by Peggy Webb
“How did you know?”
“You’re not the only one with analytical abilities, Dr. Gray Wolf.”
“Yes, I’ve been talking to her. But not behind your back.”
“I know you wouldn’t do that, Callie.”
“She told me you dumped her for that novelist.”
“Janice said that?”
“Not exactly in those words. She’s too sweet for that. She said that you’d fallen in love and Virginia Haven had broken your heart.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it, Bolton?”
“I’d put it this way, Callie: I love Virginia and I’m going to be with her. Period. End of discussion.”
“Are you telling me this is none of my business and to keep my nosy self out of it?”
“I couldn’t have said it better.”
“Well... you know what a fool notion I think love is in the first place. And in the second place, you need not tell me what to do because I won’t listen.”
He laughed. “You never have. Why should you start now?”
“Precisely. Now that we’ve got that settled... get yourself inside and put on something that doesn’t smell like horses, because you and I are going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner.”
“I’ve already declined that invitation.”
“I undeclined for you.”
Bolton hadn’t wanted to do anything since he got back from Mississippi except ride through the mountains with the wind in his hair and the rain on his face. He had spent days in quiet communion with nature, days listening to the sounds he loved—the call of the eagle and the trill of the turtledove, the roar of waterfalls and the trickle of streams, the mighty rush of storm winds and the whisper of breezes. And through it all there had not been one day that he hadn’t thought of Virginia, not one hour that he hadn’t longed for her, not one moment that he hadn’t loved her.
As much as he loved his sister and his parents, he’d needed that time alone. But now it was time for action.
He stood up and looked down at his sister.
“Wipe that smug smile off your face. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I want to.”
Callie swatted his leg.
“Scat. Shoo. Go in there and get gorgeous. The world is full of women waiting to swoon over you.”
“There’s only one woman I want.”
Callie felt a gut punch that meant trouble. Ever since they had been children, she’d always known instinctively when her twin needed her help.
She followed him into the house and didn’t bat an eye about snooping while he was in the shower. Not that he was trying to hide anything. The thing about her brother that made him so vulnerable was his frank and open manner.
The pictures were spread across the coffee table, dozens of them, some black and white, some color, all beautiful, all of the same woman.
Callie picked up the first one and sucked in a sharp breath. The woman’s face was soft and misty and full of wonder.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Callie whirled around. Her brother was standing behind her, his hair still damp from his bath. It didn’t surprise Callie at all that Virginia Haven had fallen in love with him. What surprised her was her own reaction, fear tinged with sorrow... and envy.
“Hey, you’re crying.” Bolton took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his sister’s face. “There’s no need to cry, Callie. Everything is going to be all right.”
“I thought so too... until I saw this.”
Bolton took the photograph. It was the one he’d taken underneath the trees on Virginia’s farm right after they had first made love.
“It’s Virginia.”
“I guessed as much.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Callie sniffled. “I didn’t think it was real, Bolton. I mean... love. It just doesn’t happen.”
“It happened to Mom and Dad.”
“I know, but that’s different. They’re our parents.”
“Callie... Callie...” Bolton hugged his sister. “When are you going to learn? Love happens.”
She took a big sniffle, then threw back her head and glared at him.
“Not to me, it won’t. I’m not planning to mess up my life with that kind of sentimental poppycock.”
“You don’t have to look so fierce. I’m not arguing with you.”
Callie took the handkerchief and finished wiping her face, then she sat on the sofa and picked up the other photographs, one by one. With his camera Bolton had uncovered all of Virginia’s secrets, had laid her emotions bare.
A close-up of Virginia in her pink bathrobe slid to the floor. As Bolton picked it up he remembered the morning he had snapped it, the morning he had walked up the stairs with her and made love in her bedroom that smelled like roses.
His heart hurt so much that he could hardly breathe. He studied the picture, not critically in the way of a professional photographer, but tenderly in the way of a lover.
Had time and distance made a difference? Would she listen to her heart now? Or was he being a fool? Maybe she’d been listening to her heart all along, and its answers were not the ones Bolton wanted to hear.
“She loves you, Bolton,” Callie said.
“You must have read my mind.”
“I always have.”
He traced the path of sunlight on Virginia’s face.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen that look on the face of our mother.”
Bolton had too. In old photographs taken when Jo Beth McGill married Colter Gray Wolf, in snapshots taken over the years and pasted in the family album, and on his mother’s face every time she looked at his father.
“Thank you, Callie.”
She didn’t have to ask to understand why he was thanking her. Callie slid off the sofa and put her hand on his arm.
“You know I don’t understand any of this, Bolton. I’m not even sure I approve, and not because of her age. Janice told me, and I don’t give a flip about that. But I want you to know one thing: I’ll do anything to help you.”
“I know you mean well, Callie, but I can do this.”
Callie was on a roll and wouldn’t be stopped.
