Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02]

by Madly Viking Truly

  He repeated now what he’d said then: “Why would a grown man willingly make such a fool of himself?”

  “It’s fun,” she declared. “Sometimes people do things just for the fun of it.”

  “Idiots, mayhap.”

  “Come on now, haven’t you ever enjoyed an activity that involved laughing at yourself?”

  “Nay,” he answered. “Have you?”

  “Of course. Rollerblading, which resulted in many black-and-blue marks on my rump….”

  He craned his neck to the side, as if half expecting her to drop her jeans and show him. When she gave him a sharp “As if!” look, he just grinned and took another sip of soda.

  “And roller coasters, which terrify me, but I ride them anyway.”

  “Roller coasters?”

  She explained briefly, then noted, “One of my daughters, Suzy, is a real T-type personality. She must have inherited it from her father, because I sure don’t have a daredevil bone in my body. Remember, I told you that T-types like to take risks. They revel in being scared to death. My other daughter, Beth, isn’t afraid of roller coasters, but she doesn’t get the thrill of the thrill, like Suzy does.”

  She noticed a slight flicker of emotion on Joe’s face at the mention of her girls, but he soon masked it. “And you think I enjoy being frightened?”

  “Well, weren’t you frightened riding on top of that killer whale?”

  “Extremely,” he agreed, “but I did not engage in that activity by choice. In fact, most times I take no unwarranted risks. A good leader never gambles with his troop’s lives.”

  She nodded.

  Then he homed in on something else she’d said. “You mentioned your daughter’s father being a risk taker.”

  It was Maggie’s turn to bristle now. She shouldn’t be discussing her personal life with a patient. But the atmosphere was so relaxed here, and she didn’t want to spoil the mood by making Joe feel he’d crossed some line.

  “Judd Haskell was a surgical resident at Houston General Hospital. He had only one year to go before he would have been a full-fledged doctor.”

  “Another dock-whore!”

  “Joe, you do know that a doctor is a physician, don’t you?”

  “A healer?” he asked. His face bloomed a lovely shade of red. “I knew that.”

  She narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

  “Well, I didn’t know at first, but later I learned about dock-whores being healers on The Guiding Light. Betimes I forget, though. ’Tis such an odd name to give a healer.”

  Sometimes it saddened Maggie to hear Joe use such archaic language and misunderstand so much about the language and culture of America. He seemed so normal that she could almost believe he was as sane as she was. “Back to your question about Judd. He died taking a foolish risk…foolish in my opinion, anyway. He was skydiving, and his parachute malfunctioned.”

  “Skydiving?”

  “Jumping out of an airplane.”

  Joe gasped. She had already explained to him before what an airplane was when he’d commented on the large objects seen occasionally in the sky over Rainbow. “Why would anyone willingly jump out of an air machine?”

  “My point, precisely.”

  “And you think I am insane!” he exclaimed with a shake of his head.

  Just then the rest of the group came back to the table, all laughing and talking at once. Harry had paused before a mirrored beer sign to adjust his hair drape, which must have gotten mussed during his energetic activity.

  Even Steve had joined the dance lessons, much to Maggie’s delight. There were so many good things that had happened today, and she considered Steve’s progress the best. His willingness to step up to the Vietnam wall was well worth the field trip. He plopped down into the chair next to Joe, signaled the waiter for a cold Coke, then drawled at Joe, “Coward.”

  “If ’tis cowardly to avoid making a fool of myself, then I admit to being such. I never suspected you could wiggle your arse in quite such an attractive manner.”

  “Like my butt, do ya?”

  Before Joe could answer with the smart retort she knew was coming, one of the band members announced over the loudspeakers, “We’re about to begin the weekly amateur talent contest. Remember, folks, all the winners of these weekly competitions get to come back to Boot Scootin’ Cowboy on New Year’s Eve for the grand finale. It’ll be televised on the local cable network. The top winner gets to make a demo with a major record company.”

  Everyone clapped.

  Maggie glanced down at her watch. It was five o’clock. They should be heading back to the hospital about now. Maggie looked at Harry; they both looked at the rapt faces of everyone in their group, including the two attendants, but most especially at Natalie, who was adjusting wonderfully to the nightclub. She and Harry both shrugged, agreeing silently to wait a little while longer.

  Joe stood.

  She and Harry were immediately alert.

  “I’m just going to the privy,” he informed them with a clucking sound of disgust. “If I’d wanted to escape, I would have done it at Orcaland, or at the wall.”

  They both relaxed and turned their attention back to the entertainment. Even so, Maggie was uneasy till he returned a short time later.

  First a sister act did a clogging routine to the tune of a fast-paced Charlie Daniels song about the devil coming down to Georgia. They were really good.

  Then five boys under the age of twelve—the next Osmond Brothers, she presumed—did a rip-roaring medley of country-western hits, like “God Bless Texas,” “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” “Stand By Your Man,” and “Friends in Low Places.”

  A college sorority had ten of its sisters do an extremely provocative line-dance routine to the old Rod Stewart song, “Do You Think I’m Sexy?” By the sound of the thunderous applause, the crowd thought they were.

