Blithe Images

by Nora Roberts

  June revealed milk, cheese, and other fresh goods.

  “Always efficient,” Hillary stated, and, feeling the tension melt away, flashed her smile.

  “It is difficult being perfect,” June agreed with a sigh. “But some of us are simply born that way.”

  Meal preparations complete, they carried bowls and plates into the adjoining room to a large, rectangular wooden table with long benches running along each side. The group devoured the simple meal as though months had passed since they had seen a crust of bread. Mirroring Bret’s now casual manner was at first difficult, but, summoning all her pride, Hillary joined in the table talk, meeting his occasional comments with an easy smile.

  She retreated with June upstairs as the men launched into a technical discussion on the type of pictures required, and found the room they would share as charmingly rustic as the remainder of the house. The light, airy room with a breathtaking view of forest and mountains held two twin beds covered in patchwork quilts. Again wood predominated, the high sloping ceiling adding to the space. Brass lamps ensured soft lighting once the sun had descended behind the peaks outside.

  Hillary busied herself with the case containing her wardrobe for the photo session as June threw herself heavily on a bed.

  “Isn’t this place fantastic?” Stretching her arms to the ceiling, June heaved a deep sigh of contentment. “Far from the maddening crowd and typewriters and telephones. Maybe it’ll snow like crazy, and we’ll be here until spring.”

  “We’d only be able to stick it out if Larry brought enough film for a couple of months. Otherwise, he’d go into withdrawal,” Hillary commented. Removing a red parka and bibbed ski pants from the case, she studied them with a professional eye. “Well, this should stand out in the snow.”

  “If we painted your nose yellow, you’d look like a very large cardinal,” June commented, clasping her hands behind her head. “That color will look marvelous on you. With your hair and complexion, and the snow as a backdrop, you’ll be smashing. The boss never makes a mistake.”

  The sound of a car caught their attention, and they moved to the window looking down as Bud Lewis assisted Charlene from the vehicle. “Well”—June sighed and grimaced at Hillary—“Maybe one.”

  Stunned, Hillary stared at the top of Charlene’s glossy red head. “I didn’t … Bret didn’t tell me Charlene was coming.” Infuriated by the intrusion on her weekend, Hillary turned from the window and busied her hands with unpacking.

  “Unless I’m very much mistaken, he didn’t know.” Scowling, June turned and leaned against the windowsill. “Maybe he’ll toss her out in the snow.”

  “Maybe,” Hillary countered, relieving some of her frustration by slamming the top of her suitcase, “he’ll be glad to see her.”

  “Well, we won’t find out anything standing around up here.” June started toward the door, grabbing Hillary’s arm along the way. “Come on, let’s go see.”

  Charlene’s voice drifted to Hillary as she descended the stairs. “You really don’t mind that I came to keep you company, do you, Bret? I thought it would be such a lovely surprise.”

  Hillary entered the room in time to see Bret’s shrug. He was seated on a love seat in front of the blazing fire, Charlene’s arm tucked possessively through his. “I didn’t think the mountains were your style, Charlene.” He gave her a mild smile. “If you’d wanted to come, you should have asked instead of spinning a tale to Bud about my wanting him to drive you up.”

  “Oh, but, darling, it was just a little fib.” Tilting her head, she fluttered darkened lashes. “A little intrigue is so amusing.”

  “Let’s hope your ‘little intrigue’ doesn’t lead you to ‘a lot of boredom.’ We’re a long way from Manhattan.”

  “I’m never bored with you.”

  Soft and coaxing, the voice grated on Hillary’s nerves. Perhaps she made some small sound of annoyance for Bret’s eyes shifted to where she stood with June in the doorway. Charlene followed his gaze, her lips tightening for a moment before settling into a vague smile.

  There followed an unenthusiastic exchange of greetings. Opting for distance, Hillary seated herself across the room with Bud as Charlene again gave Bret her full attention.

