Pretense

by Lori Wick

  It wasn't long before Mackenzie joined Delancey in sleep, but a seed had been planted in her mind and was swiftly growing. She said nothing to Delancey, since she was not ready to talk about it, but she thought about it nonstop. It was on her mind as they left Saint-Tropez, went back through Paris, and ended their trip in London as planned. It was hard to believe that the time was over, but four weeks after they arrived, they were rested, tanned, loaded with souvenirs and memories, and on their way home.

  As soon as Delancey headed for Chicago, Mackenzie wrote day and night for two solid weeks, but just 18 days after arriving home from Europe, the older Bishop was back on a plane, this time headed toward the West Coast, her dream of living on the water still strong in her mind.

  Chicago

  Delancey was home for two days when someone knocked on the door. She had done a lot of thinking while on the trip and was taking her sister's words to heart. She did deserve better than Chet was giving her, and having not spoken to him for a month, she could already see that continuing on his terms, with all the waiting and wondering, was worse than not seeing him at all. It was for this reason that she was able to answer the door, find him standing there, and not throw her arms around him or apologize for not being in touch.

  "Hello, Delancey," he said tersely as he came in without permission.

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  Delancey said nothing. She shut the door, which was cold on her bare legs-she'd been working out-and stood and looked at the man she loved.

  "Where have you been?" he demanded as soon as he turned to her, making no effort to hide his anger.

  Delancey's brows rose with shock, but she was calm. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Yes, you should beg my pardon. How dare you leave like that and not tell me!"

  Delancey's mouth opened in surprise, and anger swiftly leapt into her eyes. "Let me get this straight, Chet. You're only available to me whenyousay you're available; I can't even call you at home-only on your pager-and you want to know whereI'vebeen? I don't think so." Her voice ended on a frigid note before she moved to the door and opened it. "Get out!"

  Chet's hand came to his mouth. He was shaking, but Delancey didn't notice.

  "I said get out," she repeated.

  "I'm sorry, Delancey." His voice grew soft. "I shouldn't have said that. I've been worried sick and just wasn't thinking. I didn't know you felt that way, or we could have talked about it. I'm sorry. Please don't throw me out until you've heard my side."

  Delancey couldn't handle his face. He looked utterly crushed. And he was right on one point: She hadn't told him how utterly tired she was of not seeing him. She slowly closed the door, walked past him into the living room, and sat on the futon chair she had purchased with her last check from IronHorse. She deliberately avoided the matching sofa so he could not sit next to her. She was silent as he sat on the sofa. Taking the end closest to her chair, he scooted to the edge and leaned toward her.

  "How are you?" he asked tenderly, and Delancey told herself not to melt.

  "Fine."

  Chet nodded. He had been in complete confusion when a week went by with nothing but her answering machine to talk to. When it got to be two weeks, then three, then four, he thought he would go out of his mind. Now she was back and clearly angry at him. Delancey had never been angry at him, and he hated it.

  "Did you go on a trip?" he tried.

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  "Yes."

  "Have a good time?"

  "Very."

  He worked at keeping his voice even and said, "We're not going to get anywhere if all you're going to give me are monosyllabic answers, Delancey."

  "And just where are we trying to go, Chet? Tell me that."

  "I'm trying to find out why my girlfriend, the woman I love, would go away for a month and not tell me. And I'm also trying to figure out what I've done wrong. I have to work a lot, and I thought you understood that."

  "I do understand it, Chet, but I'm not willing to live like that anymore, even if it means never seeing you again." Delancey watched him pale but kept on. She was dying inside, but her mind was made up.

  "Do you know what my sister asked me?"

  Chet shook his head no. In desperation he had called her sister but gotten only her answering machine as well.

  "She asked me what your place was like. I had to tell her I've never seen it. Sometimes you come over here, and all we have is an hour together, but no matter how little time we have, we end up in the bedroom. I'm sorry, Chet, but that's not good enough anymore. I'm not going to be your plaything. I'm ready to commit myself, and all you can do is work. You say you love me, but you have a funny way of showing it."

  "Oh, Delancey, I didn't know you felt that way. I hate being away from you. You do understand that, don't you?"

  Delancey didn't answer. She thought the pain might kill her. Was this really all she would ever have? A man whose work meant everything to him?

  "I'll do better," Chet was saying. "I'll call every day, even if I can't see you. And we'll do more things together. I told you we would go on that trip, and I promise you we will. Just give me another chance, Delancey. Don't ask me to let you go. My heart can't take it."

  With that Delancey was in tears, and Chet came to her side. He held her tenderly and let her cry, telling himself he was every kind of fool for treating her this way and then wondering at what love could drive a man to do.

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  They talked for the next six hours. It was the most time Delancey had had with him since Jamaica. Her heart was on the way to healing by the time he left. She told herself that if things didn't change she was through, hoping all the time that she wouldn't have to find out. In the weeks and months to follow, however, Chet made a real effort. They even began spending the night at his apartment and dining there just about every week. And as always, as long as Delancey was with him, the world was bright. It was only after he left her or she went home alone that she could feel the hole in her heart.

