One Tough Cookie

by E C Sheedy

  "Cold?" He ran his hand up her back before resting it near her nape.

  She faced him and smiled uneasily. "A little. The sun will be gone pretty soon. We should probably go. The climb isn't much, but it's easier in daylight."

  He continued to stroke her back and shoulders, the warmth in his hand a soothing contrast to the cooling air. He was staring at her, and she watched as his expression turned from tender to unreadable. Abruptly, he sat up and faced the ocean, his arms resting on his knees. For a long while he sat as still as the surrounding cliffs. When he finally spoke, his words were forced, laced with pride and resolution.

  "I'm not going to beg, you know," he said.

  "I know."

  Silence snaked between them, cold and dire. Willy got up and shrugged into her T-shirt and pants. When Taylor made no move to stand, she sat down beside him. Cloning his position, she too gazed at the sea. One pale puff of cloud hovered in the distance. What hovered near her heart was more ominous. She could think of nothing to break the silence.

  Taylor picked up some sand and let it sift through his fingers. "I spoke to Dan this morning. He told me about your plans."

  "I know," she repeated.

  When he glanced questioningly at her, she added, "I heard you and Danny this morning on the balcony."

  He nodded and looked back at the ocean. "It sounds like a good project."

  "Yes, I think so."

  "You'll be on the move—just like you want it."

  She nodded mutely. It was what she wanted. It was!

  The silence deepened, and she cast a sideways glance at his grim face.

  "Taylor, I—" She stopped. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I told you in the beginning I wasn't looking for—"

  When she stumbled over her words, he finished for her, his voice low and somehow alien. "Anything long-term. I know. The funny thing is, neither was I."

  He stood up and nodded in the direction of the setting sun. "We'd better get going. Like you said, that path might get treacherous if we leave it till dark." He looked directly at her then, making no attempt to hide his pain. "And I don't think I need anything else broken." He offered her his hand to help her to her feet.

  Willy panicked. She couldn't get up. Her mouth was dry, and she quivered with the effort of keeping her mental balance. It was as if he were already gone, thousands of miles across the Atlantic. After tomorrow she'd never see him again. Exactly what she wanted. Right? Wrong.

  "Maybe—" she started, then stopped. The words were scrambling helter-skelter from her damaged heart, but her head couldn't organize them, her lips couldn't speak them. They were foreign words; love, need, want, regret... and they'd expose a hunger she refused to admit. But she had to try—something, anything.

  "Maybe?" Taylor eyed her and dropped his hand. "Maybe what, Willow?"

  She drew in a steadying breath and got to her feet. "Maybe we could, uh, spend more time together. Sometime. You could come back... someday." She dropped her eyes. It was her best shot. She looked up in time to see his teeth clench. A small muscle worked overtime in his jaw. It was several seconds before he answered.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to come back. Someday." He briefly closed his eyes. "We could have a few laughs, some great sex, then I'd hop on the next plane out of town. Of course, with your itinerary, chances are good I wouldn't be able call you. But I could be reached at my incredibly dull place of business, toiling away making all that dirty money. We could get together for a few days, maybe a week or two, until your physical needs were met, and then I'd conveniently clear out. The whole idea being that I wait around for a summons. Is that your plan, Willy?"

  She didn't answer. He didn't understand, couldn't begin to know how much even that small offer had cost her.

  He wrapped his hand around her neck, tangled his fingers in her hair, and pulled her face to within inches of his. His expression was hard, angry, and unyielding. She'd never seen him like this.

  "Tell me, how long before you need me again, before your newly awakened body clamors for mine? A month, a year, five years?" His fingers tightened in her hair, and she felt the roots pull.

  "You're hurting me," she said with a calmness she didn't feel. His fingers tightened again before he let her go. He made no apology.

  Willow rubbed the back of her neck. Taylor forked a hand distractedly through his hair. Both took a step back. It was Taylor who spoke first.

