When I Found You (A Box Set)

by Webb, Peggy

  “I like it, Jane. It’ll stop traffic. As a matter of fact—” Virginia stopped in midsentence.

  “Virginia... Virginia, what in the world are you staring at?”

  When Virginia didn’t respond, Jane turned toward the door.

  “Holy Moses! Who is that!” Jane clutched the front of her dress in a pretended swoon. “I could eat him with a silver spoon. Heck, I could eat him with a tin spoon if he’d just come close enough.... Good Lord, he’s coming this way.” Jane grabbed her purse and hastily applied a fresh coat of lipstick. “Do I look all right? Virginia...”

  In the few hours since she’d last seen him, Bolton Gray Wolf had lost none of his good looks. As a matter of fact, Virginia’s memories hadn’t done him justice. Quite simply, he took her breath away.

  “Hello, Virginia.”

  “Bolton.”

  She gave him a curt nod and refused to yield to her urge to anchor herself to the table with a death grip. He’d swapped his denim shirt for a soft butternut leather, open at the neck to reveal a glimpse of dark hair.

  “I didn’t expect to see you this evening.” He smiled as if he knew secrets. Lord, did he know hers?

  “Even novelists have to eat.”

  ”Virginia...” Jane said, then cleared her throat with a sound that was half lady, half pit bull. It was the signal she’d used with her best friend for years to let Virginia know that she was out of bounds, out of order, and threatening to be out of grace.

  Virginia felt relief. And then hard on its heels, regret. For a moment she’d fancied herself all alone in the restaurant with Bolton.

  She made the introductions smoothly then watched as he turned his charm toward her best friend. He didn’t flirt but merely used that natural easy grace that probably came from living wild and free in the mountains of Arizona.

  She knew about him, had made it a point of knowing about him. Not just about his work, which was superb, but about his history, his personal life. She’d worked too hard building her career and recreating her life to trust just anybody with something as important as an interview.

  All the things she’d said to him at the stable aside, she knew Bolton Gray Wolf was not only brilliant, but honest and trustworthy. She also knew that he was intensely independent, working freelance, taking only the jobs that interested him. He preferred the company of horses and dogs to women, which probably accounted for the fact that he was still single. What amazed Virginia was that some cute young thing hadn’t snatched him up long ago.

  Maybe she ought to write every single female in the western half of the United States and thank them for leaving Bolton Gray Wolf to her. Or perhaps she ought to berate them for leaving so much temptation in her path.

  He was still standing beside the table talking to Jane, but every now and then he sent Virginia one of those riveting looks that made her feel naked and exposed. She made a mental note: he was dangerous.

  Suddenly his full attention was on her. Bending over, he caught her hand.

  “I’ll expect to hear from you, Virginia... soon.”

  His touch, his look rendered her speechless. By the time she’d recovered, he had gone, vanished around the corner to one of the tables out of sight.

  “Out of sight, out of mind,” she muttered, knowing that she lied.

  Leaning across the table, her face flushed and her eyes bright, Jane didn’t even hear her. Which was just as well. Best to keep her feelings about Bolton to herself.

  “Is he not the most gorgeous pulsating hunk of male pulchritude in the entire universe if not the whole solar system, or are they one and the same?” Jane fanned herself with her napkin. “Whew, I’m having a hot flash.”

  “You don’t get hot flashes from viewing handsome men, and furthermore, it’s a good thing you’re a CPA instead of a writer. ‘Pulsating hunk of male pulchritude,’ is gross overstatement.”

  “What’s got you so riled all of a sudden?” Jane squinted her eyes, then tossed her napkin to the center of the table and chortled with glee. “Well, well, well. Somebody of the male persuasion has finally gotten under your skin. Hoorah! Old Roger, move over.”

  “Bolton Gray Wolf is not under my skin. I barely know the man, for one thing.”

  “It only takes a moment,” Jane said, quoting from a song they had both sung in the chorus of the community theater’s spring production of Hello, Dolly.

