Larger than Life (7 page)

“Am I the stray you picked up?” Travis demanded as soon as she’d hung up.

“Just a figure of speech, Travis.”

“Uh-huh.” He stared at her. “Not that I mean to
pry, but who is Cory Stewart, and just where are we going?”

Saber returned to the table, sitting down and reaching for her coffee. “Cory Stewart is a friend of mine; she owns the place where we’re going on
my
vacation. And we’re going to Arizona.” “Arizona? What’s in Arizona?” She smiled at him gently. “A dude ranch.” Travis realized that his mouth was open and hastily closed it. “A dude ranch. I see.”

He was still a bit bemused when the Lear taxied to a stop at a landing strip in Prescott, Arizona, some considerable time later—and not only because their destination was a dude ranch. Having accepted his word that he wanted only to get to know her, Saber had completely relaxed in his company. During the trip he’d discovered she had a mischievous sense of humor and a hypnotically sweet smile that revealed an elusive dimple.

“You’ll love Cory; everybody does,” she said as they stood beside the jet with their baggage. She
had no time to say more but gestured slightly at the woman approaching them.

Travis blinked at the sight; he couldn’t help it. From the few things Saber had mentioned about their hostess during the trip out here, he had evolved a mental image quite different from the reality. He’d imagined a brisk and cheerful woman, yes, but smaller. Considerably smaller.

Cory Stewart was dressed in jeans, a blue denim shirt, and running shoes rather than western boots, and she sported a billed cap atop a riotous mass of flaming red hair. Green-eyed and with a husky voice, she was a stunning woman somewhere in her midtwenties. And she was every inch of six feet tall.

It was obvious that the two women were good friends, and Cory looked Travis over with a critical but curiously indulgent eye as she shook hands with him briskly.

“So you’re the stray, huh? Only Saber could call you that. I’ve read your books; you’re good.” Giving Travis no time at all to respond to her remarks, she directed the next few to Saber. “Jed’ll
guard your Lear with his life; he’s even promised to wash it. C’mon—the chopper’s this way.” Then she grabbed a bag in either hand and strode off across the field.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Saber murmured, picking up a small bag.

Travis took it away from her. “Does she command armies in her spare time?” he asked wryly.

As they trailed after their hostess, Saber replied, “The staff at the ranch would say so. For myself, I think she should work her talents on the United Nations. The world would be dazed—but better off.”

He laughed, then meekly climbed aboard the blue-and-white helicopter when ordered to do so. Earphones made conversation possible within the craft when they’d lifted off, but Travis was a bit too unnerved by Cory’s seat-of-the-pants flying techniques to contribute anything to the casual dialogue carried on by the women.

He wondered briefly why Saber’s avowed fear of flying apparently didn’t extend to this helicopter ride, then he filed the question away and concentrated
instead on watching the dizzily passing scenery of mountains and valleys. Major highways appeared few and far between, and he realized that Saber’s description of “the back of beyond” had been apt.

The phrase reminded him of her call and of the unidentified person she had talked to. Travis had ventured a single question during the trip from Kansas City, to which she’d replied simply, “No, I’d rather not tell you. Sorry.” He had left it at that, but to say that he was curious would have been an understatement. It was yet another item he filed away for the future … the near future.

So wrapped up was he in his own brooding thoughts that Travis realized only belatedly that they’d arrived at their destination. Before he could get more than a glimpse of a sprawling expanse of buildings nestled in a beautiful valley, the helicopter dipped below tree level and settled itself with barely a thump on a concrete pad.

Cory talked to them vivaciously as they made their way along a graveled walkway toward the central building. It was a large three-story house with a wide porch on two sides, whitewashed and
lovely. To the left, a four-rail fence framed a view of rolling pastureland, and to the right were other graveled paths leading to smaller buildings—cottages, Travis assumed. He could also see a couple of tennis courts, and a faint, distant splash hinted at the existence of a pool.

It didn’t really look like the tourist conception of Arizona, but since he’d been in this part of the state before, Travis was not surprised.