  "I'm never coming back, Willow. And I don't wait. My mother spent the better part of a lifetime waiting. I won't repeat her mistake."

  "For God's sake, I'm not your father."

  "No, you're not. In some ways, and I can't believe I'm saying this, he was more courageous. He at least was chasing his own crazy dream. You're just running—from someone else's nightmare." He shrugged. "The end result's the same. A long—very lonely—road to nowhere."

  "And what would your 'road' be? Me, signing on the dotted line, while you slip a golden ring—around my neck." She shook her head. "You don't think for a moment I could go back to New York and play the dutiful corporate wife, do you? Those fancy shoes wouldn't fit, and you know it."

  "Did I ask you to do that?" He gave her a hard stare.

  She stumbled over her next words. "You're the one who started talking about making plans... about a lifetime together."

  "So?"

  "So—that means me coming to New York, me living with you in your fancy West Side apartment, me living my life according to your rules. It means me giving up everything I believe in, everything I've worked for, and folding myself into you and your life-style." She finished the list out of breath and out of temper.

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing." He walked away a few steps then paced back. "I take that back. I do believe it. And I don't know why I'm so damned surprised. You're running true to form, Wild Willy."

  He reached down and yanked the blanket from the sand. "Let's get out of here. We've got a long drive back, and I've got an early plane to catch."

  She stood with her hands on her hips, stubborn, angry, and confused. Why the sudden urgency to leave? She deliberately goaded him. "What's the matter? Didn't I paint a pretty enough picture?"

  "It's your picture. Paint it anyway you damn well want." He gave the blanket a violent shake and bunched it under his arm.

  "You're denying it?"

  The look he gave her was lethal. "Why bother? If you choose to think I'm an uncompromising bastard, so be it. We've both only got one life to live, and I'm not going to waste mine trying to change a mind set in concrete. Now get your towel and let's go."

  Willy made no move toward her towel. She was choking on outrage, frustration, and the gray taste of disappointment. She was directionless, adrift in sensations and feelings she could not control and did not understand.

  When she looked at Taylor's face, cast now in a mask of indifference, her spine stiffened, and she cursed herself. It had all turned out exactly as she'd thought it would. She'd tested herself, played love's game, and won its only sure reward. Pain.

  She snatched up her towel and wrapped it around her neck. It was cold and damp, a perfect complement to her spirit.

  On the drive back to Dan's condo, Taylor's silence was thunderous. She ignored it—and him, her face determinedly turned to the sea. For a time she fed her anger, dredged up old hurts to kindle its flame. She also closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Neither worked.

  Anger kept giving way to misery, misery to regret, and regret to anxiety. One thing was sure. She dreaded the idea of spending another night in the same room with Taylor and wasn't at all sure her unstable hormones could stand it. Her nerves spiked and sparked at the thought of it. But she wouldn't run, wouldn't break her promise.

  They were near the condo when he said, "I'm going to get my things and get a hotel room."

  She shrugged.

  "From that bit of nonchalance, I take it you don't give a damn."

  "If you want to get a room, get one. It doesn't matter
to me where you sleep."

  Taylor pulled up to the curb, slammed on the brakes. "You're a lousy liar, Willy. It matters to both of us and you know it. But I'm getting a room anyway." He opened the door and got out of the car. He was at her door before she could answer. When she straightened out of the car, she tried to step around him, but he was too fast. He spun her into his arms and held on as though he would never let her go.

  She braced her hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to put space between them. What she wanted was to sink into his arms. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body hard and throbbing against her own, but it was over. She clenched her fists and pushed hard against his chest.

  "Don't," she begged. "Please."

  He stiffened, then dropped his arms to his sides.

  "You're right. It's pointless. Best we end it here." Without another word, he leaned into the car for their towels and headed to the condo.

  Willy slumped back against Cissy and watched him walk away, a hard, gnawing ache rooting deep in her core.

