He'd looked for her at the grocery first, and had been surprised to have her dad tell him she'd quit.
"Quit?"
"She's working for Poppy Hamilton now, over at the florist's shop. She and I lock horns too often. Milly is a force."
Milly? A force? She used to be sweet and kind and caring. A naive little innocent who did what she could to please. What happened to that Milly? How come she was "a force" all of a sudden?
John Malone's mouth tipped in his version of a smile. "Life has a way of doing that to a person. All I know is she's stubborn as a wrong-headed mule."
Cash thought so, too.
He went to the florist's shop. Milly was there, but she pretty much ignored him. If he didn't want to order flowers, she had nothing to say.
"Tell me why you're still marryin' him," Cash said. But she turned her back to chop the heads off some yellow flowers. Cash had similar designs on hers.
He prowled around the florist's until Milly got off work, then he followed her home through the snow.
"Go away, Cash," she said, when he dogged her steps to her apartment.
"You can't be serious."
"Serious? What would you know about serious?" She slapped her hands on her hips. "You've played your entire adult life—if you can even call it adult!"
"I risk my neck at least a couple of times a week!" Cash retorted, stung. "I'm ridin' Deliverance on Saturday. He's a ball breaker. Nastiest horse this side of Hades."
"Then you're well matched." She started up the steps.
Cash glared at her back. Damn but she was stiff-necked. He raked a hand through his hair. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I came back 'cause I cared, Milly," he said at last.
She didn't even turn around.
He took the steps two at a time after her. "Damn it, did you hear me? I said, I care!"
"Enough not to ride on Saturday?"
He stopped. He frowned. "What?"
"You heard me." She stood, back against her door, and faced him. "Would you not ride if I asked you?"
"What do you mean, not ride? Why shouldn't I ride? If I stick on Deliverance, I'll make a pile. I'll be way up in the standings right from the start. He's a great horse. The best."
"Right." Milly stuck her key in the door.
Cash caught her arm and turned her around. "Right? What the hell does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said. It means your priorities haven't changed a bit."
He gaped at her. "It's my life. It's what I do. It's a life-and-death split-second business I'm in. The way I stay alive."
Milly nodded. "I know."
"So, what are you saying? Give it up? Don't ride? Be a damn grocer?" He couldn't help it; he practically spat the word at her.
She didn't flinch. "Of course not. Be anything you please. I'm just saying that it's the only thing that matters to you."
"You matter, damn it!"
"No. Going down the road matters. Being 'free' matters."
"Freedom is good," Cash said stubbornly.
"Fine, enjoy it, then, damn it. You're free!"
"I don't want to be free of you!" he argued.
"You don't want to get married." It always came back to that.
"Hell. I—well, I—cripes, it's only until Tuesday, Milly!" He snatched off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. "I could be back by Tuesday. We can talk about marriage on Tuesday!"
"We've had years to talk about marriage, Cash. You don't want to talk about it."
No, he didn't. He wasn't ready. But for her, he would.
"Tuesday," he muttered again.
"Tuesday I'll be on my honeymoon." She turned the knob, shoved open the door and went into her apartment. Cash followed her.
"Damn it, Milly. It's only three days."
She stopped and looked at him. "This is not about days, Cash. It's about years. You think in terms of eight seconds when you think about sticking with something. That won't work here. I don't want seconds. I don't want days. I want years. I want commitment. I want the long haul, and I can't pretend I don't." She paused and met his gaze squarely. "So I don't want you. I want Mike. Now, goodbye."
Then she took Cash by the shoulders, turned him around and shoved him out the door.
* * *
Ten
« ^ »
The "something old" was her grandmother's wedding veil. The "something new" was the tiny pearl necklace her parents had given her on her engagement. The "something borrowed" was Dori's pair of white satin pumps that were at this very moment squeezing Milly's toes.
The "something blue" would not be her mood. Milly was determined about that.
