The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough)

by McGriffith, Danni

  He wasn't some lovesick idiot who couldn't let go.

  One night, a late blizzard roared down the Rockies, dumping a foot of heavy snow at Sunnyside. The storm triggered a burst of labor pains in the ewes and sometime after midnight, he let himself into the dark silence of the Campbell house. Snow melted on his slicker as he moved quietly down the hall to Katie's room where a nightlight glowed.

  She'd cleaned the room since his last visit. Lance's picture sat on the dresser again. The kid slept in a crib next to the wall and Katie lay on her side in the bed, her lashes fanned across her cheeks. Her braid fell over her shoulder, bare except for her nightgown strap.

  He stepped close to her bed, but didn't touch her. "Katie, wake up."

  She stirred, opening her eyes. Their sleepy depths held his, almost like…she'd been waiting. For him.

  "Gil?"

  "We need some help at camp."

  She sat up, rubbing her face. "Okay."

  "The kid?" he asked with his gaze on the pale outline of her shoulders.

  She pulled the covers around her. "I'll put him in bed with Dad."

  A few minutes later, she slid into the warm pickup. He drove into the swirling white wall of snow insulating them from the world outside. She huddled in her coat across the seat, the curve of her face in the glow of the dash lights soft and drowsy.

  He cleared his throat. "I know you'd rather have tea, but there's coffee in my thermos if you want it."

  "I'm okay." She glanced at him from under her lashes. "Thank you."

  His heart hammered against his ribs. "Yeah," he said.

  At Sunnyside, he led her through makeshift pens of hay bales to one where a ewe strained beneath the glow of a kerosene lantern.

  "I think this one's got two or three lambs tangled up. Dave's busy, and my hand's too big to stick up a sheep's rear."

  She looked at him, questioning.

  "Yours ain't," he said by way of explanation.

  A minute later, he squatted beside her where she lay stretched out on her belly behind the straining ewe, her arm inside the sheep halfway to her elbow.

  Frowning with concentration, she raised her gaze. "I don't know what I'm doing."

  "Pick a leg. Follow it to the joint, see if it's a front or back―"

  "That's what I'm trying to do, but it's not as easy—" She broke off with a grunt of effort. "Wait. Maybe…"

  A few minutes later, she delivered the first lamb onto the straw, and then two more. Soft lantern-light glowed on her disheveled hair where she knelt beside him, her arm covered with mucus. A smile of wonder spread slowly across her face. The lambs shook their knobby heads and their thin cries brought the ewe scrambling to her feet. Whirling to face them, the new mother gave an almost human start of surprise at three lambs instead of one.

  Katie laughed. Then she turned her smile on him.

  And he couldn't breathe. How had he imagined for even a minute he could make a life without her in it?

  He held her gaze. Her smile slowly faded.

  "You like the lambs?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Do you…still think it was stupid for me to buy them?" His stomach tightened while he awaited her answer.

  "Gil…" Her eyes softened with remorse. "No."

  He forgot she didn't belong to him anymore. Gently, he reached to stroke his thumb across her cool, smooth cheek and the slight hollow beneath her cheekbone…it hadn't been there the last time he'd touched her face.

  Her eyes closed. Trembling, she slowly turned her cheek into his hand. His heart raced wildly as he leaned into the smell of lightning and the scent of soap on her warm skin. She didn't breathe. He brushed his lips against the curve of her mouth.

  Then she forgot she didn't belong to him, too.

  For a long, heart stopping moment she forgot.

  He moved to draw her into his arms. "Katie…"

  She stiffened. Her eyes flew open wide. She stared at him in guilty panic.

  "Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, no…" She bolted to her feet and ran, disappearing into snowy darkness.

  He stared after her, shaken.

  That had been Lance between them in her gaze, not God.

  She hadn't made a promise to God about him. If she had, she'd never have come near him…not to help with the sheep, certainly not to kiss him.

  The ewe moved from one lamb to the next, her tongue licking furiously, a low chuckling sound rumbling in her chest. A lamb staggered to its feet, teetering on spindly legs toward the ewe's udder.

