Swallowing hard, she eased her head back on the pillow and covered her face with both hands. Max was the most incredible man in the world.
She dressed and ran her hands through her hair. Her combs were laid out on a claw-footed nightstand beside the bed. There was also a masculine-looking hairbrush, which must have been Max’s, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin. Written on a sheet of notebook paper in dark, verfiele script was a message. Good morning. The bathroom is down the hall on the right.
She dressed, made an attempt to neaten her hair, and swallowed two aspirin. When she stepped into the hallway, she halted, cocking her head toward the end that went to the living room and kitchen. She heard a pan rattle and smelled the aroma of food.
Betty hurried to the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned against it, trembling. When she finally looked at herself in the large square mirror over a pedestal sink, she saw the self-rebuke and anguish in her eyes.
She washed her face briskly while she talked to herself in a stern whisper. By the time she walked to the kitchen, she felt stronger, if not better.
Max stood with his back to the door. His kitchen was a neat, regimented place without frills, but appealing. The old white appliances and aged tile floor had a scrubbed look; a dining island in the center of the room was set with blue stoneware plates and white napkins.
Watching Max at the stove, Betty grasped the doorjamb. Her knees felt weak. He looked so strong, so sure of himself. From the straight, broad back to the tightly molded hips and long, solid legs, he was a man of physical as well as spiritual power. He was dressed in brown corduroy trousers and a white dress shirt. His rich brown hair reflected golden highlights in the sunshine from a window over the sink.
She gathered her resolve and tried to speak normally. “Good morning.”
He turned swiftly and looked at her. His expression was troubled but then lightened, though the change seemed to require effort. “Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” The polite exchange had very little to do with the real dialogue. Questions hung in the air between them. The kitchen seemed unnaturally quiet and still, as if its energy had been absorbed by the tension.
Tears burned the back of her throat, and suddenly she knew that she couldn’t keep up the casual charade. She crossed the room swiftly, almost running, and grasped his hands.
Trembling and miserable, she looked up at him. “I used you and hurt you, and I’m so sorry.”
“If it feels this good getting used and hurt—”
“What you did was the most unselfish—”
“Believe me, if you could have read my self-serving thoughts—”
“I won’t ever throw myself at you again. I swear It.”
The conversation crashed to a dead stop. Surprise and dismay darkened his eyes. His brawny hands tightened carefully on hers. “If you’re trying not to hurt me, you just failed miserably.”
“Nothing has changed.” she told him wearily. “Except that now I know that I have less control over the situation than I thought.”
“But now you should also know that you can relax. That I won’t do anything to damage your feelings for me.”
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Or myself.”
“Good. Then we can—”
“I want you to do something for me that will be even more unselfish than what you did last night. I want you to do it because there’s no other way we can keep from teasing each other.” Tears sliding down her cheeks, she searched his eyes for a reaction.
“I’m listening,” he said warily.
“Find someone else. As soon as you can.”
Slowly he lifted her hands to the center of his chest. He held them there in a grip that was now more angry than caring. Against her palms she felt the fast, harsh beating of his heart. “You couldn’t hurt me any worse if you tried,” he said in a low, fierce tone.
“Do you think it was easy for me to say?” She shook her head wretchedly. “No.”
“Any suggestions as to who your replacement should be?” His voice was acid. “Can you recommend someone in town? Or do you just assume that I’m so undiscriminating that any reasonably attractive, reasonably intelligent woman will do?”
She pulled her hands away, then roughly wiped her face. “You need a woman who doesn’t want what I want.”
His arms dropped to his sides. He studied her coldly. “If you’re willing to give up what we have—what we could have—just because I won’t offer you the false security of a wedding license, then we don’t have as much going for us as I thought.”
“It’s not false security,” she whispered. “Not when two people believe in it.”
“I believe in you and me, together, each day, each night, making each other happy, sharing everything we have to share.”
“Except the future.”
“The future has no guarantees. Not just for marriage, but for anything. I’ve seen people shot, stabbed, blown up. They thought they had futures. They lived for their futures. They were wrong.”
Energy left her. Tired, despondent, she stared at him dully. “No more games. Max. Let’s stop pretending that either of us will compromise. Find someone else. I’m not going to let myself be alone with you again. It’s finished.”
“No, but the rules will be tougher from now on. Last night was your only reprieve. Next time don’t expect self-sacrifice on my part.”
“There won’t be a next time.” Even as she spoke she felt a jolt of fear—fear because deep down she already knew that they wouldn’t be finished until one of them lost everything.
Seven
The black limousine purred up the hill as Max was lowering his flag for the day. He halted, amazed. In Webster Springs limousines were about as common as dinosaurs. A limosaur, that’s what this was, he thought drolly. While it climbed toward his home, he felt a premonition of trouble, which he quickly attributed to his bad mood. But for an Instant when the car paused at the top of the driveway, it caught the rays of the setting sun, its black sides flashing blood red, and Max, frowning, walked forward.