  “I thought we’d never get here,” Charlene complained with a petulant pout. “Why you would own a place in this godforsaken wilderness is beyond me, darling.” She glanced up at Bret with cool green eyes. “All this snow, and nothing but trees and rocks, and so cold.” With a delicate shiver, she huddled against him. “Whatever do you find to do up here all alone?”

  “I manage to find diversions,” Bret drawled, and lit a cigarette. “And I’m never alone—the mountains are teeming with life.” He gestured toward the window. “There are squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, foxes—all manner of small animal life.”

  “That’s not precisely what I meant by company,” Charlene murmured, using her most seductive voice. Bret granted her a faint smile.

  “Perhaps not, but I find them entertaining and undemanding. I’ve often seen deer pass by as I stood by that window, and bear.”

  “Bears?” Charlene exclaimed, and tightened her hold on his arm. “How dreadful.”

  “Real bears?” Hillary demanded, eyes bright with adventure. “Oh, what kind? Those huge grizzlies?”

  “Black bear, Hillary,” he corrected, smiling at her reaction. “But big enough just the same. And safely in hibernation at the moment,” he added with a glance at Charlene.

  “Thank heaven,” she breathed with genuine feeling.

  “Hillary’s quite taken to the mountains, haven’t you?”

  “They’re fabulous,” she agreed with enthusiasm. “So wild and untamed. All this must look nearly the same as it did a century ago, unspoiled by buildings and housing developments. Nothing but undisturbed nature for miles and miles.”

  “My, my, you are enthusiastic,” Charlene observed.

  Hillary shot her a deadly glance.

  “Hillary grew up on a farm in Kansas,” Bret explained, observing danger signals in dark blue eyes. “She’d never seen mountains before.”

  “How quaint,” Charlene murmured, lips curving in a smile. “They grow wheat or something there, don’t they? I would imagine you’re quite accustomed to primitive conditions coming from a little farm.”

  The superior tone had Hillary bristling with anger, her rising temper reflected in her voice. “The farm is hardly little or primitive, Miss Mason. Impossible, I suppose, for one of your background to visualize the eternity of wheat, the miles of gently rolling hills. Not as sophisticated as New York, perhaps, but hardly prehistoric. We even manage to have hot and cold running water right inside the house most of the time. There are those who appreciate the land and respect it in all forms.”

  “You must be quite the outdoor girl,” Charlene said in a bored voice. “I happen to prefer the comforts and culture of the city.”

  “I think I’ll take a walk before it gets dark.” Hillary rose quickly, needing to put some distance between herself and the other woman before her temper was irrevocably lost.

  “I’ll go with you.” Bud stood, moving to join her as she slipped on her outdoor clothing. “I’ve been cooped up with that woman all day,” he whispered with a conspirator’s smile. “I think the fresh air will do me a world of good.”

  Hillary’s laughter floated through the room as she strolled through the door, arm in arm with Bud. She was oblivious of the frown that darkened the gray eyes that followed her.

  Once outside, the two breathed deeply, then giggled like children at their private joke. By mutual consent, they headed for the stream, following its tumbling progress downstream as they ambled deeper into the forest. Sunlight winked sporadically through the trees, glistening on the velvet snow. Bud’s easy conversation soothed Hillary’s ruffled spirits.

  They stopped and rested on a mound of rock for a moment of companionable silence.

  “This is nice,” Bud said simply, and Hillary made
a small sound signifying both pleasure and agreement. “I begin to feel human again,” he added with a wink. “That woman is hard to take. I can’t imagine what the boss sees in her.”

  Hillary grinned. “Isn’t it strange that I agree with you?”

  They walked home in the subtle change of light that signified encroaching dusk. Again, they followed the stream, easily retracing the footsteps they had left in the pure, white snow. They were laughing companionably as they entered the A-frame.

  “Don’t either of you have more sense than to wander about the mountains after dark?” Bret asked them, scowling.

