MM01 - Valley of Fire

by Peggy Webb

  Chapter Eight

  They didn't go back to their hotel until three a m. Standing in front of Martha Ann's door, Rick gazed down at her. He didn't know why he wasn't scheming for ways to get into her room and into her bed. All he was feeling at the moment was tender concern for a woman who was looking for her sister's husband, a woman who was sweet and funny and feisty and exciting and breathlessly passionate.

  He tipped her chin up with one finger and looked into her eyes.

  “We’ll find Lucky, sweetheart.”

  “I know we will. Tonight is just the beginning.”

  The words sounded prophetic to him. He guessed he must be getting dotty in his old age. What's more, calling her 'sweetheart' was no longer a calculated imitation of movie bad boy Humphrey Bogart. By George, when he'd said it this time, he had really meant it.

  “That's right. Just the beginning.”

  How could a man resist those blue eyes? He slid his hand down her throat and across her shoulder. With gentle pressure he pulled her closer. She' settled her head on his shoulder as if it belonged there. And perhaps it did. He didn't know anymore.

  “A hug for luck,” he said.

  Her laughter was muffled against his neck. “Or is that a hug for Lucky?”

  He tightened his hold. Lord, this woman could cuddle better than anybody else in the world. He squeezed her just a little tighter.

  “How about a hug just between friends?” His voice had gotten husky, and he knew that if he didn't pull away, a hug wouldn't suffice.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They swayed together a while, enjoying the closeness of two naturally affectionate people who understood the joys of touching.

  Finally Rick spoke. “I'm sorry about the clothes, Martha Ann. I’ll get you some decent ones tomorrow.”

  “It doesn't matter. These suit the occasion quite well.” She chuckled again, and her warm breath sent shivers skittering over his skin. “Actually, I'm foolishly flattered that an old girl like me can still look halfway decent in a costume this daring.”

  Rick hugged her even closer, then stepped back. “Do you mind if an old boy like me tells an old girl like you what fun tonight has been?”

  “You've made it so.”

  The long look they exchanged was full of a thousand unspoken feelings. Even without touching they seemed to be melting into each other. Finally Rick shook his head like an old dog coming out of anesthesia.

  “Good night, Martha Ann.”

  “Good night, Rick.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Her hand shook as she fitted her key into the lock. She bit her lower lip and forced herself to calm down. Finally the key went in, and she opened the door. Inside her cool dark room she leaned against the doorjamb. She felt limp. What Rick McGill hadn't been able to accomplish in several days of torrid kisses and steamy seduction, he had been able to do in the space of a few hours simply by holding her hand and hugging her.

  She was dreadfully, irrationally, irreversibly in love with a scoundrel. The thought made her groan aloud. Of course, she'd done nothing but lie to him from the moment they had met. There was no way a man could ever trust a lying woman, let alone fall in love with her. Her web of lies had saved her. Or had they trapped her? She was too confused to know anything right now.

  She undressed and went to bed, but she didn't have high hopes that her personal plight would look much better in the morning.

  o0o

  Rick and Martha Ann spent the next two days searching religiously for Lucky O'Grady. They haunted the gambling casinos and the smoky nightclubs. But all they accomplished was parlaying Martha Ann's hundred-dollar stake into an impressive figure—$4,198.50.

  On the third day they decided to take a break.

  They bought picnic supplies, rented a car, and set out for the mountains.

  “There's a wonderful cave in these mountains,” Martha Ann told Rick as they drove along. “It's called Crystal Cave by ordinary folks, but the local tribes used to call it the Magic Music Cave.”

  “Why was it called that?”

  “One of the legends had it that Native Americans could go there to hear the music of their spirits.”

  “Search for identity?”

  “Precisely.”

  The car they had rented was a convertible. Rick propped his left arm on the door, enjoying the feel of the hot sun on his skin. They were going at a sedate pace, the better to enjoy the view, but still the wind ruffled their hair and whistled around their ears. He glanced at his passenger. Dressed in her own clothes, wearing little makeup that he could tell, she looked like a breathless view of the sunrise at daybreak.

