THE EIGHT SECOND WEDDING

by Anne McAllister

  But maybe it would be better if she didn't. Maybe it would be best if she just ran over a curb or hit a stop sign, and went back to New York.

  Certainly Chan would prefer it. He might have apologized the night before last. But as she'd just pointed out, he'd snapped at her plenty after that. He'd practically jumped down her throat when she'd come back with Dev.

  He'd wanted to know what she'd done and where she'd been every minute.

  "You're not my keeper, Richardson," she'd told him finally.

  "Yeah, well, you need one!"

  She'd lifted her chin. "Then maybe I'll ask Dev."

  "Suit yourself!" he'd told her and stalked off toward the barn without looking back.

  When he'd driven her into town this morning, he'd barely said anything else. She glanced over at the café now as he went in the door. Through the glass she could see him take a seat at a booth by the window.

  So he could watch, no doubt.

  She stared at him. He stared back.

  There was some very strong, strange emotion arcing between them. Some connection. Some challenge.

  "Probably induced by meddling mothers," Madeleine muttered to herself.

  She didn't understand it in the least. Would she ever? Did it matter?

  When she was first starting to write her dissertation, she had gone to talk to her adviser, taking with her a reading list of books she'd thought were pertinent to her topic.

  Venable had scanned it, then said, "But where's so and so?"

  And Madeleine had replied, "I didn't think it was relevant. It's not exactly in my field."

  Venable had looked at her over steepled fingers. "How do you know what's in your field until you read it?"

  Odd she should remember that now.

  * * *

  Chan was a man of split-second reflexes, a whiz at the instinctive response. But when he had to juggle complete thoughts, weigh alternatives, consider options, he felt as if the sea was closing over his head.

  Like now, for example. He sat in the café and watched as Madeleine went into the office. He sipped his cup of coffee and thought about what he wished would happen.

  And the oddest thing was, he didn't know.

  It would be easiest, he told himself as he watched her and the bureau official come back out of the office and get in the truck, if she flat-out flunked. She'd be gone, out of his life.

  Dev and Gil would be happy to drive with him, and before long the leg Wiley had broken in Clovis last month would be healed and he'd come back.

  Things would be normal again. Just like they used to be.

  He could drive and ride and flirt and sleep.

  And be bored.

  Bored? He frowned at the thought. But it was true. The hours in the truck got long. Neither Gil nor Wiley was much of a conversationalist, and Dev spent long hours just reading.

  Madeleine promised more. With Madeleine along, life wasn't going to be just drive and ride and flirt and sleep, he could almost guarantee it.

  She'd bicker with him, argue, lift that stubborn chin of hers, then grin, then taunt.

  And he'd taunt back.

  And then…

  And then she'd go off with Dev.

  Well, why not?

  His fingers tightened around the coffee mug. She'd been with him all day yesterday.

  "Driving," she'd said. But when they got out of the car there'd been something between them that went beyond driving. Even a fundamentally unaware person like Chan Richardson could see that.

  Then last night, when the rest of them played cards, she and Dev had gone out.

  "For a walk," they'd said.

  Hell of a walk. They hadn't come back until almost eleven-thirty. Chan had lost two steak dinners and his entire box of Royals 1970 baseball cards before he heard her come in and go upstairs. Only Lily played worse. And she wasn't much of a poker player, anyway.

  He ought to be glad if Madeleine did like Dev, he told himself. Make his life easier.

  Had she had sex with Dev?

  Damn it, where had that come from?

  If he was going to think like that, it'd be better if she was gone. He slapped the mug down with such force that the coffee slopped on the table.

  "Get you some more, honey?" the waitress asked him.

  But just then the truck came back around the corner. Chan shook his head and got to his feet. He handed her some money and went out the door.

  By the time he came across the street, Madeleine was standing by the truck listening intently to whatever the official was saying. He was gesturing, waving his arms. She was nodding, listening, then nodding some more. Chan walked more slowly, watching all the while. The official said something, then marked something on a paper, then handed it back to her. He saw her nod and reply. The official said something else, then held out his hand. Madeleine took it. They shook hands. All very formal. Neither smiled.

