by Peggy Webb
“How are you, Janice?”
“Great. I was outside gathering acorns and fall leaves for a little project at school. We’re going to have an autumn festival, you see...”
When Janice got wound up about her children, the name she used to refer to her students, she could go on for hours. Bolton was not only patient with her stories, but interested in them. Janice was one of the unsung heroes who brought enthusiasm as well as skill and talent to the classroom, one of the thousands of great teachers whose only reward would be the success of the young people she taught. He admired her for what she did and loved her for the way she did it, loved her not as he loved Virginia, not in the soul-deep way of two people who were destined by fate to be together, but in the sweet, quiet way of friends who want only the best for each other.
Janice was breathless when she finished her tale.
“Oh, my. Just listen to me prattling on. How about you, Bolton. How is your trip?”
It was the perfect opening. He sent a quick prayer winging upward that he could tell the truth in the kindest way possible.
“Janice, sometimes things start out to be one thing and turn into another. That’s what has happened to me. What started out to be an assignment turned out to be a miracle.”
There was a small strangled cry on the other end of the line. If he could have done this any other way, he would have. He would have preferred being face-to-face with Janice, being there to hold her hand and wipe her tears, for he knew they were inevitable. But he couldn’t live a lie. He couldn’t be with Virginia while Janice was back home in Arizona thinking he’d come home to her.
There had to be an ending before he could hope for a beginning.
“What are you saying, Bolton?”
“Janice, you know that I think you’re a wonderful woman—kind, sweet, talented, intelligent. You’re a good friend and a good companion, and I enjoy your company. But I’ve never pretended to be in love with you.”
“You’ve met someone else.” Her calm manner surprised and pleased him. He’d been prepared to deal with hysterics.
“Yes, she’s...”
“Bolton, listen to me. I don’t care if you have a fling. Sometimes people get carried away...”
He could hear her mounting hysteria, and he wanted to stop her before she said things she’d later regret.
“Janice...”
“... and then when they get back home they realize that nothing has changed, that they were just sowing a few wild oats... and that’s okay with me, really it is.” She choked on a sob.
“Janice, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Bolton... excuse me, just give me a minute.” Janice struggled for control and won. “You’re neither manipulative nor unkind. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. I know you didn’t deliberately set out to find someone else.”
“Not just someone. My fate. My destiny.”
There was a long silence broken only by muffled sniffs and sighs.
“Janice... are you all right?”
“I’m all right, really I am.” She drew a deep resigned breath. “Bolton, if I thought I had a ghost of a chance to change your mind, I would. I would beg and plead and maybe even threaten, but I’m not willing to embarrass myself or you. Lord knows I’ve embarrassed myself enough already.” Her laugh was shaky, but at least she was laughing. “Your heritage may be half in one world and half in another, but in some things you’re all Apache. When you speak of fate, I know there is no use trying to change your mind.”
“How did I ever get so lucky as to have a friend like you, Janice?”
“Can we still be friends, Bolton?”
“I’d like that, Janice. I’d like it very much.”
“So would I.” There was a long pause, and he could almost see the deep breaths she took as she pulled herself together. “Bolton... who is she? Or is that a fair question?”
“It’s fair. In fact, I think you have a right to know. It’s Virginia Haven.”
“Virginia Haven?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t she...”
“What?” There was a long silence before Janice spoke.
“You’ve always wanted children, Bolton, and I know I’ve read somewhere... Isn’t she too...” Janice was stumbling now over her words, too polite to come right out and say what she meant. “I think she has a grown daughter.”
“This is not a problem for me, Janice.”
“I see... Bolton... if things don’t work out, I’m here for you.”
“I don’t want you to have false hopes.”
“I’m not... I just want you to know...” There was a long pause, and then a small sniffle. Then Janice was back on the line, attempting to laugh. “You’re right, as usual. I’m being a silly goose.”
“Will you be all right, Janice?”
“I’m going to be fine. Just fine. You go back to your Virginia, and I’m going to get on with my life.”
“Good girl. Take care, Janice.”
“You too. And Bolton... I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
Bolton packed the rest of his gear, then turned his face west toward Pontotoc, west toward the woman he loved.
SIX
Virginia woke up filled with a sense of urgency, as if she were being pursued. Her body was tensed for flight, but deep down she knew that no matter how fast she ran, she could never outdistance the thing that was closing in on her.
Automatically she turned toward the pillow where Bolton lay sleeping. He would protect her, he would make everything all right. She started to call his name, and then changed her mind. He was gorgeous, spread across her bed like a resplendent god.
She watched the even rise and fall of his chest, the soft flutter of his lashes, the half smile that twitched across his mouth. One hand was flung palm up over his head, the other lying across his chest.
Bolton had been with her for almost a week and it felt as if he’d been a part of her life forever. She couldn’t imagine how she’d ever gone to sleep without him by her side or how she’d ever been able to face a day without first being kissed awake by her magnificent Apache warrior.
