Gina smiled. "Mama was only eighteen when I was born. We sort of grew up together."
She was silent for a moment. "Yes," she continued, "I miss them. I'd like to see them more often, but Dad and Mama are still lovers, they don't need anybody but each other and I am completely self-sufficient."
Peter drew in his breath as his hand tightened on hers. "Are you so sure of that? You didn't used to be. As I remember you were more dependent than most eighteen-year-olds."
Gina winced as she remembered how totally she had centered her young life on Peter Van Housen. How stupidly she had assumed he'd take care of her, cherish her forever.
She pulled her hand from under his and turned away. "I grew up fast after I left San Francisco," she said bitterly. "I never lived with my parents again. During my college years I roomed in a dormitory, and after I graduated I came out here. Oh yes, Peter, I can take care of myself all right."
Thanks to you, she almost added but stopped herself in time. She didn't want this conversation to go any further.
Peter gripped her shoulders and pulled her back against him. "Did you and Mel Calicutt quarrel?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear. "Is that the reason you stopped seeing him?"
Gina sighed. She'd never make him understand. He would never believe that she and Mel hadn't been lovers.
She jerked away from his grasp and turned to face him. "You'd better believe we quarreled!" she shouted over the noise of the train and the babble of voices. "After that outrageous lie he told you I called him every vile name I could think of and walked out. I heard later that he left town."
She tried to walk away but Peter caught her arm. "Why would he lie to me, Gina? What reason could he possibly have? He couldn't stop the wedding, we were already married."
She opened her mouth to say, because your precious Veronica paid him to, but then closed it again and choked back the words. What good would it do to tell him? He wouldn't believe her and Veronica was dead. It seemed distasteful to make accusations against a woman who couldn't fight back, especially when Gina couldn't produce any evidence of her own to back them up.
Instead she shrugged and muttered, "If I told you you wouldn't believe me."
Just then the train ground to a noisy halt at Northspur, a quiet area in a grove of redwoods where light refreshments were available from several stands and a beer garden. Some of the passengers were also changing trains here to return to Fort Bragg.
The children headed for the nearest food stand and Peter and Gina forgot their argument in the rush to keep track of them among the several hundred disembarking passengers. All four of them ordered hamburgers and colas and took them to a grassy spot in the shade where they sat cross-legged on the ground and ate with a relish that surprised Gina. She hadn't expected to be so hungry after her big breakfast. It must be the fresh mountain air, she decided.
Sonja and Johnny finished their sandwiches and begged for ice cream cones. Peter solemnly announced that if they weren't careful they would turn into a giant glob of ice cream, then gave them each a dollar and told them to "live it up." The children ran happily toward the nearest ice cream stand and he lay back on the grass with his hands under his head. Gina sat with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs.
Peter reached over and clasped his hand around her nylon-clad ankle. "Lie down beside me, Gina," he commanded softly.
His touch sent a tremor up her leg and she had an unreasoning desire to do as he asked. To stretch out beside him in the privacy afforded by the huge tree trunk and surrounding bushes. She remembered the times they had lain together, on the beach, on the sofa, even in the car, while he'd made love to her. Slowly at first, only a touch, but building in passion until it took every ounce of will power she possessed to stop him before the final, irrevocable union of their trembling bodies.
She shivered and tried to move her foot but he wouldn't release it. Instead he renewed his request. "Curl up here on the grass and rest for a while."
"No," she said brusquely.
He rolled over on his side and propped his head up on his elbow. "Come here, Gina."
He let loose of her ankle and ran his fingers lightly along her bare arm. She had discarded her cardigan earlier, but now she wished she hadn't as his touch on her skin seemed to melt all of her resistance.
"I won't hurt you, I just want you near me," he pleaded in that soft, sexy tone, and she sank to the ground, mesmerized by blue eyes grown dark with yearning.
His finger traced the planes and hollows of her delicate, triangular-shaped face as he studied her changing expressions closely. The feathery strokes created a delicious tickling sensation against her creamy complexion, then changed direction to follow the line of her jaw.
"My beautiful, tantalizing wife," he murmured dreamily. "Most women lose that dewy freshness as the years go by, but you're even lovelier than you were at eighteen."
She knew she should stop him, but she couldn't seem to raise her hand to brush his away. Instead she protested half-heartedly, "I'm not your wife."
"Yes you are." His finger moved to the sensitive spot behind her ear. "The marriage hasn't been consummated but you're legally my wife and I want you. I want you almost as bad as I did the day we were married."
He picked up her right hand and placed it against his chest. "Here, feel."
She could feel the fast beat of his heart beneath the thin shirt he wore. She was also aware of the mat of dark blond hair that she had so often run her fingers through in the past. She'd always wondered why the hair on his chest was so much darker than the hair on his head, which in those days had been almost platinum.
Before she realized what he was doing he'd unbuttoned his shirt and moved her hand inside to rest against the warmth of his nude flesh. She tried to pull away but he kept his hand over hers until, with a mind of its own, it began to move caressingly through the tangle of hair. Immediately she felt his heartbeat speed up and he grinned down at her. "See what you do to me?" he whispered.
