A Cowboy's Love

by J. M. Bronston

  “I’ve seen that woman work, Jamie. If it can be done, she can do it. We’ll find out tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we have an afternoon to kill.” He waved an arm, taking in Salt Lake’s downtown—a few modern office buildings among the much older ones, all fronting the broad streets and centered around the Mormon temple that raised its white spires into the clear blue sky. The whole scene seemed to have been hung, like a huge picture postcard, right up against a backdrop of spectacular granite mountains. “Let’s take a look at what we’ve been missing, living out in the desert,” Cal said.

  “But first,” Jamie said, “I have to find a place to stay for the night, something not too expensive.”

  “Hey, we can talk about that later,” Cal said. “Right now, let’s you and me go look at the fancy stores. They got places here in the big city that’ll knock your socks off.”

  * * *

  There was music in the air and the chatter and buzz of hundreds of shoppers; escalators climbed up through light-filled spaces lined with shops, and all was a confusion of color and action more dizzying than anything Jamie had ever seen before. Babies were being pushed in strollers, older children ran in and out of the crowds, chasing each other, laughing, spilling their popcorn and their ice cream cones, and teenagers cruised the shops and the food stores, trying to look savvy and succeeding in looking bored.

  “Isn’t that something?”

  Cal looked around at the bright spectacle and tipped his hat back, his face beaming as though he had, himself, produced this fantastic show just for Jamie’s benefit.

  “There’s just about everything in the whole world you could want here. Let’s just start at one end and work our way all the way through.”

  Jamie was speechless, dismayed, delighted, all at the same time. There surely was a lot going on in the world beyond the Sharperville valley.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. She held him back with a hand against Cal’s arm as they approached the escalator. “I’ve never been on one of those things before.”

  “Nothing to it, Jamie. Just take it slow and easy.”

  He waited with her while she figured out how the damn contraption worked. They both laughed when a little boy, not more than two or three years old, holding his mommy’s hand, stepped casually on ahead of her.

  “All right, all right,” she said. “If that little tyke can do it—”

  It took a couple of false starts before she finally got herself safely onto the moving step, clutching awkwardly at the handrail, and when they reached the top and the escalator deposited her relentlessly onto the second floor, she was thrust back against Cal’s chest and into his arms as he arrived behind her. Momentarily, they created a human bottleneck as the people behind them almost ran them down. They were both giggling as Cal pulled her to one side to clear some room for the folks behind them and helped her get straight on her feet. Then he waved his arm to take in the whole clamorous display that surrounded them.

  “Now, Jamie, let’s pretend we’re just in from the ranch, making our annual shopping trip into town to stock up, and it’s been a great year, beef prices are way up and we’ve made a fortune. And on top of that, we struck oil on the south forty. So we’ve got tons of money to spend.”

  “I could get into that.”

  Like kids at a carnival, they strolled along the store fronts, enjoying the music that played in the air above them, pretending they were buying this and that—“I’ll take one of those and one of those and one of those”—expensive watches and perfumes, elegant fashions and children’s toys. Jamie got dizzy imagining that she was gathering up clothes and jewelry and electronic gadgets, loading up the bed of Cal’s truck and arriving back in Sharperville with goods enough to fill up an equally imaginary new house for her and Mandy. As if imagining could make it so, she was soon spending that make-believe fortune with as much relish as if it was really hers, a bulky wad of dollars bulging in her pocket.

  “This place makes the Kmart up in Spicer’s Wells look pretty puny,” she said. “I’ve seen these malls on TV, but it sure feels different when it’s all around you. A lot noisier. A whole lot of racket and—”

  And then—and then—she was suddenly silent, transfixed in front of one particular window. It was filled with a profusion of the frilliest, prettiest lingerie she had ever seen. There were tiny panties, trimmed in black lace, and pink lace, and white lace. Fragile bras and silky gowns and negligees displayed in luscious extravagance, accented with exquisite perfume bottles and fancy soaps and ribbons and bows and tiny flowers, all suggesting Victorian images of femininity and delicacy.

