Cowboy Tough (18 page)

Cat watched the old folks go, feeling utterly abandoned. They thought they were doing her a favor, matching her up with Mack. But after the way he'd betrayed her, she didn't even want to talk to him.

“Viv did fine,” she said, and turned to go.

He put a hand on her shoulder and she stopped, trying to decide if she should shrug it off or spin and smack him. Unfortunately, her indecision allowed the warmth of his hand to seep into her skin, and she felt her heart soften in spite of herself.

“Viv's not the one I wanted to talk to you about,” he said.

She turned. “Oh. You're going to tell me about your day with Dora?”

He nodded.

“I'm surprised she hasn't sworn you to secrecy.”

“I wouldn't agree to that.”

“Well, you agreed to everything else. You told her she could skip out on the workshop and mess around with horses all day. Thanks a lot, Mack. I told you she's what matters most to me. I wanted to spend the day with her. You knew that.”

She shot him a glare that should have frozen him on the spot—although it was a challenge to freeze something as stunningly, ridiculously hot as this cowboy. He'd come straight over from the barn, and his chambray shirt was rumpled and flecked with hay. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, displaying ropy, muscular forearms, and a streak of dirt marred the faint stubble on his jaw.

Maybe he was right. Maybe things were too fancy in Chicago. Because she'd never seen a man so simply and viscerally masculine back East.

She shook her head. They were supposed to be talking about Dora. Maybe it wasn't all his fault they'd gotten sidetracked last night. She felt her anger easing and made one final effort to stoke up the heat.

“I'm trying to help her, and painting is my way in. It's the one thing we have in common. And you took that away.”

“I didn't take it away. Dora didn't want to do it.”

“She doesn't want to get up in the morning, either. She doesn't want to make nice with the other students. But she does it because she has to. She would have participated in the workshop, too.”

“So you want to force her to? I thought you wanted her to be happy. And I can tell you, she was happier today than I've ever seen her.”

She scraped the toe of her boot in the dirt, as if drawing a line he couldn't cross. “You knew what the girls were going to do. You
knew.
”

She blinked fast.
Do
not
cry. Do not cry.

“But you didn't tell me. You forgot all about it and let me be ambushed the next day. Meanwhile, you…” Her tongue felt thick and clumsy, her throat tight. “You helped yourself.”

***

Mack figured he'd better start talking before Cat defined what they'd done last night in terms he didn't want to hear.

“I really did forget,” he said. “I wasn't playing you.” His tongue seemed to have grown and his throat was tight. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't get the words out. “I couldn't help myself.”

Lame. Just lame.

She apparently thought so too, because she rolled her eyes. “Well, you obviously could help yourself to me.”

He looked down at the toes of his boots and scuffed at the dirt. “That seems to come naturally.”

Her frown tightened, and he waited for the storm to start. He had no excuse, and she was about to tear into him. This was the way every relationship he had ended.

The worst part of it was, he couldn't defend himself—because she was right. What he'd done had been wrong on so many levels he couldn't even count them.

“Look.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the corner of the bunkhouse. “I'm sorry.”

Her lips twitched again. “You apologized last night, too.”

“You think I apologized to get you into bed?”

She glanced right and left and he realized he'd spoken pretty loudly. Fortunately, nobody reacted. Although Abby and Em weren't far away, they were studiously keeping their eyes on each other. Probably pretending they couldn't hear so they could gather some juicy scuttlebutt.

“I meant what I said last night. I wasn't trying to manipulate you.”

She stared at him for a moment and he braced himself for a tongue-lashing. But to his surprise, she let out a laugh—a bubbling, overflowing, can't-help-it kind of laugh.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “It seems like our entire relationship has consisted of you apologizing to me. It's endless. You beat up my client. You seduce me in front of my niece. You give her permission to do exactly what I don't want her to do.” The laugh trilled out again, floating through the night air, and several of the guests turned to look at them. “We alternate between having sex and apologizing.”

He knew he shouldn't laugh with her. He shouldn't even smile. But he couldn't help it.

“Believe it or not, I'm actually trying to impress you,” he said.

That made her laugh harder, in little bursts. She was holding her stomach. “That's what makes it so funny.”

He tried to look insulted while she finished her fit of giggles, but it was tough not to join in. Finally, she got a grip on herself and looked up at him with shining eyes, her lips still quirked up at the corners.

Dang, she was gorgeous.

“I might have done something right today,” he said cautiously.

That started the giggles again.

“No, seriously.”

“Okay.” She put one hand to her chest and sucked in a deep breath. “Look, you're a good person. You don't do anything out of meanness, and you don't lie. You protect the people you love. It's not that what you do isn't right. It's just—different. Different from anyone I know.”

