A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  “I don’t know why he came to a dance if he isn’t going to dance,” Charlotte muttered to herself. But tiny tendrils of guilt curled inside her. If she hadn’t remembered her father and pushed Luke away, if she hadn’t been so absolutely sure that the right thing for both of them was to keep the lines between them sharply drawn, he wouldn’t have placed that neat little verbal knife in her ribs. And she might be dancing with him right now, his long-fingered hands holding hers, his hip rubbing against hers.

  It was all still there inside her, the curling excitement, the ache—the need. At that moment, he lifted his head and looked at her from across the room. Just looked at her—as if he had read her mind.

  “Aren’t you tired of working, Charlotte? Come on, let’s take a whirl on the floor.”

  Marris Hollis stood in front of her, smiling that half-defensive smile of his. She’d already hurt one man this evening. She couldn’t hurt two. She couldn’t lie and say it would be her pleasure, so she just held out her hand and let him lead her to the floor.

  His hands were moist, but he had lots of energy, and it was a polka. She held on to Marris and whirled around the floor, the lights and the people gyrating in her vision like a kaleidoscope slipping its infinite colors. She vowed she wouldn’t look at Luke, but of course she did. He had his head tilted in the opposite direction, as if there were nothing on the dance floor of interest. She danced faster, and Marris let out a whoop of joy. “You’re the first woman tonight that’s been able to keep up with me,” he said, and gripped her tighter in a mad flurry of turns.

  Suddenly the polka was over and the band segued without stopping into a slow tune from the forties, “I’ll Be Seeing you.” When Sharon Reece, the vocal-music teacher in town, stood up to sing the second chorus, Marris pulled Charlotte close and turned her so he could watch Sharon sing. Which made it easy for Charlotte to see Luke.

  Tim, the computer genius, was walking determinedly across the dance floor toward Luke. He began to talk nonstop. Charlotte watched, waiting for Luke’s reaction. Tim paused for breath, asked a question. Luke shook his head slowly. Tim began talking again. When the song ended, Tim was still talking. Luke’s face was cool and controlled, but he looked at her over Tim’s head and she looked at him over Marris’s head. As in days of old, those brown eyes gleamed with perception. He knew what she was thinking. He needed rescuing, and so did she. But then, pointedly, Luke returned his gaze to Tim, his mouth controlled, his attitude still one of polite attention, his body still. He would stand there stoically silent and let Tim talk him into an early grave before he’d be rude to the boy. The only gesture of noninvolvement he made was to step back a little. Tim moved forward immediately, eagerly, happy as a kid at Christmas to have found a new listener.

  The guilty little voice that had been nagging at her all evening finally had its way. She had to apologize, again, to Luke. And she had to do it now, before the dance was over and she lost her chance. “Would you excuse me, Marris?” Charlotte took him so much by surprise that she was out of his arms before he could protest and catch her closer. Her bootheels clicking on the floor, Charlotte walked over to Luke. “Luke, I believe you promised this dance to me.”

  “Did I?” He stood there eyeing her lazily, making her suffer, for all of five seconds. “Are you sure?” He waited, giving her the chance to think about what she was doing.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Excuse us, won’t you, Tim?”

  With Tim looking after the two of them forlornly, Charlotte took Luke’s hand and walked with him out to the floor.

  “I thought you didn’t want to be my friend,” he said, holding her at a polite and proper distance.

  “You needed rescuing,” she said, in that moment just before even his polite and proper closeness made her breath catch in her throat.

  “Did I?” he repeated, his drawl deepening.

  “And I owe you an apology.”

  He caught her close, then closer. His mouth was at her temple. “No, I owe you one.”

  “Didn’t we just have this conversation?” she said, leaning back and smiling up at him.

  “I think we did.”

  “Your father is watching us,” she said.

  “I know,” Luke said. “It’ll do him good to get shaken up a little. He’s had things his own way too long.”

  “Luke, I—”

  “I don’t want to talk about my father.”

