“I don’t want it all. I want a husband, a home, and a family.”
“The family will come in time, when we can afford it. It wouldn’t look good for the wife of a VP to work. By then, my salary and bonuses will be enough so you can devote your time to the house, entertaining, taking care of the kids—everything the wife of a VP loves to do. We’ve been over this before, Chloe. I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you. And you have real nerve saying you aren’t willing to wait six months. You’ve made me wait for years.” He curled his lip into an angry snarl.
“I’m sorry. I’ve had a hectic day. Would you mind?”
“I’d planned to order Cherries Jubilee for dessert, but I can see you aren’t in the mood. You need some rest. I have a dozen little fires waiting to be put out at the office. We’ll have more time in a few days.”
If his schedule allowed it, of course. A wave of sadness crept through her. She started to say, “I love you,” but the words wouldn’t come. They weren’t true anymore. She swallowed her tears. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She reached for the bottle to re-fill her glass, but Greg took it away from her.
“You’ve had enough, don’t you think? You know what happens when you drink too much. We don’t need a scene.”
Would he ever let her forget that awful night? “I’m sorry. I’m ready to go when you are.”
“You’re almost asleep on your feet, and drunk besides. I’ll try to call you in a couple of days. Maybe you’ll be a bit happier by then about this incredible news.”
After dropping her at home, he got into his new midnight blue Seville—a future VP had to have a suitable car—and drove off to catch up on some extra work, promising they’d have lunch later in the week.
Two days later, he left a message with her office manager to meet him at one o’clock for lunch, but called back an hour later, saying he’d been saddled with a new client who demanded immediate attention, so he couldn’t make it after all.
Chloe decided at noon to go to lunch by herself, take a novel, and have a leisurely hour to herself. She went to the restaurant Greg usually chose for lunch, and settled down to enjoy a crab salad and soft violin music playing in the background. He did have good taste in restaurants, she had to give him that.
She’d finished her salad, and another chapter, when Greg arrived with his new client. The maître d’ seated them across the restaurant from Chloe, at Greg’s favorite table. The client was a tall, slender J Lo look-alike, impeccably dressed in a tan suit with a cranberry silk shell. Chloe knew better than to interrupt by letting Greg know she was there. The one time she’d asked to join him and a client, he’d been furious and had given her instructions that evening never to interrupt a business meeting again. The client had paid more attention to Chloe than he had to Greg’s sales pitch, and another meeting had to be arranged, crowding his schedule unnecessarily.
So, Chloe sat and watched, assuming Greg and his client had met before, since they laughed and talked like old friends. When “J Lo” spied Chloe watching, an odd thing happened. Their eyes met and locked, then she reached for Greg’s hand, laced her fingers with his—a PDA if Chloe had ever seen one—then leaned toward Greg with her chin elevated, her lips slightly apart.
He kissed her.
Chloe felt as though someone had slammed her in the gut. She stared, dumbfounded.
He kissed her again. And again. “J Lo” held out her left hand, as though admiring the diamond ring on the third finger. Greg kissed the ring. Then kissed her again.
Chloe felt ill. She paid the waiter, then waited until a large group left, so they’d block her exit. Feeling ill, she hurried to the privacy of her car, choking on tears. She went straight home, called her office, told them she was sick, then collapsed on the bed, strangely dry-eyed, feeling empty and betrayed.
The next morning’s newspaper featured two pictures of Greg. In the first, he was shaking hands with the President of GCS, being congratulated on his promotion and relocation to Los Angeles. The article said he’d take over as Manager of the L.A. office next month. Next month?
She searched her memory. He’d mentioned L.A. at dinner, and being put in charge of the new branch. She’d been so out of it she hadn’t understood what he was telling her. Moving to California in a month. Assuming she’d pack everything and tag along behind.
The second picture showed Greg handing a plaque for outstanding sales to Ellen Delacorte—who would also be transferred to L.A. next month, to be Greg’s Assistant Manager. Chloe noted again her amazing resemblance to Jennifer Lopez.
