"And I suppose you think that's something to be proud of!" she said, lashing out hotly.
"Damned right, I do," he agreed blandly. "So you might as well tell me what's bothering you, because we're not going anywhere till you do—not if we have to stay here all day."
"Very well," she said stiffly. "You promised you wouldn't make any demands on me and already you've gone back on your word."
"Correction! I said I wouldn't make any demands you're not prepared to meet."
"But you kissed me this morning!" She glared at him accusingly.
"So?" He shrugged. "Can you honestly say you didn't enjoy it?" His eyes refused to relinquish their hold on hers. However badly she might want to look away, she watched, mesmerized, as they darkened and settled on her soft pink mouth. When she made no reply, he leaned closer and murmured, "I think what's really eating you is that I haven't been demanding enough!"
This time Garth's kiss quickly progressed from tenderly insistent to frankly sensuous, and her response was immediate, intense, and undeniable. She matched his passion with an unexpected voluptuousness of her own. Her lips moved eagerly beneath his, her breathing quickened, her heartbeat raced until it mingled so thoroughly with his that she could not have said where hers ended and his began. But when her lips parted enticingly, wanting him to deepen the kiss, he declined the invitation. She sensed that he was deliberately withholding this further intimacy from her, and his rigid control was frustrating, maddening.
It dawned on her that he was doing this to prove his claim that she wanted him to be more demanding, and it was she who moved away.
Julie was shaken by what she'd learned about herself. Until that kiss, if she'd been asked to characterize in a single word her manner toward the opposite sex, the word she would have chosen was reserved. While admittedly this was not from any specific knowledge she had about the kind of woman she was, she instinctively felt the appropriateness of it. Now she knew that her reaction to Garth was completely without reserve.
Though the pressure of his lips had been gentle, her mouth felt bruised; she was trembling, and she could no longer tell herself that he had forced her into doing anything against her will. He had touched her only with his lips. She had been held captive solely by the sweetness of his soft exploration of her mouth.
She was dismayed at the ease with which he could arouse her. She knew that her expression was far too revealing and tried to keep her eyes downcast, but he cupped her chin with his hand and made her look at him.
"It's a relief to know you haven't forgotten how to do that." He smiled down at her engagingly. "I guess it's like riding a bicycle. Your mind may not remember, but your body does."
"Please," she pleaded raggedly. "Don't laugh at me."
"I won't," he said softly. "Not about this. Never about this."
Julie touched her mouth with one hand and quickly, almost frantically, ran her fingertips over her delicately molded brows and cheekbones as though by doing so, she might discover something in the unfamiliar contours of her features that would make her less a stranger to herself.
"I don't know myself!" she cried.
Garth stilled the hand that was restlessly searching her face with his fingers. He smoothed the hair back from her temples and said with quiet confidence, "Trust me, Julie. I know you."
Their glances locked, and for long moments words were unnecessary. She saw tenderness in his eyes; she saw integrity and determination. She saw that he was one thing in her life that was real and solid and reassuring, that he was someone secure and constant for her to hold on to while she found herself. And he saw the dawning of faith in her eyes.
"I have something to show you," he said.
Reaching in front of her, he flipped open the glove compartment and withdrew several photographs. The first one he handed her was a formal portrait of a wedding party—her wedding party. The bride's face was the one she saw when she looked in the mirror, yet it was different somehow. And the difference, hard to pinpoint though it was, was disconcerting. For the time being she avoided looking at the bride in order to study the other people in the picture.
One was a young woman of about Julie's age. She was quite lovely and very fair. Her blond hair had a pale shimmer that rivaled the ivory satin of the bridal gown.
"Your cousin Diane." Garth answered her unspoken question.
"She's very beautiful," Julie murmured. She was also very unhappy. Her smile was wide enough but it was strained. It didn't reach her eyes.
"These are her parents," Garth explained, pointing them out. "Your uncle, Rupert Hastings, and his wife, Charlotte."
