Cowboy at Midnight (13 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said when he turned left and headed toward Congress Avenue. “I need more time.”

He didn't take his eyes off the road. “Take all the time you need,” he said, but his low voice was indifferent now.

Her pulse jerked painfully. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I wish you well, too.”

“I don't want to end this in anger.”

Steve's gaze sliced to her. “I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at me. I get carried away sometimes thinking I can solve everybody else's problems. I can't. You're going to have to work this out on your own, darlin'.”

He swerved into the parking lot behind his bar and pulled up beside a large black truck. Without a word or a glance toward her, he flung his body out of her car.

She threw her own door open and ran after him.

“Steve?”

His jaw worked convulsively as he punched the remote on his key ring and unlocked the door. When she touched his arm, he stiffened.

“Darlin', you can't have everything your way. You slept with me last night, and now we can't have a simple conversation. That's not much to build on.”

She threw herself in his arms and kissed him. At first he resisted, but soon his hand curved along her slender throat, turning her wet, hot face to his. She was sobbing so hard, she was hiccupping.

His mouth left her lips and he gently brushed away her tears. Then Steve tore himself away from her. Pivoting,
he turned his broad back to her and pulled his truck door open. When she reached out her hand to stroke his arm, he grabbed her wrist, held it hard and then released it.

“Don't touch me and don't kiss me, understand?” His dark eyes froze her. “I don't want sex if we can't even talk.”

“But—”

“For a little while I thought you were maybe the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“And now you don't?”

“I didn't say that. You did. You've been hurt. I don't want to say things that will hurt you even more.”

“But you're leaving.”

“Because it's what you need me to do.” He leaned down, tilted her chin up and kissed her nose lightly as if she were a little kid. “Take care of yourself.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Only her pride kept her chin erect and her eyes on his.

“You need to find a way to believe in yourself and me a little more, darlin'. I can't do it for you, much as I'd like to.”

“Steve—”

“The only way I can help you is to get out of your way.”

His face and voice were emotionless as he turned away from her and heaved himself up into his truck.

“Why?” she whispered thickly, stepping back from his big Dodge truck as he backed out of his space and drove away.

She ran to the curb. There she stopped and watched his taillights until they vanished in the morning traffic.

Steve was through with her for good. She felt the
bleak emptiness she'd felt the day they'd buried Lexie. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stayed standing in the parking lot all by herself. She looked up at the big blue sky and then down at the black asphalt.

She hated goodbyes. All her life, ever since she was a small child, she'd hated them. She'd remembered her grandmother coming to visit when she was a little girl and how she'd covered her eyes when she'd waved goodbye because she hadn't been able to bear watching her grandmother go.

A warm breeze stirred wisps of hair against her damp cheeks. For no reason at all she thought of Lexie. Suddenly she was crying again.

She brushed her hair behind her ears. It was going to be a hot, miserable day, she thought.

“This is good. This is what I wanted. There's no place for him in my life.”

Yes, it was good. He was out of her life. She could go back to her quiet, controlled life.

At the thought of all the long, lonely years ahead of her, she began to cry uncontrollably.

A
my was still crying when she got into her Toyota and buried her face in her hands. All he'd wanted was for her to talk to him.

But she hadn't talked to anybody. Not her parents. Not her therapist. No one. Not for eight years.

After the tragedy and her grief, she'd wanted peace and quiet and control. She'd never wanted to be close to anyone or lose anyone or hurt anyone again. Was that so wrong?

Only, now that he was gone, she didn't feel peaceful, quiet or controlled. She felt so rawly alive her nerves were shattering with pain.

She told herself she had to let him go.

But it was as if they had started a journey together, and now she felt unbearably sad that it was over and she
was just herself again. Last night in his arms, she'd felt beautiful and magical and whole.

She didn't deserve him. A long time ago she'd made a mistake that she would never be able to pay for.

With an anguished sigh, she wiped her wet eyes. Then she started her car and headed home so she could dress before she went to work. Except, when she got to her apartment and saw his plate in her sink, she started crying again. The kitchen felt so empty without him. Intending to get dressed, she went to her bedroom, and the sight of the rumpled bed brought fresh tears.

Amy stood in the doorway unable to go inside, trembling, sad, scared. She felt doomed. Suddenly she didn't care about work. She didn't care about anything except Steve. But that didn't make much sense, either, since she'd sent him away.

She turned and ran from her apartment down to the pool, her breaking heart racing in a furor. Not knowing what she intended, she called the office and blurted out that she was too sick to come into work.

“You can't be sick,” Nita, her bossy assistant, said. “Tom has called ten times. Nobody can deal with him except you.”

“I have a migraine.”

“You're never sick. Look, I saw the article. It— I'm sorry. I didn't realize— If there's anything I can—”

Amy hung up on her and raced back up to her apartment for her keys and purse and then back down to her car. As she backed out of her driveway, a black Volvo was heading toward her.

“Mother!” No doubt Tom had called her mother when she hadn't returned his calls.

