by Carol Grace
"Wrong. There are no men in my life, from the Yukon or anywhere else." Mandy pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. She removed a muffin from the tin and held it up. "What do you think, tall enough?"
Laurie whirled on her heels. "Tall enough? The man was over six feet, and... oh, you mean the muffin."
Mandy smiled in spite of her heavy heart "Honestly, you have a one-track mind. There are other things in the world besides men. If there weren't, I'd be in bad shape."
Laurie crossed her arms over her chest. "But you're in good shape, excellent shape, which is why all these men are beating a path to your door. Don't tell me you think it's because of your blueberry muffins?"
"As you know, the vast majority of my visitors are couples who have yet to notice my shape or anything about me. They come for the view, the romantic atmosphere, and maybe even for my outstanding muffins, which you haven't even tried."
"Which one do you like best?" Laurie asked.
"That’s what I was going to ask you," Mandy explained.
Laurie narrowed her eyes. "Well, I didn't see Jack, but I thought Adam was awfully cute. On the other hand, he's not as rich as Jack and that has got to be a factor."
Mandy shook her head in dismay. "I was talking about the muffins. Whether you like bran or blueberry better. Do you ever think about anything but men?"
"Don't tell me you don't think about men. Don't tell me you weren't interested in Adam. And don't tell me there wasn't something going on between you two." Laurie took the chair on the other side of the table and propped her d- bows on the table. "There was so much electricity in the air that night I was afraid of getting singed. And what about the next morning, the grass stains on your pants and on his? How do you explain those?"
"You want me to explain the grass stains?" Mandy asked as if she'd been asked to explain the theory of relativity.
"If you can."
Mandy threw up her hands. "All right. Adam and I had a picnic in the Napa Valley, where there are rolling hills covered with grass."
Laurie sighed loudly. "If you won't admit to me how you feel about him, then you're not admitting it to yourself. But I think the reason you turned Jack down has something to do with how you feel about Adam."
"There's no point in discussing this any further," Mandy said, brushing the crumbs off her lap. Laurie was just too perceptive. "Because Adam has gone back to the Yukon for good and Jack has gone off to find someone to marry. So it’s all over, finished and done with."
Mandy stared out the window at the rain clouds hovering over the ocean. It was hard enough to get her mind off Adam without Laurie's penetrating questions. She had a permanent ache in the vicinity of her heart every time she thought about Adam leaving without saying goodbye. She'd heard their voices like a low rumble in the living room that night, but she hadn't been able to make out a single word.
In the morning Adam had been gone and Jack had asked her to reconsider his offer. But she hadn't needed to. She knew Jack wasn't the man for her. Even after all those wonderful letters. She went to the sink to soak the empty muffin pans and blink back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She didn't know what she'd do without her sister there to keep up a brave front for. If it weren't for Laurie and the constant stream of guests, Mandy would probably sit in front of the fire and wallow in self-pity all day long.
After Laurie left for the airport that afternoon, and the rain pelted her windows, Mandy reached into her closet and pulled out a stack of letters tied with a ribbon. There on the couch with a fire crackling in the fireplace she was determined to put an end to self-pity and unrealistic dreams once and for all.
Today she would burn all of Jack's letters and start a new life. A life without Adam or Jack. Because Laurie was right, she'd gone off the deep end over Adam. And yet she hardly knew him. It wasn't as if she'd corresponded with him for six months. He came, they met, and she lost her head. Her heart, too. But it wasn't love. It couldn't be love. It had to be lust. And she could get over lust. Just as soon as she got rid of those letters.
If it hadn't been for Adam, she might have considered Jack, but now she couldn't. She wanted it all, love and lust and laughter, the whole thing.
She tucked her legs underneath her, leaned back against the cushions, and started at the beginning with Jack's first letter. It took all afternoon, but she reread every letter. She laughed and cried as she read about Jack's experiences digging for oil, about the people he met and his thoughts on everything under the sun.
