Cowboys Don't Cry Page 14

  Then she looked at him. "Ask Andy. He's the foreman."

  As it happened, Andy asked him. The boy had learned a lot over the summer, but he'd never directed a roundup before. And as the days passed and the cattle needed to be rounded up and brought down, he spent a lot of time conferring with Tanner.

  "I know it's a lot to ask," he apologized. "I mean, me bein' called foreman, and asking you to tell me what to do, but—"

  "I don't mind," Tanner assured him. He was happy to help. It gave him the illusion that he was contributing something, that he wasn't completely wasting his time. He'd never have gotten that feeling if he'd had to depend on just the few encounters he had with Maggie.

  Maggie acted as if she didn't know he was alive.

  He tried to get Ev to talk, but Ev wasn't talking much either.

  "How've things been while I was gone?" he said the first time he could actually nail Ev down, which wasn't until the evening of the third day he was there.

  Ev was putting up tomatoes for winter and he clattered his jars and lids and tongs for a considerable time before answering. He eyed Tanner at length over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. "If you'd cared," he said finally "you wouldn'ta left."

  Tanner, who'd been hoping for a casual conversation that he could lead around to finding out a little more about Maggie's attitude toward him, had a pretty good idea of what Maggie's attitude was just from that.

  "You're sore I left."

  "Oh, hell, no," Ev said, banging the lid on the canning kettle. "Why should I be sore? I figured you was unde pendable all along. Never could understand why Ab trusted you."

  "That isn't true," Tanner said quietly. "You trusted me as much as she did."

  Ev turned and glowered at him, hands on his hips, chn jutting over the top of his tomato-stained white apron. "So I'm a fool, too."

  "I couldn't stay," Tanner said finally. He traced a line on the linoleum with the toe of his boot.

  "Yeah, I know. 'Cause you were yellow."

  The stark words speared him. Tanner opened his mouth to deny it, but knew he couldn't. "Maybe," he admitted He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension in his muscles. "Maybe I was."

  "So what're you back for now?" Ev demanded.

  "Maybe I found some courage."

  Ev snorted. "Did you?" He didn't sound as if he be lieved it for a minute. "And you expect Maggie'll welcome you with open arms?"

  "She already didn't," Tanner said tightly.

  "Yeah, well, unlike some of us, Maggie ain't no fool."

  "No," Tanner said heavily. "She's not."

  But he was. He had to be, to keep hoping this way. She certainly gave him no encouragement. He worked long and hard every day, bringing cattle down, sorting them out, teaching Andy how to separate them and shape up the herd for market.

  The only reward was the work itself. It gave him a sense of accomplishment that he'd forgotten in the months he'd been gone. He'd missed that, too.

  He'd missed the ranching, the planning, the labor, the sense of feeling tired but fulfilled at the end of a hardworking day.

  He'd missed taking Gambler into the high country and just looking over the land, watching the colors shift, the shadows shrink, then lengthen. There was no place on earth he'd ever loved the way he loved this land. He'd never realized how tied he'd become to the Three Bar C until he didn't have it anymore. For the last three months he'd been lost. He'd gone down the road with never a thought to what he'd left behind. Now he realized that he'd missed the ranch almost as much as he'd missed Maggie.

  And having it now was a bittersweet pleasure at best, for in little more than a week the roundup would be over, he thought as he cooled down Gambler Friday evening before supper. If Maggie hadn't softened toward him by then, he would be no better off than he had been before he came.

  In fact, he'd be worse.

  "Supper will be in half an hour," Andy told him when he came out of the barn. "Mag's running late tonight. Duncan just got here. He's come to help out."

  "Duncan?" That surprised Tanner.

  Andy grinned. "It's catching. Ranch fever, Ev says we've got. Dune came back a couple of times after you left in the summer. He's turning into a pretty good hand."

  Tanner's mouth quirked into a grin at Andy passing judgment on anyone's ability as a hand. "I'll take a look at him tomorrow," he promised.

  "Do that. You want to play Scrabble with us after supper?" Andy asked eagerly, then his expression took on a downcast turn and he shook his head. "I suppose you're goin' into town with Wes and Stoney and Jim?"