She rested her head on his chest, not moving, not trying to incite passion, merely listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. She lifted herself on elbows and studied him. Suddenly she was staring straight into eyes.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
“Just looking.” She traced his face with her fingertips. “Memorizing.”
“You don’t have to memorize. I’ll be here for you. Always.”
“Shhh.” She covered his mouth with her hands. “Don’t say anything to mar this day.”
He pulled her into a fierce embrace, and then kissed all her troubled thoughts away. With the sun dappling the covers, they made slow, exquisite love. And after it was over, she propped herself on pillows against the headboard, deliberately not touching him.
“You have to leave today,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Candace is coming home for the weekend. She’s bringing a friend.”
“I want to get to know Candace better. I think meeting her friends is a good start.”
“Bolton... don’t.”
“Are you ashamed of me, Virginia?”
“Ashamed of you? Don’t be absurd.”
“Then why do you want me to leave?”
“I think that’s obvious.”
“The only thing that’s obvious to me is that you’ve made a decision about something that affects me without my knowledge and without my consent.”
She had never seen Bolton this way. He burned white-hot, not with rage but with determination. Everything about him was steely, his eyes, the set of his face, the way he held his body.
She shivered with excitement.
Suddenly her pillow was jerked away and she was underneath him, her hands pinned over her head.
“At least tell me the rules,” he sai
d.
“What rules?”
“The ones you’re playing by.”
“There are no rules.”
“The code then. What’s the code of behavior?”
“Let me up, Bolton.”
“Not until we talk.”
“Can’t we talk like civilized human beings?”
“Apparently not. You don’t discuss things with me; you merely make decisions and then tell me what you’ve decided.” He applied gentle pressure with his hips and hands. “Talk to me, Virginia.”
She’d known Bolton was not a man who could be manipulated, but she’d never counted on him being the kind of man who wouldn’t give in to reason. Her reason.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Bolton.”
“These are not hard questions, Virginia. They’re honest ones. And they deserve honest answers.”
She’d never met a man so implacable. Today she didn’t feel like handling implacable. Next week, maybe. Or even next month. But not today.
“All right. You want an honest answer. I’m forty-eight years old, and I live by codes that you’re too young to understand.”
His entire body tensed, and his eyes turned the color of thunderclouds.
“Do you think love knows or cares about age?” This time the pressure he applied with his hips was not subtle. “I don’t care if you’re fifty-eight. That doesn’t change a thing. I love you, and I have no intention of walking away quietly. If you want to get rid of me, Virginia, you’re going to have to give me a better reason than that.”
“Oh, God, Bolton. I don’t want to get rid of you.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him hard. “I don’t... I don’t.”
He parted her thighs with his knees and slid home. There was no gentleness in him now, only the power of a man determined to make a woman his own. The mattress moved out of line with the box spring and the bed moved two inches away from the wall.
Everything about Virginia set him on fire, the way she raked her fingernails across his back, the way she flung back her head when she moaned, the soft expanse of neck that invited his kisses, the sweet, hot invitation of her thrusting hips. His passion escalated.
She was his, only his, and he would never let her go. Never.
He understood her needs, knew exactly how to please her, how to please himself.
The door to her bath was open, and the floor-length mirrors reflected their joining, the way they fit together, the way they moved, the way they loved.
He couldn’t get enough of her, nor she of him. In their lovemaking there was no thought of past or future. Only here. Only now. Only the certainty that the kind of magic they had came once in a lifetime, and the desperate need to hang on and never let go.
Sweat slicked their backs, their chests, their thighs. It dampened her hair and dripped off his face onto hers. And still they loved.
“I’ve never had anyone like you, Bolton. Never.”
And she knew she never would again. When he gave his cry of completion, she crushed him to her and hid her face against his chest.
“I don’t want you to go, Bolton,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He raised himself on elbows, and with gentle fingers wiped her tears away. “Don’t cry. I’m not going, Virginia.”
“Candace is coming... In all the years I’ve been alone, I’ve never had a man in my bedroom while she’s in the house.”
“I understand. I’ll pack my things and move back to the motel while she’s here.”
“You can stay in the guest house.”
“It’ll give me a chance to get my notes together for that article.” His smile was like quicksilver.
She curled her fingers in his hair, and held him there, smiling up at him.
“Bolton... I want you to meet Candace’s friends.”
“As what? The photojournalist who is doing a piece about you or as your lover?”
“I’ll think about that when the time comes.”
o0o
The time came far sooner than Virginia imagined.
Candace and Marge Rutland arrived late in the afternoon, and Bolton stayed in the guest house, giving Virginia and the girls time alone. He and Virginia had a carefully planned strategy.
“You mean you’re consulting me?” he’d said, teasing her. “That’s a first.”
“I’m afraid of the punishment you mete out when I don’t.”