  Katie had just let him think the one thing that would make him leave her alone. But, why?

  He lifted his hat to rub his fingers through his hair. Why'd women do anything they did?

  Whatever her reasons…she'd made a huge mistake. The flame God had kindled between them was still there. It always would be. She'd never be able to erase that…or him. No matter how hard she tried.

  He had to make her wake up before it was too late. She was stubborn enough to marry Lance someday. Maybe twenty-five miserable years down the road she'd want to meet him in Lance's barn one night.

  And maybe he'd do it, too. Then what?

  He'd have turned into his father.

  He hardened his jaw. She wasn't going to drag him any farther down that road. If she thought he'd roll over and play dead again after she'd given him a glimpse of his own Katie tonight, she was crazy.

  She'd been in the driver's seat ever since the day he'd met her, but—he rose with a grim smile—from now on…?

  He'd drive the bus.

  Chapter Nineteen

  One evening two weeks later, Tim gulped air, reared back in a Campbell kitchen chair, and gave a terrific belch.

  "No contest, man," Gil said, shaking his head. "I could let 'er rip better than that in kindergarten."

  Katie entered the kitchen with the kid on her hip. He gulped air then let out an explosive belch. She slammed a bottle onto the counter, her shoulders stiff.

  "Awesome," Tim said. "I bow to the better man, dude."

  He grinned at Tim then turned to Lance's gawky figure at the end of the table. "Hey, Lance…Go ahead. Give it a go."

  Lance glanced uneasily at Katie.

  She whirled. "He's got more class than that, you moron. Don't you have anything better to do than sit around in here eating all the cookies and belching like a camel?"

  He grinned. "Nope."

  With an irritated exclamation, she flung out of the room with the kid clinging to her hip like a flea on a mad cat. Lance hesitated then rose to follow her down the hall. A murmur of voices sounded from the vicinity of her room.

  "Just go away," she said, her voice rising, "I've got to study."

  Her bedroom door slammed.

  He turned to Tim. "What's she studyin' for?"

  "She only had two or three credits left to finish school when Mom died. The principal told her she could finish at home."

  He stared at Tim in surprise. "She'll get to graduate, after all?"

  Tim grimaced. "If they let mean people graduate."

  Lance wandered into the kitchen, his ears red, and then lifted his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on.

  "She's got a tongue like a chainsaw, don't she, dude?" he said sympathetically. "You shouldn't put up with it. It's like my dad says…there's too many good horses out there to put up with a bad one."

  Lance flushed. "She's tired is all."

  He eyed Lance as he crossed to the door and left. The guy was hopeless. Katie was way too much firepower for him…like a .458 magnum elephant rifle against a BB gun. She'd eat him alive and he'd just stand there and let her.

  He headed down the hall. "You need a ride in the mornin'?" he asked through her closed bedroom door.

  "No," she snapped sarcastically. "I can walk. It's only twelve miles."

  "Okay. Have it your way."

  "Okay. Have fun bottle feeding all those bummers."

  "I could feed 'em. Any moron can feed bum lambs."

>   "Perfect."

  "While I'm feedin' bummers, you can build the hay barn."

  "I would, but I didn't take building lessons from Dr. Seuss."

  "Hey," he said, stung. "That salvaged lumber might not look so hot, but it's a good barn."

  "It's magnificent."

  "Okay," he said irritably, "you get on the end of a hammer tomorrow and see how it goes."

  She couldn't drive a nail straight to save her life, and the day unfolded just the same as each day had since he kissed her in the lambing pen.

  She hadn't shown up at Sunnyside for a few days after that night, but when she did—untouchable, her guard firmly in place—she carried on as though nothing had happened. Angry and determined to force her hand, he had shoved her out of the driver's seat, aggressively crowding her like a bronc in a chute. Ignoring the cool distance she tried to keep between them, he needled her with obnoxious comments and a hearty one-of-the-boys attitude. He welcomed the sparking anger and occasional bewildered hurt in her eyes.

  She was losing the dead look, at least.

  By the end of each day, she had gone home exhausted, mad, and not speaking to him, but…she continued to leave the kid with Rachel while she showed up at camp to help with the lambs.

