Instead, he sent Joe a smile that made his idiotic grin falter and die. "Let me give you a piece of advice," he said so quietly that Joe actually had to lean forward to hear him. "Next time you see my wife coming, walk the other way. Because if I ever hear you've been trash-talking her again, I'll personally make sure that the place where you keep your brains never straddles a horse again. Are we clear?"
Joe's face flamed, and he gave an indifferent shrug. "Don't say I didn't warn you, pal."
"That goes both ways." Cain stared him down for a full five seconds before he turned and headed back to the truck, throwing the keys in the air and catching them hard as they sank past his chest.
Maggie didn't say a word as he started the truck and peeled out of the parking spot, leaving the cowhands and their speculations behind. Dust curled behind them as they tore out of town and she stared out the side window without once looking at him.
The countryside passed by in a blur of browns and greens, but Maggie didn't see any of it. She was remembering that day in the barn, the images that had haunted her for months now and kept her up at night. She was seeing Ben, in that slat of sunshine pouring through the broken barn wood, his lean frame swaying slightly back and forth in the crisp November air. She was seeing the way his hands curled gently at his sides as if he were sleeping instead of gone forever. Those hands that had once loved her. So still.
For months she hadn't been able to think about that morning without being physically ill. Even now, the memory of it tugged at the back of her throat. She thought she had put it behind her. But Joe Johns wouldn't let it rest. He had to taunt her with it. He and the others took their cue from Laird. No one else in town ever even spoke about Ben. Unless, like Mary Kate, they were drunk and thoughtless. Otherwise, Ben was a taboo subject, his death much too close and uncomfortable for polite conversation. And she preferred it that way. Because to talk about it was to acknowledge that it had nearly killed her, too. And she'd put that behind her. At least she thought she had. Until she saw the look on Cain's face.
"Maggie, you don't owe me any explanations."
Cain's voice broke into her reverie and startled her back to the present. They were almost home. "I never should have let that happen. I should have prepared you."
"Who the hell were they?"
"Laird's men."
He snorted. "At least they're consistent."
"They're not all like that. Joe and a few of the others like Jeb Wrightman were friends of Ben's. Poker buddies. Casino cohorts. They watched him tumble for months and stood by doing nothing to stop it. It's easier for them to blame me."
"He was a gambler, your husband?"
"Only in the last year, when he started losing ground with the ranch. Then he threw away whatever was left."
Cain pulled the truck into the driveway of Maggie's yard. Jigger bounced up from his place under the tree, tail wagging, barking happily. Cain shut off the truck, but made no move to get out.
"You found him, didn't you?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
He didn't say anything for a long time, just tightened his hands around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. "It wasn't your fault," he said at last.
"How do you know?" she asked. "Maybe if I'd tried harder. If I'd forced him to stay at home with me instead of going out gambling—"
"Could you have?" he asked.
"Stopped him? Physically? No. But maybe if I'd … done something different. Tried harder…"
"People who are looking for sympathy use pills, or suck on an exhaust pipe at dinnertime. They hope someone finds them. They don't eat a gun or use a rope. There's nothing you could've done. It was his decision."
"You don't know. You didn't know Ben. You don't know me." Maggie yanked open her door and stumbled out.
Cain followed her and caught up with her in a few easy strides. She felt his hand go around her arm and stop her.
"You're right," he said, his voice suddenly soft. "We don't know each other. But that doesn't mean I can't see that you're beating yourself up for something you couldn't have prevented. Ben had his own path and chose to leave you behind on another one. This one's yours. Ours … for now. It's best not to look back at that other one with 'what-if's.' Because it'll kill you, too, if you let it."
"You speaking from experience?" she asked quietly.
He looked away, at the ground, anywhere but into her eyes. "What I'm saying is, I don't want to see that happen to you."
Dammit, she was going to cry now and she didn't want him to see. She hadn't cried in so long, she thought her tears were all dried up. But here he was, touching her, telling her it was all right. And she wasn't sure if she could bear it.
