by Carol Grace
“Didn't take the news well, then? About your lying to her?”
Zeb shook his head. “Didn't even get a chance to tell her.” He laughed but he felt like crying. “She's selling us the land, though. Doesn't want it. Wants to go back to her ex. It's déjà vu all over again, Sam.”
Sam put his arm around his brother's shoulder and they walked to the house. When they got to the kitchen through the back door, Sam shoved his brother into a chair and put the coffeepot on.
“Let's go over this again,” Sam said.
“Spare me.”
But Sam insisted. “She came over to say goodbye, right?”
Zeb nodded.
“Because she suddenly decided she was going to give up her dream of a spa and go back to her ex-husband?”
“Yes, I told you, yes.”
“I don't get it.”
“That's the way women are,” Zeb said bitterly.
Still hearing Chloe's words echo in his head. Summer romance. I miss him, too.
“No they're not. Not Chloe. It doesn't make sense her bolting like that.”
“Joanne did.”
“Chloe isn't Joanne. She's different. She's real. She's in love with you. I swear I heard it in her voice, I saw it in her eyes.”
Zeb glanced up at his brother. The poor guy was so serious, so intent on saving Zeb's feelings. It was really touching.
“It's okay,” Zeb said. “I understand, even if you don't. I'm fine with it, really.” He lifted his cup. “Thanks for the coffee. This is what I need. A shot of caffeine and I'll be okay. She just caught me off guard, that's all.”
Sam looked dubious. If only Zeb could convince him, but first he had to convince himself.
“What if she found out,” Sam said, pulling up a chair to sit across from Zeb. “About the dam, I mean.”
“She didn't. I told you I didn't get a chance to tell her.”
“I mean from someone else,” Sam suggested.
“She hasn't been anywhere else except with us,” Zeb said. “We made sure of that Who would have told her?”
“Anyone. Wilma, Barney, Archie.”
“Uh-uh. I would have known. You don't know her. She would have been furious. Exploded. She wasn't. She was calm. In control. I made a complete ass of myself. Telling her I loved her.” He buried his head in his hands.
Sam jumped to his feet. “I'm going over there and find out what this is all about.”
“No, you're not.”
“Then you go,” Sam said.
“What, so I can hear it all over again? How she doesn't feel anything for me except gratitude, how she doesn't belong here, that all she wanted was a summer romance? I've had enough for one day, I'll go tomorrow,” he said, just to pacify his brother.
He had no intention of ever setting foot on Paradise Springs again. He could never soak in that tub again without thinking of her, without remembering how she floated above him, her breasts only inches away from his lips, teasing and tantalizing him to the brink of no return. He didn't want to drink from her mineral springs or ride his horse through her orchard either. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
“She might be gone by tomorrow,” Sam said.
“I know.”
She was gone the next day. Despite himself, Zeb rode over, drawn there like a magnet, half hoping, half dreading she'd still be there. But she wasn't. Some of her things were still there. Her hammock swung in the breeze between two trees. Her tin cup and plate were on a rock next to her campsite. Otherwise the place was deserted. Water dripped listlessly into the pool, the bathhouse leaned forlornly to one side.
Zeb opened the door to her cabin, the one she'd cleaned so vigorously. Canned goods were stacked on the floor. Her portable espresso maker next to the bed. Too heavy to carry out. But her inflatable mattress was gone. Zeb bent over to pick up a crumpled newspaper from the floor. The headline leapt out at him. Flooding Persists. New Hope for Proponents of Dam Site.
His chest tightened. The air rushed out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. Sam was right. She knew. And she never said anything. Why not? Why hadn't she let him have it, right between the eyes, the way he deserved? Because she was proud. And she was hurt. He'd lied to her, he'd tricked her and she knew it. All the time she knew it.
He sat on the cabin floor and read the article, putting himself in her shoes, learning that she'd been betrayed. And worse, thinking he'd come on to her to get her land away from her. He couldn't deny the first part, he had no excuse for not telling her about the dam, for trying to cheat her out of the money. It was greed, pure and simple. But he couldn't let her go on thinking he'd made love to her with ulterior motives. He couldn't and he wouldn't. He'd find her and tell her and then let her go back to her ex-husband.
She'd be somewhere on Highway 40 heading west, but he had no idea how he'd find her. She had a day's head start on him. He got onto his horse, went back to the ranch, told Sam, who packed his bag for him, and got into his car.
It took him twelve hours of driving to find her. He couldn't go too fast for fear of missing her. He couldn't go too slow for fear of losing her. By some miracle, maybe old Horatio was guiding him, he pulled off at a truck stop in a small town in Utah and saw her car parked in front of the motel.
He checked in and reserved the room next to hers. Then he walked across the parking lot and peered in the window of the restaurant. She was sitting alone in a booth with a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes in front of her. His heart pounded. His throat was so dry he was afraid he wouldn't be able to speak after coming all this way. He might have to scribble something on a napkin. What would it be? I'm Sorry or I Love You. No, she'd just rip it up.
