When I Found You (A Box Set)

by Webb, Peggy

  “No,” she whispered. She was like her mother, after all. The discovery was cruel, almost too cruel to bear. The years of penny-pinching and sacrifice melted away. Ruth felt herself falling, falling victim to his dark power.

  “Stop it! You own my mother, but you don’t own me.”

  She jerked out of his grasp and ran to the phone. Her hands were trembling so hard, she dropped the receiver. Max replaced it on the cradle.

  “What are you going to say, Ruth? That you’ve caught a prowler in your house?”

  His laughter was soft, mocking, as he pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it toward her. It clanked against the coffee table then lay between them like a covenant.

  “Did you think I’d let you get away, Ruth? Did you think you could escape me by refusing my money, by coming to Hawaii?”

  She couldn’t tell whether the glitter in his eyes was madness or passion. All she knew was that she was sucked into him, stripped of her soul, robbed of her will.

  “When I found out where you were living, I bought the apartments. I’ve known every move you’ve made since you came here. I bought and paid for you when you were two years old, and I’ve been buying and paying for you ever since.”

  He closed in on her swiftly and caught her face between his hands.

  “You’re mine, Ruth, and I’ve come to claim you.”

  His kiss was expert, persuasive, everything she remembered, everything she’d tried to forget.

  She shoved him hard. Laughing softly, he pulled his pipe from his pocket, slowly tamped in tobacco then stood watching her through the blue haze of smoke.

  “I created you, Ruth. I know what you want, what you need. Nobody else will ever be able to satisfy you. And that’s a truth you can never escape.”

  She had a vision of herself ten years from now, fifteen, twenty, running around the globe always looking over her shoulder, always feeling the hot breath of Maxwell Jones at her back. Running until at last there was no place left to run, and finally suffocating on the smell of white roses.

  Max sat down on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. Reaching for her hand, he laced her limp fingers between his.

  “We can stay here until you finish your dissertation. This apartment is not much—but, then, we’ve never required space for what we like to do.”

  Cold sweat beaded her brow and popped up along the upper rim of her lip.

  “Afterward we’ll return to L.A. Betsy’s dead. I’ve sold the house and bought us another one. You can work or not. Whatever you choose. As long as you’re there for me.” He took a long draw on his pipe, watching her through the smoke. “You still know what I like, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Ruth’s eyes searched the room until she saw Miranda, cowering under the wing chair. She sprang from the sofa and scooped up her cat, holding that familiar, comforting warmth against her chest.

  She could think of only one way out. And she was going to take it.

  “You’ll have to get someone else to satisfy your needs, Max. I’ll be in the jungles of the Virungas.”

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Central Africa.”

  “Three’s a crowd, Max.” Ruth stroked her cat. “I’ll be there with my husband.”

  Chapter 17

  Ruth was not going to call.

  Malone sat in the chair beside the window staring at his watch dial glowing in the darkness. Three o’clock. He could hear the surf in the distance, and a heavy bass beat from a radio somewhere below him.

  The hotel was old, not very well constructed, but like most hotels on the islands, it boasted a beach and a view of the water.

  Malone took off his glasses and laid them on the wicker table beside his chair. His shirt was so wet with nervous sweat, it was sticking to him. He smelled like a pig. Might as well take a shower. She’d turned him down, but at least he could make himself presentable. He still had his pride.

  Most times he’d sing in the shower, but not tonight. Tonight was not a time of celebration. The water beat his hair down around his ears. Below him somebody turned the volume up so loud, the heavy bass reverberated over the noise of the shower.

  Or was it the phone?

  What in the hell was he doing in the shower? What if she decided to call?

  He nearly slipped on the bar of soap as he bolted from the stall and grabbed a towel. It was the phone.

  “Coming,” he yelled, knotting the towel around his waist as he ran into the bedroom.

  The phone was silent. He stared at it. Enraged. The silence cut through him as brutally as the panga had laid open Brett’s face. Ruth had called, and he’d missed her. She would never call again. He was doomed to loneliness, bachelorhood in the damned dripping Virungas with nothing but old buffalo cows giving him the eye.

  It was so quiet, he could hear his own blood in his ears. Even the radio downstairs was still.

  There. They’d started it up again. That bass beat.

  Malone snapped on his bedside light. The beat reverberated through his room. But it wasn’t a radio at all. It was the door.

  A chair got in the way of his shin, and the rug tried to snag his feet. He was panting like an out-of-shape jogger trying to do the Boston Marathon by the time he flung open his door.

  Ruth stood in the hallway in her red-sequined gown, clutching her purse and a cat.

  “Ruth ... darling!”

  “Can I come in?”

  Her face was white and set as wax. Had she come to tell him no?

  “Of course.”

  The doorway across the hall opened, and an old lady in pink foam curlers stifled a scream. Malone crossed his hands in front of his towel, and Ruth giggled nervously as they both dashed into his room and shut the door. He leaned against it.

  “Whew. Close call. I thought she was going to wrestle me to the floor and have her wicked way with me.”

  Fool. Jabbering like a jaybird when he wanted to grab Ruth and squeeze an answer from her.