“Saber can show you around,” Cory told him in her innately warm and friendly voice. “She knows the place almost as well as I do. There are trails all through the mountains for walking or riding, a pool, and tennis courts. You can have your meals in the main house, have ’em sent to your cottage, or else ask to have your kitchen in the cottage stocked and do for yourself. We’re pretty informal here; if we’re having a party or special dinner, I ask that you wear shoes—otherwise you dress however you feel.”

Travis laughed as they halted a few steps from the main house, then realized that Cory was eyeing them both rather sheepishly.

“There’s just one—small—matter I’d better discuss with you.”

“Cory, what’ve you done?” Saber demanded, instantly suspicious.

The glowing redhead pulled on an innocent expression. “I swear it wasn’t intentional, Saber. How could it be? I didn’t know you were bringing company until today.”

“Out with it,” Saber ordered.

“Well, we’re not crowded this time of year, but the main house is full. I’d reserved a cottage for you, of course, but the others are being redecorated. The furniture’s all shoved together under covers and there are paint buckets and the like. Well, anyway, the point is that you two are going to have to share a cottage.”

Saber stared at her.

“It’s a two bedroom,” Cory offered, ridiculously hopeful.

Travis could have kissed her, but he maintained an expressionless face and waited for Saber to speak.

“What about my good name, friend?” She didn’t look at Travis.

“You’re a superstar—who expects you to have a good name?”

“Cory.”

The redhead laughed. “Everybody minds their own business here, Saber, and you know it; that’s why you come here. There isn’t a journalist, gossip columnist, or any other kind of troublemaker within thirty miles of here. No fuss and no bother. Now, shall I make up a bed for Travis on the living room couch in the main house—where he’ll quite likely be sat on—or are you going to share your cottage with him?”

Sighing, and with a feeling of trying to close the barn door after the livestock had escaped
anyway.
Saber gave in. “All right. Anything to keep you from telling everyone I’m a monster. And you would. I know you.”

“I should hope so after ten years,” Cory answered cheerfully.

At that moment, a harassed-looking young man appeared on the porch. “Cory, I need you!” he
wailed, the fingers of both hands clutching his blond hair in a manner that appeared desperate rather than dramatic.

Cory dropped the single bag she’d managed to wrest away from Travis at the helicopter, saying obscurely, “Damn the woman. She’s meddled with his paints again. It’s number four, Saber.” And as she dashed up the steps, she tossed over her shoulder at Travis, “D’you mind? I have to—” Then she’d taken the young man by the arm and steered him firmly into the house.

Travis only realized he was standing there with his mouth open when he heard Saber laughing. Closing his mouth, he stared down at her. “Mind telling me what that was all about?” he requested.

Saber bent to pick up the abandoned bag since Travis had his hands full with the other two. “The plea for help came from Mark,” she explained, beginning to lead the way along one of the graveled paths. “He’s sort of … a project of Cory’s. He stays here several times a year and paints. As an artist, he’s quite talented, but at day-to-day living, he’s utterly hopeless. He has no temper whatsoever and
depends on Cory to keep his world on an even keel, which she does.”

“And what woman did Cory damn for meddling with the paints?”

“Jenny, the housekeeper. She’s a jewel of a housekeeper, which, I suppose, is why she hates the smell of oil paint; she’s always putting Mark’s paints away neatly where he can’t find them. Hence his very real panic.”

Bemused, Travis shook his head. “Are the other … guests as strange as the artist?”

Saber turned off the main path onto a more narrow one leading through the trees. “Didn’t you notice the plaque hanging at the main house?”

Travis vaguely recalled seeing a discreet sign but couldn’t remember what had been written on it. “Yes, but not what it said.”

“The Hideaway.” Saber smiled up at him as they reached a small but lovely house tucked away in the woods. “This place was built twenty years ago by Cory’s father. People come here for rest and peace. Average people, of course, but also very important people.” She opened the door and led the
way into a spacious, comfortably furnished living room.

Setting the bags down by the long couch, Travis looked around approvingly. But his mind returned to Saber’s comments. “So you were pulling my leg by calling this place a dude ranch,” he said.

