Wild Mustang Man (21 page)

She drove to town, picked up her belongings, paid the rent and drove away. Watching the town disappear in her rearview mirror, she saw the one-story, sand-colored buildings get smaller until they faded away in the dust, saw the whole town swallowed up as if it had never been there. As if she’d never sat in the diner drinking coffee with Suzy and Tally, or bought clothes for the party at the dry goods store, or made phone calls to the Gentry Ranch from her cell phone standing on the corner.

It was over. She kept telling herself until the words had burned a pattern in her brain. Over. Over. Over. Until the tears stopped falling. Somewhere around the state line.

The next week was difficult for Josh. The week after that even more so. He found himself staring out the kitchen window, letting the canned soup boil over on the stove, as he remembered the night he and Max taught Bridget to work a slingshot. Instead of paying bills in his den, he picked up a pad of paper and started a letter to Bridget. There was so much he wanted to say. Things he couldn’t say in person. About how much she’d changed his life. How she’d made him see things in a way he never had before. How she’d made him feel things he never dreamed possible. Explaining that even if he were free to love again, he couldn’t afford to take a chance on losing the woman he loved. It had been too painful last time. It had taken a Herculean effort to get his life back on keel. He’d made that effort for Max’s sake.

What about Max? He couldn’t afford to lose another mother. This was something Josh had never told Bridget never even consciously thought about before. Because there was no reason to articulate it. It was simply there. He and Max were in no condition to risk their hard-won stability by taking a chance on another woman in their lives. They were better off by themselves. This fact was a part of him, a part of what made him what he was.

But after he’d scrawled “Dear Bridget” on the paper, he dropped his pen and was lost in a blur of memories. Bridget’s determined expression across the fifty-yard line playing touch football, Bridget at the horse auction, her shoulder pressed against his, Bridget at his father’s birthday party playing horseshoes with his arms around her. Her silky hair, her sizzling kisses. He buried his head in his hands and asked himself what was more risky, to stick to the status quo or to take a chance on happiness so sublime he had to keep pushing it to the back of his mind for fear of doing something crazy.

He was hard-pressed to answer the inevitable questions from everyone he saw. There was Max’s plaintive, “Why, Dad, why did she have to leave?”

There was, “How’s Bridget?” from his mother, accompanied with a knowing look.

There was, “Whaddya hear from Bridget?” from his old classmates.

He couldn’t go to town without someone stopping him to ask about her. What could he say? I haven’t heard from her, and I’m not going to? No, all he could do was to mumble something about she was fine but very busy and so forth. But how did he know she was fine or that she was busy? He could have called her, of course. He still had the card she’d given him that first day, but he had no excuse for calling. If she was interested in him, she would have called him.

But there was no call, no message on his answering machine. She was no doubt swept up in the ad campaign for the cologne, or maybe she’d moved on to a new account She was back to her former life, a life that made Harmony look dull. Maybe she was out looking for another symbol, right now, today, as he repaired the fence on his upper pasture in an futile effort to get his mind off Bridget and onto more practical matters.

Instead, he stood there, with the roll of fence wire lying on the ground, imagining that this time Bridget was looking for a man who looked good in running shoes or who ate cold cereal for breakfast. The idea of her photographing some other guy, a guy who had no five-year-old son, who’d never suffered a heart-breaking loss, who came with no baggage, who was available for a long-term commitment, caused him to grind his teeth in frustration.

Because this man, whoever he was, would be powerless to resist Bridget’s quirky charm. He’d be bowled over by her honesty, her determination and her kindness. Not to mention those meltingly soft eyes, her determined chin, her kissable lips. And he would be sweeping her off her feet with flattery, plying her with promises. And she would listen, she’d believe, because she was so vulnerable, so lovable, that he himself had fallen in love with her!

In love with Bridget? He couldn’t be. And yet what other reason could there be for the way he felt? For the way she’d turned his life upside down? For the way she’d come and taken up residence in his heart? He hit his forehead with his fist.