  He laughed with the sheer exuberance of living. Shoot, he thought. By the time he got back to Tupelo, he'd be in such a poetic mood, he'd have to sit down and write a song—or a book of poetry. Or heck, why not even a whole love story? Everybody else was doing it.

  He wondered if Martha Ann was feeling as mellow as he was.

  “A penny for your thoughts, sweetheart.”

  She turned toward Rick and propped her arm along the top of the seat. Her fingertips brushed his shoulder. She let her hand rest there on his sun-warmed skin. That just went to show the progress in their relationship since they had come to Las Vegas.

  “I was wondering if we'd hear the music of our souls in the Magic Music Cave.”

  “I'm afraid mine would be out of tune. I don't have an ear for harmony. The only song I can sing is 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' and not very well.” He demonstrated.

  She laughed. She'd never hear that song again without thinking of the man she loved—and had deceived. She couldn't forget that, she reminded herself. It was best to play out her role until she was safely back in Tupelo with her sister's husband in tow.

  “Don't you ever take anything seriously?” she asked.

  “I do. The flag, motherhood, and popcorn.”

  “I thought that was apple pie.”

  “Don't tell anybody, but I'm one of the few people in America who can't stand the sight of apple pie. It all comes from stealing little green apples once and getting so sick, even my mother thought I was going to die.”

  “Is your mother living?”

  “She's not only living, she's kicking up her heels. She and Dad are both seventy-three, and right now they are on a big game safari.”

  “They're hunting animals?”

  “With cameras.”

  “What a relief.”

  He thought that was a strange remark coming from a woman who lately had made a career of lying and who probably never intended to see him again once they got back to Tupelo. Why should she care if his family were horse thieves? Still... he glanced her way again. He was glad she was relieved about his family.

  “My sister Jo Beth is a photojournalist. We consider her the wild one in the family,” he said. “She's with Mom and Dad.”

  “Any brothers?”

  “Danny, the oldest, is a doctor. He's married now and has three of the sweetest little girls you'll ever see. Andrew, the youngest, would make you wash your mouth out with soap if you even mentioned marriage. He and I are a lot alike—confirmed bachelors.”

  She looked at his profile. Why did that statement give her a sinking feeling right in the pit of her stomach? Best not to think too much about it. She turned her attention back to the scenery.

  They arrived at Crystal Cave right at lunchtime. Rick uncorked the bottle of wine, while Martha Ann unwrapped the sandwiches. After lunch they stowed their picnic leftovers and went inside the cave.

  It was beautiful in an eerie, haunting sort of way. Huge gypsum formations rose from the floor and hung from the ceiling. Even in the darkness of the cave, the crystals sparkled. Their glow created a special atmosphere that the Native Americans surely would have thought to be magic. Rick seemed to be feeling that magic himself. If he weren't careful, he'd soon be hearing the music, too.

  He and Martha Ann meandered along behind a small group of touris
ts who were spending more time listening to their guide than looking at the beauty and wonder around them.

  The tour guide was a tall raw-boned woman with a severe hairdo and a stern voice. “The Indians thought there was music in this cave,” she said. “Naturally it was only the wind blowing.”

  Rick leaned down and whispered to Martha Ann. “I like your version better.”

  “So do I.” As a matter of fact, she was hearing some of that music herself. Or maybe she was just feeling mellow from too much wine. In any case, she wanted Rick all to herself in this magical setting. She smiled up at him. “Do you mind being adventurous?”

  “I like adventure next to the best.”

  “Next to what?”

  “Making love.”

  A sudden vision of Velma's curtained bed came to Martha Ann. How close she had come to indulging in Rick's favorite pastime!

