Opal Fires

by Lynda Trent

As she washed her hair, Clare wondered why on earth she had agreed to go out with Ryan Hastings. Not only was he a total stranger, but she had no intention of becoming interested in another man. She had had enough of marriage. On another level, too, she still thought of herself as Elliot’s wife, and felt guilty going on a date.

  “Why do I get myself into these things?” she asked herself as she blew her hair dry. It flowed in a soft umber cloud away from her heart-shaped face and fell into a natural style as it dried.

  “Maybe when he gets here, I should tell him I’ve changed my mind about going out with him. After all, it hasn’t been that long since Elliot died. Surely he’ll understand.”

  While she put on her makeup, she pondered just how she would tactfully and graciously explain to Ryan Hastings that she really couldn’t see him tonight. As she brushed her teeth, she decided that no matter what he said, she’d stand firm. Slipping into her gold Quiana knit dress with the flowing lines and deeply plunging neckline, she congratulated herself on her strength of character.

  She put on pearl earrings and fastened the clasp of a thin gold chain with three matching pearls about her neck, then went downstairs.

  “Betty?” she called out as she poked her head into the living room. “I’ve decided not to keep that dinner date, after all. Do you know if there’s any sandwich meat left in the refrigerator?”

  Betty eyed her speculatively. “You sure have fixed yourself up nice just to eat a piece of bologna and bread.”

  Clare reddened. “I just haven’t changed yet, that’s all.”

  “Nope. There’s not a thing to eat in this whole house. You’d best go out with him.”

  “Good try, but I know you went grocery shopping this morning.”

  The doorbell made her jump.

  “Will you answer that, Betty? I really don’t want to have to explain. Just tell him I had to leave suddenly and you don’t know when I’ll be back.” Her eyes pleaded with the older woman and she clasped her hands nervously.

  “All right,” Betty agreed after a pause, and went to the entryway.

  Clare heard Betty open the front door.

  “Come right on in. Miss Clare’s in the living room waiting for you.”

  Clare groaned.

  “Miss Clare?” Betty said as she ushered Ryan into the room. “Mr. Hastings is here.” She wore the stubborn expression of a mother bird determined to teach her young to fly.

  “Hello,” he said as he smiled down at her. “You look beautiful.” He looked even more handsome in his well-cut dark suit with a maroon and white tie, causing a disquieting rush of excitement in Clare.

  “Thank you.” She tried to catch Betty’s eyes, but the maid seemed to be engrossed in the pattern of the wallpaper. “We won’t be out late, Betty.”

  “Okay, Miss Clare. That don’t matter to me: I’ll be finished in the kitchen and gone in an hour. You go have a good time.”

  “Thanks,” Clare said grimly.

  Ryan took her arm to guide her down the front steps, and in spite of her decision to remain aloof, Clare felt her elbow tingle from the touch of his fingers. As Ryan held open the door of his black Trans-Am, Clare slid into the luxurious interior. She watched him as he came around to get in behind the wheel.

  “You really do look beautiful,” he said as they drove away. “I’m glad you said you would go out with me tonight.”

  Clare smiled hesitantly. Years had passed since she’d dated and carried on a semi-flirtatious conversation. She wasn’t sure she still knew how. Unbidden memories of Elliot and their Courtship came to mind. Never again, she told herself. What should have been a fairy-tale marriage had become a nightmare within a matter of months. From now on, I’ll let my head rule my heart instead of the other way around, she reminded herself. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere you’d like. I’ve heard of a place on Lake Cherokee that sounds good. Does that suit you?”

  She looked at him in surprise. Although she’d never been there, she knew the place he meant. It was noted for its romantic and elegant ambiance.

  “Nathan’s?” she asked. Perhaps he had meant somewhere else.

  “That’s it. I asked the lawyer this afternoon where he’d take a pretty lady out for dinner, and that’s the one he suggested.”

