A Cowboy Is Forever

by Shirley Larson

  His face drawn into a contemptuous sneer, Nick shook off Henry’s grip on him. “Give me? What could you give me to make up for making me the joke of the world? Henry’s little mistake, that’s what they used to call me.”

  Henry turned away, his face ashen.

  “You’ve had every opportunity,” Luke said softly. “There’s only one person responsible for your troubles, and that’s you.”

  “What the hell do you know about anything?”

  “You’d better speak to the sheriff, Luke,” said Henry.

  “Nobody’s going to lock me up.” Nick looked wildly about, whirled around and took off running. Luke was after him in a flash. At Luke’s car, Nick swiveled around, a .45 gleaming in his hand. In the face of the lethal weapon pointed at him, Luke jerked to a stop at arm’s length.

  “I need your keys, brother,” Nick said, his voice low and threatening. “Give them to me.”

  “That’s not what you need.”

  Coolly and calmly, Nick pointed the gun at Luke. “I can’t miss at this range, and you know it.”

  Charlotte stifled a scream and stepped toward Luke. “Stay away,” Luke ordered her. To Nick he said, in a low, very calm tone, “Shooting me won’t get you the keys.”

  “Oh, yes, it will. If I shoot you, everybody else will know I mean business, and they’ll stay away. Hand them over, Luke.”

  Luke shook his head slowly.

  Nick smiled that unearthly smile of his and took aim at Luke’s midsection. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  “Son, no!” Henry’s voice was a tortured cry.

  But Nick’s smile widened, and he cocked the gun. Just as Charlotte tensed to throw herself in front of Luke, a shot rang out.

  A look of surprise flickered across Nick’s face, and blood bloomed just below his shoulder. “Drop the gun, Nick.” Clarence stepped out from behind Charlotte. Nick held on to the gun, a strange smile on his face.

  “Don’t make me shoot you again, Nick.”

  Nick shook his head. “Strange. I can’t feel…anything.”

  His knees buckled, and his fingers scraped the side of the car as he slid to the ground. “Feel very strange—” And he lost consciousness.

  Henry swayed backward, and Luke steadied him. “Easy, Dad.”

  “So much damage. Tried to give him what he…lacked. Tried to give him what I lacked. Didn’t think you needed anything. You had it all. I’ve been stupid. So stupid, and now…” Henry’s eyes were on Nick. He moved as if to go to Nick, but Luke held him back. Clarence had called Elsie Brown, a paramedic, out of the crowd. She’d already made Nick more comfortable on the ground, loosened his clothes, found a blanket to pillow his head.

  Luke helped Henry walk to Nick then. He wasn’t sure which face was more ashen, his father’s or his brother’s. Henry asked, “Is he—”

  “He’s passed out just now, Mr. Steadman,” Elsie said with calm briskness. “It’s a shoulder wound. I’d say he has a good chance of surviving.”

  “He’ll have to stand trial, Dad,” Luke said gently. “He’ll probably go to prison. Too many people heard him admit to stealing and arson.”

  “Will you defend him?” His father looked hopeful.

  Luke shook his head. “No.”

  “Suppose I shouldn’t have asked. Just wanted the best for him. Always wanted the best for him.” Henry raised his eyes to Charlotte, and Luke thought this must be what a surrendering general must look like, shaken, defeated, gathering tattered remnants of pride around him. “I’ll compensate you for your losses, of course.”

  Charlotte’s chin came up, and the Montana wind whipped her dark hair across her cheek. “I don’t want your money…or your help.”

  Henry took the blow stoically. “I’ll send over ten head of cattle in the morning.”

  “I’ll send them right back again.”

  “Well, the least we can do is offer you the hospitality of the ranch while you rebuild….”

  “No.” Charlotte looked proud, unbowed. “I couldn’t set one foot on your land.”

  “Charlotte, you’ve no place to go.” Luke reached for her but she eluded him.

  “I’ll stay in town, at the apartment above the cafe.” She turned away from Luke, as if she meant to walk to town by herself.

  “Will…will you be coming home?” Henry asked.

  Luke shook his head, his eyes on his father’s.

  “So I’ve lost you both, then.” He put out a hand, his eyes glazed. “I have…nothing now. Nothing. Just like Charlotte.” He shook himself, as if trying desperately to regain his equilibrium. “I’ll…I’ll be at home, if you need me for anything.”

  “We…won’t need you.”

  Henry looked stricken, but he nodded his head. “No, I suppose not. You never did.”

  Luke went to turn away, but Henry caught his arm. “Tell Charlotte that I’m…I’m sorry. My hands aren’t too steady these days, but if she needs them to help her rebuild her house, they are at her disposal. I want…I have to do something to make up for what my son has done. I must do something. Help her to understand that, will you, son?” And then, as if he didn’t quite know how to say the word: “Please?”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Luke, thinking it was the first time in a long while that he’d met his father’s eyes and understood what he saw there.

