Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning (7 page)

“Like
Angela
?”

“
Tch
. Not Angela. Theresa.”

“Who’s Theresa?”

“Who’s Theresa? Who’ve I been talking about all this time.”

“But. . . ” Donna swallowed the protest that Maudie had never mentioned the other woman’s name. Then voiced a different protest. “I’m not going to quit and marry a doctor.”

The wrinkles on Maudie’s face rearranged into a smile. “I’d be greatly surprised if you marry a doctor. Greatly surprised.”

That night at the theater, Ed heard people during the break — interval, they called it — talking about other members of the cast. How could they see anyone else on the stage for the beaming brightness of Donna?

He wasn’t sure he grasped details of the show he’d seen four nights in a row, because he only watched her. When other actors took over, he remembered her every move, every smile, every gesture.

Course, that happened when she wasn’t on the stage, too.

He’d stumbled through meetings at the stock show, feeling as if his words came out jumbled like a puzzle in the Sunday comics. So he’d concentrated on listening, trying to hear, hoping to remember. Thinking about her all the time.

And now, seeing her, like he was seeing her for the first time.

Only it wasn’t like the first time, because he wasn’t seeing the woman he’d spotted across the lobby. He was seeing the star she would be.

She
would
be a star. There was no doubt. Her spirit and talent would take her as far as she wanted to go.

Broadway. That’s where she’d want to be.

Not the Slash-C in Knighton, Wyoming. About as far from Broadway as it got. Not only no stages, but no audiences.

The one place he belonged. The one place . . .

He drove one fist into his other palm, and hunched over in the theater seat.

How could he ever ask her to give up her dream for his?

How could he even want her to give up her dream for his?

How could he not want her dream for her?

He couldn’t. Right down the line, that was the answer. He couldn’t.

And that left him . . . What?

He should leave. Leave right now. She’d wonder for a while, but she’d get over it. She’d forget —

“Excuse me.”

His head jerked up at the voice of the woman trying to return to her seat. He stood to let her by.

“Thank you. Are you okay, dear?”

“Yes’m.”

She paused a moment, then took her seat.

He remained standing. He could leave right now. Cut his losses. Make a clean break. He should —

The lights flicked a final time. The orchestra struck up.

He sat.

And when the curtain rose, he watched only one person.

Ed was there inside the stage door after the evening performance.

“Grover said to come in. Said to call a taxi from here so you didn’t have to walk back to the hotel. Thought we’d eat there.”

“No taxi. I want to walk. We’ll find someplace along the way.”

“Sure you want to walk? Two-a-days are tough on the legs.”

“Listen to you, Mr. Showbiz.” Donna smiled, and he smiled back. After a long moment, she swallowed. Then someone bumped into her, with a hurried
Sorry
, knocking her away from him. “Yes, I want to walk.”

They took a different route tonight, quickly separating from those headed to the diner. Perfect. She needed time to work on him.

She turned toward a shop window as if looking at it had been her reason for stopping.

There was so little time left.

“Hungry?” he asked from beside her.

Only then did she realize she’d stopped in front of a bakery window. It featured glittery snowflakes suspended over velvet wrapped boxes. “Guess I am.”

“Figured you had to be near starving, because you’ve barely said a word.”

She smiled at his teasing.

“Want to try there?” He pointed across the street.

The narrow restaurant served heavenly Mexican food, and no one spoke English.

It was as if a bubble settled around the two of them. She talked about her childhood. He asked about her family, her brother in Chicago, her sister still at home. She asked about his. His father was a lawyer, he had an older sister, married and living in Montana. They talked about college. He spoke about his ranch, the Slash-C . . . and when he did, he was an artist talking about the core of his passion.

“Spending so much time on the ranch, it must be wonderful to get away. To come to someplace like Denver and — ”

“I’m not in Denver to get away. I came to learn more about cross-breeding. Couldn’t connect with these people if I stay on the Slash-C.”

