CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Thursday
The dazed peace that enveloped Donna each time they made love had started to slip away.
At least the dazed part. The peace remained.
She was on her side, pressed against Ed, as he lay on his back. Her cheek on his chest, his arm around her, her leg over his, his hand lightly rubbing her back.
He rolled his head toward the window. “Snowing,” he observed. “Looks like it’ll stick.”
“Mmm.” If it snowed enough would they close the theater? That would be an unexpected gift. The one she most wanted now.
All I want for Christmas is . . .
No, better not to think about that.
“Open presents Christmas morning,” she said.
He picked up her lead. “Christmas Eve. Gotta care for the animals Christmas morning.”
“Christmas Eve’s for going to church.”
“Do that after tending the animals on Christmas Day.”
“Also need Christmas Eve to finish wrapping. Picking out the right paper for the person getting the gift, finding a different combination of paper and ribbon for each package, making the bows.”
“Wrap it simple. A box with a ribbon. Only Mom does bows.”
“Everybody hangs a Christmas stocking.”
“Really? Adults, too?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Hmm. I think we might have to adopt that one.”
“Of course it means you buy things to fill the other stockings.”
“Maybe not, then.”
She swatted his chest lightly. “Selfish!”
“Hey, it’s hard enough trying to figure out something to get my mother for a present.”
“What about your Dad?”
“That’s no problem. He’s a man.”
They entwined the fingers of their right hands. If he hadn’t bent his elbow, she wouldn’t have been able to reach. But he did, bringing their hands together atop his chest.
“You don’t talk much about your father, not as much as you do about your mother.”
“Huh. Maybe because Mom and I work together on the ranch. Dad’s a lawyer in town.”
“He doesn’t live with you on the ranch?”
He looked surprised. “Of course he does. It’s his family’s ranch. He inherited half, then he and Mom bought out Uncle Gordon when he moved to California. But Dad goes into town to his office most days. Though anybody with a problem’s likely to come by the ranch for help, too. He helped a guy a few years back who didn’t have money, but did have a real nice bull. Breeding in that bloodline’s done a lot for our herd. Mom keeps asking Dad to find more clients with good breeding stock.”
In his words, in his voice, in his eyes, she saw reflected the love between his parents and him.
“So your father goes to court like Perry Mason?”
“Doubt it’s like Perry Mason. But he’s had some big cases, at least for Wyoming.”
“Do you go see him in court?”
“Mom took us once as kids, but we got kicked out.”
She raised her head. “Both of you?”
He grinned. “Both, yes, but not my sister and me — Mom and me. Actually, Dad asked for a brief recess, then came back to where we were sitting in our best clothes, and said Amy could stay if she wanted, but he couldn’t stand the silent screams of boredom from Mom and me, so would we please go back to the ranch, get on a horse, and ride out our fidgets.”
She laughed. “He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“I suppose he is. He’s a lot quieter than Mom. She told me once that she couldn’t be who she is if he weren’t who he is. I thought about that when you were telling me about your parents.”
“That’s lovely. And I think my parents would say that, too. You know, now that you’ve proven you can sit still and watch a musical, I bet you can sit and watch your dad in court. You should do that.”
“I suppose I should.” He sounded thoughtful.
Satisfied, she put her head down, and said, “Tell me about a typical day at the Slash-C.”
“Not much typical about any day. Changes season to season, and day to day. So it depends on which day.”
“January sixteenth,” she said.
“Okay, let’s see. Mid-January. . .”
She could have listened to him talk about anything, but to see his ranch in his words, to hear his love for the land in his voice was something she knew she would carry inside always.
She picked dates at random, and heard about fence repairs, calving, branding, moving the herd, haying. There was so much, with contingencies for sick animals or mechanical failures or neighbors needing help or flood, blizzard, drought, grassfires— and those were only the ones she remembered — that she wasn’t sure he was done until he’d been quiet for a while.
Then, she said, “And you say I work hard.”
He chuckled, the rumble absorbed through her cheek, and into her soul. “I had a girlfriend in college —”
“A serious girlfriend?”
He considered that, as he so often did when answering her, being sure he told her the truth. “Serious enough. Hey, don’t get that perfect little nose of yours out of joint —”
“I don’t have my nose out of joint,” she disputed, while also relishing his calling her extremely ordinary nose perfect.
“You wrinkled it hard enough to knock it out of joint.”
“You’re trying to wriggle out of telling me some deep dark secret about this girlfriend.”
“Nothing deep or dark or secret. She just didn’t understand about the Slash-C. She said she did, but she didn’t. I knew that when she started saying how fun it would be to take off for impromptu vacations several times a year. Like we could just up and leave the animals to care for themselves, the work to do itself. You’ve got to plan ahead, get somebody in, ask some favors.”
“But —” She bit it off.
He stroked her hair. “Yeah, you’re right. But that’s what I did for these extra days. I know.”
