by Peggy Webb
TWELVE
Virginia couldn’t get Bolton’s phone call out of her mind. She propped herself on pillows, turned on the lamp, and reached for one of the books she kept stacked on the bedside table.
She tried to lose herself in the story, but she kept thinking about Bolton quoting Apache poetry. She remembered every small detail of him, the way he looked bending over her, the way his blue eyes lit up, the way his untamed black hair swooped across his forehead.
The book slid out of her hands, and she sat on her bed fighting the most horrible case of the blues she’d ever had. Everything in her bedroom reminded her of Bolton. There was not a single nook or cranny that didn’t have his imprint. Even when she closed her eyes she couldn’t shut out the image of him. Bolton Gray Wolf had marked her house, and it would never be the same.
The phone rang, jarring her rudely back to the present. Virginia glanced at the clock. Only two people called her this late, Candace or Jane—her daughter usually with a problem she considered an emergency and her friend generally with gossip she considered too juicy to keep.
“So... what is it this time?” Virginia said when she picked up the phone.
“It’s the same thing this time that it will be every time, Virginia: I love you.”
“Bolton...” Virginia slid down and rolled to her side, cuddling the receiver against her cheek. Reaching out, she touched the side of the bed where he had slept, long legs taking up most of the space, one arm flung over his head and the other resting on her stomach.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. Candace and Jane are the only ones who call this time of night.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No.” Not in ways she could tell him about.
“I couldn’t wait till morning.”
The sound of his voice flowed through her like warm honey. She bent her legs and pressed her knees together.
“You’re working, then,” she said.
“This is not a business call, Virginia. It’s personal.”
“We don’t have anything to discuss. We’ve said everything that needs saying.”
“On the contrary. We’ve only just begun. I want you to get to know my family and my friends. I want to introduce you to the mountains and the forest and the rivers that I love. I want to show you the kind of life we can have together. Tomorrow I’m flying out to get you and bring you home with me.”
“I can’t possibly do that. I have too much to do, the notice is too short, I have a full calendar... the flights are probably all full.” She ran out of breath and excuses at the same time.
“Two days, then. Cancel everything and pack a bag. Jeans, sweaters, rugged mountain gear. And you don’t need a plane ticket. I’ll be in my private plane.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“I’ll be there at five, and I’m not coming back without you.”
“You would kidnap me?”
“No. But I would take you captive. After all, I am Apache.”
This time Bolton was the one who hung up. Virginia thought of a dozen things she should have said.
“I can’t believe this.” She hung up the receiver and began to pace. “Why didn’t I tell him no? Why didn’t I just hang up on him? Why didn’t I...”
Suddenly she ran out of steam. Sinking onto the side of the bed, she put her head between her hands.
“Good grief. I can’t believe I’m thinking what I’m thinking.”
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Jane, you’re not going to believe this..
“Virginia?... Shoot, do you know what time it is?... Virginia?... Why are you laughing?”
“You’re not going to believe this, Jane.”
“You’ve already said that. What? What am I not going to believe?”
“I’m going to Arizona with Bolton.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“See. I knew you wouldn’t. I know it’s crazy, I know I’m insane. Talk me out of it, Jane.”
“What the heck? You need a break. You might as well take it with some great-looking guy who will throw you over his shoulder and ride off into the sunset to his tepee or wickiup or whatever they call it.”
“Good grief.”
“Well, you called for my blessing, didn’t you? You got it... As long as you don’t get carried away and decide to stay. You’re not going to do that, are you, Virginia?”
What was she going to do? She was foolish even to be considering seeing Bolton again. Wasn’t one tragic parting enough for them?
“No. I’m not going to get carried away, Jane. My life is here.”
“Good, as long as you know that. ‘Bye now, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Jane... wait. About lunch tomorrow. I’m not sure I’ll have time... I have an annual checkup, and then all that packing... and I’ll have to call Candace and tell her.”
“If you think I’m letting you off the hook, you’re mistaken. I’ll see you at the Lunch Bunch at twelve sharp, and I expect to hear every salacious detail of the formidable Apache warrior’s phone call. What did he say to you, Virginia? I’ve never heard you like this.”
Virginia laughed. “Good night, Jane.”
He’d said he loved her. Did she dare believe that love was enough?
o0o
For the next two days Virginia alternated between elation and doubt. She packed and unpacked her bags three times. She called Jane so much that even she got a little edgy.
“For Pete’s sake, Virginia. If he can turn you upside down long distance, what will you be like when he arrives? Maybe you ought to go trekking in the tundra or fishing in Finland instead of mating in the mountains.”
“Good grief.”
“Precisely.”
At fifteen till five Virginia was sitting on the front porch swing dressed in black jeans and a black cotton turtleneck, straining her eyes for the sight of his car on the driveway. Her bags were waiting just inside the door.
At ten till she decided she looked like a foolish, eager older woman lying in wait for a young handsome lover, so she grabbed her bags and raced up the stairs to stow them in the closet. Then she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.
