by Carol Grace
Were there guests in his bed, in his upstairs room with the view of the ocean? Would she serve than breakfast in bed the way she'd done for him? He ground his teeth together at the thought of her appearing in her white apron first thing in the morning in front of anyone but him. And yet here he was urging Jack to drop Julie and hustle himself to the Miramar Inn for the purpose of considering Mandy. Was he crazy? Was he too nice for his own good?
No. Mandy deserved happiness, love and security, just what Jack was offering. Only he was offering them to the wrong woman. Arranging transcontinental shipments seemed a breeze compared to arranging these people's lives, but he had a responsibility to do what he could.
Mandy was not serving anyone breakfast in bed, not the next day or the day after that. Last week's boom had turned into this week's bust. Laurie had flown off to St. Louis and no guests had checked in since Adam had checked out last week. No one came, no one called. Mandy had fooled herself into thinking business was on the upturn. Instead, last week had just been an aberration, and now she was back to normal, which was to say she was back to nothing. Yes, she could have gone back to the wallpaper project, but what was the point, if there was no one to appreciate it? She could have replanted her flower boxes, too, but why bother?
She didn't hear from Jack, and of course she didn't hear from Adam. She wouldn't. He was probably bobbing around on an oil platform in the North Sea and out of touch with the whole world. Just the way he wanted it.
Then, to top it all off, just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, she got a "Dear Mandy" letter from Jack. In it he explained he was to marry one of his other correspondents, but that he'd always treasure their friendship.
Mandy gripped the mailbox for support with one hand and crumpled the letter in the other. Friendship? Was that all it had meant to him? While she'd fooled herself into thinking he was serious about her, he'd been serious about someone else. It was happening all over again. She felt so stupid that tears sprang to her eyes. She could have sworn she was more than just a friend to Jack.
But she was wrong. Again. Last week there were two men in her life. And now there was no one. There never had been anyone, she reminded herself as she walked up the front steps, her eyes downcast. When she heard the phone ring, she threw the letter into the wastebasket and ran to her desk.
"Miramar Inn," she said in a quavery voice.
"Mandy, this is Adam Gray."
"Are you calling me from your drilling platform?" she gasped.
"No, not yet. I'm over here at the office for a while, doing some desk work for my boss."
"At the office in Menlo Park?" Suddenly she was forced to revise her image of Adam as a windblown figure on an oil rig to Adam in a suit and tie in an office.
"Yes. My boss went in for surgery last week so I'm stuck here for a while." There was a long pause. "How are you?"
"Fine," she lied.
"Anything happening?" he asked.
"Not much."
Why on earth was he calling? she wondered. What was he getting at?
"How's your friend in the Yukon?"
"He's fine. He's getting married. That’s good news." She was proud of the way she kept her voice steady.
"What? Where'd you hear that?"
"From him, of course."
"It won't last," Adam predicted.
"How can you be so cynical? For your information, Jack is quitting his job and moving to the States. He's going to give his marriage a chance." She couldn't help this dig at Adam, who didn't seem to realize that marriage required compromises. Not that Mandy knew anything about marriage. At least Adam had made it to the altar. Mandy had never even gotten that far.
"Was that his future wife's idea, quitting his job?"
"I couldn't say," she said coolly. She would never let on to anyone how much she'd cared about Jack, how sad she was to let him out of her life. "I think I hear someone at the door," she said quickly. "I'd better go."
"Keep in touch," he said, and he gave her his office number before he hung up.
She sat at her desk staring at the telephone for a long time, wondering why on earth he'd called, anyway, and why he'd asked about Jack. She hoped he didn't think she was still dreaming about his goodbye kiss, still reliving every intoxicating moment. She would never understand how he could kiss her like that and then forget all about it, act so casual on the phone, as if it had meant nothing to him.
The answer came to her in a flash. Because it had meant nothing to him. He probably had forgotten all about it While she replayed the scene over and over in her mind like a broken record, he'd just moved on with his life. Which was exactly what she should do. The problem was that everything reminded her of Adam. The wallpaper in the bathroom, the sheets on the bed where he'd slept, the stove he'd cooked dinner on, the patio and the beach and on and on. For once in her life she wished she were a flight attendant like Laurie and could fly off to some exotic spot like Toledo. Anyplace but here.
On Sunday it was too cool to have breakfast on the patio, so she sat at the kitchen table. She opened the Sunday newspaper to the travel section, to dream about going to Hawaii and to check out the competition in bed and breakfasts. She skipped to the "Follow the Reader" section, where readers recommended their favorite vacation spots, hotels or tours. And there it was, a letter from a reader about the Miramar Inn.
The letter was signed "Adam Gray." She set her coffee cup down with a bang and smoothed the paper with her thumb and forefinger. First he praised the comfortable rooms, then the view, next the breakfast and then came the best part.
Owner Mandy Clayton is knowledgeable about local
attractions. A charming, gracious hostess, she makes
her guests feel at home. I hated to leave and highly
recommend it as a romantic getaway.
