Charades (4 page)

     The man approaching them in faded jeans and a red plaid western shirt looked like an old ranch hand. As he came closer, however, she recognized the familiar face and red hair of the flamboyant, Texas oil-drilling entrepreneur, Red Ryder. His thick hair had receded into a widow’s peak with gray liberally streaking the sides of his temples. An infectious grin spread across his sunburned face as he strode toward them.

     “Wulf, where’d you get such a purty little filly?” Red asked, putting his arm companionably around Mercy’s shoulder as she stood by the wing of the plane. “Are you sure about marrying this fella, it’s not too late to change your mind?” he asked her. “I got me a boy who’d be real pleased with the likes of you.”

     Thrown off guard by his folksy humor and joking, Mercy smiled weakly. She looked around wondering what to do. Wulf was busy tying down the aircraft to large bolts in the asphalt.

     “Now don’t you worry, honey,” Red said in a conspiratorial voice, “if you change your mind about this furriner, you jest let me know. Ben’ll fall for you like a ton of bricks.”

     “Mr. Ryder, please,” she said, more disconcerted than ever, “uh, you’re going to make Wulf jealous.”

     “Hell, it’s good for a man to be jealous,” Ryder said, jerking his thumb at Wulf as he came over to join them. “Keeps a man on his toes, if you know what I mean. And you just call me Red, honey. Everyone does, even my own grandkids.”

     “I am never jealous,” Wulf said, grinning and thrusting his hand forward to shake Red’s.

     “Never say never, son,” Red warned, shaking a long, bony finger at him before grasping his hand. “I know what I’m talking about. It’s natural for a man to be jealous over his woman.”

     Wulf shrugged. “Not me.”

     Once the three of them and their luggage and clubs were crowded into the bright-red Bronco, they headed for the ranch house, bouncing along the winding dirt lane. Mercy noted with amusement the haphazard planting of the shrubs and flowers. Blooming yucca plants shared precedence with mesquite and towering live oaks and some kind of ivy she didn’t recognize at all. In spite of the heat, everything flowered in bright, profuse colors of pink, white, yellow, purple, and blue, clashing vividly with each other.

     “Who did your landscaping?”

     “My wife, Dorie. She’s got a way with plants, don’t she?”

     “Yes, she, uh, sure does.”

     “She calls it free-form landscaping.” Red smiled, showing off a mouthful of teeth. “Well, son, how was the trip?” Red asked, turning to Wulf.

     “Perfect. Tailwinds all the way. What do you fly?”

     “Me? I don’t fly. My son, Ben, does though. I drive. Never set foot in a plane in my life.”

     “Is that why you have a reputation of driving like a madman?”

     “At least I always get where I’m going.” Red defended himself, “which don’t always happen to friends of mine who insist on flying.”

     “But with the distances in Texas, why drive when you can fly?”

     “Son, that’s why I have to drive so fast.” Red clapped a hearty hand on Wulf’s shoulder and chortled.

     Mercy thought she saw a hard, penetrating look on Wulf’s face before he smiled at Red. But the look was gone in an instant, leaving her wondering if it had ever been there at all.

     After Red showed them to their rooms across the hall from each other, he narrowed his eyes. “Dorie and me don’t hold with any of this new-fangled stuff of folks that ain’t married sleeping together. We don’t let our kids do it, and I hope y’all don’t intend to give me no problems.”

     Wulf and Mercy looked at each other. Heat rushed to Mercy’s cheeks as she shook her head. Wulf looked like he was chewing the inside of his cheek, as if his brain had gone into overdrive. Who knew what he might say? She’d better do the talking.

     “No problem,” she declared.

     Red looked relieved. “Good, good. Glad we understand one another. Say, I knew a Pedro Fuentes in Dallas, the golf pro at Regal Oaks Country Club a while back. Me and him played golf a time or two. He any kin of yours?”

     “He was my father.” Mercy replied.

     “Pedro Fuentes was your dad? Well, I’ll be danged. He’s the one give Dorie her first lesson. Ain’t that something?” Red gave her a bemused look. “Okay, why don’t y’all settle in. We’ll meet in the den in, say an hour?”

     “That is fine with me,” Wulf said.

