by Diana Palmer
Her breath caught in her throat. “Do you want me that much?” she asked.
His chest rose and fell heavily under her fingers. “Until it’s almost beyond bearing,” he replied solemnly. “But I don’t start things I can’t finish. I told you how I felt about commitment, didn’t I? I haven’t lied.”
“I know that. I won’t ask for something you can’t give.” She moved closer, her heart in the soft eyes that looked up into his. “Your terms, Cal, all the way.”
He scowled. “Don’t you want anything?” he asked suddenly.
Her eyebrows arched. “Like what?”
“A car. A fur coat...”
She felt a surge of compassion so strong that it almost shook her. Her fingers pressed gently against his warm, hard mouth.
“I’d rather have the memory of last night,” she said quietly, “than all the mink coats in the world. Does that answer your question, Mr. Steel?”
He drew her close and held her for a long moment before he spoke.
“I’m glad I made it something you’d want to remember,” he said at her ear. All at once he chuckled softly.
“What’s so funny?” she prodded.
“The look on your face when I pulled you over me last night,” he murmured, drawing back enough to let him see the faint embarrassment that lingered in her face.
She laughed in spite of herself, remembering her own stunned surprise, his faint amusement even in the throes of passion.
“Quite obviously, you weren’t aware that it was possible in that position,” he whispered. “But it was the only way I could protect your back, you little witch. I’m no lightweight.”
She looked into his eyes with a wild excitement making her knees weak as the memory of the long, achingly sweet night pricked her mind. “It was...so beautiful,” she whispered slowly.
His nostrils flared with a sudden, harsh breath. His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “It wasn’t just sex,” he said unsteadily. “It was a beginning. Do you love me, Nikki?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke on the word, but it was in her eyes, in her face, in her hands that clung helplessly to his waist.
His eyes closed, his jaw tautened for an instant before he suddenly let her go. “Go call your uncle,” he said heavily, turning away to light a cigarette. His eyes met hers one last time. “And remember one thing, Nikki. You belong to me now, just as I belong to you. We’re not playing games.”
She searched his hard face, but not a trace of emotion showed in it. “Cal...”
“Keep away from that guy Hall. He had his chance. Now it’s mine. So long, Georgia,” he added with a last, satisfied appraisal before he turned away and strode back toward the jet. He didn’t look back when he climbed into it. Somehow that stuck in Nikki’s mind, even when she watched him take off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
UNCLE MIKE MET her at the airport, his deep blue eyes worried, his stocky frame restlessly pacing the concourse. He moved forward the instant he saw her coming toward him and caught her in a bear hug.
“Welcome home, honey,” he said with a quick smile. “Are you okay? What happened? Why are you back so soon?”
She laughed nervously and tried not to cry. “Nothing terribly important, Uncle Mike, just a mix-up, that’s all.” She bit her lip and smiled through a mist, “I’m okay.”
He searched her pale eyes and nodded. “We’ll talk about it when we get home. Bill Hastings flew me up to meet you. We’ll ride back with him in the Cessna.”
“Jenny didn’t come with you, I don’t suppose?” she asked, clutching her single suitcase tightly until he calmly reached down and took it away from her before they started down the concourse.
“The flower club was meeting.” He laughed. “Madam President couldn’t relinquish her gavel for the trip. But she was as worried as me. Almost,” he added dryly.
“I just cut the trip short, that’s all.”
“So you said.” He threw a protective arm across her shoulders and grinned at her. “Welcome home, pilgrim,” he repeated. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she said wholeheartedly, hugging him back. It would be all right now. Everything would be all right; she was home.
But all the way to Ashton she only listened half-heartedly to the shouted conversation between her uncle and the pilot while her thoughts were back in Nassau with Cal. It seemed like someone else’s trip, not her own, now that she was back. Time, which had slowed to a crawl on New Providence, was back on schedule again, and in the airport everyone had seemed to be in a maddening rush. The landscape below the four-place plane looked strange, too, because she’d become accustomed to the sight of palm trees and sandy beaches. Perhaps that would help, the fact that she wouldn’t have the island to remind her of Cal with every step she took.
