Come Fly with Me (12 page)

He cast a sly, but adoring glance at the trim, wiry woman behind the counter, who was pointedly ignoring him. He shrugged. “Guess the old prune likes living by herself.”

She reeled around at that and gave him a drop-dead glare from frosty blue eyes.

“It's better than living with you, Jeb Davis.
It's bad enough that you stink up the store with that pipe of yours. I'll not have you stinking up my house,” the woman retorted, though there was genuine affection in her voice.

“Hmmph. It's your loss,” he grunted. “No point in these young ones making the same mistake.”

“Jeb, you old coot, mind your own business,” the woman said as she came out from behind the counter and held out her hand to Lindsay. “I'm Grace Tynan. Don't mind Jeb. His mouth always did operate faster than his brain.”

“Lindsay Tabor,” she said as she gazed up into a kindly, weathered face, from which those brilliant, cornflower-blue eyes now sparkled back at her. She could see the snap and vinegar that Mark had alluded to in this woman, but she also sensed the wry sense of humor and, more important, the comforting gentleness that would materialize the instant a person was in need of it. For some reason, she wanted this woman to like her, perhaps because she knew instinctively it would be important to Mark.

“I really am here on business,” she re
peated in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

“Too bad,” Grace Tynan said in a low, gravelly voice that was filled with disappointment. Lindsay knew that she was about to ignore her own advice to Jeb. “I've been hoping Mark would meet someone who'd look after him and you're the first woman I ever recall him bringing up here. Thought maybe you'd be the one. If any man needs a wife to soften him up, he does.”

Soften him up? Lindsay looked at Mrs. Tynan peculiarly. Mark wasn't hard. A bit of a loner maybe, but he was kind and gentle and fiercely protective. Not that she was about to share her impressions with this pair. They seemed to be hoping for a wedding announcement, and since she couldn't give them that, she figured she'd better just hold her tongue.

“What business do you have with Mark, little lady?” Jeb asked bluntly. “You from one of those publishers back East?” The way he said it, the East Coast sounded no better than an overcrowded den of iniquity.

“No. I work for a movie studio. We want
him to do the screenplay from one of his books.”

“Don't set much store in movies myself,” Jeb said. “I like watching real people. They're a whole lot more interesting.”

“Why don't you just say it, Jeb? You love to sit around and spy on other folks' lives and then gossip about it.”

“That's not so, Grace Tynan. I'm no more a gossip than you are. You were at your best when half the electric and phone lines around here went down in that blizzard last winter and everyone depended on you for the latest news.”

“Oh, hush up, Jeb,” she retorted as Lindsay grinned at the two of them. It sounded to her like they might as well be married, the way they bickered affectionately. She had a feeling Grace Tynan and Jeb Davis would have one heckuva passionate romance, if they ever gave it half a shot.

Grace glared at Jeb, then turned to Lindsay. “Which book do you want Mark to do?” she asked. “I've read 'em all.”

“Velvet Nights.”

Grace Tynan's face immediately fell and her warm smile vanished. “
Velvet Nights
?

Oh, honey, I wouldn't push him on that, if I were you.”

“Why not?” Lindsay asked, puzzled by the oddly intense warning.

“Well, you'd best be asking him that, but I've always had the feeling that there was something right disturbing to him about that book.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, it was nothing he came out and said, you understand. It's just that usually he'd go down to the local library after one of his books came out and hold a discussion group. Folks around here are mighty proud of him and it was always a big deal,” she explained and it was obvious that she shared the community's pride. Again, Lindsay sensed that a special bond existed between this woman and Mark, a bond that might help her to understand him, if only Grace Tynan would open up to her and share her insights.

“Did something different happen when
Velvet Nights
came out?” she asked.

“Sure did. The minute that book hit the stores, he just holed up in that cabin of his, same as he did when he first bought the place. Wouldn't see a soul. I'd take his groceries
and mail to him and he'd thank me, real polite as always, but he never let me past the front door. Before that we'd always sit and have a cup of tea and a good chat. He'd tell me stories about the places he'd been and the people he'd met. I'd tell him what was going on around here. But not after
Velvet Nights
. Seemed like that book took something out of him. He was hurtin' real bad, honey. I'd hate to see all that stirred up for him again.”

At last Lindsay was beginning to understand that Mark's avoidance of her, once he knew that Trent Studios wanted him to write that particular screenplay was part of a pattern. She still didn't understand why. Why had he even written a book that disturbed him so?

“How long did he shut himself away like that?” she asked, trying to imagine him lost and lonely in that cabin with only Shadow for company. The image tugged at her heart and she wished she'd known him then, that she'd been here for him. That stirring of protectiveness was as much of a surprise to her as the comfort she'd taken in Mark's tenderness toward her. She was so lost in her own thoughts
that she almost missed what Grace Tynan was saying.

“It took about three months for him to come around,” she recalled. “One day he just turned up here cheerful as could be, picked up his mail, bought a few supplies and chatted like he'd been here all along. He's seemed right as rain ever since, leastways until a couple of weeks ago, when he got a letter from that agent of his. His face clouded over and he took off out of here like a bat out of hell. I thought for sure the snow'd melt right out of his path, he was so hot under the collar.”

That must have been the letter from Morrie telling him about the offer from Trent Studios, the letter that started her game of hide and seek with him, Lindsay realized.

“I think I'd better be getting back,” she said suddenly. It was time she and Mark had this out once and for all. She needed to understand his reluctance to do
Velvet Nights
. She was convinced now that there was far more to it than simple stubbornness or, as Trent had been convinced, greediness for a better contract. If she knew why he was so
adamant, perhaps she could convince Trent to back off as well.

