"Aren't you homesick?" Polly had asked her worriedly the first few times she'd called. And the answer had been yes.
But it was only to be expected, Celie knew. And she told Polly firmly, "I'm fine. I don't have time to be homesick." It was only the truth.
Besides, even if she did lie awake some nights and think about Elmer and the life she'd left behind, she also knew that staying in Elmer would never have given her what she wanted.
There was no man in Elmer who would love her the way Sloan loved Polly. She knew every man in Elmer, and as far as she was concerned, all the good ones were taken.
She knew there was no hope when she'd called Artie from Kauai to tell him about Sloan and Polly's wedding, about how beautiful it had been, and how wonderfully in love they were. And she'd said, "I hope I find a man like that someday."
And Artie, heaven help her, had said, "What about Jace?"
Jace? She'd practically swallowed her tongue. "Jace?" she'd sputtered. "Me and Jace Tucker?"
"What's wrong with Jace?" Artie had demanded.
Everything, Celie could have told him. Jace was too handsome, too sexy, too sure of himself, too flirtatious. He also thought she was the dregs of the universe. She was the girl that even a loser like Matt Williams had dumped! She couldn't believe Artie was even suggesting it. Was the old man getting senile at last? But she couldn't ask that!
"Let's just say it wouldn't work," she'd said finally. "It would be like Little Red Riding Hood and the big bad wolf."
"Well, now—" Artie had begun, but Celie had cut him off.
"No, Artie. Forget it. Don't ever think about it again."
Getting away from Jace's teasing grin and barbed comments had been one of the biggest perks of leaving Elmer. Getting away from Jace was one of her primary reasons for going.
Not that she had been running away! On the contrary, she'd been running toward plenty of wonderful opportunities. She was seeing the world. She was making memories. She was meeting lots of wonderful people. Meeting men.
It was what she'd come for, she told herself. To see the world, to meet new people. To find true love.
Well, she wasn't admitting that. Not to anyone else. If the more worldly members of the crew—and virtually everyone on the ship was more worldly than she was—suspected for a moment that Celie had come looking for her one true love, they'd never let her live it down. They already thought her wide-eyed innocence was somewhere between charming and a colossal joke.
Carlos, the debonair, slightly jaded waiter from Barcelona, teased her about it on a daily basis. "Such big eyes you have," he would say, grinning at her amazement at the beauty of places they visited.
"I make her eyes even bigger," Yiannis, the wine steward from Greece, promised. He offered to show her around the "spots the tourists don't visit" in ports they came to.
But Allison, the hairstylist who became Celie's roommate after Tracy got sacked, wouldn't allow it. "You're not going anywhere with him! Spots the tourists don't see, my sainted aunt Effie! And what does he mean by that but sleazy hotel rooms!" She sniffed. "He'd have you naked in five seconds flat!"
While Celie had no desire to go ashore with Yiannis, she felt compelled to protest that she wasn't so foolish as to be talked into a sleazy hotel room or out of her clothes.
Allison had lifted a brow. "Oh, yes? And who was it let Armand take her up on the fantail at midnight to watch the neon fish?"
She could still blush just thinking about that. So there weren't neon fish. Live and learn.
And anyway, she'd come to no harm. Armand, who ran the gifts and precious gems shop on board the ship, had turned into a perfect gentleman when Celie, trapped in his passionate embrace, had slid one knee between his and explained the options facing his own family jewels.
"You're learning," Allison had admitted later.
Indeed, Celie was learning a lot. And in the past two months she'd met a lot of fascinating people from all over the world. She'd seen amazing sights, had sent home a dozen postcards, had determinedly embraced the life she'd let pass her by for the past ten years.
But she hadn't found true love. Yet.
She would, though. She was determined. After all, she couldn't expect to find her one true love just waiting for her to come along, could she? Of course not. It was bound to take a little effort on her part. So she had enjoyed a few ports of call in the company of the opposite sex. Men Allison approved of. Ones unlikely to drag her off to a sleazy hotel room.
