Cowboys Don't Cry Page 13

  "Not yet," Tanner said heavily. "See you around."

  Noah was in Durango. He rode and won. Tanner rode respectably. He got sore, but not bloody. His shoulder stayed in place. His knee didn't cave in.

  "Not too bad for an old man," Noah told him afterward over a beer. "You serious about traveling with me for a spell?"

  "Yeah." He was. Because riding took total concentration. For eight seconds he hadn't thought of Maggie at all. It was a start.

  Going down the road with Noah was serious business. They traveled the length and breadth of all the western states, hopped a plane to someplace in Alberta one Thursday night, flew back to Albuquerque the following evening, got in the truck and drove again after the rodeo, Tanner did them all, praying that his knee would endure, that his shoulder wouldn't slip. It was insane. Unlike Noah, he had no possibility of contending for the NFR. It was just another form of therapy, another way of trying to fill his life, to forget the Three Bar C and Ev and Billy and, most of all, Maggie It was just a little more drastic than anything he'd attempted yet.

  He tried not to moan when he got up in the morning He tried not to groan when he got out of the truck after hours on the road The only time he balked was when Noah said they were going to Bluff Springs.

  "It's not a big deal," Tanner argued "You can miss it."

  "I'll be damned if I'll miss it I drew Haverell's Hot shot."

  Tanner understood Hotshot was an NFR bronc. Any cowboy who drew him would be a fool to turn him out and lose a chance at an almost sure win, especially a man who was currently eleventh in the standings like Noah. It was a long time till November. A lot of horses. A lot of miles. A lot of rides. And you never knew from one day to the next what would happen.

  Most of the time you were fine. Sometimes, as Tanner knew all too well, you weren't. So you hoped. You drove You flew. You rode. And you took every day as it came.

  They went to Bluff Springs.

  And Tanner hoped he wouldn't run into Clare.

  His own horse in Bluff Springs was called Deal's Ram page "A twister," Noah told him Tanner's shoulder had survived so far—just barely It didn't survive his encounter with Rampage In fact, he felt it pop almost as soon as the chute opened The horse twisted hard to the right! ducking his head, spinning, and Tanner, as he hung tight! couldn't stand the strain.

  Clutching his arm against his stomach, he made his was out of the arena.

  "Want me to call the doc?" Noah asked him. He'd already ridden, had scored an 87, and they didn't have to be in Salida until tomorrow. He was more than willing to look up a doctor. The Emergency Medical Technicians, too, were standing around looking hopeful.

  Tanner shook his head. He gritted his teeth and tried popping his shoulder back in. The pain almost blinded him. A curse escaped his lips.

  "Let's find a doc," Noah said.

  "You can put it back in," Tanner said. He led the way to the truck, had Noah drop the tailgate, then he lay down on it and let his arm dangle. "Pull it," he commanded.

  Noah shuddered.

  "Pull it," Tanner said again.

  Noah pulled.

  Tanner fainted.

  "Hello, Tanner" The voice was soft and had just a hint of a southwestern lilt to it.

  Tanner blinked again, staring up at tall trees, white clouds, blue sky—and Clare He frowned, tned to lift his arm to rub a hand across his eyes, felt the pain, remem bered what had happened and winced Carefully he looked around He was still lying on the tailgate of the pickup, though he was on his back now He could see Noah over by the fence, working studiously on his ngging, ignoring them. Mostly he could see Clare.

  "Russ fixed your shoulder," Clare told him.

  Russ. The doctor who'd delivered their baby. The man who had encouraged Clare out of her depression, who'd gotten her interested in something again, who'd helped her achieve it. The man who'd believed in her, supported her. Married her.

  Tanner didn't say anything. He couldn't have if his life depended on it.

  "We'd brought the boys to the rodeo," Clare went on rather quickly. "I had no idea you were...I mean, I never thought..." She colored slightly and looked away, then back at him again. "Anyway, when you fainted, Noah made them call for a doctor."

  "The EMTs?" Tanner asked hoarsely.

  "They were busy with a barrel racer. Russ is with them now. He left me to watch you. Can I—can I get you something to drink?"

