by Rita Hestand
"About like you, and feeling miserably responsible," Emma replied. She'd obviously taken the phone from Cal and was anxious to hear.
Clint talked for a few minutes, not knowing exactly what he said, his mind in the other room with his son.
He felt a headache coming on, and held his head in his hands. He wanted to go in there. Why wouldn't they let him see him?
Finally they let him in the room to sit with Clay. Clay looked tiny in that bed with his head bandaged, and his eyes closed.
Clint edged toward the bed, slowly. Seeing the tiny figure lying there made Clint's heart constrict.
What was he thinking, Abby was right, he was too young to be on a horse.
For over an hour, he could do nothing but sit and hold Clay's hand. He jumped at every noise.
Clint talked to him in soft whispering tones, as though he could hear him.
"Please, please be alright. I don't think I could stand living if anything happened to you. I love you and your mother so much, and I can't tell either one of you. My son, my only son. How I love you. How I've wanted to tell you.
"You and Abby--you are life to me. God, I wish she realized how much I care. How much I've always cared. I wish we could be a family. A real family.
"I'm not good enough, not near good enough. But then, I guess I don't deserve a real family, do I? No, I haven't really earned that right."
Then suddenly he felt tears pelt his cheeks, and he poured his heart out to Clay, telling him of all the times he wished they'd shared. How much he had come to mean to him in such a short time. How much he wished he could do things over again and make them right. And if God would let him live, how he promised to do better.
"Please, God--let him come out of this okay—"
"Clint?" Abby's voice broke through the silence as she came to stand just behind him.
He glanced up at her, and grabbed her round the middle, pulling her to him. "I'm so sorry. You were right."
"Shh...tell me what happened," Abby consoled him as she sat down next to him.
"Sammie Jo and Clay were riding and—"
Abby looked at her son, and stood up to hold his hand, a limp little hand.
Clint seemed to sober the minute Abby stood up. He nodded and moved to the other side of the bed, and stared down at Clay's lifeless form.
"Have they run tests?" Abby asked quietly.
"Some. They aren't through, though." Clint said, not daring to look into her eyes. He was afraid to see the rejection and hate she might be carrying for him now.
Abby seemed very calm, very collected. She stood watching her son, and then glanced at Clint with something akin to shock and rediscovery.
"You look like hell!" her voice sounded far away.
"Feel like it, too," he muttered thickly.
"Let's go get some coffee," she suggested, taking his hand as though it were a commonplace occurrence, and leading him out of the room.
He followed, annoyed that her touch still ignited a flame within him, even under such perverse conditions.
At the hospital coffee shop, he bought her coffee and donuts while they talked amiably over the situation.
"Abby, if anything happens—"
"It won't. He'll be fine. We can't think that way, Clint. I won't think that way. I refuse to." She said, with quiet determination.
Clint bit his lip to keep from telling her his fears. He would not rely or lean on this woman again. He was a man, and he could handle this as well as her.
But he couldn't. He suddenly realized he needed Abby and all her strength. She was like some kind of balance that kept him in touch with reality. He'd always leaned on her. Now he needed to be strong, and let her lean. Because as strong as she was, he noted the shake in her hands as she lifted her cup to her lips. He saw the cloud of worry in her eyes. And he wanted to comfort her.
On the way down the corridor to Clay's room, a doctor stopped them.
"Ms. Martin?"
"Yes," Abby answered, her hand reaching for Clint's.
"We've run some tests. Doesn't look like it's going to be too serious. There's little internal damage."
"Then why hasn't he awakened yet?" Abby asked, squeezing Clint's hand.
"Sometimes it takes a while. It's probably best he doesn't yet. He's going to have one bad headache for a while, but he'll be fine."
Abby let out a sigh, and felt Clint's arms come around her as though to catch her.
They went inside and sat for several more hours before Clay finally opened his eyes and looked at them. "Mommy, Uncle Clint?" he cried.
"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Abby asked, coming to hug him.
"My head hurts," he said with a slight smile. "It was an accident." He slurred the word, but smiled up at them.
"I think I spooked him by getting on too fast. Can I still ride him, Uncle Clint?"
Tears were in his eyes, but he nodded "Yeah, of course you can." Then after thinking about it, he glanced at Abby. “That is, if your mother approves.”
Clint watched them together, marveling in how wonderful it was to be with the two of them like this. He wished the moment would last forever.
Chapter Eleven
It had been two weeks, and Clint hadn't been over to the Martin ranch. Abby was supposed to leave soon, and she'd hoped Clint would stop off and see her. Clint had been curiously distant since the hospital, something Abby didn't quite understand.
So she took matters into her own hands, and went to see him.
The house looked empty when Abby arrived. Most of the cars and trucks were gone, but the front door was open.
Abby knocked, then went in. "Is anybody home?" she called.
"In here," Clint's voice echoed through the old ranch house.
Abby followed the sound to the third bedroom down the hall. There she spotted Clint rocking a half-asleep baby in his arms.
"What are you doing?" Abby asked in a whisper, walking into the room.
"Getting the baby to sleep."