The car stopped at the edge of his lawn. A chauffeur got out, nodding a silent hello. The passenger opened a rear door before the chauffeur reached it, and Max knew the visitor’s identity the moment he glimpsed a lion’s mane of white hair.
T. S. Audubon. He had probably planned his arrival to coincide with the sunset’s drama. Audubon loved to make an entrance.
He unfolded his tall, elegantly lean body from the limousine’s seat and flashed a pleasant smile at Max. “Major, how nice to find you at home,” he said in his aristocratic, tidewater Virginia accent as he extended a hand.
Max grasped it heartily, and respect flowed between them as they traded shrewd assessments. “No style, as usual,” he told Audubon, Indicating Audubon’s flawless black suit, which was double-breasted, very tasteful, and undoubtedly very expensive.
Audubon laughed. “Are you wearing the flag these days? I admire your patriotism, but it clashes with your sweat suit.”
Smiling ruefully, Max removed the flag from his shoulder. “It’s not my new uniform. I’m a civilian now, body and soul. Retired from the glory.”
“Ah, Major. You may have left the marines, but you’ll never retire. You and I are alike—we’ve spent too many years battling the shadows, and now we have trouble appreciating the light.” Audubon shrugged gracefully. “We’re too old to change our ways.”
Max arched a brow. Audubon wasn’t much older then he, despite the white hair. They had met in Vietnam, though Audubon had been in the army, not the marines. Audubon had actually dropped out of college to enlist; he was one of the idealistic types, a poet and philosopher. But he had also been a fighter, and a top-notch sergeant. Behind his back his men had called him Ashley Wilkes, but with affection.
Audubon had never lost his idealism, his toughness, or his taste for adventure. His path had crossed Max’s many times over the years.
“Let me guess,” Max said casually.
“You were just in the neighborhood and you decided to drop by for a cup of tea.”
“Precisely. But I really can’t stay long. I’m due back in Virginia before midnight.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Who can tell the difference anymore? But she’s beautiful, so perhaps—”
Max laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a hot date, old boy. Come and have a spot of tea.”
Audubon didn’t discuss the real intent of his visit until he was standing in front of the fireplace in Max’s living room with a glass of cognac in one hand. Max lounged on the couch with his own glass.
“Here’s to retirement,” he told Audubon, raising his glass slightly, then taking a swallow.
Audubon merely smiled. He leaned against the mantel and crossed one handsomely shod foot over the other. Under thick white brows his eyes were patient. “You know this life isn’t for you,” he said finally.
“You’re wrong.”
“I have splendid opportunities for you. The work would suit you perfectly. Think of it, Major: the exotic locales, the exotic women, the intrigue, the excitement—”
“The jungles, the guns, the possibility that I might leave little pieces of my hide scattered all over some godforsaken place.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’ve expanded my services. I not only retrieve people, I protect people from needing retrieval. Douglas Kincaid, for example. He’s both a good friend and a client of mine. He had a little problem with a project in Scotland a few months ago, and I brought a team of my people to his aid.”
Max chuckled dryly. “No, Audubon, I can’t see myself playing bodyguard for the rich and famous. Besides, I suspect that those assignments are not commonplace.”
“Well, if you’ve become soft, I’m sure I could find unchallenging, safe, sweet little tasks for you to perform.”
Laughing, Max toasted him. “You manipulative SOB. Don’t try to embarrass me into working for you. I’ve spent the past twenty years doing my part to make the world a safer place to live. I have the medals and the scars to prove it.”
Audubon’s expression darkened. “You gave up the ability to be a passive spectator. You won’t ever get it back. Stop trying.”
“Speaking of scars, how is Kyle Surprise doing?”
Exasperation mingled with the grimace on Audubon’s patrician face. “He’s happily married. And retired. Dammit.”
Max gloated cheerfully. “Good to hear it. And his brother?”
“Jeopard’s married too. And about to become a father. And retired. Dammit.”
Max sat forward and struggled not to laugh again. Audubon wasn’t accustomed to losing his best agents, and the fact that they’d left his employ for reasons as mundane as marriage obviously grated on him. He and Max shared the same opinion of marriage.
Max thought of Betty, and his humor faded. He’d certainly make her happy if he left town to work for Audubon. One of them deserved to be happy here, and it might as well be she.
“Oh, no,” Audubon said grimly.
“What?”
“The look on your face. I mentioned Kyle’s and Jeopard’s marriages and your eyes immediately glazed over with pathetic sentiment. Don’t tell me. You wouldn’t.”
“Get married? No.” Max downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Not me. Never.”
“Who is she? Just for the record.”
“Mind your own business, old boy. She’s no threat. I’ve already told her the hard, cold facts. She’s already told me what I could do with my facts. So relax.”
Audubon set his glass on the mantel. Smiling slyly, he slipped a hand inside his coat, then walked over to the coffee table and laid a business card down. It was the shade of champagne. Embossed on it was only a telephone number. “Work where you can do the most good,” he cajoled in a smooth, confident tone. “I hate to be crass, but I must also mention that there would be a great deal of money involved.”
