New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  And when he said them, it wasn’t going to be in the midst of this laughing crowd of merrymakers. Slowly Brock turned aside and climbed into his truck, pulled out of the moonlit yard full of parked vehicles and started down the road toward his own lonely ranch.

  “BUT MARY…why ostriches? Why not goats, or…or Holstein cows, or something a little more orthodox?”

  Mary turned and smiled at Amanda, who sat beside her on the pile of sturdy fence posts, patting the big black cat named Hannibal.

  “Because I happen to like ostriches,” Mary said cheerfully. “And I don’t like goats.”

  “But, Mary…” Hannibal arched and butted against Amanda’s hand when she paused her rhythmic stroking. He grinned fatuously as she resumed the caress, his yellow eyes narrowed to slits of pleasure.

  “Hannibal may look tough, but I guess he needs love like everybody else,” Mary observed, leaning over to check on a solemn dark-eyed little boy who sat behind the stack of posts, running a dump truck through the crushed rock of the driveway.

  “What’s Bobby doing?”

  “Building another highway, it looks like,” Mary said fondly. “I think he’s going to be a civil engineer. He makes the most wonderful bridges out of twigs and bits of wire, anything that’s lying around.”

  “He’s certainly well behaved,” Amanda said, thinking about how much more pleasant it was to visit Mary now that Luke Harte was gone and Bobby’s family was installed in the bunkhouse. She gazed over her shoulder at the child, who looked up with a grave shy smile that tugged painfully at her heart.

  “He’s wonderful,” Mary said. “I just love him. Bobby,” she added, “are you hungry? Shall we go into the house for milk and cookies?”

  The little dark-haired boy nodded in an abstracted fashion, searching behind him for a rock large enough to prop up a ramp on his highway.

  “No rush, I guess,” Mary said cheerfully. “About these ostriches,” she added, “it’s really not as simple as I’ve been letting on, Amanda. Remember when I told you how I kept dreaming about ostriches, and you said they represented freedom?”

  Amanda nodded, moving to scratch Hannibal’s scarred ears with a gentle motion while he swooned in ecstasy.

  “Well, you were right. I needed freedom from myself and my pain and the awful feelings I had about myself, and that’s what this business is going to give me. The minute I saw those ostriches in the field that day, I just knew, somehow, that they were my door to a better life if I could only find the courage to open it and walk through.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Amanda said warmly. “I think it’s wonderful, what you’ve done for yourself and for this ranch, Mary.”

  “I owe most of it to you,” Mary said, giving her friend a warm smile. “If you hadn’t come into my life when you did, walked up and introduced yourself at that party, God knows what would have happened to me.”

  Amanda stirred awkwardly under Mary’s frank gaze.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she protested.

  “Sure you did. You made me think about myself, quit wallowing in self-pity and take a good hard look. I had to learn to be my own person, standing on my own two feet, and you helped me do it. I’ll always love you for that, Amanda. I just can’t ever thank you enough, no matter how hard I try.”

  Amanda felt tears burning behind her eyes, and fought to control herself. These days she was so soft and easily moved that tears seemed to be ready to flow at a word or even a glance.

  “And another thing,” Mary went on quietly. “We’re going to have to check out the prices on those clothes you sold me, Amanda. I was in such a fog back there that I never even thought about it, but I realize now that I must have cheated you badly. I’m sure I owe you a whole lot more than what I paid.”

  “How could you cheat me?” Amanda said. “After all, I was the one who made the offer and set the price.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mary drawled. “And that cream-colored suit is really just worth a hundred dollars, right? Tell the truth, Amanda.”

  Amanda shifted nervously on her hard makeshift seat, and Mary reached over to pat the younger woman’s cheek. “Never mind,” she murmured. “You’re such a darling. We’ll find some way to settle things fairly,” she added in a brisker tone. “Just as soon as I start selling my chicks.”

  “Better not start counting them before they’re hatched,” Amanda said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Mary chuckled. “I know, I know, but it’s damned hard not to. All those lovely dollars…Oh, that reminds me,” she added, turning to look directly at Amanda.

