by Ginna Gray
Yet there was a part of her she kept hidden away.
She was not at all forthcoming about her hopes and dreams or her innermost feelings. Whenever she noticed their conversation veering in that direction she made a funny quip and deftly changed the subject.
Maggie was every bit as curious about Wyatt as he was about her, but she ruthlessly stifled that inquisitiveness. The less they knew about each other the easier their parting would be, she reasoned.
Wyatt noticed her reticence and guessed its cause. It bothered him that she was already anticipating their parting. Dammit! They’d just become lovers, for Pete’s sake! He knew that her reserve was a means of self-protection, but still it irritated him. For the first time in his life he wanted to bare his soul to a woman and share his feelings, and she shut him out.
Despite his pique, Wyatt held his peace. He had already learned that you couldn’t push Maggie. What scraps of information he’d pried out of her were gleaned through subtle probing and trickery. Besides, things were going so well between them that he didn’t want to rock the boat, so he kept quiet.
Instead, he volunteered information about himself.
He told her about his boyhood, about what social butterflies his parents had been, how their entire lives had been one big whirl of parties and dinners and fun seeking: skiing in Switzerland, sailing the Mediterranean on friends’ yachts, opening nights and charity galas, flitting off to all the “in” spots at the drop of a hat.
He told her how, in their absence, he had grown close to his grandfather, Winston Sommersby. The old man had bitterly regretted spoiling his son, and had resolved not to repeat the same mistake with Wyatt. He had taken the boy in tow and with gruff affection and pride, had instilled in him the values of hard work and honor and shouldering your responsibilities.
“‘You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Use it for something other than a knob to hang a hat on,’ he used to say,” Wyatt recalled. Lying naked after a glorious bout of lovemaking, with Maggie cuddled, warm and pliant, against his side, he chuckled at the memory. “By the time I was eight he had me reading financial reports and keeping daily tabs on the stock market. By age ten I was analyzing trends and giving him my opinions and recommendations. By the time I went off to college I understood every facet of the business.”
“Mmm. If you ask me, it sounds like your grandfather was a greedy old slave driver. All that money, an’ him always wantin’ more. And forcing a little boy to be just like him. ‘Tis shameful.”
Wyatt laughed. “There was no force involved. I loved every minute of it. And as for the other, what you don’t understand is, in business, if you don’t grow you stagnate, and when that happens you become ripe pickings for the competition. Like it or not, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.”
“Humph! Well, I, for one, don’t like it.”
“I know. And that’s your right, but it’s a good thing that some of us do. Sommersby Enterprises provide thousands of jobs for people. It’s also a good thing my grandfather had the foresight to train me.”
Wyatt shared with her how appalled and disgusted he’d felt when he’d discovered the mess his ineffectual father had made of the family business during the short time he’d held the reins. Sommersby Enterprises had been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy when Wyatt took over, and it had taken him years to undo the damage and put them back in the black.
Wyatt also told Maggie his most secret thoughts, his aspirations and disappointments, things he’d never breathed to another soul, not even his grandfather. He told her about Blue Hills, his thoroughbred farm outside of Brenham, and how much it meant to him, how he hoped to retire there someday.
She never questioned him nor pried, nor did she comment when he left the door open for her to do so, but he knew she took it all in. She listened with avid attention to every word.
One thing they never discussed was the future or where their relationship was heading, or even if they would have a relationship once their odyssey was over.
Wyatt had no intention of giving Maggie up. He simply didn’t know how to define what their relationship would be. Nor could he tell from her silence how she felt about the matter. Since she had so adamantly rejected his first offer and showed no signs of wanting to discuss their future, he kept quiet on the subject.
He told himself that her silence did not necessarily mean anything. Maggie never even discussed what they were going to do the next day. When a whim struck, she simply went where it led her, no matter the time of day or night or the circumstances.
Once Wyatt was jerked awake at two in the morning to James Brown screaming, “Eeeeooooww! I feel good!” As the father of soul’s band pounded out the incessantly upbeat rhythm at a decibel level that could be heard half a mile away, the RV rolled out of camp with Maggie bouncing in time to the beat on the driver’s seat.
Another time, with no warning, she pulled over to the side of the road in the middle of the day, crashed facedown on the bed and slept for twelve straight hours.
Wyatt got used to Maggie’s bouts of inspiration, when she bounded out of bed at all hours of the night to write or sketch. The clickety-click of the computer keyboard in the wee hours became as commonplace to him as the cicada’s whir. Soon he could sleep through her obsessive pounding.
When working, Maggie’s concentration was so great she would go all day without eating if he didn’t shove food under her nose. At other times she could stuff herself from dawn till dark, then wake up in the middle of the night so ravenous she devoured everything in the refrigerator.
Wyatt had never known anyone like her. She was witty, clever, inquisitive to a degree he’d never encountered before, good-natured, hardworking, entertaining, unpredictable, at times utterly maddening, but always, always, endlessly fascinating.
The longer he was with her, the more the thought of parting from her disturbed him. He could no longer imagine his life without Maggie in it.
Maggie felt the same way about Wyatt, and that scared her silly.
