“I am not sure of that.”
Rolf pulled at his hair, which he had left loose today, the dark blond strands lying like a swath of gold on his shoulders. “You are so damn stubborn.”
Jorund raised his brows sardonically. “Like you, mayhap?”
Rolf laughed and put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, hugging him close as they began to walk toward the car.
“I am not like you, Rolf,” he tried one last time to explain. “I need to have things settled one way or another. I could not bear to stay here and know I had responsibilities elsewhere that I had neglected to satisfy my own whims. I could not bear to stay here knowing that at any minute that bloody whale might flip me back in time. I could not bear to stay and build strong bonds with Mag-he and her daughters, only to hurt them more by leaving later.”
“Do you love the wench, Jorund?”
“Of course.”
“Then you already know the answer, lackbrain.” He looked at Mag-he standing near the open door of the car, snowflakes powdering her too-short hair. She glanced in his direction, as if sensing his thoughts. There were tears in her misty blue eyes, and he knew the tears were for him…not for their departure from Rosestead.
Like a knife to his heart was Jorund’s knowledge that he could hurt this woman so easily. Yes, he had his answer.
Better the small cut now than the open wound later.
It was New Year’s Eve at the Boot Scootin’ Cowboy.
Three whole tables of ten each were filled with friends of Natalie Blue, including her family, fellow group members, and some of the staff from Rainbow…even the new owner, Jerome Johnson and his lovely wife Freda, who loved country music. There was a festive air in the crowded club due to its being New Year’s Eve, complete with glittery decorations, confetti, funny hats, and noisemakers.
But there was tension in the air, too, due to the talent show, which was about to start. Judges were already beginning to sit down at the long folding tables set up in the center of the now-empty dance floor. The judges were several radio and TV country-music program hosts, a Nashville record producer, a talent agent, and various other local celebrities.
Tension wasn’t just in the air, either. Maggie looked at Joe, who was fidgeting in his chair. Every couple of minutes, he would glance at the doorway, as if he expected someone. In fact, he’d insisted that a couple of chairs be left empty at their table, on the other side of Steve, who sat next to him, spiffily attired in a herringbone sport coat with gray slacks and a white golf shirt, open at the collar. He and Joe had taken up jogging the last few days, since their return from Maine, as part of Rainbow’s physical-fitness program. While Joe had always looked good to her, Steve’s appearance had taken a decided turn for the better. His skin was no longer pale, but tan and healthy. He had always had an athlete’s body, but something about the way he carried himself had changed. In an instant she realized that he carried himself just like Joe…with self-confidence.
“You’ve been a good influence on Steve,” Maggie commented to Joe.
“Do you think so?” His lips turned up with genuine pleasure. God, he was a handsome man. Tonight he wore his hair slicked back into its usual queue and he’d shaved, so his face was smooth. A trip to the mall yesterday had resulted in her red sequined sheath and black high heels—Joe’s choice, accompanied by some hot looks and a few winks—and his navy blue suit, white shirt, and tie. He wore the latter under protest, deeming it a torture device. It had seemed particularly important to Joe that tonight he fit what he considered the image of a modern man. Of course, he wore his cowboy boots—another torture device, in his opinion—so she guessed it was the image of the modern Texas man.
“Yes, I do think so. Steve’s whole demeanor has changed, largely due to his association with you.”
“That and getting a prescription for Viagra from that new doctor.” Joe grinned at her as he spoke. More than once Joe had expressed amazement that there was a little blue pellet in modern times that could create such magic. More seriously he remarked, “You know, in the Norse culture, a man’s worth is often measured by how well he fights. Valhalla, hall of the gods, is open only to warriors who die in battle. But I’ve been thinking that mayhap the true measure of a man should be how he has touched other people afore his death.”
Maggie’s heart constricted at such sensitivity coming from what, at the core, was a primitive man.
“I mean, think about it, Mag-he. What good is a man though he be the greatest soldier of all time, if he trod over those who surrounded him in everyday life? Believe me, I know many such men, and they are considered heroes.”
“To me, you’re the real hero.” She said the words teasingly, but she meant them sincerely.
He put a hand to her nape and pulled her close for a quick kiss on the head. “Thank you, sweet ling.” Then he nuzzled her neck. “You smell so good. Years from now I do not think I will ever smell the scent of lilacs without thinking of you.”
There was a drumroll then as the lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the stage. The competition was about to begin. But Maggie’s thoughts were centered on Joe’s last, revealing words. He probably didn’t realize what he had subconsciously let slip. The infuriating man was contemplating a future without her in it; she just knew it. They hadn’t discussed the future since their return from Maine, though it loomed silently between them all the time. She hadn’t pressed him for a decision, fearing what he would say. And he hadn’t brought up the subject, she suspected, because he was still so confused.
Not a promising beginning for the New Year.
Six of the contestants had given their performances by the time a break was called and the lights were turned up. Natalie would be in the second round, and she was looking mighty nervous after hearing and seeing such talent in the first half—singing, guitar playing, comedy routines, clogging.