  “Yes?”

  “When are you leaving, Amanda? How much longer will you be around?”

  Amanda looked down at the big cat to hide the sadness in her eyes. “I’m not leaving, Mary,” she said quietly.

  “You’re not? But didn’t Beverly say—”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I…I did some foolish things,” Amanda said, flushing painfully, “and I hurt somebody by my own stupidity, and at first I just wanted to run away and leave it all behind. But you know what? You’re absolutely right.”

  “Me?” Mary said blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re right about women and personal responsibility. Women have to make a stand and be individuals. We can’t just run from man to man, begging them to create our lives for us, asking one man to make us happy when things don’t work out with another.”

  Mary nodded thoughtfully, her eyes resting on the glossy head of the little boy, who still played quietly with his truck.

  “And that’s what I have to do,” Amanda said. “I have a business started here that’s just beginning to take off and show a profit, and I have to keep at it or I’m going to hate myself even more. I’m not leaving, Mary. I’ve finally realized that I belong here, and I’m going to stay and make a success of my life. My business life, anyhow,” Amanda added with a note of bitterness.

  But Mary didn’t hear the sudden painful emphasis in her friend’s voice. She was laughing, leaning over to hug the younger woman with joyous surprise. “Amanda! That’s wonderful news. That’s just so great!”

  Amanda smiled wanly, touched by Mary’s obvious delight.

  “Now I can get you to find another clothing item for me. I know exactly what I want, but I don’t have the slightest idea where to find it,” Mary said, squinting at the diagram she was working on. “God, I’ve drawn and thrown away dozens of these,” she added in a distracted voice. “You just wouldn’t believe how hard it is to plan a proper…”

  She fell silent, biting her pencil, while Amanda fondled the cat and gazed at the other woman. “Mary,” she prompted gently.

  “Yes?” Mary looked up, running a hand through her hair and peering at the dimensions of the nearest corral pen.

  “You were saying you wanted me to shop for something. What is it?”

  “Oh, yes.” Mary looked up with an awkward little smile. “I want some lounging pajamas.”

  “Lounging pajamas?”

  Mary nodded, her eyes bright. “Al’s got a two-day pass at Christmastime,” she said shyly. “He’s coming home, and I want to look real glamorous and sexy.”

  Amanda nodded solemnly. “I see. And you thought a pair of lounging pajamas would be…”

  “Something silky,” Mary said firmly. “And red, if you can find it. Al’s always liked red,” she added with a sad smile, “and the colors at that place he’s in are so dull and drab. Poor Al, he could use some brightness in his life.”

  Amanda smiled back at her friend, swallowing hard. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, her voice suddenly husky. “If I have to scour every retail store and mail order shop in the country, you’ll have some red silk lounging pajamas for Christmas. My goodness,” she added. “This cat is just insatiable. Don’t you ever give him any affection at all?”

  Mary smiled at Hannibal, who was rubbing himself sensuously against Amanda’s leg, his blunt battle-scarred face glowing with love.

  “
Hannibal’s a pretty tough cat,” Mary said. “Not usually the lovey-dovey type. He just recognizes you as an easy mark.”

  “I see,” Amanda said dryly, patting the cat’s lean flanks as they heaved and vibrated with noisy bursts of purring.

  “Speaking of easy marks, you should see him torment poor little Alvin. He terrorizes that miserable animal.”

  “Alvin?” Amanda checked her hand abruptly in midstroke, her heart beating fast.

  “You know Alvin, don’t you? Brock Munroe’s ugly little shaggy dog?”

  “Yes, I know Alvin.” Amanda lowered her face and continued patting the cat.

  “They were over here just the other day, and you should have seen Hannibal. It was a scream.”

  Laughing, Mary told Amanda about Hannibal’s stealthy ambush and Alvin’s hysterical reaction.

  Amanda shivered, imagining Brock’s strong brown hands holding the frightened dog, his gentle tanned face and concerned dark eyes.