“I’ll pick out a ring, I’ll shine your shoes and clean your stables. Heck, I’ll even fly down there and tell her how wonderful you are—when you’re not being a pain in the gluteus maximus.”
“You would too.”
“You’re darned tootin’.”
They didn’t have Mississippi grandparents for nothing. When they were youngsters they used to follow Silas McGill around the house imitating him. Darned tootin’ hadn’t caused much of a stir when they tried out their new vocabulary back home, but some of the things they’d learned from Silas had gotten them into more hot water than they cared to remember.
“I still miss him,” Bolton said. “Don’t you?”
“Yes. But I’m glad he went when he did and the way he did. Dying in his own backyard of a quick heart attack is a far better alternative than wasting slowly in a nursing home. Advanced Alzheimer’s is devastating for the family.”
Callie started straightening the stack of photographs.
“Hey, we’d better leave before Dad sends out a search party.”
“You go ahead,” Bolton said. “There’s something I have to do.”
Callie narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not just making up excuses, are you?”
“No. I’ll be there in time for dinner. I promise.”
“Would this mystery chore have anything to do with Virginia Haven?”
Bolton took her arm and escorted her toward the door.
“‘Bye, Callie.”
“That’s not a very polite way to treat a lady.”
“Since when did you become a lady?”
“Bolton Gray Wolf, I take back every nice thing I said about you. Furthermore, I might just call a certain woman in Mississippi and tell her how you hog all the popcorn at movies.”
�
�You’re all heart, Callie. I knew I could count on you.”
“Anytime, Gray Wolf.”
She winked, then loaded her Lab into the Jeep and waved good-bye. After she had disappeared down the driveway, Bolton picked up the telephone. There was no need for him to look in his notes. He knew the number by heart.
ELEVEN
Virginia didn’t answer the phone. Her characters were finally talking to her, and she was right in the middle of a crucial scene. She tapped away at her keyboard while the phone on her credenza rang and rang.
Suddenly something caught her high in the breastbone, some sixth sense that told her she was missing an important call. She left Wayne and Gloria Denny in midsentence as well as mid-embrace, and picked up her receiver.
“Virginia Haven speaking.”
“Hello, Virginia.”
She had to sit down. But there was nowhere to sit because she’d dragged the chair over to her bookshelves in order to reach a reference book on her top shelf, and so she sat down on the floor.
“Bolton... it’s been a long time.”
“Too long.”
She knew she was breathing because she hadn’t passed out yet. But she wasn’t sure her brain was functioning right, and she knew her heart wasn’t. It was pounding so hard, she could almost hear it.
“A week isn’t that long,” she said, lying.
It had been the longest few days of her life. In a week she’d created a thousand scenes between them, all with a different ending. In a week she’d died a thousand small deaths. In a week she’d torn her life apart and put it back together. Sort of. She still felt as if she were clinging to sanity by a thread.
Suddenly she ran out of things to say. How could she tell him that his was the voice she wanted to hear above all others... and that she never wanted to talk to him again? How could she explain to him the torture of not waking up with him in her bed? How could she explain the brutal loneliness? The sense of loss? The dreadful mood swings between hope and despair?
Silence overtook them, and she couldn’t even hear him breathing. Was he still there? What was he thinking? Why didn’t he say something?
“I’ve wanted to make this call a thousand times,” he finally said.
I wanted you to, she started to say. But that was wrong. They were wrong. She put a palm to her hot face and kept silent.
“I wanted to give you some time, Virginia, some time to listen to your heart.”
At the moment her heart was clamoring so that she couldn’t have understood its message even if she had tried.
“Virginia... are you there?”
“I’m here, Bolton.”
“I’ve developed most of the photographs.”
“Then that’s why you called, to talk to me about the magazine layout.”
“No, that’s not why I called.”
She didn’t want to hear talk about love. She didn’t want to remember the wonder of being in his arms, and the emptiness of being alone.
“Look, Bolton, I’m very busy right now.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to talk to me, Virginia?”
“I’m saying I can’t talk to you. Deadlines don’t wait.”
“I see.”
Bolton had always been impossible to decipher. His voice told her even less than his face had when he’d decided to be inscrutable.
She almost panicked. What if he never called back? What if she never saw him again? She couldn’t keep him, and yet she still couldn’t bear to let him go.
“Bolton...”
What could she say that would make him call back without giving him false hope? Sweat broke out on her face, and she wondered if she were having hot flashes on top of everything else.
“I’m here, Virginia.”
She remembered how he looked when he used to say that to her—his eyes so blue, they looked as if they were bits of the sky, his mouth curved in one of those mysterious smiles that drove her mad, his hands resting lightly on her bare stomach.
She held her breath waiting for the rest of it.
“I’ll always be here for you.”
She exhaled slowly. Then she leaned against the credenza and closed her eyes.
“Virginia... are you there?”
“Yes... and no.”
His voice stole through her like a thief in the night, robbing her of all ability to think, let alone speak. She shook her head to clear it. Now was not the time to go soft.
