Charades

by Ann Logan

  She bit her lower lip. “It’s not you,” she hastened to say when she saw him stiffen and start to interrupt. “It’s me. I’m just not sure what I’m doing. I mean, I’m twenty-five, but I’ve never been anywhere, or done anything. All I know about life is going to school. Yes, I have a lot of education, but as you can see, I’m not very sophisticated.” Mercy faltered, looking down at the ground, “I’d feel awful if I failed you as a wife.”

  And how could she possibly explain her hesitancy about sex without telling him everything, Oh, God! “We haven’t even talked about religion or children,” she blurted. “They are two of the most important facets of marriage.”

  Wulf frowned and started to speak. “I’m old-fashioned, I guess, and…”

  Mercy swallowed, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. All she wanted to do was touch him, feel him, have him touch her. Her breasts swelled, the tips aching. The dark, secret place between her legs dampened and swelled.

  “Catholic and four,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I am Catholic. I want four children,” Wulf grinned at her.

  She laughed. “You have answers for everything, don’t you?”

  “Ja. I mean no. Mercy,” he said, his fingers playing with the silky length of her hair, “I am scared, too, but I will wait for you as long as you like. Just please say you will come to Germany with me after we leave here. I cannot bear to leave you. If you come with me, I promise no ‘hanky-panky,’ as you Americans call it.”

  He looked so sincere, her heart warmed.

  “Liebling, I do not want to say good-bye now that I have found you. My family will also want to meet you.”

  Could she risk her heart, particularly after the way she’d hidden herself in self-imposed exile so long? In spite of her fears, excitement bubbled up within her.

  “I’m Catholic,” Mercy said, trying to use what few functioning cells still worked in her brain, “although not a very good one. So, we have religion in common. I don’t know about the four children. Two sounds better.” Her voice trailed off, and she cocked her head at him. His background had checked out according to both Judy and Hazel. What woman wouldn’t be swept off her feet by a man as good-looking and as kind and sincere as Wulf? “Perhaps the time spent here and in Germany will help us get to know each other better.”

  “Ja. That sounds good.” Excitement glittered in his eyes.

  Going to Germany! Whether she said the words or not, Mercy knew she’d already decided to risk everything on this once in a lifetime trip. “Give me until the end of the week to think about this, okay?”

  “No problem. I’ll book flights now. We can cancel them if necessary.”

  She nodded and inhaled a deep breath. Hand in hand they walked back up to the house. It was dangerous in that gazebo—the way he had looked at her, the way her body had felt when she was sitting on his lap. It was all she could do to keep from shivering with excitement.

  Dorie and she played golf alone that next morning while the men closeted themselves in the library going over details of their joint venture. On the way back to the house after their game, they spied Wulf practicing on the putting green.

  “Dorie? Can I ask you a question?”

  Dorie braked to a halt and turned to her. “Shoot, girl. I can tell something’s troubling you.”

  “There are so many cultural differences between Wulf and myself. I don’t know if it’s that or if it’s just my own nervousness about the upcoming wedding, but suddenly I’m just not so sure about everything, myself included.” Stop beating around the bush, she told herself. “What do you think of Wulf as a future husband?”

  “I don’t really know him that well,” Dorie protested.

  “I know that, but…”

  Dorie nodded. “You want to know what I think of him as potential husband material. Is that it?”

  Mercy’s face flamed. That was exactly it!

  “Well, honey,” Dorie said, “there’s so many things that go into the makeup of a good man, a woman is just darned lucky if she comes out with a winner. I did, but no one can promise you that. It depends on what goes into the relationship. How committed is he to love and faithfulness? How much loyalty, respect, and consideration does he show you, even when it comes to the little things in life? If those kinds of basics aren’t there, I think that’s a pretty good sign to stay away.”

  Mercy frowned. Naturally, Wulf treated her and the Ryder's with respect. He wanted this deal badly enough to scheme and pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

  “But,” Dorie went on, “he’s got my vote. According to Red, he knows his stuff and his company trusts him with unlimited discretionary power. They must have a good reason to do something like that.”