  “But he’s here and he’s reality and—”

  The hand at her waist dropped lower to her hip and rested on the snug denim. “I like how these jeans fit.”

  “Luke-”

  “Keep talking about my father, Charlotte, and I’m going to pull you so close you can’t breathe and cup that sweet little rear end of yours in both my hands, right here in front of my father and God and everybody.”

  She tilted her head back to gaze into his eyes. It was just like old times, push and dare and shove, testing to see who had more nerve. Except that they were no longer children. They were adults, with adult needs and adult challenges. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “One more word,” he said silkily.

  She opened her mouth to give him a blast of common sense, but those brown eyes were so full of wicked enjoyment that she knew he’d do exactly what he said. At the thought of the havoc his hands on her posterior would wreak on her system, she clamped her mouth shut and bowed her head to bump his chest with her forehead.

  “There, that’s exactly how I like my women,” he said, sounding thoroughly smug and self-satisfied. “Docile and silent.”

  Luckily for him, the music stopped. She stepped away from his arms. “If you ever found a woman like that, she’d drive you stark crazy in no time.”

  “Maybe so, but we’d have a real blissful two minutes first.”

  She didn’t want to think about a blissful two minutes with Luke, or two hours, or a lifetime. It would always have to be another woman. It could never be her.

  He caught her arm. “I was only kidding. What did I say? Charlotte, your face looks like I’ve kicked you.”

  “Excuse me. I’d better get back to the punch bowl.”

  Charlotte managed to avoid Luke for the rest of the evening. She almost succeeded in forgetting he was there by concentrating on the people she knew and loved best in the world: Mike Hallorhan, who’d had the two beers it took him to get courage enough to get out on the dance floor with his raven-haired Delores; Margaret Murchison, dancing with her seventeen-year-old son; Tom Hartley, her lawyer, looking suavely casual in ragged jeans; and Sheriff Clarence Daggett, standing on the sidelines with the benign air of a king observing his subjects, even though he was only two years older than Charlotte.

  Henry Steadman didn’t dance with anyone, and neither did Nick. Nick had come over to the refreshment table once, but after their eyes met, and hers flashed with anger, she had ignored him, and he’d ignored her.

  Clint Everhart, with his saxophone, made a passable attempt at playing “Good Night, Sweetheart.” She was relieved, of course. She emptied the punch bowl in the kitchen, washed and recycled the cans and dodged the lingering conversational groups to gather up the remaining paper cups—and tried not to look for Luke. He seemed to have disappeared.

  She wasn’t disappointed, of course. But it did seem that he might have done the polite thing and told her good-night. After all, they weren’t enemies.

  Most of the cars had pulled out of the parking lot by the time she slid into the truck, her arms full of punch bowl.

  The dark figure sitting on the passenger side reached for the bowl to take it out of her arms. Her heart leaped into her throat. “Luke!”

  “Didn’t you know I wouldn’t leave things between us like this?”

  “I’m not sure I know you at all anymore.”

  “Nor I you. But getting reacquainted is definitely…interesting.” His hand came out, slid down her hair. “You’re as pretty as a Thoroughbred horse,” he breathed softly, his husky tone giving the words a slow-burni
ng sexuality.

  She reacted as she always did to Luke’s devastating magnetism, with fighting words. A good offense was the only sure weapon against his appeal. “That’s the kind of sophistication you learned in the city—accost a woman in her own truck and then tell her she’s as pretty as a horse?” She kept her tone dry, trying to sound like the voice of cool reason, though all the while her heart was rioting in her chest and her body was alive with excitement.

  “You’re the only woman in the world who would know it for the high compliment it is. I’ve always been able to say exactly what I think with you, haven’t I, Charlotte?” He said it softly, almost wonderingly, as if he’d just discovered the truth of it.

  He used his hold on her hair to bring her closer, not roughly, but gently, and slowly, oh, so slowly. His two hands clasped her head to hold her still for his mouth to tease hers. And while he was torturing her with a brush of lips that wasn’t quite a kiss, his fingers touched her hair ornament. “You shine like the butterfly in your hair.”