  The last ewe lambed on a Saturday night. The next day after church, he joined the church group at the softball park with his baseball mitt in hand—unused since he'd gotten tossed from his college team.

  "Hey, Gil," Will yelled as he jogged toward the field, "you can be the other captain. Your pick."

  Katie, holding the kid on her lap, sat on the bottom bleacher in a pink tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

  He stopped close to her. "You playin'?" he asked in an undertone.

  She nodded.

  "Okay," he said, scanning the group to Tracy, now a frequent visitor. "I'll take Tracy."

  Katie stiffened.

  He chose Lance next. Ears red, Lance glanced at her. She stared at her shoes.

  Finally, only Katie and the kid sat alone on the bottom bleacher.

  "Katie wants to play, Will," Lance said.

  Will looked at her in surprise. "Oh. I thought she was sittin' out with the baby. Come pitch for me, Katie."

  "That's all right," she said stiffly. "Chris needs a nap, anyway."

  Behind her, Will's wife, Linda, reached for the kid. "Give him to me."

  She hesitated then reluctantly handed the baby off. A few minutes later, Tim struck out the first batter, age seven. Popular opinion let her on base anyway. Tim struck out the next batter, too—the seven-year-old's dad. Katie stepped to the plate.

  He grinned from where he played first base. Ranch girls always swung the bat like they meant business. He shoved his mitt tighter onto his hand. Tim sent a fast pitch over the plate. She swung hard. The bat hit the ball with a hollow clap. In left field, Lance shoved up his glasses, halfheartedly jogging toward the ball arching white against the sky. He reached out his long arm. The ball dropped short of his mitt.

  "Oh, c'mon," Tim yelled from the mound, disgusted. "Obvious, man."

  Feet flying, Katie rounded first base with a defiant glare at him. He grinned at her then ran across the infield. He jumped to intercept Lance's unhurried throw to the ten-year-old on third base then side-armed the ball easily to the catcher…who was married and held no passion for Katie. The catcher tagged her out at home plate. Tim tossed his mitt to Katie as the sides changed.

  He stepped to the plate. She eyed him grimly from the pitcher's mound then pitched the ball hard and fast. With a satisfying crack of the bat, he hit it out of the ball field.

  Pumping his fist in the air, he grinned as he jogged past her. "That was a sweet, sweet pitch, Campbell. Thanks. You make me look better than I am."

  "That's not hard," she snapped.

  He crossed home plate as Will vaulted the field's chain-link fence to throw the ball into the infield.

  Tracy stepped to the plate…obviously not a ranch girl. Stepping close behind her curves, he placed his arms around her, guiding her hands into place. She leaned into him, giggling. Her hair didn't smell like lightning, but it smelled good. He took his time stepping away, holding Katie's narrow-eyed gaze from the mound.

  "Make her throw it to you, Tracy," he said heartily.

  Katie, her eyes like blue ice chips, smoked three contemptuous strikes over the plate, and then Lance stepped up to bat. He swung at and missed the first two pitches.

  "Lance, cut it out," Katie shouted. "I don't need your help, okay?"

  "He's just tryin' to make you look better than you are, Campbell," he called from the dugout. "Show some appreciation."

  Her jaw tight, she threw a hard pitch. The ball ticked off Lance's unenthusiastic swing and rolled to the pitcher's mound. She tossed it to the first baseman then headed for the dugout, her brows drawn together in a scowl.

  On her next at bat, she popped a fly into center field.

  "Got it," he yelled, waving away the outfielder. Running under the ball, he opened his mitt behind his back, caught the ball, and jogged toward the dugout in one effortless motion, retiring the side.

  On his turn, he stepped to the plate circling his bat, taunting her.

  "C'mon, Katie," Lance yelled from the dugout. "You can do it."

  Deep annoyance flickered through her gaze.

  "Dude. Notice whose team she's on?" Tim said disgustedly to Lance then turned and yelled, "Forget it, Katie. You couldn't strike him out if you tried all day."

  "He's already struck out," she said.

