Cowboys Don't Quit

by Anne McAllister

  This morning's weather was clear and cool and fresh after yesterday afternoon's torrential downpour. The world looked bright and new. The first day of the rest of his life, as the cliche went....

  The first day of the rest of his life without Jill.

  It was what he wanted, damn it. It was what he deserved, wasn't it?

  "'S a good book, I think," Paco was saying seriously as he rode up alongside. "So far, anyhow. I'm only on, like, page 20, 'cause you wouldn't let me go any further."

  "You said you came to work."

  "Yeah, well, I am," Paco replied. "But I like Jill's book. Did you like it, Luke?"

  Luke grunted and touched his heels to his horse.

  "I didn't know Keith had two sisters like I got," Paco went on, keeping up. "You didn't tell me that," he added accusingly.

  "I didn't know."

  "How come?"

  Luke shrugged irritably. "Never came up. Come on. See those cows down there in that willow thicket? Let's move 'em out."

  The creek was still running high from the storm and Luke's horse stumbled, getting its footing as he maneuvered in close and began urging a bunch of cows back up the mountain. Paco's tongue poked out from between the thin line of his lips as he concentrated on doing the same. The cows moved with their customary reluctance, ambling up the slope, stopping to swat at flies, and then, when Luke whooped them on, finally moving again. He was willing to bet they'd be right back down there tomorrow.

  The second day of the rest of his life.

  He wheeled his horse around. "I'm going to look over in the meadow beyond the ridge, see if I can find the bull. You ride this bunch on up, okay?"

  "By myself?" Paco looked doubtful and eager at the same time.

  "If you think you can do it."

  Paco's chin came up. '"Course I can do it."

  Luke allowed himself a smile. "Good. When you've got 'em up, ride along that fence above the rise. I'll meet you by the pines near the river."

  Paco nodded. "Sure. I brought some lunch in my saddlebags. My mom made us sandwiches an' sent apples, an' Annette stuck in a whole bunch of brownies and some cherry pie. We can eat up there, 'kay?"

  Luke tugged on the brim of his hat. "Right. See you then."

  It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with Paco, it was just that right now it was too much. He was still raw from Jill, still trying to shake off a night spent reading about Keith—a Keith so real and so vital that it was inconceivable to think that he was dead.

  But he was dead.

  And for all that she had created a work of art in her manuscript, Jill's book couldn't change that.

  He found the bull, his foot wedged between some rocks where the creek had overflowed. He was snorting and tugging and should have been happy when Luke showed up to get him out. Of course, if he was, he was in no mood to express his appreciation. In fact, he barely missed nailing Luke's ribs where they had finally begun feeling better.

  "Ingrate," Luke called when the animal, freed finally, snorted and tossed his head, then trotted away. But the bull was easier to deal with than Paco talking incessantly about Keith. Luke lifted his hat and shoved a weary hand through sweat-dampened hair, then he settled his hat back on his head, turned his horse and started up the mountain.

  Paco was already there, sitting by the stand of pines near the storm-swollen river. He was eating an apple and he had the rest of the food laid out on a flat rock, but he bounced to his feet when he saw Luke coming. "I got all the cows up," he announced. "An' I checked the fence. It's fine. An' the gate's shut."

  Luke swung down off his horse. "Thanks." He ruffled a hand through Paco's short, dark hair. "You did good."

  Paco grinned and grabbed some of the food. "Mom packed ham and cheese and peanut butter and jelly. Which do you want?"

  Luke settled under the tree with a ham-and-cheese sandwich, an apple and two pieces of the cherry pie that Annette had made. Paco ate his apple and swung from the branches and asked Luke if Keith had ever swung out of trees the way Tarzan did. Then he ate a peanut-butter sandwich and balanced along the dead logs, hopping from one to another, his arms outstretched, and asked if Keith had ever tried tightrope walking. After he'd finished, he helped himself to the brownies and, with one in each hand and the remains of another in his mouth, he went to walk along the edge of the steep bluff above the surging river.