  Say yes, Ruth. Say yes.

  She stood in the center of the room, holding her cat protectively against her chest. It was a very old feline with soft gray fur and wicked green eyes that watched his every move.

  “Malone, I have to say this fast or I might not say it at all.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “If your proposal still stands, I want to marry you.”

  “Yes! Ruth, you can’t know how happy this makes me. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t believe it. You’re going to marry me!”

  There he was, babbling on like an idiot again while she stood quietly, her eyes bright with ... tears. God, she had tears in her eyes. He didn’t know whether to offer her comfort or to keep his distance. He hated the towel around his waist. Maybe if he had a chest like Brett’s, he’d have looked enticing. Instead he felt ridiculous.

  No, he wouldn’t hug her. She might change her mind and leave. Or throw up.

  “I don’t love you, Malone.” One tear slid down her cheek.

  “That’s all right.” He’d known that, so why did it hurt to hear her say it?

  “No, it isn’t. It’s not right. You deserve someone who loves you.”

  “Look, I want you. That’s all that matters right now. The rest will come in time.”

  Another tear slid down her cheek, then another. He didn’t know what to do except get her a glass of water.

  “I’ll be right back.” He bolted toward the bathroom. There was no ice in the bucket. He had nothing to offer her except tap water. He let the faucet run awhile, hoping it would get cold, but it remained as tepid as piss, and just as palatable.

  Turning toward the door, he glimpsed himself in the mirror. He hadn’t combed his hair after he’d left the shower. It had dried in spikes that stuck up all over his head. He looked like something dreamed up by special effects for an outer-space movie. The creature from beyond. He tried smoothing it down, but it popped right back up. The comb made it worse.

  To hell
with his hair. Ruth was going to marry him.

  She smiled at him when he handed her the water.

  “You’re so sweet.” Tipping her head back, she took a long drink of water. He was fascinated by the play of muscles in her slim throat. Someday he’d lick her throat, starting at the top and going all the way to the little indentation where her pulse beat.

  Shoot. Not someday. Soon. Maybe even tonight. Suddenly he wished he’d taken the time to remove his towel and put on his pants.

  “Tomorrow we’ll get blood tests, and while we’re waiting, we can make plans. We’ll call anybody you want to. Do you have parents in Mississippi?”

  “No!” She took another long drink of water then set the glass on the wicker table. “My mother is there, but I’d rather not call her. You know how mothers are.”

  “Don’t I? She’d probably be heartbroken that you were getting married without her.” Ruth didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t think of what to say next. He glanced at the bed, then back at Ruth. She hadn’t brought her bags with her.

  “Well,” he said, yawning and thinking about the bed.

  “I came in such a hurry ... it really was a last-minute decision. Malone, I’d rather not go home tonight if you don’t mind.”

  They both looked at the bed once more.

  “May I ... ?” she said.

  “You can ... ,” he said at the same time. Then, “Ladies first.”

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” she said.

  “Certainly not. I’ll sleep in the chair. I think it folds out into a lounger.”

  “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your bed. I’ll take the chair.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “You’re a very considerate man, Malone.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and bounced once, testing the springs. He turned sideways to hide his arousal behind the skimpy towel.

  “You don’t mind the cat? Her name is Miranda.”

  “Not at all. I love animals.” To show his sincerity, he rubbed the cat’s head. His hand accidentally made contact with Ruth’s shoulder. Or was it an accident?

  She scooted away from him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Certainly.” A bit of color began to creep back into her face. But the track of tears was still on her cheeks. “Can I borrow something from you to sleep in? A T-shirt or something?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  In the closet he did a slow count to ten. He’d be a fool to press her now and blow it.

  She took the shirt and went into the bathroom. By the time she came out, he had laid a blanket on the chair and had pulled on boxer shorts and a T-shirt, though he always slept naked.

  “Good night, Malone.”

  Her legs were long and beautiful. She climbed into bed quickly and covered herself to the chin.

  “Good night,” he said.

  Knowing she wore nothing under the shirt was enough to keep him awake for several hours. Soon, though, it would all be his.

  Chapter 18

  The ceremony took fifteen minutes.

  They had an hour for the honeymoon.

  And then the long flight to Africa.

  As Malone removed his tie in his hotel room, he looked like a little boy about to discover Christmas. She turned her back so she wouldn’t be blinded by his eagerness.

  “Till death us do part,” she’d said, and now was the beginning. She had to make it a good one. Drawing a deep breath, she slid out of her white dress.

  He had his shirt off now. And his shoes. She watched his bare feet as he crossed the carpet. They were long and narrow, with a sprinkling of dark hair on the top. She’d expected pale blond. His chest was smooth, hairless. But what about his other body hair? Would it be dark?

  He ran his hands up her arms and cupped her breasts through her silk slip. She shivered. From the glint in his eye, she could tell that he thought it was from pleasure.

  “I’ll be gentle with you,” he said.

  Max had been gentle at first. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. A wave of nausea swept over her.

  “Malone ...”

  “I guess you’re a little scared that we won’t be good together at first. But don’t worry about that, Ruth. We have the rest of our lives.”

