Come Fly with Me

by Sherryl Woods

  “Of course.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Carrots, potatoes, onions, the usual.”

  Lindsay picked up a chunk of meat on the tip of her fork and held it in the air. “And this? It doesn’t taste like beef.”

  “It’s not. It’s venison.”

  She lowered her fork slowly back to the bowl, her green eyes darkening in dismay. “As in Bambi?”

  “Oh, dear heavens. You’re not one of those.”

  “One of those what?”

  “People who don’t believe in hunting.”

  “How can you go out and kill an innocent little deer?”

  “I don’t kill innocent little deer. I kill grown-up deer and only for food, not just for the fun of it.”

  Lindsay shivered. “It’s still cruel.”

  “You ate that steak last night without muttering a single whimper of protest.”

  “That was different.”

  “How? The cow didn’t even have a fighting chance.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course not, because you know you’re not being logical.”

  “That’s right. I’m being emotional and feminine. Not too long ago that’s exactly what you wanted me to be.”

  “I think there’s a difference.”

  Lindsay knew perfectly well there was, but she’d already lost this round and she had no desire to prolong his satisfaction at her defeat.

  “Couldn’t we talk about something else?” she asked as they moved into the living room and settled down at opposite ends of the sofa.

  “Sure,” he agreed with alacrity. “We can talk about you.”

  “I was thinking more about you. I really don’t know very much about you except that you’re a writer, that you live in the wilderness, have this insane attraction for snow and that you kill wild animals.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.”

  “Right. Let’s stick to safer topics. You said you’d only lived here a few years. Where were you before that?”

  “I traveled a lot. A writer can live almost anywhere and I did, mostly in Europe, though I spent one glorious summer in Bali and another one on a tiny island in the Caribbean. Every winter I went to Switzerland to a chalet in a small village in the Alps.”

  Lindsay hesitated, then finally asked what she’d really wanted to know all along. “Alone?”

  “Sometimes,” he said briefly, his tone clearly slamming the door shut on the subject.

  “Mark, can I ask you something?”

  He studied her cautiously, then nodded. “Sure.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I’m thirty-nine. What do you think?” he replied cryptically.

  “I think you’re avoiding the question.”

  He tried one of his dazzling smiles on her. “Who was it who said that the only thing that matters is the present?”

  “Probably some man who didn’t want to talk about the past.”

  “Smart man.”

  “Not really. The past is largely responsible for the present.”

  “Then let’s talk about yours some more,” he said, turning the conversation right back around on her. She considered it one of his less attractive habits.

  “What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

  “Who said I’m afraid?”

  “It’s in your eyes every time we start to get too close.”

  “That’s just your imagination.”

  “Is it?” he asked skeptically, then challenged, “In that case, come over here by me.”

  Lindsay hesitated just a second or two too long. By the time she met Mark’s gaze again, his eyes were twinkling. “I rest my case.”

  “Just because I don’t want to have a meaningless little fling with you doesn’t mean I’m afraid.”

  “It wouldn’t be meaningless between us and you know it.”

  Lindsay sighed. “Okay,” she said at last. “Maybe you’re right and maybe that is the problem. I don’t want any involvements in my life.”

  “Why? I got the feeling last night that something had happened to make you lock yourself away from the world.”

  “I’m not exactly locked away from the world. I’m traveling all over it.”

  “Alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? You’re a beautiful woman, easy to be with, intelligent. Why would you choose to be alone? And don’t try to dance around that, because I know it has to be by choice. For the last two days I’ve watched you systematically shut me out and I don’t think I’m the first man you’ve done that to. You’re too good at it.”

  “I learned very early that you can’t count on other people, even the ones you love the most,” she said matter-of-factly, though there was a growing ache in her heart.

  He reached out and captured her hand in his, his gaze warm and tender. “Who hurt you? Who hurt you so badly that you don’t trust anyone?”

  Lindsay could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered in precise and horrifying detail the day they’d come to tell her mother that her father was dead, that the plane he’d been on had crashed into the side of a mountain and there were no survivors. She’d blamed him for leaving them. God, how she’d hated him for that, even though she’d known she was wrong.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” she said shakily now. “He didn’t mean to leave us alone. I know he didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Who?”

  “My father.”

  “He walked out on you?”

  “No. It was nothing like that. He was killed in a plane crash. He traveled a lot and one time the plane just didn’t make it back. I was nine years old, and all of a sudden one of the people I loved the most was gone and it didn’t make any sense. It hurt so much.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mark said, drawing her into his arms and holding her against his chest. Once more, she could feel his strength seeping into her, easing the pain. “That explains everything. You’ve spent your whole life trying to avoid another loss like that, haven’t you?”

  Suddenly it was clear to her. That was exactly what she’d been doing. She’d known it subconsciously, but she’d never before allowed the thoughts to surface so that she could deal with them, just as she’d forced herself to board plane after plane, each time terrified that she would die as her father had.