  “Dark? Don’t be silly.” Hillary hopped on one foot as she pried off a boot. “We only followed the stream a little way, and it’s barely dusk.” Losing her balance, she collided with Bud, who slipped an arm around her waist to right her, keeping it there while she struggled with her other boot.

  “We left a trail in the snow,” Bud stated with a grin. “Better than bread crumbs.”

  “Dusk turns to dark quickly, and there’s no moon tonight,” Bret said. “It’s a simple matter to get lost.”

  “Well, we’re back, and we didn’t,” Hillary told him. “No need for a search party or a flask of brandy. Where’s June?”

  “In the kitchen, starting dinner.”

  “I better go help then, hadn’t I?” She gave him a radiant smile and brushed past them, leaving Bud to deal with his boss’s temper.

  “A woman’s work is never done,” Hillary observed with a sigh as she entered the kitchen.

  “Tell that to Miss Nose-in-the-Air.” June wrinkled her own as she unwrapped the steaks. “She was so fatigued from the arduous drive”—June placed a dramatic hand to her forehead—“she simply had to lie down before dinner.”

  “That’s a blessing. Anyway,” Hillary went on as she joined in the meal preparation, “who voted us in charge of kitchen duty? I’m quite sure it’s not in my contract.”

  “I did.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “It’s like this,” June explained, searching through cupboards. “I’ve had a small example of Larry’s talents, culinary talents, and I don’t want another bout of ptomaine. The boss even makes lousy coffee. And as for Bud—well, he might be Chef Boy-Ar-Dee as far as I know, but I was unwilling to take the chance.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  In easy companionship they prepared the meal. The kitchen came to life with the clatter of dishes and sizzling of meat. Larry materialized in the doorway, breathing deeply.

  “Ah, exquisite torture. I’m starving,” he announced. “How much longer?”

  “Here.” June thrust a stack of dishes in his hands. “Go set the table—it’ll keep your mind off your stomach.”

  “I knew I should have stayed out of here.” Grumbling, he vanished into the adjoining room.

  “I guess it’s the mountain air,” Hillary commented between bites as the group sat around the long table. “I’m absolutely ravenous.”

  The slow smile that drifted across Bret’s face brought back the memory of the earlier scene in the kitchen, and warm color seeped into her cheeks. Picking up her glass containing a red wine Bret had produced from some mysterious place, she took a deep, impulsive swallow and firmly gave her attention to the meal.

  The clearing up was confused and disorganized as the men, through design or innocence, served only to get in the way, causing June to throw up her hands and order them away.

  “I’m the boss,” Bret reminded her. “I’m supposed to give the orders.”

  “Not until Monday,” June returned, giving him a firm shove. She watched with a raised brow as Charlene floated with him.

  “Just as well,” she observed, turning back to Hillary. “I probably couldn’t have prevented myself from drowning her in the sink.”

  The party later spread out with lazy contentment in the living room. Refusing Bret’s offer of brandy, Hillary settled herself on a low stool near the fire. She watched the dancing flames, caught up in their images, unaware of the picture she created, cheeks and hair glowing with flickering light, eyes soft and dreamy. Her mind floated, only a small portion of it registering the quiet hum of conversation, the occasional clink of glass. Elbows on knees, head on palms, she drifted with the fire’s magic away from conscious thought.

  “Are you hypnotized by the flames, Hillary?” Bret’s lean form eased down beside her as he stretched out on the hearth rug. Tossed suddenly into reality, she started at his voice, then smiled as she brushed at her hair.

  “Yes, I am. There’re pictures there if you look for them,” she answered, inclining her head toward the blaze. “There’s a castle there with turrets all around, and there’s a horse with his mane lifted in the wind.”

  “There’s an old man sitting in a rocker,” Bret said softly, and she turned to stare at him, surprised that he had seen the image too. He returned her look, with the intensity of an embrace, and she rose, flustered by the weakness his gaze could evoke.

  “It’s been a long day,” she announced, avoiding his eyes. “I think I’ll go up to bed. I don’t want Larry to complain that I look washed out in the morning.”

