A COWBOY'S PROMISE Read online

  He was leaning casually against the wall, his lean hard body looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved blue chambray shirt—and boots, she noted now, irritated at how much he looked as if he belonged here. He straightened when he saw her coming, and she saw him wince just slightly as he shifted his weight onto his bad leg.

  She didn't ask how it was. It was fine, she assured herself. He was riding with her father all day now. Besides, she didn't care.

  He shoved a hand through the black hair which flopped onto his forehead. "Hey." He grinned. It was the standard Charlie Seeks Elk heart-melting grin. She was sure women all over the world had fallen at his feet because of that grin.

  It was a good thing she was completely resistant.

  "Hey, yourself." She pasted on her best pleasant smile and said, as she had rehearsed, "Maddie has a favor to ask. She wants you to continue to coach Angie."

  Charlie cocked his head. "What does Angie want?"

  "You in bed, I imagine," Cait said tartly. It was the bald-faced truth. She unlocked the door to the classroom, pushed it open and went in.

  Charlie followed. "Well, don't worry," he said, an amused tone in his voice. "I'm a one-woman man."

  Cait bristled at him. "Don't start, Charlie."

  He spread his hands, still grinning. "I'm only saying."

  "Well, I'm not worrying! Not about you and—" she floundered "—and anyone!" She took a deep breath. "If you agree to coach her," she said evenly, "I would just not want her reading more into it than you intend."

  "She won't."

  "How do you know?"

  He shrugged. "Because I won't let her."

  Like you didn't let me? Cait wanted to shout at him. But she twisted her fingers together and kept her thoughts to herself. "Fine," she said tersely. "Thank you."

  Charlie nodded, still smiling. "You're welcome."

  Charlie understood Angie.

  He had been Angie. Tough. Angry. Defensive. Determined to put up barriers to shut people out before they could do the same to him.

  So he wasn't surprised when she looked less than thrilled when he said he was going to be her coach. She just hunched her shoulders and feigned indifference. "Whatever," she said and turned away.

  Charlie didn't take it personally.

  It gave him a new focus for practicing patience. He just smiled and dug in.

  He worked with Angie, he joked with her, teased her gently, charmed her. He got her to let him take pictures of her. And at the same time he got her to pay attention to what Cait was teaching them. He got her to really work on her breathing.

  And when he showed interest in the book on baby care that Cait gave all the expectant moms, she actually picked it up and began to look through it.

  But she wouldn't smile, even when he tried to cajole her into it.

  "What is there to smile about?" she demanded.

  "You're alive. You're healthy. You have people who care about you." His gaze flicked to Maddie who was sitting a few yards away.

  Angie saw where he was looking and hunched her shoulders. "She has to," she said gruffly. "They pay her to."

  "Sweetheart," Charlie said, "nobody could pay anybody enough money to compensate for the guff they take from kids like me and you."

  Angie's eyes went wide with surprise, then shuttered immediately. "What do you mean, me and you?" she asked suspiciously.

  "You work hard tonight, and I'll tell you all about how you and I are alike," Charlie promised.

  "When?"

  "I'll come out to Maddie's place. You can cook me dinner tomorrow night."

  "I don't cook," Angie informed him.

  Charlie smiled. "You will."

  He waited for Cait after class. Everyone else left—even Angie, after making sure he had directions to Maddie's place for tomorrow night.

  "If you want to come," she'd said offhand, as if she really didn't care. But he could see it in her—the tiniest flicker of hope followed at once by the wariness that any reliance she put on someone would come to naught.

  "I'll be there," he promised her. It was nice to have someone actually looking forward to seeing him.

  Cait certainly wasn't.

  He reminded himself to be patient. To give her reason to trust him. He'd given her plenty of reason not to.

  But it wasn't easy. If he was patient too long, it would be October 18 and Cait would be Mrs. Dr. Steve Whoever.

  Charlie gritted his teeth.

