by Peggy Webb
“You don’t have to be so snappish. Look, if you’re worried about our guest, we’ll show him a good time. Especially Marge.”
Virginia reached into her closet and grabbed the first sweater she put her hands on. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
As she walked to the door she saw herself in the mirror, a woman who still looked good in jeans but whose flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes betrayed her anger. She was going to have to do better than that. And she would, she promised herself. As soon as they got to the dance club.
SEVEN
The Bullpen was a barn that had been converted into a dance hall specializing in western dancing. It was a favorite gathering spot for the college crowd, and a large group of Candace’s friends was there. She and Marge were caught up in a line dance, while Bolton and Virginia sat at the table nursing two lukewarm soft drinks.
“You’re a good dancer,” Bolton said. Underneath the table, he found Virginia’s leg and caressed her inner thigh through the denim.
“How could you tell? We’ve only had one dance together and that was practically at opposite ends of the room.”
Bolton lifted one eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Virginia said.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Ahh, Virginia.“ He took both her hands in his. “Don’t you know I want to dance every dance with you? Don’t you know I want to get out on that floor and hold you close and let the whole world know you’re mine?”
Suddenly she was too choked up to speak. She clung to his hand, begging him without words to lead her through this horrible dilemma.
“I never wanted to pretend this evening,” he added. “I only agreed because I want to make things easy for you.”
“This is not easy,” she whispered.
“No, it’s not.”
The line dance ended, and as the dancers gathered around the bar to order cold drinks, the band segued into a haunting country-western ballad.
“Come, Virginia. Let’s be bold and dance the way we were meant to dance.”
He led her onto the floor, and underneath the spinning silver lights he pulled her close. Sighing, she put her head on his shoulder.
“This is more like it,” he said.
His breath stirred her hair, and his voice fell like music on her ears. Content, Virginia forgot everything except the man who held her in his arms. They danced as if they were made for each other, their steps in perfect rhythm, their bodies in perfect harmony.
He slid one hand underneath her hair and gently massaged her neck. She closed her eyes.
“Hmmm. Nice. I needed that.”
“What else do you need, Virginia?”
“What a wicked question for such a public place.”
“I’m a wicked man.” His hands were insistent, his touch sensual. “Tell me, Virginia, what else do you need?”
“Something that only you can give me, Bolton.”
“I like the sound of that. I’ll slip away and climb in your window later tonight.”
“No. Not in the house with the girls...” The thought of a night without him was unbearable. “I’ll come to you.”
He spoke to her then in the tongue of his people, and the words mesmerized her. Even after he had finished, the silence was so beautiful, she was reluctant to break it.
“That was incredibly lovely,” she whispered. “Interpret, please.”
“When the moon bends down and touches Mother Earth, come softly to me, and we will lie in paths of silver, our bodies gilded vessels of love,” he said.
“Apache poetry. My heart hurts with the beauty of it. Who is the author?”
“Me.”
“You? Is it published?”
“No. Then it would belong to the world. Now it belongs to me, and I can give it as I choose.”
“I’m so glad you chose me.”
“Not only chose you, but wrote it for you.”
“When?”
“This evening while I was banished to the guest cottage.”
She smiled. “I thought you were working on that article.”
“That too.”
“You’re a remarkable man, Bolton Gray Wolf.”
“And you’re a remarkable woman.”
They were so entranced with each other that neither noticed when the band stopped playing.
“I’m in love with you, Virginia.”
“Let’s not talk about that tonight, Bolton.”
“All right. But the time will come when we have to talk.”
“Bolton... the music has stopped.”
“Not for me.” He grinned.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re blushing.” He kissed her flushed cheeks. “On you it looks like roses.”
Bolton led her back to the table where Candace and Marge were waiting. Virginia didn’t turn away from their stares.
“That’s a great band,” she said, trying to look casual.
Her daughter glared at their joined hands and Virginia’s flushed face. Marge took an avid interest in her cola.
“The band took a break five minutes ago,” Candace said.
“We didn’t notice,” Virginia said.
“Obviously.” Candace grabbed for her drink and overturned it. Lukewarm cola spilled into her lap. She stared at Virginia as if it were her fault, and then dashed for the bathroom.
“Candace... wait.” Virginia turned helplessly toward Bolton.
“Go after her,” he said.
“How could you?” Candace stormed out as soon as Virginia walked into the bathroom.
“I did nothing to you, Candace.”
“Nothing! You call pawing all over Bolton Gray Wolf in public nothing.”
“I wasn’t pawing; I was dancing.”
“Spare me.” Candace backed up against the sink, wadding wet paper towels in her hands.
Virginia knew from the look on her daughter’s face that nothing she said was going to do any good. Rather than get into a futile argument, she headed toward the door.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll spare you.”
