Once a Father (10 page)

“Ethan…”

“What? I said
ship.
” He switched the kid away from Logan and turned the man to Mary. “No offense intended. I haven't been around too many women in the last, uh, half my life.”

“Don't worry, Ethan. I've forgotten how to take offense. You did hear him say I've spent half my life in the army.” She flashed a pretty smile. “And I've been a woman the whole time.”

“Bet that's not easy.”

“It's not easy no matter who you are,” Mary said. “Hardest job you'll ever love, right?”

Ethan chuckled. “And you get no love back.”

“Oh, I solved that problem. I got a dog.”

“I like her. She's quick on the draw. A real Jane Wayne.” Ethan tapped Logan's chest with the back of his hand. It felt almost like a hug. “You sure this old man can keep up with you? He's probably old enough to be your father.” And
that
felt like a slap in the face. “We're training a horse, Ethan.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Grinning, Ethan scanned the treetops behind the barn. “I feel some electricity in the air, and there's not a cloud in the sky.”

“Damn,” Logan muttered under his breath.

“See, this is why I don't call. My dad's a big Indian, and I'm a little Indian.”

“Meaning he talks a good game,” Logan said.

“Meaning you're the chief, and I'm not much Indian.” He raised his hand, palm up. “If they approve me for the competition, I might…” He saw Hank heading for the barn, and he leaned in that direction. “I'll catch up with you,” he promised Logan. Or Mary.

Logan took the promise for himself. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“He always says that.” Ethan flashed Logan a million dollar smile. “And I never need anything.”

Mary stood by Logan's side and put her hand on the small of his back. Absorbing his tension, she slowly pressed the heel of her hand into the muscle. He didn't seem to notice.

“It's been two years since you've seen him?” she asked as they watched Ethan approach Hank with an exchange of words that did not carry beyond the two men.

“About that.”

“He wants to please you.”

He looked at her as though she had her head on backward.

“Trust me. He doesn't think he can, so he doesn't try. That song and dance wasn't for me. It was for you.”

He glanced away shaking his head. He was hurting, and she couldn't think of any way to help. She kneaded his back gently, the way she'd learned to calm a dog after an explosion. It was more than an affront. It was a feeling of failure.
I did something wrong. That shouldn't have happened.

“I got what I needed here,” he said finally. “Did you?”

“Sally talked a mile a minute while she took the pictures off my camera. She needs more participants
for Mustang Sally's Makeover Challenge. So, if you know anybody who might be interested…”

“I'm not a recruiter.” He jerked his head, indicating his pickup. “You coming?”

 

His first glimpse of the lodge poles reaching for the sky dissolved the knot in Logan's gut. The mustang was glad to see him. He hadn't wanted to leave the horse alone, but Mary had jumped in the pickup with him, her eyes looking all needy like she had something on her mind, so he hadn't said anything. Turned out she hadn't said anything either. He figured she wanted to use the phone or the bathroom or talk something over with Sally. She hadn't said anything on the way back, and that was fine, too.

And so was Ethan. Healthy, looked like he'd packed on some muscle, hadn't done anything crazy to himself like tattoo himself up like some kind of billboard or shave his head. Didn't look like he was doing anything to jack himself up. Good to know.

“He's looking good,” Logan said, adding quickly, “Adobe. He knows the pickup, knows it's us.”

“He's not afraid of us anymore.”

“No, but he still doesn't understand what we're about. We're getting there, though.”

“It feels good when you make that connection.”

“Yeah.”

They left the pickup, and she surprised him by slipping her hand into his as they walked toward
the round pen. He wasn't used to holding hands. He wouldn't have taken her for a handholder, either, but it felt good. Like
that connection
. He gave her hand a little squeeze—where had
that
come from—and she returned the pressure with interest. And they both laughed.

Adobe looked at them as though they were a pair of prairie dogs. You could break your neck if you stepped into one of their holes, but in the flesh they were turning out to be pretty harmless.

“Ethan's the kind of guy who'll play tag with thunderbolts,” Logan told her. “Acts like he's not afraid of anything. We've butted heads a few times, as you could probably tell.”

“He's been in trouble?”

“Big time.” He folded his arms over the top rail of the pen. “He wasn't cut out for the military. Uniform fit too tight. Came home lookin' for a fight and found it with the law.” He glanced at her, gave a deferential nod. “And the law won.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“He did. Did two years for messin' with the wrong woman. 'Course, stealing her daddy's car was the formal charge.” He nodded. “He's like that horse. Strong and beautiful on the outside, sensitive as hell on the inside.”