  Tanner shook his head and swung his legs around, trying to sit up. He felt dizzy and disoriented. He didn't want to see Clare at the best of times. He sure as hell didn't want to see her now.

  He glanced again at Noah, remembering what his brother had said he ought to do, wondering if Noah had somehow engineered it. At the same moment Noah glanced over at him. Their eyes met, Tanner's bleak, Noah's challenging.

  Tanner turned his head.

  "It's...been a long time," Clare said finally.

  "Yeah."

  "You're looking good. Other than the bruises, I mean." She colored again. "It's awkward, isn't it?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "It always was," Clare said after a moment. "We never much talked."

  "No." Tanner stared at the toes of his boots. "My fault, not yours. You talked. I was too young and too dumb," he said finally. "I thought it would all work out without us having to say anything."

  It was as much as he had ever admitted to her, and it had come well past the time when it would do any good. But he knew that, no matter what, he had to say it, had to clear the slate between them.

  "I was as bad as you," Clare said ruefully. "We had unrealistic expectations. And you had enormous responsibilities, far too many for someone barely twenty. I wanted to help you, but I just became another one. I'm sorry."

  "Don't apologize," Tanner said hoarsely. "For God's sake, don't do that! If anybody should be apologizing, it's me. I was...I was never there for you. Or—" he swallowed painfully and looked up to meet her eyes "—for the baby. I'm sorry."

  Tentatively, Clare reached out and touched the back of his hand. He saw that hers was strong and capable, cal-lused now. A working woman's hand. She had matured just as he had. More, probably. She had moved on, mar-ried, had children. He turned her hand and clasped it in his. His eyes blurred. He blinked, waiting until his vision cleared before he dared look at her again.

  "So you're a nurse?"

  She nodded. "I held you while Russ popped your shoulder back in. I didn't even flinch." She smiled at him.

  "Why would you?" he said with a small smile. "I was the one who was hurting."

  "You didn't even know it," she reminded him.

  They looked at each other for a long moment. He remembered what a lovely girl she'd been. She was still attractive, but somehow what he'd felt for her didn't compare with what he'd come to feel for Maggie. Was it a matter of adolescent hormones versus adult attraction? he wondered.

  He hesitated, then had to ask, "Are you happy?"

  Clare's gaze flickered toward where the ambulance was parked and then toward a pair of boys now talking to Noah. Then she turned back to Tanner. "Yes."

  "Are those your boys?"

  "Yes. Dan's nine. Kevin's five."

  They were fair like their mother, tall like their father Tanner wondered what his child with Clare would have looked like. He felt his throat grow tight. He had to swal-low twice before he could say, "Good-lookin' kids."

  "Thank you." She paused. "Do you have any?"

  He shook his head.

  "Are you married?"

  "No."

  "Never? Haven't you ever married, Tanner?" She cocked her head, looking at him with concern.

  He looked away. "No."

  "Is it..." she hesitated "because of us?"

  He wanted to lie to her. He couldn't. He shrugged. "I don't think I'm cut out for marriage. I didn't do a very good job of it."

  "Neither of us did," Clare said.

  "You made a success of this one."

  "And you haven't tried." She said it
softly, but Tanner could hear the gentle accusation. "That's the one thing never thought about you, Tanner."

  "What's that?"

  "That you were a quitter."

  "I thought," Tanner said casually to Noah the next morning, "I might head north, see about gettin' a job again. It's almost time for roundup and I sure as hell can't ride broncs."

  Clare's husband, Russ, had made that plain yesterday afternoon. He'd been cordial and very professional. He'd asked Tanner about the shoulder, heard how many times it had slipped out and told him he was crazy to think about riding anymore. He'd mentioned surgery and stress ex-ercises, and personal responsibility and adult behavior. Tanner had gotten the point.

  But worse than the threat of surgery was the memory of Clare's words. I hadn't thought you were a quitter.

  He hadn't thought he was a quitter, either. A nonstarter, maybe, where Maggie was concerned, but he'd only been protecting her. Hadn't he?

  Or had he been protecting himself?

