by Ciana Stone
“I was…I was…just looking around,” she explained, stumbling over the words in embarrassment.
“You mean you were snooping.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was just looking around and I found this room. I didn’t know you were such a talented artist. That picture on the drawing board—it’s for a book cover, isn’t it? I recognize the style. You’ve done a lot of them, haven’t you?”
Wyatt stared at her stoically without reply and she looked down at the sketchpad still in her hand. “Why did you do these, Wyatt?”
He snatched it from her and put it on the drawing table. Then he shoved her out of the room and closed the door. “That’s private and I don’t appreciate you going through my things.”
Chance stumbled as he pushed her again farther down the hall. She reached out to steady herself against the wall. He walked by her and disappeared into the kitchen. She started after him then stopped. She was getting nowhere. So far he had not had a kind word to say to her and it was just getting worse. The way things were going, she wasn’t going to find out what was bothering him. Until he got over his anger there was no point in even trying to talk to him.
Resisting the urge to try and get through to him, she ran into the den and snatched up the keys to his Jeep from the coffee table. She didn’t bother to tell him she was leaving. She felt if she did he would only tell her how he hoped she never came back.
She ran outside, climbed into the Jeep and started it. She had no doubt that he heard the engine but he didn’t come outside. She drove back to Ralph’s bar. Her Wrangler was parked in the back lot. She stopped and went over to it. The doors were locked and the keys were not in the ignition. She had no idea how to get in touch with Billy Hawkes so she decided to just leave the Wrangler where it was and come back later that night and hope that Billy showed up.
As soon as she arrived at the motel she took a long, hot shower then checked her messages. There was a message from her father, demanding that she call him immediately. She almost decided against it, but then changed her mind. Abbott answered the phone at the estate.
“Davenport residence. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Abbott, it’s Chance. Is my father around?”
“One moment, Miss Chance.”
She pulled her attaché case over closer as she waited for her father to pick up. He came on the line a moment later. “Do you mind telling me just where the hell you are?”
“On assignment,” she lied without hesitation.
“Assignment?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. “What assignment?”
She didn’t answer his question. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“I want to know why you went to see Neil Brown!”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s for a piece I’m putting together.”
“What piece?”
“Look, I really don’t have time for this right now. When the piece airs you can watch it. But right now I have a lot to do. So unless there’s something else—”
“I want you to quit that goddamn job!” he shouted. “I’ve have had enough of your foolishness. It’s high time you settled down and started a family. I spoke with Walter Stillwell just yesterday, and even though you treated him abominably he would still take you back. And you couldn’t find a more suitable husband, I might say. Why, Walter is worth at least—”
“He’s ancient,” Chance interrupted. “And I’m not interested.”
“Ancient?” Maurice’s voice rose even higher. “What kind of remark is that? He’s a year younger than I, and I hardly consider myself ancient. Besides, you need someone more mature and—”
“I have to go,” she cut him off. “Bye.”
She hung up the phone before he could say any more, grabbed a pillow from the bed and clamped it over her face. After a long scream she let the pillow fall away from her face. She wondered what it would be like to have a father who genuinely cared for her, instead of one who only cared for furthering the family fortune.
Chance pushed thoughts of Maurice aside and dialed her office number. When her production assistant, Steve answered she began listing the things they needed to do to get information on the situation with the proposed casino and the trouble the Cherokee were having trying to get and keep a contractor. Her conversation lasted more than two hours and by the time she was finished, she realized she was hungry.
She left the motel and drove around, looking for a place to eat besides the diner.
* * * * *
Wyatt added wood to the fire and sat down on the couch. There were still vestiges of anger left from his argument with Chance. He knew that part of his anger stemmed from the embarrassment he felt at her discovering the sketches and drawings he had done of her.
He stared at the the sketchbook that contained the drawings from the coffee table, and finally opened it. The pictures seemed to possess life to him. But then he saw them through the eyes of memory. They were part of him. He should have thrown them away a long time ago. Several times he had started to, but something always stopped him. Maybe his masochistic need to punish himself for ever caring about her in the first place.
With a curse, he closed the pad and tossed it back on the table. He had to get out of there. The memories and old feelings she had stirred were too painful and too filled with anger. They ate at his soul and he couldn’t take it anymore.
Wyatt shrugged on his coat, he left the house and started walking. He had no idea where he was going. At that point it didn’t matter.
* * * * *
Chance spent the day driving around, trying to get a feel of the place. Everywhere she went she got the impression that people were nervous about something, but no one wanted to talk to her. She stopped around six in the evening, had a salad and coffee at the small diner then returned to her motel.
She went over her notes then watched television for a couple of hours, but paid no attention to what was on. She was battling with herself. She’d come there expressly to see Wyatt and now she was stalling. There was no need to ask why. Seeing him had fanned embers of love and desire that had never died into a steady burn. The more she saw him, the hotter that fire rose and she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand the heat. But she could not be a coward. Something was wrong, and she had to find out what it was. Even if it meant getting hurt.
