A COWBOY'S SECRET Page 16

  He lifted his eyes and met Trey's. "I'm sorry, too."

  He had to force the words out past the boulder in his throat. But once said, the boulder felt immeasurably smaller. He let out a shaky breath, ventured a quick glance in Trey's direction.

  The old man blinked rapidly, then cleared his throat.

  "Door's open," he said gruffly. "Whenever you want to come m. However far you want to come in." A smile flickered across his face. "And I'll do my damnedest not to get behind and push you."

  A corner of J.D.'s mouth tilted slightly. "Thank you."

  Their eyes met then. And for the first time in memory, when their gazes locked, it wasn't in battle. It was in a first tentative attempt at understanding.

  "I love you," Trey said.

  They were the last words J.D. expected to hear, even now. He stared. His throat worked. He felt a shudder run through him.

  "Lydia loves you, too."

  J.D. started to shake his head, to deny it. But he couldn't.

  Head bowed he stared at his toes. Suddenly, in the stillness he heard the sound of paper ripping. His head jerked up and he saw the older man opening the envelope from Lydia.

  As J.D. watched, Trey tore open the flap, extracted and unfolded the paper. Each movement was slow and deliberate, as if he was waiting for J.D. to grab the letter away, to stop him. Once he even stopped himself, waited.

  But J.D. swallowed hard, clenched his fists, didn't move, waited, too. He wanted to stop him, wanted to grab the letter and run. But he couldn't – because more than he wanted his pride, he wanted to know.

  The old man scanned the letter, then looked up. "The ranch is yours if you want it. She'll sell. She's moved out. Gone away."

  "I don't want it! I want … I want … her." The words were wrung from him.

  And Trey nodded. He smiled. "Then tell her so."

  "Where is she?" She was gone? "Does she … does it say where?"

  "Helena. Her apartment. Not far. Reckon you can get there before dark."

  Their eyes dueled again. The battle was back. But it was more challenge than hostility.

  "If you want her," Trey said.

  Did he?

  God, yes.

  Did he dare?

  A better question.

  If he went after her, he had to lay himself on the line … the weaknesses and well as the strengths. He had to share with her something he'd never shared with anyone – until now.

  Now, without his even saying, Trey knew.

  And hadn't really rubbed his face in it. In fact, his expression was warm, gentle almost. Accepting.

  He'd never wanted acceptance from Trey Phillips. Trey was the last man on earth J.D. would ever have expected – or wanted – to understand.

  But he did. J.D. could see that he did. They stood up and faced each other again. After a long moment, Trey nodded.

  "You're a good man," he said. "None better." Trey held out his hand.

  Slowly J.D. took it. Shook it.

  "Thanks." His voice was low and a little ragged.

  Their eyes met again.

  Trey touched J.D.'s shoulder. "Good luck, son."

  * * *

  Lydia was, in a word, miserable.

  She'd done the right thing. She knew that. She told herself that over and over. It didn't make life any easier. It also didn't make her feel any better.

  Yet.

  The operative word. A very short word to describe the distance between her misery and its resolution.

  Like Montana weather, she assured herself, grief had its seasons. It might be rain and sleet and snow and muck and misery now. But someday – sometime – it would once again be spring.

  Not that she expected to live to see it.

  Not in Montana, anyway.

  She'd thought getting away to Helena would be enough. It wasn't. She could look out her window and see the mountains to the east and know that beyond them lay her dreams. She needed more mountains, more valleys, a river or ten. An ocean wouldn't hurt. Distance. Lots of it. Please.

  She'd told Rance this morning she wanted to dissolve the partnership, to quit.

  He'd stared. And then he'd said, "I guess I'm not surprised. You prefer ranching as much as I do. I've been thinking the same thing. I say we go for it."

  He'd flashed her that wonderful Phillips grin. And she'd managed a wan smile in return. She hadn't told him there wasn't a ranch in her future. He'd find out soon enough.

  In the meantime, she'd start making plans. Maybe she'd go back to Iowa City. Or New York. Or Timbuktu.

  She stood now in her apartment and stared out the window at the mountains.

  Just over those mountains…

  She gave herself a shake. She went back to packing. Timbuktu might not even be far enough away.

