Strangers on a Train

by Ruth Wind

  But how would he know where to find her? And why would he go through the trouble of sending a messenger instead of delivering it himself? No. It had to be someone else—perhaps one of her students.

  "Are we about ready?" she asked Mike.

  "You can go out any time."

  "I'm on my way." She picked up her guitar and patted her clothing down one more time. "Break a leg," she said as she exited her room.

  She waited in the wings for Mike's signal to the light man, and as the house dimmed, she straightened her spine and took her place on the stage, on a chair to one side of the set where she would remain throughout the performance. It was good exposure for her work and a chance to perform as a musician to a larger audience. Of all her jobs, this one gave her the most pleasure. She also knew that her guitar playing had become a trademark of Mike's theatrical productions.

  She strummed the first chords, an introduction to attune the audience, and heard the people settle in their seats around her, sighs of anticipation whispering from them, the sound like hundreds of birds landing softly on a tree. Heather, too, felt her dark mood melt away as the music sang over her frayed nerves. The actors and actresses for the first scene assembled themselves onstage, and soon Heather was completely lost in the artistic expression of the play.

  It went well. The timing was beyond anyone's expectations and some of the actors who had begun with the company as amateurs were coming into their own, showing fuller powers of interpretation. The audience laughed and quieted. Out of the corner of her eye, Heather saw some of them sitting forward in absorption, and she smiled to herself. The party at Mike's house tonight would be a rollicking one.

  At the happy end of the play, Heather stood with the others to take a bow before the wildly applauding and cheering audience. She curtsied with the other women, her guitar in hand, and flowers pelted them, falling on the stage in a boisterous, spontaneous display of approval. She grinned at the actress next to her and they ran offstage.

  Mike was in the wings, meeting each player with a monstrous hug. When Heather's turn came, he swept her completely off her feet and swung her around with a great laugh. "You outdid yourself tonight, my girl!" he exclaimed. "You were fantastic!"

  "Thank you."

  She made her way through the cluster of people and escaped to the small room she had to herself. In the mirror of the big dressing table, her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. The gown, she thought, was magnificent. Too bad people didn't wear things like this anymore. She twirled to feel the weighty pull of the velvet against her legs.

  The heady rush of anticipation for the future that she'd felt on the train touched her again, chasing away the residue of her nightmare. Tonight, she was free. She would wear her glorious dress this evening to the party and then at the performances tomorrow and all next week.

  In the mirror a pair of booted feet appeared at her door, and Heather turned with a smile, expecting Mike. Instead, to her consternation, she saw Ben Shaw standing in the doorway, a half grin tilting his mustache to one side. "Hi," he said simply.

  For a moment, Heather couldn't speak. He was even more handsome than she'd remembered. The dark waves of his hair gleamed in the low light of the hallway behind him, and his fathomless eyes shone with humor. Tonight he was dressed in black corduroy with a white shirt and patterned tie in red and black. The slacks fit his long legs snugly, and the tailored jacket attractively emphasized his wide shoulders. Unconsciously, she took in a sudden breath at the impact of his appearance. "Hello, Ben."

  Without taking his gaze from her, he stepped into the room, closing the distance between them. "I haven't thought about anything but you since Tuesday." He touched the tree at her neck. "Do you like it?"

  "It was you? How did you know where to find me?"

  He grinned at her question, dropping his hand. "There can't be too many places a classical guitarist could perform for a play in Pueblo. I called around until I found out where Twelfth Night was going to be." He quickly lifted an eyebrow.

  "It's beautiful, Ben," she said sincerely. "So is the ring." She lifted her hand to show it to him. Embarrassed to reveal that it was on her wedding-ring finger, she added, "That was the only finger it fit."

  "Pretty," he remarked. "I saw them at a crafts fair in the mountains the day after we got back. I couldn't resist them." He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. His fingers were strong and lean, like the rest of him; his sensual lips firm on her flesh. Again, her breath fled and she drank deeply of his face with her eyes.

  He straightened and took another step toward her. "You look beautiful tonight," he said with a smile and touched her cheek.

