One Brave Cowboy (8 page)

“Two of us now,” she whispered when she could.

“I'll stop.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

He kissed her again while his fingers explored the swell of her hip, the peak of her pelvis, and the dip into her belly. His thumb found coarse hair marking another peak, a hard place, a protective boundary. The feel of her all-over, deep-down trembling thrilled him, pushing for quick, decisive action. It pleased him to test his own resistance even as he challenged hers.

He rubbed her belly. “I don't make wishes,” he whispered, and he tried to offer up a smile with his little joke, but it wouldn't come.

“I do.” She touched his cheek. “But…I can't…”

“I know.”

 

He knew what?

Celia lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, enjoying the instant replay. All but the talk. And wasn't that a fine how-do-you-do? Yes, indeed, she made wishes, and one of them involved heartfelt words. He'd talked. He'd told her things he hadn't told anyone else. All she'd said was that he didn't scare her, and he knew that.

What else did he know?

That she couldn't believe how potent his kiss was? That she couldn't believe the urgency it made her feel, the need to reach out and hold on and kiss back? That she couldn't believe the power of a little plea
sure, couldn't ask him to make love to her, couldn't stop thinking he should stop and hoping he wouldn't?

Of course he knew all that.

But did he know she wasn't really a flirt? If he thought about it, it was probably pretty obvious, considering how inept she was at it. Could he tell how happy she was to have him there and how upset she was with herself for showing it? She'd been feeling alone and vulnerable lately, and she wanted someone on her side.

She'd also wanted him to kiss her, told herself she was wishing for it in an ephemeral, shooting star sort of way. A wonderful, first date kiss. Okay, second date. Third. A have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too kiss. What made her think she could just order it up?
I'll have one of those with a little petting on the side.

She felt like an idiot. Being tongue-tied was probably a good thing. Whatever was on the tip of it hadn't escaped.
I can't go to bed with you, can't have sex with you, can't run away with you.

Nobody's asking you to, Celia.

And I certainly can't fall in love with you.

He'd get a good laugh out of that one. A welcome laugh, no doubt. Nightmares left people shaken, unbalanced and slightly chagrined. A good laugh would have helped him throw all that off. She could have made him laugh by jumping from conclusion to conclusion like a kid playing in a trampoline park. Not that it was something she normally did anywhere but
inside her head, but brightening a dark corner for a good man plagued with bad dreams seemed like a worthy cause. And Cougar wasn't the kind of man who would judge or take advantage or…

Damn.
Was that a warning cramp? Celia slipped her hand under the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms and rubbed her concave tummy. She wanted to slide her little finger lower very gradually, a fraction of an inch at a time, pick up where he'd left off, but she was feeling dangerously lightheaded, and her lips tingled. If she wasn't careful, she'd soon be giving birth to premature trust.

 

She awoke—surprised to be waking from what had surely been a night without sleep—to the sound of hammering somewhere outside. She looked at the clock, sprang from her bed and checked Mark's room.
No Mark.
She dashed to the kitchen and peeked through the yellow curtain on the back door toward the broken down corral.

Sigh of relief. Mark wielded the hammer while Cougar held a plank in place. Relief drew another breath and became full-blown delight. Mark was hammering! And Cougar was patiently supervising, helping him adjust his grip and strike the target.

Celia took a quick shower, put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans so that she could wear her boots, and dashed outside, her damp hair clipped high on the back of her head.

“Good morning,” she chirped. Her glance ricocheted from Cougar's eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, to her son, who didn't notice her. He was bent over a cinder block trying to tap the curve out of a bent nail. “You two are up early.”

“Some of us are grateful to see the sun rise.” His short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, and the sun was doing a glorious number on his bronze chest. “Coffee?”

“I haven't started it yet. I was surprised to see Mark out here. He's not supposed to leave the house without telling me. Did you…?”

“Nope. He came out to help. If I didn't know better, I'd've thought he heard the racket.” He gave her an enigmatic look as he reached around her for the blue plastic mug he'd left sitting on the wheel housing of his trailer. “Thought maybe you were ignoring us. I made coffee. Want some?”

“I'm sorry. I'll get breakfast—”

“Sorry about what?” He gestured with his coffee toward the camper door. “We had Lucky Charms. There's some left if you're interested.”

“Sorry about the cold breakfast.”

“It wasn't cold. It was just a little dry. But who needs milk when you've got Lucky Charms? Right, Mark?” It didn't seem to matter to him that Mark didn't look up. “This guy sure can swing a hammer.”

