Once a Father (6 page)

“Or each other's secrets?”

“Secrets, yeah. We all know the secrets.” Hank laid a hand on Sally's slight shoulder. “And you're not gettin' 'em, woman. Everything else I have is yours, but not the code. I'd be drummed out of Indian Country.”

“Logan is Hank's sister-in-law's cousin,” Sally told Mary.

“Uncle,” Hank amended. He smiled. “Like you say, it's all relative.”

“When did I say that? Relative, related, relations…” Sally laughed. “Since I started hanging out with this man, I've begun to rethink the
R
word.”

“I did that a long time ago.” Mary glanced at the vehicle Ann was parking behind the monster truck Hank had driven. “I'll admit, it would make things
easier, but are you sure you want to leave your pickup with me, Annie?”

“Oh, no, I can't leave Zelda Blue. She belongs to my husband.”

“My husband.”
Sally leaned close to Mary. “She sure likes the taste of those words. Sweet enough to turn her cheeks pink.”

Ann licked her lips, eyes dancing.

“So we're leaving you the Double D dually,” Sally said. “Don't let anybody deface the new logo.” She reached through the fence and touched Mary's arm. “Just kidding.”

Mary nodded, but she felt the spirit draining from her smile. Her father's bitterness was no joke, and they both knew it. She stole a glance at Hank Night Horse, who eyed her right back. A warning, maybe. Whether she'd asked for it or not, Sally had a protector now, and as long as Mary had a foot in each opposing camp Hank didn't trust her. The look he gave her said it all.

“Oh, look,” Mary said, turning all eyes to the horizon. “Logan's back already.”

She climbed over the fence and dropped to the ground like an eager recruit.

“I
cut the meeting short,” Logan announced as he emerged from his pickup, brown paper bag in hand. “Looks like I just made it for this one.”

“It's almost over. We brought your partner a set of wheels, but we don't want to get in the way of the program,” Sally said. “It's good you've got her workin' it.”

“Come have some coffee. You guys hungry?” Logan nodded toward Mary. “This one doesn't cook, so I picked up some ready-to-eat.”

“This one?”
Mary glanced at the other two women. “As opposed to that one and the other one?”

“The other one would like to get back home,” Ann said. “To her husband.”

“Excuse my sister's manners. The honeymoon continues.” Sally turned to Logan. “So, tell us about this code you guys have.”

“What code?”

“This is what brings men to their knees every time. They sound so innocent, and they smell so sweet.” Hank put his arm around Sally's shoulders and pitched his voice up an octave. “Give us the code, boys. You can trust us.”

“The
secret
code,” Sally prodded.

“The one we use on the Moccasin Telegraph,” Hank added.

“Oh,
that
code.” Logan shook his head. “Sorry, ladies. That's sacred.”

Hank nodded. “You got your Morse code. We've got our MT code.”

“Emp-ty?” Mary chuckled.

“That's all you'll get out of me,” Hank said. “That's what we call it. We figure it's safe as long as you think there's nothing in it.”

Sally leaned back for a look past Hank's shoulder. “Annie, where are you going?”

“Personally, I wouldn't mind staying to watch the girls talk the boys out of their decoder rings, but Zelda's got work to do.” She tossed her keys up and caught them. “And these people have cold burgers to choke down.”

“My day's not over either,” Hank said. He tapped Logan's shoulder with his fist. “Hang in there, man.”

“Well, damn,” Sally said. “I guess that means we're leaving. Unfortunately I have some calls to make. We're looking for twenty-five competitors, and we're still ten short.”

“You're too picky,” Hank said.

“Selective.”
Sally nodded toward the tipi. “I'm bringing the camera next time I come out. This is perfect for the calendar.”

Ann stopped in her tracks. “
What
calendar?”

“The wild horse calendar.” Sally grinned. “Part promotion, part fundraiser. I was going to do trainer of the month, but the applicants aren't falling into the two cake flavors I was hoping for—cheese and beef—so I'm looking for Western romance.”

The men exchanged glances.

“Humor me,” Sally said. “It's for a good cause.”

“I can come back and get you guys later,” Ann suggested. “Cake is not on my diet.”

“C'mon, woman. I'll humor you.” Hank squeezed Sally's shoulders. “You want something to pin on your wall?”

“It won't be cold beef,” Logan said as they stood together watching the couple walk away, the man steadying the woman while the woman lifted the man.

