New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  I just need something to get me through the evening, Amanda told herself firmly. Something to fill in the time till Edward gets here. And it might as well be Brock Munroe, since Bev’s out of town….

  She got up and walked quickly back through the apartment, heading for her bedroom. As she went, Amanda looked around and felt her rebellion slowly ebbing away.

  She was glad she’d decorated her apartment like this. Edward was going to be seeing it tomorrow, and he would be so impressed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “THIS IS SUCH a marvelous steak,” Amanda said after swallowing a vigorous mouthful. “It just melts in my mouth. Is yours good?”

  Brock nodded and smiled across the table at her. He liked women who enjoyed their food, who didn’t pick and poke and nibble. And in spite of her dainty appearance, Amanda Walker had tucked into her steak and baked potato with the enthusiasm of a ranch hand.

  Amanda caught his glance and smiled back, her eyes shining like blue stars in the muted glow of the candle between them. “I know I’m eating like a pig,” she said cheerfully. “But I didn’t have time for lunch, and I’m just starved.”

  “I love it,” Brock said sincerely. “I love watching you eat. Nobody but Alvin enjoys food that much.”

  “Alvin?” she asked, sipping from her crystal wineglass.

  “My dog,” Brock said. “He’s one of a kind. In fact, I can’t describe him, so you’ll just have to pay me a visit sometime and meet him for yourself.”

  She fell silent, looking down at her plate while Brock continued to gaze at her.

  Amanda seemed different tonight, awkward and a little constrained, as if she had something on her mind. Her manner toward Brock was subtly altered, too. Throughout the evening she appeared to alternate between holding him at arm’s length and wanting to confide in him. She seemed alarmed and uneasy whenever he hinted at the possibility of further contact between them.

  Brock felt an upsurge of tenderness, realizing that despite her glamorous appearance and calm poised manner, Amanda Walker was probably a rather lonely person. She never mentioned any close relationships, other than her old college friendship with Beverly Townsend. And she sounded a little wistful when she talked about Beverly and her boyfriend, Jeff Harris.

  He studied her bent head with its glossy cap of clipped dark hair, her lovely complexion and the fine delicate structure of her face and neck.

  She wore an outfit completely different from the jaunty suit he’d seen earlier. Tonight her dress was a soft blue wool, exactly the color of her eyes and exquisitely tailored with clean flowing lines, a wide grey leather belt at the slim waistline and a prim high neck that made her look more enticing than ever.

  “Do you have family, Amanda?” Brock asked abruptly. “Anybody around here who’s close to you?”

  She shook her head. “My parents live in Dallas,” she said. “My younger sister, too. And I have an older brother out in California who’s a stockbroker.”

  “Middle-child syndrome,” Brock said with a teasing grin. “No wonder you have such a drive to succeed.”

  She looked at him in surprise, then grinned back. “You could be right,” she said.

  “Were your parents really rich?”

  “Oh, goodness, no,” Amanda said, digging into her baked potato again. “They’re both teachers,” she added, “but my mother didn’t work after we were born.”

  “An old-fashioned girl,” Brock observed.

  Amanda shook her head and paused to swallow, then took a sip of water. “Not really. My mother would have loved to work, because she always wanted a really nice home and a kind of elegant life-style. But my brother and I were born fairly close together, and then my sister came along and she was born with spina bifida…do you know what that is?”

  Brock nodded. “I know all kinds of stuff, Amanda,” he told her gravely. “I read all the time.”

  She nodded again, her cheeks flushing a little. “Well, my sister needed constant care when she was little, so Mom couldn’t go back to work. She always tried so hard,” Amanda said with a small wistful smile, her blue eyes faraway. “She played classical music on the stereo at mealtimes and set the table with real linen, tried so hard to maintain a certain standard even without money. But it was such a struggle.”

  Brock looked thoughtfully at the lovely face across from him, wondering at the forces and influences that had shaped this woman.

  “How is she now?” he asked finally. “Your sister, I mean.”

