"Oh, no!" Jen was vehement. "He never lets any of the guys call him Marion. He says it doesn't convey the proper image." Jen laughed charmingly, and Mattie suddenly knew that, for Jen, the world revolved around her huge, gentle husband.
"Joe tells me you have four children," Mattie murmured. "I take it Marion didn't press you to name any of them Marion, Jr."
Jen looked horrified. "No indeed. Before each baby was born, he spent months trying to sell me on names like Bruiser and Mack."
"And did he-?" Mattie inquired interestedly, muffling a giggle as she pictured what a Bruiser Dumbronkowski would look like.
Jen shook her head. "He caved in after each of our girls was born. Not a Bruiser in the lot."
"Each of your girls?" Mattie repeated incredulously. "You have four girls?''
The redhead laughed delightedly at Mattie's expression and patted her bulging abdomen. "Maybe five."
It was Mattie's turn to shake her head. "Is he going to make you keep trying until you get a boy?" she asked seriously.
Jen regarded her oddly. "Not at all. He adores our girls. They smile and Marion melts. It's just that we both love children. And our children are a very powerful affirmation of our love for each other."
"Aren't you—worried about giving him all those daughters?" Mattie questioned Jen with helpless fear.
Joe's voice broke in before Jen could give voice to the questions in her eyes. "We should be hitting the road, Mattie."
Mattie nodded a little vaguely and murmured goodbye to the Dumbronkowskis. They had taken perhaps five steps down the tunnel when Marion's booming voice stopped their progress.
"You bring your friend to dinner next week, Joe."
Joe turned to meet Marion's understanding gaze.
"You're on," he called back. His eyes shifted to Mattie. "Okay?"
Mattie smiled. "Okay." She took one more look at the seemingly mismatched couple before them—Jen so slight and Marion so threatening—and walked away with a thoughtful expression.
"Joe, what do you think... love is?"
Joe stilled, the ax he was using to chop logs halting in midair, as Mattie's hesitant question reached him. She was supposed to be helping him stack wood for the winter months, but she had been staring into space for well over five minutes. Now he knew why.
He brought the tool down carefully, his breath misting in the frigid air. It was a damn cold day, he thought irrelevantly. "What kind of love, Mattie?"
Mattie faced him, puzzled. "You know... love."
"The kind of love between a man and a woman," Joe defined factually.
"Yes."
"That's a tough one," Joe told her wryly. "I think—I've always thought—that love like that is gentle, but not always. Protective, but not smothering. Love is not feeling... complete without her beside you. And a smile means more than all the words in the world. There's a warmth where there used to be an emptiness—" He broke off in disgust, running his hands through his wind-tousled black hair. "This sounds so trite."
"No!" Mattie protested, self-consciously blinking away the tears in her eyes. "No. It sounds.. .beautiful. I didn't know men thought like that. But that's not all there is to-loving, is there?"
"What makes you say that?" Joe was wary.
"Well," Mattie began reasonably, "what you described is the way I feel about you."
Joe took a deep breath, his eyes intent on hers. "Is it, Mattie?" His voice was muffled.
"Yes. Especially the part about feeling warm when you're around and not empty anymore. But there's more."
"Yes," Joe admitted softly. "There's more. Between a couple in love, there's also a... need to physically express that love," Joe explained carefully, his eyes shifting away awkwardly.
"Sex," Mattie defined flatly.
Joe turned back to challenge her. "Making love."
"Is there a difference?"
"Oh, yes, there's a difference. Mattie, sex can mean nothing, or it can be only physically satisfying. Making love can touch the soul." Joe paused a second or two before adding, "I think."
Mattie peeked up at him. "You think?" she repeated politely.
Joe shrugged wryly. "I'm probably not the man to ask about it. I've had sex, Mattie. I've never made love."
Mattie shifted uncomfortably as the conversational person changed from "a man" and "a woman" to Joe himself, but she didn't want to relinquish the subject yet. Too many questions were unanswered after her introduction to Jen and Marion Dumbronkowski.