"Gentlemen," Alison had said, giving Armand and Carlos and Yiannis a look that would singe the hair on their heads.
They'd backed away, palms out, muttering, leaving Celie to Allison.
"Carlos is a gentleman," Celie had protested.
"Carlos is a Casanova," Allison said firmly. "Not your type. You need a nice man."
As if she couldn't handle any other kind, Celie thought, a little put out. As if she were a novice, barely out of the cloister. As if she needed training wheels.
"Seen any neon fish lately?" Allison murmured whenever Celie grumbled.
So she'd dated men whom Allison approved of. She'd gone to the straw bazaar in Nassau with a charming Scot called Fergus. She'd water-skied in St. Thomas with an Australian named Jeff and she'd drunk margaritas on the cruise line's private island beach with a Canadian called Jimmy.
They were sweet. They were fun. They were "gentlemen." They were certainly better than staying home in Elmer and letting life go on without her.
But none of them was "the one."
What if she never met "the one"? The thought niggled in her brain sometimes late at night. What if she stayed not just weeks or months, but years and never met the man of her dreams? It didn't bear thinking about.
It would happen. Of course it would.
Sometime when she least expected it, she would spot him coming onboard, or she'd catch him watching her during her little spiel during the safety section, or she'd look up from cutting hair, glance in the mirror and their eyes would meet.
Just like that, there he would be—the other half of her heart.
And just like that, they'd fall in love, get engaged and go home to Elmer to get married. And this time the whole valley really would get to celebrate as Celie O'Meara got married at last.
And when she came down the aisle toward the man of her dreams, Celie vowed that she'd stick her tongue out at Jace Tucker!
Artie had had some dumb-ass ideas in ninety years. But Jace doubted the old man had ever had a stupider one than this.
So how stupid did that make him for going along with it?
How big a fool was he that he'd anted up more money than he wanted to think about for "seven fun-filled days and nights cruising the Caribbean" on the ship on which Celie O'Meara cut hair?
He had to be out of his mind.
"Of course yer outa yer mind," Artie said cheerfully, bright and early the morning he drove Jace to the airport in Bozeman. "We're all fools when we're in love."
In love. He kept stumbling over the idea every time he thought about it. Love was something that happened to other people. Love was something that made their worlds go around—not his. It was something other guys sweated out—not him.
And now? Now he was an hour from getting on a plane and chasing thousands of miles after Celie O'Meara. He considered backing out.
Artie wouldn't let him. "No, sir. You do, an' you'll regret it."
Jace thought he might regret it a whole lot more if he went. What if he went and Celie took one look at him and turned up her nose and walked away? What if he went, laid his heart on the line and she told him to go to hell?
Worst of all, what if he went and couldn't open his mouth and say a word?
"You?" Artie darn near drove off the road, staring at him when he mentioned that. "Not talk? Huh? Can't imagine it. You ain't exactly no shrinkin' violet, you know."
"Watch where you're going!" Jace growled. It was true, ordinarily he didn't find dealing with women any hardship at a
ll. He could talk to women, he could flirt with them, he could charm the pants off them—literally.
Other women.
He'd never got to first base with Celie O'Meara.
"You never did anything this harebrained, I'll bet," he muttered as Artie took the turnoff to the airport.
There was a long moment's silence—necessary, Jace figured, when a man had ninety years to think back through—and then Artie sighed. "Shoulda," he said.
Jace's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, yeah?"
"Mebbe." Artie allowed, shrugging bony shoulders. "Or mebbe not." He stared straight ahead again, concentrating on making the turn into the airport.
Jace waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.
"Thanks," Jace muttered finally as Artie pulled into a parking space. "You're real encouraging."
"Gave you the idea, didn't I?" Artie said. He cut the engine, grinned and cuffed Jace lightly on the arm. "Give it a shot, boy. What've you got to lose?"
His hope, Jace thought. As long as he didn't confront Celie, as long as he didn't spell out what he wanted, as long as he didn't tell her he loved her, he could still believe they might have a future together.