  “Oh, Sarah’s fine. She’s done far, far better than anybody ever expected. She’s still in a wheelchair, but she lives in a little apartment with a friend, and she’s almost fully independent. She’s going to college in Dallas.”

  “Good for her,” Brock said warmly. “I love to hear things like that.”

  Amanda smiled back at him. Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Amanda’s smile faded and she looked down, then picked up her fork again, her hand trembling slightly.

  Brock watched her in thoughtful silence. “How about your mother?” he asked. “Did she finally go back to work and buy all the nice things she craved?”

  Amanda shook her head. “I really thought she would, once she was free of her responsibilities. But you know, while Sarah was growing up my mother got involved in a lot of activities for disabled children and their families. And now, when she’d finally be able to do anything she wanted, she’s busy with volunteer work just about full-time.”

  “So she never got the crystal chandeliers,” Brock commented.

  Amanda glanced at him with that same wide-eyed startled expression she seemed to have whenever he showed any kind of insight or sensitivity.

  “No,” she said slowly. “Mama never did get all those luxuries she craved. But it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.”

  “Except to you, maybe,” Brock said. “You’re the one who still wants the crystal chandeliers, aren’t you, Amanda?”

  She toyed with the sprig of parsley at the edge of her plate, her face thoughtful and still. “I guess I do,” she said finally. “It always hurt me so much, seeing my mother sacrifice and do without, knowing how she longed for the nice things she couldn’t afford. All the time I was growing up, I told myself I’d never be like that. I wasn’t going to spend my life yearning for things and not having them.”

  “So you went to New York.”

  “As soon as I graduated,” Amanda said. “I was going to make a big splash in the fashion industry, and get rich and famous. But you know what? It wasn’t that easy,” she added, giving him a cheerful self-deprecating grin that made him want to gather her in his arms and kiss that sweet curving mouth.

  “Why not?” Brock asked, forcing himself to sound casual.

  Amanda shrugged. “Well, I was too small for modeling, and not creative enough for design. All I had was a kind of instinct for the right look, so I moved up through all the different levels of retail sales and finally got to be assistant buyer.”

  “Why did you leave, after getting that far?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her plate again. Brock watched her curiously, surprised by her reaction.

  “Amanda?” he prodded gently.

  “Well,” she began with some reluctance, “I got into a relationship with a co-worker, and after a few years it wasn’t really…going anywhere, you know? I wasn’t even sure it was good for me. I felt stale and discouraged, and I wanted some kind of personal challenge. So I finally decided to come back to Texas and go into business for myself.”

  “How the hell could he let you go?” Brock asked abruptly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This co-worker. The guy you had the relationship with. You were together for years and then he just let you walk away without putting up a fight?”

  Amanda nodded. “He doesn’t believe in fighting. He always said that if I wanted to leave, that was my business, and if I ever wanted to come back, he’d be glad to see me.”

  Brock gazed at her
in stunned amazement, then shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe it,” he said at last. “I can’t believe any man who had someone like you would just let her go. If that was me, I’d move heaven and earth to hang on to her.”

  Amanda gave him a wistful gratified look, then shook her head. “Maybe I’m not all that terrific when you get to know me,” she said. “Besides, it wasn’t a great relationship for either of us at the time. He’s ten years older than me, for one thing. I felt stifled by him, and I think he was a little bored by me.”

  “Bored?” Brock asked in disbelief. “By you?”

  Amanda gave him another of those little sad smiles. “Look,” she said abruptly, “I’m not nearly as fascinating as you seem to think I am. To Edward, I was just a clumsy country girl who had to be taught the proper ways to speak and behave. I think that part was kind of a challenge for him, but once he had me all polished, I wasn’t really interesting anymore.”

  “A classic Pygmalion,” Brock commented, then grinned at her reaction. “Amanda,” he said gently, “could you please try not to look so amazed whenever I say anything a tiny bit intelligent? It’s not all that flattering, you know.”