Her gaze locked with his and she gasped as she felt his hand on her left breast. His heartbeat was erratic now as was her own. He leaned over and nuzzled the sensitive spot at the side of her throat and she quivered with desire. At the same time his heart was turning somersaults under her touch.
He raised his head and put his mouth against her ear. "Your heart is pounding as hard as mine." His voice was thick with suppressed passion. "We strike sparks off each other, sweetheart, that light fires we can only quench together. Come live with me, Gina. It doesn't matter that we don't love each other, we'll get along great in bed and that's all that really counts in a marriage."
The strident sound of the train whistle rent the air and brought them both upright. They scrambled to their feet and started searching for the children among the crowd of people waiting to board the train again to continue their journey across the mountains to Willits.
She was devoutly thankful for that whistle. Without it there was no telling what she might have agreed to!
As they started the second leg of their journey, Gina curled up on her end of the bench seat and tried to quiet her still racing heart. Why, oh why did she allow Peter to arouse her so? Even as she asked the question she knew she had no choice in the matter. He'd always had that effect on her, and in spite of the hell he'd put her through her body still responded to him even though her brain told her to cool it. So much for the power of intellect over emotion!
She was glad they weren't sitting together. She needed time away from that openly sensuous gaze of his to try to regroup her defenses. Why didn't he leave her alone? He still thought she intended to marry Stewart.
That was probably what motivated him, the preposterous idea that she could want to belong to another man. Peter didn't love her, but he wasn't about to let any other man have her. Well, she'd show him. She wasn't going to let the undeniable sexual attraction she felt for him ruin her life again. No way!
After leaving Northspur the climb was rapid, seven hund
red and one feet in nine miles with horseshoe curves as much as twenty-five degrees, according to their pretty little tour guide. At one point they could look down from the first car and see the last car far below just starting to make the turn.
The children kept Gina and Peter occupied with their persistent questions and chatter. Finally after something over an hour the train reached the one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-forty-foot summit, roared through another tunnel, and started the four-and-a-half-mile descent down the other side of the mountain range to Willets.
It was hot in the small city at the eastern end of the Skunk Line. At least twenty degrees hotter than it had been on the coast earlier that morning, but they had all dressed for the swift change of climate. Peter and the children, like Gina, had worn cool shirts under sweaters which they removed as the weather got warm. Some of the passengers had brought picnic lunches and headed for the nearby park, but Peter herded his group to a restaurant across the street from the historic depot.
The cafe was small, but tables had also been set up on the covered patio and it was here that Peter, Gina and the youngsters were seated after the obligatory wait in line. It was warmer there than in the air-conditioned dining room but climbing vines over latticework walls and strategically placed green plants provided a garden setting that kept it from being uncomfortable. Sonja and Johnny wanted hamburgers again, but this time Peter insisted they eat clam chowder and a fruit salad and refused to order them dessert. Even so they barely had time to eat and get back to the depot before the train pulled out and headed west.
Peter turned his and Johnny's seat around so the four of them could face each other on the return trip. But this time the children were too tired to argue and when they again reached Northspur both were curled up on a seat sound asleep, Sonja with her head in Gina's lap, and Johnny with his head in Peter's. Gina was aware of Peter's gaze on her, but she steadfastly refused to meet it as she sat absently watching the lush green forest rush by her window and stroking the blonde curls of the little girl in her lap.
As they slowed for the approach into Fort Bragg Peter finally spoke. "If I were an artist I'd paint you as a madonna. There's a radiance about you when you hold a sleeping child. Do you want babies of your own?"
The hypnotizing sway of the train combined with the steady clack-clack of the wheels had lulled Gina into letting down her guard and she spoke without thinking, or remembering her broken engagement. "Oh yes, but Stewart has a grown daughter. I don't think he wants more children."
Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said, and she saw the pain that flashed across his face as he winced. Then he quickly brought it under control and his features were expressionless as he said, "When you have children, my bewitching wife, it's not going to be Stewart Tobias who fathers them, it's going to be me and don't you forget it!"
Chapter Seven
For days Gina tried to erase Peter Van Housen from her thoughts, but his words kept vibrating through her mind. When you have children it's going to be me who fathers them! They brought alternating chills and hot flashes, and she cursed the day her ex-husband re-entered her life.
But there was the problem. Peter wasn't her ex-husband, he was a very real and present husband who fully intended to claim all his marital rights, and what terrified her during sleepless nights and anxious days was the humiliating knowledge that she wanted him to. Even after he'd deserted her more or less at the altar following the ceremony, had reviled her and refused to believe her plausible explanation, thought she was a liar and a cheat, the idea of bearing his children could still make her burn with longing for him.
She felt cheap and ashamed. He neither loved nor respected her, but she aroused his male passion with an uncomfortable urgency and he wanted it appeased. In return he was willing to lower his high standards and allow her to keep the exalted Van Housen name and act as his wife; it was easier than looking around for an appealing young virgin with an impeccable pedigree. Virgins were in short supply these days!
