Wild Mustang Man (20 page)

“That must be it,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t mean to complain about Molly. She was perfect. The perfect wife and mother and neighbor. That’s what everyone said. And then she died. Before I could tell her how I felt about her. How much I loved her, appreciated what she’d done. What she’d made of herself.”

“But she knew. She must have known,” Bridget said. “For her you were the perfect husband. Just as she was the perfect wife.”

“I don’t understand it. How could God take anyone so good?” Josh asked, his face contorted with anger. He pounded his fist against the woodwork. “How could He take Max’s mother away from him?”

Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. She stood and crossed the floor and put her arms around him, feeling his solid muscles. “Maybe we’re not meant to understand,” she said. “Maybe we just have to accept that.”

Josh closed the gap between them and ran his hands down her back and buried his face in her hair. He was drained. He’d never meant to tell her. He’d never meant to tell anybody. Was it really because she was leaving tomorrow? Because she had nothing to do with him or his life? Or was it because she understood? That she knew him better than those who had known him all his life?

The heat from her body warmed him, the understanding she felt came through in a wave of overwhelming, heart-wrenching emotion that rocked his body and yet gave him strength. Over her head he glanced up at the framed photo of his wife. His former wife. His late wife. For the first time he thought of her in the past without feeling guilty.

He tilted Bridget’s chin to look at her. Moonlight gilded her face and turned her hair to spun sugar. In her eyes he saw tiny embers of desire flickering in the moonlight. Desire rocketed through him like a tornado, making him want to fan those embers, bring them to flaming passion. It was madness. He’d just finished telling her about his marriage and his former wife, and suddenly he’d been set free. Free from guilt and betrayal. And now all he could think about, all he could feel was a surge of relief and Bridget. Bridget in his mind and in his heart and in his arms.

He kissed her, and she kissed him back Her touch, her scent inflamed him. His tongue slid between her parted lips, seeking, thrusting, savoring. He could finally admit to himself that Bridget’s kisses did things to him that no one else’s ever had. Made him want her in a way he’d never wanted anyone before. He marveled at how her body molded to his, her breasts pressed against his chest her hips locked against his.

It was happening again. Every time he kissed her it happened. Every time she kissed him. Needs swirled around them like tumbleweed, catching at their clothes, threatening to sweep them away in a tide of passion. He didn’t want to love Bridget. He didn’t want to love anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to love him. Not like that. Because he was never going to get married again. He couldn’t risk losing the person he loved.

But he did love her. More than he thought possible. Because if this wasn’t love...he didn’t know what was.

He kissed her over and over, filling his mouth with the taste of her. The little sounds she made in the back of her throat urged him on. Made his heart hammer. He wanted to leave his imprint on her, so she’d remember him—at least for a while. He’d never forget her. He knew that. But her life was exciting, fast paced, filled with people and events. There was no room for him in it There was plenty of room for her in his life, but she’d never be happy there. Never. What if he told her he loved her right now and she turned him down? He would never get over it. What if by some miracle, she married him and he lost her the way he’d lost Molly? No, he couldn’t take that chance.

Finally, with all the willpower he could muster, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. She was only a few inches away, but far enough to let him catch his breath...to see the dazed expression in her eyes, her kiss-swollen lips in the moonlight.

“Good night, Bridget,” he said. Then, before he could change his mind, he turned on his heel and went down the hall to his room.

Sunrise is a magical time, Bridget thought, scanning the horizon. Even in the city. Watching the sun come up over the Bay from the window of her tiny apartment always filled her with awe. But as she stepped out the front door of the ranch house, in the hush of morning, with the sun peeking over the distant mountains, she felt as if she was witnessing a miracle. For a few moments she forgot her worry about telling Max goodbye, forgot the sad fact that she was leaving for good, forgot her fatigue from staying awake half the night tossing and turning and trying to understand what was happening to her life.

She walked through the long, lush, dewy grass unaware that her shoes were soaked through. She could see the crew in the distance already setting up to take advantage of the perfect moment. In a few minutes Josh would be on the hill outlined against the sunrise, his horse rearing, its mane tossed in the wind. Right now he was leading his horse out of the barn, his head down, talking softly to the animal. She watched them come toward her, both horse and man unaware of her presence. How she envied Josh’s life here, his peaceful existence, his ability to do what he loved, without pressure, among friends and relatives. Most of all she envied him his son. He looked up, saw Bridget and stopped abruptly.

“Sleep all right?” he asked gruffly. She felt his gaze rake her body, and self-consciously she smoothed her wrinkled shirt and ran a hand through her tousled hair.

A shiver ran up her spine. It could have been her wet shoes, but it was more likely the look in his eyes, the hunger she saw there, the out-and-out temptation she recognized because it matched her own. His deep resonant voice alone was all it took to send goose bumps up and down her arms.

“Great,” she lied, with what she hoped was a perky smile. “How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he said.

She doubted that. There were lines etched in his forehead that hadn’t been there yesterday and a tightening in the muscles around his mouth. Memories of the words spoken last night—and the one not spoken—hovered in the air between them. Tension crackled in the air that just a few moments ago had been serene. He tightened his grip on the reins.

“Well, I guess we’re about ready,” she said, glancing at the crew, fighting off the desire to fasten the buttons on his vest, to straighten the collar of his checkered cotton shirt and run her fingers through his unruly hair. If it had been anyone else, some random male model she’d paid to do the job, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But with Josh she couldn’t trust herself to touch him, even in the name of improving his image. Not even with one little finger. Not after last night. Not ever again.

He nodded and swung into the saddle so effortlessly she wished she had a picture of that, just that. Not that she’d ever forget how he looked on a horse, as if the animal was an extension of himself, all sinew and grace in motion. She would have enough pictures of Josh Gentry, there’d be one on every bottle of cologne, on every cosmetic counter, billboard, print ad...yes, she’d have no trouble remembering him. Just the opposite. She was going to have trouble forgetting him.