"Where is everyone? Dad and Jake went into town, Rusty's went into town and Deke and Emma are out on a night on the town.
"And you?"
"I'm babysitting."
"You volunteered?" She looked at him with surprise.
"Sure, they needed a night alone," Clint answered, not bothering to look up at her yet.
"So, what are you doing here?" He finally asked when she said nothing more.
"I—I thought I'd come to say goodbye," she stammered.
Clint stood up and put the baby in the crib, then turned to look at her. He’d been thinking about this moment all day long.
"I think I'd make a pretty good father material, what do you think?" He asked moving toward her.
"Well," she said with a gulp, then nervously licking her lips and backing away a little. "Maybe--"
"I'm also a good rancher," he said, backing her into the wall.
"Well, yes—you are," she agreed, wondering where all this confidence came from lately.
"You agree?" He asked, stopping to stand just in front of her.
"Sure." She glanced around, wondering how she could get away from him now. Dammit, he was so good-looking, and so sure of himself around her. "Good. I'm going to work your mom's place while you're gone."
"You are?" She looked at him, seeing something in his expression she hadn't seen before. It was a look of desire aimed straight at her.
"Yep. Now, how did you want to say goodbye?" He asked, with a taunting gleam in his eyes.
"How?" she stammered again.
"Mmm," he smiled down into her face, and lifted her chin. "Like this ..." he dipped his head to meet her full lips, and kissed her long and hard.
"Or maybe, like this," he barely whispered, pulling her fully into his arms, and crushing her with his steel like grip. Yet, when his lips met hers this time, he took pleasure in teasing and tasting before he let her go.
"Clint—I," she began, but forgot what she was going to say.
"Kiss me, Abby—k
iss me like you mean it," he whispered, just as his lips met hers in a kiss that left her so weak she couldn't stand.
That didn't seem to bother him, because he picked her up in his arms, and carried her purposely to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut with his boot, and carried her to his bed.
He looked into her eyes, "Three years ago, I made a mistake, Abby. I didn't tell you how I felt. How I'd always felt about you. I love you Abby, I always have."
Abby gasped. Was she dreaming? Had he lost his mind? He said he loved her, had always loved her. But how could that be? She'd heard him in the hospital say the same thing, but she had thought it was brought on by the distressing situation. She didn't dare hope he meant it. "But I—don't understand?" she looked at him standing there and saying the things she most wanted to hear, and couldn't quite believe it was happening.
Clint nodded his understanding of her confusion, and sat beside her on the bed. "I know it's confusing. But your father plays a big role in this. Not that I'm putting all the blame there. It was my fault, too."
"What was?" Abby asked, feeling the blood surging through her body in an uncontrollable way.
"Ross liked me, Abby," he looked at her and watched her expressions. "As long as I kept my place around you. I admired him, thought he was one top-notch rancher. I wanted him to like me, because I loved you. I'd loved you since the day I saw you standing there in your yard with that overgrown puppy licking your face. Your father knew this. And he put a stop to it, very early on."
Abby gasped again, unable to grasp the picture. "It was okay to be friends with you, Abby, but he wouldn't permit anything more than friendship between us. Because I respected the man, nothing happened. I made sure. That is, until that night ..."
"But dad—"
"Loved you. And wanted to keep you a little girl all your life. I don’t blame him. If you were mine, I would, too."
Abby stood up and paced the room. "Are you saying my father—came between us?"
"Afraid so darlin', but as much as it hurts, he's gone, Abby, and what I feel for you isn't. I can't let you leave without letting you know I loved you all this time."
"This is insane." Abby protested, not wanting to believe something like this of her father. Yet her mother had confirmed it too. How could she not believe Clint?
"Is it? When you were fourteen, I wanted to ask you to be my girl. He stopped me."
"Fourteen?" Abby's mind rushed back to those days, trying to remember a specific time that something had happened.
"Yeah, we'd been swimming down at the creek, all of us, and I walked you home. It was the day I realized you were no longer a cute little kid, but budding into a real woman. I was gonna give you my high school sweater and ring, and ask you to wait until we were old enough to marry. I knew you were the one. The only one. But your dad, he had other ideas. And he saw I did, too. He took one look at me, and knew I wanted you. He told me I wasn't good enough. I believed him."
"I don't believe it," Abby cried. "Dad wouldn't be that cruel. He liked you."
"Sure he did, as long as I stayed in my place. His daughter, on the other hand, was going to marry well someday, he said."
Then he kissed her again, and words no longer mattered. He was holding her in his arms, and his hands moved slowly, methodically over her, feeling the shiver that ran through her when his tongue touched the tip of her ear.
"Tell me it's okay to touch you, love you, kiss you," he pleaded between kisses. "Your father forgot one very important ingredient in your life. You needed someone to love."
Abby felt herself slipping into some void where only they could be. His hands slid slowly over her, touching lightly over the tips of her breast, and going down to the roundness of her hips.
But Abby was no longer bashful. She moved towards him, as her hands began to unbutton his shirt. With trembling hands.
Clint took her hands in his, and stopped to look at her. "I got hurt in the rodeo, Abby."
