The Cowboy Finds a Family

by Anne McAllister

  Jenny turned her head and tried to watch it, too. But she didn’t see anything at all—only felt her fingers curved inside his.

  For the first time in her life, she was holding hands with a man other than Mace.

  She was out on a date. And all she wanted to do was cry.

  *

  “So, what’d you think?” Tom asked her as they left the theater. His fingers were still wrapped around hers as they walked to the car, a casual, but deliberate connection.

  Jenny considered breaking it, then decided not to. He wasn’t overstepping any bounds. He had a right to this much. It was something she would have to get used to. If not from Tom, then from someone else.

  Somehow. Someday.

  “I liked it,” she said with as much heartiness as she could manage. “A lot.”

  “They weren’t as faithful to the book as I’d have liked.” Tom opened the door for her and closed it after she got in, then went around and got behind the wheel. “But, I suppose if they were going to be absolutely faithful, we’d have been sitting there a few more hours.”

  “I haven’t read the book,” Jenny admitted. “I’m afraid my education is pretty dismal.”

  “They might use it in that lit survey class you’re signing up for.”

  He had gone with her last week down to Bozeman where she’d met with an academic advisor. She’d been reluctant, convinced that she would be biting off more than she could chew. But Tom hadn’t seen it that way at all.

  “Most professors love to have nontraditional students,” he assured her. “They bring a lot of experience to the class, and they’re serious about learning.”

  Jenny was serious, but she was also scared. She hadn’t been in school for a dozen years. She had all but given up the idea of ever getting her bachelor’s degree. There seemed to be no point—and no time. Her life was taken up with Mace and her job and the ranch and—she’d hoped—someday a family.

  She still had her job as a school aide, of course. But it was a mere shadow of the job she’d once wished to have.

  And there would be no family now. There wouldn’t be Mace. When he had walked out, he’d taken her hopes and dreams with him.

  So she had let herself be persuaded to sign up for two courses—a survey of British literature and an introductory psychology class.

  “Good choices.” Tom had approved.

  Back in high school, English had been her favorite class, and once she’d committed herself to doing it, this course seemed like a good place to start. The psych class was a general education requirement she hadn’t taken during her years getting her AA.

  “A good thing to have if you go on for your degree,” Tom said.

  That would take years, Jenny thought. But now, what did she have but time? The psych class would be one requirement out of the way. It also—she hoped, though she didn’t tell Tom—might give her some insight into what made Mace tick. If they had offered a course called Introduction to the Intricacies of the Minds of Stupid Men, she would have taken that in a minute!

  “I’m glad we went,” she said now. “Even if it doesn’t end up being on my reading list. I’m glad I saw it.” She gave Tom a determined smile. She wouldn’t let herself think about Mace any more tonight.

  He wouldn’t be thinking about her.

  “Me, too.” Tom reached over and took one of her hands in his, wrapping warm fingers around hers and giving a gentle squeeze.

  Jenny squeezed back.

  “Feeling better?”

  Jenny nodded. “Yes.”

  It was almost the truth.

  *

  It was all right that Jenny went out on a date.

  It was only to be expected.

  That was the idea, wasn’t it? Mace asked himself. She was supposed to meet someone else, marry someone else.

  She couldn’t do that if she didn’t go out with him first.

  All the same, the very notion drove him nuts.

  What did Jenny know about dating, for heaven’s sake?

  She hadn’t dated in years! She hadn’t dated anyone—ever—except him! Unless you counted the time she went to homecoming with Taggart. Mace rubbed his fingers over his fist, remembering that incident.

  Then he took a deep breath and told himself he wasn’t about to do anything that stupid anymore. He was grown up now.

  And this wasn’t Taggart, who’d taken Jenny out just to rile him.

  Besides, like he’d told Becky, who Jenny dated wasn’t his business.

  He wasn’t very convincing.

  Who the hell was this “Uncle Tom” anyway? The very sound of the name set his teeth on edge. What would a college professor want with a salt-of-the-earth woman like Jenny?

  And what—besides sperm—would she see in him?

  Mace wore a rut in the pine plank floorboards of the cabin before he took his fretting outside. There, without really thinking about what he was doing, he saddled Chug.

  He’d ride off his frustration and his concern. It wouldn’t be the first time. And he could check on the cattle down the draw while he was at it. And if he had to pass the ranch house to check on those particular cows, and it just happened to be getting close to suppertime on Saturday night, well, too damn bad.

  He kept to the tree line when he came within sight of the house. The last thing he wanted was Jenny to see him and think he was checking up on her. He wasn’t, damn it.

  But he couldn’t deny that he felt an odd sort of relief wash over him when he saw that her car was there.

  He settled more easily in the saddle then, breathing deeply, glad that she’d come to her senses.

  There would be time for all that dating business. Later. After the divorce was final.

  Well after.

  She wasn’t over him yet. Was she?

  His brows drew down. No, of course not. She was the one who’d run after him when he’d come down to the house and she’d had Neile there.

  He’d been the one to walk out!

  So maybe she got the message that he meant it.

  The thought wasn’t as satisfying as it ought to have been.