“Different from Ames Whitaker?”

“Very different.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“I don't know.” She giggled again. “Ask Trevor.”

Now she had him laughing.

The storm of laughter finally cleared, leaving them both flushed and a little breathless.

“So what did you do right?” she asked.

“I got Dora talking,” he said. “She told me some stuff that might help you figure out what's going on with her.”

Cat glanced at the two older women, who were tilting toward them in their efforts to eavesdrop. She was surprised they hadn't used her laughter as an excuse to join them. Letting that goal trump their curiosity showed how determined they were to make the match.

But they wouldn't be able to resist much longer. She needed to remove temptation. She'd just consider it helping them through their recovery from terminal busybody-itis.

Grabbing Mack's arm, she towed him around the corner of the bunkhouse. He took full advantage of the move, maneuvering her against the wall so she was standing closer to him. That brought the scowl back.

“I just want to make sure we have privacy,” she said. “I don't want to spread Dora's issues all over.”

“I want to make sure we have privacy too.” He looked down at her and thought about stealing that kiss again.

“Stop. This isn't some game.” She shoved him away and he grudgingly took a step back.

“Okay. You're right.” He probably shouldn't be teasing her. It was insensitive, considering how worried she was about her niece. But with her standing so close, it was hard to remember what he'd planned to talk to her about. All he could think to say was something like “please can we go back to bed,” or “I want to rip that oversized shirt right off your tasty little body.”

“Dora.” He closed his eyes a second, wiping out the image of Cat naked in his bed and reorienting himself to the topic at hand. “She's angry with you, but mostly it's about her mother dying.”

“Okay.” She looked less than impressed.

“And…”

He suddenly realized how hard it was going to be to tell her what Dora had said. He'd been so glad to get to the bottom of the matter that he hadn't considered her feelings—just Dora's. Now he'd trapped himself into saying something that was bound to hurt her.

There was no way of putting it delicately. He was just going to have to spit it out.

“She resents you because she doesn't think it's fair,” he said.

Cat wasn't going to let him off easy. “She doesn't think what's fair?”

“She doesn't think it's fair that her mother died. She thinks it should have been you.”

Cat stared at Mack for a moment, absorbing his words, repeating them in her mind, wringing them of all the meaning she could.

She
thinks
it
should
have
been
you.

There was no surprise there. Nothing she didn't already know. Putting it into words made it sound stark and hurtful, but she'd sensed it long ago.

“Of course she does.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes I feel the same way.”

He blinked. “What?”

“It's just such lousy luck. Why did Edie have to get sick? Why couldn't it be someone who didn't have a child? It's natural for Dora to feel that way.”

“I—I thought you'd be hurt.”

She shook her head. “Not hurt. Just sad. She's lost so much.” She scraped a line in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “So, that's all you've got?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “It took a lot to get that out of her, too. She kept saying she was fine, fine, fine. Typical female.”

“Well, I guess that makes me atypical,” she said. “Because I am most definitely not
fine.
” She shoved off the wall, forcing him to either step back or let her slam into him.

He stepped back.

“I'm sorry.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “It's just that I know she hates me. I know she wishes I'd been the one to die instead of her mother. But that's a normal reaction to grief.” She sighed. “I appreciate you trying, but there's something more there. She's flunking out of school. She'll barely speak to her father, or me. She's moody and sullen and we don't know what's going on in her head.”

“She's a teenage girl. That's kind of normal.”

“Not to this level it isn't.”

“Well, if it's any help, she wasn't moody or sullen today. She was cheerful and helpful. She seemed happy most of the time, which is why I didn't bring up her mom until the last hour or so. Pushing her to talk doesn't get you anywhere. I hoped she'd bring it up, but she didn't. And when I brought it up, that's all she said.”

“But she was happy?”

“With the horses, yeah. She enjoys that. And frankly, I think she was trying to shock me with that comment about you. Shock me, or hurt you. She must have known I'd tell you.”

“Well, at least she was happy for a day. I've been worried her face would freeze in a permanent frown.” Cat relaxed her own face, as if she was worried the same thing might happen to her. She gave Mack a tentative, heartbreaking half smile as she walked away. “I guess I should thank you for that. But we still haven't gotten to the root of the problem.”

“Go find her,” he said. “Talk to her. She's in a good mood for a change.”

***

Cat found Dora in the kitchen, mustering up a snack for herself and Viv, dumping tortilla chips into a plastic bowl.

“Isn't that stuff for the dance tonight?”

