The Great Montana Cowboy Auction

by Anne McAllister

  "She will." Polly was determined. "And the— What about the … baby?"

  The word sounded almost foreign on her tongue. She hadn't thought about babies since Jack. It seemed impossible that Sara was having one.

  "The baby seems to be holding its own. So far so good, anyway." He gave Polly's hand a pat. "If the bleeding stops, things should be okay. Even so, a perfectly normal pregnancy is a big thing to handle on your own. I'm glad Sara finally told you."

  "She should have told me months ago!" Polly said, anguished.

  "She said you had plenty of other things to think about," the doctor told her. "She said it was her problem. Not yours."

  "Yes, but—"

  "You know now," he said gently. "Just give her your support." He turned to go, then looked back and winked at her. "Grandma."

  Oh, good Lord.

  Sloan had called Polly every night since they'd been apart.

  Partly it was because he missed her so badly. Every day he thought of a hundred different things he wanted to tell her. He wanted to talk with her, listen to her, laugh with her. He wanted to share his day with her and to be allowed to share hers.

  But that was only part of it. The rest was that he was afraid that, left on her own, Polly would get some bee in her bonnet, rethink the whole notion of marrying him and toss him out on his ear.

  Until he had the ring on her finger, he wasn't going to rest easy. Once they were married, he knew Polly would honor her commitment—even though he also knew she would never love him the way she loved Lew.

  Over the past three months he'd thought about it a lot, and he knew he couldn't possibly compete with Lew McMaster.

  He'd never be her first love. Never be the man she most wanted. But he could live with that.

  He had to live with that if he wanted to live with her.

  Still, they weren't married yet. So he called her every night, just to talk, to touch base, to remind her that, no matter how she felt, he really did love her.

  Last night they'd talked for half an hour. She was packing her bags, she'd said. Wait until he saw the nightgown Celie had bought her, she'd said. She made his blood run hot just talking about it, laughing about it.

  And today—in a few short hours—she would be here.

  All day long Sloan was like a kid on Christmas eve—distracted, excitable, tense. His mind was on Polly, not on Becca Reed or the treasure they were supposed to discover buried on this deserted island, a treasure that everyone else wanted to steal. But he knew his job and, distracted or not, he did it.

  Polly would be his reward at the end of the day.

  And finally it came. He was off like a shot when Trevor ended the shooting.

  "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Trev called after him with a grin.

  Since Trevor had a gorgeous wife with whom he was madly in love, Sloan didn't see any problem there.

  He stopped back by the house he'd rented, grabbed a shower and changed clothes before heading to the airport. The house was built of native wood and stone. It sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean above a secluded sandy beach. The real estate salesperson who'd found it for him had promised that it was a garden of Eden setting. She hadn't lied. Sloan knew Polly would love it. He could hardly wait to share it with her.

  He grabbed his cell phone on the way out the door in case Polly called to say the plane was going to be late. Trevor had banned them from the set saying he couldn't get anything done with a hundred ringing phones. Now, as he headed toward the door, Sloan saw the message light flashing. He punched the button.

  It was Polly. Breathless. Agitated.

  "Sloan? I'm sorry. I'm … not coming." A large desperate gulp. "It's Sara. Well, no … it's not Sara. I mean, it not just Sara. It's … oh, hell, it's hard to explain on the phone." Another shaky breath. "I wish—" She broke off, stopped short. Then, firmly, "No. No, I don't. I … you're better off without me. It wouldn't work. It wouldn't be fair to you. Trust me. Have a good life. You'll be glad I didn't come." There was a click, then silence.

  Sloan stood stock-still staring out at paradise.

  Have a good life? You'll be glad I didn't come.

  What the hell was going on? Couldn't he trust her on her own for a minute without her having a crisis of confidence in their love?

  Or maybe, he thought raggedly, there really wasn't that much love. Maybe his fears were even more real than he had imagined. Maybe it wasn't just that she didn't love him as much as she'd loved Lew.

