A COWBOY'S GIFT Read online

No, she couldn't!

  Besides, he'd already asked. He actually called her from Reno one night when a cowboy buddy of his was reeling from the news that he was going to be a father, and he'd asked her point-blank. "Are you pregnant?"

  She'd said, "Who is this?" like she didn't know!

  Like she slept with guys all the time, which ticked him off royally, but he'd ignored it. He'd said, "I just wanted you to know, I'd marry you if you were."

  She hadn't pretended not to know who he was then. She'd said, "Go to hell, Gus."

  Which he had taken to mean she wasn't.

  And he'd breathed easier. He'd been breathing easier for a lot of years. But he remembered that Tess hadn't told Noah.

  What if Mary hadn't bothered to tell him?

  What if there was a kid—a kid almost as old as Becky!—walking around looking like him? What if—

  He shoved his bowl of chili away. "I don't feel so good."

  He went outside and took deep lungfuls of crisp November mountain air. He tried to think logically and rationally about the gut-twisting emotion that just grabbed him at Noah's words.

  Could Mary have had a kid?

  Surely she would have told him? Wouldn't she? Wouldn't she have called J.D. and told him to have Gus call her? Wouldn't she have tracked him to the ends of the earth?

  Of course she would have, he assured himself.

  Mary had loved him. She wouldn't have kept a secret like that.

  He hoped.

  He was still wrestling with the question, though, when Noah gave a whistle. "Time for class."

  He spent the afternoon talking about mechanics, about isolating movements, about what happened when you made a mistake and then another and another.

  He didn't feel like he was talking about bronc riding.

  Cripes, maybe he'd been in one place too long, he thought as he watched the last of his bronc riders do another ride. Maybe he was going stir crazy, spending too much time in one place. Maybe after the wedding he ought to hit the road, go down south, get a little sun, try his hand at a couple of Arizona rodeos.

  "Hey, Gus?"

  He turned to see Becky approaching.

  "Are you armed?" he asked, grinning.

  She blushed. "What?" Then her cheeks reddened. "No," she muttered.

  His grin widened at the color in her face. There was nothing Gus liked better than teasing a pretty girl, even a thirteen-year-old one. "What's up?"

  "I was wondering if, uh … if maybe you could give me a ride in to school?"

  "I thought you just got back from school."

  "Well, I did. I, um, sorta forgot. I'm supposed to be practicing for a speech tournament. An' my teacher said she'd stay after school today to listen to us. But I was already on the bus and halfway home before I remembered."

  "Sounds like you like school the way I used to."

  "Oh, I like it," Becky said quickly. "Most of it. I like English. An' speech. I'm giving a speech about training Domino." That was the three-year-old gelding she and her dad were working on together.

  "Wish they'd had subjects like that when I was in school," Gus said a little enviously. "I would've liked to give a speech on how to ride a bronc."

  "You could have in my class. It's great. Eighth-grade speech. Did you know I'm going into high school next year?"

  "Holy cow." He really did feel old. "Reckon I'll be goin' into a nursing home anyday."

  "You will not! You're not old! I mean, well … you don't seem all that much older than me."

  Gus hoped that was a compliment. He wasn't sure. So he asked more about Domino's training, and Becky talked enthusiastically about that as they drove into Elmer.

  He pulled up in front of the school, and she opened the door, then turned to him. "I'll be about a half an hour." She pointed to a classroom on the first floor. "That's where I'll be. You can meet me out here, though. I'll come out when I'm done."

  Gus cocked his head. "You mean I can't come listen?"

  "You wouldn't want to do that!"

  "I might learn something."

  Becky hesitated, then she shrugged, too. "Well, if I'm not out in forty-five minutes, come and get me. I'll be ready to go by then."

  "I thought you said you liked this class."

  "I do. But I've got a life, you know. An' I wouldn't want to keep you waiting. Maybe we could get a Coke when I finish. I'll pay," she said quickly, cheeks flushed. "I mean, 'cause I invited you."