  Amanda flushed painfully. “Sorry,” she whispered, trying to smile. “I know how rude it is of me. It’s just that I never expected…”

  “I know,” Brock said, waving his hand casually. “No need to be embarrassed. I’m just a rough ol’ cowboy who doesn’t even own a decent suit, and it’s understandable that you’d have some stereotyped idea of what I’m like. But,” he added gently, “like I told you before, even cowboys can read and think, Amanda. In fact, there’s lots of time to read during those cold rainy winter evenings on the ranch.”

  She was silent throughout this little speech, sipping her wine thoughtfully and giving the waiter a polite smile when he set a plate of chocolate layer cake in front of her.

  “Wow,” Brock said with warm admiration, watching her pick up her fork. “Dessert, too. What a woman.”

  Amanda giggled. “You’re so different from Edward,” she said. “He hated watching me eat. He always complained that it was embarrassing to dine out with a lumberjack.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Amanda shook her head, then took a bite of the cake. “Oh, Brock, this is wonderful! You wouldn’t believe how delicious it tastes. Come on, order a slice for yourself.”

  The waiter reappeared as soon as she spoke, casting Brock a questioning glance while he removed a basket containing an uneaten slice of garlic toast.

  Brock grinned and shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe just some lime sherbet, please. Amanda, you’re a genuine marvel.”

  He watched her enjoyment of the rich dessert, delighting in her beauty but irritated by what she’d told him about her lover.

  “Dining out with a lumberjack,” he muttered at last, unable to contain himself. “What a thing to say to a woman like you.”

  Amanda set down her fork and looked thoughtfully at the man across the table. She hesitated, sipped her coffee, then apparently made up her mind to confide in him.

  “He’s coming,” she said abruptly.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Edward. He’s coming here tomorrow to see me. He left a message on my machine this afternoon.”

  Brock felt a brief chill, and then a spreading heaviness that he was afraid to analyze. “No kidding,” he said lightly. “Are you excited about that?”

  “I don’t know,” Amanda murmured, her head bent so he couldn’t see her eyes. “I mean,” she added, glancing up briefly, “of course it’ll be nice to see him again after all this time, and hear all the news from the city. I’m just not sure if I want to…”

  “What?” Brock prompted when she hesitated. “You’re not sure if you want to do what?”

  “Start all over again,” Amanda said quietly, her fingers tracing the outline of her cup handle. “I don’t even know if we can.”

  Of course you can’t, Brock wanted to shout. Especially with a guy who calls you a lumberjack because you have a healthy appetite. You left him once, don’t let him back into your life. Keep yourself free, girl.

  But he knew it would be unwise to voice these opinions. Instead he eased the conversation into safer territory, entertaining her with a long funny story about Alvin’s morbid fear of cats.

  Amanda laughed aloud, her lovely face so animated that once again Brock had to fight a strong impulse to reach across the linen-covered table and gather her into his arms.

  “I’d love to meet Alvin,” she said. “He certainly does sound like a true original.”

  “Oh, Lord, I hope so,” Brock said fervently. “I’d hate to think there might be another Alvin running around out there somewhere.”

  Amanda chuckled again and paused to sip her coffee. “How big is your ranch?” she asked after a moment’s silence. “Is it like the Double C?”

  Brock grinned. “Not yet. I’ve got some work to do before I get to that stage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve only got about half as much land.”

  “How much is that? I mean, Beverly’s told me how many acres they have at the Circle T but I can never really visualize how much land an acre is.”

  “Well,” Brock told her, “six hundred and forty acres make one square mile. So with five and a half thousand, my ranch totals close to nine square miles. The Double C has almost twice that much land.”

  Amanda stared at him, wide-eyed. “Come on, Brock. You’re just teasing me because you know I’m a city slicker.”

  Brock shook his head. “Not a bit. Actually, at nine sections my place is just medium by Crystal Creek standards. But it’s still a nice working ranch. At least,” he added with a wry grin, “it will be once I do a hell of a lot more work.”