  As a matter of fact, Wes had invited him to come along that morning. All three of the younger men were looking forward to a Friday night in Casper. Tanner told himself he'd probably be better off if he took them up on it. He'd certainly get a warmer welcome at any bar in Casper than he would in Maggie's living room.

  "I'll play Scrabble," he said. It was what amounted to a last-ditch effort. Maybe she would talk to him, give him an opening, and after the game he could suggest that they take a walk.

  The first part of his hoped for scenario actually came to pass. Maggie did speak to him.

  "I thought you didn't like games," she said, fixing him with a hard stare as he came in the door and approaches the table where she and Andy and Ev were sitting, the Scrabble tiles spread out before them.

  "A man has the right to change his mind," Tanner said. He smiled at her, hoping for an answering one. She looked down at her tiles. He took the seat opposite her, stretched out his legs and collided with hers. Hastily Maggie pulled back.

  "Hey, Tanner," Billy said from where he was sitting with Duncan on the floor. "Duncan's teachin' me about gravity and magnets and stuff. You wanna see?"

  "After, okay, sport? Andy tells me you're helping out this weekend," he said to Duncan.

  "Doing what I can," Duncan replied. He seemed to bear Tanner no ill will. Obviously Maggie hadn't talked to him either. He turned back to Billy and began drawing something on the pad in his lap.

  "Well, let's get on with it. Never thought I'd see the day I'd be playin' Scrabble." Ev said it as if it were a dirty word. "Ab an' me used to play poker. Well, I looked up some words today so's I'd have a chance against all you smart folks. Let's play."

  The "smart folks," Tanner figured out pretty quickly, didn't include him. He wasn't verbal at the best of times, and this wasn't one of those.

  But it would have helped if he'd had some notion of what he was doing. As it was, he might have fared just as well if the tiles were in Greek.

  He just watched Maggie. He remembered the way she'd looked the night he'd come upon her in the field delivering the calf. He remembered the way she'd felt when she'd surprised him as he came out of the creek. He remembered the way she'd welcomed him into her arms, into her body when—

  "Damn it, Tanner," Andy said. "I said it's your turn."

  "Huh? Oh, er, right." He stared blindly down at the tiles before him, his body tight, his mind shattered. Desperately he shoved some tiles onto the board.

  "There."

  Andy frowned. Ev scratched his head. "What's that?"

  "Guppy," Tanner said. "It's a fish." At least his thought it was.

  "Guppy has two p's in it," Maggie said.

  He blinked at her, busy contemplating her lips, remem-bering their taste.

  "You misspelled guppy," she said sharply.

  "Oh." Hot blood rushed up his neck into his face. He retrieved his tiles and tried again. All he could think of then was puck, but he didn't have a k, so that was out. He shoved the tiles around this way and that.

  "Ain't there a time limit?" Ev complained. "You'll takin' forever."

  "Fine," Tanner snapped. He shoved a pair of tiles into place, settling for up, which netted him a whole four points. But given his current state of mind, he knew he ought to be glad he'd thought of that.

  He tried to catch Maggie's eye whenever she looked up. She never looked his way. He tried to make sma
ll talk.

  "So, how're the sheep doin'?" he asked.

  "I need to concentrate," she said.

  Tanner sighed, fidgeted, adjusted his jeans. "You're doing a lot better than the rest of us without concentrat-ing," he said gruffly.

  She didn't answer him, just laid her tiles out neatly then shoved her hair out of her face and leaned her chin in her hand, waiting. Tanner stared at her, fascinated.

  "Tanner! Damn it, it's your turn again!" Andy almost shouted at him.

  One time, by chance, while he was fumbling with his tiles, he glanced up and caught her looking his way. Their eyes met for only an instant, but it was still there—the connection he'd felt from the first moment he saw her "Maggie." He breathed her name.

  Abruptly Maggie pushed back her chair. "This game has gone on forever. I quit. I'm tired," she announced. "I'm going to turn in."

