The Cowboy Finds a Family

by Anne McAllister

  Or—he wondered—was she insisting on half just so he wouldn’t go through with the divorce?

  He didn’t know.

  “I’ll talk to her lawyer,” Anthony said. “I’ll see what we can work out. Don’t worry.”

  Yeah, right.

  Mace hung up and worried all night.

  There was only one really good thing in his life now, and that was that his herd had never looked better. It was because he spent hours with them, checking on them, doctoring them, moving them to better grass, catching problems before they had a chance to develop. Doing things the way they ought to be done.

  It just went to show, Mace assured himself, that he didn’t need Jenny. And he didn’t need his friends.

  But he couldn’t suppress the surge of pleasure he felt when he came over the rise above the cabin later that week and saw Becky riding toward him.

  He grinned and waved at her.

  “Hey, shadow, haven’t seen you in a while,” he said when they got close enough for his voice to carry.

  She shrugged. “Been busy,” she replied, her voice a monotone. She didn’t smile. She looked worried.

  Mace dismounted by the barn and started to take his saddle off while he waited for more explanation. It wouldn’t take long. Becky usually talked his ear off.

  But she didn’t today. She sat there looking unhappy, and he wondered if maybe things were all right at home.

  “Twins still keepin’ you awake all night?”

  “Huh?” She looked almost startled, then shook her head vaguely. “Not really. They’re . . . getting better. A little better,” she qualified. She still didn’t smile.

  Mace slung his saddle over the fence rail and looked up at her. “You gettin’ down or just passin’ through?”

  “Um—” For a moment she seemed almost indecisive. Then she said, “Getting down, I guess.”

  She dismounted and loosened the cinch, then stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared distractedly at her feet and then out across the valley.

  This was not Becky.

  He studied her down-bent head for a moment, then said, “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee?” She looked at him, astonished. He didn’t blame her. He’d never offered her a cup of coffee in her life! She was a kid, for heaven’s sake!

  But then she said, “Yeah. All right.”

  He led the way into the cabin and put the coffeepot on the stove. Becky followed, but she didn’t perch on one of the chairs and tip it back and forth the way she usually did.

  Instead she went to the window and stood still, staring out. She ran a finger in the dust along the windowsill.

  Mace wondered if living with Felicity had taught her to be critical of his housekeeping skills. He was pretty sure he didn’t live up to Felicity’s standards, but Becky didn’t say anything, just doodled in the dust.

  “So,” he said as they waited for the coffee to boil. “What’s new at your house?”

  She turned, her back against the windowsill. “Jenny’s goin’ out with my uncle Tom.”

  “What! I mean, what?” His brows drew down. “What uncle Tom? You don’t have an uncle Tom. You’ve only got an aunt.” Erin. Taggart’s sister. She was three years younger than him, lived in Paris, and the last Mace had heard she wasn’t married.

  “This is Felicity’s brother,” Becky said. “He’s visiting us for the summer. From Iowa.”

  Iowa? Jenny was dating some guy from Iowa?

  Already? Talk about a fast worker. Hell, the ink was barely dry on the separation papers!

  Mace tried to get a grip. It wasn’t easy. His knuckles went white as they clenched on the countertop.

  “Coffee’s boiling,” Becky noted.

  Automatically Mace reached over and shut it off. He got two mugs down off the shelf and filled them—or tried to. His hand was trembling so much he spilled the liquid all over the counter.

  Wordlessly Becky mopped it up. He tried again. His mind was whirling.

  Of course he’d known Jenny would date other men. How was she ever going to meet one to father her children and give her a family if she didn’t?

  But he hadn’t expected her to jump into it so eagerly—or so soon!

  Wasn’t it just a few days ago that she chased him clear out to his truck to tell him she didn’t want the separation?

  Obviously she’d changed her mind.

  This Uncle Tom person, Mace thought savagely, must be a hell of a stud!

  “He’s a nice guy, my uncle Tom,” he heard Becky say. She seemed to be almost apologetic. “He’s a teacher. A professor really, at a college. He teaches English.”

