Wild Mustang Man (11 page)

How come? Damned if he knew. He only knew he was intensely aware of her, of the curve of her cheek, the sunlight in her hair, the glow of her eyes, the way she blushed, the lilt of her voice, every expression that crossed her face, every word she spoke. He didn’t want her out of his sight for fear he’d miss something.

He remembered the heated kisses they’d shared the other day, the warmth of her body and how she’d promised to keep her hands off him. He also remembered the guilt he’d felt afterward. But he didn’t feel it now. There was no reason to feel guilty. He was just being hospitable to a guest. Yeah, sure.

He found that to help her it was necessary to be on her team. To wrap his arms around her. It was essential that her silky hair brush his cheek, that she fit in his arms like she was meant to be there. Working together, with his hand holding on to hers, holding the horseshoe, they won a few points. They also won the attention of several other guests.

“Foul play,” his sister yelled from the other end of the pit. “Two against one. I don’t have a chance.”

Bridget tried to pull out of his arms, but he tightened his grasp around her. “She’s a sore loser,” he explained just loud enough for Martha to hear.

When the game was over and his father took a seat in the middle of the crowd to open his presents, Josh’s sister sidled up to him where he was leaning against the cottonwood tree.

“What’s going on?” she asked under her breath.

“Going on?” he repeated innocently.

She punched him in the arm. “Don’t play games with me. Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’ve been married so long I don’t recognize out-and-out flirting when I see it?”

“She died. But you didn’t die with her. You’re alive, Josh. And so is this woman you brought to the party. She’s delightful. She’s charming and if I’m not mistaken...”

“But you are mistaken. You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever take a chance on love again. No matter how delightful and charming Bridget is.”

“So you admit it,” his sister said with a knowing smile.

“She’s delightful and charming, and she’s a career woman from the city. Do you think for one minute—”

“Yes, I do. I think if you gave her the time of day, she’d jump at the chance to give the country a try. I saw the way she looked around Mom’s kitchen. She even said she envied our family.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that. But I’m not going to marry someone so Max can have a mother. I’d only get married again if I fell in love. Which I’m not going to do,” he added firmly.

“Oh, Josh,” Martha said, her eyes filling with tears. “I just want you to be happy. Ever since you were a little kid, even from the day they brought you home from the hospital, Lauren and I have watched you as you grew up, proud of what you did, envying you your skill at making friends, playing football, taming horses. It seemed like there was nothing you couldn’t do, nothing you couldn’t succeed at. I can’t stand to think of you growing old alone.”

Touched at her concern, Josh gave her a brief hug. “I’m not going to be alone,” he teased. “I’m going to come and live with you and Ray.”

She shook her head and smiled through her unshed tears. “Okay. I’ve said my piece. I know it’s none of my business, so I’ll shut up now. But if I were you...” He saw her look across the lawn to where Bridget was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Max.

“I get the message,” he said quickly. He felt torn up inside. As if the emotions he’d kept under wraps these past two years had been stirred up, and he was left feeling unsure of how he really felt. About anything.

From his spot under the tree, he watched his father open his presents. Bridget gave him a silver belt buckle she’d bought at the general store in town. His father was surprised and tickled.

“You didn’t have to do that,” his father told her, holding it up for everyone to see. Josh could tell how pleased he was by the glint in his eye and the way his father glanced pointedly at him as if he was saying, Look, did you see that? See what she gave me? See how well she fits in?

His sisters left early with their families for the long drive back to Reno. Nothing more was said about his future, but Martha, always the emotional one, hugged him tightly before she left. Other guests made jokes on their way out the door about his being the Wild Mustang Man. It didn’t bother him the way he thought it would. In fact, some of the jokes were downright funny. By evening he realized he’d laughed more that day than he had in two years.

He said goodbye to his parents and got last-minute instructions on caring for their animals while they were in San Francisco that week. Then he looked for Bridget. She was out at the driveway with Max, kneeling next to him, with her hand on his forehead.

She looked up when she heard Josh approach. “His head is so warm. I wonder if he has a fever.”

Josh ran to his side and lifted Max into his arms. His son felt warm all over. Max was never sick. Maybe a cold or a sore throat, but nothing like this. Oh, God, don’t let him be sick, he prayed. He carried Max to his truck and set him in the front seat. His head drooped. His chin hit his chest. He slouched over in the seat, unable to sit up straight. “I’ll get him home to bed, take his temperature and call the doc if necessary,” Josh told her, trying to sound like he wasn’t scared out of his mind.

Then he leaped into the driver’s seat and drove home, his palms sweaty against the steering wheel. He watched Max out of the corner of his eye, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to stay calm, telling himself Max would be okay. But the memories came flooding back of that day two years ago when his life fell apart.

