One Brave Cowboy (15 page)

“Oh, Cougar, this is wonderful.”

Music to his ears.

“There'll be a full bench around the edge.” He drew a picture in the air. “For tonight we'll use chairs. I picked some sage and got some marshmallows.” He caught her looking at him as though he'd really done something, and a wave of diffidence washed over him. “Marshmallows first, then sage. You don't want to mix the two.”

Fortunately, he wasn't capable of blushing.

“This is beautiful, Cougar.” She took a quarter turn around the structure, touched one of the posts that would become part of his benches, and sought his gaze across the corner of his creation. “I hope this isn't taking you away from Flyboy too much. I mean, this is amazing, but I thought the time in the competition was getting short.”

“Well, it is. I worked him some this morning.” He signaled the boy, who had checked out the fire pit, probably noticed the sand at the bottom and wondered how he was supposed to play in that little thing. “Mark and I are gonna get back to it right now if you wouldn't mind throwing some chow together.”

Celia smiled. “No ifs, ands or buts about letting me cook for you?”

“None.”

“I love it, Cougar. I love…”

He hung on the word.
Tell me, Celia. I know it's too soon, but say it anyway.

“…everything you've done here,” she said, disappointing him a little, but she walked back to him and hung her arms around his neck.

And his heart soared. “Everything?”

“Every blessed thing.”

“Show me.” His lips twitched. “Plant one on me, woman.”

Her kiss was slow, soft and sweet. There was sure as hell more to it than a simple
Good job, Cougar.

She leaned back and smiled, all dreamy-eyed. “I'd cook you a royal feast if I knew what went into one.”

“Home-cooked meat and potatoes.” He kissed her back, but he wasn't matching her on the slow, soft and sweet. Quick and hard said it better. He stepped back and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “It doesn't get any better than meat and potatoes.”

“Home-cooked.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Thank you. I don't know what else to say.”

“You'll think of something. You're good with words.” He signaled Mark. “C'mon, partner. Let's go fly our pony, boy.”

 

It was a quiet supper. Cougar had given his big gesture some more thought, and he was feeling a
little silly. There it was again. He didn't much like the word, but he liked the feeling even less. He'd gone overboard. He probably looked like one of those cartoon characters with the googlie eyes and throbbing lump in his chest. He could only wish he was a tin man right about now.

Especially since something was bothering Celia, and her skill with words wasn't serving her. Which would have been strictly her business if Cougar hadn't been pretty damn sure her business had a lot to do with him. Not that he was so damned important—she had a kid, for God's sake—but he was a lost soul trying to find himself in her backyard. Pretty bad for a man to give the woman he loved that kind of business.

She asked him about his horse therapy with the VA, and he probably wasn't any more forthcoming than she was, but he wasn't eager to talk about his time in the hospital. He was trying to move on. Plus, he was pretty sure Mark was really listening, and he didn't want the boy to start thinking of Flyboy as some kind of tool or Cougar as another so-called specialist with a theory. They were just three slightly dislocated males who spoke the same language.

“So all we'll need is a few sticks,” he ended up telling her when neither of them could come up with anything the other was looking to hear. “Soak 'em good so they don't burn. There's one puddle left out there we can use.”

“I'll do the dishes while you—”

“I'll help you first,” he said. “We've got plenty of time.”

They cleared the table and did the dishes—she washed and he dried—while Mark played outside. The sun had set, and magic light held its fleeting sway—bright enough to see by, soft enough to smudge all the sharp edges.

Celia leaned closer to the window. “What's he doing?”

“Cutting sticks.”

“With what?” She turned to him, horrified. “You gave him a knife?”

“I let him use my pocket knife to cut some twine off a square bale. Forgot to get it back.”

“Cougar!”

