The older man regarded him skeptically. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Well,” McCutcheon said, raising his shoulders around a helpless shrug. “I guess maybe women like to fuss and worry.”
“I guess maybe.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“No need.”
McCutcheon limped back to the Mercedes and climbed in. “Tomorrow morning,” he said before closing the car door. “First thing.”
After he had gone, Guthrie lowered himself onto the wooden bench that flanked the cabin door. He breathed carefully around the cracks of pain that radiated from so many places within and without and waited for the light-headedness to pass, for the sound of the creek to replace the sound of his ragged breathing, for his rapid beartbeat to slow and steady, for the ice-cold sweat to dry on his forehead—and for the anguish he’d seen in Jessie’s eyes to fade from his memory.
But he knew it never would.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STEVEN YOUNG BEAR walked down the gleaming corridor in soft-soled leather shoes that squeaked beneath him. He changed his pace to silence the noise, searched the waiting area outside the courtroom for a familiar face, and when he finally spotted it he halted and felt that familiar surge of gladness.
“Hello, Jessie,” he said as she came toward him. She was dressed conservatively, in a woolen gray skirt and blazer with a pale-pink blouse that brought out the color in her cheeks. Her long glossy black hair was swept up into a French twist. She looked slender, sophisticated and heart-wrenchingly beautiful. He took her hands in his and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Have they called you yet?”
“Yes,” she said. “I told them everything I know about everything I know, and then some.”
“Have you had lunch?”
“I ate at the Longhorn while Bernie fixed my hair. She said if I was going into that fancy courthouse, dressed in these fancy clothes, my hair ought to be fancy, too.” Jessie smiled.
“You look beautiful,” Steven said. “The folks who took your deposition are probably still trying to remember what it was you said. I see your arm is back to normal.”
“Not exactly, but almost. They removed the pins yesterday. I was supposed to have therapy to restore the strength, but since I never really stopped using it, they nixed that idea.” She laughed, lifting the offending arm and working her fingers. “Feels a little weak, but it’s nice to have it back again.”
“I bet. How’s Guthrie doing?”
“All right. He was released from the hospital two weeks ago. Bernie tried to get him to stay with her family for a while, but he wanted to go home. He’s at his cabin, making do and getting by. The doctor told him he’d always have a limp, and he probably shouldn’t ever ride again because of the injury to his hip. But the doctor doesn’t know Guthrie. Montana cowboys are tough. If they weren’t, he wouldn’t have survived that ruptured spleen or the fractured skull.”
“Are the two of you…?”
Jessie’s cheeks warmed with color and she dropped her eyes. “We’re doing okay.” She shifted her gaze to the wall and then lifted it again to his calm eyes. “I’m going back to school in January, Steven. They’ve accepted me back. I’ll be repeating the last half of my third year of vet school, but I guess that’s fair. It’s been a while, and I’ll be playing catch-up.”
He smiled. “That’s the best thing you could do for yourself right now.”
“What about Joe Nash, Steven? What do you think will happen to him?”
“Oh, he’ll probably get a big fine. But they’ll go easy on him. In the end he did the right thing, and he was remorseful about all the wrongs he’d done at the senator’s bequest. I suppose if the senator himself were still alive, he’d be in a lot of hot water. Perhaps your bear walker did him a favor.”
“Perhaps that bear did all of us a favor,” Jessie said.
Steven took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Study hard. When you are a veterinarian, maybe you would doctor our bi’shee.”
“I’d be honored.” Jessie smiled. “You hold ’em—I’ll vet ’em. Can’t be much worse than trying to doctor a wild longhorn steer.”
“Well, the buffalo are a little bigger, but it’s a deal.” Steven nodded. “I wish you all the best,” he said. “And if you ever need legal advice or anything at all, call me. I’m in the phone book.” He paused a few steps down the corridor and looked back. “Young Bear,” he said.
He walked back down the gleaming courthouse corridor with the sad certainty that, knowing Jessie, she never would call.
