Last Year's Bride (Montana Born Brides)

by Anne McAllister

He eyed his father suspiciously now. Sam was sitting on the sofa next to Jane from the Chamber of Commerce who was here as often as Sam was. She seemed to think it was her responsibility to ride herd on the entire operation. Didn’t she think the McCulloughs could be trusted to do a good job? He would have asked Sam when they were back at the cabin, but so far he hadn’t seen Sam there.

  Now his father was polishing off a piece of pie that had been made by Chandler’s girl, Beth. Both he and Jane were raving about it. “Don’t you think so?” Sam asked, directing the question at him.

  “It’s good,” Cole agreed because he’d had a piece of it, too. “But this one was better,” he confided to Nell in a tone so low that only she could hear. He nodded at where the pie had been on the now empty plate beside his elbow. “Who made that one?”

  “I did.”

  Cole blinked. “You’re not a contestant!” he protested, indignant, as if he’d been duped. Fortunately no one else seemed to hear him or even notice. They were all busy with their own pie and their own conversations, except the cameramen who were focusing on Beth who was on the other side of the room.

  “No, I’m not,” Nell said. “But I like a good piece of pie. And I wanted to know how to make one. Remember when I asked if your grandma would teach me how to make a cherry pie and you said yes?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She just shrugged, smiling as if he weren’t suddenly shifting from one boot to the other, feeling awkward as a new colt that couldn’t find its legs. “Well, it wasn’t cherry, but the principle is the same, I think.”

  Cole swallowed. Yes, he remembered. But God—! “Did you ... tell her?”

  Nell’s smile vanished. “No, Cole. I didn’t tell her.” And now her voice was sharp. “I’m still waiting for you to tell her.”

  The last bite of pie crust seeming suddenly like dust in his mouth. His shoulders stiffened. “What’s the point? Why bring it up when we’re getting a divorce?” he demanded in a low voice.

  “That’s what you say. But you won’t talk about it. Why are we getting a divorce? It doesn’t make sense! You love me. I love you. Your dad seems to be surviving.” Nell’s voice was quiet, too. No one could hear them beneath the general furor of conversation and laughter around the room. But even so, it wasn’t the place to be having this conversation. He didn’t want to have it at all.

  Cole shoved away from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ve got to go out to the shed and check on the cattle.” He put his dishes in the sink and grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door. Without a word, Nell disappeared toward the bedrooms.

  “You leaving, Cole?” his grandmother asked. Her face was flushed and she looked just a bit tired, but there was a sparkle in her eye that made her look about twenty years younger. He had worried this whole television thing would be too much for her, but on the contrary, she actually seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. Lucky her.

  He shrugged into his jacket. “Just going to check the cattle.”

  “And I’m going with him.” Nell reappeared, pulling on her bright red jacket. She gave him a brilliant smile that dared him to argue with her. Cole gritted his teeth.

  Em’s eyes widened and she looked from Cole to Nell with something akin to interest in her eyes. Just what he didn’t need.

  “She’s hoping one of ‘em will deliver,” Cole told his grandmother hastily. “More fodder for the TV show.”

  “Of course.” Em nodded, but Cole could feel the prickle of her speculative gaze against the back of his neck as he opened the door and went out. Nell followed him, shutting the door behind them.

  The sudden quiet and sharp cold after the noisy overheated house made Cole stop on the porch and take a deep breath. He’d feel relief if he hadn’t brought the reason for his stress right out here with him.

  “I have to check the cows,” he said gruffly. “I wasn’t kidding.”

  Nell pulled her hat down over her ears. “Am I stopping you?” Then without waiting for an answer she moved past him down into the yard. Then, “Yesssss,” she said, the word hissing between her teeth. And as Cole watched, she turned in a slow circle in the snow, her arms wide, her face turned up to the sky.

  It wasn’t snowing. There were still low-hanging clouds and it was probably snowing higher up, but not here. Yet she looked just as pleased as if she were a child catching snowflakes on her tongue.