“So can I.” She glanced at the front end of the trailer. It would be interesting to find out how he
liked his coffee. Even more interesting to see what was behind that door.

But she pivoted on her heel and turned her attention to her business. “What can I help with?”

“We're gonna need more nails.” He nodded toward a collection of building supplies he'd gathered on a makeshift workbench fashioned from a pair of saw-horses and part of an old Dutch door. “That was the only box I found in the barn. I looked around pretty good.”

She brightened. She had just what he needed. “There's a whole keg of them in the barn. An old wooden keg. It's probably been out there for fifty years or more.”

“A nail is a nail.” He nodded a come-on toward the trailer door. “What made you decide to buy a place like this?” he asked as he opened the door and gestured
after you
.

“Like what?” Stepping up on the running board, she glanced over her shoulder. “Rustic? Don't I strike you as the rustic type?”

“You don't strike me as a
type
.” He smiled. “But you do strike me.”

“And you do have coffee.” And a tidy little kitchen with a tiny stove, sink, refrigerator, microwave, miniature cabinets that might have been part of a down-market trailer or an upscale playhouse. There were three books stacked on the bench seat—the top one written by Logan Wolf Track—and an iPod dock
hanging on the wall. Music and books, she thought. Good signs.

“It's a good place.” He was standing in the doorway. “There's another cup above the sink. But you're pretty isolated.”

“Not that far from Sinte, which is where I work, where Mark goes to school.” She poured her coffee. “Is it okay if I nuke this?”

“Blast away. Sinte is pretty far from the beaten path,” he noted. “People come to a reservation for a job, it's usually temporary. You buy a place like this, you're putting down roots.”

“The price was right, and no one else wanted it.” She pressed a button and smiled when the light came on in the little box above the stove.
So cute.
“My roots were tired of pots. They wanted solid ground. They like it here.”

There was more to it, of course. She'd needed a place that was off the beaten path, but not so far off that she couldn't get Mark the help he needed. She thought she'd put the worst of her difficulties behind her. They could both sign the alphabet, even though Mark didn't seem interested in using it. Give him time, the specialists advised. Mark was still a mystery. She'd been able to keep him insured, and the Mayo Clinic, where he'd been treated originally, had recommended a good therapist for him in Rapid City. She hadn't expected Greg to follow her and insist on resuming his visitations with Mark after admitting
he didn't know what to do with a kid who wasn't “normal.”

But there was his lawsuit to consider.

“It's a good place,” Cougar repeated as he backed away to let Celia out the door. “You can build on a place like this.”

“The one thing I worry about is that Mark might be a little too isolated, especially when school's out. That's why I got started with the horse…” She squinted into the sunlight, shaded her eyes with her free hand and scanned the site. “Where did he go?”

“He went in the barn. He took me in and showed me around a while ago. He's the one who found the nails. Hey, what's the story on that old car back in the—”

“You asked him for nails?”

“I picked up the hammer, and he saw.” He gave her a silly grin.

Cute again, but Cougar didn't get it. Working together was one thing, but Mark wasn't supposed to play in the barn alone. She set her coffee on the workbench and headed for the barn. “Celia,” he called after her. But she kept going. First things first.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the barn's murky shadows, but she heard a scraping sound, and when she saw what was making it, she stopped in her tracks. Mark was struggling with the nail keg.

“Cut him some slack,” Cougar said quietly.

She turned, her heart pounding with excitement. “He
heard.
”

Cougar glanced past her toward Mark and then back again. He nodded, but when she started to speak, he signaled her to hold it. “Take a breath, Celia, you're scaring us.” He smiled. “We've got nails.”

She turned back to Mark. “Let me help you with that, Markie-B.” She hoped to see his eyes before she touched him to get his attention, and she was disappointed when it didn't happen. In fact, he gave her a less-than-welcoming look when she laid hands on the keg. “No?”

“Mark's got it,” Cougar said quietly. “We'll have ourselves a corral before dinnertime. I was just telling Mark before you came out, I can hardly wait to show him the Medicine Hat mustang. Told him the horse loaded pretty easy, which is a good sign.”

She looked at him curiously.

“That's what
he
wanted to know. Sign of what? Sign that the horse is ready. Some signs speak louder than words.”

“You think so?”

He thumbed his hat back. “'Course, I haven't written a
damn book
on the subject, but I know a thing or two about coming back from a wild place. It takes some adjustment.”

