A COWBOY'S PROMISE Page 14

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  Nine

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  He needed his head examined!

  For crying out loud, she'd just flat-out offered to go to bed with him—and he'd said no.

  Like he hadn't wanted to! Like it hadn't been the very thing he'd been hoping for and dreaming of since he'd come back from his encounter with eternity.

  He had hoped for it. He had dreamed of it. Had prayed for it.

  But not like this.

  He understood now the old adage, "Be careful what you pray for," because when she stood right there and baldly offered it to him, he couldn't take it.

  It wasn't enough.

  He didn't want only Cait's body in his bed. He didn't want merely the softness of her skin against the roughness of his. He didn't want just sweet murmurs and shaking passion.

  He wanted love.

  God help him, he wanted her love.

  But that wasn't what she was offering, and he knew it. So they had stood and stared at each other for what seemed like another eternity, but which could only have been a few seconds.

  And then—when Charlie said no … thank you, but no—she'd turned on her heel and walked away.

  And now he stood staring at her taillights as the truck hurtled down the hill. He braced one hand against the porch post, gripping it so hard he felt his nails dig into the wood.

  "Damn it!" The words were wrung from him.

  They broke—a harsh ugly painful sound echoing exactly the way he felt since the moment of his refusal when he'd watched the color drain from her face.

  She'd blinked her astonishment—and her hurt—then carefully, oh, so carefully, she'd set her coffee mug down on the table, turned and walked out the door.

  For at least ten seconds Charlie had stayed right where he was. Frozen. Not just immobile, but literally cold as ice from the inside out.

  Then he'd heard the truck door open and slam shut. He heard the engine kick over, sputter and die. Then the key ground in the ignition and the engine growled to life again.

  The sound had moved him. He reached the top of the steps in time to see her jerk the truck into reverse and back it around. He was conscious of her overrevving the engine. He knew she was angry as hell.

  He just didn't know what he could do about it.

  So he said, "Damn it," again. Then he took a breath. Short, shallow, all he was capable of—and he let it out.

  "You can't do anything about it," he said quietly into the darkness.

  Around the bend, the taillights disappeared. The sound of the truck grew fainter.

  He waited. He listened. But in a few minutes, even straining, Charlie couldn't hear it anymore.

  In the silence he stood alone.

  Slowly he let go of the post, unbent his knuckles and saw his hand begin to shake. He balled it into a fist and jammed it into his pocket. His throat started to thicken and ache, and he swallowed desperately. His eyes began to burn and he shut them. He clamped his teeth together to trap and swallow the sound of pain. He stood there, rigid, fighting it.

  But it was a fight he wasn't going to win. It was over.

  He'd been as honest as he could be. She'd walked away.

  So much for bad ideas.

  Such a bad idea it was positively off the charts! Anger, pain, mortification, humiliation. Cait felt all of the above—and knew she deserved every one.

  The emotions had come in waves. Anger first. She couldn't believe he'd said no. Thanks, but no. Like she'd offered him a piece of pie for dessert. Calm and almost dismissive. But polite.

  God, yes! He was so freaking polite!

  No, thank you, Ms. Blasingame, I don't want to go to bed with you. Her face could still burn just thinking about it.

  The mortification and humiliation were in a dead heat for second.

  The last time Charlie had, in effect, turned her down, he'd done it without saying a word. He'd simply got up in the middle of the night and left.

  She hadn't figured it out right away. The realization that he hadn't just left for the moment, but for life, was gradual. And painful. And mortifying.

  She'd felt such a fool.

  She couldn't imagine ever feeling like a bigger one. But she did now.

  This time, like an idiot, she'd spelled it out. She'd flat-out offered her body to him—and he'd rejected her. When would she ever learn? No, that wasn't right. She had learned! And then there was the pain.

  It was the pain of rejection first. Then the pain of embarrassment and humiliation. Those were the feelings of pain that had propelled her out of the cabin, into the truck and down the hill. Those were the feelings that had roiled in her heart and in her soul and in her mind as she berated herself for her foolishness. Those were the feelings that kept her awake and pacing all night. Those were the feelings that wouldn't even let her face her father.

