Tall, Dark & Western

by Anne Marie Winston

  Her voice still vibrated along his nerve endings as he raced up the stairs and headed into Cheyenne’s room. God, he couldn’t wait to see her again!

  He called her every night during the rest of the week.

  It was silly, she told herself, to be getting so dependent on a little thing like the ring of a telephone at a certain time. Still, she caught herself checking her watch every few minutes, anticipation burgeoning within her as the big hand dragged closer and closer to ten.

  They talked and talked, until she winced at the thought of the long-distance bill.

  “But soon we can do this in person whenever we want,” Marty pointed out.

  He told her about his daughter, and she realized the little girl was going to be a challenge. She was four years old and apparently far too good at getting her own way. Well, that would be all right. She enjoyed challenges. And she was looking forward to mothering a daughter. Cheyenne clearly needed her.

  They talked about other things, as well. Their childhoods, their families. He knew she had been the only child of a career military man, stopping nowhere long enough to gather moss. In contrast, he told her, he had moss all over him. He talked about his parents and she learned his father was dead and his mother lived in Florida now with a second husband. He told her about his twin sister and brother and all the scrapes they’d gotten into as kids. He told her, too, about the accident that had taken his sister’s life, and the misunderstandings and hard feelings that had resulted from it and which only recently had been resolved.

  But she still didn’t tell him about Bobby.

  She didn’t know why she was hesitating. After all, he already had a child so she knew he must like kids.

  But this one isn’t his, whispered an insidious little voice inside her.

  She dismissed the unworthy thought immediately. Marty was a kind man, a gentle man. A wonderful man. He needed to know he was going to be a stepfather. But still…

  Wednesday night was New Year’s Eve. She hadn’t made any plans, and Marty hadn’t, either. He called at ten, and they were still on the phone at midnight when the new year came in.

  “Next year this time, we’ll be celebrating our one-year anniversary,” he said.

  She hoped so. But she really had to tell him about Bobby. But…Inky, her black Pomeranian, lay curled against her side as she lay on her bed talking to Marty. She had yet to tell him about the dog, either. Maybe she should start small and work up to the child.

  “Um, Marty?” She worked the words in between a long stream of information about weather patterns on the prairie. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “And what would that be?” His voice was indulgent.

  “I have a dog.” She held her breath, waiting for a reaction, her pulse racing and her heart pounding all out of proportion to the simple statement.

  “You do?” He sounded a little taken aback. “I didn’t know you were allowed to have dogs in apartments.”

  “This place allows small animals.” Her tension began to dissipate.

  “Well, I guess it won’t be a problem. He can hang out with the other dogs around here. How old is he? Maybe I can train him to work stock.” His voice was beginning to warm.

  She laughed uncertainly. “I don’t think so. He’s um, probably a bit too small for that.”

  Now his voice sounded cautious. “Exactly how small is too small?”

  She took a deep breath. “Eight pounds. He’s a Pomeranian. Eight pounds is a very sturdy size for a Pom.”

  “Eight pounds?” His voice was incredulous. “Good grief. The other dogs’ll think he’s a meal. He’ll make the horses nervous and then they’re liable to step on him. No—” his voice was decisive “—that’s too small. You’ll have to find a home for him in town where he can be somebody’s pet.”

  “But…but I can’t just give him away!” Her voice began to quaver despite her best efforts to stay calm. Give Inky away? He’d been her best friend all during her pregnancy and the sad days after Rob’s death. Marty didn’t understand. He’d been so…so dismissive. “He was a wedding gift from my husband.”

  Dead silence was the only response from the other end of the phone.

  Gathering her resolve, she began to list Inky’s attributes. “Besides, he’s not an outside dog, anyway. He stays indoors. He rarely barks and he’s even paper trained if I can’t take him out. He’s big enough to go up and down the steps and jump on and off the furniture without help—”

  “You let him get up on the furniture?” If he could sound more shocked, she couldn’t imagine it. “We’ve never let our dogs in the house. They sleep in the barn when it’s cold.” His voice was adamant. “You can’t have a dog in the house.”