Maybe he should have tried to sweep her off her feet with compliments. If anything he’d been too honest, about his problems and about his past. He’d scared her away by unloading his whole psyche on her that last night. He’d seen the look in her eyes. Even by moonlight he saw how he’d overwhelmed her with his sad story. What woman wants to hear the sad story of your life? No one. Especially not Bridget

She’d gone back to her other life just as fast as she could. It was too late to impress her, to win her over. He had no idea how to do that. He and Molly had gotten married because they’d always been in love and were sure they always would be. It was so easy. Now he was out of step. Out of tune. It was over...unless...unless... He picked up his fence wire, hooked it to his saddle and rode back to the ranch. The fencing could wait.

That night, after Max had fallen asleep, after he’d asked for the hundredth time when Bridget was coming back, Josh went to the living room and took Molly’s high school graduation picture off the mantel. He held it by the frame between his thumb and forefinger, looking at her innocent, youthful face, gazing into her warm brown eyes.

“Molly,” he said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. Maybe you already know. I’ve fallen in love with someone else. I didn’t think it was possible, but it is. It took me off guard. I fought it off because I was so scared. Scared of loving and losing,” he said, leaning against the back of an upholstered arm chair. “I want you to know that I’ll always treasure the love we shared. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you, when I didn’t know that someday I’d marry you. It might have been in fifth grade, or maybe even sooner. We grew up together, and I thought, I believed, I’d never love again after you died, but Bridget came along, and I realized there was something missing from my life. And from Max’s life.”

He paused and imagined that Molly’s sweet smile deepened. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he suddenly felt that she understood, that she really did want him to be happy. That she wanted him to take another chance on happiness.

“I miss you, Molly,” he said, his throat tightening over a lump the size of a horseshoe. “You were such an important part of my life. You were my rock. My center of gravity. No one will every replace you. No one could ever take your place,” he continued, running a finger over the outline of her face.

Her eyes looked back at him, warm and kind and encouraging. And he knew without a doubt that she only wanted his happiness. His and Max’s. Now and forever. He knew, too, that happiness was within his grasp. If he would only take that chance.

“I don’t know how Bridget feels,” he said. “But I wanted, I needed to talk to you before I did anything. I had to let you know.” He pressed the framed picture against his forehead for a long moment and he realized that the glass, instead of cold and hard as it was a moment ago, was now warm to the touch.

“Thank you, Molly,” he whispered. Then he took the picture and carefully wrapped it in one of the small yellow hand towels they’d gotten for their wedding, and put it in a wooden box on the shelf in his closet next to Molly’s jewelry box.

The Wild Mustang men’s cologne launch party was a huge success. The first floor of Macy’s department store on the comer of Geary and Stockton Streets was packed with women lined up to buy the highly touted fragrance for the men in their lives, and with men wanting to buy it for themselves. There was a country and western band playing on the mezzanine. Even Bridget’s ex-fiancé, Scott, was there, looking and sounding suitably impressed, both with the cologne and with her.

“What have you done to yourself, Bridget?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the hat and the leather boots she’d purchased at the dry goods store in Harmony. “You look terrific. This Western motif suits you.”

“Does it?” How was it she never noticed how cool he was, how effete and how superficial? Or was he just an average, normal city man who paled in contrast with the honest, earthy, sexy rancher she couldn’t get out of her mind?

“You’ve done a fantastic job with this cologne thing, you know. Tell me…” Scott motioned to the picture of Josh on the wall. “Is this guy for real? Or is he a computerized image?”

“He’s real.” Very real. The most real person she’d ever known. Her gaze veered to one of the huge colored posters of Josh on his horse silhouetted against the western sunset She had to admit it was a spectacular shot. It conveyed everything she’d hoped it would. Strength, virility, power and sex appeal, all that and more. Even after all these weeks, she couldn’t look at it without feeling a surge of heart-wrenching loss.

“It must be lonely out there, in business for yourself,” Scott said. “Come back, Bridget We can work together again. I know we can. I’ve missed you.” He gave her his most charming smile, and she felt a cold chill go up her spine.

“Not a chance,” she said, matching his smile with one just as phony as his.

“Well, no harm in asking,” he said. Then he kissed her on the lips and drifted away.

