Lonely Millionaire (20 page)

"It does matter," he protested. "It matters what I think of you and what you think of yourself."

"I don't care what you think of me," she said coldly. "Anyone who would lead me on for the purpose of spying on me doesn't deserve my concern."

"Leading you on was not part of the plan. It was something that just happened."

Mandy choked back the tears. Just something that happened? Just something that had happened to him while she was falling in love with him, falling in love with a man who didn't exist.

"I read them to him. Wait a minute." He took her arm and turned her to face him. "If you're not interested in money or in getting married, why did you write to Jack in the first place?"

Some of the color came back into her face.

"Laurie dared me to and I've never refused a dare. And I felt sorry for him, alone and lonely in the Yukon. I didn't know he had you and the letters of hundreds of other women. I don't need to tell you I wish I'd never seen that stupid magazine. I wish I'd never listened to my sister."

"Wait a minute." He dropped her arm and smoothed her damp hair. "Are you saying you have no happy memories, none at all?"

Mandy bit her tongue. She'd never admit she wouldn't forget the first time she saw him in his bomber jacket, standing at the door like the ultimate Yukon man, like a gift from the gods. He'd appeared on her doorstep, had cooked her dinner, brought her breakfast in bed, and given her a smile that had turned her inside out. He'd made her laugh and finally made her cry.

"Happy memories?" she asked. "Of who? Of you or of Jack? I don't know who you are anymore." A sob caught in her throat.

"Don't you, Mandy?" He brushed the drops off her face with his thumb. She didn't know if they were tears or fog or rain, she just knew she couldn't stand here so close to him without wanting his arms around her, without wanting to hear the words he would never say, that he loved her, that he'd give up the Yukon for her or take her with him. No matter what she thought of him, the warmth and strength of his body were like a magnet to her. She craved his touch, wanted him now as much as she ever had, despite what he'd done.

She picked up her bucket, disgusted with him and even more disgusted with herself. "You can go now. You've done your duty. You've confessed and it’s all over. I'm not angry, not anymore. And I'm not hurt or disappointed. So you don't have to worry about me. I hope you don't think it meant anything to me, what went on between us. As you say, it was just something that happened."

She shrugged and even managed a small smile, then she turned and started down the beach. She had hoped he'd let her leave, but she heard his footsteps in the sand behind her.

She waded knee-deep into the water to a big black rock where the mussels clung in clumps on the other side. Lying flat on top of the rock, she pried the mollusks from the rock with a small, sharp knife and tossed them into the bucket.

Adam worked alongside her, not speaking. Suddenly she set her knife down on a rocky outcrop and pulled herself to a sitting position.

"When you were writing all those personal things to me, were you you or were you Jack?"

“Partly I was Jack. But mostly I was me. I told you things about myself I've never told anyone else. I looked forward to your letters. No, I lived for your letters. What I did wasn't right and I have no excuses. But I wouldn't trade your letters for anything," he added in a husky voice.

"Not stupid? All the things you said to me, all the questions you asked me, all the places you took me. You didn't need to do that. I would have told you whatever you wanted to know without your being so nice." Her voice broke and she turned her head and let the salt spray dampen her clothes. It was nothing compared to the waves of self-pity that threatened to wash her away.

"Mandy," he said, edging closer to her on the rock. "I came to spy on you, I admit that, but once I got here, everything changed. I... Seeing you...connecting a face to the letters, a body to the mind wasn't what I thought it would be. I knew you belonged to Jack, but I wanted you for myself. I tried not to, because I have nothing to offer a woman, just ask my ex-wife. I can't ask anyone to share my life. Where I'm going, no woman can come. But that didn't stop me from wondering, from imagining. All I can say is that I'm sorry."

She slid down the rock and landed on her feet in the sand. "I think I've heard enough," she said, brushing off the seat of her pants. "I'm going home."

"About Jack," he said hastily before she could go. "He's really a good guy. He blames me for messing things up for him. I thought maybe you and he..."

She shook her head and he heaved a sigh of relief. As much as he wanted Mandy to find happiness and Jack to find true love, he didn't know what he'd do if they found it together. He wasn't a saint. He was only a man and there was just so much a man could take. If he had to stand and stare at her much longer, to watch the drops that collected in her eyelashes spill down her cheeks, he wouldn't have the strength to leave.

"Don't worry about me," she said, her chin raised to the stubborn angle he'd seen before. "Just go or you'll miss your plane or whatever it is you're taking. And don't try to match me up with Jack or anyone else. Whatever you think of me, I'm capable of managing my own life."

She swallowed hard and wished he'd leave now and disappear from her life forever. Every minute he stayed she felt more like a charity case who needed handouts of love and affection.

"I don't need you or Yukon Man to make my life complete. My life is just fine the way it is," she said emphatically.

But he still didn't leave. He continued to stand there with his brow furrowed, his eyes deep and filled with some combination of remorse and pity. What could she do to make him understand? How could she make him believe her? In the cool gray fog he looked like a shadow of the real Adam Gray.

"Please go," she said quietly. "I appreciate your coming by, but there was really no need. I understand what happened and I understand why it happened. But you could have explained it to me on the phone. Of course I was hurt for a moment, but not anymore. I'm fine, just fine."

She was proud of the way she kept her voice steady, of the way she disguised her shaking hands by clutching the handle of her bucket. "I'll look at it as if it were a learning experience, if I look at it at all. In a few days I'll have forgotten all about it and I'm sure you will have, too."

"I won't forget you," he said, and his eyes flashed with certainty.