  The official turned and walked back inside.

  Madeleine looked up. Her gaze met Chan's, wide and direct. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

  He shook his head, swallowed.

  "I passed."

  He couldn't believe his relief.

  * * *

  "Madeline called," Antonia announced without preamble. "She got a driver's license."

  Julia thought she sounded astonished, but it might have been just the transpacific interference between Wyoming and Bali. Julia was astonished herself.

  "I didn't realize she didn't have one." She felt fleetingly sorry for Chan, then brightened. "They must have had to spend a fair amount of time together while Chan was teaching her."

  "Apparently Chan didn't," Antonia said. "Madeleine says he yells."

  "Yells? I'll have you know that Chan is extremely mild mannered."

  "Like his mother?"

  Julia opened her mouth to tell Antonia exactly what she could do with her insinuations when she realized she wasn't going to yell, she was going to shout. She laughed. "Yes. Exactly like his mother."

  "Oh, dear. You know, this could be difficult," Antonia said slowly. "I wonder, Julia, maybe they really aren't suited for each other."

  "Nonsense," Julia said briskly. "You saw my research."

  "Well, yes, but—"

  "They're suited. Who could possibly be better for Madeleine?"

  "I don't know," Antonia said slowly. "What do you know about a man named Dev?"

  * * *

  He couldn't figure her out. All Thursday afternoon she got weirder and weirder, popping in and out of the house, chewing her fingernails, making a bird's nest out of her hair.

  "What's the matter with you?" he asked her. She'd said she was going to hole up in the camper and work on her dissertation. Instead she'd been wearing a path back and forth to the house.

  She appeared in the doorway once again. "Are you sure you should do this?" she demanded.

  "Do what?" He was sitting on the pillow-ticking sofa braiding a bull rope. He had been there all afternoon. He didn't know what the hell she was talking about.

  "Ride tonight," Madeleine said. "Should you ride tonight? Are you sure?"

  He looked up at her. Her dark hair looked like she'd attacked it with a rake, her green eyes were almost wild. "Of course I'm sure," he said.

  "But—" Her eyes got wilder. Then she waved her fingers in the air and turned and left. Ten minutes later she was back.

  "This bull. Miser? What do you know about him?"

  Chan shrugged. "He's five years old. Brahma. Spins to the left comin' out of the gate."

  "Can he kill you?" She pressed her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God. I didn't mean that."

  Chan stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. He gave her a slow smile. "Why, Decker? Are you hoping?"

  The green eyes shot flames at him. "You are such an ass, Richardson!" She spun and stalked off, the screen door slamming behind her.

  He tossed the rope aside and went after her. "Decker! Hey, Decker! Madeleine!"


  She didn't stop. He had to run to catch her. And when he did grab he arm, she tried to pull away and would have done so if he hadn't dug his fingers into her arms and held her fast.

  "Sorry," he said, dropping his hands when she stopped struggling. His mouth quirked slightly. "It's gallows humor. We all do it."

  "Because it can happen." Her voice was a little rough, a lot worried. She was looking at him with those incredible wide eyes.

  He nodded. "It can. Chances are it won't," he added more forcefully. "Look, Decker. You don't have to come, you know. I can pick you up here on the way back."

  "I'm coming."

  "It isn't necessary."

  "I'm coming." The mule look was back.

  They stared at each other. Finally Chan nodded briefly. "Suit yourself."

  "I will." She rubbed her arm where his fingers had bitten in. He made an apologetic grimace. She gave him a faint smile in return. Then she turned and walked back toward the camper.

  "You actually care, don't you, Decker?" he said after a moment.

  She glanced back at him. "What do you think?"

  He thought she was the strangest woman he'd ever met.

