by Carol Grace
Adam lay back on the bed and crossed his arms under his head. He reminded himself that Jack had every right to Mandy. He was the one who had advertised and Mandy had answered his ad. Whatever happened, she couldn't, mustn't, get hurt again. The next man she fell in love with had to come through for her. It had to be someone who had no reservations about making a commitment. In other words, it had to be Jack.
Adam jumped up from the bed and paced around the room, studied the paintings on the wall, seascapes all of them, then chose several books from the shelves and looked them over without seeing them. Maybe he should leave right now. He'd done what he came to do and his job was finished. What was the point in staying around, torturing himself? Because it was torture to be so close to her and know he couldn't have her.
He couldn't have anybody. He didn't want anybody. He wanted just what he had always said he wanted. Adventure, danger and excitement. He did not want a woman to mess up his life again. If he thought he wanted Mandy, he was mistaken. He had to admit she'd thrown him off balance, but that was because he'd been in the Yukon too long doing the same job with the same partner. It was time to move on. As soon as he did, everything would be fine. He wouldn't feel restless, anxious, on edge, or suffer from insomnia.
He stared out the window until the first rays of the sun lit the ocean below, then he went downstairs and made himself a cup of coffee in Mandy's kitchen. Then he would go. He would leave her a note. He wouldn't say goodbye.
Because then he might change his mind. He didn't want to see her again, not with her hair in a tangle, her long, bare legs in shorts, especially not in her hand-knit, rose-covered sweater. He didn't want to see her in anything at all. He would check in at some motel in Menlo Park and wait for Gene to show up, get his assignment, then relieve Jack so he could come down here before Adam reported to the drilling rig-
The phone rang. He let it ring twice, then he picked it up. Who would call at six in the morning? It was a travel agent in from New York wanting to book both rooms for that night for some clients. Adam went to the desk in the living room and found Mandy's calendar. There were no reservations for that night or any night. Adam said okay. The agent wanted to know if the guests could have dinner there. They'd be arriving late and didn't want to go out again. Could someone pick them up at the airport?
Adam said yes and yes. Mandy needed the business. But she would need help to handle it. She didn't do dinners, so he would have to help her. It was the least he could do before he left for good, to help her get her business off the ground. Maybe the same agent would send other people. It could be the beginning.
The beginning for Mandy. The end for him. It would be a way of bowing out gracefully, with a clear conscience. More polite than leaving a note and driving off into the sunrise, anyway. He wanted her to remember him fondly if at all. Maybe she and Jack would talk about him from time to time, when they reminisced about how they met. He frowned at the calendar as he wrote down the names of the guests and their flight number. He would be on his rig and Mandy and Jack would be having coffee on the patio in the afternoons as the sun slowly sank into the ocean
He heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and whispers from the landing. Looking up, he saw Ben and Jane, last night's guests, coming down the stairs on tiptoe, arm in arm, pausing to exchange a soul-searching kiss, then continuing down a few more steps. They looked surprised to see Adam, gave him a check for the night and went out the front door without a backward glance.
Adam walked softly in his stocking feet to Mandy's door and listened. Not a sound. Unlike him, she was sleeping soundly. She wasn't worried about Jack. Why should she? She'd probably fallen asleep with his letter under her pillow, dreaming of him, while Adam had stared at the ceiling all night waiting for dawn. Waiting for another breakfast in bed that would never come.
Maybe it was Mandy's turn to have her breakfast in bed. The only problem was that he didn't do breakfasts. Maybe he ought to try. He'd surprise her. Surprise himself, too, if he could come up with something edible that looked like a breakfast.
Chapter Five
Mandy sat straight up in bed when she heard the knock on her door, clutching the sheet as tightly as possible under her chin. Hear eyes widened in disbelief when the door opened and Adam came in, balancing a tray in one hand.
"Good morning," he said brightly, setting the tray on her nightstand. "Rise and shine." He crossed the room and yanked open the flowered curtains and let the sunshine come flooding into the room.