Early the next morning Gina received a transatlantic phone call from her parents in Germany. Since Peter's assertion that he had written to her after their breakup seven years ago, she had tried several times to get in touch with Joe and Esther, but they had been on an extended vacation touring the countries of Europe in their tiny Volkswagen and had been unavailable. Now they had returned from their tour of Europe and wanted to share their experiences with their only child.
Joe spoke in his usual slow concise style, but Esther bubbled with excitement. She had enthusiastically described the sights in France, Italy and Austria before Gina was able to get in a word. "Mama, slow down a minute, there's something I want to ask you."
"Sure, honey," Esther said, "what is it?"
"Did I ever receive a letter from Peter Van Housen at your address after I started at the University of Maryland?"
For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line halfway around the world from Gina's apartment in Mendocino, and she held her breath and told herself it really didn't matter one way or the other.
"Why on earth do you want to bring that old scandal up, Ginny Lea," Esther answered sharply. "Haven't you suffered enough over that—that rat!"
It wasn't like her mother to be evasive. Gina's hands began to tremble. "Mama, please, it's important. I've seen Peter again and he tells me he wrote to me twice after we left San Francisco and asked that the letters be forwarded. Did they come to the house?"
"Well what if they did?" Her mother sounded petulant, like a child caught in a minor transgression. "He'd hurt you enough and you never did have any common sense where that young man was concerned. Your daddy had gone to a lot of trouble to get transferred clear across the country so you'd be away from him. He had no right to send you letters."
Gina could feel the blood drain from her face and she gripped the telephone. "Wh—what did you do with them?" she demanded, a little breathless with shock.
"Well I—I" Esther stammered. "Ginny Lea, I'm your mother and it was up to me to protect you from your carnal desires. Peter Van Housen was no good!"
"Mama," Gina said through gritted teeth. "What did you do with those letters? Do you still have them?"
Just because Peter wrote to her didn't necessarily mean he'd said anything she'd want to hear. Maybe he'd only wanted to harangue her further. If only her mother still had the letters she'd know for sure what was in them.
Her momentary surge of hope was dashed as Esther answered defiantly. "I burned them, that's what I did with them. Oh, don't worry, I didn't open them, I just took them down to the basement and threw them in the furnace. It was all for the best, Ginny Lea, you know it was—"
Gina hung up the phone.
The streets were crowded with the usual influx of weekend tourists later that morning when Gina took a break and walked around the corner and up the hill to the pastry shop for a loaf of warm, freshly baked bread. As she pushed open the door her senses were enticed by the savory aroma of baking cinnamon rolls, apple strudel, and pumpkin spice cake, and the empty feeling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She'd been too upset after the conversation with her mother to think of food, and now, several hours later, she was ravenous.
If she needed an excuse to indulge herself with fresh pastry and a cup of coffee she found it in Twyla who was standing at the glass counter eyeing the goodies. Gina walked over to stand beside her and said, "I'll buy the jelly-filled doughnuts and coffee if you have time to sit and talk for a few minutes."
Twyla assumed a pained expression. "It's bribery, pure and simple. You want to pick my brilliant mind and bask in my sunny disposition but never let it be said that I turned down a jelly doughnut. You get them and I'll get the coffee."
They settled down at a small round table on the sunny redwood deck at the front of the shop. Gina kept her left hand in her lap as she sipped her coffee and said, "I talked to my parents this morning. Mama admitted that I had received two letters from Peter shortly a
fter we moved from San Francisco and she burned them without saying anything to me."
Twyla muttered a curse. "Did she read them first? Do you know what he said?"
"No." Gina ran her fingers through her short black hair. "I never would have believed Mama would do such a thing!"
Twyla shrugged. "You were very young at the time and you had been badly hurt. She probably thought she was protecting you."
"That's no excuse," Gina argued.
"Of course not, but there's nothing you can do about it now except maybe believe Peter when he says he's sorry."
Gina choked. "Sorry! He hasn't said he's sorry, only that he's willing to overlook my 'sexual experience' and continue with a loveless marriage."
"What are you going to do?" Twyla asked quietly.
"I'm going to fight for a divorce. I want to be free to get on with my life."
"Then why aren't you wearing Stewart's ring?"
The question was so unexpected that Gina could only stare before she lifted her left hand from her lap and glanced at her naked finger. "You noticed," she said stupidly.
Twyla nodded. "I noticed as soon as I saw you. I'm an artist, I'm trained to observe details. Do you want to tell me about it?"
Gina felt tears pressing against her eyeballs again and blinked to keep them back. Stewart had told her not to cry for him and she would honor his request. Hesitantly she gave Twyla the highlights of her evening with Stewart, omitting the more intimate moments. She finished by saying, "He's a very special kind of man and he was understanding and forgiving."
"And hurt," Twyla murmured.
Gina bowed her head. "Yes. I hate myself for what I've done to him." She took another sip of her coffee but left the doughnut untouched. "Twyla?" she hesitated then continued, "Will you go to Stewart? Sort of be a friend to him? He's going to need someone…"
"You have no right to ask that of me, Gina!" The anger in Twyla's tone was unmistakable. "I'm not in the market for your cast-off men!"
If Ever I Loved You Page 8