  As she led him away from the tour group and through a series of passageways that she remembered from her childhood, she knew with absolute clarity that making love with Rick McGill would never be a casual thing. She guessed she'd known it all along, since that day she'd first laid eyes on him.

  Not only was she addicted to the wrong kind of man, she was hopelessly romantic. Love at first sight. Good grief. She must be a throwback to the forties.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There's a special place I know, faraway from the maddening crowd.”

  He seemed pleased by her answer. Their hands were linked, and he swung hers jauntily, like a schoolboy with his favorite sweetheart. “I guess you have designs on me, huh?”

  She gave him a frank perusal. “Any woman in her right mind would—that is, except a pregnant one.”

  “Married to boot.”

  “That. too.”

  They were deep in the heart of the cave now. The formations were bigger and richer, with a deeper, more mysterious glow. The air was colder and heavier, and it seemed to pulse with a strange sort of music.

  Rick sneaked a peek at Martha Ann, and a shocking revelation came to him: She was the music that stirred his soul. It was as clear to him as one of the shining crystal formations. Whatever he had told himself about making her a playmate, whatever he had planned about staying footloose and fancy-free until he was fifty didn't apply anymore. Not with this woman. Not with Martha Ann Riley.

  She was some kind of special, and he guessed that scared him just a little bit. His parents' marriage was perfect. So was his brother's. It would be hard if not downright impossible to live up to that kind of family tradition. Of course, he'd never considered himself a coward. Still, he wasn't ready to admit that he was hearing the music of love. Anyhow, love didn't sneak up on a man; it was that great big neon sign that lit up the sky, and he hadn't seen one with his name on it yet.

  Martha Ann stopped walking when they were outside a tiny opening.

  “How do you feel about crawling?” she asked.

  “As long as you don't ask me to grovel.”

  “Right through there is one of the most beautiful spots in the world.”

  “I'm game. Who goes first?”

  “I will since I know the place.”

  She got down on all fours and crept through the opening, then she turned to help him squeeze through.

  “Are you stuck?”

  “No... but if you could just give me a little tug... ouch, careful of my pom-poms. I'm partial to cheerleading.”

  She tugged his shoulders, and he popped into the secret place with the suddenness of a champagne cork leaving a bottle. When he had righted himself and was seated beside Martha Ann, he looked at his surroundings. She had been right about the place. It was a small, private chamber where crystal literally lined the walls. The formations on the ceiling looked like shimmering lace curtains, and running through the middle of the room was an icy blue stream of sparkling water.

  “If a man can't hear the music of his soul here, he's deaf.” The sound of his voice echoed around the crystal chamber.

  “Let's walk down closer to the stream.”

  Taking Rick's hand seemed the natural thing to do. She took it without a thought. Even their footsteps sounded musical as they walked toward the stream.

  “Careful. There's a slippery spot.” Rick put his arm around Martha Ann's waist to steady her.

  “I'm steady on my feet. There's no way I can fall.”

  “Just in case.” He kept his arm there.

  She turned her head, tilting it back ever so slightly, and looked at him. What she saw made her catch her breath. All the magic of the cave was shining in his eyes. She lifted her right hand as if to ward off what she saw. He took it and drew her into his arms.

  There in the crystal cave with the music of their souls swirling around them they didn't need preliminaries. They didn't need words.

  His lips savored hers with a pent-up hunger that took them both by surprise. Three days in Vegas searching for Lucky with an easy camaraderie had not put out the blaze they'd ignited that first night in the Valley of Fire. If anything, the waiting only made this moment sweeter, more precious.

  Martha Ann pressed closer to him, molding her body down the muscular length of his. Something wonderful was happening. She knew it, and she sensed that he knew it too. Why fight it any longer?

  He cupped her hips and pulled them tightly against his own. It was an invitation she couldn't resist.

  “Ahh, Rick.” She tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and slid her hands over his back.

  “My fiery... funny... sweetheart.” The words were murmured against her lips as his hands worked on the buttons of her blouse.

