A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  “Luke.”

  “Umm…”

  “I do have to get up now.”

  He pulled away from her instantly, a smile tilting his lips.

  She thought about him as she scooted to the bathroom, thought about his touch when she had showered and was pulling on the terry robe. Her skin was sensitive to the looped cotton. Little wonder. She’d felt the rasp of his fingertips, the smoothness of his lips, over most of her body in the past twelve hours. He’d entered her world most thoroughly, and she knew that for her there would be no forgetting. She could only savor each moment as it came and not look too far into the future. For there was no future.

  But she wanted one. Oh, how she wanted one, especially when she emerged from the bathroom and saw him lying on his side in her bed, the sheet draped over the curve of his hip, his dark head turned as he gazed out the window. She wanted to know what he was thinking. Was he thinking about the night they’d had together, about the touches, the kisses, the murmured words? Was he thinking he’d remember her? She knew she’d remember him always like this, long, lean and easy in her bed.

  He heard her, turned his head. Those dark brown eyes flashed over her, bringing heat to her skin all over again.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, reaching for the mundane.

  “For food?” His lips curved in a sensual smile as he held out his hand to her.

  She came and sat beside him, feeling the warmth of his fingers on hers, the heat of his gaze roving over her face. She wanted to hold on to this moment for just a little longer, to keep the picture of Luke nestled in the muss of sheets, his face relaxed, no longer wreathed in the tension he’d carried into the house with him after he talked to his father. She wished they could always be like this, locked away from the rest of the world. “Yes, for food, my fuzzy-faced friend.” She brushed her fingertips down his cheek, felt the morning bristle on his chin.

  Gently he eased her robe open just enough to see her throat. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Not yet. She shook her head, unable to speak, for he was drawing his hand down between her breasts carefully, as if soothing her. She felt the sting, the rise, of desire all over again.

  “What do you have to do today?” A glance at her face, and he brought the hand he was holding to his chest, played her fingers over the crisp dark hair.

  “I’m—I have to go to church. I have to make the coffee for the social hour that follows church. I promised Margaret Murchison.”

  “Ah, yes. That inveterate organizer of dances has stretched herself to do church coffee hours, I take it.”

  Charlotte smiled back at him. How could she help it? He was being Luke—charming, deferential. “I suppose our little social gatherings seem silly to you—”

  He swiftly pulled her down onto the bed. “Most social events in the country make sense. They’re given by people who actually enjoy seeing each other. I can’t say the same for several outings I attended in the city. There it was a case of see and be seen, or further the career.” He brought the hand entwined with hers up to his jaw and rasped her palm against his beard. “My shaving kit is out in the car. I suppose if I go outside like this, I might give Lettie a bit of a start.”

  “You’d positively make her day. But rather than let my man show his charms to the neighborhood, I’ll get your kit for you and then start the coffee.”

  “Woman of my dreams.” He didn’t seem to object to her calling him her man. Instead, he pulled her head down and kissed her, giving her a taste of what she’d hungered for more than coffee. When he released her, she let her eyes travel around his face, wishing she could find the answer to the complexity in his dark brown eyes. She said, “Will you wait here at the house for me while I’m gone?”

  “You’d rather I didn’t go with you?” He said it easily.

  “I’d love to have you go with me. I just didn’t think you’d want to go.”

  “If I show up with you, I’ll make you the object of all kinds of gossip and speculation.”

  “It’s probably too late for that,” she said dryly. “Marris Hollis has already driven by the ranch three times this morning, just to check and see if your car was still here.”

  His eyes darkened, and he shook his head, his expression wry. “Charlotte, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.” She gave him a clear, cool look. “Marris Hollis can look all he likes. Which he will do, whether you come to church with me or not.”

  “Well, if you’re going to throw yourself to the Christians, I’d better come with you.”