Suddenly, Cain pulled her against him and enfolded her in his arms. Strong arms. Warm arms. Maggie leaned her head against his chest and could hear the steady, strong thud of his heartbeat. How many times in the past six mouths had she longed for a man to hold her this way, stroke her hair and draw circles on her back with the palm of his hand? Oh, she needed it.
But it wouldn't solve anything and would only make things more complicated.
She gave a nervous laugh as she pushed away from him. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He didn't let her go. Not completely.
Her nose was running. She dabbed it with a knuckle. "I'm just tired. That's all," she said in her own defense. "It's been a long week. I wasn't ready for them. I should have been but I wasn't. I'm fine. Really. Thank you for … for everything, Cain. For going through with it today."
He smiled and dropped his fingers into Jigger's fur and gave him a scratch. "My motives were entirely selfish. I'm getting land out of this deal, remember?"
She smiled, watching him pet her dog. Something perverse in him made him want to deny the man she knew lived under that tough exterior he bared to the world. But she suspected that whoever he'd been once—before whatever had happened to him had made him hard—was still there. "I'm glad to know you have your priorities straight."
"Right. So, after a day like this, there's only one thing left to do."
She agreed. "Häagen Dazs?"
"Nope."
He scooped her up in his arms and Maggie gave a shriek of outraged laughter. "Cain!"
He started toward the house with long strides with Jigger trotting along beside them, barking happily.
"This is ridiculous. We're not even really…" But his shoulders felt powerful beneath her hands and she instinctively wrapped her arms more tightly around him.
"Hey," he said. "We can't buck tradition, can we?"
"I hate to remind you, but we've bucked just about every tradition in the book today."
"Oh, yeah." He stooped so she could open the door, then he pushed it open with his foot and carried her across the threshold. Once inside, he set her gently on the ground. But letting her go took a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. When he finally did, she couldn't miss the darkness that had settled in his blue eyes, or the hunger behind the look.
"Welcome home, Mrs. MacCallister," he said, slipping off his hat.
It was crazy. Absurd, that she liked the sound of that. Mrs. MacCallister. Or maybe it was the way it sounded when he said it. Lord, what was wrong with her today? Must be all that champagne she drank at Moody's. Of course it was that. It was making her head spin a little.
The moment of protracted silence stretched uncomfortably between them. What exactly did one say to a stranger who'd just become your spouse?
They spoke at the same time.
"Well, I … uh—"
"I should—"
They laughed uneasily and Cain ducked his head, glancing in the direction of the barn. The afternoon light was already fading. "Why don't you get dinner started?" he suggested. "I'll get those chores finished up."
For reasons she couldn't explain, even to herself, she didn't want him to go yet. "Cain?"
"Yeah?"
He was still close enough that she could smell the clean scent of soap t
hat lingered on his skin. "You were right. We don't know each other," she said. "But I'd like to know you. Do you think that's possible?"
He fingered the hatband on the hat in his hands. "I think," he said, "it's better if we keep it … impersonal. That way, nobody gets disappointed."
She frowned. "What makes you think I'd be disappointed if I got to know you?"
He slid a look out the window. "Look," he said patiently, "you want my muscle, you've got it. My promise? Done. You want me in your bed, you've got that, too. But the rest of me is mine and mine alone. Whatever mistakes I've made, whatever brought me here, that's mine, too."
He started to turn away, but she said, "What is it you're so afraid of, Cain? That someone might actually care about you? It's all right for you to comfort me, but not for me to do the same for you?"
"I'm not looking for comfort," he said, his jaw tightening.
"No, of course not," she said, "It's only third on the list of human needs. Food, shelter, comfort. Oh, well, sex. That's right in there, too."
He didn't smile or even argue. "What is it you want from me, Maggie?"
She let out a long breath and shook her head, unsure. "Friendship?"