  Cole didn’t move. He just stood there. But he couldn’t look away, either. He watched her, added another memory to his growing collection, and felt the ache of desire growing inside him. Not just the desire for sex, though God knew he wanted to share that with her. But this was something else—something deeper, more intense and pervasive, something almost painful—an almost bone-deep need for this woman to be part of his life. Forever, part of his life.

  Determinedly he shoved it away and stepped off the porch, heading for the shed. He didn’t wait to see if she came along.

  With Cole, silence was operating system of choice. Nell knew that. She respected it. She wasn’t all that extraverted herself. Like him, she drew energy from solitude, not crowds.

  But silence had its limits. It only got you so far. It got you up the road, past the barn, dogging his footsteps. But it didn’t tell you what he was thinking. It didn’t give you a clue what was really going on in that hard head of his.

  And, damn it, a little bit of communication never hurt.

  Even so, Nell didn’t push. She bided her time, stepped in his boot prints all the way to the field by the calving shed without uttering a word. There was, she told herself optimistically, always the chance that Cole would initiate the discussion, that she wouldn’t have to push, that he would voluntarily tell her what was going through his mind.

  “And pigs might fly,” her grandpa Corbett used to say. Well, of course, they hadn’t yet.

  And Cole, stubborn earth-bound pig that he was, didn’t say a word.

  Nell waited outside the paddock while he went in and checked over the cows he’d brought down that afternoon. She knew they didn’t appreciate people on the ground around them at the best of times. Labor was probably not close to a ‘best time.’ One was calmly munching some feed and didn’t look bothered. The other, however, was pacing, looking agitated. Cole opened the door to the shed and, with some effort, chivvied her in.

  “Time?” Nell asked, letting herself into the shed through the door by the road.

  Cole nodded, not looking her way. “Probl’y. Not real soon, though. It’s her first. She’s not real big. It could be difficult. You might as well go back to the house.”

  “Or we could talk while we wait.”

  Cole looked pained. He paced a bit, too, agitated as the cow.

  “Or,” Nell continued, pushing him into a corner, “I could get one of the guys and the camera crew and we could shoot him helping deliver the calf.” He’d love that!

  “Good idea,” Cole said.

  Taken aback, Nell couldn’t help her look of surprise. Then she realized that as soon as she brought back the crew any chance of a private conversation with Cole would be over. She gave him a narrow accusing look.

  He shrugged, not even dissembling. “It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

  It was one of the reasons she came. Not the only one. Not even the main one. But Cole was wearing his characteristic stubborn look and while she was determined to have the conversation, she sensed that the calving shed wasn’t the place to have it. She didn’t want him distracted, no matter how distracted he wanted to be. So she met his gaze evenly. “We’re going to talk, Cole. You married me. You love me.” The look she gave him then dared him to deny it. “You can’t just turn your back.”

  His jaw tightened briefly. Then he shrugged, not talking.

  She kicked his shin.

  “Ow!” He hopped on one foot, rubbing his other leg. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Just checking. Now I know you can talk when you’re motivated. I’ll get the crew.” Nell gave hi
m a saccharine smile, turned and walked out of the shed. “Don’t think for a minute that we’re finished.”

  Chapter Six

  Cole tried to keep his distance, really he did.

  But he spent the night in the calving shed with Chandler, two cameramen, a sound guy, and Nell—not to mention an irritated cow. And while he remembered how well a city boy like Chandler did with the calf pullers amid blood and amniotic fluid to bring a brawny bull calf into the world, the memory he took to his bed after he fed the cattle the next morning was how enchanted Nell was at the sight.

  The next day they did it again, and the other cow delivered twins. Mac, whose turn it was, threw down his cell phone and proved he was up to the challenge. But while Cole was impressed with his determination, he was more impressed watching Nell improvising, using the events as they occurred to develop the story she was creating.