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her. “You are exceptionally beautiful.” His hands divided the front of her blouse and slowly peeled it back. “Exquisite.”

  Out of necessity, she was wearing the bra he had purchased, the bawdy, made-for-seduction bra. As he slid her blouse from her shoulders, a slow burning heat spread through her.

  Gripping his shoulders, she pulled him closer. Saints preserve her, his mouth felt like heaven. She couldn't stop now if she wanted to. And she certainly didn't want to.

  They were both making sounds of pleasure now, unintelligible sounds known only to lovers. Slowly he turned her in his arms so that her back was pressed firmly against him.

  “Lean on me, sweetheart.” She let her head go limp on his shoulder. “That's a pet.”

  He slid his hand slid smoothly into the waistband of her jeans, and flattened his palm over her stomach. She sucked in her breath. She’d never thought it possible that a man’s touch could drive her wild, and she could do nothing except give in to the sweet, hot sensations.

  She moved her head and blindly pressed her lips against the side of his throat. She had to feel his flesh under her mouth.

  The music of the cave whispered around them, and the music of their souls drove them on. Time was suspended. Nothing existed except the wild sensations that swept through them.

  Her breath climbed high in her throat until she thought she wasn't going to be able to breathe. Perspiration gathered on her brow and trickled between her breasts. She needed... she wanted... release. When it came, it was an explosion that left her damp and limp.

  Her head lolled on his shoulder, and he turned her slowly in his arms. With exquisitely tender kiss, he brought her back into the realm of control.

  “Ahhh, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips against hers again. “What you do to me.”

  “Hmmm.” It was all she could manage at the moment. She had a feeling that she would have sunk to the floor if his hand hadn't been supporting her back.

  His hands cupped her cheeks. “Tonight, my pet.” He paused long enough to press kisses all over her face. “When we are safe in the privacy of my room...” He paused again to bend down and kiss her nipple. “...we’ll finish what we started.”

  Oh, no, she thought. What had she started? She leaned her head against his shoulder, giving herself time to think. He hadn't said
one word about love. As far as she knew, he was still a confirmed rake bent on seduction. Love. Why didn't he say the word? If he had, she would have tossed aside her charade and bared her soul. She groaned, partly in agony and partly in ecstasy.

  “I take it that's a yes, sweetheart.”

  Nothing had changed, she thought. Nothing could change.

  “No.” Still damp and limp, she stepped back from him.

  “Did you say no?” He couldn't believe what he was hearing. In the last three days he'd shown his care and consideration for Martha Ann in every way he knew possible. He'd abandoned all the games, all the pretense. And just now, in this beautiful crystal chamber, he had unselfishly given her pleasure. Didn't she have one bit of feeling for him?

  “I said no.” She bent over and picked up her blouse. “Good grief. Are you forgetting? I'm a married woman. A married pregnant woman.”

  She was going to drive him to cuss, he thought. That's all there was to it. What would it take to make her give up that fool lying game she was playing? Professions of love? By George, he wasn't about to make a fool of himself with a woman who apparently didn't give one whit about him. If she did care, she wouldn't keep on lying.

  He was still tightly wound with his own need. Her quick dismissal didn't improve his temper one bit.

  “Allow me to help you with your blouse, Mrs. O'Grady. After all, I'm the one who took it off.” He jerked the blouse shut and began to fasten the buttons, taking great care to fondle and play with her as much as possible. He wanted to drive her as crazy as she was driving him.

  He succeeded.

  The quick burst of sweet, hot moisture between her thighs let her know in plain terms that she wanted Rick McGill and everything he had to offer. She wanted him so much, she had to clench her jaw to keep from voicing her need.

  She still didn't know whether he knew she wasn't married or whether he thought she was. And she wasn't going to find out. There was no way on earth she would become the playmate of another heartbreaking, two-timing, wife-chasing man.

  “If you're all finished now, we'll leave.” She spoke between clenched teeth.