  Oh, God, I love him so much, Amanda thought in agony. I love him so much that I’m going to die if I can’t ever touch him again. And he hates me…. He has every right to hate me….

  She thought about her last sight of him in the cold moonlight where they stood silent and tense, wrapped in their own unhappiness, worlds away from the laughter and lighthearted revelry of the party-goers.

  Amanda felt the tears welling up again. She was grateful when Mary set her sketch pad aside and went over to gather the little boy into her arms, giving him a hug and setting him carefully on his feet.

  “Come on, Bobby. Your mama and daddy will be back from town soon with that lumber, and we’ll all have a whole lot of work to do, so you’d better have your snack now, okay?”

  Amanda managed a shaky smile and climbed down from the posts, following them into the house, with Hannibal stalking regally along beside her.

  ANOTHER CATALOGUE joined the pile at the edge of Amanda’s desk. She sat back, shaking her head, amazed by how hard it was to find a pair of red silk lounging pajamas. With her usual keen instinct for her clients’ tastes, Amanda had a perfectly clear picture in her mind of what Mary Gibson wanted. Something bright and rich-looking, not too brief and provocative, possibly even suitable for entertaining holiday guests over a tumbler of eggnog.

  But nothing seemed to come close, at least nothing in red silk. Everything was either positively indecent, or else trimmed lavishly with sequins and feathers. And despite Mary’s fascination with ostriches, Amanda was fairly certain that her friend didn’t really want to wear feathers in the house….

  She grinned briefly, then sobered and tapped her pencil against the desk pad, wondering what to do. She could call Mary and try to talk her into another color, but she hated the idea. She hated to disappoint her friend.

  Finally, she took off her glasses, picked up the telephone and dialed.

  “Hello,” she said to the crisp receptionist who answered. “Could I speak to Mr. Price, please?”

  “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  “It’s Amanda Walker.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Edward’s voice came on the line, sounding cool and amused. “Angel, you could use the private number, you know. We are still friends, I hope.”

  “I just thought it might be…sort of presumptuous,” Amanda said, feeling awkward. “Especially since this is a business call.”

  “I see. What can I do for you?”

  She described Mary’s request. Edward listened with interest, warming to the topic as he always did when fashion was involved.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised. “In fact, there’s a discount house here in Manhattan that’s moving out some high-quality things at fire-sale prices, and I seem to recall there might be something like that in the line.”

  “Oh, Edward, that would be great,” Amanda said warmly. “My client doesn’t have a lot of money because she’s just starting in business.”

  “Really? What kind of business?”

  Amanda hesitated, contemplating the prospect of explaining to Edward all about Mary Gibson and her ostriches. “Just…well, actually it’s…livestock,” she said weakly.

  “Well, of course,” Edward drawled. “That’s what y’all do down there, after all.”

  “Yes, Edward,” she said, smiling. “That’s what we do.”

  “I used it properly, Angel,” he said, and she could hear the answering smile in his voice. “Y’all, I mean. I used it just the way you told me.”

  Again she smiled, thinking that Edward made a much better friend than lover. She wondered how she could ever have been so confused and misguided as to think her future lay with this man, or that she loved him with any kind of passion. Now that Amanda knew what love really felt like, it was inconceivable to her that she might ever experience the same emotion with any man but one, and he was…

  “Did you notice that bolero jackets are in, Angel?” Edward was saying casually. “Donato just had an entire show featuring them with business suits, evening wear, even slacks. A very nice look.”

  “Really?” Amanda said. “What kind of fabrics, Edward?”

  “Very heavy and rich. Damask, brocade, even some chintz for spring. An opulent look.”

  Amanda felt her interest rise in spite of herself as she pictured the jackets.

  “I have one here in front of me, and I was thinking of sending it to you,” Edward went on. “It’d be smashing on you, Angel. It’s a design in full sequins, black and primary colors with gold braid. You’d look very Spanish and exotic in it. Shall I bundle it up and ship it down? Strictly a gift, for old times’ sake?”