Mandy blinked, wishing she'd had more warning so she could have combed her hair, brushed her teeth and washed her face. She noted that Adam had probably done all of the above, as well as changing into jeans and a white short-sleeved polo shirt that did nothing to hide his golden tan or his well-developed muscles.
Never mind the muscles or the tan, it was morning, and by the strength of the sun that slanted across her bedspread, it was late and she had to make breakfast for her guests. One of whom had apparently made it for her. She threw the cover back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. One strap of her pale green lacy nightgown slipped over her shoulder, reminding her that she was hardly dressed for company.
“Good grief, what time must it be?" she croaked, hiking the strap back into place. "I've got to fix breakfast."
"No, you don't. The other guests left and I had my coffee in the kitchen. Of course, if you want to share those croissants I just heated up in your microwave oven..."
Adam sat down on the edge of her bed and gave her a winning smile, allowing his gaze to travel over the lace that partially covered her breasts for just a brief moment before he jerked his gaze back to her face.
"You m-mean,” she stammered, pulling her legs back under the sheet and sinking down onto her pillow.
“I mean, I made your breakfast for you, just so you could see how it feels, maybe give you some ideas."
Ideas? The ideas it gave her made her feel shivery and burning hot at the same time. She could smell the light citrus of his after-shave, and feel the weight of his body against her mattress. If he moved just half an inch toward her, or leaned in her direction, she might be tempted to forget all about breakfast. But he didn't. He stood, lifted the tray from the nightstand, and smiled at her.
"Eat up," he instructed. "You're going to need your strength when you hear the news."
The croissants were still warm and the coffee smelled so wonderful she forgot about her nightgown and sat up again as he placed the tray across her lap. The touch of his fingers against her thighs made her gasp, but he pulled away, apparently unaware of her reaction. She took a large bite of a flaky croissant.
"News?" she inquired, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
“You've got guests coming tonight. All the way from New York. They called this morning at six o'clock, nine o'clock their time. I said it was okay."
"Okay? It’s wonderful! How many did you say?"
"Four. You'll be full again. I guess that means you'll need my room, too."
Mandy felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't ready to see Adam go, even if it meant filling up her inn. "You could stay in Laurie's room, over the garage," she suggested.
He shrugged. "Or the couch. But here's the catch. The two couples are arriving by plane. We have to pick them up and they're staying for dinner."
"Dinner?" Mandy set her coffee cup down with a clatter. "Didn't you tell them I don't do dinners?"
"I couldn't. Besides, I do dinners. I'll help you."
She clutched at Adam's arm with cold fingers. "I'll need more than help."
"I'll be here," he assured her, his hand closing over hers. The touch of his hand warmed hers, the look in his eyes sent ripples of excitement charging through her body. "I'll always be here," he whispered, leaning forward, only the tray and the coffee and the croissant crumbs between them.
All she could see was the firm line of his jaw, the rich, brown velvet of his eyes, and all she wanted was for him t
o kiss her, just once, as if he meant it. She'd wanted it since the first minute she'd laid eyes on him. Then the words sank in and she realized what he'd said.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "You won't always be here. You're leaving for the North Sea. How could you forget?"
He shook his head with a dazed look in his dark eyes. "It's your fault," he said, bracing his arms against the headboard and trapping her between than. "When you're around I can't remember who I am or what I'm doing here."
He pushed off the headboard and sprang to his feet by the side of her bed. "But it's all coming back to me now. I'm just passing through. But sometimes I wish..." His voice drifted off and there was such longing in his eyes she sat transfixed, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't. He picked up the tray from her lap and went to stand at the door, a safe distance away. "I wish we had some time for sight-seeing," he finished, "but we'll need to pick up some groceries before the guests come."
"We could do our shopping in the Napa Valley. It would give you a chance to visit a winery, too. Would you like that?"