He didn’t have the nerve to tell her he’d found someone else. Yet he’d still talked about marriage. That could only mean he intended to use her as the “perfect” wife for a new Vice President, while he continued seeing Ellen at work, at lunch, and during those long evenings and weekends when he had “a dozen little fires to put out at the office.” He’d been seeing her for months. And Ellen knew her on sight. That was obvious today. Why hadn’t Chloe ever noticed Ellen?
By the time Chloe went to bed that night, her decision had been made. She gave notice to her boss the next day, told him she was taking accumulated vacation time, effective immediately, and made a list of everything that had to be done before she could leave. Newspaper. Utilities. Yard Man. Cancelling her lease.
Greg called twice, asking her to have lunch, but she let her answering machine take the call both times, then called his office and left a message with his secretary that she was too busy.
Tired of hot, humid summers, she longed for a milder, cooler climate, with a lot less humidity and cleaner air to breathe. She had enough money saved—once tagged “down payment on our house”—to support herself for at least six months, if she was careful. By then, maybe she’d know what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. One thing she already knew. Greg wouldn’t be part of it… .
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Chloe stepped out of the tepid water, released the drain lever and reached for a thick white towel. The water whirled and gurgled going out of the tub, taking some of her fatigue with it, leaving behind the memories she’d wanted to wash away. Those memories would haunt her, but she was determined to suppress them, one way or another. They weren’t all bad. When they’d first met, Greg was a different person in many ways. If she’d met him for the first time now, she’d never have given him a second look.
With a sigh, she picked up the rolled towel, which had fallen into the water when she stood up, and wrung it out, wishing she could wring Greg’s neck for letting this happen. They’d been so happy, but time and ambition had changed everything, leaving nothing but emptiness between them.
Chloe slipped between the cool sheets and shivered. Exhaustion helped her sleep.
<><><>
Kyle settled down in the sleeper compartment of the cab of his truck and released a huge sigh, too tired to go any farther tonight. He’d drop this load in Phoenix tomorrow, then be on his way to Albuquerque with another one. He opened his laptop and checked his investment accounts, made a couple of changes, then closed the lid. Settling down to sleep, Kyle gazed out the window at the array of stars splashed across the sky above him, enjoying the splendor, the peacefulness, of the universe. There had been a time when he would’ve be in the middle of the frenzy to buy stock in the latest online craze. Now, though, he longed for riches of a different kind. When would he find someone to share the stars with him?
Chapter 3
The next morning, Chloe pulled out of Lubbock early, after a wonderful breakfast in the restaurant, feeling better with every mile she put between herself and Houston. She checked the map. She’d go to Albuquerque from here, spend one night there, then angle northwest through Aztec to Durango.
While she drove, she thought back to that summer vacation, when her family had ridden the Narrow Gauge Railway from Durango to Silverton. She recalled sheer cliffs, yawning inches from the track in places, more trees than she ever knew existed, sudden thundershowers, and difficulty breathing in t
he thin air of high altitude. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of settling in the mountains. Durango would be a good place to start her search for “home.”
She put Vivaldi on the CD player and pictured herself sitting by a mountain stream, freezing her toes in icy runoff. No worries. No deadlines. No need to be perfect. A dream, pure and simple, but one that actually seemed attainable.
Mid-afternoon, she checked into the Albuquerque Hilton, which was full of southwest decor—Kokopelli playing his flute, howling coyotes, faux adobe walls in shades of peach and sand—then decided to ride the tramway up to Sandia Peak first thing in the morning.
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She actually slept pretty well that night, and got up feeling rested and eager to view this new country from the highest point around. She’d heard all her life about Sandia being the longest suspended tramway in the world, and the view from the peak proved to be as spectacular as promised. She gazed hundreds of miles in every direction. Dramatically cooler on the peak, she luxuriated in the cool breeze bathing her face while wandering along the pathways, taking pictures as she went, feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. Albuquerque’s altitude was the same as Denver—a mile above sea level—producing a wonderful summer climate much drier and cooler than East Texas in the summer.
