by Janet Dailey
“Don’t.” The low word vibrated from her and asked him to stop, protesting the way it was destroying her.
The contact was abruptly broken. “Hand me my cigarettes,” Gard said with a degree of terseness. “They’re in my shirt pocket.”
Rachel wiped the excess oil from her hand on a towel and tried to stop her hand from shaking as she reached inside the beach bag, then handed him the pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She leaned back on her hands and stared at the wave rolling into shore. The silence stretched, broken only by the rustle of the cigarette pack and the click of the lighter.
“Tell me about your husband,” Gard said.
“Mac?” Rachel swung a startled glance at him, noting the grim set of his mouth and his absorption with the smoke curling from his cigarette.
“Is that what you called him?” His hooded gaze flicked in her direction.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“There’s consolation in that, I suppose.” His mouth crooked in a dry, humorless line. “At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that when you say my name, you aren’t thinking of someone else.”
Rachel’s gray eyes grew thoughtful as she tried to discern whether it was jealousy she heard or injured pride that came from being mistaken for someone else.
“What was he like?” Gard repeated his initial question, then arched her another glance. “Or would you prefer not to talk about him?”
“I don’t mind,” she replied, although she wasn’t sure where to begin.
When she looked out to sea, Rachel was looking beyond the farthest point. The edges blurred when she tried to conjure up Mac’s image in her mind. It wasn’t something recent. It had been happening gradually over the last couple of years. Her memory of him always pictured him as being more handsome than photographs showed. But it was natural for the mind to overlook the flaws in favor of the better qualities.
“Mac was a dynamic, aggressive man,” Rachel finally began to describe him, even though she knew her picture of him was no longer accurate. “Even when he was sitting still—which was seldom—he seemed to be all coiled energy. I guess he grabbed at life,” she mused, “because he knew he wouldn’t be around long.” Sighing, she threw a glance at Gard. “It’s difficult to describe Mac to someone who didn’t know him.”
“You loved him?”
“Everyone loved Mac,” she declared with a faint smile. “He was hearty and warm. Yes, I loved him.”
“Are you still married to him?” Gard asked flatly. Rachel frowned at him blankly, finding his question strange. A sardonic light flashed in his dark eyes before he swung his gaze away from her to inhale on his cigarette. “Even after their husbands die, some women stay married to their ghosts.”
The profundity of his remark made Rachel stop and think. Although she had wondered many times if she would ever feel so strongly for another man again, she hadn’t locked out the possibility. She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged them to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.
“No,” she said after a moment. “I’m not married to Mac’s ghost.” Her glance ran sideways to him. “Why did you ask?”
“I wondered if that was the reason you didn’t want me in your cabin last night.” Gard released a short breath, rife with impatient disgust. “I wonder if you realize how hard it was for me to leave last night.”
“You shouldn’t have come in.” Rachel refused to let him put the onus of his difficulty on her.
“I’m not pointing any fingers.” Gard sat up, bringing his gaze eye-level with hers. She was uncomfortable with his hard and probing look. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”
There was something in the way he said it that ruffled her fur. “Don’t strain yourself,” she flashed tightly.
Amusement flickered lazily in his eyes. “You’ve been a strain on me from the beginning.”
In her opinion the conversation was going nowhere. “I think I’ll go in the water for a swim,” Rachel announced and rolled to her feet.
“That’s always your solution, isn’t it?” Gard taunted, and Rachel paused to look back at him, wary and vaguely upset. “When a situation gets too hot and uncomfortable for you, you walk away. You know I want to make love to you.” He said it as casually as if he were talking about the weather.
There was a haughty arch of one eyebrow as her eyes turned iron-gray and cool. “You aren’t the first.” She saw the flare of anger, but she turned and walked to the sea, wading in, then diving into the curl of an oncoming wave. There was a definite sense of anger at the idea that simply because he had expressed a desire for her, she was supposed to fall into his arms. If anything, his remark had driven her away from him.
Rachel swam with energy, going against the surf the same way she went against her own natural inclination. Eventually she tired and let the tide float her back to shore where Gard waited. But the tense scene that had passed before had created a strain between them that wasn’t easily relieved.
Chapter Seven
Alone, Rachel strolled along a street in downtown Puerto Vallarta, the second port of call of the Pacific Princess. As it had yesterday, the ship had berthed early in the morning. This time Rachel settled for the continental breakfast served on the Sun Deck and disembarked as soon as the formalities with the Mexican port authorities were observed and permission was given to let passengers go ashore.
To herself she claimed it was a desire to explore the picturesque city on her own. It was merely a side benefit that she hadn’t seen Gard before she’d left the ship. Common sense told her the coolness that had come between them yesterday was a good thing. She needed time to step back and look at the relationship to see whether she’d been swept along by a strong emotional current or if she’d been caught in a maelstrom of physical desire.
Few of the shops were open before nine, so Rachel idled away the time looking in windows and eyeing the architecture of the buildings. At intersections she had views of the surrounding hills where the city had sprawled high onto their sides, creating streets that were San Francisco steep.