She had to help Wyatt whether he wanted her help or not. If he hated her for it, then better she learn to accept it and more on. At half-past nine she changed clothes and left. When she got to Ralph’s Bar, the parking lot was packed. She understood why when she got inside. There was a pool tournament in progress.
Chance made her way through the people to the bar and ordered a beer. Just as she was stuffing her change into her pocket, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned and smiled at Billy Hawkes. “Hi! Want a beer?”
“Sure,” he agreed enthusiastically. “And I guess you want these.”
She took her keys from him. “Thanks.” She motioned for the bartender. As soon as she paid for the second beer she turned back to Billy. “So, are you in the tournament?”
“Naw, don’t have the fifty dollars’ entrance fee.”
“If you did could you win?”
“Are you kidding? I could clean house.”
“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows. “You want to put your money where your mouth is on that?”
“Whadda you mean?”
“I mean I’ll put up the entry fee. But, if you win, we split the purse and if you lose—let’s see, if you lose then you have to tell me all about the trouble with the casino and these Holling people I keep hearing about. Deal?”
Billy’s smile faded to be replaced with a look of anxious indecision. For a few moments Chance thought he was going to turn her down. Then he grinned at her. “What the hell. I’m not gonna lose. Deal.”
She dug the money out of her pocket and gave it to him, then watched as he set off to the other si
de of the bar. He disappeared into the crowd and she walked over toward the door where there were less people. As she neared the door, Wyatt walked in.
Both of them stopped cold and stared at one another. Finally he walked over to her. “I’d like to have my Jeep back, if you don’t mind.”
She pulled the keys from her pocket and handed them to him. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I can buy my own.”
“Fine.” She was determined not to let him make her mad. “See you around.”
She walked away but turned and looked back as she reached the bar. Wyatt was watching her with a dark scowl on his face. He saw her look at him and abruptly turned and left. Chance started to go after him but stopped when Billy walked up to her. “Okay, I’m up next. You gonna be my cheering section?”
“Sure.” She couldn’t turn him down, he looked so excited.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him toward the pool table. She waited with him until it was his turn to play, then gave him a hug. “Good luck.”
Billy won his game quickly and she congratulated him. “Well, I guess I won’t be getting any information from you,” she teased. “If the rest of the games are like that one. Unfortunately, I can’t hang around to watch. There’re some things I have to do.”
“What about your cut of the prize?” he asked, clearly disappointed that she was leaving.
“I’ll catch up with you later to collect,” she promised. “See ya.”
“Yeah, okay.” He gave her a smile. “Later.”
Chance went outside, got in the Wrangler and started it. If she had any sense she would just go back to the motel and get a good night’s sleep then get up and go home first thing in the morning. The trouble was, when it came to Wyatt, not only did she not have good sense, she had no sense at all. She couldn’t help it. Despite everything, she loved him, and she had come this far so she might as well give it one more try. Pulling out onto the road, she headed in the direction of his house.
* * * * *
Wyatt pulled up in his drive and stopped the Jeep but did not turn off the engine. At that moment the thought of an empty silent house was as distasteful as a root canal. He needed to be somewhere there was noise, somewhere loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. But Chance was at Ralph’s and he did not want to be around her.
“So you’re going to let her run you out of your own hangout?” he asked himself. “Hell no. Let her leave.”
He backed out of the driveway and headed back the way he’d come.
* * * * *
Wyatt’s Jeep was not in the drive when Chance arrived at his house. For a few minutes she sat in the Wrangler, trying to decide what to do.
“Well, he’s bound to come home sometime,” she spoke to herself.
She turned off the engine, got out and walked to the house. The door was unlocked so she went inside. The den was chilly but there were live coals in the fireplace. Stirring the coals, she added wood then took a seat on the couch. Wrapping the quilt that was thrown across the back of the sofa around her, she lay down and propped her head on a throw pillow.
Her eyes fell on the sketchpad on the coffee table. She wondered why Wyatt had brought it in there. More than that, she wondered why he had even drawn those pictures of her in the first place.
There were so many questions she would have liked to ask him. If only she could find a way to talk to him without making him angry. But how to do that was a mystery. Closing her eyes, she snuggled under the quilts and watched the flames from the fire. Her thoughts wandered, carrying her back in time. She remembered how it had been when she and Wyatt were children. Despite the normal bickering and childishness they had been close.
Things changed as they matured. She closed her eyes and without warning a memory surfaced. It was of her high school graduation…
She filled with immediate excitement when she looked out in the auditorium and saw Wyatt sitting beside her father. He was wearing his dress uniform and he looked so handsome. But there was a woman with him. Several girls close by her also noticed and started whispering to her about wanting to come over to her house and meet him. Chance didn’t even hear them. Her heart had plummeted the moment her eyes fell on the woman with Wyatt. The rest of the graduation ceremony passed in a haze. All she was conscious of was the woman who was holding Wyatt’s hand and smiling up at him.