  The knock on the door startled her. She'd thought Rance had left at five for the O'Connor place, where he still lived with Ellie and the kids. She couldn't think of anyone else it could be.

  She wasn't at all prepared to open the door and find J.D.

  Her heart lurched with joy at the mere sight of him, even though she knew there was no point.

  "You got my letter."

  He nodded. He swallowed, looking more ill at ease than ever. "This afternoon"

  "I meant it. I should have sold it to you in the first place. I should never have tried to horn in. It isn't mine. It never will be! I—"

  "I didn't read it."

  She stared at him, openmouthed. Dumbfounded. "What?"

  "I didn't read it," he repeated. He stared right back at her, his eyes bleak. "I can't read."

  It was the last thing Lydia expected him to say.

  He couldn't read? She shook her head in disbelief. Everyone could read!

  And yet…

  As she stood there looking at him, a thousand memories crowded into her head. Memories of J.D. as a child – a troublemaker, a fighter, a truant.

  "J.D. hates school," Gus had told her. "He says it's stupid. He can't wait to leave."

  And he'd left at the end of ninth grade.

  She had more recent memories, too, of piles of unopened mail, of Trey's letter he'd never read, of the phone call requesting she tell him again the items she needed at the grocery store, of his bafflement with the wine list, of his complete stillness and endless patience as he'd sat and listened to Carrie O'Connor read.

  She saw the pain in his face now, the way his gaze slid away from hers, the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw locked.

  And she believed.

  J.D. watched for only a moment. Time enough to see a million expressions flicker across her face.

  Astonishment. Disbelief. Concern. The dawning of the truth.

  He turned away. He didn't want to see distaste or dismay or disgust.

  Or worst of all, pity.

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and wondered why the hell he had come.

  To give it a shot. His best shot. To tell her the truth, the whole truth. To show her the worst of him and hope it didn't matter.

  He should have known better. And he couldn't blame her for turning away.

  Any sensible woman would.

  "So you see," he said, turning back and making one last desperate attempt at offhand flippancy, "it would never have worked, you and me. The doctor of juris-whatever and the illiterate cowpoke. It's hormones. It's sex. It's whatever you intellectuals call it – propinquity." He'd heard Trey use the term when he'd been talking about some last ditch effort to find a wife for Rance. "It's—"

  "Love," Lydia said.

  He stared at her. "What?"

  "It's love, J.D." And she reached out and took him by the hand and drew him in. She pushed the door closed behind them and wrapped her arms around him. "Love," she said again, looking straight into his eyes.

  "I can't—"

  "Read. I heard you. I believe you. Now you do me the favor of believing me. I love you – the boy you were, the man you've become. It doesn't change anything."

  "It
has to!"

  "Why?"

  "Because … because…" Because he was afraid he wouldn't measure up. Because he was afraid he'd fail her. Because he was afraid to try. He'd failed so often. So badly.

  He didn't want to fail at this.

  "Because I'm scared," he told her. And that was the biggest secret of all. Bigger than who his father was. Bigger than his not being able to read. "Because I'm scared I'll let you down. That I won't be enough for you."

  "Do you love me?"

  "More than my life."

  "Then don't walk away from me." Her eyes beseeched him. Her fingers held him, gripped his arms tightly.

  And then, as if she realized it at the same time he did, she loosed her grasp. She stepped back. She let him go.

  But still she looked at him, and in her eyes he saw the offer of her love, her heart, her soul.

  It was the most tremendous gift he'd ever been offered. It staggered him. Terrified him.

  And in the end it gave him courage, too.

  He couldn't do this alone. But he wasn't in it alone. He was with Lydia.

  They were in it together.

  "I love you," he whispered. He lifted his hands and set them gently on her arms. He drew her into his embrace, wrapped her in his love.

  He kissed her then, with all his hopes and all his fears, and, in sharing them, he felt the hope grow and the fear fade. He felt renewed. He felt whole.

  He had only one thing left to do.

  "Marry me?" He said the words before he could think, before he could doubt, before he could stop himself.

  And, thank God, Lydia didn't keep him in suspense. She launched herself into his arms. She hugged him. She held him. She kissed him.