  He grinned into her cold stare. "Far from it." He nodded meaningfully toward Tracy who sat on a bleacher filing a red fingernail, an anxious frown on her pretty face.

  Katie's brows snapped together. She hurled the ball. At his head. He ducked backward. Then he had to dodge the next pitch, too.

  He snatched the ball from Will, the catcher. Tight jawed, he jogged to the mound.

  "What're you doin'?" he asked in a conversational undertone, crowding close to her.

  "My arm must be getting tired."

  "No, it's not. You've got those big arms." He moved even closer until his mouth almost brushed her ear. Her hair, damp with sweat and curling on her neck and temples, did smell like lightning. "I'll embarrass you if you try to hit me again. Got it?"

  "You're in my personal space."

  "Oh, c'mon, Campbell." He met her gaze with a grim smile. "I've been in your personal space. Recently. I'm still a long ways from it."

  She didn't flinch. "Get away from me or I'll give you a knee right in your family jewels, buster."

  "Try it."

  "You guys stop actin' like you're married," Tim yelled impatiently.

  With a final glare, he shoved the ball into her hand. He jogged toward the plate.

  "Will," he yelled, "you got anybody in your bullpen? If you need another girl to pitch, I'll loan you Tracy."

  The crowd erupted with shouted warnings. He whirled then dropped flat to the ground as the ball whistled overhead. He lunged to his feet, headed back toward the mound.

  "Gil. Hey. Cut it out," Will shouted. "I don't know what you two got goin' on, but maybe you'd better get outta the game and get it fixed."

  Katie slammed her mitt to the ground. "There's nothing to fix, Will, so just butt out," she yelled.

  The crowd and players gaped at her. She started for the parking lot, moving fast.

  Speechless, he stared after her back with its angry ponytail. Maybe he'd pushed her too far.

  Lance rose from the dugout bench to follow her then caught her by the elbow and said something.

  She wrenched away, turning on him. "Get away from me," she screamed. "You're suffocating me to death."

  ***

  That night, a bonfire blazed in Will and Linda's backyard. The same crowd from the softball game milled around it, roasting hot dogs and singing along with the hymns Will played on his fiddle. Gil sat on a log, accompanying him on his guitar. Tracy sat beside him, sometimes leaning against
him. She sang off key.

  He made no attempt to move away from her, but his gaze never strayed far from the tree at the edge of the firelight where Katie joggled the unhappy kid fussing in her arms.

  After her outburst at the game, she had disappeared for thirty minutes. She returned for the kid and the two of them spent the remainder of the game in Tim's rusty Chevy pickup—a new acquisition since he'd become a licensed driver.

  Tonight her mood seemed unimproved. Lance had roasted a hot dog for her, but she had curtly refused it then stood behind the tree with the kid. Lance—now slumped in a chair in the mellow glow of firelight—stared toward her shadowy form, too.

  An hour later, he slipped away from Tracy and carried his guitar to his pickup parked behind the trees at the edge of the yard. Katie stood in the darkness a few feet away with her back to him, bouncing the kid who still screamed loud enough to wake the dead. She sang determinedly in quiet, clipped notes.

  "I gave my love a cherry, which hath no stone…I gave my love a chicken, which hath no bone…"

  The baby shrieked louder, pushing against her with his fat arms.

  "I gave my love a story which hath no end…I gave my love a baby with no cryin'…"

  He silently placed his guitar case in the back of his truck then leaned against the side.

  She took the kid in a tighter hold. "Please, Chris. I'm so tired," she muttered, desperation edging her tone. She continued grimly. "How can there be a cherry that hath no stone? How can there be a chicken that hath no bone?"

  The screams trailed into silence. Her voice softened with relief and the haunting melody slowed. "How can there be a story which hath no end? How can there be a baby with no cryin'?"

  She shifted her little brother's dead weight in her arms, rolling her head on her shoulders. "A cherry when it's bloomin', it hath no stone…A chicken when it's pippin', it hath no bone…The story of I love—" she stumbled over the words, her voice thick—"you, it hath no end…and a baby when he's sleepin', hath no cryin'…"