  Gus laughed. "I think I can spring for a couple of Cokes. I'm gonna ruin a couple of errands for your folks. If you're not out when I get back, I'll come in and get you."

  Becky beamed. "See you!" She took off toward the school at a run, then stopped abruptly and, with a quick glance back, continued on, this time walking as sedately as you please.

  He looked around to see who she was trying to impress. There were a couple of boys tossing a football on the lawn and surreptitiously watching Becky. He grinned, remembering what it was like. Back then it had been simple. It seemed like another life.

  He picked up the baling wire Taggart had ordered from the hardware store. He stopped at the grocery store and got the stuff on Felicity's list. The clerk, whose name tag said Kitzy, had been in the bar last night. She fussed over his black eye.

  "I could kiss it and make it better," she offered, batting her lashes at him.

  Since Kitzy snapped her gum and kept the eye-shadow people in business, Gus wasn't even tempted. Gus rubbed the back of his neck and side-stepped toward the door. "I'm in sort of a hurry."

  "You could come by my place this evenin', sugar," Kitzy said. "When you're not in such an all-fired rush."

  Gus shot her a fleeting grin. "Don't think so," he muttered, grabbing the milk and bread and heading for the door.

  It was time to pick up Becky, anyway. He stowed the stuff in the back and headed over to the school. Becky wasn't out front so he parked the truck, hopped out and strode in.

  The smells of chalk dust, varnish and old gym shoes washed over him. He hadn't been in a school since he'd graduated. It felt like yesterday—and like a hundred years ago.

  As a boy he'd chafed under the demands of education. He'd wanted to be out, gone, graduated, on his way.

  To what?

  At the time it had seemed so clear. And now … hell, now he supposed he ought to be wherever he'd been heading.

  And he didn't even know where that was!

  His footsteps quickened as he headed toward the classroom Becky had pointed out. His boots clicked on the linoleum and echoed in the empty hall. At the far end in one of the classrooms, he could hear a voice—youthful, female—speaking.

  It was Becky, be could tell. Her voice was clear and strong and earnest. He reached the doorway and stopped. Becky stood at the front of the class, her notes spread before her, her fingers in a death grip on the podium. Then she looked up, and her voice faltered when she spied him.

  Gus gave her a quick thumbs-up and an encouraging grin. "Go for it," he mouthed.

  Becky nodded, took a deep breath and carried on. She glanced at her notes once more, then lifted her gaze and talked to him this time, telling him about Domino, about how she was training him, about how he was training her.

  It was a good speech. Hell, it was a terrific speech. Informative, clear and to the point. And when she finished, Gus stepped forward clapping enthusiastically.

  When he stopped there was silence.

  Everyone looked around—including Gus. Then he spotted the blond woman, Becky's teacher, he guessed, sitting at a table on the far side of the room.

  Her face was stark white, very familiar, and a whole lot paler than he'd ever seen it. She was staring not at Becky, but at him.

  "Gus?" she said hoarsely.

  He opened his mouth in astonishment. "Mary?"

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  As she said his name, Mary McLean felt a quick sharp blow to her midsection. And it might as well have been Gus—and not the ba
by doing somersaults in her abdomen—who had kicked her.

  Of all the places she had ever considered she might run into Gus Holt in the past twelve years, an eighth-grade classroom in Elmer, Montana, didn't even make the list.

  If it had, she would never have come.

  She'd avoided every other place she might conceivably have run into the footloose cowboy who had dumped her all those years ago.

  She'd left Murray as soon as she could after she'd canceled the wedding, sent back the gifts, burned the invitations.

  She hadn't even set foot in Montana again until three months ago. She'd gone to Arizona to live with her sister, Ruthie, and Ruthie's husband, Jeff. She'd spent a dozen years in the Phoenix area, first in college and then teaching school. She'd been determined to be happy there. And she had been.

  More or less.

  She had come back this year to teach because she'd desperately needed some space. Her life had changed. And while she loved Ruthie and Jeff dearly, she hadn't wanted them hovering over her every minute.

  Ruthie and Jeff hadn't been pleased. They'd argued with her. They'd fussed over her. She'd need them, they told her.