  “Good for him,” Mace said through his teeth. He doubted that was what Jenny saw in him.

  She probably saw sperm.

  “He doesn’t know as many cowboy stories as you,” Becky went on hurriedly. “An’ he can’t play the harmonica like you can. But he knows a lot about pirates, an’ African folktales an’ he tells pretty good jokes. He’s pretty nice.”

  “Swell.” Mace felt like strangling the coffee mug.

  “Susannah’s uncle’s here, too,” Becky said after a moment.

  Mace frowned. What uncle? “Just her uncle?” Had Tanner left his wife? Had Luke left his?

  If either had, it wasn’t for the reason Mace had left. Tanner had three kids and Luke, two, at last count. Would Jenny be going after them, too?

  “It’s not her real uncle. It’s her aunt Maggie’s dad.” Becky’s forehead scrunched with the effort of trying to get it straight. “A great-uncle removed or something, Dad says. He’s really nice, too, except he’s kinda sad. His wife died,” she explained.

  He’d never met Maggie Tanner’s father. If he was anything like his daughter, he’d be a good guy. And a widower, too, Mace realized. A little old maybe, but perhaps Jenny would get around to him if this Tom character didn’t work out!

  He took a swallow of his coffee. “Where are they going on this date?” he asked as casually as he could. The word nearly choked him. “Jenny and your, er, uncle.”

  Becky shook her head. “Dunno. Last time they went on a hike.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean, last time?”

  She shrugged. “Their last date. Monday they went to Bozeman . . . to the college, I think. Jenny might take classes.”

  “Classes? At MSU?”

  “Uh-huh. She got a catalog, and she and Uncle Tom were going over it and she said she’s thinking about it.”

  It seemed to Mace she was thinking about a hell of a lot. And she wasn’t letting the grass grow under her feet, either!

  “I wasn’t sure I shoulda told you,” Becky was saying. “About Jenny an’ Uncle Tom an’ all.” She held the mug of coffee against her lips so she could breathe the aroma as she watched him over the top.

  Mace flattened his hands on the countertop and stared out the window, at the same time giving his best imitation of a nonchalant shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not my business.”

  Becky’s eyes widened. “You don’t care?”

  He couldn’t flat-out lie to her. He sighed. “We’re separated. She’s not mine now.”

  “I know, but—”

  “So it’s not my business what she does.”

  “It is if you want it to be. You could ask her not to go,” Becky argued.

  He wished. His fingers curled into fists. He stared straight ahead and shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “You could,” Becky insisted. “If you don’t want her to go out with him, tell her so. You’re still married! You could get back together.”

  “No!” It was almost a shout. “No,” he said more quietly but just as forcefully. “We won’t. So she can date—” he couldn’t quite keep his voice even on the word “—anybody she wants. It isn’t up to me. I told you that.”

  “Yes, but if—”

  “No! Damn it, Becky. No.” He slapped his palms on the countertop, then turned and glared at her. “Leave it. Just leave it well eno
ugh alone.”

  He picked up his mug, drained the rest of his coffee, then thumped it down again. “I’ve got work to do. Come on. You better go on home.”

  For a long moment Becky didn’t move. And the look in her eyes was one of such profound hurt that he felt as if he’d kicked a pup. Then, her expression shuttered. Her gaze became remote.

  Mace cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just . . . not something you can understand.”

  Becky dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. “I understand,” she said flatly. She walked past him out the door and into the yard. “I’ll go.”

  Chapter Six

  So she’d blown it.

  She’d been torn all week about whether she should tell Mace about Jenny and Uncle Tom.

  Susannah had said that if Jenny dated Uncle Tom—if she married Uncle Tom!—it would serve stupid old Mace right. Tuck said if Mace was the one who had walked out, why should he care what Jenny did?

  But Becky hadn’t been sure.