BY THE TIME Jessie returned to the Longhorn it was nearly dark, for dark closed in early around December afternoons. She went inside to say hello to Bernie and have a bowl of soup before heading back to the ranch. Charlie and Badger were there, as always, and she listened to their banter, answered Bernie’s questions about her adventures in court and slowly ate the bowl of hearty minestrone Bernie set before her.
“So, what about Joe? Will Comstock have to find another chopper pilot to squire him around?” Bernie asked, refilling Jessie’s coffee mug.
Jessie laughed. “Joe might be grounded for a while and they’ve smacked him with a big fine, but he’ll live to fly again.”
“He just got caught up in his own loop, that’s all,” Badger said philosophically. “I expect he’ll straighten out right smart after this.”
Jessie pushed off the counter stool and stood. “Thanks for the soup, Bern. It really hit the spot.”
“Oh, Jessie!” As if suddenly remembering something, Bernie gestured for her to wait. She returned carrying a cardboard box. “I haven’t had a chance to drive out to Guthrie’s place today—it’s been so infernally busy. I thought maybe you could drop this by on your way home. That is, if you don’t mind. It would save me a lot of time. Little Aaron’s sick and I really need to get home early tonight…”
Jessie took the box reluctantly and then shook her head with a sigh. “You never give up, do you?” she said.
Outside, the cold wind made her wish she had dressed more sensibly. She climbed into her truck, incongruously clad in her courtroom clothes, and began the drive to Guthrie’s place. It wasn’t very far out of her way, after all, and she hadn’t been out to the cabin since the day McCutcheon had brought him home from the hospital.
It was nearly dark, but she could still see the frozen white edges of Bear Creek where it tumbled through the jumble of boulders just shy of the cabin. She drove into the yard and cut the engine, then sat for a while in the stillness. Such a pretty cabin it was, everything about it straight and square, sturdy and pleasing to the eye. Smoke rose from the chimney; lamplight glowed from the windows. She saw the shadow of a man cross in front of the window nearest the door, and then the cabin door opened and he was standing in the doorway, waiting, a tall broad-shouldered figure leaning on a crutch.
She pushed open the truck’s door and climbed out. “Hi,” she said. “Bernie sent me over with some food.” She lifted the cardboard box off the seat and nudged the truck’s door shut with her hip. She climbed the steps onto the porch, entered into the cabin’s warmth and heard the door close behind her. Without pausing, she crossed to the kitchen and set the box atop the counter.
She turned and looked at him, and at the little cow dog who stood beside him, wagging her tail and immensely happy.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“What’s Blue doing here?”
“McCutcheon came over around noon for a visit. He left her with me. Said she was a good baby-sitter and that you’d probably be by to pick her up later.”
“I see,” Jessie said. Bernie and McCutcheon were obviously in on this little matchmaking scheme. Guthrie was wearing an old comfortable pair of Levi’s and a thick chamois shirt with the sleeves rolled back. His hair was tousled and he had a pair of thick wool socks on his feet.
“You sure are dressed pretty,” he said.
“I had to testify in court this aft
ernoon.”
“You should testify in court more often.”
“You look like you just woke up.”
“I did,” he admitted. “Just before you drove in. Seems all I do is sleep. I wake up, eat breakfast, lie down and sleep. Get up, fix lunch, lie down and have a nap. I guess it must be suppertime now, huh?” He grinned at her.
Jessie felt herself beginning to melt. To be so near him and not feel that old, familiar chemistry kick in was hard. “Close enough. Let’s see what she sent.”
“Hell, I can see what she sent without opening that box,” Guthrie said, limping across the room toward her. “She sent you.”
“Yes. That’s a very clever sister you have. Come to think of it, McCutcheon’s no slouch, either.”
“If I’d known my askin’ McCutcheon to drive me home from the hospital was going to fash you that way, I’d never have done it,” he said, leaning against the counter and laying the crutch aside. “I was tryin’ to save you the trouble. And truth, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to climb the cabin steps. I didn’t want you to watch me fall on my face. You’ve seen enough of that to last you a lifetime.” He reached for her hand and she stepped back, putting a safe distance between them.
