Wild Mustang Man (13 page)

“How do you like it here?” she asked the horse.

The horse galloped up to the fence and stopped abruptly and tossed her head.

“Yes,” Bridget said, “that’s how I feel too. You’re lucky, you know, to belong here. I don’t. I wish I did.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wish I were part of the family. I love them, you know. I love them both,” she said. Then she looked around, feeling foolish confiding in a horse. She told herself to stop this fruitless wishing for what she couldn’t have. She would belong to someone someday. If that’s really what she wanted. It wouldn’t be Max and Josh, but it would be someone who was unattached. It might take a few more years, though. To find the right person. She might very well be in the rest home by then, the way things were going—if she didn’t quit falling for the wrong men.

By the time she got back to the house, she felt better able to handle the situation. Josh had fed Max, who was asking for her. She read him a story, then went to mix up some Jell-O she found in the walk-in pantry. Josh asked if she’d mind if he left for an hour to go to his father’s place and feed the animals. She offered to make dinner. He looked surprised that she knew how to cook. But he opened the lid to the large freezer saying there ought to be something in there. There was. There was meat and frozen vegetables.

And so went the day. Taking turns with Max, helping out here and there, running a load of laundry, making a stew that simmered on the back burner all afternoon. Making play dough for Max, putting food coloring into it to turn it green. Whipping up a batch of biscuits. If only Kate could see her now, playing Betty Crocker, what would she say?

Bridget, she’d say, what are you doing?

Doing? I’m helping. Can’t you see that?

Helping who? Not yourself. You’re digging a hole for yourself. You want them to think you’re indispensable. But nobody’s indispensable.

At dusk Max was in the den on the couch watching television. Josh burst into the kitchen, tossed his hat toward the rack at the back door and broke into her reverie. “What were you saying?” he asked.

Josh went to check on him He’d dozed off so Josh turned off the TV and put another blanket over him. He laid the back of his hand against his forehead and decided his fever had receded. Josh knew the boy was uncomfortable by the way he scratched his arms even as he slept, but he was no longer so worried about the outcome.

Back in the kitchen where a delicious homey smell filled the air, a feeling of relief and well-being came over him as he shared the latest medical bulletin with Bridget. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having an adult conversation at the end of the day. Or at lunch. Or in the morning.

Yes, Max was getting better, and Bridget was in his kitchen. He had an overwhelming desire to go to the stove and put his arms around her waist, pull her back until they meshed together. Until her fanny was pressed intimately against his manhood. He would put his hands around her rib cage, and reach under her shirt to rub his knuckles across the soft skin of her abdomen.

He would brush the fullness of her breasts with his thumbs, and she’d turn in his arms, breathless, eager, as responsive as he knew she could be. He’d never known a woman’s desire could flare up like that. He wondered, no, he knew how passionate she’d be in bed. How generous. His heart started beating like a tractor engine. Loud and strong.

The image of them making love flashed in front of his eyes. He tried to block it, but he could see Bridget in a silk nighbown, her tawny hair falling over her shoulders, brushing against his chest, her breasts freed from that lace bra she wore, teasing and tantalizing him. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t going to happen. Because it was wrong. But for the first time he asked himself why.

He gripped the back of the chair to prevent himself from going to the stove and living out his fantasy. It wasn’t fair to Bridget to lead her on. He’d made it clear how he felt, and he wouldn’t confuse her by giving in to his lust. But that wasn’t all it was. He cared about Bridget The more he learned about her, the more he saw of her, the more he liked her. He liked her and he lusted after her. It was a dangerous combination. But it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

She pulled a pan of biscuits out of the oven. Her face was flushed from the heat.

“Biscuits?” he said. “You made biscuits? Where did you learn to cook?” He felt his resolve to keep his hands off her fading. He was strong, but he wasn’t made of stone.

“I just learned by trial and error. I like having people over, you know, invite a bunch of friends for dinner, everybody pitches in. I’ve never made biscuits, though. I found the recipe in that book there.” She pointed to Molly’s well-worn cookbooks on the shelf. Neither of them mentioned her name. Neither wanted to spoil the mood, to bring someone else onto the scene. But they both knew whose book it was.

Bridget ladled stew into bowls and piled biscuits onto a plate. They sat down at the table and talked and laughed and exchanged lingering looks that only hinted at what they felt. Feelings bubbled to the surface no matter how determined they were to keep them buried deep down where they belonged.

And then the phone rang, the harsh sound interrupting the seamless flow of their conversation. It was Molly’s parents. He wanted to tell them everything was okay. He did tell them everything was okay, but he had to tell them Max had chicken pox. They were alarmed. They were worried. They said they’d be there tomorrow to help Josh take care of him.

He protested that everything was under control. They insisted. They’d be on the next plane from Scottsdale, rent a car at the airport and make sure their grandson was all right He hung up and went back to the table. But he couldn’t finish his dinner. Reality had intruded on his fantasy—the fantasy that Bridget belonged here.

“They sold their land and moved to Arizona when Molly graduated from high school,” he explained. “But they come back from time to time to see their friends, and Max of course.”

“Of course.”

He watched her get up and go to the stove to cover the pot He wanted to blurt out that he needed her more than ever. But he forced himself to say something else.

“Bridget” he said hoarsely, “how can I thank you for what you’ve done? You’ve been a lifesaver, a godsend. Don’t go back to town tonight. Stay here. Max will miss you if you’re not here in the morning.” I’ll miss you if you’re not here in the morning, a voice inside him said. Don’t go. You can’t go.

