A COWBOY'S PROMISE Read online

  It didn't matter to Walt, who was talking more to himself anyway. "Thinkin' 'bout people I knew. Wonderin' what happened to 'em. People I ain't seen in years, y'know? Some people I ain't never seen…" His voice trailed off.

  Charlie didn't fill in the silence. He was barely listening. He had his own preoccupations—namely Walt's daughter, whom he had last seen yesterday afternoon.

  She hadn't spared him a glance. She'd been in Angie's room to give her instructions and advice to help with the baby. She'd talked to Angie—and to Maddie. She hadn't said a word to him.

  She hadn't spoken to him directly since she'd called him to tell him Angie was in labor three days ago. All her comments had been directed at other people, even when he was the one the message was aimed at.

  "I bet you could use some ice chips," she'd said to Angie during labor.

  Get the girl some ice, she'd meant, Charlie knew.

  "A back rub would probably help you right now, wouldn't it?" she'd said to the girl at one point.

  She'd meant, Rub her back, you fool.

  When Angie had been leaving yesterday, he'd been there, too. Cait had been full of compliments and sage advice, and she'd told Angie how well she'd done and Maddie what a great help she was going to be over the next few days and weeks. And then she'd said, "If you need anything, give me a call. Except, this weekend you'd better ring Dr. Ferris because I'll be out of town."

  "Where're you going?" Charlie had asked.

  But she'd just said, "Bye. I'll try to drop over to the ranch to see you next week." And she'd walked out without a glance in his direction.

  She'd gone to Denver, he now knew.

  Walt had said so when he'd come by last evening to tell Charlie they were moving cattle today. "You oughta come eat supper with me," he'd said. "Caity'll be gone all weekend," he'd grumbled, "Her an' Steve gone down to Denver. To look for a house." He hadn't looked thrilled.

  Charlie wasn't at all thrilled.

  He'd barely slept a wink last night thinking about her spending the night with Steve. His mind had whirled with memories of his own nights with Cait. He'd relived every wondrous, tender, explosive moment. He'd ached with longing.

  He'd been ready to chew nails when Walt had shown up this morning about six to head up to where they were going to move cattle. Walt hadn't looked much more rested than Charlie felt. His graying hair stuck out in tufts beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. He had a day's worth of stubble on his cheeks and a hollow look about his eyes.

  "You feelin' all right?" Charlie asked him. He didn't need Walt having a heart attack on him in the back of beyond.

  "Ain't been sleepin' too good. Been thinkin'," Walt had said.

  He'd been talking about his thinking ever since. Charlie had let it go in one ear and out the other. It was Vietnam, Vietnam, Vietnam—stuff about making decisions and having regrets and wondering if you did the right thing.

  Charlie had enough of his own questionable behavior to worry about. He didn't have time to spare on Walt's.

  They moved the cattle. It was about the sort of work Charlie needed. Semi-mindless. Physical. Demanding at times, brainless at others. It kept him busy, but still gave him time to think about Cait. And since there was nothing he could do about her, it spared him bouncing off the walls of the cabin in frustration.

  He thought he'd be able to sleep that night. The day's work had been demanding. He should have been dead on his feet. He declined Walt's invitation to stop for supper and then head on down to the Dew Drop for a little refreshment, figuring he'd grab a bite at the cabin, then sleep hard and deep. But he ended up pacing furiously instead.

  He decided he'd had too much of his own company, so he got in Otis's Suburban and headed over to Brenna and Jed's. If they were surprised to see him turning up on their doorstep at nearly ten o'clock at night, they didn't say so.

  "Ah, reinforcements," Brenna said, actually looking relieved. "Here." And she handed him a fussy baby.

  The baby's name was Hank. He seemed big compared to Angie's newborn. A person already—albeit an unhappy one. Charlie juggled him nervously. "What should I do?"

  "Walk with him," Brenna said. "It's what we do."

  She and Jed slumped wearily on the sofa and gave him grateful smiles. Otis and Tuck, watching a baseball game on television in the other room, looked around and gave him approving looks.

