by Joan Wolf
“The swelling seems to have gone down,” he remarked after a few minutes of silence.
“Yes.” She glanced down at her sandal-clad foot. “I still can’t get my foot into a proper shoe, though.” She looked out the window at the mountains. “If I don’t get some exercise soon, I’m going to go nuts,” she admitted. “I think I’ll ask the doctor about swimming. Some neighbors of ours in Virginia have a pool I can probably use.” She frowned. “If only I can drive. It would have to be my right foot.”
“There’s a small spring near the ranch you can swim in,” he said. “The water’s clear as a mirror. Cold, too. Be good for the swelling.” She didn’t say anything. “You should be able to ride there,” he went on after a minute. “Just don’t use stirrups. I’ll take you tomorrow, if you like.”
“I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me,” she said. Jay didn’t turn his head, but the narrowed line of his blue eyes swung around to rest briefly on her face. “I thought I was some kind of contamination—a girl like me.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.
His profile looked suddenly bleak. “Caroline, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I was feeling—well, frustrated.” Another glint of blue. “I took it out on you, I’m afraid. It was a lousy thing to do, and I apologize.” She stared straight ahead, unable to answer him. “Will you forgive me?” he said.
She thought that he was not a man who made many apologies. This had not been easy for him. His knuckles on the wheel of the car were white with tension. “Yes,” she said almost inaudibly, and bowed her head. It was a gesture of assent and of surrender as well, although neither of them realized that as yet.
* * * *
The doctor was astonished by the progress Caroline had made. He took back the crutches and told her she could start to put weight on the ankle, but not to overdo it. She had quite a few things to ask him as well, and when she returned to the waiting room to meet Jay, she was walking. He smiled when he saw her, the smile she would sell her soul for, and said with mock astonishment, “She walks!”
Caroline smiled back and didn’t even notice the admiring stares of the two other men in the waiting room. “Hallelujah,” she said. “In another week I might even have an ankle that’s recognizable.”
“Hang on to my arm,” he said. “You don’t want to overdo it and spoil all your progress.”
She took the arm he offered and felt the hard muscles flex as they took some of her weight. As they were going out to the car Caroline said, “I have a prescription to get filled.”
“There’s a drugstore right on the corner. Shall I get it for you?”
“No! No. I’ll do it myself.”
Jay frowned but didn’t object and walked with her slowly down the street. The prescription did not take long to fill, and then they were in the car on the way back to the ranch. Caroline was tired, and she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Jay turned on the radio.
After an hour she opened her eyes again. They talked desultorily in a strangely comfortable kind of companionship. It was odd, Caroline thought as she watched his profile, how her accident had served to defuse his hostility.
“Is that ankle still paining you?” he asked abruptly and she sat up a little in surprise.
“No, not really. It aches a little but the pain is gone.”
“That prescription wasn’t for pain, then?” She didn’t answer, and he said impatiently, “What is this thing you’ve got about not taking medicine?”
“I’m afraid of it,” she confessed. “I’ve seen too many people whose lives were totally destroyed by drugs. I’m terrified of becoming hooked on something.”
“God Almighty,” he said. “I never thought of that.”
“You haven’t seen what I have,” she replied somberly.
“I suppose not.”
They were on Double Diamond land now, and Caroline didn’t speak again until he had stopped the wagon in front of the terrace. As he put his hand on the car door handle, she turned to him. “Anyway,” she said, “the prescription wasn’t for pain.”
He looked surprised. “What was it, then?”
“Birth-control pills,” she answered, then opened the door and got out of the car. “Hi Ellen,” she said brightly to the woman coming out to meet her. “Look—no crutches!”
* * * *
Dinner that evening seemed to go on forever. Caroline was acutely conscious of the unspoken tension that lay between herself and Jay, and she wondered if it was obvious to Joe and Ellen as well. She excused herself early and went upstairs to take a bath and wash her hair. She put on a thin blue cotton nightgown and got into bed with a book. In a little while she could hear the sound of men’s feet on the stairs and men’s voices in the hall. Then the house settled down to quiet. Caroline waited, her lamp still on, her book in her hands.
