Memories of You

by Margot Dalton

  Vanessa looked up again at Camilla, who was watching her with a gentle smile.

  “Enrique?” the girl asked. “Is that who you mean? I should try to help Enrique?”

  “Well, I think there are some terrible things that he definitely needs to talk about. And he doesn’t seem able to confide in any of the rest of us.”

  “But…” Vanessa’s delicate face turned scarlet with embarrassment. “But Enrique must think I’m such a jerk. I’ve hardly said two words to him since he came to live with us.”

  Camilla recalled the boy’s expression whenever he looked at Vanessa. “I don’t believe he thinks you’re a jerk,” she said.

  A noisy clatter mounted the back steps. Camilla heard the twins’ high-pitched voices, followed by their father’s quiet reply. The children burst through the door demanding Camilla admire their baskets of eggs.

  She smiled and braced herself to respond with casual warmth, trying to avoid looking at Jon who stood quietly just inside the door, watching her.

  ENRIQUE HAD NEVER witnessed anything like the twins’ eighth birthday party. The whole dining room was decorated with balloons and streamers. There were dozens of guests in attendance and gifts were piled everywhere. All the ranch hands were at the party, and each had brought some small offering.

  The cake was truly wonderful, designed to be a relief map of Alberta and Saskatchewan, showing mountains, plains and lakes, as well as the university at Calgary and the family’s two homes.

  “Eddie and I worked on that cake for three days,” Margaret said, her broad freckled face glowing. “Eddie’s real good with maps.”

  Caroline Kurtz, who ran the lunch counter in town, had also brought a mountain of food. She and Tom presided over a long table, serving up punch and salads, handing out stacks of sandwiches.

  A rousing game of pin the tail on the donkey was in progress in one corner of the big room, supervised by Jon, who wrapped a kerchief around each cowboy’s head in turn and spun them in dizzying circles. The booted young men lumbered toward the mural of a donkey hung on the wall, hands stiffly extended, holding a horsehair tail suspended from a long pin, while onlookers shouted helpful suggestions.

  “Not there, Sammy, you’re gonna hurt Caroline real bad! Hey, who put that rattlesnake inside the house? Sammy, if you run into that big china cabinet, Jon’s gonna fire you for sure!”

  Enrique sat alone in a corner, watching and smiling. Laughter swelled around him, making him feel happier than he had felt in months. The noisy fun reminded him of the festivals back in his village, when everybody laid aside their problems for a while and celebrated the joyful things in life.

  But that was before the horrors began to rip his country apart, and wipe out all the people he’d known and loved.

  “More cake, Enrique? How about some punch?”

  He looked up, barely able to believe his eyes. Vanessa Campbell stood next to him holding a dish and a glass. She wore a long white cotton dress, delicately embroidered around her slim shoulders and hanging almost to her feet.

  “You look like an angel,” he said impulsively, then cringed in embarrassment.

  What a ridiculous thing to say. Now her lip would curl in lofty contempt. She’d turn on her heel and walk away, convinced that he was a complete idiot.

  But to his astonishment, none of those things happened. Instead, she settled in the chair next to him and put the cake and punch on a little table.

  “I’m definitely not an angel, Enrique,” she said dryly. “Come on. You have to eat some of this. I brought it all the way over here just for you, and almost got run down a couple of times by that cowboy in the blindfold.”

  Enrique took the dish of cake and began to eat obediently, though he was so dazed, he couldn’t tell if the food in his mouth was chocolate or vanilla.

  “Have you ever been to a birthday party like this?” Vanessa asked, leaning closer.

  Again he felt bewildered. It was so unlike Vanessa to approach him and start a conversation without being prodded by her father. But she was looking at him with interest, even friendliness.

  Enrique’s shy, lonely heart was unable to resist. “A long time ago,” he mumbled over the last of the cake. “Back in my village, we used to have parties like this. When my little sister—”

  He stopped abruptly, his heart pounding.

  Vanessa smiled. “Do you have a little sister, Enrique?”

  “She died. Her name was Maria. She was…nine years old.”

  Vanessa touched his arm. “I’m sorry. What happened to her?”

  “She was killed,” he muttered. “Just before I left my country.” Tears burned in his eyes. He brushed at them angrily, hating to have her see him like this.

  But she was stroking his arm, touching his shoulder gently. “Do you think maybe you could tell me about it?” she whispered.

  Enrique looked up at her, astounded. “You want to know about Maria?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Let’s go onto the veranda and get away from all this noise, and you can tell me the whole story.”

  “But I don’t…I have never talked about it to anybody.”

  “Then it’s probably about time you did, don’t you think?”

  He followed her, still feeling dazed, as she led the way through the busy kitchen and out onto the afternoon stillness of the big shady veranda, where she curled in the swing and indicated that he was to sit next to her.

  Enrique settled himself timidly, overcome by her nearness and the way her white cotton skirt brushed his leg.

  He was reluctant at first, but once he started talking, he couldn’t stop himself. Vanessa listened while he told the whole story about his parents and their little school, the accusations against them and the terrifying day when soldiers came bursting out of the jungle with their guns blazing.