Everyone was ordering drinks or making quick runs to the rest rooms or conversing quietly when Joe stiffened and stared at the front door. The others at their table followed his gaze, noticing the strange intensity of his stare. Steve was the last to look because his back had been to the door, and he had to strain to look over his shoulder. Then he stood so suddenly that he knocked his chair over.
Steve stared at the doorway, then glared at Joe. “You interfering son of a bitch!” he said with a snarl. But his attention immediately returned to the doorway.
A woman in her mid-forties stood there, tall and thin and attractive in a natural, un-made-up way. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders. She wore a plain denim jumper under a heavy, fleece-lined winter jacket…unusual for Texas. In her hand was a small piece of carry-on luggage.
Steve put his hand to his mouth, where a small moan escaped. In his eyes, tears were already beginning to well into green pools.
“Shelley,” he cried then, joyously, but he seemed frozen in place.
Even though it all happened in a flash, the scenario that followed was like a slow-motion film clip. She dropped the suitcase and ran toward him, a clear pathway being made by the curious spectators. “Steve,” she practically screamed, and hurled herself into his arms.
Hugging each other tightly, as if they would never let go, he kept repeating, “Ah, Shelley. Ah, Shelley. Ah, Shelley.”
And she kept saying, “You dumb jerk! How could you leave? How could you hide from me all these years? You dumb jerk!”
“I did it for you,” he said.
“For me? You just about killed me. I kept expecting you to come back when you came to your senses. First it was one week. Then a month. Then years. You are dumber than Idaho dirt if you think you helped me by leaving.” Still holding on tightly to his shoulders, she leaned her head back to look at him. “I could kill you.”
He nodded, and kissed her with all the pent-up feeling that had been building in him over ten long years.
Finally she pushed him away gently and motioned for someone to come forward…someone who must have been standing behind
her in the doorway. It was a boy.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Shelly said in a choked voice.
She took the hand of the boy—a boy of about nine years, with unique green eyes and a wiry, athletic body. On the shirt under his denim jacket could be read the words, My Dad Was a Navy SEAL.
Steve stared blankly at first, then put his face in both hands to hide the silent sobs that were racking him.
Shelly was merciless. “Steve, let me introduce you to Steven Askey, Jr.”
Steve dropped his hands and murmured, “Sweet Jesus!”
“Dad?” The boy gazed up in adoration at a man he had never seen in person.
Only then did Steve reach for the boy and lift him high into his arms and give him a big bear hug.
“Hello, son.”
An hour later Maggie finally got the chance to say to Joe, “Tell me how you found Steve’s wife.”
“Beth.”
“Beth?”
“Yea, Beth told me you can find anyone on the Enter-net. And we did.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The newspaper photographs of Steve at that warrior’s wall apparently traveled across the country on some wiring service, whatever that is,” he explained. “Shelley saw the picture in a newspaper in I-duh-hoe and has been trying to find Steve ever since. A fruitless search. She ne’er thought to look in a madhouse…I mean, mental-health facility. In any case, Beth and Sue-zee helped me phone Shelley in I-duh-hoe after we found her message on the Enter-net.”
It took several minutes for everything he’d said to sink in. “Why, that little stinker! She kept a secret from her mother.”
“Do not be angry with her. She—I—feared you would raise objections to my interfering in Steve’s life that way.”
“I would have.”
“Yea, but look how well everything turned out.”
“It did. I can’t deny that,” Maggie conceded, “but as a psychologist, I must say shock therapy is not standard procedure. By taking all the control safeguards out of the scenario—like having a private setting, removing the surprise element, asking for permission—this could just as easily have been a disaster.”
Joe groaned. “We are back to the control thing again, are we not?”
She had to laugh. “Maybe you’re right. Anyhow, everything worked out fine, but would you do me a favor? Consult me first in the future.”
He nodded vigorously, which meant he would do whatever he damn well pleased, as always. “You look beautiful tonight, dearling,” Joe observed then. He had a habit of changing the subject without warning, but sometimes in the most pleasant ways.
“You look pretty handsome yourself, fellow.”
“Are you wearing undergarments under that skimpy apparel?”
“Skimpy? You picked it out.”
“Yea, I did.” He smiled at her, that slow, lazy smile that she loved.
“No, I’m not.”
“Good thing that Sue-zee and Beth are staying with the sitting person tonight, then.”
Maggie thought it was a good thing, too. It had been a week since she’d made love with Joe, and she needed that intimacy so much. Without the reinforcement of their loving, she feared that Joe would drift away from her. An irrational concern, she supposed, but when was love rational?
“How did you find out about Steve’s son, by the way?”
“I did not know till I called Shelley on the telephone.”
“How could Steve have a son when he’s always claimed to be impotent?”
“Ah, but remember that he said it has been ten years since he last made love. Apparently ’twas a dismal effort on his part, which was what caused his abrupt departure. But ’twas not dismal enough that it did not result in his seed being planted in his wife’s body.”
She nodded. “Oh, look. It’s almost Natalie’s turn. I hope they come back soon.” Steve and his newfound family were off in a private dining area, reacquainting themselves with each other. Natalie had just stepped onto the stage when they slipped into the empty seats. They seemed ecstatically happy. Steve’s fingers were laced with Shelley’s and his eyes kept going to his son.
