The Ranch (47 page)

He lay in the tub for nearly an hour, and then he glanced up at her. He hadn't been to sleep yet, but he looked a hell of a lot better. “Want to come in?” he asked, and she laughed. She was still wrapped in a towel from her own bath, and she couldn't believe that he could even think of such things, as tired as they both were. But the moment she got in the tub with him, it was obvious that he had other things on his mind than sleeping.

“I can't believe you. I thought you were dying an hour ago.”

“I've been resurrected. Select parts of me anyway.” She laughed at him, he was certainly in good form, and they made love in her Jacuzzi. It was midnight when they got out again, and they'd been in the water for so long that she said she felt like a little shriveled-up raisin. “You shore don't look like one,” he drawled, caressing her bottom, and then she turned and looked at him,

“Do you want to go back to your place or stay here?”

He thought about it for a moment, and knew he was a fool, but he just couldn't resist it. Just this once, he decided to take a chance. “I may regret this, especially if you don't kick me out around five-thirty. That's real important.”

“I will,” she promised him.

“Then let's stay here… I don't think I'll make it to my cabin.” Even more than that, he didn't really want to. They slipped into her enormous bed, and he thought he'd never felt anything as comfortable. The sheets were clean, her flesh was smooth, she smelled of perfume and soap, even her hair was clean. He had never felt better in his life, and he was asleep even before she could turn the light out.

He held her close to him all night, and she woke him up gently, as promised, at five-twenty. She had set her alarm clock.

“I hate to do this to you, baby,” she whispered into his neck, and he rolled over and put an arm around her. Even in his sleep he was affectionate with her, and she loved it. “You've got to get up.”

“No, I don't,” he said in the dark, with his eyes closed. “I died and went to Heaven.”

“Me too… come on, get up, sleepyhead…” He opened his eyes finally, and with a groan he got out of bed, and slowly put his clothes on. They were still filthy from the fire, and he was clean, but he only had to wear them as far as his cabin, and then he would shower again, and dress for work. But he hated to leave her.

“Thank you,” he said, as he stood looking at her, “that was the nicest gift anyone could give me,” he meant the Jacuzzi as much as her loving, and she smiled at him.

“I thought that would do you good.” And as they stood there, she remembered it was Wednesday. “You're not riding in the rodeo tonight, are you?” she asked, and he hesitated and then shook his head.

“I think I'd either fall asleep or fall off before I got out of the pen. I think I'll pass tonight.”

“Me too,” she said, after the fiasco on Saturday night, she hadn't planned on going either.

“Why don't we spend a quiet night listening to music? Do you mind coming to the cabin again?”

“No, sir.” She smiled and kissed him, and told him she would see him later. And then he slipped out on silent feet and was gone before anyone could see him. And when she saw him at the corral at nine o'clock, he looked clean and organized and official in a white shirt, a cowboy hat, and a pair of jeans. The horses were all sorted out and saddled, everyone looked rested again. Other than a faint smell of smoke in the air, you would never have known that anything had happened. But it was all anyone could talk about all day. The fire on Shadow Mountain.

It was a peaceful day for all of them, and that afternoon, after lunch, Mary Stuart called Bill in London. He was working in his room, and he sounded a little surprised to hear from her. She usually sent him faxes now and rarely called him. But he seldom called her either.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, startled to hear her voice. It was ten o'clock at night in London.

“No, I'm fine,” she said matter-of-factly, and asked him how work was, he said it was fine, and then there was an awkward silence. She told him about the forest fire then, and that Zoe and Tanya had volunteered, but she had been evacuated to another ranch. She didn't say that she had gone with Hartley. And then she totally stunned her husband. “I thought I'd come to London next week,” she said quietly.

“I told you,” he said, sounding irritated. “I'm busy.”

“I'm well aware of that. But I think we need to talk. Otherwise I'm not going to see you till September.” Apparently that didn't bother him. But it bothered her a lot. That was part of the problem.

“I might be back at the end of August.”

“I'm not going to wait another six weeks to see you,” she said simply.