"Not all men feel that way, surely," she persisted nervously. "I mean, do you suppose every time Marion makes love to his wife, he sits up and thinks, 'Gee, that really touched my soul'?"
Joe's mouth twitched irrepressibly. "No," he agreed solemnly.
"Aha!"
"I think sometimes he just lies there and thinks, 'Gee, that really touched my soul'!''
Joe's twinkling eyes met Mattie's, inviting her to share the laughter. Mattie could not resist. Together their mirth rose on the crisp air and danced on the wind.
Finally, when the laughter had subsided, they resumed their task of storing wood in the shed. They worked in silent harmony for a while before Joe broke the silence.
"Why all the sudden curiosity about love, Mattie?" He kept his voice painstakingly casual, but his body was tense.
Mattie shrugged self-consciously. "I guess it was seeing Jen and Marion," she admitted uneasily. "He's so much bigger than she is, but so gentle. I—I didn't know it could be like that."
Joe watched her closely. "Freight would walk through the fires of hell rather than hurt Jen or his girls."
"But what if he got mad at her?" Mattie persisted. "What if he got really mad at her?"
Joe realized that they were no longer discussing Freight and Jen. There was so much more in Mattie's voice, fear and confusion. He knew his answer would be very, very important to the future of their relationship, and he struggled for the right words.
"If he got very angry with her I imagine, knowing Freight, that he would punch a wall."
"He might hit her," Mattie said in a distant little voice. "She's smaller than he is."
"Mattie—" Joe shook his head "—Jen could flatten Freight with one look. He lives for her. He adores her."
"But physically—"
"No man would ever raise a hand to the woman he loves," Joe declared with flat finality. "No real man. Oh, there are some pretty sorry specimens masquerading as men, but they're not. Only cowards hurt those weaker than
themselves. Only cowards intentionally hurt others at all. A man doesn't prove he's a man by how much pain he can inflict, Mattie. He proves it by how much love he can give."
Mattie's stunned eyes locked on his face.
"Don't you see, sweetheart?" Joe asked softly. "Freight may have the muscles, but he's given Jen the power. There are many kinds of strengths. Love is the biggest of them all."
"The ultimate weapon," Mattie muttered cynically.
"The ultimate healer," Joe corrected her quietly, pain glimmering in his eyes. "The ultimate healer, Mattie."
Later, after the wood had been chopped and stored, the cabin cleaned from top to. bottom and a long, rambling walk in the surrounding woods taken, they were both seated comfortably on the floor in front of the fireplace. Mattie was leaning against the overstuffed couch, and Joe, lying full length on the floor, had a cup of hot chocolate balanced on his flat stomach. The silence was broken only by the crackling of the fire, and their occasional sleepy attempts at conversation. They both knew that they had to leave for Dallas soon, but for now, neither was capable of moving.
It felt right, Mattie mused silently. Being here with Joe, warm and sheltered from the biting wind outside, comfortable with the silence and with the words. He was so warm and relaxing___
"Like a cup of cocoa," she murmured, unconsciously happy.
Joe roused himself sufficiently to question her words. "You want some of my hot cocoa?"
Mattie smiled, realizing that she had spoke
n aloud. "No, I was just thinking out loud. I'm so comfortable here with you. You're like a cup of cocoa on a cold day."
Joe was silent for a moment, his eyes closed. "Thanks," he finally muttered dryly. "I think."
Mattie gathered all of her strength and turned her head slightly. "Well, it was a compliment! You're my best friend, Joe." The last came out in a quiet, solemn tone. Saying it aloud somehow made it a commitment in Mattie's mind, and it was a commitment she did not take lightly.
Joe took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Mattie, I don't want..."
But whatever he had been going to say was lost in the unmistakable sounds of sleet and ice beating against the windows and roof of the cabin. Joe surged to his feet, placing the almost empty cup on a nearby table and crossed to the door. He twisted the knob impatiently and threw the door open.
A freezing rush of air ran in, like a thief from the night, and Mattie shivered reflexively. Sleet was raining down, mixed liberally with drops of pure ice. The late afternoon sky had darkened to a nighttime shade.