  There were some duds in the bunch, too. A too-loud guitarist from Abilene. A shy piano vocalist whose voice could barely be heard over the sound of her music. A young male comedian who must fancy himself the Andrew Dice Clay of Opryland.

  Just before the end of the program, the lead singer of the band took the microphone and announced, “We have one last-minute entry…a little songbird from right here in Galveston whose dream is to become the next Patsy Cline. Hey, a whole lot of women down in Nashville have been tryin’ to take her place over the years, but who knows, maybe this will be the one. Let’s give a big Texas welcome to our hometown gal…Miss Natalie Blue.”

  The nightclub burst into applause, but there was an ominous silence at their large table. Natalie was stunned, her face going as white as her cowgirl outfit, and her fingers, which had been encircling a glass, beginning to shake visibly.

  “How did this happen? Who signed her up?” Maggie demanded.

  As one, everyone’s heads turned toward Joe, who was beaming as if he’d just pulled off a big coup. Apparently his trip to the “privy” had involved a detour. “Wh-what?” he asked, when he realized no one was tossing congratulations his way.

  The applause was tapering off, and the band-leader was saying, “Hey, Natalie, where are you? Time’s awastin’.”

  “Isn’t this what you always wanted, Not-a-lie?” Joe asked.

  “It’s not the right time,” Natalie whimpered.

  “Pfff! If you’re waiting till the right time, you might never get your chance. In my land, there is a saying: ‘Gold given by a beggar is no less lustrous than gold given by a king.’”

  “Joe, that has no relevance to this case,” Maggie chided. The big lunk had gone too far this time. “You had no right—”

  “I told you, your storytelling skills stink,” Steve added.

  “Natalie, you don’t have to go there if you don’t want to,” Harry advised her soothingly. “I’ll go up and make your apologies. We can just slip out quietly.”

  “No!” Natalie cried, standing abruptly.

  Everyone just stared at her.

  “I’ll do it. I will. I’
m going to do it.” She looked at Joe then. “Will you walk me up there? I’m not sure my wobbly legs will carry me that far.”

  “For a certainty, m’lady.”

  Joe took Natalie to the side steps leading to the stage, where one of the band members helped her up. With a few whispered instructions, Natalie walked up to the standing microphone. By the pallor of her face and her stiff posture, she seemed to think it was a guillotine.

  But then everything changed.

  With the first drawn-out, clear note of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” Natalie Blue had everyone’s attention. Her voice was powerful and poignant and wonderfully unique as she crooned, “Cra-aazy. I’m cra-aazy for feelin’ so lonely.” By the end of the song, Maggie had tears in her eyes, and she knew—she just knew—that someday people would mark this place and this day as the time that Natalie Blue began her professional career. The crowd gave her a standing ovation, shouting for an encore. And Natalie, surprisingly poised for a person consumed with a fear of crowds, smiled and eased into the piercing “Sweet Dreams.”

  To no one’s surprise, Natalie won the competition for the day, and promised to come back for the final event. Whether she would crumble once they left the club, or revert back to her old phobias, Maggie couldn’t say for sure, but at least for tonight Natalie was a big hit. And New Year’s Eve would be a goal they could aim for in therapy.

  Joe glanced her way and winked smugly. “You may thank me now or later.”

  “Oh, really.” She laughed.

  “Methinks I will dance now.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yea, you may thank me by dancing with me, Dock-whore Muck-bride.”

  “I already told you that a doctor is—”

  He chucked her under the chin. “Must you always be so serious?”

  “Hey, that should be my line to you. You’re the one who’s always serious.”

  Meanwhile, Joe had been leading her toward the sawdust-covered dance floor, where Steve and Rosalyn and Harry and Natalie were already beginning to dance to, appropriately, “The Dance” by Garth Brooks.

  A slow dance! Maggie realized at once, and shot a suspicious glare at Joe. Expressionless, he was holding his arms open to her, but his gray eyes, usually somber and grim, were twinkling with mischief.

  “I prefer this type of dancing to the line dancing. Not that I know how, but it does not look too hard. In truth, it resembles making love, only standing up.”

  Maggie gasped, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of his words, or the fact that he pulled her into a full-frontal embrace that involved his arms being locked around her waist and her shoes dangling off the floor. Most important, they were chest to chest, belly to belly, and, well…you-know-what to you-know-what. Oh, my God! she thought.

  “Oh…my…God!” Joe choked out, aloud.

  There was no satisfaction in knowing he shared her flash-fire arousal at their innocent embrace. No, she corrected herself immediately. There was nothing innocent about the chemistry that exploded between them at the merest touch, whether it was dancing or a scorching kiss.

  “I told you this couldn’t happen again,” she said in a strained voice as he swayed from foot to foot…his Viking version of dancing, she supposed.

  “Nay, m’lady. You told me we could not kiss again. You did not tell me that we couldn’t dance.”

  “This is not dancing.”

  “It’s not?” he asked, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Both feet of both partners need to be on the floor to qualify as dancing.”

  “They do?” He stared at her, dubiously. “Mores the pity.”