  Amanda laughed. “Thanks, Edward, but I really don’t think so. The way my social life is these days,” she said gloomily, “I’d get more use out of a bathrobe and slippers than a sequined evening jacket.”

  “Poor Angel,” Edward said with a distinctly unsympathetic chuckle. “But then,” he added cheerfully, “we all make our choices, don’t we? I’ll call you about the silk pj’s,” he added. “Ciao, Angel.”

  She murmured goodbye and hung up, stared into the distance for a moment, then put on her glasses and started paging idly through the catalogues again.

  Soon she was absorbed in the fashionable images, remembering what Edward had told her and wondering how she could have overlooked the number of snug cropped jackets appearing in the new collections.

  When the little bell rang over the door Amanda hardly heard it. Finally she glanced up, then blinked in confusion. She’d distinctly heard the bell tinkle and the door open and close, even heard the brief patter of cold November rain out on the walkway.

  But nobody was there.

  Amanda took off her glasses and gazed across her desk at the empty doorway, feeling a rising tide of irritation followed by a cold little shiver of fear. She hoisted herself out of the chair and began to move toward the front of the shop. Then, abruptly, she paused in stunned amazement, her hand covering her mouth.

  Alvin sat just inside the doorway, his fat little body tense with anxiety, his dark eyes gazing fearfully at the strangeness all around him.

  When he saw Amanda, his look of terror changed to startled adoration. He barked joyously, wriggling all over, then hurtled across the room to throw himself against her legs.

  “Alvin,” Amanda murmured, sinking back down into her desk chair. She patted the ragged dog, fondling his ears, submitting to a frantic onslaught of licks and caresses. “Oh, Alvin, where did you come from?”

  She was laughing, her face wet with tears, her heart singing with a wild sweet joy that she was afraid to analyze.

  “Did you drive, Alvin?” she murmured, rubbing the dog’s belly as he rolled over and lay gazing up at her with slavish devotion. “Is that how you got here? Did you just get in the truck and drive in here to see me?”

  She laughed again at the mental image of Alvin driving the big truck, sitting up importantly behind the wheel with his ears waving….

  But she knew how the little dog had
gotten here. The thought of it made her shiver, made her glance out at the silent rainy walkway with a kind of breathless tension that was almost more than she could bear.

  Meanwhile, with the first joy of the meeting past, Alvin was beginning to recover his composure and think about other priorities. He rolled over and got to his feet, shook himself a couple of times, then began nosing around Amanda’s desk drawers and glancing up at her wistfully.

  “Are you hungry, Alvin? Did you make that big long trip to the city without a single bite to eat?”

  She murmured and fussed over the dog, trying to postpone the moment when she would have to confront Brock. She was afraid of what he would say to her. So afraid…

  Alvin sighed heavily and wagged his stumpy tail.

  “Oh, my,” Amanda murmured, pulling out a drawer and examining the remainder of her lunch. “Alvin, dear, I don’t have anything left in here.”

  Alvin’s hopeful expression faded and he began to look so pathetic that she rummaged deeper, digging to the back of the drawer.

  “Except for this carton of yogurt,” Amanda said, glancing nervously at the door. “I don’t know if you like yogurt, Alvin. It’s peach-flavored, but…”

  Alvin eyed the little plastic carton with mournful skepticism, then indicated with a long-suffering look that it would have to do, since she obviously had nothing better to offer.

  Amanda pried off the lid and set down the carton beside her desk. Alvin nosed at it, licked his lips thoughtfully and then dived in with sudden fierce energy, announcing by his wriggling body and vibrating tail that he did indeed like peach-flavored yogurt.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” a deep voice said nearby, making Amanda tremble. “I swear that dog’ll eat anything.”

  Amanda gazed up at the man beside her, the man of her dreams, tall and strong in his jeans and leather jacket, smiling down at her. His head was bare, and raindrops glittered in his dark disheveled hair.