"Come on." Artie shoved open the truck door. "Git the lead out. Faint heart ain't never won fair lady."
"Wish t'hell you'd stop with this zen stuff," Jace muttered as he climbed out.
Artie gave him a long-suffering look over the hood of the truck. "Not zen. Romance novels."
Jace stared.
Artie gave another bony shrug. "Joyce gave 'em to me. Feller's gotta do somethin' with his time when it's damn near all he's got left. Besides, I believe in love. I believe in you."
Startled by Artie's uncharacteristic words of approval, Jace blinked. "What do you—"
But Artie wasn't waiting around to repeat them. "C'mon." He jerked his head, then turned and tottered, bowlegged, in the direction of the airport terminal.
Jace stood still. His fingers clenched around the handle of his duffel. The grip felt almost familiar, the way his hand had tightened on the ropes of a thousand bucking horses.
"Ride of your life," one of his old rodeo buddies, Garrett King, used to say.
Back then he'd treated each one that way. He'd seen each ride as a step on his way to winning the world. Back then he'd believed he would. With the confidence of youth, he'd been sure he'd succeed. He had grit, he had try, he had talent, he had stamina. Why shouldn't he win it all?
But grit and try and talent and stamina hadn't been enough. There were things he could control and, Jace had realized this past year, things he couldn't.
When he'd had that wreck in December at the National Finals, he'd been so close … so very close to the top that he'd been almost able to taste it. He'd gone to Vegas, dreaming of the day the gold buckle would be his.
And now it never would be.
As long as he'd had his career, he'd had hope. Now he didn't.
He didn't want to admit what he felt for Celie O'Meara—not to Celie, at any rate. Not the way she felt about him. Not until she changed her mind. If he said, "I love you," and Celie said, "I don't love you and I never ever will," that would end it. He'd have no hopes left at all.
Still, what was he going to do, back out now? Goaded by Artie, he'd already spent the money. And everybody in Elmer knew—again thanks to Artie—that he was takin' a little cruise. Of course Artie had told them all, too, he'd be going on Celie's ship.
If that had earned him more than a few speculative looks from the Elmer gossips, Jace tried not to think about it. But even now he could feel the tide of red creep up his neck just thinking about those two old biddies, Cloris and Alice, clucking and smiling and murmuring about him having "a thing" for Celie O'Meara. He'd tried to ignore them. But they weren't alone in their speculation. Even sensible women like Felicity Jones and Tess Tanner had eyed him up and down last time he went out to the Jones place to deliver some lumber. He'd thought he was imagining their interest until he'd been about to leave and Tess had sung out, "Be sure to get your hair cut while you're there!"
Felicity had even said he might want a massage, too—if Celie were giving them.
Cripes! Just thinking about it made his jeans tight.
But that was sex, not love. This wasn't about sex. Not entirely, at least. What he felt for Celie was more than simple desire. It had to do with things like forever and commitment and waking up together every morning. Still, it was true that he felt plenty of good old-fashioned lust where she was concerned.
Now he thought about getting a massage from Celie onboard ship. Did he dare?
"You comin' or you gonna stand there till you take root?" Artie was scowling at him over his shoulder.
Jace's fingers gripped his duffel even tighter. Ride of your life, he said to himself just the way Garrett used to say it.
He just hoped it didn't grind him into the dirt.
He flew to Salt Lake City, then to Miami. It was hotter than Hades, flat and smoggy when he arrived. Hardly the paradise he'd been promised. But he grabbed his bag off the luggage carousel, mopped his brow with the bandanna tucked in his back pocket, then caught the shuttle bus to the cruise ship where paradise—and Celie—were waiting.
He tried to imagine what she'd say when she saw him. Then he tried not to.
He tried to soak up a little of the atmosphere, smile at his fellow passengers, feel like he wasn't a fish out of water and about to meet up with the fillet knife.
Almost everyone on the bus was staring at him. At his hat. Most everyone was wearing open-necked shirts and golf slacks. A couple of men had flat caps. There didn't seem to be any other cowboy hats in sight.