  Maybe she didn't really love him at all.

  Thank God for her mother and Walt and Celie. They took over at home while Polly stayed with Sara.

  In her mind she knew Sara wasn't in serious danger and, after twenty-four hours, during which the bleeding slowed and Sara's body seemed to relax and the contractions stopped, the chances of her losing the baby lessened as well. Sara was getting along fine.

  Polly didn't need to be there every moment for Sara. She needed to be there for herself. She felt guilty for not seeing, for not knowing, for not being aware.

  "I didn't know when you were pregnant with Sara," Joyce tried to tell her. "You can't know everything. And even if you did, it's not your life."

  They weren't words that Polly wanted to hear. She felt so inadequate, so lost, so guilty. Her daughter had needed her for weeks—months—and she'd only been thinking about herself.

  "What about Sloan?" her mother said.

  "What about him?"

  "Haven't you talked to him?"

  Polly shook her head. "I left him a message."

  Joyce's brows lifted. "A message? That you weren't coming to your own wedding?"

  Polly shrugged. "It never would have worked."

  "What!" Joyce looked scandalized. "What do you mean it won't work? You love each other!"

  "That's not … it's not enough," Polly said helplessly. "There's more to life than that. There's Sara. There's a baby! He's not going to want to marry a grandmother!"

  "Did you ask him?"

  "Don't be ridiculous." How could she possibly ask him a thing like that? And how could he ever give her an honest answer? She wasn't going to trap him into something he didn't want, wasn't going to force her family on him. "It's over," she said.

  "But—"

  "Over, Mom. Drop it." Then she spun away and hurried out of the hospital. She wasn't going to cry. Lew dying had been something to cry over. Sara losing the baby would have been something to cry over.

  She wouldn't cry over losing Sloan Gallagher.

  It wasn't paradise when you were alone.

  Sloan guessed Adam in the garden had probably known that. Adam had probably figured out pretty quickly that without someone to share paradise with, it didn't matter how beautiful it was.

  Without Polly to share it with, the world was an empty place. Sloan sat there a long time. He played her message over. He listened to it again and again. He wallowed in the unfairness of it.

  He loved Polly, damn it! He'd loved her for years! He'd almost had her.

  And now … he felt like the little boy who, promised a long-awaited gift, got a stocking with a hole in it instead. He felt rotten, miserable, deprived.

  And then he realized that this really wasn't about what he wanted and didn't have. It wasn't about whether or not Polly loved him. It was about loving her, about being there for her when she needed him. That was what love was—even when she thought he ought to be glad she wasn't coming.

  He wasn't glad. He cared, damn it! About all of them. He loved all of them—not just Polly, but Jack and Daisy and Lizzie. Even Sara, whom he barely knew.

  And now something was wrong with Sara. Something serious. Something important because Polly didn't panic. Polly always coped.

  But Polly wasn't coping now. He'd heard that in her voice. She was in a panic. She needed help.

  He picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Trev? It's me, Sloan. I've got to go to Montana. Now. Tonight."

  Sara was going to come home. The baby was all rig
ht.

  The doctor had told Polly the good news just a few minutes ago. Then he'd vanished back into Sara's room. "Just wanted you to know," he'd said.

  Now as she stood in the corridor of the hospital, Polly drew a deep breath and said a prayer of thanksgiving. It had been a harrowing thirty-six hours. But it was going to be all right. Things would be back to normal—or as normal as they could be, considering this new development. It was taking some getting used to, but Polly was getting used to it.

  She would see that Sara had plenty of rest, good food, whatever she needed to keep things going well. That was what mattered now. Whatever happened between Sara and Flynn—well, that was out of her hands. Her job was to take care of Sara, to pay attention to the rest of her kids. Not to go off half-cocked anymore and—

  "Pol'?"

  The voice, low and rusty sounding, came from right behind her. And Polly spun around to find herself face-to-face with Sloan. She stared, her breath caught in her throat. "What are you doing here?"