It was a half an hour before he came. The door opened quietly and then closed, and there he was, tall and dark against the white-painted wood. He was still dressed in plaid flannel shirt and jeans, but he had taken off his boots. For a long minute they stared at each other across the room. The lamplight was falling directly on Caroline, illuminating her loose hair and creamy bare shoulders. Her gray-green eyes looked enormous. Then he began to walk silently across the room.
The book slid, unnoticed, from her fingers, and her head tilted back to look up at him. He stood next to the bed and put his hands on either side of her face. His long fingers were hard and calloused, but his touch was gentle. “Cara,” he said very softly. “Why?”
“You know why,” she whispered in return. His eyes were like deep wells of dark blue in which she was getting lost. He sat down on the side of the bed, and his hands moved from her face to her shoulders. He kissed her, and went on kissing her, and Caroline’s own arms came up to circle him and hold him close.
She loved the strength of him against her, the feel of his shirt under her hands, the smell of his shaving lotion, his skin. She loved him. Jay.
His mouth finally left hers and moved down the long elegant line of her throat. “Cara,” he muttered. “God, what you do to me.”
“Mmm,” she breathed.
He had pressed her back against the pillows, and after a minute he raised his head to look at her. Very gently she reached up and traced the outline of his mouth with her finger. There was a brief flash of amusement in his eyes. “Little witch,” he said. “You know perfectly well what you do to me.”
She smiled and began to unbutton his shirt. The amusement left his face, and his eyes narrowed to blue slits. He stayed perfectly still while she finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it free of his belt. When she slid her hands under the loosely hanging flannel to touch his bare skin, he moved.
It was the first time Caroline truly understood the meaning of the word “passion.” She surrendered to it, drowned in it, delivered herself up to it absolutely. This was the lover she had dreamed of, had searched for, longed for. The night breeze from the partially opened window was cool on their bare skin, the light from the lamp fell softly on the entwined flesh tones of brown and cream, the hardness of male muscle and the smooth silkiness of woman’s skin.
She had dreamed, but the dream fell far short of the reality. Her body shuddered with the pleasure his body was giving to hers, pleasure that was as stunning, as shattering as the lightning bolts that lit up the Wyoming sky in a summer storm. She heard herself saying his name, and then his mouth covered hers very gently. After a minute she turned her cheek into his shoulder and closed her eyes.
It was a very long time before she stirred under him and he moved away a little, onto his side. He propped an elbow under him so he could look at her face. She wanted very much to tell him that she loved him, but she was afraid. So instead she smiled and very lightly touched his cheek.
His blue eyes were grave, and the beautiful line of his mouth looked tender. “I’d like to stay here for a week,” he said, “and
never get up.”
She sighed. “That would be nice.”
“Nice?” He frowned at her. “Is that the best you can do? Nice?”
“Pleasant?” she offered. “Agreeable?”
For a minute he didn’t say anything, and then he rolled over, imprisoning her body beneath the weight of his. “Try again,” he growled in her ear.
Her husky laugh sounded muffled from beneath him. “Amusing?” He put a little more pressure on her, and the bed squeaked. “Ouch,” said Caroline, and he immediately pulled away.
“Did I hurt you? Your ankle?”
“No. I’m fine.” She looked up at his concerned face. She loved it when he worried about her, loved it when he teased her. She grinned at him, an urchin’s grin, and said, “Heavenly? Ecstatic? Ravishing?”
He kissed her nose. “Now that’s more like it.” She put her arms around his neck. “Unfortunately,” he went on, “I’ll have to get back to my own bed.”
“Um,” she said softly, “but not yet.”
“No,” he agreed. His mouth came closer to hers. “Not yet.”