  “That’s a good point,” Mercy conceded.

  “On a personal level,” Dorie continued, “I’ve noticed how he treats you. I can tell you’re important to him. A person can’t fake that. He’s very taken with you.”

  Mercy nodded, relieved. “Neither of us has had much experience. He’s a workaholic and I’m an educational nun.”

  “Well, he’s sure not a smooth operator, now is he?” They both laughed. “But on a more intuitive level,” Dorie continued, “I’d say you have a pretty good man there. I caution you, though, don’t let his actions deceive you.”

  “What do you mean?” Mercy asked, suddenly wary.

  “Hey, don’t go tensing up on me like that. I mean he’s a very complex, private person. There are probably levels to him you won’t find out about even ten years down the road. He may never open up with you, or he might open up just with you. Who knows? A woman takes her chances, like everyone else. Life is a risk, you know.”

  “Thanks for talking with me,” Mercy said as she gave Dorie a hug. Who else but practical, forthright Dorie could put all those doubts and conclusions into such an understandable package?

  “Sure thing.” Dorie grinned, letting off the brake and speeding up the golf cart. “Glad I could help. I guess Red told you that your father was my first golf teacher years ago.”

  “Yes. He evidently taught you very well.”

  “I’ll never forget him. That man was a real looker,” Dorie commented.

  Mercy smiled. “I’ve enjoyed your company so much while we’ve been here. Although you don’t look like my mother, when I’m around you I feel her presence again.”

  Dorie’s face colored under her deep tan. “I’m not saying anything I wouldn’t say to one of my own girls.” She climbed out of the cart and turned to Mercy. “Now, you just go back and join that long, tall drink of water on the practice green. Okay?”

  “Thanks,” Mercy said, waving and turning the cart around.

  Wulf stood up as her cart approached. As soon as she stepped out of the cart, he walked over and pulled her into his arms. Her heart leaped with barely suppressed excitement.

  “Wulf?” she asked, teasing him, “Your putting is terrible. Is there anything wrong with your eyesight besides needing glasses to read?”

  “No, liebling. I chose you, didn’t I?” he said.

  His leer was so comical, Mercy laughed at his roguish behavior. He was trying to be cool again, but he was failing miserably. His fumbling flirtatiousness touched her in a way that little else could. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Ja. I know what I like,” Wulf said, pulling her against him and rubbing his chest against her breasts, “and I like you.”

  “Stop that,” Mercy said, pulling away. She tried to look severe, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “We have to work on your putting.” She tried to line him up with the ball by putting her arms around him from the back.

  Wulf looked over his shoulder and laughed. “This will never work. You are a pigmy.”

  “A pigmy! Why, you great big horse, I wouldn’t look like a pigmy, if you weren’t so darned huge,” she retorted.

  “Did I tell you how much I like pigmy monkeys at the zoo?”

  “Now you’
re calling me a monkey? You’ll live to regret that.” She shook her finger at him, the light-hearted banter spreading sunshine in her heart.

  He grabbed her finger, bringing it to his mouth and biting on it playfully. Suddenly, the air felt too hot, her chest too tight. His expression intensified as he sucked her finger into the heat of his mouth. Mercy shivered as sensuous tremors burst throughout her body. Oh, God! He’s doing it again!

  “Wulf,” she whispered as she pulled her finger away. “We’re here to work on your putting.”

  “Ja,” he grinned, looking very satisfied with himself. “We work now.”

  Her breathing slowly returned to normal as she stood back and watched him, giving him pointers. Within a short time, he began to do much better. In fact, Mercy began to suspect he did poorly yesterday just to let Red catch up with him. Or maybe it was a lame attempt to be alone like this. She felt her face flush.

  “Wulf, you’re a fraud,” she teased, after he sank his ninth or tenth putt over twenty feet.

  He stopped, frozen in place. “What do you mean?” he asked, slowly turning around to her, his eyes unreadable behind dark glasses.

