Cowboy in My Pocket (27 page)

Tag assessed the situation quickly. The water was too deep to cross on horseback, the surging river too powerful a force to swim. There was a dead tree on the far side of the creek, a healthy live oak on this side. The snag was out of range of his lasso, but not so far that two ropes couldn’t be tied together then tied off between the trees . . . if only he could get one end across the water.

“It looks narrower up above us,” Mark said, reading his mind perfectly. “Let me take one end of the rope and see if I can cross. Once it’s attached . . .”

“Let’s do it,” Tag said. He and Mark raced their horses to the narrow section of the river where a large tree had fallen and partially blocked the flow of water. Mark dismounted, took one end of the rope and crossed the creek as far as he could on the fallen log, then struggled through the swirling water, tangled brush and piled rocks until he emerged safely on the far side.

By the time he and Tag had reached their respective trees, the rope barely reached the distance across the water. Mark looped his end over a sturdy branch while Tag tied his off to the trunk of the oak. Michelle held on to all three horses. When Tag turned back to the creek, she handed him the rope from her saddle.

“Good luck. Be careful,” she whispered. Then she kissed him, for luck, he figured.

He almost forgot about the damned cow and Michelle’s boyfriend on the other side of the creek.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then he looped the extra rope over his shoulder, grabbed the one stretched between the trees and walked out into the raging current. The icy water reached his knees, then his waist, sweeping his feet out from under him.

Ramón, Michelle and even Mark shouted encouragement. The cow mooed, the calf bawled and Bob the Dog ran in circles, dipping his front feet in the water then backing out again, barking furiously the whole time. The cow shook her lowered head threateningly as Tag approached, but he managed to loop the lasso over her neck and throw the other end to Ramón.

Tag climbed up onto the muddy outcropping and grabbed the calf in his arms just as Ramón backed his horse up and hauled the cow off her precarious perch. She hit the river swimming, her powerful strokes aided by the steady tug of the rope, and within minutes she was safely on dry land, calling for her calf.

Tag tucked the frightened, squirming youngster under his arm, looped his free arm over the rope and headed for shore. The weight of the calf helped him keep his feet under him this time. Michelle steadied the rope, then helped grab the calf from Tag and pull it onto dry land.

None the worse for wear, limping only slightly, the cow and calf ambled away as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Tag lay on his back in the mud, gasping for breath.

“That was pretty impressive, cowboy.” Michelle leaned over him, the streak of mud across her face just adding to her allure as far as Tag was concerned. “Need some help?” she asked, holding her hand out to him.

Tag grabbed her hand, but didn’t try to sit up. He figured this might be the last time ever he’d be lying on his back with Michelle holding his hand, leaning over him, looking as if she cared. Looking like she might be moving a little bit closer, maybe even close enough to kiss?

Mark cried out. Michelle blinked and spun around. Tag sat up, just in time to see Mark completely lose his footing on the fallen tree and tumble into the roiling creek.

Michelle screamed. Tag didn’t hesitate. He leaped into the water at a point where he hoped Mark would emerge from the froth. The powerful surge of floodwater tore at his legs and threatened to upend him. Suddenly, Mark popped to the surface, not two feet in front of him. Tag grabbed the other man’s arm, but Mark didn’t respond, neither fighting him nor trying to help.

Michelle yelled as Tag struggled to hold on to the man. Tag realized she was wading into the creek beside him, the loose end of the rope grasped firmly in both hands. “Here,” she said, “tie this around him.”

Tag looped the rope around Mark’s waist, and with Michelle’s help beside him and Ramón hauling with all his strength managed to get the unconscious man to shore. They stretched Mark out on the ground, turned his head to one side and Tag pounded on his back until he spit out a stream of water.

Coughing, gasping for air, Mark rolled over onto his back and lay still, but his eyes were open, he was alert, he was alive, and he was staring with unabashed adoration at Michelle.

“You saved my life,” he said, grabbing her hand with both of his.

“Tag saved your life,” she answered, looking directly at Tag. “I just gave him the rope.”

Enough rope to hang myself,
Tag thought, briefly imagining how it would have been if he hadn’t dragged Connor to safety.

Hell, he could never let a man drown, especially this one. He actually liked the guy. Mark Connor had worked his tail off today, put in hard hours like any cowhand. Tag could see why Michelle loved the man. Just his luck, finally to fall in love with a woman and actually like the guy she was probably going to marry.

“Think you can ride?” Tag asked.

Mark sat up, shivering in the late afternoon chill. “I’ll be fine, if I don’t freeze to death first.” He tried to laugh, but Tag could tell he was dangerously chilled. Tag was half frozen, but he hadn’t nearly drowned. Mark needed help, and fast.