Toward the end, his letters got personal, telling her how much he wanted to meet her in person, his plans and hopes for the future. How he wanted to leave the Yukon, settle down and get married. Her tears flowed freely now, blotting the words and smudging the paper. Mandy blew her nose carefully and put the letters back in a neat stack. She stood in front of the fire, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't throw them into the flames.
She wasn't strong enough. Not yet. She was still a sentimental idiot, daydreaming about someone who didn't exist except in her imagination.
She was putting the letters back in the closet when the telephone rang. "Miramar Inn," she said as cheerfully as she could, given her state of mind.
"Hello, Mandy."
"Adam." She grabbed a chair to sit down before she fell down. "I thought you'd be..."
"I'm on my way to the North Sea, finally."
"That s wonderful. You must be very happy."
"I thought I'd drop by to say goodbye."
"Oh, that's not necessary. Couldn't we just say goodbye on the phone?" she asked desperately. That was all she needed was to see Adam again, to hear how excited he was to be leaving, how much he was looking forward to his new life while she pretended to wish him well. No, she couldn't do it.
"I'd rather come by. I've got something to tell you."
"Why don't you tell me over the phone?"
"I can't. Will you be home this afternoon?"
"Not really. I'm...I'm going to be out, gathering mussels on the beach." There, it was believable and it was true. It was mussel season and he knew it.
"I'll help you."
"I only have one bucket."
"I'll bring my own," he insisted.
"It’s raining."
"I'll wear my hip boots. It won't take long, I promise. I'll be there in an hour."
Mandy stared at the phone in her hand. Adam had hung up on her. He was coming over. What was she going to do?
Adam hung up before she could think of another reason to stop him. He didn't blame her for not wanting to see him, and this was not an encounter he was looking forward to. But he'd promised Jack and he'd promised himself. He found a bucket in Gene's basement and called himself every kind of coward for not telling her before. And for not getting rid of her letters.
He'd never get over her until he got rid of them. But instead, he read them over and over, reliving the excitement he'd felt when they'd come in the mail. Reading them, he felt as if he'd known her forever, loved her even longer. He dropped his bucket on the cement floor. He'd fallen in love with Mandy by mail and he'd never known it until now. Not that it mattered. Not that it changed anything. It just made it more imperative that he get out of there so she could find someone better, someone who wouldn't love her and leave her.
Jack was right. Mandy had so much to give. She was warm, sensuous and understanding. She understood why he had to work on a drilling platform. She might even understand why he'd lied to her, why he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't. She might, but he doubted it
He clomped up the basement stairs in his high-top boots and took off on the road to the coast and Mandy. An hour later he was peering into the house through the front window, but there were no lights on, and only embers in the fireplace. Still the room reflected Mandy's warmth and charm, with its hand-woven rug on the floor and the candles on the mantel.
It was a house that welcomed weary travelers, whether they came from the other side of the bay or the other side of the world. It was a
house that said, "Let me be your home away from home, or if you have no home, I'll take you in." He'd never forget the first day he'd rung the bell and she had come to the door covered with wallpaper paste, her arms outstretched so wide he'd almost walked into them.
If he'd known then what he knew now, what would he have done? Turned around and walked away before it was too late? It wasn't too late now. He could leave a note telling her he was sorry. But that wouldn't do. He had to tell her in person.
He made his way to the back of the house to the wooden steps that led to the beach, swinging his bucket in his hand. The rain had let up, but the fog was so thick at ground level, he couldn't see the bottom of the steps. He shouted her name, but his voice was swallowed up in the damp grayness.
What if he never found her? What if she'd been swept out to sea? At the bottom of the steps he dropped his bucket and ran down the beach, yelling her name. But his cries blended with the cries of the gulls overhead. He spun around and retraced his steps and crashed into her, sending her bucket of mussels flying across the sand.
He grabbed her by the arms and crushed her to him, shiny slicker, hat and all. She smelled like sea salt and brine and her soap, the essence of summer berries.