  Heather's gaze was frozen on the wonderful planes of his face. Until he'd appeared, she hadn't known how badly she wanted to see him again, and now that he was here, it was difficult not to throw herself into his arms at the reprieve. "Thank you." She realized she was staring like a love-struck fourteen-year-old, and found her voice. "It's good to see you."

  His deep brown eyes shone. "You, too." He smiled. "Are you free tonight?"

  "There's a party at the director's house, to celebrate the play. I'm really required to be there for a while. We might go get something to eat later, though."

  His dark eyes shone. "That sounds nice."

  "Heather, you ready?" Mike called from the hallway, stopping in his tracks when he entered the room. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had a visitor."

  Ben turned. "Hello, Mike. Long time no see."

  "Ben!" Mike slapped Ben's shoulder. "Damn, man, why don't I ever see you anymore?"

  "I gave up that life-style."

  Mike laughed. "Me, too. Amazing how your perspective changes as you get older."

  Throughout this exchange, Heather had been staring at the two of them in disbelief. "You two know one another?"

  "You better believe it." Mike threw an arm around the other man's shoulders. "This was the best bareback rider in all of high-school rodeo in 1970. He won the national prize."

  Ben winced. "Take it easy braggin' up the year, man."

  "Are you coming to the house?"

  "Yes," Heather answered. "I invited him to come with me."

  Mike gave her a long look and she lifted her chin under his scrutiny. He was the one who'd been urging her to date again. Now he would have his wish.

  "I'll see you there, then."

  As he left, Ben turned to Heather with a serious expression in his eyes. "Is that going to make a difference, my knowing Mike?"

  Heather smiled. "No. I'm glad you know him." Surprisingly, as she uttered the words, she found them to be true.

  "How did you two hook up?" Ben asked.

  "He's—he was…" Heather frowned. How did the tense work when the brother that made someone a sister-in-law was no longer living? "His brother was my husband. Did you know James, as well?"

  "Not really. He was younger than we were." Ben took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Your name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place just why. I always forget Mike and James had different last names." He turned twinkling eyes on her. "Now if you'd said your name was Heather Milisavljevich, I would have known who you were."

  "I've been with Mike often enough when he had to spell that three times," Heather said. "At least people usually get Scarborough in one spelling." His fingers felt hard and strong against hers. "Are you ready to go? I'll drive."

  In the car, neither of them spoke much. Ben seemed huge in the little vehicle, and she was acutely conscious of his leathery scent. "You can smoke if you like," she said. "I don't mind."

  "Thanks, but I can't smoke in a nonsmoker's car. It takes forever for the smell to go away."

  Heather added another virtue to her list of his qualities—consideration. So far, there was only one negative, but it was a big one. Wait and see, she reprimanded herself. At least give the guy a chance. But was it to Ben or herself she was giving a chance? That was a question she wasn't ready to answer.

  Mike's house, not far
from the theater and just north of downtown, was set amid huge elms and cottonwoods. It had been in desperate need of repair when Mike, his wife Ellen and their three children had moved in two years ago. Now, thanks to Ellen's carpentry skills, the porch was sturdy and gleaming, the staircase had been stripped of its paint and varnished, and the crumbling plaster over the brick fireplace in the living room had been removed. Mike had traded electrical wiring for rebuilding a rare old motorcycle and although the plumbing was still reliable, it was slowly being replaced, one bit at a time.

  Tonight, huge jack-o'-lanterns glowed at each corner of the porch. From within, a lilting medieval song spilled out into the night, and laughter reached Ben and Heather on the sidewalk. "Sounds like someone is having fun in there," Ben commented, taking her arm.

  "You sound like you aren't sure you will."

  He shrugged. "I'll be glad to be with you, but parties never have been something I liked a lot."

  Heather felt the same way, but she was surprised that Ben did. He seemed sociable and outgoing. "Why?"

  "I don't dance. I don't drink. And I have trouble with small talk." He glanced at her, a whisper of a smile on his lips. "That about covers party action."

  "To tell you the truth, I feel exactly the same way. But Mike would be crushed if we didn't go for a little while. We'll leave early and go have something to eat. Okay?"