  But Mary knew she would need her own life more.

  "But the baby…" They'd argued.

  Fortunately the doctor had been on her side. Once she had passed the first trimester successfully, he'd said she didn't have to remain nearby. She could go anywhere, he'd assured her. He'd understood her need to have her own life, to be on her own.

  "But the baby…" Ruthie and Jeff had protested still.

  But Mary hadn't knuckled under. She'd found this job in Elmer—and she had been determined to take it. To come back to Montana. To come home.

  It was time. She was ready now. She was older, stronger, wiser. A far cry from the foolish young girl who had given her heart to Gus Holt.

  Besides, it wasn't as if she was going back to Murray where she might have run into him when he came through town.

  Montana was a big place.

  "It will be good for me," she'd assured Ruthie and Jeff. "And you can come when the baby's due."

  "We don't even know where Elmer is!" her sister had complained.

  Neither had Mary then. She found out it was nestled against the foothills on the western edge of the Shields Valley north of Livingston. When she'd arrived, the stunning views and high mountain air made her feel alive and eager. Yes, she thought, it was right to come. She'd thought Elmer was the most perfect place on earth.

  Until now.

  Until Gus. What on earth was Gus doing here?

  She wanted to know.

  She didn't want to ask.

  She certainly didn't want to care!

  More than anything, she wanted to be polite and professional and determinedly distant to the man who had once upon a time turned her life upside down.

  She'd thought she could be.

  She'd been determined she would be. Periodically over the years, she'd anticipated the moment she would run into Gus again. She'd imagined how cool and dismissive and indifferent she'd be.

  After all, she wasn't a dreamy teenager anymore. She was a woman now—grown-up, professional, mature.

  The naive girl who had dreamed of weddings and honeymoons and happily-ever-afters had been buried a long, long time ago.

  Gus had taken care of that when he'd called her from Cheyenne a week before their wedding to tell her he couldn't go through with it.

  "I'm not ready to get married," he'd said without preamble.

  Mary, counting the days, then in the single digits until the wedding, had been stunned, sure she hadn't heard him right.

  "What did you say?" she'd asked faintly. "What?"

  So he'd repeated it. "I can't do it. I got places to go, things to do. When I think about settlin' down, I get … I don't know … this chokin' feeling."

  "Choking feeling?"

  And while she'd clutched the telephone and stammered her astonishment—he'd been the one to propose, after all, hadn't he!—he'd not only buried her heart, he'd nailed the lid down on the coffin of her dreams.

  "It doesn't mean I don't love you, Mary," he'd said earnestly. "It's just I figure I might as well be dead as married right now."

  She hadn't told her parents that! She hadn't told anyone that Gus had thought he might as well be dead as married to her.

  She'd said Gus had had "second thoughts." She'd said he felt he wasn't ready. She said it calmly and carefully and dispassionately. She'd even said she thought he was right. Certainly if he felt death was better than being married, she didn't want to marry him, either!

  And then she'd set about calling it off.

  While Gus had gone right on down the road—"alive" once more, Mary, dying inside, had called the minister, notified the guests, sent back the presents. She'd taken the tiny diamond Gus had given her and had given it to his brother to return to him.

  "I'm sorry, Mary." J.D. had looked miserable.

  No more miserable than Mary felt.

  "Poor Mary," everyone said after that. She'd been the one who'd been dumped. She'd been the one who'd had to face the pitying looks and worried glances.

  That had been bad.

  What was worse was that she loved Gus—and he had broken her foolish young heart.

  That was a dozen years ago, she reminded herself. Eons ago. Another lifetime.

  It didn't matter now.

  Gus didn't matter!

  Now she sat at the table and clenched her grade book against her like a shield, and prayed it would protect her from his lethal charm. He still had it—she could see that across the room.

  He came toward her, a wide grin and a black eye—some things never changed!—on his damnably handsome face. It was older and craggier now, but no less gorgeous. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't.

  "My God, Mary! What're you doin' here? How are you? My gosh, it's good to see you! Holy cow, it's been years!"

