Memories of You (15 page)

She gazed at the shimmering golden hills, enchanted by the image he described.

He tightened his arm around her shoulder. “Your face is so expressive,” he whispered. “When you’re thinking about something you like, your eyes light up and you look as young as Amy.”

“Jon…”

But it was too late. He was holding her now, his arms straining around her, and again she was lost.

She lifted her face for his kiss, feeling a delicious flood of excitement when his mouth closed over hers and his lips began to move softly.

I want you,
she thought desperately.
I want you so much I can hardly bear it.

He held her with one arm and continued to kiss her while his other hand stroked her body gently. He caressed her hips and waist, then reached under her shirt to cup her breasts.

She felt herself exploding with lust, a deep, hungry desire to be naked and close to this man, to feel his body moving inside hers.

“Camilla,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you so much.”

“No,” she whispered in panic, trying to draw away. “Jon, you don’t even know me.”

“But I want to.”

Birds trilled softly in the trees above them. Far away, they heard the melancholy cries of a flock of Canada geese heading south above the prairie. The
sun dappled through the trees and the bulls bellowed and grunted as they crowded around the water trough.

Camilla found herself wandering in a misty world of dreams, a place of sweetness and joy where any kind of miracle seemed possible.

Really, there was nothing to keep her from giving herself to him. They could lie down on the grass in the shelter of these rustling trees and let their bodies unite. And the aching hunger she’d felt for twenty years would finally be appeased. All she had to do was yield.

“Jon,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek, lost in passion. “Jon, I’ve always—”

“Daddy!” Ari shouted through the trees. “Daddy, where are you?”

They sprang apart hastily. Camilla tugged at her clothes and patted her hair, hurrying to compose herself while Ari trotted along the path and emerged into the clearing by the windmill.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he told his father reproachfully. “Why didn’t you answer?”

Jon cast a rueful glance at Camilla. “I guess I didn’t hear you, son. What’s the problem?”

“It’s time to open our presents now. Margaret said I should come and find you so Camilla could watch us.”

“That was very thoughtful of Margaret,” Jon said dryly. “Can you give us a few more minutes, Ari? I was just discussing something with Camilla.”

“No!” the little boy shouted, clearly on the verge
of tears. “We’ve already been waiting a long time. I want to open my presents!”

“All right, dear,” Camilla said, moving forward to take his hand. “Don’t get upset Your father and I will come with you.”

She walked up the path with Ari while Jon followed behind them.

With every fiber of her being, Camilla was conscious of his nearness and of her own yearning. How could she have been so reckless, thinking even for a moment that the past didn’t matter?

What a fool she was.

This time, she.resolved with fierce determination, there’d be no more weakness. She intended to monitor her behavior rigidly from now on, watch herself every second until she was home again.

And after that, she wouldn’t allow herself to be alone with this man ever again.

W
HILE EVERYBODY ELSE
was at the ranch, Steven spent Thanksgiving Day all alone, soothed by the emptiness of the house. Both his father and Margaret had expressed concern about leaving him alone on the holiday, but he didn’t care a bit whether he ate turkey and cranberries for dinner. And he enjoyed the absence of his family.

Lately, they’d all been getting on his nerves. He couldn’t stand the twins’ lively chatter, their endless questions. And his father’s thoughtful, measuring gaze was getting harder to endure all the time.

Especially in the light of what was going to happen next weekend….

He sprawled restlessly in a big leather armchair, watching the football games on television and trying to study. But it was impossible to concentrate on anything for very long.

When the sun began to drop below the mountains in a golden flare of splendor, he sat alone at the kitchen table to eat the meal Margaret had left for him. He must have microwaved it for too long because the stuffing tasted like cotton wool, and the turkey was as tough as cardboard.

Still, he ate all of his meal, taking a certain grim pleasure in the terrible food. It suited his mood.

After the meal, he drove into town to the area where Zeke had targeted the liquor store, and sat outside looking at the place.

Part of him recoiled at the thought of what they were about to do. Breaking the law and stealing all that money seemed so incredibly wild and dangerous. But along with his natural caution, all kinds of other impulses were at work inside Steven, as well, reckless urges that he couldn’t seem to control.

He wanted the other guys to accept him and realize he genuinely cared about their plight, even though he’d grown up with so many privileges. He wasn’t just another rich kid who didn’t care. He believed that wealth should be distributed fairly. He knew his father would be horrified by Zeke’s plan but it was time Jon realized that his son couldn’t be pushed around and treated like a little kid anymore.

He grimaced and shifted his car into gear, moving down the street toward the place where he was supposed to wait on Saturday night. He parked in the shadowed area beneath the trees and glanced at his watch. It was only eight o’clock but already dark. In less than a week he’d be sitting here waiting for Zeke and Speedball to come rushing down the street with the cash.