She was happy. She was getting married in less than an hour. She loved Mike. And Cash had finally left town.
She hadn't thought he was ever going to leave!
The first time he'd turned up and she'd changed the locks, she'd believed he would go away and never come back. When she'd come home from Seattle and found him parked by her apartment, she'd thought that the news of her engagement would get rid of him once and for all.
When he turned up at Poppy's shop earlier this week, she couldn't believe it. Didn't he know what no meant?
What was he trying to do to her?
It wasn't as if he'd changed. He just wanted her here when he wanted to drop by and play house. Marriage? He acted like it was a jail sentence or something.
He was only willing to "talk" about it. And even then only on Tuesday after he'd finished riding his damned horse!
"Tuesday." She almost spat the word.
No way. Milly knew Cash. On Tuesday he'd be just as footloose and noncommittal as he'd always been.
She was desperately glad she'd been able to steel herself against him, relieved that she'd fought back, convinced she was doing the right thing.
But even then he hadn't gone!
He'd actually had the gall to show up at The Barrel two nights ago and glare at her! As if she was making the mistake—as if she was the one doing something wrong!
Well, fine. Let him glare.
Let him come back Tuesday.
She would be long gone—off to Mexico with Mike for a warm, winter honeymoon.
In any case, she wasn't going to think anymore about Cash. He was the past. She had real problems in the present.
Poppy, ordinarily the most reliable of friends, hadn't shown up to do the flowers! They'd taken the dried flowers to the church last night, and Poppy had said she'd come back and do the fresh ones this morning.
But when Dori had gone to help her, Poppy wasn't there.
"What do you mean, not there?" Milly had demanded. "Poppy is as predictable as the tides."
"Well, the tide has gone out apparently," Dori replied.
And she was telling the truth. The flowers were still in the cooler at the shop where they had left them yesterday.
Poppy was nowhere to be found.
Milly transported and arranged them herself.
In retrospect she realized that she should have known then that things were falling apart.
If the florist slept in—or totally forgot—or boycotted the wedding, well, what chance did you have that anything would go right?
But Milly was just so glad to be rid of Cash she wasn't thinking sensibly. Determined to focus not on the past—or on the future—but just on the present, she did what had to be done.
After the flowers were set, she came home and fixed her own hair. She tied her father's black bow tie and straightened his cummerbund.
"You look very handsome," she told him.
He grumbled a little, muttered about the tie strangling him.
"You'll survive," Milly told him. "You've survived worse than this."
In fact she thought he looked wonderful. He'd come back well from his heart attack. He was working every day now, but Dori was working almost as much now that Jake, at seven, was in school full-time.
Milly was amazed at how well they worked together after all the arguing they'd done i
n the past.
"We just had to come to terms," Dori said.
Milly was glad they'd done that.
"We wouldn't have, if you hadn't been here to shoulder the burden when Dad first got sick," Dori told her. "You gave up a lot."
Sometimes Milly thought Dori worried about her—about her not having gone to Denver, about what had happened with Cash.
But Cash wouldn't have married her, even if she'd gone to Denver. She knew that now. She'd just been too young and dumb to realize it earlier.
"I'm not sorry," Milly had told Dori more than once. It was little enough compared to the lifetime of love her father had given her. She was just glad she'd been able to return a small share.
She knew he appreciated it even if he never said much. Her mother did, too.
Her mother was worrying about her, too, wondering even as late as last week if Milly might be making a mistake. Her mother liked Mike. In the beginning she'd even lobbied for Mike. But she knew how much Milly had loved Cash.
"Are you sure you shouldn't wait for him?" she'd asked just last week.
"I can't wait for Cash. I might wait forever. I don't have forever, Mom. You only get one go-round in life."
And her mother had had to agree with that. She'd smiled gently, a little sadly, and kissed her daughter. "Good luck," she'd whispered.
"Good luck," Dori said as the music started.
Her father patted her hand. "Good luck," he whispered.