  Alexandria

  Mackenzie dropped the finished manuscript forBlue Crayonon the kitchen table and said to her editor, "I'm moving, Pax, so I wanted you to have this now. I leave at the end of the month."

  "Where to?"

  "Lake Tahoe. I've bought a house on the lake."

  Paxton's mouth opened. "Tell me you're kidding."

  "I can't, because I'm not."

  For a moment he didn't say anything. His mind searched around for an appropriate reply but came up blank. For some reason he had terrible regret that he and Jodi had never had Mackenzie over again. Her first two books were still spending time in the top ten of theNew York TimesBestseller List, but he wondered just how much fun she was really having.

  The surprise was not that she had bought a house. With her money he would have done so months ago. He was startled that she was moving so far away. Of course, if she didn't really have friends here, what did it matter where she lived? That, however, was the last thing he could say to her.

  "Is this the entire manuscript?" he asked, having finally slowed his mind down.

  "Yes. It's about 200 pages shorter than the other two books, but the story is complete, and I thought that was more important than the length."

  "You're right. The story is more important."

  "Is that all you can say, Pax?" she asked, her tone a little wounded. "'Is this the whole book?' Nothing about my move?"

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  "I'm sorry, Mackenzie," he said sincerely, seeing how thoughtless he'd been. "I think it's great. I mean, it'll be rotten to have you so far away, but having to fly to beautiful Lake Tahoe to talk with one of my top authors might not be so bad." He ended this with a smile.

  "How did you know?" Mackenzie leaned forward and suddenly asked, her face serious and intent. "How did you know that people would like my books, Pax?"

  He smiled. "I've been in the business a long time, and before that, all I did was read. I had a teacher in school who caught on to my love of literature. He started on me when I was a fres
hman in high school, so that by the time I went to college, I concentrated on English and literature classes. When a job editing the campus newspaper became available, I took it, but the short length of the articles and the way everything had to be done so swiftly every month just about drove me to drink.

  "For a while I thought I'd missed my calling, but then I got a job with a small publisher who was always overworked and understaffed. It was almost as bad as the editor's job but with one major difference: I got to read books. I hated the constant rush and having to do jobs I wasn't trained to do, but the reading made it all worthwhile. From there I went to IronHorse, and because I've recommended that we publish some of the biggest names in the business, Hank Darwell thinks I'm invaluable. I love my job, and I'm still able to collect the cream, as your books prove, so it's a perfect combination."

  Mackenzie was impressed. She had known that IronHorse was not in the habit of publishing books just because they felt sorry for the author, but not even when Paxton promised to make her a star did Mackenzie imagine how popular her books would be. IronHorse had already been approached for information on Mac Walker so movie rights could be negotiated, but since she didn't want anyone else writing the scripts, and she didn't want to take the time to go back over a book that was already done, Mackenzie said no. She had too many new ideas for that.

  As if he could read her mind, Paxton suddenly asked, "Are you working on something right now?"

  "No. I've got a story idea, a good one, but all I've done lately is pack. I'll start it when I get out there and settled."

  "All right, but how about telling me about it now?"

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  "It would take a while, but the title isShibboleth,and it's centered in and around the Pentagon and deals with weapons and national security."

  "Shibboleth,"Paxton said softly. "As in a password to prove who you are, like in the Bible?"

  "Exactly. I don't have all the details worked out, but much to the interest of the whole world, there's a new fabric on the market. It's as thin as a piece of plastic wrap, but there's not a bullet in the world that can penetrate it. A French scientist created it, but he's angry at his own government and the way they've treated him. He comes to America, thinking they will give him help and protection, which they plan to do, but then the President's dog is poisoned, and something frightens a child staying at the British consulate so badly that she hasn't spoken a word in two weeks. To say the least, things fall all to pieces."

  "Do you have any of this written down yet?"

  "Like notes? No, I do better when I just keep it in my head."

  Paxton couldn't stop the smile that crossed his mouth. "I'll miss you, Mackenzie."

  "Why is that?" she honestly wanted to know.

  "There aren't many people who can write as effortlessly as you can. Tom was just telling me that Micah Bear books are the hottest thing this Christmas, and I know from theTimeslist that Mac Walker is one popular fellow."

  Mackenzie didn't know what to say to that. She could have reminded Paxton that they didn't see each other that often, but he might take it wrong. In truth, the last thing she wanted to do right now was watch him and Jodi frolic in wedded bliss. She recognized her own cynicism but had no idea how to feel differently.

  Paxton didn't stay that much longer, which was fine with Mackenzie. She still had packing to do. The moving van didn't come for another few weeks, but she was eager to have everything ready. Bodily she was in Virginia, but as far as her mind and thoughts were concerned, she was already living on the lake.

  Zephyr Cove, Nevada February 1991

  Mackenzie walked out on the deck of her home on Lake Tahoe and picked up a fat pinecone that lay at her feet. Sticky with sap and smelling just heavenly, it was at least nine inches

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  long and the color of the dried-out pine needles that lay everywhere in the summer, or like now, mixed with snow during the winter. The cone was so plump it made her smile. Such things she now saw every day and knew she would never tire of. In her opinion there wasn't another place in the world like Lake Tahoe.