  Being reminded of her mother didn’t quite have the effect of a cold shower, but almost.

  “Don’t, Luke.”

  “Don’t…what?” His mouth was a whisper away, and he was smiling.

  She moved like lightning, tugging away from him. She sat bolt upright and put both her hands on the steering wheel. “I really need you to get out of this truck right now.”

  Slowly Luke relaxed back against the seat and stretched his long legs out, looking as if he were settling in for the next year. “That wasn’t what you needed a minute ago. You wanted to kiss me, then you changed your mind. Why?”

  She turned to glare at him, letting the hold she had on her emotions go. She had learned to transform love into temper with him many times as a teenager, and now she would have to do it as an adult. “Never mind what I need. Let’s talk about what you need. You need another dunking in the lake.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember that. It took you and Richard both to get me in.”

  “Yes, but we did it.”

  “You Malones are a determined bunch.”

  “Very much like you Steadmans.”

  He sat there looking at her with that cool, faintly amused smile that made her want to shake him. Any other man would have taken the hint and left. Not stubborn-as-twomules Luke. Finally he broke the silence by saying, “If you want to take a nostalgic drive out to the lake, I’ll go along. Maybe I’ll even let you shove me in.”

  “Oh, don’t tempt me, Mr. Steadman.”

  “I’d like to tempt you, Ms. Malone. I’d like to tempt you very much.”

  She braced herself to shut off her feelings, shut off her mind, shut off her heart. “I’ll give you exactly five seconds to get out of this truck.”

  He didn’t move.

  She was playing with fire, she knew, but it would serve him right if she drove out to the lake and gave him a scare. She twisted the key furiously, not quite sure whether she would go through with driving off with him beside her. When he didn’t move or protest, she brought the motor roaring to life and tore out of the parking lot. On the road, Luke seemed as poised as Lucifer, that slight smile on his face saying everything…and nothing.

  The lake was shimmering, full with spring runoff, crystal-clear, glittering in the moonlight as if diamonds danced on the surface. It was a deep lake, cold as ice, a forbidden spot for the kids in town. Frogs croaked like crazy, full of spring and ready to burst. Charlotte got out of the truck, and the sight of the water took the fight out of her; but she knew she would carry the charade far enough along to disconcert Luke, if that was possible. She went around to his side, opened the door and bowed low. He descended and caught her hand, surprising her mightily, stealing her initiative, tugging her along over the rough grass.

  At the narrow ridge between lake and land, Luke turned his back to the gleaming, moonlit surface.

  “Ready to push me, Charlotte?”

  Only one man in the world had ever been her equal in this, this urge to push heart and soul to the limit to test the stuff inside. Only Luke had the same need she did to take life to the edge and see what it held. And while he challenged her, he stood as relaxed as a cat in the sun. Never in her life had she seen a man so worthy of loving.

  “Come on, honey. You wanted to drown me. This is your chance.” He opened his arms. “Push me in or kiss me. The choice is yours.”

  Oh, he deserved a dunking in that ice-cold water. But so did she. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to step into his arms and kiss him till his head spun. “Luke, we’re not kids anymore. We can’t play games….”

  “You wanted to push me, now do it.” He caught her arms, bringing them both dangerously close to the edge.. .of life, of love, of sexuality.

  “No,” she cried, trying to twist away from him. “Let me go.”

  “Why would I let go of the one woman in the world who makes me feel like I’m alive again?”

  Cool air bathed her cheeks, starshine gleamed in Luke’s eyes. “I don’t make you feel…old anymore?”

  “You make me feel as young as a newborn babe.”

  “Luke, you’re being ridiculous. A week ago, you were a stranger.”

  “I wasn’t a stranger. I was an old friend you hadn’t seen in a long time.”

