“You got my butt out of a pretty bad situation that I stupidly got into. I'll remember you. In many ways—” Her voice clogged with unexpected tears.

“Sit down,” he commanded.

She did as she was told, facing him from the other side of the campfire.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Shrugging, she watched him cook a chunk of steak on the end of a stick. When it was almost black, he leaned over to hand it to her.

She took the stick but it was heavier than it looked. Her arm was too sore to lift it, and it fell in the fire.

“I ruined it!” she lamented.

“There's more. Tomorrow the coyotes will thank you.” He watched her. “Your arm still sore, huh?”

She nodded.

“Won't do you much good with luggage, I expect.”

“That's what porters are for. I've been a single woman traveling alone enough to know to carry lots of small bills.” She smiled, desperate that their last moments not be ones of reproof.

“Make sure somebody lets me know how the session ended.” She rubbed her aching hand. “I'll be thinking about you all. Wondering how things turned out.”

“Everything will be jim-dandy. Don't worry.”

“Oh, believe me, I'm not worrying.” She released a tremulous smile. His chilled tone cut into her more deeply than she wanted to admit. “I know better than anyone else how capable you are.”

She rambled, hoping mindless talk might take away some of the hurt. “I guess I just want to know if Roger and Annette really buy a pair of horses of their own as they said they want to. I want to know
if Justin and Kim keep seeing each other after she goes back to L.A. Susan, I guess, too—” she fought to continue “—I want to know what happens to her. She's a great gal.”

“Yes.”

He'd uttered one little word and suddenly she felt alone and unwanted. Not letting him see her tears, she stood and held out her hand.

“Goodbye, if I don't see you tomorrow.”

He stood. In the flickering firelight, his face was shadowed, his expression unreadable.

“We're not ending this way,” he rasped. “Not with a handshake, that's for sure.”

“Then, what way?” she asked, desperate to leave so he wouldn't see her cry.

“This way.”

He took her by the hand and led her to his tent.

Standing at the flap, he placed both hands on her face and gave her a long, sensual kiss. She moaned, wanting more, but afraid to fan the flames again, afraid of the pain and loneliness of tomorrow.

“This doesn't make it easy to say goodbye,” she almost sobbed when he broke from her.

“Don't think about the goodbye, then.”

He pulled her to her knees and followed her into the tent.

Outside the fire crackled and drew shadows along the orange nylon of the tent. Inside, he covered her
with his body and drew his tongue along the sensitive hollow of her neck.

“I can't stay here,” she begged, as he brushed away her tears and kissed the trails they'd left on her cheeks.

“It's cold up here. Stay and be warm.”

She watched him strip out of his polar fleece jacket and jeans.

She knew if she stayed there, her heart would pay the price. But snuggled in the soft warmth of his down sleeping bag, the last place she wanted to be was outside or alone in her tent.

He leaned over her, his hard naked body reacting like a coiled spring ready for the release of lovemaking.

With silent questions, his hands went to her clothing. She gave silent answers as he tugged it off, piece by piece. Only once did she wince, when her arm had to be raised to slip off her shirt. He tossed the shirt aside, then kissed her arm, languorously tonguing each fingerprint bruise he'd made as he'd pulled her to safety.

“Is this wrong?” she asked when he covered them both with his sleeping bag.

He never answered her; he didn't need to.

Instead his tongue explored her mouth, then lower until he tasted her, licking her as if she was filled with honey. A long, sweet feeling of ecstasy gripped
her until she had her hands wrapped around his head, begging him for more.

He lifted to kiss her mouth, mingling their essences to make only one—one that was uniquely theirs.

Hot and aroused, his shaft was like a brand against her belly, teasing her, forcing her to want more and more, until she was lost to him, she feared, forever.

The loveplay began in earnest when he coerced her to straddle him and allow his hands to cup her full breasts. He filled her to gasping, and he groaned his encouragement to ride him as fast and furious as a mustang.

Their pleasure came sharply, unexpectedly. First hers, in a slow, showering melt that weakened her and made her fall against his chest. Then his, in a sharp spasm, his hands gripping her hips as if to pull himself inside her and never let go.

Eventually, she felt his muscles relax between her tender thighs. The afterglow settled like snowflakes, until, insatiable, he reached for her half in slumber. He whispered love words. She moaned her approval. Without allowing the world to intrude, they began the dance all over again.

“I
'm in love with him.” Lyndie gave Hazel the grim news as Hazel drove her to the airport.

