by Dawes, Casey
“Leave it on the fencepost.” She walked Recovery to the gate, bent over, and unhooked the rope loop that held it closed. “Shut the gate on the way out.” As soon as she was free of the fence, she pushed Recovery into a canter and headed to the foothills.
A half hour later she finally slowed, forced to walk by the beauty laid out in front of her. Yellow coneflowers blanketed the meadows, and the spring-green of new growth smudged the cottonwood branches lining Willow Creek. In the distance, the Absaroka Mountains, still shrouded in snow, dominated the horizon.
She sucked in the air, hungry for the peace nature always brought her.
It had only been a dance. Why couldn’t she get past it? Tom had moved on, hadn’t he?
The anguish on his face when he’d said her name indicated a different story. Did his betrayal still pain him?
I hope it does.
Bridget let Recovery have his head to graze, trusting him to keep her safe.
She and Tom had found each other as freshmen, the massive bulk of juniors and seniors surrounding them making them insignificant. While being a rancher’s daughter wasn’t unusual, Bridget’s family had been poorer than most. She’d hated the thrift-store clothes she’d worn. Tom was the only banker’s kid in town. For the first two years of high school, their friendship had been enough.
By junior year their emotions had shifted. She’d developed a massive crush on her best friend, especially after he morphed from pimply-faced scarecrow to athletic quarterback. Even with all the adoration from her classmates, he’d remained true to her.
Until Lucy.
Bridget scanned the hills for any sign of Jessica. Her part-time cowhand must be working in another section of the eight-acre ranch. While the land wasn’t huge, the rolling hills it encompassed made it easy to get lost.
She clucked and pulled up Recovery’s head. With a last glance at the mountains’ grace, she turned back toward home at a gallop.
That night after her chores were completed, she plunked Tom’s envelope on the table. Next to it she placed a bottle of Jack Daniels. No glass. Just the unopened bottle.
It was there to remind her of the places she’d been and never wanted to return to.
After staring at it for a minute, she slit open the envelope with her pocket knife. Inside were the papers she’d given him to apply for the loan, stamped “denied” in big red letters.
Bastard.
She gave the bottle another look and shook out the rest of the envelope. A brochure for the Montana Community Development Corporation fell out. Once she read the brochure, she got online and viewed their website. The group seemed tailor-made for people like her.
At least character mattered.
Jack seemed to mock her determination.
“I quit you, remember?” She’d been sober for over a year. Her recovery had been hard-won and there was no way she was climbing back down the neck of that bottle.
****
The next day, Tom was back. He rolled down her driveway at five in the afternoon, as welcome as a rattlesnake sunning next to a swimming hole. The pickup was towing a horse trailer.
“Thanks for the information,” she said when he opened the pickup door and hopped down. “I can figure out the application myself, though. No need to keep coming out here.”
The less she saw of him, the easier it would be to convince herself the past didn’t matter.
She walked toward the barn.
“Wait. I’ve got a business proposition for you. You are in business aren’t you?”
“So it appears.”
“I’ve got a quarter horse I want to board.”
“What? No stables anywhere else in Willow Creek?
He strode toward her. “Enough, Bridget. I’m trying to help you out here.”
“Why? Guilt? It was only a dance.”
She turned back to the barn to hide the tears that had dared to show their presence.
She really should be over this.
Maybe if you hadn’t hidden in a bottle for seven years, you would be.
A hand on her shoulder spun her around. Suddenly, she was staring into his eyes, and the expression on his face was one she remembered well from high school.
“Guilt. Yeah. But also this.”
He lowered his mouth and kissed her. A hint of passion flirted with his lips, but the kiss was like she remembered, promises of forever love and friendship.
She pushed him away. “Don’t you dare!”
The tears, those betraying female tears, spilled over. She swiped them with her arm. “What do you want from me, Tom? Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“I told you. I want to board a horse. I want the mare here, because I’m looking to breed her.”
She shook her head, fighting to rein in her emotions. “I still don’t get it, Tom. Why can’t you breed your darn horse somewhere else? Don’t you have a barn at your place?”
He shook his head and looked away from her. “My dad thinks it’s a waste of time. Doesn’t want the mare at his place.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I live there.”
She stared at him, not really knowing what to say.
He walked back to the fence and leaned against it, his arms splayed on the rails. “After I married Lucy, I bought a house. She got it, along with most everything else. I had to move back home to make ends meet. Now I’m trying to save up enough to have my own place again.”
In spite of her own pain, her heart ached for him. They’d shared teenage fantasies about how life would be. He’d breed quarter horses, and she’d train them, along with the riders who used them for racing. They’d find a home here in Willow Creek. They knew exactly how life was intended to be.
Until Floozy Lucy got her nails into Tom’s hide.
Wallowing in past misery wasn’t going to help either one of them. “Unload your mare and bring her into the barn.”
