Conquer the Memories (10 page)

Craig just didn’t appear to need satisfaction for his own sake anymore. That was interesting. Miraculous, really.

Sonia’s jaw firmed. She set down her empty cup. And felt totally lost inside.

An emerald in her belly button had not solved the problem.
What
problem? she asked herself, and slumped back in the chair with her hands dug in her pockets.
Define the damn problem, Sonia.

Their lives, the ranch and his work were fine. Her man loved her; of that she had no doubt. If he wanted to keep a few things from her temporarily, her inclination was to trust him and ask no questions. In principle, privacy was just as important in a marriage as communication. If it weren’t for their love life, Sonia would have no reason at all to think that something was eating Craig up alive.

Patience, Charlie had urged her. Which was a polite way of saying, Shut up, Sonia. She’d never been very good at shutting up. Not with Craig. Communication had always been easy between them…but this, she had to admit, was different. Coming out and asking a man why he didn’t want to make love to you—no. The other issues were not very important. That one was. And that one, she felt at the very frightened core of herself, was the only issue that made a difference.

***

Craig pulled the Land Rover to a stop near the house, pocketed the key and stepped out into the darkness. He immediately spotted the thin trail of white smoke meandering up to the sky.

“Everything go all right today?” he questioned Charlie.

“Fine. Rounded up the strays in the north quarter.” Charlie lurched forward through the shadows, a cigar clamped tight between his teeth. “You want to see the new colt?”

“Is Sonia up?”

“She took it in her head to look over the half year’s expenses,” Charlie said delicately. “Been buried in the study since dinner.”

Craig chuckled, knowing that when Sonia insisted on taking on the ranch bookkeeping, her concentration was apt to affect her…amiability.

“You’ll want to see the colt,” Charlie said firmly.

Craig hesitated, a little amused at the faintly belligerent note in Charlie’s voice. All he really wanted to do was pour himself a snifter of brandy and collapse on the couch next to his wife after an exceedingly long day, but for the moment he fell into step next to Charlie. “I’ll go to the stable for a minute or two,” he agreed.

“Sure.”

Charlie pushed open the doors. Stable smells assaulted both of them, fresh hay and old leather and the scents of the horses themselves. Charlie flicked a switch and bright fluorescence promptly glowed on the central walkthrough; a stallion at the far end whinnied his disapproval. Both men paused before the waist-high gates of the nearest stall.

The colt was still wobbly, all legs and sleek brown coat. Frightened eyes stared at them, ready to bolt. The two men studied the animal. “Beautiful,” Craig said softly. “Oh, aren’t you a beauty…”

The colt lifted his head, shaking it. Craig chuckled. “They were fools to sell him,” he said absently. “He’s magnificent. But he’ll probably never get to stand at stud. Sonia will take one look at him and turn him into a pet.”

“You bought him for her.”

“I wanted him for breeding stock.”

“Bull.” Charlie snorted.

Craig chuckled, and they both leaned over the rails again, content to stare at the colt. Those wild eyes continued to stare at them; the colt tossed up his mane again. Craig dug in his pocket and held out an open palm with a sugar cube in it. The colt ignored it. Craig kept his palm open, all patience.

“Sonia’s on to you, you know,” Charlie remarked with studied idleness. “George never did have much subtlety.”

Craig barely let on that he heard him, still wooing the colt with his eyes.

“She heard me talking to Brenner in Chicago a few nights ago.”

The colt’s eyes were on the sugar, his curiosity clearly warring with his fear. The animal met Craig’s eyes only for an instant, and found there warmth and easy affection and the promise of love and good care. His mane shivered over his withers. Craig smiled, his palm steady.

Charlie shifted restlessly next to him. “I think,” he said mildly, “you’d both be better off if you could forget the whole thing.”

The colt ambled forward, close enough to get a whiff of the sugar. And the man. He shied back with prancing hooves, but Craig’s hand never wavered. He kept his voice as soft as butter so as not to scare the young animal. “I’d almost talked myself into believing…” He hesitated. “And then she had a dream last night. Dreamed the bastard was after her again.” The colt dredged up a new round of courage and edged forward again. “She was shaking. Trembling so hard she couldn’t stop. Frightened. God knows how long she’s been having nightmares like that…”

The colt shied away from him, eyes wide, ears back, as if he sensed the tension in the man. Still, he probed the palm until he found the sugar. Once he had claimed it, he bolted to the back of the stall again. Craig turned, staring at Charlie.