  Luke liked the way Charlotte looked in a dress, all legs and small waist and eyes. The navy jacket was snubbed and came just below her breasts, and the rest of the dress was a color between green and blue that made him think of a lake on a summer day. The skirt swirled long and full around her knees as she walked out to his car and lifted those nice legs inside.

  He put the car in gear, the thought of those elegant and meaningless Sunday mornings when he’d attended church with Elisa playing in the back of his mind. Now, that lifetime seemed to belong to another world, almost as if he’d never lived it. This morning, with the Montana sun heating the car and turning the soil to dust, was like a thousand others he remembered from his boyhood.

  Charlotte moved, and a drift of her perfume wafted to his nose, a delicate lavender scent. Then she turned and smiled at him, and it was a smile that was both brave and slightly uneasy. She might be having second thoughts, but she’d die before she’d let him see.

  He found himself flooded with admiration for her. Admiration. That was it. That was the thing he felt for Charlotte that was new to him, that he’d not felt for another woman…along with a few other deeply sensual things he couldn’t put a name to.

  They drove into town, where Sunday-morning quiet lay in the shadows of the trees, in the quietness of the street. Everything was closed; the light was off above Sam’s Silver Branch Saloon.

  “How was your hamburger that night, Luke?”

  She looked as if she needed talk to distract her. He smiled. “Let’s just say I think it’s too bad the old cafe is closed,” said Luke. “The old brick structure has held up pretty well. I’m surprised there aren’t more broken windows.”

  “I try to keep them repaired.”

  “You own that building?”

  “My aunt Carol left it to my dad. Through his will, it came to me. Every spring and fall, Tex and I take a walk through and try to plug up any cracks in the ceiling. So far, we’ve been lucky. The building is pretty sound.”

  He was surprised. He realized then that he’d assumed that her financial cupboard was bare, that she was without assets. Maybe he could help her get someone in there to open it up. Even a little rent revenue would help. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Sell it, I suppose, if anybody ever comes along who’s foolish enough to buy it.”

  “Umm.”

  “Luke, you have that funny tone in your voice.”

  “You can hear a funny tone in ‘Umm’?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “You have extremely sensitive ears.” His voice dropped to a low, intimate tone. “But then, I should have remembered that from last night.”

  She wanted to give him back as good as he gave, but they were pulling up in front of the low-slung new church building, and as usual a gaggle of young singles stood outside under the cool shade of a cottonwood tree, waiting until the last minute to go into the warm church. Charlotte had hoped they’d be late enough so she wouldn’t have to walk the gauntlet of curious eyes, but no, there they all stood, heads turned to stare at Luke’s expensive car.

  “I miss the old church and the steeple,” Luke murmured.

  She dragged her attention away from the crowd, which suddenly seemed to hold the county’s entire population. “That’s right, this is the first time you’ve seen the new church. This one is handicapped-accessible.”

  “Progress,” he said, his mouth quirking. “Well, here
we are at the ring of fire. Are you ready to walk over the coals?”

  “Umm,” she said.

  “Definitely a funny tone in that ‘Umm.”‘

  He reached across her to open the door, then made sure he was out of the car as she was stepping out. Marris Hollis’s eyes were ready to pop out of his head. Tim had a sheepish smile on his face, while Tom Hartley, her lawyer, was scowling at them.

  Marris pursed his lips to whistle.

  “Put a sock in it, Hollis,” Charlotte said. The would-be whistler turned a mottled red, right down to the top of his knotted paisley tie, but he faced the challenge with all the courage he could muster. “I was just admiring the view. It isn’t every day we get to see those legs, Malone. I wasn’t sure you had any.”

  Everybody laughed except Tom. Luke gave Marris that half smile that was just this side of dangerous.

  “Oh, sorry, Luke.”

  “Like Charlotte said, put a sock in it, Hollis.”

  While his attention was on Hollis, Tom Hartley took Charlotte’s arm and walked her away from the group, saying something to her in a low tone. Luke wanted to follow and rip Hartley’s hand from Charlotte’s arm, but he contented himself with standing and waiting, casting a look atHollis that made that worthy man toss his cigarette away and turn to disappear in the church.

