The Cowboy and the Kid

by Anne McAllister

  Sam's didn't. She was gone almost as soon as the program ended.

  So was Taggart Jones.

  Felicity hadn't been in any hurry to get through the throng of parents. She didn't imagine she would need to be. Of course, he'd stopped taping, but that didn't mean he was going to leave immediately, did it?

  Apparently it did, for when she looked around after most of the parents had disappeared, Taggart was no longer there. The videotape lay on her desk. She picked it up. It was still warm.

  Swallowing the lump of disappointment in her throat, she dredged her peppiest smile up from her toes. "You were wonderful," she told the class. "I couldn't be prouder of you. How about an extralong recess?"

  The whoops and hollers were deafening.

  "If," she said severely, "you can be quiet until I get you outdoors. There are other classes in the building hard at work, and you can't disturb them." They quieted down, and once they had she led them outside for recess. Jenny Nichols stayed outside to watch them while Felicity went back to the classroom.

  She needed a little space, a little time to think. Time to recover. Not from the program. But from seeing Taggart come—and go—without a word to her.

  She still held the tape in her hand. The product she had asked for. Not at all what she wanted. She lifted the tape to her cheek and pressed it there.

  "Felicity?"

  She spun around.

  Taggart stood in the doorway.

  "I was wondering … would you like to go out to dinner?"

  * * *

  Seven

  « ^ »

  He should be minding his own business! He should be getting into his truck and heading home.

  He'd done what he'd come for—to see Becky do her presentation, to make the videotape as Felicity had requested. He didn't have any further reason to stick around.

  Except to tell Felicity what he'd heard.

  It wasn't his problem. It certainly wasn't his business. He'd told himself that all the way out to his truck. He'd even got in and started the engine.

  But then, just as he'd started to leave, he looked over and saw Felicity letting the kids out to play. They'd spilled down the steps, hooting and hollering, and she stood there watching them, smiling at them. She'd looked young and innocent and happy.

  Then, as he'd watched, her smile faded. She looked lonely, lost, almost, as she ran a hand through her windswept hair. She turned and said something to Jenny Nichols. Then, hugging her arms across her breasts, Felicity went up the steps and disappeared into the building once more.

  And Taggart had gone after her.

  Where the invitation to dinner came from, he wasn't sure.

  He certainly hadn't had to ask her. He'd wanted to. There was that kiss, after all.

  Not that he'd asked her because of the kiss! God, he'd been running from that kiss for weeks. But it wasn't working—the running. He was thinking about her all the time. Maybe it was better to see her—eat with her—get to know her. Get over feeling the way he felt around her. Yeah, that must've been why he'd done it. Self-preservation.

  "It has nothing to do with—with what Becky wanted," he said to her now, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. "It's not a date."

  "Oh." And damned if it didn't look like the light went right out of her eyes. Then Felicity straightened and met his gaze squarely. "Of course not." Her tone was brisk, but he felt as if he'd just kicked a pup.

  "I didn't mean … I wasn't…"

  "No, I understand," she said quickly. "You're telling me what the rules are because last time I … broke them."

  He swallowed. "You mean the … kiss?" He damn near strangled on the word. "Don't be silly," he said, lying through his teeth. "It doesn't matter. I don't get kissed and tell, if that's what you're worried about. It didn't mean anything," he added, and dared a direct glance at her for confirmation.

  She didn't nod. Hell.

  He scuffed his toe on the linoleum floor. "You don't have to come," he said gruffly.

  "I want to come." Her soft voice pierced the armor he was trying hard to keep up.

  Their gazes collided again. Taggart quickly looked away. "Fine." If it wasn't a date, why the hell did it feel so much like one? "I'll pick you up at six."

  She folded her hands on the desk and looked at him. "Thank you for making the tape. I really ought to be taking you to dinner."

  "This one's on me."