Afterwards, Maurice had a party at the estate. As always, the guest list consisted of his friends rather than her own. Wyatt came and brought the woman, introducing her as his fiancée, Cheryl Thompson. Chance immediately disliked Cheryl. She hated her bleached hair and red lips and the way she rubbed all over Wyatt yet batted her eyes and flirted with all the other men. Chance was careful not to let anyone know. She smiled and was polite but kept her distance, wishing she could leave.
As the party was winding down, a boy Chance had known from school stopped by. He had graduated a couple of years earlier and she had dated him once or twice. His name was Mark Woods and his father was an acquaintance of Maurice’s from the country club.
Mark asked her to go out and since she didn’t want to hang around and watch Cheryl crawl all over Wyatt, she agreed. To her dismay, Cheryl overheard her tell Maurice that she was going out with Mark and insisted that she and Wyatt join them. Chance insisted they take separate cars and they met at a local bar that many of the kids went to because they were lenient on enforcing the legal age limits.
Chance wasn’t a big drinker but her date was. He drank one beer after the other as the rest of them made an awkward attempt at conversation. By eleven he was staggering drunk. Wyatt suggested that he drive Mark home but Chance was not about to get stuck riding with Cheryl so she said she would drive Mark herself.
As Wyatt and Cheryl left to return to the estate, she helped Mark into his car. They left the bar and headed for Mark’s house which was about ten miles from the Davenport estate. They were less than a mile from his house when Mark suddenly started groaning and saying that he was going to throw up. Chance found a gravel road and pulled off the pavement so he could get out. But instead of getting sick he started grabbing her and trying to pull her pants down.
She was terrified. She did not want to have sex with Mark. She screamed at him to stop but he just laughed, saying it was time someone heated up the ice in her veins. He taunted her as they struggled, calling her frigid and cold. She fought him harder and broke away. She tried to get out of the car but he grabbed her hair and yanked her back. The jerk caused her to hit her head on the car frame and the last thing she remembered was blackness closing in…
Chance sighed and snuggled deeper under the quilt. She would just as soon not remember that night but the memory demanded attention…
She woke up and looked around fearfully. The sight of her own room gave her a feeling of relief mixed with confusion. “How did I get here?” she asked aloud.
She got up and started downstairs. Abbott met her at the foot of the stairs. “Miss Chance.” He nodded, averting his eyes.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, realizing that she was not properly dressed, wearing only a T-shirt and her underwear.
“Your father had a meeting and Mrs. Davenport took Miss Thompson into the city to do some shopping.”
“Oh, okay.” Chance started back upstairs then stopped. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“I believe he is in his room,” Abbott replied. “Shall I have Cook prepare you something to eat?”
“No, I’m not hungry,” she said with a strained smile. “Thanks anyway.”
She ran upstairs passed her room and continued to the end of the hall. She knocked on the door and waited for a response.
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She opened the door and looked inside. Wyatt was lying on the bed, wearing only a pair of fatigues. Chance felt the heat rush to her face as she looked at his bare chest and hastily looked away.
“What’s up?” He tossed aside
the book he was reading and averted his eyes from her bare thighs.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, wandering around the room and letting her hands trail over the furniture. “I mean…well, it’s… Wyatt, can I…can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” he said as he sat up. “Something wrong?”
“That’s just it.” She pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down. “I don’t know. See, I…well, I don’t remember how I got home last night.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember leaving the bar around twelve-thirty. We were riding along and Mark said he was going to throw up so I pulled over. Then he—”
“He what?” Wyatt asked when she didn’t finish.
Chance twisted her hands in her lap nervously for a moment then jumped up and paced across the room. “Well, he started…you know…trying to make it with me.”
“And?” Wyatt stood up.
“And that’s it.” She looked up at him as he stepped in front of her. “I tried to get out of the car and he grabbed my hair and the last thing I remember was this pain in the back of my head then everything went black.”
“And you don’t remember anything else?”
“Nothing.” She put her hands to her temples, squeezing her head as if she could force herself to remember. “It’s like…like nothing’s there and it scares me.”
Wyatt took her hand and led her over to sit on the bed. “I brought you home.”
“You?” She looked up at him in disbelief.
“Yeah, me. Cheryl and I got back around midnight and you weren’t here. She went on to bed and I waited up. When you hadn’t shown up by one I went looking for you and found both of you passed out in the front seat of his car. So, I put you in my car and left him asleep on the seat with his doors locked.”
“Why?” She frowned up at him.
“Why what?”
“Why would you go looking for me?”
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”
“No, I guess not.” Both of them were silent for a few minutes.
Chance’s attention was on something besides him bringing her home. It was something that Mark had said to her, something she had heard a great many times.