Wildcatter's Woman

by Janet Dailey

  His unvoiced demand for an explanation sharpened her resentment. She became irritated at his insistence the subject must be discussed at this time. It put an edge in her voice.

  “I was younger then, and considerably less experienced,” Vanessa defended her previous attitude. “I didn’t think it was normal for a couple to make love as often as you wanted us to. I thought something was wrong with me because I did like it.”

  “So you accused me of being oversexed.” His laugh was short and hard. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand the way a woman’s mind works.”

  She turned, anger flaring as she stiffly buttoned her robe. “We’re even, because I’ll never understand how your mind works,” she snapped. “Why are you insisting that we discuss this now?”

  There was a slight narrowing of his gaze, measuring her. “If we can’t discuss it now…” Race was reclining against a propped-up pillow, so very male and self-assured. His gaze made a slow rake of her robe to remind Vanessa that he knew intimately the body it concealed. “…After we’ve enjoyed making love to each other, when can we talk about it?”

  His question threw her off balance. There was a certain logic to it that Vanessa found difficult to ignore. That very intimate side of their marriage had always been a raw issue between them. In some respects, it still was.

  “All right.” Vanessa turned on the bed to face him with faint belligerence. “Part of my attitude was caused by my lack of experience, but you’re to blame for some of it, too.”

  “Me?” An eyebrow shot up in challenging surprise.

  She breathed out a silent, angry breath at his slightly stunned and doubting look. It reeked of male arrogance and confidence in his own infallibility.

  “Yes, you,” she retorted. “You spent nearly ninety percent of your time on a fruitless search for that damned oil and gas.” Unconsciously Vanessa revealed her jealousy toward his work. “When you did come home, all you wanted to do was make love. It wasn’t long before I stopped feeling like your wife. I was just a free sex partner. It made it all seem cheap and degrading.”

  Frowning lines narrowed his eyes as he searched her features, made bitter by remembrance. “Are you serious?”

  His disbelief nearly ignited her temper. Vanessa pushed off the bed in angry agitation, holding on to the lingering traces of pleasure she’d found in his arms moments ago to keep their discussion from exploding into a full-blown shouting match.

  “It isn’t something I’d lie about,” she answered stiffly.

  “And that’s why you resented making love to me even when you enjoyed it,” Race concluded in a musing tone.

  “Yes.” Her answer was flat, as Vanessa was unable to derive any satisfaction that he finally understood.

  Perhaps because this had not been the true cause of her reason for leaving him. Race hadn’t needed her—not then—and not now. He wanted her; he desired her; maybe he even loved her in his own way. Would she be content with that? That was the question forming in her mind that Vanessa wasn’t prepared to face yet.

  Since she wasn’t ready to face it, she sought an excuse to end the conversation. “I’d better take my shower now if I expect to be at the shop by noon.” She started toward the bedroom.

  “Any objections if I shave while you shower?” Race asked. “Then I’ll shower while you use the mirror to put on your makeup.”

  Since there was only one bathroom in her apartment, Race’s strategy allowed both of them to make use of it at the same time without getting in each other’s way. Yet Vanessa hesitated, struggling with the sensation of forced intimacy. She glanced at the wedding rings he had slipped on her finger last night. He had not forced her into accepting him. But daylight had cast shadows on a choice she had so willingly made last night. They created doubts and confusion.

  “Sounds fine,” she lied about her acceptance of his suggestion.

  Preestablished patterns reemerged, bringing a moderately comfortable familiarity to this sharing of the facilities. Over the noise of the shower, Vanessa could hear his tuneless whistle while he shaved. It was something she hadn’t realized she missed until she heard it.

  When she stepped out of the shower, Race was slapping water on his face to rinse off the streaks of lather remaining on his smoothly shaved skin. She had the large bath towel wrapped around her by the time he straightened and saw her reflection in the mirror.

  “It’s all yours.” Vanessa gestured toward the shower.

  As they traded places, she felt a flicker of heat, that awareness of him as a lover, surfacing again. She grabbed for her toothbrush and bent over the sink to avoid looking at his hard, lean body when he stepped behind the shower curtain.

  Steam was collecting on the outer edges of the mirror and gradually working its way to the center. When she started putting on her makeup, it took longer than normal because she had to keep wiping the mirror. It was something else she’d forgotten. Race finished his shower before she had her makeup on. It was virtually impossible to look in the mirror and not see all that rippling bronze flesh his towel was wiping.

  “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Race’s glance met the reflection of hers in the mirror as he tucked the ends of the towel around his middle. There was a glint of mockery in his dark eyes to show that he was aware she had been admiring his male physique, albeit selfconsciously.

  “A little, yes,” Vanessa admitted.

  He walked up behind her, bringing their reflections close in the mirror. His hands closed on her shoulders, warmly possessive. The darkness of his eyes became like velvet, caressing her via the mirror.

  “We had some good times,” he reminded her, although it wasn’t necessary. “It wasn’t all that bad.”

  “No.” But Vanessa knew that the bad had been more recent than the good. She was also aware the freshness of that unpleasant time was receding.

