by Peggy Webb
o0o
Clyde and Velma walked into the room in time to hear the political discussion. Their hopes fell. They would have been happy if Rick and Martha Ann had been discussing the weather or Las Vegas or food or even snake killing—anything except politics. They exchanged a glance that said their guests definitely needed rescuing.
Velma slid into a chair beside Martha Ann, and Clyde sat down across the table beside Rick.
Velma patted Martha Ann's arm. “How about this girl in my costume? Is she sensational or what?”
Rick grinned. “It's nice.”
Martha Ann nearly choked on her potatoes.
Velma tried again. “You should have heard Clyde bragging on Rick. Why, he said that man has more knowledge of machines in his little finger than Ralph has in his whole head.” She paused dramatically and turned to Martha Ann, waiting for a comment.
“That's nice.” Martha Ann gave Rick a mischievous grin.
“Well...” Velma kicked Clyde under the table.
“Uh... there's a lovely moon out tonight.”
Velma beamed. “It sure is. Just right for a walk in the moonlight.”
“You two go and have a great time,” Martha Ann said. “Rick and I will clean up the kitchen.”
Velma kicked under the table again, missing Clyde and nailing Rick in the shin. He grunted.
“The high point of Clyde's day is helping me with the dinner dishes.” Velma's lethal foot struck again.
“Owwww... Oh, that's right.” Clyde pushed back his chair and hobbled around the table. “You two go on and enjoy the moon. Velma and I will wash up.”
“That's a wonderful idea,” Rick said. “I've been sitting here trying to get up enough courage to ask Martha Ann for a walk in the moonlight.”
Martha Ann smothered her derisive hoot with her hand. Rick McGill had enough courage to slay an invasion of hostile Martians and still have enough left over to share with the entire U.S. Army.
“What a nice idea.” She stood up. “It will be such a nice walk.”
Rick came around the table, took her elbow, and escorted her toward the door. Leaning down, he whispered, “It had better not be.”
Chapter Five
The minute they were out the door, Martha Ann sat down on the front porch steps, being careful to choose a board that was not rickety.
“I'm not going a step. I'm tired and my feet hurt and I don't want to be off in the dark with you.”
“You suspect me of impure motives?” Rick propped one foot on the step beside her and leaned his elbow on his knee. “I'm crushed.”
“You look about as crushed as an elephant in an orange juice press.”
“At least you've decided not to be nice.”
“I may never be nice again as long as I live. I was beginning to bore myself.”
Rick laughed. It was amazing to him how often he laughed with Martha Ann. Most women he knew took themselves and life too seriously. Not her, though. She just went zinging through life, doing whatever came naturally.
She would wear well. Fifty years from now she'd be as much fun as she was today. Not that he'd be around her fifty years from now. He wasn't looking for a woman to grow old with. Not yet, anyhow. But still...
“Do you think we'll be here two weeks, Rick?”
“Don't worry about that. Even if Ralph doesn't get Clyde's truck repaired, I think I can have that tractor in running condition in another day or so. If necessary I can drive it to the nearest ranch and arrange transportation to Las Vegas.”
“Good. I have to be back home in two weeks.”
“You do?”
She remembered too late that she was supposed to be a wealthy woman without obligations.
“Society appointments... charity benefits and the like. Nothing I can't cancel though. But I am anxious to find my husband.”
“I'd say you're a woman desperately in need of a husband.”
“I wouldn't say 'desperately.' “
“No. But your kisses do.”
“Why, you blackguard!” She left the steps and marched across the yard, her back stiff.
He caught up with her and took her arm. “Going for a walk? I think I'll go, too.”
“I don't know how you ever expect to find a wife.”
“I'm not looking.”
“You don't take anything seriously. One minute you're just as good as you can be, talking about your plans for getting us to a telephone, and the next you're so wicked, your own grandmother would disown you.”
“I'm her favorite grandson.”
He steered her toward the barn and the shade of a large cottonwood tree. Even though the sun had gone down it was still hot outside. Releasing her arm, he leaned against the tree trunk.
“Let's stop right here. I've done enough walking today to last me a lifetime.”
“Then why did you act so eager to go on this walk?”
“I didn't want to hurt Velma's and Clyde's feelings. You know, of course, that they're trying as hard as they can to get the two of us together.”
“You don't need any help. That bit at the creek this afternoon...”
“... was all their doing. Clyde sent me down there. On purpose, I think.”
“Good grief.”
“Not that I'm complaining. I loved every minute of it.”
So had she, but she wasn't going to tell him. She walked a few paces from him and picked up a slender Cottonwood branch. Her mind replayed the day's event as she thrust the makeshift foil into the air. Somewhere between the night in the Valley of Fire and the encounter beside the creek, she'd lost sight of her primary purpose: Finding her sister's husband. She had to concentrate. She had to learn to resist the charming rake beside her. She had to...
“Do you fence?”
She neatly parried an imaginary thrust and turned to him. “Yes.”
He picked up a branch to match her own. “En garde.”
His attack was expert and aggressive. Their wooden foils clashed in the darkness as they dueled. His strength was superior, but she was quick. She neatly parried a head cut and began her riposte.