Julie's brow was furrowed with concentration as she studied her uncle and aunt. They were probably in their late forties or early fifties, although it was possible that Charlotte was younger. She actually looked much younger than that, and if it hadn't been for her supercilious expression, she would have had a cameolike beauty.
Rupert Hastings was handsome, and gave an overall impression of self-assured urbanity. His posture was erect and vigorous and his skin was smooth and unlined, but there was something about him that didn't ring true. Was it a lack of character about his face? Surely there was a touch of vanity in the way his improbably dark hair was styled in deep waves about his forehead, in the tightly sucked-in stomach that made the most of his chest and the least of his waistline. And there was a slackness about his jaw that might denote an element of weakness.
"It's easy to see where Diane gets her good looks," she commented noncommittally. She found she was abstractedly rubbing her temple to ease her tension, and she was relieved to turn her attention to Garth's laughing countenance.
She smiled, unaware that she did so. His enjoyment was so apparent, she felt she shared whatever joke had prompted him to laugh so unrestrainedly for the photographer.
"Why do you look so irreverent?" she inquired lightly.
"Look at yourself," he replied dryly. "You don't look very solemn either."
"No," she conceded in a small voice. "I don't, do I."
Now she saw what it was that made the difference between Julie-in-the-mirror and Julie-the-bride. The bride was laughing as merrily as Garth. She was radiant with happiness, and it was happiness that gave her the lively beauty that made her worthy of such a husband.
Garth handed her another picture. This one showed the bride and groom dancing, with Garth holding Julie-the-bride as if she were as fragile as porcelain and infinitely precious to him. While they danced, they gazed at one another so longingly, it was as if they were making love to one another in their thoughts, with their eyes.
She felt like a voyeur, viewing such an intimate exchange, and hurriedly passed the wedding photographs back to him.
"No comment?" Garth raised an eyebrow at her. "This is the last one," he said as he held out the final picture.
It was a candid shot, blurred and out of focus, but in spite of the poor quality of the picture she recognized the locale. She recognized the beach, the cloudless sky, the sparkling turquoise sea, the rocky headland in the distance. She knew the Julie in the picture. She had felt her joy, experienced her excitement, her anticipation.
She was light-headed and she closed her eyes tightly. "Where was this taken?" she asked. Her voice was barely audible.
"Near Carmel." Garth's breath was warm on her cheek, and she knew he was watching her closely. "Do you remember it?"
"I had a dream about a place like this."
"I took that snapshot of you on our honeymoon." Garth's tone was low and urgent. "You were at your uncooperative best! You refused to stand still long enough for me to get you in the viewfinder. You kept racing the waves and playing in the surf and splashing me until I finally got fed up with your pranks and threatened to throw you in the water. Then you ran away down the beach toward the rocks with me hot on your trail, and when I caught you—"
"Don't," she protested weakly. "Please don't."
"I didn't throw you in, Julie," he finished softly.
/> "In my dream I couldn't see your face. Even after I woke up, I felt so lost and afraid."
"Then look at me now, Julie."
Slowly she complied. Relief washed over her when she saw the gold flecks were back in his eyes. He was so near, she could make out the nearly invisible line of his beard. Her gaze wandered hungrily over the clean line of his jaw, along the leanness of his cheeks and the proud jut of his nose to return to his eyes.
"You see!" He grinned triumphantly. "There's nothing to be afraid of now."
"But I still can't remember, except for that one thing."
"That's a beginning. We'll just have to work a bit harder on the rest."
He brushed his knuckles against the point of her jaw in a mock blow designed to offer encouragement, telling her she could roll with the punches.
"At least I've gained your confidence," he said.
Buoyed by his optimism, she smiled back at him as she nodded her agreement.
Chapter Three
All one had to do was read a road map of Wyoming and the spirit of the state became clear. Julie was fascinated by the place names on the map Garth had tossed into her lap when they'd left Green River, asking her to be navigator and chart their course to Kemmerer.