  Cal would have kept going, but he saw Jamie’s face and he changed his mind.

  “Let’s go in,” he said, “and see if all that dainty fluff feels as good as it looks.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean you ‘couldn’t’? I don’t see any signs saying down-staters aren’t allowed.”

  “It’s not that. Really. It’s just—” She couldn’t think what it was. Too rich, maybe. Too indulgent. Maybe—too intimate. Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t for her. But Cal had a hand on her arm and, there she was, in the midst of all the satin and silk and ruffles and frivolous frou-frou and charming little wisps of fabric that filled the racks and counters. She was embarrassed to let him know how timid she felt, so she made herself touch the delicate bits of finery, and in only one minute she was running her fingertips over this item and that, delighted by the silver flasks, the flowered picture frames, the fragrant bath oils and gels, the soft fabrics, the filmy gossamer wisps in pale hues.

  She wanted it all! The paisley-printed panties, the pale-blue silk pajamas, the long robes of creamy white satin with broad ribbon ties, the matching nightgown with the thinnest straps, cut to the waist at the front. The bras, so pretty, you could almost be seen in public in them.

  She was totally seduced. And she was totally unaware of how Cal was watching her, for he recognized her hunger for beautiful things, for all the things she’d never had, and he was indulging a fantasy of his own, a fantasy of giving her everything she’d ever been deprived of, everything she could ever want.

  A huge basket on the floor was filled with a pile of peach-colored sachets filled with fragrant potpourri and tied with thin satin ribbons, each decorated with the tiniest of satin roses.

  Such a pretty, silly thing, and not expensive. Mandy would love to have one of those.

  She picked one from the basket and turned toward Cal. He was standing at a nearby glass-topped counter. He was holding in his big hand the flimsiest pair of panties she had ever seen.

  “How about this?” Cal dangled them from a finger as she came over to him. “Isn’t this the prettiest thing?” It was just the barest whisper of dark green and red silk and black lace, and it hung from his hand, saucy, intimate, and seductive.

  “Oh, Cal. I couldn’t.” But she wished she could, and she could see he was eager to give her something pretty. “You mustn’t—really—” But Cal had already turned to the salesgirl, across the counter, handed her the panties, and pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

  “We’ll take this, ma’am.”

  The girl had sized up the cute cowboy. She flashed him a coy smile and disappeared.

  “Cal!” Jamie’s hand was on his arm, involuntarily. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “It’s already done.” He smiled warmly at her. “That’s the kind of thing you should have lots of. It suits you.”

  Jamie was blushing and that made him laugh.

  “I don’t know,” she said, feeling wary and confused. “It seems so personal.”

  “Sure it’s personal,” he said, making light of her objection. “Don’t worry about it,” he added casually as he took the small sack from the salesgirl who was back with his purchase and the change from his hundred. He took the sachet out of Jamie’s hand and handed it to the salesgirl.

  “We’ll take that, too.”

  She ga
ve him another coy smile as she rang it up. Cal counted out the difference from the bills he was holding, handed it over, and dropped the sachet into the bag. He put the sack into Jamie’s hand and turned to leave the store with her. But as they stepped outside the store, Jamie stopped him.

  “Wait, Cal—” Jamie held back. “Wait! It’s just—I shouldn’t—” She was stymied. She was trying to figure out what she was trying to say. She loved the little panties. She knew she shouldn’t allow Cal to give her such an intimate gift—it was too much—and it was also a kind of challenge. And then, to her own surprise, she decided to plunge ahead.

  “Wait outside for me, Cal. I’ll be just a minute.”

  She turned and ran back into the store. She had a moment’s conference with the salesgirl who obligingly clipped off the sales tag. Then Jamie ducked quickly into a fitting room. She unzipped her jeans and stepped quickly out of them. She peeled off her plain-white Kmart panties and stuffed them into the little sack. Half-naked in front of the mirror, she removed the little fragment of green and red silk from the bag and, for a long minute, held it up to the mirror, savored its rich color and smooth texture. Then, with a delicious sense of permissible naughtiness, a new sensation and not at all childlike, she stepped into the panties and pulled them slowly up her legs, enjoying the sensuous feel of the silk as it slipped over her bottom, the soft lace lying flat, low across her belly. She stared at herself, turning this way and that, surprised by her pleasure at being the pretty image in the mirror.

