Promises to Keep (4 page)

Suddenly she realized how terribly out of place she looked compared to Garth, and for the first time she was embarrassed by her tattered clothing. Her cheeks flamed with the rush of color that flooded them, and she resented being made so aware of the contrast between them by his appraisal of her.

His eyes were cold this morning: a gray that was unrelieved by any trace of gold or green in spite of the dusky gold of his cotton knit shirt.

"Could I trouble you to walk me back to my room before you leave, Mr. Falconer?" Mrs. Jenkins asked, flirting with him quite shamelessly.

"Certainly," he agreed equably, "but only on the condition that you call me Garth."

"And you must call me Lydia," she gushed as he helped her out of the chair. "I do appreciate this, Garth. It's hard for me to get about on my own, you see. But I won't take too much of your time. My room is almost next door."

Actually Lydia Jenkins's room was at the opposite end of the corridor, but no one was likely to quibble with her over her shading of the truth.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Jenkins," Julie called after her visitor as, shortening his stride to allow for her snail's pace, Garth guided her into the hall.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kiddo," Mrs. Jenkins advised, favoring Julie with her puckish smile. "But if you can't help yourself, remember what I always say: Anything worth doing is worth doing
twice
!"

By the time she was seated in the car Garth had rented, Julie had fanned her resentment into a simmering pitch of anger that destroyed the delight she would otherwise have taken in the blue and gold splendor of Wyoming's Indian summer. As it was, she derived no pleasure at all from the warmth of the sun that angled in through the open window to caress her cheek and forearm.

Her "thank you" to Garth when he handed her into the sedan was frostily formal, and he slanted a knowing look at her as he climbed behind the wheel. He made no move to start the engine. After jingling the keys a few times in his palm, he sat perfectly still for so long a time that she began to feel foolish in her disapproving pose. She stirred uneasily in the luxuriously upholstered bucket seat.

"All right," Garth said. "Out with it."

She glanced at him covertly and saw that a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. Stung by his amusement, she bit back a furious torrent of speech and maintained her stony silence. When he spoke again, his tone was amiable and unconcerned.

"Perhaps I should inform you that I can outstubborn you any day of the week."

"And I suppose you think that's something to be proud of!" she said, lashing out hotly.

"Damned right, I do," he agreed blandly. "So you might as well tell me what's bothering you, because we're not going anywhere till you do—not if we have to stay here all day."

"Very well," she said stiffly. "You promised you wouldn't make any demands on me and already you've gone back on your word."

"Correction! I said I wouldn't make any demands you're not prepared to meet."

"But you
kissed
me this morning!" She glared at him accusingly.

"So?" He shrugged. "Can you honestly say you didn't enjoy it?" His eyes refused to relinquish their hold on hers. However badly she might want to look away, she watched, mesmerized, as they darkened and settled on her soft pink mouth. When she made no reply, he leaned closer and murmured, "I think what's really eating you is that I haven't been demanding
enough
!"

This time Garth's kiss quickly progressed from tenderly insistent to frankly sensuous, and her response was immediate, intense, and undeniable. She matched his passion with an unexpected voluptuousness of her own. Her lips moved eagerly beneath his, her breathing quickened, her heartbeat raced until it mingled so thoroughly with his that she could not have said where hers ended and his began. But when her lips parted enticingly, wanting him to deepen the kiss, he declined the invitation. She sensed that he was deliberately withholding this further intimacy from her, and his rigid control was frustrating, maddening.

It dawned on her that he was doing this to prove his claim that she wanted him to be more demanding, and it was she who moved away.

Julie was shaken by what she'd learned about herself. Until that kiss, if she'd been asked to characterize in a single word her manner toward the opposite sex, the word she would have chosen was
reserved
. While admittedly this was not from any specific knowledge she had about the kind of woman she was, she instinctively felt the appropriateness of it. Now she knew that her reaction to Garth was completely without reserve.

Though the pressure of his lips had been gentle, her mouth felt bruised; she was trembling, and she could no longer tell herself that he had forced her into doing anything against her will. He had touched her only with his lips. She had been held captive solely by the sweetness of his soft exploration of her mouth.

She was dismayed at the ease with which he could arouse her. She knew that her expression was far too revealing and tried to keep her eyes downcast, but he cupped her chin with his hand and made her look at him.

"It's a relief to know you haven't forgotten how to do that." He smiled down at her engagingly. "I guess it's like riding a bicycle. Your mind may not remember, but your body does."

"Please," she pleaded raggedly. "Don't laugh at me."

"I won't," he said softly. "Not about this. Never about this."

Julie touched her mouth with one hand and quickly, almost frantically, ran her fingertips over her delicately molded brows and cheekbones as though by doing so, she might discover something in the unfamiliar contours of her features that would make her less a stranger to herself.

"I don't
know
myself!" she cried.