The rivers for instance. Not only were their names descriptive of their courses and character, they were poetic as well.
Here was the Powder River, which was synonymous with the Old West. There were the Sweetwater and the Bitter, the Yellowstone and the Snake. Here was the Platte, reputed to be too yellow to drink and too thin to paint with. But of them all her favorite was the Wind River. Surely it must be as powerful and persevering as its namesake. It must be a stream that was tireless enough to carve great chasms through solid stone. A stream that was changeable; by turns swift-flowing or gentle. Fickle enough to suddenly change its name and become the Big Horn.
Some of the names of the towns might reflect the attitude of their pioneer settlers toward them. Here was Dull Center and only thirty miles away was a town named Bright, perhaps in honor of the governor who was instrumental in legislating the vote for women. There were Superior and Freedom—and Goose Egg.
At the end of a back road in the middle of nowhere was a town called Halfway. Halfway to where? she wondered. To heaven? To civilization? To Oregon perhaps?
There was Hole in the Wall, a reminder of outlaw gangs and posses, of ambush and lynch law. And how could one see the words Alkali Flat and not feel the harshness of the place?
The Indian names were particularly colorful. Medicine Bow and Spotted Horse, Ten Sleep and Sundance—each of these names must be worth at least a thousand pictures.
There was Hell's Half Acre and Paradise Valley, and Julie thought that these two names illustrated the violent diversity of this land; it might well serve as a caldron in nature's laboratory, so infinite was its variety. From its snow-capped mountain ranges to the canyons and dry washes of its badlands, from the rich grasslands of its prairies to the arid sage of its deserts, it was tempered by the glaring heat of summer and by winter's arctic chill and, except for an ocean, there was at least one of everything here.
She felt an affinity for its unyielding terrain. In fact, when they'd driven away from the hospital this morning, she'd been so intrigued by it that she hadn't immediately noticed that they were traveling in a direction that took them away from the airport at Rock Springs. It was not until Garth pulled into the parking lot of a general store that she'd realized that fact.
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked.
"You'll need some clothes," Garth replied. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner, or I'd have brought some of your things with me."
"Surely that's not necessary just for the flight home!"
"We're not going home for a while," he countered as he ushered her into the building. "We're going to take some time together to become reacquainted. I thought we'd head for Jackson Hole for a few days. There's someone there I'd like to see."
Her step faltered and her eyes were wide with astonishment as she looked up at him. "But, Garth—"
"Don't argue, Julie," he said firmly. "Trust me."
She had. As he had advised, she selected some jeans and shirts, several changes of underwear, a fleece-lined denim vest, and a warm bulky knit sweater. It had been a relief to exchange the ill-fitting sandals for desert boots of glove-soft suede.
She was surprised by Garth's patience as he waited for her to make her choices and try things on in the cluttered stockroom of the store.
At his suggestion she'd included a couple of less casual outfits; the cream-colored pantsuit that she was now wearing and a long dress fashioned of a fine synthetic. It felt wonderfully silky next to her skin, and its splashy print of sunset colors was flattering to her midnight-dark hair and eyes. They even found a handbag and some sandals, which were her size, that she could wear with the dress.
"Is there anything else you need?" Garth asked.
She shook her head doubtfully. "I can't think of anything."
By now she was beginning to feel a bit tired from the emotional upheavals of the morning and the unaccustomed activity of the shopping. Her knees were suddenly too shaky to support her, and she leaned against the counter, watching without participating in the consultation that took place between Garth and the clerk regarding cosmetics and stockings and accessories.
The salesgirl was very attractive in a robust, earthy way. Though she was no more than high school age, she had an aura of sexuality that was unmistakable. With rapidly fading amusement Julie observed that her technique was as well developed as her figure. She practiced her hot-eyed glances and moist-lipped smiles on Garth, fluttering her lashes and walking with a sinuous swing of her hips that was so exaggerated, it would have been comical had it not been so skillfully done.
