Once a Father (14 page)

She patted her stomach. “
We'll
be fine.”

Be happy,
her mother had said.

“I want to be happy,” Mary whispered.
Clackity-clackity-clackity.
“It's going to be slim pickings at lullaby time, kid. Mama knows the words, but can't sing.” But she found a melancholy tune in her sparse repertoire—or it found her—and she hummed it as the train trailed down the tracks. She wanted to sing happily, be happy, make happiness happen with the one—the ones—she loved.

The South Dakota sun dove off the edge of a butte and splashed chokecherry juice all over the evening sky. Mary's mind's eye called up an image of lodge poles and camp smoke and the silhouette of a claybank horse. It was a scene she could only dream if she ever found that motel bed.

She put the pickup in reverse. She owed herself the real thing for one more night.

The tipi glowed from the inside out like a small table lamp in a child's bedroom decorated with cowboys and Indians. A change from making the campfire outside, Mary thought. Maybe he felt as cold as he'd looked with his parting glance.

She hadn't expected company at the campsite. She hadn't expected
to be
company. But she wasn't turning around again, not tonight. If he turned her away, she'd sleep in a pickup bed, which was about on par
with what she could have rented in a one-motel town. She was a soldier, after all, and a bed was a bed unless it had a canopy of stars. Then it was God's gift to the restive soul.

“First lesson, little one. The stars belong to everyone.” Mary started in humming again, working up the nerve to announce herself at the tipi door. She'd read the chapter on tipi protocol in the book Mother had quoted to her about Crazy Horse. They hadn't called it
protocol,
of course. But they hadn't said anything about a code, either.

Adobe nickered to her from the round pen.
Me first.
Mary smiled against the twilight stillness as she turned on her heel. There was order, and then there was natural order.

“What do you call it, boy? You know where you stand, but you wouldn't say ‘pecking order'.” She gave the thick black mane a finger raking. “What was that sound you made, hmm? What do you call me?”

She heard her partner coming. She would know him anywhere by the rhythm of his footsteps. It was a realization at once startling and soothing, and she embraced it, filing it away with others of its kind. She'd never loved this way before, and it was unsettling.

“What do you want to be called?” Logan asked as he took possession of the top fence rail with merely a hand. “Say I'm the peck
er
. Are you here to play peck
ee?
”

She laughed without turning to him. His voice sounded even richer in the dark than it did in daylight.

“But that's just us,” he said. “Our boy's social life defies name-calling. He knows who he is, and now that he's got us figured out, he's ready to write the book. Only trouble is, he's got no use for labels.” He laid his forearms along the rail and stacked his fists to make a pillow for his chin. “You can't write the book without labels, fella. And a hook. You gotta have a hook.”

“
Pecker
and
peckee
sounds pretty catchy,” Mary said. The coarse horsehair felt cool and substantial between her fingers.

“Does it work for you? It's mostly women who buy the horse books.”

“What works for me is…
what works.
I'm suspicious of hooks and lines. I don't care if you have a string of letters after your name. I want to read about what you've done.”

“You mean, with horses?”

“Isn't that what you're writing about?”

“I'm not writing anything right now. I'm courting.”

“Seriously?”

He hooked his elbow over the fence and angled toward her. “You're out here talkin' to a horse, and you're asking if
I'm
serious?”

“You talk to them all the time.”

“They're good listeners. Not too many people appreciate that, but you do. Which is why I'm asking you what you want to be called.” He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “And not by the horse you rode in on. By the man you came here to see.”

“I came looking for a bed. I didn't expect to find a man.”

“Don't lie to me, woman.”

“I was looking for a motel,” she amended. “But I had to stop for a train that was pulling a string of boxcars from every station east of the Missouri.”

“And that gave you some time to think.” Smiling wistfully, the angles of his face softened by rosy shadows, he traced her jaw line with the backs of his fingers, earlobe to chin. “And you thought to yourself, ‘Now where would Logan be tonight?'”

“I thought, ‘If I could sleep anywhere in the world tonight, where would it be?'”

“I can't invite you in unless you tell me what to call you.”

“Not baby. Not—”

“What do you want me to call you?” he insisted, teasing the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “And how many times a day?”

“I thought my name was the plainest in the world until I heard you say it.”