Somewhere out there, she thought, lies my future. It sounded rather silly, she supposed, but that’s how she felt about this journey. She took a picture of a sign on the pathway: “Take nothing but pictures. Leave nothing but footprints.” A perfect philosophy for all travelers.
A young couple, clearly in love, passed her with arms entwined, happiness radiating from both of them. Chloe felt such longing for a relationship that free and affectionate she could hardly bear to watch. The young man held his sweetheart’s face between his hands and kissed her lips once, twice, before enfolding her in his arms for a kiss that went on and on. Newlyweds, perhaps.
Not all newlyweds would be so openly loving, though. If she and Greg were to get married tomorrow, she doubted there would be much change in their sterile relationship. How could she ever have wanted to make their relationship permanent? The idea of that now made her slightly nauseated. But Greg wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with years ago. He’d become a stranger.
She lost interest in wandering further, feeling terribly alone, needing to be near people. She went back to wait for the next tram.
It was still early when she got back to Albuquerque, so she did some shopping in Old Town, buying southwestern styled clothes to help her feel more a part of the city’s culture. At the Hilton, she changed into a tiered skirt, layered with ribbons and fabric in a dozen shades of blue and purple, and a cream peasant’s blouse with a generous ruffle from shoulder to shoulder, then slipped on a new pair of sandals. In the courtyard, she chose a wrought-iron umbrella table. A waitress from the Cantina brought her a beautifully tiered Tequila Sunrise with a generous slice of lime.
How long had it been since she’d had a Tequila Sunrise? She squeezed her eyes shut when the answer came. It was that infamous night in Houston—when she’d had three. She’d been exhausted that night at dinner, too, and the tequila had gone straight to her head. She’d started to giggle, then to laugh. When she kicked her heels off, one of them landed on the table next to them—in a plate of quesadillas.
Greg retrieved the shoe, handed the startled diner a fifty dollar bill, and dragged Chloe home without a word. He hadn’t spoken to her for days afterward. She hadn’t had anything else alcoholic since that night—until Greg splurged on the bottle of Opus and allowed her one glass.
She sipped the beautifully hued Sunrise slowly, loving the sweetness and tang. “To choices …” she said, and finished it.
She decided to have dinner in the restaurant, instead of leaving the hotel again. She asked the waitress for a table near the window, and ordered chicken fajita quesadillas with guacamole—and another Sunrise—wishing she had a book to read while waiting. Instead, she glanced around, studying the couples having dinner, feeling more and more alone.
He came in alone.
The minute she saw him, she was drawn to him. Tall and lean. A tan cowboy hat in his hand. Green eyes surrounded by thick lashes the same shade of dark brown as his hair, which curled in spite of any effort to comb it. His beard was curly, too. He obviously didn’t find it necessary to shave that often. It suited him. And her, too. A tingle of interest teased her when he made his way through the crowded dining room, searching for an empty table, ignoring the sign asking guests to wait to be seated. He spied her watching him, nodded in greeting, and smiled.
Embarrassed to have been caught browsing, Chloe scolded herself with an admonition to be more discrete. He didn’t seem to share her embarrassment though, and came straight to her table.
“This place is full. Would you mind sharing your table?”
His slightly gravelly voice was a cowgirl’s dream. His hair, full and curly, framed his boyish face. Stylish sunglasses dangled from his fingers over a green plaid western shirt. She’d guess that his boots, hardly scuffed, were Larry Mahans. This cowboy had taste.
Might as well go for broke.
“Not at all. Please join me.” She gestured toward the empty seat, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake, but her relief at no longer being alone assuaged the worry.
He reached across the table to shake her hand. “I’m Kyle Stanton.”