  In answer, he squeezed her arm and they entered the house, strangely united.

  Ellen greeted them dressed in her costume, a rich topaz velvet with a brocaded bodice. She held a major part in every one of Mike's plays—a fact that caused some dissent among the other members of the troupe. Tonight she'd played Olivia, and had done it magnificently. Her eyes widened at the sight of Heather and Ben—more at Ben, Heather noted. "Come in, you two. Can I get you a drink?"

  "Coffee, Ellen." Heather glanced at Ben with a smile. "And plenty of sugar."

  "Sure. You know Mike." She shrugged expressively. "I'll get you some."

  "That's all right," Heather said. "You go enjoy your party. I know the way to the kitchen."

  "Oh, I don't mind." Ellen ushered them through the wide arches of living and dining rooms, through knots of people chatting about the play and dancing a ritualized step from the Middle Ages.

  "Now, that's a dance step I might be able to handle," Ben murmured to Heather.

  "It's kind of fun. I learned it for another play."

  His voice dropped even lower, taking on an intimate note. "Maybe you could teach me sometime."

  She half smiled and dipped her head.

  The kitchen was crowded, but Ellen good-naturedly elbowed a path through the people to the coffee maker. Mike stood there, a mug in his hand, chatting with a younger man whose haircut looked familiar to Heather. Mike caught sight of the trio heading his way and threw a friendly arm around the other man. "Tom. I'd like you to meet Heather Scarborough, Ben Shaw and my wife, Ellen."

  Heather smiled at the young man. "We've met. What a nice surprise, Tom." He was the student who'd shown both talent and perseverance in learning the difficult guitar piece for class earlier in the week.

  He colored, so that his fair skin showed a mottling of red from his jaw to his eyes. He nodded shyly at each of them.

  Heather noted his shyness with interest. While he played the guitar, he was relaxed, at home, unselfconscious—even more of an indication that he was a natural talent. What held him back? She made a mental note to ask Mike about Tom's background. Perhaps it would contain some clue that would help her to convince the guitarist to pursue his gift.

  Now she poured a cup of coffee for herself and Ben. "Sugar, Mike?"

  He grabbed a squat bowl. Heather passed it to Ben with a smile. The brown eyes glittered in amusement. "I'm touched you remember."

  "It's difficult to forget that much sugar in one cup of coffee."

  Mike looked at Ben. "So, you went out and got yourself famous? I've read all your books, man. You're good."

  "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you. You must've read every book in the school library."

  Heather's eyebrows flew as she glanced at her brother-in-law. "You were a bookworm?"

  Ben laughed, and his hand touched the small of her back, comforting and warm. "More like a rebel worm. He'd come to school all dressed in black leather, with his hair grown way past decency, then sit on his motorcycle in the parking lot, reading."

  "I was so self-consciously rebellious," Mike admitted ruefully. "It embarrasses me now."

  Heather had laughed with the others at the strangely acute picture of Mike as a teenager. "What was Ben like?"

  Mike shook his head. "I wish I could say he was weird in some way, but he wasn't. He rode rodeos, but he wasn't a redneck. He played basketball, but he wasn't a stuck-up jock. He made the honor role every semester, but he never said a word about it, and he didn't spend all his time in the library, either." Mike looked at Ben with admiration. "He was always cool in high school. Later… Now that was a different story."

  "And one we won't go into just now, if you don't mind. I'm on my best behavior." Ben slipped his hand into Heather's. "She promised to teach me a dance."

  Just before he pulled her away, Heather looked at Tom. "I want you to find a new piece to play for me next week, okay?"

  "I'd like to learn one of yours, if you'd let me."

  "I'd be honored. I'll bring some with me to class." He nodded solemnly. Heather followed Ben into the other room.

  The dancers had paused, so Heather and Ben took seats near the bay window in the candlelit room to watch the other festivities. Ellen led a bobbing contest, and came up with an apple caught between her small white teeth. For a moment she paused, dancing to the flutes and drums in the background as the gathered merrymakers cheered.