"Good Lord," Joe breathed in amazement. "It's snowing, too."
"Snowing!" Mattie jumped to her feet and joined him in the doorway. "It can't be snowing. This is Texas!"
"Nevertheless," Joe began, turning to her with a little-boy grin. But his amusement died instantly when he met her gaze. He became dazed, as though he had just been punched in the stomach with a sledgehammer. "Mat-tie...oh God, we have to get out of here!" He dragged one hand through his thick hair. "Mattie, gather your things. We have to leave before this gets any worse. These roads are bad enough in the summer..." The last statement was tossed over his shoulder as he slammed the door and strode to the hearth to bank the fire. He was clearly agitated and
tense, Mattie realized curiously. She crossed the room and plunked herself firmly on the couch.
"Mattie," Joe said impatiently, spying her on the couch. "We have to hurry!"
Mattie shook her head deliberately, her chin rising stubbornly. "If you think that I—" she pointed to herself "—am going driving on those treacherous hill-country backroads with you—" she pointed to him "—when it's doing this—" she waved her hand expansively to encompass the great outdoors "—then you are insane."
Joe held back reluctant laughter and dropped beside her on the couch. "Mattie, you are so... don't you realize that if this keeps up, these roads are going to be impassable? There's no telling how long we'll be stranded here."
"Well, we have plenty of food, don't we?" Mattie pointed out reasonably.
"Yes, but—"
"And heaven knows we have enough firewood to last us into the next century.''
"That's not the point." Joe tried again.
But Mattie reached for the radio and turned it on, drowning out Joe's words with the determinedly cheerful voice of a local DJ.
"—rtional Weather Service had issued a traveler's advisory for Austin and the surrounding Hill Country through 6:00 p.m. tomorrow evening. Most roads in the Hill Country are already impassable, and city streets are rapidly worsening. The sleet and freezing rain are expected to continue for at least another hour, with accumulations of up to two inches in the city and four inches in parts of the Hill Country—" Joe's eyes met Mattie's in silent defeat, "—possibly turning to snow with expected accumulations—are you ready for this, y'all?—of up to four inches by morning. With no equipment to handle the ice and snow, Austin is going to be a winter wonderland by morning, folks. So build a fire, grab your loved one and practice some serious heat conservation."
"Stranded," Joe muttered blankly. "For days... Mat-tie." His eyes met hers intently. "I didn't know this was going to happen. I never thought—"
Mattie studied him with unveiled amazement. "Of course you didn't," she reassured him soothingly, snapping off the radio. "Why would you want to be trapped up here with me?"
"Now there's a question," Joe agreed mockingly beneath his breath.
"What?"
Joe swallowed audibly and shook his head. "Nothing. . nothing."
Mattie shrugged. "Okay. We'd better get organized here. We'll need to bring in some more wood and open the faucets a bit and keep that fire going. Do you have any kerosene lamps, just in case?"
Joe's eyes were bemused. "Mattie, I don't think—"
"You don't have the kerosene lamps? That's okay," she told him forgivingly. "I know you have a flashlight in the car. But you really ought to have some alternate form of lighting here. You never know—"
"Mattie," Joe broke in desperately. "I do have kerosene lamps."
"Why did you say you didn't, then?"
"I didn't say I didn't! Why would I say I didn't when I did if I didn't—" Joe broke off abruptly. "Forget it, Mat-tie. Just forget it. I don't know what I said. You.... you confuse me so much!"
"But—"
"No! Not another word. I'm going to get some wood."
Joe turned and strode out the back door. Mattie shook her head sadly. "Poor man. That cocoa went straight to his head."
Joe stood in the dark, cold woodshed and let loose a stream of imaginative and heartfelt curses. Snowbound, for who knew how long, alone with Mattie. And she was treating it like an outing with the Girl Scouts. She hadn't one thought of what he would go through trying to keep his hands off her. Oh, no! Not one smidgen of an idea that he might try to take advantage of the situation. No, her innocent mind was taken up with the adventure of it all.