  He’d always known she was smart and clever and had good ideas. He’d met her working, after all. And he’d seen several short pieces she’d done. But where she excelled, was in her ability to take whatever life threw her way and tell a story with it. She understood the people she was working with, and she understood the medium in which she was working.

  And she was beautiful.

  And she never slept.

  Neither did he. There was too much to do with the ranch work, the calving, the times he was called upon to teach the guys whatever they needed to know for their next challenge. And he didn’t want to miss any memories he might make of Nell.

  He had a lot now—snapshots in his head of Nell, intent and earnest, making a point to a cast and crew listening to every word. Memories of her studying her notes, head bowed, deep in thought, or staring at the dailies, nodding, seeing things no one else saw, making notes, pointing things out to Gabby, her assistant.

  He had other memories, too—of the woman he’d once dared to imagine sharing his life with—Nell in the calving shed, her eyes alight with joy at a new life wriggling in his arms, of Nell with snowflakes on her lashes, laughing at the snowman Sam and Jane had made, of Nell studying a fashion mag with Sadie and discussing the merits of particular designers, of Nell in the kitchen, one of Gran’s aprons wrapped around her middle, her nose covered with flour as she made yet another pie, a cherry one this time.

  He didn’t want tonight’s memories. The shooting was finished, the generator truck had trundled back down the road and a man could begin to hear himself think again. All the cast had moved to the Graff for the last night.

  Everyone had packed up and headed out a couple of hours ago. Cole had shaken hands with all of them, had wished them well, had even agreed that it would be nice to see them in May when they came back to mend fences and brand calves. That part was true.

  And the rest—he was too tired to think about it, too tired to be sociable. He needed sleep.There were no cows about to give birth. No city slickers who needed him to teach them anything. The only thing left this trip was the wrap party at the Graff.

  Sam had gone into town when the crew did. Gran and Sadie left a little bit later. They invited Cole to come with them.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You’re not going to miss it,” Sadie said, knowing him too well. “It’s going to be a blast.”

  “Just got some things to do here,” Cole said and stood watching until they drove off down the road. Then he did one last check of things, made sure no one had left anything behind, got in his truck and never even debated heading to town.

  He drove up to the cabin where he checked on Sal and her pups, then grabbed a beer and a shower. Scrubbing his hair dry with a towel, he padded naked into his bedroom and burrowed beneath the quilts on the bed. He felt worn, exhausted, empty.

  Better than gutted, he told himself. Then he shut his eyes and went to sleep.

  Cole wasn’t sure what woke him. Footsteps? A door closing? He listened for Sam’s feet on the stair treads, but whatever he heard was tentative, faint. Not his father then—unless the old man was drunk and worried he was going to knock something over. But Sam didn’t drink and drive. In fact he rarely drank at all these days, and—

  The bedroom door creaked.

  Cole rolled over and sat up. “What the hell do you think you’re—?”

  It was Nell. His jaw clamped shut. His body went on high alert. All he could make out was her silhouette in the moonlight, but there was no question who it was. And she didn’t stop in the doorway. She came right over and sat down on the bed.

  Cole pushed himself up against the headboard. “What time is it?” he demanded, his voice hoarse, his fists strangling the bedclothes so he didn’t reach for her.

  “Not quite eleven.”

  “Not eleven?” He scowled. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

  She shrugged lightly. “Why aren’t you?”

  Cole swallowed. “I was tired. Bushed, in fact. I needed some sleep. Nobody missed me.” He was talking too much, making feeble excuses, knowing damn well that Nell had every reason to be at least as tired as he was.

  “I missed you,” she told him, her voice quiet, her gaze in the moonlight locking with his.

  Cole shook his head. “Nell. Don’t.” It was as much desperation as it was denial. “Leave it. Let it go.”

  “Let what go?” The question was gentle, the intention wasn’t. She was going to push. Back him into a corner. Insist on having it out. Cole knew that. Maybe he’d always known it. He had just tried to stop her, to forestall the demand for discussion.