  “I suppose so,” she admitted, knowing that it was more than mere supposition. It was fact.

  “I know exactly how you feel, but you can’t live your life in a glass cage to protect yourself against hurt.”

  “I don’t see why not. I’m busy. I have friends. I love my job.”

  “And you spend your nights all alone.”

  “I don’t need anyone to share my nights,” she said stubbornly.

  “I felt that way once, too, but then I realized I wasn’t living. I was only existing. Don’t let that happen to you, bright eyes. It would be such a waste.”

  The intensity of the warning and the warmth and concern behind it left Lindsay shaken and emotionally drained. Reaching deep inside herself to admit the truth about her fears had taken a devastating toll, more than she could handle in one night.

  “I think I’d better get to bed,” she said, wondering if Mark would try to stop her. But, once again, he let her go with only a brief, tantalizing kiss.

  “Night, love.”

  By the time Lindsay finally climbed into her bed, every one of her senses seemed to be screaming in frustration. She was alone again, and, as adamant as she’d been about not needing anyone, for the first time in her life she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be back in Mark’s arms as she had been earlier. It was a pull more powerful than anything she had ever felt before and she knew that sooner or later she was going to have to do something about it. Running away seemed like a very good idea.

  By the time Monday morning rolled around after another virtually sleepless night, she wanted more than ever to go back to Los Angeles
. She had admitted during the night that she was becoming entangled in something with Mark that she was afraid to face: her own sensuality, her own rapidly building physical desires, desires that would lock her into the very kind of relationship she’d always been so careful to avoid.

  But leaving Mark Channing to put her life back on an even keel was not just a simple case of packing her bag and going to the airport. There was still the matter of the contract to be settled, and try as she might, Mark seemed to be oblivious to every subtle attempt she made to get him to read it, much less discuss it. Even her more direct suggestions were met with evasive responses and tactical retreats that would have made any army commander proud. They only infuriated her.

  “Mark,” she finally began as they sat sipping coffee after lunch on Monday afternoon. They had spent the morning laughing like a couple of carefree kids as they built a huge lopsided snowman with a crooked button smile, a carrot nose and an old hunting cap sitting jauntily on his head. It had been fun, but the time for fun was over. She was becoming far too ensnared in a way of life that was all wrong for her.

  “You promised me you’d read this contract, if I spent the weekend with you. The weekend’s up and I have to go back,” she said, rather proud of her decisive, no-nonsense tone. “Trent will be expecting me.”

  “Call him,” Mark suggested blandly.

  Lindsay glowered at him. So much for her power play. She knew exactly what calling Trent would accomplish: nothing. Her boss would let her stay here until the flowers bloomed in July if it meant that she’d come back with a deal to have Mark write a screenplay based on his latest book. It was Trent’s current obsession, and no cost was too high when Trent Langston was personally obsessed with a project. He wouldn’t help her. She was going to have to get out of this emotional minefield on her own.

  “Mark, please. I really need to go back. I have other things to take care of.”

  He regarded her curiously. “Personal things? Is there another man in your life after all?”

  The way Mark phrased the question and the darkly dangerous look in his eyes implied that he was in her life now and had every intention of staying there without sharing her with anyone else. That look posed a definite threat to any possible lingering commitments from her past. Fortunately, she supposed, there were none to worry about.

  “No,” she admitted at last. “You know perfectly well after last night that there’s no man. I just have other work to do. It’s been piling up while I chased you around the country.”

  “Now that you’ve found me are you really having such a miserable time?”

  Lindsay bit her lip and refused to meet his penetrating gaze. That was precisely the trouble. She wasn’t having a miserable time at all. She was enjoying being with Mark all too much. She was beginning to count on their long talks, on his gentle teasing, the increasingly more demanding touches that had suddenly abated, leaving her yearning for their resumption. She was beginning to want him in her life and that terrified her. Even though she was starting to understand why she’d always kept men at arm’s length, it didn’t mean she could change it overnight.

  “I’m not here to have a good time. I’m here to get you to read the damned contract and sign it.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I can tell. If you could have seen yourself Friday night...” He shook his head disapprovingly. “You looked like an exhausted, woebegone little waif.”

  “If I looked that lousy, I’m surprised you were so hot to take me in.”

  “That’s exactly why I was so determined to take you in. I wanted to see some sparkle in those beautiful green eyes of yours.”

  Lindsay gave him her most beguiling smile. “You should just see the sparkle when I get a signed contract in my hands.”

  “I never promised I’d sign it,” he reminded her. “Only that I’d read it.”

  “When?”

  “When the time is right.”

  “Damn it, Mark! When will that be? I can’t stay here forever,” she said desperately. “I have other work to do.”

  “If you ask me, you’re running away.”

  “From what?”

  His gaze caught hers and she could see the knowledge that lit those black eyes until they burned with an exciting flame of passion.