  She heard him come in, but she pretended to be asleep.

  She couldn't answer questions about her weekend in Denver. Her weekend in Denver seemed a million years ago!

  And she couldn't tell him about tonight. She couldn't talk about Charlie to her father, who thought the sun rose and set on him.

  So she huddled in the darkness of her room and relived the stomach-grinding humiliation of her evening with Charlie over and over and over.

  She beat on her pillow. She punched and hammered it, then clutched it against her belly and wrapped herself around it.

  And she wept.

  For her foolishness. For her needs. For wanting a man she didn't want to want.

  Then, as night slid into the first rays of dawn, the tears subsided and she lay silent and still and stared at the ceiling. And she realized that her foolishness was even greater than she'd thought it was.

  Charlie hadn't refused to make love with her tonight to embarrass her or to humiliate her or even to hurt her.

  He hadn't taken her to bed because he really did love her—and he hadn't been willing to settle for less.

  Her lips trembled. Her vision blurred, and the tears came again.

  But this time Cait wept for an even greater foolishness—for not believing him.

  "You look like hell," Steve said when she finally tracked him down late Monday afternoon.

  She hadn't had a chance before. She'd lain awake until dawn, aching and crying for herself—her foolishness—and for the man she'd lost by denying feelings she'd been afraid to have.

  There was no reason to keep Steve's ring now. No sense in holding out the slightest bit of hope for them. But just as she was thinking she might call him, her phone had rung and it had been one of her patients telling her that she was in labor.

  Cait had never felt less like doing her job. But she hauled herself up and headed for Livingston. She'd find Steve later. But between Lucy's labor and delivery and the patients she had appointments with at the office, she barely had a chance to think.

  That was a good thing—as the only thoughts she had were of Charlie—and of what a fool she'd been. Well, she had the answer to her question now.

  She was no longer confused about why she was thinking about Charlie when she was determined to marry Steve.

  It was because she still loved him. Charlie had been right and she'd been wrong. Terribly terribly wrong.

  She knew that now—for all the good it would do her.

  "I feel like hell," she told Steve frankly when she finally saw him. She tried to smile, but her mouth didn't seem to be working.

  "What happened? It's not your dad?"

  Everyone thought everything was her dad. But Charlie had helped him out of whatever depression he'd been in.

  "It's not my dad," Cait said. "It's me." And this time she really did wiggle the ring off her finger and put it in his palm. "I can't marry you."

  "Ever?"

  She nodded, just once. "I can't."

  "What did I—" he began but she cut him off.

  "It's not you. It's me. And someone else," she added, needing to be honest because Joyce had seen that kis
s. Joyce had heard her argue with Charlie. And she didn't want Steve hearing things she hadn't had the guts to tell him.

  Steve looked at her. "Who?"

  "A man I used to know. A man I thought I was over—and wasn't."

  "And he came back for you?"

  "He tried," Cait said. "I turned him down. But then I realized—"

  Steve made a face. "And now you're going with him."

  Cait shook her head. "No. Now I'm quite sure he won't want me."

  "Then—"

  "No. I don't love you the way I ought to. Seeing him again made me realize that. I would only make you unhappy. I'm sorry."

  Steve smiled wryly. "Yeah. Me, too." He hesitated, then went on. "Though I'm not exactly surprised."

  He didn't look exactly heartbroken, either. In fact, he looked almost relieved. Or maybe, Cait thought, she was just indulging in wishful thinking. She didn't want to ask what he meant. She'd behaved badly enough already. So she just looked at him and hoped he would explain.

  "You kept making up excuses not to go to bed with me."

  Cait shut her eyes. If she hadn't already used up her lifetime supply of mortification, she could have wallowed in it here. She ducked her head and shifted from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean…"

  But she couldn't finish because obviously she had "meant" … or her body had. It had apparently realized what her mind had not—that Steve was not for her.