  The question was enough to have kept him awake all night, tossing and turning, cursing the pain and then the painkillers that Noah insisted he take.

  "Sounds like a good idea," Noah said now. "Where you thinking on goin'?"

  Tanner shrugged. "Reckon I'll see what opens up."

  If Noah suspected what he really had in mind, he was tactful enough not to talk about it. "We're headin' toward Durango again Monday," he said. "You can pick up your truck."

  He stopped in Kaycee for gas and a little reconnoiter-ing. He wouldn't just drive into the Three Bar C without scouting out the lay of the land. Hell, he'd told himself half a hundred times on the drive north that for all he knew Maggie had gotten fed up and packed it in. Maybe she wasn't even on the ranch now.

  "Well, how do you like that? Tanner's back!" Rufe at the gas station said. "Where you been, you ol' son of a buck?"

  "Here and there," Tanner said, pumping the gas. "Just goin' down the road."

  "Back to stay now?"

  "Hard to tell. When's the roundup at the Three Bar C?"

  Rufe blinked. "You mean you don't even know?"

  "Told you, I've been gone. Why? Is somethin' wrong?" Tanner felt anxiety come boiling up.

  "Naw, not now. Kid had a rough time for a while, but he said the other day he figured it was the best thing you coulda done for him—tossing him in an' hopin' he'd swim." Rufe grinned.

  "Andy, you mean? Slicker?"

  Rufe spat on the ground. "That's the one. You don't need to call him that anymore though. Reckon he's earned a new name."

  Tanner smiled and finished filling the tank. Well, at least the place hadn't crumbled. And Andy seemed to have earned the locals' respect.

  "They started rounding up this week," Rufe said "Sure they'll be glad to see you, 'specially Maggie. She was always sweet on you."

  "Was she?" Tanner wondered and dared to hope.

  It looked the same as he drove in. It looked warm and welcoming. It looked like home. And in a few moment he would see Maggie. His heart pounded. His palms felt damp and his mouth drier than the high-plains desert. He parked the truck alongside the house and went up the back steps.

  He put his fingers around the doorknob, then stopped. He remembered the first time he'd come to see Maggie here, when he'd belonged and she hadn't. He licked dry lips, then lifted his hand and knocked.

  It was a full minute before he heard footsteps. The door opened. Maggie stood in front of him with her glorious red hair and her beautiful ivory skin, with her scattered freckles and her kissable lips. But there was no smile on those lips, no welcome at all. And in her eyes there was none of the joy he'd seen so often, that he'd actually come to expect to see whenever she saw him.

  She looked stunned.

  It was nothing compared to how he felt himself. Even though he hadn't been able to forget her for almost three months, he still wasn't prepared for the intensity of the longing he felt the moment he saw her again. It was magnetic, the pull he felt toward her. And only the coldness in her eyes and the sight of John Merritt at the kitchen table kept him right where he was.

  "Maggie." His voice sounded a little rusty.

  "What do you want?" Hers sounded like cold steel.

  To hold you, he thought desperately. To kiss you and love you. To start over and try again.

  "A job," he said. It was all he could think of. He couldn't say what he wanted to say—not now, not when she was looking at him like that, not when Merritt was sitting there looking at him.

  "Just drifting through?" she said, her tone hard.

  No, damn it, he wanted to yell at her. I'm back forever! I'm back to stay.

  But he couldn't get the words past his lips. He clenched his fists at his sides and gave a little shrug and a half smile. "More or less." It was wrong, all wrong, and he knew it. He should never have come. He should have known better.

  When was he ever going to learn that he didn't know heads from tails in a relationship? Maggie didn't want him there, not after what had happened between them.

  He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away. "Never mind," he said and started down the steps.

  "Wait."

  He stopped halfway down and turned to look up at her.

  "All right. You're on. We ship on the eighth. I'll pay you for two weeks, starting tomorrow. You know where the bunkhouse is."

  Nine

  There were three other guys staying in the bunkhouse. Andy wasn't there. He'd moved back to the house a couple of months ago, according to Maggie. It was the one bit of information she'd volunteered. Otherwise she'd been as cold and impersonal as a cigar-store Indian.