  He knew all about discussion. Discussions were what Sam had had with Lucy, Sadie’s mother. He’d probably had them with Cole’s own mother, too. Cole had been too young when she left to remember that. But he remembered Lucy leaving. He remembered Sam looking gutted, Sam slamming his hand against the door jamb as Lucy got in the car and drove away. He remembered Sadie waking up and asking where mommy was. He remembered the hopelessness in his father’s eyes, remembered his own feeling of hollowness, of loss.

  But Nell didn’t know any of that. And he wasn’t going to tell her. He just let out a breath, long and slow and not quite steady, but as steady as he could make it.

  “You want to talk,” he said. He felt like there was a fist in his stomach.

  Nell nodded. “I want to know what changed your mind. I want to know what happened. I want to discuss it, understand it. Argue with it,” she admitted with a small wry smile. “I love you. And I believe you love me.”

  Cole’s shoulders flexed, rubbing against the headboard. “It doesn’t have anything to do with love,” he muttered.

  “When we got married it did.” She had turned to face him on the bed, sitting so that her right foot was on the floor while her jeans-clad left knee was bent on the bed, pressing against the side of Cole’s thigh.

  He tried not to notice it, tried to keep his mind on the ‘discussion’ he didn’t want. But, as always, he wanted her. He was naked under the quilt. Nell was fully clothed. It should have been enough to keep his mind focused. It wasn’t—not quite. He shifted away, trying to tamp down the desire that was making his brain mushy.

  “We got married on the spur of the moment,” he said. “We didn’t think things through. You have a job in L.A. I live here.”

  “I took the job because you told me I should.” Her hand gripped his knee.

  Cole sucked in a breath. “Because you should have! It’s ... what you studied for.” There. Logic at last.

  “It was. But it isn’t the only thing I can do with my degree.”

  “Oh? Lots of call for TV directors in rural Montana, is there?” he bit out. He wanted to take her hand and forcibly remove it from his leg. Or tell her to slide it up higher.

  She shrugged. “Probably not. I never had a chance to find out, did I?”

  “It’s not the right place for you,” he argued. “You need to be somewhere where you can do what you were meant to do. I want the best for you.”

  Nell’s expression grew stony. She shook her head. “Look,” she sai
d, settling back, shoving her hair away from her face, then meeting his gaze intently. “Maybe I’m hyper-sensitive, but I can’t help it. When I was a baby, people made decisions for me. My natural mother put me up for adoption because she thought it was the best thing she could do for me.”

  Cole nodded. He knew that Nell had been born in Korea, to a half-Korean mother and an American G.I. father. One of her dearest possessions was a letter her natural mother had written to explain that she had given her because she loved her, because she hadn’t wanted Nell to experience the prejudice she herself had felt from not fitting in.

  “And I respect that,” Nell went on doggedly. “Just as I respect my mom and dad’s decision to adopt me.” Nell’s parents, whom Cole had met several times during the summer he had dated her, were exactly the sort of people to make a family out of kids who didn’t fit anywhere—and they had, having one biological child and five they had adopted from near and far because, as her dad said, “It takes more than blood to make a family.”

  Cole believed that. God knew his own natural mother hadn’t had an ounce of family feeling for himself or Clint. When she’d left she’d never looked back. Nor had Sadie’s mother.

  “I understand,” he said.

  “You understand that part,” Nell agreed. “But you don’t understand what I’m saying now. I’m an adult now. I’m capable of making my own decisions. I don’t need you to make them for me.”

  “I’m trying to do what’s best for you,” Cole said, stung.

  “Which you know better than I do?” Her gaze bored into his, and Cole was the one who looked away first.

  Nell put her hand over his fist which was still gripping the sheet. “I appreciate it,” she assured him. “Truly. I do. But I know what I want. I want you.”

  “I come with a hell of a lot of baggage,” Cole reminded her.

  “I’ll cope.”

  “How?” he demanded. “You’ll go crazy out here. You’re used to people around. You’re used to professional challenges. You tell stories. You do amazing work.”