“You embarrassed me in front of my friends.”
“Embarrassed you?” Two spots of color on her cheeks were the only signs of Virginia’s anger. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a divorced woman who danced with an available bachelor. I fail to see how that was an embarrassment to you, Candace.”
“Good grief, Mother. You were all over him.”
“It’s called slow dancing.”
“It’s called making out in public.”
Was she that obvious? As always, when she was with Bolton, Virginia lost all perspective.
“I’m sorry if we embarrassed you, Candace. That was certainly not my intent, and I know it wasn’t Bolton’s. We were merely enjoying each other’s company.”
“In public... on the dance floor... for all my friends to see.” Candace scrubbed vigorously at the stains on her jeans.
“Spare me the morality sermon, Candace. I happen to know that Jake’s mother is dating and so is Kim’s mother. I fail to see the difference.”
“The difference is this...” Candace drew back and threw the wet paper towels into the garbage can. “My friends’ mothers don’t go out with somebody young enough to be their son.”
Virginia stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Just when she’d begun to relax about the age issue, her own daughter brought it brutally back to life.
“I’m hardly old enough to be Bolton’s mother.”
“Thirteen years. I can count.”
“Good for you.”
Virginia turned on her heel and walked out the door. It was a brave exit, but one that she couldn’t sustain for long. She ducked around the corner to a small hallway, caught hold of the fountain, and lowered her face to the cool rush of water. It dripped onto her collar and the front of h
er denim blouse, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting out of the place where she’d made a fool of herself in front of her own daughter.
“Virginia...” It was Bolton, striding down the hall toward her, concern clearly written on his face.
He was the last person in the world she wanted to see. She swiped at the water on her face with the back of her hand, but there was nothing she could do about the wet spots on the front of her blouse.
“Here. Let me.” Bolton pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to dry her face.
“I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough damage.”
She swatted at his hand, but she might as well have been a gnat swatting at a buffalo. His expression didn’t change as he continued his firm but gentle ministrations.
“I take it things didn’t go well between you and Candace.”
“Bravo, Bolton. You’ve just mastered understatement.”
Silence screamed around them, and Virginia thrust out her chin, daring him to contradict her. Things would be simple if he’d just go away. Then she could bury herself in her work and get over her broken heart, and Candace would eventually forgive her.
“It won’t work, Virginia.”
“What won’t work?”
“You can’t scare me off. I don’t scare.” His smile was one of those quicksilver flashes full of steel and determination. And it was far, far more dangerous than all the threats in the world.
Virginia shivered, then wrapped her arms around herself.
“Cold?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared.” She lifted tragic eyes to his. “I scare easily, Bolton.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and held her there, her head pressed against his chest. “What happened tonight was a temporary setback. Once Candace gets used to the idea of me, she’ll come around.”
Virginia knew she should keep her mouth shut and get through the rest of the evening. But she’d never been one to leave well enough alone.
“The idea of you as what? My lover?”
“No.” This time his smile was the quick brilliance of sun breaking through clouds. “As your husband.”
EIGHT
Always, when he’d referred to his role in her future, she’d thought he meant as a live-in lover. Never in Virginia’s wildest dreams had she considered that Bolton wanted to marry her. She was filled with terror at the idea... and with a sense of wonder that wouldn’t be tamped down, no matter how hard she tried.
“My husband?” she said.
“Yes, Virginia.”
Before she could think of a way to skirt this new issue, she saw Candace striding down the hall toward them, her face a thundercloud. Had she heard?
“Mother.” There was enough ice in Candace’s voice to form glaciers. “If you are through making out in the hall, Marge and I are ready to go home.”
Virginia formed a hot retort, but Bolton shot her a warning glance. Funny how their roles had reversed. Tonight he was acting the mature, responsible, levelheaded parent, and she was acting the inexperienced young girl.
“If you’d like, Virginia and I can take a cab and leave the car for you and Marge,” he said.
“That’s a great idea,” Virginia added, whipping up some bogus enthusiasm. “Or if you want to, we can take you back to the house and you can get your car. We don’t want to spoil your fun.”
“It’s a little too late for that,” Candace snapped.
“Candace, don’t push me. I won’t tolerate rudeness.”
“Please...” Candace said. “Can we just go home?”
It was the longest five miles Virginia ever traveled. She and Bolton attempted a bit of light conversation, but for the most part it fell on deaf ears. Finally they settled into uncomfortable silence.
At home, Candace bailed out of the car with Marge trailing behind.
“Look, Bolton. I don’t think it’s a good idea if I come to you tonight.”
“I won’t be selfish. Do what you need to do, Virginia.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “If I could change things for you by coming inside and talking to Candace, I would, but I think my presence would only make matters worse.”
“Thanks, Bolton.”
