by Lynda Trent
“I love you, Mama,” Clare whispered. “And you, too, Papa, but I’m not coming back to this. Not ever! I just can’t!” Feeling hot tears sting her eyes, Clare left the room, carefully closing the hand-hewn door behind her.
She went down the back steps, which were made of large, reddish-black rocks from the salt lick down by the creek, and leaned against the smooth trunk of the chinaberry tree.
“I thought you had gone.
Startled, Clare jumped and saw Ryan beside her. “I didn’t bear you come up,” she said.
“I was afraid you’d, leave before I could talk to you.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“No. Everything is going fine. We’ll start drilling soon. Joe Talmidge and his wife have found an apartment in Gladewater and I’m having two mobile homes delivered here tomorrow.”
“Mobile homes?”
“One for my geology charts and equipment, one to use as a bunkhouse for the crew that will stay on site. A couple of the men are putting up the explosives shed back there in the woods. It won’t be much to look at, but it has to be strong. We’re using odds and ends left over from the drilling platform.” He gazed up at the leafy umbrella above them where yellow leaves laced the blue sky. “Why are you avoiding
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clare said obstinately. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Every day and every night for a week? You must be the belle of the ball.” Jealousy stabbed Ryan cruelly.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve been starting a group of night students and setting up exhibition dates for some of my paintings.”
“I haven’t seen you in over a month. That’s plenty of time for a man to move into your life.”
“Well, one hasn’t. Kilgore isn’t exactly a hotbed of bachelors and, besides, I’m not looking for one.”
“Good.” He smiled and put one arm on each side of her against the sloping tree trunk. “Now that I’ve finally caught up with you, will you have dinner with me?”
“I have a lot to do, Ryan,” she protested as her heart pounded at his nearness. He was so close she could see the golden flecks in his eyes. “I really shouldn’t.”
“How about lunch? Right now.”
Clare tried to think of some excuse, but she obviously wasn’t busy at the moment. Again she recalled the photograph of Dore she had seen beside Ryan’s bed. He has a girlfriend waiting for him, she chided herself. Don’t get involved with someone you can’t have. But he was too close for her to be firm, and she heard herself saying, “I’d love to have lunch with you.”
“Good. Let’s have a picnic. There won’t be many more days of warm weather.”
Clare smiled. “I know just the place.”
They went to the general store on the highway and bought cheese, smoked salami, crackers, plastic glasses and wine. Back at the farmhouse, Ryan took a quilt from the trunk of his car and looked at her expectantly.
“This way,” she said.
She led him past the barn and weed-infested cow lot to the woods beyond. A small bridge, green and furry with moss, crossed a stream that ran sluggishly after the parching summer. Beneath the trees, the air was cool and moist with a promise of fall. Overhead, the oaks, maples and sweetgums interlaced their gypsy-bright leaves like a towering dome.
“Here?” Ryan asked hopefully.
“No, not yet,” Clare said with a smile.
She went up the path that sloped into the woods and away from the stream, Ryan following. An occasional cedar or holly made a splash of dark green against the vivid golds and reds of the fall trees, and even the waist-high bushes were colored in rust, red and oranges. Clare continued briskly, as sure of herself as if there were sign posts to guide the way. As they topped a ridge, the woods changed abruptly.
More slowly, almost reverently, they walked toward the stand of evergreens where the trees soared above their heads. The pine trees stood regal and proud, their glossy needles glistening in the sun as if they were slivers of emeralds. Their silver-bronze trunks were as large as the pillars of some ancient pagan temple, and every bit as straight. Beneath them, a thick carpet of gold pine needles stretched out as if the spot were a carefully tended park. A cathedral hush lay under the soft sighing of the wind in the treetops above.
“Here,” Clare said. “This is the place I wanted to show you.”
Ryan moved slowly into the stillness of the pines and looked far up into their branches. His footsteps were cushioned by the needles below and made no sound at all.