  But she was there. Or was she?

  Maybe only her car was there. Maybe Tom had come and picked her up. That was the way it was supposed to happen, wasn’t it, on dates?

  He wasn’t exactly familiar with the ins and outs of proper dating behavior. When he and Jenny had been dating, he hadn’t had a truck of his own, so they’d had to double with Taggart or Jed or sometimes, he remembered with chagrin, Jenny had borrowed her dad’s truck and had come to get him!

  He edged a little closer to the house, hoping to tell if she was there or not by the way the shades were hanging. He touched his spurs lightly to his horse’s sides, moving further down.

  The place was totally quiet. Door closed. Lights off.

  But it wasn’t really early enough for her to turn the lights on yet. She might be in the kitchen cooking.

  And all she’d have to do was look out the window and she’d see him lurking there.

  Quickly he urged Chug back up into the trees and headed toward the pasture. On his way back he stopped to clean out an irrigation ditch he’d just cleaned out last week. Then, because it was still a little bit light, he moseyed along the fence line. No sense in heading back to the cabin yet, he thought righteously. Not when he could get all this work done down here.

  He checked fence until it was too dark to see his hand in front of his face. Then he rode back toward their house. He could, of course, have gone over the hill. It would have been closer to the cabin to take that route. But the trail was easier along the trees. No sense in putting Chug in a situation where he might stumble in the dark.

  There wasn’t a single light on in the house.

  “Damn it,” Mace muttered under his breath.

  The horse, picking up on his tension, sidestepped, and he rubbed his hand along its neck.

  “’S all right,” he said in a low tone. “’S okay.”

  But
it wasn’t all right at all.

  What the hell did Jenny think she was doing, going off and not even leaving a lamp on? Didn’t she know better than to come home to a dark house?

  Of course she did, unless . . .

  . . . unless she didn’t intend to come home that night.

  Visions of his wife naked in some hotel-room bed with—

  Mace inhaled sharply. No! He wasn’t even going to let himself think about that.

  He rode all the way into the yard this time. Since she wasn’t home, it didn’t matter. He dismounted, then left his horse by the barn and crossed the yard to the house, clumping up the steps and rattling the door handle.

  At least she’d had the brains to lock it.

  They had rarely locked their doors when they were here together. But it was different for a woman alone. He was glad she wasn’t taking any chances since he’d left.

  He stared at the door, wondering if he ought to go in and put on a light. Or if she’d be spooked to come home and find a light that she hadn’t turned on.

  Serve her right if she was.

  If she did come home tonight, perhaps it would spook her enough to make her leave “Uncle Tom” on the front porch—especially if she thought Mace was waiting inside.

  With a grim smile, he got out his key and unlocked the door.

  He put on a light in the kitchen and another small one in the living room. While he was there, he picked up the bookwork he had intended to get that Sunday, and then went to get the rest of his things out of the bedroom.

  He crossed the room quickly, not letting himself look at the bed. He worked quickly and efficiently, gathering odds and ends, tossing them in the old duffel bag that was on the shelf. If Jenny came back, he could say he’d just come to clean things out. Or he could brush past them without a word.

  And if he just happened to knock Tom Whatever-His-Name-Was on his rear end as he was passing, well, those things happened.

  There. He had everything. Tightening the drawstring on the duffel, he slung it over his shoulder and was starting toward the door when his gaze was caught by the photo on the top of the lingerie chest he’d built for Jenny three Christmases ago.

  He knew what was in the photo. He didn’t need to look at it. But he couldn’t seem to help himself from going over and picking it up.

  Faded now with age, it was an eight-by-ten-inch color portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. God, they had been young. He couldn’t ever remember being that young. But Jenny—Jenny didn’t look like she’d changed a bit.

  They had just come out of the church and were holding hands, and Jenny was smiling at him, her eyes filled with hopes and dreams, and he was grinning like he’d just won the world.

  For a lot of years he really thought he’d won the world. But that was before being who he was had turned Jenny’s dream to ashes.

  He felt as if a knife was twisting in his gut as he put the photo back on the dresser.

  As he went out, he turned on the porch light. At least she wouldn’t be coming home to a dark house.

  He rode Chug up to the trees again.

  He didn’t need to hang around. She wouldn’t thank him for it if she knew he’d hung around. But he couldn’t go. She was his wife—at least for now. He was responsible for her. And if that meant waiting around to be sure she got in safely after a date, well, fine—he could do that.

  He dismounted, loosened Chug’s cinch and leaned against a tree to wait.

  *

  She hadn’t left a light on.

  Jenny was sure she hadn’t left a light on. But when they came around the bend, the house was lit up like Disneyland.

  What on earth?

  One hand’s worth of fingers clenched into a fist on her thigh. The other, wrapped loosely in Tom’s, tightened slightly.

  “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “No. At least I don’t think so. I . . . didn’t remember putting on so many lights.”

  So who had? Mace?

  Was he there? Waiting for her?

  Her heart leapt and the same moment, her teeth ground together in irritation. God, it was exactly the sort of thing he would do—show up when she was out with someone else and put the lights on for her!

