“What’s on the agenda for this evening?” she asked.
“Tonight we’re going to ask for a bottle of very exotic French wine at dinner.”
“We are? I have no objections, but why French wine?”
Gray tossed her a gleaming look. “Because I don’t think Delaney has this particular label in the hotel cellars. It’s not on the wine list.”
“Then why are we going to ask for it?”
“Because Vic Delaney spent a vast sum of money on a shipment of it. I don’t think that shipment ever materialized. When we try ordering it tonight, we’ll know for sure, won’t we?”
“I see,” Amber said quietly. She tried to sound politely businesslike, because business was clearly the only thing on Gray’s mind. But privately she was beginning to understand that the second night of her honeymoon was probably going to be spent in the same way as the first had been spent – alone in her bedroom.
4
Four days later Amber found herself experiencing S. U. Twitchell country in the most authentic way—from the back of a horse. She didn’t know whether to groan or laugh as she obediently followed Gray as he led the way into a small canyon hidden in the hills behind the resort. He was astride a big sorrel gelding and seemed to be having no more difficulty adjusting to a horse’s saddle than to swinging a golf club. His big frame moved easily with that of the animal’s, and the sorrel seemed ready and willing to take direction from the firm hands that held the reins.
Amber’s own mount was a small mare of an indeterminate pale shade that was probably meant to be palomino. It would have required more imagination than Amber had to see any resemblance between her hoarse and Trigger, however. She had a hunch her animal had been bleached somewhere along the line. Furthermore, Goldie, as the mare was called, refused to pay any attention to Amber’s guidance. Goldie had apparently learned early on in her career as a dude ranch horse that she was only required to follow the horse in front of her. She did that much and no more.
“Are you sure this is the way Twitchell got his inspiration?” Amber demanded as Goldie plodded dutifully behind the big sorrel. They were following the path of a small creek that ran through the canyon.
“Of course, I’m sure. How else could he have developed such a feel for the land?” Gray glanced over his shoulder. His expression was respectfully sincere, but there was amusement in his green-gold eyes.
“Somehow I’ve never thought of Twitchell as having a great feel for the land,” Amber muttered. “Or poetry, either,” she added in an even lower tone.
But Gray caught the treasonous words. “You’d better smile when you say that, pardner.”
“I can’t smile. The part of me that meets the saddle has grown numb. When do we stop for lunch?”
Gray reined in his horse and gazed around the scenic little canyon. He seemed satisfied with the sparkling creek, the artfully designed clutter of small boulders and the welcoming bits of green foliage. “How about right here? This looks like the canyon Twitchell described in ‘Outlaw Retreat,’ doesn’t it? Do you suppose he actually wandered into this very canyon and got inspired?”
“Any inspiration S.U.T. received probably came from the bottom of a bottle.” Predictably enough Goldie had come to a halt the instant her leader had stopped. Amber swung one jeaned leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground with a feeling of relief. Goldie immediately took the action as an indication that she was free to munch. The mare started nosing around a patch of green that grew near the little creek.
“There are times when I detect a certain lack of respect for the great man in some of your comments.” Gray dismounted as if he was accustomed to spending days in a saddle. He looped the sorrel’s reins and those of the washed-out palomino around a scraggly bush. Then he removed a small leather pouch from the back of his saddle.
Amber grinned at him as he lounged comfortably on a rock and began to investigate the contents of the pouch. “Any lack of respect you detect is merely my poor sense of humor at work. What have you got in the pouch?”
“Some watercress-and-pâté sandwiches, a couple of packages of potato chips, some carrots and olives and two apples.” He spread the small repast out on a napkin that had also been in the pouch. “And last, but not least, a split of a good, sturdy, California red.”
“Not bad. The resort kitchen is very accommodating.” Amber reached for one of the sandwiches.
“More accommodating than Roger and Ozzie. I thought I’d never get rid of one or the other of them this morning,” Gray said as he leaned back against a sun-warmed boulder and devoured half a sandwich in one bite. Gray’s appetite was in proportion to the rest of him.
“They were certainly determined to escort us on this little jaunt, weren’t they?” Amber agreed thoughtfully. Gray had put his large foot down very forcefully this morning when the two young men had offered to act as guides. It had been more than a polite offer; Roger and Ozzie had been quite insistent. But Gray, in his own quiet way, could be quite stubborn. The two young men had been left behind at the resort.
“They’re getting worse. Seems like I can’t go anywhere on the resort without one of them following me around. It’s getting to be impossible to have any discreet conversations with groundskeepers, wine stewards or housekeepers.” Gray swallowed the rest of the sandwich and opened the half bottle of red wine. “I think they’re beginning to realize I’m not turning into a one-man cheerleading squad for the resort.”
Amber frowned. “You haven’t told them you’re getting suspicious of the books, have you?”
Gray raised one heavy brow, his glance sardonic. “Do I look stupid?”
“Nope.”