  “Mr. Hastings,” she said in embarrassment, “I don’t think…”

  “Please call me Ryan. I like that a lot better.” He put his large hand over hers and smiled at her.

  Clare took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t think we should go there. First of all, as he might not have mentioned, it’s terribly expensive.”

  “That’s no problem. What else?”

  How could she explain that Nathan’s was a place for lovers? It lay at the end of a long, unpopulated road overlooking the lake in the most romantic way possible. Uneasily, she recalled conversations with other single women who had assured her that men expectedand often demandedsexual favors after even a casual date. Suddenly, she realized she knew nothing at all about Ryan Hastings. Only the night before, a man she’d known for several yearsif only slightlyhad tried to rape her. Why did she think she could trust Ryan?

  Glancing over, Ryan saw her pale face and frightened eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He eased the car to a stop on the lane just behind the black, wrought-iron gates that guarded her driveway from the street. He turned to face her. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  “No, no. Of course not.”

  “Then what’s wrong? A minute ago, you were so happy, and now you’re almost shaking.”

  Clare forced a smile to her lips. “There’s something I need to tell you about myself. My husband has only been dead two weeks.”

  Ryan covered her hand with his in a comforting, friendly gesture. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Then this is the first time you’ve been out on a date?”

  She nodded silently.

  Smiling tenderly, Ryan cupped her chin in his hand and gently made her face him. “Now I understand quite a bit. You’re also worried about where Nathan’s is located.”

  Again Clare nodded. Her eyes melted into his and she fought against the warm wave of emotion that he stirred within her. “I’ve never really dated anyone except my husband. We went steady all through college and were married for four years. I’ve forgotten how to date, if I ever knew. Before you came, I told my maid to tell you I wasn’t home. I was that afraid of going out. Not just with you,” she added. quickly, “but with anybody.”

  “I understand,” he said softly. “And Nathan’s is reported to be emphatically romantic.” He gently pulled her chin back when she tried to look away in embarrassment. “You can trust me. Only an animal would force his attentions on a woman. I’m nothing like that. Something tells me you’ve had some pretty bad experiences with men. I want you to let me prove to you that we aren’t all bad.” He smiled tenderly into her searching eyes. “Okay? If you start feeling uneasy about anything, say the word and I’ll bring you straight home.”

  Clare studied his face for any sign of duplicity, then smiled. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to go to Nathan’s with you.”

  The drive through the rolling hills and tall pines and oaks was beautiful. The stifling heat had abated to a warm breeze, heavy with the scent of the pines. The shadows were lengthening like long fingers across the meadows and the road, as the sky mellowed in preparation for a brilliant sunset. In the distance, Clare watched a line of cows in a pasture, one followed the other, on their way to the feed lot. But most of all, she was aware of Ryan.

  Ryan Hastings was not only handsome; she soon learned his sense of humor exactly matched her own. Not only was he obviously very intelligent and well-traveled, but he had a natural aura of wealth about him. Earlier, she had noticed a subtleness, a confident way of moving and speaking that she found intriguing after Elliot’s flamboyantly extravagant style. Soon she had forgotten her earlier fears and was laughing with him.

  Nathan’s was situated along the curve o
f the lake, as if it were a jewel held in the palm of a lover’s hand. Already the lights were gleaming in the dusk and were mirrored in the silken water. The sky had turned a rose that deepened into purple and lemon-yellow, and pink clouds streaked the low horizon. The sun itself was a fiery red ball suspended in the silhoutted treetops.

  Clare walked along the wooden bridge that led from the parking lot to the ornately carved teakwood doors. She wanted to remember this night, to impress it in her memory forever, because she knew that Ryan would soon leave Kilgore and go out of her life. She breathed the air deeply. Even the cool breeze off the lake seemed to be rose-colored and sweetly scented. Along the shoreline, lightning bugs glowed, then disappeared to glow again in another place. An owl hooted in the woods, but it sounded melodious rather than mournful to Clare.

