Wishmakers (13 page)

“Wake up, Maggie.”

Margaret tried to shrug off whatever was shaking her shoulder. She heard the voice again, louder this time, opened one eye, and was instantly awake. Chip was standing beside the bed.

“Are you going to sleep all day? I've been waiting for a couple of hours for you to wake up.”

Margaret's eyes wandered over his smoothly shaved face and freshly washed hair. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt and a pair of the bleach-splotched jeans.

“I guess I was tired.” She squinted her eyes to bring his face into focus.

“Arlene will be bringing Penny home this morning. You'd better get up unless you want them to catch you in my bed.”

Naturally apprehensive, Margaret peered up at him, trying to discern his expression. Last night she had felt happy and young and cherished. They had made love all through the night. It was almost as much happiness as she could take at one time, and she wanted desperately to feel that the closeness of mind and body they'd shared had carried over into the light of day.

“Will I have time for a bath?” Everything was not as comfortable and easy as she had hoped it would be. The realization hit her like a dash of cold water.

“Sure. The house is warm. I found there was some fuel oil in the tank after all, so I started the furnace.” He went to the door, and her heart settled with a sickening thud.

“Chip.” She clutched the covers to her. “Will you get me a robe?”

He nodded and left the room. Margaret closed her eyes against an unwanted surge of hot tears. It had meant nothing to him! Nothing deep or lasting. She'd aroused him physically, and that was all. He'd used her body to relieve his needs. He came back with a blue robe in one hand and her glasses in the other. He tossed the robe onto the end of the bed and placed her glasses on the nightstand.

“You'll need these to find your way to the bathroom.” There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

She held her breath through the seconds of silence that followed. The face that looked down at her was a blur, but it wasn't smiling—she could see clearly enough for that. Even his voice seemed different now. It was less friendly, though not really harsh. He turned abruptly and strode to the door, quietly closing it behind him.

Margaret slipped into the bathroom, her mind a buzzing hive of confusion. She sat in the tub of warm water and soaked her aching muscles. Chip had not let her sleep until near dawn. There had been an electric charge running between them that had generated new sparks with every touch, every murmured endearment. It was as if they'd been starving for each other. No caress was too rough or too soft. She swallowed the tightness in her throat. How could he be so indifferent after so many hours of sweet, hot, shared passion?

She uttered a small groan when she stepped out of the tub. Chip had made love to her as gently as her own passion would allow, but her body, unaccustomed to a man's rough hands and rock-hard intrusion, was rebelling now. She dusted herself with talc and smiled a secret, soft smile when she touched her sensitive nipples. The thought of his mouth on her breasts sent unexpected shivers through her body. Oh, God, I love him, she thought. But what do I do now?

She dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and tied her hair at the nape of her neck with a shoestring ribbon. With the dark-rimmed glasses firmly on her nose she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked into the kitchen. Her new boots made squeaky sounds on the tile, but there was no one there to hear them. The electric coffee pot was perking, and a large slice of ham lay in the skillet on the stove. Voices were coming from outside the kitchen door, and she looked through the glass.

Tom MacMadden stood beside his dusty station wagon. He was wearing a dark suit and a small-brimmed felt hat. This was Sunday, Margaret thought, and he'd probably been to church. She opened the door to speak to him, but Chip's voice reached her before she could step out.

“She'll be ready to leave by the end of the week. Right now she's like a puppy let off the leash. Everything is new and exciting, but as soon as the novelty fades she'll be off to make fresh discoveries.” His voice was brusque.

“She said somethin' about buyin' out your shares in the mill,” Tom said slowly. “They could've sent her up here to feel you out.”

“I don't think so. I doubt she knows any more about business than Penny does. I think Rachel knew we'd look out for her. Does it bother you having her around?”

“Nope. Guess I thought it would, but it don't.”

“You think I should pack her out of here, don't you?”

“Makes no difference to me. Just don't go gettin' soft on her. She'll wind you 'round her finger.”

Margaret stood fighting a strange tight feeling in her stomach. They were talking about her. The awkwardness of the situation made her clench her teeth.

“I'll take her to the mill and up to the logging camp on Flathead. That should satisfy her curiosity. She'll be ready to get back to the city after that.”