     “Me, too,” Mercy concurred, slipping into her room and closing her door. She leaned against it. So far, so good. In spite of all her earlier doubts. Wulf’s air of competence, of being in complete control while he was flying made her doubts now seem childish and stupid. Besides, how could she not trust him? The stumbling speech and the slightly inept social skills were endearing qualities. They showed how much he needed her. Or someone like her, Mercy quickly added. Lying to the Ryder's was enough; no need to lie to herself as well.

     Then why was her anxiety accelerating? The wet hands, the dry mouth and breathlessness? A full-blown attack hadn’t happened in years now, but it would if she didn’t keep control of herself. Mercy gritted her teeth and rapidly searched for something else to think about.

     Red and Eudora Ryder! She already liked Red, particularly knowing how much he liked her father. It bothered her that they couldn’t be more truthful with the man. No telling what Eudora would be like, Mercy thought as she stretched across the huge bed. She yawned and looked at her watch. Time for a short nap before meeting the other half of the Ryder team.

     One hour later, Mercy stepped out of her room. She spied Wulf leaning against his door waiting for her, his arms folded casually across his chest. What happened to the nerdy “workaholic”? Was he really who he seemed to be?

     His smile shattered her doubts and sent the pieces scattering. In the lower regions of her stomach, vague stirrings came to life, leaving her disturbed and uncertain.

     When he held out his hand to her, she clasped it, trying to ignore the slow flame burning inside her, one that didn’t want to go out. Stop it, she told herself. Concentrate on something else.

     It was only several steps from their rooms to the den, but what a den. The conglomeration of Texas A&M decorations, emblems, and regalia, with their immutable Aggie colors of maroon and white went beyond eclectic. The “B-E-V-O” inscribed on both halves of the sofa back and the longhorns that served as armrests made Mercy smother a laugh. Only in Texas!

     “What does ‘B-E-V-O’ mean?” Wulf asked.

     “Why, son, BEVO’s the name of the mascot steer o’ the University of Texas, A&M’s major competition. Every year before the annual game some enterprising students try to steal him and feed him to the corps of cadets for barbeque. Once or twice, I think they actually did it.”

     “He’s kidding,” Mercy whispered when she saw Wulf’s puzzled frown. The legendary rivalry between the two Texas universities always sparked the Texas imagination with results like the room they sat in now. Red let out a bark of laughter at Wulf’s confusion, and after taking their drink orders, made himself at home behind the bar.

     On the white terrazzo floor in front of the sofa and under the game table in the corner were large throw rugs of bleached white calfskin with BEVO’s name branded on the skin. Red chuckled again as he poured the drinks.

     “Hi, I’m Dorie,” a tall, large-boned, blonde woman said as she came into the den. “What do y’all think of this eyesore of a room?” Strong features enhanced her warm smile as her light blue eyes sparkled with amusement against dark gold skin. As Dorie came over to shake hands, Mercy floundered, trying to come up with something complimentary about the decor.

     “At a loss for words, aren’t you, honey?” Dorie grinned at her. “Don’t worry. It affects everyone that way. I’m sorry I ever let him go nuts in here.”

     “At a glance,” Mercy temporized, “I would say someone here worships the football god of A&M.”

     “Class of ‘53,” Red said with pride.

     Dorie brought the drinks to Mercy and Wulf. Sitting down herself, she studied Wulf closely. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of a name like Wulfgar before. You have a nickname or something?”

     “Just call me Wulf.”

     “God, that’s worse,” Dorie said with a chuckle. “I imagine all manner of barnyard animals must run from you.”

     Wulf’s laugh was hearty. “
Ja
, and Mercy slaps me if I act like a wolf, too.” He reached over and flung his arm around her shoulder, smiling at her with such goofy affection, she felt herself blush.

     His heavy-handed flirting was so inept—even to someone like her. It said, better than anything else, that he hadn’t been around women very much. She was so touched by his obvious inadequacy she didn’t even flinch at the physical contact.

     The unfamiliar weight of Wulf’s hand on her shoulder, however, began to generate a host of other sensations. His hands fascinated her—the square-cut nails on long strong fingers and the dark, fine hairs on the back of his hand, perched so tantalizingly close to her face. What would his hand feel like on her cheek?