  Outside, children shrieked and yelled. Down the hall he could hear chairs scraping and some teacher droning on. That was what he remembered about school, the droning. He couldn't imagine Felicity droning. And what he could imagine he wasn't supposed to be thinking about at all.

  He ran his tongue over his lips. "Right. See you then."

  * * *

  "Where are you going, Daddy?" Becky asked. She was perched on the toilet seat lid, watching him shave. It had become something of a ritual over the years, a time to talk, a time to laugh. Sometimes he put a shaving soap mustache on her face and made her giggle. She had one now and was watching him with bright, eager eyes as she swung her legs back and forth, kicking her boots against the porcelain bowl.

  He kept his eyes firmly on his own mirror image as he scraped the razor up his cheek. "Out to dinner."

  "Can I come?"

  "Tess invited you over."

  She sighed. "I always go to Tess's."

  "And you're going again tonight."

  "Where you going?"

  Why, he wondered, did they have to play twenty questions? "Down to Livingston. No big deal."

  "To the pizza place?" Becky got that desperate, hungry look on her face.

  "Not the pizza place."

  "How come?"

  "Because I'm not in the mood for pizza."

  "Are you in the mood for love?"

  Taggart's razor damn near slit his throat. "What?"

  Becky stifled a giggle, but her expression was guileless. "It's a song Tess sings sometimes."

  "Oh." He breathed a little easier. Not much. Tess needed to censor her singing material. He grabbed a tissue and stanched the flow of blood from the cut on his neck.

  "Who you going with?"

  "A friend."

  "A girlfriend?"

  "Just a friend." He'd envisioned having this conversation with her one day. But in his version, he'd been the one asking the questions.

  "A girlfriend," she translated hopefully. Then, stricken by a sudden thought, she blurted, "Not Kitzy Miller?"

  Taggart's eyes met hers in the mirror. "What's wrong with Kitzy Miller?"

  "Her hair is stiff and her eyelids are purple."

  Taggart smothered a grin and lied, "I never noticed."

  Becky rolled her eyes. Then she gave a little hop and her eyes grew wide. "Is it Ms. Albright?"

  Taggart cut himself again. "Damn!"

  Becky, beaming, handed him another tissue. "I'm glad," she said and gave a deep sigh of contentment.

  "I didn't say I was going with Ms. Albright!"

  Apparently he didn't have to. Everything he did must be transparent to the eight-year-old female mind. He felt hopelessly outclassed and outmaneuvered.

  "You're not to make anything out of this," he told her sternly. "I just need to talk to her about a few things—related to school."

  "Sure." She looked at him owlishly. "Wait till I tell Susannah!"

  Taggart nailed her with his fierce father expression. "If you say one word to Susannah about this, I'll ground you till you're married."

  Becky just giggled. Then she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him hard. "Don't worry, Daddy. I won't tell."

  * * *

  Felicity heard his truck come up the street a few moments past six. Running the brush through her hair one last time and praying for the good sense not to do anything rash—like kiss him again—she drew a deep breath and went to the door. She wasn't prepared to have him practically bolt inside the moment she opened it.

  "What's wrong?" A wind had come up this afternoon
, blowing down from the Bridgers, but Taggart didn't look like the wind had blown him in. He was glancing over his shoulder like he had a posse after him. He jerked off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, then leaned his back against the door. "You didn't happen to mention that you were going out to dinner tonight, did you?"

  "Just to Maudie Gilliam."

  "And with who?"

  "She asked," Felicity said, feeling just a bit defensive.

  Taggart groaned.

  "I didn't know it wasn't allowed. She brought me some leftover meat loaf when I got home from school. She was going to stay and eat with me, but I said I was going out."

  "Figures. And now the whole damn town has ideas." He looked hunted.

  "Ideas?"

  "About us. You and me."

  "I told her it wasn't a date. Well, that's what you said," she reminded him when he groaned again.

  "Great. You didn't think that was maybe protesting a bit too much. Jeez. Those old biddies will put Becky to shame."

  Felicity sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. They aren't interested in what I do."