“Dammit, Jess, I know you’re still mad, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry about Kestrel. Somehow I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.”
“I don’t hold that against you. You didn’t kill her—the senator did. I’m not mad about that, Guthrie.”
He lifted his hand, ran his fingers through his hair, ducked his glance away from her. “The doctor told me I’d probably never ride a horse again because of my hip.”
“And you laughed at him, I trust.”
“McCutcheon’s hired your Indian lawyer’s friend, Pete Two Shirts, to take care of things while I’m laid up.” Spoken like another hangdog admission of his worthlessness.
“Pete will take his directions from you. You’re the ranch foreman, Guthrie. You’re the boss.”
“I’m not much of anything right now, Jess, but I’ll make it back.” He caught her eye, and the intensity of his gaze wrenched her. “I swear I will.”
“I know that.” She tried to smile, but the effort fell short. “I suppose you’ve heard that Ramalda’s been hired back on. She’ll take care of the place, and cook for all of you.”
“Ramalda?” He shook his head. “That’s good to hear. She must be in her late sixties by now. What about Drew?”
“Drew’s dead. He died the night I spent up on the mountain with Blue. That’s why Dr. Cooper was drunk the next morning. He and Drew were good friends, if you recall.”
“Drew? You should’ve told me, Jess. Drew…!” Guthrie’s face mirrored his shock at this unexpected news.
“I’m sorry I didn’t, but by the time I found out, you were nearly dead yourself. I didn’t think you needed to hear it right then.”
“Where are you going?”
Jessie paused in the act of turning toward the door. “It’s getting late, and you need your rest.”
“Stay.”
She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I can’t.” She hesitated and then raised her hands in despair. “I’m so mixed up! I love you, Guthrie, but I’m not sure that’s enough. I don’t know what to think. About you and me. About all the stuff that’s happened between us, all the things we’ve said and done, all the words we can’t take back. I’m talking about how you are, and how I am, and how I don’t know if there can ever be another ‘us’ the way there used to be. I’m talking about…”
She stopped, staring at him in speechless anguish, arms still raised in a gesture that encompassed every moment since that day so many years ago when they’d first set eyes upon each other. She held them out for a moment and then let them drop to her sides. “Oh, hell and damn, I don’t know what I’m talking about! I don’t know how to put what I’m feeling into words.”
“I found the note you’d started to write me. The day I came home from the hospital.”
The heat came into Jessie’s cheeks. “I was writing it when you drove up in McCutcheon’s car, and I forgot and left it behind, I was that mad. I don’t understand you, Guthrie. Just when I think that maybe I’m starting to, you go and do something stupid like that. Why didn’t you let me bring you home? Why did it have to be McCutcheon!”
“You hungry?”
“What?” She stared at him, not sure if she should laugh, cry or kick him in the shins.
“No sense letting Bernie’s great cookin’ go to waste. Why don’t we have something to eat. We can talk over supper.”
Jessie struggled to subdue her anger. “Bernie fed me before I came. I’ll leave now, so’s you can eat, and then you can go to bed and sleep. How’s that suit you?”
Guthrie quartered away from her, struggling with something inside himself. “In your note you spoke about dreams,” he said, gazing at someplace she couldn’t see. “About how we walk in the shadow of them. About how maybe the two of us were standing in the shadow of the same dream and didn’t know it. I’ve been thinkin’ about that.”
“That’s just an old Indian belief,” Jessie said. “I must have been crazy when I wrote that note.”
“I’ve been designing a new barn.” Guthrie limped to the counter and picked up a notebook that lay there, studying the page it was folded open to. “It’ll hold more hay, more horses.”
“That’s real nice, Guthrie. Goodbye.” Jessie tried again for the door, and again he stopped her.
“It’s for you,” he said, holding the notebook out like a peace offering.