“Get up on Marcia, behind Michelle, and I’ll throw a blanket around you. With her body heat and the warm blanket you should be fine till we get back to the ranch.”

Michelle frowned at Tag. Now what could be bugging her? Wasn’t he doing just what she wanted, giving her the chance to get close to the guy? Even though it was tearing him up to see them all huddled together under the wool army blanket Tag kept rolled behind his saddle, he knew it was best this way.

He might have fought for her if Connor wasn’t such an obvious match. Michelle was a writer, Mark Connor was an editor. Similar interests, similar lifestyles. Two beautiful, well-educated people who obviously cared about each other.

Silently Tag mounted Chief and grabbed Red’s reins. Michelle’d risked her life to help him save her man. Tag wanted to think she’d done it to help him, but he knew the truth. She’d been afraid of losing Mark. She hadn’t trusted Tag to do the job.

It was a long, cold, quiet ride back to the ranch.

THE SUN had long ago disappeared behind the mountains by the time Tag unsaddled the horses, fed and settled them down for the night and got a change of dry clothes for himself. Michelle had offered to help but he’d sent her in to the house to warm up. Mark had headed for the bunkhouse the moment they arrived and hadn’t been seen since.

Coop ambled across the yard, whistling softly. “Evenin’,” he said. He propped one foot on the bottom rail of the corral and stared off in the direction of the dark mountains.

Tag grunted. He wasn’t in the mood to hear about Coop’s terrific day with the love of his life.

“Will called,” Coop said, staring off in the distance. “The road’s repaired. They finished ahead of schedule.” He turned his head. From the sorrow etched in the old man’s face, Tag knew what was coming next.

“Michelle and her editor are fixin’ to leave in the morning. Thought you ought to know.” Without another word, Coop turned away and walked silently back to the house.

Tag blanked the pain from his heart and stared blindly into the night.

Chapter 14

MICHELLE SHOVED the rest of her things into the leather tote bag. She had no idea what Lenore had done with her beat-up old suitcase, but she’d finally realized the tote was actually a large saddlebag. A perfect souvenir of a pretty sad and convoluted episode in her life. She wondered if it was big enough to hold a broken heart.

Sighing, she set aside one pair of Tag’s plaid boxer shorts to wear with her jeans in the morning. He wouldn’t miss one pair, she figured. She couldn’t bear to leave them behind.

It was going to be hard enough leaving Tag.

A quiet tap sounded on the bedroom door. Tightening the belt around the worn robe, Michelle shoved her damp hair out of her eyes and opened the door.

Lenore smiled sadly and stepped into the room. “Are you absolutely certain?” She took hold of both of Michelle’s hands. “He loves you. I’m sure of it.”

“He might love me, Lenore. He probably does, in his own way. Unfortunately, Tag’s not sure of it.” Michelle squeezed Lenore’s fingers, then crossed the room to the bedroom window and stared out into the darkness. Lenore’s figure and her own reflected back in the clear glass.

Old and young. One discovering love, the other leaving it behind. “I can’t stay here and hope he’ll figure it out someday.” Michelle turned to face Lenore. “I’m thirty-four years old. I never thought of myself as a wife or mother, not until I met Tag. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, not when I compare those feelings I’ve had for other men with how I feel now. But I won’t settle, Lenore. I want real love, the kind of love a man declares without any hesitation, without any shame. I want the sizzle.”

She blushed, embarrassed she’d actually said it out loud. “I want what you and Coop have, Lenore. The passion, the desire, the need to share your lives. There’s no doubt Coop loves you. He’s loved you for so long it’s like breathing to him. Is it asking too much to want to be the air Tag breathes?” She laughed, a humorless sound even to her own ears. “Sounds dumb, doesn’t it? To want to be loved that much?”

“No,” Lenore said, pulling Michelle into her arms. “No, sweetheart, it doesn’t sound dumb at all. My grandson’s a fool if he can’t see what he’s losing, but maybe you’re right. Maybe if you go, he’ll realize what he’s giving up. Maybe then . . .”

“I don’t see Tag following me to New York.” Michelle hugged Lenore back, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I think, once I’m gone, he’ll throw himself into running the Double Eagle and before long he’ll have himself convinced that what we shared wasn’t all that great.”

She followed the quilted design on the bedspread with one blunt fingernail, remembering the perfectly painted ovals she’d had when she first arrived.

Had it only been three weeks? She looked down at her hands, at the rough palms seamed and lined with ridges of callus and knew she was a different person in more than appearance. Her three weeks at the Double Eagle had changed her life in more ways than she ever could have imagined.

“I can tell you one thing,” she said, feeling new strengths within herself. “Tag Martin may be the master of denial when it comes to his emotions, but he’s never going to find another woman like me. He can ignore how he feels all he wants, but it’s his loss. I’m not staying. I’m not going to spend my life waiting and wishing for something that’s not gonna happen.”