“But you must be having fun here, outside the stock show. Sight-seeing, and — No? Then what were you doing?”

“Spent all day at the stock show. Meals with folks from the stock show. Then back to the hotel and read in my room.”

“Read?”

“About changes in breeding. That’s why I came back to the hotel Wednesday afternoon — to get an article I’d promised to another rancher.”

“Ed, that’s awful. Your first time —”

“Not my first time in Denver. I’ve been to a fair number of cities. Guess you could say this isn’t my first rodeo.” The humor glint was back. “Rodeo took me around a fair bit, college and after.”

“So, you got to know these cities then? Explored and enjoyed them?”

“I wasn’t there to explore and enjoy. I was there to rodeo. Kept my focus on that.”

She frowned. “Focus can go too far. You need to have fun.”

“What makes you think breeding cattle isn’t fun?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and she squinted fiercely. “You’re a tease, Ed Currick. I’m not going to take anything you say seriously ever again.”

The waiter came up to the table with the bill then, but Ed held her look.

“Oh, there’re some things I say you should take very seriously.”

Donna gave a guilty start when Ed squeezed her hand. She’d been thinking about Thursday night’s kiss, and wondering about tonight.

“What’s that you’re humming?” he asked. “It’s not from the show. I know those.” He hummed a couple bars. Not well. It took a moment for her to catch the tune.

“Oh. ‘Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off’ from a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movie.”

“How come you know all these old movies?”

“Mom saw them with
her
mom. Now, when they’re on TV we make popcorn, sing the songs, speak the lines, and do some of the dancing. When I was little, I pestered Mom and Dad for lessons so I could dance like Ginger Rogers and that started the whole thing.”

“A family legacy.”

“Yes. You might know this song. He says po-tay-to, and she says pah-ta-to — or maybe the other way around. And to-may-to, to-mah-to. Then comes the title line, ‘Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off.’ ”

“Yeah, that’s familiar.”

“But a couple lines later the song says they’d be heartbroken if they call it off.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what?”

“Um. They decide not to — call it off, I mean.”

His eyes darkened with heat. “Sounds like a good call.”

She looked away. “Works in the movie.”

They’d walked several more blocks before she said, “You’re back to being silent.”

He got that solemn look he’d had before they left the restaurant. “Don’t want to scare you.”

“You just did.”

He smiled quickly. “Fair enough.”

“Why would you scare me?”

“Because it scares me.”

“What does?”

“How I feel about you.”

“Oh.” At least that’s what she tried to say, but it had no breath behind it, only the forming of her lips. He looked at her mouth, and she felt her diaphragm contract, and heat sweep down from it to her belly, leaving a trail of sparks.

“You looked like this that first day,” she started, without any knowledge that’s what she was going to say. “With your mouth smiling, but your eyes so serious — not unhappy, but intense.”

“First moment I saw you in the lobby. I saw . . . ”

“What?”

“You,” he said, the rasp of his voice like a touch on her nerve-endings.

Yet there was more he wasn’t telling her. And she wasn’t asking.

He lowered his head. “I saw you,” he repeated.

His mouth on hers was neither chaste nor soft.

She gasped at the power of the demand his lips made, and his tongue swept into her mouth with a stroke she felt in her core.

Her knees half sagged. His arm around her back not only held her, but brought her even tighter against him.

She brushed a palm across his cheek on the way to wrapping her arms around his neck, and felt a jolt through him, and marveled. Such a simple touch.

But if it was so simple, then why was she spinning . . . spinning . . . with nothing real around her to anchor her and keep the spin from consuming her balance.

Something firm against her back stopped the spinning. Except for in her head.

Oh. A wall. A wall was behind her. He’d brought them into a recessed doorway. It was dimmer here. Warmer out of the wind.

No, not warmer. Hot.
Hot
.

His hand under her sweater and shirt. Up her side. The heat of that touch. So very hot. And so close. But not . . .

She turned into it. Yes.
Yes
.

Her fingers opening his coat, his shirt, seeking him.