“I’m here physically,” she added, “but not mentally. You know how it is when you’re working on a project. Nothing else matters.”
“Yes,” he said, and she silently thanked him for not challenging her lie.
“I have to go now, Bolton.” Once again the long silence overtook them. Was he hanging on to the receiver the way she was, reluctant to break the fragile connection?
“Call me,” she whispered.
“You can count on it.”
Impossible hope sprang to life, and she knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak. More than that, she was setting him up for another fall.
“To talk about the magazine layout,” she added. “That’s all I meant, Bolton. I know how it is when you start to write something and discover you don’t have all the information you need. So if you come to that point, please feel free to call me, and if I don’t answer, you can leave a message on my machine. I’ll return your call if you’ll just be sure to tell me what you need.”
She sounded like a babbling idiot. Virginia bit her bottom lip to keep from rattling on.
“I need you, Virginia.”
Another hot flash almost felled her, but this time it was not something she could blame on menopause. The culprit was desire, pure and simple.
There was another long silence, and then a soft click as Virginia hung up. She closed her eyes and hugged the receiver.
“I need you, too, Bolton,” she whispered. “Oh, God, I need you.”
o0o
In honor of Callie’s homecoming, Jo Beth had prepared her favorite meat loaf as well as some ancient Apache foods—pit-baked mescal, boiled locust tree blossoms, and cactus fruits. Tradition was important to Colter Gray Wolf, and he and Jo Beth had worked hard to see that neither of their children forgot their Apache heritage.
Their grandmother, Little Deer, had a place of honor at the table. Though shrunken by age and almost crippled by arthritis, she still had a mind that was razor sharp.
Callie was her first target.
“Tell me what you did in that foreign country.”
“I helped find a way to stop a dreadful virus.”
“Your father once went to a foreign country to do that.”
“San Francisco is not a foreign country, Grandmother, and he’s a general practitioner.”
“It’s not Apache tribal lands. It’s foreign, and he’s a powerful shaman.”
Callie was going to argue but Colter shook his head.
“You should stay home where you’re needed,” Little Deer said.
Bolton came to Callie’s rescue, just as he always had when their grandmother brought up the subject of her leaving tribal lands. He pressed a bowl into Little Deer’s hands.
“Here, Grandmother, have some more of this pit-baked mescal. It’s delicious.”
Little Deer turned her scrutiny on him.
“Then why don’t you eat it?” She squinted up at him, her dark eyes full of life and intelligence. “It’s a woman,” she decided.
Bolton shot Callie a look.
“I didn’t say a thing,” she said.
“She didn’t have to,” Little Deer announced loudly. “You look just like your father did when he fell in love with Yellow Bird.”
It was Colter’s pet name for Jo Beth, so called because of her hair. Bolton thought of the way Virginia’s hair looked in the sunshine. Such longing overtook him that he shoved his plate aside.
“Is she a yellow hair?” Little Deer asked.
Bolton had nothing to hide from the people he
loved.
“Yes,” he said. “She’s fair-skinned and golden-haired and very beautiful, inside and out.”
Little Deer nodded sagely.
“She’ll make pretty babies,” she said.
There was a fine line between truth and betrayal. How could he explain the truth to his family without betraying Virginia?
Callie kicked him on the shin, then shoved back her chair.
“Hells bells, Grammy, this is a new generation. Not everybody in this family is going to raise snot-nosed brats. I for one prefer a house where I know I won’t be interrupted by babies squawking about wet diapers.”
“Where did you learn such language?” Little Deer glared at her son. “Colter, where did she learn such language?”
“In foreign countries,” Callie said, laughing. Then she pulled out Little Deer’s chair and waltzed her grandmother around the room. “Smile, Grammy, and Bolton will take our picture.”
Little Deer loved nothing better than having her picture taken. She fluffed at her hair with one gnarled hand.
“Does my hair look all right?”
“It looks fabulous, Grammy. You’re not a bad dancer, either.” Callie winked at Bolton.
o0o
“Thanks,” he told her later. They were in the kitchen helping Jo Beth with the dishes while Colter took Little Deer home.
“It’ll cost you,” she said.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”
“I’m sure it will be something wicked,” Jo Beth said, wrapping an arm around Callie’s waist. Side by side they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. Jo Beth was still as trim as she had been at twenty, her face was virtually unlined, and the light streaks looked more like blond highlights than a graying process. “Darling, must you be so outrageous? Especially in front of your grandmother.”
“I’m just like you,” Callie said.
“Not quite.” Her mother lifted a strand of Callie’s raven-colored hair. “Not only do you have your father’s hair, you have his stubborn streak. Both of you.” She smiled at her son. “So, when will we meet your chosen woman?”
“Not for a while, I’m afraid. I’ve chosen her, but she hasn’t chosen me. Not yet, anyhow.”
“Ahhh.” Jo Beth smiled, remembering. “She will. When a Gray Wolf sets out to court, no woman in the world can resist him.”