Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  Ramona shook her head. “I wasn’t stereotyping any more than you were when you said I seemed the type to like Celtic music.”

  “Ah, but you do like it, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I wasn’t stereotyping. I was making a judgment call about you and what I know of you.” He negotiated a steep, tight curve, then shot an amused glance her way. “You, on the other hand, were making a sweeping generalization.”

  “Touché. I was thinking of soldiers and what I used to hear on their car stereos when they went blazing down the street.” She narrowed her eyes. “Let me see, then. Country or bluegrass, maybe?”

  “Not my thing, though I don’t mind it.”

  “Hmm. Blues? Jazz?”

  “Closer.”

  Ramona frowned. “I don’t know...you might get excited about some classical, but I have to put my money on fancy guitar.” His face went blank and Ramona knew she’d scored. “Let’s see...you’re a year older than I am...so what? Led Zepplin, ZZ Top, maybe a little old Aerosmith?”

  Jake pulled smoothly into the downtown lot behind the café, then turned off the engine before he spoke. He looked at Ramona and gave her a singularly gorgeous grin. It lit his eyes and warmed his face and kindled a tiny fire in the nether regions of her body.

  “Pretty good, Doc.” He pulled out a hand-lettered cassette tape, and gave it to her.

  Ramona read the handwriting: La Grange. She laughed. “ZZ Top!”

  “Pretty adolescent, huh?”

  “Not at all. I used to love this. I haven’t heard it in a long time, though. My friends and I used to play it while we got dressed for parties, just to get us in the mood.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you at parties.”

  “We didn’t exactly travel with the same crowd.”

  “True.” He slipped the cassette back into the tape deck. “I’ll play it on the way back. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

  . The Moon Café was as up to the moment as any place in Red Creek, a coffee shop that would have been at home in any downtown string of upscale shops in any city in the U.S. It had been established by a San Francisco couple who’d fled the coast after the last earthquake. Ramona often stopped in for lunch and the owner waved to her as she took a seat.

  The late-evening crowd was mostly young and at least pseudointellectual, local kids who listened to Enya and dreamed of wider horizons, and summer-idle ski bums. They sat in the dimly lit room and listened to the Celtic trio and talked of world hunger and white witchcraft and fantasy novels. Ramona liked them.

  “I guess you’ve been here before, huh?” Jake remarked.

  “Sure.” She flashed him a grin. “In spite of being stereotypically my kind of place, it really is my kind of place.”

  Jake smiled appreciatively. “Too bad there were no coffee shops like this when you were in high school. Then you wouldn’t have had to suffer through parties.”

  “I found the coffee shops in college just fine, thank you.”

  “And I bet you dated really earnest guys with round glasses and long hair.”

  She couldn’t help the chuckle that rose in her throat. Mark, her college sweetheart, had looked as gentle as he was—blond, thin and bespectacled. “My main squeeze was a music major. He played in all the clubs.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t play electric guitar.”

  “No. Fiddle.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Bingo.”

  The waiter stopped by and they ordered the coffee of the day, something dark and rich and African. When hers came, Ramona sprinkled nutmeg over the top and stirred in sugar. Jake, not surprisingly, drank his straight.

  They ate exotic sandwiches made of sprouts and tomatoes and guacamole on thick slices of multigrain bread. Ramona had to fight to keep her weight even in the moderately plump range and usually watched every gram she put in her mouth, but she felt beautiful tonight, and free, and for once she allowed herself to eat until she was really full.

  The trio, a harper, a flutist and a wistfully beautiful singer who looked about thirteen, was very good. A waiter brought a backgammon board over at Jake’s request, and as they set it up, Ramona asked, “How do you like the music?”

  “Not bad. It would be nice if they sang in English.”

  “Some groups do.”

  “Didn’t you have a girlfriend at one time who was Irish? An exchange student or something?”

  “Bridget.”

  “Yeah. The little red-haired girl. She was scared of her own shadow.”

