Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning

by Patricia McLinn

  Until the very last moment.

  ****

  “I have something I want you to see,” Ed said when she came out of the bathroom.

  “I should be getting to the theater. If I miss final call, Brad will burst.”

  “I’ll get you there on time.”

  He sounded solemn. That worried her a little. Yet she knew he would get her to the theater on time.

  “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  A short, simple word, quickly lost amid putting on outdoor clothes and making sure she had her bag for the theater. Yet she felt his deep pleasure at her acceptance.

  ****

  Their taxi pulled up to the curb.

  Donna was surprised Ed had a taxi waiting outside the hotel. Even more surprised at where it dropped them off. There were large buildings at either end, with nothing but space here in the middle. Like a football field set down among government buildings.

  “Here?” she asked, though Ed was already telling the driver to pick them up at this spot in 20 minutes.

  “Here,” he confirmed. He came around the taxi and opened the door, drawing her to her feet.

  “Why?”

  “Be patient. C’mon, let’s go.”

  Still holding her hand, he led her to the center of the open space. On a football field, this is where the captains would meet for the coin toss. A spattering of pedestrians passed.

  “That,” he said, turning her to face one direction, “is the State Capitol. Not as impressive as Wyoming’s, but then I’m biased.”

  “It’s very nice, but I don’t understand —”

  “Now, let’s head west.” He turned her 180 degrees to start down an arrow-straight pathway.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing ahead.

  “That’s west. If it were daylight and clear you’d see the Rockies.”

  “I meant that building, the big one with curved wings like arms reaching out.”

  “We’ll get to that. First, over to your right’s the seal pond, with statues of seals, though the fountains aren’t on this time of year. The curved colonnade around it is a memorial to a guy named Voorhies, apparently because he paid for it. Past that and set forward more is Denver’s original library — one of Andrew Carnegie’s libraries. But a while back, the city built a new library.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I studied up to be your tour guide. You said you felt bad you haven’t seen much of Denver.”

  She had said that, hadn’t she? Her priorities had shifted, but that didn’t make it any less sweet that he’d done this for her.

  At a point where the path demanded a left or right turn, he stopped. Wind skidded around them. She tucked her arm into his and huddled closer. He disengaged his arm, but only to put it around her, so she had no complaints.

  “Over that way, is the Greek Theater — an outdoor amphitheater. You should be able to see some of the main library — no, straight. Now, look between the Greek Theater’s columns. That’s the new art museum.”

  “This is amazing. You are amazing.” She turned, reaching to put her arms around his neck. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “What I’d say — well, I should sing it, since it’s one those Fred Astaire songs Grover told me about, but I’m no singer. I’m thinking of one called ‘They Can’t Take That Away From Me.’ ”

  She knew it, knew every line. It was a man storing up every memory he could before the separation he knew was coming. She swallowed against a knot in her throat.

  Ed said, “There’s a line that says she’s changed his lif— ”

  She stopped him with her thumb crossing his lips, her gloved hand to his cheek. If he reached the lyric about the lovers never meeting again, she’d dissolve.

  He kissed her thumb, then straightened, put his hands to her shoulders, and turned her to face the view.

  “Okay. No time. We have more landmarks to point out. Now we get to the building straight ahead. This is the Denver City and County Building.” She giggled at his exaggerated tour guide manner, and in appreciation of his breaking the mood. He checked his watch. “A handsome bit of architecture, the municipal center of the city, and any second . . . ”

  Light exploded in front of her. She gasped. First with surprise, then, a second time, with pleasure.

  What had simply been a mass of a building sparkled in drenching color.

  “Oh, Christmas lights! All the way to the top of the tower.”

  “Clock tower,” he said, and she heard the grin in his voice. “One-hundred and eighty-feet tall.”

  “Oh, Ed.” She turned from the glorious lights to him, wonder welling inside her. Wonder at what she’d seen. Wonder at his giving it to her. Wonder at him. “Oh, Ed.”

  She stretched up, but couldn’t have kissed him if he hadn’t cooperated . . . which he did.

  He partially straightened. With her arms around his neck, she came off the ground, holding on, kissing him.

  “Damn,” he said against her mouth.

  “Wha—”

  “Time,” he said. “Theater.”

  “Oh,” she acknowledged dazedly. Right. The theater. Tonight’s performance.

  He scooped her up, which suited her fine, since it brought their faces closer. Though kissing became more difficult as he strode back the way they’d come. She settled for kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He growled. So she did it again.

  She was aware of being bundled into the taxi, of the driver chuckling and saying something about Ed carrying her. Then Ed was beside her, his arms back around her, and . . . ah . . . his mouth on hers.

  Too soon, far too soon, he pulled back and said, “We’re here.”

  Nearly. Oh, yes, very nearly.

  He kissed her one last time. “You’ve got to go. You’ll be late.”

  “Aren’t you —” No, of course he wasn’t coming with her. She had to go on stage. He would be in the audience.