  "Why not?" Charlie said. It was what he'd been doing back at the cabin. Jed got up and poured him a beer. Charlie held Hank in one hand and the beer in the other and he paced.

  Something about his limping gait must have soothed the baby, because it wasn't long before Hank's head nestled against his shoulder. The sound of his wails softened, then disappeared altogether. It was replaced every once in a while by a sigh and a tiny hiccup.

  "He's got the touch," Jed said in reverent tones.

  Brenna nodded. "Can Hank go live at the cabin with you?"

  Charlie laughed, causing the baby to stir and fret just a little before he slept once more. "I wouldn't mind," he said. "But I think he would."

  Jed and Brenna exchanged looks.

  "Nesting instinct got you?" Brenna asked.

  Charlie shrugged. He wasn't admitting anything. He didn't need anybody's pity because the woman he wanted was in Denver with another man.

  Brenna seemed to sense that. She didn't press. She just let him continue to pace until it was clear that Hank was down for the count. Then she led Charlie upstairs to the baby's bedroom. "Here's the test of true power," she said. "Can you ease him into bed without waking him up?"

  "I used to be pretty good with my friends, Chase and Joanna's, kids." He'd lugged a colicky Emerson around a lot of nights.

  "Novel way to keep a kid off the streets," Chase had said with a grin at the time.

  But Charlie hadn't minded. It had made him feel needed. It had made him a part of things—even when he'd insisted he didn't want to be a part.

  He realized now how foolish he'd been. He realized how he'd been fighting himself all these years. It was nice to have finally got it straightened out.

  Pity that Cait didn't believe him.

  He laid Hank in the crib, and the baby gave a tiny shudder, but his eyes stayed shut. He made a soft sucking sound as if he were dreaming of nursing. A faint smile curved his baby lips.

  "You're a miracle worker," Brenna breathed.

  And moments later when he accompanied her back downstairs, Jed looked at him with real respect. "A regular genius," he said.

  Charlie stayed with them until after midnight. He talked with Brenna about her next show at Gaby's which was coming up in the fall. He talked to Jed and Otis about the cattle he and Walt had moved today. He talked to Tuck about the Porsche and admired some of the drawings Tuck had done of it.

  It was a whole lot better than rattling around the cabin by himself, worrying himself sick about Cait and Steve in some Denver motel room. He liked the company and the conversation. He felt comfortable. At home.

  He wanted…

  He wanted to stay.

  Not simply at Jed and Brenna's. Not at Jed and Brenna's at all, really. But in Elmer. In the valley. Here. In this community. With these people.

  With Cait.

  "Getting tired?" Brenna said, smothering a yawn. And Charlie, startled, realized how late it was and how early Jed would have to be up in the morning—how early Walt would expect to see him—and how much he had overstayed his welcome.

  He scrambled to his feet. "Hey! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just—" He shrugged, a little embarrassed at how he'd settled in.

  "Glad to have you. Wish you'd come down sooner," Brenna said. "But I know you had your own priorities." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. She was smiling at him.

  Had Gaby told her why he'd really come? Suddenly he didn't care. "Thanks," he said to all of them—and meant it from the bottom of his heart.

  He slept. Fitfully. He dreamed. Desperately. He woke. Haggardly.

  Sunday was even worse
. Walt woke him up when he finally fell asleep at dawn.

  "Uh, right. I'm gettin' up," he mumbled, only to have Walt tell him he wasn't coming today, that he had things to do at home.

  "Don't mean you can lie abed all day," the old man said. "Just that I trust you to do it yourself," he said. "Just ride that fence line along near the water hole."

  It was a vote of confidence, of course. Walt believed in him. Another time Charlie would have been gratified by the news.

  Today he could have used the company. Riding fence was far less demanding than moving the cattle. Far less interesting, too. And without Walt there to drone on about Vietnam, naturally all his thoughts were of Cait.

  She would be back today. He would go down tomorrow and see her. And if she said she and Steve had put a down payment on a house, what was he going to do?