  She would have liked to ask her stepmother, but Felicity was distracted because Willy had an earache and had kept her up all night, and when Becky said, “Do you think Jenny likes Uncle Tom?” she didn’t even know what Becky really meant.

  So what else was new? Becky thought.

  But even if she had known, Felicity wasn’t exactly a disinterested bystander. As Uncle Tom’s sister, she might very well think it was better to have Jenny married to her brother than to Mace.

  Becky knew better than to ask her dad. Taggart would tell her to mind her own business—in no uncertain terms—and that would be that!

  But Taggart hadn’t talked to Mace that day at the bull-riding school. No one had. They’d all ignored him, turned their backs on him.

  Only Becky had talked to him, had heard the pain in his voice and had seen the lonely look in his eyes.

  She was almost certain he still loved Jenny—even if he was asking her for a divorce—and so she’d stuck her nose in—tried to help. For all the good it had done . . .

  Now she had Mace mad at her, too.

  But this dating business wasn’t just a one-off.

  Becky would never have gone running to tell Mace if she’d only seen them together once. The night that Jenny had come over for dinner, well, even if she did spend most of it listening to Uncle Tom and hanging on his every word, it was no big deal.

  But then two days later, they’d gone to Bozeman together. Uncle Tom had taken Jenny to talk to someone at the university, Felicity said.

  “So she’ll feel more comfortable when she signs up for a class.”

  “A class?” Becky couldn’t imagine anyone Jenny’s age voluntarily taking classes. She personally could hardly wait to stop.

  “Mm-hm.” Felicity sounded pleased. She was humming as she mashed a banana for Willy who was over his earache. “It will be good for her, going back to school. Give her something positive to think about.”

  Becky said, “I guess.”

  She seemed to think about it and talk about it—to Uncle Tom—a lot. Becky didn’t tell Mace that just two days ago she’d seen them having coffee together at the Busy Bee. And that last Sunday after church Jenny and Uncle Tom had gone out riding.

  He’d wanted to see a small mountain lake Taggart had been telling him about, and Felicity had suggested Jenny show it to him. None of those were really “dates,” technically, Becky didn’t suppose. But she thought the line was getting pretty blurred.

  The one coming up on Saturday night, though, was perfectly clear.

  It was a date. She’d even heard Felicity call it that.

  “I’m glad you’re taking Jenny out on a date,” she’d said to Uncle Tom last night when they were sitting in the kitchen after dinner. Taggart was out feeding stock and the twins were, for once, both asleep at the same time.

  Becky was on the porch, brushing burrs out of Digger’s coat and, though they couldn’t see her, and she didn’t really mean to be spying, she could hear every word.

  “She needs a little bit of fun,” her stepmother went on. “And so do you.”

  “Matchmaking?” Uncle Tom had asked. His voice sounded amused.

  Becky stopped brushing the dog and edged closer to the window. Digger turned his head and nosed at the brush in her hand.

  “What if I am?” Felicity replied. “People did it to me. After Dirk died.”

  Dirk had been Felicity’s first husband. Becky had seen his picture. She didn’t think he was nearly as handsome as her dad, but he looked nice enough, and she knew Felicity had loved him.

  “Her husband is alive and well,” Uncle Tom reminded her.

  “And divorcing her, the idiot.” Felicity thumped something on the table. “Well, not yet, but they’re separated, and Jenny thinks that’s where it’s going.”

  “Why?”

  “God only knows. And Mace,” she added. “Mid-life crisis no doubt. They’ve been married forever. Since they just got out of high school. Never dated anyone else. Maybe now he wants to sow his wild oats. Well, Jenny’s too nice to have to put up with that.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And she wants a family. She’s always wanted a family, and obviously Mace doesn’t.”

  Becky moved a little closer to the window.

  “And you’ve got a family,” Felicity went on.

  “I have Katie,” Uncle Tom qualified. “Sometimes.”

  “Well, if you had a wife you might be able to convince Lottie to share her more often. And you and Jenny could have kids, too. You wouldn’t mind more, I daresay.”