She tried to ignore those feelings and not think about what they meant, or about what would happen when they returned to Houston. Most of the time she was successful, but now and then, usually when she found herself alone, the disturbing questions crowded in on her and she could not shut them off.
The day that Wyatt took the Harley and rode into Ouray, Colorado, the town nearest to their campsite, the disturbing thoughts would not leave her alone.
She sat huddled on the sofa, her arms locked around her updrawn legs, her chin propped on her knees, staring out the large picture window.
They were camped in one of her favorite places on earth, high in the mountains between Ouray and Silverton. Because it was so high and so difficult to reach, few people used the campsite. The night before, when she and Wyatt arrived, only one other campsite was occupied, and today they had the place all to themselves.
The scene outside the large window over the sofa was spectacular. A river so clear you could see every pebble and rock along its bed tumbled and gurgled down a canyon not twenty feet away from the RV’s door. Majestic mountains surrounded the camp. High above timberline, their snowcapped peaks glittered in the sun. Puffy, pink-tinged clouds drifted in a sky so blue it hurt your eyes to look at it. There in the high country a few aspen trees were beginning to turn, their quaking leaves shimmering in the slight breeze like gold spangles on a flapper’s dress. Maggie saw none of it.
She had been a fool to think she could have an affair and remain detached. The proof was this reluctance to go home.
It was time. Past time. They had been on the road for almost four weeks. She had all she needed to complete her next book. She should turn her rig around first thing in the morning and head back for Houston.
She pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly. It was the smart thing to do. She knew that. But the thought made her feel as though there was a cannon ball sitting on her chest.
She tried to tell herself the reason she put off go
ing home was because she didn’t want to lose the bet with Wyatt.
She had to admit he had surprised her. When they’d made their bet, she would have given ten-to-one odds that he would not last a week away from his company. He had not only stuck it out, after a rocky start, he had adjusted well and joined right in. He even seemed to be enjoying himself.
Her mouth twisted. Of course, it didn’t hurt that they had become lovers.
No, that wasn’t exactly fair. She had known weeks ago that he had proven his point. She should have accepted defeat gracefully and turned around then.
Maggie sighed. So who was she kidding? That stupid bet wasn’t the reason she was prolonging this trip. Face it. You’re dragging your feet because you dread saying goodbye to Wyatt.
She didn’t regret what had happened between them. Not for a minute. Wyatt was a sensual and sensitive lover, and she would always be grateful that he had been the one to introduce her to those intimate pleasures. However, no matter how much she desired him, she could not be his mistress.
Nor did she delude herself into thinking that she could retain her independence and at the same time continue their intimate relationship. With another man, that might be possible, but not with Wyatt. It was his nature to take charge, to possess, and she could not tolerate that. It was pointless to even try.
That meant they would have to say goodbye.
The admission made her chest constrict. Maggie gritted her teeth and put her forehead on her knees. Dammit! It wasn’t suppose to hurt like this. Wyatt had many fine qualities. In many ways she admired him. He was honest and hardworking and intelligent, capable of a surprising tenderness and sensitivity. She was not only attracted to him physically, she truly liked him. And, of course, she enjoyed their lovemaking. But he was all wrong for—
A distant, deep rumbling broke her chain of thought. Her head came up and she frowned. What in the world?
The sound was getting closer.
Unfolding her legs, she stood up and went to the door and scanned the surrounding area. As it drew closer the rumble turned into a roar. She looked at the rutted track they had followed to this clearing, just as a pack of grungy, leather-clad motorcyclists crested the rise.
Leading the pack was a huge, tough-looking character in a chain-draped, black leather vest. His dirty hair hung to his waist and was held in placed by a rolled bandanna tied around his head. An even dirtier beard straggled down over his barrel chest, which was bare except for the vest. One bulging biceps sported a metal-studded leather arm band, the other a tattoo of a skull with a knife sticking out of it. He looked as though he would kill his mother if she crossed him.
The roaring motorcycles circled the RV twice before their leader came to a stop in front of the door in which Maggie stood. Slowly, his lecherous gaze traced over her, taking in everything from her toes to her crown. His mouth curled in a lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, well, well. Lookie what we got here.”
Chapter Twelve
“Dammit, Wyatt, when are you coming home? This isn’t amusing anymore.”
“I told you, Eric, I don’t know. It’s up to Maggie.”
Wyatt heard an audible sigh from the other end of the telephone line. It was followed by several seconds of silence. He got the definite impression his brother was mentally counting to ten.
“This isn’t at all like you, Wyatt. You’ve never let anything interfere with business before. You’ve never even taken a vacation, for Pete’s sake. Now all of the sudden you’ve chucked your responsibilities to run around the country in a motor home with a woman whom, quite frankly, I consider to be a bit flaky. Have you completely lost your mind?”
“My mind is quite sound. And for your information, so is Maggie’s.”
Eric did not miss the anger in Wyatt’s voice. When he spoke again his tone was apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that in an insulting way. I like Maggie. I really do. However, you do have to admit she is, well...different.”
“As compared to what?”