Even Jake, the reluctant ring bearer, said, "Good luck," right before Milly walked down the aisle.
That she didn't get it should have come as no big surprise.
He wasn't going to make it. He had to make it.
He could barely see the taillights ahead of him. The world had dissolved into a huge white globe. Mark's "winter storm" had arrived with a vengeance. Cash had been battling it since just north of Cheyenne. They'd closed the highway north of Casper. He couldn't believe it.
"I can't stop!" he'd told the Highway Patrol, for all the good it did. "I'll take full responsibility," he assured them. "Let me go on!"
They just looked at him.
He cooled his heels, literally and figuratively, for six hours in Casper. Finally when the winds let up and the plows could make a difference, they opened the road. It was slow going. Time was getting short.
Damn it! What if he wasn't in time to stop her?
He had rented a car when Denny dropped him off. It was a Texas car, not equipped for the rigors of a Montana winter storm. Cash himself wasn't equipped for the rigors of a Montana winter storm. It didn't matter. He didn't stop.
West of Billings things got nasty again. He could barely see. He should have had chains. He had prayer and determination—and not much else.
The wedding was scheduled for eleven. He got there at quarter after. He parked his truck in front—pulled right up behind the car that had been decorated with "JUST MARRIED" on the back window and festooned with bright blue crepe paper streamers—and jumped out.
He took the steps to the church two at a time, yanked open the door and burst in.
The usher standing in the doorway between the vestibule and the sanctuary turned around and put his finger to his lips. "They've already begun," he said in a whisper. "I'll seat you in the back. Bride or groom?"
"Bride," Cash said. "But not his! Mine." He pushed past the usher, determined to get to Milly. He could see her. She stood with her back to him as she held hands with Mike and looked up at the minister.
"Stop!" The usher wasn't whispering now.
Half the congregation turned around. Cash heard mutters and titters. He didn't give a damn. He didn't stop, either.
Not until the usher grabbed his arm when he was halfway down the aisle. "Come back here! You can't do that!"
Everyone turned then. Even Milly. And the sight of her in a bridal gown that was her own this time was the final straw.
"I'd like to see you try and stop me," he said to the usher who foolishly tried to do just that.
Cash's fist shot out. A lady shrieked. The congregation gasped. The usher crumpled. And Cash stepped over him, determined to get to Milly.
She was staring straight at him, a horrified look on her face.
"You wouldn't wait till Tuesday," he said.
Her eyes grew as big as dinner plates. Her mouth opened and shut, but no words came out.
Mike said something harsh under his breath. Cash didn't hear what it was, but Milly let go of his hand and grabbed his arm as if she intended to stop him going after Cash.
Cash put up his fists. Let's see you try it, buddy! Come on.
"Stop it!" Milly hissed, her cheeks aflame.
"You stop it," Cash said, looking right at her. "Stop the wedding. Now."
There was dead silence in the church. You could have heard a snowflake fall. Mike's fists were still clenched. Milly's knuckles were white on his arm. Cash rocked on the toes of his boots, eyes narrow, daring him.
At last the minister cleared his throat. "I don't think—" he began tentatively.
Cash didn't think, either, but that wasn't going to stop him. Maybe he'd got here a little later than he would have liked—but he didn't cause the snowstorm, damn it. He'd come to prevent a disaster, and by God, he was going to prevent it.
He turned to face the assembled wedding guests. "When a girl gets married these days, we figure she loves the fella she's marryin'. We reckon she knows her own mind, and that there's only one man in the world for her. Agreed?"
He heard some murmurs of assent, saw some nods.
He nodded, too. "That's what you'd think, all right. But in this case, that's not true."
He heard a sharp gasp behind him. Milly. He glanced back at her. She was glaring at him.
He gave her a faint smile. "I think she likes this fella a whole lot," he allowed, tipping his head in Mike's direction. "She says he's stable. Dependable. She says he's real reliable—" he tried his best to sound admiring of all Mike Dutton's finer traits "—and I believe her. He'd prob'ly make some woman a damn—er, sorry—darn—" he shot a quick glance at the minister who was watching the entire proceedings with morbid fascination "—good husband. But not Milly."