  "What was it you didn't want Mike to tell me in there?" Heather asked.

  He wiggled his nose and smiled. "Nothing much. Just that I was a real hell-raiser for a while when I got back home from Vietnam."

  "I'm disappointed," she teased, amazed even as she said it that she could be so natural with him. "I was hoping for something dramatic and exciting."

  He grinned at her. "Nope."

  For a long stretch of seconds, Heather fell adrift in his eyes, seeing suddenly very deeply into his soul, perceiving a complex man with pains and joys and sorrows and hopes that she wanted very much to learn about. She dropped her eyes, confused by that wish. Until a week ago, she hadn't known he existed.

  "What were you like in high school, Heather?"

  "Oh, very studious and quiet. One of those wall-flower girls no one ever notices."

  "I can't believe that. I would have noticed you, I bet."

  "No," she said regretfully. "You would have noticed Ellen."

  "Wrong. I didn't develop a taste for women like that until a whole lot later." His fingers, soft and whispery and sensual, moved slowly over Heather's forearm. "In high school, I had more sense. I liked smart girls with something they cared about outside of me."

  Heather smiled faintly, but didn't believe him. Suddenly a question occurred to her. "Where do you live, anyway, Mr. Shaw?"

  He grinned, showing his white teeth below the mustache. "In Beulah."

  Beulah was a small town at the foot of the Rockies, thirty miles outside Pueblo. She nodded. "I, um, did buy one of your books. Well, actually two, but I haven't read the second one yet."

  Ben became abruptly still, poised for her response. Observing the action, Heather realized that Ben cared a great deal about his work, despite what he said.

  But when he spoke, his voice was even, casually interested. "Which ones?"

  "A Christmas Tale. The second one was Finding the Circle."

  He nodded but didn't meet her eyes. Somehow his reaction touched Heather deeply. "You didn't tell me you were such a fine writer."

  His sable gaze met hers slowly. "Don't say anything you don't mean, Heather."

  "I'm not." She sighed. "I didn't like the violence. In fact, I
nearly quit reading it when I got to the massacre. And it gave me nightmares." She let go a short, humorless laugh. "Or rather, it brought back my old friends."

  "I know a little about nightmares," he said. "I get rid of mine on the pages of those books. It's good therapy. Maybe the same thing would work with your music."

  Heather doubted it. Composing had been difficult since James's death. "Maybe," she replied without much hope. Her attention shifted to the dancers, who were assembled for the dance Ben had liked. "Would you still like to try that one? We have room in our corner here. We don't have to join them."

  "Sure." He set his coffee cup on a nearby table and stood, offering his hand to help her up.

  She paused for a moment to listen to the music, and looked at Ben. "We face one another like this." Her hands were buried in the soft velvet of her skirt, and she curtsied deeply. "Now, two steps backward, two steps to the side. All very slowly."

  Ben mimicked her with surprising grace, his face showing a faint smile.

  "Now, two steps forward and we circle, palm to palm." She pressed her palm to his and her gaze caught his lips. "Now the other palm the other way." Her voice dropped to a murmur as he complied. The room dropped away. She imagined they stood in a castle great-room, dancing within the stone walls as torchlight flickered over his hair. "Now, two steps back, turn, turn back, and we meet with both palms." As their hands met, Heather felt a jolt of electricity travel through her arms, landing in a pool in her stomach. Her heart thumped in her throat as she looked up into his face. "Now we repeat the whole thing," she said softly.

  He had a facile memory, for he followed her directions without missing a step. When they came together for the first circle, his gaze held hers. "You are so beautiful, Heather," he murmured.

  The gentle smile was gone from his eyes, and in its place was a sultry glimmer that made her breath catch. Her pulse surged erratically through her body as she turned to offer her other hand. The music and the ritual of the ancient dance made the touch of their palms an intensely intimate gesture, and each time she reached up to press his hand, Heather felt her skin leaping with greater and greater sensitivity until her palms nearly burned when they met both of his. Her breathing felt as if it were a thing apart from her and this moment wrapped in the music with Ben.