“And you can't be sure who your friends are?” She watched as her son mastered rolling the heavy
keg on the bottom rim. She felt rejected. Maybe she was the one who didn't get it.

“I think you know who your mother is. She's the one who's been there since day one. Mine's gone, but if she was still alive, I'd probably want to lean on her if she'd let me.”

“Would she?”

“I don't know. It's been a long time. I like to think she would.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “For a little while. Maybe you don't want her to step back right away. But then something new comes along and you forget yourself for a few minutes. And then a few more and a few more.”

“You're saying I'm too protective.” Mark rolled the keg through the open door, set it down, looked up at her and grinned. She gave him a thumbs up. “So you don't think he
heard
you ask for nails.”

“I'm saying he might just be listening more than you realize. I don't know if he's using his ears, but I think he's trying to hear and be heard.” He slid his hand over her back and nudged her toward the door. “And I'm saying it'll be good to get this corral fixed so we can sneak over to Logan and Mary's place and try to load up the mustang without disturbing the honeymooners.”

She nodded. “I see what you're saying.”

“And seeing is one way to catch on. So you're good.” He draped his forearm over her far shoulder. “Not fast, but good.”

T
here was no sneaking in and out at Logan and Mary Wolf Track's home. The couple was outside playing ground games with their claybank mustang with flashy black mane and tail. Logan had the horse batting a big rubber ball around the paddock with his muzzle, much to the delight of his wife, who had devoted her professional life to training dogs. The honeymooners were “in the zone,” and Mark fairly glowed as he watched. Any minute he's going to cheer, Celia told herself. She could almost hear his voice.

“Time out for substitutions,” Mary called out. “Mama needs rest.”

“Come on, Shoshoni, show us what you got.”
Logan patted the super-size beach ball and beckoned Cougar. “The name of the game is Horse's Pass.”

“I just started the book,” Cougar shouted. “Haven't gotten to that chapter yet? Are you in the pictures? 'Cause if this gets out, you won't make the Indian Cowboy Hall of Fame.” But one look at the excitement in Mark's face had Cougar vaulting over the fence. He reached back over for Mark. “You and me, partner. What we've got is game.”

“What would you like to drink?” Mary asked Celia as they hiked themselves up on the open tailgate of Logan's pickup. Mary reached into a small cooler. “The choices are juice and water. And I have crackers and fruit. Try some strawberries.” She offered up a pint box. “Please help me with these. It's like eating flavored packing peanuts, but don't tell Logan. He thinks he's getting me fresh fruit. He's forgotten what local fruit tastes like.” She nodded toward the paddock, calling attention to the boys, the horse and their big red ball. “It looks like Cougar has a new tail.”

“Simpatico,” Celia mused as she bit into a nearly flavorless red and white strawberry. “I've never seen Mark take to anybody like this, especially after the accident.”

“Logan said it started with a
near
-accident.”

“No, I meant…”

Celia watched her son push the ball toward the horse, who whacked it right back and knocked the
boy over like a bowling pin. She took a step toward the fence, but Mark came up grinning, and the words
it started
hit her between the eyes.
The accident
did not refer to the same seminal event for everybody.

“Well, yes,” she amended, “Mark ran out in front of Cougar's pickup. He was chasing a cat. Cougar's pickup sits up so high, he didn't see him, but somehow he stopped the truck in time. It was pretty miraculous, actually.”

“It was Cougar. That sixth sense of his has saved a few lives, including his own.” Mary tossed half a strawberry into the grass and reached into the cooler without taking her eyes away from the game. “That is one brave cowboy.”

“He said he spent some time in a VA hospital.” Celia reached into the cooler for a cold bottle of cranberry juice. “I know he's struggling with his own demons. He doesn't need Mark's.”

“Oh, but he'll gladly take them on. He's been decorated, too. One medal he has that I don't want is a Purple Heart.”

“What…I mean, can you tell what me happened?”

“There was an explosion,” Mary said on the tail-end of a swallow of orange juice. She sounded matter-of-fact, as though she were reporting a fireworks display.

“One of those roadside IEDs?”

“Improvised explosive device,” Mary mused. “It sounds almost clinical, doesn't it? It's the impro
vised part, the creativity that makes things interesting. Each one is unique.”

Celia studied the label on the juice bottle—an up-ended crate with a scattering of red fruit. “I haven't asked him for details.”