Instead he walked past the hostess and sat down across from Chloe. In desperation he took a large gulp from the glass of beer in front of her. If he hadn't he'd have been speechless. “I thought you didn't drink beer,” he said. Good work, he told himself. Travel hundreds of miles, rehearse what you're going to say and then blow it.
Calmly, she pushed the glass across the table. “I don't. I ordered it for you. I saw you coming across the parking lot.” She sighed loudly as if he'd interrupted something important. “What do you want, Zeb, besides the beer? Where are you going?”
“Going?” he asked, leaning back against the booth and drinking her in like a thirsty man in the desert. Ignoring the noisy truckers at the next table, he said, “Going here, wherever this is. Going wherever you are.”
“Why?”
“I have something to say. Something I didn't say the last time I saw you. It won't take long. And then in the morning I'll leave. Go back home. Go ahead, finish your meat loaf.”
“That's okay. I'm not that hungry. Maybe I'll have a glass of white wine.”
“In Utah?” he asked, determined to get her whatever she wanted if he had to drive all the way to California to get it. But when he signaled the waiter, he nodded understanding and in minutes was back with an icy-cold glass of something that at least looked like white wine.
She looked at him over her glass, perfectly still, huge dark eyes in a pale oval face, watching, waiting for him to say something.
He took another drink of the pale amber liquid before he began, gripping the glass so his hands wouldn't shake, more nervous than he'd ever been in his life. Even more so than the time when he'd risked his life in an amateur rodeo.
“You knew, didn't you, about the dam?” he said.
She nodded.
“You knew I wanted to buy your land and resell it and make money off it. I'm sorry. Really sorry for lying to you. Withholding the truth, whatever. It was despicable.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Not as despicable as making love to me. Was that really necessary?” she asked, blinking back a tear.
He wanted to reach across the table and brush her tears away. He wanted to hold her and make the pain disappear. But he only braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Listen to me, Chloe. Making love to you had nothing to do with your land.”
“It was effective, though,” she said. “I almost believed that you cared about me.”
“I did. I do.”
“Yes. Sure. Well, if that's all.”
He put his hand on her arm. “No, that's not all. I don't know how this happened, but somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.”
She pulled away from him. “Yes, that's what you said yesterday.”
“You didn't believe me,” he said. It wasn't a question. He knew she didn't.
“Why should I?” she asked, shifting in her seat
“Because it's true.” He was getting desperate. She was getting restless. What if she got up and left? What could he do to keep her there? To make her listen to him? Why should she believe him?
“Chloe, what if you sold the land to the Bureau of Reclamation and used the money to build your spa somewhere else?”
“Where?”
“At the Bar Z.”
“A spa at your ranch? You laughed at the idea, remember?” she said.
“Because of the long hike in and the lack of facilities. Bar Z has a road and electricity.”
“You said I needed a whole lot of money,” she reminded him.
“You'll have a whole lot of money.”
“You called it a 'fat farm',” she said.
“I'm sorry.”
“What about you and your cows?”
“There ought to be room for everybody, me and Sam and the cattle and you and your fa...your family,” he said.
“What's in it for you?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine.
“You. You're in it for me. I'd get to see you from time to time.”
She surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “What else?”
“Rent money.”
“So it would be a business deal,” she said, tapping her finger against her glass.
“If that's what you want,” he said, unable to keep from hoping, from praying that maybe she was seriously considering what he'd been thinking about for the last twelve hours.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“What do I want?” Was it his imagination or was her tone a little softer, were her eyes a little brighter? “I told you yesterday I wanted to marry you. I still want to marry you. But I know that's not what you want. You want a summer romance, and marriage tends to go on all year. You said you'd go crazy in the winter up there, so...”
“Shut up,” she said, the tears brimming over and running down her cheeks. “Just shut up. I'm tired of hearing what you think I want. You don't know anything about what I want.” With that she jumped to her feet and rushed out of the restaurant.
He watched her run across the parking lot to the motel and slam the door of her room after her. She was running, but not too far. He drained his glass, paid the bill, went outside and took his bag out of his car before going to his room. The room next to hers. He plugged in his electric toothbrush, his shaver and another appliance he'd brought along.
He put his ear against the wall and heard her crying. He forced himself to stay where he was. This time she had to come to him. But what if she didn't? She had to. He called the front desk and complained she was making too much noise. Two minutes later there was a knock on the door. He heaved a sigh of relief.
She was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt. Her hands were on her hips. Her cheeks were streaked, her hair was tangled, her eyes were almost black. She was glaring at him, and her chin was tilted at a very stubborn angle. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
“How dare you call and complain about me?” Chloe demanded. “How dare you rent the room next to mine, anyway?”
“It's a good location, next to the ice machine. But I can't sleep with all that noise,” he said. “Come in and have a nightcap.”
She peered around him and sniffed the air. “It smells like coffee.” After a long day on the road, it smelled like heaven.
“Espresso. I brought your coffeemaker back to you. You forgot it.”