  "Did Keith ever—"

  "Get back from there," Luke snapped at him. But it was too late.

  He'd barely spoken when Paco said, "Hey!" and tumbled over the edge of the bluff into the rampaging water below.

  "Paco!" Luke shot to his feet, scrambling over a fallen log, tripping on a rock, lurching to stand at the crumbled edge of the bluff in time to see Paco's dark head disappear as he was carried downstream by the force of the water. "Paco!"

  He stopped to think only one thing: Paco couldn't swim. Then he yanked off his boots and flung himself in. The icy, churning water closed over his head, dashing him hard against the rocks. He fought his way to the surface, scanning the river for any sign of the boy.

  "Paco!" He screamed the boy's name and was rewarded by the briefest flick of an arm lifted in a wave— and then it was gone again.

  He struck out for where it had been, swimming as desperately as he ever had, shoving himself away from rocks he scraped over, fighting for every bit of headway he could make.

  "Try for the bank," he yelled. "Grab on to something!" But the sound of the river pouring over rocks swallowed his words, and he knew that chances were Paco never heard them.

  Every few seconds he caught sight of the boy—an arm, his dark hair, once only a hand—and the terror he knew at the thought of Paco being pulled down, being caught, trapped the way Keith had been, went like a shaft right through him.

  "Please, God, no!" he cried.

  And then, thank God—for no one else could have done anything—Paco caught on to the face of a rock outcrop. His grip was tenuous as he fought the current. Luke could see him looking back, his face white and his dark eyes wide with panic.

  "Hang on," he yelled.

  And Paco did, for as long as he could. Then, right before Luke had him, just as his fingers touched him, Paco reached for him, lost his purchase on the rock and slipped away.

  "No! Damn it! No!"

  It was the nightmare come to life. The panic of losing Keith all over again.

  Luke kicked and plunged back into the current, pushing himself, reaching...reaching...touching...grabbing— a hand.

  He jerked it, pulled as hard as he could, sank under, fought his way up with one hand and his feet, never letting go of those small fingers with the other. Come on. Come on. And then the hand fastened hard on his, clawed its way up his arm and—

  "Got you!" Luke said it through a mouthful of water, looked into Paco's terrified face and did his best to grin. They weren't through it yet. Not nearly.

  The current had them again, sweeping them ever downward. The river had widened here, making it less fearsome in one respect, more so in another. There was less chance of them getting caught as Keith had between rocks, but it was farther to the safety of the shore.

  "Hang onto my neck," he told Paco. "Don't fight it."

  Paco's teeth were chattering. His fingers bit into Luke's arms, then got a stranglehold on his neck, almost choking him.

  "Go easy," Luke said, and he could feel Paco trying, but he knew it wasn't easy. Not for either of them. Slowly he fought his way toward the bank, and at last, he caught onto a rock.

  "Here. Let go of me. Grab on here."

  "No! I can't! I need—"

  "Do it!" Luke commanded. He couldn't hang on much longer. The weight of the boy was pulling him back into the current. "Come on. Grab! Now!"

  He reached back and pried the boy's fingers loose, put them on the rock. Paco clung to it, terrified.

  "Pull yourself up."

  "I c-can't." His teeth were chattering so badly he could hardly talk.

  "You can,"
Luke insisted through his own clenched teeth. "You've got to. Keith would."

  Paco looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met.

  "Do it."

  He gave the boy a shove with all the strength he had left. Paco made it up onto the rock.

  It was the last thing Luke saw before the water closed over his head and he was swept away.

  Ten

  It was what he'd wanted, wasn't it?

  To give up.

  To let go.

  To die...like Keith had.

  He hadn't saved Keith, but he had saved Paco. The boy was tired, scared, shaken to the core, but he was safe. He would make himself do now whatever he thought Keith would do.

  He'd make it.

  Luke didn't have to.

  He was tired, god-awful tired. He'd been tired so long he couldn't remember ever not being tired. The water didn't seem so cold now. Nor so frightening. It seemed almost friendly, sweeping him along, pulling him down.