  Bending his head, he lightly brushed his mouth over her sensitive shoulder bone. “How much fresh grounds do you use to make coffee?” he asked when he straightened. “I’ll get it started while you finish up.”

  “Two heaping scoops,” Vanessa informed him, finding it difficult again to resist his brand of male appeal that seemed to want nothing from her but her acquiescence.

  Race winked at her reflection, then moved toward the door to the bedroom, passing through her side vision as he left. Love seemed to tighten its hold on her heart. It was something she had to come to terms with, and either accept the situation or fight her way free again.

  In an attempt to give herself time to think, Vanessa dawdled over the application of the rest of her makeup. Race was moving around in the bedroom when she finally finished, no closer to a decision than before. There were so many risks involved in loving him, and the biggest of all was the potential for heartbreak.

  As she entered the bedroom, her glance immediately sought him out. He was standing near the bed, tucking a faded plaid shirt inside the waistband of a worn pair of tan drill slacks. Vanessa was startled by the change of clothes, expecting to see him in the dark suit again. It prompted a searching glance of the room to find out where he had obtained them. An open suitcase sat on the unmade bed. Race reached inside it to take out a brown leather belt.

  “Where did you get that?” Vanessa asked, her voice sharp with surprise.

  Race glanced at the belt he was threading through the loops, frowning slightly as he misinterpreted her question, believing she was asking about the belt. “I’ve had it for years.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember now where I bought it. Why?” His glance in her direction was absently curious.

  “I don’t mean the belt.” She frowned impatiently. “I’m talking about the suitcase. Where did it come from?”

  “I had it in my truck,” he replied with unconcern.

  “But how did it get in here?” Vanessa persisted, certain that he hadn’t left the apartment this morning.

  “I carried it in here.” Race gave her an amused look. “It doesn’t have feet, so it couldn’t h
ave walked in by itself.”

  She flashed him an irritated glance, wondering if he was being deliberately obtuse. “I gathered that,” she retorted. “My question is, when? I didn’t see it in here.”

  “You obviously weren’t looking. It was sitting there by your dresser.” He flicked a hand toward the low walnut dresser drawers and fastened his belt. “I brought it in yesterday so I could shave and clean up.”

  “And you left it in here. You didn’t take it back to your truck.” Her statements bordered on accusations.

  “Obviously not.” Race cocked his head to one side, studying her narrowly, as if trying to determine why she was upset.

  “Then you were planning all along to spend the night with me, weren’t you?” The discovery of his premeditation smarted. Last night hadn’t been a spontaneous happening, the way she had thought.

  “Let’s say that I was hopeful,” he qualified her remark. “You had been sending me signals, and I wanted to be sure of the message.”

  “I’m sure it’s been received loud and clear,” Vanessa murmured with a trace of bitterness as she walked stiffly to her closet. “I’m still a fool where you’re concerned.”

  “You wanted me and I wanted you. Why does that make either of us a fool?” Race demanded with a frown in his voice.

  Phrased that way, it didn’t sound quite so bad. She sighed heavily, caught in the throes of confusion. “I guess it doesn’t.”

  There was a slight pause, during which Vanessa felt the force of his gaze on her. “I’ll pour us some juice and coffee while you dress,” he said, not pursuing the subject.

  She glanced over her shoulder as he walked out of the bedroom into the living room. If only he needed her, how simple everything would be, she thought wistfully. She slipped a camel-gold dress off its hanger and laid it on the unmade bed as she walked to the drawer containing her clean underclothes.

  In less than five minutes she was dressed and walking to the kitchen. Race was seated at the small table, waiting for her. She sat down in the chair opposite his, where a cup of coffee steamed next to a glass of orange juice. She sipped at the latter.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Vanessa asked, since it seemed the most subtle way of finding out if he intended to see her this evening.

  “I have a couple of things I need to get done at the office.” Race finished his juice. “I imagine it’s going to be just as difficult for you to get away as it will be for me to work a honeymoon into my schedule. But we’ve already been that route once, so I don’t suppose it matters if we skip it this time around.”

  He spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that it was a full second before the import of his words made an impact on her. She was briefly paralyzed by them. Her silence drew a questioning glance from Race.

  “We can keep the wedding simple this time—just invite a few close friends,” he added. “I think Dad would like it if we had it at the house, unless you want a church ceremony again.”

  “What are you saying?” It was all coming at her too fast.

  A faintly bemused smile touched his mouth as he reached across the table to take her left hand. “I’m saying that I want these rings on your finger legally.

  We should be able to arrange for blood tests, a license, and a minister by next weekend, don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose, but…” She wanted to voice her doubts, only nothing came out as her gaze clung to him in a silent appeal for time.

  A darkening expression wiped the bemusement from his features. “What is it, Vanessa?” There was a hard bite to his question, a demand to know the reason behind her hesitation.

  “Don’t you think you’re rushing things?” She made a weak attempt to reason with him.

  “No, I don’t.” He released her hand, withdrawing from the contact with her and studying her with accusing dark eyes. “But you obviously do.”

  “I’m just not as sure as you obviously are that marriage would work for us.” It seemed to Vanessa that all the concessions had to come from her. Race hadn’t changed—in any respect. He still didn’t need her. “I can’t see where things are any different than they were four years ago.”