  “She’s a writer now. Big, glitzy potboilers about the English upper classes. She’s done quite well.”

  “Really? That’s amazing. You’ll have to point her books out to me sometime.”

  “I have all of them. If you’re serious, I’ll send them to you.”

  “I’d love to borrow them. It’s interesting to find out something like that about some kid you knew way back when. Seems to me most of my friends from high school didn’t ever...” He shrugged.

  “Didn’t what?” She rolled the dice and got a natural, five and six, and moved automatically.

  “I don’t know. They just didn’t do anything. Or at least not what they thought they’d do.”

  “Like what?”

  He moved his pieces, then lifted his head. “Like my friend, Jed, who wanted to be an astronaut. He really wanted to go up into space. I mean, his room was covered with model rockets and star maps and all kinds of things. He was good at math and science and all that—but he’s selling insurance.”

  Ramona’s healing instincts prickled, and although she hated herself for it, she found she could not resist drawing him out on the subject. Perhaps he would reveal some key to his own troubles. “Okay. I set out to be a doctor, and I am one. You were a soldier.”

  “‘Were’ being the operative word in my case.” There was only a hint of rancor in his voice. “I don’t know what I mean, really. It just seems at times that nobody ever really gets what they want.” He gestured toward a table nearby, filled with a crowd of young people. “I mean, look at those kids. I bet there are aspiring writers and singers and world leaders among them, and how many will really do what they want to do?”

  Ramona didn’t speak for a moment, mulling over the right words. He looked at her, and for a fleeting heartbeat, she saw raw, screaming pain in the depths of his eyes.

  Then it was gone and he nudged the dice toward her. “Your turn.”

  She rolled and moved. “Your friend, Jed, leads the local astronomy society.”

  “Oh, that’s very exciting.”

  “No, now that’s not fair. He loves the stars, and he gets to share that love with others. Maybe he isn’t going to walk on the moon, but that doesn’t change his love of it or the passion he feels toward space, does it?”

  “It isn’t the same, Ramona, and you know it.” His eyes narrowed. “Leading the astronomy society is not the same as being in space.”

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. “But I know Jed. He’s one of the happiest men I know.” She smiled gently. “He has six children, did you know that? Two are foster children he adopted. His wife worships the ground he walks on and she’s one of the kindest, most loving people you’d find anywhere. Jed didn’t become an astronaut because she got pregnant when they were first married, and he chose to come back to Red Creek so his child would have the same childhood he did.”

  “Don’t you think he ever wishes things turned out differently?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe. We can’t ever know what’s way down deep in someone’s heart, but my guess would be no. I don’t think he minds. Maybe sometimes when he’s gazing up at the Pleiades, he wonders what it would have been like to build a space station, but I bet it’s just a moment’s twinge. I doubt he would trade the life he has for the life he wanted.” She looked at the table of earnest young people. “The aspiring writer in that group might end up doing technical writing, and the singer might only end up with one of the biggest CD colle
ctions in the state, but both of them will be the richer for having dreamed, for having striven to reach something beyond themselves.”

  He nodded, but Ramona could tell he didn’t agree with her. Not for one second.

  “You don’t buy it,” she said. “Why not?”

  “It’s not that. Look, I’m sure Jed is happy. He always liked kids,” he said slowly. A thoughtful frown creased his brow, and he looked consideringly over his shoulder at the crowd. “Maybe it’s like that old expression, ‘Be careful what you ask for.’ My mom always told us to be careful, because what you end up getting may prove to be a disaster.”

  Ramona only murmured assent quietly, afraid to disturb the flow of his words.

  “She wanted a rich man—or thought she did.” Jake gave Ramona a wry smile. “Hard to believe she really thought that was what she wanted, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “She’s a very down-to-earth woman.”

  “She is. But her dad ran off after the war, and her mother had to take in sewing and clean houses and work as a waitress to make ends meet. They didn’t have anything, and my mother hated it, so she made up her mind to find a rich man.”