  He looked worse than she had ever seen him—his dark hair tousled, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw unshaven. He looked like any worried husband or father—and gorgeous, to boot.

  It was all Polly could do not to throw herself into his arms and hang on. She'd become so accustomed to talking to him, sharing with him. Now she desperately wanted to burden him with her burdens, load on the responsibilities, divvy up the commitments. But she knew it wouldn't be fair.

  "I got your message," he said simply. "Where else would I be?"

  She didn't know. But she didn't expect him here!

  "I said I wasn't coming to Kauai. I didn't expect—I didn't ask you to come here."

  "You don't have to ask, Pol'. I want to be here. I want to help. To do whatever I can. I love you." He made it sound so simple. So true.

  Oh, God. Oh, please don't tempt me this way!

  "Daisy said Sara's pregnant."

  "She told you?" But of course Daisy would. Why wouldn't she? She didn't understand. "Then you know," Polly said flatly.

  He shook his head. "Is she okay? Daisy said she'd had some problems. Bleeding?"

  "She's okay. She needs to rest. To take it easy. She's been … dealing with it alone. Putting way too much pressure on herself."

  "Sounds like she needs a vacation," Sloan said easily. "I know just the place." He grinned. It was that mischievous, boyish grin that invited Polly into a conspiracy.

  She resisted it. "She needs to stay here and go to bed."

  "There are beds in Kauai."

  She wrapped her arms across her breasts. "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we're not coming to Kauai. I told you that!" God, she'd thought it had been hard to say the words on the phone. It was harder by far to say them to his face. She started to turn away, but he caught her arm.

  "You said you weren't coming because something was wrong with Sara. I understood. But Sara's okay now. Stressed, but okay. She needs rest. We'll give her rest. We'll give her the vacation she needs. What's wrong with that?"

  "It isn't just the vacation. It isn't Sara. I can't, Sloan. I just … can't."

  "Can't what?" he challenged her.

  Blue eyes bored into her. "I can't marry you." She forced herself to say the words.

  Sloan's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his temple. He looked as if he were in pain. "Because you don't love me?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Then, damn it, why?"

  They were attracting, as always, lots of curious onlookers. Two young nurses were hovering close with pens and papers in their hands, ready to swoop in and get Sloan's autograph the moment he indicated it was okay. But he showed no signs of doing so. His gaze was fixed on Polly. She doubted he knew anyone else was there.

  "I love you," he said to her now, his eyes locked on hers. "I know I've said it before, but I think I really know now what it means. It means I'm willing to do whatever needs to be done for you and for your kids and mother and sister and your dogs and your cats and your rabbits and—hell, I don't know—maybe even your squirrels! It means I want to spend the rest of my life doing that. It means I want to share everything I have with you. And it means, by God—that whether I get it or not, I want you to share with me." His chest heaved. He let out a long, shaky breath. Then his voice dropped. "What do you say, Pol'?"

  She held herself absolutely rigid. She couldn't move. If she had she would have flung herself into his arms. But it would be so wrong to burden him with all her baggage, to lay her troubles on him. So wrong…

  She shook her head.

  Sloan just looked at her. There was a shuttered expression on his face. The naked longing was gone, replaced by weariness, sadness, defeat.

  "I can't make you love me, Pol'. I can't make you trust me. I want to spend my life with you. It's all I've got. I can't offer more than that."

  He went in and saw Sara before he left. He told her that whatever she needed, she could always call on him.

  Joyce and Walt arrived while he was in there. He wished them well, shook Walt's hand and kissed Joyce on the cheek. He called Jack and Lizzie and Daisy and told them he hoped he'd see them soon, that he had to get right back to Kauai to start filming again, so he couldn't stop in.

  Then he came back and found Polly staring out that same damn window, her shoulders stiff, her face composed. "If you want me," he told her quietly, "you know where to find me."

  Then he drove to Bozeman, got on the plane and left.