  Andy stared at her. "You can't quit. It's the middle of the game. And anyhow, it's only nine o'clock!"

  "If you don't want to play Scrabble we can do something else!" Tanner said desperately.

  But it didn't do any good. Maggie was already up the stairs.

  It was torture. Pure and simple torture. Being with Maggie and not having her, not sharing a smile with her, a few words, the touch of a hand. He should have left.

  He couldn't. She was as necessary to him as the air he breathed. He waited every day for some sign that she still felt the love she'd once claimed to feel for him. And every day his fears and his disappointment grew. He'd never worked harder or suffered more in his life. Not even after his son had died and his marriage had failed.

  He couldn't count the number of times he watched her from afar and thought, Please, Maggie. One look. One smile.

  He never got another chance.

  He saw her every day, but never alone. She was halfway across a pasture from him or she was coming out of the barn as he was going in. She was at the other side of the kitchen or the other end of the dinner table. And the night before the trucks came to pick up the cattle, when he volunteered to dry the dishes she was washing, she shook her head.

  "No, thank you. It's not your job."

  "I know that. I don't mind. I like doing dishes!" he lied.

  She didn't laugh at the absurdity of his statement. She just took a towel, dried her hands, waved her arm in the direction of the sink and gave him a little bow and smile. "By all means, then, be my guest. I'll call John and discuss what I should be doing for the sale with him."

  And she left him with a sinkful of dirty dishes while she went into the living room and talked to John Merritt on the phone.

  He didn't think anything could hurt as much as that had.

  This is my herd, he wanted to yell at her. I bred them I raised them, I took care of them.

  But he knew what she would say in turn. You left them. You left me. You had no right to come back.

  So he washed the dishes and wound up breaking a glass in the dishwater. He was twisting a rag in the glass so hard that he cut his hand open and watched the blood turn the water red.

  It hurt, but not as much as listening to the soft sound of Maggie's voice talking about the herd, the ranch, the future with Merritt.

  And then it was over.

  Two weeks gone in the blink of an eye. The last of the cattle loaded. The last of the trucks gone.

  Tanner stood in the yard and watched until he couldn't see them anymore. Wes took off right after the trucks did, got his pay, grabbed his gear, shook hands all around and headed west.

  "We're goin' to a movie," Billy told Tanner. "Me and Maggie and Granpa. Down in Casper." They got in Mag-gie's little white car. She didn't even look at him as she walked past.

  Stoney and Jim and Duncan left next. "We're goin' out an' hang one on with The Perfesser," Jim said, clapping Duncan on the shoulder.

  "You want to come?" Stoney asked Tanner.

  He probably should—to deaden the pain a little. He shook his head. "Not this time."

  "I'll go," Andy said hopefully.

  "And sit on the curb all night if they're checkin' IDs?" Duncan said.

  Andy sighed and watched their truck as it bounced down the road toward town. "One more year," he muttered, then brightened. "Actually only five more months."

  Tanner, looking at him, couldn't ever remember being that young.

  They stood together in the waning sun until there was nothing but silence left. "You want to play a game of Scrabble?" he asked Andy.

  Andy looked at him, startled, then blushed. "Well, actually I've, uh, got a date. You know Jack Bates's sister..."

  "Mary Jean."

  Andy grinned. "Yeah. She's pretty cool. She, er, rented a couple of videos and invited me over." He hesitated. "You can...can come if you want."

  Tanner smiled ruefully. "Thanks, but I don't think I've quite got to the third-wheel stage yet." But it seemed he was getting close. He turned and started toward the bunk-house.

  "Tanner? What happened between you and Maggie?"

  The question stopped him in his tracks. It was the first time Andy had even suggested he knew there was anything wrong. The youth shrugged awkwardly and came toward Tanner.

  "I'm not blind, you know. She was hurt bad when you left. Real bad."

  Tanner swallowed. "She might've been hurt worse if I'd stayed."

  "How? What do you mean?"

  Tanner shook his head. "It's none of your business."

  "Maybe not." Andy chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Is it hers?"

  Tanner nodded.

  "So have you told her?"

