Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  She knew there wasn’t any future for them. Even if Noble could somehow forgive her father for his betrayal, she knew too well what happened to “love matches.”

  But there was now.

  She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life regretting what might have been. She was going to hoard as many memories as she could of their time together.

  He was trying so hard to be . . . noble. She simply wasn’t going to stand for it.

  As she wondered how to hasten Noble’s capitulation, Venice checked the rabbit meat. Gingerly she plucked the leaf package from the hot ashes near the edge of the fire and stripped back the leaves. A luscious, oniony aroma was released in a fragrant steam. Venice’s stomach growled in response. She tested the meat with her finger and sighed. Perfect.

  Fetching a bucket, she made her way to where a trickle of water flowed down the rock face. After filling the bucket, she returned to find Noble stacking what looked like an entire tree’s worth of firewood.

  He was magnificent. For a moment, she just stood admiring him, his size, his strength, the clean broad expanse of his shoulders bunching and slipping beneath his thin chambray shirt. Suddenly, his back went rigid. He jolted upright as though brushed by an electric shock. It was uncanny the way he seemed to be able to feel her gaze. Spinning on his heels, he glowered at her.

  “What?” he said in exasperation. Venice couldn’t tell who he was exasperated with. “What? What? What?!”

  “Dinner’s ready. I’ll just make some coffee and we can enjoy our meal.”

  Noble watched as she started toward the fire, the heavy bucket banging against her legs. The water sloshed over the side, soaking her boots. Before he realized what he was doing, he leaped forward, taking the bucket from her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You want this on the fire?” he mumbled.

  Nodding, Venice sat down and began picking the rabbit meat up from its leafy bed. It was hot. Startled, she dropped the meat and stuck her finger in her mouth, sucking on the tip. “Ouch,” she muttered. Her little frown turned into an expression of pleasure as she tasted the savory juice. Her tongue flicked out to lick her other fingers.

  “Mmm,” she said appreciatively. “Good.”

  Noble didn’t respond.

  Venice looked up. Instantly she was transfixed by a fire hotter than the one that had burned her. Noble’s unguarded gaze devoured her. His golden eyes gleamed in his dark, tanned face. He was motionless, yet tension, so tightly coiled as to be nearly palpable, radiated from his body.

  The bawdy comment she was about to make died on her lips. Some instinct warned her not to toy with him. Not now.

  “Would you put some coffee in the pot?” Coward! she abjured herself.

  “Coffee?” Noble asked, shaking himself out of his trance.

  “Please.”

  He reached into the bag beside him and dumped a handful of crushed beans into the kettle. Working efficiently, Venice divided the rabbit meat between two tin plates. Apologetically, she portioned out the last soggy piece of hardtack and handed Noble his meal.

  For a few minutes, they ate in strained silence. Finally Venice peeked over at Noble. He was scowling fiercely at his plate, mechanically shoving food into his mouth. This was ridiculous. They were two civilized, reasonably intelligent people. They could talk.

  “Ah.” She cleared her throat. He looked up. Lord, he had the most beautiful, frightening eyes. She cleared her throat again and hurried on. “Blaine told me you did some sort of surveying work up here. And Katie mentioned the Smithsonian. And you mentioned you were doing explorations here.”

  “Yeah. Is there a question coming?”

  “Well, I was just wondering” —she paused and caught her hands between her knees— “why here?”

  Noble took a deep breath.

  So, he thought, they were going to play polite chitchat. They were going to sit here as though he was some dilapidated old granddad at a church social, not a man so heavy and taut with desire he was close to leaping at her from across the bloody fire and tasting for himself the oil still slicking her luscious, inviting lips.

  All right, then. He could do this.

  Maybe.

  “After the war, I went back to Yale and picked up a degree. I didn’t know what to do with it, though, and I hung about the East Coast trying to decide. I was pretty tired of people by that time. Wars can make a man so he is unfit company for anyone but himself.”

