by Lynda Trent
“So are you,” she whispered. “I’m so glad I found you.”
They were a little late reaching the restaurant, but neither cared. Maxwell Tucker, a big blond bear of a man, was waiting for them. Over prime rib and chicken Diane, he and Ryan discussed the well. Clare sipped her wine and tried to follow the conversation. But she found her attention wandering to the way Ryan’s hands were shaped and the way his hair fell across his forehead and the resonance of his voice that had been so tender an hour before but was now so businesslike.
Mentally, Clare shook herself. This was important! She couldn’t merely sit there daydreaming about Ryan. Next she’d be falling in love with him! Uncomfortably, Clare forced herself to listen to Ryan’s geological findings.
Tucker, though bluff and hearty socially, was in dead earnest when faced with finances. The questions he fired at Ryan were knowledgeable and searching.
“Well,” he said after a prolonged silence, “I’d rather have a piece of an oil well than a sharp stick in my eye, but I’m going to have to think about this.”
Ryan nodded. “I expected you would. We need to know as soon as possible, however.”
“Sure thing. I’ll mull it over and let you know tomorrow night.”
“All right. Our flight leaves Denver at three tomorrow afternoon.”
“You can call and leave a message at my house,” Clare said. “My maid will take it if I haven’t reached home yet.”
“Will do. I have your number right here,” he said as he patted his coat pocket. “You’ll hear from me before ten tomorrow night. If I do buy in, I’ll want to come down there and take a look at things afterward.”
“Sure thing, Max. You’d be welcome any time,” Ryan assured him.
True to his word, Ryan woke Clare up at dawn and enticed her out of bed with the promise of driving up a mountain. As the sky became white, then deepened into blue, they topped a rise and gazed down at a jewel of a town in the valley below.
“Estes Park,” Ryan said.
To the right of the road sprawled a lake as blue as the dome of sky it reflected. Broad grasslands cloaked in new spring grass nestled the small town in rich fertility. Behind and on either side were immense mountains capped in snow and skirted in trees, with huge outcroppings of rock jutting from the surfaces.
Ryan drove through the town, sleepy now after the winter skiers and not yet swollen with summer tourists. He took a road that soon became dirt and was wide enough for only one car.
The ascent was steep as the road meandered up and across the mountain. Ryan obligingly turned off at every overlook and let Clare gasp and marvel at the panorama spread beneath them. Although he looked where she pointed, his attention was completely on her.
At a roaring mountain stream, he parked the car and they walked along the smooth boulders that had tumbled down the Mountainside ages ago. Clare put her hand in the icy water and laughed delightedly as her fingers went numb from the cold. As carefree as two children, they climbed onto the largest rock and sat on its sun-warmed surface.
“This is perfect,” Clare said happily. “This is exactly what I hoped mountains would be like.”
“You’ve never seen mountains before,” Ryan stated, rather than asked. “Where did you go on vacation? The seashore?”
Clare ached to tell him the truth, yet she again knew she was caught in the intricate web of lies and half-truths she had woven. She felt her heart would break if she saw the love die in his gold-green eyes. “We didn’t take vacations when I was a child. And, as I’ve told you before, Elliot never took me anywhere.”
“Why not?”
For a painful moment, Clare considered blurting out the truth about her husband and Regina, but she couldn’t do that. Not to Ryan. “We didn’t love each other. We were happier when we were apart. So he traveled and I stayed carefully.
“Why didn’t you go places with your own family?” He knew he was on treacherous ground and chose his words carefully.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You stayed in Kilgore all your life?”
“I won’t talk about it,” Clare amended. “Please, Ryan, don’t ask me so many questions. Just let me be real and accept me as I am.”
A strange choice of words, he thought, but he said, “I love you, Clare… exactly as you are. Whether you’ve ever seen mountains or not.”
Clare leaned over and kissed him, but she was filled with confused thoughts. Did he love her? Or did he love only the woman he thought she was? Uncomfortably, she tossed a twig into the rushing water and watched it float out of sight behind a mass of root-entwined rocks.
“Do you think there are any deer here?” she asked, peering into the dense woods across the stream.
“Undoubtedly. Also elk, bear, woodchucks, chipmunks you name it and it’s here.”
She nodded with satisfaction. “I thought so. And fish?”
“By the thousands. As well as all kinds of birds. Are you thinking of opening a zoo?”
“No, I just wondered. In case I never get here again, I wanted to know everything that’s around me.”
“You’ll be here again.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ll bring you. I want you to see the mountains in the fall when the aspen are gold. The least little breeze makes them shimmer. It’s an incredible sight. This road is closed in the winter, but I want to show you the mountains in the snow. I know another place we can go and get a cabin. Each season has a different personality here.”
“I’d love that,” Clare sighed. “There’s so much I want to see and do!”
“We will. We have lots of time.”
She glanced at him, but he gave no sign of awareness of the permanence his words implied. For a heady moment, Clare dared to wonder what it would be like to be Ryan’s wife. To have him to love forever. Tears stung her eyes. She had no reason to believe marriage wouldn’t destroy the peaceful compatibility they shared as surely as it had in her first marriage. And there was always Regina.
