New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  “Well, I hope so,” Brock said cheerfully when Amanda didn’t answer. “Beverly and Jeff brought them, after all. We all arrived at exactly the same time,” he told Amanda casually. “Kind of a coincidence, actually. I pulled up to the curb and parked right behind them.”

  Edward gazed at the tall tanned man with the rumpled dark hair, then turned his eyes to Amanda, who felt a sudden frightening little chill. “But, Angel, didn’t you tell me—”

  “Never mind, Edward,” Amanda said hastily. “I think you must have misunderstood.”

  “Misunderstood what?” Brock asked, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob. He cast a questioning glance from one face to the other. “Amanda?”

  Edward frowned, clearly unaware of Amanda’s discomfort. “I’m sure that Amanda told me you and Lynn were a couple,” he confessed with a charming smile. “How awkward of me. I’ve been assuming something all evening that was obviously incorrect.”

  “Amanda told you that?” Brock said slowly, his dark intent gaze resting thoughtfully on the other man. “I see.”

  Those blazing dark eyes shifted abruptly to Amanda. She trembled at the force of his gaze but seemed powerless to look away. Standing there gazing helplessly into Brock Munroe’s eyes, she saw the truth, realized that he understood what she’d done.

  He knew why he’d been invited here, exactly what her purpose had been, that she’d been ashamed of their brief physical intimacy and wanted to discredit him in her own eyes, make him appear awkward and ridiculous so she could dismiss him from her thoughts.

  Amanda found herself drowning in a hot wave of shame, deeper and more painful than anything she’d ever known. In Brock’s eyes she could see his own pain, his anger and cold contempt.

  And worst of all, his pity…

  The tall rancher stared at her a moment longer, and turned courteously to Edward, who still seemed puzzled and uncertain. “If Amanda told you that,” Brock said in a quiet remote tone that stabbed at her heart, “then she was wrong.”

  He gave them both a brief wintry smile, nodded at the others and was gone, his shoulders erect, his lean body lithe and self-contained as he swung off down the corridor and out of sight.

  RAIN FLOWED against the windows, a cold autumn rain that was silvery gray and bitter in the darkness. Amanda woke suddenly on the morning after her dinner party and lay gazing at the square of blackness beyond the drapes.

  Slowly her dream faded, the sweet gentle dream of a sunny green hillside starred with flowers and a baby in her arms. The dream had been as wonderful as always, but today, waking was different.

  This morning, finally, after a lifetime of doubt and confusion, Amanda Walker recognized that hillside.

  The green flowery place in her dream was the same one where she’d lain in Brock Munroe’s arms. The baby in her arms was his child, and it was Brock himself who stood smiling nearby, the man she loved more than all the world.

  Now that the truth had dawned in her mind, it seemed so obvious that she wondered how she could have missed it for so long.

  “Oh, God, what a fool I am,” Amanda whispered aloud. “What a blind stupid fool.” She moaned softly, clutching one of the pillows close to her body, trying to relieve the pain that stabbed at her.

  Of course she loved him.

  She’d loved him the minute she saw him in his poorly fitting suit, with his lopsided grin and the disheveled dark hair. She’d thrilled to the very first touch of his hand, been intrigued and insulted when he quoted the biting line of poetry, struggled afterward without success to put him out of her mind.

  And later when they finally went out for dinner she’d been so surprised by the easy flow of their conversation, the way they laughed together, his warm admiration and the comfortable trick he seemed to have of understanding everything she was thinking and feeling.

  Why hadn’t she recognized those things as the tender beginnings of love? Was she so stupid and shortsighted, so wrapped up in superficiality that she didn’t even know the real thing when it tapped her on the shoulder and introduced itself?

  Amanda moaned again and rolled over in bed, hiding her face in the soft pillow, aching with misery.

  The phone shrilled suddenly, startling her with its harsh strident ring. Her heart began to pound and she heaved herself up on her elbow, reaching for the receiver hesitantly.

  “Yes?” she said breathlessly into the receiver.