  Ryan watched her walk a little ahead of him as he tried to understand the odd emotion he was feeling. Her hair waved softly to below her shoulders, and he longed to touch it. In the dim light, her eyes were mysterious and compelling. The colors of the setting sun played across her face in a way that made his heart catch in his throat. The sound of her low voice and the graceful movement of her body stirred him in a way he’d never known before.

  They were seated at a table beside tall green plants where they could watch the moon rise over the glassy water. A small candle burned between them, sending flickering lights over their feces.

  The supper was expertly served. As the main course dishes were being removed, Clare realized that she hadn’t really tasted the meal at all. Delicious as it must have been, it could never have been as pleasurable as merely being with Ryan. Clare found herself smiling into his hazel eyes, wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through his thick hair. She noticed that Ryan’s eyes followed her every movement, and she found herself smiling at the realization. Suddenly they both became aware that several minutes had passed in which neither had spoken, but only studied the other’s face. To cover their mutual embarrassment, they began talking at the same time.

  “How long have you been in the oil business?” she said when he motioned for her to go first.

  “In a way, the answer is always. My father was also a geologist, and I grew up in the oil fields. I never considered being anything but a geologist, though I spent a few years working as a roughneck. Someday, though, I may wildcat a well of my own. One of my earliest memories is of following dad around on a rig platform. My mother was always afraid I’d get hurt or fall into the slush pit, or a dozen other things, but I never did. This business gets in your blood. It’s not uncommon to find several generations in oil, in one form or another.” He saw no reason to mention that the field his father worked in belonged entirely to his grandfather. “What about you? When you aren’t horsetrading oil leases, what do you do?” He was rewarded by seeing amusement sparkle in the depths of her clear gray eyes.

  Clare laughed. “I’m an artist.” The words sounded strange to her, but he didn’t question them.

  “Yeah? You’re the first artist I’ve ever met. Where do you exhibit? Maybe I’m familiar with your work.”

  Only if you’ve been inside my house, she thought. Aloud she answered, “I’m not that well-known yet. Actually, I’m just now really becoming established.”

  “I’d like to see some of your work. Are you showing in any galleries in New Orleans? That’s where I five.”

  “No, not yet. I’m considering branching out in that direction, though. Could you recommend two or three good galleries there?” Clare was amazed at how proficiently the half-truths fell out of her mouth. This was a facet of her personality she’d never seen before.

  “I’m not very in touch with the art world,” he confessed. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.” As she talked about her work, he saw her changeable eyes darken and grow mysterious and shadowed.

  “That’s all right. I can ask my contacts in Dallas for names.”

  “Did you know you have the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen?” he said abruptly.

  “Why, thank you,” she stammered, taken completely off balance. Was he making a play for her?

  “How would you like some hot apple strudel? I hear this place is famous for it.”

  Clare nodded, again thrown off stride.

  Ryan kept her laughing for the rest of the meal with stories from his childhood and college days.

  “What were you like as a child?” he asked later as they recrossed the boardwalk to the parking lot. He put his arm Comfortably around her waist as they walked to the car.

  Clare’s smile wavered and she touched the chain at her neck as if for reassurance. “Studious. I was no fun at all.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You must be a late bloomer.” He held open the door of the car, which had probably cost more than her parents’ entire house. Clare got in as if she’d been born to luxury.

  The ride home was as pleasant as the whole evening had

  been, and when Ryan reached across and covered her hand with his, Clare felt only a moment’s apprehension. His hand was warm and protecting and she found she rather liked the feeling it gave her, so she didn’t pull away.

  Against the ebony sky, the trees and bushes were blue-gray smudges. Here and there, Clare could see golden squares of Hot from farmhouse windows. A small glow against the dark sky showed the location of Kilgore.

  All too soon they reached the huge iron gates that always stood open to her drive. The house was skillfully hidden from view by huge azalea bushes beneath the enormous old oak trees. The curve of the drive was lined with tall gardenia bushes that reached well above the top of a car.