  “Was your father rich? I had the impression he was a self-made man.”

  “He wasn’t rich when they met, but she said she could tell he was going to be. And he was.” Jake suddenly seemed to realize where he was and rolled the dice, then moved his pieces. “He was also one of the most selfish, hard-nosed men I’ve ever met.”

  It was hard to find words of praise for Olan Forrest, that was sure. But Ramona was more interested in Jake at the moment. “So what do you think your mother should have wished for?”

  The question surprised him. “I don’t know. A good life, maybe. A good man.”

  “And you, Jake? What would you wish for, knowing what you know?”

  The vivid blue eyes flickered, and in the space of a second, all the honest thoughtfulness was safely hidden beneath a smooth, untroubled expression. “Are you counseling me, Doc?”

  “Sorry.”

  They dropped the conversation after that and concentrated on the game, reminiscing idly about the various people in their past. Ramona had been on the alumni committee for several years and knew at least a little about most of the kids they had graduated with. Not many had stayed in Red Creek.

  Learning that, Jake shook his head. “Seems odd, doesn’t it, that all the natives are fleeing and so many outsiders are coming in?”

  “You never appreciate your own backyard.”

  “That’s true, I guess.” He pursed his lips. “There’s always been a lot of tourist traffic, but it wasn’t like it is now. Some mornings this past winter, I walked where I wanted to go. It was faster than driving.” A short, comfortable pause fell between them. Jake asked after a while, “Do you ski?”

  A cold fist struck her heart, then was gone—the last, and probably permanent reminder of her own trauma. “I used to cross-country, but I don’t anymore.”

  “I like cross-country, too. Why’d you give it up? Get too old to hack it?” He grinned.

  Ramona swallowed and forced herself to meet his friendly, guileless gaze. “I guess so.”

  “Maybe I can drag you out there this winter. I’ve missed it.”

  “Maybe.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m going to have to call it a night. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “No problem.” He reached for the check and called the waiter.

  He drove her back to the hospital to pick up her car. It was a very quiet drive, but not awkward. She liked the fact that she didn’t feel obligated to fill the silence. Nor did he.

  By the time he had come to a full stop next to her car, Ramona had her hand on the door handle. “Thanks, Jake,” she said.

  He caught her arm. “Do I have bad breath or something?”

  Ramona blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like you can’t wait to get out of the car.”

  He held her arm loosely, and their faces were only inches apart. Ramona stared for one longing moment at his beautiful mouth, then eased away. “I’m just avoiding temptation,” she said, and her voice was a lot throatier than usual.

  His fingers moved on the bare underside of her arm, and Ramona felt the shivery reaction all the way down her spine. “Fair enough.”

  He straightened, and Ramona was aware of a tinge of regret. Firmly, she reminded herself it had been she who had set the parameters of this relationship. “Good night, Jake. I had a nice time. We’ll have to do it again.”

  “Yeah.” When she was about to close the door, he suddenly leaned over to look at her. “Hey!”

  Moonlight silvered the planes of his face and glittered in the uncommon and beautiful eyes. “What?”

  “Would you bring me some of that chokecherry jelly?”

  Ramona chuckled. “Sure. I’ll leave it with Harry the next time I come over here.”

  “Thanks.”

  He waited until she had safely climbed into her car and started it, then he drove away much too fast. Ramona watched the retreating lights musingly, then put her own car in gear and headed home.

  Chapter 5

  There was an odd little lump of sorrow and regret in her chest, vague and unfocused, as she drove home through the moonlit forest toward her mountainside house. Part of it was the lingering trace of that long-ago day, a trace that would never entirely disappear, but that wasn’t all of it. She felt uneasy about Jake. He had seemed much better tonight, but she couldn’t forget the sudden, raw pain she had glimpsed in his eyes.

  At the gate to her long drive, she got out, unfastened it and drove through, then latched it again behind her. It wasn’t so much a security measure—though she did value her privacy and had fenced the entire twelve-acre spread some years ago to keep out the tourists—but rather a means of protecting her dogs.