“Mary.” He slid his fingers into her hair, pressed her nape and drew her into his gentle kiss. “Mary,” he whispered against her lips and kissed her again.
“Mary.” He took her in his arms and kissed her worries and wishes in two directions, past and future. Everything she wanted was there for her in the moment.

They made love outside the tipi under the stars. He touched her so tenderly she wanted to cry, treated her body like a precious vessel, one that held wonderful secrets and sacred dreams. In his hands she was not herself. She was more than Mary. She was Mary on fire, Mary undone, done over, done completely and thoroughly and right. She was Mary at home with Logan.

They lay together in his blankets—courting robes, he called them—and counted the features they admired about each other, seen and unseen. They spoke of pleasure, his and hers, and how it came about and how it flowed between them and thrummed throughout even now, but softly. Soft as the night.

“I promised myself I wouldn't ask again,” he ventured, his voice deep and deliberate. “And I don't make a habit of breaking my promises. I don't make a habit of leaving my clothes on the floor or getting hammered on Friday night, either, but that doesn't mean I haven't done it.”

“I have to go back to Fort Hood,” she said, anticipating the question.

“I know.”

“I told my mother, and I told Sally about the pregnancy. They both assumed…”

“That I'm the baby's father?” She nodded cheek to shoulder, skin to skin. “And you said…”

“I didn't get a chance to explain.” She closed her eyes. “I didn't want to.”

“Then don't. They're not coming at you with DNA kits.”

She was quietly amused. “I can tell you right now, this baby won't look anything like you.”

“You've met my sons. Do they have their father's eyes?” He propped himself up on his elbow, and she tucked her arm beneath her head where his shoulder had been. “I just made love to you. You made love to me. I
assume
that's where babies come from.”

“You are the most beautiful man I've ever—”

“Stop saying that, and just tell me what I need to hear.”

“I love you.” She pushed up, hooked her arm behind his head and kissed him. Then she pressed her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“That's a start.”

She looked up at him. “I don't know when I can come back, Logan. And I know if I do—
when
I do—well, you called it. My father—who hates horses—is a horse's ass.”

“Then I guess I won't be offering him horses in return for his daughter's hand.” He smiled. “You think he'd take a used pickup?”

“I know he'd take the shirt off your back.”

“That's your job.” He urged her back down with a kiss, and then hovered over, stroking her hair, his eyes taking in each feature of her face as though he were planning to duplicate her somehow. “How many nights do we have before you have to go?” He chuckled. “I suppose I'll have to get a calendar, huh?”

“And a code.”

“I've got a code.” He laid his hand over breast and tapped in time with her heartbeat. “I-do. Love-you. I-do. Love-you.”

“Not enough,” she whispered. “Not enough nights. Not enough days.”

“How many do you need?” His hand stilled, but it stayed in position. Or possession. “People get married before they get deployed all the time. You know that better than I do. And they have babies, and then get deployed. They love each other, they make it work.”

“Some do. Some fall apart.”

“Look, Mary, I don't have letters after my name or a rank in front of it. But you know what I've done. And you know how I feel.” He grinned. “And you're no spring chicken, either.”

“What?”

“You're not a kid. We're not gonna fall apart. It is what it is, and we'll make the best of it.”

“I hate that expression.
It is what it is.
”

“Until it changes.” He rolled to his back and lay
beside her. “You get married, you make a promise, and it's ‘for better, for worse.' It's not
‘or.'
It's
‘and.'
Everybody gets both.”

“How long were you together? You and…” Overhead, the stars danced, mocking her.

“I wasn't watching the clock. All I know is, the older you get, the longer your tale. The more kinks, the more knots, the more twists. But who wants a plain ol' straight one? How boring is that?”

She laughed. “How are you spelling this tale?”

“I'm not.” He took her hand in his and held it between their hips, as though they were marching hand in hand toward the stars.

“Well, what kind are we talking about?”

“Any kind you want.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You want a bedtime story? You want a tiger in your tank? I can give you either, or.”

“Both. I want the
and.
I can make it through the worse, and I can always do better.” She drew his hand to her flat belly. “Are you sure you want us?”

“You know me, Mary. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't ask.”

“I know you.” She stroked the back of his hand. “You're one of a kind.”

“What kind is that?”

“My kind.”

T
he two men sat side by side on a bench beside the door marked Judge's Chambers. Elbows on their knees, Stetsons taking up space between calves, brims occupying restless fingers, they would have made a handsome pair of bookends.