  By the time he finished, both of them were crying.

  “You must have been…” She paused, sniffling, and dug in her pocket for a couple of tissues, handing one to him. “You must have been so lonely and terrified, Enrique. How did you manage to keep yourself alive until you got to the seacoast?”

  “A person does what he has to. Most of it is a blur by now.”

  “I feel so ashamed,” she muttered at last. “After I listen to what you’ve been through, I realize I’ve never had a problem in my whole life that’s even worth worrying about. I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved, Enrique.”

  “But you have been very kind, Vanessa. I feel so much better now.”

  As he spoke, he realized in surprise that the words were true. Talking to her about those nightmares had somehow driven them away.

  For the first time, he could think about Maria the way she used to be, laughing and pretty, instead of the horror of her lifeless small body in their yard after the massacre, lying next to his mother….

  “Do you really?” she asked wistfully.

  “Yes, very much. Thank you for listening.”

  She gave him a timid smile and patted his arm. “I know I’m not nearly as smart as you are,” she said after an awkward silence. “But if there’s anything I can ever help you with, like in your schoolwork, I mean, I’d be glad to try.”

  Enrique was fairly certain he’d died and gone to heaven, but he didn’t care. If heaven was a place where Vanessa smiled and said kind things to him, then he fully intended to settle in and stay there forever.

  WHEN JON AND CAMILLA left the ranch house and crossed the veranda, the two young people were still rocking together in the swing, laughing and talking with lively animation.

  Jon looked over his shoulder at them in astonishment, then waved casually, took Camilla’s arm and hustled her down the steps.

  “There’s definitely something magical about that swing,” he whispered in her ear.

  She smiled and pulled away, trying not to let herself be drawn close to him again. It was so dangerous to be with this man….

  “Where did you say you’re taking me?” she asked.

&n
bsp; “Just over to the windmill. Tom’s still busy helping Caroline, so we’ll have to water the bulls.”

  She grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to be anywhere near those animals. They’re so huge.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He grinned at her, his eyes dancing. “I’ll protect you.”

  Again she felt that treacherous flutter of warmth and looked away quickly as they walked toward a grove of cottonwood trees flaming with autumn colors. Jon led her down a path through the shady, rustling depths.

  Beyond the trees a windmill rotated in the breeze, surrounded by a sturdy rail enclosure. The bulls jostied and bellowed around a row of big wooden troughs on the other side of the fence.

  While Camilla watched from the base of the windmill, Jon climbed the fence and moved among the animals. He took the flowing water pipe from one of the troughs and transferred it to another, ducking aside hastily as a black Angus bull lowered his head, rumbled menacingly and took a few steps forward, glaring with fury.

  When the pipe was in place, Jon sprinted for the fence and leaped it again, landing neatly beside her.

  “I don’t know how you can go in there,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid one of those bulls will kill you someday?”

  “It’s like anything else.” He leaned against the fence with his arm draped over the top rail. “No real problem if you know what you’re doing. I’m a lot more scared of some of the guys on those city streets than I am of any animal on my ranch.”

  Camilla thought of Zeke and Speedball, and Steven Campbell’s handsome, rebellious face.

  “I suppose you’re right.” She traced the sunwarmed wood of the fence with her fingertips. “Even rattlesnakes give you a fair warning before they strike.”

  “They sure do. And they won’t hurt you unless they feel cornered. These bulls are the same way. Only human predators indulge in senseless violence.”

  Memories washed over her briefly, images of darkness and pain, the taste of blood and her own screams of terror. She bit her lip and looked down at the ground.

  “Camilla?” he asked, sensitive as always to her change of mood. “What is it?”

  She shook away the memories. “Nothing important. What time will we be leaving tomorrow to go home?”

  “After Thanksgiving dinner. Why?” he asked, touching her shoulder. “Are you anxious to go home?”

  She thought about the youth hostel and felt a brief tug of worry. This was the first weekend she’d missed in almost two years. She wondered how Marty was doing, if Chase was out of the hospital and staying sober, if there was any more news about what Zeke was planning….

  “Not really,” she said, forcing herself to smile at him. “Actually I love it here.” She looked up at the rustling trees overhead, then across the pasture to the endless sweep of prairie beyond the ranch buildings. “There’s something so peaceful about the landscape. It’s very soothing.”

  He nodded in understanding and slipped an arm around her shoulders, standing next to her as they looked at the distant horizon.

  “I know just what you mean. There’s an ageless feeling about this place. I’ve often thought I wouldn’t be surprised to see a family group of Blackfoot or Assiniboine come riding over the hill. They used to own this land, you know, and their spirit is still here. When I was a boy, I used to believe I could actually see them when I was out on my horse.”

  She gazed at the shimmering golden hills, enchanted by the image he described.

  He tightened his arm around her shoulder. “Your face is so expressive,” he whispered. “When you’re thinking about something you like, your eyes light up and you look as young as Amy.”

  “Jon…”

  But it was too late. He was holding her now, his arms straining around her, and again she was lost.

  She lifted her face for his kiss, feeling a delicious flood of excitement when his mouth closed over hers and his lips began to move softly.

