Wild Mustang Man (6 page)

While Bridget watched, Max put a half dozen empty soda cans on a log. Then he took Bridget’s hand and marched her to a patch of lawn he’d marked off with string. He stood next to her, shot a pebble at the cans and missed by an inch. “Dad gum it” he grumbled.

“That was close,” she said.

“I been practicing all afternoon. I still haven’t hit a can. Now it’s your turn,” he said handing her his slingshot

“But Max,” she protested, turning the slingshot over in her hand. “I can’t do this. I haven’t the slightest idea—” A leather strip, two pieces of rubber and a smooth wooden handle. She hadn’t a clue what to do with it

“Here’s a pebble,” he said. “You put it there in the leather, pull back and let her rip.”

Bridget did what he said. The pebble fell to the ground at her feet.

Max shook his head and handed her another. The same thing happened. Bridget sighed, wishing she could make a graceful exit. But Max was looking up at her so hopefully, she had to try again. She didn’t glance at the house. She didn’t want to know if Josh was watching her. Somehow she knew he was. She felt his eyes on her. His curious gaze. He didn’t understand her. Sometimes she didn’t understand herself. She was a bundle of contradictions. A hard-driving businesswoman who was getting used to the silence of the country, to the wide open spaces.

Of course she didn’t understand him, either. A man who was more accustomed to horses than humans. A man who changed his mind about being her Wild Mustang Man in the blink of an eyelash.

Not that it mattered if he watched her like a hawk watching its prey. If he had nothing better to do than to stare out the window watching her fail at some childish sport, that was his problem. As for her, she was going to stand there until she succeeded. If it took all night. But having someone gaze at her from afar made it twice as hard. Her hands shook as she yanked on the rubber band once again. And once again saw the pebble fall to the ground.

Josh stepped behind her and put his arms around her. His chest was rock solid. His heart beat loud and steady, right through his shirt. The muscles in his arms held her strong and steady. She held her breath. What was she supposed to do now? It was hard enough concentrating on hitting a target without him holding her like that and making her heart race. Fortunately she didn’t have to concentrate. All she had to do was follow orders.

“Now, hold on tight. Like this.” He wrapped his hands around hers, molding her left hand around the handle, the right around the leather strip.

She prayed he wouldn’t notice how damp her palms were and how her fingers trembled. Or if he did, that he’d chalk it up to learning a new skill. That’s all it was. Just nerves. Just wanting to succeed. Just wanting to lean back against him, feel his arms tighten around her, close her eyes and forget all about the slingshot. But she couldn’t They were waiting, both of them. Waiting to see her do it

“Here,” he said and inserted the pebble in the leather strip for her. “Now aim. Get the target centered between the two prongs of the slingshot. Got it?”

“Was that so hard?” Josh asked. His lips brushed her ear. The pebble had been lanced, had hit its target, but his arms were still wrapped around her.

“Nothing to it,” she said under her breath, wishing she could stay there forever, or at least a few more minutes. She’d never felt so safe, so secure and yet so scared in her life. Scared that she might get to like this—being held, being a part of a family; shooting at targets in the evening as dusk fell over the fields and the sun set behind the hill, the same hill where she’d first seen him outlined against the clear blue Nevada sky; then going back into the house for coffee as the lights went on inside and night settled around the house.

But she wasn’t going back in the house. Not for coffee, not for anything. She hadn’t been invited. She didn’t belong there. They were a family, and she was not part of it. She didn’t want to be. She was happy being on her own. Lucky for her, because she had terrible judgment when it came to men. Witness her close encounter with Scott. Kate told her he was no good. Others told her the same thing. Here in Nevada she was on her own. Nobody to tell her who was Mr. Right For Her and who wasn’t. She had to rely on her own judgment. Which was faulty.

She knew she should break out of his arms and leave, but she didn’t. Not when she fit there so well. Aware of every muscle and bone in his body. Aware of every breath he took. Aware of his chin resting on top of her head. Watching the sun set in the west. Wanting it to go on forever. But it didn’t. Max came running up with a handful of pebbles and she gave a guilty start.

The boy shot them both a curious look. “You can let go of her now, Dad. She hit the target. Didja see it?”

“I saw it,” he said, dropping his arms slowly so that his hands brushed her supersensitive skin.

She stumbled forward, as if she’d just been released from a hospital bed. She took a few steps toward the driveway. Toward her car and toward safety.

“I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead,” she explained to both of them with a weak smile. Max looked disappointed, Josh looked relieved, and she had no idea how she looked. She knew how she felt, though. Shaky, confused and embarrassed. First she’d stayed for dinner, to Josh’s dismay, then she’d got lost in his embrace, which wasn’t an embrace at all.

Bridget drove back to town. If her pictures were half as good as she thought they were, the Wild Mustang people would be ecstatic and start throwing money at the project. She and Kate could put furniture in their office, order stationery, light fixtures. And all thanks to Josh Gentry.

That night she loaded all her pictures to her laptop and thanks to the wifi connection she sent the file to Kate with instructions to let her know the instant she got any feedback. The next morning she went to the Laundromat instead of sitting there waiting to hear what they thought. After she put her clothes in the washing machine she sat down to watch the people walk down Main Street. So that’s what it was like to live in Harmony, Nevada, she thought Yesterday she thought it was colorful and picturesque. Today it was tedious and boring. Could it have anything to do with Josh Gentry? Yesterday she’d been with him, today she was alone.