  It would be so easy to stop fighting it, to quit.

  To die.

  He'd toyed with death often enough over the past few years that his life no longer passed before his eyes. He didn't see the things he'd done, the places he'd been. He'd seen them all before.

  He saw instead the things he'd miss.

  His mind filled with scenes of sunsets and sunrises, roundups and brandings, snowfalls and storms—all the things he loved that he'd never see again.

  Was that what every man saw in his last moments?

  Was that what Keith had seen?

  Had Keith seen Jill?

  Luke was seeing her now. His mind cleared of everything but the sight of her.

  There was no river, no rocks, no roiling water. There was only Jill looking at him, a sad, wistful half smile on her face. He remembered that look, that smile. He'd seen them on her face the first time they'd made love, and the second.

  He'd seen them again after she'd asked him to come with her, after he'd said, "I can't."

  He hadn't understood what he was seeing then. Now he did. It was his future slipping away from him. The future he would miss if he quit.

  Keith never quit.

  Luke remembered his bloody, scraped fingertips. No, Keith hadn't quit. He'd fought with everything that was in him for his life, for his future, for his dreams.

  "We're two of a kind," he remembered Keith saying once. He could almost feel Keith with him now, challenging him. Go for it, man.

  Two of a kind?

  God, yes!

  The resolution he hadn't thought he had took hold, galvanizing him.

  Yes! He owed it to Keith to keep fighting. He owed it to Paco. He owed it to Noah, who'd told him so. He owed it to Jill, who'd believed in him. He owed it to himself. It was a strange thought, almost foreign. He'd denied it so long. He didn't deny it now.

  He wanted the future. He wanted the hope, the dreams, the promise.

  He wanted to share them with Jill.

  He started struggling again, fighting his way up, looking desperately for the bank, for a rock, for anything to hang onto. Please God, he didn't want to die!

  White water surged over him. He got a mouthful, then another... and another.

  Jill!

  He fought upward, struggled toward the bank, his lungs searing, his arms leaden, his body a sodden log.

  Jill! I'm coming! Help me, Jill!

  He used every ounce of strength he had, fighting and pushing until at last his fingers scrabbled against rock. He hauled himself up, shaking, gasping, then fell headlong against the cold, wet stone. His heart thundered and his head still pounded with the sound of the river inches away.

  He was out. He was alive.

  He had a future.

  With Jill?

  He prayed to God that he hadn't left it too late.

  She was nowhere to be found.

  She was gone. Not just gone from Colorado. Of course, he knew that. He knew she'd gone to L.A.

  He left the next morning—hired Doug, another Sutter, to help out, accepted gratefully Cy's offer as well and caught the next plane to L.A. Urgent business, he told Annette and Jimmy. He didn't tell them what. A man had his pride, after all.

  But she wasn't in L.A.

  Or maybe she was, but he couldn't find her.

  He used every connection he could think of to find out where the hotshot young actor Damon Hunter, the subject of her proposed interview, lived.

  But when he got to Hunter's Malibu canyon hideaway, talked his way past first the gardener and then the maid and was finally allowed to see the movie star himself, she'd come and gone.

  "She's a quick worker," Hunter told him with a grin.

  "Was she going home from here? Did she say?"

  Hunter shook his head. "She looked like she needed a vacation. She was pale, you know?"

  Luke grunted. If she was, he'd probably made her that way. "Thanks," he said, and turned to go.

  "She give you those shiners, man?" Hunter asked, still grinning.

  Luke turned again, his teeth clenched. Hunter took a step back, holding up his hands as if to protect himself.

  "Hey, man, I was only askin'. I just wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of anybody who could do that."

  Luke was already on Jill's wrong side. But the shiners hadn't hurt nearly as badly as not being able to find her now did.

  He called Annette and Jimmy to see how things were going, then told them he was flying to New York.

  "Flying to New York? Now? One way? Gosh," Annette said, "I guess you really are rich."

  Luke didn't feel very rich. He felt especially poor when he got there, went to the apartment building where she lived and found out she wasn't there, either, and no one would say where she was.