  “Plagiarism doesn’t become you.”

  “He’s awfully young, though.” Jane picked up her menu and studied her friend over the top.

  “Thirty-five, to be precise,” Virginia said, and Jane arched her eyebrows. “You don’t think I’d let him come near me without investigating him first, do you?”

  “He’s exactly what you need.”

  “Not my needs again.”

  Virginia threw up her hands, and Jane grinned.

  “I feel reckless. I’m having fried catfish, fried hush puppies, and corn bread made with lots of grease.” Jane shoved her menu aside. “I guess you’re having broiled, as usual.”

  “Yes.” Virginia’s mind was not on food; it was on the man just around the corner, a man she couldn’t even see.

  “That’s just what I mean. You need to take a chance, Virginia. Look, you’ve paid your dues. You don’t have to be the independent woman showing everybody you can make it without Roger or his puny child support check. You’ve made it, kid, big time.”

  Jane waited until the waitress had taken their orders before she finished her diatribe.

  “Everybody knows that women reach their sexual peak later than men. Take that gorgeous young hunk to bed, then send him on his merry way. Both of you will still be grinning come Christmas.”

  The trouble was, if she ever took him to bed, she wouldn’t want to let him go. Virginia understood that on some deep primeval level. But it was not information that she cared to share, even with her nearest and dearest friend.

  Virginia shoved the appetizer plate toward her friend.

  “Eat your dill pickles and shut up.”

  “You wouldn’t like me if I did. You’d be bored.”

  Jane was right, of course. Virginia thrived on challenge, and she adored going against convention. But wouldn’t it be lovely sometime to sit back and let somebody else fight the battles, to lie on Egyptian cotton sheets and let somebody kiss away her worries and soothe away her aches?

  Not just somebody. Bolton Gray Wolf.

  o0o

  He couldn’t get her off his mind, not even when he saw her empty table. As he walked out of the restaurant, Bolton studied every nook and cranny, looked twice at every woman with honey-blond hair, hoping for a glimpse of Virginia.

  She stayed with him on the drive back to his motel and all the while he surfed through the channels. He was not one to watch television, but, cooped up in his room, there was nothing else to do. Each image on the screen brought to mind some small detail of Virginia. The female reporter on the ten o’clock news had lips nearly as ripe and rosy as hers. The first guest on the late show had her long, slender legs; the next, her throaty chuckle.

  He closed his eyes and saw Virginia galloping across the fields on her white Arabian, saw the autumn leaves and dust swirling around her so that she approached him like someone in a dream, half hidden by mists.

  When the late show was over, he began to undress for bed. The ring box fell out of his pocket. Guilty, he picked it up. He had promised to call Janice when he got to Mississippi.

  He glanced at the clock, hoping it was too late. Almost midnight. He could tell himself that she’d already be asleep, that there was no need to wake her, but he’d never been one to lie, not even to himself. Janice would be waiting up for him, anxious, maybe even crying.

  He picked up the phone, and she answered on the first ring.

  “Bolton. Where in the world are you?”

  “Northeast Mississippi, home of Elvis Presley and Virginia Haven.”

  “That woman you’ve gone to interview.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, that woman.”

  He could hear her soft sniffle, then the forced cheer in her voice.

  “I don’t want you to think I’ve been hanging around the phone waiting, Bolton. I know you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. I’m not the least bit worried.”

  “That’s great, Janice.”

  “Bolton...” Again that small sniffle. “I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

  He fingered the ring box he’d laid on the bedside table.

  “Not a thing, Janice.”

  Except a woman called Virginia Haven, a woman who had galloped her white Arabian through the golden leaves of autumn and straight into his heart.

  Chapter Three

  The first thing Virginia did when she woke up was reach for the phone. She’d call Bolton to do the interview and get it over with. Then he could go back to Apache land and she could go back to her safe and trusty computer.