“And Virginia, whatever happens, remember this: I love you.”
He kissed her once more, not in the slow, lingering way of lovers who have all the time in the world, but in the swift, hungry way of lovers caught in the eye of a hurricane.
Virginia fought the urge to hang on, fought the need to cling to him. But she had to let go. She was a parent, and good parents didn’t abdicate responsibilities, they didn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble.
She made it as far as the front door before she turned around. He had finished parking the car and was on the path that curved around the house and led to the guest cottage. The moon was full and impossibly bright, hanging so low, it looked as if she could reach out and touch it. In the moonlight Bolton looked like something she had dreamed, someone who had suddenly appeared in her life and who would disappear just as suddenly.
Virginia put her hand over her mouth to keep from calling him back. The connection between them was so strong that he didn’t need words to know her thoughts. He turned around, her magnificent Apache warrior burnished in silver.
“Virginia...”
“No...” She held up her hand. “Please, Bolton. Don’t come back.”
“You need me.”
“If you come back now, I’ll do something foolish like march into the house and tell Candace that what I do with my life is none of her business.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. You’re both adults. She has her life, you have yours.”
“No, Bolton. Candace and I have a life together here in Mississippi... and you have one in Arizona.”
He held her with a single glance, and a lump the size of Texas came into her throat. She thought she was going to sink onto the front porch and dissolve into a puddle of tears, a messy middle-aged woman, totally out of control.
If he had come to her then, she could no more have stopped him than she could have stopped the sun from rising. But he merely held her transfixed with a look more powerful than words.
She held her breath. She was still holding it when he turned and vanished down the path, her beautiful young lover, swallowed up by the moonlight.
Inside she leaned against the door until she could stop shaking. Virginia had never been a weak woman, and she wasn’t about to start now. Taking a deep breath, she went down the long hallway to Candace’s room.
The door was locked.
“Candace.” She knocked, but there was no answer. “Candace, let me in.”
There was nothing but stubborn silence from the other side of the door. Virginia didn’t knock again; she wasn’t about to sink to her daughter’s level.
“I’m coming in whether you want me to or not. It will be easier for both of us if you open the door.”
For a while she thought Candace was going to refuse. Virginia had just turned to get the master set of keys, when the door swung open.
There were blotches under Candace’s eyes where her mascara had run. Virginia couldn’t stand the thought of her daughter’s tears. More than that, she couldn’t endure the thought of being the cause.
She made a move to put her arms around her daughter, but Candace ducked out of reach and went to the far side of the room.
“I’m glad you let me in, Candace.”
“It’s your house.”
“No, Candace. It’s our house. It always has been and it always will be.”
“Spare me that two against the world routine, Mother. I’m not a little kid anymore; I’m an adult.”
Virginia studied her daughter. With her chin thrust out and her back stiff, Candace was every bit as stubborn as Virginia. In fact, she looked so much like her mother that Virginia wondered when her child had become a woman. It had happened overnight. Just yesterday Candac
e had been a chubby little girl in pigtails, and suddenly she was a lovely young woman just beginning to taste the fruits of love and romance.
With an empathy given to all writers, Virginia understood the confusion Candace had felt when she’d seen her own mother ignoring convention. She had challenged everything Candace thought was true, everything she’d seen in movies and read in novels about boy meeting girl, falling in love, picking out china patterns, getting married, buying a house and a dog and raising two point five kids. More than that, Virginia had shaken Candace’s ideas about what a mother should be.
Virginia felt daunted. It was a feeling so rare to her that she bought time by rearranging the fresh roses in the cut crystal vase on Candace’s dressing table. Her daughter watched her in silence.
“Where’s Marge?” Virginia finally said, still buying time.
“In the guest room, working on a paper for lit class, she said.”
“I’ll see her in the morning, then.”
“You can apologize to her,” Candace said.
“Apologize?”
“For making her feel like the other woman in a love triangle.”
“Did she say that?”
“She didn’t have to say anything. It was obvious.”
Virginia sat in the blue silk damask chair near the window. The top of the guest cottage was visible, silvery and mystical in the moonlight. What was Bolton doing now? Was he thinking of her?
Candace flounced to the bed and jerked back the covers.
“You can’t even talk to me without looking out the window for him.”
“Candace, I’m not going to apologize to Marge, and I’m not going to apologize to you. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong! For Pete’s sake, Mother. Do you think you’re exempt from the rules just because you’re a famous novelist?”
“Whose rules, Candace?”
Candace’s quick retort died on her lips. She was intelligent and independent. Virginia had nurtured the intelligence and encouraged the independence.
“Touche’, Mother.”
“This is not a game, Candace. It’s a discussion of great importance to both of us.”
“No. It’s not a discussion; it’s a lecture.”
“Call it what you want. I’m going to have my say.”