Jace took his off and rubbed a self-conscious hand over spiky damp hair. He thought he should feel better now, less self-conscious, more part of the group. The truth was he felt bare and vulnerable without it. He felt naked.
And that was the last thing he needed when he met Celie again. He jammed his hat back onto his head. The hell with it. So what if he looked like a cowboy and they all looked like golf club professionals? He was a cowboy, damn it. And he doubted, for all their golf clothes, any of them had ever hit par.
He couldn't afford to buy clothes he'd only wear for a week. Besides his long-sleeved, western-style shirts like the one he was wearing, he had packed a polo shirt and a couple of T-shirts, and the travel agent had told him to take a pair of dark slacks. The only pair he had were the ones he'd worn to his sister, Jodie's, wedding ten years ago, to his father's funeral three years back and to the few rodeo functions where jeans weren't acceptable attire. He figured they'd still look new when it came time to bury him. Not that he wanted to be buried in them! Wherever he spent eternity, Jace wanted to do it in jeans. And boots.
He was wearing boots now. He damned sure wasn't buying any loafers with tassels on them. They'd laugh him out of Elmer if he came home with silly shoes like that!
They'd probably laugh, anyway, if he came home without Celie.
Life without Celie didn't bear thinking about.
He tried not to. He tried to muster up a little interest in the people on the bus. Jace generally liked people. He liked talking to them, learning about them, listening to them. And so he smiled at the lady sitting next to him.
"How you doin'?" he said, smiling at her. "This your first cruise? It's mine."
The lady smiled back, stopped looking askance at his cowboy hat and started telling him that it was her first cruise, too, and she'd been saving for it for years. Then two more women jumped into the conversation, and by the time they got to the ship, they were pretty much one big happy family—him and a bunch of women.
Well, they weren't all women, but most of them were. He discovered pretty quickly that unattached single men of his age—or any age, for that matter—were in short supply on cruise ships. A couple of them even asked him if he was an escort.
"An escort?" Jace was aghast, and he knew his face was bright red.
The woman who had been sitting in the sea
t in front of him turned around as they got off the bus. "Not that kind of escort," she said kindly. "But they sometimes recruit gentlemen to come along on cruises for free—as escorts—so we lonely women will have partners to dance with."
"Oh." Jace ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't know, I thought maybe you reckoned I was…" He didn't finish the sentence.
Several of the women laughed, but it was friendly laughter, and one of them—Jace would have sworn—patted him on the butt!
"I wouldn't mind," one said cheerfully.
"Nor me, sugar," added another.
More laughter, and Jace laughed with them. "Thanks," he said, "I'm flattered. But I came to see a friend."
They were immediately all ears. "A friend? A girl-friend," they said.
"We hope," one of them muttered.
"Yes," Jace said at once. "Well, not exactly a girlfriend, but—a girl, a woman," he said quickly at a few widened eyes. "Just she's not exactly my girlfriend. Yet."
They were all avid. "Who is she?"
"What's her name?"
"Is she a passenger?"
"No," he said. "She, um, works here."
He didn't want to tell them too much. He didn't want them to know who she was. The last thing he wanted was to conduct his courtship under the watchful eyes of a ship full of eager women. That would be worse than trying to do it back in Elmer!
"Don't press the poor boy," the lady who'd sat next to him said, patting his arm maternally. "You'll make him nervous."
As he moved through the line to get registered and get assigned to his stateroom, Jace was already nervous. The ship was huge. It was like a gigantic, multistory floating hotel. A very ritzy floating hotel. And there were uniformed good-looking guys all over the place, smiling and nodding at the passengers, saying hello in half a dozen foreign languages. They said hello to him, too, even as they blinked at the sight of his cowboy hat.
Not one of them, he noticed, was wearing a wedding ring. They'd probably all come to work here in order to meet women—exactly the way Celie had come to meet men. They probably knew her.
A COWBOY'S PURSUIT Page 3