She thought he'd jump at the chance for an excursion, to spend the day wandering around the valley, sampling wine, but a whole gamut of emotions she didn't understand played across his face. She didn't get it. It wasn't as if she'd suggested driving to Reno for a quickie wedding at the Little Chapel of the Wayfarer. What was he afraid of?
Finally, he drew a deep breath. "Just shopping, right?"
"Right."
He nodded and took her tray to the kitchen.
An hour later Mandy was wearing a pair of white linen pants belonging to Laurie and a beige knit shirt, and they were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, heading north toward the Napa Valley. The fog hung over the bridge, but once they broke into Marin County the air was soft and mellow, like the wines they were going to taste.
"What did you say happened to Ben and Jane?" Mandy asked, ashamed of herself for having dismissed them from her mind so easily, even while she'd automatically ripped the sheets off their bed and put on new ones.
"They melted away at six this morning, just kind of oozed their way out the door. Ain't love grand?" he mused, opening his window to let the warm air into the car.
"Isn't it about time you stopped being so bitter?" Mandy asked.
"Bitter?" He looked surprised. "I'm not bitter. I'm just realistic. Don't tell me you believe in everlasting love?"
She squirmed uncomfortably and looked out the window at the sailboats that dotted Richardson Bay. She never used to believe, but lately, as Jack's letters got warmer and friendlier and more intimate, she began to think that maybe, just maybe.
"Do you?" he prompted.
"I think it exists," she said. "Look at George Burns and Gracie Allen. She'd been dead for years, but he was still faithful to her memory."
"They were a great team," he admitted, "but we can't all be Burns and Allen.''
"Or Bogart and Bacall."
"Romeo and Juliet."
"Anthony and Cleopatra."
He grinned. “Okay, you made your point. I believe it exists. Can we talk about something else?"
"That s fine with me. Tell me about you. Where did you grow up, in the Yukon?"
"Texas to start with. My dad was a wildcatter. We moved on, though, and my mother hated it. She finally went back to Boston."
Mandy turned her head to look at his profile, the straight, strong nose, the lips pressed tightly together as if he were trying to keep from saying more.
"And you?" she prompted this time.
"I stayed with him. They fought about it. She wanted to take me back with her, he wanted me with him." His voice was flat.
"What did you want?" she asked, crossing her legs.
"I wanted them to stay together. But they weren't Burns and Allen. No jokes, no everlasting love."
She nodded sympathetically. She would have liked to reach for his hand, but she had the feeling he didn't want sympathy from her. What he did want was a mystery. Why was he hanging around doing nice things like breakfast in bed for her or dinner for her guests? Sometimes she thought he didn't know what he wanted, either.
But there was something, something simmering below the surface of their relationship that occasionally broke the surface. Like this morning, when he'd leaned over the bed and almost kissed her. She nibbled at her lower lip, remembering the sharp pang of disappointment when she realized be wasn't going to.
What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? Was it his vagabond childhood or his failed marriage that made him so hard to understand?
"So what happened? Did you go or stay?" she asked.
"I stayed with him until he sent me east to college. He didn't want me to be a roughneck like him, said I needed to smooth off the edges. But I think it was too late."
She studied him carefully, the rough edges, the angles, the buried feelings and the raw nerves were obvious. At least, to her. It would take an exceptional woman to understand him or to satisfy him. She sighed.
He misunderstood her long look and her sigh. "I guess you think it was too late too."
She flushed and stared at the road ahead. "Not at all. I think you turned out fine."
"Fine," he repeated. "I'll have to remember that on those dark, cold Arctic nights. She thought I turned out 'fine.' Couldn't you come up with something a little stronger?"
"All right," she agreed. "You turned out great, as strong as Schwarzenegger, bright as Einstein, tough as Stallone, funny, too, like..."
"George Burns?"
"Definitely, and considerably younger."
He caught her eye and smiled at her. Then he slowed as the road narrowed and they approached the small town of Oakville.