  “Hi, Angel,” Edward said, sounding as vigorous and alert as if he already sat at his desk, halfway through a day’s business. “This is your wake-up call.”

  Amanda sagged against the pillows, almost sick with a strange blend of relief and disappointment.

  “What time is it?” she asked, peering at the bright red digits on her bedside clock.

  “Just after six. You were going to meet me at the airport for breakfast at seven-thirty, remember?”

  “I remember. Edward…”

  “If you’d let me spend the night,” he went on cheerfully, “I could probably have found a much more interesting way to wake you up.”

  Amanda shivered and clutched the receiver so tightly that her knuckles showed white against her skin.

  This was another clue that she’d been too stubborn or preoccupied to recognize, the fact that she had no desire at all to sleep with Edward, and hadn’t had from the moment he arrived. Even when she invited him to move in, she’d only been motivated by an anxious need to revive what they once had and, perhaps, to use their relationship as a screen that would keep her safe from Brock’s unsettling presence.

  But she knew now that she didn’t want Edward in her bed, ever again. There was only one man she wanted there, only one pair of arms that she needed, one man’s embrace that could thrill and satisfy her.

  And that was something she’d probably never experience again.

  Amanda bit her lip and felt the tears gathering. She struggled to keep herself under control, longing to hang up and give herself over to misery but knowing that Edward would never accept that kind of treatment.

  “Why didn’t you, Angel?” he was asking her with mild curiosity.

  Amanda held the receiver away with a distracted expression, then put it back to her ear. “Sorry, Edward,” she said in a small voice. “I must have missed something. Why didn’t I what?”

  “Why didn’t you let me spend the last night with you? I think I deserve the truth, darling. I came down here with an honest proposal, spent the better part of three weeks and wasn’t even allowed to touch you. Why not?”

  Amanda hesitated. “I just thought…” she whispered.

  “Don’t give me that stuff about not wanting to start something till we got back to New York, or needing to be sure about the future, or anything like that. Angel, where I come from, if a woman loves a man she wants to sleep with him. End of story.”

  “You’re right,” Amanda said steadily. “You’re absolutely right, Edward.”

  Of course he was. Even Edward understood the simple basics of human relationships, but Amanda had been so blind…so blind and foolish….

  “I used to feel that way about you, Edward,” she went on. In the midst of her sadness she felt a cleansing flood of relief as she prepared to tell the truth and damn the consequences. “I used to long for you all the time, but it’s changed now. I…I feel that way about somebody else now.”

  “It’s the cowboy, isn’t it?” Edward said, startling her into silence.

  “Angel?” he prompted after an awkward moment. “Am I right?”

  “How…how did you know? I didn’t even—”

  “I could see the way you looked at him, darling. Your face is very expressive, you know. And he seems like a good enough sort,” Edward added, obviously trying to be fair. “If you like them rugged, that is. I don’t know if he’s the man for you, my Angel, but I suppose you’ll find out.”

  “No,” Amanda said.

  “No?”

  “I won’t have a chance to find out, Edward. Not ever.”r />
  “Why not?”

  “Because he hates me. He thinks I’m shallow and superficial, and he’s right.”

  “No man could hate you, Angel. I think you’re being just a tiny bit hard on yourself,” Edward said with an attempt at jauntiness. “Would it…would it help if I talked to him?” he added, sounding unusually hesitant all at once.

  Amanda swallowed hard, deeply moved by his words. “You’d do that for me?” she whispered. “You’d actually go and try to explain things to him?”

  “I want you to be happy,” Edward said calmly. “After all, I fully intend to be happy regardless of what happens between us.”

  “Yes, Edward,” Amanda said, smiling through her tears. “Yes, I know you will. But there’s nothing you can do for me. It’s too late. He despises me, and there’s nothing anyone can say to change that, I’m afraid.”

  Edward was silent, obviously unsure what to say.

  “Edward, about the job…”

  “Yes, Angel?”

  “I can’t take it. You know that. I’ve got my business started here, and I have to stay and make the best of it.”