  Why was he so upset? “You knew all along how to putt,” she explained. “You just used it as an excuse for me to put my arms around you, didn’t you?” She put her hands on her hips, trying to look severe, but still curious over his abrupt change in attitude.

  Wulf let out a long, slow breath, slouched, and said with a teasing grin of his own, “Of course. I want you alone with me to have my way with you. It worked, nicht wahr?”

  “Yes, silly. It worked.”

  He walked the few steps over to her, kissed her soundly and went back to his putting. Each time he sank a long-distance putt, he cracked his knuckles. The memory suddenly gelled. There was a young man who had made waves in the world of golf, competing at the young age of twenty-one against far older contenders and winning. He had a habit of cracking his knuckles every time he putted a long distance in one stroke.

  What was his name? Mercy frowned as she concentrated. Wulfgar Rheinhart did not ring a bell. A name like that would be hard to forget. She racked her memory, but she’d watched hundreds of games and they all tended to run together. She remembered her father saying that many young golfers were just “flashes in the pan,” who rose quickly and disappeared just as fast. “I was one of those,” he had said. “I played for the money. I hated the traveling and being away from my family.”

  Hadn’t that young man also been German? Joel? Josh? Joseph! Joseph something. Sturm? Stern? Stein? Steinberg! That’s it, Joseph Steinberg. She studied him closer. Of course, he would have filled out since then, she thought. If Wulf was indeed Joseph Steinberg he would have added a good fifty pounds or more. No doubt that extra weight contributed to those exceptionally long drives of his. Few people could drive a ball that far with that kind of consistency.

  But why had he changed his name? Was he embarrassed because it sounded Jewish? But Wulf had said he was Catholic. If he was that young man, he probably had a perfectly good explanation. Maybe his past as a golf pro complicated his current job as an oil executive, although Mercy couldn’t think why that would be.

  At that moment, Wulf turned to her with a wide grin. Her breath stopped, and she gulped, her knees weak. She let out her breath slowly. Talk about temptation.

  “Liebling, I sank every putt with one stroke,” he said, dropping his putter on the ground and coming over to her. “Are you proud of me?” He pulled her into his arms giving her a big hug, then leaned down and nuzzled her neck.

  Mercy quickly lost all coherent thought. Her world spiraled down to liquid, hot sensations. A kiss like this could start forest fires.

  When he grasped her buttocks, pulling her up on her toes to press against his hardness, she swallowed as the ache inside of her spread. The rigid feel of his hardness nudged that growing throb to blossom forth even more. He might be clumsy at flirting, but his instincts were right on. She tried to bite back the small moan of pleasure and delight but failed. A tiny whimper escaped as she gave up, surrendering to him. He moved his lips over hers, lining her lips with his tongue. Her mouth dropped open in a gasp as a surge of overheated desire hit her broadside.

  Yes, yes, yes! Wulf’s body yelled as he gripped her tighter. For a moment, he considered the ramifications of taking her right here on the putting green, the lush grass providing a downy bed. As far away as they were from the house and barns, no one would ever see them. He bit down his lusty instincts with a vengeance. Never before had he felt so impulsive, so inclined to let the devil take the consequences. He damn sure didn’t need to be feeling that way now. It scared the hell out of him that he felt so desperate to mark her as his, to brand her with the fiery lick of his passion before she slipped soundlessly away from him.

  What a turnabout of fate. His former life haunted him with the visions of all the women he’d been intimate with. Now all he wanted was Mercy, frumpy clothes, crooked glasses, awkwardness and all. He’d never before encountered a woman like her. Her compassion and caring made him feel like a villain.

  For years, he’d used women like tranquilizers. Mercy damn sure didn’t tranquilize him. She affected him like a red-hot amphetamine, and she didn’t even know it. Her eager, enthusiastic responses, so honest and so real bespoke her innocence. That very thought caused a surge that threatened to stop the flow of blood to his brain. His tongue thrust into her mouth, in blatant imitation of his desire for her. God! He wanted her so much he hurt.

