How to Kiss a Cowboy (28 page)

Earl sat there awhile, his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling uselessly between his knees. Ellen had been the love of his life. She'd made his world a better place just by being by his side.

Hadn't she?

Gwennie finished welding one more piece onto her sculpture, then took off the helmet and shook out her mop of gray hair. “Remember that necklace Ellen wanted?”

Earl remembered, all right. It was made with some fancy blue stone that matched her eyes, and it cost more than two weeks' pay.

“She pestered you and pestered you until you bought it, remember? And then she lost it the first time she wore it.”

“I know. I thought she'd be upset, but she shrugged it off like it was nothing.” Earl had done his best to admire Ellen for that. At least she hadn't raised a ruckus or cried or anything.

But it had hurt at the time. He'd scrimped and saved for that necklace, and she'd barely bothered to look for it.

“Once she had it, she didn't care about it anymore.” Gwen gave Earl a long, considering look. “Maybe you're not ready to hear this, but that's how she was with you.”

“What do you mean?”

Gwennie shed the fire-retardant suit and sat down on a crude wooden bench that stood beside the studio's big back door. “I had a crush on you back then, you know that?”

“I knew.” He eked out a smile. He hadn't used those muscles in a long time.

“She took you away from me,” Gwennie said. “And then she didn't care anymore. She'd proven she could do it.”

Earl sat in silence for a while. What Gwennie was saying hurt like a blow to the chest, and he was having trouble catching his breath.

It was true. And the truth hurt. For all these years, the years of his marriage and the years after Ellen's death—he'd been hurt by that truth.

Everyone had recognized it but him. He'd refused to believe he couldn't make Ellen love him, so he'd followed his wife around like a servant, bowing to her every whim—trying to make her love him.

It was embarrassing, that's what it was.

“We had some good years,” he said. “When she was sick, she was a different person.”

“Because she was scared. And she needed you.”

He scowled. “I thought you two were friends.”

“We were. That's why I understand. It was the same way for me.”

“You weren't there when she was sick.” He knew his tone was accusing. He didn't care. He'd never understood why Gwen had abandoned her best friend when she needed her most.

“I would have been there for you more than her,” Gwen said. “I was afraid she'd think I was waiting for her to die. It seemed best to stay away.”

He hadn't thought of it that way. Ellen might have believed that, even of Gwen—because she'd been that way herself.

They sat in silence for a while. Earl was used to silence—the long, uncomfortable silences that hung in the air between him and his daughter, a silence made of secrets. But this silence was different. Comfortable. Comforting, even.

“You need to tell Suzanne the truth,” Gwen finally said. “About everything. Even about Slim.”

He shook his head. “Slim Harris took enough away from me. I'm not giving him anything else. She's the closest thing I've got to family.”

“Suzanne loves you.”

“I've never given her a reason to.” Earl looked at Gwen a long time, making up his mind whether he'd trust her.

He decided he would.

“I can't stand to see her,” he said. “She looks so much like Ellen. She's a reminder of my failure.” He struggled to speak through the hard, aching lump in his throat. “I never made Ellen happy. I try to honor her memory because I failed her in life.”

“You didn't fail,” Gwennie said. “She just made you feel that way. You did the best you could. Sometimes that's as close as we can get to success.”

They sat together a long while, watching the sun drop in the sky. Earl thought he finally understood why Gwen lived here. He felt safe behind her high fence—safe from cruelty and secrets and lies. Safe from life.

He looked at a sculpture labeled
Absence
and felt a stirring in his heart, as if it was coming to life after a long hibernation.

“You want to stay for supper?” Gwen asked.

“I do,” he said. “I surely do.”

* * *

Suze sat on her rocking chair on the sun porch, watching the driveway for her father's truck. He'd left for town early that morning. It was nearly eight, and he wasn't home. Her dad might drive her crazy, but he was all she had, and she was worried.

Crickets chirped in the tall grass as the sky turned a luminescent blue that faded until there was only a faint glow on the horizon.

Brady stepped out onto the porch carrying two glasses of iced tea. The two of them had celebrated her freedom from crutches all afternoon in her upstairs bedroom. He'd fallen asleep and she'd let him rest, tiptoeing down the stairs to wait for her father. But as the day drew to a close, the warmth in her heart was fading as fast as the light.

Brady took one look at her and knew something was wrong. “What's the matter?”