While his own brain, Joe acknowledged disgustedly, wasn't doing much of anything but laughing as his body reacted.
"Damn."
Her best friend. Mattie had said that he was her best friend, Joe remembered, his face etched with a curious gentleness. A part of him wanted to rant and rave and demand much more than friendship, to say that he would have everything from her or nothing at all. But for the most part he felt a swelling joy and gratitude to know that she felt something for him. Friendship was something real, Joe thought determinedly. Something he could build on and strengthen, and... snowbound for days... alone with Mattie.
"Damn," he repeated.
Okay guys, he silently addressed the various troublesome parts of his mind and body, let's be rational about this. So you're going to be alone with her. Big deal. You've been alone with her before.
Not really, his body jeered in response. Not completely alone, thrown together all night long, with nothing to stop you from taking what you really want, really need.
Mattie and I will find things to do, Joe told himself sternly. There won't be time to think about what I want.
Things to do? his body taunted. Oh, yeah. Sitting in front of the fire with your arm around her, her head resting on your chest. Snuggling up to each other to keep warm.
Things that don't require touching, Joe amended tautly, his mind full of vivid images of touching Mattie, holding Mattie, loving Mattie.
You think you can stop yourself from touching her?
I'm strong. I can handle it.
The disbelieving and contemptuous silence of his mind spoke for itself.
Joe began to methodically pile logs in the canvas carryall he kept in the shed. Despite the dictates of his body, he knew that he would not try to force any intimacy on Mat-tie. Not when he wanted so much more. The loving without the love would be a bitter pill to swallow, and it was not a medicine that Joe was willing to take. Not while there was a chance of having it all. The friendship she offered was such a big part of the whole, he thought achingly. Affection, and better yet, trust were such an implicit part of that friendship. And given a choice, Joe acknowledged, he would take her friendship with a promise of forever over one night of possessing her body.
I must be a masochist, he decided grimly as he left the woodshed and moved toward the cabin through the snow.
Evening came quickly and silently, finding them in the same positions in front of the fireplace as before. Mattie wore an old T-shirt of Joe's that he had found and her faded blue jeans. It reached well past midthigh, and Mat-tie tho
ught that it would make very comfortable nightware once she removed her jeans.
She tried to relax, but she was picking up an indefinable tension from Joe. He had been this way ever since the freezing rain had started. Maybe he just needed to talk, Mattie thought reasonably.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
Joe, jolted out of his confused thoughts, turned to face her warily. "What about?"
"Anything," Mattie insisted vaguely. "Ships and shoes and sealing wax—"
"—and cabbages and kings—"
"—and why the sea is boiling hot—"
"—and whether pigs have wings." They both broke off, laughing, and Mattie brightened.
"I've always loved that poem," she told him happily.
Joe nodded. "Me, too. I used to beg my mother to read it to me every night for three years. Finally, she got sick of it and made me memorize the whole thing."
Mattie studied him thoughtfully. "What was your mother like?"
Joe's face softened with loving memories. "She was a wonderful lady. Very warm and gracious. A little shy around strangers. She adored my father, and he would have laid down and made a rug of himself if she had said the word."
Mattie listened to his words, but they seemed unreal to her, pure fiction. Joe's father must have been a strong, proud man to have raised Joe as he was. She couldn't picture him bowing to the wishes of a weaker being, even his wife... especially his wife.
"They're both gone now?" Mattie asked hesitantly, then wanted to call the words back as she witnessed the flash of pain in Joe's eyes.
"They died in a light plane crash. They were flying back to the ranch when the plane went down." There was a wealth of sad regret in his words.
"Ranch?" Mattie picked up on that to distract him. "The ranch you told me you grew up on? Where's it at?"
Joe smiled at her oddly. "Where it's always been. Waiting for me to come back."
"You still own it?" Mattie was surprised.
"All my life I've intended to be a rancher, sweetheart. It's what I grew up with, it's what I love. I even took my college degree in land management."
"But you're a football player," Mattie pointed out irrefutably.
"Football has always been just a game to me. I played in college for the fun of it. I never intended to go pro."
Just Joe Page 7
