Opal Fires

by Lynda Trent

  Ryan moved toward her with catlike grace, his anger barely controlled. “You set this up out of jealousy over a dead man? That’s crazy!”

  “Don’t you dare call me that!” Regina sprang up and faced him furiously. “She made him miserable and she’d do the same to you! You’re better off with me! And I’ll tell you something else, Ryan Hastings! I took Elliot back in all but name. I’m the one he loved! But I’ll never share you with her! Never!”

  Speechlessly, Ryan glared at her. Finally, he said, “Are you trying to tell me you and Elliot had an affair? That Clare knew about it?”

  “Of course! We went everywhere together! He would have left her for me, if he hadn’t died in that accident!”

  “I’m not Elliot!” Ryan thundered.

  “You’re going to marry me!” she yelled. “Otherwise, I’m going to ruin Clare! She won’t have two pennies to rub together! She won’t even have that shack on her farm to go back to! Either way, I win and she loses!” Her face was contorted and her blue eyes protruded with vehemence.

  “It’s off! If I had known about all this, I would never have let you blackmail me into agreeing to marry you.” He wheeled and was striding away when she screamed after him. “Don’t you leave me! If you don’t marry me, I’ll kill myself.” The words slipped out in a flood of hysterical tears.

  Ryan stopped as if he had run into a wall. In a strained voice, he said, “Don’t say that!”

  Startled at his reaction, Regina seized her advantage. “I mean it! I will kill myself, if you break off the engagement!”

  Against his will, Ryan saw Dore as he had seen her on that last, fatal night. Screaming that she’d die if he didn’t marry her. Again, as if in a nightmare, he watched her car careen into the inky bayou. Again he felt the lung-bursting dives into the solid blackness as he struggled to find her and save her. And how she had looked when the rescue squad had at last pulled her out of the water. Regina was at least as hysterical as Dore * had been.

  “I have pills,” Regina shrieked, sure now of her weapon. “I know how to do it!”

  He wheeled and came back to her. Grabbing her roughly, he pulled her to her feet. “You’d do that?” he demanded.

  “Yes!” she hissed. “I’d do anything to destroy Clare Marshall!” His fingers bit into her arms and she felt an odd surge of excitement at the pain. “If you don’t want me to kill myself, marry me! The second week in June!”

  Ryan glared at her, but he felt a wave of near-nausea sweep over him. He hadn’t believed Dore’s threat and now Dore was dead. “All right!” he snapped. “The last weekend in June!” Shoving her from him, he left abruptly, hating himself already for giving in.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Clare sat nervously at the table in the morning room. Ryan sat across from her, the chart from the latest core sample between them. She was trying to follow his explanation about the depth of the oil-bearing limestone caverns, but her mind refused to concentrate. Although she looked at the chart, she was only aware of the way his strong hand looked as he pointed out the various phases. How often she had held that hand, kissed it, felt it caress her body. And his voice, now so businesslike, not too long ago had gentled her and spoken words of love. Now the very tone of it made her ache. How could I have been so foolish, she wondered.

  What would he do, she thought, if I reached out and touched him. Would he draw back? Be angry? She sighed. His reaction would always remain a mystery, because she could never allow herself to try. She wrestled her mind back to the chart.

  Ryan pointed out the depth they hoped to drill before the pipe was gone. The chart required little of his attention. He’d gone over it again and again in hopes of discovering some clue to the elusive oil. Instead, his attention was focused solely on Clare. A beam of sunlight touched her face and made her skin seem translucent and her eyes jewellike. Now that he knew her secret, he no longer found her interest in the well compulsive. He doubted he could have been any more detached had it been his own finances that were at stake. If the well had to be abandoned, he’d lose some, but certainly not everything as Clare would.

  What would happen, he wondered, if he swept the chart aside and took her in his arms? But, of course, that would never do. Clare didn’t love him… She never had. And he certainly couldn’t tell her that he was marrying Regina to save her. If only Clare cared for himeven a littlehe could marry her and her problems would be solved. In time, he could regain his money, and in the meantime he’d have the woman he loved. Mentally, Ryan shook himself. It was only a daydream. Clare didn’t love him; she never would.

