Wild Mustang Man (5 page)

“Wait,” she called, elbowing her way through the crowd. “When will you be home? Can I come by and take some pictures?”

He shrugged without turning around or even breaking stride, and she finally gave up, stopped in her tracks and turned toward the parking lot, realizing that she’d gotten all she was going to get out of him for now. And that he’d somehow found out more about her than most people knew, her friends included.

Josh drove home slowly, with one eye on his horse trailer and his newest wild mustang. He was pleased about the horse. She was the right age, between two and three years old, and had good potential. Two of the first four horses he’d bought some ten years ago were still working. The other two were retired in the pasture, and they’d earned it. Countless others had been trained and sold and had provided him with a decent living.

He could ride, he could break horses, he could train them. But what he was best at, what he was proudest of, was his ability to choose them. To pick out a horse in that milling, constantly moving herd took a good eye, sound judgment and a knowledge of horseflesh. He hadn’t made many mistakes, and he was proud of that.

He wasn’t so proud of his major life decisions. Skipping college. Getting married and settling down at eighteen. Allowing Max the freedom to run wild on the ranch. And now this. Agreeing to become a symbol for a men’s cologne. What would the people in Harmony say when they found out? Hopefully the ad campaign would be a big flop, so they wouldn’t find out. If they did, he’d tell them it was only to benefit Max’s college education.

At this rate, however, the boy would be lucky to graduate from Harmony High School. Tearing up the front lawn doing wheelies. Running over innocent women. A vision of Bridget in her linen shorts and her black eye, uncomplaining as he pressed an ice pack on her eyelid, made his heart thud in his chest. He would never admit it to anybody, but he’d had an uncontrollable desire at that moment to take her in his arms and tell her she was going to be all right. Fortunately he was able to control that uncontrollable desire, or God knows where he’d be. Probably in court for sexual harassment.

For one crazy moment as he’d watched her lower lip tremble when he dismissed her from his house, he had wanted nothing more than to haul her back into the house and kiss her. He’d repressed the feeling until now. Denied that it ever happened. It was useless to think about it to relive it. The only rational explanation was that it had been so long, so damned long since he’d kissed a woman. Since he’d seen a woman blush. Since he’d desired a woman.

Not that he desired Bridget McCloud. She was not his type.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out her wrinkled card. What was that doing there? He remembered distinctly stuffing it in his pants pocket And that was days ago. He pressed it to his nose and inhaled her scent which still clung tenaciously. Like Bridget herself. Clinging tenaciously to the idea that he was going to be her Wild Mustang Man. The card only reminded him that she didn’t know the meaning of the word no. That there was no stopping her once she had an idea in her head.

Though today he thought he’d gotten through to her, when he’d said that nobody would really want to smell like a wild mustang. He sure wouldn’t. And he didn’t think she would, either.

He grinned, remembering how she’d sputtered when he’d mentioned the smell of the horses. How her cheeks reddened, her spine stiffened. Teasing her, putting her on the spot, watching her reactions, was more fun than he’d had in years. The funny thing was the more she talked about herself the more he wanted to know. That was not part of the plan. She was not part of the plan.

Since Molly died, his plan was to get by. To make a living for himself and Max. To put a rein on the boy’s energies and try to channel them into constructive paths. To keep Molly on a pedestal. To remember her as the perfect wife. His one and only wife. He hadn’t looked at another woman since Molly died. Why bother? He’d pledged himself to her some fifteen years ago, and he would never go back on his honor. As he told his father, she would have done the same for him.

So why was he grinning like a jackal as he drove down the highway toward home, thinking about some city girl who was more interested in image than substance? Who was more at home at a perfume counter than at a 4-H meeting. Who put her career ahead of getting married and having a family. He didn’t understand that. If Max’s devotion to her was an indication, she’d make a good mother.

He shook his head. What business was it of his if she became the mother to a set of quintuplets? They were going to have a working relationship, the looser the better. She’d assured him he could continue his work, to lead his life. She’d better be right. Because he had no intention of turning his life around to promote a perfume...cologne... whatever.

When he got home, her car was in the driveway and she was sitting on his front steps. He swore under his breath, made a sharp turn without acknowledging her presence and headed for the barn, the horse trailer bouncing behind him. When he got out of his truck, she was there, camera in hand. Was there no escaping this woman?

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, snapping pictures of him and the horse while he backed it up, kicking and snorting, out of the trailer.

“I do mind,” he said throwing a halter over the horse’s head. “This is a very sensitive time for the horse. If you get kicked, I won’t be responsible.”

“I understand that,” she said, backing up only very slightly. “But this is all so interesting and so important for the whole mustang story.”