Lenore sagged against the wall. “Does that mean you’re going to marry Mark? He told me he’d asked you, but you hadn’t given him an answer.”

Michelle thought about it, about the passion she shared with Tag, the friendship she had with Mark. “I don’t honestly know,” she said. “I’ve never really thought of Mark . . . that way. Maybe, now that I know how he feels . . .” She sighed. “Let’s just say I’m going to leave myself open, okay? Maybe in time, but if nothing happens I’ll still have a good friend.”

“Don’t do anything rash, dear.” Lenore’s soft admonition wasn’t lost on Michelle. This from a woman who’d married the wrong man and regretted it most of her adult life.

“I won’t, Lenore. I promise.”

Lenore quietly left the room. Michelle paced the confining space for a couple of minutes, then decided on one last trip to the barn to see Star.

She slipped her feet into her boots, wrapped the robe tightly around herself and headed through the darkness to the barn. A few bulbs glowed dimly, the smells of horse and hay filled her senses and Michelle knew an immediate sense of calm.

She never would have dreamed she’d grow to love this kind of life as much as she had, never thought she could so easily give up the familiarity of everything she’d left behind.

Never dreamed how much she would miss it when she finally had to leave.

Goldie munched quietly on her flake of alfalfa. Star slept in the sweet-smelling hay, his skinny legs stretched out at right angles to his body, his velvety nostrils fluttering with each breath. Michelle stroked Goldie’s soft muzzle and marveled at the miracle of the tiny colt’s life. A miracle she had helped to bring about. Her eyes stung, remembering.

Bob the Dog trotted into the barn and nuzzled Michelle’s leg up under her robe. “Hey, beast,” she said, kneeling down to pet him. “Your nose is cold!”

The dog immediately rolled over on his back, presenting Michelle with a soft tummy in dire need of scratching. She rubbed his belly for a few minutes, wondering how it would be if she got a dog once she got home.

Home. She’d lived at the Double Eagle for a mere three weeks, but it felt more like home than her little apartment over Central Park ever had.

A quiet snort followed by soft whispers caught her attention. Giving Bob the Dog a final scratch, Michelle stood up and followed the sound. At the far end of the barn in the heavily reinforced stall reserved for Tag’s stallion, she could see someone moving.

Tag. He appeared unaware of her presence, so intent on brushing and currying the big horse. Michelle placed her hand on the dog’s head, signaling for him to be quiet as she slipped closer to Tag. She would never have this opportunity again, the chance to watch him unobserved. After tomorrow, she’d probably never see him again at all.

Biting her lips to stop the tears, Michelle edged even closer to the stall. Neither Tag nor the horse could see her, she knew, but suddenly Nitro’s big body tensed and he reared up, pulling away from Tag.

Tag grabbed for the halter, crooning softly to the stallion, but the horse’s agitation increased. He whinnied, a bellowing stallion’s call, and flailed his hooves, narrowly missing Tag.

Michelle screamed. She ran forward, wanting to help, not thinking of how, or what, but only that she had to save Tag.

“Get out of here,” Tag yelled. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him? Get away!”

“Why? What’s . . .” Michelle stammered, backing away. The horse reared again and charged at the stall door just as Tag leaped aside.

“I said, get out of here!”

Sobbing, Michelle turned and ran.

Once Michelle was gone, Tag calmed the big horse with soft words and gentle touches. Nitro whinnied and nibbled at his hay as if nothing had happened. Tag picked up the brush and comb he’d dropped and quietly left the stall.

He didn’t want to think of the look on Michelle’s face when he’d yelled at her, didn’t want to consider how his command might have sounded.

He put the gear away, slowly, avoiding the inevitable. He needed to apologize, he guessed, but she should have known. No, a little voice said. She shouldn’t have.

He found her in the stall with Dandy, her arms wrapped around the big old horse’s neck, crying as if her heart would break. Tag figured if she felt anything like him, it already had.

“Michelle?”

She ignored him.

Maybe she didn’t hear him. “Michelle?” Tag stepped into the stall and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss the tears, he wanted to lay her down in the sweet hay and make love to her, make all the problems go away. He wanted . . . he couldn’t have what he wanted. He couldn’t because he loved her and it wouldn’t be right.

She raised her head and wiped her nose on the sleeve of the robe. Her eyes were huge, deep emerald pools so filled with longing he thought he might die.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said, giving in to impulse, framing her jaw with his hands and wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s just, Nitro, he’s a stud. You told me yesterday it’s your time of the month. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes that makes a stallion go a little crazy, confuses him, makes him act like there’s a mare around.”