  Did he intend to check out his successor?

  “Well,” Tom said cheerfully, “it’s not likely to be a burglar. They usually don’t go around putting on more lights.”

  Jenny managed a brittle laugh. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s not a burglar.”

  “Want me to go in first and check it out for you?”

  If it was a burglar, that would be fine. Not if it was Mace.

  He might want only to check out Tom. On the other hand, memories of Taggart’s bloody nose were all too clear. The last thing she wanted was him punching out Tom’s lights. And who knew what Mace would do these days?

  She thought she knew him better than anyone. And now she was beginning to think she didn’t know him at all!

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said. “You don’t need to check things out for me. I was probably so . . . flustered about our date, I just forgot.”

  Tom, having recognized and soothed her initial awkwardness, seemed to accept that explanation. “If you say so. But—”

  “Really. It’s not dangerous,” Jenny said. Unless Mace was in there—and then she wouldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t give him a bloody nose! Now she gave Tom’s hand a squeeze and smiled as he pulled up in front of the house.

  “I had a lovely time,” she said, hoping to get their good nights said in the car. But he was already out and coming around to open the door for her. So she got out, too, and turned to say thank you there.

  He took her hand and led her up onto the porch. His coat brushed her arm. She could feel his breath near her ear. He seemed closer than when their sleeves brushed during the movie. Was Mace watching from behind the window in the door?

  She fumbled for her key and nearly dropped it, then gave a nervous laugh.

  If he was, she swore she’d kill him.

  “Here. Let me,” Tom said when she couldn’t seem to get the key in the lock. He took it from her and easily slipped it in the lock, turned it, then pushed open the door.

  Jenny held her breath.

  The room was empty.

  She breathed again.

  “See,” she said brightly, turning to Tom who came in after her. “Not a burglar in sight.” And if she said the words with uncommon loudness, just in case Mace was lurking in the bedroom, Tom would never know.

  “I see,” Tom said. But he didn’t seem to be looking around and noticing the absence of burglars. He seemed to only see her. He was looking at her with an expression both tender and intent.

  Quickly Jenny averted her gaze, taking the key from him and making a fuss over putting it back into her bag. Whatever Tom wanted, whatever that look meant, she wasn’t ready for it—whether or not Mace was planning to play jack-in-the-bedroom or not.

  “It’s really pretty late,” she said. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but if I kept you out much longer, you might disturb the twins when you got back to Felicity’s.”

  “And you’re not ready to offer me a cup of coffee, in any case,” Tom said, his voice resigned, his smile rueful.

  Jenny raked fingers through her hair, then shook her head. She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or embarrassed that her discomfort was so apparent. “You’re right. I’m not,” she admitted. Then she added quite honestly, “But it’s not because I didn’t have a good time tonight. I did.”

  “So did I.”

  “And I . . . just . . . want to remember the good time. I don’t want to . . . to . . .”

  “You don’t want to go any further. I know,” Tom said quietly. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Jenny laughed a little nervously. “I wish I did,” she muttered under her breath. She knotted her fingers together. God, she was bad at this. Thank God Mace wasn’t watching her make a fool of herself. She edge
d Tom toward the open door.

  “Did you have a good enough time to do it again?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “Yes, I did. Yes.”

  “Then we’ll do it again, shall we?”

  She smiled. “Please.”

  “I’d like to please you, Jenny,” he said. And then, before she realized what he was about to do, he closed the distance between them and pressed a light kiss against her lips.

  It wasn’t a possessive kiss. It wasn’t at all the sort of kiss that Mace gave her. There was nothing of need or of passion or of love in it.

  And yet it sealed something. It was an end . . . and a beginning.

  Jenny gulped.

  Tom stepped back and looked down at her, then trailed a finger along her cheek. “Night,” he said softly.

  Then he turned and went out the open door and down the steps. “I’ll call you,” he promised. Then, with a grin and a brief wave of his hand, he got in the car and drove away.

  Jenny stood in the doorway, fingers touching her lips as she watched until the car went around the bend and out of sight. Even after she could no longer see it, she stood there—touching, feeling, fretting—in the cool stillness of the Montana night.

  And then, in the silence, she heard a horse whicker in the darkness.

  She heard more—the creak of saddle leather, the chink of the bit, the muffled sound of hooves on pine needles.

  Her fingers curled into fists.

  Damn him, he was watching!

  Well, she hoped he liked what he’d seen!

  “Spying, Mace?” she called softly into the darkness, knowing he could hear her as well as she’d heard him. “Show’s over. Hope you enjoyed it.”

  Then she went inside and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  No, thank you very much, he hadn’t enjoyed it. Not one little bit.

  Mace had never minded if his friends gave Jenny the occasional peck on the cheek. And he understood all about duty kisses among relatives. His brother Shane always enjoyed those kisses with Jenny a little too much for Mace’s liking. But he tolerated it because Jenny always just laughed them off.

  He had a hard time tolerating this.

  Mace didn’t like seeing Jenny kissed by another man. He didn’t like watching a man he didn’t even know bend his head and touch his lips to Jenny’s as if he had every right to!