An hour later they landed at the Ashton airport and Mike’s big Thunderbird was a welcome sight. Nikki slid in, leaning back contentedly against the black velour upholstery in the white car’s interior. Even in the blazing heat of a Georgia July, it was comforting.
“I need to get an update on the planning committee’s recommendations for upgrading this airport,” Mike muttered as he cranked the car and turned on the air-conditioning. “That might be a good one for you, Nikki,” he added as he backed out of the parking spot and headed the car toward the highway.
“I’ve still got the background material you loaned me to do that last update with,” she replied absently. Her eyes were staring blankly out the window at the flat landscape with the thick hardwood trees far on the horizon. Closer was the imposing skyline of Ashton.
Ashton was older than the Civil War, having been founded in 1850. It had flaunted its own proud company, the Ashton Rifles, as part of the Confederate army. Two of Nikki’s great-uncles had been members of it, one of whom died at the battle of Cemetery Ridge. The other survived to a ripe old age in Ashton.
A statue of a Confederate soldier stood guard over the town square, while dozens of small businesses huddled in a neat, wide circle around it amid clean air and pretty little trees. The square boasted a large park with benches and sidewalks and masses of flowers donated and cared for by the Ashton Garden Club.
Although Ashton wasn’t technically a small town, it wasn’t a big city, either. It was a nice medium-sized city with a small-town personality: plenty of parking space, good police and fire departments, a daily newspaper, two radio stations and the weekly newspaper that Mike Wayne’s family had founded sixty-five years before. And it was one thing more. It was Nikki’s home.
Her eyes lingered on the newspaper office, tucked between the Ashton Pharmacy and the Clinton brothers’ five and dime store. It was an unimposing little office, with the bulk of its operation tucked away in the back, and Nikki had her own office, next to Mike’s. There was one other reporter, “Red” Jones, a typesetter and an advertising representative.
“Missed it, did you?” Mike asked shrewdly, watching her eyes scan the block for the office.
“I missed a lot of things,” she said with a smile. “The refrigerator, mostly.”
He chuckled. “For the ice, no doubt.”
“And the water. And the soft drinks. And the food.” She sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever be cool again. But it was a lovely trip, and I’ll be your friend for life if you won’t ask me any more about it.”
There was a brief pause before he answered. “Okay, honey, if that’s how you want it. Now, let’s see if we can get enough together to make some sandwiches with before your aunt gets back from her meeting. Then,” he added with a grin, “we’ll go back to work. Suit you?”
“Oh yes, it sure does,” she said enthusiastically. “Ridiculous as it may sound, I’ve missed my job, too.”
“You love it.” He shrugged. “People should enjoy what they do for a living, Nikki. Life is too short to work for the paycheck alone. Money isn’
t the bottom line.”
“To some people, it is,” she said sadly.
He glanced at her curiously, but he didn’t say anything. Mike Wayne was a veteran reporter, and he read his niece well enough to know that something had upset her pretty badly. But he knew, too, that he’d never be able to pry it out of her. In her own good time, and when she felt ready, she’d talk about it. That was the best part of having Nikki around, that she never tried to hide things from them. She’d been a pitiful little girl, all nervousness and thin limbs and uncertainty. God knew he’d loved her like his own, and Jenny had, too. Maybe they didn’t have kids of their own, but Nikki sure felt as if she were. He’d wanted to adopt Nikki years before her parents died. If they’d really wanted her, they had a strange way of showing it. They’d been too wrapped up in each other to care much about Nikki. They never seemed to say more than a few words to her, or to touch her or smile at her.