“I miss you too,” he said, still annoyed, “but I'm working day and night. I told you that. Otherwise, I'd have had you come with me.”

“Would you rather I just send you a fax?” she snapped at him. It was ridiculous, he wouldn't even take the time for her to tell him it was over.

“Don't be disagreeable. I don't have time to see you.”

“That's the entire point of my visit. You don't have time to speak to me either, or make love to me, or be my husband. I don't actually think it has as much to do with time, Bill, as interest.”

“What exactly are you saying?” he said with a little chill running up his spine. He was suddenly beginning to understand what she was saying, the faxes, the silences, the fact that she didn't call. He was getting it. But very, very slowly. “Why are you coming over here?” he asked her bluntly. He had always hated surprises.

“To see you. I won't take a lot of your time, I won't even stay in the same hotel if you don't want me to. I just think that after twenty-one years, we ought to say a word or two to each other before we throw the whole mess in the trash can.”

“Is that how you feel about us?” He sounded both appalled and startled, but she couldn't deny it.

“Yes, it is, and I'm sure you feel that way too. I just think we ought to talk about it.”

“I don't feel that way at all,” he said, sounding crushed. “How could you say that?”

“The fact that you can even ask me that is the saddest thing I can think of.”

“We've both been through a great deal… And I have this very important case in London… you know that…”

“I know, Bill.” She sounded tired listening to him. He was so totally without insight that she wondered if it was even worth her while going over to see him. Just talking to him depressed her. “We'll talk next week.”

“Are we talking or signing papers?” he said, sounding angry.

“That's up to you.” But it wasn't. It was up to her. And she knew it. He'd probably go on like that forever, married to a woman he never touched, looked at, or spoke to. As far as she was concerned it was not too appealing. And having just spent ten days talking to Hartley constantly, the idea of going back to a silent, loveless marriage made her suicidal. She just wasn't going to do it. It was over.

“It sounds as if you've already made up your mind,” Bill said unhappily, and she almost said that was the case, but if she had there would have been no point going to London. And somehow she felt that she had to give him a chance to defend himself, to at least explain why he had treated her so badly for the last year, before she told him. But it was a bit of a kangaroo court, and she knew it. “Are you flying from New York?” he asked, as though that made a difference, but of course it didn't.

“I'm coming from L.A., as soon as I leave Tanya.”

“Is this her idea?” he asked, as though she couldn't have thought of it herself. “Or your other friend, the doctor?”

“Her name is Zoe. And no, it's not their idea. Bill, it's mine. I thought all this out before I left New York, and I see no point waiting two more months to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” He was really pressing her. He heard what she was saying and the way she sounded, and he was beginning to sound panicked. It was pathetic. Instead of panicking now, he should have noticed the situation six months earlier, or even two. That might have made a difference. Now it wouldn't.

“I'm telling you I'm miserable with you, or hadn't you noticed? And you're just as miserable with me. And don't be dishonest about it.”

“It's been a hard time, but I'm sure it'll be fine,” he said, denying all the agony of the last year, the bitterness, the silence, the hatred.

“Why would it be fine? What is possibly going to change it?” She had asked him to see a therapist months before and he had refused. He was not dealing with it, and he was hiding. How could it possibly get any better? But he sounded as though he was fighting for his life now.

“I don't know what's going on here.” He sounded completely confused, and totally unprepared for her accusations, as though he had never expected her to notice, as though he could just park her somewhere and beat on her occasionally, and come back one day if he felt better. Well, it was too late. And suddenly he knew it. “I don't understand why you're coming over.” He was still trying to deny it.

“We'll talk about it next week,” she said, unwilling to pursue it any further.

“Maybe I can come to New York for a weekend,” he said, as though having her come to London was too threatening. But she wasn't going to wait a moment longer than she had to.

“You don't need to do that. You're busy. I won't take up too much time. I promise. I'm going to try and meet up with Alyssa.”

“Does she know you're coming?” Did everyone? He sounded utterly panicked.

“Not yet,” Mary Stuart said coolly. She had loved him for too long, given too much to him, and waited too long for it to get better. And now she had nothing left to give him. She wasn't even sorry. “I'll try and track her down before I come.”