He nodded, gratified. “Thank you. No, I haven’t said anything. But I’ve had to ask some questions, and I’m sure the people I’ve talked to have reported back to Delaney. He’s probably getting nervous. From what I can tell, he can’t afford not to have this deal go through. He’s in money trouble up to his white patent leather belt buckle.”
“What’s our schedule?” Amber opened a packet of olives and carrots.
“I think we’ll leave the day after tomorrow, a little earlier than I’d originally planned. I’ll have more than enough information by then to make a full report to Symington.”
“You’re going to recommend against the purchase?”
Gray bit into another sandwich. “Yeah. Not much else I can do. Symington would be an idiot to get involved in this mess.”
Amber stifled a small sigh as she accepted the fact that her odd honeymoon was coming to an end. No loss, she told herself. It hadn’t been much of a honeymoon, anyway. Just a working vacation of sorts. It was more depressing than she wanted to admit. She munched a carrot stick and gazed unseeingly at the horses who were nibbling sparse grass. She wondered if that was all Gray had wanted the trip to be or if he’d occasionally wanted more from his honeymoon. She couldn’t get that last kiss out of her mind, but she also couldn’t ignore the fact that there had been no repeat.
There was something very soothing and peaceful about the canyon. A handful of tiny birds went about their business in the bushes. The creek burbled cheerfully, and the warm sun beat down with a pleasant intensity.
“Amber?”
Surprised by the serious tone of his voice, she turned to glance at Gray. He was still leaning back against the rock, his hazel eyes studying her. A trickle of awareness went through her. Whatever he was thinking at this moment, it had nothing to do with the Symington deal. “Yes, Gray?”
“Maybe you were right the other night. Maybe we should talk.”
Amber’s mouth went dry. She ought to have been elated, but instinct warned her that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. “What do you want to talk about, Gray?”
“California.”
For a heartbeat or two Amber couldn’t find her voice. When she did, she had a hard time keep
ing it even. “What about California?”
“I want to know what went wrong down there.”
He knew from one or two small comments she had let slip that there had been a man in California. And Amber had a hunch her sister had dropped more than a hint or two on the brief occasions when she had met Gray. But Gray had never asked her what had happened, had never pushed past the walls of Amber’s privacy. Amber had assumed he never would. His respect for her secrets was one of the many things that she’d liked about Gray; one of the things that had made her feel so comfortable in his presence. Now, for the first time, he was probing an area that she had privately labeled forbidden. Automatically she retreated, summoning up a casual smile to cover her withdrawal.
“I’ve always heard it’s a good idea not to get involved in a big mutual confession scene with one’s new husband,” Amber said lightly.
“Is there a lot to confess?”
His refusal to be sidetracked by her smile annoyed Amber. Her chin lifted. “Gray, if my past was a problem for you, you should have mentioned it before you asked me to marry you.”
“It’s not a problem for me, but I think it is for you.” His gaze was intent, faintly narrowed against the noon light. “I wasn’t going to ask you about it, but recently I’ve started wondering if it might help to talk about it. I know there was a man. I know something went wrong and that it was bad enough to make you quit a high-paying job and head for Washington. You went north to lick your wounds and to hide, didn’t you?”
“No. I went north to start over again.”
“You’ve succeeded in doing that to a certain extent. You’ve got a new life, new friends, new job. But there are still a few chains binding you to the past, aren’t there? You can’t quite let go. Can’t quite trust yourself—”
“Gray!” She cut through his words with an angry exclamation. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve never grilled me before. I thought we had an understanding. Part of that understanding was an acceptance of each other and of the past. I certainly haven’t asked you about your first marriage, have I? Damn it, you shouldn’t have asked me to marry you if you had problems dealing with my background.”
“I thought we could ignore whatever happened in California the same way I know we can safely ignore my first marriage. But now I’m not so sure,” he said honestly.
She stared at him. “It’s a little late to come to that conclusion.”
His mouth curved faintly. “No, it’s not. It’s never too late. We’ve still got plenty of time.”
Amber jumped to her feet, shoving her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans. She walked to the edge of the creek, turning her back to Gray. “I don’t know what you want or expect from me, Gray,” she said quietly. “There’s no big mystery about California. I fell in love with a man and things didn’t work out. That’s all there is to the story, believe me. It’s a depressingly common tale, and you know it.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
Amber swung around, shocked. “Of course I’m not. It was all over months ago. Is that what’s worrying you? You think I’m carrying the torch for him? Gray, I swear I would never have married you if that was the case.” Even as she said the words aloud, Amber realized the truth behind them. Whatever else she felt for Roarke Kelley, she didn’t love him.
“If you’re not still carrying the torch, then you’re free to fall in love with me,” Gray stated softly.
Amber felt trapped and on the defensive. Frantically she began beating at the doors of an invisible cage. “I told you I wasn’t in love with you when you asked me to marry you,” she retorted. “At least, not in the way people usually mean when they talk of love. You said that was all right, that you weren’t looking for the ‘grand passion’ of the century. Why are you doing this? You convinced me we could be happy together, and I believed you. I’m quite prepared to be happy with you, Gray. You’re the one who’s putting barricades in the way. I’m getting the feeling you’ve changed your mind. You want more from me than you said you did. But I don’t understand why. You’re no more the grand-passion type than I am. It wasn’t fair of you to marry me under one set of rules and then change the rules after the wedding.”