  He gave every indication of being about to do what he'd always done when he'd come home—grabbing her, then sweeping her up into a breathtaking hug and kissing her till she was gasping for air.

  The very thought froze Mary right where she was. She sat stone still and held out a polite hand.

  "Hello, Gus," she said in quiet, well-modulated tones and was relieved to hear herself sound distant and polite.

  He stared at her, then at her outstretched hand. His brows drew down in a frown. "Mar'? What's this?"

  Resolutely she kept her hand right out there. Shake it, damn you. We are acquaintances now. Nothing more. She met his gaze stubbornly.

  Finally Gus shrugged. He rubbed his right hand against the side of his jeans and took hold of hers. His palm was callused, hard, slightly rough, and Mary remembered, without wanting to, the times it had touched her bare flesh.

  Something kicked over inside her, and she didn't think it was the child. She tried to jerk her hand away.

  Gus held on. His hard, warm fingers wrapped hers. Short of fighting him for possession, she had no recourse but to leave her hand in his.

  He was still grinning at her, that lopsided, crooked grin she used to love so much. "Mary, Mary. You are a sight for sore eyes."

  "Which you have, I see," she said tartly, steeling herself against the grin. Against him!

  Gus, still grinning, touched his eye. "Just got on the wrong side of a fist. No big deal."

  No. It never was. Gus and J.D. had taken on all comers back when they were growing up. Mary's mother had always called them "those roughneck Holt boys," as in, "Stay away from those roughneck Holt boys."

  But Mary, foolish Mary, had fallen in love with Gus.

  "I can't believe it's you. I've been thinking about you lately!" He crowed with delight while her students looked on with interest.

  "I can't imagine why," Mary said curtly. "I haven't been thinking about you. Ah, Sam!"

  Thank God. One of Becky's classmates, Sam Bacon, was slouched in the doorway, waiting to give his speech and looking as th
ough he wished he were anywhere but here.

  Mary knew exactly how he felt. "Come in! Come in!"

  She managed to jerk her hand out of Gus's grasp at last and wave Sam into the room. "Just in time. Becky's all finished and her ride is here. They were just leaving."

  She beckoned once more to Sam and was relieved to see him slink forward into the room.

  "Good job," she said briskly to Becky, looking right past Gus. "That last run-through was terrific. Much better eye contact. Do it like that in Bozeman and you'll make us all proud."

  Becky beamed and slanted a quick glance in Gus's direction. It was a starry-eyed, hungry glance, and it reminded Mary all too well of the way she had once looked at him.

  Gus didn't seem to notice. He was still looking at her. "Hey, Mar', how about—"

  "It was nice to see you again." Then she turned all her attention on Sam. "Go right on up to the podium. I'm ready when you are."

  "Mary—" Gus wasn't moving away.

  "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Gus. I've got work to do, Sam," she said pointedly. "I'm waiting."

  Sam reached the podium and jammed his hands into his pockets, then rocked back on his heels.

  "Well, when you're not busy—" Gus persisted. "I'm always busy, Sam? They take points off if you don't begin promptly."

  "You can't be always busy!" Gus protested.

  She'd be busy forever, Mary vowed, keeping her eyes fixed on Sam. "Becky's waiting, Gus." Why in heaven's name wouldn't the kid start? "Let's get going, Sam. It's getting late. I'm listening."

  But Sam, who had been watching Gus's attempts to get her attention, gave her a look that said clearly that he didn't think she was listening at all and he was willing to wait.

  Becky shouldered her backpack. "Come on, Gus. I thought we were gonna get a Coke."

  Mary could feel his frustration. She'd always known what Gus was feeling—or she'd always thought she had.

  She apparently hadn't known he thought marrying her would kill him. But about other, less vital, things, she'd known him well. She knew he wanted to grab her and her attention now.

  But she wasn't going to let him. She stared determinedly at Sam. She tapped her pencil. "Sam."

  "Oh, hell. Er, heck. Fine. Let's go," Gus said to Becky. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take off his hat and rub his hand through his hair, then set it back on his head and tug it down tight.