  "I thought you'd left." Cait came out of the room carrying her tote bag. When she saw him waiting, she pulled it up against her chest and wrapped her arms across it, holding it like a shield as she locked the door.

  "I wanted to give you my cell phone number."

  She put the keys back in her bag. "What for?"

  "So you can call me when Angie goes into labor. I told her I'd be there."

  "I'm sure Maddie expects to handle that." She started down the hall. "She only wanted you for the classes."

  He fell into step alongside her. "Well, she's getting me for both. She knows it. We talked." He held out a slip of paper with the number on it. "I gave it to her, too. But she might lose it in the excitement of the moment."

  Cait stepped sideways, as if the paper might bite. But when Charlie persisted, she took it ungraciously and stuck it in her bag. She kept right on walking.

  "Missed you this week," Charlie said. "But your dad says you've been busy."

  "Lots to do for the wedding."

  Sheer provocation. He could hear it in her voice. Like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  Charlie almost charged. He could very nearly feel Chase grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and hauling him back.

  He took a breath and said instead, "Your dad's been teaching me to cowboy."

  "I heard. I'm sure that will be very useful."

  "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Cait."

  She made a huffing sound.

  "And you're right, it might." If worse came to worst, he figured, he might be able to build a loop, lasso her, then haul her away from her prospective groom. He had the sense not to say that, though.

  They kept walking all the way to the lobby. The redheaded receptionist looked up with interest as Cait said in a very businesslike tone, "Thank you for your help this evening."

  Charlie grinned. "My pleasure. Always a pleasure to see you."

  Her shoulders stiffened. "Charlie," she warned. "This is about Angie."

  "No, it's not. It's about us."

  "There is no us!"

  The redhead looked very interested.

  "You gonna keep on lying to yourself right up till your wedding day?"

  He could almost hear her teeth grind. He certainly could see the sparks in her eyes. And if looks could kill he knew he'd be on the critical list.

  "Why are you doing this?" she said, anguished.

  "Because I love you. Because you love me."

  The redhead was almost leaning across the desk.

  "No. I don't!"

  The redhead didn't even have to strain her ears to hear that. Her eyes widened. She looked amazed.

  "Damn it!" Cait hissed. "Now look what you've done!"

  "What I've done? You're the one shouting."

  "Because you … because…!" Cait sputtered furiously.

  "Because you still love me and you're afraid to admit it!" Then, determined to prove it, he pulled her against him, tote bag and all, and kissed her for all he was worth.

  * * *

  Seven

  « ^ »

  So much for following advice. So much for patience. So he'd blown it. Big-time.

  What the hell was he supposed to do?

  A guy couldn't just stand there and let a woman make the biggest mistake of her life without trying to stop her, could he?

  And she would do it, too, he was sure! Charlie thought as he paced around the small cabin, which seemed almost to rock with the force of his emotions. Damn it, she would! She would have
marched right down the aisle and married the hot-shot cardiologist, if Charlie hadn't stepped in and made his point.

  So he'd made it, God help him.

  He'd thrown caution—and patience—to the wind.

  He'd kissed her.

  He'd needed to kiss her.

  He'd been living off memories and dreams and one single kiss since he'd found her again a few weeks ago.

  He'd felt her hands on his body, he'd smelled the scent of her skin and her hair, but he'd never touched her the way a lover touches the woman of his dreams. He'd watched her lips, had dreamed about them, had remembered all too well the soft temptation of them. And he'd needed them the way he needed air.

  He flung himself on his back on the hard, narrow bunk and stared up at the ceiling. He still remembered them. He still tasted them, hours later.

  And he'd be living on that kiss for God knew how long!

  She had softened under his onslaught. She had yielded, had opened, had given for a second or maybe a few. Not long enough, that was certain.

  And then she'd stiffened. Her whole body had gone rigid, and she'd given him a shove. "Damn you, Charlie!" she'd said, her eyes flashing fire.