  “You can’t…We can’t…”

  He put his fingers to her lips. “Hush, hush, sweet Charlotte,” he said. It was an old line, but she laughed, and he caught her close and captured her mouth with his. All her resistance melted. She wanted, needed, that warm, wonderful mouth on hers. She wanted, needed, the hard strength of his arms around her. She wanted, needed, to belong to him. Just him. She whirled inside his world, reeling with sensual pleasure: a brush of masculine cheek with the tiniest sting of bristle, a mouth warm and pliant, demanding one minute and teasing her the next, arms that surrounded her, his hands low on her hips, bringing her close, matching her to him, hip for hip, thigh for thigh. He was as cool and clean as the country air that surrounded them, and kissing him was like breathing pure oxygen. Feeling exploded inside her, dreams held inside her head forever coalesced and burst like stars in the night. Her hands came up, slid past the collar of his leather jacket and wrapped around the warm skin at his neck, touched the beginnings of his hair. To touch, to feel, at last. What a wonderful, glorious luxury.

  He loosened his hold on her and lifted his mouth, knowing he had to do it now or he soon wouldn’t be able to let her go. How long had his body been aching for her? Back into the mists of time, it seemed.

  “There’s more than one way to drown,” he said. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, feeling her hair fall over him while he breathed in her scent. She smelled faintly of the lemon cookies she’d put out on plates, and raspberry ginger ale, and a Montana night stuffed with stars. He wondered why it was that his body was tight with excitement, even while his soul told him he was home at last, caught in the one place in the world where he was safe.

  “Luke, we can’t do this—”

  “Don’t move. Not—just yet.”

  He felt her hand on his head; she was smoothing down his hair as a mother might soothe a child.

  He lifted his head, and his eyes caught the starshine. He made a low sound in his throat and moved to pull her close, but she resisted, holding him off with her arms locked inside his. When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark, his impatience written all over his beautiful face, her throat felt full. “Luke, we’re not children anymore. There’s too much at stake now. I can’t risk losing everything I have—Luke, don’t look at me that way. You’ve got to see how it is….”

  “Oh, I see how it is, all right. One touch of my Steadman hands, and you’ll lose the ranch for sure.” He stared out over the water, not looking at her. When he did look back, he might have been another man. “Maybe you’re right not to trust me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You cared for me once…and I went away. You’re afraid I might do it a
gain. And you’re right.”

  She closed her eyes. He knew her too well, knew he’d break her heart if he kept on with this. Her head came up, her eyes shone. “So you agree there can’t be anything between us.”

  There was a wicked enjoyment in his dark eyes, in his face, in his stance. “Oh, absolutely. The trouble is, it’s too late. There’s already something between us. It’s called sexual attraction. If you don’t believe me, just try kissing me again. I dare you.”

  She’d loved him for a million years, ached for him to see her as a woman, not a child. Now he had, and it wasn’t good enough. She wanted more—and she couldn’t have more. She shook her head. “It won’t work, Luke.” She turned and walked at a crisp pace toward the truck, not running, but not wasting time, her boots sliding on the loose gravel. Inside the truck, she slammed the door shut, her breathing fast. She’d done the right thing. But it hurt so much.

  Luke sauntered down the incline, his hair gleaming in the moonlight, his posture telling her nothing of his feelings. She couldn’t think about his feelings.

  When he was inside the truck, she nearly had herself under control. He turned to her. “You’re right to be afraid of me,” he said softly.

  “I’m not afraid….”

  “I can do us both a lot of damage. And you know it as well as I do.” His hand came up to caress her head. “Better take me home, honey child.”

  She turned the ignition key, brought the motor roaring to life. She sent the truck tearing away from the lake, tires spinning.

  The silence inside the cab was deafening on the ride home. Too soon, the old truck rattled over the Steadman cattle guard and rounded the driveway to Luke’s front door. Charlotte slid the gearshift into neutral and waited for him to get out.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Luke’s tone was noncommittal, his mouth faintly cynical. The double meaning was there…and it hurt.