“You're good, Mrs. O'Grady.”
She scored a point to his chest. The wooden foil quivered there, and she smiled. “Lost your concentration, didn't you?”
“Only for a moment. It's those rhinestones that keep distracting me.”
Martha Ann had forgotten about her costume. It was designed to reveal. And right now, with all that fencing activity, it was revealing more than any self-respecting Episcopalian would dare. To top it all off, her skin was gleaming with sweat and the reflected glow of rhinestones, and Rick McGill was appreciating every exposed inch of it.
“Are we still playing, Mrs. O'Grady?”
“Playing?”
He chuckled. “Fencing?”
“Of course.” She leaped and lunged, but her own concentration had disappeared.
Rick scored a quick point. The tip of his wooden foil barely touched her chest, right between her cleavage. She stood, panting.
“I didn't hurt you, did I?”
“No.” The makeshift foil still rested intimately on her breasts. She wished he would move it.
“You're sure? I get carried away with games, and we're not dressed for fencing.”
The tip of his foil moved, circling slowly, intimately on her skin. She thought it was deliberate, but she couldn't be sure.
“I'm fine. Just a little hot.”
“You're hot?” His smile was devilish. The foil moved again, this time tracing along the tops of her breasts.
She drew in a sharp breath. “It's the desert. I'd forgotten how hot it can be out here.”
“Steamy.” The tip of his foil nudged the thin material downward. She felt herself responding to the sensual play of his sword.
“Such heat can be downright scary.” She was almost panting now.
“Even dangerous.” His smile was slow and lazy. The limber foil skimmed underneath the rhinestones. Rick's foil teased
her, played with her, excited her.
She was mesmerized. She couldn't have moved if she had wanted to. And she didn't want to. She was at the mercy of this wicked man and his sensual sword.
Rick was panting now. What had started as fun was turning into something else. He sensed that he could have an easy victory there under the cottonwood tree, but he wasn't ready for that yet. He wanted to enjoy the chase a while longer.
He gazed at Martha Ann. In the moonlight the beauty spot above her lips looked more fetching than ever. And her hair—it was so black and lush a man could disappear in it and never be found again. Raven's wing, velvet black, midnight dark. Some crazy fool poet in his soul was making him think in metaphors.
The tip of his foil faltered. Looking into her eyes, he slowly withdrew his sword. They didn't speak for a while but stood watching each other. Finally she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
When she opened them, he had his sword pointed toward the ground.
“I don't want to finish this game,” she said.
“Neither do I.” He tossed the cottonwood branch aside and took her elbow. “Let's go back inside.”
They didn't talk as they went back to the main house. After that intimate swordplay, there seemed nothing much to say.
The screen door popped behind them, and they walked into the brightly lit room. At one end the dishes were stacked in the sink, unwashed, and at the other end Velma and Clyde sat in two sagging easy chairs, Velma doing needlepoint and Clyde watching two TVs. The large color console set was tuned to a hell-fire-and-damnation evangelist, and the small black-and-white portable atop the color TV was tuned to a baseball game. Clyde was alternately cussing and saying amen, sometimes saying the amens when the Dodgers scored a run and cussing when he was supposed to be praying.
It was a sight to see. It was also a relief, for it served to break the spell of sensuality that had bound Rick and Martha Ann. They grinned at each other.
Velma looked up from her needlepoint. “You're back. Did you have a good walk?”
“The moon was lovely,” Martha Ann said.
“The stars have never been brighter,” Rick added.
Velma checked out their flushed faces. Her plan was working. Tonight would be the finishing touch. She grinned, pleased with herself.
“Clyde, they had a good time.”
“Amen.”
“Clyde!” His head jerked up, and he looked at his wife.
“You say something, Velma?”
“I said they had a good time.”
“Well, now, that's just wonderful. Just great” He smiled at his guests for a while, and then smiled at Velma. He might not know much about tractors, but he did know about love. He'd known a walk in the moonlight would do the trick. Finally, remembering his manners, he jumped up and offered Martha Ann his chair. “Here. You take this comfortable seat.”
“Thank you, but this one will be fine.”
She started toward a straight-backed kitchen chair, but Rick intercepted. He carried two chairs across the room to where Velma and Clyde were sitting. He and Martha Ann sat down side by side.
“Clyde, turn up that preacher. Can you two hear all right?”
“Great,” Rick said.
“We'll watch something else if you want to,” Clyde said. “There's not much on tonight though.”
“I like games.” Rick winked at Martha Ann. “Especially baseball,” he said to Clyde.
For the next two hours they sat on the hard chairs watching the two television screens with Clyde and Velma. The best Rick could tell the Dodgers hit a homerun somewhere around Revelation, the Cardinals struck out in the middle of Ezekiel, and fourteen sinners got saved in the bottom of the sixth inning. It was an incredible evening.
When the two clocks struck ten, Velma and Clyde looked at each other and winked. Velma disappeared briefly, then came back and announced, “Bedtime.”
“That sounds great,” Martha Ann said. “It has been a very long day.”