“I wouldn't say Ethan looks like a prey animal.”

“Does this boy look like prey?” He was taking the horse's measure. “Look at the muscle on this guy. He
could run you down and smash your head in like a melon. But that's not who he is.”

“You're talking to a soldier, Logan. A lifer, in fact. I know the difference between predator and prey. Adobe's cautious, as well he should be.”

He turned to her. “Are
we
afraid of us?”

“There's nothing to be afraid of, is there? We're not operating strictly on instinct. We've got our…” She made a rolling what's-the-word gesture.

“Yeah, that's workin' for us.” He looked at her speculatively. “Are you a lifer?”

“I like what I'm doing.” She nodded convincingly. “I really do, and I'm
good
at it, which surprised me at first. I never thought I'd earn a living working with animals.”

“You like knockin' around from post to post?”

“I did at first.” End of discussion. Suddenly she had her foot on the rail, and she was set to scale. “It's my turn to go in there alone. You coach me.” He reached for her arm, but she was already swinging her leg over the top of the fence. “No, I'm good. Seriously. Nothing to fear.”

“If you're afraid, back off.”

“I'm not.” She rubbed her hands over the back pockets of her jeans. Adobe stood quietly. “Neither is he. Tell me what to do.”

“Stay where you are.” Logan went to the pickup and came back with a duffel bag. He reached through
the fence and handed her a coiled rope. “Get him moving. Be the center of his circle.”

Mary used the tasseled end of a cotton rope to cause a stir in Adobe's limited world. She kept him moving, made him keep his distance from her, calmly convinced him of her authority. She could feel the difference between the mustang's nature and that of a dog. As she adjusted she could feel herself opening up in new ways.

“He's ready to trust you,” Logan said quietly from behind the fence. She let the rope slide from her fingers and tuned her ears into the man's voice even as she directed the sum of her awareness toward the horse. “Let him come to you now. Turn away a little. Don't turn your back. A quarter turn, like you want your kid to follow you. ‘Come with me. Let's go this way.'” She drew a long, slow breath as the animal approached. “Sweet,” Logan said, and she smiled and took a step to see whether he'd follow. “Steady. You're the lead mare now. Slow, sure, steady.”

Adobe worked his tongue and his jaw as though he had a mouthful of hot-off-the-griddle feed. He followed closely until, of her own accord, Mary slowed to a standstill. The horse took one more step and snuffled at her shoulder. Then he took another step and lowered his head in front of her. There he stood, his cheek a hair's breadth from touching her belly, his ear becoming a funnel for her breath.

He knew her secret.
She'd been keeping it locked
up so tight inside, she hardly knew it was there. Adobe wanted to put her at ease with it. She didn't have to tell anyone or justify anything or make any decisions. But she had to recognize the fact that her womb was not empty. The connection between them felt like a transfusion of pure energy. Somehow she was drawing courage from the horse's conviction. It was neither a good time nor a bad time. It simply
was.
She could stop looking for a flow of blood that wasn't coming, stop dissing and dismissing the changes in her body and start believing any time now. She was all female, and there was no better source of strength than the organic stuff that made her so.

Adobe—salt of the earth—knew her secret. Amazing. He had her number, and it was no longer one.

 

Logan was transfixed. He was a big believer in the
wakan
aspect of
sunka wakan
. Literally translated, the horse was “sacred dog,” an irony that was not lost on him as he watched Mary and Adobe come to terms. He had experienced what he was witnessing—a true empathetic osmosis with a horse—only once, and it had changed his outlook on just about everything. An old saddle horse had taken him from a dark place in his life into the light. He'd known that horse since he was a kid, but what he hadn't understood was how well the horse knew him, knew he still had something in reserve. Tonya had taken the pickup
and left him with two kids and a horse. He'd left the kids alone in the house and tried to go after her on the horse. Crazy.

Thank God for horse sense.

But this was different. This horse was wild. What was happening between Mary and Adobe was as purely empathetic as anything he'd ever seen. Whatever it was about, it was solely theirs. He couldn't say how long they stood together. There was no fear. They were both relaxed, easy, free to stay or go. When she spoke, it was for the pair of them.

“He'll take the halter now.”

“Too soon,” Logan said. He was the coach, after all.

“Let me try. I can't explain it. It's a feeling. I have a good feeling about it.”