“You see him, Celia. I showed him how to use the knife. You see this?” He showed her the tiny cut on the pad of his thumb. “I gave some skin to show him what happens.” He turned his hand to take a look for himself, just to make sure the evidence was still there. A traditional Indian sacrifice—a bit of skin, a drop of blood. It made sense. Give a little, maybe you won't be shedding a lot.

He nodded toward the window. “There's still plenty of light out. He can see what he's doing. He
knows
what he's doing. Certain things a kid has to learn living out in the country like this.”

“Did you show him where to find sticks and what to…”

He shook his head as he dried the last of the plates. “No more than what you heard me say at the table.”

“What we both heard.” Tears welled in her eyes. “It's true, isn't it?”

“Oh, yeah.” He draped the towel over her hands and gently blotted them dry. “It's true.”

One of her little wells ranneth over. He caught the runoff with his wounded thumb, and then touched his tongue to it, thirsty for her joy.

“He has to spend this weekend with Greg,” she whispered.

He went still. “You haven't seen any sign of any kind of physical…”

She shook her head. “Except that he wants to stay with me. With
us.
He trusts you, Cougar. Maybe more than he does me right now. I'm the one who hands him over to his father.”

“You want me to do that for you?”

“No. That's my responsibility. I signed the damned agreement.” She drew his hand to her cheek and kissed his callused palm. “And you couldn't do it anyway. I know you better than you think I do.”

“I'd rather eat nails, but I could do that, too, if I had to.” He glanced out the window. The first evening star pierced twilight. Mark was arranging his sticks on the new deck. “Maybe I should take a cue from your ex-husband and do some stalking. Nobody stalks better than a Cougar.”

“You're a man of many talents,” she told him as
she pulled a package of marshmallows from the cupboard.

“Master of none.” He folded the dishtowel and laid it next to the sink. “Which doesn't matter. Let somebody else write the books. I ain't gonna run for office.”

 

The embers still glowed in the firepit. Curls of blue-gray smoke filled the air with the scent of wild sage. Mark slept in Cougar's arms. He hardly stirred when Cougar plucked a puff of sticky white stuff from the boy's upper lip, thinking someday he'll grow hair here. He'll kiss a girl. He'll say silly things. He'll laugh when she says silly things back to him. He'll kid her about having his eye on her, and she'll let him kiss her again.

Cougar licked the marshmallow off his finger. His satellite deck had been christened with fire. He'd pointed out ancient star-to-star sketches in the inky sky and told Indian legends about the way they'd formed. He knew different ones—Shoshoni, Lakota, Navaho—even a few Pashtun tales. He especially liked the one about shooting stars chasing devils.

One of his fellow warriors in Afghanistan— Ahmer, who was a translator and whose name meant
red
—had explained his traditional code of honor, which had a lot in common with some of the values Cougar's own grandfathers had taught him—hospitality, loyalty, community support, the role of shame, ways to settle scores. “Oh, so you would do it this
way,” one would say, and the other would listen, take exception where there was misunderstanding, and then maybe tell his side.

Ahmer had liked it all over when Cougar told him that red represented goodness and warmth and pleasure in his mother's Lakota tradition. It was the color of the sky at sunrise, and the red road was a good path. Ahmer said, yes, he was a red road kind of a guy. After all, the sun rose in the east. Ahmer's squad would be headed west tomorrow, he'd said. He would consider turning his face to the sun and marching backward, but since guys like Cougar came from the west, such a move would not be prudent.

The next day had been Ahmer's final tomorrow. The direction of the setting sun, where the symbolic color was black, had taken him to his death. Every time Cougar thought of the previous night's conversation, he saw red. He saw the red sky of the rising sun, and he felt its warmth. And then he saw a red explosion.

Go get 'em, shooting stars,
he'd cheered as he'd folded his hand around Mark's and combined their power in a skyward fist pump.
Chase those devils to the far corners of the universe.
For Ahmer, he'd added silently. For Ahmer's sons. For mine.

And Mark had made a joyful noise. It was small, and it came from deep in his throat, but it was joyful.