So that's what a good fit looks like, Mary thought. Separately they looked like pieces from two totally different toys, like Lincoln Logs and an Erector Set. It must have taken some serious creativity—not to
mention courage—to put one and one together.
This one and that one.
Neither part was pushing to reshape the other, but they were moving in sync. Amazing.

If anyone could do the math, of course, Sally could. No matter what kind of division had been done on her, Sally could rebuild from the smallest remainder. Small but mighty, that was Sally. Mary didn't have that kind of imagination. She preferred to do her thinking inside the box. Much safer. Sure, she'd traveled a lot, but she'd taken the box with her. She was a turtle and her best friend was a hare, but there was no contest. Venturing outside the box was a stupid move for a turtle.

But, oh, that hare truly made it look tempting.

“Is that what we're having?” She reached for Logan's paper bag. “Ready to eat last Thursday?”

He swung the bag out of reach. “You think you can do better?” She lunged for the bag. He dodged easily. “Show me what you got.”

“I got a promise from you.” She grabbed for the bag again, and he laughed. “Supper, you said.”

“And you can have it the way it is, or you can heat it up. What you can't do is pin it to your wall.”

“I don't have a wall.”

“No trophy room?” He dropped the bag, and she caught it. “Quick hands,” he said with a smile. He snatched at his hat, which she instinctively tried to defend. “But not quick enough.”

“If I had a trophy room, I'd be selective in what I'd display. Who says you'd make the cut?”

“Nice steal. You've played this—”

She grabbed the cowboy hat back and hoisted it overhead, grinning. “
That's
a steal.”

“We've got two different games going here.”

She whipped hat and bag behind her back. “And I have both balls.”

“Ouch.”

“That's right.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and challenged him with a come-on look. “I do the cutting and the pinning.” She dodged his reach. “And the sewing. Which means I get to wear the—”

He faked left, trapped right and hauled her against him with her arms locked firmly behind her back, her wrists manacled. “Pants?” he taunted. “Who says I'd want your pants?”

“I…”

He dipped his head. She lifted her chin, expecting a kiss but he faked her out again. He slid his smooth cheek against hers and nuzzled her ear while he shifted his thighs and pressed her tighter to him. “They wouldn't fit me, would they,” he said softly.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“You're too big for my britches.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nipped her earlobe. “I'll wear mine. You wear yours.” He scooped the lobe into his
mouth with his tongue and sucked noisily. “Mmm, this
is
better. A little salty, but that's the way I like them.”

“I still have…both…”

“I know.” He moved his head up and down slowly, abrading her cheek as he kept the pressure between them steady. She moved her hips, mimicking his movements. “Mmm, yeah, this is the way this game is played. Your court. My…” He turned his lips to her temple. “If we don't take a time out, I'm gonna score.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Slam dunk or kiss off the glass?” He leaned back smiling. “What's your pleasure?”

“Not telling.” She wasn't smiling. “Not on my court. You have to work for it.”

“Of course I do.” He claimed his property back—actually, she let the hat and the bag slide, and he caught them—and stepped back. He winked at her. “Wouldn't have it any other way. Ready to eat?”

“Bring it on,” she said. He put his hat on, opened the bag, and she took a look. Fry bread on top of Styrofoam boxes. “Where's the beef?”

“You wanna start with the main course?” He took a peek, sniffed, closed the bag and shrugged. “It's what's for dinner.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “You're not hungry, are you?”

She shook her head. He held her gaze for a long moment, telling her it was her move. She glanced up
at his hat. “That belongs on you. I'll bring a cap next time.”

“You're on leave.” He put the cowboy hat back on her, adjusted the brim. “Looks good on you.” He grinned. “You've got a big head.”

“The better to outthink you with, Mr. Wolf Track.”

“So, tell me, what have you learned about this boy?” He laid a hand on her back and guided her toward the round pen, setting dinner aside on the hood of his pickup as he passed. “Has he told you his name?”

“No, not yet. But I told him mine. I told him…” She rested her forearms on the top rail. The mustang eyed her from the far side of the circle. “I don't like keeping him in this pen.”

“Maybe we should let him go.”

“No, that's not what I was thinking when I said that. I was thinking that this is the hard part for both of us. We're strangers. I'm the only thing standing between him and his freedom.”

“It's the pen.” Logan gripped the rail and gave it a little shake. “If it was just you, he'd be long gone.”

“It feels different with a wild animal. It almost feels…”

“You're taking it too personal. He's been penned up before.” He turned his back to the fence and leaned against it. “Anyway, I'm the one who put him in there.”