  "I'm glad I'm moving to Denver," he said frankly.

  "Yes," she agreed, looking up at last. "And I'm sure you'll meet someone there. Someone better for you. More suited. Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved."

  Before he could answer, his beeper went off. He smiled a little ruefully, then actually laughed as hers went off ten seconds later.

  He tucked the ring in his pocket, then reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. "Take care of yourself, Cait."

  She clung for half a second, then let him go. "I will. You, too."

  He turned and headed for emergency. She watched him go, knowing she'd done one right thing at last. Steve had his whole future ahead of him, and he would meet someone far better than she was. His future was bright.

  Hers seemed endlessly bleak.

  "I'm amazed. No, I'm not amazed," Gaby said as she studied the slides Charlie had spread out on the light box. "I mean, I knew you'd find something wonderful. And I knew you said mothers and children, bears and babies, but I never thought…" She lifted her gaze and her eyes shone. "They're brilliant, Charlie. They're just wonderful."

  "Uh-huh."

  Some of them had promise, he was willing to admit. The series on the mother bear and her cubs was strong. He'd done some good stuff on a horse and foal, too. And he had some he liked of Angie and the baby.

  He'd taken quite a few of Brenna and her bunch while he was there. Those girls of hers, Neile and Shannon, were shot stealers, for certain. And he'd done a whole series of Brenna with Jed's nephew Tuck. He saw echoes of his own relationship with Joanna. Brenna was the closest thing to a mother Tuck had, and his devotion was clear.

  They were both artists, and Charlie had taken lots of shots of them working, talking together, studying a subject, then working again. He'd taken other shots as well—of Brenna and Tuck on horseback, of Brenna and Tuck doing dishes, of Brenna sitting in the passenger seat of his Porsche and Tuck behind the wheel, pleased as punch to be driving her to town in such a vehicle.

  But perhaps his favorite shot of all was one of the whole family around the dinner table—Jed, Brenna, Otis, Tuck, Neile, Shannon and Hank. Three generations. A complete mix: Brenna's father, Jed's nephew, her child by her first marriage, the two they'd had together. Laughing, arguing, talking.

  Family.

  Loving. Caring. Supporting.

  It made him ache just to look at it.

  It was what he'd always wanted—even when he'd been afraid to reach out for it—first with Chase and Joanna, then with Cait.

  Yes, he'd finally come to his senses. But with Cait the hurt had been too deep, and he'd left it too late.

  There was a moral there somewhere. Charlie saw it staring him in the face.

  He regretted leaving Montana, he was grateful for Brenna's offer to come back whenever he wanted and he said maybe someday he would.

  After all, Cait wouldn't be there. She'd be safe in Denver with Steve. Or if she didn't marry Steve, she'd find someone else. Someone who got it right the first time.

  Not him.

  "We can hang a show next week," Gaby said now, eyes shining.

  "What!" That was impossible. Shows took months to set up. Charlie stared at her, mouth open.

  She laughed. "Not a full-scale, all-out, one-man band sort of show. But I've got a show opening next week—Nathan Wolfe. You know Nathan. He does those fantastic arctic photos. Animals. Birds. He's got some wonderful polar bears. What you have here could blend in." She was warming to the notion, he could see it in her eyes. "Your own audience will find you, anyway, but since you've moved on in your interests, you're going to want people to know where you've gone. Nathan's audience would be a natural."

  "Nathan won't be thrilled." A man didn't happily share a one-man show.

  But Gaby disagreed. "I think he might. He's been a bit distracted lately." She shook her head. "He keeps muttering about having other things on his mind. Like he thinks I don't? Anyway, he hasn't given me all I need to really go big with this, so if we hung some of yours—just a couple of series even—you'd fill my walls and you'd be doing him a favor."

  "I don't know…"

  Gaby, of course, took that as a yes. She was already picking the slides she wanted to use.