Logan had felt underdressed when he saw that Hank had worn a tie, but Hank had already taken it off, rolled it up and stuffed it in his pocket, and they'd both been tugging at their crisp white collars. The early morning air felt good against a clammy neck. But if the women didn't hurry, the sport coats would soon be hitting the bench.

Hank straightened up first. “Are you ready for this, man?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” But he'd sure be glad when the formalities were over. He planted the heel of a hand on his knee and pushed up slowly. “Are you?”

“I've been ready. I owe you one for hitching up the bandwagon. I thought Sally would never quit hemmin' and hawin' around. But, hell, this works for me. Annie and Zach had a fancy affair at a lodge in the Black Hills.” Hank put his hat on. “It was nice.”

“This will be nice. Short and sweet.”

Hank nodded. “And you know Texas isn't too far away. I've driven it many times. I can make it down to Austin in sixteen, seventeen hours.”

“I could make it in two if I could fly direct, but you gotta go west or east first. Makes no sense.” Logan clapped his hat on his head and gave a dry chuckle. “Maybe I'll hire a chopper and rap jump onto the parade grounds. She'd get a kick out of that.”

“You could ride down on that little mustang. He'd sure be saddle broke by the time you got there. For my money, nothing beats a good endurance horse.”

“I thought it was Zach's rich brother's money you guys were giving away.”

“Yep, Sam put up the prize money. He's helped out a lot with the sanctuary.” Hank tipped his head to the side and ran a finger between his neck and collar. “Yeah, he's a good man, that Sam Beaudry.”

“Anybody can bid on the horses after the competition is over, right?”

Hank nodded. “We expect the winner to go pretty high.”

“Mary loves that horse. I want to give him to her. She's the one signed up for the contest, but Adobe isn't hers. I could get him for her.”

“You're supposed to give the horse to her father.”

“Her father doesn't care too much for horses. Or family.” Logan glanced toward the courthouse entrance.
Come on, door.
“Another good reason for going the short and sweet route.”

“Maybe the best. Every time Damn Tootin opens his mouth around me, my fist itches to shut it for him.”

Logan smiled. “Hey, man, you're supposed to be a healer.”

“Yeah, well, the guy's been a burr under my saddle for a long time, and I can't think of a better cure for that particular itch. Like they say, physician's assistant, heal thyself.”

The laugh they shared stopped abruptly. The front door opened, and Zach Beaudry appeared, tossing a quick grin to the grooms in waiting. The bookends pulled their hats off and rose from the bench in tandem as Zach pulled the door back, doffed his black Stetson, and gave a deferential gesture. “Ladies.”

Each was lovely in her own right. Ann and Audrey wore pink corsages and bright-eyed smiles. From rubber tip to curved handle Sally's cane sported a
blooming vine with flowers to match the sassy red rose she'd tucked behind her ear.

And then along came Mary. Logan's Mary. He had never seen her much-loved body decked out in a dress and high heels, and the sight of her took his breath away. An elbow in the side urged him to inhale, but he waited until she reached him, took his arm and filled his nose with the scent of roses and morning and Mary.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered.

“So do you.” Her soft pink mouth turned up at the corners. Her blue eyes glittered like water in sunshine. Logan wanted to dive in.

But instead he offered his arm and led the way into the judge's chambers, where two marriages were made with promises, kisses and names signed on solid lines.

 

“Honeymoon time,” Ann announced after bussing her sister's cheek. She took Mary's weepy mother by the arm. “Audrey's coming with us. You kids have fun. Send postcards.”

As Mary rushed to give her mother one more kiss, she overheard her husband—
her husband
—ask someone, “Are you taking a trip?”

“Not until Mustang Sally's Makeover Challenge is over,” Hank answered. “I found us a bridal suite in Rapid City, but all she'll give me is one night.”

“One night away from home,” Sally amended.
“After that, well…” She waved their marriage license under Hank's nose. “I've got your signature now, cowboy. I hope you read the fine print. Even if we get the ROAM Act passed, it won't apply to you.”

“Unless I'm working.”

“Workin' ain't roamin', honey.” Sally turned to Logan. “Where are you two headed?”

“That's their business, woman.” Hank gave a jerk of his chin in the direction of the paper in his wife's hand. “According to that fine print, you've got a husband to tend to.”

“Hoo-wee!” Sally punched the air with her licensed hand. “Let the tending begin.”