  “What about the pipe?” Clare asked. “Did Joe find any?”

  “No. With the new boom, it’s being sold before it’s made. I didn’t have much hope that he could get any, but it was worth a try. I’ve placed a order with several companies in the hope that we can get some before… we run out,” he finished lamely.

  “Good.” Clare knew her next question would be as painful as probing a sore tooth, but she had to know. “Have you set a date for your wedding?” She hoped she sounded casual, but her heart was pounding.

  “Yes. It’s at the end of next month.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence hung like a curtain between them. Slowly, Ryan began to roll up the chart.

  Clare sought wildly for something to break the tension, but her mind was blank. She had never considered that the wedding would be so soon. Yet why should it be delayed? They were free of ties and in love. A long engagement would be senseless.

  The telephone at her elbow rang and Clare jumped. Quickly, she picked it up. “Hello?”

  Cliff Anderson’s voice came over the wire. “Hello, Clare. I have some good news for you. A collector in California wants two of your canvases. He’s offering even more than we expected to get.”

  “That’s marvelous,” she said, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic.

  “How about if I fly down and we go out to celebrate? I can be there by eight.”

  “Eight?” she glanced at Ryan, but he appeared to be engrossed in putting the charts back in the cylindrical containers. “All right, Cliff. I’d love to.”

  “Great. See you then. Goodby.”

  “Goodby.” Clare replaced the receiver. “Some of my paintings just sold.”

  “Congratulations,” he said coldly. That hadn’t sounded like a business call to him. Again he reminded himself that he had no claim on Clare. Quite probably that pompous art dealer would be just the kind of man she wanted. Ryan slammed the lid on the cannister and screwed it tightly shut.

  Clare looked at him. Why did he seem so angry? Surely she must be mistaken. Or perhaps he was upset at her question about his wedding. It had really been none of her business.

  Ryan was profiled against the sunlight and she had a rare. opportunity to study him. His hair fell boyishly over his forehead and his straight nose was as classic as any Greek statue. His lips were sensitive, almost in contrast to his rugged masculinity. His firm chin evoked no sign of weakness and the strong column of his throat rounded into his open-collared shirt. Clare allowed her eyes to go no further. She still yearned far too much for his muscular body and the arms that had held her so tenderly yet with such passion.

  “Thank you for coming by,” she said.

  “Sure. Anytime.”

  Without speaking, they walked to the door. As Clare reached for the handle, Ryan’s fingers accidentally brushed hers. A shock of fire raced up her arm and she jerked back her hand.

  “Goodby,” she said.

  “Goodby,” he answered.

  When she closed the door, she resisted the impulse to kick it, and instead leaned her head against the wooden frame. Gently, she touched the metal where his hand had been. Then, feeling silly, she went to her studio.

  Canvases ranged the walls, all in various stages of completion. After Ryan had left her for Regina, Clare had been unable to paint for days. Then, enexpectedly, she found herself unable to stop. Ideas flowed from her brus
h to the canvas in a seemingly unending stream. Nights were long now, and often she slept for a couple of hours, came back down to the studio for feverish bouts of painting, then staggered upstairs for another hour of sleep before dawn. The result was a loss of weight, tired circles under her eyes and an array of paintings such as she would not have believed herself capable of producing.

  A new depth had come into her paintings. A wistful sadness, a poignant longing, a bittersweet truth that had never appeared before. And her increased sales and asking prices reflected it.

  With the movements of a sleepwalker, Clare picked up her brush and began to paint. Beneath her skillful fingers, a smudge of white on a sky of blue-gray became a lone seagull. Beneath his wings spread a panorama of beach sand, salt grass and foaming waves. It was the first in a series she planned for a famous Galveston gallery.