  Venice bent forward in concern, and he smiled at her. “Nah. It’s okay, Venice. I—what would you say? Got better? Came out of it? Anyway, I was in the cavalry in the war and while I was kicking my heels around New York, I ran into a former commander. One thing led to another and ended with the army offering me a promotion if I rejoined. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I agreed. I was assigned out here, to Lieutenant Wheeler’s party. I remember thinking it might be an interesting job.” He smiled in recollection.

  “Lieutenant Wheeler?”

  “Yeah. We charted a good portion of the mountains, assayed, collected . . . even took a photographer with us. It was an interesting job. I grew to appreciate this land,” he said quietly.

  He grew to love the mountains, Venice thought, watching the fervent expression on Noble’s face as he spoke.

  “After my stint with the army was over, I started working for some men who wanted to make sure that these mountains were never lost.”

  “How can you lose a mountain?” Venice asked.

  “Oh, you can. You can hurt the earth, Venice. You can hurt it bad enough so it can’t heal.”

  She weighed his words carefully, her hands on her knees, her back straight. He had to give her this: she listened.

  “And how,” she finally said, “do you recommend we keep from doing that?”

  “By safeguarding them. By understanding what we’re doing out here before we allow men to rush in here with hydraulics and dynamite and dams.”

  “And that’s what you’ve been doing? Trying to protect the mountains?”

  Noble leaned back. “There’s only one way to protect something from greed, Venice. You make laws. And that means politicians and that, my dear, means money. The people who need to pay attention to what we’re trying to do out here pay attention to money. Right now, there’s a bill drifting around in Congress that would turn the area north of here into a gigantic national park.” He snorted. “If I can only convince a few more congressmen to see the advantages of such a plan. With a few more hard, cold facts and a lot more hard, cold cash, the bill should see its way clear to the president.”

  The water was boiling in the pot. Venice stood up, her expression thoughtful as she caught the handle with a hooked branch and lifted it from the fire.

  “I might be able to . . . help,” she suggested hesitantly.

  The sense of empathy they had been enjoying dissipated like morning mist. Great, thought Noble, the Leiland Foundation to the rescue. Sorta like sending the dragon to rescue the maiden.

  “You mean Trevor?” Noble snorted. “I hate to tell you this, Venice, but the people who oppose this proposed park all crawled from your dear daddy’s rear pocket. The last thing in the world Trevor would want is you offering me his help.”

  “I didn’t mean his help. I meant—”

  “No,” he broke in, unable to hide his bitterness, “I take that back. There’s one thing he’d want less and that’s for you to be here—or anywhere else in the world—with me.”

  For a moment he’d forgotten.

  “No, Noble. I meant I might be able to help. I know how you feel about my father.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I know why you didn’t come back to the Park Avenue house.”

  He stopped, motionless. “Trevor told you?”

  She shook her head. “Cassius Reed told me.”

  He relaxed. No matter what Reed knew—or thought he knew—he had no idea of the whole story. No one but he and Trevor knew that. “Yeah?�
�

  “Yeah.” She answered. “I’m ashamed to say I never—I believed it when my father said you left without saying a word, without explaining. Oh, Noble, I’m so sorry!”

  “Forget it. You were right. I didn’t say goodbye. But then, I couldn’t.”

  “I understand. I’m surprised you still speak to me after what he did. It’s no wonder you never wrote or sent word or . . . anything.”

  Noble frowned. “Just what did Cassius tell you?”

  “He said . . . he said that my father stopped paying your tuition and had your name . . .” she paused, the words obviously hard to say, “. . . had your name sent to the draft office.”

  “And you think that’s why I never came back to say goodbye? Because I was mad?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Venice,” he said sadly, “there was more to it than that. Your father told me that if I placed one foot on the sidewalk outside your house, he’d set the doorman on me.”

  “He threatened to have you beaten?” Pain and bewilderment were clear in her tone. He’d felt the same emotions nearly ten years ago. “Why?”

