He kept one ear cocked, listening intently. Still no sound from anywhere in the house. He was becoming more and more certain she was standing him up, and his sharp shard of disappointment mingled with faint anger. Enough was enough. His male pride had been taking severe blows over the last few days and, frankly, he wasn’t masochistic enough to continue with the game. Then he remembered the way Alice’s lips had felt against his, the way he’d felt her body responding to his, and the wave of hurt pride receded a bit. “But you have to know when to quit,” he said to himself. If she really did stand him up tonight, he was clearing out of here.
Why keep fighting a losing battle?
So where was she? He stormed out into the hallway. She’d better be somewhere in this house. He wasn’t about to go out and scour the desert looking for her.
He knew where her bedroom was: at the end of the long corridor leading to the back of the house. And right now, its dark, wooden door was closed to him, to the whole world. But doors were made to be opened too.
He knocked. “Alice? Are you in there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was hesitant, faint.
So she hadn’t run away. She’d been here all the time. He let out his pent-up breath. “Alice … uh … are you ready?”
Silence.
“Alice? What are you doing in there?”
“I’m hiding, I think.” He heard her burst of laughter.
“Why are you hiding?” He was almost shouting with relief.
“Because I feel so strange in these clothes, I don’t know who I am anymore. Oh … I guess I’m just feeling shy.”
“Look, I’m coming in.” If the door was locked, he was feeling crazy enough to bash it down. It wasn’t.
He took a step into the room. Stared. Stared some more.
Damn. If he hadn’t known it was Alice there, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Not right away, anyhow. Her shining hair was parted on one side, caught in a tiny barrette before cascading to her shoulders in a smooth sheen. She’d put on makeup too, just a faint touch of mascara and shadow. And a dark blush of lipstick that matched her burgundy dress.
His eyes slid over her, not missing an inch, taking in the narrow waist, her soft curves, the long legs. She looked magnificent.
“Now I see why you always try to hide yourself under faded print rags. You look too wonderful.” The words sounded too banal for such a radical transformation.
She blushed deeply. “You look pretty wonderful yourself.” She smiled shyly, warmly.
“Thanks.” He saw the little veins throbbing in the hollow of her neck and it took all his willpower not to lower his lips to the fragrant soft skin. Why the hell did everything this woman say mean so much to him?
He held out his hand. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Her long fingers curled around his. “Jace, listen. About the dress … ”
He shook his head slightly, raised his hand, warning her not to continue. “Nice dress. Even nicer with you in it.”
They were both silent as they went down the stairs. Strange. It was as if now, he also felt too shy for conversation. He even fumbled while helping her into a short wide swinging jacket. He, a man of the world, was as awkward as a ten-year-old. This was really the limit.
“I’m afraid a Land Rover isn’t exactly ideal for dinner with such an elegant woman,” Jace offered as they crossed the dust in the direction of the car.
“Oh, I don’t mind.” She smiled. “Traveling in a Land Rover while wearing a silk dress seems nicely decadent.”
Only when they were on the highway and heading west did he sense any hesitation on her part. “Are you certain you really want to go to Lucy’s tonight?” she asked.
“Why shouldn’t we?”
“It’s almost in Reno.”
She had tensed again, he saw. “Something wrong with Reno?” he asked lightly.
“Of course not,” she said although it sounded to his ears as though she were forcing herself to sound insouciant. “It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere outside of the Blake’s Folly area, Reno seems like the big wild and woolly world.”
But as the Rover licked up the dusky evening desert miles, he felt the tension evaporate. And over and over again, he felt the caress of her brief, secret glance on his profile, as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.
And that made him feel so good, so very good. And very, very male.
Chapter Seven
When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Alice had the distinct feeling she was walking around in a dream: someone else’s. The beautiful room was dimly lit, and the atmosphere was refined. On the white linen tablecloths, silver cutlery and crystal glasses gleamed.
Even more overwhelming was the touch of Jace’s hand burning through the skin on her elbow as he led her across to their table. She saw how people turned, watched them as they passed, and she held her breath. Fought the desire to run; to escape before disaster struck. What if she knew someone here? What if someone recognized her? But even she knew she was being foolish. Who would remember her now? She’d vanished from the limelight years ago.
Anyway, people weren’t watching her. They were staring at Jace because he was famous. And so gorgeous. Too gorgeous. The firm jaw, the serious line of his brow, those eyes. The fine, straight nose, that curl of hair tumbling over his forehead. His lips. Yes, hard to resist staring at the man. Even she’d found herself sneaking little looks at him as they drove here.
Their table was a discreet one. No one was near enough to overhear their conversation. Had Jace arranged that, she wondered? If so, why? What if he knew more about her than he let on? He had been, after all, a journalist.
But why ruin her evening like this? Why suspect everyone of delving into her past? She’d cope with that old drama when it came up. Better just to enjoy this one evening in Jace’s company. Who knew when — or if — another would ever happen? And Jace was so easy to be with, to talk to. When he wasn’t asking her questions.
