Luce’s father, recently arrived, proudly escorted the bride to the rose arbor serving as an altar, where Beth waited, beaming, bouquet in hand.
Drake, with his brothers at his side, stood tall and proud and impossibly handsome, facing the Carson family’s longtime minister.
“Who gives this woman in marriage?” the pastor asked.
“Her mother and I,” answered the father of the bride in a clear voice. Before returning to his seat in the front row, next to Dorothy, Blythe and a happily weepy Harry, he bent his head and kissed Luce gently on the cheek.
The vows were made, the rings were exchanged and Drake and Luce were pronounced husband and wife.
Drake’s kiss was long and deep, and when it ended, the guests applauded and cheered, and he whispered mischievously, “There’s something to be said for starting off on the right foot, so to speak.”
And Luce laughed for joy.
* * *
AS MUCH AS DRAKE loved his family and friends, there were times, during the picture-taking and the cake-eating and the exuberant congratulations, that he wished they’d all vanish, temporarily of course, into some parallel universe, so that he could be alone with his wife.
It seemed to him that the fussing and the eating and the making of toasts would never end. Drake choked up as he watched his bride and her father share the first waltz.
God, Luce was so beautiful.
And she was his wife.
When it was his turn to dance with the bride, Drake forgot everything but the way it felt to hold this woman in his arms, to see her smiling up at him, her eyes alight.
Eventually, the long-awaited cue came. Slater gave the prearranged signal to take Luce and slip away—a raised fist.
Finally, finally, the honeymoon could begin.
Drake grabbed Luce and led her to the refurbished buckboard awaiting them. Red was at the reins, all spiffed up in his best suit, reserved for weddings and funerals, and grinning from one ear to the other. He jumped down, nimble for a man of his age, and watched proudly as Drake lifted Luce up into the seat, then followed, taking the place Red had occupied.
There were more cheers and good wishes, and then Mr. and Mrs. Drake Carson were on their way.
The honeymoon would be an unconventional one, Drake supposed, at least in terms of location, but it was exactly what both he and Luce wanted.
Earlier in the day, with the help of his brothers, Drake had set up a tent in the private spot where he and Luce had made love the first time. A campfire was laid, and there were fancy provisions, but just then, Drake didn’t care if he ever ate again.
Luce sat close, leaning against him, her arm hooked through his.
“I can still arrange for a hotel, if you’ve changed your mind,” he told her, raising his voice a little to be heard over the two-horse team and the creaking harnesses.
“Not a chance,” Luce said. “This is perfect.”
The words proved prophetic.
When they reached the campsite, the tent, just big enough for an air mattress equipped with a double sleeping bag, glowed like a palace in the star-spangled moonlight.
For a touch of elegance, there was a small portable picnic table, so they wouldn’t have to eat breakfast sitting on the ground. If they ever got around to breakfast, that is.
Luce drew in an audible breath. “Oh, Drake,” she whispered. “This is lovely!”
Her pleasure was his pleasure, and not just in bed.
Drake secured the wagon’s brake lever, wrapped the reins loosely around it and climbed down. When he reached for Luce, she wrapped her arms around him and slid her body along the length of his as she descended.
He kissed her, long and hard and deep.
“Happy?” he asked when he caught his breath.
She smiled. “Yes,” she replied, “and about to be a whole lot happier still.”
Drake laughed and swatted her lightly on that delectable backside of hers.
“Like any good frontier husband,” he said, “I’ve got to look after the horses before I can do anything else.”
“Then I guess you’d better hurry, cowboy,” Luce purred, her eyes dancing.
With that, she headed for the tent, disappeared inside.
If there was a God in heaven, Drake thought, with a silent apology for irreverence, she’d be out of that dress by the time he joined her.
* * *
IT WAS DELICIOUSLY DARK inside that small tent, and Luce wasted no time wriggling out of her wedding dress and panty hose and bra. Since there was no place to put the discarded garments, she tossed them through the narrow opening and stretched out to wait for her husband.
He was in the process of stripping when he entered their honeymoon hideaway.
Luce was more than ready for him, and there was no question that he was ready for her.
They’d made love before, of course, but somehow that night was even better. In fact, it was transcendent.
They touched each other everywhere.
They kissed and withdrew, not to tease, but because they needed to catch their breath.
They drew out the foreplay until neither of them could bear the wait any longer, and when they came together, they felt their souls mate along with their bodies.
Intermittently, they slept, satiated, and then woke to love again.
For a solid forty-eight hours, they were alone in their singular world of grass and trees and snow-capped mountains.
Then, inevitably, it was time to go back.
“Could we do this again?” Luce asked. This morning, she was wearing shorts, hiking boots and a tank top from the suitcase they’d brought along in the back of the wagon.
Drake, busy hitching the horses to the wagon, paused long enough to kiss her thoroughly. “I was thinking,” he said, working again, “that we ought to build a house here. What do you think, Mrs. Carson?”