“I'm in love with him, and for what? For nothing,” Lyndie recounted bitterly as the miles dropped behind the Caddy.

“Lyndie dear, I've always told my gals that you've got to have a backbone and not a wishbone.” Hazel studied her, then looked back at the road. “But in your case, gal, I'll take the wishbone. A leap of faith might do you good.”

Lyndie shrank back in the seat and rubbed her aching arm. “He didn't even say goodbye. We broke camp and I never saw him again.”

“He didn't want you to go. He was probably sore about it.”

Rolling her eyes, Lyndie watched the deep summer green that rode the valley. Her retort was irrefutable. “We're no match, Hazel. I'm a businesswoman, he's a cowboy. At one point he even suggested I run Milady up in Mystery. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”

“In my time, I've heard better than that. And what's so impossible about living up here?” The cattle baroness frowned.

“It's wonderful here. But all I've got in my entire life is that business, and I'm not going to risk it any more than I already have, just to hang around town and moon after a cowboy who has his pick of women in Mystery—now that he's decided to get back in the saddle.” Lyndie shook her head.

Hazel snorted. “I told you—a good man, a good snowstorm and a good bottle of wine is all you kids need—”

“We tried that last night. Trust me. And he didn't even have the grace to say goodbye.” Lyndie adjusted her seat and swallowed the unshed tears in her throat. “I'm leaving, Hazel. It was a lovely experiment, but now it's over and I pronounce it a complete failure.”

Hazel didn't seem to know what to say. She was silent for the rest of the ride to the airport. When she hugged Lyndie at the gate, she said, “Have
more wishbone, darling. Sometimes life hands you cowboys when you want businessmen. That's just how it is.”

Lyndie grabbed her carry-on and gave her great-aunt a sad smile. “I don't want either. I just want to pay you back, and get on with my life at Milady.” She kissed her, then walked onto the plane.

 

The plane ride back to New Orleans had been the longest trip Lyndie had ever taken. Crying in public was certainly not her thing, so she wiped her tears in every rest room, and with every transfer, she hardened her heart.

It was better this way, she'd told herself then—and now, almost a month later. She had no business even thinking of a life with Bruce Everett. They'd proven to be oil and water. She still laughed at the idea of her living in a two-room cabin in the back of Mystery Dude Ranch.

Unfortunately, that was how love was. For every cold chuckle she got from thinking of living in penury in Mystery, she felt a deep bitter longing that all the mansions in the world couldn't fill. And even if she was willing to live in a small cabin with Bruce, the final death knell of their relationship had been when he didn't even say goodbye. He didn't love her. Men who loved ran after their girl at train stations. She'd seen it in the movies.

Well, he knew good and well where the Mystery Valley Airport was. And he hadn't showed up.

So that was that, she told herself, nibbling crackers at her desk in the back of the French Quarter shop, mulling over finances. Again.

She swore the pressure of paying Hazel back wasn't giving her headaches, it was making her positively nauseated.

When the phone rang, she almost jumped, she was so deep into her thoughts.

“All for Milady,” she said perfunctorily.

“Darling? Is that my best grand-niece? You sure sound tuckered out!”

Lyndie smiled at Hazel's familiar voice. “Hazel! How goes it in Mystery? I've got a check for you. Half the loan. I'm about to overnight it this instant.”

“A check?”

“You know darn well what that check's for—your MDR Corporation.”

“Oh, that.” Hazel acted as if she was trying to remember a two-dollar debt. “Well, don't bother yourself right now with that. I called to tell you that I want you to come up for the weekend. Just for us gals. The trees are changing color—you've never seen Mystery so beautiful.”

Lyndie smiled into the receiver. “You know I wish I could, but I've got to get this loan paid off—and to tell you the truth, there's a certain man I don't want to see right now. I just couldn't take it.”

“He's been such a nasty ill-tempered hermit in this valley, some woman either needs to shoot him or marry him.”

“He's had plenty of chances,” Lyndie replied, her heart twisting.

“The man had never quite grieved. When he rescued you, it took the choke-hold of guilt from him, and he was lost, not knowing where to go.”

“I'll tell him where to go,” Lyndie offered.

Hazel chuckled. “There are enough riled-up fillies here to do that, darling. But what I was saying is that he went back to his hibernating old ways as if to find himself. I was hoping—”

“I don't want to get involved. Sorry, Hazel. I love you dearly, but my heart and my body can only take so much before they're all scarred over and untouchable.”

“Just for a quick weekend. We can do a little business—straighten out that loan—”

“Half's coming to you overnight.”