  “No, but—”

  “There. See. It’d be perfect. Don’t you think?”

  “I think you have my life all figured out,” Uncle Tom said with a laugh. But he didn’t sound discouraging.

  He actually had sounded pretty interested—as if he thought Jenny might be right for him, too.

  And that was why Becky had gone up the mountain to tell Mace.

  *

  This one really was a date.

  Jenny had called the other times she’d been places with Tom “dates” because saying the word made her feel a little daring and alive. And, to be honest, because if she thought of them that way, perhaps Mace would too, and then he’d come roaring down the mountain to reclaim her.

  But he didn’t.

  And now, after a pleasant evening with Tom at Felicity and Taggart’s house, an afternoon spent checking out classes in Bozeman, a cup of coffee at the Busy Bee, and a Sunday afternoon horseback ride, she was going out with Tom, not just because she was feeling reckless and hoping to goad Mace, but because she found Tom interesting and entertaining and likeable.

  So it was a date.

  And she was nervous.

  She’d never been on a date before. Not with anyone besides Mace at least.

  Unless, of course, you counted their senior year, when Taggart had taken her to the homecoming dance after she and Mace had briefly broken up. Taggart had got a black eye for his trouble and she and Mace had made up the next week.

  But clearly Mace wasn’t interested in giving her other suitors black eyes these days.

  In fact he seemed infuriatingly willing to pass her on to another man. Wasn’t that the reason he was divorcing her?

  She tried not to think about him. She focused instead on Tom. But thinking about Tom—and his expectations—simply increased her nervousness. She had paced a rut in the living room by the time Tom’s car came over the hill, and she didn’t wait for him to knock on the door so she could be demure and proper. She went out to meet him.

  He was as easy to talk to and listen to as he had been on the other occasions. As they drove down through the canyon toward Bozeman to the movie they had chosen to see, he told her about helping Taggart move some bulls to another pasture that afternoon, emphasizing his own lack of experience with cowboy skills, and making her laugh.

  But even to her ears, her laugh sounded strained. She knotted her fi
ngers in her lap.

  “Nervous?” Tom asked, slanting a smile in her direction.

  “No,” Jenny lied. Then, “Yes,” she admitted. “I haven’t done this in years. And never with anyone but my . . . but Mace.”

  “Takes some getting used to,” Tom said easily. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Jenny watched them with some apprehension, wondering if he would take one of them off and reach down to take her hand.

  Should she let him?

  Oh, Jenny, she smothered an inward groan. You are a fool. Grow up, for heaven’s sake. Holding your hand can hardly be considered ‘making an advance.’

  All the same, she was glad when his fingers settled lightly once more against the wheel, and she felt free to breathe.

  They arrived just as the movie was going to start. And as it was an arty British film, based on one of the books he was teaching this coming fall, she imagined he’d be too engrossed in it to pay any attention to her.

  Maybe he was. He laughed a lot and once or twice looked her way to see if she was enjoying it.

  She tried to. It was full of witty dialogue and meaningful glances, and she knew she wouldn’t have been able to drag Mace to it in a hundred years. Mostly, though, she ended up trying not to notice every time Tom’s shoulder or elbow touched hers.

  They were accidental touches, after all. They meant nothing. She was just being hypersensitive.

  And if her shoulders felt cool, it was because she was used to going to movies with Mace. He’d have had his arm around her. He’d have pulled her as close as their separate seats would allow, and when the hero was kissing the heroine, there was a good chance that Mace, even after fourteen years of marriage, would have been stealing a kiss from her.

  Jenny felt a hollow, desperate ache expand somewhere deep inside her—the same hollow, desperate ache she felt every time she let herself think about Mace. A shudder ran through her.

  Warm fingers closed quite suddenly over her own. She looked over at Tom, startled.

  In the light from the screen she could see him looking back at her, his mouth touched by a gentle smile—as if he knew.

  Did he?

  As if in answer, his fingers squeezed hers lightly. Then, leaving his hand where it was, Tom turned back to watch the film.