“Well...us. And our friends and associates. She deliberately thumbs her nose at all our crowd. With her background, you’d think she would jump at the opportunity to belong, but she makes no effort whatsoever to fit in.”
Wyatt dipped his head forward and rubbed the back of his neck. Hell. His brother sounded like a grade A snob. Had he himself appeared that way to Maggie when they first met? “You’re right. And quite frankly, I consider that a plus.”
“I see,” Eric said, but it was clear that he did not see at all. He cleared his throat and started again. “Wyatt, I realize that Maggie is a novelty to you, but this really has gone on long enough. I was pleased at first that you were taking time off, and I’ll admit I was happy to have a chance to prove I could pull my weight in the company, but it’s time for you to come home.”
“Is there a problem that I don’t know about?”
“No. Not exactly. But the way the stock market is fluctuating makes me nervous. I’m not as good at reading trends as you are. And most analysts think we’re heading for another big crash. I just think you should be here.”
“You’ll do fine. Our investments are rock solid. Unless there’s a general crash, we can pretty much ride out a slump.”
He knew his attitude shocked Eric. It came as a surprise to him as well. As little as six weeks ago he would have lost no time in racing back to Houston to take charge. Now, strangely, the possibility that their stocks might drop a few points just didn’t seem all that earth-shattering.
“Also, I think you should know, I heard a rumor that Asa is talking to attorneys and financial experts about possibly letting BargainMart go public.”
That got his attention. Wyatt abandoned his relaxed stance, his spine straightening. “What? Who told you that?”
“I heard it from several sources. Joe Tate, for one.”
“Have you asked Asa about it?”
“Yes, but he just smiled and gave me a noncommittal answer. He did give me a message for you, though. He said to tell you that he’s upping his offer five percent, if you’re interested. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
Five percent! Damn. That put Asa’s wedding gift up to fifteen percent of the BargainMart stock. Twenty-five percent if the options were exercised.
Wyatt sighed and pulled his palm down over his face. That wily old fox. He sure as hell knew how to play hardball. If word got out, men would be beating down Maggie’s door to marry her and get control of that much BargainMart stock. “Yeah, I know what he’s talking about. Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”
“So, are you coming home? If Asa does move to go public with BargainMart you really should be here.”
“He won’t. Regardless of what you’ve heard, trust me, Asa will hold on to that company until his last breath. The old buzzard probably started that rumor himself.”
“Why would he do that?”
To test the waters. To stir up interest. Hell, maybe the old man was doing it just to toy with him, Wyatt thought. To Eric he merely said, “With Asa, who knows?”
They talked for a while longer. Eric continued to try to convince Wyatt to come home, but he remained adamant. He did promise, however, to keep abreast of the stock market figures and contact Eric if he noticed anything that called for them to take action.
After hanging up, Wyatt picked up some toothpaste and shaving cream and a few other personal items, which, ostensibly, had been his reason for coming to Ouray in the first place.
When he left the little pharmacy, he took his time. Carrying his plastic bag of toiletries slung over his shoulder, he strolled down the town’s main street, stopping now and then to look in store windows, admiring the abundance of flowers that were everywhere: overflowing hanging baskets and old barrels; bursting from window boxes; planted around the bases of trees and lampposts. In front of one store an old horse trough from the previous century contained a riot of blooms.
Smiling to himself, he bre
athed deeply of the clean mountain air and scanned the surrounding scenery. Ouray sat in a narrow valley. All around the town, mountains rose almost straight up, like enormous castle walls. It was easy to see why it was called the Switzerland of the United States.
It occurred to Wyatt that the tourist crowd had thinned out over the past few days. Most of the small, picturesque towns they’d visited in Colorado had been overflowing with vacationers. It was early September now, though, and young families with children had returned home to get ready for the start of school. The tourists that remained were of the older variety, pensioners enjoying their golden years after a lifetime of hard work.
A smile tugged at the corners of Wyatt’s mouth as he watched a silver-haired couple meandering down the street in front of him, holding hands. They had a look about them that said they’d been together for many years, a closeness and easy intimacy that was as comfortable as an old pair of slippers.
The couple stopped to admire a barrel of flowers beside a shop door, and the old man picked a petunia and handed it to his wife, kissing her papery cheek. Placing a gnarled hand on his arm, she went up on tiptoe and returned the favor, then looped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder as they went on their way.
Inexplicably, Wyatt’s throat tightened. How would it feel, he wondered, to share a love so strong it spanned decades? To always have that special someone you could depend on through thick and thin, someone who cared about you above all others, who would always be there, loving you and supporting you, no matter what?
He gave a self-deprecating little chuckle when he realized the drift his thoughts had taken. That such a thing would occur to him at all was yet another indication of how much being with Maggie had changed his outlook.
A month ago if anyone had told him that he would be entertaining such introspective thoughts or that he would derive pleasure out of simply strolling through a quaint old town, soaking up its unique ambience and admiring the scenery, he would have told them they were dreaming. If they had predicted that big business and the art of the deal would cease to be the end-all and be-all of his existence, he’d have sworn they were certifiable. But, to his chagrin, he realized it was true.