She couldn’t bear to break the morning silence by yelling orders to the crew, so she waved to them and trusted they’d do what they had to do. By the time she’d trudged up the hill, the silver and pink streaks were fading from the sky, the pale moon was setting and they were folding their tripods.

The rest of the day went just as smoothly, as the crew went around taking one more round of pictures. “Insurance film,” they called it, just to be sure they had enough.

“Wouldn’t want to have to come back here,” one of the photographers said after the lunch break.

“Why not?” Bridget asked with a frown. She was as offended as if he’d insulted her personally. Which was crazy. This wasn’t her home, her ranch, her town. After today she’d never see it again.

“You know,” he said with a wave at the wide-open spaces that surrounded the ranch. “It’s so...empty. Nothing to do here.”

Nothing to do but live. A different life, yes, but one that suited the inhabitants of Harmony very well, so well she was half-envious of them. Josh disappeared into the barn with his horse. The crew was packing their gear into their van. Time was running out. Bridget knew she couldn’t put off telling Max she was leaving any longer.

She walked through the front door as she’d done that very first day. glancing at Molly’s picture on the mantel as she passed, wondering if she’d had a chance to say goodbye to her son. Unlike Molly, Bridget knew nothing about children. Had no idea how to say goodbye or how to tell him she was leaving. She wiped her damp palms on her blue jeans as she walked down the hall. Her feet felt like they were made of lead as she dragged them across the wide-planked floor. Maybe she was making too big a deal out of this. Maybe she was transferring her own feelings onto a five-and-a-half-year-old child.

Max was sprawled on his stomach on the floor of his room, building a structure of Lego blocks.

“Hey,” she said, getting down on her knees, “how’re you doing?”

“Makin’ a motocross,” he said, grabbing a model motorcycle with one hand and pushing it over a Lego-built bridge. “Zoooom,” he yelled, as the toy sailed through the air and crashed into Bridget’s arm.

“Aaaaaah,” she said, drawing back with mock terror.

He grinned, showing the gaps between his baby teeth.. “Just like the time I crashed into you the first day you came, remember?” he asked.

“I remember.” She took a deep breath. “That was the first day, and now today...” Oh, Lord, give her strength to say this. “Today is the last day. I have to go home today.”

He wrinkled his freckled nose. “Where’s your home?”

“My home...” She looked around his room, at the beige walls covered with posters and lined with shelves holding his prized and precious belongings. To her, home was a rented apartment. To him and to generations of Gentrys this ranch was home and always would be. He took it for granted. He was too young to realize what a gift that was.

“My home is in San Francisco,” she continued. “It’s a big city in California. If I leave today in my car I’ll be home tomorrow. That’s how far away it is.”

“When are you coming back?” he asked solemnly, looking up at her with the trademark Gentry blue eyes.

She blinked rapidly. She must not cry. She would not cry. “Well...I’m probably not coming back. See, I have a job there. I came here...”

“I know, you came here to buy a horse. That’s what you said, didn’t you?” he asked, scratching his arm.

“Yes...no. I didn’t mean that. I meant I came to see your dad about a horse but what I wanted was for him to have his picture taken riding a horse. His horse. That’s what we’ve been doing. Taking pictures. You know because you’ve been helping.”

“I was a big help, wasn’t I?”

She smiled and ruffled his blond hair. “Yes you were. And when I get back, I’m going to send you the pictures. The ones of you and the ones you took. You could pin them on your bulletin board. Would you like that?”

Instead of the enthusiastic response she expected, he lowered his head and averted her gaze. “I guess so,” he mumbled.

Oh, no. If he cried, if he even sounded like he might cry, she was going to cry, too. If she wanted to leave with any shred of dignity, she had to leave now. She couldn’t risk hugging him or she might never leave at all.

“Goodbye, Max,” she said over the lump in her throat She jumped to her feet and ran out the door before either one of them broke down. Walking briskly toward the front door, her eyes blinded with unshed tears, she told herself he’d be fine. He had everything he needed right here. So if she wasn’t crying for Max, who was she crying for?

She almost ran into Josh on the front steps. She managed a watery smile and backed up onto the porch. “I...we’re almost finished, I guess, so...I said goodbye to Max.”

“Oh.” That was all he said. But his eyes, such a dark blue they looked almost black, bored into hers. The next question hung in the air, unspoken. What about him? What about saying goodbye to Josh?

She swallowed hard. “Before I go, I just want to say that I appreciate everything you’ve done. I know you didn’t want to do this, posing for pictures for two days. But I hope it hasn’t been too painful. In any case, you’ll get a check just as soon as—”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” he said.

“I know, but...why did you do it?” she asked, leaning against the wooden railing, her forehead etched with faint lines. If she didn’t ask now, she’d never know.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Curious, maybe.” He gave her a long, penetrating look that rattled her so much she had to knot her hands together so they wouldn’t tremble.

“Well, now you know.” She told herself this conversation was going nowhere. She told herself to say goodbye and leave. But she just stood there staring down at him from the porch, wishing she knew what to say, wanting to leave, longing to stay, wishing he’d tell her to stay, but knowing he wouldn’t.

In the end she brushed past him, intensely aware of the heat from his body, the earthy smell of leather mingled with the musky, male scent of Josh Gentry that could never be captured in a bottle. If it could, women would be lined up around the block waiting for a chance to pay fifty dollars an ounce for it. She mumbled incoherently something about being in touch with him. On the way to her car in the driveway, she spoke to the crew about what route to take back to San Francisco or maybe it was about the price of hay. A few minutes later she had no idea what she’d said.