“I look like an old crow,” she said, and began to yank off her black garb. She grabbed a pair of blue jeans, a white blouse, and a bright red cotton pullover.
What if he came and found her upstairs in her underwear. He’d think she had planned it that way. She dressed in such a hurry, she buttoned her blouse wrong and had to start over three times. By the time she had finished, she was a nervous wreck.
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway chimed the hours. Five o’clock.
She raced back down the stairs and sat at the piano. “Clair de Lune” always soothed her. Bolton would probably be ringing her bell before she got through the first measure.
She played the entire piece twice, and he was nowhere in sight. It wasn’t like him to be late. Virginia looked out all the windows, then went onto the front porch and shaded her eyes to see down the driveway. There was nothing in sight, no car, no Apache warrior, not even a speck of dust.
She called down to the security station at her front gates.
“I’m expecting Bolton Gray Wolf. Has he checked in yet?”
“No, ma’am. He hasn’t.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Miss Virginia, there hasn’t been a soul come by here all afternoon.”
She started to tell Jim to buzz her the minute he arrived, then she changed her mind. If Bolton Gray Wolf had stood her up, she didn’t want anybody thinking she was sitting up in her fancy house waiting to be buzzed—not even Jim, who had been known to fight with people who dared to breathe a harmful word about the woman who had given him a job after he was forced to retire from the police force in disgrace. Falsely accused of taking kickbacks from drug dealers, he’d not only been in disgrace but in near poverty when Virginia gave him a job.
He must have mistaken her silence for censure.
“I’d sure tell you if there had,” he said.
“I don’t doubt you for a minute, Jim. It’s just me. You know how anxious I get when I’m in the middle of a book.”
“No problem, Miss Virginia. You want me to buzz when he comes?”
Virginia glanced at her watch. Five-thirty.
“No, that’s all right, Jim.”
Virginia went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of hot tea. She thought of calling Jane, but what would she say? I’ve been jilted?
“Do a reality check, Virginia,” she scolded herself. Obviously Bolton had been doing his arithmetic. When he was a fit and trim sixty, she’d be seventy-three. Geritol and wheelchairs. Hot-water bottles and false teeth.
She tossed the tea down the drain and went to the barn to saddle her horse. She wasn’t about to be caught waiting around the house like some lovesick puppy when Bolton Gray Wolf came.
If he came.
THIRTEEN
The storm came up unexpectedly. It crashed around the twin-engine Baron with such force, Bolton thought he was going to be sucked into the Grand Canyon. If the weather report had been accurate, he would never have taken his plane up, but now that he was airborne there was nothing he could do except fly through the storm.
Heavy winds shook the plane and flashes of lightning illuminated the clouds. In spite of the danger, Bolton was vividly aware of the awesome beauty of the storm. With his senses finely tuned for the slightest change in his instrument panel, he felt every breath of the wind, saw every bolt of light that split the darkening sky. He knew the earth was there below him, but it was totally obscured. He was in a dark cocoon high above the clouds with nothing to connect him to the earth except his instruments, his radio, and his own thoughts.
High in the sky with the unseen canyon waiting to claim him if he made a fatal mistake and the erratic lightning intent on catching him unaware, he understood love in a way that he never could have on earth. Virginia was a beacon of light in his soul. She was a talisman he clung to, a mantra he chanted, a prayer he whispered. She was his heartbeat, his lifeblood, his breath.
Without her, he would welcome the oblivion of the yawning darkness below.
He was going to be late getting to her, so very late. As soon as he could set the Baron down he’d call her.
Suddenly he burst out of the storm into a sky so sundrenched, the light was blinding. He made radio contact with the airport, then landed in heavy crosswinds. With his goggles pushed to the top of his head and his flight jacket flapping behind him, he raced to the nearest telephone.
No answer. He tried again and again, but Virginia never came on the line. Nor did her answering service pick up. She must have disconnected it. She’d said she often did that when she was on deadline.
He tried her cell phone, but she didn’t answer that either.
Bolton fought against impatience, fought against the urge to jump into his plane and take off for Mississippi. First his plane had to be serviced and gassed, then he had to check the weather report. Getting to her in one piece was more important than getting to her quickly.
“Love worth having is worth waiting for,” his father had always said.
Bolton smiled. He would have Virginia, even if he had to wait a lifetime.
o0o
Virginia knew the trails on her farm, even in the dark. The sun had long ago set, and the moonlight was not yet bright enough to penetrate the thick branches of oak and hickory and black walnut trees that formed a deep red and gold canopy overhead.
She trotted along the path, blocking her mind of everything except the narrow trail that wound through the trees.
“Ride,” she told herself. “Just ride.”
Up ahead the trees thinned out into a wide expanse of pasture. The Arabian whinnied softly, and Virginia leaned over to rub his neck.
“There’s nothing to get spooky about. It’s just you and me, baby.”
What if she was wrong? What if someone was lying in wait for her, someone intent on robbery or worse? She’d been foolish to ride at night without letting Jim know.