Something shimmered golden and bright against the skyline. When Rachel looked to see what it was, a breath was indrawn in awed appreciation. The morning sunlight was reflecting off the gold crown of a steeple and making it glow as if with its own golden light.
With this landmark in sight Rachel steered a course toward it for a closer look. Two blocks farther she reached the source. It was the cathedral of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The doors of the church stood invitingly open at the top of concrete steps, but it continued to be the crown that drew Rachel’s gaze as she stood near the church’s base with her head tipped back to stare admiringly at it.
“It’s a replica of the crown worn by the Virgin in the Basilica at Mexico City.”
At the sound of Gard’s voice, Rachel jerked her gaze downward and found him, leaning casually against a concrete side of the church steps and smoking a cigarette. She felt the sudden rush of her pulse under the lazy and knowing inspection of his dark eyes. The cigarette was dropped beneath his heel and crushed out as he pushed away and came toward her. A quiver of awareness ran through her senses at his malely lean physique clad in butternut-brown slacks and a cream-yellow shirt.
“I’ve been waiting for you to turn up,” Gard said calmly.
The certainty in his tone implied that he had known she would. It broke her silence. “How could you possibly know I would come here?” Rachel demanded with a rush of anger. “I didn’t even know it.”
“It was a calculated risk,” he replied, looking at her eyes and appearing to be amused by the silver sparks shooting through their grayness. “Puerto Vallarta basically doesn’t have much in the way of historical or cultural attractions. It’s too early for most of the shops to be open, so you had to be wandering around, looking at the sights. Which meant, sooner or later, you’d find your way here.”
It didn’t help her irritation to find that his assumption was based on well thought out logic. “Al
ways presuming I had come ashore.” There was a challenging lift to her voice.
“Don’t forget”—a slow, easy smile deepened the grooves running parenthetically at the corners of his mouth—“I know most of the officers and crew from the bridge, including the man on duty at the gangway. He told me you were one of the first to go ashore this morning. I have spies everywhere.”
His remark was offered in jest, but Rachel wasn’t amused. “So it would seem,” she said curtly, reacting to the threading tension that was turning her nerves raw. His sudden appearance had thrown her off balance.
“Would you like to see the inside of the cathedral?” Gard inquired, smoothly ignoring her shortness and acting as if there hadn’t been any cool constraint between them.
“No.” She swung away from the church steps and began to walk along the narrow sidewalk in the direction of the shopping district.
“I rented a car for the day.” He fell in step with her, letting his gaze slide over her profile.
“Good for you.” Rachel continued to look straight ahead. She felt slightly short of breath and knew it wasn’t caused by the leisurely pace of her steps.
“I thought we could drive around and see the sights.” There was a heavy run of amusement in his voice.
She tossed a glance in his direction that didn’t quite meet his sidelong study of her. Some of her poise was returning, taking the abrasive edge out of her voice. But it didn’t lessen her resentment at the way Gard was taking it for granted that she would want to spend the day with him—just as yesterday when he had taken it for granted that because he had expressed a desire to make love to her, she should have been wildly impressed.
“I thought you just said there weren’t any sights to see in Puerto Vallarta,” she reminded him coolly.
“I said there weren’t any major cultural attractions,” Gard corrected her. “But there’s plenty of scenery. I thought we could drive around town, maybe stop to see some friends of mine—they have a place in Gringo Gulch where a lot of Americans have vacation homes—then drive out in the country.”
“It’s a shame you went to so much trouble planning out the day’s activities for us without consulting me,” Rachel informed him with honeyed sweetness. “I could have told you that I’d already made plans and you wouldn’t have wasted your time.”
“Oh?” His glance was mildly interested, a touch of skepticism in his look. “What kind of plans have you made?”
Rachel had to think quickly, because her plans were haphazard at best. “I planned to do some shopping this morning. There’re several good sportswear lines that are made here, and I want to pick up some small gifts for friends back home.”
“And the afternoon?” Gard prompted.
The beach bag she carried made that answer rather obvious. “I’m going to the beach.”
“Any particular beach?”
“No.” Her gaze remained fixed to the front, but she wasn’t seeing much. All her senses were tuned to the man strolling casually at her side.
“I know a quiet, out-of-the-way spot. We’ll go there this afternoon after you’ve finished your shopping.”
“Look.” Rachel stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to confront him. Gard was slower to halt, then came halfway around to partially face her. His handsomely hewn features showed a mild, questioning surprise at this sudden stop. “I’m not going with you this afternoon.”
“Why?” He seemed untroubled by her announcement.
There was frustration in knowing that she didn’t have an adequate reason. Even more damnably frustrating was the knowledge that she wouldn’t mind being persuaded to alter her plans. She became all the more determined to resist such temptation.
“Because I’ve made other plans.” Rachel chose a terse non-answer and began to walk again.
“Then I’ll go along with you.” With a diffident shrug of his shoulders, Gard fell in with her plans.
She flicked him an impatient glance. “Are you in the habit of inviting yourself when you’re not asked?”
