Illusions

by Janet Dailey

  “You made it.” He removed his hat from the empty spindle-backed stool beside him. “Have a seat.”

  She shook her head. “I think I’ll stand.”

  He shifted over, making room for her at the bar. “Did you stay for the evening concert by the string quartet?”

  “No. Actually, we left shortly after I saw you. I would have been here sooner, but some minor problem cropped up at the house.” She didn’t explain that the problem had been Toby’s agitated state or the time it had taken for Lucas to get him calmed down. “This is a busy place.”

  “Always.”

  A bartender in a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back, suspender and garters at the sleeves, laid a cocktail napkin in front of Delaney. “What’ll you have tonight?”

  Hesitating, Delaney thought of her father and said, “Cutty and Seven.”

  Jared indicated the empty bottle beside his pilsner glass. “Another beer.” When the waiter moved off to fill their order, he glanced sideways at her. “Cutty and Seven isn’t your usual drink. Or is that one of the things about you that has changed?”

  “No. It isn’t my usual,” she admitted. “It’s my dad’s.”

  He frowned curiously. “There must be some logic there, but I’m not following it.”

  Delaney smiled. “This bar was a favorite hangout of his when he was here in the fifties. When he found out I was coming to Aspen, he asked me to have a drink at the Jerome Bar for him—for the sake of his old good times.”

  He nodded his understanding as the bartender returned with her drink and a cold bottle of beer for him. Jared pushed a twenty-dollar bill to him, then picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. “In that case—here’s to your father and his old good times.”

  “To Dad,” she echoed and touched her drink to his, their fingers briefly brushing. She took a sip of it and felt the unaccustomed burn of whiskey in her throat.

  Laughter broke out around the big round table by the front window. Jared turned to look, angling his body sideways and leaning an elbow on the bar. Delaney took advantage of the diversion to absently study his burnttan face and the play of light on his sun-streaked hair. It was disconcerting to realize that if she’d come here with Riley, she’d be regaling him with her father’s tales of the Hollywood legends who had partied in the hotel bar. But she doubted Jared would be amused by them. He didn’t think much of celebrity types.

  Jared turned back. “I’ll bet your father did enjoy it here. The fraternity-style atmosphere would suit him.”

  “But not you,” she guessed.

  There was a laconic twist to his mouth as he raised his beer glass, saying over the rim of it, “It shows, does it?”

  “Slightly,” she replied with a smile. “Would you like to go somewhere else?”

  She could see he did, but he hesitated. “You haven’t finished your drink.”

  “It’s not mine. It’s Dad’s.”

  He reached in his shirt pocket and took out another twenty-dollar bill, then signaled to the bartender. “See this drink, Bobbie.” He indicated the highball glass in front of Delaney. “Keep it here for our invisible friend when we leave.”

  The bartender took the folded twenty from Jared’s two fingers, raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  “Thanks, Jared,” she said, moved by the gesture. She had forgotten how sensitive—how sentimental—Jared could be. “Dad would like that.”

  “I thought he would, too,” he said with a touching hint of self-consciousness.

  Outside there was a nip to the mountain night that sharpened all her senses, the stillness and quiet soothing after the steady din of voices and laughter in the bar. Jared steered her to the curb and waited for the solitary car on Main Street to pass. Then, together, they jaywalked to the other side of the street.

  Delaney didn’t ask where they were going, discovering she didn’t care. Without thinking, she glanced northward at the gleam of light shining from the windows of the cantilevered houses on Red Mountain, easily picking out the one owned by Lucas Wayne. A car door slammed across the street, drawing her glance to the couple emerging from the Jerome to take possession of a sleek white Porsche the parking valet had brought around for them. The uniformed doorman opened the passenger door for the woman and discreetly palmed the tip her jacketed male companion slipped to him.

  As the Porsche pulled away from the old and elegant hotel in a surge of race horsepower, Delaney was struck by the contrast and imagined what the scene would have been like before the turn of the century when the Jerome had been modern and new.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jared asked. “You look miles away.”