When her mother pulled up beside her and lowered her window, Amy lowered hers, too.

“I can't talk now,” Amy said.

“Tom called. I know you're upset. I know—”

Amy rolled up her window. Waving, she stepped on the gas. Her mother did a U-turn and tried to catch up to her. When Amy lost her at a light, she sped north along Lamar and then cut over to Guadalupe and headed south toward the university. Her thoughts and emotions were a chaotic whirl, but she drove slowly and carefully as she'd promised Steve she would.

What was the matter with her? Why was her carefully controlled life falling apart?

Hours later she still felt as clueless as ever as she drove inside the cemetery gates and followed the familiar, narrow lane that wound through cedar and oak to Lexie's grave.

Much to her surprise, her mother's shiny, black Volvo was parked underneath the shade of a live oak tree with its motor running. It unnerved her that her mother had known where she was going when she hadn't even known herself.

She pulled up behind the Volvo. When she got out, her mother opened the car door, too. Amy stood up straighter and smiled tentatively. Together, without speaking, they walked to Lexie's grave where they stood for several long minutes, still wrapped in silence.

“It's hot.” Her mother's throaty voice caught.

“It's Texas.”

“I wasn't sure you'd come.”

“I didn't know I would.”

“Don't let this ruin your whole life, Amy.”

“You can't call me all the time and tell me what to do anymore, Mother.”

“I knew you were hurting.”

“You can't fix my life. I'm not a little kid. You can't buy me a new toy and make things right.”

“Okay.”

“I may quit my job. I hate it. I know how many strings you pulled to get it for me.”

“That's all right.”

“I may move out of Cheryl's. I may not. All I know is I have to be me. Not you. Me.”

“Okay.”

Her mother nodded. “What about Steve?”

“I don't know. I think I love him. But I don't deserve him.”

“You're too hard on yourself.”

“Mother—”

“I know this because when I was your age I was too hard on myself, too. You and I, we're a lot alike.”

Amy read Lexie's name on the stone. “I never really thought so before.”

“I was wild, too, when I was young. It's hard growing up. You lash out because you have to. You make a few wrong choices without a clue as to the consequences. I got pregnant when I was just a kid. Fifteen. I was sent away to have the baby. My parents talked me into giving it away. I abandoned my own daughter.”

“You mean I have an older sister somewhere?”

Her mother bit her bottom lip and looked up at the blue sky and billowing white clouds. “I felt overwhelming guilt and a crushing sense of loss. I still do. I think about her a lot, especially on her birthday and at Christmas.”

“Oh, Mother.”

“That was why I was so scared raising you. I didn't want you to make the same mistakes I made. I know I was bossy and overprotective, even overbearing. Sometimes I truly hate myself for being me. I know I call you too much. It's just that I worry. I…”

Her mother's face was so pinched and pale it hurt Amy to look at her.

“Don't worry, Mother. Please don't. I can't believe you were ever wild.”

“Why do you think I dress so perfectly and have such a perfect house? It's all show. I was a mess. I still am. Your father picked up all the pieces and put them back together. He still does, and it's not easy. I'm pretty difficult to live with.”

“Daddy knows about the baby?”

“That's why he fell in love with me. I was so lost and vulnerable. His love made me stronger. Then I started bossing him around. And he let me…because he understood why control and success and other people's opinions were so important to me. He tried to tell me not to be so bossy with you, though. But I thought I had all the answers. No wonder you rebelled.”

“Oh, Mother…” Amy threw herself into her mother's arms. “I'm all mixed up, too.”

Her mother gave her a trembling smile and patted her hair. “You'll sort it out.”

“You really think so?”

“You didn't kill Lexie. It was an accident. Just like my pregnancy was an accident. I couldn't keep the baby. I was too young. Life goes on, you know. That's the one thing I've learned.”

Her mother held her close, and Amy felt a slight lightening of the heavy weight in her heart.

Despite the heat, they clung to each other for a long time. Her mother's hand patted her back the way she had when Amy had been a small child.

“Thank you, Mother. Thank you for telling me about the baby.” Amy stared at the trees and vast sky. She'd always wanted a sister. Still, thinking about her faceless sister out there somewhere, whom she would never know, made her feel sad.

“Life goes on, and you can't go back,” her mother said. “You just have to make better decisions in the future.”

“Steve told me I have to forgive myself.”

“You could, you know. What good will it do to keep punishing yourself forever? What good does it do Lexie?”

“I guess I thought I owed her my life.”

“You do. But you should live your life. You shouldn't throw it away. Think of all those people in the world who would give anything to have just one more day. Life is very precious. Love is very rare. A man like Steve doesn't come along every day.”

 

It was a sweltering, golden June morning,
sweltering
being the key word. The heat was so fierce and still that even in the shade, Steve's hair and brow dripped
with sweat as he strode inside the barn with a couple of bridles. His soaked shirt was plastered to his rib cage. Hell, it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.