“Are you cold?” Ryan asked when she shuddered.
“A little.” She accepted his hand and he helped her stand.
He jumped to the ground, then put his hands on her waist and swung her down to join him. Carefully, they picked their way over the spongy moss and leaves strewn between the gray-black fallen trees and brown rocks.
When Clare reached the car, she was breathless. ”You’d never believe this,” she said between gulps of air, “but I’m really in good shape.”
“It’s the altitude,” he explained, breathing deeply himself. “We’re well above ten thousand feet now. The top is about thirteen thousand.”
The summit of the mountain was rounded like a huge cypress knob. Rills and ridges made the surface appear to undulate, and a coarse tundra plant covered the smooth ground. The tree line was far below. Across the horizon and even with their eyes lay piled a mass of mountain tops as far as the eye could see.
“It’s even better than I expected,” Clare gasped out against the steady gale that blew cold. “Is it always this windy?”
“Yes, there’s nothing to break it. Look over there. See that path? It was made by Indians, hundreds of years ago. Nothing changes up here.”
Clare snuggled closer to his warm body. “I think I would have found a warmer route.”
He laughed. “Let’s get back in the car before you freeze. There’s something else I want to show you.”
The road snaked downhill steeply. Soon, the scrub pines began to reappear, then taller hemlock and cedar as they reached a lower altitude. Ryan turned the car off onto an even smaller dirt road that wound through an outcropping of rocks and into a high valley that was still filled with snow.
Clare caught her breath at the unexpected beauty. Wordlessly, she pointed at a large buck and two doe which were moving into the heavy green shadows of the forest.
“See? I told you there are elk here.”
“I never saw one before. They’re so b
ig!”
“Come on,” he said as he opened the door. “We have to build a snowman.”
Because of the cold, they romised on a small one. As Ryan packed the head onto the body, Clare went into the woods to find suitable eyes, nose, and mouth.
“There!” she said with satisfaction. “Our first snowman.”
Ryan noticed her wording and smiled. Taking a stick, he began writing in the virgin snow. “I love Clare.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“There now,” he said, signing his name. “Our love is part of this mountain. When the snow melts, it’ll run into the streams and soak into the ground and be here forever.”
Clare forgot the cold wind and put her arms around him. “You have the soul of a poet,” she said softly, “but you’re so strong.”
“Weakness and gentleness aren’t synonyms, Clare,” he said. “Love isn’t painful.”
“No,” she said in wonder, “it’s not.”
He lowered his head and kissed her.
The flight to Houston was bumpy and Clare was exhausted by the time the plane landed. They retrieved her car from the parking lot and began the three-hour drive to Kilgore. When they finally saw the lights of town, Clare felt relieved. She lay her head against Ryan’s shoulder and yawned. “I thought we’d never get here,” she sighed. “It’s taken us longer to drive to Kilgore than it did to fly back from Colorado.”
Ryan glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”
Clare snuggled closer to him. “Yours or mine?”
“Either.” Now that she was back in her familiar surroundings, Ryan was afraid she’d again withdraw from him.
“Mine. With you.”
He relaxed and smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Tucker has probably called by now. You can help me find Betty’s note. But, believe me, it won’t be easy. Once I found a phone message underneath the flour cannister, without even a corner sticking out. She said she hadn’t wanted it to blow away.” Clare paused and said hesitantly, “You do think he will back the well, don’t you?”
“I hope so. Tucker is known for gambling on high risk investments.”
“It wouldn’t be too risky,” Clare commented as she gestured toward a rig that was being erected on the hospital green. “Oil is being found all over town.”
“Yes, but your land is three miles north. None of the wells around yours has hit oil. And we’ve had an uncommonly bad
run of luck from the very beginning. Tucker is very superstitious. He may take that as an omen.”
“Are you serious?”
Ryan pulled up in front of her house and stopped. “I’ve heard that he is. He might even be spooked at the fact that you have that old relic derrick in your front yard. Gamblers are odd.”
Clare recalled a certain silver dollar key ring that Elliot had always carried, and she nodded. “That’s true.”
Ryan took their bags from the backseat and opened the trunk. “I’ll help you carry these inside.”
Clare shook her head. “Don’t bother. Those paintings have been in the trunk for two days without any problem. They can go one more night. Besides, it doesn’t look like rain. We can unload them in the morning.”
She unlocked the door and flipped on the entryway light. “I’ll look for Tucker’s message. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks. I’ll help you took.”
They found the note under the refrigerator magnet along with the grocery list and two recipes clipped from the newspaper. Clare handed it to Ryan. “You read it,” she said nervously.
He read it through silently and his frown told her the answer. “He’s turned us down. He says the risk is too great and he’s sorry but wishes us luck.” Ryan crumbled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I’m ready for that drink now.”
Slowly, Clare poured him a bourbon on the rocks and made a gin and tonic for herself. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“I know there’s oil down there! I can feel it!” he said as they sat in the darkened morning room. “All I need is time!”
“But I haven’t got time!” Clare blurted out heedlessly.