  Calling her good nights, she went swiftly from the room without giving Bret the opportunity to comment.

  The room was dim in early morning light when she awoke. She stretched her arms to the ceiling and sat up, knowing sleep was finished. When she had slipped under the blankets the night before, her emotions had been in turmoil, and she had been convinced the hours would be spent tossing and turning. She was amazed that she had slept not only immediately but deeply, and the mood with which she greeted the new day was cheerful.

  June was still huddled under her quilt, the steady rhythm of her breathing the only sound in the absolute silence. Easing from the bed, Hillary began to dress quietly. She tugged a heavy sweater in muted greens over her head, mating it with forest green cords that fit with slim assurance. Foregoing makeup, she donned the snowsuit Bret had provided, pulling the matching ski cap over her hair.

  Creeping down the stairs, she listened for the sounds of morning stirring, but the house remained heavy in slumber. Pulling on boots and gloves, Hillary stepped outside into the cold, clear sunlight.

  The woods were silent, and she looked about her at the solitude. It was as if time had stopped—the mountains were a magic fairyland without human habitation. Her companions were the majestic pines, robed in glistening ermine, their tangy scent permeating the air.

  “I’m alone,” she said aloud, flinging out her arms. “There’s not another soul in the entire world.” She raced through the snow, drunk with power and liberation. “I’m free!” She tossed snow high above her head, whirling in dizzying circles before flinging herself into the cold snow.

  Once more, she contemplated the white-topped mountains and dense trees, realizing her heart had expanded and made room for a new love. She was in love with the mountains as she was with the free-flowing wheat fields. The new and old love filled her with jubilation. Scrambling up, she sped once more through the snow, kicking up mists of white before she stopped and fell on her back, the soft surface yielding beneath her. She lay, spread-eagle, staring up at the sky until a face moved into her view, gray eyes laughing down at her.

  “What are you doing, Hillary?”

  “Making an angel,” she informed him, returning his smile. “You see, you fall down, and then you move your arms and legs like this.” She demonstrated, and her smile faded. “The trick is to get up without making a mess of it. It requires tremendous ability and perfect balance.” Sitting up carefully, she put her weight on her feet and started to stand, teetering on her heels. “Give me a hand,” she demanded. “I’m out of practice.” Grabbing his arm, she jumped clear, then turned back to regard her handiwork. “You see,” she stated with arrogant pride, “an angel.”

  “Beautiful,” he agreed. “You’re very talented.”

  “Yes, I know. I didn’t think anyone else was up,” she added, bru
shing snow from her bottom.

  “I saw you dancing in the snow from my window. What game were you playing?”

  “That I was alone in all this.” She whirled in circles, arms extended.

  “You’re never alone up here. Look.” He pointed into the woods, and her eyes widened at the large buck that stared back at her, his rack adorning his head like a crown.

  “He’s magnificent.” As if conscious of her admiration, the stag lifted his head before he melted into the cover of the woods. “Oh, I’m in love!” she exclaimed, racing across the snow. “I’m absolutely madly in love with this place. Who needs a man when you’ve got all this?”

  “Oh, really?” A snow ball thudded against the back of her head, and she turned to stare at him narrowly.

  “You know, of course, this means war.”

  She scooped up a handful of snow, balling it swiftly and hurling it back at him. They exchanged fire, snow landing on target as often as it missed, until he closed the gap between them, and she engaged in a strategic retreat. Her flight was interrupted as he caught her, tossing her down and rolling on top of her. Her cheeks glowed with the cold, her eyes sparkled with laughter, as she tried to catch her breath.

  “All right, you win, you win.”

  “Yes, I did,” he agreed. “And to the victor go the spoils.” He touched her mouth with his, his lips moving with light sensuality, stilling her laughter. “I always win sooner or later,” he murmured, kissing her eyes closed. “We don’t do this nearly often enough,” he muttered against her mouth, deepening the kiss until her senses