“For me too.” Rick stood up and stretched. “A soft bed will feel great.”
“You two follow me, and I'll show you to your room.”
Room? Martha Ann thought. She looked at Rick, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Beats me.
The ranch house consisted of the front room, which served as kitchen, dining, and living area, and two small bedrooms separated by a tiny hall.
Velma opened a door and swept her arm grandly through the air. “Here it is. Just like mine.” She grinned at them. “I believe in giving my guests all the comforts of home.”
The bedroom was identical to the one Martha Ann had seen earlier. Exotic curtains were draped around the bed and over the walls, and scented candles were already lit and burning in every corner of the room.
Martha Ann felt her stomach tighten. One bedroom. She should have realized earlier how small the house was. She should have known it couldn't possibly have two guest bedrooms. She guessed she'd been too tired or too hot or too hungry to notice.
She swung her gaze to Rick. He was taking it all in stride. In fact, he was even smiling. Saints preserve her. What would she do?
Velma was watching her expectantly. She felt compelled to say something. “It's lovely, Velma. Thank you.”
“I knew you'd like it... you two traveling together, and all.” She began to back out of the room. “Well, you two have a good night's sleep.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
o0o
Clyde was waiting in the hall.
“How did it go, Velma? Did they like it?”
“The best I could tell, they did. Are you sure everything's in place?”
“Right where it ought to be. I had to make a few substitutions though. It's an old recipe, and you can't find the ear of a bison anymore.”
“What did you use?”
“Remember that old heifer that got sick on the range and died last week?”
“Yes.”
“The buzzards hadn't gotten to the ears yet. I used one of them.”
“I'm just dying to know how everything's going in there.”
“We might be able to hear if we pressed our ears up against the wall.”
“Clyde! I'm shocked at you. Some things are private matters.” She smoothed her hands over her hips and patted her wig. “Let's go, honey. I believe in letting things take their natural course.”
Clyde and Velma linked arms and went down the hall to their own bedroom, secure in the knowledge that love was taking its natural course—thanks to a little assistance from them.
o0o
Inside the guest bedroom Rick and Martha Ann were squared off on opposite sides of the bed.
“Quit looking so pleased,” she said.
“Who? Me? I didn't plan this.”
“But I'll bet you're perfectly willing to take advantage of the situation.”
“It takes two, sweetheart.”
Martha Ann ignored that comment. She glanced toward the hard floor. “I suppose one of us could make a pallet down there.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor, Mrs. O'Grady. You take the bed.”
She chewed her lower lip. “It looks so uncomfortable down there.”
“It's not my idea of a perfect place to sleep, but it will do.”
She patted the mattress. “It seems a shame.” She glanced at Rick, who was still standing on the other side of the bed. “After all, you did spend last night sleeping on the rocks.”
“So did you.”
“It's a big bed.”
“It is.”
“I suppose you could stay on your side.”
“And you could stay on yours.”
“We could even put a divider in the middle, a rolled up sheet or something.”
“A Wall of Jericho.”
She knew exactly what he was talking about, for she loved old movies. It had been a while since she'd seen Clark Gable in It Happened One Night, but she distinctly remembered the night the Walls of Jericho came tumbli
ng down.
She lifted her chin. “We're both adults. We don't need a Wall of Jericho. We’ll just agree to stay on opposite sides of the bed.”
He grinned. “A gentleman's agreement.”
“Precisely.”
He hurried around the bed. She backed against the wall.
“I always seal my bargains, Mrs. O'Grady.”
“I know.”
Grinning, he stuck out his hand. “With a handshake. Remember?”
“Of course. I was just resting.” She leaned against the wall a while longer and even threw in a big yawn for effect, then she took his hand.
The handshake was brief and firm and businesslike.
“Well, now. That's done. Since I'm a gentleman, I'll let you undress first.”
“Undress?”
“You don't plan to sleep in your clothes, do you?”
“Of course not. Velma lent me a gown.”
“I'll turn my back while you change.”
He did. She changed into the gown, which was not much better than being naked, and slid quickly under the sheets.
“All finished,” she said.
He turned back around. “How's the bed?”
“Comfortable.” She pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Cold?” Rick began to unbutton his shirt.
“No.... Yes. That's the funny thing about these nights in the desert. You can be burning up one minute and freezing the next.”
“I'm willing to warm you up.” He peeled off the shirt and reached for his belt buckle.
“No!” She fanned the sheets. “Actually, I'm a little hot.” He gave her a knowing grin. She decided to change the subject. “Did Clyde give you pajamas to sleep in?”
“I'm afraid not, pet. Anyway, I don't wear pajamas.”
“You don't?”
“I sleep in the nude.”
She suddenly wished she had put up a Wall of Jericho.
“But don't worry,” Rick added. “Since I'm in bed with a married lady, I'll keep my shorts on.”
“You had better.”
“At least for a little while.”
When he began to slide his pants down over his hips, she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the gossamer curtains being drawn back, felt the mattress sag, and heard the bedsprings creak. There was a small swishing sound as Rick dropped the curtain and settled down into bed.
