Ride the Rainbow Home (4 page)

"Then I gather you're not interested?"

"In Kim McCray? You know me better than that."

The intimacy of the thought made Meg tremble. "I'd have thought Kim would be married by now."

Jim's lip curled in a bored smirk. "She has been. Twice."

No sooner had he answered than another honeyed voice spoke at his side of the truck. This time it was the freshly divorced Lucretia Sherwood. Gloria Watson was next, then Lorena Gardner. By the time the sky darkened enough for the first Roman candles to appear, Jim had been greeted by six hopeful women, all of them checking out the competition.

"You could have warned me," Meg whispered as the latest candidate swayed into the deepening twilight.

"Warned you about what?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Jimmy McAllister. You could have told me I was spending the evening with the most eligible bachelor in town. I haven't been checked out by so many women since the night I wore a miniskirt to the symphony."

"You did?" Jim grinned wickedly. "Sorry I missed that."

"You're changing the subject." She gave him a cutting look. "You could have told me I was signing on as a bodyguard."

Jim just laughed, a deep, throaty sound that found its way into Meg's middle and curled up like a purring kitten.

"So how about you?" she asked nonchalantly. "Have you been married twice, like Kim McCray?"

"Not me," he answered. "Not even once. You?"

"Not unless you count my easel and my overhead projector."

"Now that's romantic. Anyone special in California?"

"Special?" Meg paused, thinking fondly of dear, sweet, unexciting Allen who was trying to draw a commitment from her. "No, no one special."

"Good," Jim said, and moved deliciously closer.

The first shell burst into the air, shattering the star-filled night with splashes of red, white, and blue. The crowd oohed and aahed its appreciation.

"Looks like we're getting started," Jim observed needlessly. "Warm enough?" Until that instant, Meg hadn't considered the temperature. She shivered. Jim drew a wool blanket around her shoulders, and then kept his arm around her, rubbing her upper arm. "It's one of the marvels of the high desert," he said. "When the sun goes down, the heat goes with it. Comfortable now?"

"Mmm," she said, warmed more by Jim's closeness than by the rough wool. Neither of them mentioned that Jim still kept his arm wrapped tightly about her. Meg snuggled, letting her head rest against the brick-solid wall of Jim's chest.

The next rocket was gold, followed by smaller bursts of silver. After that came a set of five small green-and-gold sunbursts, blossoming in side-by-side splendor. The bluff was the perfect backdrop for the show, the natural spectacle of the desert night the perfect complement for the drama of the fireworks. And the fireworks were the perfect corollary for the response of Meg's senses.

What's with me, anyway?
she wondered as she cuddled against Jim, as they commented casually on the wonders of the show. She could remember dozens of times back in high school when Little Jimmy McAllister had put his arms around her. They’d been close friends, affectionate. Yet his touch had never inspired this reaction. Her body, which only moments ago had trembled with the chill, was now trembling from an entirely different cause, and her stomach bucked like a rodeo bull. She hadn't felt like this since high school when she'd thought Danny Sherwood was asking her to the prom. Certainly, Allen had never— The thought felt disloyal and she quickly cut it off. If Jim could make her feel this way by putting an arm around her, how would she feel if he kissed her? If he . . .

"Oh!" she cried in wonder, apparently responding with the crowd to the lighting of the waterfall fireworks near the top of the bluff, always one of the spectacles of Holbrook’s show.
Careful, girl,
she warned herself,
you didn't come back to Rainbow Rock to start something with an old high school buddy.
Meg drew several long, deep breaths, willing herself to put aside the delightful fantasies that kept popping into mind.

The show continued with a dozen more rockets, then the lighting of the American flag ground display against the bluff, and then the grand finale--a series of twenty spectacular rockets all fired in rapid succession. As the final bursts died from the sky, the crowd cheered and honked horns in appreciation. As the applause died down, the exodus began.

Jim snuggled nearer, rubbing warmth into her arm. "I'd like to let the crowd clear a little before we go."

"Sounds fine."

"Chilly?" he asked.

"Not anymore," she answered fervently. "Look, since we're waiting, maybe you can tell me more about your business? I can't imagine doing much buying and selling out of Rainbow Rock."

"Depends on what you're buying and selling, I guess. What about you, Peggy? What does a management consultant do?''

"It's Meg, remember?"

"Sorry. I'm having trouble thinking of you as Meg. You seem so much like the Peggy I knew."

"Really? I thought I'd changed quite a bit. Then again, you've changed, but I can't stop thinking of you as Jimmy. How did you come to be called Jim, anyway? Everyone called your dad Jim."

"Dad died just after I went away to school."

Meg flinched. "Jim, I'm so sorry! I didn't know."

"It's okay. It's been a long time now. Anyway, at the funeral someone called me Jim and I looked around for my dad. It was an odd sensation, like the passing of a torch or something. How about you? When did you stop being Peggy?"

“The minute I drove out of Rainbow Rock. Nobody at UCLA knew me, so it seemed the perfect time for a change."

"I'm still having trouble with it. Would you consider a compromise?"

Her eyebrows rose in the darkness. "What kind?"

"May I call you Meggie? It feels more like you to me."

Meg opened her mouth to say no, that she had always detested childish diminutives, but somewhere between the formation of the thought and the shaping of the words, an image popped into mind, the picture of Jim with a pet name just for her. She nodded. "And I'll try to remember to call you Jim, but if Jimmy slips out now and then, you won't mind either, okay?"