She swung around, her color still high. “I’m perfectly comfortable where I am, thanks.”
“For your horses. For the mares when they get tired of roughing it. For Billy, who’s too old and too honorable to be putting his rump into the wind in dirty weather.”
“My horses are fine right where they are. McCutcheon’s agreed to keep them for me while I’m away. And there’s a perfectly adequate barn at the ranch, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“He doesn’t know horses the way I do.”
Jessie shook her head. “He doesn’t have to. He has a ranch manager by the name of Guthrie Sloane, so I’m told.”
“If he still wants a gimpy wrangler.”
“He didn’t mention otherwise,” she said, and her voice gentled. “You’re on the payroll. You have been since the morning of the accident, thanks to McCutcheon’s quick thinking. Workmen’s comp is going to cover most all your medical bills.”
Guthrie dropped his gaze to the floor for a long moment, then lifted his eyes to hers and nodded. “He’s a good man.”
“He’s a great man.” She turned toward the door.
“Jess?” he began. “Did you mean what you said to me back on the mountain—about hell being a glacier before you’ll ever quit me?”
Hand on the doorknob, she paused again. “Yes,” she said. “I meant it.”
“Then don’t quit me now. I know you’re still working on a big mad, but I love you, Jess. I have since the moment we first met, and you were just as thorny then as you can be now. I know we’ve had hard times, and I’m not making any promises that I’ve changed into a man you’ll be tickled pink with till the end of your days, but something happened to me up on Montana Mountain.”
Jessie stood flat-footed at the cabin’s door, caught off guard by Guthrie’s words. “You nearly died. That’s what happened to you.”
“Maybe. I only know that experience changed how I felt about things. It made me realize that the important things are the small things I took for granted day by day and just didn’t pay much attention to. The color of the sky at sunrise, the smell of fresh coffee just coming to a boil, the feel of sunlight on my face, the beauty of your eyes in the firelight, the sound of your laughter.
“Those are some of the most important things, Jess, and lying there I thought if I could just see you one more time, hear your voice, I’d give anything. Anything at all. And then you came, an
d told me the story about the bear.”
“Guthrie, I never told you a story about a bear up on that mountain.”
He shook his head. “You told me that story, that old legend, and then the bear came. I know it sounds crazy, Jess. I know I was hurt, and maybe I imagined it. But that bear was real. I talked to it when it uncovered me and it told me the way of things. But it didn’t speak, didn’t make words. I can’t explain how we communicated, but we did. And then I was falling and you reached out and caught me in your arms. What happened up there changed me somehow. Made me see things differently.”
“Those were just dreams,” Jessie said, unsettled by his revelations. “Hallucinations.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe that bear helped us in ways we don’t understand.” He tossed the notebook onto the countertop and limped toward her. “Jess, please, I’m begging you. Don’t quit me now. I love you. You said you were afraid love might not be enough, but it’s what came of us being best friends. Best friends, Jess! That should count for a lot. Give me another chance. Let me build you that barn, take care of your horses and Blue while you’re away at school. And maybe when you return…”
“What if I don’t?” Jessie challenged, her throat tightening around the words, her chin lifting in brave defiance and tears sparkling in her eyes.
“I know you, Jessie Weaver. You’ll be back. And I’ll be right here, waiting for you, because you were wrong when you said we didn’t have anything in common. We do. We have each other. We have years of shared memories, good ones, great ones, a whole lifetime’s worth! And oh, yes, don’t forget that play by Shakespeare and that immortal moment when I looked at you and said…‘But soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Jessie is the sun!’”
“Guthrie Sloane, you said no such thing!” Jessie wavered, wiping her cheeks impatiently with the palms of her hands. “Those weren’t your lines!”
“Maybe not, but they’re best in the play and I can’t help but think of them when I look at you, when I want to kiss you the way you used to let me. The way you used to want me to.” He held her gaze for a long, emotional moment. “You’re my sunshine, Jess,” he said. “You always will be.”
Montana Dreaming Page 26