His hands weren’t rough, as she’d expected. “Chloe Gale Llewellyn. Do you come here often?” Now why did she tell him her middle name? Made her sound like a six-year-old!
He laughed, deep and rich. “When I’m in town—always. I’m from Fort Worth, just passing through.”
He ordered beef enchiladas from the waitress, who smiled more at Kyle than she had at Chloe, then asked for a pitcher of margaritas, on the rocks, no salt, extra lime, and some chips and salsa.
Chloe appreciated the chance to observe him while he ordered. Handsome, in a friendly way. Full, smooth, lips. Cleft chin. Craggy face with laugh lines by his eyes and mouth. A deep tan. What sort of business was he in, this cowboy from Fort Worth, just passing through?
The chips arrived, along with the pitcher. “What are you drinking? Sunrise? How about one of these?” He filled the glass and offered it to her.
Tequila either way. Why not? “Sure, thanks. She realized, taking a sip, it had been Greg’s requirement that she avoid excess salt—because of his blood pressure. Kyle’s insistence on no salt made her wonder if he might have a high pressure job, too.
“Are you on vacation?” he asked.
“Yes, I guess I am. I live in Houston. That is, I used to.”
“So where are you headed?” He fished some tortilla chips from the basket on the table, scooped salsa onto each one, and devoured them hungrily.
“I haven’t decided. Somewhere in Colorado, I think. In the mountains.”
“Ouray’s a nice place. Ever been there?”
“You-ray?”
“O-U-R-A-Y. North of Durango and Silverton, on the Million Dollar Highway.”
“Is that supposed to signify something grand?”
“It cost a million dollars a mile when it was built, more than a hundred years ago. That was a nice piece of cash back then. It’s carved right out of the side of the mountain.”
“Sounds scary, like the narrow gauge train.”
“Similar. They have a great Fourth of July celebration. Fireworks and fun. You ought to come. It’s not that far, compared to the distance from here to Houston.”
Chloe didn’t answer, just smiled. Their food arrived and they took a few minutes to taste and exclaim over the delicious flavors.
“I’d be glad to show you the sights and maybe take you on a jeep trip into Yankee Boy Basin, if you’d like to see more of the area. The wildflowers up there are something else, and so are the twin waterfalls they used to have on that Coors commercial.”
“Sounds like fun, but I’m not up to celebrating right now.” Ch
loe took another bite of her quesadilla, and tried to smile without feeling nervous about having dinner with a total stranger. He’d invited her to spend the weekend with him, and she was reacting like a naive adolescent. If she couldn’t handle something this simple, she had no business coming on this trip. She hardened her resolve to be more sophisticated.
Kyle narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you left your—” He shook his head. “That’s none of my business. Never mind.” He refilled his glass. So much for sophistication. “I didn’t leave my husband, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not married.” He was right. It was none of his business. So why had she told him?
“Usually helps to talk troubles out. Keeps them from hiding in dark places, causing trouble on down the line. No lectures, I promise.” He held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute.
His eyes, warm and kind, conveyed genuine interest. Should she confide in a total stranger? She’d probably never see him again after today. What could it hurt?
“You asked for it,” she said carefully. “So you can’t say later I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m all ears, and fresh out of advice.”
His smile went straight to her heart. She took a deep breath.
“I left Houston because I’m tired of hot, sticky weather and working at a job I’ve never liked,” she said slowly. “I’m tired of never having time to do what I most want to do because I’m always exhausted at the end of the day.” The farther she went, the easier it got. Riding on a wave of courage, she blurted out the rest.
“I’m tired of being taken for granted. I’m tired of trying to be perfect and always falling short. I’m tired of waiting years for a day that’s never going to come. And I’m tired of being … discarded.”
Embarrassment took over again. She sipped the margarita and tried to slow the beat of her heart and calm her emotions, still so raw and sore she could hardly control them.
Kiss Me, Chloe Page 2