  She started away, trying to force herself to hurry.

  “Young man, I’ve never told a fare this before, but you’ve overpaid,” she heard the taxi driver say, laughter in his voice.

  “No, sir,” Ed said. “Because I’m going to need to sit here a bit before I can go anywhere.”

  Donna bit her lip to hold back a giggle, along with a temptation a whole lot hotter, and broke into a run for the stage door.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tuesday Night

  “Great show, Donna.”

  She turned from her spot at the end of the communal dressing room and saw Stan Henson’s head poked around the door frame. The director didn’t travel with the company, but he and others arrived periodically to catch performances and fine-tune.

  “Come see me after you change,” he ordered.

  She thought of Ed waiting. But you didn’t say “Catch you later, I have a date” to the director.

  She dressed fast, then had trouble finding the man, who seemed to cover every square inch of backstage. Always a minute ahead of her. She heard “He just left” a dozen times.

  She rushed into wardrobe, and ran smack into him. If she’d been bigger she would have knocked him over. Instead, he took two steps back, regained his balance and laughed. “Gotta love your enthusiasm, Donna. C’mon, let’s go to the offices.”

  She wanted to tell him to spit out whatever he had to say here because she didn’t want to waste time going up, only to have to backtrack to find Ed. But the director was already heading away, and arguing would take more time.

  She fidgeted in the chair he’d gestured her to while he went out and called to someone named Marty. Finally — finally — he came and sat behind the desk.

  “I’ll make this fast —”

  Not fast enough.

  “— I’ve been watching you. Tonight was your best dancing.”

  She barely stopped her jaw from dropping. She’d been sore enough — and distracted by memories of how she’d gotten sore — that she’d hardly thought about her dancing.<
br />
  “Your singing’s top-notch. Strong enough that you carry some of the others. Your acting’s held you back. I told you that in New York. But you’ve improved. Thought you had promise on my last visit, but tonight I saw more. A glow. A joy. Wasn’t there before, but you had it in spades tonight. I won’t give you the run-around—”

  Even if he had, her head couldn’t spin any faster than it was now.

  “— we’re expecting a cast change, and we want to move you into Nikki — ”

  A speaking role. Then, “Lydia.”

  He made a tching sound. One did not question Stan Henson’s proclamations, even if they struck down a friend. But her stomach had been roiling from the beginning of this conversation, and it must have been from a premonition about Lydia. Had to be.

  “You’ll keep this under your hat. Nora’s leaving stop after next.” An added mumble sounded like Not soon enough. “That will give you a chance to rehearse — you as Nikki and Lydia as Helene — so you’re comfortable before San Francisco.” He leaned forward, sharp eyes examining her. “But it’s you I want you thinking about. If you handle this the way I think you will, it could be just the start.”

  She gaped at him.

  “You’ll stay as Charity understudy. Not that we expect Angela to go anywhere.”

  His certainty indicated Angela had not gotten the TV job Maudie had mentioned, whether their lead knew it or not.

  Donna mumbled words of pleasure, excitement, and thanks. He clucked his amusement, discomfort, and understanding.

  But he didn’t understand, she thought, as she rushed back through the theater. He couldn’t possibly. Because she didn’t.

  She pushed open the stage door, saw Ed and launched herself at him, he caught her, wrapping his arms securely around her, and she didn’t let go for a long time.

  They had now.

  They would have these days where reality floated past outside their bubble.

  They had to have that.

  ****

  She told Ed about the director’s news as they started walking, her hand warm and protected within his.

  “That’s terrific, Donna. It’s a big step, and you’ll keep on making those steps.”

  She’d always planned to. “First, I have to do okay with Nikki.”

  “You will. You’ll be fantastic in this role and beyond.”

  He believed that — Ed wouldn’t lie to her. And she believed she would be fantastic. So why wasn’t she as excited as she would have expected to be?

  “Wish I could see you in the new role.” Something jolted through her, but before she grabbed hold of it, he gave her a shrewd look, then drew in a breath, and said, “Smells like snow. So, what’s your favorite Christmas smell?”

  She recognized and welcomed the distraction he offered. “The tree. You?”

  “Pies baking.”

  “I should have guessed. I also love cookies just out of the oven.”

  “Pies baking.”

  “The turkey.”

  “Pies baking. Favorite flavor, too.”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “Pies —”

  “I know. Pies baking.”

  “Actually, I was going to say: Pies done baking. God, I’m hungry.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you always?”

  He looked at her, and heat pulsed through her. “Yeah, I am. Always. How about takeout? Grover told me about a Chinese place around the corner from the hotel.”

  “Takeout?” She immediately saw the advantage. But she wanted him to say it.

  His voice dropped. “We could take it back to the room.”

  “Oh?”

  “Or we could eat there,” he amended, almost masking the disappointment. “Or find another restaurant. If you don’t like Chinese —”

  “I love Chinese. And takeout would be —” Their gazes caught, held. “— great.”