Mandy's face flamed with embarrassment. What did he mean by "romantic getaway"? Did he think she came on to every single guest? She paced the kitchen floor, then sat down and read the letter again. Whatever he meant, he meant it kindly and it was good of him to take the time to write. She only hoped someone would read it and call to make a reservation.
Which they did. It started Monday morning. Just one letter to the newspaper and suddenly she was booked on weekends for the next month. Then she started filling up the weeknights, too. When Laurie called her from St. Louis, Mandy shared the good news.
"Adam wrote a letter to the newspaper and all of a sudden I've got reservations coming out of my ears."
"So he was good for something, that man. Have you called to thank him, or don't they have phones on drilling platforms?"
"He's, uh, he hasn't left for his platform yet. He called me from his office."
"Why?"
"Why? I don't know."
"I do. He's crazy about you."
"Then why did he leave?" Mandy asked.
"Because he had work to do?" Laurie suggested.
"Then why hasn't he come back? It's not that far away."
"I don't know," her sister admitted. "Maybe he's scared."
Mandy shook her bead. "He's going to work in gale-force winds where men are swept out to sea if they so much as miss a step. He's not afraid of anything."
"So he's not afraid of physical danger, but maybe he's afraid of getting hurt in other ways, like you."
"I am not afraid of getting hurt. I just prefer not to. It's called self-preservation."
"Call him back."
"And say what?"
"Say you saw the letter in the newspaper and you want to thank him."
"I could do that," Mandy said thoughtfully, as if she hadn't thought of it herself. As if she hadn't been thinking of it constantly.
"Of course you could. And then he'll say, 'Why don't we get together and take up where we left off? Now that Jack's out of the picture and I'm divorced there's nothing to stand in our way.'"
"And then I'll say, 'But what about your job in the North Sea where no women are allowed?'" Mandy said.
Mandy laughed. "And what about my business? My reservations that won't quit? My chance to finally climb out of the red and into the black? Are you suggesting that I give it all up for a life as a stowaway in the North Sea?"
"You could do worse," Laurie suggested.
"I could do better, too, by staying right here and running a successful operation," Mandy noted.
"You still have to call and thank him."
"I will, but don't get your hopes up, because all he's going to say is, 'You're welcome.' I tell you he's not interested in a relationship. He told me, and I'm telling you," Mandy said emphatically, and hung up. Sometimes she wondered if she repeated these things for Laurie's benefit or her own. Whatever the reason, she reached for the phone before she lost her nerve and dialed the number Adam had given her.
"Parvo Petrochemicals."
"Adam, this is Mandy Clayton," she said all in one breath. "Thank you for sending that letter to the newspaper."
"You're welcome," he said just as Mandy had predicted he would, but she felt a rush of disappointment anyway. "Did it do any good?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. In fact I've got a waiting list for some weekends in December. It's, it’s wonderful."
"Your place is wonderful, you deserve to be successful."
"Thank you." Mandy wondered how long she could go on like this, thanking him every other minute.
"What are you doing?" Adam asked, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on his desk. The sound of her voice brought back memories, memories he hadn't been able to bury sitting at his desk only an hour away. Memories of Mandy on a ladder in a steamy bathroom, Mandy by candlelight. He'd thought that he would forget about her once he got away, but apparently he hadn't gotten far enough. Things would be different when he got out of the office. But Gene was still recuperating, and Adam couldn't upset him by asking him when he could leave.
"Oh, just the usual," Mandy answered. "Painting, papering and planting."
He noticed her voice was smooth and calm. He assumed she'd recovered from Jack's defection over to Julie and that her life was back to normal. If only he could say the same. He was glad he'd sent the letter. She'd thanked him and now he could hang up. But he didn't want to.
"I was just writing a speech," he said, although she hadn't asked him what he was doing. "To give at the U.S. Geological Service monthly meeting."
"How interesting. Can anyone come?"
"Yes, but they don't. Why, would you like to hear it?" he asked hopefully.
"I guess I wouldn't understand it."
"Oh, yes, you would. I'm showing slides, though. Guaranteed to put everyone to sleep."
She chuckled. A warm, funny, intimate sound that made him smile into the receiver.
"Doctors recommend my lectures for insomnia. I don't blame you for not wanting to come."
"It's not that."
"I tell you what. If you're still awake at the end of the lecture, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."
"I might be busy."
"It's on Tuesday, at the headquarters on Middlefield Road. Eight o'clock."
"Can I let you know?"
"You don't have to. There'll be plenty of empty seats."
She thanked him again and hung up, breathless from having heard his voice again after so long. The question was, should she go to Menlo Park, or not?
She hadn't said she would come to the lecture, Adam noted, but she hadn't said that she wouldn't. Though why he wanted her there so desperately, he didn't want to consider. He wanted to see her again more than he cared to admit. The lecture was a good place to see her, even if she did yawn her way through his slides of the Yukon. Then he would say goodbye once and for all. Before long, he'd be on his way. He tilted his head back and looked at the expanse of blue labeled North Sea on the wall map. It looked cold and empty and far away.