  It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

  If you want me, you know where to find me.

  Polly wanted him. Every day. Every night.

  But it was selfishness, she told herself. It was foolishness.

  That's what she told Sara, too, when her daughter confronted her about it. No one else would. No one else did. Everyone else let Polly wallow in her self-righteous misery.

  But Sara, home from the hospital two weeks, with a hint of color back in her cheeks and the tiniest of bulges at her waist, said, "That's stupid."

  Polly stared at her. "What do you mean?"

  Sara shrugged. "You love Sloan."

  Polly didn't deny it. "That's not the point. I have other commitments."

  "Me? The baby? No. We're important to you. But we're going to have our own lives, Mom. So are Lizzie and Daisy and Jack."

  "But not yet."

  "No, not yet. But Sloan isn't asking you to give them up, is he?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Then why are you afraid?" Sara shook her head. "I don't understand you, Mom. This isn't what you taught me."

  "What do you mean?"

  Sara wrapped her arms around her knees and looked at her mother intently with Lew's beautiful dark eyes. "You taught me that when you really care about something—about someone—that you can't just play it safe." She swallowed. "Like loving Flynn."

  "You're saying it's my fault you're having this baby?" Polly said, raising a brow.

  Sara shook her head. "No. I'm saying what you always taught me—that some things are worth the risk, Mom—even though there are no guarantees."

  Out of the mouths of mothers of babes.

  You spent years trying to make sure your kids knew what they needed to know to get along in life. And just when you despaired of them ever getting it—not only did they get it, but they turned around and tossed it right back at you.

  Polly knew that Sara was right. She'd just forgotten. She'd been so desperately busy since Lew's death, taking care of everything and everyone, that she had only focused on that—on the caring. She had been so busy conserving and protecting that she'd forgotten that there was more to life than that.

  Once upon a time she'd taken risks.

  At thirteen, as horse-mad as Daisy, Polly had begged her father to buy a half-wild paint horse because she'd admired his spirit.

  "He'll throw you on that pretty face of yours, Pol'," her father had said.

  But Polly had been determined. She'd called him Thunder because she cou
ld hear the sound of thunder in his hooves when he ran. She'd dared to train him, to saddle him, to ride him. And yes, she'd been thrown more times than she wanted to remember. But in the end Thunder had been the best horse she'd ever owned.

  She'd taken other risks. She'd gone out with Lew when other girls wouldn't give him the time of day.

  "You don't want to date guys from Fletchers'," her friend Cynthia had said. "They're losers."

  But Lew hadn't been a loser. He'd been down on his luck. He'd had a few hard knocks. Like Thunder, he'd been a little wild. And like Thunder, he'd responded to her interest, her care, her love.

  "You reckon I'm like one of your ol' horses?" he'd teased her once when she'd said so.

  "You think you love me as much as Thunder does?" she'd countered, because Thunder would have gone through fire for her.

  "Damn right I do," Lew vowed.

  And when she'd gotten pregnant with Sara, he'd been there for her. His entire life, Lew had never let her down. And after it, she'd been determined never to let him down, to always do the best for his children.

  And she'd tried.

  She could honestly say that since Lew died, she'd done everything she needed to do to take care of them all. And that was fine. It was good.

  But it wasn't enough, Polly realized.

  There was more to life than conserving. More to life than protecting. More to life than clutching what you had to yourself and never daring to reach beyond it.

  Sara, God bless her, had learned that. For good or ill, Sara had risked loving Flynn Murray.

  And Sara wasn't the only one.

  Celie had dared spend her life's savings on one date with Sloan, and having taken that step, was daring to take others. Even their mother wasn't huddled inside a protective shell waiting for death to come and reunite her with her husband.

  She was actually going to marry Walt.

  "I love him," she'd said, sounding a little surprised at her own vehemence. "And Gil wouldn't expect me to curl up and die—even though I tried," she admitted a little shamefacedly. "I owe him—and myself—the effort to keep on going."