  Was he going to battle all the way to the altar? Was he going to fight to make her love him? Or was he going to beat a tactful retreat?

  They weren't questions he wanted to consider.

  He didn't believe in retreats.

  But he didn't believe in making Cait's life miserable, either.

  He itched to call Chase and talk it over. But since he hadn't really followed the advice Chase had given him the last time they'd talked, he didn't think calling again and confessing he'd done the opposite would net him any stars for good behavior now.

  Besides, whatever Chase said would probably be right—just as what he'd said last time was undoubtedly right. And Charlie would probably do it wrong. Again.

  But he was beginning to get the idea that there were some things a guy had to work out for himself. Convincing the woman he loved that he did indeed love her was obviously one of them.

  He finished with the fence about five in the afternoon and rode back to the cabin, passing the water hole as he went.

  He didn't stop. He didn't need any more reminders. And even though he was hot and tired and his leg ached, he didn't even consider taking a dip.

  He unloaded the pack horse, put away the wire and posts he'd taken along, then unsaddled his own horse and turned them both out to graze. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. Handling horses and fencing material was getting to be second nature now. The silence didn't bother him now. In fact it didn't seem all that quiet. There were birds. Grasshoppers. The rustle of the breeze blowing through the trees.

  There were a lot of people in the world who wouldn't believe this was Charlie Seeks Elk if they could see him now. But he knew it was a good fit. A better fit for the man he'd become than going back to cover wars would be.

  Yes, he could get used to this.

  He could love it and never leave it.

  If only he had Cait.

  It was dusk when Charlie heard Walt's truck.

  He was making coffee and, given Walt's unerring instincts and love of Java, figured that the old man must have heard him pop the vacuum seal on the new can. Well, good. He could use the company. He hadn't spoken to a soul since Walt had rung this morning.

  Maybe Cait was back. Maybe Walt had news. Charlie felt his insides clench. He got out a second mug, set it on the table and stepped out on the porch.

  Behind him, over the Bridgers, the last light was fading. From the east the truck rounded the bend, and Charlie could see its headlights bouncing as it navigated the dirt track. He stood, one hand braced on the porch support and waited.

  Finally the truck pulled up alongside where he'd left Otis's Suburban, and the engine shut off. The door opened.

  "Coffee's on," Charlie called down. "You must have ears like an elephant," he added as a figure emerged and the truck door shut.

  "Thank you very much," a decidedly female voice dryly replied.

  Charlie's stomach did a complete flip.

  "Cait?"

  This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  An idea born of desperation and agitation and not much else.

  But it was the only idea Cait had—so she had gone with it.

  And now the time for backing out was past. The minute she'd driven through the gate and started up the hill, she knew she'd reached the point of no return.

  He'd hear her coming. He'd be waiting. Expecting someone. She couldn't just turn around and head back down.

  Well, she could, but she wouldn't let herself.

  She'd lived in limbo too long. It was beginning to feel like hell. And she had to resolve things one way or the other. She couldn't go on like this.

  It was Charlie's fault, she reasoned. So it was Charlie who was going to have to help resolve it.

  Now she took a deep breath and walked resolutely toward him. "Yes," she said. "It's me."

  She was close enough now that she could see the glint of his grin.

  Don't, she thought. Please, Charlie, don't!

  She didn't want him to be happy, to be glad to see her, to virtually welcome her with open arms.

  "Hey," he said, still grinning. But when she didn't smile in return, gradually his grin began to fade. His brows drew together. "What happened? Did something happen to Walt?"

  "What? No. No, of course not. I—" She raked a hand through her hair. She'd raked her hands through her hair a hundred times in the past hour, it seemed. "He's not even home. I don't know where he is."

  And she was glad of it. It meant he was getting out, doing things, having a life. And it meant she didn't have to tell him about her weekend in Denver with Steve. She didn't want to talk about it—or about Steve—or anything else for that matter, until she had things settled in her mind.