Garth stilled the hand that was restlessly searching her face with his fingers. He smoothed the hair back from her temples and said with quiet confidence, "Trust me, Julie.
I
know you."

Their glances locked, and for long moments words were unnecessary. She saw tenderness in his eyes; she saw integrity and determination. She saw that he was one thing in her life that was real and solid and reassuring, that he was someone secure and constant for her to hold on to while she found herself. And he saw the dawning of faith in her eyes.

"I have something to show you," he said.

Reaching in front of her, he flipped open the glove compartment and withdrew several photographs. The first one he handed her was a formal portrait of a wedding party—
her
wedding party. The bride's face was the one she saw when she looked in the mirror, yet it was different somehow. And the difference, hard to pinpoint though it was, was disconcerting. For the time being she avoided looking at the bride in order to study the other people in the picture.

One was a young woman of about Julie's age. She was quite lovely and very fair. Her blond hair had a pale shimmer that rivaled the ivory satin of the bridal gown.

"Your cousin Diane." Garth answered her unspoken question.

"She's very beautiful," Julie murmured. She was also very unhappy. Her smile was wide enough but it was strained. It didn't reach her eyes.

"These are her parents," Garth explained, pointing them out. "Your uncle, Rupert Hastings, and his wife, Charlotte."

Julie's brow was furrowed with concentration as she studied her uncle and aunt. They were probably in their late forties or early fifties, although it was possible that Charlotte was younger. She actually looked much younger than that, and if it hadn't been for her supercilious expression, she would have had a cameolike beauty.

Rupert Hastings was handsome, and gave an overall impression of self-assured urbanity. His posture was erect and vigorous and his skin was smooth and unlined, but there was something about him that didn't ring true. Was it a lack of character about his face? Surely there was a touch of vanity in the way his improbably dark hair was styled in deep waves about his forehead, in the tightly sucked-in stomach that made the most of his chest and the least of his waistline. And there was a slackness about his jaw that might denote an element of weakness.

"It's easy to see where Diane gets her good looks," she commented noncommittally. She found she was abstractedly rubbing her temple to ease her tension, and she was relieved to turn her attention to Garth's laughing countenance.

She smiled, unaware that she did so. His enjoyment was so apparent, she felt she shared whatever joke had prompted him to laugh so unrestrainedly for the photographer.

"Why do you look so irreverent?" she inquired lightly.

"Look at yourself," he replied dryly. "You don't look very solemn either."

"No," she conceded in a small voice. "I don't, do I."

Now she saw what it was that made the difference between Julie-in-the-mirror and Julie-the-bride. The bride was laughing as merrily as Garth. She was radiant with happiness, and it was happiness that gave her the lively beauty that made her worthy of such a husband.

Garth handed her another picture. This one showed the bride and groom dancing, with Garth holding Julie-the-bride as if she were as fragile as porcelain and infinitely precious to him. While they danced, they gazed at one another so longingly, it was as if they were making love to one another in their thoughts, with their eyes.

She felt like a voyeur, viewing such an intimate exchange, and hurriedly passed the wedding photographs back to him.

"No comment?" Garth raised an eyebrow at her. "This is the last one," he said as he held out the final picture.

It was a candid shot, blurred and out of focus, but in spite of the poor quality of the picture she recognized the locale. She recognized the beach, the cloudless sky, the sparkling turquoise sea, the rocky headland in the distance. She
knew
the Julie in the picture. She had felt her joy, experienced her excitement, her anticipation.

She was light-headed and she closed her eyes tightly. "Where was this taken?" she asked. Her voice was barely audible.

"Near Carmel." Garth's breath was warm on her cheek, and she knew he was watching her closely. "Do you remember it?"

"I had a dream about a place like this."

"I took that snapshot of you on our honeymoon." Garth's tone was low and urgent. "You were at your uncooperative best! You refused to stand still long enough for me to get you in the viewfinder. You kept racing the waves and playing in the surf and splashing me until I finally got fed up with your pranks and threatened to throw you in the water. Then you ran away down the beach toward the rocks with me hot on your trail, and when I caught you—"

"Don't," she protested weakly. "Please don't."

"I didn't throw you in, Julie," he finished softly.

"In my dream I couldn't see your face. Even after I woke up, I felt so lost and afraid."

"Then look at me now, Julie."

Slowly she complied. Relief washed over her when she saw the gold flecks were back in his eyes. He was so near, she could make out the nearly invisible line of his beard. Her gaze wandered hungrily over the clean line of his jaw, along the leanness of his cheeks and the proud jut of his nose to return to his eyes.

"You see!" He grinned triumphantly. "There's nothing to be afraid of now."

"But I still can't remember, except for that one thing."

"That's a beginning. We'll just have to work a bit harder on the rest."

He brushed his knuckles against the point of her jaw in a mock blow designed to offer encouragement, telling her she could roll with the punches.

"At least I've gained your confidence," he said.

Buoyed by his optimism, she smiled back at him as she nodded her agreement.