  Noble didn’t want to tell her. Even after all this time, the thought of that final conversation still made him feel dirty, as ugly and lascivious as the street scum Trevor had accused him of being.

  “Why, Noble?” she begged.

  “Venice, let it go. It was ten years ago.”

  “Let it go?” she asked wildly. “Noble, for ten years I’ve thought you made a promise to me as casually as you would promise a puppy a walk, and that you just as carelessly broke it. For ten years, I’ve thought you abandoned me, without a single thought. For ten years I’ve tried not to care.”

  He held out a hand, wanting to touch her, to ease her pain. She ignored him, the words tumbling out. “Three days ago, I found out that wasn’t the case. That my father drove you away. I need to know . . . why?”

  She had a right to know, though that wouldn’t make the telling any easier. He fixed his gaze beyond her, so that he wouldn’t have to see her face as he described the sordid meeting.

  “The same day your father cut off my financing, I received a notice from the draft office, telling me to report. I knew who was responsible. I took the train to New York and pounded on your back door, demanding an interview. I kept it up until the servants let me in.

  “Your father met me in the hallway. I remember the maids tittering in the rooms they were cleaning and the footman standing by the front door. Trevor wouldn’t even let me in a room. We spoke there, in full sight and hearing of the staff, him checking his timepiece and me quivering with rage.”

  “Oh, Noble—”

  “It was quite simple, as he explained it. The experiment wasn’t turning out like he’d hoped. My politics were too liberal, my interests not at all in keeping with his plans. He was calling an end to the entire debacle.”

  Noble looked at her. Her eyes were filled with pity. “‘I’ve made a mistake,’ he said. ‘You are no longer welcome here.’ And then, he said, ‘And don’t seek to curry my favor through your relationship with my daughter. It isn’t seemly, the way you and she . . . You’re nearly a man, for God’s sake! She’s just a little girl.’

  Venice’s hand flew to her mouth. He knew how she felt. A feeling of nausea, a phantom of that decade-old sensation curled in the pit of his stomach.

  “I swear, Venice,” he said urgently, “I never felt anything but brotherly affection for you. There was nothing vile about our friendship.”

  “I know.”

  “God, I hated him. I left, Venice. I didn’t write, I didn’t try to see you, because I didn’t want to know if your father was poisoning you against me. I didn’t want to imagine you being suspicious of every word I penned. I didn’t want to wonder if you were examining my affection for something unnatural.”

  Venice’s head was bowed. He had to lean forward to hear her words. “He told me you left because you weren’t able to accept the responsibilities of college.”

  He shrugged.

  “I believed him,” she confessed. “Forgive me.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, feathered a kiss over the pulse fluttering in her wrist. “Well, I didn’t believe him. More fool me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ten years ago, I might not have loved you like a man does a woman, Venice,” he murmured against her skin, his mouth a soft caress. “But maybe Trevor had a crystal ball, after all. Because I surely love you now. And I would give anything for your love in return.”

  She lifted her hand to the golden head bowed before her.

  He shivered at her touch, releasing her hand and rising to his feet. “But I’ll never hurt you,” he said sadly, and left her before she could reply.

  Chapter 19

  Venice awoke in the pitch-black tent. The blanket had bunched beneath her and the soft, fragrant bed she’d laid down on had turned lumpy and prickly. She wondered if Noble, after insisting he would sleep by the fire, was faring any better. Easing onto her stomach, she drew back the canvas flap and peered outside.

  A fairy tale world met her startled gaze. Over the course of the past few hours, every cloud had been chased from the sky by a soft Chinook wind. Now, so close it looked as though she merely had to stretch out her hand to touch it, a velvety indigo heaven, encrusted with a million sparkling gems, spread above the mountains.

  A crescent moon, hanging on the cusp of a rocky spire, added its light to that of the myriad stars, cloaking the earth in a pale, ethereal luscence. Each blade of grass, each frond, each rock seemed touched by phosphorescence, creating a phantom dreamscape in the strange twilight world.