“Neither have I, but I've read the report.” Mary leaned forward, elbows braced on her thighs, juice bottle cradled in both hands in the chasm between her knees. “Some of my dog handlers were in Cougar's unit. An incident report can read pretty dry, too, kinda what it might be like to read a movie script, you know? This character moves here, this vehicle comes in over there.”

Cougar called for “heads up,” and he play-tackled Mark, swept him off the ground and swung him around, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of meal. The game had apparently been called with the ball in the mustang's corner. Grinning, Mark swiped Cougar's cowboy hat and put it on his own head.

Mary sipped her orange juice. “What looked like a couple with two kids crossed their truck's path. Cougar was driving. He saw that something didn't look right, but he slowed down anyway because one of the kids lost this goat he was dragging along behind him.

“Long story short, Cougar suddenly thought he was riding a cutting horse. He used the truck to cut the kid out of the little pack, and then he jumped
out and called to the woman to send him the other kid. Somehow he knew the woman was wired and the kids were being used to keep her in line. She exploded, and the child close to her was killed. Cougar caught some shrapnel. The goat and its little herder were okay. It was an up-armored truck, and it was far enough from the explosion—thanks to Cougar—that nobody else was injured.”

Logan served the ball over the fence volleyball-style. It bounced to within a few feet of the women's dangling boots. “What are you drinking?” he shouted to his wife.

“Sunshine.” She held the bottle aloft, and he gave a thumbs-up.

Sunshine.
Sergeant Mary Tutan Wolf Track was filling up on sunshine in the wake of living with long, dark stories made short for eyes and ears on the home front. Celia imagined witnessing an explosion of human beings. Unimaginable, yes, but her mind's eye came up with a picture that was clearer than her memory of her son lying face down in a pool of blood. In her head she could see through Cougar's eyes, but not her own. Her mind protected her from her memory.

“What about the man?” Celia asked Mary quietly. “You said it was a couple.”

“I said it
looked like
a couple. The man got away. Apparently lived to fight another day.”

“Oh, God, how is that fair?”

“Only God knows, I guess.” The men were on the move from paddock to pen, where Cougar's Paint gelding eyed them warily. “Cougar's a good man who's had a rough time. But I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in my foxhole except one of my dogs.”

“What about Logan?”

“Logan?” Mary grinned. “He'd be too much of a distraction. Stay alert, stay alive.”

“No kidding.” Celia drew a deep breath. “How serious were Cougar's injuries?”

“That's for him to say.” Mary shut down for a moment, and they both watched as Logan approached the mustang while Cougar and Mark stood back and let the “master” work his magic.

Wrong question. Celia's face felt flush. She'd overstepped, and she'd gotten some push-back. She wanted to bite her tongue.

Mary smiled wistfully. “He looks a lot better than he did the last time I saw him, I'll say that much.”

“We haven't known him long, but that doesn't seem to matter. I mean, we've both really…” She was watching Logan and Cougar prepare to load the mustang in Cougar's trailer. He'd made sure Mark was safely out of the way but well within view of the activity.

“Taken to him?”

“I guess you could say that. The thing is…” She tried to remember the last time her son had seemed at once connected to what was going on around him
and carefree. “Mark doesn't need any more demons, either.”

“From what I understand, neither do you.”

Celia glanced warily at her new friend wondering what she'd heard, and from whom, and what she thought about it. With a challenging new job, new friends, dramatically different surroundings, she had hoped to make a new life for herself. She'd spent way too much energy trying to keep up appearances over the years. She wanted to be done with that, to revive the simple what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of a girl she'd once been. But something inside her jumped up and down shouting,
Oh, no, we're fine.

Her demons had always ridden pogo sticks.

And that image made her laugh, which allowed her to nod in agreement. “But what're ya gonna do?” she quipped. “No demons, no angels.”

“I like that one. Do you mind if I add it to my book of mottos?”

“Be my guest. I'm appropriating,
Stay alert, stay alive.
”

“Be careful with that one. If you're drinking Red Bull and popping pills to stay awake so you don't get killed, you've gotten yourself into some seriously unfriendly territory.”

“Shouldn't have to live that way,” Celia said soberly.

“Shouldn't,” Mary agreed.

“Did you see that?” Cougar called out, turning
both women's heads. The three guys were standing beside open trailer doors. Cougar gave a sweeping gesture. “He loaded right up.” He laid his hand on Mark's shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze. “We're on our way, partner.”