His voice deepened and roughened on the last two words, a tone that opened a door to a new dimension between them.
She backed away. “Maybe she wanted to be sure you rested enough, this wonderful girlfriend of yours.”
After a pause, he picked up the same tone. “Nah. She thought she’d catch herself a rich ranch owner at the University of Wyoming, and all she got was me. For a while.”
“She was right that you should get away sometimes, everyone needs that. And when you do, you should make the most of it.”
He nuzzled her neck, and rumbled. “I thought we were.”
She felt a blush rising.
As if his lips sensed the heat, he looked up. His smile, satisfied and promising, sparked a new pulsing, deep in her belly.
“We have to take a break some time,” she said. To him? Or to remind herself? “If we get dressed now, we can walk to the theater, then after the matinee —”
“Sorry, I’m not coming to the matinee.”
She paused in the process of getting out of bed, looking over her shoulder at him. He’d been at so many performances, and with the stock show closed . . . But she shouldn’t have assumed. “Oh.”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a sort of appointment.”
“Okay. But I need to get going. I’ll take a quick shower. Alone,” she added as he moved as if to get up. “It’ll be faster.”
Done with her shower, standing in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around her as she cleansed her face, she let her thoughts surface enough to recognize them.
Whatever he was hiding from her, it wouldn’t hurt her. Except that it did push against that fragile bubble surrounding them.
She was rinsing her face when she felt him come up behind her. As she straightened, he kissed her shoulder.
“I’m sorry I won’t be there this afternoon.” He met her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t look like that, Donna. I’ll be there tonight for sure.”
That wasn’t
the cause of her frown. The frown was for her thoughts.
Whatever he was hiding from her, it wouldn’t hurt her.
She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, like she knew the rain came from the sky and plants grew toward the sun. She trusted him. Completely. After so few days. And with even fewer days until they parted.
Leaning forward to turn off the faucet, she caught his expression in the mirror, and stilled.
Slowly, she straightened. She reached back with one hand and cupped his face, while her other hand loosed the towel and let it drop.
Under her fingertips, the pulse in his neck jumped.
Watching her, his hands came up and cupped her breasts. So absolutely right . . .
She arched, pressing herself into the perfect hold of his palms. He buried his mouth into the curve of her shoulder and throat, sucking lightly, as his fingers and thumbs stroked and teased her nipples.
She rested back against him, feeling his erection, watching the flush of desire rise up her body, seeing her nipples darken and peak as he must have seen them. Wanting him. Needing —
She turned. Rupturing one connection, but intending to gain so much.
With her hands on his chest, she nudged him backward, as she kissed him with a passion fueled by exultation and, despite herself, sorrow.
Back, step by step, across the bathroom threshold, to the bed.
He dropped to the mattress, wrapping her securely in his arms to take her with. When he would have turned them she resisted.
She straddled his hips. His hands came back to her breasts. But when she took him in her hands, he said, “Donna?” And gripped her waist.
She dropped and he was inside her —
His hips came up off the bed in response.
— completely.
****
“Donna,” Lydia stopped her in the backstage corridor with a hand to her arm.
“Sorry, I don’t have time —”
“I’m worried about —”
“No need to worry, I’ll pay my share of the room.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. You’re going to be hurt. You’ve spent every minute —”
“I’ve gotta go.” She couldn’t bear to hear about ships passing in the night, about not getting entangled. Not now.
What had gotten into her? She knew the risks. She knew. She was always cautious. Always. A pregnancy and her career could be — would be — over. So, why could she not regret that moment?
“Donna . . .” Lydia’s voice and concern trailed after her.
****
She turned the corner to the stubby corridor that held Maudie’s room, but saw Grover slipping in the door, and halted.
She didn’t want to talk with the stage door keeper any more than she’d wanted to talk to Lydia.
As she pivoted away, Henri snagged her arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he said with a hint of twang instead of his usual accent.
“Henri, I don’t want to —”
“Me, either. We’ll go find a burger joint, eat all the stuff we shouldn’t and not say a thing.”
****
Henri kept his word. Yet she felt the strain on the bubble — his unhappiness pushing against it from the outside, her dread scratching at it from the inside.
She just wanted these last days with Ed in peace. Every hour. Every minute.
He was there for the evening performance. She knew as soon as she came on stage.
Now he stood at the stage door, waiting for her.
She would slip back into the bubble. Ed would keep it whole and safe. She could rely on him for that.
For now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday
Donna dropped her brush on the scarred makeup table.
“You used my brush again, didn’t you, Lydia,” she demanded.
“When would I have a chance to use it? You carry it back and forth in your bag, and you’re never in our room because you’re always off with your cowboy.”
“Rancher,” she snapped.
“He wears the hat, he’s a cowboy. Not that I’m complaining, since I’m getting a single room at half the price.”
Donna ignored all that, refusing to think about Ed’s room, Ed’s bed. “You must have used it in here then, because it’s clogged with long blonde hairs with dark roots.”