     Red joined the group and the conversation shifted to the weather, oil prices here and abroad, and, of course, Texas politics. A late afternoon tour of the ranch in the shiny red Bronco rounded out the day.

     Red’s eyes crinkled with humor as he showed them the pen behind the house containing twelve longhorn steers. When they walked up to the pen, the animals shuffled over, bumping against each other but somehow never harming themselves with their wickedly long horns.

     “We named ‘em after the twelve apostles,” Red explained. “See that scraggly one over there? We call him Judas.” Although Judas wasn’t very pretty, he still liked being scratched between the ears as much as the rest of them. Mercy laughed, wondering how anyone as powerful and rich as Red could act and sound so much like a country bumpkin.

     Dorie smiled as if she knew exactly what Mercy was thinking. “Don’t look at me, honey. I can’t do anything with him.”

     Red chortled, his Texas accent deepening. “She don’t always appreciate my wit. But then she’s one of them women who graduated from A&M before they allowed women in. Her pa was an English professor. She took school real serious.”

     “It was a crying shame the way the English Department was treated at A&M for so many years,” Dorie interrupted, grimacing. “I’m
not
an A&M fan even if I did graduate from there.”

     After a huge supper of barbecued brisket, pinto beans with jalapenos, and German potato salad, Red waved good night. “Walk around, but don’t stay up late. We tee off at seven in the morning. It’s cooler then.”

     “I hope you are right,” Wulf said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. He’d already rolled his sleeves up as far as they would go.

     The sun was down and the temperature had dipped a good ten degrees. Thank God, Mercy thought. Wulf already generated too much heat for her comfort. It surprised her that his height didn’t bother her. Instead, it made her feel incredibly feminine and petite. The boy in college had been tall, she remembered with a shiver, but Wulf’s height wasn’t threatening, just unnerving.

     She was getting used to them touching and tonight his large hand felt warm and companionable. Of course, hands were as innocuous as the weather. Unlike other body parts. The thought jolted Mercy.

     “We don’t need to hold hands anymore. No one is watching us,” she said, starting to pull her hand free.

     He looked down at their joined hands, then at her. “I like holding your hand. Does it bother you?”

     “N–no.” The silence between them lengthened. She lifted his hand and studied it. “Your hand is awfully callused for someone who has an office job.”

     “My calluses are from six months on an oil rig in Prudhoe Bay.”

     “Oh. I didn’t know executives did things like that.”

     “I do,” he said with pride. “We have production problems. I was…” He groped for the word. “
Sturungsucher
?”

     “A troubleshooter?”

     “
Ja
, that is it. Very hard work.”

     “With the time in Prudhoe Bay and then traveling back and forth between Germany and Dallas, I guess you didn’t have much time for a social life, did you?”

     “Nein,” he said, laughing. “No,” he corrected himself immediately.

     “Maybe,” she began, feeling her way, “we can remain friends after this is over.”

     “
Ja
. Friends.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I like that.”

     Cicadas whirred in the mesquite trees, crickets chirped in the long Johnson grass alongside the lane, and small animals scurried in and out of the underbrush. Mercy felt as though she was in heaven and wanted it to continue forever. For the first time since college, she felt comfortable being alone with a man. This is what other people feel all the time, she realized.

     Wulf hesitated when they found themselves once again back in the dim hallway to their rooms. It was time to make his first move. “Would you…?” he started to say. “No, never mind.”

     “What?”

     “Forgive me, but may I, may I kiss you good night?”

     “Oh, no.” She pulled back like a turtle ducking its head in a shell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

     “What about a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like friends, okay?” In the dim hall light, he studied her darkened face, fascinated by the expressions that played over it.

     “Okay,” she finally said. “I guess it would be all right. Yes. Just do it. Quick.” She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her face.

     He contemplated the woman standing before him, admiring her features. Damn! She acted as though he was going to behead her rather than kiss her.

     “Friends do not kiss quick,” Wulf remarked, adding just the right amount of uncertainty to raise her sympathy, “
ja
?”

     “Yes, I mean no, I mean… Oh, just get it over with, please,” she urged, her eyes still pressed closed. She stepped up to him, as he made an intentionally awkward move toward her.