  The rest of her life with a husband she didn’t know in a land she’d never seen. And she couldn’t bear for him to touch her.

  What had she done? Her future stretched before her as endless and frightening as the foreign land where she was going.

  Malone bent to nuzzle her neck. The sound she made was like the cry of a small, wounded animal.

  “Ruth?” His head snapped up. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes ... no.” Her knees buckled, and she sat suddenly on the bed. “I’m sorry, Malone. I can’t do this right now.”

  “I understand.” He would never understand, but she didn’t tell him so. The bed squeaked under his weight as he sat down beside her and took her hand. “You’re cold.” He reached for her other hand, then chafed them both between his.

  “When I was in the second grade, I won the part of the pumpkin in the school play. I remember I had only one line: ‘Behold, I’m the biggest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch.’ I practiced and practiced. I’d stand in front of the mirror every day and say my line.” His hands were warm as he rubbed hers, warm and extremely comforting.

  “The night of the play I dressed in my little stuffed orange suit and my little hat with the green stem on top, but when I got out on stage, I completely froze. ‘Behold,’ the teacher whispered from the wings, but all I could do was stare at the sea of faces in the darkened auditorium. ‘Behold,’ she kept saying. Finally somebody behind me said my line. I was so scared, I just stood there and wet my pants.” He kissed her hand. “It’s all right to be scared, Ruth, just don’t wet your pants.”

  At that moment she almost loved him.

  “Malone Corday, you really are a wonderful man.” Squeezing his hands, she smiled at him.

  “God, you’re beautiful. Brett’s going to love you.”

  Chapter 19

  THE VIRUNGAS

  “Do you think she’ll like us?”

  “What’s not to like, Eleanor?”

  She wished she’d never asked the question. Sometimes Joseph reminded her of a lump of oatmeal: He was just there. He never took anything seriously except his gorillas.

  Another woman on the mountain.

  Eleanor’s misgivings about Malone’s sudden wedding were almost outweighed by her joy at the thought of female companionship. She left her vigil at the window and rearranged the flowers she’d picked, enormous trumpet-shaped blossoms, bright red, drooping gracefully on their stems.

  “What about the flowers? Do you think they look all right?”

  “Ask Brett. He knows more about that stuff than I do.”

  “You’d think this was just an ordinary day instead of the day you’re going to meet your daughter-in-law. Aren’t you the least bit excited, Joseph?”

  “What’s to get excited about? Malone is the one who should be excited.”

  Malone. Not Brett. It didn’t seem right, somehow.

  “Do you think Brett will ever marry?”

  “Not unless some woman accidentally falls out of a plane and lands on top of his mountain.” Joseph laughed at his own joke.

  “I don’t think that’s very funny. You’d think by now some woman would have snatched him up. He’s so ... magnificent.”

  “I’m surprised women aren’t storming his mountain in platoons.”

  “I don’t know why I ever bother to try to carry on a sane conversation with you.”

  “Because I’m all you have, my darling.”

  As she studied his face, crinkled with laughter, she was sorry for thinking of him as a lump of oatmeal. He was a brilliant, somewhat absentminded man, totally devoted to her. And she really did love him in all the ways that mattered.

  Fat
e had been kind to her. She hoped that same kind fate sent her a daughter-in-law she could love.

  The door banged open, and Brett came inside, bringing the smells and the feel of the mountains with him. Pure. Clean. Enduring.

  “Sorry I’m late. Are they here yet?”

  “No. And you’re forgiven. What do you think of the flowers? Do you think she’ll like them?”

  “Malone wouldn’t dare marry a girl who wouldn’t like your flowers.”

  “You always say the right thing.”

  Brett squeezed her waist then roamed around the room eating from all the snack trays Matuka had filled.

  “Relax, Mother. She’s going to love you.”

  “Did Malone call and tell you anything about her?”

  After so many years of having no one except Matuka to talk to, Eleanor was hungry for this new daughter-in-law. One reason she’d never gone anywhere was that she didn’t have anybody to go with her. She and her new daughter-in-law would take motor trips together, sometimes to buy supplies, but sometimes for no reason at all except to talk girl talk and giggle.

  Ruth. A strong, steadfast name. She hoped her daughter-in-law matched her name; otherwise, the Virungas would wear her away to nothing.

  Suddenly Eleanor realized her son had not answered her question. He was standing at the window, his hands gripping the windowsill, his back as stiff as cardboard packing.

  “Brett ... what’s wrong?”

  “They’re here.”

  Joseph looked up from his magazine and absently patted the top of his hair, but Eleanor flew to the window to stand beside Brett. The woman Malone helped from the Jeep was exquisite, hair and eyes as black as a panther and skin the color of warm, dark honey. In cream-colored linen and pearls, she was elegant, stunning. She would have expected Brett to bring home such a woman. But Malone? It boggled her mind.

  “Good Lord,” she said. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  There was a long silence before Brett answered her.

  “Yes. She’s beautiful.”

  “Maybe you should go outside and show Juma where to put their bags. And is that a cat cage?”

  “Mother, Juma’s been with us nearly twenty years. If he can’t find the guest cottage by now, we should fire him.”