She couldn’t stop her eyes from crossing the table, grabbing another look at him over the menu he was holding. His hands were tanned, strong looking, and she had to stifle the urge to reach over, touch him.
What if she did? What would he think then? That she was a desperate, lonely woman dying to leap into bed with him? Yes. That’s what he’d think. And would he be wrong? No. He wouldn’t. She did want him. She knew that, she admitted it. Finally. And accepted it. She’d known it since first catching sight of him in the dust before her house.
All last night, she’d tossed in her bed, thinking how his body would feel against hers. How she wanted to ravish him in the most wonderful way. Taste him, lick him, smell and savor every tiny inch of him.
And all the while, she knew she was courting disaster. Not only because she could mean nothing to him, not only because their relationship would be temporary. But because letting herself feel strongly for someone would pull her back to a world she had escaped, a world she never wanted to experience again. And because facts — harsh facts — would come between them, eventually. And everything would be ruined. The very idea made her heart ache with misery.
She saw Jace watching her over the dancing candlelight. “Earth to Alice.”
She laughed, and neatly hid the direction her thoughts had taken. “I guess I’ve been out of circulation for so long, I feel overwhelmed. And light-headed from this very green and rather potent cocktail you’ve ordered.”
Whatever it was — sweet and bitter, sour, tangy and lovely — the drink was sending coherent thought reeling. “For years now, my social life has been the Blake’s Folly Annual Get-Together, a few garage sales, backyard barbecues, and other such great desert occasions.”
“And before coming to Blake’s Folly? Where was the social whirl then?”
His question came out lightly, but he was prying nonetheless. She didn’t want to rehash her past. It was over and done with. She didn’t want him knowing who she’d been. But she couldn’t remain silent: that wou
ld strike him as strange, abnormal. She hesitated only for a second before answering. “Los Angeles.”
“You’re from L.A.? Interesting.”
Interesting? She wondered why. But she corrected the misunderstanding. “But I wasn’t born in L.A. I just lived there for a little while. I was actually born in Sacramento.”
He shot her a swift glance, as if trying to sum up what he imagined might be her past. “Divorced?”
The question came so unexpectedly she wasn’t fast enough to skirt it. She avoided his eyes. “Divorced.”
“Children?”
“No.” She shook her head, vaguely, as if pretending to think of something else.
The tense moment was eased over by the arrival of a dish of skinned, roasted green peppers in olive oil.
She looked over at Jace, determined to change the subject. “Will you also be having a vegetarian meal?”
“I’m not that easy to convert,” he chuckled. “I’m ordering a steak for my main course. Are you offended?”
“I should be,” she nodded, pretending to be hurt. “You probably asked me out to dinner just so you could finally eat some poor animal. Vegetarian fare is getting you down.”
“No,” Jace said simply. “I love the way you cook. I love the food I’ve eaten at your house.”
The sincerity in his face told her he was telling the truth, and she was pleased. Very much so. She’d wanted him to like what she’d prepared. It had been important to her, even though she’d made life as difficult as possible for him. Even though she’d tried to keep him at arm’s length, get rid of him. Even though she was afraid her feelings for him weren’t only sensual, but emotional too.
She felt her cheeks color with contentment, and then tried to cover her emotion with light conversation. “What about you? I know nothing about your past. You’re always asking me questions.”
“Questions you don’t answer.” A wry smile flickered over his mouth. “Not in any detail, at least.”
She ignored his comment. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?”
“I don’t know,” she said, lifting her shoulders in a helpless gesture. She did know, really. She just didn’t feel comfortable coming out and asking him things directly, although she wondered why. Was it because the answers were important? His clear, green eyes met hers evenly. He was waiting. “Okay. Where were you born? How’s that for a starter?”
“L.A. That’s why it was interesting to know you lived there too.”
Alarm bells rang in her head and she tensed, then tried her best to hide her sudden fear. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. “I see. And when did you go to Chicago?”
“We left L.A. when I was a kid. My father took up a job at the University of Chicago. Physics. I suppose you could say he was married to his work rather than to his wife. Not that my mother minded. She was too busy trying to run my life.” He grinned.
“Did you mind not having your father around?”
“No. I can’t remember that I did. My father was the one who made knowledge come alive for me, although I was always more fascinated by history than physics. There’s something so personal about studying the past, about charting human movement. And of course, I kept up the connection with the university. I lecture there from time to time, help run the university press.”
“It sounds interesting. What sort of social life do you have? Is it fun?”
“It’s not really very remarkable, to tell the truth. Luckily, I have a few good friends. Other, less good ones.” He told her about his interest in contemporary art, the exhibitions he’d enjoyed, and his passion for working with and encouraging young writers.
He was easy to be with. Alice liked him more and more. She liked the enthusiasm in his voice, the passion that lit his eyes when he described things he cared about most.
“What are you really doing out here in the desert?”