“No! Darling, you're the most pigheaded McCallum I've ever known. Land sakes, you're worse than me! It's going to take a strong hand to tame you. Now listen, you can bring the payment up here if you like—”

Lyndie couldn't hide her sigh. “I can't, Hazel. Truly. If it was just the money, I might, but in truth, I haven't been feeling so well this week. I just couldn't fly right now.”

“Oh.” Hazel seemed undone, as if this was something she hadn't planned on.

“So, how 'bout I send that check?” Lyndie wanted to get back to the subject of business about which she was comfortable, and leave the subject of Bruce Everett far away.

“Don't send anything. I may just have to come down there for a visit, instead. Love you, darling. I'll call you when I know my plans.”

Hazel's quick goodbye was puzzling, but Lyndie couldn't ponder it because the phone on her desk rang again.

She picked up the receiver.

“Hi, Dr. Feldman. This is Lyndie.”

Lyndie's pleasant greet-the-public smile slowly died on her face. The sting in her eyes could only mean the onset of tears.

“Well, thanks for c-calling—” she stammered. “I-I'm sure after the disbelief wears off I'll be thrilled.”

She placed the phone back on the receiver. Shocked, she found herself staring out from her office into the shop. Through the half-open door, her image stared back in the shop mirror, and with a hurt that was like a knife through her heart, she realized how the frilly lingerie that surrounded her was all wrong for the moment—or cruelly right. She didn't need black lace garters and pink padded bras.
No, mothers-to-be needed nursery rhymes and cashmere booties.

The realization hit like a hurricane, devastating her, laying her emotionally flat. She was going to have a baby. There was no doubt. And also of no doubt, it was Bruce's baby.

The thought sent hot tears streaming down her face with no end to their supply. Now, no matter how painful, no matter how she prayed for closure, Bruce Everett was destined never to be gone from her life. Unlike Mitch who she'd been able to excise with an accountant and a lawyer, Bruce and her love for him was to remain, in the face of her baby, forever.

Lyndie put her face in her hands and sobbed. The call from the doctor had utterly broadsided her. She figured she had a flu or a gastrointestinal infection, but her nausea was from morning sickness.

She was pregnant.

Slowly, she dropped her head on the pile of papers on her desk. She recalled time and time again how they'd made love with no protection. Now, she was paying the consequences for her impetuousness. She'd never pictured herself a single mother, but that was what she was going to be if Bruce chose not to participate in the rearing of their child.

The next step was to go to Montana. She would have to see him. Even she wasn't so cold as to tell him over the phone.

But she didn't know how she could bear seeing him. Weeks had passed since she'd seen or heard from him. He might have a steady girlfriend by now—someone who was the salt of the earth, a real Montana cowgirl who was perfect for him.

Now Lyndie and her news was going to throw a wrench in his life. But she would have to prepare herself for all the terrible possibilities, even though all of them bit into her heart hard.

“Honey, you okay?” asked Vera, her shopkeeper, when she came to the back to look for stock.

Lyndie raised her head. She wiped her tear-soaked cheeks. She didn't know how she was going to manage, but she knew she wanted this baby, wanted it like she wanted the father, and if she only got one of them, she was going to cherish him or her as no other.

“I'm fine, Vera. Fine. But look, I just found out I've got to go out of town. Do you think you can manage the shop while I'm gone?” She sniffed and patted her red eyes dry.

“I've been doing it fine for years. I'll manage. Maybe you need another vacation, huh?” Vera studied her, obviously not buying her story at all. “That last one took more out of you than it put back from the way you looked coming off that plane.”

Lyndie stood at the door and took a good long look at her shop.

Several customers were inspecting the rows of
silk bras that had just come in for autumn in rich spice colors. A peignoir of palest ivory hung in the window, its sheer silk chiffon something that would add confection to a woman, not coverage.

“Can you get the peignoir out of the window for me, Vera. I'm going to take it with me. Put the flannels there, instead—you know, the black ones with the pink poodles. That'll be fun for a fall display.”

“Sure. Right away.” Vera gave her a strange look.

Lyndie had never taken anything from the shop but what was serviceable, but things were different now.
She
was different now. She was going to be a mother and she had the fight of her life yet to come. Her broken heart aside, she had to tell Bruce the aching truth. The rest would just be holding her breath. If they could work things out, she would be forever grateful. But if not, well, she would go down fighting—for herself, her baby and for the man she loved.

So, she was heading back to Montana.