“You’re the one she ran away from,” Alys pointed out. “I was supposed to travel with her. She’s more likely to let me find her than you.”
He shot her an annoyed glance that probably meant she was right but he wouldn’t admit it. Still, he didn’t question further, sensible man that he was. He crossed his arms and his fingers beat a little tattoo on his biceps.
She disregarded his irritation. She needed space, a time to let go, and Mame had offered it. Alys didn’t know if traveling with Mame’s nephew was the smart thing to do, but she was feeling more defiant than smart right now.
Springfield wasn’t a major city, but a sensible town of quiet residences. Since moving here to Fred’s childhood home, she’d developed a liking for the slower pace and the small-town friendliness.
But she’d been trapped by circumstances for years and had no desire to be trapped again. She didn’t have much money, but she wanted to experience a little bit of the world before deciding her fate.
“How does one become a travel writer?” she wondered aloud, trying on the first interesting occupation coming to mind as she turned Beulah down Mame’s street lined with towering oaks and mansions.
“By being a journalist?” he guessed, apparently willing to humor her.
“You’re a doctor, not a journalist, and you write books,” she argued, not ready to give up on the first exciting idea she’d had in a long time.
“I had a friend in college who told me I ought to write a book about my nutrition research. He got a job in publishing after school. I had a draft manuscript just as the diet craze started. Networking and timing.”
She remembered from her old career how networking and timing worked. She couldn’t get excited about real estate, but writing sounded good. “I could start by writing a column for the local paper, I suppose.”
“If you’re independently wealthy.” The chuckle in his voice indicated his opinion of a columnist’s salary.
At least his sense of humor wasn’t scripted.
Seeing Mame’s old Victorian mansion, Alys steered the Caddy into the shaded drive. As a former Realtor, she had a good eye for houses, and she loved Mame’s gracious old Victorian. Mame had let the siding weather too long without new paint, and the gingerbread trim on the wraparound porch needed work, but the shaded front lawn with its jungle of azaleas and neat wrought-iron fence spoke of generations of love and family that no modern suburban residence could duplicate.
But it was entirely too large and impractical for Mame. An albatross. Perhaps Mame was finally ready to relinquish all the old memories it held and start on a new path. Maybe that’s what this was all about.
Swinging her legs out of the car, Alys took the familiar gravel path to the kitchen without waiting for Elliot to open the car door.
* * *
Watching the poetry in motion of Alys’s hips beneath her flirty skirt as she strode down the walk almost knocked Elliot’s concern for Mame out of his head.
He tried to ignore his companion’s nearness while he unlocked the back door, but she stood a step higher, and a flyaway lock of her hair brushed his nose. A light, summery fragrance wafted around her, and Elliot gritted his molars at the familiar tightening in his groin. Traveling with Alys Seagraves would be a trial unless he got a grip.
He couldn’t remember agreeing to travel with her. She’d just sauntered into his life and made hash of his mind. It had been a long time since a woman had done that—if ever.
He concentrated on locking up behind them while Alys swept into Mame’s kitchen as if it were her own. Her blithe forwardness fascinated him. She opened the refrigerator and helped herself to the few eggs Mame had left behind. He’d grown up in this house, still had a room here, and he wasn’t as familiar with the kitchen as she was.
“Come here often?” he asked when she located a skillet and a spatula.
“Mame likes company. She’s had half the students at the school here at one time or another.” She cracked the eggs into the pan and glanced at him through a shiny lock of hair falling across her high-boned cheek. “Want some?”
She probably had no idea how his testosterone-drenched brain translated that suggestion.
He didn’t know how to act with this fey female who had walked in and taken over Mame’s kitchen. Elliot had a suspicion that if he wasn’t careful, she might usurp his life in the same way. “No, thanks. Cholesterol can kill you.”
“So can trucks, kids, and cell phones.”
Ignoring the quip, he hit Mame’s ancient answering machine to pick up messages from people he’d missed in his earlier search. Not one of them had seen Mame today.