  "You think I should tell you about my tenants, you got another think comin', fella," the building super said.

  "I'm a friend."

  "Ya don' look very friendly." The super studied Luke's face, which was still a mottled blend of purple, blue and ghastly green. "Ya can leave a message if ya want."

  "I'll wait."

  The man shrugged. "Suit yourself. "

  Luke waited. All day. All evening. Into the night. He sat on a small bench in the foyer and watched Jill's neighbors in the West Side, prewar building as they came and went. He waited in vain.

  "Ya can't sit here all night," the super told him.

  "You've got a 24-hour doorman," Luke said. "Why can't I?"

  "Because I said so Get a hotel room and come back in the morning."

  "Will she be here in the morning?"

  "Who knows?"

  She didn't come back in the morning, nor in the afternoon, nor in the evening, nor at any time dunng the remainder of the week.

  "Ya know what they say about gettin' a life?" the super said to Luke on the sixth day.

  "Yeah." He didn't want to leave, but the super was right. And whether he wanted it anymore or not, he had a life It was his ranch. His responsibilities. He couldn't depend on Jimmy and Doug and Cy indefinitely. He had to go back.

  He scribbled his number on a piece of paper and held it out to the other man. "Listen Will you call and tell me as soon as she comes home?"

  "I can't do that."

  "Please. All I want is a chance to talk to her."

  "There's phones."

  "She'd hang up on me. Please." Luke thrust out the paper once more.

  The super hesitated. "How many days you been here? Six? Seven? You're some persistent fella, ain'tcha?"

  "Some damn fool, actually. Will you?"

  "Well..."

  "Please." And this please was accompanied by a hundred-dollar bill.

  The super grinned and scratched his head. "Well, when you put it that way...."

  But when more than a month went by and he hadn't heard a word, he pretty much gave up on getting the call. He still phoned Carl every few days to find out if he'd heard anything and still got the same negative answer. But it was all he could think of doing.

  It ha
d taken all his courage to make that first call, and when he had, Carl hadn't been easy on him.

  "Finished whining, have you? Stopped running?" he'd asked when he heard Luke's voice the first time.

  It stung, but Luke knew he deserved it.

  "Yeah, I am," he'd said "I need to see Jill."

  "Don't imagine she wants to see you."

  "Did she say that?"

  "Didn't have to A guy only had to look at her My God, man, don't you think she's been through enough?"

  "I want to apologize I want to." He stopped He couldn't tell Carl what he wanted He couldn't tell anyone but Jill. And he intended to fly back out to New York or to L.A. or wherever he needed to in order to pick up her trail again once they'd gathered and shipped the cattle the first part of October. But that was two weeks away, and until then he had his hands full.

  The range work all fell to Luke, but Jimmy was doing the paperwork now, and that helped. Doug had gone back to college at the end of August, though Cy still came out every day to lend a hand. They were coping, but the next two weeks would be hectic. And thank God for that. He spent most nights lying awake staring at the ceiling of the cabin, remembering Jill lying beside him. At least he was distracted from similar memories most of the days.

  He was so distracted he didn't even connect when he came in for supper that night and Annette told him that a man named Eddie had called.

  "That the guy with the Saler bull for sale?"

  "I don't think so. He said he's from New York City and—" Annette wrinkled her nose in puzzlement "—to tell you that your pigeon had landed."

  "Boy, you didn't waste no time," Eddie, the super, said when Luke walked into the foyer of Jill's apartment building early the next morning. He was grinning from ear to ear. "You're looking' better. No more bruises."

  Not on the outside, anyway. Luke had sat up all night on the red-eye flight, trying to think about what he would say, and now his mind was blank. "Is she still up there?"

  "Less she went out the fire escape. Came in yesterday afternoon and hasn't been out yet."

  Luke headed toward the elevator. "Thanks."

  "Hey, I gotta tell her you're coming." The super gestured toward the in-house phone.

  Luke looked at him imploringly. "Please." He started to dig into his pocket, but the super waved him on.