Wishmakers (28 page)

“You may not have anything to do, Mr. Evans, but I do. Please move out of the doorway.” The nervous quiver was gone from her voice. It made her proud of herself and gave her the courage to lift her brows along with her small, pointed chin and look squarely into deep-set green eyes.

Jack looked down into twin pools of flashing amber lights. He could see a tiny mole on the lower lid of her right eye and a small puckered scar above her lip. It was faint, but showed plainly on the makeup-free skin of her face. That, and the fact that she couldn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds, gave her a childlike, vulnerable look.

Glory, Glory—sweet, sweet child.
Good grief,
he thought.
Did I say it aloud?
No, thank God, he hadn't. The tension-charged atmosphere had silenced him.
The way I feel right this minute,
he thought,
scares the hell out of me.

Gloria shifted in acute discomfort.
I'm crazy, purely crazy.
The thought popped into her head and she wanted to laugh.
Why do I always want to laugh when I'm with this man?
A gray hair glinted here and there in the shiny black hair that curled about his ears and drooped down over the red band on his forehead. His beard was as glossy black as the brush of lashes that framed his green eyes, but with a sprinkling of silver. She could smell the faint odor of some spicy soap.

Gloria pressed her lips together and retreated a step so she didn't have to tilt her head so far back to look at him. Faded jeans were molded to his taut buttocks and long thighs. Their snug fit declared his sex in no uncertain terms; he was masculinity epitomized. She was brought out of her trance by an amused chuckle and made aware that she had looked at him too long and too hard.

“Do you like what you see?”

“Not…especially,” she said lightly, feeling irritation at the fluttery sensation dancing in her stomach.

The twist of her lips produced a dimple, and Jack's gaze was drawn to it. There was something about this small, golden-eyed little redneck that compelled him to needle her, and he didn't understand it at all. Her body was dainty, compact, and utterly feminine. He fought down the urge to hold it against him, nuzzle her ear with his nose, taste the sweetness of her full lips.

She had persistently dogged his thoughts for the last few days. He had tried to clear his mind with hard, physical work by downing several dead trees he had saved to use for firewood. But even as he worked, thoughts of her danced in his head. After coming to within inches of his leg with the chain saw and barely missing his foot with the ax, he'd decided to purge himself of thoughts of her and ride over to the motel. After all, he reasoned, he'd promised the kid he'd come back to see him.

Now, as he watched her, he instinctively sensed the fawnlike unease she felt in his presence.
You stupid jackass!
he chided himself.
Why did you spend an hour making an old cuff link into an earring and why did you stop a mile up the road to put it on?
He chuckled as much at his own foolishness as he did at the look she had given him when she saw it.

“Hummmm…” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I take it you're not impressed with my good looks. I'm very impressed with yours. I like what I see very much.”

“That just thrills me to death,” she shot back curtly. “Are you hiding something under all that brush? Wrinkles? Sagging jowls? Ah…I bet it's a receding chin.” A tiny amused curl of her lips accompanied the words.

“I've been told I'm very handsome,” he retorted quickly, with brazen arrogance. He watched in fascination as the amber eyes changed from frosty stones to sparkling sunshine that penetrated his very soul, grabbed him, and shook him. “You're…very pretty when you smile.” The words came out slowly, and he hadn't meant to say them. There was warmth in her eyes, and he suddenly wanted that warmth, needed it.

“I know it,” she replied with a small shake of her tilted chin. Her lashes fanned down, then lifted over mischievous, laughing eyes.

Gloria's mental machinery, intent on maintaining an icy chill toward this…nonconformist, switched to lightness and laughter, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Her sense of humor took over, and before she realized it, she was completely out of control.

Watching as the laughter burst from her lips, Jack laughed too—a deep, rumbling, uncontrollable sound that he hadn't heard for so long it almost startled him.
Christ! You're like nothing I've ever seen before.
Again he wondered if he'd spoken aloud and made an effort to gather in the threads of his scattered thoughts. There was an electric aura about her that threw his mind completely out of sync.
I've got to be careful of you,
he warned himself.
You could take more of a man's heart than he's willing to give.

“Mom! Jack! Mom! Jack!” Peter squealed and squeezed through the door, grabbing Jack's jacket. “Cisco got away. He's lost in the woods.”