As soon as they jumped into the car, he’d start up the engine and take off down that road and onto the freeway, heading for the farm. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes because there was almost certainly
an alarm inside the liquor store. The police might even be after them before they hit the freeway.

Steven would have to drive fast and skillfully, and make sure he was familiar with every bit of the escape route.

He tensed, gripping the wheel as he pictured their wild ride.

At that moment, a patrol car drifted past and the officer behind the wheel glanced over at him casually. Steven’s heart began to pound and sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked down hastily, pretending to rummage for something on the front seat as the other car’s taillights vanished into the darkness.

When the patrolman was out of sight, Steven leaned back and expelled a long sigh of tension, his hands shaking. At last, feeling sick and miserable, he started the car and pulled onto the freeway.

What if the police officer had registered the make and color of his car, perhaps even made a note of the license plate?

He must have looked pretty suspicious, sitting there all alone and casing the street like a real amateur. Maybe the officer would remember this encounter next week after Zeke and Speedball knocked off the liquor store. He could look up the license-plate number in his notebook and track down the car.

Steven had a sudden desperate longing to be free of the whole thing, to be safe at home in his room, far away from all this danger.

But that wasn’t possible any longer. He’d given his word to the guys. If he backed out now, they’d think
he was just another spoiled rich kid, jerking them around for his own selfish pleasure.

All too well, Steven knew how it felt to have people break their word. His jaw tightened when he thought about his mother, who hadn’t bothered to call this weekend even though it was a holiday.

Not that it was anything unusual for her, he told himself bitterly. Sometimes she even forgot to call at Christmastime.

He seemed to be the only one who was really troubled by her behavior. The other kids never gave it much thought, but Steven always waited, even though he knew it was hopeless. And he felt so hurt when she didn’t bother to call or write for a long time, as if she was rejecting him all over again.

Steven didn’t know what to do with his pain. It boiled inside him, seething and bubbling like a volcano. There were times when he felt as if he needed to explode somehow, blow into a thousand little pieces and destroy everything around him.

Let the police come looking for him, he thought grimly as he turned off the freeway and started down the road to the farm. What did it matter anyway?

Nothing mattered, except that he was committed to this plan and he intended to go through with it.

He parked his car and strode into the house, now ablaze with lights and activity. They were back, all of them. His father must already have taken Dr. Pritchard home, because she seemed to be absent. Everybody else was very much in evidence.

Steven, who was always sensitive to moods and
emotions, felt something different in the air tonight, a strange sense of heightened emotion. His father looked tense and unhappy, but the twins were more rambunctious than ever, yelling as they displayed their birthday gifts, demanding that somebody help them with a model engine they were trying to build.

Vanessa was utterly transformed. She sat curled in the leather armchair where Steven had spent most of the day, and seemed, amazingly, to be helping Enrique study for a psychology test.

Steven looked at her in astonishment, wondering what had happened to her. But she merely smiled and waved at him casually. “Hello, Steve.”

“Hi, Van. How are you, Enrique?”

“I am fine, thanks.” Enrique looked different, too. The miserable, haunted look he’d worn for so long was gone. He seemed as shy as ever, but happy and at peace.

“Enrique, pay attention,” Vanessa said sternly. “I asked you to name three specific examples of behavior modification.”

Enrique gave Steven a rueful smile, then turned back to answer her question.

“Hello, son.” Jon passed though the room on the way to his office. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“It was okay.”

Margaret bustled in from the laundry room with an armful of sheets and towels. “Steven, did you have something to eat?” she asked.

“I ate Thanksgiving dinner in town,” he said
curtly. “Thanks, Margaret,” he added with forced politeness, feeling his father’s eyes resting on him.

“Hey, Steve!” Ari shouted, waving a handful of colored building blocks. “Look what we got. It’s a Lego set that makes little cars and stuff, and they have engines. Look, we get to build the engine! Can you help us? Daddy says he has to do some paperwork in his office, and we don’t know how to install the pistons.”

Steven cast a wistful glance at the bright clutter of toys.

It looked kind of neat, the little engine the twins were assembling for a race car they’d built. He felt a sudden longing to settle on the floor next to them and help with the engine. He wanted to forget all about getaway cars, dangerous bags of stolen money and police officers chasing him, and just be a part of his family again.

Amy glanced up at him with a shy, hopeful smile that tugged at his heart Abruptly, before he could weaken and be drawn into their play, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

“I don’t have time,” he said. “I need to finish a term paper.”

He ran up the stairs two at a time, hurried into his room and closed the door gratefully behind him. But soon after he settled at his desk and got out some books, he heard a knock at the door.

“May I come in?” his father said as he opened the door.

Steven sighed and pulled the books closer, pretending
to be reading. “Sure,” he muttered. “Why not? Nobody ever gives me a chance to study.”

“You’ve had all weekend to study,” Jon said mildly, coming into the room and looking down at his son. “Are you okay, Steve?”