“You're pretty confident. What if you hadn't found me?” she asked, stepping cautiously into the room. “How far would you have gone?”
“To the moon,” he said.
“That's not necessary,” she said, studying his craggy face, creased with new lines of fatigue and worry, as if she'd never seen it before. Just an hour ago she had thought she'd never see it again. Just an hour ago she'd been sure she'd never cry again, not after sobbing her way through most of Colorado. Then he showed up, and the tears flowed once again. Tears of relief, indecision and a tiny ray of hope.
“Sit down, I'll pour the coffee,” he said.
She sat on the edge of the king-size bed and watched him pour dark, rich espresso into two paper cups.
“I've been thinking about your offer,” she said. “It's very generous in view of what you'd hoped for, you know, the whole thing.”
He shrugged as if it didn't matter, but she knew it did.
“What bothers me is not carrying on the family tradition, not fulfilling my great-grandfather's dream of making a go of the springs.”
“Are you sure that was his dream?” he asked, as he handed her the coffee and casually sank down next to her on the bed. “With Horatio it was easy come, easy go. I think he won Paradise Springs in a poker game. He didn't attach that much importance to a piece of land. He once said it was just a place to hang his hat. He was very adaptable.”
“That's what Mr. Crane said,” she said.
“You went to see Archie...oh, God, Chloe, you don't think...”
“What else could I think? You did everything to keep me from talking to him. You even took me on a picnic and made love to me.”
She was still indignant, but it was getting harder and harder to stay angry. The warmth of the coffee, the heat of his body next to hers, the memory of that magic afternoon were slowly melting the hard core of resentment she'd built up inside her.
“Making love to you had nothing to do with taking your land,” he said. “For the record, I didn't mean to fall in love with you. I didn't mean to fall in love with anyone. It's so damned inconvenient. Here I am, miles away from home, making a fool of myself, while you…” He ran his hand through his hair and glanced at her, “What are you smiling at?”
She put one hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him through her tears. “I can't help it. I didn't want to fall in love with you, either. I didn't want a summer romance, or any kind of romance. Talk about inconvenient. I don't know what to do.” She bit her lip and looked at him for the answer.
But he didn't give her one. He wasn't going to make it easy for her.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and she shivered at his touch. Wanting more. So much more.
“Maybe we ought to think this over,” he said. “Sleep on it.”
“Fine,” she said, setting her coffee on the bedside table. “As long as we sleep on it together.”
He nodded, a very relieved smile spreading across his face. He snapped off the light and then slowly, slowly, with the most infinite care slid her shirt off over her shoulders, removed her bra, buried his head between her breasts and breathed her name.
Every ounce of her resistance was gone, melted in the heat of his embrace. Still she wanted more. Kneeling on the mattress, she unbuttoned his shirt, then his jeans and threw them in a heap on the floor. He might not be in a hurry, but she was. He might be willing to think it over. She wasn't. She'd been thinking for the past two days and she wanted to stop thinking and feel. Feel him on top of her, inside her and all around her.
She wasn't disappointed. He made love to her with everything he had to offer, heart, soul and body. Her last doubts vanished sometime before dawn.
Just one thing bothered her. Just one question remained. As the light from passing truck headlights filtered through the curtains, she paused and traced his rough jaw line with her fingers, loving the touch of him, loving the look of him. Even the way his hair stood on end in ten directions, the way his eyelids drooped at half-mast.
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br /> “How are we going to sleep on it, if we never sleep?” she asked.
“May have to stay another night,” he said. “But I'm not sure that would do it. There's something about you and a bed, or a tub or a garden. There's something about you that keeps me from sleeping.”
“You can sleep when you get home.”
He rolled over on his side and propped his head in his hand. “Not going home, unless you go with me.”
“What would you do, follow me all the way to San Francisco?”
“To the moon.”
She smiled, rolled out of bed and began dressing. “We'd better get going, then.”
“To the moon?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch her pull her shorts up her long, gorgeous legs.
“To the ranch. To the Bar Z. Home.”
Epilogue
The snow drifted halfway to the eaves of the ranch house that winter. Fence posts were buried. Most of the livestock huddled in the barn. The new bull had his own quarters befitting his stature. Sam Bowie was in Denver taking a class in animal husbandry. The other two Bowies, the newlyweds, sat by the fire in the evenings, drinking cappuccino made by a large new Italian machine that had been a Christmas present from Zeb to Chloe, reminiscing about old times and planning for the future.
Chloe handed Zeb the copy for her brochure. “What do you think of this?” she asked.
Paradise Hot Springs, where the Ute Indians once wintered near warm thermal waters, has relocated upstream to the Bar Z Ranch. Through the miracle of modern technology, the same mineral waters known to cure gout, obesity, broken hearts and old gunshot wounds will still be available to today's spa guests, as well as massages, horseback riding and gourmet meals. Guests will be met by horse-drawn coach or van. El. 8000 ft. Your genial hostess and proprietor: Chloe Hudson Bowie.