“Oh, Peter. Aunt Ethel said to keep him tied up.”

“I was bringin' him to see…Jack,” he said with a downward turn of his quivering lips.

“No sweat, hotshot,” Jack said calmly, and took Peter's hand. “He won't go far. What he needs is a pen. I wouldn't want to be tied to that clothesline all day, would you?” He glanced at Gloria's troubled face. “C'mon. We'll see what he's up to.”

Gloria watched Peter skip happily alongside the big man. A thoughtful frown covered her features. It occurred to her that prejudices didn't come naturally. They were taught. Peter didn't care that Jack looked tough as rawhide, or that he lacked the ambition to hold a steady job, or that, provoked enough, he would deliberately break a man's arm.
Children are like animals when it comes to love,
she thought sadly.
They don't care if a person is old or young, slim or fat, smart or stupid, or if he has long hair and a beard. It's the way in which that person treats them that sets the tone of the relationship.
A bit of guilt laid itself on Gloria's conscience, and she didn't like the feeling at all.

Jack stayed for lunch, and afterward he and Peter left the kitchen to finish building a pen for Cisco that they had started with a roll of chicken wire they'd found in the shed. When they returned, Gloria and Ethel had finished the cleanup and were having a second cup of coffee. Gloria reminded Peter that it was time for his nap.

“But…Mom! Jack's here.”

Jack sat down in a chair, and Peter wiggled his way between his knees and leaned against them.

“He'll be leaving soon. You know what will happen if you don't have your afternoon nap. You'll be too tired and too sleepy to eat your supper.”

“Are ya goin', Jack? Are ya?”

“I wasn't planning on it, hotshot.” Jack looked into Gloria's flashing eyes and smiled innocently.

“See, Mom! See! He's not going.” Peter climbed onto Jack's lap.

“Well, that's just…dandy. Perhaps Mr. Evans will
still
be here when you wake up.” Gloria got to her feet and held out her hand. “C'mon. You'll have to be washed. I think you've got most of Montana on your face and hands.”

“Washed too?” Peter said dejectedly.

“Run along, sport. Moms get these crazy ideas about naps and baths, and there's not much a guy can do but go along with 'em.” Jack nudged Peter's chin with his fist and lifted him off his lap.

“Don't go, Jack. You'll stay till I wake up?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Sure. I might even stay for supper if it's okay with Ethel.” His eyes met Gloria's. She was looking at him as if she'd like to run him through with a saber.
She's mad as a hornet,
he thought gleefully.
She thinks I'm a bad influence on her son.
Absurdly he wished he hadn't lost his earring when he and Peter were building the pen. He'd have to pick up a supply at the dime store the next time he was in town. On second thought it might improve his image if he hung a few gold chains around his neck too.

“You're welcome anytime, Jack,” Ethel declared. “I'll just throw in another potato or two. Anyhow, I want you to get on the roof before you go and tear that old bird's nest out of the dryer vent.” She tried to keep from breaking into a smile. Something was going on between these two; a person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not see the sparks they struck off in each other.

“Let's go, Peter,” Gloria said sharply.

When Gloria returned to the kitchen she had showered and changed into a pair of forest-green slacks and a soft striped shirt with a small white, round collar. She had put on makeup for the first time since she and Peter arrived, and was carrying a jacket and a purse.

Jack was talking on the CB radio to his neighbor back in Hangtown, and Ethel was still sitting at the table.

“Break for that base station in Hangtown. Break. Break. Hey, Boozer, are you on the channel?”

“Yeah, I'm here, Bigfoot. Whatta ya want?” The slurred voice came in very faintly.

“Wiggle the squelch, Boozer. You're not coming in very clear.”

“Ten-four. How's that?”

“Better. I'll not be back for a while. Ethel's new helper invited me to supper here at the Rustic Cove and you know I can't resist an invitation from a pretty woman.” His amused green eyes watched Gloria's mouth tighten and her nostrils flare angrily. “Will you check to see if my hound has plenty of water and feed him along about sundown?”

“Ten-four, Bigfoot.”

“And, Boozer, keep an eye on the road. You know what to do if you see the…feds,” he murmured, his eyes full of mischievous laughter.

“The…what?”