“It’s magnificent,” he breathed.
Clare nodded. “It’s one of my favorite and most secret places. I used to pretend the elves came here and cleared away all the brush and brambles, and that if I were quiet enough, I might see one.”
“Did you?” he smiled.
“Not yet.”
He laughed, then looked puzzled. “How did you happen to come all the way out here by yourself? We must be ten miles from town.”
“It’s not that far,” she said uneasily. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
Ryan spread the quilt on the ground and they sat cross-legged on it to eat. As Clare sliced the cheese and salami, Ryan tasted the wine.
“Good,” he proclaimed. “Just the right touch of plastic from the glass.” He put a slice of meat and cheese on a cracker and held it to her lips.
She took a bite and sighed contentedly. “This is perfect. I’m so glad you suggested it.”
He popped the remaining bite into his mouth and constructed another tower of food on a cracker.
“I’ve missed you this past month. Have you really been all that busy?”
Clare kept her eyes on her glass of wine. “Of course. I’ve missed you, too.” The last part was true. She fed him a slice of cheese between two slices of salami.
Ryan caught her hand and waited until she raised her eyes to his. “Clare, you’re special to me. What we shared that weekend wasn’t just a casual fling. At least it wasn’t for me.”
What about the girl in the photograph? Clare’s mind demanded. “It wasn’t casual for me, either,” she said stiffly. “More wine?”
He shook his head. “Will you go out with me tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he asked sharply.
“Because it wasn’t a casual fling,” she said softly. “I don’t want any commitments. At least not right now.”
He pulled her closer. “Would that really be so bad?” He kissed her gently. “All men aren’t like Elliot.”
“At one time, Elliot assured me he wasn’t ‘like Elliot,’ too. But he was. I know now that I should never have married him, but at the time it seemed right. Later, he made it quite clear that our marriage vows were intended primarily for me. He never let it hamper him in any way.”
“And because of that you’re determined not to trust any man ever again?” Ryan was kissing her cheeks, her eyebrows, her nose.
Clare tried to speak normally. “I think I have good reason to feel that way.”
“I don’t.” He pulled the ribbon from her hair and let the dark waves fall about her shoulders. “Am I anything at all like Elliot?”
“No,” she whispered, tilting her head so he could caress her throat under her chin.
“I rest my case.” He pulled her to him and kissed her hungrily.
Gently, he laid her back on the quilt. Beneath them, the pine needles made a soft and fragrant cushion. Above their heads, the wind whispered a haunting song in the dark boughs. Ryan leaned over and Clare raised her head to meet his lips.
“Do you think I’m terribly wanton?” she murmured half-jokingly.
“No. I think you’re wonderfully wanton,” he grinned.
”Oh!” She struggled against him, laughing, but he held her easily until she slipped her arms around his neck. “I give up. Uncle.”
He laughed. “You give up easy.”
She smiled smugly. “My Mama didn’t raise a fool.”
&nb
sp; Gradually, the teasing fading from his face, Ryan kissed her tenderly, lovingly, coaxing her to meet his growing desire. His tongue explored her lips and the even rows of her white teeth as his large hands stroked her back and slid over the curve of her hip.
With a low moan, Clare moved her body against his and tasted the sweetness of his mouth. Eagerly, she ran her fingers across the hard muscles of his back and pulled him even closer. Ryan tangled his fingers in her thick hair and kissed her until the trees seemed to spin above them and even the ground felt unsteady.
Slowly, tantalizingly, he unbuttoned the top of her blouse and kissed the creamy skin. When Clare felt she could bear the suspense no longer, he leisurely loosened the next button.
She had no intention of maintaining such control, and quickly removed his shirt. He laughed at her impatience but prevented her from helping him in his slow, ever so slow, undressing of her. By the time he finally removed her blouse, Clare was writhing against him in eager anticipation. He lowered his head and flicked his tongue over her nipples. Teasingly, he took the rosy circles into his mouth, and felt her increasing response to his hot urging.