B
efore Greg arrived, Cougar and Celia had a quiet discussion safely out of Mark's range. Was it time to take a stand? And if it was, would she give him the place of honor—the badass post between good and ugly? The little smile she gave him was appreciative, but it said
stand down
.

And that had to be the hardest nail he'd ever been given to chew on.

He promised not to use force, but he refused to stay out of sight. Greg would take Cougar along for the weekend, if only in his twisted mind.

Mark knew exactly what was going down. He stood at the front window until the bread truck showed up, and then he disappeared. Celia found
him under his bed, but she could not reach him. On the verge of tears, she asked for Cougar's help. Bad assignment, but that was the kind he'd asked for.

“I'll go out and meet him,” she said. “I don't want him coming to the door.”

“C'mon, partner. We don't let our women go first. They follow us so they don't get…”
Shot.
“Well, they follow us. We're their shield. C'mon.” The little hand slipped into his. It felt cold. As soon as he had the boy out from under the bed, he rubbed the small hand between his two big ones and then slung the kid on his back.

He tried to lighten up the moment a little. The darker the moment, the better the time for Indian humor. “Get behind us, woman. Five paces.”

The fact that she complied told him she wasn't herself.

Banyon sat there in his bread truck, having himself a smoke. Right there Celia had good cause not to put her kid in the vehicle. He was doing it just to show her he could. Cougar had to work hard to keep the flashes of things
he
could do from taking control of his hands. He put them under the soles of Mark's tennis shoes like two stirrups to remind himself of his priority.
Support.

And then, suddenly, he heard a third voice.

“Cougar, don't.”

Words?
So quiet, so small.
But words.

Cougar paused and turned his head slightly until he could feel the boy's breath in his ear.

“Don't let him take me.”

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God.
Cougar reached across his own belly and patted the knobby little knee resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Does he have school next week?” Greg asked Celia as they approached the vehicle. He pretended not to notice Cougar walking in front of her. No surprise, he wasn't getting out of the van. He flicked his cigarette into Celia's driveway. “I'm supposed to have vacation time with him sometime this summer.”

“You didn't schedule it,” she said.

“I know. I wanna schedule it now.”

The velvet noose tightened around Cougar's neck.

Banyon finally looked up and gave him the stink eye. “I haven't bothered you about that incident we had, but you have an anger management problem, buddy, and I have a complaint on file with the authorities.”

“I'm not your buddy.”

“Yeah, well, I've checked you out. You've got a little shell-shock thing goin', right? A little brain damage?” Stink eye turned smirky. “That's right, Sergeant. The rumors are flyin'.” He leaned out the window just far enough to get a look at Celia.

Cougar imagined slamming his hand down on the back of Banyon's head and smashing his Adam's
apple on the window ledge. The only thing stopping him was Mark.

“Did you know that about your war hero, Cecilia? They cracked his melon.”

“Jesus,” Cougar growled.

“I know him,” Celia said. “And I know you, Greg. And this is not the time to discuss—”

“When?”
Greg barked. “When would be a good time? Because I've got a few more things I intend to discuss. Like the terms of the custody agreement. You've got this guy living here, and he's got a hair-trigger temper. I've seen it for myself. It's a matter of police record.”

“I won't let you do this, Greg.”

“Put my son down. He's coming with me.” He leaned sideways to take another shot at Celia. “And you'd better give a little more thought to signing those papers I brought you. You're about to hand me primary custody, and then maybe I won't need your signature.”

Cougar gently loosened the human collar around his neck. “I gotta put you down, partner.”

Mark buried his nose behind Cougar's ear. “Don't.”

“You gotta say it out loud, Mark. You gotta tell him yourself.”

“Cut the crap,” Banyon spat. “He can't hear you, thank God, and he can't talk. And I'm gonna see that we get paid for that. We'll be set for life. He'll have
nursing care, twenty-four seven. No worries. Right, son?”