She’d better get used to being alone, because he didn’t want her hanging around every day, and she didn’t know anyone else in town. She watched enviously as two women about her age passed the Laundromat window, laughing and talking. One was tall, very pretty with long, dark hair. The other was a cute little blond, the kind who was probably a cheerleader in high school. They glanced in at Bridget as they passed, and she smiled wistfully, wishing she knew someone to talk to, to share gossip, to confide in. She desperately needed a friend. Someone to tell her she wasn’t crazy to have a crush on a man she scarcely knew.

In a minute the two women came back by the window, stopped for a moment, then entered.

“Excuse me,” the little blond said, “are you...you’re not the woman from the ad agency who’s going to turn Josh Gentry into a sex symbol, are you?”

“I am from an ad agency, but I don’t know about turning him into a...a...” What was wrong with her, why couldn’t she say the word?

“Don’t listen to her,” the tall, pretty woman said. “The word is he’s going to be the star of a commercial you’re making.”

“That’s true. At least that’s the plan.” Bridget was so desperate for some companionship, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself, something she never would have done with strangers in a Laundromat in San Francisco. She learned the tall woman was Tally and her friend was Suzy.

“I see. Well, it’s not very different from life here,” Bridget said. “I go to work. I go to the Laundromat. Have coffee with friends.” Tally held the door open for her and the three of them took a booth in the corner.

“I’ll bet you don’t live in a rented room on Main Street. I’ll bet you have one of those old Victorians, what do they call them, painted ladies?” Tally said.

“I wish I did. I live in an ordinary apartment. It does have a nice view of the bridge and the bay, but other than that it’s nothing special. Tell me about yourselves. Are you natives?” Bridget asked.

“Harmony born and bred, both of us,” Tally said. “Lived here all our lives. Graduated from Harmony High School with Josh.”

“And Molly,” Suzy added.

“What was she like?” Bridget asked quickly before she lost her nerve. It was none of her business, but she’d been curious about Josh’s wife since she saw her picture on the mantel in the living room of the ranch house. This might be her only chance to find out about her. She certainly couldn’t ask Josh. “Were you good friends?”

“We were friends,” Tally said. “But not good friends. Molly didn’t have any close girlfriends. She didn’t need any. She had Josh. And she was...how shall I say this—”

“She was perfect,” Suzy said. “She sewed all her own clothes, Max’s too, knit sweaters for Josh, grew all their vegetables and put up enough for winter. Whenever there was an emergency, she was there. You could count on her to help deliver a baby or a calf. That’s the kind of person she was. Wasn’t she, Tally?”

“Too good to be true,” Tally murmured. “I must admit I was jealous of her sometimes. Especially that night after the senior prom when we all went to the beach. It seemed to me she had everything I wanted—a family, a ranch, horses, and a boyfriend who was crazy about her. She and Josh were the perfect couple. She was the prom princess. He was captain of the football team and class president. I was nothing. Not that she made me feel that way,” she assured Bridget. “She was kind and thoughtful, too. Assured me the wish I made on a star would come true. She was right.”

“Well, mine hasn’t come true yet,” Suzy said with a mock pout. “See, Molly made us all wish on a falling star that night. I wished for a husband and a baby, Tally wanted a Thoroughbred horse, and Molly, she only wanted to be married to Josh.”

“And to win first place for her jam at the county fair,” Tally reminded her. “Which she did.”

“All her dreams came true. And then she died,” Suzy said, and picked up her coffee cup. There was a respectful silence around the table.

“Sometimes I think Josh died, too,” Tally said. “He certainly withdrew into a shell. He didn’t come to our fifteenth reunion. We never see him anymore.”

“You would have buried yourself, too,” Suzy said, “if it had been Jed who’d died.”

Tally sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I wonder. I think eventually I would have come out of it. I think you would have forced me to come out of it,” she said to Suzy.

“That’s what friends are for,” Suzy said. “Hey, Tally. Maybe it’s our fault Josh has become a recluse. You know how men are. They rely on women to set up the social situations. We haven’t forced him back out into the world. We’ve let him drift away. Hmm.” Then she turned to Bridget “Anyway tell us how you talked Josh into posing for an ad, when he’s been a hermit these past years? You must have done something. He’s not susceptible to flattery or flirting. God knows, every single woman in town has tried, except me, of course. I know better.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Bridget admitted, her head still reeling from the image of Molly, the perfect homemaker and Josh’s perfect wife. No wonder he was still single and likely to remain so—Molly was a hard act to follow. Darned near impossible. Not that she’d try. Not on a bet. “Being the spokesman for a particular product like Wild Mustang men’s cologne—”

“That’s the name of the cologne?” Suzy asked.

Bridget nodded, waiting for the kind of derisive comment Josh had made about the smell of wild mustangs.

But Suzy’s blue eyes sparkled. “That sounds so sexy. I can see it now. Josh, bare-chested, riding a wild mustang bareback in the commercials.”

Bridget nodded eagerly, grateful for the positive reinforcement, but she also felt a pang of jealousy. “Are you sure you’re not interested in him?’’ she asked Suzy.

Suzy shook her head. “Not me. I know better than to compete with a saint, especially one who’s in heaven, still sewing, knitting, canning and helping out at harvest time. Besides, Josh is like a brother to me. At least he was until he pulled this disappearing act. Go ahead, you were saying...

“Oh, yes,” Bridget continued. “Being a spokesman for a product can be very rewarding financially. I mentioned he could make enough for Max’s college education.”