Ryan raised his head and kissed her lips as his hand gently massaged the softness of her stomach. Then he loosened the waist of her jeans and let his fingers caress her hip beneath the heavy denim. Clare trembled at his touch, but still he would not hurry as he eased the pants down her thighs. Lowering his head again to her breast, he kissed the firm, rounded flesh, then ran his tongue across her ribs to the hollow of her waist. As he nuzzled in the warmth there, he stroked her long, slender thighs and ran his hand over the silkiness of her panties before removing them, too.
Clare lay naked before him, her skin cooled and teased by the gentle breeze, the quilt framing her on the bed of golden needles. Ryan raised up on one arm and gazed down at her. Slowly, he touched her breast, massaging, pinching, teasing, as he watched her reaction. Ever so slowly, he caressed the plane of her quivering stomach and made his way to the dark mound of hair below.
Unable to contain herself, Clare pulled him down to her, fumbling with the buckle of his belt and the fastening of his jeans in her eagerness. His skin felt hot against hers, and as smooth as satin. The masses of hard muscles beneath her fingers excited her even more, and she pressed her body demandingly against his. Even as he came into her, her soul rose in a golden explosion of delight and immediately began budding to another pinnacle of ecstasy.
Still Ryan held himself in check, giving her pleasure, playing her body as he would a finely tuned musical instrument. Only when he saw she was nearing satisfaction did he release the hold he had on himself, and together they cried out as the shuddering passion swept them up in its whirlwind.
They lay, still entwined, and floating in remembered rapture. Gradually, the earth and its scents and sounds be-came real to Clare, and she became aware of the cool breeze on her sun-warmed bare skin and the spicy aroma of the woods. She snuggled her head more comfortably on Ryan’s broad shoulder and ran her hand over the hardness of his ribs.
Ryan smiled sleepily as he felt her fingers caress him and wished he could tell her of the love that ached within him. But he knew instinctively that to say that word would send her fleeing from him. Why, he couldn’t even guess. Virtually all the women he’d ever known wanted love, and usually marriage, above all else. Clare was an enigma.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured happily. “In the sunlight, your skin is silvery, and your hair is tumbled about most provocatively.”
“How do you know?” she queried. “Your eyes are closed.”
He smiled broadly. “That doesn’t stop me from seeing you. I can see you even when you aren’t anywhere around. I can see the way your hair flows in the breeze and the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh and the way you frown just a little when you’re concentrating on something. I can see you, all right.”
“Ryan, why are you so good to me?” she asked tentatively.
“I’ve given you every reason to avoid me, and still you’re here. Why?”
He turned his head and regarded her solemnly. “Do you really want to know?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
High above them, a mockingbird launched into song, and the great pines sighed in agreement.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hi, Clare,” Marla said as she walked into the portico.
“Hello, Marla. I was just straightening up after my art class,” Clare said, gingerly lifting a wet canvas and sliding it onto a shelf of the drying rack.
“I know. I saw them leave. How are they coming along?”
“Delia is doing great. So well, in fact, that I know I can’t take credit for it. If her attitude would change, she could go far, but she’s still as surly as a bear. This is Lorena’s effort. See for yourself.”
The painting was meticulous. Each line stood out in bold relief on the small vase of miniature flowers that huddled in the exact center of too much canvas. The colors were so bright and vibrant that they could only have come straight from the tube.
“I thought I could loosen her up if I let her paint in color like her friend, Hildy, but it seems to be a hopeless task. She doesn’t paints he draws in color! I tried one entire lesson to get her to see that her composition was too small. I even sketched it off for her. She just smiled sweetly, thanked me, and the next time I looked she had put it back exactly as it was. She says she likes it that way. As you can tell, she also prefers raw colors.”
Marla laughed, then gasped as she caught sight of a garish puddle of color on canvas. “What in the world is that?”