  And Charlie didn't have the energy to argue with her.

  He didn't have any energy at all.

  He had come back home two days ago, and he'd done nothing since he got here except stare at the ocean.

  It didn't have the soothing effect it usually had. It was too … flat.

  He still liked the horizon, but he didn't like it flat anymore. He needed a little high relief. He needed mountains. Towering pines. Icy, running creeks.

  Southern California felt alien to him. He'd never been so aware of the pollution, the noise, the buildings, the cars. There were so many people. Too many people.

  And not one of them was Cait.

  It always came back to Cait.

  He had to stop thinking about her. He had to get past it. He'd given it his best shot. There was nothing else he could have done.

  You could have gone to bed with her one last time, he told himself. If he had, at least he would have had the memory. But maybe that would have been worse.

  He tried to tell himself it would have been worse. Sometimes he believed it. He needed to stop thinking about it.

  "Fine," he said heavily to Gaby now. "Do it. I'll help."

  Maybe it would distract him, occupy him, force him to get on with his life.

  She finished picking the slides she wanted. Then she went into his kitchen and made them both a cup of coffee. When she had poured it, she sat down, and for the first time she looked at him and studied him as closely as she'd studied his slides.

  "You're not happy."

  "No."

  Her eyes softened. Her expression saddened. "The woman in Montana…"

  "Is still in Montana," he said flatly. "And I'm here."

  "Ah, Charlie." Her eyes reflected his misery. He shook it off. "I'll get over it." She touched his cheek. "Of course, Charlie. Someday you will."

  She would get over it—over him.

  She had to. She had no choice. It wasn't as if she could go running after him now. She'd made her bed, as her father would say. She would have to lie in it.

  And she did. Miserably. Night after night. With all the memories of what might have been.

  Every day Cait dragged herself out to work. She saw patients. She helped mothers and fathers bring babies into the world. And when she had the slightest bit of energy left, she threw herself
into work on the ranch.

  They needed her help since Charlie had gone.

  She wasn't surprised to hear that he had.

  Her father was.

  "Thought he was comin' into his own," he'd said, shaking his head when he'd told her. "Told him he had the makin's of a pretty fine hand."

  "He's a photographer, Dad. He has a job to do."

  "He was doin' it here," Walt groused. But then he stopped, straightened up and squared his shoulders. "Glad he came," he said. "Made me think about things I hadn't thought about in years."

  Cait wasn't really listening. She was thinking about Charlie as always.

  She was completely shocked, then, to come home from work a few days later to find her father packing a bag.

  "Dad?" She stopped at the doorway to his room and stared at him.

  He jumped as if she'd surprised him. Then a fleeting embarrassed smile flickered over his face. "Oh, Caity. You're home, then."

  "I'm home. Are you … leaving? Taking a trip?"

  She'd encouraged him to get out, to do things, to bounce back from the heart attack, to find new interests if the ranch wasn't enough. But he'd never said he was going away.

  Had he?

  She'd been in such an emotional funk since the night she'd had her encounter with Charlie that she didn't hear half of what anyone said. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

  "I wouldn't have left without telling you," he said now, folding a shirt and laying it in the bag.

  "Well, good." She tried a smile. "Of course you wouldn't. Are you taking one of those weekends to Las Vegas? Going to see Aunt Rachel in Seattle?" Please, God, don't let him be going to California to visit Charlie.

  He straightened up and faced her squarely. "Vietnam."

  She was conscious of her jaw falling open and her eyes widening a lot. Vietnam? No, she was quite sure now—he'd never told her that.

  "But … why?"

  "Now that's somethin' we need to talk about." He left the bag sitting on his bed and crossed the room to her. "Come sit down. I want to tell you a story."

  An army story?

  Her father had never been one of those guys who spent hours talking about his experiences in the military. He didn't live in the past. It was over, finished. Whenever she and Wes had asked him about those days, after they had heard about Vietnam from their friends or their friends' dads or they had seen something on television, he'd brushed them off.