“He's not really scared anymore, but he doesn't feel safe, either. He's watching. Waiting.” He wasn't the only one. She couldn't look the mustang in the eye, but she didn't have to. She felt it intensely. “Wanting.”

“He needs a family. We're going to fill that role.”

“You mean a herd.” She packed down the feelings and turned to Logan with the cerebral stuff. Facts. “Like a dog needs a pack. We become the alpha, the—”

“Family,” he insisted. “First we convince him we're not gonna eat him, and we don't do that by thinking like dogs.”

“I realize a herd is different from a pack—horses are prey and dogs are predators—but there's still a pecking order.”

“Totally different worlds. You know what the beauty of being human is? We can be anything we want to be if we put our minds to it.”

“Doctor, tailor, soldier, sailor?” She smiled.

“Two-legged, four-legged, winged or finned. You can put yourself in any kind of skin, imagine yourself there.” He glanced from her eyes to his hat, as though her head might be doing something in there besides taking cover. “If you put your mind to it.”

“I can do that.” Imagining herself somewhere else
was
her cover.

“It shows. And that's why we're in this together.”

He sent her back into the round pen to repeat many of the actions and much of the inaction she'd applied previously. She could feel the mustang coming to her in some strange way. Logan was right about the point of contact. It was gut level, and it was unsettling. But it was real, and it was different from any communication she'd experienced. She wanted to call it something so she could put it in its place. File it in a box so she could use it effectively. Safely. She loved her dogs for accepting her unconditionally, but this gut-level connection with the horse was a little intimidating. She really wanted him to like her. Trust her. He was honest and pure, and his acceptance suddenly felt all-important.

Which was probably crazy, but it was as good a test as any for a directionally impaired person sitting at a crossroads without a map.

She knew the way back to her mother's house, but she would have a little campfire time first. Without asking, Mary gathered wood and filled the fire pit. Without discussion, Logan brought out the blankets, lit the kindling, and tossed a handful of sage into the mix. Bit by bit the small, curling leaves became pungent white smoke. The soft summer wind had settled, and a distant butte had sucked the sun into its pocket, but there was plenty of light and no shortage
of background music from the tiny musicians in the grass.

Mary took her time with her food. She wanted to eat enough to show her appreciation but not so much that the show backfired on her. The fried food required delicate handling. Little bites, lots of chews. If he noticed, he didn't show it. She closed the Styrofoam lid on half eaten chicken and fry bread, avoiding his eyes as she thanked him and said it was good.

He chuckled.

“No, really. I'll do the dishes and take the trash out.”

“You're a good camper.”

“And a happy one,” she said cheerfully as she stuffed the paper bag.

“Too bad we didn't bring a dog along.”

“I don't feed mine scraps. They eat better than I do.”

“We'll do beef next time, I promise.”

“Oh, no, this was fine. You know what it's like when you go home to Mother. She's not happy unless you're eating.” She sat cross-legged, hands braced on her knees. “You know how it is when you're out in the field. Your stomach shrinks.”

“You like your job?”

“I do. Very much.”

He poked at the flaming firewood with a stick.
“I was in the Air Cav. Funny, huh? An Indian in the cavalry?”

“Not these days. Did you like your job?”

“Some days. I was a kid. I loved those big choppers.” His eyes brightened. “Rappelling! Didn't get to rap jump often enough, but when I did, man…” He shook his head, smiling as his stick sent up a shower of sparks. “That was always a good day. As long as you weren't getting shot at. Not
that
big of an adrenaline junkie.”

Yeah, right. The Screaming Eagles pissed pure adrenaline.

“I wanted to get away. That's why I enlisted.” Mary smiled sweetly. “I've traveled, learned so much, met people. It's been a good life.”

“Has been? Sounds like you're thinking of making some changes.”

“I really do like my job. I think I could do it as a civilian. You know, train…” She was straying into speculative territory. Uncharted waters, poor visibility. “What about you? You have two jobs and two sons. A full life.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He eyed her for a moment. “What do you wanna know?”

“Do your sons live around here? What do they do?” She smiled. “Are you a grandfather?”

“My sons have no children.” He lifted one shoulder. “As far as I know.”

“They aren't close by?”

“Trace—the older one—he's a professional rodeo cowboy. I see him once in a while. He's out in Wyoming. And Ethan…” He stared into the fire. “Ethan's been working with horses, too.”

“Both following in their dad's footsteps.”