“No,” Mark said.

“What?” Banyon's eyes widened. He could've been some kind of a bug under a microscope. He turned his damn bug eyes on Cougar. “What are you, a ventriloquist?”

Mark slipped his legs free and slid down Cougar's back. He stood steadily on his own two feet and repeated the word.

Bug eyes shifted to Celia. “How long has this been going on? They've got him talking, and you didn't say anything to me?”

“
They?
You mean the doctors?” Celia stepped forward and put her hands on the boy's shoulders. “Mark has himself talking for the first time. Not the first time
ever
—you don't even remember, do you, Greg—but the same first word. Clear as a bell.” She glanced over her shoulder. She had a smile for her man. “Clear as a bell,” she whispered.

“Can he hear, too?” Banyon looked down at the boy. “Can you hear me, Mark?”

“Staying here,” Mark said.

“No, you're not.” The Adam's apple Cougar had wanted to smash was bobbing up and down now like a happy frog. “I'm your father, and this is my weekend.”

“I'm taking him to see his doctor, Greg.” She took
a step back. Mark moved with her. “You call your lawyer.”

“You know what? I carry all my paperwork with me. I'll go to the cops. I'll show them the court order, and I'll be back with the law on my side.” With a flat hand he banged the buns painted on the side of the bread truck. “I'll take him to the doctor myself. I wanna know what's goin' on here.”

“Staying with Flyboy,” Mark said.

“Now, that doesn't even make any sense. Baby talk. He's mentally impaired, just like…” Banyon risked a finger by pointing it at Cougar. “Your friend here.”

Cougar laughed. “You don't dare step out of that van, Banyon, and Mark says he's not getting in. Go find yourself a cop.”

 

“Do you think he will?”

Celia lay beside Cougar on the bed they hadn't turned down in the clothes she hadn't taken off. His shoulder pillowed her head, and his shirt smelled of wood smoke and sage. She wanted to peel it off and make love to him even though it seemed like an unseemly wish after all that had happened. But he had made it happen, and it was all good, and she longed to draw him into her body and make it even better.

At least part of her did. But she had to put that part on the back burner. Mark was asleep in the next room.

“Bring a cop? Not tonight.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “What I'm thinking about is you. You're a strong woman who's raising a warrior.”

“A warrior?”

“Somebody who can stand his ground. You're doing it just right, Celia. He's coming. He's been a shooting star, chasing his own demons away. You know what that's like? He's coming back to you.”

She smiled against the dark. “He's coming back to Flyboy.”

“Yeah.” He went quiet for a moment. Too quiet for her comfort. “And Flyboy should stay here. But I need to find myself another parking space.”

She went numb. “You said you wouldn't let him run you off.”

“It's not him. It's the law.” He sighed. The night air was too heavy. It was clearly weighing him down. “Look, I don't know much about child custody, but I do know it's no good to take chances with kids' lives.”

“I would never do that. Not…not intentionally.”

“I didn't mean it that way, Celia. Stop beating yourself up. I don't understand why any court would ever side with that ass—” He drew a deep breath and blew it out like some kind of cleansing agent. “He's right about one thing. I have a history. I have a record of… I went off the deep end when I got out of the hospital and came back stateside. I got wasted for days at a time, got into fights, got hold of a pis
tol and I—” deep, dark, painful silence “—decided against using it.”

“On yourself?”

“I wanted to check out. I was no good to anybody. I was on another planet, and the people around me looked at me like I was wired. I could explode anytime, and I knew what that looked like. I've seen it. It kills.

“So, my brother, Eddie—used to call him Eddie Machete because he can be tough when he has to be—anyway, my little brother checked me back in. And I'm doing pretty good. Even better since I met you. But you don't need me and my crazy past parked out in your yard.”

“I need you right here, Cougar. In my home. In my bed.” Her hand stirred over his powerful chest. “I need you in my life.”