Jim turned to face her and in the closeness of their shared blanket, there was a moment so warm, so electric, that Meg was certain he would kiss her. When he spoke instead, saying, "Okay," her disappointment was genuine.

Jim chose that moment to shake himself, as if waking from a trance. He looked around the parking lot. "The traffic's clearing well," he said. "Looks like it's time to go."

They spoke little as he helped her from the back of the truck and opened her door. He got in on his side and turned his concentration to the road. They lost most of the crowd by the time they turned toward Rainbow Rock. "So how long are you going to be in town?" he asked.

"I canceled a six-week tour, but I'm scheduled for another as soon as I return. I'll have to leave by mid-August.''

"You'll miss the dances."

"What dances?"

"The Hopi snake dances. They're always the third week of August."

"That's okay with me." Meg shuddered. "I'm not fond of snakes."

"I think you'd enjoy the ritual. Maybe I'll talk you into staying."

Meg felt the pull of temptation. "No. I need to get back to my business. You travel for business, don't you? Just where do you go?"

"Anywhere I can find a buyer, really. I'll be around a lot for the next few weeks, though. Maybe we can spend some time together, renew old acquaintance and all that."

"I'd like that."

Jim pulled up in front of Frank and Sally's home. Only the front porch light waited up for her. "Well, here we are." She reached for her door handle.

"Wait. Let me walk you." Jim's quick, fluid motion dropped him to the pavement. In a few easy strides he was by her side, opening her car door and taking her arm to help her from the high seat.

It was a simple touch, but it warmed Meg through. She pictured herself stepping into Jim's arms and drawing his head down to meet her mouth. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you and Sally had plans for tomorrow," he said, leading her up the walk.

"Nothing I know of."

"Maybe I'll call later, then." They stopped under the porch light, Jim letting go of her elbow. He turned to face her and took her shoulders. "I really enjoyed seeing you again... Meggie."

The sound of her nickname on his lips made her want to wriggle like a patted puppy. She breathed deeply, stifling the response. "I enjoyed it too." She gazed into his eyes, willing him to lean forward. For a second, she felt sure he would, but he dropped his hands. "I guess it's time to get you inside." He tried the knob and the front door opened. "Good night, Meggie."

She stepped inside and turned to watch him leave. "Good night, Jim." She closed the door behind her, listening until the pickup door closed and the engine started. "Wow," she whispered into the deepening night.

* * * *

"My word, it's hot!" Sally leaned against the mulberry tree, cooling herself with a cardboard fan that announced
I'm a Kirby's fan
and advertised Kirby's gas.

Hot. Oh yeah.
Meg instantly thought of the man she'd first seen on the hill behind Kirby's. "Yes it is, hotter than usual, if I remember correctly."

"You do. Tommy, stop splashing! We only get a couple of days like this each summer. It's never as hot as in Phoenix or Tucson."

"I remember." Meg stretched lazily. "And thank goodness! I always thought Rainbow Rock had little enough to commend it."

"You were always awfully hard on this little town," Sally observed, calmly scooting Serena into deeper shade.

"Maybe, but it was hard on us too. Or don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"I was Piggy, the principal's daughter," Meg began. "Jim was Little Jimmy, the pig farmer, one of the untouchable McAllisters, and people weren't any easier on you."

"I know. I remember the references to marine mammals and cattle." Sally spoke calmly while adjusting Sammy's clothing. "Jerry Volpe called me Lardbutt when he thought I wasn't listening. Others called me Buffalo and Heifer to my face."

"Yet you stayed."

Sally shrugged. "I never wanted to be anywhere else."

Meg sighed and leaned against the mulberry tree, but jerked up again as she remembered to check on Isabel in the wading pool. Assured the child was safe, she sank back against the tree. "Jimmy... Jim said that too."

Sally grinned smugly. "I was going to ask about your evening."

Meg's eyes danced. "Sally, you should have told me about him. What happened to the short, skinny kid we used to know?"

Sally shrugged. "He grew. He's changed as much as you have."

"More," Meg agreed heartily, "and all for the better."

“I agree. And I did try to tell you about him, remember? When you asked if there were interesting men in town."

"Why didn't you say more?"

"You were so quick to write him off, I figured you deserved a surprise."

"And if I hadn't seen him at the picnic?"

Sally’s eyes twinkled. "Oh, I'd have gotten the musketeers together somehow."

Meg smiled. "I'm sure you would have. You were always the one who kept things together." She made another check on the children, and then casually added, "Jim said he might call today." Meg saw her friend's look. "He wants to try to get the three of us together."

"Of course." Sally nodded knowingly.

Meg gave in, smiling at her friend.
"He is gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Absolutely. And the two of you are perfect together."

Meg straightened. "Too bad he's not in Walnut Creek. Say, what does he do, anyway? He said he's into buying and selling, but buying and selling what? I mean, the way he evaded my questions, I wondered if he might be peddling peyote off the reservation."

"Good heavens, girl! Did you learn these nasty suspicions in California? Don't tell me the men you date there are dope dealers!"

"Of course not." Meg's voice sounded gruff even to her. "At least, not that I know of. Besides, I don't find time to date much. It's just that he sounded so evasive . . ."

"He's probably just being modest," Sally answered. "Jim is one of the most sought-after traders in the country in Indian art objects."

"Indian art?" The flat taste was in her mouth again. "Don't tell me he's one of those thieves who steals from the Indians at bargain prices, then sells at a thousand- percent markup?"

Sally furrowed her brow. "You did leave here with some unpleasant stereotypes, didn't you?"