Chapter Seven
Adam had given many speeches to many groups and he'd never been bothered by nerves. In fact, he usually enjoyed explaining his job and describing the vast riches that lay under the land and sea. But every time he'd opened his mouth so far tonight, his throat went dry and his stomach felt as if it were bungee jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge. He'd arrived an hour early at the auditorium, in the first rainstorm of the season, to set up the projector and load his slides.
He stood drumming his fingers on the podium, listening to the rain and the wind, wondering if Mandy would come in this storm and, if she came, where she'd sit. He told himself not to think about her. She wasn't coming because she wasn't interested in the Yukon or in him.
Women found the Yukon cold and remote and unlivable. He'd never forget the look on his ex-wife's face when they'd landed in Whitehorse—shock, disbelief and disgust. And that had been for Whitehorse, the one thriving metropolis of the Yukon.
He wished now he'd never mentioned the lecture to Mandy. He didn't want to see those same emotions on her face when she saw his slides of the frozen northland. He'd rather leave here not knowing that she was like every other woman, including Julie from Illinois, who had forced Jack to quit his job and head for the States. He told himself not to worry. She wasn't going to come. The rain pelted the windows. Nobody was going to come. He shuffled his notes and straightened his tie and adjusted the microphone.
By eight o'clock, however, there was a decent crowd filling the seats. Adam inhaled deeply and stopped looking at the double doors at the rear of the auditorium with relentless fascination. He cleared his throat and began his lecture.
And then she came. At least, he thought it was her. It was a woman with brown hair in a belted trench coat and knee-high leather boots who stood at the back, in the semi- darkness.
He wanted to drop his notes, race back there and throw his arms around her, but he didn't. He kept talking as if nothing had happened. Nothing had, after all. Then why did he stumble over his words and skip two lines of important information? Could it really be Mandy under that coat, or was he hallucinating?
He talked about the history of exploration in the territory, noting out of the corner of his eye, as she took a seat at the end of the back row. And suddenly he relaxed. Suddenly everything was right, including his jitters and his speech. He told stories of old-timers and grizzled prospectors, and then he showed his slides.
Just watching them gave him a pang of longing to feel the Arctic wind in his face, to breathe the cold air, to see the fir trees bend in the wind and to face the unknown. It was worth the hardships, the discomfort and the loneliness. It was where he belonged and the sooner he left, the better. He turned the lights on and, to his surprise, no one was asleep. Not even Mandy, who was leaning forward in her seat, her eyes glued to his face. He knew what she was thinking. How could anyone want to live there?
The audience clapped and he thanked them. Mandy stood and turned toward the exit. He jumped down from the stage, and wedged his way through the crowd. He finally caught up with her in the lobby and sauntered up to her as if he hadn't panicked, as if she weren't trying to get away before he could talk to her. Just in case she thought about trying, he took her hands and held them in his.
"I'm glad you came," he said as the crowd milled around than.
"So am I. It was a wonderful talk. Thanks for inviting me." She looked at the exit.
He tightened his grip on her fingers. "Wait a minute. What about coffee, or did you fall asleep?"
She shook her head. "Of course not, but I'd better get back. The weather and all."
"I think it's letting up. Come back to the house and I'll make some espresso. It's not that far out of your way."
"Well," she said dubiously, "just for a little while."
He went back to get his equipment, feeling strangely euphoric. The speech was over, Mandy was here, and the heavens were dumping moisture on the earth. Not too much moisture, he hoped, not enough to
prevent Mandy from sharing one last cup of coffee.
Outside he found the rain had let up and Mandy agreed to follow him through the wet streets. He drove slowly, keeping the headlights in his rearview mirror as they climbed up into the hills. He turned into Gene's long driveway and parked in front of the two-story house. On a hill, it commanded a spectacular view of the bay. It was dark in the driveway and he reached for her hand when she got out of her car so she wouldn't stumble.
"Nice place," she said, looking up at the tall trees that lined the driveway.
"My boss's," he explained, drinking in her profile as if he'd been dying of thirst. He hadn't forgotten the slight tilt of her nose, her determined chin and full lips, but he'd forgotten the effect she had on him, the feeling that he couldn't get enough of her, no matter how much time he had.
As if she felt the heat from his gaze, she looked at him inquiringly, a smattering of raindrops nestled in her dark hair.
"I've never seen you in a trench coat," he explained. "You look like Mata Hari."
"I've never seen you in a suit," she countered. "You look like James Bond."
He gave her a crooked smile, then led the way up the brick steps as the heavens opened up and threatened to drench them both. He slammed the front door behind them and took her into the high-ceilinged living room. Then he took her wet trench coat from her shoulders and again he was caught staring.
"I've never seen you in a dress before, either." His gaze lingered on the silky fabric that caressed her breasts, that drifted past her hips and aided at midcalf.
She ran her palms down the sides of the dress self-consciously. "I don't usually wear one, so I had to raid Laurie's closet. But I thought since it was a lecture..."
"You didn't get wet, did you? Do you want to change into something else?" he asked hopefully, picturing her in his terry-cloth robe or a jumbo sweatshirt.
"I'm fine," she said. "But you go ahead."