  As she reached for the receiver she caught sight of her face in the three-way mirror over her dressing table. Without a speck of makeup she looked every bit of forty-eight, if not more. She’d bathe and repair the damage and then she’d call Bolton.

  She’d been in one of her reckless moods when she designed her bathroom. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that faced a private courtyard and skylights that she could open in summertime to let the morning sun pour down on banks of ferns. Virginia could never get enough light in her house. As if all that natural light weren’t enough, one full wall of mirrors was surrounded by incandescent bulbs.

  It was a bathroom made for lovers, with space for tumbling naked on the floor together, a tub big enough for frolic, and plenty of mirrors to view the fun.

  As she leaned over the tub and turned on the water, Virginia thought again of Bolton.

  “When I come to your bed, you won’t be a conquest. You will be an equal.” Her mind replayed Bolton’s soft, seductive promise. Not if, but when.

  She closed her eyes and imagined being in his bed, in his arms. Passion long repressed came boiling to the surface. With her gift for fantasy, she imagined a Bolton so real she reached out and caressed his fine, hard body with her left hand. With her other she brought herself to a trembling climax.

  The sound of cascading water drew her back to reality. Her bath was threatening to overflow and flood her floor. Sunlight, relentless and unmerciful, poured through the windows and illuminated a middle-aged woman with cellulite and a belly that would never be flat again.

  She’d always been one of those people who blithely said that age was all in the mind, but today she felt the mantle of her years. Today she wished for a windowless bathroom. Today she wished for dark clouds over the sun and shades drawn over all the windows.

  What could Bolton possibly see in a woman her age?

  Virginia climbed quickly into the tub so she could shut out the view of all the damage done by years of wear and tear, by an appendectomy and a hysterectomy, by giving birth and giving too much of herself to her career, by anxiety about the past and worry over the future.

  What kind of fool was she, anyhow? Dreaming of a man thirteen years her junior?

  Angry, she sloshed water haphazardly over herself, then stalked to her bedroom, dripping all over the floor. She found Bolton’s card on the antique table beside her bed.

  “Be there,” she said to herself as she dialed.

  “Bolton Gray Wolf.”

  She was held momentarily speechless by the sound of his voice.

  “Oh, shoot,” she whispered.

  “I beg your pardon? Virginia?”

  “I dropped the phone.”

  “I see.”

  There was laughter in his voice. Was he laughing at her?

  “Be here in one hour sharp,” she snapped. “Let’s get this interview over with.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good.”

  There was laughter in his voice again. Ready? Lord, was she ever ready... A hot flush came over her as she remembered what she’d done in the bathroom. She hung up without saying good-bye, then sat heavily on the edge of her bed and stared at the telephone.

  “Mother?” Candace poked her head around the bedroom door. “Aren’t you coming down to breakfast? I’m leaving in half an hour to go back to school.”

  “Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

  How could she forget something as important to Candace as the Sigma Chi fraternity dance? Virginia threw on her pink terry cloth robe and raked a brush through her hair.

  “You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” She put her arm around her daughter’s waist and together they went down the stairs to the breakfast room. “You’re going to knock Walford’s eyes out.”

  “Wexford.”

  “Wexford. Beaufort, is it?”

  “Yeah. From Shreveport. Every woman on campus is going to be pea-green with envy.” Candace cast a disapproving eye on Virginia’s plate.

  “Mother, is that all you’re eating?”

  “Fruit and cereal. It’s a perfect breakfast.”

  “Four little sections of grapefruit and half a cup of cereal? Yeah. Perfect, if you’re a bird.”

  “When you get to be my age, honey, you have to count fat grams.”

  Candace’s laughter was affectionate. “How many more years do you think I have to eat banana splits with mountains of whipped cream and popcorn dripping with real butter?”

  “Plenty. Make the most of them, honey.”

  “I plan to.” Candace stood up and kissed Virginia on the cheek. “I’ve had a good example to follow.”