  And then she'd spun on her heel and run out of the lobby, leaving Charlie and the receptionist staring after her.

  In the silence that followed, the receptionist looked back at him, her expression unreadable. "Did it help?" she asked.

  Charlie doubted that.

  Probably he'd just shown her what a jerk he was. Nothing she didn't already know.

  "I've changed my mind," Cait said the second Steve picked up the phone. She was gripping it as though it was a life preserver in a stormy sea, which in fact she felt it was. "I'd love to come with you to Denver."

  "Huh, wha—Cait?"

  He sounded dazed and disoriented, and she realized that, oh, hell, she'd done it again.

  A quick glance at the clock told her it was two in the morning. She had been pacing around her bedroom for hours—after the long shower she'd taken when she got home had done nothing to erase the memory of Charlie's mouth on hers. Not even when she'd turned the tap to pure blue cold had she been able to forget, to make her body deny its response.

  She'd tried telling herself after the first time Charlie had kissed her that she'd responded because he'd surprised her. The shock of seeing him had simply caught her unaware.

  But she'd seen him coming tonight.

  She'd felt the electricity sizzling between them all evening, although she'd done her best to stay well away. She'd deliberately ignored Angie for most of the evening because Charlie was helping her. She didn't want to encourage him, she told herself.

  She hadn't dared admit she was afraid.

  Not of him.

  Of herself. Of her response. Of the fact that despite her common sense and determined indifference, she had been unable to put her attraction to Charlie away. And his kiss had completely undermined her resolve. It had made her ache with desire, with longing, with need.

  It made her furious with him—and with herself!

  And if cold showers and willpower were not going to do it, she would have to call up reinforcements. And that meant calling Steve.

  She hadn't even thought to look at the clock. Damn. When was she going to stop waking Steve out of a sound sleep?

  "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't realize it was so late. So early, I mean."

  She heard him yawn. "Never mind. 'S okay. What happened? How come you changed your mind?"

  "I just … thought about it some more." She rubbed her fist across her still-tingling lips. "And I decided you were right. That's where we're going to be. And Dad's going to have to be on his own sometime. He might as well start now."

  "Amen," Steve said, then added, "Truly, it is for the best, Cait. He needs to get interested in things again. Interested in doing them."

  "He's been getting better," she said. "Every day he's doing a little more." All of it, she thought, gritting her teeth, with Charlie.

  "Then letting him be on his own now is an excellent idea," Steve said. "You'll probably come home and discover he's got a new lease on life."

  "That would be good."

  "It will be good for all of us." He yawned again. "I'm glad you're coming, Cait. I didn't want to find a place without you. It's going to be our place, after all."

  "Right."

  Yes, definitely. Our place. Denver. Mrs. Steve Carmichael. She said the words over in her head, trying to imprint them there. "Go back to sleep," she said at last. "I'm sorry I bothered you. I just wanted you to know I'm coming with you to Denver."

  "Love you," Steve said. "Talk to you tomorrow."

  "Love you, too," Cait parroted. She hung up after he did.

  She was still pressing her fist to her lips.

  The cell phone's ring jarred him out of a fitful sleep. At first Charlie couldn't even identify the sound. He'd been dreaming of making love to Cait—slow, languorous love—and then something rang. Like a timer. Like a buzzer. Like—

  He jerked up, heart pounding, cursing the alarm clock that was depriving him of the only contact he had with her.

  Only it stopped.

  And then it rang again.

  He groaned and, realizing at last what it was, fumbled in the darkness to find his jacket and the pocket in which he'd stuck the phone.

  Dire thoughts ran through his mind. Panicky thoughts.

  It had to be Chase—or Joanna.

  Any news in the blackness of night would not be good.

  He jammed the on button in the dark and barked into the phone. "What? What is it?"

  "Charlie?" The voice was strained, female. But not Joanna, thank God.