“I have a good pension. I have money in savings. I have a tidy little salary as a magistrate—”
“But, surely, if you hope to win your lady’s favor—without marrying her, of course—you could use more money.”
Max frowned, thinking of Betty’s privileged background. He’d never considered it an obstacle before, but maybe it was. She obviously had a great deal of money. After all, how many people could pour thousands of dollars into a new business and buy a home plus fifty acres at the same time?
“I see the speculation on your face. Think about my offer,” Audubon told him. “I’ll always have room among my people for a man of your caliber. You could have your choice of interesting, not to mention honorable, assignments. You really could make the world a better place, Major.”
Slowly Max picked up the card. “Or never see the good that already exists.”
“There’s much more evil than good. Trust me. Good night, Max.”
Max walked with him to the porch. Audubon went to his limousine and left in the same stately manner in which he’d arrived. Max leaned against a porch post and gazed blindly into the night, thinking of Betty, thinking of the goodness that lay just beyond his reach.
She knew Max would show up. And he did. Midway through the afternoon on the restaurant’s opening day, he sauntered into the main room. Earlier in the day he’d sent a large flower arrangement.
Betty forced herself to concentrate on the family of tourists, all five of whom wore T-shirts proclaiming, “I fell for the fall leaves in Webster Springs.” She had to stay focused. The room was almost half full, an unexpected crowd for what should have been the mid-afternoon doldrums.
But she hadn’t seen Max in two weeks. She was desperate for a supply of Max-appeal. And she was terrified that he’d realize that fact the minute he got close to her. There won’t be any reprieve for you next time, he’d warned.
He spoke to the hostess, a sweet-faced little woman who also doubled as cashier at the stand in the hallway. She nodded and grinned, then led him to a table near the tourist family’s. “He asked for a table in your section,” she told Betty merrily.
Betty nodded and politely finished with the family’s order, while she tapped a nervous rhythm with the toe of her tennis shoe. She wiped sweaty palms on her blue jumper, then forced herself to stroll over to Max with a look of benign welcome.
He leaned back in his chair and continued to smile at her, not speaking. She was so full of conflicting emotions that they crowded her throat and she couldn’t speak either, so she stopped at his table and simply looked at him.
His teasing smile faded. He sat forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. The pure man-woman communication he sent her way was staggering. They had a hungry gleam, but not for barbecue. She had been miserable during the past two weeks, and now she was floating in a dazed dimension where time stood still.
This was terrible, terrible. She shook her head. “Hi.”
He propped his chin on one hand. “Hi.”
“Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you.”
“I had a great lunch crowd. I couldn’t believe it on opening day. Andy didn’t expect it either. We’re short staffed. So I’m waiting on tables.”
“I see.”
Silence reigned again. She wanted to drop down in the chair beside his and lean close enough to count the blue flecks that hid among the green in his eyes. A perfectly reasonable need. Certainly.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. I like your hair in a ponytail. And I like your earrings. Silver looks good on you.”
“They belonged to my grandmother Quint.”
“She might have bought them from my grandfather. For a long time he ran the only general store in Webster Springs. Died when I was about twelve. He was a retired sailor. Had a peg leg.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. His nickname was Stumpy.”
“Stumpy Templeton,” she echoed solemnly. “He probably bought moonshine from my grandfather. Queasy Quint.”
Max’s mouth twitched with humor. “Probably. I never knew your grandfather.”
“Me neither. He died before I was born.”
“Like I told you once, my grandpa made great barbecue. It’s been, oh, more than twenty-five years since I had any, but the memory is indelibly printed on my tongue.”
“I’ll have to fix your tongue.”
“Oh? In public? Will you respect me later?”
She backed up a step and lifted her notepad, then drawled, “Take a look at the menu, mister. I ain’t got all day. You need a written invitation or are you just here to gawk?”
“Gawking is my specialty. But I’ll have some kind of chicken plate. Surprise me. And coffee.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hey, waitress,” he said softly as she turned away. “Give me special attention. I’ll leave you a big tip.”
“Good. I could use the money.”
“I could use the attention.”
“Couldn’t we all?”
“Betty hurried to the kitchen, her nerves in shambles, her body jumbled inside. He wasn’t kidding, but then neither was she.
The Fates had obviously declared that today would be unusual. While she was in the kitchen dodging Andy and the other waitresses, the hostess came back and handed her a business card. “I just seated Frank Werner from Goody Foods. He wants to know if you have time to talk.”
Betty grimaced at the card. “Tell Mr. Werner that his lunch is on the house. But I won’t be able to talk to him until I get my customers served.”
“Okay.”
Andy was watching her with anxious eyes. “Isn’t Goody Foods a big company? I mean, a national company?”
“Yes, one of the biggest.”
“You wouldn’t sell your sauce recipe to a bunch of stuffed shirts, would you? It’ll always be your secret, won’t it?”
She laughed. Even Andy didn’t know how the sauce was made. She fixed it by herself in huge quantities that she stored in five-gallon jars. “Andy, this barbecue sauce is a Quint family inheritance. It will never belong to anyone else.”