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours later, she was walking the beach at Marbella. Lights played across the water and sounds of laughter and music drifted across the sand from the nearby marina. Willy neither saw nor heard any of it. She was thinking about Taylor, bringing him to life in her mind. She saw him turning the key to his apartment, dropping his luggage, and, she smiled wanly, heading for the fridge. He always did that. She could see him leaning to look in, the thoughtful look on his face as he passed judgment on its contents. One hand would be resting on the open door, the other—

  She shook her head. Give it up, she said to herself. You're playing a fool's game, woman. Next thing you know, you'll be thinking about—

  She stopped herself again and sighed, long and deep. Overcome by how a world, so full and vibrant just hours ago, be suddenly so agonizingly empty. She kicked at the sand. It was as though some evil force had drained it of color, leaving only faint grays and somber blues.

  Stop it, she raged inwardly. Just stop it. He's gone. You've got what you want. He's gone. You're alone…

  She gave the sand another hard kick, took some deep breaths. She'd been walking for three hours. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late meeting Dan and Elena. She blinked against the burning in her eyes and turned back. Maybe their company would ease away some of the soreness in her wrung-out spirit. But it wouldn't go far to fixing her battered and cracked heart. Only time—or Taylor—would fix that.

  "Hey, Willy." Dan touched her arm. "Boy, you really are in another world, aren't you? You were going to walk right past me."

  Willow looked up with a start. "I didn't see you."

  Dan scanned the near empty beach and nodded. "Yeah, I guess with all this crowd a little guy like me is pretty hard to spot."

  Willy's gaze followed his and she smiled weakly. "Sorry. How was dinner? And where's Elena?"

  Dan fell into step beside her. "Dinner was great. Elena's still at the restaurant. She ran into some people from the shoot. I told her to get the shoptalk out of her system while I went looking for our sad-eyed friend."

  Willy didn't answer.

  "You gonna be okay?" There was genuine concern in Dan's question.

  "Fine. I'll be fine. But the sooner we get to work, the better I'll be. What about tomorrow? Can you pull yourself away from Elena long enough for some strategic planning?"

  "I'll give it a try. What about you? Think you can keep your mind off big brother?"

  "I'm not—" The denial lodged in her constricted throat, and she opted for some honesty. "I, uh... liked him, Dan. I liked him a lot. But you know me. I'm not exactly into love and marriage. And even if I was, Taylor is so traditional... so—I don't know—I guess conservative is as good a word as any."

  "Conservative! Ha! That's a good one. Traditional is even better." Dan laughed as if at a private joke. "Old Stanley would have apoplexy if he heard himself described that way. I know if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it's supposed to be a duck, but in big brother's case that's not quite the case."

  Willy gaped at him.

  "Did you know he hang glides for relaxation? That boxing is his sport of choice? And when he's not doing either of those, he's hand building a log home in Vermont? He despises groups larger than ten and would rather tame lions without a whip than do what he calls 'the social thing.'" Dan laughed at the last remark. "I think he's alienated every hostess in New York. Rankles the hell out of them, too. Young, wealthy bachelors are in big demand, you know."

  Willow was stunned and more than a little annoyed. "So tell me, when did the godfather, the controller turn into such a paragon of all that's right and good?"

  Dan had the grace to look chagrined. "I guess I laid it on a bit thick, huh? But then, when it comes to me, he does get damned overbearing. I think I make him a bit crazy."

  "Gee, Dan, I wonder why," she said wryly.

  Willy struggled to accept these new perceptions. Why didn't she know these things? Why hadn't he told her? They'd spent almost two weeks together, yet she knew nothing about him. She'd settled instead for preconceived ideas and half-baked assumptions. A tide of shame swept over her—shame that she'd been so concerned about her own defenses she'd made no effort to unravel the mystery of the man she'd fallen in love with. Not that it made any difference. Knowing more about him wouldn't change anything. In truth it probably made it worse by making her love him even more. As if that were possible.