  I want you, she thought desperately. I want you so much I can hardly bear it.

  He held her with one arm and continued to kiss her while his other hand stroked her body gently. He caressed her hips and waist, then reached under her shirt to cup her breasts.

  She felt herself exploding with lust, a deep, hungry desire to be naked and close to this man, to feel his body moving inside hers.

  “Camilla,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you so much.”

  “No,” she whispered in panic, trying to draw away. “Jon, you don’t even know me.”

  “But I want to.”

  Birds trilled softly in the trees above them. Far away, they heard the melancholy cries of a flock of Canada geese heading south above the prairie. The sun dappled through the trees and the bulls bellowed and grunted as they crowded around the water trough.

  Camilla found herself wandering in a misty world of dreams, a place of sweetness and joy where any kind of miracle seemed possible.

  Really, there was nothing to keep her from giving herself to him. They could lie down on the grass in the shelter of these rustling trees and let their bodies unite. And the aching hunger she’d felt for twenty years would finally be appeased. All she had to do was yield.

  “Jon,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek, lost in passion. “Jon, I’ve always—”

  “Daddy!” Ari shouted through the trees. “Daddy, where are you?”

  They sprang apart hastily. Camilla tugged at her clothes and patted her hair, hurrying to compose herself while Ari trotted along the path and emerged into the clearing by the windmill.

  “I didn’t know where you were,” he told his father reproachfully. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  Jon cast a rueful glance at Camilla. “I guess I didn’t hear you, son. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s time to open our presents now. Margaret said I should come and find you so Camilla could watch us.”

  “That was very thoughtful of Margaret,” Jon said dryly. “Can you give us a few more minutes, Ari? I was just discussing something with Camilla.”

  “No!” the little boy shouted, clearly on the verge of tears. “We’ve already been waiting a long time. I want to open my presents!”

  “All right, dear,” Camilla said, moving forward to take his hand. “Don’t get upset Your father and I will come with you.”

  She walked up the path with Ari while Jon followed behind them.

  With every fiber of her being, Camilla was conscious of his nearness and of her own yearning. How could she have been so reckless, thinking even for a moment that the past didn’t matter?

  What a fool she was.

  This time, she.resolved with fierce determination, there’d be no more weakness. She intended to monitor her behavior rigidly from now on, watch herself every second until she was home again.

  And after that, she wouldn’t allow herself to be alone with this man ever again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHILE EVERYBODY ELSE was at the ranch, Steven spent Thanksgiving Day all alone, soothed by the emptiness of the house. Both his father and Margaret had expressed concern about leaving him alone on the holiday, but he didn’t care a bit whether he ate turkey and cranberries for dinner. And he enjoyed the absence of his family.

  Lately, they’d all been getting on his nerves. He couldn’t stand the twins’ lively chatter, their endless questions. And his father’s thoughtful, measuring gaze was getting harder to endure all the time.

  Especially in the light of what was going to happen next weekend….

  He sprawled restlessly in a big leather armchair, watching the football games on television and trying to study. But it was impossible to concentrate on anything for very long.

  When the sun began to drop below the mountains in a golden flare of splendor, he sat alone at the kitchen table to eat the meal Margaret had left for him. He must have microwaved it for too long because the stuffing tasted like cotton wool, and the turkey was as tough as cardboard.

  Still, he ate all of his meal
, taking a certain grim pleasure in the terrible food. It suited his mood.

  After the meal, he drove into town to the area where Zeke had targeted the liquor store, and sat outside looking at the place.

  Part of him recoiled at the thought of what they were about to do. Breaking the law and stealing all that money seemed so incredibly wild and dangerous. But along with his natural caution, all kinds of other impulses were at work inside Steven, as well, reckless urges that he couldn’t seem to control.

  He wanted the other guys to accept him and realize he genuinely cared about their plight, even though he’d grown up with so many privileges. He wasn’t just another rich kid who didn’t care. He believed that wealth should be distributed fairly. He knew his father would be horrified by Zeke’s plan but it was time Jon realized that his son couldn’t be pushed around and treated like a little kid anymore.

  He grimaced and shifted his car into gear, moving down the street toward the place where he was supposed to wait on Saturday night. He parked in the shadowed area beneath the trees and glanced at his watch. It was only eight o’clock but already dark. In less than a week he’d be sitting here waiting for Zeke and Speedball to come rushing down the street with the cash.

  As soon as they jumped into the car, he’d start up the engine and take off down that road and onto the freeway, heading for the farm. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes because there was almost certainly an alarm inside the liquor store. The police might even be after them before they hit the freeway.

  Steven would have to drive fast and skillfully, and make sure he was familiar with every bit of the escape route.

  He tensed, gripping the wheel as he pictured their wild ride.

  At that moment, a patrol car drifted past and the officer behind the wheel glanced over at him casually. Steven’s heart began to pound and sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked down hastily, pretending to rummage for something on the front seat as the other car’s taillights vanished into the darkness.

  When the patrolman was out of sight, Steven leaned back and expelled a long sigh of tension, his hands shaking. At last, feeling sick and miserable, he started the car and pulled onto the freeway.