“Aren't you supposed to be with your clients?” Dora scowled. “Quit telling me what to do.”

Cat had hoped to start a casual conversation, but there was no hope of that. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned against the counter.

“Come on, Dora. I'm not that bad. I brought you here because I thought you'd enjoy it. And you did enjoy it today, didn't you?”

“Yes, because I didn't have to do what you want.”

“That's not what it's about.”

“No?” Dora pitched her voice into a squeaky, nasal whine as she pulled a plastic tub of salsa from the refrigerator. “
You
have
to
paint. You have to use your talent. You have to fulfill your amazing potential
.”

Cat decided to ignore the mockery and go for the heart of the message. “But I'm encouraging you, not telling you what to do. I'm sorry if it doesn't come across that way.” She met Dora's eyes and tried to ignore the anger, resentment, and pure wrongheaded stubbornness she saw there. “I love you, hon. I just want what's best for you.”

“You want me to be like you.”

“No, I don't. I want you to be better than me.” She cracked a crooked smile. “It shouldn't be too hard.”

Dora wrenched open the salsa and the container tipped sideways, spilling a bright red streak on the counter. “I don't want to be anything like you.”

Cat knew her niece was just spewing the anger that had built up from her mother's death. Maybe it was cathartic for her. Maybe she could empty all her misery and sorrow onto Cat and feel better. Cat was willing to take it, but it wasn't easy.

“Dora, I know you miss your mom,” she said. “Trust me, I miss her too. And I'd have taken her place if I could. I know you need her, and I know I'm a poor replacement. But I'm trying.”

“You always
try
,” Dora spat. “You always do the right thing. Every day. All the time. My mom and I used to make fun of you, you know that?” She grabbed the end of a roll of paper towels and tugged, spinning a too-long ribbon off the roll. Snapping it sideways, she tried to tear it but only succeeded in unrolling more.

“Mom used to say you were all work and no play. She said you didn't know how to live.” She bunched the towels in one hand and tore them off with the other. “And then she was the one who died.”

Cat reached for the wad of paper towels, wanting to help, but Dora snatched them away.

“You would have been a good little cancer patient. You would have had all the treatments—the ones she wouldn't do.” Dora was crying now as she scrubbed furiously at the streak of salsa. “You wouldn't have cared if they hurt, or if they made you ugly.”

“That was your mother's choice. They couldn't fix her, you know.” Cat put her hands on Dora's shoulders, trying to stop the frantic scrubbing, but the girl shrugged her off. “It only would have given her a few months.”

“I know. Her choice. She could have lived longer, but she was worried about being
ugly
.” Dora slammed the wad of paper towels into the sink and covered her eyes. “She didn't want to live. But she had me! Why would she…”

She caught an escaping sob, sealing her lips shut and wiping away the tears. But when Cat put her arms around her, she let out a strangled cry and collapsed into sobs so visceral they were frightening. These weren't the dignified tears of a mourner at a funeral; these were the chest-heaving, shoulder-shaking tears of grief, raw and painful and heartbreakingly deep.

The heaves turned to shudders, the shudders to an occasional shiver. Cat let Dora collect herself, handing her a paper towel and stifling the urge to hand out platitudes.

Dora wiped her eyes and blew her nose noisily. “Never mind. It's stupid. It doesn't matter now anyway.”

“Of course it matters, hon,” Cat said. “Your mom loved you. She didn't want you to have to see her that way.”

“Right.” Dora pressed her lips together, refusing to succumb to tears again. “Because it wouldn't have been pretty.” She turned to face Cat, her face pale with anger. “So I don't want to be an artist, okay? I don't want to make life all pretty and perfect.” She grabbed the bowl, forgetting the salsa as she stormed out of the room. “There's nothing wrong with life being ugly and real. That's the way I want it.”

***

Mack was halfway through stringing the chili pepper light strings when a battered VW bus pulled up to the barn. Six men dressed head-to-toe in black stepped out and opened the back door. As they busied themselves hauling out large black cases, he saw the letters SWAT stencilled on the back of their shirts.

What the hell had Trevor told the cops?

“Can I help you?”

The biggest man set a case on the ground and turned. “We're the SWAT team.”

Mack would have been alarmed, but the case was shaped suspiciously like a stand-up bass. Another man was unloading what appeared to be a guitar.

“And SWAT stands for…”

“Swing with a Twist,” a smaller man said. He held a violin case, while his companions were pulling out various amplifiers and instruments. It looked like enough equipment to supply a philharmonic orchestra. “Little bit of big band, whole lot of country.”

“Sounds great.” Mack pitched in and helped them carry their supplies to a raised concrete foundation just beyond the bunkhouses. It had once been a small stable, but tonight it would serve as a stage.