His voice changed just that quickly. The tone held nothing that would have raised fear in the colt, but the iron firmness was unmistakable. “You didn’t know me when my father died, and you never saw me in my first brawl. We’ve known each other a long time, though, Charlie. You saw me the day I got back from the bank, when they said I couldn’t save this damn ranch. You remember that Raker fool who thought he could buy the place out from under me? He thought I was a greenhorn nineteen-year-old kid. And I was. Stupid and arrogant and with far more guts than brains, but I always fought my own battles.”

“Now, look—” Charlie started in a low voice.

“I’ve fought for every damn thing I’ve ever had. You think I couldn’t protect her?” Craig demanded. “I’d kill anyone who harmed her,” he said softly. “And I’d do it without blinking an eye. The decision would be simple. Because if anyone touched her—”

“Hey,” Charlie said uncomfortably.

“There’s no point in telling me to forget about it, Charlie. I hear what you’re trying to say, and to some extent you’re right. I can’t pen her in. That wouldn’t work. But I mean to see to it that
nothing
like that ever happens to her again. You hear me?”

Charlie hesitated. He drew the cigar from his mouth, and his eyes dropped from Craig’s steadfast stare. “I hear you,” he said flatly.

“Good.” Craig walked over and switched off the light, holding the stable door open for both of them. He said nothing else until Charlie headed toward his own house, and then called out mildly, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smoke in the stable in years. You still upset now?”

Charlie didn’t answer.

“Because if you want to keep arguing, Charlie, we’ll argue. Just tell me how you’d feel if it were your own woman.”

Charlie didn’t even turn around. “’Bout time we both got some shut-eye.” He chomped on the cigar again.

They both headed toward home.

“You
sure
you know what you’re doing?” Charlie said.

“I’m sure I know what I’m doing,” Sonia affirmed.

“It’s not like it would be any bother for me to wait a few minutes for you.” Charlie sent her a sidelong glance as he slammed his boot on the brake in the parking lot. “He’s been working every night this week.”

“Believe me, I know that.”

“And if he’s smack-dab in the middle of something, you’re going to be stuck waiting around.”

“I will not be stuck,” Sonia promised firmly.

“I just can’t see stranding you…”

Leaning across the pickup seat, she pressed a very firm, very affectionate smack on Charlie’s cheek. “I refuse to say it another time. Now just get out of here and stop feeling guilty, would you, Charlie? If worse comes to worst, I can drive Craig’s car home and then come back and pick him up later.”

Charlie shot her a disapproving glance. She escaped from the pickup before he could argue any further, and waved at him cheerfully until he had no choice but to back up and zoom away.

Alone, she took a massive breath into her lungs and stood in front of Craig’s office, feeling miserably stranded.

A late afternoon wind whipped her skirts up to her thighs and cavorted with her once-perfect hairstyle. Wind or no, the temperature had to be climbing past ninety. The predatory sun spotted its lone victim and attacked, baking her instantly from her crown to her toes. Still, Sonia stood motionless for a minute, and then turned restlessly, staring at the office door as she wandered toward it.

She’d pushed that door open dozens of times, but never dressed in gold earrings and gold belt and gold sandals. The only other thing she wore was a very simple little white silk jersey dress with a flowing skirt and draped bodice and a few crisscross straps in back. White was a symbol of virtue, though the dress lacked something along those lines. The soft material draped and flowed around her figure in a way that suggested a great many things, and none of them virtuous. Furthermore, she hadn’t a stitch on underneath it.

There was no question that it took more nerve than brains to show up at the office in such attire.

She was dressed for seduction, which was rather ironic, since sex was absolutely the last thing on her mind. Diverting her husband was on her mind. Women who played sexual games to get what they wanted had always disgusted her. On the other hand, when one was desperate, one used the weapons at hand.

She hadn’t known what else to do. Her world wasn’t exactly crumbling—just tipping precariously. Craig had been avoiding her this past week. His excuse was twelve-hour work days; her instincts told her otherwise. And in those same twelve-hour days, Sonia had shamelessly plotted to get her husband alone. A vacation for just the two of them was her goal…but if Craig wouldn’t go? If he really didn’t want to be alone with her…

Fear was a funny thing. She’d felt fear in Chicago. This was a different fear, far more threatening. She felt as if she were fighting a ghost she couldn’t see face-to-face. As if there were a mountain between her and Craig and she didn’t know how to cross it.

She had to try.

Renewed determination bolstered her flagging confidence, and she firmly pushed open the door. Cool air and silence greeted her, both reasonably calming the flutter of nerves in her head. Stubbornness sparkled in her eyes as she neared the sound of Mrs. Heath’s typing outside Craig’s office.

The older woman glanced up, her surprised smile as quick as the welcome in her dark gray eyes. “Mrs. Hamilton! I certainly didn’t expect to see you here!”