“Hildy’s abstract interpretation of flowers,” Clare said dismally. “You might like the canvas of the other student, Sarah May. I’ve done almost the entire painting for her. I haven’t figured out quite how she does it, but she’s going to own a Clare Marshall original before the class is over.
Marla shook her head. “There’s one in every class, I guess. How are your pictures in the galleries doing?”
Clare laughed. “That little Mom and Pop type place in Tyler sold both my pictures last week. She was giving away recipes with each painting sold. I didn’t get as much for them as I was asking, but she wants four more. It seems she’s running a special on Christmas tree skirts next month, and is pushing paintings as gifts. The galleries in New Orleans haven’t contacted me, so I assume there haven’t been any sales.”
“What about Houston or Dallas? There must be a market there.”
“Probably. I have some canvases ready, but I haven’t had time to go out of town to place them. Maybe next week, though, I can drive down to Houston. The art classes are keeping food on the table and the electricity on, but there’s not much left over for a long drive.”
“How is the oil well coming along?” Marla asked. She had been appalled when Clare told her what she had done, but Marla was too good a friend to hop on what she felt was a foolish gamble.
“They’ve spudded it in and drilling has started. Now it’s a matter of waiting to see. My geologist says it looks good.” Clare had not mentioned that she was falling in love with the geologist. “Maybe you’ll meet him sometime,” she said casually. “He’s quite nice. His name is Ryan Hastings.”
Marla smiled vaguely. She had seen geologists before. Most were old and pauchy and smelled like the rigs they worked. “Would you like to come over for supper tonight? Beatrice is whipping up her famous souffl?.”
“Thanks, but not tonight. I have a date.”
“Oh?” Marla perked with sudden interest. “Anyone I know?”
“No,” Clare smiled. “You haven’t met him.”
“Mmm. So you aren’t going to become a recluse after all. Is it serious?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Marla,” Care blushed. “It’s only a date, not an elopement!”
“Still, it’s a start,” Marla noted as she put away the last easel for Clare. “Have fun. I have to get home now. The church circle meeting is at my house
tomorrow, and I want to make some sort of centerpiece for the table.”
Marla left. She formed a plan as she cut across the back corner of Clare’s yard that connected with her own. Now that Clare was starting to go out, she knew just the man Clare needed to meet. And best of all, he was in the art business. Marla quickened her steps.
Clare leaned back on Ryan’s sofa and sipped her Amaretto. They had had supper at Nathan’s on Lake Cherokee and had seen a movie afterward. All the way home, they’d laughed at the outrageously funny plot, and Clare still smiled when she recalled the leading lady’s predicaments.
Ryan sat down beside her. “The only thing this apartment lacks is a fireplace,” he observed. “I appreciate you finding the place for me.”
“I probably could’ve come up with one that had a fireplace, but it would have delayed your moving to Kilgore for me to have looked longer. Besides, whenever you feel your pyromania becoming uncontrollable, you can come over and light a fire in mine.”
“I still don’t see what the rush was all about. These things take time, you know.”
Clare frowned slightly. “I didn’t want it to drag out. I want you to find the oil as soon as possible.”
“I don’t want to waste time, either. After all, the crew gets paid by the hour, not by the well. But you’ve lived in the oil field long enough to know it’s more than a week’s work to bring in a well, especially one this deep. You have lived here for a while, I suppose?”
“Yes, but that’s neither here nor there,” she responded evasively. “The point is, how soon can you do it?”
He shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing for sure yet. We should know something more in a few months. I can’t”
“A few months!” she gasped. “That’s too long. I told you in New Orleans that I wanted the well brought in quickly!” Clare glared, the mellow mood entirely gone. “You can be so stubborn at times!”
“Me!” he exploded. ” You’re the one that’s being unreasonable. What is this about you and money? Isn’t it enough for you to be the richest woman in town? Are you going for the state title as well? How about trying for the richest woman in the Western hemisphere? How about the world?”