Natalie was the eleventh of twelve performers scheduled. To say she was nervous was an understatement. All evening she had been going outside with her mother to get fresh air. Maggie only hoped she wasn’t having agoraphobic attacks, as well as good old-fashioned stage fright.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our next contestant is Miss Natalie Blue,” the announcer said in a deep Texas drawl. “She wanted me to tell y’all that this song is dedicated to the folks at Rainbow…but especially to the Viking who’s responsible for her being here. Don’t know what that means, but let’s give a big Texas welcome to this sweet thang from Galveston…Miss Natalie Blue.”
The stage went dark, and then a single spotlight shone on the young woman standing alone. Natalie looked so pretty in tight black denim jeans with a dress-up cowgirl shirt decorated with fancy fringe. The only problem was that she appeared to be shaking in her boots.
The backup band gave a slight strumming sound of chords…her cue to begin. Maggie held her breath. Would Natalie freeze, or bolt? It was an excruciating test to put anyone through, but especially someone with her background. Were they expecting too much of her?
Suddenly Natalie’s voice burst forth, filling the entire club with a clear, twangy, poignant resonance. “I…fall…to pieeeeces…” she began the old Patsy Cline favorite, and by the end, she brought down the house. Patsy had never sung the classic as well as Natalie did. A standing ovation was Natalie’s reward.
At the end of the evening, winning the free recording session in Nashville was almost superfluous. Natalie had won her greatest success that night in a Galveston night spot.
Maggie glanced at Joe and smiled. “This has been a wonderful night, hasn’t it?”
He nodded. “Come, let us dance. It is almost midnight.” Maggie had already explained the customs of this celebration.
“Don’t you want some champagne?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather be intoxicated by you.”
“You sweet talker, you.” She laughed.
And suddenly it was midnight, and the band was playing “Auld Lang Syne,” and noisemakers were going off, and she was in Joe’s arms. The kiss they exchanged was warm and wonderful. Maggie couldn’t help wondering then what the new year would bring for them, but she refused to let dismal thoughts ruin her evening.
“Happy New Year, Joe.”
“Happy New Year, Mag-he.”
As everyone sang the words to the song and came to the part about old acquaintances never being forgotten, Joe whispered in her ear, “I will never forget you, dearling. Never.”
Instead of heartening Maggie, his words sounded like a death knell.
Chapter Nineteen
“I want to make slow love to you, heartling.”
“Slow, fast…it doesn’t matter to me,” Mag-he said. “I just want to be with you tonight.”
He nodded because he understood her need completely.
They were standing in her bedchamber in the wee dark hours of the morning of New Year’s Day—nude, having made short work of removing their festive apparel. Thank the gods, Sue-zee and Beth would be gone till daybreak or later, since they were staying the night with the sitting person down the street.
Although he had examined her lush body from head to toe in detail on previous occasions, he could see that Mag-he was still shy with him. Women of his time were not so inhibited about their nudity. What was it about the females of this century? They worried about every little physical flaw: were they too fat? Or too thin? Were their breasts too small? Or too big? Their buttocks were of particular concern. Did they not know that most men favored a well-rounded backside on a woman? A lustful man needed something to grab onto in the bedsport. Besides, his Mag-he was perfect. So her modesty was out of place.
He strode across the small room and lifted her into his arms, ca
using a little squeal to erupt from her lips. He dumped her unceremoniously on the soft bed and followed after her. The lights were out, but the room was well lit from the full moon and star-filled skies, visible through the large double windows that were open to the cool night air.
She reached up her arms to him, but he shook his head. Instead he placed them above her on the pillows. “Let me do the work in this loveplay,” he urged, his voice already raw with passion.
She laughed softly, a nervous, husky sound. “Do you plan on making me wild for you again?”
He had been brushing wisps of hair off her face and pressing butterfly kisses on her forehead and eyebrows and jawline, but he halted momentarily. “Nay…yea…well, of course I would like you to be wild, but that is not my objective. I just want to pay tribute to your body, which pleases me greatly.”
“Oh, Joe.”
He loved how his name sounded on her tongue…and yes, he had even come to like the shortened name she had given him.
Lying on his side, he kissed her…prolonged, deep, wet, drugging kisses that went on forever. “I cannot get enough of your sweet taste,” he murmured.
“I feel the same,” she whispered back against his lips.
He pulled back slightly. “I make a pledge to you, sweetling. Ne’er will I kiss another woman again…unless it be my lady mother or my sister. This delicious exercise that I have learned to savor belongs only to you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and he knew why. It was the unspoken message that he would be back in his own time, where he would have occasion to kiss his mother and sister. Well, so be it. It was a fact—or possible fact—that must be faced. But he could lighten her spirits. “I cannot promise that I will ne’er swive another female for the remainder of my days, though. The male urge is too strong. But I can deny myself the pleasure of kissing. In truth, I misdoubt it would even be a pleasure with another lady.”
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