“Looks like we're about to get some more snow. You sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea to warm you a bit before you go?” Mrs. Tynan asked. “I've got the pot all ready.”

“No, thanks. Another time.”

“Then you'll be here awhile?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Well, you come back anytime, honey. You're always welcome. Maybe you and Mark'd like to come for dinner one night?”

“I'll tell him you asked,” Lindsay promised, though she had a few things to settle with Mr. Mark Channing before they went gallivanting around the countryside like some blissfully happy couple.

On the walk back, as snow began to swirl around her, first in a teasing flurry and then in a steady, thick wall of white, Lindsay turned over in her mind everything Mrs. Tynan had said and tried to make sense of it. Unfortunately, she hadn't had the chance to read
Velvet Nights
before Trent had sent her off on her whirlwind chase, so she had none of the insights the book itself might have given her. Oddly enough, now that she
thought about it, there hadn't been a single copy on Mark's bookshelves, though his other books had been there.

Well, they'd just have to talk about the book and what it meant to him. If the man could write, he shouldn't be lacking in verbal skills. He should be able to explain his attitude about this and make her understand once and for all.

After a few more minutes, she was no longer able to think about what she and Mark needed to discuss. She had to concentrate on finding her way. The road was covered with new snow and the landmarks she'd noted on the way to the store were difficult to spot through the cloud of thick, wet flakes that pelted her. Though she'd never been caught in a snowstorm before, she wasn't particularly concerned, just cold. She was certain she was heading in the right direction and knew that soon she was bound to spot the old stone post that marked the driveway up to Mark's house.

Long before she saw the entrance, though, she heard Mark calling her name. She shouted back and Shadow bounded up to her, putting his paws on her chest and licking her face.

“Shadow!” she protested, just as Mark seemed to materialize beside her.

“Hi,” she said brightly, not noticing that he was in an absolute state of panic, his dark eyes shadowed with a barely concealed terror.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said, grasping her arms so hard, she could feel his fingers biting into her flesh even through the thick layers of clothing. Suddenly she saw the panic in his eyes and realized he was restraining himself from shaking her only with great effort. For a moment, she was almost frightened.

“Let go,” she demanded. “You're hurting me. What on earth is wrong with you?”

Instantly, his hands dropped guiltily to his sides and he took a deep breath. This time when she gazed closely at him, the panicky expression she had seen before had been replaced by relief. The intensity of those responses startled her. He really had been terrified.

“You're okay then?” he asked insistently.

“Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?”

“How long have you been out here?”

“Not that long. You were so busy writing, I decided to go for a walk.”

“In a damned blizzard?”

“It wasn't snowing when I left.”

“You could have gotten lost.”

“I knew where I was. I only went down to the general store. I've been talking to Mrs. Tynan and Jeb. They're quite a pair, by the way. She wants us to come to dinner.”

“That's nice,” he muttered distractedly, then gazed into her eyes with a look that reflected his earlier urgency. “Lindsay, please, don't ever leave the house again without telling me.”

At first she felt guilty for apparently having scared him by going for a walk on her own without even so much as leaving a note. Then, as she thought about the way he had abandoned her this morning, left her to her own devices, then hit her with this absurdly patronizing lecture, she grew increasingly infuriated.

“I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

“You don't know anything about a place like this. You don't realize what could happen,
how easily you could get lost. Please. Stay inside unless I'm with you.”

“I will not! I'll go anywhere anytime I damn well please,” she retorted. “If I'm stuck out here and you're going to shut yourself away and work, then I have to have something to do. I can't just sit around and twiddle my thumbs. I'm used to being busy.”

All of her fury and pent-up frustration suddenly erupted in a no-holds-barred screaming match—at least on her part. Mark, all of his earlier anger gone now, just listened as she ventilated her fury. Now he was coolly rational, which further irritated her.

“Lindsay, I'm sorry I left you alone this morning. When I get an inspiration about something, I have to get it down on paper before I lose it. I didn't even realize you'd gotten up until I came looking for you and saw you were gone. Then when the snowstorm started, I guess I panicked a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “I wasn't trying to dictate your actions.”

“It sure as hell sounded like you were,” she said, not the least bit placated by the apology. The man's arrogance was appalling.

“You just don't know your way around
here. Something could happen and I wouldn't have even known you'd gone out.”

Suddenly it was all too much for her—the emotional intensity, the isolation, Mark's temporary abandonment and his insistent refusal to even look at the contract.

“I hate it here,” she snapped at last, not caring that her words seemed to cut straight through to his heart. She could see the pain reflected in his eyes, which had turned dark and stormy, like a turbulent night sea.

“I want to go home,” she added stubbornly anyway. It was beginning to seem more and more urgent that she get away.

He stared into her eyes for one long, heartwrenching second, then sighed heavily. “I'm not stopping you.”

“Yes, you are. You know very well I can't go back to Los Angeles until you've at least read the damned contract. Trent and I had that one out on the phone this morning and he made his position very clear.”

“So you did call him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“To stay here until you come around.”

“And that's the only reason you're staying?”

Despite the oddly hurt look in his eyes, she nodded.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Let's go inside. I'll read the damned contract.”

She was astounded by his sudden reversal and, perversely, wounded. Maybe he was ready for her to go, too. Perhaps that was why he'd shut himself away this morning, to give her a message that he no longer wanted her around, that the initial attraction had worn off once she'd let him know that she wouldn't be hopping into bed with him. Considering his reaction a moment ago to her absence, his seeming vulnerability and his very obvious fear for her safety, the explanation didn't make much sense, but the possibility hurt more than she wanted to admit.

“You'll really read it and give it some thought, so I can get back to Los Angeles?” she said more quietly.