“I know, Mrs. Heath, and Craig doesn’t expect me either.” She hesitated. “Am I going to be in terrible hot water if I steal him away to dinner?” she whispered.

The other woman chuckled, her eyes whisking over Sonia’s attire approvingly. “Trouble?” she whispered back. “You’ll get a medal from all of us. Get that man out of our hair for a while! He’s been driving us all nuts this past week. Crises are one thing, but even in the best of times I swear that man never takes a coffee break.”

Sonia nodded. “I had a feeling he was overdoing it.” She motioned toward the closed door. “Anyone with him?”

“Just John. I can—”

“It’s all right. I’ll wait.”

They chatted a few minutes more; it wasn’t long before the inner office door opened. Sonia saw John’s back first. He kept his hand on the doorknob as he continued talking pressure tolerances and other technical problems. Then he glanced around and spotted Sonia. His long, low wolf whistle immediately terminated that conversation.

Craig’s head immediately whipped around the door, annoyance radiating from him even before he’d recognized the source of irritation. The source promptly vaulted in his general direction. “Hi,” she said simply, offering a secret wink for Mrs. Heath, and seconds later closed the door on John, Mrs. Heath and the rest of the world.

For at least an instant, she had one stunned husband on her hands. One had to take all the breaks one was offered in life. She stole a quick glance, only long enough to see what she already knew. Craig’s shirtsleeves were rolled up, there were hollows under his eyes, his hair looked as if his hands had run through it a dozen times that day, and his tie was askew. He looked, quite simply, exhausted. A man determined to drive himself too hard and too long.

“We’re going out to dinner,” she announced blithely. “I don’t want to hear any arguments. We’re going to drink a little wine, eat a very expensive steak…”

“Sonia? When on earth did you get here? How—?”

“At the Red Baron. We haven’t been there in ages. And if I were you, I wouldn’t put my hand anywhere near that briefcase, because you are definitely not taking it home tonight.” She spotted his suit jacket on the chair where he’d undoubtedly thrown it that morning. She moved to pick it up, then changed her mind. “This jacket is too hot,” she continued in the same brisk tone, “but we have to do a little something about your appearance before we go. Not much,” she assured him, with slightly more gentleness.

Her pulse was frantic as she approached him with quick steps, staring at his throat as she rebuttoned the collar of his shirt. His body was warm against her palm. Warm and still and tense. She tugged at his tie.

“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” she said severely. “If the whole place falls apart because you’re gone for a couple of hours, then it’s just going to have to fall apart. Mrs. Heath can order everyone around while you’re gone. She’s already agreed.” Sonia was having a terrible time with the tie, primarily because her fingers were all thumbs. She darted a quick glance up, to see how Craig was taking all the bossing.

She relaxed, her fingers suddenly managing the tie just fine. His weary eyes had a slight hint of exasperation, but his upper lip was twitching. “I get the idea I’m supposed to feel kidnapped,” he said mildly.

She stood back, hands on hips, pretending to make sure the tie was straight, knowing she couldn’t care less about the tie. “You’ll be lucky if you get off with a kidnapping,” she informed him.

“Now I’m really shaking in my shoes.”

She chuckled. Godzilla couldn’t make that man shake in his shoes, and Craig was just getting around to noticing her dress. Actually, he seemed to be noticing everything but the dress. She could feel the warmth of his gaze on her bare legs and bare throat and bare back as if it were the heat of the sun. Hurriedly, she picked up his jacket. “I’ll carry this.”

“Would you mind,” he asked gravely, “if I make a single phone call first?”

She shook her head. “Absolutely no phone calls. Any good kidnapping has to be pulled off clean. Give an inch and next thing you know the victim will be asking for ransom.”

“You sound quite experienced.”

“I started young in a life of crime.” She hesitated at the door, her tone abruptly, softly, Sonia again. “Craig, for heaven’s sake, if you really need to make a phone call—”

He made a swift motion toward the phone and then stopped, turning back to her. “It’ll wait,” he said gravely. “There’s no way I’m going to be late for my own kidnapping.” He opened the door.

***

The Red Baron was Cold Creek’s long-established hideaway for a nice seductive dinner. Candles set in red glass decorated every table; dark paneled walls and thick carpeting and tasteful oils on the walls added to a serenely luxurious atmosphere. A pocket-sized dance floor in the far corner included a pianist and bass player; the music was muted and low.

Craig glanced up as the busboy took their plates. When the man had gone, Craig watched Sonia lean over and tip a little more wine into his glass. That was his third, and she had barely touched her first.