She turned him around, flung herself at him, arms around his neck, legs around his hips. “I think you’re a genius, Mr. Carson,” she cried, and then she kissed him just as deeply as he’d kissed her before.
* * *
NO HONEYMOON LASTS FOREVER, Drake reminded himself when they drove up to the ranch half an hour later and found Red waiting for them with a solemn expression on his grizzled old face.
“He doesn’t look happy,” Luce observed, perched beside Drake on the wagon seat and sounding worried.
“He never looks happy,” Drake said.
Luce didn’t wait for him to help her down from the wagon this time. She marched over to Red and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Red chuckled. “See you’re takin’ to bein’ a ranch wife right off the bat,” he remarked, not unkindly.
“You looked so serious,” Luce persisted.
“I ain’t what you’d call expressive,” Red told her. By then, Drake was out of the wagon, coming toward them.
“Stop stalling and spill it,” he said.
“Look, I didn’t mean to get you all riled up. I just wanted to welcome the bride and groom home proper like, that’s all. Let me deal with this wagon and these horses and we’ll talk business.”
Knowing Luce wanted to take a shower and then drink coffee that hadn’t been boiled over a campfire, Drake said, “Go on inside, Luce. Mom and Harry are probably waiting to make sure you’re still in one piece after a wilderness honeymoon.”
Luce smiled, but she didn’t budge. “In a minute,” she said. “If this is about the mountain lion, or the wild horses, I want to hear it.”
Red looked a little surprised, but he didn’t offer an opinion. In his era, women didn’t talk back to their husbands.
Drake felt a little sorry for Red’s generation, because this particular woman was worth listening to.
“The B
LM and the Fish and Wildlife people are all over this,” Red said as stolidly cheerful as ever. “They plan to tranquilize the cat and relocate it farther north. If they can find it, anyhow.”
Drake was relieved. Relocation was ideal in a case like this, but it wasn’t always possible for a variety of reasons, including budgets and manpower.
“Just goes to show change isn’t always bad,” Red agreed. “Back in my day, they solved problems like this one with a bullet.”
“Change isn’t good or bad,” Drake said. “It just is. And this is still your day, Red.”
“As long as my eyes open every morning, I reckon that’s true.” Red scratched his chin, his tone jocular.
“What about the wild horses?” Luce asked.
“No sign of them,” Red replied with regret.
“In that case, I’m going inside.” Luce stood on her toes and kissed Drake’s cheek. “See you around, cowboy,” she said, and then she was moving away, headed for the house.
A glint appeared in Red’s eyes the moment Luce was gone.
“You’ve got more to say,” Drake prodded. “So say it.”
“All the weddin’ visitors are gone,” Red replied, “but you have some company coming your way.”
Given the topic of conversation, the incoming person had to be none other than Lettie Arbuckle-Calder. “Does she have a hyphenated last name by any chance?”
“You got it.” Red practically chortled. “She ain’t alone, either. Two lawyers and some other fella’s comin’ with her. They ought to be here any minute now. Your mother told me to send you in to talk to her soon as you and Luce got back.”
Luce was on her way to the shower. If Drake went inside now, he ran a definite risk of following her upstairs. And if that happened, he’d be late for Lettie’s meeting.
If he got there at all.
“Damn,” Drake muttered. “I hope this doesn’t mean Lettie and her bunch have filed some sort of injunction to keep me from capturing that stallion and moving him off this ranch. If that happens, I’ll never get my mares back.”
“Seems to me you ain’t made much headway in that direction anyways,” Red said wryly.
“Thanks for pointing that out,” Drake retorted. “For a minute there, I’d forgotten.”
Red busted loose with one of his gap-toothed grins. “Look on the bright side, son. In a roundabout way, that stallion landed you a beautiful wife.” He hoisted his rickety old carcass up into the wagon seat and took the reins. Looking down at Drake, he went solemn again. “Just simmer down and listen to what these folks have to say. Like as not, they want the same thing you do, just for different reasons. And Lettie Arbuckle might be a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of ’em.”
Drake didn’t answer. He just went around to the back of the wagon, lowered the tailgate and pulled out Luce’s suitcase and his leather overnight case.
Soon as he raised the tailgate again, Red drove off.
* * *
DRAKE HEADED FOR the house. No sign of anybody.
Not daring to join his wife upstairs, Drake found clean jeans and a shirt in the laundry room, then used the adjoining shower, reserved for men who might dirty up Harry’s clean floors or get dust on the furniture.
While he lathered up, he thought about Lettie. She could be pushy as hell, but he’d served on the board of the county humane society with her, and he knew her concern for the welfare of animals was genuine. If she was on the annoying side, well, her heart was in the right place.
Fifteen minutes after he’d gotten dressed and poured himself a cup of coffee, the Lettie Arbuckle-Calder contingent showed up in a caravan of luxury vehicles.
Harry and Blythe instantly reappeared, greeted him cordially and proceeded to welcome their guests.
Everyone gravitated to the dining room and seated themselves around the big table, conference style.