"Yes, you will," she insisted. "Once you get to your drilling platform you'll have too much on your mind to think about anyone. I saw those pictures of the Yukon. It’s beautiful and it’s fascinating."

He reached out and touched her cheek, the saddest look in his eyes she'd ever seen.

"So are you," he said in a hoarse whisper so soft she wasn't sure she'd heard him. And then he was gone. He turned and walked away and disappeared into the fog, leaving the imprint of his hand on her cheek.

Mandy's knees gave way and she sat down on the wet sand and buried her face in her damp blue jeans and sobbed until she'd exhausted herself. She wasn't sure who she was crying for, the woman who'd loved and lost for the second time or the man who'd had to break the news to her.

Chapter Ten

Rich petroleum deposits lie under the waters off the North Sea. Portable drilling platforms dot the coast from Point Barrow to the border of Canada. The platforms operate in water more than one hundred feet deep and the men drill to depths of twenty thousand feet or more. The dangers are numerous: fires from fuel leaks, falling gear from hoists, icy surfaces that make any movement on the platform risky, and high winds that could damage the rig and sweep everyone into the icy waters below.

In addition to the derrick and drilling machinery, the platforms have sleeping and eating rooms for the crew, as well as offices for the geological engineers who analyze core samples to instruct the men where to dig. But some engineers prefer the raw winds, the slick decks and the noise of the drill to the confines of a small office inside. Especially when they have trouble keeping their minds on their work.

Take Adam Gray, for example. Although his work was waiting for him in his office, he was roaming the deck restlessly, scanning the turbulent sea and the slate gray sky as if the answer to his problems was out there somewhere instead of deep inside him.

He'd been there a number of weeks now. Ordinarily the schedule was two weeks on, one week off, but Adam had elected to stay on the platform nonstop and had taken no breaks for R and R. Adam had waited so long for this choice assignment, he wanted to experience every moment of heart- stopping danger, excitement and thrills. And although he wouldn't admit it to anybody, he was afraid to leave in case what he'd been looking for all these years wasn't to be found on a drilling platform.

That was the fear that kept him there. Even now, a week before Christmas, he had no plans to go anywhere. There was a camaraderie on the platform and the men in their insulated jumpsuits and hard hats shouted greetings to him as he made the rounds from the tower to the derrick. There was excitement in the air as the men looked forward to the Christmas vacation. Replacements from the Lower 48 would arrive for short-term duty so anyone who wanted to leave, could.

When he was a child, Adam and his father didn't make much of the holidays. They were often in some remote site like this one and a Norman Rockwell-style Christmas was not a part of Adam's childhood memories. But this year he occasionally thought about Christmas at a charming house on the Pacific Coast, which probably had a wreath on the door by now, beckoning the guests coming there to sample Mandy's muffins, her afternoon sherry and her warm welcome at the door.

He wondered what she thought about him now, if anything. She'd probably forgotten about him after what he'd done to her. It was better if she did. Better that she got on with her life the way he was getting on with his. No, not that way.

There must be a better way to get on with your life than trudging the confines of a drilling platform like a caged animal, looking out to sea for something that would never come. He went inside then, not to escape the wind and the below-zero temperature, but to escape the endless monotony.

He checked his mailbox and found a few bills but nothing more. He wondered where Jack was, wondered if he'd found a wife. He wondered if Gene's ex-wife was still with him. Why he was so concerned with his friends' marital status, he hadn't a clue. It was of absolutely no importance to him.

He went to his office and examined slides under a microscope, but all he could see were wavy lines that reminded him of the curtains blowing in Mandy's bedroom, which reminded him of the green silk nightgown she'd been wearing when he'd brought her breakfast in bed. Which reminded him... He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. This wasn't good, this obsession with Mandy. It was coming between him and his work, work that had always meant everything to him, had meant enough to ruin his first marriage.

He unlocked the file cabinet behind his desk, reached in the back of the bottom drawer and drew out a box of letters. Mandy's letters. Then he put them on the middle of his desk and stared at than, daring himself to read through them again. Just to see if he could do it without coming unglued. Each time he did it, it should get better. He should become more detached.

But it didn't work that way. Each time he read them, it got worse. He slipped further into a deep pit of regret. He didn't know if he could read them again, revisit the past and torture himself any more. He'd come here to start fresh, make a new beginning, instead he was going backward, sliding back two steps for every one step he went forward.

Not that it showed. He hoped no one knew. He hoped no one guessed from the way he acted around the installation. He was cheerful. God, was he cheerful, making jokes, remembering everybody's name and where they were from, their backgrounds. As if they were family. That was how it always was. His father had made the drilling site their home.

Nothing wrong with that. If it was good enough for his father, it was good enough for him. He had exactly what he wanted, but not what he'd expected. He hadn't expected to suffer from the boredom and the sameness and the loneliness. He hadn't expected to miss Mandy so much it felt like a sharp ache in the middle of his chest. He hadn't known he would have to pay for his mistakes and that the price would be so high.

Mandy's image floated through his dreams at night and continued into his daydreams. The one woman in the world who never wanted to see him again was the woman he saw over and over, but only in his dreams. He lowered his head and rested it on the box of letters. He didn't need to read them again. He knew than all by heart.

Mandy was standing on top of the ladder with a star in her hands, putting the finishing touch on her Christmas tree. She had attached it to the top branch when the doorbell rang. It was gratifying to know that the guests continued to come. So gratifying, she hardly ever gave a thought to the man who had started her on the road to success with his letter to the newspaper.