  “I…That is, if you…” Henry shook his head. He looked old, shaken, stripped of his pride and his spirit. “I’d appreciate it if after awhile you might think about trying to forgive me a little. He raised his eyes, and there was pleading in them, a look of supplication that Luke had never seen there before.

  His father wanted him to stay. But he wouldn’t ask. He’d hope…but he wouldn’t ask. And so Luke had his own victory, but the ashes of it had a bitter taste. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  His father straightened. “I’m…proud of you, son. Proud of the man you’ve become.” And with that, he turned away, as if he could say no more.

  Luke watched him go, thinking that those words had cost him dearly. But he’d liked hearing them.

  Charlotte was striding down the lane, her head high, her boots hitting the ground methodically, when he pulled up next to her and reached across to open the car door. “Get in.”

  She shook her head and kept walking. He trailed along slowly with the car, the open door just a few feet ahead of her. “Charlotte, my father gave up on a considerable amount of his pigheaded pride tonight. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Who said so?” She came to an abrupt stop; he slammed on the brakes.

  “I did.”

  “Well, who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “The man who loves you.”

  She got in and slammed the door.

  “You’ve inhaled too much smoke,” she said in a truculent tone.

  “Have I?” He threw the car into gear and roared down the dirt road.

  Outside the little brick cafe, Charlotte got out of the car, and when she turned around to face him, the wind tangled her hair and the moon went behind a cloud sending her face into the shadow. “I’d ask you to stay, but there’s only one small cot to sleep on.”

  “We’ll manage.” He reached into the backseat to grab his shaving kit.

  When he straightened, he saw that she hadn’t moved. She simply stood looking at him.

  He dropped his hand and kept his face cool, but he felt…desolate.

  “I think…I’d rather not be with you, tonight, Luke.”

  “All right. I don’t blame you for not wanting to be with somebody named Steadman on this night.” He tried to tell himself that it was all right, that she was in shock, that his brother had destroyed her home and she had a perfect right to shut him out, but some irrational part of him asked why she didn’t need him on this night, more than ever. God knew he needed her. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t…come around again.”

  He felt anger surge thr
ough him, but he controlled it sharply. “Mind telling me why?”

  “I can’t…I can’t bear to lose anything more. If you’re going away, go now, tonight. And don’t come back. Don’t—” her chin came up, and he looked into her eyes for the first time “—don’t make me hope again. I can’t…hope anymore.”

  It hurt to see her like this, his eternal optimist. He wanted to give her back her hope, now, when she needed it. He knew it was colossally bad timing. But for the first time in his life, he was afraid. If he let his mind rule his heart and let her walk away from him, he might never have the chance to give her back the hope she needed.

  Luke looked up at the sky and prayed for the eloquence he was supposed to have. “Charlotte, let me stay with you tonight.”

  She shook her head again, dark hair flying every which way.

  Driven to desperation, he said, “Let me stay with you…always.”

  “Always? What does that mean?”

  “Weren’t you listening back there? I love you. I want to marry you. I want to be with you, see you in the morning, work with you, have children with you—”

  She stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes brilliant in the hazy, smoke-scented night. Then she flew at him, banging her fists on his chest, with little effect.

  “Charlotte—”

  “Don’t do this to me! Don’t, don’t, don’t!”

  “What is it—?”

  She reared back to glare up into his eyes, and hers were alive with fury. “You don’t like sympathy—well, I like it even less.”

  “Charlotte, I’m not feeling sorry for you. I’m trying to propose here, and I’ve chosen a lousy time to do it, but I want you to know that you’re not alone in this. We’ll rebuild your house—”

  “Stop, just stop. You’re too darn late. You’re just.. .too late. Now, go away.”

  She turned and went to the door of the cafe. Luke watched her, knowing there hadn’t been many times in his life when he felt like this, and he hoped there wouldn’t be any ever again.

  Suddenly, Charlotte cried out and thumped her fists against the door, crying desperately.

  He ran to her, caught her up and enveloped her in his arms. “What is it?”

  “The key. The key to this door is—was—in the house.”

  He held her for a moment, let her wet his shirt with her tears. Then he went to the car to get his tire iron and broke the windowpane above the doorknob for her, reached in and opened the door. The air smelled hot and close as he followed her up the stairs. Inside the upstairs room, he pulled open a window and let in the cool night air. She turned on a small lamp on a table by the bed, he searched for the bathroom, found it behind the door. There was a wrench on the floor; in minutes, he had the water flowing through the taps. He found a towel, soaked it and brought it in to her. She was sitting on the edge of the cot, hunting through her jeans pocket for a tissue. He sat down on the cot beside her and tenderly cleaned her face.

  “I thought I told you to go away.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said in a calm, low voice.

  “I won’t marry you.”

  “Then we’ll live in sin instead.”

  “It would be bad for the children.”

  “Extremely bad.” He knelt to pull off her boots, then lifted her feet onto the cot. “Do you want anything to drink? I could run over to Sam’s and get you ice water, or a cola.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t think you can just be nice to me and make me change my mind about marrying you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of peddling influence—unless it works.”