The sweet smell of hay soothed Bridget. She opened a stall door, pleased she’d gotten a few ready for prospective boarders.
Tom led in a trim roan.
Even with a quick glance, Bridget saw she was sound, with a build made for barrel racing. She ran her hands across the horse’s withers and back, and down each of its legs. The mare nickered. “She as good as she looks?” Bridget stood from a crouch.
Tom nodded. “Named her Willow Cat.”
“Cat?”
The mare nudged her head into Tom’s arm. He scratched her ears. “Darn horse demands attention like an affection-starved house cat.”
“In there.” Bridget gestured to the stall. “Who are you breeding her to?”
“Blue One Time.”
Bridget whistled. “Nice.”
A whisper of their former ease wisped around them as they worked together to get the horse settled. After they were finished, they left the barn together.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Hundred-fifty a month. I take care of all of it—feet, worming, shots. I’ll pasture her close with Recovery in the daytime. That’ll keep the wolves away. He’s gelded—no problem there, either.”
“Sounds fair. I’ll get my checkbook.” He walked toward his truck.
As he went, Bridget gave him the same once-over she’d given his mare. The rolling gate he had suited his jeans far more than his bank clothes had.
Somewhere, deep inside her, an ember came to life.
“Mind if I park my trailer by your barn?”
She shook her head. “No problem.”
He scribbled the check and handed it to her.
She glanced at the amount. “This is too much.”
“Three months’ boarding and a little extra for the rig.”
“I thought
you were trying to save money.”
“It’s an investment. If I get the foal I want, I’ll be able to sell it for top dollar.”
She wasn’t going to fight him. She needed the money.
“No problem filling out the application I gave you?”
She shook her head. “I called them and answered a few questions. They said someone will call me back by the end of the week.”
“Good. I’d best be getting to the bank.”
“Like that?” She gestured to his dusty jeans and boots.
He laughed. “Got a change of clothes in the truck.” He stepped toward her and put his hands on her arms.
She stiffened.
“Bri, look at me.”
She snagged some courage and looked up.
“I screwed up back then. Big time. And I’ve always felt responsible for you leaving Willow Creek.”
“My choice had nothing to do with you.”
His eyes called her bluff. “It’s how I feel. I was stupid, male, and eighteen.” He took a deep breath and looked at the sky for a moment before continuing. “A lot of time has passed. We’re older. I’d like to think I’m a little smarter. What I’m asking, Bri, what I’m begging, is to give us another chance.”
“No.”
“No? Really? Not even a cup of coffee to talk about our lives like we used to? We were good, Bri.”
“We were. That was then. This is now. I’m boarding your horse. That’s all you’re going to get. Now, let me go. I’ve got work to do.”
He released her arms. “I’m not giving up, Bri.”
She shrugged. “It’s a free country. Up to you how you want to waste your time.” She strode back to the safety of the barn.
****
“You’ve got to come to the dance.” Jenny whined almost as effectively as her daughter.
“What I have to do is finish up the application for the loan.”
“You need to stop and play sometimes.”
Bridget stepped up on the bottom rail, propped her arms on top, and glared at her friend. “I had seven years of play before I got my head on straight. It’s time to make up for it.”
Jenny stepped closer. “When are you going to stop beating up on yourself? Yeah, you screwed up. You’re lucky you didn’t wind up pregnant or with some awful disease.”
“God was working overtime.”
“I’ll say. But you were working hard, too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to buy this ranch. You won the prizes, and managed your money. Time to get a little balance back in your life, girlfriend.”
Growing up poor had trained Bridget to live on very little. Every dollar she could, she socked into a savings account. Once that grew to a sizeable amount, she’d hired a financial advisor.
The clomp of two little boots alerted her before Amanda snuggled up and hugged her. Good. Maybe Jenny would leave her alone about the dance.
“I made sure everything was very clean, Aunt Bri.” The little girl squeezed through the bottom two rails and hugged her mother. “Did you see me, Mom? Aunt Bri says it’s my best time yet!”
Jenny gave her daughter a hug. “That’s great! Now, go wait in the car, honey.”
Not saved.
“I’m not going to the dance, Jenny. I don’t have anything to wear.”
Jenny laughed. “You know I have a closet full of clothes that will fit you, including some that will be perfect with your auburn hair. No more excuses. It’s for a good cause.” She sobered. “Melody Bennett’s father has asbestos poisoning from when he worked up at Libby. The medical bills are killing them. All the proceeds from the dance will go to them to help.”
“Yeah, I heard. I remember Melody from high school. She was always nice to me.”
“Then you’ll come.”
Trapped by her own words. “I’ll see you Friday.”
****
Half of the town’s three-hundred seventy-two residents turned out for the dance held in the community hall that Friday night. Small town comfort wrapped Bridget in its arms the moment she walked in the door. Smiles and nods from people she ran into every day and those she hadn’t seen in years filled her heart with warmth. The community of Willow Creek was her rock, the essence that had kept her sane through her years away and given her the thread to make her way home.