  All afternoon she painted, and finally, exhausted and drained, she cleaned her brushes, put aside her paints and went upstairs to dress for her date with Cliff. As she showered and went through the automatic motions of washing her hair, Clare thought of her future. The prospects of hitting oil in the next few weeks with their limited supplies seemed slim. Her art was already developing a following, and in time would earn her a nice living, but not soon enough to pay off her debts. As for her personal life, the outlook was bleak. Someday, she reasoned, she’d get over her longing for Ryan, or at least it would dull to a bearable degree. But she knew she would never fall in love with anyone else as deeply as she had with him. He was the great love of her life, and she’d been too foolish to recognize it until it was too late.

  With her hair wrapped in a fluffy towel, Clare pulled her robe about her and lay across her bed. She had to find another place to live. Preferably away from Kilgore. Once she had to declare bankruptcy, she didn’t want to have to face her friends. Only Maria would remain steadfast. The prospect of going to another town and finding a small house that she could afford was draining, and she closed her eyes.

  “I wonder if I’m catching something,” she mused. All her normal energy had left her, and she ached as if she had held her muscles tense for hours. “Too much painting,” she

  She lay still for a few more minutes, then glanced at the bedside clock. She’d be late if she didn’t got dressed. Forcing herself off the bed, Clare dried her hair, put on makeup and dressed in an apple-green silk dress that she hoped would enliven her mood. In the distance, she heard the doorbell and left her room. She sighed and checked her appearance in the mirror. Except for the hurt expression that always lurked in her wide-set eyes these days, she looked quite presentable. At the head of the stairs, she smoothed her hair, straightened her collar and put on a smile as she descended to the entryway.

  “You look magnificent,” Cliff said when she opened the door. “As lovely as your paintings.”

  Clare laughed. ” ‘Lovely’ is rarely a word artists prefer to hear in reference to their work, Cliff. You should know better than that.”

  “In that case, may I say you look meaningful and poignant?”

  “No. Let’s go back to ‘lovely.’” Her smile was real by this time, and she was beginning to be glad she’d agreed to go out with him. At least it would get her out of the house, and she really did enjoy his company.

  He escorted her to his rental car and opened the door for her. When they were driving away he said, “I made reservations at Nathan’s. I’ve heard the food there is excellent.”

  “Nathan’s?” she whispered. It had been a special place for Ryan and herself.

  “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she made herself reply. “Nathan’s is fine.” Ryan was no longer a part of her life, she told herself. The sooner she laid aside the memories, the better off she would be.

  Night had fallen by the time they reached the restaurant, and pewter clouds hid the crescent moon. Clare was glad that she had at least been spared the sight of sunset on the glassy lake. They were shown to a table in the center of the room, away from the huge glass windows that overlooked the water.

  “Your work is moving very well.” Cliff said after he ordered their meal. “I want to have another private exhibit for you this fall. Also, you may want to do a few lectures for some of the area art guilds. Word of mouth is so important in this field.”

  “All right,” Clare said, although she wondered where she’d be in the fall. Certainly not in the Marshall mansion. Would Cliff be as attentive to a truly struggling artist? “I’m free for the second week in October. Does that fit your schedule?”

  “Probably. I’ll have to look on my calendar and get back to you.”

  Dinner progressed smoothly. Cliff was an amiable companion, though a somewhat boring one, and Clare felt herself relaxing. They could never be more than friends, but she felt at ease with Cliff. If only she could learn to love him, she thought, life would be so simple.

  After dinner, they went upstairs to the lounge and danced on the tiny dance floor. Cliff was an unimaginative dancer and Clare had no trouble following him, but they didn’t merge into the music as had she and Ryan. Nor did the pressure of his arms send chills through her, even when he pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

  “Clare, I have to level with you,” he said beneath the flow of sensuous music. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Clare was silent for a moment. She had guessed as much already but hadn’t expected him to tell her yet. “Cliff, I…”

  “I know you aren’t head over heels in love with me,” he said quickly, “but you may learn to love me. We enjoy being together and our career goals match. Clare, I’m asking you to marry me.”

  Surprised, Clare lost the rhythm of the music and faltered. Catching herself, she replied, “I can’t marry you, Cliff. You know nothing about me.”