“I’m fine.”

“We missed you at the ranch. All the cowboys asked about you.”

Steven pictured the clean sweep of land, the horses and cattle grazing placidly under a warm prairie sun. “Was the weather nice?” he asked wistfully.

“It was beautiful. Everybody went riding on Saturday except for Vanessa. We brought the bulls in from the north pasture.”

Steven looked up at his father. “Did Dr. Pritchard ride with you?”

Jon’s face softened. “Yes, she did.”

“She must have thought our horses were pretty ordinary after riding in the Olympics.”

Jon sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think she ever rode in the Olympics. In fact, I doubt she’s even been on a horse before this weekend.”

Steven glanced at him, startled. “So where did all those stories come from?”

Jon shook his head. “The lady’s a complete mystery to me. I don’t know what to think.”.

“She’s…” Steven paused, leafing idly through his book. “She seems really nice. I thought she’d be kind of a dragon, but she isn’t.”

“No,” Jon said with a faraway look. “She’s not
at all what I expected, either. You know, Steve, I keep thinking…”

“What?” Steven asked.

“Nothing.” His father got to his feet and dropped a hand onto Steven’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right? Nothing you want to talk about?”

“Nothing. I’m fine, Dad. I just need to get this work done.” Steven gripped the book, conscious of his father’s eyes resting on him.

Finally Jon turned and started toward the door. “Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Steve.”

Steven muttered something, then looked around in relief when he heard the door close.

At last he got up from his desk, flung himself onto the bed and lay staring moodily at the ceiling, tense with misery.

T
HE NEXT DAY
was Tuesday, so Jon wasn’t scheduled for Dr. Pritchard’s creative-writing session. He delivered Enrique and the twins to their destinations on campus, went to a couple of his own classes in the morning and then strolled around enjoying the mellow autumn warmth of the campus. Mostly, though, he hoped to run into Camilla somewhere.

He found himself hungry to see her again, even though they’d been together all weekend. And the need wasn’t only physical. He wanted to hear her voice, see her luminous smile, find out what she’d been doing and thinking since he last spoke with her. He wanted, quite simply, to walk and talk with her.

He was in love.

Jon sank onto a bench under a rustling golden cottonwood tree, picturing her face.

He wanted her walking at his side, in his life, sharing everything with him. He wanted to bring her into his home to spend time with his children.

And if he couldn’t manage to win her love, he’d probably pass the rest of his life in a painful yearning for what might have been.

But what, exactly, was he going to do about these feelings? Camilla had made it painfully clear that she didn’t want the relationship to go any further. A moment of physical closeness, a couple of stolen kisses prompted by the romance of a weekend in the country…that was all she was prepared to give.

She wouldn’t even tell him who she was, or anything about her family or background. And, whoever she was, she’d certainly made it obvious that she wasn’t the least bit interested in a weathered rancher with four kids and assorted other responsibilities.

But Jon Campbell wasn’t a man who gave up easily on something he wanted. He lounged on the wooden bench for a while, frowning thoughtfully as he watched students passing by with their arms full of books.

It was time, he decided, to make a move. He needed to grasp hold of this quicksilver woman, demand her attention and make her talk to him. Somehow, he had to find a way to get close to her and penetrate all those mysteries she wanted to keep hidden. No man could endure this kind of frustration.

Finally he got up, grasped his load of books and went into the arts building, stopping first at the twins’ classroom to see if perhaps Camilla had taken them for an afternoon session.

“Not today,” Gwen told him, meeting him at the door with a laughing, yelling crowd of children. “We’re just leaving for our field trip to the library. There’s a puppet theater this afternoon.”

Jon smiled down at his own children who stood in the midst of the excited group. Both Amy and Ari looked so happy that his heart warmed briefly.

“Thanks, Gwen,” he said. “Maybe I’ll try Dr. Pritchard in her office.”

But the office door was locked, and the secretary shook her head when he inquired. “Dr. Pritchard’s at a faculty meeting, Mr. Campbell. She said she’d be busy all day, and I should take messages.”

Jon looked over at Camilla’s closed door, then back at the secretary. Some of his fierce determination must have shown on his face, because she gave him a small, teasing smile.

“Honest truth, Mr. Campbell,” she said. “The professor’s not hiding in that room, so there’s no point in battering the door down. I really wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

At last he nodded reluctantly, smiled back at her and left the building.

The October day was balmy and caressing, but for once its golden beauty was lost on Jon. He drove west toward home, drumming his fingers restlessly on the
wheel as he struggled to decide what he should do about the feelings raging through him.

At the farmhouse he found Vanessa with a laundry basket, hanging damp bedsheets on a clothesline in the backyard. Jon paused by the gate and watched her in surprise.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said casually through a mouthful of clothespins, her dark hair whipping in the breeze. “I’m helping Margaret. She’s busy canning pickles this afternoon.”