Spring Fires

by Unknown

"Would you explain to me why you want to get married? What's in this for you? Just a few weeks ago you claimed the engagement was a cover to avoid marriage." She couldn't bring herself to utter Jennifer's name.

  She thought she detected a spasm of pain in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant and he said calmly, "Well, quite frankly, I've gotten used to the idea; I want a settled home." He continued dispassionately: "Plus both our parents are in favor. You'd make a good wife for a man in my position. You've grown up with this kind of work and know the score."

  All good reasons, she thought in anguish, but what about love? Where does that fit in?

  He raised his hand and gently brushed a few strands of her hair back and then stroked her cheek, mesmerizing her with his eyes.

  "Stacy, will you marry me?"

  She blinked, and then, dropping her lashes, she hesitated, irresolute. Bleakly, she realized her life would be empty without him. So what if he doesn't love me? I love him! And somehow I'll break down that wall he's built around his emotions.

  She glanced back up and saw him watching, waiting for her answer. Surrendering to her heart's desire, she said, "Yes."

  "Good! Let's seal the bargain."

  He surrounded her with his arms, pulling her up against his lean body, and bent his head to deeply kiss her parted lips.

  Lured on by his tantalizing touch, Stacy gave herself up to the pleasure of his possession. She felt the warmth of his body beneath her palms. And, as he pressed her closer to his thighs, she slid one hand up over his shoulder to the back of his head, twining her fingers through his thick, silky hair.

  Slowly, he released her mouth and gazed into her eyes as if searching for something. Then, with a wry twist to his lips, he said, "We've got a lot going for us."

  Chilled by the cool self-possession in his voice, Stacy found herself at a loss for words. She wanted nothing more than to tell him that she loved him, but pride stayed her voice. She could not make such a confession while he sounded so detached.

  Lifting his wrist, he glanced at his watch. "We need to get a move on. The Goodwins are waiting up for you." With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to the doorway, gave her a slight push, and playfully slapped her bottom. "Hurry up and pack."

  "It won't take five minutes," she tossed back over her shoulder.

  She'd follow his lead and play it cool… no fervent exchange of intimacies… no passionate avowal of love…

  Chapter Nine

  The morning of the ceremony dawned cool, grey, and overcast; and it had not improved by the time Stacy was ready to drive over to the Goodwins' house to change for the wedding. As she drove she mentally recounted the events of the intervening weeks.

  With less than a month to organize everything, Stacy had been caught up in a tidal wave of activities. For the first eight days she had spent much of her time visiting her father; but as he continued to make strong progress, she had allowed her emphasis to shift to the preparations for the wedding and reception.

  Muriel Goodwin had been a life-saver, lending her support during the early days of her father's illness and then donating her time and energy to assist the young bride.

  Originally, Stacy had taken an extended leave of absence from work; later, after her father informed her of his intention to take an early retirement, with consulting work to keep him involved on a small scale, she decided to resign. She had enjoyed working in the oil business, but with her father no longer in the office she preferred to make a clean break and find another position once her life had returned to a steadier pace.

  As Stacy drove closer to the Goodwins' she was compelled to use the windshield wipers as the clouds opened up. The weather matched her mood, her optimism having drained away as her nuptials approached. The wipers' steady beat sounded like the ticking of a clock, ticking away her final minutes of freedom.

  Although she had seen Drew during the past few weeks, dates and visits to the hospital, not since she had agreed to marry him had he displayed more than a modicum of affection. Concluding that he felt trapped and wanted to back out of his commitment, but was too proud to call it off, Stacy had decided to confront him after he brought her home from the rehearsal dinner.

  First she had offered him a drink, and when he was comfortably settled on the sofa she had remained standing, restless, uncertain how to begin. Finally, with a quick sip of her own drink, she said disjointedly, "Are… are you sure you want to go through with the ceremony?"

  Drew regarded her agitated movements with amusement and answered, "Quite sure—you aren't suggesting that we live together, are you?"

  She twisted around and stared at him in amazement. "No! Certainly not!"