  “Trouble?” Luke murmured when Charlotte returned to him and deliberately slipped her arm through his.

  “He says that under the circumstances, he’d rather not represent me.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “I believe it falls in the category of consorting with the enemy.”

  “Maybe he’d like a punch in his circumstances.”

  “Luke, no. We’re in church, remember?” She looked anxious, agitated, adorable.

  “We’re not in the door yet.”

  “Please, don’t alienate anybody else on my behalf. It’s bad enough that your father is angry with you—”

  They were alone in the summer heat and the Montana breeze. Everyone else had discovered discretion to be the greater part of valor and gone in. “Are you sure you want me to go in there with you?”

  “More so now than ever.” She looked like a soldier preparing for battle, a defiant hand flicking that long hair back.

  “All right,” he said. “Armor up and at the ready? Then in we go.” He held out his hand at his side for her to grasp. She shot him one of those killer smiles that cheered him immensely—just as Henry Steadman and Nick stepped out of Henry’s old white Cadillac. Instinctively Luke moved to shield Charlotte and send her forward, but she stood her ground.

  “I won’t be rude to your father, Luke.”

  Under his breath, Luke murmured, “Let’s hope he has the same penchant for good manners.”

  A breeze displaced a strand of Henry’s white hair, and his father immediately lifted his hand to smooth it back into place. His white shirt was crisp and traditional; Nick wore a dark shirt and tie that was as city-sleek as Luke’s own. Nick extended an arm to his father. Henry took it, surprising Luke.

  Nick slowed to accommodate his father’s slower pace. As they came closer, Charlotte faced the two men squarely and lifted her chm. “Good morning, Mr. Steadman, Nick.”

  Henry glanced ahead of him, as if mindful that he was about to enter church. His eyes strayed back to Charlotte, to the hand Luke was holding. For a moment that seemed like an eternity to Luke, Henry studied Charlotte, from the high color in her cheeks to the silky flutter of her dress skirt. At last he murmured, “Miss Malone. A good morning to you.” His gaze flashed to Luke’s face.

  Henry moved as if to walk past without acknowledging Luke.

  Daringly Charlotte caught his arm. “You haven’t said good-morning to your son.”

  Nick smiled, his lift of the mouth strangely reminiscent of Luke’s a moment ago, sure that his father would rebuff Charlotte and cut Luke.

  The silence stretched. At last, the essence of a smile played around Henry’s lips. To Charlotte he said, “You remind me of a banty hen I once had. All ruffled feathers and spunk, with the tenacity of a bulldog. You’re entirely right to remind me of my manners as I approach God’s house. Good morning, Luke.” And to Charlotte, Henry made a polite gesture with his arm, indicating that she should precede him into the church. “Beauty before age,” he said, with that ghost of a smile.

  Suddenly, hauntingly, Charlotte caught a glimpse of the man Henry had once been, a man as charming and as lethal as Luke. And for the first time, she wondered how her mother had made the choice between her father and Henry. Just as suddenly, she caught the expression on Nick’s face. He looked…furious.

  Every head turned their way as the four of them walked down the aisle. Luke stopped at the first empty pew to the right, but Charlotte shook her head and slipped into the next pew up on the other side, taking him with her. When Henry and Nick came in and sat exactly where Luke had wanted her to sit, he understood. He’d somehow gone, with unerring accuracy, to his family’s pew.

  The chatting that had been filling the room with the sound of friendly voices died away into a stunned silence. Even Sharon Reece, the organist and music teacher, seemed rattled. She reached for a sheaf of music, sent it skittering to the floor. Her face a bright shade of pink, she recovered the music and began to play “How Great Thou Art,” hitting a sudden, jarring wrong note. Someone in the back tittered.

  Luke glanced at Charlotte. Her color was high, but so was her chin. He reached for her hand. Her fingers curled around his and she tossed him a quick smile. He felt better then.