  He felt a moment's shock, then confusion, as he realized who it was. "Cait?"

  "Angie's gone into labor."

  Charlie was stupefied. "Labor? She's in labor? Now? But she's not due yet. She's not due for … for weeks!"

  "Welcome to the real world," Cait said. Her tone was crisp and almost businesslike, but the hint of tension was still there. "Babies are on their own timetable, not ours."

  "But—"

  "You don't have to come. We can manage without you."

  She could, no doubt. And she would prefer it that way. He was less sure about Angie.

  Still, he felt a surge of panic at the thought of coaching the girl through her labor. What the hell did he know about labor? He'd only been to two lessons! He wasn't the father! He'd been there because of Cait, because of the photos, not because of Angie!

  Not at first because of Angie.

  But now…

  He reached for his jeans. "I'll meet you at the hospital."

  If he'd had second thoughts—and he had plenty all the way over the mountain track in Otis's old Suburban, all the way along the curving gravel road to the county highway, all the way into the hospital parking lot in Livingston, even down the corridor to the birthing room—they vanished the moment he walked in the door.

  Angie was lying in the bed, halfway elevated. Her normally pale complexion now rivaled the white of the sheets. Her dark eyes were wide and scared.

  "Charlie! It's not supposed to be happening now!" She practically jumped out of the bed into his arms. But she was hooked up to a monitor, and he got to her before she inadvertently detached herself as she hurled herself at him.

  Gone was the tough facade, the indifference, the determined nonchalance. Her thin arms went hard around his middle and she pressed her face into the denim jacket he wore. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly, then removing one hand to stroke her spiky hair.

  "Hey," he said gently, "it's okay. It's what we trained for."

  He felt her head shake against his chest. "Not ready," she muttered. "Not yet."

  "Yeah," he said, giving her one fierce squeeze before letting her go so he could step back from the bed and look down into her frightened eyes. "Well, kids never do what parents want them to, do they? Welcome to motherhood."

 
She blanched even whiter at his words. He put his finger under her chin and tipped it up. "You can do it, Ang. Just be the kind of mother you always wished you had."

  He saw her swallow and nod. Something of the toughness returned. But not the hardness. She bit her lower lip.

  "Hurting?" he asked. He'd seen a lot of pain, but he had never, except in the film Cait had shown them, seen a child born.

  "Not … really," Angie said. "My back sort of aches. I wouldn't even think I was gonna have it but I woke up in a puddle. I thought I'd wet the bed. Maddie heard me get up, and she came in and said my water broke."

  Charlie only vaguely knew the logistics of labor and delivery. But he had the notion that unlike contractions, which might stop, Angie's water breaking meant there was no turning back. "Well, then, I guess this fella wants to be born."

  Angie licked her lips. "I guess."

  There was the sound of footsteps behind him, and Maddie and Cait came into the room. Maddie looked delighted at the sight of him.

  Cait flicked a glance his way, then focused her attention on Angie. "Let's see how you're doing," she said. Her voice was calm and gentle, just the way he remembered it in the hospital in Abuk. It was one of the things he'd always admired about her—the way she could shut out the chaos that had often reigned around them and give her complete support and attention to the patient in need.

  Angie looked nervously at Charlie.

  He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll wait outside with Maddie. We'll be right here. We're going to see you through this, all of us."

  "I'm so glad you came," Maddie said, taking his hand as they went into the corridor. "It was such a shock. She'd been doing regular chores all day, nothing she hadn't done any other day. And you saw her just tonight—yesterday," she corrected herself because it was now close to four in the morning. "She was fine." There was an urgency in her voice that made him realize she was looking for reassurance.

  He knew from what Walt had told him that Maddie and her husband, Ward, had taken in scads of foster kids over the years. They had devoted their lives and their ranch to helping kids who had hit a rough patch in their lives. Charlie knew she wouldn't want to think that something she had done had somehow caused Angie's premature labor.