“Dad should be home by now,” she said. “He left before I got up, and he's still gone.”

“You know where he might be?”

“Maybe Gwen's place.” She explained who Gwen was and described the sculpture studio in Wynott.

“I know that place,” Brady said. “Kind of weird. You want to drive by? See if his truck's there?”

“Yes. Please.”

What a relief. She could probably manage to drive with the cast on her foot, but she wasn't supposed to.

Brady opened the truck door for her, but the passenger side was littered with fast food wrappers and empty Coke cans.

“Looks like you had a party in here.”

“No party. Just kids.”

He made a quick effort to clean up the mess, stuffing trash in a McDonald's bag and throwing the empty cans behind his seat. He shoved a bag that sat on the bench seat onto the floor, which was fine because the truck had enough leg room for a long-legged cowboy, and Suze only needed about half that much space.

“Kids? Is that what you've been up to?” She kept her tone light, as if she didn't care where he went when he wasn't with her. As if she wasn't one bit worried about what he might be doing.

“I've been over to the reservation,” he said. “Doing horse stuff with some kids.”

“Teaching them to ride?”

“Sort of.”

He seemed oddly evasive. Maybe he was embarrassed to be caught doing even more good deeds. How could she ever have thought he was anything but a good guy?

Searching for a change of subject, she nudged the bag with her feet. “What's that?”

“Some old clothes. I need to take 'em to Goodwill next time I go to Cheyenne.”

“Oh.”

They drove in silence. The road to Wynott was a blacktop highway, one lane each way. Brady took it slow, looking out for deer and praying they wouldn't come upon her father's truck anywhere but Gwen's. Suze's dad was getting old, and Brady wasn't sure how good his eyesight was. Brady prayed he hadn't been in a wreck.

That must have been what Suze was thinking, because she kept twisting her fingers in her lap as she stared out the side window. Brady reached over and took her hands in his.

“We'll find him. It'll be okay.”

Suze swallowed and nodded, but she went back to twisting her fingers as soon as he let go, and kept it up until they hit the tiny town of Wynott. The town occupied a Y where two state highways met. There was a bar, a hardware store, and a string of Victorian houses that had seen better days. The most impressive building in town was Phoenix House, with its freshly painted gingerbread and welcoming front porch.

The studio was across the street from Phoenix House, and sure enough, Earl's truck was parked outside.

Brady pulled in behind it. “You want to go in and check on him?”

Suze shook her head. “No. Long as he's here, he's fine.”

Brady gave her a sideways look that would have been a leer on a less handsome man. “You think he'll spend the night?”

“Maybe.” Suze didn't really want to think about what her father might be doing with Gwen. Going over old times, probably. Reminiscing about her mother.

Or something else.
Ew
.

“I hope he does,” Brady said. “It would give us some time alone.”

* * *

As they pulled into Suze's driveway, Dooley raced across the yard to greet them. He made a flying leap the instant Suze opened her door, greeting her with an ecstatic
yip
and a liberal supply of sloppy kisses. She finally had to fight him off. He was small, but not
that
small, and he was liable to hurt her when he was this excited.

She rested in the truck while Brady headed out to check the horses. He could do it quicker than her, and they wanted to make the most of the time her father was gone. She sat sideways on the bucket seat, dangling her legs over the side and resting her head on the cool leather of the seat. She was tired, and it would be nice to lean on Brady on the short walk to the house. She wasn't used to leaning on anyone. It was a good feeling, to know you had someone who would catch you if you fell.

He must have gotten tied up with the horses, though, because he took forever in the barn. Dooley, crouching at her feet, got bored and started attacking the clothes in the grocery bag on the floor.

“Hey, leave that alone,” she said as he shook a T-shirt like it was a rat. “Drop it.”

For once, Dooley obeyed. She picked up the shirt and started to put it back in the bag, then paused. It was a T-shirt, all right. But not a man's T-shirt. This was clearly something a woman would wear. As a matter of fact, it was pink, and the rhinestone script across the front read “Foxy.” She definitely couldn't see Brady wearing it, even if Lariat Western Wear ordered him to.

He'd said, “Old clothes.” He hadn't said they were his. But still…

She pulled out the next item. A pair of jeans. Size four, ultra-low rise.

Hm
.

She started pawing through the bag a little faster. Next came a silk nightie that was practically see-through. Then a bra.

A
bra.