“She spent the morning at the hairdresser’s.” Alys flipped her eggs. “She probably had lunch at the cafeteria. Mame took a leave of absence from her classes at the school for this trip, so she may not have seen anyone else unless she asked them to drive. If she stopped for her suitcase, maybe one of the neighbors saw her.”
She knew his aunt’s activities better than he did. Elliot started calling the neighbors, just in case they’d noticed a car parked in the drive.
The eggs smelled mouthwateringly delicious, but he’d never be able to eat them. Worrying about Mame had twisted his intestines into knots.
She fixed toast and slathered it with butter and jam, obviously not suffering from the same anxiety as he. Or any sense of health-consciousness. Elliot ground his teeth and listened to one neighbor after another deny they’d seen his aunt.
“She never missed a day of classes. I had no idea she was ill. I thought only fat people had heart attacks. Or stressed-out people,” his uninvited guest added in a voice laden with meaning.
He took a deep breath and tried to accept that his aunt could take care of herself. He’d been relying on her strength for years. There was no reason for going off the deep end just because he was no longer in command of the situation.
He wandered around the kitchen, opening cabinets, looking for something healthy to munch on. “We have a family predisposition for heart failure,” he said, trying not to lecture. “It’s not the kind of thing doctors can test for until it happens. Obesity, poor diet, smoking, or lack of exercise would aggravate or hasten the condition, but not cause it.”
Innocently licking the jam off her lip, Alys followed him around the room with clear gray eyes that seemed to see right through him. Crystal-ball eyes, he decided. She ought to be a gypsy.
“As would stress,” she added. “Do you know yoga?”
“I run every morning, work out at the gym when I have time.” He thought yoga and meditation a New Age waste of time for bored housewives, but he politely refrained from offering his opinion.
“And I suppose you compete with yourself in those workouts?” Cleaning up her plate, she carried it and her utensils to the sink to wash. “Run an extra quarter mile, beat your time by a few seconds?”
“Keeps it interesting.” Unable to tolerate further exposure to her long, tanned legs beneath that short skirt, Elliot headed for the door. “I need to finish some work. Do you know which room is yours? I’ll carry your bags up.”
He could swear something otherworldly watched him through her dark-fringed eyes, eyes that contained wells of wisdom far older than her years. How old was she? Nineteen?
“The pink room. Are you an early riser?”
“I can finish my run by five-thirty, if you’ll be ready then.”
She nodded, and her hair bounced. “The first hotel on the itinerary is only about six hours away.”
“She could be halfway there by now.” He hesitated in the doorway. He was dead on his feet, but if they left tonight—
She shook her head as if she heard his thoughts. “Mame hates driving. She’ll either take it very easy and stop early, or she’s out hunting a new driver.”
“Or she could be flying to Alaska.” Not wanting to think of Mame picking up hitchhikers or believe that he was heading out on a wild-goose chase, Elliot walked away. Maybe the police would find her
first.
* * *
“Mame, what is this?” Dulce asked in incredulity at the sight of the Range Rover.
Turning off the ignition on Elliot’s great throbbing beast of a vehicle as Dulce opened the passenger door, Mame clung to the steering wheel a while longer, letting her heart slow down. Thank heaven it wasn’t dark yet. She could have backed over a regiment of Cub Scouts and never known it in this monster.
On the sidewalk, Dulce guarded all her worldly possessions: two cardboard boxes tied with string, a battered brown valise, and a kitten in a basket. The girl looked more frail than Mame felt, and she suffered a pang of guilt at dumping the burden of her ill health on her.
But then Dulce lifted age-old black eyes, and Mame breathed easier. Like Alys’s, Dulce’s few years had packed a lifetime of experience. Unlike Alys, Dulce had struggled most of her life. She was stronger than she looked.
“My nephew didn’t think Beulah was safe, so I borrowed his car.” Not one word of untruth, Mame thought righteously. If Elliot hadn’t been so pigheaded, she wouldn’t have to litter her stairway to heaven with evasions.
“And where is Mrs. Seagraves?” Dulce asked, not immediately heaving her belongings into the Rover. “You should not be driving alone.”