  Suddenly he didn’t sound like the warm and easy-going man she’d spent last Saturday night with, the man she’d been talking with just a few minutes ago. Tears welled up and she swallowed, hurt stinging her heart. He hadn’t even listened to her!

  If he were like this about Inky, how would he react when she told him about Bobby? The idea was daunting. Maybe this whole notion of marriage was ridiculous. She wanted to marry him, wanted it badly, but maybe—

  “Juliette?” His voice was so hushed she nearly didn’t hear him for the thoughts clanging around in her head.

  Finally she realized he’d spoken her name aloud. “Yes?” The tears overflowed and made cold tracks down her cheek. She placed a hand on Inky’s tiny head, gently massaging behind his ears, and he heaved a happy doggy sigh as he snuggled deeper against her.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No.” She gulped and tried to breathe evenly.

  “Yes, you are.” His voice registered cautious concern. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t handle that very well. Can I have another try?”

  He sounded endearingly humble, and she could imagine the look in his blue eyes, earnest and penitent. “Of course. I’m sorry, too.”

  “I guess one little dog in the house isn’t such a big deal,” he said, and she could almost hear him trying to talk himself into the idea. “Just because I’ve never kept a dog in the house doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I know lots of people who do.”

  She had to chuckle despite herself. “Oh, Marty, maybe getting married without knowing each other better isn’t such a good idea after all. I mean, what if—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. “Hey, sweet thing, one little almost-disagreement doesn’t mean we should give up. Don’t get yourself all worked up about this, okay?”

  “I’m not. Not really. But—”

  “But you’re still marrying me on Friday,” he pressed.

  When she didn’t respond immediately, his voice lowered, going warm and intimate. “Angel, we’re going to be good together. In a lot of ways. I can’t wait for Friday to get here so I can hold you again.”

  “I can’t wait, either.” And she couldn’t. She needed Marty’s arms around her, his kisses that made her forget about all her worries.

  It wasn’t until she hung up that she remembered she still needed to tell him about Bobby. But…he’d had an awfully strong reaction to the dog. What if he decided he didn’t want to marry her?

  Her stomach trembled. She wasn’t sure marrying so quickly was wise, but she was sure of one thing. She loved Marty Stryker. Against all common sense, she’d given her heart to a man she barely knew, and if he walked away she’d never be able to forget him. If she told him about Bobby, she risked driving him away.

  On the other hand, she reminded herself with forced cheer, the odds were at least as good that he’d be thrilled to have a baby boy to raise. Why shouldn’t he? She fell into a troubled sleep still undecided about what to tell Marty about her son. And when to tell him.

  Despite the nightly phone marathons, the week seemed to last forever. Juliette’s hours at work moved like cold molasses, though her schedule remained unchanged. At home she packed her things into boxes to go with her out to the ranch and separated her few things from the furnishings tha
t had come with the apartment. She gave notice and apologized to her boss for the short time frame. She decided that Friday would never arrive, but finally it was Friday morning. She worked her last few hours and then went home to wait. Marty would be arriving in another hour.

  Her neighbor had been keeping Bobby while she worked, since she had moved to Rapid City. It had been a perfect arrangement for a working mother and a retiree who loved babies, and she would miss the older woman, who was baby-sitting one final time today while she got married. She had merely told the sitter she would be moving and quitting work, because she couldn’t quite figure out how to explain her coming nuptials. The woman might call the funny farm.

  It was freezing outside when she went downstairs, though the weatherman had assured his listeners that it was supposed to be forty-one degrees today, positively balmy for early January. She waited in the little lobby of her building for Marty, her long heavy coat covering the winter-white coatdress she’d decided to wear.