  “Your father…” Amanda began hesitantly and then paused, her cheeks once again showing that faint flush that always betrayed her discomfort. Brock looked at her intently, wondering how much she’d already been told about him.

  “My daddy was no ball of fire,” he said gently. “It’s taken me years to get the place into a good working position, and it’ll take more years to get it showing a real strong profit. It’ll take some diversifying, too,” he added grimly, “and a lot of penny-pinching. But I’ll get there.”

  “What will you do first?”

  Brock grinned. “First? Good question. Well, I wish I could get done renovating my house, but I seem to be kind of stuck.”

  “Renovating?” Amanda said, her eyes brightening. “Are you doing that right now? I love the idea of renovating,” she added with an awkward little smile. “Sometimes I really wish I’d gone into interior design instead of clothing.”

  “Lord, girl, if you want a real challenge, why don’t you drop out and pay me a visit someday? That’s what I need, actually, some advice on design and things before I can go any further.”

  “Really?” she said, tentatively.

  “Hey, I mean it, Amanda,” he urged. “Sometime when you’re out our way, why don’t you stop by for a cup of coffee and tell me what to do with my kitchen? I’d surely appreciate the help. Hell, I’d even pay.”

  Amanda smiled. “I’d love to,” she said with evident sincerity. “And I certainly wouldn’t charge you. I’d just do it for fun.”

  “Now, that’s sure the wrong way to do business.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’m not even sure what’s the right way, Brock. These days, it’s so hard to do business at all.”

  He nodded in silent agreement, spooning up mouthfuls of the lime sherbet.

  “You know who I feel sorry for?” Amanda said suddenly.

  “Who?”

  “Mary Gibson. If it’s tough for a young strong man like you to make a living on a ranch, how is poor Mary ever going to manage? I guess she has a lot of debts to start off with, and apparently she doesn’t know all that much about running the ranch even though she’s lived there most of her life.”

&nb
sp; “That’s true,” Brock said. “Bubba, her husband, he was always a real take-charge kind of guy. He believed the little woman should be in the kitchen with her apron on, cooking up a good supper for her working man. I doubt that Mary was ever very much involved in decision making.”

  “And now she has to do it all herself, and she’s alone there.”

  “Not entirely,” Brock said, remembering young Luke Harte’s shambling figure down in the Gibson ranch yard.

  Amanda gazed across the flickering candle. “You’re talking about that hired hand of hers? Luke something, isn’t that his name?”

  Brock nodded. “Luke Harte. You met him?”

  “Just briefly.” Amanda paused. “It wasn’t all that pleasant. He was quite rude to me,” she confessed, meeting Brock’s eyes. “Mary apologized for him and said he was just being protective of her.”

  Brock hesitated. “Well maybe he was,” he said at last. “I know he’s been a lot of help to Mary since Bubba left. I just…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” Brock said at last. “I don’t like the whole idea, that’s all.” He looked up, meeting Amanda’s gaze again. “People are gossiping about them,” he said abruptly.

  Amanda stared. “About Mary? And Luke Harte? You’re joking, Brock. Why, he can’t be much older than I am. He’s certainly twenty-five years younger than Mary, at least.”

  “That doesn’t stop people from talking. There’s a certain kind of people, Amanda, who’ll talk about anybody, any mean ridiculous story they can think of, just to be gossiping. God, I hate it.”

  “So do I,” she said. “Especially when it’s aimed at somebody like Mary, who’s just so sweet.”

  “She’s always been real good to me,” Brock said. “In fact, she was like a mother to me when I was a boy. I used to talk to her a lot when I was growing up.”

  He hesitated, watching as Amanda pursued the last crumbs of her chocolate cake. Then he asked abruptly, “Did you sell her some clothes? Mary, I mean? Did she buy anything from you?”

  Amanda nodded. “Quite a lot. Two nice designer suits, and some really good slacks and sweaters. Oh, and a couple of silk blouses, one that I haven’t delivered yet.”