He didn’t answer. He tried to ignore her, but she was everywhere, in the barn, outside the barn, in the chute, with her camera blinking away. Until he heard his mother’s car pull up in front of the house. And Max’s voice in the distance. Then and only then did she walk around the barn and disappear from view. Josh could only imagine how happy Max would be to see Bridget, while he couldn’t be happier to see her leave. He only hoped she would have gone back to town by the time he finished up in the barn.

A short time later his mother found him sitting on top of his fence chewing on a stalk of grass watching his new horse race around the corral.

“Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with her. Nothing at all. She’s going to be here for God knows how long, nosing around, interfering with my work, taking pictures of me and the wild mustangs for some damned perfume commercial.”

“Some adult company? There’s going to be a whole camera crew here eventually. And why do I need company, by the way? Am I turning into some kind of hermit?” he asked.

“Of course not. It’s just that your father and I—”

“I know, he already told me. You want me to get on with my life. Find somebody to replace Molly. I’m not going to do that. I was in love once. I’m not ever going to fall in love again. Especially with someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“I’m not talking about your falling in love again,” she explained gently. “I’m talking about inviting someone to dinner.”

“Fine. Invite her to dinner. Invite the whole ad agency to dinner if you want.”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what Max wants. I only want what’s best for you. I can’t help thinking you ought to expand your circle of acquaintances to include a few more people than horses.”

“Okay, okay, she can stay to dinner. Are you happy now?” he asked his mother.

“Delirious,” she acknowledged, favoring him with a fond smile. “Let me know how it turns out. The shepherd’s pie, I mean.”

That’s not what she meant at all, he thought, watching her go. His mother was an incurable romantic and wouldn’t rest until Josh had found someone else, a mother for Max, a mate for himself. She’d left him alone until this year, then she’d started dropping hints about various women in town who were single or divorced. Up to now he’d ignored her successfully. But tonight she had a look in her eye he hadn’t seen before. A look of quiet determination.

When he finally got his horse settled down, he reluctantly made his way to the house where he bumped into Ms. Ad Agency Exec of the Year.

“Oh, I was just leaving,” she said, her hand on the doorknob.

“I thought you were staying for dinner.”

“You did?” There was no mistaking the way her eyes lit up; she was pleasantly surprised he hadn’t shoved her out the door. Maybe he did need more adult company. “No,” she said, “I couldn’t intrude.”

Bridget sat on the edge of the plain pine kitchen chair. Was it possible that she’d been invited to dinner at the very house she’d been summarily dismissed from only a few days ago? Of course he hadn’t invited her. His son had. But he hadn’t objected. At this point she was grateful for small favors.

The conversation at the dinner table was minimal. But the food was great. His mother was a wonderful cook. She told him so.

“It sure beats the food at the diner in town,” she said enthusiastically accepting a second helping.

He gave her a sharp look as he served himself another large helping, and she realized what she’d said could be misconstrued as a hint she’d prefer to eat there with him.

“Of course it’s a wonderful way to learn about the town. People are so friendly and talkative,” she added. He didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought she was comparing him unfavorably with the gregarious crowd at the cafe. “That’s where I heard about the wild horse sale. At breakfast this morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

Breakfast, such a long time ago. In the interim she’d signed up the perfect Wild Mustang Man, learned about wild mustangs, but not much about the man. Which was okay. It wasn’t necessary to get into his background. She’d met his son and his mother. She’d seen the inside of his bathroom and was now eating dinner across the table from him. What more did she want?

“Seems to me he’s turning out fine. He’s a lot of fun.” She stood and looked out the kitchen window to watch him race across the grass, falling head over heels and picking himself up in pursuit of a pebble he’d lanced from his slingshot. “I envy you,” she said softly. He didn’t say anything, though he must have wondered what she meant. Hadn’t she told him today that she wasn’t interested in marriage and children, that they were incompatible with a career in advertising? She’d told herself that so often she almost believed it. The room was quiet, so quiet she could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. Long shadows fell over the fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. His land. His son. His life. Why did that make her feel melancholy? As if he had everything and she had nothing? She had a great job and great friends back in San Francisco, and to top it off she’d had a wonderful day.

“Thanks for the dinner,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll go out for a brief slingshot lesson, then I’ve really got to go.”

She pushed the back door open.

“By the way,” he said. “I hope you got enough pictures, because I’m going to be busy tomorrow.” There was no mistaking the firm determination in his voice. He didn’t want to see her tomorrow. She didn’t dare ask about the next day.

“Me, too,” she said, and stepped outside into the warm summer evening. “I’m going to be busy, too.” He wasn’t the only one who’d be busy. She had no idea what she’d be doing, but by heaven, she knew she’d be busy. Horses whinnied in the distance. Max shouted to her and beckoned eagerly when he saw her, which warmed her heart It was nice to know there was one Gentry who wanted her there.