Unable to feel whatever it was, he wanted to pull her away. But this was her call. He had a gut full of butterflies, but there was no doubt in his mind. He approached with great care, handed her the halter and watched her slide the nylon strap over the horse's nose and lift it over his ears. He had not raised his head far from her middle. She moved with amazing confidence.

“He'll take me on his back now.” She glanced at her partner and smiled. “How about a leg up?”

There was no tension in the look she gave Logan. No challenge, no mind over matter. She had nothing to prove.

“I want you to drape yourself over his back for a moment first. Let him feel your weight. If he's going to jump away, your feet will be near the ground.”

“He won't jump away,” she said. “He gets me completely.”

Initially she complied. Adobe stood calm, adjusting to the sack of warm flesh and fine bone draped over his back.

And then Mary took it upon herself and her strong arms and legs to lift, shift and straddle him. It was a beautiful thing to watch. Logan drew a deep, soundless breath. Whatever the animal got about the woman, mutual trust came with it. No questions asked.

She inched forward, settled behind the horse's withers and formed a cinch with her legs. With a roll of her hips she impelled him to walk. When she slipped slightly, Adobe stopped smoothly. She helped herself to a handful of black mane, centered herself, and gave another subtle hip roll, affecting a sensuous tightening in Logan's groin. He swallowed hard, leaving him feeling dry and needy. His whole being wanted quenching.

Adobe arched his neck and started forward again, easing unfettered from a walk to a gentle canter, and Mary's eyes shone with wonder. Logan was mesmerized. She had made the horse hers, and now she would have the man. Adobe brought her to him,
and she slid into his arms. He kissed her, fiercely claiming her, and she claimed him right back.

And now it was his call.

T
he agreement was wordless. It was made eye to eye and hand to hand with the taste of want and willingness on their lips. They walked side by side—his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist—no question in her mind, no hesitation in his step. He lifted the flap over the tipi door, and she ducked inside and found his bed spread before her. She sat down to take off her boots, and he did the same, casting off two in the time it took her to pull off one. He cocked her half a smile, took her heel in hand, gave a quick jerk and tossed her boot over his shoulder. Then he backed her down to the mat with a kiss.

She gave herself over to wanting him. Her mouth received his eagerly, gave back fervently, and she
found it almost as good to give as it was to receive. Her fingers went for his shirt buttons and discovered snaps. He smiled against her mouth when she popped the first one open. The rest came apart like zipper teeth. She laid hands on his smooth bronze chest, touched his flat nipples with her thumbs until they were flat no more. She kept it up until he groaned. She moved her legs apart, just enough to give him perch, a ready foxhole for his pleasure and protection. He widened the berth with his thighs and began nudging at the narrows. Ah, the fox was growing, coming into its own. Hard and heavy and insistent, it nudged and prodded and promised to please, if only someone would let it out and take it in.

Mary slid her hand between them, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans and found a brass button and a tight buttonhole rather than the quick snap she'd imagined. His knowing chuckle rumbled in his throat as he nibbled his way down the side of her neck.

“What's your hurry?”

“No talk,” she ordered. Words formed thoughts, and thoughts were dead weight. “All action,” she insisted.

He rucked up her T-shirt and ran into her bra, which he dispatched single-handedly. He braced himself on one hand and used the other to touch, tracing the outer curve of one breast, the inner flat of the other. His thumb circled a nipple, closing in slowly. He watched it do what she felt it doing, but
she felt more than he could possibly see, especially when his thumb reached its goal and touched barely, rubbed softly, took on the help of his forefinger and made a molehill on top of a mountain. She was tender there. She was burning there. A tiny bit of tender tinder, a match head bursting into flame. His mouth should have smothered it. His tongue should have drenched it, but he only added fuel. She drew a sharp, shaky breath when he moved his mouth to her dry nipple and applied his sandpaper thumb pad to the wet one.

He kissed his way down to her belly button, unbuttoned, unzipped and undid, nibbling her inner thighs, nuzzling between her legs in a way that gave unthinkable pleasure. No dead weight. Nothing to hold her down when he bid her come without speaking the earthbound word. She felt giddy and weak when he led the way in the peeling off, the sliding together, the firm fox darting fearlessly into a new place, a white-hot dark place that had a life of its own.