  As to the lake, some people said the color was sapphire, but that depended on where you were. The blue along the shoreline was lighter, but as the water's depth increased, so did the deepness of the blue. And if that wasn't enough, having the Sierras rising up around her like protective hands just made Mackenzie want to smile. And smile was something she did often since the move. It took the moving van a little longer than she figured, and Mackenzie laughed at how poorly her small amount of furniture fit into the huge home she had bought, but it was all hers, and that was what mattered.

  Somewhere along the line it occurred to her that her parents had never had this. They had lived in homes, but never their own. Mackenzie wished they could see her now, and for the first time in over two years, she was able to think of her mother's death without anger. Her parents had loved this lake, and Mackenzie knew they would have loved her house as well.

  Her coffee was getting cold and so were her feet. She kept her deck cleared of snow, but that didn't change the freezing temperatures. She headed back into the huge living room and to the fireplace where she had built a fire that morning. From her place on the sofa she sat looking around, never tiring of the view.

  The front door came directly into the living room, but the ceiling in the area was not vaulted since there were three bedrooms above: a luxurious master suite and two other bedrooms with their own bath. Exactly opposite the bedrooms, on the lake end of the house and up another set of stairs, was a huge loft that Mackenzie had made her office. It was wide open to the living room below and had windows toward the lake, the likes of which she had never seen.

  The dining area was on the far end of the living room, and the kitchen that sat off to one side behind the garage even had great windows and a view of the lake and trees; both rooms exited onto the deck that ran completely along the lake side of the house. There was a powder room tucked away near the

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  kitchen where the door led to the garage, and next to it was a spacious laundry room. The house was on a dead-end road that bordered a state park. Mackenzie had a neighbor across the street and one to the north, but to the south was the park and to the west-her "backyard"-lay Lake Tahoe. Life was as sweet as she could imagine.

  That she had no one to call, no friends to do anything with, escaped her for a time. She had already started looking for furniture to fill the rest of the house, and between trips to do that she worked onShibbolethand two more Micah Bear books. For the moment she was keeping busy. There was no time to think about what might be missing in her life.

  Chicago

  Delancey stared at the blank paper but had no desire to draw. She was behind on her work forJustFor Kids,the second magazine that had commissioned her art, but all she could think about was Chet. Lately it seemed that only if they had a huge fight and she threatened never to see him again would he make the effort to spend more time with her. And even with that, it would last only a few weeks.

  What kind of relationship is that?she asked herself.All I do is sit here and wait for the phone to ring. I don't want to play games anymore. Going away and not telling him was a high school trick, but that's what it takes to get his attention. I thought by now we would be married, but he's never mentioned it. I just don't know if I can go on like this. Maybe I should go and visit Mic.But the thought had no more than formed when she pushed it away. Hard as it was to wait for him to call, Delancey didn't want to be that far away. She nearly ran when the phone rang in the midst of all these thoughts, but it was only Tom Magy.

  "How are you?" Delancey asked when she recovered from her disappointment.

  "I'm fine. I'm in Chicago, and I want to take you to dinner.

  "Oooh, I would like that. When and where?"

  They set up plans to meet that night, and Delancey arrived in a very good mood. She and Tom hugged, and moments later they were talking about everything.

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  "I have something for you," he said as he pulled out the new Micah Bear search-and-find book.

  "Oh, Tom!"

  "It's just in, so I grabbed it on my way out the door."

  "Thank you. It's beautiful."

  "We just used your artwork for the cover, and we can't miss with that."

  "I love it when a new book comes out. This one ran late, so I've been anxious."

  "Yeah. It's a shame we didn't pick up the Christmas season, but if this is anything like the others, it won't matter."

  "Did you send any to Mic?"

  "That's on my list to do when I get back. How is she, Delancey?" Tom asked sincerely.

  "She's doing well," Delancey told him, her voice kind. He had hurt her sister, but Delancey felt she understood. "She loves living on the lake, and most of the time she's buried in a book and doesn't remember how far apart we are."

  "And how about you, do you remember?"

  Delancey smiled a little. "I think I usually have more time on my hands than she does, but I am up to my ears in work right now."

  "Still in love with ... was it Chad?"

  "No, Chet, and yes I am."

  "Will I be in trouble for asking you to dinner?"

  Delancey grinned. "Not from me. In fact, you did me a big favor. He called at the last minute, and I'm always too available. It felt good to tell him I had a date and know that he was wildly jealous."

  Tom laughed, assuming that the relationship was an open one, not understanding that Delancey was completely serious. It had given her no end of satisfaction to tell Chet he couldn't stop by on his way home from the airport because she was going out. He wasn't happy, and Delancey left no doubt in his mind that she didn't care.

  She could just about predict the days to follow. Flowers and champagne would arrive, and after that, Chet himself, a gift of some type in his hand. Delancey asked herself why she put up with it. Her standard answer-that she loved him with all her

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