  “I see. But, Angel…” he began cautiously.

  “Yes?”

  “If there truly is no future for this new relationship of yours, wouldn’t it be less painful if you were to come back to New York and remove yourself from constant reminders of things, so to speak?”

  Amanda considered this. “You could be right,” she said slowly. “Edward, you could be right.”

  “Well, you still have a couple of weeks. You know me, Angel. I’m fully capable of separating my business and personal life. If you want to come to New York, be my head buyer and my platonic friend, I’ll be satisfied with that arrangement. You’re still the very best person for the job, whether you sleep with me or not.”

  “Edward, you’re really a good person, you know that? No matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise.”

  “Don’t let it get around,” Edward said cheerfully. “I’d hate to spoil my reputation. Besides,” he said with a sudden note of pain in his voice that surprised her, “I can’t be all that good, or my Angel wouldn’t have fallen out of love with me.”

  “Oh, Edward…” She choked, almost blinded by hot stinging tears. “Edward, love is such a mystery. Who knows why we fall in or out of love? If I could figure it out,” she added bitterly, “I’d be a lot smarter and a whole lot happier than I am.”

  “Wouldn’t we all.”

  Edward was silent for a long eloquent moment while Amanda clutched the receiver, feeling the beginnings of a new sense of loss. In a second they’d hang up and another person would be gone from her life forever, leaving her more alone than she’d ever been….

  “I’ll release you from that promise to have breakfast with me,” he said quietly. “It’s a cold dreary morning, my love. Go back to sleep, and sweet dreams. Call me soon.”

  “Yes, Edward, I will,” she whispered. “Have a good trip home.”

  She hung up and sat gazing at the telephone, then climbed out of bed and wandered across the room to the window. All alone in the bleak stillness, Amanda stood leaning her forehead against the glass, watching the cold rain fall.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OUT IN THE HALLWAY, one of the ceiling fans needed to be oiled. The mechanism wheezed and clattered on each rotation, echoing down the long silent corridor with a steady dismal rhythm that was unspeakably depressing.

  Bubba Gibson lay on his cot with his hands behind his head and stared up at the stained ceiling, wishing somebody would come and do something about the damned fan.

  That was one of the worst things about this place, he thought gloomily. You were so helpless to fix anything that troubled you. The only solution was to make a humble request, then wait for the problem to be solved by others who were often too busy or too indifferent to bother. The whole situation was incredibly galling to a man who’d always been self-sufficient, running his own life and business without any help or interference from anybody.

  Bubba frowned and rolled his head wearily to gaze at the little white alarm clock on the steel shelf next to his cot.

  One o’clock. She’d be here at two-thirty. He sighed, thinking of the desert of time that stretched in front of him, needing to be filled.

  These were the hardest days of all, the ones when he knew Mary was coming to visit. He always woke with such a feeling of excitement and anticipation that the day seemed a week long, and every passing hour was increased torture.

  And then after she’d come and gone he was so miserably empty and depressed, knowing that it would be a week till the next visit, seven more days of this lonely hell.

  He thumbed idly through the pages of a book, wondering what the day was like for all the people he knew, the ones who were out living their lives in the sunlight just as if nothing had happened.

  Lovingly, smiling at the mental images, Bubba entertained himself by paging through his memories. He pictured J. T. McKinney riding across the big east pasture at the Double C on a high-stepping sorrel quarter horse whose hide gleamed in the sunlight like a new copper penny. Ken Slattery watching him, and Cal and Tyler, and Pauline was there, too, even though she’d been dead now for…how long?

  Bubba frowned, not wanting to think about death, and shifted his thoughts over to the Circle T, where his friend Frank Townsend had once lived. But Frank was dead, too, and Vernon Trent lived there now with Carolyn. Lucky Vern, out on that beautiful ranch with the woman he’d loved all his life, his stocky body full of energy and his brown eyes shining with happiness….