The Waynes had always gotten along well with Jenny’s brother and his wife, but Mike hadn’t taken to them privately. He resented their treatment of Nikki, their thoughtlessness. He remembered one Christmas when she was about ten; her parents hadn’t even bought her a present. Christmas Day, at the family dinner, her father had handed her a five-dollar bill and told her to go get what she wanted. Mike had wanted to get up out of his chair and deck him. But for Jenny’s sake he’d bitten his tongue almost through and finished his turkey.
Now, holidays and special occasions always got remembered; Mike saw to it. He liked to think he’d made up some of those dark years to that lonely little girl.
The Wayne home was neoclassical in styling, with deep blue shutters around its windows and a fanlight above the front door, which tempted the imagination with its intricate, delicate pattern. The grounds were lushly green and shady, as dogwoods, pines and pecan trees mingled around the dark green hedge that separated the circular drive from the house and grounds. Azaleas were in full, glorious bloom, along with the crepe myrtle and wisteria. Jarrat Wayne had built the house the same year he opened the newspaper for operation sixty-five years before. Nikki loved every line of it, and the history it imparted. It was a copy of a much older house Jarrat had seen in the eastern part of the state. His wife had fallen in love with the design, so Jarrat had it copied for her.
“I just had the swimming pool cleaned,” Mike told her as he drove the car up to the front walkway and cut off the engine. “Go on in, honey. I’ll bring the suitcase.”
“Left the door unlocked again, did we?” Nikki teased as she opened the car door and got out.
Mike looked uncomfortable for a minute, sweeping a hand through his silvered black hair. “Well, hell, I only flew to Atlanta and back...”
“Someday,” she echoed Jenny’s eternal argument, “some happy burglar is going to come and carry away every single possession you and Jenny have.”
“Every single possession we have wouldn’t bring ten dollars,” he scoffed. “You know I’m not stupid enough to keep valuables in the house. I don’t even buy cheap original paintings anymore.”
“How about that antique table that belonged to your great-grandfather’s aunt in the West Indies, made of mahogany?” she asked, waiting for him to catch up with her. “And how about the grandfather clock in the hall that Uncle Cecil brought over from Ireland? And how about...”
“So I’ll start wearing the key to the house around my neck on a chain,” he grumbled, gripping the suitcase tightly as he stomped up the steps and threw open the door for her. “Nag, nag, nag...”
She laughed delightedly, feeling her old self for the first time since she’d left with Cal. It was good to be home.
“Don’t you feel like a swim?” Jenny asked later, when they were relaxing on the patio after a huge supper. “It’s a hot night.”
Nikki glanced toward her tall, well-endowed aunt, who was still dressed in slacks and a tent blouse in a shade of green that matched the eyes she and Nikki shared. Nikki’s late father had eyes the same shade.
“I don’t see you beating any paths toward a bathing suit,” Nikki murmured, laughing at her over a tall glass of sweetened iced tea.
“My figure loses something in the translation.” Jenny Wayne laughed. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, and studied Nikki’s slender figure in the casual white sundress. “You look lovely in white, dear. You should wear more of it. By the way, did Mike tell you the news?” she asked, and her tone made Nikki feel apprehensive.
She sat up straighter in the wrought iron chair. “What news?” she asked.
“That’s what I thought,” she muttered. “Leave poor old Jenny to do the dirty work while he hides in the bathroom.”
“What news?” Nikki repeated.
Jenny took a deep breath. “That Ralley’s back.”
Bad luck seemed to come in bunches, Nikki thought as she sipped her iced tea and tried to look nonchalant. “Is he?”
“Oh, don’t play it cool with me,” Jenny grumbled. “Who sat up with you all night the day he married Leda and patted you while you cried? Remember me? Long-suffering Aunt Jenny, who loves you like a daughter?”
Nikki had to smile at that. She gave her aunt a quick glance. “Okay, long-suffering aunt. I heard you. I just don’t know what to say. I thought I loved Ralley, but now I’m almost sure I didn’t. I was just in love with love. He’s a good reporter, and Mike’s lucky to have him back. But as to how I feel about it.” She sighed, shrugging. “I don’t feel anything. I’m just too numb.”