He looked up at her, hearing the emotional fervor in her words, and wanted to laugh. “You have a very passionate way of telling me you’re not the passionate type. But you’re right about one thing, I did change the rules on you and it wasn’t fair.” He dusted off his hands and collected the scraps of sandwich wrappers. “There are times when I don’t play fair. Not too many, but a few.”
“Gray...”
“Forget it.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to her. There was a deep smile in his eyes. “I had no right to push you. You say you’re prepared to be happy with me and that’s enough for now. Come here and be happy with me, sweetheart.”
Amber’s wary gaze went from his face to his outstretched hand. “I’m not sure about this, Gray,” she said uncertainly.
“I am. So stop worrying and come here. It’s time we headed back to the ranch. Roger and Ozzie will be getting nervous.”
She heard the easygoing amusement return to his voice, and Amber relaxed once more. Smiling a little tremulously, she stepped forward and put her fingers in his. Gray leaned down and kissed her lightly. “Don’t look so serious. Everything’s going to be fine. Wait and see. Trust me?”
Amber nodded, not knowing what else to say. On some level she did trust him, but she felt as if she no longer understood him completely. That was making her nervous, she knew. She wanted to be happy with Gray, and she longed for him to be happy and content with her. But he was beginning to make that simple goal difficult. Somehow she was going to have to tear down the barriers Gray was erecting.
* * *
Amber dressed for dinner that night with a grim determination that belied the festive intent of the evening ahead. Tonight was “fiesta” night at the hotel. All of the guests were invited to a gala celebration in the dining room and lounge. Management had promised a Mexican buffet, strolling mariachis, stuffed piñatas and a lively dance band in the lounge. Everyone was encouraged to dress appropriately for the occasion. The hotel clothing boutique had done a lively business that day in imported Mexican shirts, colorful, flounced skirts and off-the-shoulder peasant blouses.
As she tied the bright pink sash at the waist of her wide turquoise skirt and adjusted the low elasticized neckline of the frilly peasant blouse, Amber wondered how the resort could possibly be in any financial difficulty. Talk about a trapped clientele. The profits from the clothing boutique alone on “fiesta” days should have been enough to keep the business afloat.
But Gray had told her that there were serious discrepancies in the accounting books, and she believed him. He knew his business.
He might not know how to make love to his wife, but he definitely knew his business.
Amber made a face at herself in the mirror and pulled the neckline of the blouse a little lower. It was off her shoulders now, exposing a great deal of skin above the gentle swell of her breasts. Even her bathing suit wasn’t cut that low. This, she thought disparagingly, was what came from feeling a little desperate. The sense of desperation stemmed from having spent the preceding three nights in a bed by herself.
So she wasn’t a sex kitten. Maybe she didn’t have the flamboyant interest in sex that some other women had. What did it matter if she was the quiet, even-tempered type? That didn’t mean she didn’t have any interest at all in having her husband make love to her. This business of sleeping apart was getting on her nerves. It wasn’t normal or natural, and she didn’t understand why Gray was insisting on it. Husbands and wives, even the less passionate types, were supposed to sleep together. Surely it was part of being happy and content together.
If Gray was really waiting for her to come on to him like a lusty, impassioned little nymphomaniac, he would wait forev
er. Amber wasn’t about to get that carried away by her own emotions or desires. But perhaps she could give her husband a few more overt hints tonight. Surely with a few gentle pushes he would realize that they could be quite happy and satisfied with each other in bed as well as out of it. And perhaps if he were content with her in that department, he would stop pushing for answers about her past, answers Amber didn’t have.
Amber didn’t fully understand why Gray was holding out for some sign of overwhelming passion from her in the first place. He hadn’t seemed to want it when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d never had any indication that he was the type to demand a sizzling, tempestuous female in his bed. He’d seemed quite content with the bargain he had made with her. Perhaps it was the emergence of some aspect of latent male ego, Amber thought ruefully. Whatever it was, she intended to try to overcome his scruples and doubts tonight. The relationship between them during the day was as normal and smooth-running as it had always been, if one discounted that small scene in the canyon this afternoon. There was no reason the nights shouldn’t also become normal and smooth-running.
Amber stepped away from the mirror with a flounce of her brightly colored skirts. She had decided to wear her hair down for the evening. It danced around her bare shoulders in a bouncy sweep of golden-brown curls. She picked up the oversized Mexican straw purse she had bought to go with her vividly colored new clothes and swung it over her arm. Then she opened her bedroom door.
Gray was seated in a wicker chair reading a newspaper. He’d reluctantly consented to buy an embroidered open-throated white shirt that had been made in Acapulco. It was his sole contribution toward the evening’s festivities. With it he wore slacks. His dark hair was combed into its usual severe style. It was still damp from the shower. He looked up as Amber carne into the room. She smiled and did a small pirouette.
Between the Lines Page 6