  * * *

  Until Madison Square Garden Madeleine had never been to a rodeo. And even then she hadn't really seen it; she'd arrived halfway through, blasé to the point of being indifferent. It had seemed little more than a swirl of color, fun and recklessness, until Chan had got kicked in the head.

  This time it was different. This time she was expecting the worst. Chan told her again when they got to the grounds that she didn't have to watch.

  "Write your dissertation. Read a book."

  "I have free will," Madeleine told him. "I'm watching."

  And she would, even if she threw up.

  She didn't understand how he could be so cool about it. Not knowing he could be dead within the hour. But he stood around during the bronc riding, laughing with Gil and a rookie he called Kevin. He didn't even glance back at where the bulls were penned. He talked to Lily during the calf roping as if he didn't have a care in the world.

  Madeleine was a wreck. She'd asked around and found out which bull was his as soon as she got there. From where she was seated next to Dan in the stands she could see it in the catch pen. It didn't look anything like Charlie, that black marshmallow of a bull Lily had let her in the corral with.

  Miser was huge and with narrow eyes and a huge hump. He looked like he could – and did – eat cowboys for breakfast. Madeleine felt sick.

  Surely Chan wouldn't do anything so stupid as get on a two-thousand-pound bull's back.

  She said as much to Dan. He laughed.

  "It's his job. Look," he said. "There's Lily. And Pete." Someone else to worry about. Lily and the other clown, Pete Somebody, appeared now, rolling out the barrel and setting up the dummy. And Madeleine leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her fingers knotted in front of her mouth.

  She watched Lily, then turned to watch the cowboys as they put the rigging on the bulls. She picked out Chan's bright blue shirt noted briefly Gil's gray-and-red stripe and Dev's bold geometric print. Her eyes flicked from one to the other, worrying about all of them, but always coming back to Chan.

  He sat on the top of the chute and worked his bull rope into the right place and pulled it up. The bull lunged and kicked. The chute clanged. She could feel the reverberations clear up in the stands.

  She shut her eyes.

  The announcer gave Gil's name and hometown, the chute gate opened, and the bull lunged and twisted coming out. Madeleine sat watching, her heart in her mouth as Gil clung on.

  At the Garden she'd been so far away the men had looked like toys. Here she could see the hard set of Gil's jaw, the grim determination on his face.

  Dan yelled encouragement. Madeleine sat mute, her hands twisting furiously. Only when the whistle blew and Gil flung himself off, scrambling for the fence while Pete and Lily distracted the bull, did Madeleine breathe again.

  But only for a moment, for almost as soon as Gil's bull had departed and he'd been awarded a 77, the announcer gave Dev's name.

  The gate swung open, the bull exploded out of the chute, spun, twisted and flung Dev against the fence.

  It was over in two seconds. Maybe less. Madeleine gasped, horrified. Then Pete was distracting the bull and Dev was scrambling to his feet and over the fence.

  The next rider was no luckier than Dev scorewise, but he didn't hit the fence. The one after that got a 78 and very nearly a hoof in the ribs. Lily's quick action saved him from that.

  And then it was Chan's turn.

  Madeleine saw him tug his hat down hard and settle in on the bull. She saw him say something to Dev who had come to lean over the chute and give the bull rope one last pull. She saw him run his tongue along his upper lip, then set his jaw, tuck in his chin and nod his head.

  The chute gate opened. Miser spun out, twisted, ducked his head, then snapped it up again. Chan clung.

  It was amazing. Madeline watched the whole ride as if it were in slow motion. She'd heard the expression "poetry in motion" countless times in her life. She never really understood it until now.

  Chan and Miser were not opposing forces. They were complementary. Chan's body didn't fight Miser's. Instead he moved with the bull, his own strength growing almost organically out of the bull's might. Every moment Miser made was echoed by his rider. The bull snapped and spun, twisted and turned. And whichever way he went, Chan went with him.

  It was a terrible beauty, a deadly ballet, and it drew Madeleine in, captured her, awed her. She'd never felt the combination of fear and exhilaration before that she felt in those few seconds.