“What do you mean by that?” Ryan demanded. “Damn it, Clare, you’ve got to level with me!”
She gazed out the picture window toward the pool that was so subtly lighted it might have been real moonlight shimmering on the glossy black surface of the water and the silvered fern leaves. “Nothing,” she said dully. “There are some things that can’t be said. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“I don’t understand,” Ryan said, pulling her head onto his shoulder and rubbing his cheek against her hair. “At one
time, I thought you were a greedy, grasping socialite. Now I know that’s not true, but I can’t figure out why you’re so insistent on this well being finished in such a hurry. Why is it so important to you?”
“I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me. And please don’t think I’m greedy. I’m not like that.”
“I know,” he said tenderly. “If you were, I wouldn’t love you so much.” He kissed her and held her tightly. “I want to protect you, Clare, whether you need it or not. When I see you so worried, it makes me want to go out and fight your dragons.”
She smiled and sighed. “My sweet knight, Sir Ryan of Hastings, out to do battle on his snow-white charger. Unfortunately, my dragons are too large and fierce to name. I’ll have to fight them myself.”
“Someday you’ll trust me enough to let me help you,” he said hopefully. “Or love me enough.”
Clare’s heart swelled with love for him and she felt tears dimming her sight. “It’s the same thing, Ryan.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. Silently, they left the morning room and went upstairs, hand in hand. Clare felt a twinge of ingrained modesty as she led him into her bedroom, and wondered what Betty would think when she discovered Ryan at the breakfast table in the morning. Then Clare put her arms around Ryan’s neck and forgot everything in his embrace.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan unpacked his suitcase by dumping it upside down on his bed. Whistling cheerfully, he sorted through the clothing, tossing the soiled items into a pile to be washed and hanging up the others. Snapping the suitcase together, he put it on the floor and kicked it under his bed in one fluid motion.
The ringing of the telephone made him smile. It was sure to be Clare. The night before, she’d been even more loving toward him, and he no longer believed she would put the aloofness between them.
“Hello,” he answered cheerfully.
“Hello, Ryan,” a sultry voice purred. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, not really. Who is this?” His smile had faded.
“Regina Wharton. I thought I’d call and ask you over for dinner tonight. It’ll be very informal just the two of us.”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said with a frown. “Clare and I already have plans.”
There was a short silence. “I thought Clare was still in Houston. I assumed you’d be lonely, so I called you up to console you. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come over?”
“Regina, I told you that Clare and I are seeing only each other.”
“Are you so sure of that?” Regina asked in surprise. “I hear Clare has been dating Cliff Anderson. You know, the art dealer from Dallas? I thought you knew.”
Angrily, Ryan fought to steady his voice. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s a lie. Goodby.” Without waiting to hear if she had more to say, Ryan hung up.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said to himself. “Clare wouldn’t do that to me.” But it would explain her avoidance of him in the past few weeks. He snatched up the laundry basket and strode out to the laundromat.
Clare led Ryan through the lane of willow trees that grew along the bank of the creek. The air was fragrant with the scents of spring and a warm breeze ran through the newly green leaves. Beneath the
ir feet, last fall’s leaves made a soft carpet, and beside them, the water swelled against the cocoa-brown banks and made a whispery noise as it tumbled over the red-black river rocks.
“This is my favorite place,” Clare said as she leaned against a mossy oak that stretched out over the water. “No one ever comes here but me, and I know I can be alone here.” She pointed to a place where the creek made a natural pool. “That’s the swimming hole. The bottom slopes down gradually and the water is always calm. I learned to swim there.”
“All by yourself?”
“Yes, I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s not that deep, really. Just enough to paddle around in.”
Ryan wondered at Clare having learned to swim in a muddy pool; he’d learned in the indoor pool at his parents’ house. And why was she allowed to wander in the woods so far from town? There was no sign of a house on the farm except for the ramshackle cabin in the pasture. Slowly, a new solution to the puzzle of Clare began to dawn on him, but he put it aside. It was simply too far-fetched to imagine the elegant Clare living in such a place. Yet that would explain so many things. Ryan watched her silently.
“It’s warm enough for picnics now,” she was saying. “There’s no chance of another blue norther spoiling one. Wasn’t that a sight, though? I never saw one move in so fast.”
She chattered happily, not noticing his quietness. “I could pack us a lunch. Would you like that?”
Ryan smiled away his fanciful imaginings. “Sounds good. I’ll bring the wine.”
“It can’t be on Thursday, because of my art classes. Friday Maria has asked me to come to a brunch with her. I suppose I ought to go, but I’m not looking forward to it.” She took a cautious breath and proceeded casually. “It’s to organize a fund raising campaign for the new hospital wing. Regina Wharton is giving the party. Do you remember her?” Clare held her breath. She had to find out it there was any truth to Regina’s claims on Ryan. No matter how much it hurt.
Startled, Ryan said, “Yes. I know Regina.” Should he tell Clare? he wondered. If he didn’t, would Regina? After all, he’d only been with the woman once, and that was after he’d seen Clare with Cliff Anderson. Ryan knew now that had been business. Was it still?