  “Years, actually,” she said and smiled. “I was thinking about Aspen, the Hotel Jerome—what it must have been like during the old days, all the grand parties and balls they must have had in it.”

  “With the stamp mills, the concentrators, and the sampling works constantly thumping in the background,” Jared added with dry, mocking humor. “Of course, that was the purpose of the parties and the music—to drown out the clamor of a mining industry that operated twenty-four hours a day.”

  At the next corner, his hand guided her into a right turn that pointed them toward Ajax Mountain and the bricked walks of the mall. The moon, nearly full, drifted from behind a cloud and cast its silvery shine on the mountain’s rugged slopes.

  “Were there many big mines here?” Delaney searched the mountain for some trace of them.

  “Quite a few. The Aspen Mine, the Durant, the Emma, the Homestake, all were major producers. There were three tramways built just to carry silver ore down the mountain.”

  “What happened to all of them once the mining stopped?”

  “They’re still there. The entrances to the shafts are boarded up or filled in now, but this whole area is riddled with abandoned tunnels—the surrounding mountains and the town.”

  “The town?” Delaney stopped. “If the mines were in the mountains, why would there be tunnels under the town?”

  “Because when a vein of silver ore was found, the miners chased it wherever it went. If that meant tunneling under the town, they did. Typically, mining consisted of sinking a shaft—either straight down or at an angle—then tunneling off it every one hundred feet or so,” Jared explained. “Those tunnels were called levels, identified by their depths. Level One would be one hundred feet, Level Two, two hundred feet, and so on. Naturally, the deeper they went into bedrock, the hotter it got. Seven and eight hundred feet below ground, it gets pretty warm. Which was why most of the miners worked stripped to the waist.”

  “Eight hundred feet?” She started walking again. “Do you realize that’s nearly eighty stories belowground?”

  “That’s right. And at each level, they’d search for ore veins by digging more tunnels called drifts. Plus, they’d need ventilation shafts.”

  “Interesting,” she murmured. “Somehow I guess I always thought a mine was one long main tunnel with smaller ones branching off from it—but all on the same floor, not a half-dozen different ones. Are there any of these old mines you can go inside?”

  Jared shook his head. “They were dangerous a hundred years ago, and they’re even more dangerous today. The timbers are rotted; most have caved in or are filled with water.”

  “What do you mean—they were dangerous a hundred years ago? How? Why?”

  “A variety of reasons,” he said. “But most deaths—and they averaged one a month during the peak of the mining activity—were caused by accidents with explosives or the deep shafts.”

  “The shafts—you mean falling down one?”

  “Right. You have to remember the miners worked underground by candlelight. Most fatal falls occurred when a miner was pushing a loaded ore cart to the shaft so it would be hauled to the surface on a platform—without knowing that the platform had been raised to another level. He’d end up pushing the cart into the shaft and getting pulled in after it, falling one hundred, two hund
red feet or more.”

  His words conjured up an image of falling into a deep abyss, the blackness swallowing her like a descent into hell. She shuddered. “I think I just lost my interest in the subject of silver mines.”

  “In that case, can I interest you in a cup of coffee or hot chocolate?” He indicated the popcorn wagon on the corner, complete with an outdoor patio, scattered with wrought-iron tables and chairs.

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “It’ll probably be instant,” he warned.

  “I don’t mind.”

  While Jared went to get their drinks, Delaney wandered onto the landscaped patio bordered by brick flowerbeds. She sat in one of the black iron chairs facing the dancing plumes of water that shot up from the street fountain grates in fluctuating rhythm. The cascading fall of water was a cool sound, a soothing sound.

  He brought her hot chocolate to the table, and a cup of coffee for himself. They sat and drank it, talking when they felt like it, falling silent when they didn’t. When she emptied her cup, Jared took it from her and threw it, along with his, into the trash.

  “Want to walk a little more?”

  “Why not?”