  “Sometimes I don’t understand you. I know you so well, and I love you, but I don’t understand you.”

  “I don’t understand you, and I love you, too.”

  “You’re not going to stay, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He lay down on the cot, took her in his arms and turned her back to him. She lay against him easily, knowing it was the place she belonged, the place she had always belonged.

  “You’re a liar, Luke Steadman. What’s worse, you’re a sneaky liar.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. She could call him every name in the book, if it took that bleak sound out of her voice.

  “A sneaky, polite liar. They’re the worst kind.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they are.”

  “I want to cry, Luke.”

  “Go ahead. You’re entitled.”

  “I’d rather sleep.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  “I want to sleep with you, but we’ll have to be very close. Practically on top of each other.”

  “I’ll try to put up with the inconvenience.” Amusement lurked in his deep rumble.

  “When I wake up, you’ll be here?” And she reached for his hand. He knew Charlotte well enough to know he had his answer to his proposal.

  “I’ll be here,” he said. And when he thought of what the morning would bring, and how she would wake grouchy and adorable, and how they would make plans to build a new house on the ranch and they’d live there together and raise children who were both high-strung and spirited and sturdy and rock-dependable, his mouth curled in a smile and his eyes closed.

  Epilogue

  “He hasn’t asked to hold the baby yet.”

  Charlotte looked so wonderful to Luke, all blue eyes and black hair blown every which way by the mischievous morning wind, anxious love sparkling deep in the dark blue depths of her eyes, the white lacy blanket that their son didn’t need on this warm morning spread over her arms.

  “He will, darlin’. Relax.”

  He wasn’t at all sure that he could predict his father’s reaction, but he couldn’t bear for Charlotte to be disappointed. His wife read him far too well, for she shot him a glance that he was beginning to recognize, a glance filled with Charlotte’s particular blend of love and the exasperation that he seemed to elicit from her so easily, a glance that said, I know you.

  She held Mark tenderly in her arms, making tiny swivels of her body to keep him quiet and amused. At six weeks of age, her son had already shown a lively curiosity about the world and an ever-ready store of energy. Now he looked up at her with big blue eyes so like her own. Luke gazed at the two people who were his world, knowing he must have a foolish look of awe and love on his face. He didn’t care. They were his, these two precious people, and every day they seemed to call forth more love from a well deep within him that he’d discovered was limitless.

  Charlotte and Luke stood in the back of the church, keeping the baby in the children’s crying room, in case he made a noise, which he hadn’t yet, being the most perfect baby in the world that he was. Henry stood close by in the entry way of the church, hat in hand. He’d agreed to come and take part in the baptismal service, but he’d wanted to drive in his own car. Luke had been disappointed about that, but he’d decided that he’d take whatever Henry could give and not ask for more. Charlotte wanted harmony on this day, and he’d have moved the earth to give it to her.

  Henry stood a few feet away, distancing himself from Luke and Charlotte. His father’s aloofness was the only thing that had dampened Luke’s happiness at the birth of his son. His father still had not spoken to the child, asked to hold him or, indeed, shown much interest at all.

  “And now I have the great privilege of accepting a child into our Christian fellowship,” the minister said from the sanctuary. “Will the parents and grandparent, as well as the child’s sponsors, come forward please?”

  Mike and Delores Hallorhan rose from the pews, Delores looking very stylish in her white summer dress, Mike’s face flushed and his smile wide. They waited to let Charlotte and the baby and Henry and Luke pass, and then they followed the family up to the altar.

  The minister introduced Charlotte and Luke to the congregation, even though they were well-known by nearly everyone there, and reminded those seated in the pews that they were soon to become a larger family to this baby. />
  Then the minister took the baby into his arms and, turning to Charlotte, he asked, “What name shall be given to this child?”

  “Mark Henry Sean Steadman,” Charlotte said, in a voice that was soft and not quite steady.

  Luke wanted to look at his father’s face then, but he was afraid to. It was easier just to say his own little prayer that this day would go as Charlotte wished, and keep his focus on his son, who peered up at the minister with owlish eyes as the pastor put his wet hand on the boy’s dark hair. The baby took the shock very well. He was going to be brave, strong and adaptable, all the characteristics he needed in the ambiguous and confusing world he’d come into. Of course, how could the baby be anything but wonderful, when he had a mother with Charlotte’s courage and determination? Luke couldn’t keep his hand from creeping around Charlotte’s waist, needing to touch her, to claim just a little ownership of the amazing woman at his side.

  When the ritual was over, the minister kept the baby in his arms and took Mark for a little trip up and down the aisles of the small church so that everyone in the congregation could see the new addition to their church family. Several women, all too familiar with the long feud between the families, looked on the blue-eyed little boy in his white blanket nestled against the minister’s black robe and began digging in their purses for tissues.

  When the minister returned Mark to Charlotte’s arms, she was glad, for she could see her son’s lip coming out and she knew they had almost exhausted his patience with this strange business. She was so proud of him for having taken it all in his stride.