  The minister came in, a young, sincere man who was easy with his pulpit and his flock. Blessedly, he seemed not to recognize Luke, and after recognition of birthdays and anniversaries, the service began. Luke bowed his head. Saying a prayer seemed like an extraordinarily good idea.

  Well, if this didn’t just tear it. His father was softening toward both of them, he knew it. He could feel it in his bones. They wouldn’t get by with this. He’d let enough days go by. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. In the evening, everyone would be in town, watching the fireworks. He’d act then.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte was lying beside Luke, loving him with her eyes, when he stirred. She didn’t want him to wake up just yet. She treasured those first few sparkles of time when he slept beside her, his body relaxed.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  He was awake now. Dark and husky and late-morning sleepy, Luke’s voice sent that first warmth of arousal to the tips of Charlotte’s toes. And there were his eyes, too, making little forays on her face, her hair, her body covered by the sheet. His hand moved, found her bare hip, and every nerve in her body leaped to life.

  “What’s on the schedule for today?”

  That low murmur sent chills down her spine. Couldn’t let the man know he had such an effect on her. She lifted an eyebrow and slanted a sage look at him. “Getting out of bed?”

  “Wiseacre woman. What time is it?”

  “Eleven o’clock in the morning.”

  “Decadent. Don’t you know every good rancher gets up at the crack of the rooster’s crow?”

  “I think you’ve got your metaphors mixed.”

  He didn’t seem to care. Dark and muscled and beautiful, Luke lay sprawled with that consummate ease that characterized a good athlete at rest. Under that sleek brown mat of curling chest hair, his skin had a golden glow from his time outdoors—and from the light that filled the room.

  This is more than love. It was intimacy, and the stuff memories were made of. When she was ninety years old and people thought she was dotty, she’d close her eyes and remember Luke like this: a thousand little vistas of male flesh, a thousand evocative scents of skin and hair. And under her own pretense of lazy relaxation, a thousand pulses of heat vibrated that told Charlotte she was with the man who should have been hers—the man she’d have fought tooth and nail to keep if he had any other last name.

  “I don’t see you j
umping out of bed.”

  “Are you telling me in your polite, not-so-subtle way that I’m as lazy as you9” he asked her chidingly. “Where’s your big move toward the state of uprightness?”

  “Umm…Too nice here.” She’d spent the night watching the herd with Luke under the stars and talking to him, mostly, while Tex caught some sleep. Owlish, but awake, Tex had ridden out to relieve them from watch duty around six. They’d stumbled up to Charlotte’s bed, too tired to think of anything but sleep.

  “So what do we have to do today?”

  She liked the “we.” She liked the hand on her hip, too, making slow circles that seemed to be getting wider with each revolution, making her forget work, forget everything but the sublime pleasure of that light, teasing touch. “We have to feed Lady Luck, check on the colt, work on the tractor, repair harness, check on the salt blocks….”

  “What are we doing after lunch?”

  “After lunch, we’re going to the Fourth of July celebration in town. Can you stand that much excitement?”

  His eyes darkened, and his hand splayed over her abdomen. “I should be used to it by now, after all you’ve given me.”

  I love you. She wanted to say it, ached to say it. But she couldn’t. It would make him uncomfortable to hear her say words that he couldn’t reciprocate. Still, she would tell him before he left. Somehow, she’d find a way to tell him that she loved him without strings, without obligations. Before he left Montana, he’d know there was one person in his life who’d truly loved him. She wanted him to take that with him, wherever he went. You are loved, Luke.

  “I’m glad you haven’t been bored,” she said lightly.

  He got that dark, serious look on his face. “Your job isn’t to amuse me.”

  “Oh?” She lifted herself up, leaned over him and deliberately flicked her tongue over the small nub of his nipple, nestled in his chest hair.

  “On the other hand, I might be, that is there is that remote possibility that I…well, it’s hard to believe it, but I could be wrong….”