  Then she stepped back into her jeans and pulled them up to cover the lace and silk, zipped up quickly, and hurried to join Cal.

  The escalator took them to a lower level where a courtyard of tables and chairs was served by a variety of restaurants. Over pizza and Cokes, Jamie reminded Cal that she needed to find a place to stay overnight.

  “I have to keep my costs down. I saw some hotels nearby, but they look pretty fancy. What do you think, Cal? You’ve been here before. What do you recommend?”

  Cal had wolfed down one slice of pizza and was taking a big bite off the point of the second. He paused, wiped his mouth and swallowed.

  “Here’s what I was thinking. The C-Bar is only about a hundred and fifty miles from here. I haven’t been home in ages and I’d like a chance to see my folks. I know they’d be real pleased to meet you. Wouldn’t take but a couple of hours to drive there, and you’d have a free room for the night.”

  “A couple of hours! Jamie was astonished. “Are you planning to fly?”

  “Don’t need to fly. It’s a straight shot on I-80 from here. It’s an easy drive and I promise I’ll hold it to the speed limit. And I’d really like for you to meet my folks. Anyway,” he took another bite of the pizza, “these big cities are too noisy for me. I’d kind of like to sleep at the ranch tonight.”

  Jamie agreed about the noise. The traffic racket outside and the indoor clatter of shoppers and the music had begun to feel like a smothering blanket of sound. She made a quick calculation, balancing her own shyness at the prospect of meeting Cal’s parents against the oppressive clamor of the city around her.

  “Okay, Cal.” Her decision was impulsive. “Let’s just do it. Let’s drive to Nevada!”

  Chapter Ten

  He didn’t quite keep his promise. He held the big pickup down to about eighty-five, zipping straight-arrow past the Great Salt Lake and the Bonneville Salt Flats, stopping only at the state line at Wendover to get gas and call his mother to tell her he was on his way and to let her know to expect company. It was near sundown when they turned off the interstate highway onto the secondary road that took them to the Cameron spread. The sun was huge against the distant mountains, almost blinding them, when Cal turned the truck west again onto a dirt road, passing through the gate and under a wooden sign that marked the entrance to the ranch.

  “This is it,” he said. “This is the C-Bar.”

  In the glowing last warm rays, the change that came over Cal was visible; he was glad to be home. He settled comfortably back against the seat and pushed his hat back letting the wind blow against his face. Behind them, a cloud of dust rose high as the truck moved along the dry road, through the gray and silver-green of the sage, made rosy now by the approaching sunset. Ahead of them, high in the blue sky, a hawk was scanning the sparse foliage, lazily finishing off his day’s hunting, and to the north, along a slope of hill, a herd of elk grazed quietly, one or two of them lifting a casual head to examine the passing truck. On the flat, a rough air-strip had been laid out and a small Cessna was parked there. In that big country, the plane looked as small as a child’s toy, as though it were waiting to be picked up and put away in the toy box, now that the day was over.

  “Helps cut the place down to size,” Cal said, waving airily at it.

  Moments later they reached a compound of several buildings surrounded by a white-painted rail fence. They turned into the driveway and in front of them was the Cameron home, painted white like a Midwestern farmhouse and two stories tall under a gabled roof. It had a broad porch and a large, well-watered lawn all around, a tidy patch of green in the surrounding desert. Behind the main house were bunkhouses, a cook house, a slaughter house, and a tack room. Two enormous cottonwood trees shaded the southern side of the lawn and between the two trees, in a gazebo, a white lawn swing rocked back and forth, gently, lazily.

  A small woman, slightly plump and light-haired, perhaps fifty years old, in jeans and plaid shirt, was in the swing, reading a book. She looked up as the truck arrived inside the fence in a cloud of dust, dropped her book on the seat beside her, and came quickly toward them, beaming. At the same time, the front door of the house opened and a man came out onto the porch, calling, “Hey, Christina, they’re here!”