Mark looked up, grinning to beat the band.

“Right?”

Mark nodded. Celia's breath got hung up in her chest. Understanding a one-word question without hearing it was not such a big deal, but Mark's ready response was remarkable.

Don't jump all over it, Celia. Let the turtle feel the sun on his face.

“So you're partners now.” She greeted Mark with a mother's unconscious reach for the mat of damp hair on the sweaty forehead, which Mark ducked for the first time ever.
Give me a break, Mom. I'm not a baby.

“Oh, yeah,” Cougar said. “We're a team. We're rescuing horses and houses, giving each cause equal time—half the day training, the other half fixing up. We're gonna be busy.”

“Mark's going to be in summer school camp next week.”

“Summer school
camp?
That sounds cool.” Cougar was sorting through the bottles in the cooler, assessing the choices. “What kind of school does he go to?”

“He goes to school in Sinte. I hope I never have
to send him away to school. I hope…” She watched Cougar exchange signals with Mark.
How about some water? Catch.
So clear. So easy. So natural. “They're trying something new with his group this summer. The kids sign up for a week at a time, so they can take time off or hang in there the whole summer. And it's fun. It's like camp, but with the three R's deftly woven in.”

“His group?” Cougar swallowed half a bottle of water in one gulp and then gave her a look that said,
I'm listening.

“Special needs.”

“Well, we'll weave in two more R's—ridin' and ropin'.” He grinned at the sight of Mark gulping down his water. “Oh, man, I went to summer school
wishing
I could go to camp. Then I went to boot camp and wished I was back in school. This guy already knows how to put his horse in front of the cart. Right, partner?” They shared an enthusiastic high-five.

“You boys are gonna do fine with that horse,” Logan put in as he took his turn at the drinks box. “You got a name for him?”

“Mark's gonna name him. Soon as he comes up with just the right one, he'll tell me.” Cougar tapped Logan's arm with the back of his drinking hand. “Hey, we'll have a naming ceremony.”

“You know, Mark can write,” Celia said. “He
won't always do it for me, but he does it in school all the time.”

“He won't pass notes to you?” Cougar laughed. “I'll teach him how to pass notes. I was always pretty good at stuff like that.”

“I'll bet you were,” Celia said with a smile.
We're a team,
he'd said. Her son was on a team.

“I don't know much about special needs, but Mark has special gifts.”

“I know he does.” Celia lifted one shoulder. “But I'm a bit biased.”

“I'm not, so you can take my word.” He waited for her eyes to connect with his, and when they did, he nodded. “And do whatever you want with it.”

Somewhere in the periphery, Logan said to his wife, “I don't think he's coming back to our place anytime soon, do you?”

Cougar laughed. “Like I said, I appreciate the offer, but Celia's got some work for me to do.”

“My place needs a lot of work,” Celia explained to Mary. “I bought the old Krueger place a few months ago. West of here about ten miles. Do you know it?”

Mary nodded. “How long was that place empty?”

“Long enough to bring the price down to within a teacher's reach. The house has good bones with deteriorating flesh and peeling skin.”

Cougar tapped Mary's arm with the back of his
hand. “I've got a few skills you don't know about, First Sergeant Tutan.”

“I'll bet you do, Staff Sergeant Cougar. I'm glad you're putting them to use.” She smiled wistfully. “I'm leaving tomorrow. Next time I see you, I'll be wearing civvies twenty-four seven.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “If all goes well.”

“Hey, you tell them they'll still be able to get Tutan-trained dogs,” Cougar said. “They show you the money, you'll show them the contract. Hell, everyone else is doing it.”

Mary laid her hand on her belly. “Before long I'm going to be showing more than a contract.”

“Congratulations,” Cougar said, and Celia chimed in with, “That's wonderful.”

“Which might have been reason enough to stay in the army a while longer, but…” She glanced at her husband. “Did I tell you I qualified for post-separation delivery?”

Logan jacked up one eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I can have the baby on Uncle Sam's dime.” She smiled. “Because I'm worth it.”

At the sound of his horse getting restless in the trailer, Cougar offered Mary a handshake. “Stay safe.”

“Stay
here,
Cougar. You have friends here.”

He laughed. “You don't think I have friends in other places?”

“Not like these two. It's hard to come back to
the same old stuff. It looks like what you've always called home, but it feels different. And it's not because it
is
different. It's because
you're
different, and they haven't changed.”