The musicians and their helpers were soon hard at work, swarming over the makeshift stage and snaking orange electrical cords across the yard. Mack felt more in the way than anything, so he returned to his chores. The various artists were scattered around the grounds, absorbed in their paintings of various rustic buildings, fence posts, and views.

Musicians. Artists. Mack longed for the good old days, when all he had to deal with was cattle.

But the artists and musicians were the least of his problems. Gradually, the pasture by the barn began to fill with pickups and SUVs as neighbors arrived to join the festivities. He saw the Humboldts' big Ford diesel pull in, and he ducked into the barn. The longer he could put off this encounter the better.

He knew he should be playing host, but somehow the idea of talking to people seemed like torture.

Unless it was Cat. He missed her. And he'd probably keep on missing her while he watched her make nice with the neighbors and dance to the SWAT team. Because he couldn't go out there.

Not with Emily Humboldt on the premises. His relationship with Emily had been just like his relationship with Cat, but without the sex. One apology after another. And then he'd announced he was going pro on the rodeo circuit, without a clue that she was expecting a different kind of announcement.

He'd made the announcement at a graduation party, with the whole town present. He'd enumerated all the stops along the way, enthusiastically tracing out a road to the National Finals Rodeo that would take him all over the West, sometimes to more than one rodeo a day.

He'd thought she'd be happy for him. She was from a rodeo family, after all. He'd trained at her father's arena, and she'd cheered him on. But apparently, she'd expected things to stay that way, with only one real difference: she'd still be cheering him on, he'd still be hanging at her father's ranch, but she'd have a diamond on her finger.

Since then, he'd ridden in every arena in the West except the Humboldts'. He'd managed to steer clear of them even when he'd come home to visit. So his memory of Emily was still that shocked, sad face that had greeted his announcement.

It would have been easier if she'd been angry. He still felt bad about hurting her, but he hadn't wanted his life to end here on the ranch.

A half hour later he ran out of the busywork that let him stay in the barn. He'd reorganized the tack room, swept out the alleyway, and was straightening tools in the shop when a voice piped up behind him.

“Hi, Mack.”

He turned to see Emily framed in the doorway, just as Cat had been a couple days ago. Her silhouette was sleek and neat, her shiny dark blonde hair spilling out from under a neatly creased Resistol, her jeans cupping her hips like a second skin.

“Long time no see.” She stepped into the barn and sat down on a stack of hay bales by the door. “You look good.”

She smiled, and to his surprise, he found himself smiling back. She was feminine in a big-boned, busty way, with high Scandinavian cheekbones and a generous mouth. He knew she still barrel raced at her dad's arena now and then, and the sport had given her the sinewy muscles of a born horsewoman.

“You do too.” He was surprised to find he meant it.

She leaned back against the wall, a half smile tilting her lips, and considered him with an up-and-down appraisal. If a man looked at a woman that way, he'd be out of line. But it wasn't a sexual stare; it seemed more as if she was trying to figure out who he'd become in all the years since they'd seen each other.

“So are you done with rodeo?” she asked.

It was the question he'd dreaded. He'd been certain she would have settled down with someone by now and had a passel of kids. It was what she'd always wanted, but his mother said she'd stayed single all this time.

Surely she hadn't been waiting for him.

“I guess I am for a while,” he said, treading carefully. “I need to stay here until we get the dude ranch going. Help out.”

“That's good. I mean, for your mom.” She cocked her head and watched him with narrowed eyes, like a snake watching a bird. He shuffled his feet, feeling as if they were suddenly three sizes too big. Clearing his throat, he struggled to think of something to say.

“I heard your marriage didn't work out,” she said. “I'm so sorry.”

He nodded, wondering where this conversation was going.

“I met your daughter, though. She's a beauty.”

“Yeah.” At least they could agree on one thing.

Silence settled over them, thick and awkward. He looked down at his feet, scraping a line in the dust, and then turned his attention back to the tools, fooling with a shovel and a posthole digger. He glanced at Emily, then quickly glanced away.

She laughed, her face relaxing into a wide, honest grin. “Don't worry, Mack. I'm not here to drag you off to a life of dinner parties and diaper-changing.”

“Good. I mean…” He put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, then hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. How could he make it clear to Emily that she still wasn't what he wanted—without being hopelessly rude? “Dinner parties aren't really my thing.”

“I know.” She stood, and he envied her ease and good humor. Emily had always been comfortable in her own skin. He didn't know why he hadn't stuck with her. Nor did he know why she didn't do anything for him now. She just wasn't his type.