  “Let me get that door for you,” Cal said to Jamie, and he was quickly out of the truck and around to her side to let her out. Then he ran to his mother, lifted her off the ground and swung her around a couple of times.

  “You fool boy! Put me down! Watch that knee, Cal! You hear me? I don’t want you banging that knee again!”

  Cal gave his mother a big hug as he stopped swinging her and set her back on her feet.

  “Stop babying the boy, Chrissy. He’s just fine. The knee’s just fine, isn’t it, Cal?”

  “You bet, Dad. It’s coming along just fine. Doc says I’ll be busting horses again in no time.” The men’s hands met in a warm grip, followed by a big hug, muscular and affectionate. Over Cal’s shoulder, Big Cal saw Jamie, who had remained near the truck. Christina Cameron was already sizing her up.

  “Let’s meet your friend, Cal.” Mr. Cameron’s weathered face, lined by deep creases at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, turned to examine Jamie, a genial smile masking whatever his thoughts might be.

  “Mom. Dad. This is Jamie Sundstrom. Jamie lives down in Sharperville, and she needed some legal advice, so I drove her up to talk to Elaine French. She has to see Elaine again tomorrow morning, so I convinced her to come and stay here tonight.”

  Jamie shook the proffered hands. “I sure do appreciate your having me here tonight. I don’t know my way around the city and I didn’t know where I was going to spend the night.”

  “Why, Jamie, we’re happy to have any friend of Cal’s.” Mrs. Cameron led Jamie to the house and up the porch steps. “And any excuse that gets that boy here is a special treat for us. We don’t get to see him often enough.”

  * * *

  Jamie stayed quiet during dinner. The Camerons were cordial, but mostly they chattered away at each other, sharing their news, their concerns, the events of the community and the ranch. The parents wanted to hear all about Ellie and the kids, and they wanted to be assured that Cal’s knee was healing well. They all had so much to catch up on, they left Jamie free to listen quietly and to get over her shyness. And that gave her a chance to look around her at Cal’s home.

  In Jamie’s experience, ranch families worked hard the year round and usually had far too little to sho
w for all their work. Luxuries, even small ones, were hard to come by, and many a ranch owner thought he’d had a good year if enough was left over after the calves were sold to buy a new Stetson and maybe a pair of boots.

  But obviously it was different here on the Cameron spread; this was one family that was making cattle ranching pay. Comfort and financial stability were evident even in the simplicity of the big kitchen where they ate their meal. By Jamie’s standards, the room was sumptuous, with its thoughtful design, sleek stainless-steel appliances, and airy space. This was not the hardscrabble lifestyle she was accustomed to.

  And she had time now to reflect, and to realize that, in fact, this whole remarkable day had been one introduction after another to a more attractive way of living than she had ever known, beginning with the drive up from Sharperville. Cal’s reliable, solid vehicle made the long drive and not once did it heat up or break down. Then there’d been the imposing offices of Larrabee, Slaughter, and French, where the aura of power and money was laid on in a layer as thick as the firm was able to create. And that had been followed by the abundance of goods in the stores at the shopping mall, where there had been almost a surfeit of things, things, and more things. To say nothing of the lingerie store and all it lacy frippery—a tiny bit of which had come away with her, even now snug around her bottom like a secret memento. And finally, this casual, oh-so-ordinary Monday night dinner with the Cameron family, luxurious in its ease, almost opulent in it warmth and honest generosity.

  The comfort, the sense of natural, unforced affluence that had gathered around her this day was seductive in its casualness. Even the dinner, which was ranch style—big portions of pot roast, gravy, and potatoes, with cherry pie for dessert—was solidly substantial without being overwhelming. When she declined seconds, Mrs. Cameron didn’t press her, though Big Cal did tell her, with obvious pride, “Those cherries are from our own trees, right out in back. Best in the county.”

  When dinner was over, she offered to help with the dishes, but Cal interrupted her, taking out of her hand the dish towel she had already picked up and putting it back on the wood-topped counter.