  He tucked her against his side as they moved down the sidewalk hip to hip.

  “But, Ed,” she said after half a block. “I won’t be able to breathe if we keep up this pace.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize — Guess I forgot.” As the pace slowed from supersonic to merely breakneck, he said, “I was telling Grover about the Christmas lights. He said he might take Maudie to see them.”

  She smiled at his effort to give their thoughts another path.

  “There’s a legend that outdoor lights started here in Denver in 1914. A boy was so sick he had to stay in bed, so his electrician father dipped bulbs in red and green and strung them up in a tree he could see from his room. A few years later the father was a consultant when the city started — ”

  “What happened to the boy?”

  He looked over at her. “I have no idea.”

  She humphed in dissatisfaction.

  “But I can tell you that most years the lights come on at six each night from after Thanksgiving to the New Year, then back on for the Western National Stock Show in January.”

  “But you’re not coming back for that, right?” She heard the off note in her voice, and from the look he shot her, so did he.

  She had to face it. She didn’t like the idea of his being here without her. And that was horrible. She should encourage him the way he’d encouraged her about getting the role of Nikki.

  “Maybe another year, if we have a few good years in a row.”

  “You will,” she said with certainty. But her mind was on that other track: Was she less excited about the new role than she would have expected because he wouldn’t see her in it?

  “Here’s the restaurant,” Ed said.

  She heard strain in his voice. Knew it was from impatience, because she felt that, too. She gladly concentrated on that instead of her thoughts.

  “I hope they’re fast.” As she ducked under the arm he extended to hold the door she slanted a look at him.

  “Can’t be fast enough,” he muttered.

  ****

  They ate the food cold, and then a second round of it even colder. Because they had better things to do.

  With the two of them nestled in the bed, she unwrapped a cookie and broke it in half.

  “What’s the fortune say?”

  She dropped the paper onto the night stand. “I don’t want to know. They’re bossy things, those fortunes.”

  “Just thought I should be prepared if it says something like, ‘You’ll die in bed soon, a happy man.’ ”

  She giggled and held out half the cookie to him.

  He raised his head to snag the cookie from her fingers, then kept coming, his mouth open on the flesh where her shoulder met her collarbone.

  She closed her eyes, absorbing sensations.

  “Your skin is so white, so smooth. Like . . . ”

  When he went silent, she prodded, “Like?”

  “Snowberries.”

  “What?”

  But he didn’t answer. He bent his head, and slid his tongue along the slope of her breast, then over its tip, sending a jolt through her that clenched her inner muscles.

  “Snowberries?” She had to pause to pant in two quick breaths. “Those are the ones with the white—?”

  He raised his head, leaving her skin moist and warm, and wanting more. “Berries.”

  He lifted her hand, and directed the forgotten cookie half she still held to her lips. She took it in her mouth with a flick of her tongue.

  He groaned. “I take it back.”

  “What?” she murmured.

  “My favorite Christmas flavor. I have a new one.”

  “I don’t believe it. Something better than pie?”

  “Um-hum. You.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wednesday

  When they woke to Wednesday’s daylight, he asked, “Want to tour Denver?”

  “Yesterday was wonderful, but no.” She wanted to stay here. With him. In their bubble.

  As long as they could.

  “Okay.” After a pause, he added, “You know, I’ve been thinking about that shower. I’
ve got an idea . . .”

  “I’m all for ideas.”

  Especially ones that worked so well. So very, very well.

  ****

  “Good performance tonight, Donna. Not sure how many in the audience saw it, though. You ever going to do something about Angela?”

  Brad had blocked her exit by stepping in front of her in the narrow corridor.

  He didn’t seem to need an answer to his question, snorting out a breath, and saying, “Your guy’s down by the door, has his head together with that doorkeeper.” Then he moved on.

  She found Ed still with Grover.

  “What were you two talking about?” she asked Ed as they headed out.

  “Did you know he used to dance on TV? Variety shows.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Know who he — what do they call it — backed up? Fred Astaire.”

  She stopped. “Really? No. He was probably telling you a story.”

  “I don’t think so. Maudie believes him.”

  “Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be interested. So, here’s what I thought we’d do — go get sandwiches from the diner, and take them back to the theater, including some for Grover, and you can ask him questions to your heart’s content.”

  She hesitated, part of her wanting to hurry back to the hotel, to have the time to themselves. But he looked so pleased with himself . . . “You think he’d be okay with that?”

  “I know he’d be okay with that, as long as I get his sandwich order right.”

  “Thank you, Ed. Thank you. That would be wonderful. I can’t imagine sitting around a cold theater eating sandwiches and listening to old show biz stories is your idea of fun.”

  “It’ll be fun watching you have fun. As long as —” He looked at her with such intensity that heat flowed through her body in immediate response. “— it doesn’t go real late.”

  “Not late. Not late at all.”

  He smiled. “Besides, Grover gave me the chance to find out Henri was exactly right about that song “I Won’t Dance” — it definitely was about not dancing.”