  They gathered around as she stepped out of the car, and Ramona greeted each one by name. Her three dogs barked or whined according to their temperaments, and she rubbed each head in turn, murmuring greetings. Some of the knot in her chest dissolved. “What would I do without you guys, huh?”

  They happily trailed her inside. The cats, eager not to be overlooked, jumped on the back of the couch and on the table near the door, and she greeted both of them, too.

  All five animals padded behind her into the kitchen. Ramona dutifully filled food dishes and checked water levels, then sat at her kitchen table to take off her shoes and give each creature a little one-on-one attention.

  She had never intended to be responsible for so many animals, but each was a rescue of one kind or another. Venus, a delicate little white female cat, had been huddled under a car, shivering in the November cold. Her consort, Pandora, a mixed Siamese with enormous blue eyes and a skittish nature, had shown up on the clinic steps as a starving and wary kitten.

  The dogs had similar stories. Manuelito, a lean, rangy husky with wolf blood, had been abandoned in the woods nearby before finding his way to her house to beg for food. Guinevere, a homely terrier-shepherd mix, had belonged to a hospital patient. Arthur, a black Lab with more jubilance than good sense, had followed her home from the grocery store, and none of her repeated ads, signs or posters had led his owner to her.

  She loved them all, especially tonight when they blunted her sorrow and loneliness. Rubbing the head of Manuelito, while Venus curled up in her lap, Ramona also had to admit she was helplessly softhearted, unable to resist helping those in distress.

  And that was what made Jake so dangerous. He brought to the fore every Mother Earth instinct she possessed. She wanted to cradle his head on her breast and stroke his glossy hair and chase his demons away.

  Wearily, she sighed, stretching the stiffness from her neck. The fantasy went deeper than that, actually. Jake was the ultimate warrior. He had all those old-fashioned attitudes about honor and integrity and noble quests. He would fight to the death to protect the small and weak and vulnerable.

  Those were the qualiti
es that made him suffer now. She would put money on it. For all that the sleeping pills had given him respite, she knew he was a long way from being healed. His demons, whatever they were, had not been scared away, only buried.

  The healer in her recognized he needed to release those demons before they destroyed him. The woman in her knew more—that the real fantasy was not the actual soothing of his wounds, but a wish to have him trust her enough so he’d be willing to dismantle his protective walls and let her in. As a woman, she ached to win that trust.

  Which led to a very real, very dangerous conflict. Since she was a doctor, it would be wrong for her to allow an attraction to her patient to grow. She would lose her objectivity. It was also unethical. To treat him effectively, she would have to maintain some kind of emotional distance.

  It wouldn’t be easy. She was very, very attracted to Jake Forrest. He had an air of almost magnetic virility about him. She liked his hair and his eyes and his long body and his laughter. She had really liked his kiss....

  She breathed out a sigh of frustration. “Enough of this,” she said aloud. “I’m going to bed.”

  The dream was always the same. She glided along in the stillness of a clear mountain morning, the sky overhead a vivid turquoise in contrast to the blinding white of the snow. She skied well and often made a five-mile circle up the mountain and back to her house on weekend afternoons. She liked the way her blood pumped harder in her veins, and how the sunlight caressed her face, and the easy, graceful movements of the skis and poles. It made her feel strong.

  The dream ended the same way every time, too—with Ramona hiking out of the forest at dark, minus skis, her body bruised and almost preternaturally sensitized. She tasted the cold night air in her lungs and breathed thanks. She trudged down the hill on trembling legs that threatened to collapse beneath her and wept in relief. Without gloves, her fingers were almost surely frostbitten, but Ramona only put them against her belly and prayed she would not lose any of them.

  And then, like always, she awakened in her big bed with the animals arrayed around her and moonlight spilling in the lace-curtained windows. The familiar hollow feeling was back in her stomach. She reached over the side of the bed to touch Manuelito. He groaned and stretched, then settled back into sleep.