He followed her out the door in the dark to her car. “I don’t want you to go like this,” he said, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “I haven’t even thanked you for what you’ve done.”

“Yes, you have,” she said, speaking to him through the window of her car. “Besides, I enjoyed it. I had a good time. Really.” She managed a small smile, but he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes.

She started the motor.

“Wait a minute,” he said, but she didn’t wait. She pulled away in a shower of gravel, leaving him standing there alone. His chest ached as if there was a weight pressing on his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. He could only stand there staring after her. He didn’t know when he’d felt so alone and so lonely.

Yes, he did.

It was when Molly died. Was he destined to go through life losing the people he loved? But he didn’t love Bridget, did he? And he hadn’t lost her, because you can’t lose someone you don’t have.

Molly’s parents doted on Max. Catered to his every whim. Prepared his favorite foods, brought out a new toy every day and read his favorite stories tirelessly. They cleaned the house from top to bottom, cooked for Josh, and in general took over. Josh was free to get his own work done as well as the work on his parents’ ranch. He attacked dirty jobs with a vengeance, the ones he hadn’t had time for like priming the pump and cleaning out the stables. Trying like crazy to block the image of Bridget in his house, at the stove, across the table, in his arms.

When he came home at the end of each day, he felt more like a guest in his house. By the end of the week Max was thoroughly spoiled, and while still covered with an itchy red rash, he was not very sick. His disposition was best described as grumpy. Josh felt the same way, but he didn’t know why. He was restless and edgy and thoroughly out of sorts. His horses wouldn’t cooperate with him. One threw a shoe and the other threw him—right on his back He wasn’t hurt, he was mad.

When he went back to the house, tired and sore and aching, Max demanded that his father bring Bridget back.

“Where is she? Why doesn’t she come and see me?” Max demanded, scratching his stomach. “I’m bored,” he said tossing a plastic toy soldier across his room. He didn’t want to stay in bed, but he got tired so fast he couldn’t stay up more than a half hour before he was exhausted. Josh was tearing his hair. Literally raking his hands through it until it stood out in every direction. He understood how Max felt. He too was restless and bored, and he too wanted to see Bridget. But he didn’t have chicken pox. He had no excuse for feeling this way.

His in-laws had left, and his parents were back in town. They’d been by to take a turn with Max, but they had things to do, and now it was back to just Max and Josh. From now on. Finally Josh gave in and called Bridget. After all, it was only natural to give her an update on Max’s condition. He didn’t have her cell phone number so he called the number of the woman Bridget rented the room from, and she promised to go knock on her door. Josh handed the phone to Max. Then he leaned back, not even realizing he was holding his breath while he waited. She might be out. She probably was out. For all he knew she’d gone back to San Francisco.

But she hadn’t. Not yet. Max was so excited to talk to her, his red blotchy face got even redder. His voice was so loud Josh could have heard him from the kitchen. Straining to hear the other end of the conversation, his fingers itched to grab the phone out of Max’s hands. Max was listing the presents he’d received from his grandparents and all the TV shows he’d watched, then he begged her to come and see him.

“I made something out of the play dough you gave me,” he said. “I wanna show it to you. When are you coming to see me?”

Josh bent over, trying to hear her answer. He couldn’t hear anything. The question echoed in his head. When are you coming to see me? When, when, when. After an eternity Max finally handed the receiver to him.

“She wants to talk to you,” Max said.

“Hi,” she said.

Just the sound of her voice threw his carefully controlled emotions into turmoil. Just when he thought things were getting back to normal, Max getting well, Molly’s parents gone, his parents back, something made him call her. He didn’t have to call her. He’d wanted to call her. He was using Max as an excuse to call her.

“I’ve missed you,” he blurted. What was wrong with him. Why hadn’t he practiced this conversation before he took the phone. “It’s seems like a long time.” It seemed like forever since he’d seen her smile at him across the table, seen her hazel eyes light up at something he said, felt the warmth of her hand in his. “I’d...we’d both like to see you. If you’ve got any time, that is. My mother was just here. She left some food.”

At that, Max, who was bouncing up and down on his mattress with excitement, grabbed the phone out of Josh’s hand.

“It’s fried chicken,” he yelled into the phone. “And potato salad. And tapioca pudding. She made it for me. But you can have some, too.”

When Josh got the phone back, Bridget was laughing. “Are you sure it’s all right,” she asked.

“It’s more than all right,” he said. “It’s imperative.”

Bridget tied her hair back with a scarf to keep cool, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went down to her car. The hot dry wind blew tufts of sagebrush across Main Street A woman stepped out of the bakery and waved to her. Bridget waved back. There had been moments during this past week when she thought of going back to San Francisco—-just until Max got well and they could proceed with the photo session.

But the thought of the cool gray city by the bay with hordes of people rushing around and horns honking didn’t hold any attraction for her. She knew her friends would think she was crazy, spending her free time walking in the hills above the town, taking pictures of a occasional wildflower under a cloudless sky and finding beauty in the stark landscape.

It was strange how her life back there seemed so far away. And so insignificant she thought. She had no desire to reenter the rat race. There was really nothing she could do until Max got well. So she’d just stay there in Harmony, and try not to think about the most intriguing, most rugged, most down-to-earth, honest man she’d ever met. Too honest. He’d made it clear he’d never fall in love again. Never get married again. In short, he was unavailable. And yet as soon as he called her, she was running to see him, making herself available anytime he called, anytime he said he missed her. This was the last time, positively the last.