She cleared the trees, and that’s when she saw it—the white Arabian standing atop the hill. There was no mistaking the gleaming white coat, the regal tilt of the neck and head. She squinted, her eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness. On the horse was a rider, a tall, proud man with dark hair blowing in the wind.
She had to be hallucinating. Only a woman as lovesick as she would conjure up the man who had left her sitting in an empty house with her bags packed.
Suddenly the horse and rider went into motion, racing down the hill in a movement so fluid, so graceful that Virginia knew she was not dreaming. Only an Apache would ride like that. Only Bolton Gray Wolf.
Her hands tightened on the reins as she poised to flee. But even if she fled, she could never outride Bolton, never outrace her magnificent warrior.
Hooves pounded the ground, their rhythm as insistent as drumbeats. Closer and closer he came. The moon that had been pale and hidden made a dazzling appearance, lighting the landscape as if it were a stage.
Bolton wore nothing except buckskins and moccasins. His eyes glittered, his hair blew in the wind, and his chest was gloriously, deliciously naked.
In a whirlwind of scent and sight and sound, he wrapped an arm around her waist and plucked her off her horse. Then with a sharp command in Athabascan, he raced off with her Arabian galloping along behind.
She didn’t ask where he was taking her or why he was late. She didn’t question his recent whereabouts or his intentions. Nothing mattered, nothing at all except being in his arms and feeling his heart pounding against her back.
Her stables came into view. He guided the horses inside, then slid Virginia into his arms and spread her on the hay. Without speaking he bent over her and stripped away her clothes. She didn’t move, didn’t question, didn’t protest.
Quickly he shed his buckskins, then he stood over her, speaking in soft and rapid Athabascan.
She didn’t know the words, but she understood the meaning. Bolton was reclaiming what was his.
Everything she’d believed went up in smoke. Love had no boundaries, love knew no age, love turned problems into paper dragons. Virginia abandoned herself and surrendered to him.
He knew her as no man ever had, touched her as no man ever could. He branded her inside and out, claimed her for his own, and completely ruined her for any other man.
“You don’t need to take me back to your tribal lands; you brought them with you,” she whispered. “You brought the wind and the rain, the raging rivers and the untamed mountains, the moon and the sun and the stars.”
Surrounded by the sweet smells of hay and the rich smells of earth, Bolton wrapped Virginia in his arms and held her close.
“That was incredible,” she whispered.
“It’s only the beginning, Virginia.”
o0o
They flew out in the early morning, west with the sun at their backs.
“This is not a commitment, Bolton,” Virginia told him as the Baron landed in Arizona.
“I understand.”
He loaded their gear into his Jeep and headed into the White Mountains.
“Will your family be at your house when we arrive?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m sorry, Bolton. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just think meeting your family is premature.”
“You don’t have to meet them at all, Virginia. This is not about family... yours or mine. It’s about you and me. It’s about our future.”
How could she argue when she was surrounded by trees so old, they knew the secrets of the earth and mountains so timeless, they understood eternity? She leaned her head against the seat and took a deep breath.
“Everything else seems petty compared to this,” she said, sweeping her hand around to encompass the view.
Bolton smiled. It was exactly the
kind of beginning he had hoped for. No one could be unaffected by the view, particularly a writer. He’d counted on Virginia’s keen mind to understand man’s place in nature. The next step was counting on her heart.
“My home,” he said, pointing out the rustic two-story house of wood and glass and stone that seemed to blend in with the mountains. There was not another house as far as the eye could see. There was nothing except sky and sun—blood-red as it sought a hiding place in the western slopes—mountain and forest.
“Oh, Bolton... It’s enchanting.”
“I plan to make it that way for you. Always.”
They slept that night cuddled together under a down comforter, hands linked. And when morning sun poured through the skylight, they made slow, exquisite love, then packed their camping gear and headed into the mountains.
“I feel like I’m playing hooky,” Virginia said. “I’ve never just vanished. What if somebody needs to reach us?”
The spot he had chosen as a campsite was a leafy glade high in the mountains, beyond the reach of cell phones, protected by evergreens so thick, they could barely see the sky. In the lee of the rocks was a tepee, built in the way of his ancestors.
“Don’t worry. Callie knows this place.” He pulled Virginia into his arms. “I’m the only person who needs to reach you, Virginia.”
“I’m here,” she whispered. “Reach me, Bolton.”
He tethered the two paints they were riding, then took a blanket in bright shades of red and blue and yellow from his pack.
“In the customs of my people, when a warrior covers a maiden with his blanket, she becomes his.” He spread his blanket around Virginia’s shoulders, then drew her close once more.
Virginia’s knees went weak with desire. She’d never met a man who could do that to her. One look from Bolton and she melted. Would it be like that ten years from now? Fifteen? Twenty?
The wind sang through the pines, wiping out everything in her mind except its wild and tender music.
“Is that all?” she whispered.
“There’s more.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll show you.”