  And then there was the Double Bar, Dave Munroe’s old tumbledown spread, and young Brock, whom Bubba had known since the boy was wrapped in hospital blankets, as much of a son to him in the early years as anybody had ever been. Brock had never come to visit him in prison, and Bubba knew why. Like any son, Brock was more outraged by Bubba’s behavior than most of the community. He remembered the steady measuring look in Brock’s dark eyes, the tightness of his jaw the past year when he saw how Mary was being hurt by her husband’s behavior.

  Bubba moaned softly and again rolled his head restlessly on the hard flat pillow. “I know, Brock,” he murmured. “I know, son. I was wrong, and God knows I’m payin’ for it. Don’t hate me, son. Sometimes a man learns things the hard way.”

  But Brock’s face was still cold and expressionless. Slowly the young rancher’s image faded, and Bubba’s mind crept over to his own place, to the ranch that he loved almost more than life itself. Tears formed in his eyes as he let himself visualize the big gracious old house, the well-kept buildings, the neat corrals and pastures where he remembered every horse and cow, every corner and knothole and lump of sod.

  Nobody would ever know how much Allan Gibson loved his home, how desperately he yearned to hang on to it. What Bubba wanted, with the intense single-minded yearning of a small child, was simply to go home when they let him out of this hell.

  But it wasn’t possible. The place had to be sold, and Mary was coming today with the papers to be signed. It wasn’t even a regular visiting day, but she’d gotten permission from the prison authorities and called him to let him know she was coming. Just yesterday, they’d taken him down the hall to the telephone, the guard standing nearby trying not to seem like he was listening while Mary Gibson told her husband that she had important news about the ranch and was bringing some papers on Thursday for him to sign.

  Numbed, Bubba lifted his gnarled hand and gazed at it, flexing the callused fingers that had done so much hard work over the years, that had clutched a young woman’s ripe body in a crazy attempt to hold back the advancing years, that had handed over money to have his own beloved horses electrocuted, in another foolish effort to solve financial problems he’d created for himself.

  And today, fittingly, those same fingers would hold the pen to sign away his birthright.

  Abruptly, Bubba sobbed aloud and jammed his fist against his mouth. He forced his thoughts away
from the dreadful present, back into a far-off sunny past when he and Mary were happy, when she loved him and the ranch was prospering and life was good….

  Eventually, mercifully, he fell asleep, and didn’t wake until he heard the guard’s keys jingling cheerfully out in the hallway.

  Feeling like a condemned man on the way to the gallows, Bubba trudged behind the guard’s bulky uniformed shape, down the hall and into the visiting room that was drearily familiar by now. But this wasn’t a regular visiting day. Only two other women were there with Mary, both still waiting for their husbands.

  One of the visiting women held a baby in her arms, and Mary stood nearby, smiling as she bent over the blue-wrapped bundle, her face so soft and tender that Bubba felt a swell of emotion almost unbearable in its intensity.

  “Hi, Mary,” he said huskily when she looked up, still smiling, and moved across the room to sit at the table opposite him.

  “Hi, Al. You should see that baby. He’s so pretty, only a few weeks old.”

  Bubba was silent, thinking wearily that the baby’s entire life was shorter than the time he’d already spent in this place.

  “Al?”

  “I get out a year earlier,” he said abruptly. “They told me on Monday. I guess my sentence got commuted, something like that, and they’re letting me out next July.”

  “Al!” Mary’s face turned pink with happiness, and tears sparkled in her clear hazel eyes. “Oh, Al, that’s just so wonderful! Monday?” she added. “You knew on Monday? Why on earth didn’t you tell me when I called?”

  He shrugged, his face heavy with sadness. “It don’t make much difference, Mary,” he said. “One year, two years, what difference does it make? Everything’s gone anyhow. It don’t even really matter whether I live or die, come to think of it.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Mary told him indignantly. “Just plain stupid, Allan Gibson! Don’t you ever let me hear you talk that way. It’s wonderful that you’re getting out a year early,” she added in a tart voice, “because I can’t stand you lying around here being lazy when there’s so much work to be done!”