He got the boy undressed, sponged the dirt off his face and put him to bed. His temperature was 102. Not high for a child. But all he could think of was Molly. This was how it started, with a moderate fever. Then it rose and rose. And in a few days the galloping virus had taken her life. In the days, weeks and months that had followed, he’d dreaded getting out of bed in the morning. If it hadn’t been for Max, if Max hadn’t needed him, he would have stayed in bed, hiding from the world. Max was all he had left. If he lost his son as well as his wife he wouldn’t want to live.

“Dad,” Max said hoarsely, trying to sit up. “Would you feed Barney for me?”

Josh’s throat tightened painfully as he assured him he would. Imagine a five-year-old thinking about his pet when he couldn’t even hold his head up. He gave Max a drink of water, tucked him in and went downstairs to call the doctor and leave a message for him.

As long as he was busy, feeding the rat, making the phone call, Josh was okay. But standing there in Max’s room, watching him toss and turn, his heart ached with worry and apprehension. He clenched his hands into fists, vowing nothing bad would happen to his son.

After an eternity of waiting, the doctor finally called around midnight, explaining he’d been out delivering a baby in the next county. When Josh described Max’s symptoms, the doctor told him to observe him and call in the morning.

“Keep the fluids going. Make him comfortable. Children’s ibuprofen would be okay. But it’s probably nothing.”

Nothing. It was probably nothing, Josh told himself over and over. But he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t sleep. He sat next to Max’s bed all night watching him sleep, listening to him mumble and thrash around.

In the morning Max’s temperature had risen two degrees. His face was flushed and he was almost delirious. Josh gave him apple juice and a pill and called the doctor again.

Max’s chest and stomach were covered with tiny red dots. He was scratching like mad. Josh ran back to the phone to report the news.

“Yeah. It’s all coming back to me. I was home from school for two weeks in second grade. I caught them from my sisters. And gave them to my best friend. Itched like the devil. Poor kid,” he said thinking of Max being confined for any length of time. He’d hate it. “You’ll come by, anyway?” he asked.

“Right. Just to be sure. I have another patient out your way. See you in a while.”

Josh did everything but stand on his head to amuse Max and keep his mind off the itching. He read books, or rather the same book about a little girl with a big red dog, over and over. He played a board game, which he lost, then a card game called Go Fish, which he won. By ten o’clock he was exhausted. He’d had no sleep and hadn’t fed his animals or his father’s.

“He’s got a temperature of 104. A rash all over his chest. And he’s a bear to be around,” he said, making a fierce face at Max who stuck out his tongue at his father. “The good news is the doctor thinks it’s only chicken pox.”

“Of course. I remember when I had them. The itching was terrible. Poor kid.”

Josh smiled. “That’s what I said. At first. Now that I’ve been entertaining him for the past three hours I’m changing that to poor me.”

Josh couldn’t hear what she said, but he couldn’t imagine her saying no. Max handed the phone back to his father, fell back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

“I can come out right away, that is if you want me.”

Did he want her? Did birds fly south in the winter? But it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right to drag her into his problems. He should have said No thanks. He should have insisted he could handle it by himself. And he could. But he didn’t want to.

“I want you,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and rough. He could blame his lack of willpower on his lack of sleep, or his concern about Max, or his need to have someone to share the burden. But it went deeper than that. How deep he didn’t know. He only knew she was coming and that he was more relieved than he wanted to admit.

The doctor came, confirmed Max had chicken pox, gave him some ointment to ease the itching and left. Max slept, while Josh paced back and forth in front of the living room window watching and waiting for Bridget. When he saw her car coming up the driveway, he threw the door open and went outside. She’d barely stopped her car when he was there, opening her car door for her, barely waiting for her to emerge before he’d crushed her to him.

He chalked it up to fatigue and worry. He was just so glad to see her. To hold her. To feel her heart beating, sure and steady. He wanted to kiss her, to mold her body to his, to give her whatever she wanted, to take whatever she would give. But there was Max. So before he lost his head completely, he gripped her shoulders and muttered hoarsely, “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and startled, seemingly at a loss for words. Not like her. Not like her, at all. They went into the house, and she followed him silently down the hall to Max’s room. They stood at his bedside, watching him sleep. He wanted to put his arm around her, to pull her hip next to his, press her shoulder against his. But he didn’t. He kept his arms at his side. It wouldn’t be right. Wouldn’t be fair. Because what he wanted was someone to share his problems with, to worry with him, to tell him what he already knew. That Max was going to be okay.

She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t fair to ask her. She deserved more than that. She deserved someone to share the good times and not be dragged down into someone else’s worries. She bent over and laid her hand on Max’s forehead.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said. “He’s warm. How does he feel?”

“Uncomfortable. Itchy. Unhappy. He’ll be glad to see you when he wakes up.”

“I brought some stuff for him,” she said setting a shopping bag on the floor next to his bed. “I’ll wait here till he opens his eyes. Go ahead, take a break. Don’t you have things to do?”