What kind of friend gave a man a bra to get rid of? It wasn't even an old bra. It was in good shape, a lacy one from Victoria's Secret. Expensive.

When she pulled out the panties, she knew she'd been had. This wasn't a bag for Goodwill. It was an overnight bag, a whole change of clothes for some other woman. Some
size
four
woman. And it was right in the front seat of his truck.

Suze felt like she'd been whacked over the head with a hammer—a hammer that felt strangely familiar. Did she need to be thumped any more or any harder before she'd see the truth? Brady hadn't changed a bit. He was still a player. And he was playing her.

She flung herself back in the seat, nearly reopening her wound by conking her head on the gun rack.

What the heck was wrong with her? Why did she fall for his charm, over and over? Through the dust on the windshield, she could see the grass Brady had mowed, the fences he'd mended, and the barn where he was caring for her horses. How could she not fall for him? He was a good guy with a good heart. He really was.

He just couldn't be trusted where women were concerned. Brady loved women—a little too much. And that was a deal breaker for her—as it should be.

She sat there, the bra dangling from her fingers, and tried to make the merry-go-round in her mind turn and spin the other way. She needed the crazy carousel music to run backward and unwind the past two weeks. Brady wasn't her lover. Brady was her friend. Her friend. Her friend.

Hammering that thought into her thick skull was tiring work, and it hurt. She felt a little bit stunned, a whole lot tired, and hurt beyond healing.

The sun was warm, the truck cab warmer. She sat there, staring, her thoughts going round and round until she wanted to scream. And she did just that when Dooley jumped out of the truck and snatched the bra from her fingers. Before she could even shout his name, he'd run off into the barn.

Oh, well. She didn't care. Let him greet Brady with that dangling from his jaws. That would wake the man up and spare her the trouble of explaining her change of heart.

But Brady didn't say anything when he got back.

“Did you see Dooley?” she asked as he helped her out of the truck.

“No, why?”

“He took off with something out of your bag,” she said.

“My bag?”

Oh, so innocent.

“Yeah, you know. Your
old
clothes.
”

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

He still looked puzzled, and she gave him a wry smile that was a true work of art, considering how she really felt. “The bag you meant to get rid of, remember?”

“Oh.” He waved his hand. “That's okay. Doesn't matter.”

“It probably matters to somebody. You know. Somebody who wears size four jeans. And a bright yellow, 34C bra.”

* * *

Brady couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd completely forgotten about Teresa's bag of old clothes, and Suze was on a roll, cataloging the contents.

“And
panties
, Brady.
Panties.
Someone left a complete change of clothes in your truck. A handy little overnight bag.” She leaned back against the pickup, arms folded over her chest. “If you can explain that, go for it.”

“They belong to a friend,” he said. “And, yeah, she's probably about a size four.”

“And she just happened to leave an entire change of clothes in your car, including her sexy lingerie?”

In a heartbeat he saw what Teresa had done. He'd been too dumb to realize she'd really set her sights on him. And now she'd set him up.

Maybe she'd given him the clothes so Suze would find them, or maybe she'd just hoped Brady would notice the sexy underwear and get the message. Either way, he was screwed unless he could get Suze to believe him.

Surely, over the past weeks, she'd learned to trust him.

She
shouldn't trust you. You almost lost Speedo, and you didn't tell her.

“Teresa is my friend Pete's widow,” he said. “She's the mom of the boys I'm working with on the rez. Sam and Derek. They're twins.”

Suze nodded and swallowed hard. It looked like she was trying to believe him.

“I used to help her out, because of loyalty to Pete. I swear, I've never felt anything for her but what a brother would feel. I realized last time I was there that she was, um, flirting with me, so I'm not going back.”

“What about her clothes?” Suze asked. “You'll need to bring those back.”

He reached over and touched her chin, turning her to face him.

“I don't feel anything for Teresa. You're the only woman I love. I mean that. I swear.”

She nodded, but she looked so sad it made his heart ache. “I just—I need some time, okay? I just need to go lie down.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me help you upstairs, at least.”

She shook her head and started toward the house. He watched her go, wondering what she was thinking. She held herself so straight and tall, even after all she'd been through. There was no way to read her. No way to tell if their relationship was merely broken or shattered beyond repair.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He strode up behind her and touched her shoulder with a gentle hand.

“Hey.”