  "Whoooo-eee!" Dan yelled when the buzzer went. He and the rest of the crowd yelled and hooted and stood and stamped their feet.

  And Madeleine rose with them, standing without knowing how she got there, yelling without realizing what she was doing.

  She saw Chan loosen his grip. And as the bull ducked his head and threw his hind feet high in the air, Chan leapt away from him, landing on his feet to raise his arms in the air and grin.

  "Give that man a hand, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer bellowed. "The judges scored Chan Richardson an 87!"

  But Madeleine barely heard him. She was scrambling down out of the stands and heading for the area behind the chutes.

  * * *

  He was sweaty and dusty, and he had a mouthful of beer when he saw her coming.

  She was hurrying toward the catch pen, craning her neck, looking, he guessed, for him.

  He held his breath, unsure what to expect, remembering her fussing, imagining the worst, especially after his showboat landing.

  "You were wonderful!" Madeleine exulted, and damned if she didn't throw her arms around his neck.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  His arms went around her, locking her in his embrace. He might have fallen over if he hadn't. He gave a wary look. "I was?"

  "Oh, gracious, yes." She was smiling all over her face, her hair like an ebony halo, her cheeks bright rose. "You were beautiful! Both of you. I've never seen anything like it. Pure poetry."

  "Poetry, Decker?" He shook his head, a laugh beginning to form somewhere inside him.

  "Poetry! I couldn't believe it! When you're not getting kicked in the head, Richardson, you're really something."

  "You liked it." It wasn't a question, and yet a part of him was still asking. He looked at her dazed.

  Maybe, in fact, he'd got tossed off. Maybe he hadn't ridden as well as he thought. Maybe he was dreaming this. Maybe he was hallucinating after having been kicked in the head.

  Two cowboys came past and slapped him on the back. "Nice ride, Chan. Way to go."

  He nodded his thanks. Either he was awake or other people were having the same hallucination.

  "Amazing," Madeleine said, shaking her head. "Truly amazing."

  It was, Chan thought, taking a deep breath and letting
it out slowly. And no one was more amazed than him.

  * * *

  She didn't know how long she slept. She couldn't quite tell if she'd even gone to sleep, she'd been so keyed up after Chan's ride and their steak and lobster dinner with Lily and Dan and Gil and Dev.

  But it was past ten when they got on the road, and Chan said he'd drive first.

  "But you'll call me?" Madeleine had insisted, still not sure that he trusted her driving.

  "I'll call you. Believe me, I'm not going to drive all the way to Fort Smith."

  But so far he hadn't. Still, they were a long way from Fort Smith.

  "Fort Smith, Arkansas?" She hadn't been able to believe her ears when he'd told her. She'd thought there must be a Fort Smith, California. Or at worst Arizona. Maybe there was, but she and Chan weren't going to it.

  "Now you know why you needed a license."

  "That's a thousand miles from here."

  "Closer to two. But you're not gonna back out, are you, Decker?" he challenged her.

  And she'd grinned and shaken her head. She was still grinning when she fell asleep, and she smiled again now as she rolled over in the above-the-cab bunk.

  The truck was stopped. That must have been why she'd awakened; the steady thrum of the tires on the road no longer lulling her to sleep. She rolled to the edge of the bunk and hung her head over to look around, but Chan was nowhere to be seen.

  She pushed aside the curtain and peered out into the darkness. They seemed to be at a rest stop. There were a couple of semis parked a ways off and three cars lined up near their truck.

  Just then the back door opened and Chan appeared.

  Madeleine sat up. "Where are we?"

  "Middle of nowhere." He yawned and flexed his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at her. "Did I wake you?"

  "I think I woke when you stopped."

  "I just needed a break to walk around a little."

  "What time is it?"

  "Close to three."

  "I'll drive."

  He hesitated. "Wouldn't you rather wait till it's light?"

  "Would you rather I did?"

  He tugged at his ear. "Well, I—" He shrugged.

  "I suppose you won't sleep if I do."