Wishmakers (29 page)

The highway cut through a thick stand of spruce and pine. The sky overhead was a clear blue with a few puffy white clouds rolling lazily along on a slight breeze, and the air was clean and fresh. The long, magnificent sweep of landscape was green, yellow, and bronze; the colors glistened in the afternoon sun, providing a startling contrast to the blue sky above. It was all so breathtakingly beautiful. Gloria realized she could easily fall in love with this country, and now understood why her aunt had not wanted to leave it.

A tired sigh escaped her lips. Being constantly on guard with this man was energy consuming.

She turned to see Jack darting glances at her. He had rolled down the window, and the wind was whipping his hair back from his face. She studied the big man driving her aunt's truck and wondered why in the world the elderly woman trusted this unconventional screwball. She swung around and forced from her mind the thought that he really might be a handsome man beneath all that…brush.

“Does Peter look like his father? He certainly doesn't resemble you.”

“No.”

“She's a woman of few words,” he said, as if talking to someone else. “But that's not all bad. A woman with her mouth flapping all the time would soon get on a man's nerves.” He shot her a devilish look that fueled her temper again.

“If you think I'm going to tell you my life history, forget it,” she snapped.

“I know part of it.”

“You've been pumping my aunt for information!”

He laughed. “What I know about you, I heard before you got here.”

“Then…you knew who I was when you stopped at the rest area,” she said accusingly.

“I had a pretty good idea.”

“Then why didn't you say so? And why ask about Peter's father? You must know that he's my adopted son and that he was left in the rest room of a sleazy tavern—an abused, frightened child who was picked up by the police and brought to the center for abandoned children. He had never been loved or wanted, held or cuddled…” Her voice rose with an anger that had nothing to do with him. She looked into his eyes and was startled by the tenderness she saw there.

“I didn't know that,” he said slowly.

They lapsed into silence. During this time they passed the rest area where he had beaten up the two hoodlums who had harassed her. She glanced at him. The flip manner was gone. His brows were drawn together as if in deep concentration. She looked away from him and allowed her eyes to feast on the panorama stretched out before her: forest-covered slopes that after a while gave way to the cluster of buildings that made up the town of Lewistown.

There was a soft quality to the afternoon light as it filtered through the windshield of the truck, evidence of the autumn sun's waning strength. To Gloria this peaceful scene seemed a million miles away from the crowded and sometimes smoggy streets of Cincinnati.

The pickup bounced over the railroad tracks and down the long main street of the town. Other streets branched off at intervals, dividing groups of stores, some of which were faced in brick. A new modern bank sprawled on a corner, reminding Gloria of Marvin. Banks always have the newest and the most modern-looking buildings in town, she mused.

A white church, its cupola stark against a background of trees whose leaves were faded green, muted rust, and brilliant gold, was set back on a side street looking stately and serene.

Jack turned the truck into the drive of a service station. Along one side was a row of rental trailers and trucks. He pulled into that area and stopped.

“Give me your papers.”

It wasn't
Do you want me to take care of it for you?
It was simply
Give me your papers.
She fought down the resentment that bubbled up and gave him a searing glance. With her chin set at a stubborn angle she opened the door, got out, and went into the office. She had rented the trailer and she would turn it in without any help from “Bushman,” she thought with an impulse to giggle in spite of her irritation.

When Gloria returned to the pickup, the trailer had been unhitched and moved away. Jack was not in sight, and her first impulse was to slide beneath the wheel and drive away. But when she reached to start the motor, she realized that the keys were not in the ignition. Damn! He was taking no chances on being left in town.

Frustrated, knowing that he had anticipated what she would do if she had the chance, she sat in the truck and watched the cars come in, fill with gas, and leave. Five minutes went by and then ten. She fidgeted on the seat, looked at her watch, and tapped her foot against the floorboard of the truck.
Damn him! I should have expected this,
she mumbled to herself.
Isn't this typical of a loafer, a good-for-nothing?
He
has all the time in the world,
she fumed.
Time means nothing to
him. He
isn't doing anything.