“Maybe we can all spend a weekend together,” he said, sounding hopeful.

“I don't want to do that. That's not why I'm coming. I'll come to London to see you for a day or two, and then I'll fly to wherever she is.” She was not going to let him hide behind their daughter, or have him play little family at her expense. This was between her and her husband and no one else, and she didn't want Alyssa with them.

“You can stay longer if you want. As long as you're coming over…” His voice trailed off but he was beginning to sense that it was pointless. He was not a complete fool, and he had never heard her so heartless or so angry. It never even occurred to him that there might be someone else. She didn't sound that way, and she was not that kind of woman. He felt certain that she had always been faithful to him, and he was right. But he had never, ever heard her so angry. It was more than anger, it was disdain. He knew now that it had gone too far. And he knew exactly what he was going to hear when she came to London. He respected her for coming to tell him herself and not writing to him, but that didn't make it any better.

He was crushed when they hung up. She could have saved herself the trip. He knew precisely what she was going to tell him. All he could think of to do was send her a fax. And when she got it an hour later, she looked at it and threw it in the garbage. It fell on the floor instead, and Zoe picked it up that afternoon and shook her head when she read it. The poor guy really didn't have a clue. He was hopeless.

“Looking forward to seeing you next week. Warm regards to you and your friends, Bill.” For a drowning man who was fighting for his life, he might as well have been clinging to a toothpick. And it seemed obvious to Zoe, or anyone who knew Mary Stuart, that he was not going to make it.

Chapter 20

By Thursday, they were each clinging to the last of their days, like worry beads they were each hanging on to for different reasons. Of the three of them Zoe was the most excited to go home, she'd been talking to Sam every day, she was feeling well, and she was anxious to see her baby. But she still loved being at the ranch, and felt that each day there was an opportunity to get stronger. It was like going to Lourdes, she said jokingly, she could look up at the mountains and pray and she knew she would go home a whole person. And John Kroner even said there was something to that.

But for the others, each day less was an agony of sorts, a priceless gift they had lost, something they knew they would never again recapture. In the face of their departure, Hartley was beginning to fear that they had been too cautious, that they should have had an affair, that they should have done more than kiss and hold each other, and learn all about each other. He saw what Tanya and Gordon had, and he suddenly envied them. But when he talked to Mary Stuart about it on Thursday afternoon, she told him he was being foolish. They had done the right thing for them, and he knew that. She reminded him of how much they had both been through, how much loss, how much pain, and how much wiser for them to proceed with caution. She didn't want to begin their relationship by feeling she had cheated on Bill, or left him for Hartley. She didn't want guilt trailing them for the rest of their lives, and Hartley smiled at her, relieved by what she was saying. For a short time, he had panicked.

“As long as there is a ‘rest of our lives,’ then I'm not worried.” Neither of them was completely sure of it, and there was still her trip to London to live through, but it certainly looked as though they were going to wind up together. And anyone watching them for any length of time would have put money on it, particularly Tanya and Zoe.

“I think I'm going to go crazy when I know you're in London,” Hartley said sheepishly. He was such a nice man, and he was so attractive. He had invited Mary Stuart to go to Seattle with him. He was talking to a library there that wanted to build a wing in his honor, and from there he was flying to Boston, to discuss a lecture he was going to give at Harvard. It was going to be an interesting life for her, if she joined him. He was anxious to have her read his work too, and he had given her pieces of the manuscript he was working on. It had been a great honor for her, and suddenly the prospect of finding a job no longer seemed as important. Hartley was going to keep her very busy.

But she declined his offer to travel with him when they left Wyoming. She wanted to go back to Los Angeles with Tanya, spend a day or two with her, and then fly on to London. She needed to get it over with, to clear her head. And she would meet him back in New York as soon as it was over. It would be better for both of them, she'd be free then. And she was more than willing to spend the rest of the summer with him at Fisher's Island. He wanted to give a dinner party for her, to introduce her to his friends, and let them know the good times had come again after nearly two years of solitude and silence. He was ready to come out of hiding.