  "Then … what?" Charlie was looking worried now. Good. She was tired of being the only one whose life was spinning out of control.

  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and debated how to begin. Just baldly blurt it out? Work it into the conversation?

  "I'll have that coffee," she decided abruptly. Maybe if she had a few moments to think things out…

  Charlie blinked, then nodded. "Right. Come on in."

  He went back inside, leaving her to follow.

  The room seemed even smaller now than the last time she had come, when she had brought him the ice. Then it had been Charlie filling it. Now all she seemed to see was the bed. She jerked her gaze away from it.

  Charlie was pouring two mugs of coffee. In his jeans and a navy-blue long-sleeved shirt, his black hair flopping forward onto his forehead, he looked healthy and handsome and comfortable in his surroundings. He looked as if he fit in, as if he was at home, as if this was his home.

  Last time she'd thought how out of place he seemed here, but not now. The cabin had his mark on it—and it seemed to have made a mark on him.

  It surprised her.

  It disturbed her. She'd wanted him to hate it, to leave it. To go away.

  He was adding a dollop of milk to one of the mugs. Hers. And then he carried it over to her. "Here you go."

  "Thank you." She was careful that their fingers didn't touch. The mug was hot, but it gave her something to hang on to while she got her bearings.

  Charlie had his bearings. He looked relaxed, one hip propped against the sinkboard as he took a sip of coffee and regarded her over the top of the mug.

  Cait studied the coffee in her own mug. Then she looked around the room. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, breathed deeply and tried to find the right words. There were no right words. There was only the deed.

  She looked up at last. "I want to go to bed with you."

  So much for Charlie looking relaxed. His heels hit the floor with a thud, and he stood up straight so quickly that the coffee in his mug slopped onto his hand. He blinked rapidly, and a tide of color darkened his cheeks.

  He opened his mouth, but it took a second or two for him to respond. It was as if she'd knocked the breath right out of him, which she supposed she had.

  And then he said, "Yes," and started to grin. It was a warm grin, a wonderful grin. A grin of relief and joy.

  Cait couldn't look at it. She gripped
the mug between her palms and began to pace, shaking her head. "I didn't mean that," she muttered.

  Behind her Charlie sucked in a breath. "What did you mean?" His voice was quiet. Without even looking she knew the grin was gone.

  She didn't turn around until she reached the far wall and was forced to. Then she stopped and turned and lifted her shoulders irritably. "I meant that we need to sort things out … clear the air."

  Charlie stared at her. "Sort what out? Clear what air?"

  "Between us!" Cait shoved one hand through her hair this time. "Between us! It's making me nuts. I can't … I can't think! I can't make sense of things! I tried to find a house with Steve this weekend and I … I kept thinking about you!"

  "What a shame," Charlie said dryly.

  "It is," Cait said, frantic. "It's wrong! I shouldn't be feeling this way when I'm marrying someone else!"

  "Or maybe you shouldn't be marrying someone else."

  Damn him for being so bloody rational!

  "I don't know what I should be doing!" She was almost shouting now. "Don't you see?"

  She didn't wait to find out whether he saw or not. She went back to pacing again, almost knocking over one of the chairs. Charlie reached out and snagged it out of her way. She took a deep, steadying breath, then stopped and faced him again.

  "I told Steve we couldn't get married the way I'm feeling right now. I told him I needed to clear my head. And this is the only way I can think to do it."

  "By going to bed with me?"

  "By getting you out of my system," she agreed. "And it can help you, too!"

  "Really?" Charlie lifted a brow.

  "Yes," she insisted. "It will get me out of your system, too."

  He just looked at her.

  It was what he'd wanted, damn it! It was all he'd wanted two years ago!

  And here she was, standing in front of him offering it to him—offering herself to him—no strings attached.

  Take me to bed.

  How much more blatant could she be?

  And Charlie shook his head. A faint rueful smile touched one corner of his mouth for just a moment, then it disappeared.

  "I don't want you out of my system, Cait," he told her quietly. "I love you. So, thanks, but the answer is no."