The Way We Wed. Pat Warren
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plane aisle was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Jeff thought as he sat up, jolted from his mind meanderings. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Apparently the flight attendant, a tall blonde somewhere in her thirties, noticed Jeff’s restlessness and walked over.
“Would you care to change your seat, sir?” she whispered, glancing toward the snoring passenger.
“Thanks, but I’m not sleeping anyway.” He handed her his cup from the tray table. “A little more coffee would be great.”
“Certainly.” Silently, she made her way to the galley, returning minutes later with a steaming cupful. “Can I get you anything else? A pillow or blanket?”
Jeff shook his head and smiled his appreciation before tasting the hot brew. As someone in the medical field, he knew he shouldn’t drink so much coffee, but during the long hours at the hospital, at times the caffeine was all that kept him going. That and thoughts of Tish.
Leaning back again, Jeff closed his eyes, thinking back again to that fateful week they’d met in Arizona….
From that first evening on, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. From the next table over at meals or pausing along the corral fence to study her as she worked a horse or gazing across the campfire one evening as several of the agents and guests gathered to sing songs with the majestic mountains in the background. He kept watch and smiled at her occasionally, but rarely spoke and never moved close enough to touch her. Though he wanted to…badly.
For her part, Tish kept him in her sights as well, sometimes openly staring, periodically tossing a glance over her shoulder as she walked away, her eyes occasionally searching a room for him. Now and again, he’d catch her gaze locked to his face, her expression thoughtful and contemplative. She made no move to come nearer, though she seemed on the brink of doing so.
He liked the way she carried herself, straight and proud, her demeanor that of a tall woman though she was no more than five-four or five. He liked the way the setting sun would get caught in the brown of her hair and turn it auburn. He liked the way her smile got all warm and fuzzy when she talked with the two children of a tourist couple.
She’d even arranged to give the older child, Luke, a boy of about twelve, riding lessons. He was gangly and awkward but, in no time, Tish had him smiling and almost confident astride one of the gentle mares. Afterward, he’d thanked her and started back toward his mother, then he’d impulsively run back for a fierce hug. Jeff had seen the surprised look of pleasure on Tish’s face before she’d turned aside.
Then there was that hot afternoon, about a week after they’d met, the day the new calves were branded. It was a miserable job that called for agility, strength and a certain hardening of the heart when the calves bawled and struggled and fought. Branding was not Jeff’s favorite job. He’d been told by East to do only the things he wanted to do while healing and regaining his strength, but he hadn’t turned down the job boss when he’d all but challenged him to help out. Jeff knew he was the youngest agent there, mostly inexperienced and unseasoned. He also guessed that the cowhands were out to test him, to see what he was made of.
Four hours into it and Jeff was ready to drop. Muscles he didn’t know he had hurt like hell, sweat was pouring into his eyes and only half the day was over. Mac was the job boss, the one releasing the calves from the chute, aiming them over to Jeff and three others in the corral with the branding irons. Mac was a mean one, short, bandy-legged and prematurely bald so he never took off his hat, and he had the temperament of a jailhouse guard. No one liked him, including Jeff.
That day, Mac was mainly picking on Teddy, a new hand who couldn’t have been shaving long, looking no older than nineteen. Mac kept yelling criticisms that the kid wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, good enough. The dressing down in front of half a dozen cowboys hanging on the fence finally took its toll on the kid and he looked near tears. That’s when Mac moved in for the kill, shouting that Teddy was useless, finally grabbing the branding iron from him, looking for all the world like he was going to press the fire-hot metal end onto Teddy’s tender flesh before he tossed it aside with a disgusted grunt.
To this day, Jeff didn’t know what came over him. Certainly, he was no hero and no match for Mac who outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. But during the years he’d been a runaway he’d run into his fair share of bullies and hated them all. Standing behind Mac, he dropped his own iron and yelled to get his attention.
Mac’s thick neck scarcely moved as he turned his head toward Jeff. “What’d you say?”
“I said leave him alone,” Jeff answered, his eyes angry, his stance challenging, feet apart.
Mac smiled and it wasn’t pretty. Then he took a step toward Jeff. “And who’s going to make me?”
“I am,” Jeff answered, and let loose with a right to the man’s gut followed by a left to his jaw that sent him sprawling, narrowly missing the fire where the branding irons were heated. Mac scrambled to his feet, fire in his eyes. He came charging at Jeff like a bull, but Jeff was younger and faster, so he moved aside in time. Furious now, Mac spun around and smacked a thick fist into Jeff’s shoulder, but Jeff held his ground.
The cowhands yelled encouragement but Jeff just wanted to end it. He waited until Mac came thundering close again, then let loose with a sucker punch to his already injured jaw. Mac went down like a felled tree. He tried to get up, flailing his arms halfheartedly, lifted his head, then fell back, out cold.
Jeff yanked off his gloves. “I’m through for today,” he said, and walked out of the corral. The boy he’d rescued was too stunned and probably too frightened to move, but the guys along the fence cheered and those nearest him patted his shoulder as he made his way to the barn. He was hot, tired and disgusted with himself.
He’d done exactly what East had repeatedly warned him not to do, settled something with his fists instead of his brain. He’d been young those years he’d lived on the run and the only way he’d survived was to be a street fighter out of necessity when bigger runaways had tried to take advantage. But he’d given that up ten years ago, or so he’d thought until Mac had gone too far.
Nearing the barn, Jeff heard running footsteps, then felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Teddy, looking awkward and shy. His crooked smile would have made an orthodontist’s hands twitch.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his face reddening.
Nodding, Jeff walked on and almost didn’t notice Tish standing in the doorway, in her eyes a new respect. Still, he marched on by, knowing he’d made a formidable enemy in Mac.
He went straight to his room, took a long, hot shower, then lay down on his bed, trying to rest his overtaxed muscles and his throbbing right hand. Ever since his ordeal of being buried alive, of not knowing if he’d ever see daylight again, he’d noticed that he had a much shorter fuse. He was grateful to be alive and wondered why others didn’t see what he saw, that each day was a gift. The petty arguments, the anger, the need to best someone smaller and younger, all of it made him see red. Jeff sighed, thinking he’d have to work on these sudden temper flare-ups or he’d become just like the bullies he disliked.
Feeling restless, he got up and tried watching television, but nothing held his interest. He flipped through a couple of magazines, but he didn’t feel like reading. Pacing, he thought of Tish Buckner and wondered why she showed signs of interest, yet only from a distance. And he wondered how he could change that.
Jeff hadn’t done a lot of dating, mostly because living at Condor with East when he’d been a teenager didn’t give him much opportunity. Except for school kids, the only people he’d spent time with had been SPEAR agents much older than he. And East had kept him on a fast track of learning, year-round classes to make up for studies he’d missed as a runaway, then college and finally med school where he spent the few free hours he had falling facedown on the bed, dead to the world with exhaustion.
Sure, there’d been a few women; after all, he wasn’t a monk. Enough so that he recognized that certain look in a woman’s eyes when she was sizing up a man, considering possibilities, wondering,