“Afraid?” His hand was on the back of her neck, big and warm and solid. “Come here.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Afraid, Virginia?”
“Hungry is a better word, Bolton. I’m hungry for everything you give me.”
Standing on tiptoe in the kitchen, she kissed him until both of them felt the hot stirring of passion. Virginia disentangled herself and made two tall glasses of lemonade.
“To cool us off. Otherwise Candace will find us on the kitchen floor, and then I’ll have a different sort of explaining to do.”
Over lemonade they’d planned for Bolton to join them for dinner, then afterward they would all go dancing.
It sounded like a safe plan, one that would not invite questions. Neither of them had counted on Marge’s reaction to Bolton.
The minute he walked in the door the vivacious redhead was smitten. Virginia could see it in the dazzling smile she turned on him, the body language, the not so subtle jockeying to sit beside him at the dinner table.
She wasn’t surprised. Any woman in her right mind would be dazzled by Bolton Gray Wolf. What surprised Virginia were her own feelings. She was jealous, pure and simple, and of a young woman she’d always treated like a second daughter.
“I’ve never met a real photojournalism,” Marge said, batting her big brown eyes at Bolton. “Candace tells me you’ve done layouts in all the major magazines and that you’ve traveled all over the world. That must be so exciting!”
Any residual maternal feelings she’d had for Marge flew out the window.
“My, my, that sounds so wonderful,” Marge said, leaning toward Bolton, all but drooling.
Virginia actually wanted to slap her face. What in the world was happening to her?
“I’ve always wanted to travel around the world,” Marge added.
Virginia had to bite her tongue to keep from saying, “Why don’t you start right now?” Instead she picked up a bowl of potatoes and thrust them at Marge.
“I know how you love these, Marge. Why don’t you have a second helping?”
“I’m watching my figure.” Marge preened in a way that assured her Bolton was watching it too. “But thank you, anyway, Mrs. Haven.”
Mrs. Haven, indeed. The way Marge said it made Virginia feel a hundred years old. Next thing she knew Marge would be offering to lead her to a rocking chair and cover her with a shawl.
“Well,” she said, hoping her false smile didn’t crack and fall off her face, “why don’t we all get our sweaters and pile into the car? I don’t know about you girls, but I’m eager to dance the light fantastic.”
“Dance the light fantastic?” Marge wrinkled her forehead. “Is that an expression from the twenties or something?”
Virginia was so mad, she was beyond words. Candace came to her rescue.
“That’s the way writers talk, Marge. You ought to live here. Sometimes I think I’m in the middle of a grade B movie... or outer space.” Looking at Virginia, Candace wrinkled her nose in the way she did when she was puzzled. “Mother, could I borrow one of your sweaters? I didn’t pack anything except that scruffy old red cotton thing I wear around the barn.”
“Sure, baby. In the closet. Help yourself.”
“Could you help me? I could spend the next two hours searching your closet and never find anything.”
Virginia was almost panicky at the thought of leaving Marge and her raging hormones alone with Bolton. As if he’d read Virginia’s mind, he smiled reassuringly.
“We’ll be fine, Virginia. If Marge doesn’t mind boring stories, I think I have en
ough travel tales to keep her entertained.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Virginia said.
“Not at all. But hurry back. I don’t have your knack for being the most exciting person in a room.”
“Mother, what in the world is going on?” Candace said as soon as they were upstairs with the bedroom door closed.
Virginia had always been open with her daughter. She debated briefly about revealing her affair, then decided that what she did in the privacy of her own bedroom was none of her daughter’s business. Besides, in a few days Bolton would be gone, and that would be the end of it.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Nothing? That’s not how you looked at the dinner table.”
“How did I look at the dinner table?”
“Like you’d received a rotten review or had one of those creative differences with your editor. Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
“I’m sure.” Virginia felt as if she’d betrayed the two people she loved most—Bolton and Candace. She quickly turned her back and rummaged through her closet until she could pull herself together. “How about this blue one? I think it looks good with your eyes.”
“Fine. I really don’t care what kind of sweater I wear. Anything looks all right with jeans.” She shrugged into her mother’s sweater. “Marge is bowled over by the journalist.”
“Bolton?” Virginia tried for nonchalant and failed miserably.
“Who else? He’s the only journalist here.” Candace laughed. “Wouldn’t that be great? My very best friend falling in love with somebody we introduced her to?”
“Don’t you think he’s a little too... mature for her?”
“She likes older men. Besides, he can’t be more than thirty.”
“Thirty-five.” Virginia smoothed the covers where she’d lain with him, then walked to her dressing table and started fiddling with her hair. She was so nervous, she dropped the brush.
“Mother, you’re a basket case tonight. Do you have another book idea running around in your head or something?”
“Or something. Hey, are we going to stay up here talking all night, or are we going to the Bullpen?”
“Why don’t you lie down and rest awhile. You look kind of tired to me.”
“Stop treating me as if I need a cane and shawl.”