  This time when they set out, Jared took her hand, linking fingers in a warm, gentle grip. They strolled along the mall with its planting of trees and flowers, the space in between paved with liver-colored brick. Ajax Mountain rose ahead of them, and the glow from the moon and the old-style iron streetlamps lit the way.

  Somewhere nearby a lone instrument began to play. “Is that a harmonica?” Delaney asked, trying to identify the rich, wavering sound.

  Jared nodded. “Some street musician must be working late tonight.”

  Delaney frowned, haunted by the familiar tune he played. “What’s that song? I can’t think of the name of it.”

  “‘Stardust.’” Jared slowed to a stop and angled toward her when she did the same. The brim of his hat shadowed all of his face except his chin and his mouth. “Would you like to dance?”

  Startled, she wasn’t sure she understood what he meant. “Here?”

  He nodded. “Here. Now. With me. In my arms.”

  There was something dreamlike and slow about the way he drew her against him, his gaze holding hers, his hand and arm folding over hers and carrying it to his chest. They danced close, their clothes brushing, the rough denim of his jeans catching at the silk of her slacks with each shifting step. Her cheek was centimeters from his jaw, her nerve ends tingling with awareness of him.

  Listening to the melody the harmonica played, she remembered the lyric and thought of all the lonely nights she’d spent “dreaming of a love”—of Jared. She pressed closer to him, needing to feel the warmth of his body, needing to be reminded that on this night she wasn’t alone, that he was here to fill the empty ache of solitude. His encircling arm tightened to keep her close.

  She rubbed her cheek against his smooth-shaven jaw, inhaling the scent of his aftershave lotion with each breath.

  She closed her eyes for an instant, then smiled. “Do you realize that this is the first time we’ve danced together?”

  “It’s not going to be our last.” His lips lightly grazed along her eyebrow, his breath warm against her skin. “I want to court you, Delaney. We bypassed that the last time.”

  “I guess we did.” Did she regret that? She didn’t know.

  “I want to do it right this time,” he insisted. “I’ve never been much for candlelight dinners, roses, and soft music—”

  “That isn’t your style.” She drew her head back to look at him. “You’re more of a mountains and moonlight man.”

  “Do you mind?”

  She gave a faint shake of her head. “I think I like it.”

  He said her name and took her lips in a kiss that was both tender and full of longing. She answered it, discovering how easy old patterns were to follow, how readily her body found its old alignment with his, how quickly their kisses could heat into something more.

  Jared pulled away and pressed a hard kiss against her forehead, then rocked his mouth to the side. “Six years, Delaney. Six long and empty years.” There was a tightness in his voice, in his body. “There were times when I wondered if I had dreamed you. Now I’m holding you and it’s no dream—not you, not the way you make me feel, not the things you make me want.”

  She tried to smile, to say something light, but the words were locked in her throat. In the new stillness, she was conscious of a dozen things at once—the hauntingly sweet refrain of the harmonica, the distant, whispering fall of water on the bricks, and the shimmer of moonlight on the mountain behind him. As emotions funneled and merged, she felt the rawness of old memories and old desires.

  “Jared.” Again she tilted her head to look at him, but when she saw his eyes on her, gazing at her as if she was the only woman he’d ever seen—or ever wanted to see—she was robbed of words again.

  Something like pain flickered across his face, then he dragged her close to him again and began swaying to the music, maintaining a pretense of dancing. “I have a feeling courting you is going to be hell on my nerves.”

  Delaney silently wondered how either of them could ignore the past intimacy they’d shared when each touch, each kiss, reminded them of the next step, the next pleasure to be rediscovered. Wasn’t the thought of making love again irresistible? Wasn’t it inevitable? She shied from the memory and the hurt that had followed it.

  When the song ended, they separated, their glances guarded, all the old urges too close to the surface. She made a show of looking at her watch. “It’s nearly eleven-thirty. I didn’t realize it was so late. It’s time I called it a night.”