  Virginia escorted her daughter to the car, then stood in the driveway waving as the sky-blue Thunderbird convertible disappeared down the winding driveway.

  As she watched, another car came up the driveway, a red Mustang with Bolton Gray Wolf at the wheel. How appropriate that even the car he rented was named after a horse, she thought.

  “I’m early,” he said. He looked fresh and delicious standing in the morning sunlight with his cameras slung over his shoulders, his face just shaved, and his hair untamed. She could imagine how he had looked standing in front of the small bathroom mirror in his motel room, trying to subdue that mane of wild black hair.

  She wished she’d been there to help him. The thought made her smile.

  Bolton aimed, and the shutter clicked.

  “I look awful.” Virginia held a hand over her face.

  “Don’t.” Gently Bolton moved her hand, then tipped her face upward. Her breath caught in her throat. Something magical bloomed between them, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

  “You’re soft and beautiful in the morning sun.” He stepped backward, his camera clicking and whirring. “Pink becomes you.”

  His voice mesmerized her. She, felt soft and beautiful. Even without her makeup. Even with her hair not fixed. Even with her crow’s-feet showing in the sun.

  “You have a lovely smile, Virginia.”

  “Thank you.” He was enough to make an Egyptian mummy smile. “I didn’t expect you this soon. Did you mean to catch me off guard?”

  He took one more shot, then slung the camera over his shoulder, stepped in close, and gazed down at her.

  “No, Virginia. An hour was too long to wait to see you.”

  The heat started in her cheeks, spread over her neck, and across her breasts. He was dangerous and persuasive. And she was alone with him, alone with nothing on under her robe.

  “Why?” she said.

  “For this.” He cupped her face and drew her gently to him. There was no hurry in him, no urgency, just a beautiful certainty as he fitted their bodies together, legs touching, hips perfectly matched, chests pressed close. He draped her arms around his neck and wrapped his around her waist and back.

  “And this,” he whispered. Then he took her lips. It was not an assault but a kiss as soft as the first rains of summer.

  Virginia didn’t stop to weigh consequence
s; she just let go.

  His lips were tender, his breath sweet, and his kiss as whisper soft as the brush of butterfly wings.

  “Virginia...” he whispered.

  “Bolton... we shouldn’t.”

  “We’ve already gone beyond that. It’s fate. Out of our control.”

  She took his hand and led him into her house. He needed no urging. At the foot of the staircase he swept her into his arms and carried her up.

  “To the left,” she whispered.

  There was no pausing at the bedroom door. Boldly he carried her inside. In a slow, sensuous movement he let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.

  He dropped his cameras onto the chaise longue, his shirt on the dressing stool, and his pants and shoes beside the bed.

  Naked, he was a work of art. Without speaking, she walked around him, touching, letting her fingers graze the magnificent breadth of his chest, sinking them into the fine dark hair, running them down his belly.

  He smiled at her, then lifted her into his arms and spread her across the bed. Kneeling over her, he traced her cheekbones, her brow, her lips with his fingertips. A lock of black hair hung over his forehead, and she brushed it back.

  “I want to see your face,” she said, letting her fingers memorize him. “You take my breath away.”

  Slowly he untied her sash, peeled off her robe, and flung it onto the floor.

  “You won’t be needing that.”

  His rhythms were as graceful as music, and the song invaded every part of Virginia, its cadences and harmonies balm for her body, her heart, her soul. She felt reborn, as if the woman who had struggled to prove herself over and over again had vanished and in her place was somebody with wings, somebody who knew how to fly.

  “You are so good,” she murmured, “so very, very good.”

  ”We’re good. It’s us, Virginia, you and me together.”

  He paused and studied her face. His sudden smile was as dazzling as the sun.

  “I’ve spent all my life looking for you.”

  “Shhh.” She put her hand over his lips. “Don’t say things in the heat of passion that you won’t mean in the cold light of day.”