She tasted her secret self on his tongue, her inner life, her brackish core. She tasted him, too. His shoulder smacked of power. His neck tasted like tenderness. His face was warm and tangy, like sunshine. She was one with him, one surge, one rush, one river flowing, even as he held his own, pushed her past him and kept her going and going, toying with her like a balloon—bump and drift, bump and drop, bump bump bump and
whoosh
. They held together,
careening around a fantastic hairpin curve, shuddering with the speed and the force and the impact, and finally floating woozy and feather light back to the ground.

Mary coasted on the easy in and out of her lover's breathing, the steady lub-dub in his chest, the slick feel of his skin, and the essential scents of earth and sage and musk and sex. It was all in her head. No room for anything else. She wasn't tired. She was simply sated, and so she slept.

 

She rolled over and found him sitting back on his heels and snapping his jeans. He smiled at her as he tucked one hand deep into his waistband and zipped up with the other.

“Leaving already?” She smiled lazily. “Oh, right. This is your place.”

“I'll be right back. I'm just gonna turn some air on us for the next round.”

“What are you going to plug into?”

“A sweet little generator that I can crank up by hand.” He tucked back a bit of hair that had slid over her eye. “But that's just me. The air moves on its own.”

“You're funny.” She shifted to her back. “Did we sleep together?”

“You're a sound sleeper.”

“Not unless I've had a good workout first. You're very good for an older man.”

“With age comes staying power.”

She frowned. “Did I make any noise?”

“You were so still and quiet, I had to check to make sure you were breathing.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over the side of her face. “Slept so hard, you've got some rack burn.”

She rubbed her cheek, but there was no erasing bed face. She probably looked as though she'd walked into a screen door. “How long…what time is it?” She rotated her bare wrist. Nothing but a couple of freckles. “Where's my watch?”

“Somebody must've stolen it while you were sleeping.”

“Well, now I feel naked.” She smiled as she swept her fingers across her chest. “Better keep your pistol primed, partner.”

“That'll be your job.” He cocked a finger and thumb gun at her and winked. “Partner.”

Oh, he was cool.

Lord, he looked good walking away.

Mary lay on his bed watching a white cloud pass among the poles that thrust through the smoke hole and reached for the sky. All around her bit by bit the canvas wall climbed the poles from the ground up. She turned her head to the side and watched the long, lean pair of blue jeans move through the crisp grass and thought about the strong legs they clothed, the way she had wrapped hers around his and then around his slim waist and over his sturdy shoulders
as though he were a piece of gymnastics equipment. She had lost her ever-lovin' mind, and it had felt right. As long as no complications were voiced, none existed.

He'd used a condom. She liked the way he'd handled that particular move. No discussion, no fumbling around, no excuses. No filling her with anything but wonder.

No making her feel like a dumb ass because she assumed that once the thing was on it was going to stay on the whole time. The last time she was with a man, it hadn't. And no, she hadn't been on the pill. Not that the soldier had asked, not even in passing. Why would she be? She wasn't in a relationship. If she needed a little recreation, she went to the gym. The only pick-up game she ever got into involved a basketball. One time. One miserable, lonely night with a soldier passing through her life on a three-day pass.

Stop it, Mary. Turn off the tape. Logan's an astute man. He'll read you like you've got your social diary taped to your forehead. You could fit a whole year on a Post-It note.

She sat up, still stark naked, and noticed her watch lying on top of her shirt, on top of her underwear, on top of her jeans, all neatly folded on the ground next to one of the willow backrests. The man was resourceful, attractive and tidy, too.
Hooah.

She loved the way he smiled at her when he ducked
back inside the tipi. He made her feel pretty. Inside, of course. Outside she was pretty ordinary. Quite sturdy. Typical Jane Wayne.

A lovely cross breeze made her nipples bead up. She lifted her hair off the back of her neck and closed her eyes. “Feels good.”

She felt sexy. She kept her eyes closed and listened to him circle around her as though she were on display somewhere. She chose a museum. She was made of polished marble—sturdy, but far from ordinary. He opened and closed something. His paintbox, maybe, or his camera case.

“Lie back,” he said as he knelt behind her. “This will feel even better.”

She complied without cracking, smiled without cracking up. Wouldn't Mr. Wolf Track just howl if he could see inside her head? He poured water from a gallon milk jug into an enamel basin he'd placed above her head, dipped a natural brown sponge into it and smoothed it over her face and neck.

“You left your cap in the pickup, paleface. Your cheeks are pink.”

“I forgot sunscreen. I'm not a good tanner.” The water trickled into her hair, and she inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that tingles. It smells minty.”

“Wild mint.”

“It's lovely. I could take a bath in this.”