Luce joined them while they were still getting settled, and another round of good wishes ensued.
While Harry bustled off to the kitchen to brew a gallon or two of coffee and arrange the inevitable baked goods on platters, Lettie stated her business.
“We’ve come to outline our plan concerning that stallion and his band,” she said, and her tone was decisive. “Those beautiful, majestic creatures must be protected at any cost.”
Harold, who was now recovered to the point that he could get around, ambled in and settled himself as close to Drake as he could manage, and Violet soon arrived, too.
All eyes swung to Drake, as surely as if he’d bolted to his feet and roared an objection.
Before he could lodge an opinion, before he really had an opinion, however, Harry rushed in from the kitchen, clearly panicked. “I just heard from Grace over the intercom,” she blurted. “It’s time!”
Luce went pale and rushed toward the wide doorway. She turned back to him. “Come on, Drake,” she said urgently. “Slater’s off on location somewhere, and we’ve got to get Grace to the hospital!”
Call him slow, but Drake hadn’t made the leap from Harry’s “It’s time!” to the fact that Grace was about to give birth.
Blythe, too, was on her feet, apologizing to the group assembled around the table.
Luce waited impatiently. “You get your truck,” she told Drake, “and I’ll get Grace. Hurry!”
“I’ll call Grace’s doctor and let Slater know,” Blythe said.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Harry said, looking faint.
Somebody led her to a chair and sat her down, made her put her head down low.
Drake ran to the kitchen, grabbed his keys from the hook next to the back door and hurried outside to fire up the rig.
When Luce appeared, Lettie was with her, and they were supporting Grace between them.
“Get her in the truck,” Lettie ordered.
Drake obeyed, hefting a bulky Grace into the backseat.
Harry, apparently recovered, ran outside with a stack of clean towels. “You might need these!”
“I hope to God you’re wrong about that,” Drake muttered.
Luce bounded into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. “Go!” she told Drake.
Grace moaned softly.
Drake laid rubber.
“Why didn’t you tell someone you’ve been having contractions all day?” Luce asked her sister-in-law, sounding surprisingly calm.
Drake was anything but.
“They were far apart,” Grace protested. “And I get them all the time!”
Another moan, this one deeper and slow to end.
“Well, they sure aren’t far apart now,” Luce said.
“I’m not sure we’re going to make it to the hospital,” Grace groaned.
“Don’t worry,” Luce told her. Easy for her to say, since she wasn’t the one fixing to have a baby in the backseat of a pickup.
Drake said nothing. He just drove.
And he prayed.
“If necessary, Drake can fill in for the doctor,” Luce went on merrily. “It can’t be that different from delivering a calf.”
Drake swore under his breath and kept the pedal to the metal. Checking the rearview mirror, he was relieved to see Harry and his mother barreling along behind them in Harry’s old station wagon.
Lettie and her bunch followed, on their way back to wherever they’d been before they showed up at the ranch en masse.
It was quite a procession. Grace gave an apologetic little scream.
Holy shit, Drake thought.
“Hold on, Grace,” Luce said, rifling through her purse. How was it that, no matter what the emergency, women always managed to have their handbags with them? Triumphantly, she held up a small bottle of hand sanitizer. “Voilà!”
“I can do this,” Grace said, panting the words. “
I can do this.”
That was Grace for you.
“How far to the hospital?” Luce asked, digging in her purse again.
“A lot farther than I’d like,” Drake said tightly.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Luce said in a singsong voice. She’d extracted a pair of nail scissors and a package of dental floss by then.
Grace wasn’t fooled by Luce’s eager reassurance. She was, after all, in pain and possibly on the verge of giving birth to her first child in a truck. “An epidural would be good right about now,” she answered, shutting her eyes.
The next thing she said was “Oh, my God, the baby’s coming—now!”
Drake was about to whip over to the side of the road, shut off the truck and take care of business, but before he could, Grace spoke again.
“Or not,” she said happily. “Whew. That was a bad one.”
* * *
THEY MADE IT, after all.
Just barely.
In the end, an emergency-room doctor delivered the baby in the backseat of the truck, right there in the hospital parking lot.
At least Drake had dodged that bullet.
Luce loved the fact that he would’ve done whatever he had to, though. It gave her a greater sense of his brother’s vision of life in a place like this. His documentary about this area showed how people used to rely on one another. In the old days, with no hospitals handy, midwives, the occasional doctor or sometimes stalwart husbands had to make do. “You almost had to deliver the baby,” she said.
Hours had passed, and they were back home in their room.
“Almost is good.” Drake sank down on the bed and fell back, crossing his arms behind his head. He was wearing jeans, but no shirt and no boots. “I can deal with that. And, by the way, there is a major difference between delivering a calf and delivering a baby.”
Luce smiled winningly, stretching out beside him, running a hand lightly over his chest. “You can do anything,” she said.
“Thanks,” Drake replied wryly, “but there may be a few flaws in that theory.”
“The important thing is Grace and the baby are both doing well.”
Always a Cowboy Page 23