  He snapped his fingers. "Then I guess I'll have to marry you."

  "Oh, stop it! This is no time for jokes… What I want to say is"—she took a breath and plunged on—"my father is much better. He could handle it if we told him the wedding is off."

  "But I don't want to do that." She saw him smile. "No one is holding a gun to my back."

  "Ohhhh… how can you sit there so calmly!"

  "One of us has to be." His voice was unperturbed. "I've made my decision and I'm standing by it. You've just got pre-wedding nerves. Quit being so jittery and come sit down." His words were pleasant enough, but Stacy sensed their underlying edge of steel. He touched the cushion next to him and she found herself weakly obeying. He set his drink down on the coffee table and placed hers alongside. Then he leaned back facing her, resting his arm on the back of the sofa, his fingers gently twisting a tendril of her hair.

  "Look at me," he commanded, and she gazed at him, slightly disconcerted by his light touch on her hair. "You've been under a lot of strain. Just relax and take things as they come. We're getting married tomorrow, and then we'll drive over to San Antonio for a few days."

  His voice soothed her slightly, but she searched his rugged features, trying in vain to discover some sign that he truly cared. Sighing deeply, she turned away and stared unseeingly across the room.

  "Stacy… Stacy!" He tugged on the strands of hair he had wound around his fingers. She glanced back at him, noting that the muscles in his jaw were set. His blue eyes bore into her. "We've made a commitment; you are going to be my wife."

  Chilled by his tone, she opened her mouth to protest, but with a lightning movement he was leaning over, pressing her mouth with his, in a kiss which told her more than words alone of his inflexible determination.

  As he raised his head, his mouth tilted into a smile. "Don't worry. I'll see you at two tomorrow." With a tap on her cheek, he quietly rose to his feet and without waiting for her to see him out, he strode away, leaving her alone and more confused then ever.

  Why am I so miserable? she asked herself. But she did not need an answer; she knew what it was; three little words would have changed everything.

  The blast of the car horn behind her snapped her out of her reverie. The light at which she had stopped was now green. Releasing her foot from the brake, the car lurched forward, almost stalling. Quickly she focused her attention on the automobile and pressed down on the accelerator. Casting a glance in the rearview mirror, Stacy saw the disgruntled male driver mutter and shake his head.

  Her lips lifted into a smile. "He's probably cursing women drivers," she murmured to herself. "Oh, well, you can't win them all."

  Her concentration once more on driving, it was several seconds before she perceived that the rain had ceased and now the sun was breaking through the clouds in glorious rays, shimmering off the wet pavement.

  Inexplicably, her mood lightened.

  As though they had been watching for her, the Goodwins' front door opened as Stacy came up the front walk. Although Katie and Muriel were standing at the threshold wearing robes, the rest of their appearance indicated they needed only to don their dresses.

  Both women hugged her before they took her upstairs to the bedroom which they had prepared for her use. Stacy's wedding gown was laid out on the double bed, and K
atie, as maid of honor, insisted on waiting on her.

  "I have to make myself useful somehow. You and Mom have taken care of everything else."

  "It was very generous of her to help." Stacy considered herself very lucky to have such kind friends. Had her mother been alive, the tasks would have rested on her shoulders, but since she wasn't, Stacy was happy to have Muriel's assistance.

  "She was glad to do it," Katie told her. "Besides, it gets her in practice for my turn."

  "Is that a hint?" Stacy asked.

  "Oh, no… I'm not ready to get married."

  "You're the same age as I am."

  "Yes, but you found the right man," Katie pointed out. And Stacy's eyes clouded over with doubt while Katie continued teasingly: "I must confess—it makes me jealous every time Drew looks at you."

  "Huh… ? What are you talking about?"

  Katie paused and then she vaguely waved the comb which she was using to work Stacy's long hair into curls at the crown of her head. "It's just something that shines in his eyes… pride or love or something…" Her voice drifted off, slightly embarrassed.

  "Or the gleam of male superiority," Stacy quipped.