  “Looks as if your maid left the lights on for you,” he commented as he parked at the foot of the wide front steps.

  “Yes, Betty wanted me to get out tonightshe’s afraid I stay home too muchbut she didn’t want you to think I’m totally alone. The lights are her way of showing a middle ground.”

  Ryan gazed at her. “And what about you? Are you still afraid of me?”

  “No.” Clare smiled, shaking her head.

  She began to puff her hand away from his, but when he gently tightened his hold, she stopped and tried to decide whether to stay or go.

  “I’m not ready for the evening to end. Are you?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I’m not.”

  “At the same time, I don’t want to appear to be pushing you by asking if I could come in. So, instead, would you like to go somewhere for a drink?”

  Clare tilted her head in puzzlement. “Now?”

  “I know I said I’d get you home early, and I did. I’m asking you for a second date. Now. Tonight.”

  “All right,” she laughed. “Why not?”

  At Clare’s suggestion, they went to a small lounge with a large nameConjunction Junctionthat was too expensive for the college crowd and too camp for the older crowd. The tiny tables circled a postage-stamp-sized dance floor. Along the walls and hanging from the ceiling was an array of memorabilia. A gaudy Mardi Gras mask hung beside an old washboard; a plow, spray-painted metallic gold, served as a rack for various plumed hats; a tawdy plaster parrot balanced on its swing beside a mangy bear’s head that stuck out of a sequined ball gown.

  “Can you believe this place?” Clare shouted above the rock and roll music of the fifties.

  “How did they ever find all this junk?” he laughed, fingering a gumball machine turned into a telephone stand.

  “Talent. Sheer talent. And a lot of nerve.”

  Across the dance floor, a neon jukebox flashed, and Little Richard yelled out a lyric about a girl named Sally.

  Ryan studied Clare. This was the last sort of place he would have expected her to like. Yet she fit in here as well as she had in the contained opulence of Nathan’s. Her eyes sparkled as her foot tapped to the hypnotic music. Ryan was intrigued.

  The sultry strains of “Greenfields” threaded their way through the bizarre room. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

  Clare only hes
itated a second. She loved to dance and Elliot had never taken her. “Yes.”

  She followed Ryan’s lead to the dance floor and settled easily in his arms, as though she had always belonged there. As he pulled her close, she noticed that her head barely reached his chin. The spicy scent of his aftershave wafted gently to her nostrils and she sighed. Ryan was an excellent dancer, and she felt as light as a feather in his strong arms. Beneath her hand, she could feel his hard shoulder muscles, and when he pulled her closer, she lay her head against his neck. She could feel his breath stirring her hair, and her heart beat faster. After the music ended, he released her, but only reluctantly, and led her back to their table.

  As they sipped the gin and tonics Ryan had ordered, they gazed around the room.

  “Look over there,” he said, “beyond the bicycle for two and the old Mobile flying horse sign. It’s a stuffed shirt. A real stuffed shirt!”

  Clare laughed. “Over on that other wall is a map of the moon and someone has inked in the locations of all the McDonald’s drive-ins.”

  “Would you like to dance again?” he asked. A love song was starting to play, and several couples were wandering toward the floor.

  “Yes.” She wanted very much to feel his arms around her again.

  They moved very slowly in time with the music, and his lips gently traveled along the edge of her hairline. Instead of being frightened, she felt an excitement building. Then he stopped, but continued to hold her lovingly close.

  “Let’s go,” he said huskily, knowing she felt as he did.

  Clare was quiet as they got into the car. Inside she was wrestling with what she knew she wanted to do and what she knew she ought to do.

  “Do you want me to take you home now?” he asked.

  Clare took a deep breath to steady her voice. “No.”

  Ryan put his arm around her and drove to the Community Inn where he was staying. Clare was silent most of the way. It was as though she had blocked any thoughts about their destination. When Ryan parked out front of the hotel, she trembled with nervous excitement. If she were going to back out, this was the time to do it.