by Tory Cates
“No,” she stammered, “that’s not why I came here at all.”
Cam’s left eyebrow cocked slightly to indicate interest. Moderate, casual interest.
“I came to tell you that I’d made a mistake. I misjudged you. I’m sorry. I’ll probably make a lot of other mistakes before I’m through, but I think the worst one I could make is to leave without telling you one thing.” Malou felt as if the floor were dropping away beneath her.
“What is that one thing?” Cam asked, not urgently but with a little more warmth—like the interest one friend takes in another.
Malou now openly chewed at her lower lip; she needed strength and would take it from any source available. She had never in her life felt so vulnerable. What was worse was that, if she answered Cam’s question, she would increase that vulnerability a thousand times. She would strip herself bare in front of him. Malou felt herself perched on a thin wall. On one side was a potential abyss of humiliation. On the other was Kenya and the linguist. She drew in a deep breath, then turned loose of her lip.
“I love you.”
She’d said it. She wanted medals for bravery, bouquets, fireworks, and champagne toasts, but most of all she wanted Cam’s arms around her. But none of that happened. Cam sat, unmoved and unmoving. Malou drew herself up and repeated one word over and over in her mind: dignity. She would not cry. Would not say another word. She had said all she possibly could and it hadn’t been enough. She’d tried for that one chance in a hundred and had lost. She was thankful now that she hadn’t done anything so rash as to turn Kenya down. She longed to be there at that very moment. Longed to be miles and years away from the humiliation starting to burn along her spine and up into her cheeks. She stood stiffly, pivoted, and walked on wooden legs toward the door.
Her hand was on the doorknob when Cam caught her, covering her hand with his to stop it. To keep her from opening the door. He whirled her around in his arms. Tears leaked from Malou’s downcast eyes, and her face from hairline to neck flamed with embarrassment.
“You love me?” he asked haltingly.
His hands were warm and gentle on her bare arms, but Malou could not look up. “You probably already knew that,” Malou mumbled.
“How would I have known that?” Cam demanded, his hands tightening on her. “What were my clues? That you thought I was a monkey murderer? That you’re planning to run off to Kenya? These things are supposed to tell me that you love me? God, Malou, I’d hate to be around when you were trying to tell someone you didn’t like him.”
“Well, I’m not,” Malou shot back, prickled now at having to endure his scrutiny. “I’m trying to tell someone that I love him, but if he doesn’t care to hear it, I’ll take the first plane to Kenya.” With that, Malou whirled back around to open the door.
“If you really, really feel that way,” Cam said, grabbing her again, “you’re not going anywhere.”
Then Malou felt her feet being whisked away from under her as Cam scooped her into his arms and carried her from the door. He sat them both down in an overstuffed chair with Malou firmly trapped on his lap.
“I’ve wanted to hear that for a long time,” he said quietly. Malou stopped squirming, trying to get away, when she saw the truth of what he said written in his face. For beneath the veneer of cool formality lay a pool of misery. Malou knew it as the very same one she had been drowning in for the past weeks. She held up a hand as tentative as any the young monkeys had ever held up to her and touched his face. He captured her seeking hand and, closing his eyes, nestled a kiss against her palm.
“Oh, Malou, I love you. I’ve loved you from that first moment you came over to the gate and tried to one-up me in your little khaki shorts with your hair shining in the sun.”
“Cam.”
It was all Malou could say before they found other, more gratifying ways to occupy their lips. Their kiss echoed and confirmed all they had each said, finally convincing them both that it was real. Cam leaned back and laughed. It was a joyous, exultant cry of jubilation and release.
“So what do we do now, Mary Louise? I love you. You love me. And one of us is packing off to the other side of the world.”
Malou cut a saucy glance Cam’s way. “Maybe we could work out a deal here.”
“A deal?” Cam echoed. “And just what sort of proposition might you have in mind, Ms. Sanders?”
“Possibly something along the lines of an assistant to whomever you’ve found to replace me at Los Monos.”
“You mean the Landell Monkey Sanctuary? Well now, there might be the possibility of an opening there, Ms. Sanders. Particularly since I haven’t as yet come up with a suitable replacement.”
“You haven’t? Why?” Malou asked, astounded. “Didn’t anyone want it? I can’t believe that there’s a single person over in the anthro department who would turn the job down.”
“There may be; I don’t know,” Cam admitted. “I never asked. I couldn’t bring myself to think of Los Monos without you, so I kept putting off finding another manager. Jorge’s been pinch-hitting so far, but his complaints about being a monkeyboy instead of a cowboy keep getting louder, so I suppose I’ll have to find someone who’s a bit fonder of the beasts. Any candidates?” Cam teased with a smile.
“When do I start?”
“You mean you’d turn down Kenya for south Texas?”
“In an instant. Provided you’re part of the trade.”
“What’s the Landell Monkey Sanctuary without Landell, I’d like to know!” Cam asked. “I’m yours, Malou, for just as long as you’ll have me.”
An unearthly sense of happiness wafted over Malou as she cuddled up against Cam’s chest and lay there for several utterly contented moments listening to his heart beat strong and steady against her ear.
“You know, I never really wanted to go to Kenya,” she murmured. “Besides wanting to be with you, the research at Los Monos would be more interesting. There’s still so much work that needs to be done on the troop’s adaptation. I mean, I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface. There’s still years, decades, more research to be done.”
“That makes me happy, Malou,” Cam said softly. “I always want you to have whatever it is that your heart desires most.” A gentle chuckle rumbled against Malou’s ear. “And, naturally, I want the same for myself. Just like I have right now with you in my arms.”
Malou snuggled a bit closer. “You know, I could get to like making these deals.”
“I should hope you could. After all, you learned from the master.”
Then Cam stretched a long arm across his desk to buzz the receptionist. He told her to hold all his calls for a long time. A very long time.
TORY CATES, a RITA Award finalist, is the author of five romance novels set in the American West. A journalist who has written for magazines such as O, Real Simple, Cosmopolitan, and Good Housekeeping, she draws on her nonfiction experience to give her romances their special authenticity. She also writes critically acclaimed novels under another name. Tory Cates lives in Austin, Texas.
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ALSO BY TORY CATES
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This book is a work
of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1985 by Tory Cates
Previously published in 1985 by Silhouette Books.
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First Pocket Books paperback edition August 2014
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Designed by Lewelin Polanco
Cover illustration by Craig White
ISBN 978-1-4767-3259-6
ISBN 978-1-4767-3264-0 (ebook)