  Wulf forced himself to loosen his taut grip. Making small circles on her buttocks, he slowly let her back down to the ground, searching her face. He found nothing but openness and purity. What a grand, cosmic joke. To find the one female in the world he could love and live with forever, and to know that once she knew how he’d used and deceived her, she’d never want to see him again. He hugged her warm, generous body close, rocking her gently.

  At least she wouldn’t have to know anything for a while. Wulf had time yet to build on their love and closeness. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, loving the way she filled his arms, the way she tasted like honey, the way the subtle fragrance of her hair reminded him of a meadow in spring.

  Deception wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? Yes, it was. He could lie to her, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He pulled away to study her face and was struck anew by the serenity and trust reflected there. Oh, yeah. He was a real son-of-a-bitch.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  “Wulf, have you made those reservations for Germany yet?” Mercy asked the next day after Red and Dorie had departed for their morning golf game.

  “Ja.”

  “Good, because I’ve decided to go.”

  He picked her up and swung her around in a circle. I’m going to lose her, he thought with despair, holding her tight.

  “Of course,” she said breathlessly, when he finally set her down, “I insist on separate rooms, and we’ll have to book an inexpensive hotel so I can afford it, but…”

  He glared at her, offended and guilty at the same time. “I pay everything. We stay at the best hotel in Berlin. Ja, separate rooms, but, I pay.”

  “But I don’t think—”

  “I pay,” he repeated more forcefully.

  “Okay, if you feel that way,” she agreed, laughing. “You sound just like my father, so macho. Maybe European and Mexican men have something in common.” She took a deep breath as if relieved. “We’ll have a great time, and won’t Hazel be surprised? She’s always been after me to travel like this. I can’t wait to call her tonight and tell her.”

  “Ja, she will be surprised.”

  * * *

  That evening Mercy came in from their usual stroll reeling from the hot, shivery feelings of Wulf’s steamy kisses. Her body glowed with energy though he’d seemed oddly tense. Maybe it was the pressure of working on the deal with Red and planning their itinerary at the same time. She shrugged, finally placing the call to Hazel after sh
e took her shower.

  “So, what do you think, Hazel?” Mercy asked breathlessly. “Am I crazy or what?”

  Hazel gave a throaty laugh. “I don’t know, darling. It does sound awfully sudden. But then, he’s dashingly good-looking, isn’t he?”

  “You noticed that, did you?” Mercy asked, amused.

  “Of course, I did, you ninny. I’m not dead yet.”

  “Hazel! Tell me what you think of him, you never said.”

  “What do you want, an iron-clad guarantee or something? Just look at me and my four husbands!”

  “Oh, Hazel,” Mercy said, her laughter bubbling over. “I guess I just never expected to be engaged someday, much less married.”

  “Are you joking? Remember the genes you have to pass on. Your mother’s brains, your father’s looks.” Hazel paused. “I suppose you want me to say good luck, don’t you? Well, good luck. I mean it.”

  “I feel so funny about this. It’s just not like me at all.”

  “Well, you will have separate rooms,” Hazel interjected. “Although why you would want something like separate rooms in this day and age positively astounds me. I certainly wouldn’t want a separate room from someone like him. Are you afraid you might actually enjoy yourself?”

  “Hazel!”

  “However, if Dorie Ryder approves of him,” she continued, undaunted by Mercy’s screech, “then he can’t be all bad.”

  “Goodbye, Hazel.” Mercy laughed. “Love you.”

  “Ta-ta, darling. Love you, too.”

  * * *

  During the last days, when Red and Wulf weren’t closeted in the office, the four spent their time horseback riding, skeet shooting, fishing, and, of course, golfing. Mercy discovered that while Wulf was an excellent shot with a rifle, she could barely hit the broad side of a barn. He was an adequate equestrian, but she could ride rings around him. The funniest thing of all, she discovered, was that he hated fishing. He refused to bait his own hook, insisting that women were supposed to do those things. The many summers from age seven to seventeen Mercy spent at Heart of the Hills camp stood her in good stead.