“Not over the flood,” Jenny said with a shrewd glance over the troubled pixie face, the downswept thick dark lashes. “So what went on in Nassau?”
Nikki’s fingers curled around the frosty, sweating glass. She rocked it gently, listening to the soft, musical tinkle it made. “I met someone,” she said.
“You come home looking like a dog whose owner was just run over by a van, with shadows under both eyes and a bitter little smile that says more than you think, and all that boils down to three words. Okay, fair enough. Who, what, where, when, how and why?”
“I forgot that Mike found you doing rewrites for a daily newspaper.” Nikki laughed with a sparkling emerald glance.
“I could have won a Pulitzer,” Jenny said haughtily. “I just didn’t want to deprive the other staffers of all that opportunity.”
“Which means, translated, that after you covered your first wreck, you decided the rewrite desk was a nicer memory to take home to supper,” Nikki replied. “Right?”
The older woman made a face at her. “Now, if you’re through trying to drag red herrings across my feet, how about telling me the truth? If you’re ready to, of course. Never let it be said that I tried to pry.”
“It’s nothing, really,” she replied quietly, her eyes faraway and sad. “I met a very nice man, we went sightseeing together and had a great time. But he was really out of my league. I doubt anything’ll come of it.”
“Nothing!” Jenny threw up her hands. “What do you mean he was out of your league? Was he rich? Famous?”
“Oh no,” Nikki lied. She didn’t want anyone to know Cal’s identity, much less Mike and Jenny. Love her they did, but Mike wouldn’t be above calling up Callaway Steel to give him a piece of his mind if he knew who’d upset the apple of his eye. And Jenny had no secrets at all from Mike; it was one of the reasons their marriage was such a good one.
“He was just an upper-crust man,” Nikki said finally, “with an oversize ego.”
“Not going to tell me a thing, are you?” Jenny laughed at the expression on Nikki’s face. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to pump you. I know what a sucker you are for tears.” She smiled gently. “You really fell for him, didn’t you, honey? It happens like that sometimes. I saw Mike, and I knew. Just that fast.”
Nikki’s pale green eyes clouded. “I wouldn’t have believed anyone could care so much, so soon. Oh, Jenny, it hurts
so!”
Jenny got up and took the shorter woman in her arms, rocking her, comforting her, as she had years ago when her mother died of a brain tumor and, six months later, when her father ran his truck into the river. She was good at giving comfort to Nikki, she thought sadly; the girl had gone through so much tragedy in her life. Leda’s death had been the last straw. She was glad Nikki had found someone to share a few smiles with on that trip. God knows she’d needed it desperately. And if a few tears were the price, they were surely worth it. Nikki’s pride would heal, and so would her heart. It was her memories that worried Jenny. She held Nikki closer and stroked her hair.
* * *
RALLEY HALL WAS tall and blond and blue-eyed, and Nikki had loved him with all her heart. But when she walked into the office and found him sitting behind the newspaper’s editorial desk, she didn’t feel anything at all except a friendly warmth and sympathy.
“Hello, Ralley,” she said gently, shaking his hand while Mike Wayne watched nervously. “How are you?”
He shrugged. “Coping,” he replied with a faint smile. “I sold the house and moved back here,” he added. “The memories were too much. Even the job reminded me of her.” His face contorted, and she saw the sadness in it for an instant before he erased it. He’d looked like that at the funeral.
“You’ll enjoy being back,” she assured him, trying to keep her memories out of the way. “Mike might even let you do the update on the airport, if you bribe him with a fifth of bourbon.”
Ralley jumped right in, staring over Nikki’s shoulder at the older man. “Really?” he asked with arched eyebrows.
“Depends on the brand,” Mike said with a grin.
Ralley mentioned a well-known one, and Mike nodded. “It’s yours. Just as well—Nikki doesn’t know the fuselage from the altimeter.”