  But Katie's observation gave her food for thought until her friend said: "I think your hair looks terrific— even if I do say so myself."

  Stacy gazed into the dressing table mirror. "You have done a wonderful job. Thank you." She twisted around on the stool and hugged Katie, who beamed with pleasure at her praise.

  "Well, it's about time you dressed."

  Stacy noted the time on the bedside clock and, agreeing, she walked over to the bed.

  Muriel, now arrayed in a plum-colored georgette dress, came in while Katie fastened the long row of buttons up the back of the gown. She clasped her hands together and said, "Every bride is beautiful, Stacy, but today you outshine them all."

  Smiling her thanks, she stared at her reflection, not quite able to believe it was she. The delicate ecru lace hugged her throat and shoulders and formed graceful bell sleeves whose scalloped edges draped over her wrists. As she twisted to see the back, the lace train floated out behind her, giving her an ethereal feeling. Creamy silk lined the gown from the bodice to the hem.

  Carefully, Muriel picked up the antique veil and set it on Stacy's hair. "This is such a lovely veil." She stepped back to admire the net and lace confection.

  "My grandmother was the first bride to wear it, then Mother." Stacy's voice faded and she finished softly, "Now it's my turn."

  "I'm sure you'll be as lucky as they were," Muriel predicted.

  Stacy could not speak. Memories of her parents flashed through her mind. She had had a warm, loving childhood, growing up surrounded by the security of two devoted people. Suddenly, it came to her that Drew had not experienced such a home life. He had grown up emotionally starved for affection and had bravely concealed it behind a thick crust of independence and self-confidence. Intuitively, she was convinced that this was the key. Without the day-to-day experience of love in his life, he had never learned its true meaning.

  With a resurgence of optimism, Stacy thought that if she demonstrated to Drew the power of love he would eventually understand it and one day… reciprocate it. Passion and sex had their roles in a marriage, but without love it was a hollow shell. Hope radiated through her, sparkling her eyes, and lightening her heart.

  Peering through the netting, Stacy watched as the last guests and Drew's mother were seated. Then the organ swelled into the ageless measures of the wedding march. Katie was her only attendant. Stacy had wanted to keep the arrangements simple, but they had mushroomed until there were over one hundred guests standing awaiting the bride.

  Her father's eyes rested on her proudly and she smiled back as she tucked her hand around his arm. As she stepped down the aisle her brown eyes scanned the sea of friendly faces until they reached Drew. He stood at the base of the steps leading to the altar. Next to him was his best man, Jim Foster, a friend from his college days. Stacy thought Jim appeared more nervous than the groom, who held himself with dignity, a slight smile curving his lips.

  A tremor passed through her as Drew received her from her father. Unsteady, she cautiously ascended the steps to the minister.

  Listening to the sacred words, the scent of her bouquet floated up to her, mingled with the smell of burning candles and Drew's elusive cologne. She fixed her eyes on the strong brown hands which held hers while Drew and then she repeated their vows. As he slipped the gold band on her finger, she raised her lashes and was vaguely comforted by his reassuring smile.

  Katie had to nudge her before Stacy remembered to get Drew's ring. A little flustered and with hands which shook slightly, she slid it onto his finger.

  After the minister's final words, Drew hesitated an instant, staring deeply into her eyes before he raised her veil and bestowed the sealing kiss. His mouth lingered on hers and her heart missed a beat.

  In the narthex, they paused to sign the license and then they were surrounded by their friends. After a few minutes of chaotic greetings, Drew grasped her arm and guided her to the waiting limousine which would convey them to the reception at a downtown hotel.

  Alone with Drew, Stacy could think of nothing to say. Several strained minutes had passed when Drew broke the silence. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked drolly.

  "No. It went smoothly." Stacy was surprised that her voice sounded so normal. Then she found herself confessing, "I'm glad I didn't trip."

  He chuckled. "I pity anyone who that happens to."

  They continued talking lightly about unimportant topics for the remainder of the journey, but with part of her mind Stacy wondered at Drew's casualness.