His hands holding her, cupping her. Unhooking. Then pushing aside the remaining fabric, the softest scratch of lace across her beaded, sensitized nipple. Then . . . oh, yes.

“Yes.”

No.

As desperately as he wanted to . . . No.

Ranching would send a pessimistic man around the bend. But ranching also required pragmatism and an ability to face facts squarely.

He’d faced the facts here. Even if he hadn’t been able to walk away yet.

Donna wanted what she had up on that stage and that was one thing he couldn’t give her.

So why hadn’t he left? Why wasn’t he ending this right now?

It would hurt less than letting it go on, wouldn’t it? Less for him and for her. Sense said it would. And he’d always had good sense.

She moved against him.

Through layers of clothing still covering them, he felt his body surge with the need to find that spot in her that would hold him. Hold him so rightly. He knew that.

But it wasn’t only that. It was what he’d seen in her eyes that first moment in the lobby of the hotel. What he hadn’t told her. Might never tell another living soul.

She moved again.

Between them they had created their own cocoon of heat. If there were nothing between them —

“We have to stop, Donna.” He drew back as far as he could bear.

She followed. Her lips brushed one corner of his. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“We, uh . . . I mean, I have a roommate, but your room.”

He groaned.

“Is that a yes?” Her teasing didn’t quite come off.

Because she wasn’t sure. She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure.

“No,” he said.

She ducked her head, and the shift in position allowed cold to sweep into their cocoon. He drew her flush against him, and kissed her. Delved his tongue inside her mouth, and kissed her with more power and intent than he’d allowed himself before, until the stupid limits of the human body required him to release her long enough to suck in oxygen.

“No,” he repeated, partly to himself.

“Your mouth says no, but your body says something else.” Again, her teasing had a hitch in it.

“My body says I’m a damned idiot. But my mind’s connected to my mouth.” He looked down at her, knowing she would see what he felt, at least a little.

And as he knew it would, it made her draw back. Just a little. Just enough.

He tugged at her top, not bothering with the bra, but pulling the hem down on her shirt and sweater so she was covered, then grabbed the sides of her coat and wrapped them tightly around her, careful not to brush her body beneath the coat.

That let cold air flood in against his heated chest, and regions barely contained by his jeans, but he needed that. He needed it bad.

“Ed,” she said abruptly. “Where were you sitting tonight?”

“What?”

“Where were you sitting in the theater?”

She made it sound like something important, though he didn’t see it. “Left side, about halfway back.”

“Oh.” A second of relaxing, then she tightened up again. “Wait. Left side from front of house, or left from the stage?”

“Left from where I came in with other people.”

“Oh.”

There was more in those two letters than he could hope to understand. “Why?”

She ignored that. “And last night?”

“What’s this about?”

“Last night?” she repeated.

“Near the center aisle. Tenth row I think.”

“Were you at the matinee Thursday?”

“No.”

She gave a sort of groan. But it didn’t sound bad enough to keep him from his more immediate concerns.

“C’mon, I’m getting you back to the hotel. Back to
your
room.”

Last night, they’d parted once again with an audience at the elevator. This time not even kissing. Instead, a long look acknowledged memories of really kissing each other, and not chastely at all.

They’d agreed to have brunch before she left for the theater for today’s matinee and he attended the stock show’s closing day.

He was eating a hearty breakfast. Eggs and sausage and potatoes and tomatoes and biscuits. A cowboy breakfast, he’d said.

Had to on a ranch, he’d explained. Talking about early rising to tend to animals that didn’t believe in sleeping in. Talking about how the first break of the day was to refuel a body that had already had more demands on it than many people experienced in a week.

“We seem to spend all our time eating,” he said.

“Not a lot of free time first week, and with all the shows . . .” She shrugged.

“You need the fuel, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

She picked up a triangle of toast. He was right. Closing day of the stock show was not all that would keep them apart today. Two performances, too. Was there a chance they could be together tonight before he left tomorrow?