Her temper was on the verge of skyrocketing when she saw him saunter out of the service station where the mechanics were working on cars and walk in leisurely fashion toward the truck. He opened the door, hopped in, and grinned at her. At least she thought it was a grin, judging by the creases at the corners of his eyes.

“Did you get things squared away?” The amusement in his eyes was undeniable, and his smug attitude made her all the more determined not to allow him to goad her to anger.

“Of course,” she answered with a haughty lift of her brows.

“Hungry?”

“No. We just ate lunch.”

“That was a couple of hours ago, Glory. Let's grab a hamburger and a beer.”

“No. I want to go home.”

His green eyes roamed over her face, taking in the shining nose, windblown hair, and tight-lipped mouth. He reached out and covered with one of his the hands she had clasped in her lap.

“Don't worry. You look just fine,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I'd not be ashamed to take you into any restaurant in town.”

“Well…that's big of you,” she sputtered, and yanked her hand from beneath his. “You're going to drive me out of my mind! Do you know that? I'm not hungry. I want to go home. Spelled h-o-m-e. Can't you get that through your thick head?”

“Ah, ah, ah…temper, temper,” he chided gently, as if she were a child. “You need to eat, Glory. You're as skinny as a starved alley cat and as cross as a junkyard dog.” He boldly stared at the length of her figure and he shook his head sadly.

“Oh, my God!”

“It's not ladylike to swear, darlin'.” He started the motor and they moved out onto the street. “We'll go to a hangout of mine. It's down by the tracks. It's usually pretty tame during the day, but at night—
wow!
It's every fantasy a guy dreams about. They serve everything from a little Coke, ah…er…Coca Cola, to rustled steak not a day off the range. And the girls upstairs…Ooops, sorry, you'd not be interested in them.” He glanced at her, but all he could see was the back of her head. She was staring out the side window. “If you're worryin' about how you look, Glory—don't.” His voice rambled on with exaggerated patience. “The people down there are pretty tolerant of ‘straights.’ But you could unbutton that shirt a little and show a little bosom. That way you'd not be quite so conspicuous.”

This man was crazy! No longer able to control her anger she spun around to face him. The smug look on his face caused her to clench her fist and do something she'd not dreamed she was capable of doing. She hit him a resounding blow on the upper arm.

“If I were a man, I'd beat you up!” Her poise completely abandoned her, and she heard herself shouting. It felt so good to yell, she did it again. “Ohhhh…you smart-ass! You make me so mad. You're the most aggravating creature I've ever met. You're a sixties hippie living in the eighties. You're impossible, rude, and…a lazy, no-good deadbeat.” She stopped, then took a deep breath. Her pulses were thudding like a jackhammer in her head. This oversized teddy bear was driving her out of her mind and she desperately needed to be delivered from his presence.

“Atta girl. Let it all out. It feels good to yell, doesn't it? I do it sometimes when I feel uptight,” he murmured, his eyes bouncing from her to the street and back again. “I walk out into the middle of Hangtown, face the empty buildings that once made up a town of over a thousand hardy souls, and I yell as loud and as long as I want to. It's good for the heart, the lungs, and the digestive system. If a person lets off steam once in a while it'll keep 'im from getting an ulcer. It also helps if you've got something to kick,” he added with green eyes dancing and his mouth curving into a grin.

Gloria stared back at him and desperately tried to hold on to her anger. Unwelcome thoughts trampled through her mind. She had never seen such eyes on a man. Between the spread of black lashes they were as green as a new leaf in the spring. There was strength and stubbornness there, just as there was in his hard, muscled body. Yet they were so soft and so deep, seeming to contain a knowledge about her that was strangely disconcerting. It was as if he knew everything about her—everything, from her childhood to her sheltered life as Marvin's wife. He even knew that she was repelled by, yet attracted to him. She swallowed, feeling a sudden aching tightness in her throat.

“Jack Evans,” she said quietly. “You're…giving me a headache.”

CHAPTER FIVE

J
ACK TURNED ONTO
a street that ran parallel with the railroad tracks.

“What's the matter with you? You didn't pay one bit of attention to me when I said I wanted to go home,” Gloria said, her voice hard with irritation.