The hardest thing Steve had ever done was to drive off and leave Amy outside the Shiny Pony Bar and Grill when she'd looked so lost and forlorn. He'd wanted to stay and do something or say something to make her realize she had to change her life. When he'd left her, he'd hoped she cared enough about him to do something.

Now he was beginning to wonder if he should have stayed. All week he'd been working himself from dawn till dark, hoping he'd be too tired to think or dream about her, hoping like hell he wouldn't weaken and call her.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Everything triggered bittersweet memories—the scent of violets, even the sight of Noche. Every time the phone rang or somebody drove up to the ranch, he'd race to see who it was, hoping against hope it was her.

Just as he was hanging a bridle on a nail in the tack room, he heard a vehicle outside. His heart seemed to come alive. Instantly the bridle was on the floor, and he was sprinting out of the barn, half crazed with the hope that it might be her.

Truck doors were opening and slamming just as Steve slicked his hair back and slowed his pace so he wouldn't look quite so eager when he rushed around the corner of his house.

“Hey!” Cruz Perez, his rancher friend, held up a brown hand and waved. His pretty, pregnant wife, Savannah, waved at Steve, too.

Savannah. Not Amy.

Savannah was blond, and her eyes were as blue as Amy's.

Steve's heart constricted. Then he saw his horse trailer was hooked to the back of Cruz's truck and realized why they'd come.

He forced a smile. Luke, their five-year-old son, sprang out of the truck and galloped toward him as Cruz, helping his petite wife down from the passenger side, shouted for him to stop running and watch for snakes.

Just the sight of the happy young family, Savannah so blond and pretty and Cruz so dark and rugged, made the pulses in Steve's own body knock with a hard, savage rhythm.

Then Luke hurled himself at Steve, grabbing his knees. The kid threw back his head, making himself as heavy as possible, and clung. In an instant Steve had the boy in his arms and was swinging him onto his broad shoulders. Luke grabbed Steve's hat on the way up and slapped it on his own small head. Naturally, it swallowed the kid, and he had to lift the brim with both hands to peer out.

As Steve held the little boy's jeans-clad legs against his chest, Steve knew what he really wanted—a family of his own. That had been his real dream when he'd bought this place. That was why he'd been fixing it up with such careful attention to detail. Because he wanted to put down real roots and raise his own family here.

A flock of wild turkeys pranced out of the thicket like ballerinas onto a stage.

“Put me down! Put me down!” Luke cried, squirming a little.

“You just got up here, boy!”

“But I want to chase them.”

“You won't catch 'em.”

“But I can try. Let me down!”

“They've got wings, boy.”

Steve lifted Luke to the ground, and the boy raced after the turkeys, which half flew and half ran to escape him.

“Imagine running in this heat.” Savannah smiled as she gazed up at Cruz, whose dark eyes were equally tender when he looked down at her. Then Cruz slipped his arm around her and pulled her close.

They looked so in love, so right for each other. Steve didn't need the glint of sunlight in Savannah's golden hair to remind him of Amy. As if caught in a vise, his wide chest felt so tight, it was difficult to breathe.

At thirty-six, he wasn't getting any younger. More than anything, he wanted to bring Amy here and share his life with her.

He loved her. He wanted to wake up beside her every morning for the rest of his life.

Oh, my God. I love her. I really love her. That's why I've felt so damned rotten all week.

If the seven days and nights since he'd seen Amy had crawled by with agonizing slowness, how could he face a bleak future that meant years and years without her? How had he fallen in love so fast, especially when she'd been fighting him every step of the way?

Cruz's voice cut into his thoughts. “Are you going to just stare at my wife with that hungry, lost look in your eyes? Or do you want to give me a hand unhooking your horse trailer?”

Steve felt himself flush. “Sure thing. I'll give you a hand. Sorry, Savannah, I didn't mean to stare.”

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice soft and sweet with concern, just like Amy's. “You don't look so good.”

“I'm fine. It's just a hot day,” he muttered gruffly.

“And it'll get way hotter,” Cruz said. “Summertime deep in the heart of Texas.”

 

“Where's Lily?” Steve asked when he opened the screen door of his ranch house two days later and found Ryan alone on his wide porch.

There were dark shadows beneath Ryan's eyes. He looked exhausted.

“She'll be along later,” he said evasively. “Hey, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you when you called the other day, Steve.” Ryan drained the last of his coffee from a white foam cup. “Got any coffee? I'm out.”

“I just made a fresh pot.”

Nita, Amy's bossy assistant, had insisted on scheduling a planning session for the Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet at nine this morning.

“I should've called you back the other day,” Ryan said. “But Thunderhawk won't stop hounding me, and I've been hell on wheels to live with lately. Lily and I…we're having problems, too. She's asking all sorts of questions. This morning I yelled at her that she was worse than Thunderhawk. She's so steamed now, she won't speak to me.”

“Sorry to hear all that.” Steve patted Ryan on the shoulder and stepped back so he could cross the threshold.