His eyes did a long, slow perusal of her, from her mouth down to her toes, considering her offer the way a hungry bird of prey would a nearby sparrow. Maggie felt herself blush, knowing that what he wanted had nothing to do with friendship.
"You actually think," he asked with undisguised amusement, "that's possible?"
"Don't you?"
"Exclusively? No. And especially not when the woman looks like you."
Maggie knew she should feel flattered, but what was going on inside of her was closer to panic. "Let's not complicate things."
"For you? Or me?"
"Obviously, for me," she said. "Casual sex doesn't seem to bother you."
He shifted his stance and grinned at her with a look that made her want to pull a blanket around herself for protection.
"There's nothing casual about sex, Maggie," he said, his voice husky with promise. "Not the way I do it."
The spring on the screen door screeched as he headed toward the barn with that loose-hipped stroll of his, leaving Maggie behind, to wonder what had happened to all the air in her lungs.
* * *
Geronimo pulled tight on the lunge line and balked at the pressure from Maggie's hands, backing away, the way he'd been since she'd started with him two hours ago. The stallion kicked up a mini-dust storm and shrieked a protest at the end of his line.
Cain had been watching her for the past hour, trying to keep his mind on fixing the sagging porch roof, but failing. His eyes kept straying to the way that little white blouse of hers stretched across her breasts when she lifted her arms and to the smallness of her waist.
He shook his head and refocused on the nail he was hammering. She'd made it pretty clear she wasn't interested. He was fighting a losing battle there. But the week was wearing on him. Nights alone in his own bed, listening to Maggie moving around in the room next door. Hearing her tossing and turning in the wee hours of the morning.
They'd run into each other in the hall on the way to the bathroom the other night. She'd been wearing one of those button-up-to-here flannel numbers designed to discourage invasion. They'd done a little dance in the hallway, avoiding each other, brushing each other inevitably despite their attempts to the contrary. Then he'd taken a long, cold shower and thought about Annie.
He slammed the nail home, putting an unintentional dent in the wood. Leaning his head back, he let the sun spill across his face. He wondered sometimes if Annie could see him. Was she watching what he was doing right now? And if she was, would she forgive him for the things he still ached for? Forgive him for being here when she was not? In his heart he knew she would because that's just who she was. It was himself he couldn't forgive—for the first inklings of life he'd felt stir inside him for years. For wanting Maggie in his bed. And most of all, for not having sense enough to walk away from this whole damned situation while he still could. He couldn't afford attachments. He wasn't interested in them. But as he watched Maggie now, struggling to tame a horse that didn't want any part of her world, he found himself wondering what it might have been like if he'd met her years ago. Before his life had stopped moving.
He shoved a four-by-four brace up tighter under the eave and toenailed in a sixteen-penny nail. This roof needed more than a prop. It needed an overhaul. Water and snow had eaten away at some of the understructure and dry-rotted wood needed replacing. He decided to go and forage in the barn for some wood that might work. He tossed the hammer down and started toward the barn.
"He's impossible!" Maggie complained as Cain ambled by the rail. "I don't know what else to try."
She was reeling the animal in, moving in close to touch his tender nose with the palm of her hand. Geronimo's eyes showed white and he snorted loudly.
"Shh—then," she crooned, reaching out to touch his muzzle with a gloved hand. Geronimo stood for it for a full five seconds before pulling back.
Cain climbed up the rail fence and leaned there watching her. "He's afraid to trust you. He wants to, but he's afraid."
"I don't think so. I've tried everything. A potential buyer, Bill Tischman, is coming by to check his progress in three days. I've gotten exactly nowhere with him. I don't know. I may have to admit defeat."
"I thought you were counting on that fee from Tischman."
Maggie sighed heavily. "I am. But I'm beginning to think it's hopeless. I've been working with him for two weeks and we're barely on speaking terms. Forget training him for cutting. I'm honestly not sure he's got it in him."