A worried look crossed her face. "Don't worry, I can still make love, darlin'. But there are days that walkin' hurts."
"No one told me." She gasped.
Clint smiled, "No one knew. I was ashamed that I had fulfilled my brother's prophesy. I couldn't tell them. They still don't know. You're the only one I've told. And the only one to see it."
"Let me see," she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears.
He nodded, and slowly slid his boots and jeans off.
Then he stretched out on the bed, and lay very still. "It's the right leg."
Abby bent over him, and ran her hand down his leg, when she reached the long scar. Tears came down her cheeks in rolls. She put her lips to the scar, and kissed it all the way down his leg. Clint brought her up and into his arms. "It's okay, now. I've had a couple of operations on it. It only aches from time to time."
"No one was with you. Why?" Abby raised above him.
"Stubborn pride, I guess," he grinned. "Didn't want to admit they were right."
"Don't you ever hold something like that back from me, again, do you hear me?" she pounded on his chest.
"Yes, ma'am." Clint was still smiling. "Sounds like you plan on keeping me around a while."
"Well, I—you're going to make a respectable woman out of me, aren't you?" she finally asked, her shy smile melting his heart.
"Oh, yes, ma'am," he drawled, just before he pulled her against him and began showering her with kisses.
In minutes, they were both stripped of clothes, and only the sounds of their whimpers and heavy breathing permeated the air.
Finally having Abby, he wasn't sure he could hold off long enough to make proper love to her, but she was gloriously wild in her lovemaking. He'd never seen her so uninhibited.
She was on top, mounting him eagerly after he had showered kisses all over her, and their coming together that started out slowly began to run wild, the expression of complete happiness surrounding them.
Clint watched her, turned on more by the passionate expression on her face, he smiled,
"Hey, cowgirl, ride me like I'm the bronc you've wanted to break all your life."
Abby looked into his face, her joy magnified by the return desire in his face and tensed body. "You are the bronc I've wanted to break." She whispered. "I've never really loved another, Clint."
"Show me," he said, in a breathless whisper.
Abby reared back, her body a glorious temple of womanhood on the brink of complete happiness. Her body moved in the most tempestuous rhythm he'd ever witnessed, provocative wild and free. Her breast bounced to the tune of love. His hand had to touch her light golden globes, her hair flowed over her like a silk ribbon blowing in the wind. Just watching her excited him to a point of delirium.
Abby was finally his. They climbed every mountain together, and reached the peak of their love in one glorious, riot of explosions. She had reached for his hands, threw back her head, and cried out some wild groan, or was that him? He never knew, because it was totally mind-absorbing as they came together.
They spent the night together, making love, touching places they hadn't touched, looking, and feeling the ultimate surrender of love and basking in its wealth of treasures.
Several times they had gotten up to check on the baby, but to their delight, he hadn't awakened.
They went back to bed, held each other, made love again, and marveled in the sheer joy of their love.
"Is telling John going to be hard for you?" He asked, as dawn was quickly approaching.
"No, I don't think either of us were very passionate about our feelings. The last month or so had taken its toll on our relationship."
"There is one thing—we have to tell Clay I'm his father."
Abby looked at him, and nodded. "Yes, I'll take care of it."
"No." He pulled her unresisting body back to his. "I will."
"Are you sure?" She looked at him closely.
"I'm not sure how I'm going to do it, but, yes, I'm sure."
"He'll be mad at me for ly
ing to him," she sighed as her fingers glided over his chest.
"No, he won't. I'll explain it all. Somehow. Don't worry."
She looked down into his face. "I'm not worried about anything, now."
And she proved that very effectively.
Chapter Twelve
Three weeks later, Clint still hadn't found the words to tell his son the truth.
There had been plenty of alone time, but never the right words. He was frustrated that he couldn't just admit it to him and be done with it.
Abby had gone to Dallas to talk to John in person. "I'm sorry, John. I think it all happened for a purpose. I was meant to be with Clint all along, and I knew that, deep down."
John nodded, "I suspected there was some feeling there, but I didn't want to accuse you. I'm glad we found out before we married."
"Yes, me, too."
"Maybe it's for the best," John hung his head. "I've certainly not been able to give you the attention you deserve, what with my mother being ill."
"I understood."
"You've been wonderful, and I'm sorry to lose you," John said, kissing her gently on the cheek.
"Thank you, for being so understanding about it."
"If my mother weren't ill, I might give this Clint fella a run for his money," John touched her chin gently.
"I've loved him all my life. I thought I could just turn it off; I can't." she said quietly, looking into John's handsome face.
"Then be happy, my dear," John said, and left the room.
Abby pushed back a light sob, and left. The love she had for John hadn't been like a husband, but that of a very understanding friend, and she recognized that now.
***
Abby returned home to find everyone gone. She changed clothes and went to the barn, but no one seemed about. She was about to go back into the house when she heard a light snicker coming from one of the stalls.
She whipped about to see Bud standing there, smiling wickedly at her.
"Well, now, look what we got here. 'Bout time you got back. I been waitin' for a spell."