“Getting the feel of the place.” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “You see, in my book on the history of the West, I don’t want to simply write down bare facts and dates. I want to present history from the human side, take into account how people felt, how they still do feel. History happened because of emotions.”
“And prejudices, and hates, and ambitions, and frustrations,” added Alice and instantly felt guilty. Why always sound so negative?
Jace nodded. “That’s what emotion is about too. But there are also many tales of kindness. Funny stories, as well.”
“Tell me one,” she encouraged.
“Well, take Abilene. It was once known as the wildest town in the West and town officials had a hell of a time getting anyone to be sheriff, since sheriffs only stayed alive for a few months. They finally recruited two tough-as-nails policemen from Saint Louis, Missouri, and the local cowboys decided to give them a special welcome. As the policemen’s train pulled into the station, the cowboys spurred their horses into a gallop, began whooping and shooting rounds of ammunition into the air. It was Wild West chaos at its best, and the policemen watched the show from the train window. But they stayed right where they were, in their seats. Then the train pulled out; and neither man was ever seen in the area again.”
Alice’s laughter mingled with Jace’s. It sounded good too, and her heart soared. This was more fun than she’d expected. Easier. So easy. So right feeling, with the right man. The thought pulled her up short. Cut this out, Alice Treemont. No fairy tales for you. This is just a friendly dinner. No reason to think anything else is involved here. Just relax.
She did, and by the time dessert came around, Alice was regaling him with stories about Blake’s Folly.
“When Robbie Sacks lost his driving license, he bought himself a curly blond wig with long ringlets. He thought the police would be fooled into believing it was his wife, Erma, behind the wheel. But they couldn’t miss his full brown beard. He looked like a strange time traveler from the court of King Louis XIV driving a bashed-up pick-up.”
In what seemed like no time at all, Jace was helping her into her jacket again, and they were leaving the restaurant. How had the time slipped by so quickly? Where had the evening gone? Alice felt a deep disappointment as they stood outside in the cool night air, under a million shivering stars.
She saw Jace watching her again. He’d probably even seen her disappointment; he was obviously the sort of man who watched her every move and noticed pretty well everything.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked.
“Wrong?” She made an attempt to give him a bright smile.
“Your face is as easy to read as the instructions on a cracker box.”
“How unflattering! I’ve always wanted to be a woman of mystery.”
“Oh, you are. You are that too. You manage to hide a lot. But not the emotions you feel.”
“Phooey.” She shrugged with resignation. She knew he wouldn’t let her off the hook. A man with determination was rough going. “I was enjoying myself so much,” she admitted, even while doubting the wisdom of her confession. “Now it’s over. I feel like Cinderella climbing back into the pumpkin coach, and heading back to my wicked stepmother and ugly sisters.”
“The dogs wouldn’t like you saying that.” His laughter rang out again, a warm sound she was getting used to.
Was he laughing at her? She didn’t even care.
“Besides, who said the evening was over?”
“It isn’t?” Alice blinked.
“Cinderella gets a reprieve,” said Jace, his voice strangely gritty. “It’s such hard work getting you to go anywhere, I’m not letting you escape so easily. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to whisk you through the thorn barriers of your forbidding castle?”
• • •
The ghost town of East Brady was nothing more than a jumble of shacks, most long abandoned, their weathered wooden walls slowly sliding into decay, their ever-open doors banging hopelessly in the desert wind.
Only “The Last Chance Saloon” still functioned much a
s it had for over a hundred and forty years. Even its décor had probably not changed much in all that time: wooden panels, gutted-looking red seats, badly scarred tables. The place had all it needed to become a famous local landmark and in the summer, hordes of tourists filled the main room, hungry for a sentimental glimpse into the good old days. But now, out of season, the atmosphere was sleepy, timeless.
Tonight, there were a few people from Reno — easy to tell by the way they were dressed — who’d come out for the atmosphere. But there were locals, too: old timers drank beer and played cards; a long-legged rancher, chawing a wad of tobacco, leaned indolently against a wall. Behind the bar, a dusty and ageless individual wiped glasses very slowly.
When Alice and Jace entered, everyone looked up, stared at them as they crossed the room together, just like they had back in the restaurant.
No surprise, Jace thought. He couldn’t miss the way eyes went from him, to Alice, back to him, back again to Alice. She would always draw attention, even though she did so unconsciously. It was because of the way she walked, the way she held her head. And her pale, shimmering natural beauty. Here he was, as charmed as any one of the onlookers. And as strangely besotted as any teenager.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Beer,” said Alice. “What else do you drink in a place like this? Beer seems to just fit in.”
They found a corner table, and sat down. People continued to stare at them for a while, but soon even the thrill of that minor activity seemed to wear off.
“Don’t you mind being stared at like that all the time?” Alice whispered.
Jace blinked. “Did I hear that correctly?”
“People stare at you all the time. Back there in the restaurant. Now here. Don’t you mind?”
All About Charming Alice Page 7