Cain studied the three-year-old critically. He had good bone structure, a heavy chest and the compact rear quarters that betrayed his championship quarter horse bloodlines. Most important, Cain thought, were the eyes. His eyes were bright and took in everything. Sure he was a hothead. But it was fear, not stubbornness he saw there. And intelligence. He suspected that whatever was keeping him from learning not to hate the rope had nothing to do with his innate ability to understand what it was for.
"Mind if I try?" Cain asked impulsively.
"You?" she said, as if he'd just suggested she should go stand in the middle of the Musselshell River at snow-melt.
"Well, if you're gonna give up anyway," he said. "It's worth a shot."
She looked at Geronimo, then back at Cain and sighed. "All right. You're welcome to it. But I'm warning you. He doesn't like men."
Cain nodded and climbed over the fence. True to form, that bent old Geronimo out of shape all over again and he started prancing around at the end of his tether. "Let him go," he told her. "Undo the lead."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Humor me. Then hand it to me and step out of the pen."
Maggie shrugged and did as he asked, keeping a wary eye on the horse on her way out. She wasn't sure what Cain had in mind, but she was sure whatever it was wouldn't work.
Cain walked casually to the center of the pen watching Geronimo as he did. The horse cowered at the far end, and Cain walked up to him slowly. Maggie couldn't make out what he was saying to the horse, but she could hear the low vibration of his voice as he moved closer and touched Geronimo's forehead with the flat palm of his hand. Geronimo snorted and tossed his head and Cain backed off, behind the animal, far enough not to be kicked. Giving the line in his hand a snap, he aimed it in Geronimo's general direction. The horse took off like he'd been stung by a bee, even though the rope hadn't even touched him. Cain stayed behind him as the horse tore around the pen, watching him with every pass. Occasionally, he would slow down, but Cain would give the rope a snap to force him to keep going. Around and around they went. Geronimo flat out running, Cain, moving casually yet relentlessly behind.
Maggie frowned. If his intention was to exhaust Geronimo, it might just work. She'd already worked with him for two hours with no success. But she watched Cain work steadily and deliber
ately like a lion tamer in a circus, never losing eye contact with the horse, nor easing up the pressure he was putting on him.
Cain snapped the line again, forcing the stallion in the other direction. All the while, he kept his gaze fixed on Geronimo's eyes.
"He's tired," Cain told her. "He'd rather stop. But he won't because he knows I won't let him. Horses are flight animals. They'll run from opposition, like me. And this rope." He snapped the line again and Geronimo kept moving.
Resting her chin on her hands, she watched, fascinated as much by what he was doing with the horse as with the man himself.
The midday sun beat down on his dark brown hair, gilding it gold and forcing a small patch of moisture through the spot in his denim shirt between his shoulder blades. Her gaze dropped lower, to the black jeans that hugged his lean hips and his long legs. He could walk into any movie set in Hollywood, she thought, and be the next "it" guy. But he was as unaware of his looks as Geronimo was of her presence here by the rail. He was completely focused on what he was doing. Completely at home here in the training pen.
Geronimo wasn't nearly as happy. He looked like he'd give anything to stop running. But Cain kept up the pressure. The horse started to lick his lips and chew as if he had a mouthful of hay.
"See that?" Cain said, not taking his eyes off the horse. "He's trying to let me know he's not a carnivore. That he's no threat to me. He just wants to graze in peace. He's starting to negotiate."
"Negotiate what?" she asked, watching intently.
"A truce."
Cain let him go on for a few more minutes until the horse began ducking his head down as if he were getting ready to buck. She began to prepare herself for failure when Cain abruptly stopped watching the horse and turned himself away at a forty-five degree angle. When Geronimo noticed this, he stopped as well. Incredibly, after a few tense moments, he began walking toward Cain, who was still virtually ignoring him.
THIS PERFECT STRANGER Page 8