Margaret was inwardly raging, her breath coming fast and hard. This was the same man who had held her in his arms last night and called her sweetheart. Today he was talking about getting rid of her! He was dismissing her as casually as he had dismissed Beth, the young girl who had a puppy-love crush on him. Margaret was flooded with resentment, and her heart pounded in response to her anger. The men had stopped talking. She waited a moment, took a deep breath, straightened her back stubbornly, and stepped out onto the porch.

“Good morning, Tom.”

“Mornin'.”

“Have you been to church already?”

“I usually go to early mass.”

“Had I known, I would have asked to go with you. If you come by this way next Sunday, I'd appreciate a ride.” She didn't look at Chip, but she could feel his eyes on her. Both men obviously knew she had overheard their conversation. What right did they have to discuss her as if she were an outsider nosing into company business. Damn them!

“I suppose I could give you a lift, if you're still here.” Tom put emphasis on the last words.

“I'll be here.” She glanced at Chip, then back to Tom.

Tom opened the door of the station wagon. “Guess I'd better be gettin' on. See ya, Chip. 'Bye, miss.”

“Don't let me chase you away, Tom.” Despite her determination to handle herself coolly, she felt defeated and humiliated. She had been so naïve! Chip was going to take her sightseeing, as if she were a tourist. Last night must have been an additional bonus in the package deal! Never had she had to fight so hard to keep her expression calm and pleasant.

“Nice seeing you again, Tom,” she called before walking back into the kitchen.

Her knees felt weak, and she held tightly to the back of a chair. She was totally unnerved, and in order to have something to do she went to the counter and poured coffee from the percolator. She heard Chip come into the kitchen, but she didn't turn around. The silence lengthened. Why didn't he say something, for heaven's sake?

“Eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good about themselves.” His voice was softer than she'd expected.

Damned if he was going to put her on the defensive! She whirled and faced him.

“What did you expect me to do? Say ‘Hey, fellows, stop talking about me, I'm listening’?” She was engulfed in such hurt and rage she scarcely knew what she was saying. “If you don't want me here—and it's evident you don't—that's tough, because I'm staying if I have to use all my corporate clout. But I must warn you! I may be like a puppy let off the leash, but I certainly won't lick the hand that cuffs me.” She was almost breathless when she finished, but she held her head proudly.

He continued to look at her, with unwavering eyes, eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

“I didn't mean that in a derogatory way.” His lips barely seemed to move when he spoke.

“A dog's a dog!” she said lightly. More than anything in the world she wished to keep him from knowing how crushed she was, how miserable she felt, how his denial of her would tarnish forever the memories of the beautiful moments they had shared. Her glasses had slid down on her nose, and she jabbed them back into place.

“I didn't say I didn't want you here, Maggie. I said you'll be ready to leave once you've seen it all.” His voice was patient, and it infuriated her that he was speaking to her as if she were a child.

“You showed me your particular kind of hospitality last night. Thanks for the show!” She flung the words in his face, and evidently they couldn't have been more cutting.

He reached her in two strides, and his hands came down on her shoulders like hundred-pound weights. “Shut up! You mention that in a dirty way again and I swear I'll…slap you!”

“You do and I'll have you arrested!” she gasped. Forcibly calming herself, she said, “I came here to look things over and decide if I'm going to sell to you. I'm not leaving until I do.” To herself she vowed: I'll never sell my shares to you, Duncan “Chip” Thorn. I'll give them to a charity first! He was staring down at her coldly. Why in the world was
he
acting this way? She was the one who had cause for anger.

He released her arms. “Eat some breakfast, and I'll take you upriver in the boat.”

“Why? Is this one of the side trips of the tour?”

“You could call it that. You want to see the area, don't you? We'll just about have time before Penny and Arlene get here. I've got work to do this afternoon.”

As she turned to take the cereal box from the cabinet she heard him leave the room. Then she was alone. It was simultaneously a relief and a sickening misery. She could cry now if she wanted, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her red-rimmed eyes when he returned. She allowed herself the luxury of relaxing her tight features; they felt as if they'd been set in a plaster cast. Automatically she poured the cereal into the bowl and added the milk. She would eat if it killed her, although she wondered how she would get a single spoonful down her tight throat.