"I don't know about you, but I'm tired and hungry," he said, pulling over to park on the main street in front of the famous Oakville Grocery. He tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
"Wait a minute," Mandy said. "I don't know what I'm supposed to get."
He yawned. "Whatever you want and beef, mushrooms and rice."
She nodded. "I'll get us some lunch, too, then we can have a picnic at the winery outside town."
When he closed his eyes instead of answering, she hopped out of the car. She came back half an hour later and he hadn't moved an inch.
"Adam?" she said, putting the bag of food in the back seat. Shutting the door, she seated herself in the front and closed the door behind her. "Are you all right?"
He opened his eyes. "I'm fine. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night. I don't know how you bed and breakfasters do it."
"We're just a remarkable bunch," she agreed. "Up at dawn to make breakfast for our guests. Want me to drive?"
He leaned forward and turned the key in the ignition. "Not yet. Just point me in the right direction."
The DuChaine winery was family owned, on a hill overlooking acres of vineyards. They took the tour, tasted a Chardonnay and a French Colombard, and Mandy bought a case of Beaujolais.
Then they left their car in the parking lot and walked to a grassy knoll, where they spread out the checkered tablecloth Mandy had brought with her, along with their deli sandwiches, a bottle of wine and some mineral water.
Adam opened the wine with the corkscrew on his Swiss Army knife and offered the bottle to Mandy.
"I guess we forgot to bring glasses."
She nodded and drank from the bottle. The wine was smooth and slid down her throat easily. She leaned back against the trunk of a live oak tree and gazed dreamily out across the fields.
Adam didn't need any wine. The lack of sleep and the proximity of Mandy combined to give him a natural high. But he reached for the wine anyway, and his hand accidentally grazed her breast as he took the bottle out of her hands. He thought he heard her short, quick intake of breath, imagined he felt her response right through her knit shirt. But that couldn't be. It was just an accident.
Just as it was an accident that had brought him from the frozen North to Mandy in the Golden
State. Or was it fate? Whatever it was, he had to ignore the way he felt about her, had to stop staring at her, at the way her hair curled around her face, at the smattering of freckles that appeared on her nose. Had to stop wondering how it would be to have her arms wrapped around him, to feel her body respond to his.
He took a drink of wine and tasted her lips on the bottle, sweeter than any wine. He took a sandwich to have something to do besides letting his imagination run away with him. But then he sat there looking at it, without any appetite but his hunger for Mandy, for her warm mouth, her luscious ripe body. God help him, he couldn't hold out much longer.
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked softly, and something inside him snapped like a bowstring.
"Hungry?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "Oh, God, Mandy, if you only knew." He never knew what happened to his sandwich, or how he covered the few feet between them, whether he crawled or leapt, or maybe even lunged. But he remembered the look in her eyes before he buried his hands in her hair and kissed her. A flash of surprise, then desire flared like the Northern Lights. Her arms wound around him just as he'd imagined, and she matched him kiss for frantic kiss as he'd never imagined, not in his wildest dreams. Their tongues entwined, her mouth was warm, soft, welcoming. And somehow they were flat on the ground, arms outstretched, hand holding hand, bodies pressed against each other.
He rolled over onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Small stones and twigs dug holes through the back of his shirt but he didn't feel them. All he felt was her breasts against his chest, her hair brushing his cheek. She smelled like sunshine, she tasted like wine, and he never wanted to let her go.
He tightened his arms around her and leaned to his side, taking her with him. Suddenly they were rolling down the slope of the grassy knoll and they were breathless and laughing as they reached the bottom and landed at the fool of a wooden fence.
His head was spinning and it wasn't all because of their speedy descent into the vineyard. It was Mandy. It was her scent, her touch, and the musical sound of her laughter. When the sound of their laughter faded, there was silence, with only the whisper of the breeze in the air. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, lying in the grass with the sun shining on them while the suspense mounted.