  "You see Maudie out there weeding just now? There hasn't been a weed in her yard since World War II. And Mrs. Benn was sitting on her porch with old Horrible Cloribel starin' at me when I drove up the street. Even Sam Eberhardt was giving me the eye. And when have you ever known Sam to rake leaves?"

  "Well, I haven't. But I haven't been here long. Who's Mrs. Benn? Oh, you mean Alice. And horrible Cloribel?" Felicity's brow creased. "Not Cloris Stedman?"

  "It's what we called her in school." Taggart strode over to the sink and pulled back the curtain to peer out the window. It took only a quick look apparently. He let the curtain fall. "I had both of 'em. Cloribel for two years."

  "Did you flunk?"

  He grimaced. "No thanks to her. She taught fourth and fifth grade. I reckoned she didn't think it was enough to make my life miserable for one year."

  Felicity grinned. "From what I heard, you made her life pretty miserable, too."

  Taggart almost smiled. "She told you about the cow pie?"

  "Mentioned it."

  "Served her right." He tugged his hat down on his head as if to emphasize his words.

  "Alice is very fond of you."

  Taggart grunted. "She had a sense of humor. Ol' Cloribel didn't."

  "You might be surprised," Felicity said dryly. She lifted the curtain. A convention of neighbors had gathered in the middle of the block, talking among themselves and looking at her house and Taggart's truck. Alice was beaming.

  "I'm sorry … about telling Maudie, I mean. I didn't realize they'd all be outside watching. Are you sure it isn't just coincidence?"

  Taggart gave her a dark look. "What do you think?"

  Felicity thought he was probably right. "We don't have to go."

  "We're going. Are you ready?" He looked her over briefly, and a hint of color rose in his cheeks as he took in her eager face. "I guess you are. Come on. Let's go."

  The sharp wind had brought cooler weather, so Felicity grabbed her jacket along with her purse, then followed him down the steps and across the yard. She thought he'd head for the Busy Bee, but he headed for his truck.

  "We're going to Livingston."

  "Oh." Felicity supposed if they went to the Busy Bee, all the neighbors would come, too. It might be good for the local economy, but it wouldn't do much for Taggart's peace of mind. Or for her own. She nodded and got in.

  Taggart got in, too, flicked on the ignition and backed around. Then he shot down the street, spraying gravel everywhere.

  "Taggart!"

  He grinned unrepentantly. "They want to stand in the street, they gotta take what they get."

  But he slowed down before he got to where they stood. Still, he stared straight ahead while Felicity waved at them all as he drove past. By the time they got to the end of the street, she was laughing.

  "It's insane," Taggart grumbled. "I'm glad I never courted a local girl. I don't see how Jenny and Mace Nichols survived."

  "Jenny grew up here?"

  Taggart nodded. "She's the same age as my sister, Erin. Jenny and Mace were high school sweethearts." He made a face that told Felicity he didn't think much of the idea. "Mace was always nuts about her. And she was about him, too."

  "They seem very happy."

  "Happy? I guess so," he said gruffly. "They been married over ten years. More power to 'em, I say."

  Felicity heard the strain in his voice. She glanced over at his hard profile. Was he thinking about his own marriage? She didn't dare ask. Instead, after a moment, she turned and stared out the window, watching as cirrus clouds blew east above the Bridgers. The peaks were already capped with snow left earlier in the week.

  "Winter's coming," she said softly.

  At her words, Taggart seemed to breathe again, and she realized that since he'd made his comment about Jenny and Mace, he must have been holding his breath. His fingers flexed, then loosened, on the steering wheel. "Let's hope it doesn't come too soon. Those clouds aren't a good sign."

  Felicity studied them for a moment. In California, except for occasional torrential rains that the drainage system wasn't equipped to handle, or bouts of drought that brought about water-use strictures, she hadn't had to pay much attention to weather. In Iowa it had been more of an issue, but it seemed slightly more predictable than Montana. The year she and her mother had come to stay with Uncle Fred there had been snow on the Fourth of July. And once Uncle Fred had sent her a picture of a picnic in February.