  She didn't seem to feel anything for him. It was as if what had happened between them had happened between two other people completely. She'd turned back to talk to Merritt. There was nothing left.

  At least in Maggie there wasn't.

  Tanner wished the same was true for him. But if he'd spent half the way back hoping he wouldn't feel a thing and the other half afraid that he wouldn't, he now knew beyond a doubt that he loved Maggie MacLeod.

  And he couldn't tell her so. Not when she looked as if she would shoot him between the eyes if he tried. No, that wasn't true. She looked as if she would stare at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, then walk away.

  It was just as well Andy wasn't in the bunkhouse when he came in, he thought. He didn't know how Andy would feel about him being back. He didn't know what Maggie had told him about the circumstances under which he'd gone.

  The note he'd left had been as noncommunicative as he could manage. He'd written something about wanderlust and moving on, about being sure Andy could handle things.

  He'd tried to write a note to Maggie as well, but no words had come. There had been no way to tell her what he felt. And in the end, he'd convinced himself she'd know why he had gone. She knew better than anyone except Clare how bad he was at relationships.

  Had she told anyone else? he wondered. Had she told Merritt?

  But if Maggie didn't care at all, Andy was delighted to see him. The boy's face broke into a wide grin when he rode up to the barn that evening and spotted Tanner.

  "Hey, Tanner! You're back! Fantastic! Have you seen Maggie? Did she tell you about the mare? Did she show you how Grace has grown? Did you see the sheep?"

  Tanner let the questions flow over him, basking in Andy's welcome, wishing his sister had given him a tenth of the enthusiasm. But then, he reminded himself, he'd never hurt Andy the way he'd hurt Maggie. He had no right to expect more from her.

  "I just got here, Slicker," he said, then grinned. "I hear you don't deserve the nickname anymore."

  Andy beamed. "Who told you that?"

  "Rufe."

  "I hope it's true."

  "Rufe wouldn't have said it if it wasn't."

  "Well, then, I owe it all to you. You taught me and then let me do it on my own. Not many people would have had that kind of confidence."

  Tanner ran a hand against the back of his ne
ck, dis-comfited by Andy's endorsement of what had been s more than desperation on his part. "I didn't know," his said roughly. "You might have blown it."

  "I might have," Andy said. "But so far I haven't. And with you back to help with the round-up, I reckon I won't. You are stayin', aren't you?"

  "For the roundup."

  "That's all?"

  "We'll see," Tanner said.

  Andy flung an arm over his shoulders. "Well, come on we'll go up to the house and have something to eat."

  Billy's enthusiasm equaled Andy's. He launched him self at Tanner from the top of the porch. Catching him against his still-sore shoulder, Tanner winced.

  "What's wrong?" Andy asked.

  "Pulled my shoulder out again a week or so ago." His gaze strayed to Maggie, who was sitting on the porch peeling and dicing apples for sauce. He was remembering the last time he'd hurt his shoulder and how she had spent the night with him. He remembered what had happened after that night, too.

  Maggie's face was carefully blank. She kept right on peeling and dicing and didn't even look at him.

  "Is it okay now?" Andy asked.

  Tanner nodded. "I'll be able to put in a full day's work if that's what you're worried about."

  "It's not," Andy protested. "We don't care if you work or not. We're just glad you're back, aren't we?"

  "You bet," Billy said.

  Maggie didn't say a word.

  Tanner wasn't sure whether anyone else noticed that she didn't talk to him all evening or not. There were enough other people around that the conversation never lagged. Stoney and Wes, two of the hands who were sharing the bunkhouse with him, were there for dinner, and Maggie talked at length with them. She talked to Andy about the sheep and to Ev about who would cook what meals. She helped Billy with his math after dinner, and spoke at length on the phone with someone. Tanner didn't know who. Merritt probably, because he wasn't there.

  But she never spoke to him. Never even looked at him.

  Not until he was leaving. As he was going out the door to head back to the bunkhouse, he spoke to her directly. "You got anything special you want me to do tomorrow?"