Chapter Ten
Caroline was alone when she awoke the following morning. She looked at the pillow next to hers where his head had lain and was filled with an intense feeling of loneliness. She wanted him there. He should be there. And he wasn’t.
She dressed slowly in jeans, shirt, and sandals and went down to the kitchen. Her chest felt tight with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. She wanted to see him, but she was afraid of what she would find in his eyes. Last night he had shown her such fierce tenderness. But this morning? Now that he had gotten what he wanted?
He was sitting at the table having a cup of coffee with Ellen. His head swung around as soon as Caroline appeared in the doorway. “Here’s the sleepyhead now,” he drawled, and his eyes rested on her with amused comprehension.
She looked back a little inquiringly, but his confident, too good-looking face told her nothing.
“Good morning,” she said. “Good morning, Ellen.”
“Mornin’, Caroline,” the woman replied. “Bacon and eggs?”
“Yes, please.” She seated herself next to Jay and stared at the sugar bowl. She felt suddenly shy and was astonished by her own emotion. Caroline had never been shy of a man in her life.
Ellen put a cup of coffee in front of her and went back to the stove. Still not looking at Jay, Caroline reached out for the sugar. A strong brown hand closed around hers, completely covering it. Her hand was lifted and the palm kissed once, hard, then dropped. Caroline turned to look at him.
There was no sign of that violent caress on his face as he spoke to Ellen. “You’ll pack us a lunch, then?” he was saying to the housekeeper.
“Be glad to,” came the reply from the direction of the stove.
The knot in Caroline’s chest dissolved. “Where are we going?” she asked him. She felt very very happy.
“I’m taking you swimming. In an hour.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Be ready,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
He gave her a careless grin and took his departure. Caroline turned to Ellen. “He’s very lordly this morning,” she said lightly.
“He’s been on the telephone for the last hour. Seems the newspapers found out about his getting that lion.”
“Goodness,” said Caroline.
“How’s that ankle? You sure you’re up to a ride?”
“Oh yes. I just won’t use stirrups. I’ll be fine, Ellen.”
“Mm.” The old woman looked at the girl consideringly. Caroline’s long hair was hooked behind her ears, and her clear-skinned face was flawless in the bright morning sunlight. “You’re a good girl, Caroline,” Ellen said. “You’ll do just fine.”
Caroline looked up, surprised and pleased. She smiled. “Thank you, Ellen. That’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever gotten.” The old woman merely nodded and went back to her stove.
True to his word, Jay appeared at the door an hour later leading two horses. One was Paco, his own bay, and the other was a gelding named Magic, one of Joe’s mounts. He was an old campaigner, very easy, very well-mannered. Caroline came across to him, walking slowly and favoring her ankle. She crinkled her nose at her stepbrother, gave Magic a pat, and said ruefully, “No Dusty?”
“We’ll wait until that ankle is stronger,” he said. He took the small bag she was carrying and put it in the horse’s saddlebag. When he had the saddle flap once more in place he turned to her. “I’ll give you a leg up.”
She bent her knee and let him boost her into the saddle. She swallowed hard. He had sounded as if he expected her to stay. “How do you feel?” he asked as she shortened her reins.
“Fine. The ankle is bandaged pretty tightly.”
“Okay.” He swung with easy grace into his own saddle and moved his horse alongside hers. “Let’s go, then,” he said.
He was silent as they moved away from the ranch buildings, riding beside her, easy and indolent in the saddle. Caroline was silent too, content to be with him sharing the lovely morning, the breathtaking landscape. They had gone perhaps fifteen minutes before he turned to her with a little smile. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who doesn’t talk all the time.”
“I can,” she replied serenely. “I can chatter like a magpie if I have to. But I’ll admit it can be pretty wearing—on both the talker and the talkee.”
He grinned. “I never thought of it that way, exactly.”
“Don’t you like to talk?”
“Sure I like to talk, but not all the time. That’s something a lot of people don’t seem to understand. And not just women, either. They seem to think that if they’re not talking every minute their tongues are going to shrivel up and fall out of their heads. They feel this need to keep them constantly lubricated.”