  Sudden anger darkened his eyes to an ebony black. “Damn you, Vanessa,” Race muttered under his breath. “You complain that I didn’t treat you like a wife. Why don’t you try walking by my side instead of attempting to emasculate me?”

  Her eyes widened in shock at his accusation. “I don’t do that,” she protested.

  “Like hell you don’t.” The line of his mouth was thin and hard. “I’ve got as much pride as the next man. And I don’t like it when the woman I love doesn’t believe I can provide for her. But you can’t resist throwing past failure in my face, can you?”

  “It hardly matters,” Vanessa inserted impatiently, because she hadn’t even been thinking about his present financial straits, “since I have my own business and can take care of myself.”

  “That’s right,” he snapped. “Wave your success under my nose.” His lip curled in bitter sarcasm. “But you didn’t achieve it alone. You had help, which is more than I ever got from you or my father.”

  “I’m aware that you never received financial help or encouragement from either myself or your father,” she admitted. “We both tried to change you, and that was wrong. I know better than to try this time.”

  “But you’re still hung up on my risky business, aren’t you?” Race accused, bringing his anger under an iron control. “Chances are, my future will never be financially secure. I’ll always be gambling what I’ve got on the next well. That’s the breed of the cat.”

  “I know that.” It was something she had accepted, but Race didn’t give her an opportunity to say it.

  He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, leaving his full cup of coffee untouched. “I want you, Vanessa,” he stated, towering above her. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll get down on my knees and beg you to marry me. You either love me enough to spend your life with me—however rough it may be—or you don’t. It’s your decision to make. I love you, so I’ve already made mine.” Race took a step away from the table, then paused to look back at her. “If it takes you more than a couple of days to make up your mind, then your answer will be no. If I haven’t heard from you by Monday, don’t bother to call.”

  When he turned his back on her, Vanessa opened her mouth to stop him from leaving. A little voice reminded her that she had claimed she needed time to think it over. Race was giving it to her, so she closed her mouth on the words of love and marriage that would have brought him to her side.

  There was a numbness to her limbs when she stood up to follow him into the living room. Instead of exiting the apartment, Race headed for the bedroom. Just for a second, Vanessa couldn’t think why.

  “I’ll take my things so I won’t have to come back for them.” He threw the explanation in her direction without actually looking at her. His voice sounded unnaturally taut, strained by the effort of keeping all emotion out of it.

  She stood in the center of the living room, seemingly rooted to the floor while she listened to the noises he made packing his suitcase. Pale and a little frightened, Vanessa watched him come out of the bedroom and approach her, the suitcase gripped in one hand. His gaze seemed to bore into her when he stopped in front of her.

  “I left a check on the dresser for the back alimony I owe,” he said roughly, his mouth twisting in a harsh attempt at a smile. “I don’t want you to think that I asked you to marry me to get out of paying it, but I’d cash it today, if I were you. There might not be enough money in the bank to cover it if you wait until Monday.”

  “I don’t need it,” she murmured tightly.

  “Look at it this way.” His mouth remained in its crooked line, bitter and mocking. “If your answer is yes, you can pretend it’s a wedding present from me to you. And if it’s no, it’s payment for two nights of room and board.” His gaze ran over her, as if remembering the other “services” that ha
d gone along with it.

  Vanessa stiffened to hide the stinging hurt his remark carried. “Don’t make me feel cheap, Race.” There was a husky throb in her low voice.

  “If I could make you feel anything, I’d make you love me.” The rumbling tautness in his voice made it sound like a threat.

  His hand hooked itself behind her neck and pulled her roughly to him. The digging pressure of his fingers forced Vanessa to arch her head back while his mouth bruised her lips with a punishing urgency, grinding them against her teeth until she tasted blood.

  Then she was released as abruptly as she had been taken. The room spun dizzily for a second before she was able to focus her gaze on the width of his shoulders as Race walked out the door. A second later, he was gone and she was staring at a closed door. Something wrenched at her heart, almost tearing it away. In pain, she moved numbly to a chair and sat down.

  This was her chance to think, so why couldn’t she? It seemed as if she had been sitting in the chair for only a few minutes when the phone started ringing. At first Vanessa ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone until she had reached a decision on Race’s ultimatum. The sheer fact that he had issued such an ultimatum seemed to prove that he didn’t need her—that she wasn’t really necessary to his future happiness.

  It suddenly occurred to her that it might be Race calling. He could be having second thoughts about the hardness of his stand that allowed for no compromise. She grabbed for the telephone, and carried the receiver eagerly to her ear.

  “Hello?” Her anxious response was met by silence. “Hello?”

  “Vanessa?” A man’s voice came back, but it belonged to Peter Benoit at the shop.

  Her hope faded. “Yes.”

  “I was just about to hang up,” he explained the initial silence. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I have to know whether you are intending to come in at all today. I can’t cover your appointments and mine, too.”

  “I’ll be in,” she murmured vaguely.

  “When?” Peter questioned. “It’s past noon and you’ve got a one-o’clock on your calendar for today.”