I'll bet her eyelashes are false, Julie wagered silently. It made her even more disgruntled than before to have to admit she had sunk to that level of bitchiness, but the girl's blatant seductiveness set her teeth on edge. Garth might not be encouraging the salesgirl's behavior, but he certainly wasn't doing anything to discourage it.
"I'm going to wait in the car," she announced shortly, stalking out of the store before he could stop her.
Though it was early October, the temperature was in the eighties; with the sun beating down, even with the windows open, the inside of the car was stifling. Julie removed her jacket and undid the topmost buttons of her blouse, but all too soon the heat became intolerable.
What was taking Garth so long? she wondered crossly as she climbed out of the car to wander toward the belt of cottonwoods that bordered one side of the parking area. A cooling breeze fanned her flushed cheeks. After the airless interior of the sedan it was delightfully refreshing under the trees.
She found a bench in the shady grove and sat looking at the river. It made a lazy curve around this small peninsula; its waters looked serene and its muddy-green surface was darkened intermittently by the wind. She threw some pebbles in, one by one, and watched the concentric spreading of the ripples.
Downstream, on the far shore, the channel was defined by sheer bluffs that rose a hundred feet or more and flat-topped buttes that assumed a tarnished-copper hue where the sun struck them.
Under the influence of this peaceful scene her mood became more placid as well. She acknowledged that she was jealous and chastised herself for allowing such a trifling incident to bother her. By the time Garth emerged from the store, she was able to respond spontaneously to his smile and say hello to him without sounding peevish.
She saw that he'd gone so far as to buy a zippered duffel bag and have her purchases packed into it for her, and she was touched by his thoughtfulness. She also felt horribly petty.
Blinking rapidly to hold back tears, she said miserably, "You think of everything."
"I try to," he returned cheerfully. As if she needed proof that nothing was too trivial to escape his notice, he added, "You're not crying, are you?"
"
Of course not. It's only that the sun was in my eyes."
Though he nodded judiciously, his knowing look told her she hadn't succeeded in misleading him. "Thank you for the clothes and everything," she said in a chastened voice as he turned onto the highway. His careless shrug dismissed the issue of being of no consequence.
Before they left Green River, they stopped at a small cafe for lunch. In the booth next to theirs was a family with two small daughters, perhaps three and six years old. Both of these junior sirens were captivated by Garth, but because Julie had her back to them she didn't realize they were flirting with him until she overheard their mother scolding them for their rudeness in staring. Though it had earned them their mother's disapproval, they persisted, and as she and Garth waited for their order and ate the meal, Julie was amazed to see that the unblinking attention of the little girls had rattled Garth, where the more adult techniques of Miss McKenna, Mrs. Jenkins, and the salesgirl had failed to do so.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, repeatedly checked his wristwatch, and hurried her through her own lunch. She was so rushed, she burned her mouth trying to gulp down her tea and finally, as a concession to him, she left it half finished.
"What are you grinning about?" he growled as they returned to the car.
She smiled sunnily up at him. "I was just thinking that you have the same effect on females of all ages."
Though Garth failed to appreciate the humor in this, Julie smiled about it again while she nodded drowsily over the road map. Her body was deliciously relaxed, and her mind wandered somewhere in the carefree limbo between sleeping and waking.
She had thought it might make her nervous to ride in a car for the first time since the accident, but Garth was an excellent driver; very smooth, very assured. Since he'd once driven in races, she supposed that was to be expected. She would have to remember to ask him about that sometime soon.
Before they'd left the cafe, he'd slid a cassette into the stereo; she suspected he'd done it to discourage idle conversation. She recognized both the singer and the song. It was strange that she knew James Taylor's voice, that she even knew he was performing a song composed by Carole King, yet she had no memories about herself.
Promises to Keep Page 3