  Like a sleepwalker, Venice left the tent, moving into the night. She saw Noble, wrapped in a blanket and moonlight, standing beyond the fire, quiescent and magnificent, his handsome face turned to the sky. She went to his side. Without moving his head, he reached out and enveloped her hand in his much larger one.

  “Watch,” he whispered, his eyes riveted on the heavens.

  With a sense of enchantment, she followed his gaze. A star suddenly broke free of the celestial tapestry and streaked toward earth, a brief dazzling shimmer of light trailing its descent. She caught her breath. “What is it?”

  “Asteroid. Wait,” he cautioned, and as he spoke another star, and then another, tore loose from the black night and dashed in fiery brilliance across the sky. In awe, she watched the spectacle as hundreds of points of light dazzled and sputtered and danced across the firmament.

  They stood silently, hand in hand, watching the performance, as each minute more and more shooting stars ended their lives in the magnificent display.

  “You always reminded me of a star,” Noble finally murmured, so quietly that Venice was certain he spoke to himself. “As far out of my reach as any burning sun.”

  There was no bitterness to his tone, and his expression, bathed in the eerie light, was relaxed.

  He smiled, a tender smile of recollection. “Not that I can’t appreciate a star. I remember the first time I met you. You, in all that stiff lace and shiny satin and bows and curls . . . I didn’t own a pair of decent boots and my britches were so patched you couldn’t have told their original color.

  “Not that it mattered to you. Even as a child, you were a rare, comely lass, sweet and generous and burning with curiosity You were completely unaware of the bad in people, of the depths to which desperate people could sink.”

  He turned to look at her and his smile grew gentler. “But what do stars know about abysses? They are made for heights and that’s as it should be. That’s where they should stay . . . safely in their heavens.”

  “Not all stars stay in the sky,” Venice said. “Like those.” She gestured toward the sky.

  “True. Some fall to earth. They die in the descent.” He started to pull his hand free from hers, but she clung to him.

  He shook his head sadly. Gripping her shoulder with his free hand, he bent close to hers. His face
was set, determined. “I’m no fool, for all my foolish dreams.”

  “I’m no star, Noble.”

  “Yes, you are.” His tone was implacable. She tried another tack.

  “If I remember right, falling stars are drawn to the solid ground. If I have to be your star, you have to be my earth, safe and strong and constant.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I’m earthly all right.”

  “I mean it, Noble,” she said seriously. “What’s between us—it’s irresistible.”

  “When a star falls, it leaves a great, black crater. I’d like my heart whole. Now go back to bed. The show’s over.”

  His tone was dismissive and his hand dropped from her shoulder. He started to turn and suddenly Venice knew that if she let him go now, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  “I love you, Noble,” she said.

  He stopped. His back was to her and she could see his broad shoulders slump, ever so slightly, as though he’d just been dealt a blow. She went to him.

  “Every other man I’ve ever known has made me feel like an oddity. You make me feel . . . complete in myself. How can I help but love you? You’ve been my friend, my confidante . . . even after you left, I whispered secrets to your specter!”

  She touched his arm. His muscles tightened beneath her palm. She exhaled, silently pleading for him to do something, say something before her courage abandoned her.

  She smoothed her hand up his arm and across his shoulders. The muscles jumped to taut life beneath her touch. Under his thin cotton shirt, his body was warm.

  “Don’t.” His tone was tight.

  She steeled her nerve and brought her hand around the rigid ladder of his ribs to the hard flat plane of his belly. He held himself as stiff as fire-tempered steel.

  When she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, his breathing grew labored. Still, he made no move to stop her. His control goaded her on, making her push him into a confrontation, to either deny or accept what she offered.

  His shirt fell open, exposing his chest limned by moonlight, dotted with sweat in the cool mountain air. He turned slowly, finally facing her.