  Dan snapped his fingers in front of her nose. "Calling Wild Willy. Come in."

  Her glazed eyes connected with his and she frowned. "Dan Monroe, you're a royal pain in the—"

  "Now, now. Don't say anything you're likely to regret. I am, after all, your business partner and your future brother-in-law."

  Willy looked at him aghast.

  "There was one thing I said about my dear brother that was absolutely true. He always gets what he wants. And you, sweet Willow, are exactly what he wants."

  "And if I don't want him?"

  "Completely irrelevant," he said airily.

  When Willy gave him a scathing look, he only smiled—a damned irritating smile that reminded her of his brother. But then what didn't?

  "By the way," Dan went on, "Elena and I are going to take off for a few days. So the place will be all yours if you want it."

  "Take off? I thought we'd just organized the beginning of our work schedule." Willy was counting on the work to keep her mind off Taylor.

  "We did. We're not leaving until Thursday. That should give us a good run at the layout." He gave her a guilty look. "I wouldn't go if it wasn't important. Elena thinks we need some time together—and so do I. We have some things to resolve. I thought we'd spend a few days in Torremolinos. We met there, you know."

  "I remember." It was one of those rare moments when Dan was serious. "But by the looks of you two, I thought things were already resolved."

  "Maybe. We'll see."

  "You'd be crazy to let her go. You must know that."

  "Yeah, I know, but—"

  Willy stopped walking to look at him. His uncertainty was a mirror image of her own. "There are no buts, Dan. Elena is pure gold and you know it. And besides, if it's your damn height hang-up, in her eyes you're already ten feet tall. How much taller does a man need to be?"

  "What's this I hear? Willy Desmond giving advice to the lovelorn? Damn bug must be catching. What I meant by that maybe was I plan to propose—you know—do the whole marriage thing. How do I know she won't fling the ring back in my face? I haven't been the most reliable guy in the world up 'til now. As for the height thing," he shrugged. "It was just a handy excuse. It wouldn't matter to me if she was seven feet tall. I love her. It just took me a while to admit it—to her and myself."

  "Oh, Dan, that's great." Willy gave him a bear hug. Squeezing him one more time before stepping back, she added, "And I don't think you have to worry about Elena throwing the ring in your face. She loves you, you jerk—probably more than you deserve," s
he added. "You're a good guy, Dan. She's not about to let you slip through her fingers."

  "I'm counting on that," he said, before turning his sharp blue eyes to hers. "Maybe you should take a lesson from her, Willy. You can't do any better than Taylor."

  "Yeah, well, uh—" She scrambled for a response. It came from her stock inventory. "Love isn't for everybody."

  Dan rolled his eyes. "Give it up, woman. You're hooked and you know it. And while we're passing out advice, let me give you some. Don't wait too long. Old Stanley's not a patient man."

  * * *

  A week later, Willy stumbled to the door, rubbing at one red-ringed eye. It felt as though half the sand from the Costa del Sol was lodged in it. She was exhausted. And by the feel of her aching body, this day would be her worst yet. Would she ever sleep again? And who in heaven's name was at the door this early?

  "Rosa. Buenos dias."

  "Buenos dias, Senorita Willee. You will take the telefono. Si?" Rosa's tone was uncharacteristically sharp, and she was still wearing her bed clothes. Obviously, the call had woke her. Willy followed the plump, plodding landlady to her apartment.

  "Si?" Willy didn't stem the rush of irritation that poured into the phone until she heard the voice on the other end.

  "Mother! When did you get here?"

  She rubbed at her other eye, wide awake now. "I wasn't expecting you until next week. Where are you staying?" She glanced at a glowering Rosa and mouthed an apology before turning her attention back to the phone.

  "Uh-huh... Sure. Okay... Breakfast in an hour at Los Monteros in Marbella... Uh-huh, me too. Bye." Willy hung up the phone, leaned heavily against the wall, and closed her eyes. Mother. Here. With her new husband. She'd almost forgotten.