Mary buckled her seat belt and arranged the flimsy fabric of her new dress over her knees. As always, Sally had left a palpable silence behind her. Mary wanted Logan to speak first. She wondered what he would say. Something about being happy. If she said it first, it wouldn't be quite the same. Mentally she put words into his head and willed them to come out of his mouth. Not
exactly
—she wanted them to be his words put together his way—but something to the effect that he was happy.

But she broke her silence when he missed the turn to Sinte.

“Where are we going? I didn't bring anything with me. I thought we'd be going to your place.”

Eyes on the road, he smiled. “We're going to your place.”

Her place?

He took a familiar turn, and she smiled, too. Camp was her place. She could think of no better way to spend a honeymoon than sleeping under South Dakota skies with her new husband. She was married. She'd said yes, I'll marry Wolf Track, and suddenly she was Mary Wolf Track. Signing it for the first time had felt surprisingly right.
Mary Wolf Track.

It had pleased him, too. She'd seen it in his eyes.

Adobe welcomed them with raised head and alert ears. Logan must have brought him out before first light. He had this planned.

“Here we are,” he said as he shut off the ignition. “Mary's place. No curtains to hang. No floors to scrub. The other warriors will be army-green with envy.”

“And they won't let me join in their warrior games.”

“Good. Pregnant women can't be warriors.”

He left her to ponder that one, but by the time he'd come around to open the passenger door, she had an answer. “Maybe not in your world.”

“You just married into my world. In my world, the tipi belongs to the woman. I can either give you my horses or my pickup to carry it in.” He took a pointed look at her insubstantial shoes and lifted her off the
seat and into his arms, across-the-threshold style. “Wedding present.”

“Haven't I read somewhere that you're supposed to give the horses to my father?”

“Damn. That man doesn't let go even when he's not around. Your father only gets horses if we're going to pitch your new tipi beside his. You want to be part of his
tiospaye?
”

“No!”

She hugged his neck and laughed. Her laugh started small, but when he joined in, it became uproarious.

“You know what it means?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“Part of his herd.”

“No.”

“Part of his cattle empire.”

“No.”

“Part of his legacy.”

“No, no, no!”

They were still laughing when he set her on her feet beside the round pen, each with an arm still around the other. The mustang trotted over to their side of the circle, undoubtedly wondering what was so funny.

“She looks pretty, doesn't she, 'Dobe?” Logan held his hand out, inviting a sniff. “Yeah, I put the clothes we brought for her in the lodge. We won't be carrying her around all day.”

“I'll go in and change,” Mary said. “What are we going to teach him today?”

“I'm thinking we ought to take him out of the competition.”

Stunned, Mary looked up at her new husband. “Why?”

Logan lifted one shoulder. “With you gone, his heart won't be in it.”

“
His
heart?”

“Mine will be with you, but I need his to be involved in the work.” He looked into her eyes. He was serious. “Let me adopt him.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.” She pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “About the baby.”

“You're my wife.” He reached down and laid his free hand on the lowest part of her belly. “I've been inside you, Mary. I'm your husband, and I belong here. The child growing here is my child. Put my name on the birth certificate.”

“Is that legal?”

“It is if you say it is. But I'm good with adoption, too, if that's what you want.
Hunka,
we call it. We have a ceremony—you have paperwork. Either way, I become a father.”

“I love you so much, Logan.” She turned to him fully, arms around him, face tucked against the side of his neck. He smelled like man, spice and sunshine. “Will you be with me when the baby's born?”

“You know I will.”

She lifted her face so she could see his dark eyes. “Wild horses won't keep you away?”

“Neither will guards at the gate.” His kiss was a gentle promise. “I'll go to you whenever I can, and you'll come home to me. Lots of people live that way these days.”

“Not us. I've served long enough to qualify for a voluntary separation and an honorable discharge. I'm going to start the paperwork when I get back.”

“Are you sure that's what you want?”

“I can still train dogs. I don't have to give that up.” She smiled. “I'm sure I want to be with my husband.”

“How long before I get you back?”

“Not long.” She closed her eyes. “But it's going to feel like forever.”

“If they don't want to let you out, I'm going in after you.”

“Commando?”

His eyes twinkled. “What do you think?”

“I think you're in for a professional pat down, Wolf Track.”

And her hand on his shoulder started its descent.