“Oh, God, how embarrassing.” She dipped her head, turned away from his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . . I never even thought about something like . . .”

“I know. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled, but he scared me.”

“Cowboys aren’t supposed to get scared,” she said, biting her lips, then smiling at him. “You’re supposed to be brave and fearless and always get the girl. At least that’s how we’re supposed to write about you.”

“I’ve been brave before, don’t know about fearless. As far as the girl . . .” He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “I love you, Michelle. I love you more than you can imagine.”

“Oh, Tag. I . . .”

“But it won’t work.” God, he hated doing this. Her face crumpled, her lip quivered so that he wanted to kiss her, tell her he was an idiot and somehow they’d make it work.

Uno, dos, tres . . . damn! He could do this. He had to.

“Life’s not a story, sweetheart. It’s flawed people and situations that don’t always work out the way you want. What just happened in there . . . doesn’t that tell you this isn’t where you belong? You’re a city girl, Michelle. You’re used to a life I can’t ever give you. Mark can. He loves you . . .”

“Oh, so you’re just going to generously turn me over to Mark, is that it?” She twisted out of his grasp with an outraged jerk of her shoulders. “Here, Michelle. You can fall in love with this guy. He’s the perfect man for you. Is that it?”

“I’m just trying to do what’s right for you.”

“Don’t give me that! You coward,” she hissed. “You know, Taggart Martin, you’re enough to give cowboys a bad name. You’re so afraid to open yourself to love you’re going to spend the rest of your life denying you ever had a chance to know what it was like. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Mark would make a better husband. At least we’ll both be in the same town so we can find out.”

She gave him a look that would freeze sunlight, whistled for his profoundly disloyal dog and headed back to the house.

Tag watched her go, the mutt trotting along at her heels. He had a feeling he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

MICHELLE REFUSED to cry. No way was Tag Martin going to make her cry. She couldn’t possibly be in love with a guy as stupid as that darned cowboy. If she didn’t love him, he couldn’t make her cry.

“Would you care for another helping, dear?” Lenore held the plate filled with tender vegetables out to her. Michelle took it automatically, even though she hadn’t even noticed the taste of anything else on her plate.

It took all her concentration not to cry.

Mark, on the other hand, had completely recovered from his dunking in the creek and seemed to be having a wonderful time, thoroughly enjoying his last dinner at the Double Eagle. He’d kept Coop and Lenore smiling with stories about stories, tales of the crazy stuff he’d read from the slush pile, that bottomless pit where unsolicited manuscripts went when they arrived at the publishing house where he worked.

Tag had decided not to join them at the table, instead opting to make a late evening check of the newly repaired road.
He just wants to make sure we’re out of here in the morning as planned,
Michelle thought.

“You look tired, kiddo.” Mark’s teasing comment snapped Michelle out of her fog. “Rescuing editors must be exhausting work.”

“I told you,” Michelle said. “Tag’s the one who rescued you. I merely handed him the rope.”

“You could have let me drown,” Mark replied.

“You reject another story of mine, I might just consider it . . . should we ever be where you need rescuing again.”

“Yeah, but then you’d have to break in a new editor and you’ll never find one as wonderful and accommodating as I am.” He flashed her that hundred-megawatt smile that belonged on the cover of a romance novel.

Michelle snorted, falling easily into the give-and-take teasing they’d shared for years. Mark was likable and when he wasn’t telling her how to write her stories, he was fun and easy to get along with.

She could do worse.

I am not going to settle.
Wasn’t that what she’d told Lenore? Would it be merely settling, to spend her life with a man whose friendship she cherished? A man who might not bring her passion, but could give her happiness and love, children, companionship, a future?

She promised herself she’d think about it. She’d leave herself open to Mark and see what the future held.

“One thing, Michelle,” Mark said. “You’ll have to admit that, even though this trip didn’t quite go as planned, it was a good idea of mine to send you out here. At least now when you write that western, you’ll know what you’re writing about.”

She felt the pain pass through her like the shaft of an arrow. “I guess you’re right,” she mumbled.

“Of course I’m right.” Mark patted her hand affectionately, hesitated, then lifted her fingers and studied them. “You really do need a manicure, sweetheart. Haven’t you been wearing gloves?”

She laughed then. Laughed to keep from crying. Snatching her hand out of Mark’s light grasp, she waggled her fingers under his nose. “You’re paying for it, sweetheart. You owe me and I want it all. The massage, the hairstylist, the complete makeover. I want a manicure, a pedicure, maybe even a wax job . . . and you’re paying for all of it. This girl’s getting a whole new look.”

He grinned, but she could tell he wasn’t certain if she was teasing or serious.

Tag would have figured it out, she thought. He always knew when she was teasing. She just wished he knew how much she loved him.