She followed Jenny and her husband Paul, a dentist who’d moved to Willow Creek from the Midwest, to a table at the far end of the hall. Halfway there, she felt someone’s stare, and turned.
Tom.
Of course.
He made his way toward her.
Jenny turned back to her. “See someone good looking?”
Bridget tilted her head in Tom’s direction.
“That’s why you didn’t want to come.”
“Got it in one.”
“But I thought he was boarding his horse with you,” Jenny said.
“That means I spend time with his horse, not with him.”
“Hi, ladies.” Tom was in his cowboy best—pressed jeans, pale blue button-down shirt, string tie, and polished boots. “You look good, Bri.”
“Thank Jenny.”
Tom smiled. “Thank you, Jenny.”
“No problem.” Jenny touched Bridget’s arm. “Join us when you’re ready. Nice seeing you again, Tom.”
Left to the wolves. Wolf.
Looking at Tom, though, she knew she was wrong. She’d run with the wolves on the circuit. Tom bore no resemblance to the losers and users she’d gravitated toward while she tried to disappear from her own life.
She’d put that behind her. This was a new beginning. She could handle Tom Browdy at a small town dance, as long as they didn’t actually dance.
She smiled at him and gestured to her friends’ table. “Your horse is doing well. I’ll see you next time you visit her. I’ve got to catch up with Jenny and Paul.”
The fiddle player scraped a bow against his instrument.
Tom grabbed her hand. “Dance?”
“I’d rather not.”
“You’re too pretty to sit out a dance. Just one?” The band swung into a two-step.
She tapped her foot. Dancing with Tom was a really bad idea. “I don’t think so.” Her foot tapped harder.
“C’mon. You want to. You always did like a two-step. When’s the last time you were on a dance floor?”
She hadn’t been dancing since she’d gotten sober. Dance floors were in bars—places she’d stayed away from.
It was a fast dance, and there wouldn’t be much contact. She could make it through this. “Okay. Just one.”
Football moves had translated into expert steps. Tom partnered her through the quick and slow steps of the dance with a confident authority. The soft fabric of the blue flowered dress Jenny had leant her flowed around her.
She felt feminine and pretty, for the first time since Tom had told her he was taking Lucy to the prom.
Only right. Since he’d been the one to take it away her confidence as a woman, he should be the one to return it.
How far do I want him to go to return that confidence?
She pretended not to feel the warmth of his arm as he led her through the steps. His hands were sure and strong, and she longed to let go and lean on him, but that dream had been squashed when they were in high school.
Grow up, Bridget Lawson. You know where living in fantasies gets you.
The music faded off, and slipped into a slow rhythm.
She let Tom turn her into his arms, ignoring the warning bells that were clanging in her head.
“Relax, Bri,” he whispered. “If you want to stop, walk away. I’ll let you go.”
His hands loosened a little.
If she was smart, she’
d walk away, but she didn’t have the strength required.
Instead, she leaned into his chest and let the lilt of the music sweep her away. The thoughts churning in her mind faded into the three-quarter time of the waltz, and she let herself slip into the moment.
When the dance ended, they stood for a moment and stared at each other. The ember that had come to life when he’d come to board his horse, transformed to a tiny flame.
“Give me a chance, Bri.” His eyes were serious.
“I see I got here just in time.” Lucy Browdy shoved her way in between them. “I believe this dance is mine.”
“Lucy.” His voice groaned. “I don’t want to dance with you. Our dances are over.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s a small town. Who else am I going to dance with?” Lucy asked.
“Lucy—” Tom’s tone was edged with steel. “I’m not dancing with you. You’ll need to find someone else.”
Bridget needed to untangle herself from this mess. “It’s okay, Tom. I need to get back to Jenny and Paul.” Her face burned as she walked back to the table. Bad enough to be humiliated by the girl in high school, but a public scene would be much worse. She plunked herself in a chair.
“I never understood what he saw in her,” Jenny said.
“The obvious. She’s built, while I’m—” Bridget looked at her small frame. “Plus, she knows how to use her assets. I couldn’t flirt if it was the only way to stop a charging bull.”
“Stop being hard on yourself. You’re an attractive woman who looks great in anything you wear. We’re built the same way, and Paul thinks I’m beautiful.”
Her husband smiled in that way that only men in love can do. “You’re the most gorgeous woman in the place. Sorry, Bridget. No offense. I’m afraid I’m crazy about my wife.”
Bridget chuckled. “No offense taken.”
“What’re you going to do about him?” Jenny asked.
Bridget shrugged. “Nothing. It appears Lucy still wants her claws in him.”
“I think you’re selling both of you short,” Jenny said. “It took him a while, but he did divorce Lucy. If you want him, go after him.”
“I’ve got enough on my plate right now. I don’t have time for a man—especially one who’s already rejected me once.”