“Yes, I did. I heard you loud and clear.” They bounced onto a graveled drive and he parked the truck beside a frame building with beer signs nailed to the siding on each side of the door and a weathered swinging sign above. “You said you weren't hungry. You said you wanted to go home. You said I was giving you a headache. See there? I'm no dummy.”

“That's your opinion.”

“I'm starved,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “That bacon-and-tomato sandwich you gave me for lunch didn't amount to anything. It'll only take a few minutes to have a hamburger and a beer.” He made it sound quite sensible.

“I'll wait out here.”

“Stubborn little mule,” he murmured, and the intensity of his gaze caused her to blush, but she returned his look steadily. He opened his shirt pocket and dropped the truck keys inside. “Suit yourself. But it'll take much longer for me to eat if you're not with me.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Uh-huh.”

Gloria jerked at the door handle. “That figures. C'mon, let's get it over with.”

“Wow! Such enthusiasm.” Jack met her at the front of the truck and attempted to take her arm, but she jerked it away. He was chuckling as they entered the café.

Gloria headed straight for the first booth and dropped down on the red vinyl padded seat. Jack eased his bulk into the seat opposite her. His knees touched hers and she moved over next to the wall and placed her purse on the seat beside her. She looked around the room to keep from looking at him.

Three men—ranchers, by the look of the widebrimmed hats pushed to the back of their heads and the boot heels hooked over the braces of the stools—sat at the counter. The other five booths and the four tables between the booths and the counter were empty, but all were laid with heavy white china, the cups turned upside down on the saucers, and the silver for each place setting folded neatly in a paper napkin. The men at the bar glanced at them and then continued eating. The woman behind the counter drew two glasses of water and, carrying both in one hand and a menu under her arm, came to the booth.

“Hi, Jack. How're ya doin'?”

“Fine, Helen. You?”

“Fine.”

The woman looked down at Gloria and smiled. She was tall, blond, and large boned, with every hair stiffly in place. She was past middle age, but her lined face was carefully made up, her white uniform and low-wedge shoes spotlessly clean.

Gloria noticed her hands as she placed the menu on the table in front of her. They were large, capable, work-worn hands that told her life hadn't been easy for this woman. She returned her friendly smile, accepted the menu, and murmured, “Thank you.”

“This is Gloria, Helen. She came to give Ethel a hand at the motel…for a while.” Jack added the last words with a measured, narrow-eyed glance at Gloria before he opened the menu.

“That's nice. I'm glad Ethel will have some help. She looked peaked and tired the last time she was here.” Helen spoke with such sincere concern that Gloria looked up in surprise.

“Do you know my aunt?”

“Know Ethel? Mercy! I've known that woman since the day she and George bought that motel. My land! So you're the niece from Cincinnati she's talked about so much. Welcome to Montana. I hope you like cold weather; it can be a bear here at times.”

“I'm used to cold weather. It won't bother me at all.”

“We'll see about that,” Jack murmured with his eyes on the menu. Gloria pursed her lips stubbornly.

“What'll you have, Jack?” Helen's gaze bounced between Gloria and Jack, and her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. She added, “You know what we've got without looking at the menu. Heavens! You've been eating here for several years.”

“Give us a couple of hamburgers and a piece of pie. Glory needs to be fattened up if she's going to stand up to the work out at the motel.” He looked into Gloria's resentful amber eyes steadily. “Make mine apple. What kind do you want? Helen makes the best pie in the state.”

“I told you I didn't want anything. I'm not hungry.” She gave Jack a searing glance before she looked up at Helen. “I'll have a cup of coffee, please.”

“Two hamburgers, two pieces of apple pie, and a pot of coffee.” Jack handed the menu back to Helen. “Glory's being contrary again. She hardly ate anything for lunch. I think she's one of those women who're afraid they'll get drumstick thighs,” he added in a loud whisper and with a conspiratorial wink.

Helen hesitated. “Now, Jack, quit your funning. If she—”

“If she doesn't eat it, I will,” he said pleasantly.

“Suit yourself.” Helen lifted her shoulders and walked away. Jack's eyes wandered around the room before coming back to Gloria's frozen features.