“You are.” He squeezed a stream of water from her throat through the valley between her breasts to
her navel where he emptied the sponge and made her giggle. “Unlike you, my grandmother was a good tanner. She made soft brain-tanned hides, perfect for beading. She was very traditional.” He dipped the sponge into the water again and gently mopped her breasts. “I used to help her gather plants. Wild mint has many uses.”

“Which grandmother?”

“The one who mostly raised me.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“They were around.”

Eyes still closed, she breathed deeply, savoring the mint, contemplating the roundabout nature of his answers. Her questions seemed simple. Maybe too simple, too pointed. Or maybe he was actually giving her more than she knew how to ask for.

“I make my own horse liniment,” he told her as he moved his wet hand over her belly. “Good for people, too. I make fly spray. Medicinal teas. My grandmother was a healer.” Slow, soothing, sensuous circles. “Are you okay here?”

Her eyes flew open.

He pressed gently. “Here.”

“Yes, I'm…why?”

“Some horses seem to know what a person is feeling. Maybe they all do, but they let it pass because most people don't notice anyway.” His smile chased a chill she hadn't known she was harboring. “Most people aren't like you.”

“I'm just a little off my feed lately.” An understatement was no lie. It was a piece of the truth. A shard. Two could play the roundabout game. “Adobe was telling me he could empathize.”

“If we took the fence down and stepped aside, he'd take his leave in a heartbeat.”

“I'm not fenced in.” She reached to touch his angular face. “Being here, being with you is very…liberating.”

“Then stay here. Be with me.”

She stared at the tipi's apex, where fifteen heavy lodge poles crossed in perfect balance, each one solidly supporting the rest. “It's like we're in a time warp. Nothing can touch us. Except us.”

“What's a time warp? Someplace where time doesn't control you?” He stretched out beside her, tucking his hands beneath the back of his neck. “We had that, you know. My people had life. Your people brought time, which didn't make a lot of sense to us. Still doesn't.”

“It's a way to manage things.”

“It's a fence.”

“You have fences, Logan. You put them up yourself.”

“I know. It seems like the only way to manage what's left, but in the end it's all a crock. All I can really manage is myself.” He turned to her and braced himself up on his arm. “We're going to take Adobe out today.”

“Let him go?”

“Let him live a little.” He touched her cheek with one finger. “You need to live a little. You're all tied up in time. Thirty days, sixty days.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Greenwich, Zulu. Daylight Savings—what the hell is that about? You actually believe you can save the daylight?”

She laughed. “You know, I actually took a time management class once. I thought it would untie me. I found out that I was already doing it all right.” She rolled her eyes and flashed a smile. “You know what unties me? Animals. My dogs untie me.”

“What do they charge? As much as you paid for that class?”

She growled and nipped Logan's propping arm. He yelped, and then he howled and scooped her into his arms, and they laughed together until their sides hurt.

“We have a ceremony for untying,” he told her when they went quiet again.

“Does it involve stealing watches?”

He growled and nipped her shoulder.

“It's about dogs, then.”

“It can be about any kind of offense. The offender offers horses to the family he's wronged. It can be anything, even a killing. If the offended party takes the horses, the offender is untied, and no one is to speak of the matter again.”

“What if they walk away without the horses?”

“Then the matter is unsettled until the offer is acceptable. But because it's about living together and not acquiring property, a generous offer is known to everyone. As long as it's honest, it would rarely be rejected.”

“Do you still do that?”

“Not so much. We're pretty civilized. We've got courts and jails and plenty of people who think they're lawyers.”

“And police?”

“Oh, we've always had police. You've gotta have police no matter who you are. Every city, every village, every post has its badasses.”

“So this wonderful oasis, this time warp, it's no different for you than it is for anyone else. It isn't real. You can take time off from real life, but eventually you have to get back to it.”

He chuckled. “Taking time off from life. Boggles the Indian mind.” He stroked her arm. “Life is real.
You are life.
Time is something you guys made up to control life. Yours and everybody else's. It's a fence, Mary.”

“Before I met you, I was counting the days until I could go back…to my so-called life.” She pressed her cheek against the back of his hand. “Now I'm counting how many I have left before I have to go back.”

“Stop counting the days.”

“I'll try.” She sat up, hands poised over the basin. “May I?”

“Help yourself. What's mine is yours.”

“Good. I want your body.” She took the sponge in hand. “You done me good, Wolf Track. Now it's your turn. Turn over and put your face on the rack while I do you back.”