Bridget wiped his kiss off her lips with the back of her hand. Lonely? She’d never known the meaning of the word until she came back from Harmony. But it had nothing to do with being in business for herself, and it had everything to do with missing Josh. Every minute of every day. No matter that she’d been busier than she’d ever been in her life. Kate told her it would take time to get over him. She’d known that. She just hadn’t known how painful it would be.

From where she stood on a riser she could see the main entrance to the store. Though she kept it in her line of sight she wasn’t looking for Josh. She wasn’t waiting for him to come through the door. She knew he wouldn’t come, though she’d sent him an invitation with a check for the work he’d done. Then who was she looking for? Nobody. She didn’t know. She only knew there was a knot in her stomach just under her rib cage that had been lodged there since early morning and that nothing could unravel—not even an offer to go back to her old agency.

It shouldn’t be surprising that she felt nervous. This was a big event She’d planned it she’d worked on it for months, and she was responsible for its success. Of course she was jumpy. The client had wanted Josh to be there in person, dressed in his checkered shirt, his vest and his well-worn Levi’s as he was in his picture. Bridget told them it was impossible. He was busy. He was tied up. They didn’t have to know he was violently against men’s cologne— wouldn’t buy it wouldn’t wear it, wouldn’t promote it any more than he’d already done, wouldn’t even smell it. Especially if it smelled like wild mustangs. And certainly wouldn’t come to an event celebrating it. Especially if he knew Bridget would be there.

She’d never forget that last night and she knew he wouldn’t either. The way he’d held her at arm’s length after confiding in her was symbolic of how he was going to keep her at a distance for now and forever. He’d probably forgotten about her already, while she thought about him every minute of every day. That was understandable. She’d been working on promoting this cologne nonstop since her return from Harmony. After tonight she could forget about men’s cologne and Josh and Max and start on a new account. She was in demand now, and there were several possibilities.

One possibility was a new facial tissue. Another was nonalcoholic beer. Strange how they didn’t excite her the way wild mustangs did. Face it, nothing excited her the way wild mustangs did, except the man who trained them. She rubbed her hand across her forehead and leaned back against the kiosk at the edge of the men’s department She’d get excited tomorrow, after this was over. She was just tired, that was all. Tired of the rat race. Tired of the traffic and the noise on the street and the constantly ringing telephones inside her office.

She’d take a rest before she decided which account to take on next. Get away from it all. Her mind drifted back to the most get-away-from-it-all place she’d ever been. To its clean fresh air. To the friendly people who’d opened their hearts and their homes to her. To a little boy whose little freckled face would forever haunt her memory as would his voice, saying, “If my dad finds out, he’ll have my hide.” It seemed like yesterday that he’d come out of nowhere, crashing into her on his bicycle.

Bridget had stood there so long, staring at the giant poster of Josh on his horse, she was beginning to hallucinate. As the band played “Stand by Your Man” she imagined she saw him in the middle of the crowd, not in his checkered shirt and well-worn Levi’s, but in a blue chambray shirt, a dark tie and khaki pants and brown leather Top-Siders. That’s how she knew he was a mirage.

The Josh Gentry she knew didn’t wear a tie. Or anything on his feet but boots. Yet there was something about the way he walked, the way he shaded his eyes from the bright lights, the way his hair fell over her forehead that made her blood race, her heart pound and her mouth go dry as Nevada dust.

She couldn’t move. She just stood there watching him. When he saw her, he dropped his arm to his side, and their eyes met and held for a long moment. Before she knew what she was doing, she was pushing her way through the crowd, her heart in her throat, fearing she might lose him in the masses of customers desperate to buy an ounce of cologne. Why was he here? Why had he changed his mind and decided to come to the launch? Why, why, why?

Breathless, panting and pink-cheeked she finally ran into him somewhere near the accessories counter. Really ran into him, hard enough to feel muscles in his chest, the heat from his body, to smell the crisp clean smell of all outdoors, of horses and leather and most of all of him—the man she’d missed so much there was an heavy ache in her heart that threatened her ability to speak or think.