  "Haven't had a chance."

  "You've been here two weeks!"

  "She won't talk to me."

  Andy made an exasperated sound. "Have you tried?" Tanner, feeling cornered, shifted from one foot to the other, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Aren't you late for your date?"

  "Maybe I am," Andy said. He gave Tanner a pointed stare. "And I wouldn't want to hurt Mary Jean's feelings. Not the way you hurt Maggie's." He turned and started toward the house.

  "It isn't the same damned thing," Tanner called after him in the growing darkness.

  It wasn't. It was a thousand times worse.

  She paid them off in the morning. She sat at the kitchen table and wrote out checks, handing them to each of the hands in turn, always with a smile, a kind word and her thanks.

  "You did a wonderful job," she told Stoney. "I'll see you next fall, I hope."

  "I appreciate your help," she said to Bates. "You've really come through for us all year."

  "I can't tell you how happy I was that you were here to help out. Come back next year," she said to Jim.

  One by one they thanked her, too, tipped the brims of their hats and went out.

  Until only Tanner was left.

  Maggie bent her head, ignoring him standing there two feet from her. All her attention was focused on filling out his check. She finished writing her signature with a flourish, tore the check off and held it out to him. Her bright green eyes met his squarely for the first time since he'd arrived two weeks ago.

  Tanner ran his tongue over his lips, a million words inside him screaming to get out, a million things he had to tell her, a million feelings he had to share.

  "Maggie." His voice was barely a croak.

  She pushed back her chair and stood up, her eyes now nearly level with his. She shoved the check toward him again, her impatience obvious. "Your check."

  He didn't know what else to do; with nerveless fingers, he took it.

  "Thank you, Tanner," Maggie said, her voice flat. "Now goodbye."

  Ten

  Until he loved, no man was ever lonely.

  He'd never understood that until now. Solitude was one thing, Tanner thought, leaning his arm on the open window of the pickup and driving south. Loneliness was something else.

  Loneliness was having a damned crater where the pit of your stomach used to be. It was having a constant ache at the back of your eyes, a soreness in your thr
oat, a wild and desperate longing that wouldn't go away.

  She'd dismissed him with five words. But two had said it all.

  She'd called him Tanner. And she'd said goodbye.

  She'd never called him Tanner before, not in all the months he'd known her. Right from the first she'd smiled and called him Robert. Even when he'd protested, had insisted that everyone called him Tanner, still he'd been Robert to her.

  He wasn't now.

  And it hurt.

  God, he'd never realized how much love could hurt. He thought he'd hurt after his divorce from Clare. He didn't know the half of it. Clare had been under his skin. Maggie was a part of his heart.

  But he wasn't a part of hers. Not any longer. He'd killed whatever love she'd felt for him. She'd practically shoved the check into his hand. And then, while he stood, rooted, staring at her, she'd flipped her checkbook shut and said, "Excuse me, please. I'm late. I have an appointment for a haircut in town."

  And she'd gone.

  She brushed right past him out the door, went straight to her car, got in and drove away. Tanner stood in the doorway, stunned.

  And what could he do then but leave as well?

  He'd packed his gear, hitched his trailer, loaded his horse and headed out. Going over the ridge toward the highway, he'd run into Andy taking some of the cattle back to the north pasture. His riding was easy now, his movements sure. He'd come a long way in the last few months. He'd do fine.

  They'd all do fine.

  Except him.

  Andy stopped him, looked at the trailer, at Gambler's nose poking through the slats, then at Tanner leaning on the steering wheel. "Does this mean what I think it means?" he'd asked.

  "Roundup's over," Tanner said with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

  "So you're going?" Andy's voice was heavy.

  Tanner gave an infinitesimal nod of his head.

  Andy just looked at him. "You're a fool."

  Tanner didn't have to be told.

  He made it to LaJunta by nightfall. He had friends there. He could stop, rest, eat, sleep. He drove on. If he kept going he could be in Texas before the sun came up.

  And what was in Texas?

  Nothing.

  Everything he loved was behind him. Texas—and the future—stretched out ahead of him, bleak and cold.