  He let her body slide down his body till her flat shoes rested on the floor. The sensations he created along the way were so intense Maggie feared her eyeballs might be rolling back in her head. She blinked once, then twice, just to make sure.

  “Just holding you like this makes me breathless,” Joe told her in a raspy voice. His eyes were heavy-lidded and smoldering.

  Breathless? I make him breathless? Oh, why does it feel so good to know I can affect him so? And, hey, is that my heart beating like a jackhammer? “You make me blush when you look at me like that. Stop it!”

  A slow grin spread across his lips. And he continued looking.

  She dropped her eyes before his steady, slumberous gaze. She didn’t want him to see—or sense—the hot ache that was building in the pit of her stomach. All from a mere dance.

  “Your arousal arouses me,” he admitted, almost as if he resented the fact, then proved it by adding, “I do not want to be aroused by you. I need to get back to my time. I need to help my brother. I need no complications.”

  “And I would be a complication?”

  “Lady, you could be the biggest complication of my entire life.”

  “Even more than your wife?”

  He exhaled with a dismissive sound. “My wife was never a complication. She was an arrangement. Never, ever, did she affect me as you do. Not she or any other woman.”

  “Bet you say that to all the wenches.”

  “Not even when I am seducing them into the bed sport. Well, there was that one wench in Cordoba—”

  Maggie punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  He laughed softly, a low, masculine sound, barely more than a growl. She loved his laugh. He did it so rarely.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She laughed then. “Hey, that’s supposed to be my line.”

  “I can scarce believe I am about to ask you this question. I swore, after Inga’s death, that I had had enough of women…except for the occasional coupling, that is.” He inhaled deeply, as if for courage. “I do not suppose that you would consider coming with me when I go?” he inquired tentatively.

  “To the tenth century?”

  “Yea, to my time and country.”

  How could she take such a proposal seriously? “On the back of a killer whale?”

  “God, I hope not.” Then he thought of something else. “On the other hand, if we were both bare-arsed naked…”

  “You are impossible.” She shook her head and smiled up at him. “No, I would not consider going with you. Keep in mind, I have two daughters who need me here.”

  The somber expression that immediately blanketed his face told her loud and clear that he wouldn’t be bringing up time travel with her again…because he didn’t want a reminder of her twin girls.

  They continued their dance in silence then, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face resting against his chest. It was a beautiful moment…a perfect ending to a perfect day.

  Why, then, did Maggie feel like crying?

  The next day Joe disappeared, without warning, from the Rainbow hospital. His sword was missing, too.

  Police were called and an APB put out with his description, to no avail. Other patients were questioned. He’d told no one of his plans, not even Steve, who was desolate without his new friend, especially with all the media publicity he’d reluctantly attracted as a result of the report at the Moving Wall. Area hospitals reported no injured Norsemen of his size in their emergency rooms. Maggie even searched the Orcaland site on several occasions. Nothing.

  Was he lost?

  Had he died? Perhaps he had swum out into the bay, hoping to connect with his special killer whale, and drowned instead.

  A heavy grief settled over Maggie, and over the hospital wing where Joe had touched so many people. Suzy and Beth were devastated that they’d lost the man they had chosen as a father before they’d actually met him. She had talked to Harry about it, and neither of them could figure out what there was about this man that had affected them all so strongly.

  So it was that one week passed, then a second, finally three weeks, with no sign of the mysterious man who had shown up in their lives suddenly, and just as suddenly disappeared. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Maggie hated negativity, but she couldn’t find much to be thankful for, not with Joe missing.

  Where was Joe spending his nights?
Was he cold? Was he hungry? Was he alone?

  That night Maggie began a brand-new practice…one she would never admit to anyone, not even her daughters. She was wishing on a star, and her refrain was always the same.

  “Come home, Joe.”

  Chapter Ten

  At seven o’clock that night, there was a loud pounding at the front door.

  Rita jumped from her favorite perch on the window seat of the front bay window, where she had been snoozing. With a long mewling “Meeooow,” she stretched and ambled toward the entryway.

  More persistent knocking followed.

  Maggie assumed it was Suzy and Beth coming home from church choir practice. Even though November wasn’t over, rehearsals for the annual Christmas concert were already in full swing.

  But why hadn’t they used their keys to open the door? Ha! Silly question. As usual, their arms were probably too full of the backpacks and whatnot that young girls felt the need to cart everywhere they went.

  She swung the door wide. “Just in time. Dinner’s about ready. We’re having your fav—”

  It wasn’t her daughters. It was Joe. And, even through the light drizzle of rain, she could see that he looked awful.

  She should have been angry that he’d left the hospital without notice, and had been missing for three long weeks.

  She should have slammed the door in his face for breaking his therapy contract, thus barring him from returning to the clinic as a patient.

  She should have been dismayed that he’d come to her home—a no-no for mental patients and their psychologists.

  Instead she opened her arms wide and hugged him tightly. She was just so glad to see him again…to know he was safe.

  He hugged her back just as fiercely. For several long moments they stood silently on her front doorstep, locked in the tight embrace, regardless of Rita hissing behind them, and a curious neighbor, Mrs. Watkins, walking her Pekingese along the front sidewalk.