There were a million unanswered questions floating around in her mind. Why did Tom MacMadden care whether she stayed or not? Why did Chip speak about Rachel as if he knew her? And Chip never had fully explained why it was that Tom knew her identity and no one else did. She didn't allow her mind one thought of the night she'd spent in his arms. She couldn't think of that now—the hurt and humiliation were too raw.

Margaret doggedly finished the cereal, then went into the bathroom to put in her contact lenses. She tied a scarf about her head and picked up a pair of sunglasses, although the sun was obscured behind a gray cloud bank. With her mackinaw over her arm she waited in the kitchen for Chip. He came in wearing his coat, so she slipped on hers and followed him down the path to the wooden jetty where the outboard motorboat was moored.

Chip stepped into the boat and held out his hand to assist her. She put hers into it and looked into his face. He was looking at her in a way that shriveled her soul. It was a cold, angry, violent look. Even through the dark glasses his eyes trapped hers, and her heart beat so fast it seemed to fill her ears.

“Sit down over there and put on a life jacket,” he instructed curtly.

“I can swim,” she responded in a tone to match his.

“So can I. But you can get knocked cold if you're thrown from a boat. Put on the life jacket.” He waited until she began fastening the buckles on the bulky orange vest, then turned his back and slipped into a vest hanging on the back of the seat.

The wind on the river was cold, and it stung her cheeks. Margaret was thankful for the scarf and the sunglasses that helped keep the wind out of her eyes. Chip lounged behind the wheel of the boat, seemingly immune to the cold. She was aware that the trees grew tall on each side of the river and that an occasional house nestled among them, but that was all.

Here I am, she thought, in a boat on a river that bends and twists through this beautiful wilderness, and all I can think of is the cold-blooded, calculating way he spoke about me. The power he had over her petrified her. He could engulf her, crush her, set a fire under her that would consume her. So why was she staying? Was she like a moth, compelled to flit ever closer to the flame?

Chip slowed the boat. Ahead a wooden dock jutted out into the river, and a large brown dog ran back and forth barking furiously. As they moved closer to the dock the trees gave way to a view of lawn sweeping down to the river. A log house was set back amid the pines. It was long and low with brown shakes and several cobblestone chimneys. The house seemed to be built around a huge patio with a large outdoor fireplace. It was a blend of old and new, and it looked settled, comfortable in its surroundings.

The nearer they came to the dock the more excited the dog became. As it dashed back and forth, still barking, it suddenly occurred to Margaret that the dog recognized both Chip and the boat and was barking a welcome. She barely had time for the thought to register before the boat picked up speed, shot ahead, and passed the wooden jetty. She looked back at the dog, which stood in surprised silence on the end of the dock. Of course the dog would know Chip, Margaret reasoned. Everyone from miles around would know him and the boat. Then why did she get the feeling that the dog had expected him to turn in and tie up to the dock?

She glanced at Chip, the question in her eyes hidden by the dark glasses, and studied his set profile. Slowly, as if feeling her appraisal, he turned his head and his narrowed eyes swept her face. A shiver unrelated to the cold wind shimmied down her spine, and she looked away quickly before his eyes could read the misery in hers. She felt the boat slow, and then he turned it in a wide arc and headed for home.

Back at the company house Chip silently helped her out of the rocking boat. She left him to moor it and walked up the path. Feeling lonely and miserable, she removed her coat, went into the living room, and stood with her back to the glowing coals in the fireplace. She was cold, chilled from the ride on the river, but her cheeks burned as she remembered how she had surrendered, willingly, eagerly, to his possession of her. She wanted to weep. What must he be thinking? There had been no challenge. She had simply been there for the taking. How could she face him here in this room? Her eyes wandered to the couch, and then she dashed for her own room, sighing with relief as she closed the door behind her. Tears flowed down her cheeks. What had made her declare that she was going to stay here? She had to go! To be with him and have him treat her so coldly tore at her heart. It couldn't be worse not to see him at all, she decided—although that thought was almost unbearable. She knew she had no choice, because if she stayed it wouldn't be long before those mocking sky-blue eyes would see that she was head-over-heels in love with him. She took her case from the floor of the closet and placed it on the bed. Methodically she began to pack. She had control of herself now. She'd had her moment of weakness.