  He arrived on the dot of twelve-thirty, as he promised when she’d given him directions to her apartment complex, and she watched through the glass insets at the side of the entry door as he came up the sidewalk.

  Had he been that big last Saturday? Goodness, he seemed imposing. He was wearing a brown hat with a fringed leather jacket that matched, and his shoulders seemed a mile wide as he mounted the steps.

  Butterflies were batting their wings against the walls of her stomach, and she took a deep breath as she opened the door.

  “Hello.” She couldn’t keep a smile from spreading. He smiled in return, and her heart skipped a beat. He was so handsome!

  He stopped in front of her. “Hi.” His eyes were the color of a summer sky, and as they met hers, all the butterflies doubled their motion. He came forward and took her hands. “I didn’t remember how beautiful you are,” he said quietly.

  She blushed. Oh, she knew she had a pretty face, but to her beautiful was a word applied to well-filled-out women whom men turned to watch when they walked down the street. She had no curves to speak of and would only be considered well-filled-out in a group of twelve-year-olds. Come to think of it, she’d seen twelve-year-olds in the mall who wore bigger bras than she did. “Thank you,” she said.

  He stepped closer, and her heart skipped a beat at the look in his blue, blue eyes. She could barely breathe as he set his hands at her waist. “It’s been a damn long week,” he said. “Give me a kiss for luck.”

  His head was already dipping toward hers and his face loomed large. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed over hers, then settled slowly, firmly, on her mouth as he kissed her so sweetly she felt tears come to her eyes.

  She loved this man.

  He gathered her closer, and she slid her fingers to the back of his neck and toyed with the gold-tipped curls there. He groaned a little into her mouth, drawing back to smile down at her ruefully. “Let’s go do this. Then we can think about…other things.”

  He meant sex, she knew, and her stomach tightened with a delicious tension as she preceded him down the steps and out to his truck.

  As he drove her down St. Joseph Street to the courthouse, she thought of Rob, her first husband. They’d been happy together. At least, they’d been happy at first, until his mother had become a third person in their marriage. But she couldn’t remember ever feeling this incredibly arousing excitement at merely being close to him. How could she have been happily married for almost two years without ever knowing the feelings that Marty inspired in her?

  He put her in the middle seat beside him and drove with one arm around her the whole way. His attitude was courtly and protective, and she felt safe and secure. Finally, after a week of vacillating between a wild desire to see him and a certainty that she was a loony tune, she felt as if this marriage was the smartest thing she’d done in a long time.

  As he parked the truck, he glanced over at her and grinned, a devilish grin that lit his blue eyes with a startling sex appeal. “Ready to get married?”

  A sudden attack of guilt struck. She’d never told him about Bobby, partly because she couldn’t quite figure out how to introduce the topic. There was some small part of her that worried about Marty’s reaction. But that was silly. He’d like her son.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, but we should talk a little bit more about ourselves. I—”

  “It’ll keep, angel.” Marty opened his door and slid out, coming around to help her down. As he took her hand, he said, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk for the rest of our lives.”

  He was right. And she probably was worrying for nothing.

  The civil ceremony was nothing like the church wedding he and Lora had had, but as he spoke the words that would legally attach him to the petite blonde at his side for the rest of his life, he began to sweat.

  He’d chosen this course, had chosen this woman and pursued her. He was remarrying today of his own free will, and there was no reason to feel guilty. But that’s exactly how he felt. He’d been thinking of Juliette’s charms all week, having erotic daydreams about bedding her and even more erotic nighttime dreams and though part of him knew it was all perfectly normal, another part of him despised himself. He’d made marriage vows before God once already, promises to Lora that should have lasted a lifetime and would have if she hadn’t died.

  But she had, and he was ashamed of how fast he’d forgotten her.