He heard her suck in her breath again, but he didn't look at her this time. He turned and looked at the congregation, searching their faces one by one.
"The guy who marries Milly ought to be more than stable and dependable and reliable," he went on. "He ought to love Milly more than any other guy loves her. And nobody loves Milly the way I do." He paused and turned, and now he looked straight at her. "And Milly loves me, too." Another pause. "Don't you?"
He didn't give her a chance to answer. He turned back to the congregation and said, "Tell you what, I'll step back … I'll walk right straight out of here this very minute and let you get on with it—if Milly will swear right here in front of God and all of you that what I've just said isn't true."
He stopped and waited. Months. Weeks. Days. Hours at least. Probably not even a minute. But it seemed like forever to him.
The silence was thunderous.
He'd prayed it would be. Had prayed that Milly wouldn't be able to lie, had trusted that she wouldn't.
There was no sound. No sound at all. The silence went on and on.
He breathed again. Lightly. Shallowly. And then there was the smallest ragged sob.
Oh, cripes. His head jerked around. She was crying!
Don't! he wanted to implore her. Don't cry, for heaven's sake! For my sake!
And then he heard more sniffling, and he looked the other way, and damned if her mother wasn't crying, too! Carole mopped her eyes with a handkerchief and shook her head as she clung to Milly's dad.
Milly's dad looked disgusted. "Oh, for God's sake," he muttered. "I don't believe this."
The minister didn't seem to, either. He cleared his throat, began to speak, then stopped and shook his head. "I've never…" he mumbled, but the words died out.
The only one who seemed to have
any presence of mind was good old reliable Dutton. He looked at Cash for a long moment, dark eyes searching. Cash met his gaze determinedly, defiantly. And then finally Dutton turned to Milly. "You want him?" he asked her.
She was still crying. Her face, first pale, then red, was now blotchy. She didn't answer. She gulped and cried harder. Apparently for Dutton that was answer enough.
"Fine," he said. "You got 'im. I'd rather know now." And then he turned and walked out.
No one else moved. They all, except Milly, looked at Cash.
For the first time he was at a loss.
He hadn't thought beyond stopping the wedding. Well, he'd stopped it. Now what?
He looked around—at Milly who, despite her blotchy face and runny eyeliner, was a beautiful bride. He looked at Dori in her bridesmaid dress, shaking her head in astonishment, at a dazed best man he didn't know, but who at least hadn't followed Dutton out the door. He looked at the couple of hundred people who'd braved a winter storm to watch Milly get married.
No reason to send them home as long as there was another willing groom, he decided.
He grinned, relieved, almost cheerful now that he had a grip again. He turned to Milly. "You want to get married? Suits me. Let's get married." He held out a hand to her and stepped forward.
Straight into the bride's right hook.
There was just no pleasing some women.
She'd wanted to marry him, hadn't she? She'd wanted forever. Wasn't that what she'd said?
She'd wanted him to give up riding Deliverance, stick around and convince her. Well, he had. Mostly. He'd given up the horse, given up the rodeo, given up everything. He'd driven through the damnedest storm he'd ever seen to get back to her.
And she not only wouldn't marry him—letting a perfectly good church, a couple hundred guests and a real nice wedding cake go to waste—she wouldn't even listen to him!
She socked him in the jaw and took off. "What the hell's wrong with her now?" he asked his buddies.
They didn't know. Women were a mystery to them, too, they said. They were all sympathetic, especially Shane.
Shane went way out of his way to tell Cash that he'd done the right thing, that Milly was making a big mistake, that they'd work it all out. He said all the things Cash wanted to hear. He said them a lot—almost as if he was trying to convince himself, not Cash.
THE COWBOY CRASHES A WEDDING Page 14