“You're on a roll with your life. Your son is on the mend. You're making a home here. You've got a good career going, good friends.” He covered her hand with his. “I feel like I've just climbed out of a dark hole. I've got the sun in my face, thanks to you and Mark. I can feel the wind at my back. But I'm not sure what I'm gonna do now.”

“Aren't you a warrior?”

She had some nerve asking a question like that, and she knew it. But it wouldn't do to coddle a warrior. He'd been telling her that all along. She waited for an answer.

It came in a soft chuckle, a quaking chest. “I'm a wounded warrior. Early retirement with a service-connected disability. Ever hear of a thirty-four-year-old retiree?”

“No. But I don't know too many decorated wounded warriors, either. None, actually. But I'd like to meet a few more.”

“Why?”

“Maybe do a little comparison shopping. I'd like to take you off the market, but if you're going to sell yourself short now that you've shown me your plethora of talents…”

“Plethora?”

“That's like the mother lode, Cougar, and I happen to be a single mother.”

“Hmm. Plethora of talents.” He was on the verge of a good comeback—she could feel it. “Name me five.”

She laughed. “
You
name your five. And then I'll name you five more.”

“First one that comes to mind is one I didn't know I had. I have a talent for loving.”

“Don't start with a lie. You've never doubted that one.”

“I didn't say making love. I said
loving
.” He turned to her. “I'm loving you every minute of every day, Celia. I didn't know I had it in me.”

She could hardly draw breath.

“You don't have to say it if you don't want to, but I wish you would.”

She slammed her fist against his chest. “Then what's the deal with finding a different place to park your damn—”

“Why can't you say it? I know you're afraid of me, and you should, be, but I also know—”

“I love you.” She pounded on him again. “Of course I love you.
Me
scared of
you?
You're the one who's ready to drive off into the sunset.”

“Sunrise. I'm a red road kind of a guy.” He held her fist close to his chest. “Please don't hit me again. You need as much muscle as you can get out of me, and believe me, I've got my weak spots.” He lifted her hand to his lips. It was one of her favorite gestures of his. “Like I said, Celia, we can't take our chances with each other until we're sure I can't hurt Mark.”

“There's no way.”

“Greg thinks he has ways. He's got this lawsuit.”

“It's
his
lawsuit. A thing like that—especially the way Greg's trying to work it—it could drag on for years. Mark's medical needs are already covered, and he has a nice little trust fund. And, Cougar, he can talk. He can
hear
.”

“I could maybe get a job as a tribal cop. If I can pass the background check, I've got the training.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead. Not seriously.
All I've been thinking about is how to be with you without adding to your problems.”

“What problems?” She propped herself up on her elbow. “I have challenges. You have challenges. Mark has—”

“—challenges. I can handle all of it, Celia. All except one. Now that Mark's had a breakthrough, he's gonna tell us why he didn't wanna get into that bread truck. And if I have to choose between chewing nails and putting Mark in that truck…I'll be spitting nails in Banyon's face.” He gave her a moment to digest that image. And then he offered quietly, “You think you could marry me?”

“Why wouldn't I be able to marry you?” He caught her upraised fist before she could do him any more harm. “Do you think you could come up with a better proposal? You're a decorated warrior, for heaven's sake. And you're obviously not retiring. You're moving on. So don't give me this—”

“Hey!” He uncurled her fingers and kissed her palm. “Will you take a Purple Heart as a down payment on a diamond ring?”

Her heart pounded inside its little cage. It wanted so much to take off and fly.

“I don't need a diamond,” she whispered.

“I want to be the man you need. Not just part of him. All of him.”

“Oh, Cougar, what I need is a true heart. I'll never know what you've been through—”

“I don't want you to.”

“—but I know who you are. Mark knows you. Flyboy knows you. If you were to come up with a clear-cut, unambiguous proposal, then, yes, I think I'd be able to marry you.” She laughed. “It would be worth it to watch you sign the license.”