"Where were you?" he demanded, his mouth against her cheek.
"On the rocks," she said breathlessly, brushing his jacket off. "Watch out, I'm slimy."
"You're slimy? Oh, Mandy."
She bent over to retrieve the lost mussels. "What is it you want to tell me?"
"Could we sit down?" he asked.
She nodded in the direction of a large rock jutting out behind than. He wedged himself against the rock, feeling the dampness creep in through his denim jeans. For the life of him, he couldn't think of how to begin. Not with her leaning on the rock next to him, staring straight ahead.
"So, you're leaving soon," she said when it appeared he wasn't going to say anything.
"Yes, we finally have things settled at the office."
“Your boss got better?"
"Much better, and his ex-wife moved back in to take care of him."
"That’s good. Maybe they'll get back together again."
"Looks like it," he said.
"So there are happy endings, after all," she noted.
"For some people." Another silence.
Tell her, tell her now. It isn't going to get any easier, urged his inner voice.
"How's Elvis?" she asked.
"Fine. He said to tell you hello. Actually, he said he was nothing but a hound dog. Bet you didn't know that." Out of the corner of his eye he studied her face, her cheeks turned ruddy from the cold, her hair in a mass of tight curb from the damp air. He wished he could bury his face in her soft ringlets, sweep her off her feet and carry her to her house. Her warm, welcoming house that beckoned to him, that seemed more like home than any home he'd ever had.
"What did you think of Jack?" she asked.
"Jack?" he repeated.
Yes, Jack. The guy you've known for ten years, known so well you write his letters for him, the voice chided nastily.
"He seemed nice. What did you think?" he asked.
"I thought he was nice, too."
"But not nice enough to marry?" he asked.
Her eyes swerved in his direction. "He told you that?"
"We were talking about you and he mentioned it. He seems like a good guy. He's got money and no obligations. I remember all the good things you said about him before he got here. What happened?"
She didn't say anything.
"There's no one else, is there?" he prodded.
She nudged her half-full bucket with the toe of her boot. "No, no one else. Does there have to be? Can't someone turn someone down just because?"
"Don't you want to get married?" he asked.
"No, I don't. I've got everything I need. A thriving business and complete freedom to do whatever I want when I want to. You of all people should understand that. Imagine how you'd feel if you had a wife to whom you needed to explain why you were going off to work on a drilling platform. You'd feel guilty, and she'd feel lonely."
"And she'd leave," he said.
She put her hand on his arm and he drew back. He didn't want her sympathy, not now.
"Mandy," he said abruptly. "Jack and I are old friends. We've worked together in the Yukon for years drilling for oil."
She turned slowly to face him. The blood had drained from her face. Even her lips were white. "What?"
"He advertised for a wife in Yukon Man. I wrote the letters for him."
"You... did...what?"
"I wrote the letters. Not all of than. But most of them. He couldn't keep up. I wanted to help him." Oh, God, his excuses sounded so lame in his ears, so inexcusable.
"You wrote all of the letters, to all of the women?" she asked slowly, unable to take it all in.
"I wrote some of the letters to all of the women. I wrote all of the letters to you."
She shook her head and tiny drops of water spilled over her forehead and collected in her eyelashes. "Why?"
"Why?" He gazed out at the waves that crashed against the shore. It was time to be honest with her and with himself. "Because I liked the way you sounded. I liked what you said about yourself. You interested me. You intrigued me. I wanted to hear more about you."
"But this wasn't about you. This was about Jack."
"I know. I was doing it for Jack."
Liar, you were doing it for yourself. "I was trying to find the right person for him. I thought it was you."
"You were wrong," she said icily.
"I know that now." He looked longingly up at the cliff above them, wondering if he should have thrown himself off it. Then at least she'd have happy memories of him. Now she'd have nothing but bitterness every time she thought of him. If she ever thought of him. The cold crept into his leather jacket, and through his sweater and into his bones. Mandy's profile was so white and so still it might have been carved out of marble. With every word he spoke, he felt as if he was driving a stake into her heart.