Caroline laughed. “Well, you sure must have had a lot of quiet when you went out after that lion.”
“Yeah. It was nice.” He flicked a very blue glance her way. “But it’s nice to get home again, too. A man can have too much solitude, too much of his own company.” She didn’t say anything, and he went on, a little unwillingly, “I was sorry not to have seen you before I left. I wanted to apologize to you for what I said. It was on my mind the whole time—the look on your face.”
“Well, you have apologized,” she said gently.
“It was on my mind,” he repeated. Then, “Sometimes I say and do things I don’t mean.” He looked troubled. “Usually, I can keep my temper, but sometimes ...” He straightened a little in the saddle. “We’re almost there. You okay?”
“Fine.” Her voice was very soft. He had apologized obliquely for more than just his words to her, and she understood that perfectly. “I hope the water isn’t too cold,” she said, and he flashed her a boyish grin.
“Can’t be colder than the ocean in Maine,” he said, and she laughingly agreed.
The spring was lovely, set in among the mountains, clear as crystal under the high blue sky. It was very cold. Caroline tested it with her foot before she stripped down to her bathing suit, and she gave a squeak of dismay as the water lapped around her toes. Jay was beside her as she looked up, wide-eyed with shock. “It’s freezing!”
He put his own toe in. They were both barefoot but still in dungarees. “A little chilly,” he conceded.
“We’ll eat first,” Caroline said firmly. “Once I get wet we’ll have to get moving to warm me up.”
“Let’s eat then,” he said, and, picking her up, he carried her easily back to where their saddles lay on the grass.
They ate their lunch, and presently a group of deer came down to the spring to drink. They stayed perfectly still, watching the graceful animals, which didn’t seem to be aware of any human presence. After the deer had left, Caroline let out her breath as if she had been holding it.
“Yes,” said Jay softly. “I know.” He turned a little on his elbow to look at her. “You love animals, don’t you,
Cara?” His long length was stretched out in the grass, his eyes narrowed a little against the sun.
She put her own arms around her knees. “Yes.”
She hesitated, glanced at him, then said, “In fact, I once thought of becoming a vet.”
He plucked a blade of grass and began to chew on it. “What stopped you?”
“Oh, a lot of things, I suppose. I actually sent for the Tufts and Cornell graduate-school applications and catalogs, but I had the wrong undergraduate major and then I got engaged.”
“It’s tougher to get into veterinary medicine than it is to get into regular med school.”
“I know.” She rested her cheek on her updrawn knees. “I never told anyone I had sent for those applications.”
“Why not?”
“Oh ...” She stared at the grass at her feet. “I suppose I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously.” She flashed a brief smile. “It didn’t exactly fit my image.”
He grinned. “Glamour puss,” he said and sat up. Then he did a surprising thing. He reached for her hand and held it out in front of them both. She stared at it for a minute, that firm, capable, boy’s hand of hers, and then turned to look at him.
“That hand has nothing frivolous about it,” he said to her. “That could very easily be the hand of a doctor.” He looked at her very seriously. “You just didn’t want it enough.”
“I guess so.”
He returned her hand to her knee. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get this lunch packed up.”
They tidied up the remains of their picnic, and Jay went to put the leftovers in his saddlebag. Then he came back to her and lay down again. This time he put his head in her lap.
“Tell me about the hunting trip,” she said softly.
He half closed his eyes, relaxed and sleepy in the sun, and began to talk. He talked to her as he had talked to no one else—not about the danger but about the beauty, the mystery, of that solitary five days. She listened and watched his unguarded face and was astonished by the change in him. He didn’t look more than eighteen as he lay there, his brown head in her lap, his eyelashes long and dark and thick against his cheeks. Was this peaceful boy the man who had said such bitter things to her, whose anger had reduced her to tears and trembling on the hotel terrace in Sheridan? Where had that man gone? she wondered. And when would he come back again?