At the moment, he was bone-weary, sated from an absolutely delicious dinner and utterly intrigued by the lady across from him. Sooner or later, he would figure out what she was up to.

The clues to the mystery were most interesting. The look of her would have seduced a monk, she’d chosen the most romantic place in town and she’d been plying him with wine. Furthermore, she’d set out to relax him over dinner as if it were her life’s purpose. The talk had all been simple and easy, her low, sweet laughter wafting toward him at intervals, her teasing sassy. He could smell her perfume; when she leaned toward him her bodice flirted with his eyes; and as she talked, those eyelashes of hers floated up and down with all the skill of a practiced flirt.

All those clues seemed conclusive. He hadn’t been fooled by her act from the time she’d excused herself for a second trip to the ladies’ room. Sonia was nervous. Those fluttering eyelashes shielded eyes that remarkably kept missing direct contact. All that subtly offered sexuality was a blind.

A blind that was working with aching intensity inside his bloodstream. He’d been aroused from the minute they sat down, and he hadn’t even touched her. She had shied away from his touch; her game was all in look and scent and the low, soothing melody of her voice.

Deprivation was doing strange things to his rational thinking processes. He wanted his wife. He also knew that the moment he tried to make love to her again, that living nightmare of his would be back. He’d tried working endless hours; he’d tried avoiding her; and he’d tried giving himself time. Nothing had worked. Guilt seeped into him like an insidious poison. There wasn’t even a ghost of a chance of allowing himself his own sexual release.

Only that same physical deprivation was starting to add up to a little mountain of agony. It was almost funny. His hormones hadn’t been this active when he was a teenager.

He listened to her laugh at something he said, a sparkle of wine glistening on her bottom lip, her aquamarine eyes glowing like melted jewels, and wondered vaguely what she would do if he took her outside, leaned her up against a building, slipped those smooth, silky skirts up…

“Do you want more coffee?” he asked calmly as the waiter hovered over them.

She shook her head.

He watched her eyes dart to the dance floor for the third time. She wouldn’t ask; she knew he was tired. Good. There was no way on earth he wanted to risk touching her at all. No sane man invited torture.

“Craig?” She parted her lips to say something. It was the third time she’d done that, yet again she seemed to change her mind about what she wanted to say. “Darn it. I suppose we should be going home,” she remarked lightly.

“Not quite yet.” He set his napkin down and stood up. “Not yet,” he murmured again. A pulse flickered dangerously in his neck as he motioned her toward the dance floor. Her delighted smile made something in his jaw tighten. His palm lightly brushed the small of her back as he guided her around tables, so lightly that his fingertips only barely burned from the contact of the cool, silky fabric of her dress.

He meant to keep her at arm’s length when they were on the dance floor. The song was a love song, but not a favorite, unfamiliar, nothing that stirred any nostalgic, suggestive longings. He turned her to him and raised his hand simply to take hers…and instead found that damned errant hand sliding up her bare arm to her neck. And then the other one, just as damned, gliding around to the bare flesh of her back.

Sonia started and then ever so naturally moved in to him, her arms wrapping loosely around his waist, her cheek tucked into the curve of his shoulder. She made a small contented sound like the purr of a kitten as they moved in a gentle sway around the dance floor.

The first song ended, and another started. From nowhere, she suddenly lifted her head, her hooded blue-green eyes studying him. “Craig?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” Her eyelashes rushed back down. “This feels good. We haven’t danced in forever.”

His lips pressed lightly on her forehead. “I think you’d better get around to telling me,” he whispered.

“Telling you what?”

“Whatever it is that’s been bothering you.”

She lifted her head again, her eyes suddenly flashing with amused exasperation. She hated it when he outthought her. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

His hands slid down her back in a slow caress, taking in her warm, smooth skin beneath the silky straps of her dress, taking in the shape of her spine and that narrow tapering at her waist. His voice was seductively gentle. “You wrecked the car.”

“Of course not!” Her head whipped back again, this time most indignantly.

His lips found the tip of her nose. “You gave the state trooper a merry chase on the highway again.”

“I haven’t had a ticket in over two years,” she reminded him.

“That you confessed to.”

“That I—there was only one other one,” she said irritably. “How did you—”

“So it isn’t that. You’ve overcharged on every account we have, and we’re both going to the poorhouse?”

She couldn’t help chuckling at his off-the-wall guesses. The pianist switched tunes, and she nuzzled her face close to Craig’s cheek, her arms moving up and around him where her fingers could reach the curling hair at the nape of his neck.

“Sonia…” he warned teasingly.

“Yes.” She sighed. “The thing is, what do you think about the Gulf of Mexico?”

“Pardon?”

“The Gulf of Mexico.”