"Why did you lie when I asked if you knew Jack?" she asked, her voice as cold as the west wind that blew off the ocean.
"I would have blown the whole thing."
"I suppose you came to see if I was good enough for Jack."
"Yes."
"Obviously you decided I wasn't." A wave of helpless fury engulfed her. She squeezed her hands into fists and beat against his chest.
He grabbed her by the wrists, but she jerked away.
"I thought you were good enough for him, I think you're good enough for anybody," he said through clenched teeth.
"Except you," she said, glaring at him with ice blue eyes.
"That s not true. You're too good for me." It was true, but it didn't stop him from wanting her.
"It doesn't matter," Mandy said wearily, dropping her arms to her sides. All the fight and the fury had gone out of her, leaving her feeling dead and cold inside. Nothing mattered except that she'd been set up and had fallen like a log for Adam. All that agonizing and worrying for nothing.
"It does matter," he protested. "It matters what I think of you and what you think of yourself."
"I don't care what you think of me," she said coldly. "Anyone who would lead me on for the purpose of spying on me doesn't deserve my concern."
"Leading you on was not part of the plan. It was something that just happened."
Mandy choked back the tears. Just something that happened? Just something that had happened to him while she was falling in love with him, falling in love with a man who didn't exist.
"So the whole thing was a hoax from the beginning. I thought I was writing to a millionaire who was looking for a wife."
"You were. Jack is a millionaire who wants to get married. Technically, you were writing to him."
"Technically? Did he even read my letters?"
"I read them to him. Wait a minute." He took her arm and turned her to face him. "If you're not interested in mon
ey or in getting married, why did you write to Jack in the first place?"
Some of the color came back into her face.
"Laurie dared me to and I've never refused a dare. And I felt sorry for him, alone and lonely in the Yukon. I didn't know he had you and the letters of hundreds of other women. I don't need to tell you I wish I'd never seen that stupid magazine. I wish I'd never listened to my sister."
"Wait a minute." He dropped her arm and smoothed her damp hair. "Are you saying you have no happy memories, none at all?"
Mandy bit her tongue. She'd never admit she wouldn't forget the first time she saw him in his bomber jacket, standing at the door like the ultimate Yukon man, like a gift from the gods. He'd appeared on her doorstep, had cooked her dinner, brought her breakfast in bed, and given her a smile that had turned her inside out. He'd made her laugh and finally made her cry.
"Happy memories?" she asked. "Of who? Of you or of Jack? I don't know who you are anymore." A sob caught in her throat.
"Don't you, Mandy?" He brushed the drops off her face with his thumb. She didn't know if they were tears or fog or rain, she just knew she couldn't stand here so close to him without wanting his arms around her, without wanting to hear the words he would never say, that he loved her, that he'd give up the Yukon for her or take her with him. No matter what she thought of him, the warmth and strength of his body were like a magnet to her. She craved his touch, wanted him now as much as she ever had, despite what he'd done.
She picked up her bucket, disgusted with him and even more disgusted with herself. "You can go now. You've done your duty. You've confessed and it’s all over. I'm not angry, not anymore. And I'm not hurt or disappointed. So you don't have to worry about me. I hope you don't think it meant anything to me, what went on between us. As you say, it was just something that happened."
She shrugged and even managed a small smile, then she turned and started down the beach. She had hoped he'd let her leave, but she heard his footsteps in the sand behind her.
"I said I'd help you gather mussels," he yelled.
"I don't need you." She tossed the words over her shoulder.
"I know that," he muttered, "but I'm going to help you, anyway."
She waded knee-deep into the water to a big black rock where the mussels clung in clumps on the other side. Lying flat on top of the rock, she pried the mollusks from the rock with a small, sharp knife and tossed them into the bucket.