She turned and looked up at him with sea-green eyes that held so much hurt it made him want to carry her inside and feed her, fix her, make everything right.

“Let me—”

“No, Brady.” She wouldn't even let him finish the sentence.

He wasn't at fault. There was nothing going on between him and Teresa. But he had a history with women, and he was paying for it now.

“Okay.” He looked into her eyes and tried to make her believe in him. “But have sweet dreams, okay? I love you. I really do.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. And she let him. Actually, she did a lot more than just let him kiss her. She kissed him back, long and hard.

But he had the feeling she was kissing him good-bye.

* * *

Suze was leaning against the corral fence, weaving her fingers through Speedo's blond forelock, when Gwen's ancient pickup came up the drive, rattling like a rolling barrel of bolts. It was a hot, sunny day, the kind of day that made Suze wish she could climb on Speedo's bare back and take a slow, aimless ride to nowhere. That was what she'd always done when she had a problem to think through—like the problem with Brady.

She knew she should trust him. She loved him.

But deep down where it really mattered, a nasty little demon of doubt had taken up residence in her chest overnight. He squatted there, leering at her, hinting at all the things Brady might be doing with this Teresa woman. The little demon wouldn't shut up, and he wouldn't go away.

And she couldn't deal with Brady until she got rid of him.

So she was happy to see Gwennie, who eased herself around until she sat at the edge of the driver's seat. She let her short legs dangle over the dusty driveway until she slid from the seat and landed with a thump.

“Whatcha doing, girlie?”

She ambled toward Suze, her face alight with good humor. Despite the demon and his ugly stories, Suze felt her spirits rise.

“Just standing around.”

“Probably feels good after all that sitting.”

“It does.”

“Let's go talk to your dad, though,” Gwen said. “He's got some things he needs to say.”

Suze stilled, her hand holding Speedo's mane so tightly he jerked his head away and gave her a gentle nip.

“My father never talks to me.”

“He will now. It's important.”

Suze followed Gwen into the house, wondering what was going on. Her godmother seemed serious, almost grim. Maybe her dad was sick.

Suze felt a flutter of panic knocking around in her chest, like a bird trying to escape a dark room. She couldn't lose her father. He was all the family she had. Gruff as he was, she loved him. And without him tying her to this place, she'd be alone and adrift—an orphan, for heaven's sake.

When they entered the house, her dad was already at the table. It was a trestle table, jammed into a corner of the small kitchen so one bench was up against the wall. Her dad was back in the corner, Suze's usual seat. She sat there because she always liked to have her back against the wall. It felt safer that way. Nothing could happen that she didn't see coming.

She wished she could sit there now, but maybe it was too late to find a safe place.

She sat across from her dad, and Gwen lowered herself onto the bench beside her, sliding her bulk behind the table with care.

“Gwen has convinced me that it's time to tell you the truth about some things.” Her father's voice sounded choked, as if his subconscious didn't want to let the words out.

“Past time,” said Gwen.

To Suze's surprise, her father nodded. She'd never seen him take criticism so gracefully. Bewildered, she looked from her father to Gwen. “What's going on?”

“It's not what's going on. It's what went on, before you were even born,” Gwen said.

Suze wanted to get this conversation rolling. It didn't sound like they were bringing her good news, so whatever they had to say, she wanted it all at once. She believed in ripping off Band-Aids as fast as possible.

“Out with it, then,” she said. “You two are making me nervous. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“Okay.” Her father breathed in a deep breath, then exhaled as if he was letting all the poison out of his body. Only then did he start his story.

“Years ago, your mother and Gwen and I were friends. The three of us were inseparable.” He smiled at Gwen, and for a minute he looked almost handsome.

Something was going on here, Suze thought.

“I admired your mother a great deal.”

Gwen snorted. “He followed her around like a puppy dog with his tongue hanging out.”

Her dad cleared his throat. “Yes, you might say that.”

“One night, you mother, er, made herself available. Very available.”

“You mean she slept with you.”

Her dad nodded, then took a deep breath. “A few months later, she informed me she was pregnant. I was young, with no experience with women. Marrying her seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Wow.” Suze stared down at the tabletop. She could feel the mythology of her childhood slipping away, the perfect mother, the princess in every family fairy tale, tarnishing a bit.

“When you were born,” he continued, “I realized she'd probably lied.” He cleared his throat. “About your parentage. About who the father was.”