Although she gave lip service to the school’s beliefs about spiritual connections, in emergencies Mame preferred the old-fashioned direct route of speaking to the Head Honcho. She offered up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness for what she was about to do.
If she missed her guess and Elliot didn’t seek out Alys, prayers wouldn’t help because she’d never forgive herself. She’d promised Alys this trip.
But even if her independent nephew didn’t find Alys, Mame had every confidence that Alys would hunt down Elliot the second she heard Mame had escaped the hospital. Mame was counting on them far more than she wished to reveal, even to herself. She had a feeling she and Dulce might need backup for what they intended.
“I’m doing a little matchmaking,” Mame replied with a confidence she was too tired to feel. “We’ve had a change of plans. Can you drive this thing?”
Dulce leaned inside to check out the Range Rover’s huge seats, leather interior, and array of blinking dials. “I have never even seen the inside of something like this, Mrs. Emerson.”
Opening the driver’s door, Mame gingerly climbed down. She’d taken the car out on a dirt road and driven it back and forth through the biggest mud puddles she could find. Elliot’s shiny new car now possessed a thick coat of dust and mud that made it look as if it had been driven up mountains and through rivers. She’d covered the license plate in the same way. She had no illusions about her nephew’s caretaking tendencies. He would call the police to find her, and she didn’t want to be found. Not yet.
She felt every bit her age right now, but with a little sleep, she’d be fine. The thrill of being on the road again would rejuvenate her.
The seriousness of her purpose would revitalize her energy. Sitting in the passenger seat was restful, wasn’t it? She’d be fine.
“You can practice driving a little this evening,” she told Dulce, “and we’ll set out first thing in the morning. I need to rearrange a few things, so we’re staying at a friend’s house tonight. She’s not home, but she left me the keys.” And she could hide the car in the garage. “And I’ve told you, you must call me Mame.”
Ignoring her student’s expression of concern, Mame climbed into the passenger seat while the girl loaded her belongings into the back.
“Mame, we do not have to do this,” Dulce said in a low voice. “I can take the bus to Amarillo.”
“You cannot kidnap your niece and expect to escape on a bus. You will need help. Alys and Elliot will be right behind us, and my friend Jock is waiting in Albuquerque. It’s safer this way.”
Dulce brightened. “You have explained to Mrs. Seagraves, then? And she approves?”
Mame had no idea how Alys would react to kidnapping, even a legal and justified kidnapping. She was fairly certain Alys would object to Mame’s involvement, though. Whether or not she realized it, Alys had the same caretaking instincts as Elliot.
But there wasn’t any way Mame was leaving a child in hell when she could do something about it. Men with more power than sense didn’t frighten her. Dulce’s niece belonged with Dulce’s family. If Alys and Elliot didn’t fall in with her plans, then Jock would just have to leave his damned hot air balloon and come help. He was the one who had invited her on this trip—for old times’ sake.
Jock had always been the reliable sort. A pity she hadn’t realized that forty years ago. But back then, reliable had been the last thing she’d wanted.
Mame smiled patiently. “Alys understands. Now climb in and let’s see what this monster can do. I’m thinking of calling it Cerberus.”
Dulce didn’t know mythology. With the enthusiasm of youth for all things mechanical, she climbed willingly into the jaws of the guardian to the gates of hell.
* * *
Lying in Mame’s pink-and-white guest room in the early-morning dark, Alys heard Elliot leave the house for his run. She hoped the exercise would reduce the electric field around him, or he would short out all her fuses before day’s end.
He could short out her fuses just by existing.
She’d imagined this journey as one of self-discovery, not sexual reawakening, but her body buzzed with her mental conjuring of Elliot joining her in this bed. She liked his lean elegance and thoughtful eyes and the strength in his hands. If she stuck with the physical, she liked him very much.
It was the know-it-all physician’s attitude that riled all her defiant instincts. From experience, she knew doctors weren’t the gods they pretended to be. In fact, they were pretty clueless when it came to recognizing the importance of the mind-body-spirit connection.