  He was quiet after the ceremony as they drove back to Juliette’s apartment to collect her things. Lora, I promise I won’t forget you. At his side, Juliette was equally quiet, probably suffering from a similar attack of nerves. Her small fingers twisted the platinum wedding band with five diamonds set in it around and around on her finger, and he imagined it felt odd to wear a ring there again. He’d never worn one for fear of losing a finger while roping, a common mishap among cowboys who insisted on wearing rings.

  At her apartment, he made an effort to shake off his introspection. “How much do you have to load?”

  She shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes. “Very little, actually. The apartment came furnished. I have everything stacked in the hallway outside my door.”

  So he came up with her, and together they carried down several loads of boxes and suitcases. He realized he’d never even seen the inside of the apartment in which she’d lived, and he had a sudden moment of panic.

  What if she was crazy about blue? He hated blue. Not as in jeans, or shirts, but definitely as in paint or wallpaper. It was the one thing he and Lora had never agreed on. She’d have had every room in the damn house done up in blue if he hadn’t protested.

  He was standing beside the truck empty-handed, thinking idiot thoughts like that one when he heard Juliette behind him again.

  “Marty? Here’s my dog.”

  He turned, expecting to see her with a leash in her hand. But instead, she had both hands wrapped around the handle of a relatively small metal crate, as if it weighed ten tons instead of ten pounds.

  “This is Inkspot. Inky for short. He’s almost three years old.” The words fell more and more slowly from her mouth as he looked dubiously at the small crate she was lugging. “He’s very well behaved,” she said, caressing the top of the tiny head through the bars.

  Great. A gift from her first husband. He’d prepared himself to tolerate her little critter in the house, but seeing the thing up close made it a whole lot more real. He reached for the crate with which she was struggling, easily lifting it and striding to the curb to set it down among the other boxes he was packing, and she turned to go back inside while he stacked things in the truck.

  That was not a dog. He stared at the little black mop in the crate. It stared back at him with bright button eyes. It was more the size of a large rat than a dog.

  It would probably last less than a week on the ranch.

  “Inkspot,” he muttered. “You’ve got a stupid name, mutt.”

  He was almost finished loading the boxes into the back of the truck when she
came down for the last time. He turned around to tell her not to lift anything, but when he saw what she was holding in her arms, all the air whooshed out of his lungs. “What the hell is that?”

  Juliette stiffened her back, though the astonished displeasure in his tone made her want to turn and run back inside. Her heart sank like a stone to the bottom of her stomach. She lifted back a flap of the blanket to reveal Bobby’s tiny features, snugly bundled in a cap against the chill winter wind. “This is my son,” she said.

  “Your son!” Marty’s tone was dark, his face incredulous, blue eyes wide and…and furious. She decided to give him a few minutes. She’d known it would be a shock, but he seemed like such an even-tempered, reasonable man that she’d hoped he wouldn’t mind too much.

  “Yes.” She rushed into the speech she’d been working on all week. “He’s almost three months old, and he’s a good baby. He won’t be any trouble. I’ll still have plenty of time to do all the chores and be a mother to Cheyenne, as well—”

  “You didn’t think it was important to ask me if I minded getting a new baby in this deal?” The words cracked like a whip. His face was flushed and angry, and she swallowed the knot of dread that had risen in her throat. He clearly was far more upset than she’d anticipated. After all, he already had one child.

  “I…you have a daughter already,” she said lamely. “I thought another child wouldn’t be a big problem.”

  His fists were clenched at his sides; he looked as if he wanted to punch something. “You thought wrong,” he snarled. Then, all the shocked anger seemed to drain out of him, and she saw agony in his eyes before he turned, bracing both hands on the bed of the truck. “It’s not—it’s just— Oh, hell,” he said with quiet ferocity.

  She took a hasty step backward. What in the world was he thinking? What had etched that look of indescribable sorrow on his face? “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. Then the thoughts that had been plaguing her since the drive from the courthouse returned. “It was wrong of me not to tell you about Bobby before the marriage. If you’d rather get an annulment—” the words nearly choked her but she forced them out “—I won’t argue.”