Nora barked out a laugh. “Listen to yourself, Columbo. You’d have to arrest the entire cast. You’re just in a funk because you broke the simplest rule — you let yourself fall for a local.”
“Nora—” warned Lydia. She had a roommate’s prerogative to chastise. Nora didn’t.
“And I don’t care if he is good-looking or the best —”
“Shut up,” added MaryBeth.
“— you’ve had. You’re an idiot. You could have just had good sex, but you try to make it something more. You had to —”
Donna raised the brush.
“— go and fall in —”
Henri came from nowhere, wrapped his arms around Nora, and yanked her out of the room like a hawk with a mouse before Donna fully assimilated that he was there.
Into the frozen silence Maudie calmly arrived, taking Nora’s now empty seat.
Donna turned her back on the room, facing the mirror, seeing nothing, yet aware of looks zinging around the room behind her.
“Boy, did you see the snow today?” said a voice Donna didn’t bother to identify.
Eager affirmative murmurs followed.
“ — hardly see my hand in front of my face — ”
“ — Nearly froze —”
“— slipped into a puddle —”
“— looks like Christmas.”
The last comment drew a new flurry of comments.
“— decorations —”
“— found a present —”
“— haven’t started shopping —”
“— getting in the Christmas mood.”
“Me, too. Christmas in San Francisco, that’ll be fun. I can hardly wait,” Raeanne said.
Donna focused on her makeup.
“Don’t you think, Donna? The cable cars and —”
“We’ll be onstage. Doesn’t matter where we are.”
Donna knew she’d snapped. Knew that everyone in the dressing room looked at her again. Then at each other. She wiped off eyeliner and started again.
“Yes, well, in the meantime,” Maudie said. “We’re here in Denver, and it’s being very good to us. Another full house tonight.”
The chatter resumed, no longer about the schedule.
Doesn’t matter where we are.
That was the issue, wasn’t it?
Because wherever they were, Ed Currick wouldn’t be there.
****
“Tell me about snowberries, Ed.”
“You want to talk about vegetation?” Implicit was the added question: Now?
“Yes,” she said firmly.
They’d made love twice since returning to the hotel.
If she were ever asked the highlight of Denver, Colorado, she could never top this room in the Rockton Hotel.
“All right. Snowberry’s a bush. Not real big. Like I told you, it reminds me of you.”
“Hey,” she protested, yet loving his chuckle.
“I’m just telling you, like you asked. As I was saying before you interrupted, it’s —”
“Short. I got it, Ed. I’ve already heard all the lines — stumpy legs, sawed off, when are you going to stand up?”
“I wouldn’t say short,” he said judiciously. “More like it mixes in well with other bushes, doesn’t tower over them, keeps their spirits up.”
She grinned at that.
“It’s happiest a little higher up, right along where timber starts. Maybe if a stringer of pines grows down a ridge, it comes along. Only on northern slopes. Sometimes down in a gully, especially if it’s fed by a stream. They don’t like getting dried out, and that’s what would happen on a south-facing slope. Southern slope would m
ake no sense at all.”
“Okay, never on a southern slope,” she said slowly. Where was this vehemence coming from? As if he were arguing the point. “Does it bloom?”
“Yeah. In the spring.”
He sounded grim, which made even less sense than his vehemence.
“Are the blooms pretty?” she ventured.
“Sure. They hang down in a clump. Look sort of like narrow bells, like in Christmas decorations. Only, instead of red and green and gold, snowberry’s bells are white and pink and . . . in between.”
His gaze had dropped to where she held the sheet over her breasts.
“And then the blossoms turn into those smooth, white berries.”
His wonderful voice lingered over the final words, while his gaze never shifted. She felt her nipples pushing at the sheet. She sucked in a breath.
He kept talking in that low, almost hypnotic way.
“The clusters of flowers become clusters of berries that stick around well into winter — must be where they got their name. Because the berries are white and they’re still around in the snow. Not the best forage for cattle, but lots of small wildlife and birds wouldn’t make it through winter without snowberry. Snowberry feeds them and snowberry shelters them. Takes them in with open arms and makes them feel like they’ve never felt.”
He slowly raised his head, bringing his gaze to hers. The air in her lungs heated, caught fire.
“Makes them feel like they’ve never felt before,” he repeated.
She knew what he was saying. She knew what he felt. She felt it, too.
But if they went too far down that road . . .
She tried a smile. “And then the, uh, the birds and the wildlife move on. Happy to have had that time. That —” She cleared her throat. “— magical time. Grateful. But knowing they were moving on, while the snowberry . . . wasn’t.” He’d said snowberry reminded him of her, but she was the wildlife, he was the snowberry. “Because it grew in that spot, drawing strength from the land through deep, deep roots.”
Tears glazed her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She looked at him, letting him see into her, looking into him. It was all there in that look.
All that they couldn’t have.
“Christmas music,” he said abruptly.
Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning Page 10