  “Probably.” He continued to hold her gaze. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, Delaney.”

  “I don’t think I can. Honest,” she said, remembering tomorrow’s heavy schedule. “It’s going to be a long and full day—starting early. Lucas goes jogging at six.”

  “Lucas, is it?” His expression hardened.

  “‘Mr. Wayne’ becomes a mouthful in an emergency.”

  “Sorry. I just don’t like the man.”

  Thinking of Lucas and Toby’s closeness to him, she said, “You don’t know him.”

  Jared dipped his head briefly, conceding the point. “Then—I don’t like what I know about him.”

  “And you only know what you’ve heard about him. Didn’t some wise person once say that you should believe only a third of what you hear and half of what you read?”

  “I know it’s your job to protect him, but I didn’t realize that included defending him.”

  “Defense is an integral part of protection—especially when the client is under attack. And you were attacking him.”

  He looked away. “Maybe I was.”

  She didn’t want to argue with him. “I enjoyed tonight, Jared.”

  “So did I.” He reached for her hand, fitting palms and fingers together before linking them. “Maybe I’d better take you back to your bed before I ask you to come to mine…”

  “Maybe you’d better,” she agreed.

  SIXTEEN

  MORNING SWELLED ACROSS THE mountains in warm, full waves of sunlight, its primary light blending into the green lushness of the slopes. The sky was a paintbox blue, and a piney smell lay thick and pleasant in the upland air. Birds flitted from branch to branch of the white-trunked aspens and chattered at the trio of runners traveling abreast along the old trail.

  Delaney and Riley had the outside positions, with Lucas Wayne in the center setting the pace. The rhythm of his strides was steady; he didn’t strain for speed, but conserved for distance. He had on a black muscle shirt and blue jogging shorts, a fine film of perspiration giving a bronze sheen to the hard tanned flesh of his arms and shoulders.

  Like Riley, Delaney wore a light windbreaker over her sweatpants, fastened at the waist to conceal the holstered .38 revolver strapped to her waist. She’d left the jacket unzipped to let the air circulate against her skin, exposing her
snug t-shirt already darkened with sweat between her breasts. Her long hair was skinned back in a high ponytail, the severe style accenting the wide bone structure of her face and jaw. A blue sweatband circled her head to keep the trickle of perspiration out of her eyes. There was a glow to her face that gave her skin a translucent quality.

  The day was turning hot, a faint drone of the forest life disturbing this shadowy stillness. The narrow road was little more than a dirt track of red and tan clay, hard-packed and deeply rutted, worn smooth by time and weather. Eastward, the timber rose in continuous green folds.

  “We haven’t met anyone in more than a mile,” she said, blowing easily, comfortably. “Is it usually this deserted?”

  “Usually.” Lucas nodded. “Another mile or so ahead, it swings back toward town. That’s when we’ll start meeting people again.”

  “Is this an old mining road?” Riley asked, his damp hair looking even darker than normal.

  “Could be, for all I know,” Lucas replied.

  “It probably is.” Delaney scanned the thickening woods ahead of them, the aspen giving way to stands of pines. “There’s a lot of abandoned mines in the area.”

  A few yards ahead, an old trail intersected the road. It was nearly overgrown with brush and wild grasses. Erosion had gouged deep cuts into it, exposing the rock red of its soil. “I wonder where that goes.” Delaney eyed it curiously as they jogged past. “Do you know?’

  Lucas hardly glanced at it. “Too rough. I’ve never been on it.” He said nothing for two strides, then commented, “This buddy of yours on my right surprises me. He’s in better condition than I thought he’d be.”

  “Deceiving for a smoker, isn’t he?” Delaney grinned. “The guys call him Iron Legs. To him, a ten-K run is a sprint. He runs marathons purely for the fun of them.”

  “Didn’t anybody ever tell you two that it’s rude to talk about somebody as if they weren’t there?” Riley chided.

  “Were we doing that?” Lucas joked to Delaney.