  The reception was very exhilarating. So many toasts were given that Stacy was lightheaded by the time Katie helped her to change into her emerald-green traveling suit.

  With forced cheerfulness she hugged her father and kissed his cheek before Drew tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her through the gauntlet of well-wishers scattering rice and rose petals across their heads and shoulders.

  The black paint of Drew's car was barely recognizable for all the slogans decorating it. Her tension momentarily forgotten, Stacy laughed as they drove away, the sound of dozens of tin cans drowning out the throbbing engine. Drew threw her a surprised glance and then his deep chuckle blended with hers.

  After he drove for several blocks, he pulled the car over, uncoiled his long length, and climbed out. When he returned he tossed several strings of cans to the back of the car. "It must have taken weeks to collect those."

  Stacy giggled at his mock stern expression, and he regarded her closely. "You enjoyed the champagne?"

  "Of course… It was delightful."

  Shaking his head in amusement, he grinned. "You're tipsy."

  "No… I… am… not." She carefully enunciated the words; her tongue suddenly seemed too big for her mouth.

  "Whatever you say," he teased.

  Stacy rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes to blot out the spinning images. Much to her disgust, she admitted to herself that her stomach felt decidedly queasy. She was sorry now that she hadn't eaten more of the canapés or finger sandwiches which had been served at the reception. All I need is to be sick! she thought wryly. She opened her eyes and gazed out the window in an effort to divert her mind from her churning insides. The daylight was already fading as they sped down the highway to San Antonio.

  Drew seemed disinclined to talk and switched on the tape player. Immediately, the soothing music of Swan Lake filled the car and Stacy found her senses lulled.

  When the automobile halted, Stacy raised her lids, slowly, vaguely aware that she must have dozed off. Her forehead was resting on Drew's jacket sleeve. She peeked up at him through her lashes and encountered his amused expression. Sitting up smartly, she smoothed her skirt and fingered her hair.

  "You look fine," Drew told her. "After we check in I'll buy you dinner."

  "Good. I didn'
t eat very much today."

  "Really?"

  Stacy scowled at him.

  In response he leaned over and kissed her provocative mouth. As he sat back he observed, "That's better. You don't look so much like an impudent schoolgirl."

  Bristling, Stacy waited mutely until Drew came around and helped her out. Then still holding her hand, they walked into the bustling hotel lobby.

  As they made their way to the bridal suite, Stacy forced her lagging steps to keep pace with Drew's easy strides. The rooms were opulently decorated with a thick pile carpet and reproductions of English Georgian furniture. Standing in the middle of the lounge, Stacy watched through the open bedroom doorway as the bellboy deposited their bags on luggage racks. Then her eye was drawn to the huge bed draped with a gold satin spread. Identical fabric covered the padded headboard and hung from a cornice on the wall behind the bed. The sumptuous effect harkened back to a bygone age when life was more ostentatious.

  "Oh, my," Stacy whispered aloud to herself, "what have I let myself in for?" Tonight there would be no barriers to Drew's passionate possession. Suddenly Stacy was assailed by a feeling of bitter-sweetness: bitter to be claimed by a man who did not love her; sweet to explore the hidden depths of passion with a man whose lightest touch sparked her deepest longings.

  Brusquely, Drew tipped the departing bellboy. "Let's get ready for dinner. I'm starving."

  "Shouldn't we unpack?" Stacy found herself suggesting, and at the same time wondering if she was trying to prolong the inevitable.

  "Don't bother. The maid will do it while we're at dinner."

  "Okay. I'll just wash my hands," she said.

  Stacy opened two closet doors before she found the one leading into the bathroom. It was fitted with a sunken marble tub and the walls were covered with etched mirrors.

  Blushing at her disturbing visions, she quickly steered her thoughts to the task at hand. Using a brush from her purse, she smoothed back her hair and with the puff from her compact she powdered her shiny nose. She didn't need any color on her cheeks, she noted; they were already bright pink. Taking a deep breath, she snapped her bag closed and rejoined Drew.