  Best of all she said, "I thought you'd never ask!"

  * * *

  They married at the weekend before Thanksgiving.

  Kristen was the matron of honor. Rance was the best man.

  Trey gave the bride away because Lydia's parents got snowed in and ended up stuck in Spokane.

  "You'd think he planned it that way," J.D. grumbled that night as he wrapped his wife in his arms and bundled her into their bed. "In fact, he probably did."

  Nothing much had happened on their wedding day from soup to nuts from the ceremony to the reception that Trey hadn't had a hand in.

  "He's taking credit for everything," J.D. muttered. "You'd think he planned the whole wedding."

  "He did."

  He gaped at her. "He's the reason I had to wear a tux?"

  Lydia grinned. "Well, he has more time than I do. Besides, he said if we didn't insist, you'd get married in jeans."

  "Nothin' wrong with jeans," J.D. rolled her onto her back and braced himself on his hands above her. He dropped a kiss on her nose.

  "Not a thing," Lydia agreed. "But you looked lovely in your tux." She smiled impishly, then let her gaze wander down the length of him. "You look lovely out of it, too."

  J.D. flushed at the compliment, then bent his head again. He touched his lips first to one of her breasts and then the other. "So do you."

  He loved her then. Eagerly. Gently. Desperately. Passionately. Loved her in all the ways he knew how to love a woman.

  And Lydia loved him back. She made him moan. She made him shiver. She made his toes curl. She made him weak – and strong – at the same time.

  She was a surprising, amazing woman. An energetic one.

  She wrung him out.

  And after, when he had collapsed next to her and begun to breathe again, he stroked her, shoulder to hip, with a hand still trembling and said, "Where the heck did you learn all that? Not … Claudia."

  She'd told him about Claudia. About her seduction lessons. But he knew Claudia. Claudia wasn't capable of anything like this!

  Lydia smiled. Then she reached under the bed and pulled out a book.

  J.D. frowned. "A book? What book? Where'd you get it?"

  "Trey."

  "Trey?"

  "It was his wedding present." Lydia grinned. "He knew you'd been working on your reading…"

  Yes, he had been – with Lydia's help.

  It was slow going, but not nearly as difficult as he'd believed. There were books, she'd told him, about learning disabilities. He'd said he didn't need a book, he knew all about them first hand.

  "Not for you. For me," she'd said. "So I can help you."

  And she had.

  Now as she handed him the book Trey had given them, a grin lit her face. "He said he thought you ought to start with a book you'd enjoy."

  J.D. could read the title. "Kama Sutra?" he said doubtfully. "What's that?"

  Then he opened it. His eyes widened, his brows arched. He flipped through it once quickly, then he went back and started again, more slowly.

  "Hmmmm," he said.

  "Well, now," he said.

  "We might want to try that," he said, and pointed at a very intriguing picture.

  "We could," Lydia agreed. She leaned toward him and kissed his shoulder, then nibbled his neck.

  He slanted her a glance. Then he went back to studying the drawing. He began to read the text slowly, still a little haltingly, out loud. Then he stopped.

  "What's that word?" he asked her.

  She looked, then told him, blushing.

  He nodded. He read a little more. Stopped. Pointed. "And that one?"

  She said it. Blushed again.

  He smothered a grin. Kept reading. Stopped.

  She looked, started to say the word, her face aflame, then she caught him grinning at her.

  "You know darned well what it is!" She lunged at him, tickling his ribs, and he laughed and rolled her onto her back, then fitted himself between her legs once more.

  "I do," he agreed. "Now. Thanks to you."

  He bent and kissed her. He slid inside her, then deftly he rolled them again so that she sat astride him. He glanced at the book, adjusted their positions. Grinned at her again, raised his eyebrows.

  "What do they call this one?"

  "J.D.!" she protested, laughing, then stopped and caught her breath as he began to move.

  She moved with him, rocked, urged. And he pulled her close, and the two of them shattered together once more.

  And later, as J.D. lay there with his wife in his arms, he began to think there might actually be some use for books. He smiled.

  "Good ol' Trey," he muttered. "I guess every now and then he has a good idea, after all."

  * * * * *