  "I should have had one of the children do a section on weather. I could definitely use some instruction," she said.

  "Just ask. We'll bore you for hours. Cloribel was big on weather. Actually," he reflected, resting his arm on the window ledge, "I learned quite a bit from her."

  "She'd be pleased to hear it."

  "She never will from me."

  "You aren't fond of teachers."

  He slanted a glance her way. "You're pretty damn good. That program today was impressive. I was surprised how much the kids knew."

  Felicity was startled, then inordinately pleased at his praise. "They worked so hard. Every chance they could get. People often say kids aren't motivated, but they are if they're interested."

  "They were obviously interested. And wired, too. Becky was practically going nuts last night—worrying about getting everything right."

  "I hope she slept. I never thought about that."

  Taggart grinned. "After thirty or forty drinks of water and bounces up to make sure she had everything written down, she went out like a light."

  "I'd hate to have parents coming after me with shotguns!"

  "They wouldn't do that." There was a second's pause. Then, "I hope," he muttered.

  "What?"

  "Nothing." He cleared his throat and flexed his hands on the steering wheel. "The only other time I remember Becky gettin' like that was before the Christmas program last year," he went on firmly. "And then she was just standing in a row singing. The year she actually had a part—as a snowman—I missed it."

  "Because of the accident?"

  "You know about that?"

  "Becky told me a little. It … reminded me of Dirk's. One minute everything was fine, the next the world had changed."

  His hand left the steering wheel, stealing over to enfold her fingers in a warm, gentle grip. Felicity felt the comfort offered, the kindred feeling. Neither spoke. Taggart continued to watch the road, and Felicity stared out at the clouds beginning to build over the hills to the west. But all her attention was concentrated on the fingers Taggart held in his hand. It felt so good, so right.

  "Tell me about when Becky was little," she said after a moment. "What was she like?"

  Taggart started to smile. "A trooper," he said. "Becky's always been a trooper. I took her down the road with me, did you know that?"

  "To all the rodeos?" She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. But she was smiling, too, at the thought of this tough
, hard man caring enough about his daughter to want her with him all the time.

  "Almost all of 'em. Now and then I'd leave her with my folks, but mostly it was her and me and Noah. We went all over." He grinned. "Even went to Disneyland once. Got some of those ears. Guys were callin' us The Three Mouseketeers."

  Felicity laughed and settled back to listen. It was the right question to have asked. Talking about Becky was something Taggart did easily and with enthusiasm. Every little girl should have such a father, Felicity thought. The miles passed all too fast.

  The wind was equally strong in Livingston. Not surprising. The town had a reputation for being one of the windiest in the West. Now she shivered and wished she'd brought a warmer jacket. But Taggart found a parking place only a few doors down from the old brick building that housed the restaurant, so it didn't really matter.

  The dining room was paneled in dark wood, and overhead fans hung from what Felicity assumed was the original pressed-tin ceiling. A long, ornately carved bar with a brass rail and a beveled mirror sat along one wall. Along the other was a row of booths. In the middle and at the back diners sat at heavy oak tables.

  "Right this way," the hostess said, and led them to a discreet corner table. The sort of place one put couples who wanted to be alone together. Felicity sneaked a glance in Taggart's direction. His face was impassive. He held her chair for her, then sat down opposite. Felicity picked up her menu, but over it she watched Taggart. All right, she thought, it isn't a date. But then, what is it?

  Taggart waited until they ordered before he told her. "I heard something today I thought you should know." His fingers drummed briefly on the tabletop. Then he dropped his hand into his lap.

  "Something you heard?" Felicity wondered what could possibly make him take her clear to Livingston to talk about it. "This afternoon? At the program, you mean?"

  He nodded. "A couple of the parents were … complaining."

  Her brows knitted. "About the program?"