  “Only you can answer that one. Think about it,” he suggested, as he calmly pulled on a jacket and went outside for a walk, Shadow bounding along beside him.

  While he was gone, Lindsay did think, though not about Mark’s taunting question. She already knew the answer to that: she was running from him. What puzzled her more was his ability to turn any conversation away from himself and back to her. While she had revealed so much last night, allowed herself to become increasingly vulnerable, he had remained a charming enigma. No amount of sensitive probing had revealed the reason for his brooding silences, the distant stares. It bothered her that even as she was growing to trust him, perhaps even to fall a little in love, if she were to admit the whole truth, he didn’t seem to trust her at all. If for no reason other than that, it was time to retreat to the safety of her own environment, where she could regroup her defenses.

  Even more than wanting to escape from an emotional situation she wasn’t prepared to handle, though, she’d come to realize that these last few days had been a fantasy in other ways as well. She’d hardly noticed being virtually stranded in the middle of nowhere because Mark was constantly showering attention on her...talking to her, skiing with her, playing backgammon, simply sitting by her side while they were both engrossed in their own reading or thoughts.

  But that closeness and attentiveness wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t be sustained day in and day out over a lifetime, even if two people were madly in love. For one thing, sooner or later Mark would have to go back to writing, shutting her out for hours on end. What would she do then? She’d never be able to bear the loneliness. Perhaps one of the greatest paradoxes in her life was that while she was pushing people away to avoid commitment and loss, she was at the same time terrified of being alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lindsay didn’t have to wait long to find out what living in the middle of nowhere with Mark would really be like on any kind of permanent basis. Not that he’d exactly asked her to stay forever, she reminded herself. He had, however, given her plenty of indications over the last few days that he wasn’t in any hurry for her to leave.

  Still, when she woke up early Tuesday morning and found that he was already locked away in the den, it depressed her. She could hear his typewriter rapidly clacking along in a steady, intense way that did not invite interruptions and she immediately felt as shut out of his life as if there’d been a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the closed door.

  Trapped by Trent’s obsession with this movie project, ensnared by her growing physical and emotional response to Mark and left at loose ends with only the sound of the typewriter to interrupt the endless silence, she began to feel cut off from the world for the first time since she’d arrived in Colorado. She had a feeling that if she screamed her head off, the only one for miles who’d notice or care would be Shadow, who’d been sneaking into her room since the very first night and sleeping at the foot of her bed.

  Lindsay wasn’t particularly surprised by the stark sensation of loneliness, only that it had taken so long to overcome her. Obviously Mark’s attentiveness had kept it at bay. Now that he was hard at work again there was nothing to occupy her usually active mind.

  No newspapers were delivered to the door way out here. They apparently collected for days at the general store until Mark went to pick them up. During the idle time they’d spent just sitting together in front of the fire, she’d read every back issue of the Rocky Mountain News and Denver Post, all of his magazines, plus those she’d bought at the Los Angeles airport. She’d even gone through every bit of work she’d thrown into her briefcase before leaving the office.

  Bored, increasingly r
esentful of Mark’s sudden defection, and resigned to the idea that she had accomplished nothing regarding the contract and wasn’t likely to, she called Trent, hoping for a reprieve. His greeting dashed her hopes and made her mood even more foul than it already was.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped with more than customary rudeness, when he finally took the call after leaving her on hold for a solid fifteen minutes.

  “Where the hell do you think I’ve been?” she snapped right back. “You sent me on a fool’s errand and I’ve been following your orders.”

  “You’re not in Denver,” he accused. “I called that blasted hotel yesterday when you didn’t show up for work or call in. They said you checked out first thing Saturday morning.”

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  “Lindsay, don’t play games with me. I’m in no mood for them. Either you’re there or you’re not there.”

  “I am not at the hotel. Your Academy Award winning writer checked me out.”

  “Then where the hell are you now?”

  “At his place.”

  “Ahhh. I see,” he said, his voice smoothing out with distinct pleasure. Trent was thoroughly disgusting when he thought one of his plans was working out just the way he’d intended. He took a certain amount of perverse delight in manipulating people like pawns in a high-powered chess game.

  “You don’t see a damn thing, you bloody idiot. I’m stranded out here in the damned wilderness with nothing to do, while your writer friend is holed up in the den pounding away on his typewriter.”

  “Is he writing the screenplay?” he asked hopefully.

  “For all I know he’s writing a letter to his mother.”

  “Has he signed the contract?”

  Her voice was thick with sarcasm, she retorted, “Would I still be here if he had?”

  “Only you can answer that, my little dove,” he replied with exaggerated suggestiveness. He wouldn’t have used that tone if Lindsay’d been in the same room. She’d thrown his prized crystal paperweight at him for far less.

  She and Trent Langston were a more than even match most of the time. That was why he’d hired her. Even though he loved to shove his employees around, he only respected those who shoved right back. Lindsay not only shoved, she kicked and screamed. Usually.