Still, he was a hunk. She’d only known one man in her bed. Did Elliot’s long fingers and big feet give evidence of the length of his—
Laughing, Alys shoved off her covers and climbed out. She should have bought a new nightie if she meant to entertain those kinds of ideas.
She hadn’t bought new clothes in eons. It wasn’t as if her budget had allowed for them.
Rummaging through her suitcase, realizing how shabby her wardrobe had become, Alys shrugged it off. Her goal in life wasn’t to impress Elliot Roth. Her old business suits and evening dresses had gone with her books and personal items into storage. She’d worn a lot of black after Fred got sick, and Mame had made her pack it all away. That pretty much left her old college clothes. She pulled out a pair of gold leggings, a bronze body shirt, and a gauzy multihued shirt of autumn colors to dress it up. She’d packed for travel and comfort.
Glancing down at the shiny band of gold on her left ring finger, she pursed her lips, made a decision, and slipped it off. Had she been thinking clearly, she should have buried it with Fred, but at the time, she’d thought she’d been burying her heart with him.
Mame had forced her to realize she had only one life to live, and it wasn’t in eternity. If she meant to make the world a better place, she had to go forward from here.
Not quite ready to completely give up the symbol of her old life, she tucked the ring into her purse.
By the time Elliot returned and jogged up the stairs to shower, Alys had investigated Mame’s freezer, located packages of frozen strawberries and waffles, and prepared breakfast. The fruit was a concession to Elliot’s diet preferences. As far as she was aware, all diets called for fruit. The sausages were hers.
By the time he appeared, he entered a kitchen redolent with the aroma of rich Colombian and frying meat. “Coffee?” he asked in a disapproving tone. “I didn’t think Mame drank coffee.”
“She keeps it for guests,” Alys assured him, although she knew Mame loved a good cup of coffee. Maybe she should quit reassuring people and just let reality hit them. It wasn’t as if she was his keeper.
In the early light of dawn, after a good night’s s
leep, he’d lost some of his drawn, anxious look. Today, he favored a successful executive in complete charge of his life. He’d slicked his natural curls back from his high brow, had donned professorial black-rimmed glasses to read the newspaper tucked under his arm, and wore a starched white shirt with his silky, pleated trousers. He carried a sports coat over his arm—apparently his one concession to informality. He must still keep clothes in his childhood room. She bet he usually wore three-piece suits.
Eyeing the neatly set kitchen table with its place for two, he threw down the newspaper but didn’t sit. “I’m capable of fixing my own breakfast.”
“I’m certain you are.” She put the pretty cut-glass bowls of fruit on the ruffled place mats she’d laid out. “But I’m in a hurry to hit the road.”
That seemed to be an acceptable excuse for waiting on him. She noticed his shoulders were wider than she’d realized, as he stretched them uneasily beneath his fitted shirt. His glance roamed from the table to the toaster, to anywhere but her. Finally focusing on the refrigerator, he crossed the room and opened it.
“The milk’s all gone,” she called to him without looking over her shoulder. She set out Mame’s green-flecked coffee mugs, admiring the design by one of the school’s more successful potters. “I hope you like your coffee black.”
The waffles popped from the toaster. She transferred them to plates that matched the cups and sat down. She hadn’t enjoyed setting out a nice meal in a long time.
“I don’t drink coffee.” Taking the remaining seat, he didn’t reach for the brew she poured for him but checked the plate she laid out. “This looks wonderful, thank you.”
Polite, if it killed him. “Last chance for home-cooked food,” she said with irony, cutting into cardboard waffles decorated with bottled syrup. Once upon a time, she used to mix up made-from-scratch waffles on lazy Sunday mornings, covering them in fresh strawberries and real whipped cream. Doc Nice would have a heart attack if she told him that.
“There are ice chests in the garage. We could stop at the store and buy some fruit and yogurt to take with us. Fast food is suicidal.” Savoring the waffle, he unconsciously picked up the coffee cup, then realizing what he’d done, set it down again.
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