“Feds, Boozer. The feds. Over and out,” he said quickly, and put the microphone back on the hook. “And please don't burn down my town,” he said silently to the dead mike.

“Break for that Bigfoot.” Another voice came in on the set and Jack picked up the microphone again.

“You got the Bigfoot.”

Gloria lifted her eyes to the ceiling in a gesture of impatience.
For crying out loud—the games grown men play! Bigfoot? I can think of a handle more suitable for him than that,
she thought.
Hummmm…How about Bushman, Hairy Harry, Blackbeard, Billy Whiskers, Montana DingBat?
As her mind churned, the impulse to giggle almost overwhelmed her. She turned her back to him, keeping it stiffly straight, until she could control her rebellious, smiling mouth.

“Red Baron, back atcha.” The voice came over the speaker. “Tell Ma Brown I'll be there for chow and I'm hungry as a starved coyote.”

“Ten-four, Red Baron. I'll pass the word to Ma Brown and that Barbie doll. There's roast beef in the oven and pie on the table. Keep 'er between the ditches, the rubber side down, and roll 'er on home.”

“Obliged, Bigfoot. I'm gone.”

“Dwight's always starved. I'll swear, I don't think that man eats a bite all day when he knows he'll be here for supper.” Ethel bounced up from the table to peer into the oven. The truckers were her family, and her boys were coming home for supper. Dwight Anderson, known as Red Baron on the CB, had been stopping every week for several years. She loved every one of her boys and worried about them when the weather was bad. Something Jack had said flashed through her mind, and she turned to smile happily at Gloria.

“You've got a CB handle,” she exclaimed brightly. “Barbie doll fits you too. I got to hand it to you, Jack. When they were passin' out brains, you were right up front.”

“And when they were passing out humility, he was at the end of the line,” Gloria said heatedly. She ignored her aunt's What's-got-into-you look and whipped her jacket about her shoulders. “I'm going to take the U-Haul to town while Peter is napping, Aunt Ethel. Sit down and rest while I'm gone. I'll be back in plenty of time to help with dinner.” She spun around and walked determinedly out the door.

“Hey, Glory. Wait a minute.” She heard the screen door bang shut as she was going down the walk toward the pickup. “I think I'll come along.”

She whirled around to face Jack. “And I think you won't.” She opened the door of the truck, tossed her purse inside, and climbed up onto the seat.

“Oh, yes, I will.” Jack grabbed the door and stopped her from closing it. “This old truck flops out of gear once in a while if you don't shift it just right. I'm not anxious to come rescue you
again,
Glory, Glory.”

Gloria forced herself to count to ten before speaking, knowing that by using her name like that he was hoping she would lose her composure.

“I suppose you intend to hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” she said calmly, but with an unmistakable edge in her voice. “It won't work. I don't feel the least bit obligated to you. I thanked you for your help. I offered to pay you. It's over and done with. Good-bye.”

“At least we agree on one thing. Move over.” He got into the truck and crowded her out from under the wheel.

“Just a doggone minute!” Gloria sputtered. “I don't want you to go with me.”

“That's obvious. You'd rather swallow a toad than be seen in town with me, wouldn't you?” His eyes were twinkling merrily. “Glory, Glory…I'm the one taking the chance going off alone with you. How do I know you won't drag me off into the woods and have your way with me? You might come at me with a knife or an ax. You could be a psychopathic killer, a female Jack the Ripper who's killed hundreds of men in Ohio! Who knows what evil lurks behind that innocent face and beautiful wildcat eyes—”

“Funny! You should be a comedian. But I suppose even
that
would be too much work for you.” His teasing had fanned her temper, and her voice rose with heated anger.

“Could be,” he said agreeably, and shrugged. “Give me the keys and we'll talk about it on the way to town.”

Gloria's mouth opened, then snapped shut. Damned if she'd give him the satisfaction of an argument. She slapped the keys into his hand and slid over to the passenger side.

Jack put the truck in motion and they moved out onto the highway. She looked with pretended interest out the window, knowing that he was studying her, wondering why this bothered her so much.

“Glo-ry, glo-ry, hallelujah. Glo-ry, glo-ry, hallelujah…,” he sang softly.

She refused to rise to the bait and continued to gaze stoically out the window.