“On occasion,” he admitted with a hint of a complacent smile.
More shops were beginning to unlock their doors to open for business. Out of sheer perversity Rachel attempted to bore him by wandering in and out of every store, not caring whether it was a silversmith or a boutique, whether it sold copper and brassware or colorful Mexican pottery.
Yet she never detected any trace of impatience as he lounged inside a store’s entrance while she browsed through its merchandise. She did make a few small purchases: a hand-crafted lace mantilla for her secretary, a hand-embroidered blouse for Mrs. Pollock next door, and two ceramic figurines of Joseph with Mary riding a donkey for Fan’s collection of Christmas decorations. Gard offered to carry them for her, but she stubbornly tucked them inside her beach bag.
In the next boutique she entered, Rachel found a two-piece beach cover-up patterned in exactly the same shade of lavender as her swimsuit. The sales clerk showed her the many ways the wraparound skirt could be worn, either long with its midriff-short blouse or tied sarong fashion. After haggling good-naturedly over the price for better than half an hour, Rachel bought the outfit.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Gard observed dryly as he followed her out of the store.
Bargaining over the price was an accepted practice in most of Mexico, especially when a particular item wasn’t marked with a price, so Rachel was a little puzzled why he was commenting on her negotiation for a lower price.
“It’s business,” she countered.
“I agree,” he conceded. “But you practiced it like you were an old hand at negotiating for a better price.”
“I suppose I am.” She smiled absently, because she was often involved in negotiating better prices for bulk-order purchases of furniture or related goods for her company. “It’s part of my work.”
“I didn’t realize you worked.” Gard looked at her with frowning interest.
Rachel laughed shortly. “You surely didn’t think my only occupation was that of a widow?”
“I suppose I did.” He shrugged and continued to study her. “I didn’t really give it much thought. What do you do?”
“I own a small chain of retail furniture stores.” Her chin lifted slightly in a faint show of pride.
“If they’re managed properly, they can be a sound investment.” The comment was idly made. “Who have you hired to handle the management of them for you?”
“No one.” Rachel challenged him with her glance. “I manage them myself.”
“I see.” His expression became closed, withdrawing any reaction to her announcement. That, in itself, was an indication of his skepticism toward her ability to do the job well.
“I suppose you think a woman can’t run a business,” she murmured, fuming silently.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to!” she flared.
“You took me by surprise, Rachel.” Gard attempted to placate her flash of temper with calm reasoning. “Over the years I’ve met a few successful female executives. You just don’t look the type.”
“And what is the type?” Hot ice crystallized in her voice as she threw him a scathing look. “Ambitious and cold and wearing jackets with padded shoulders?” She didn’t wait for him to answer as her lips came thinly together in disgust. “That is the most sexist idea I’ve ever heard!”
“That isn’t what I meant at all, but the point is well taken,” he conceded with a bemused light in his dusty brown eyes. “I deserved that for generalizing.”
She was too angry to care that Gard admitted he’d been wrong. She turned on him. “Why don’t you go back to the ship ... or go drive around in your rented car? Go do whatever it is that you want to do and leave me alone! I’m tired of you following me!”
“I was wrong and I apologize,” Gard repeated with a smooth and deliberately engaging smile. “Let’s find a restaurant and have some lunch.”
“You simply don’t listen, do
you?” she declared in taut anger and looked rawly around the immediate vicinity.
A uniformed police officer was standing on the corner only a few yards away. Rachel acted on impulse, without pausing to think through the idea. In a running walk she swept past Gard and hurried toward the policeman.
“Officer?” she called to attract his attention.
He turned, his alert, dark eyes immediately going to her. He was of medium height with a stocky, muscular build. His broad features had a no-nonsense look, reinforced by a full black mustache. He walked to meet Rachel as she approached him, his gaze darting behind her to Gard.
“Officer, this man is annoying me.” Rachel turned her accusing glance on Gard as he leisurely came up to stand behind her.
His expression continued to exhibit patience, but there was a hard glint in his eyes, too, at her new tactic. When she looked back at the policeman, Rachel wasn’t sure he had understood her.
“This man has been following me.” She gestured toward Gard. “I want him to stop it and leave me alone.”
“The señor makes trouble for you?” the officer repeated in a thick accent to be certain he had understood.
“Yes,” Rachel nodded, then added for further clarification, “Sί.”
The policeman turned a cold and narrowed look on Gard while Rachel watched with cool satisfaction. He started to address Gard, but Gard broke in, speaking in an unhesitating Spanish. The policeman’s expression underwent a rapid change, going from a stern to a faintly amused look.
“What did you say to him?” Rachel demanded from Gard.
“I merely explained that we’d had a small argument.” The hard challenge continued to show behind his smiling look. “I was tired of shopping and wanted some lunch. And you—my wife—insisted on going through more stores first.”
Her mouth opened on a breath of anger, but she didn’t waste it on Gard. Instead she swung to the officer. “That isn’t true,” she denied. “I am not his wife. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”