  “I know all I need to know.”

  “But I don’t love you,” she protested. “I can’t marry you if I don’t love you. It would never work out.”

  “You may grow to love me. It’s happened in marriages before.”

  She took a deep breath and said the words she had never expected to say. “I love someone else, Cliff. A man I met last summer.”

  “Oh. Then why are you here with me?” he asked stiffly. Competition had never occurred to him.

  “He’s… he’s engaged to marry someone else. I know I’ll never have him, but I can’t find room for anyone else. At least not yet. I’m sorry, Cliff. I really am.”

  The music ended and he took her back to their table. In a remote tone, he said,“It’s getting late. I’d better take you home.”

  Clare nodded miserably.

  The drive back was strained, and when he walked her to the door, he bent and kissed her chastely on her cheek. “Goodby, Clare. I’ll get back to you about the October show.” Without waiting to see if she got safely in the house, Cliff went back to his car and drove away.

  “He’s like Elliot!” Clare exclaimed as she let herself inside. “Totally self-centered and uninterested in anything that doesn’t relate to himself.” She slammed the door behind her. “Ryan would never have reacted that way!” Realizing what she had said, Clare’s anger dissolved into depression, and she slowly went upstairs to her room.

  Ryan had suffered through a formal dinner party given by Regina for twenty of her “closest” friends. He had always hated formal occasions, and was not in the best of moods. Inane conversation bored him, and he saw no reason to pretend otherwise. At every opportunity, Regina touched him or made a sly innuendo of a sexual nature usually striving to look embarrassed at her “slip” or glancing at him in a seductive manner. Ryan compensated by drinking more than he liked and ignoring her whenever he could.

  As the last guests took their leave by kissing the air close to Regina’s cheek, she escorted them out the door and called cheerful injunctions after them to drive carefully. When the door was closed and she and Ryan were alone, the change in her was startling. Her mask of smiles dropped and an angry sulk spread
over her features.

  “Well, you certainly managed to make a fool of me tonight!” she snapped. “You talked far more to Dyna than to

  He shrugged. “She was a guest. You wanted me to be polite to them, remember? You said so half a dozen times before they arrived.”

  Regina grabbed a cigarette from the silver container on the coffee table and let it dangle from her lips as she flicked the lighter. Blowing a stream of smoke above her, she said, ”You also drank too much.”

  “I’m a long way from drunk, Regina. Unfortunately. I don’t like parties where everyone says only what’s expected of them.”

  “Get used to it! After we’re married, I expect to do this often. You’re only a geologist. If you’re going to fit into my social set, it’s going take some effort.”

  “Quit pushing me!” he growled. “I’m willing to try to work this out with you because we have an agreement, but nobody is going to treat me the way you are now! Got that, Regina? Nobody! Especially not you!”

  “Don’t you dare use that tone with me!”

  Ryan crossed the room and towered over her. “I’ve tried. I’ve been reasonable and I’ve tried to understand you, but you’re impossible! Nothing suits you. Nothing is good enough for you!”

  Regina glared at him. “I suppose I am rather different from that slut you knew, but that’s the way it is! You might as well get used to it!”

  He grabbed her and shook her roughly. “Don’t you ever call Clare that again! She’s worth ten of you!” Suddenly, he seemed to hear his words. “My, God!!” he said hoarsely. “Is this all we’ll ever be? Is this what it will always be like?”

  “Yes!” she hissed. “Unless you learn to give me what I want! Better men than you would give anything to be in your place! Neal Thorndyke, for instance!”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed. What did the banker have to do with this? “Thorndyke?”

  “Yes! He’s been in love with me for years!”

  Gradually, the final pieces of the puzzle formed and slid into place. “You two planned it all, didn’t you?” he said incredulously. “The slowdown on the well, the lost pipe shipment, everything! Without the well, Thorndyke gets the land, you get a husband and Clare is left holding nothing! Good Lord! What kind of monster are you?” He stared at Regina, reading the truth in her contorted face.