“Something like that. Any preference as to bedrooms?” She had looked in both the rooms by then.

“No. You’re taking these unforeseen arrangements very calmly, I must say.”

She turned to show him a solemn face. “The bedroom doors have locks; I checked.”

He realized then that his voice had been mildly aggrieved, and he had to laugh. “All right, so you’ve surprised me. In fact, you keep surprising me. In thirty-two years, I’ve never encountered anyone like you.”

Smiling, she picked up her bags. “I’ll take this bedroom,” she said, choosing the one to the right of the living room.

Travis carried his bag to the bedroom on the
left, and they unpacked in a companionable silence broken only by occasional comments.

“You didn’t come prepared for this trip like I did,” she called to him at one point. “You went to the city to meet a singer and ended up crossing the country to a ranch. If you need anything in the way of clothing, there’s a store on the grounds that sells everything. And the laundry service here is as good as anyone could want.”

“I’ll have to take advantage of both services,” he called back. Finishing his own unpacking first, he went out into the living room and from there to the adjoining kitchen. He explored thoroughly, finding the cabinets stocked with snacks and the refrigerator with soft drinks and various fruit juices. When Saber came out of her bedroom, he was seated comfortably on the couch with a glass of orange juice in his hand and a second glass on the coffee table.

She picked up the second glass and sat in an overstuffed chair across from him, smiling. “Won’t anyone be concerned about you? Dropping out of sight so suddenly, I mean?” she asked.

Travis shook his head. “Nope. I travel fairly often and never keep to a firm schedule. The book I’d planned to do on you was an idea I’d kept to myself, so my publisher isn’t expecting to hear from me.”

“No lady friend to be alarmed by your absence?” Her voice was light.

With another slight shake of his head, Travis replied, “No.”

Peculiarly conscious of his steady gaze, Saber rose hastily. “Come on—I’ll show you around the place.”

Having admitted to exhaustion after following Saber through only four cities of her tour, Travis requested that they spend a couple of days just resting without taking advantage of some of the more strenuous activities offered by The Hideaway. Saber had a sneaking suspicion that he was more concerned with her exhaustion and his own promise, but she said nothing about it.

So their first few days were spent quietly together.
Neither had placed an undue emphasis on sharing the cottage—Travis because it suited him perfectly and Saber because of a loneliness she would never have admitted to him—and that unplanned intimacy put them rapidly on companionable terms. They took short, leisurely walks around the grounds, talked easily about likes and dislikes, and generally found they had enough in common to surprise them both. They argued mildly over Travis’s fixed intention of paying for half the cost of “their” vacation, spent quiet evenings in the clubhouse listening to the small band, and developed a nodding acquaintance with most of the twenty-odd guests staying in the main house.

Between the warm, soporific, late summer days and the undemanding friendship, Saber all but forgot that Travis posed any threat to her peace. She had never before known the male companionship of a brother, friend, or lover and was surprised by how much she enjoyed his company. And it was a new experience for her to spend time with a man who wanted nothing from her—except the truth.

Whether his tactics were deliberate or not, Travis was following exactly the right path toward that truth. Saber, for the first time in a long while, was tempted to confide the past he was so interested in. She found it easy to talk to him, easy to laugh with him. A lifetime of guardedness was melting away.

Still, it was easy to be unguarded when there was no threat, easy to relax with no tension in the air. And inevitable that there would be a change.

If asked, Saber could have pointed to the moment when her own awareness roused her from the limbo of serene acceptance. Just as the veils had lifted briefly from her eyes in weariness late one night—and in the fleeting moments when a part of her had slept—so those veils were lifted again by a few chance words. Lifted for good.

They had taken a picnic lunch out into the rolling pasture, finding a peaceful, shady spot on the bank of a small stream. Horses grazed in the distance, incurious, and a faint breeze stirred the trees and the meadow grass. The scene perfectly suited the quiet mood of the past few days, and
neither of them was in a hurry to pack up the remains of lunch.

Lazy conversation had died into a sweet silence as they sprawled on the blue-checked blanket borrowed from the cottage closet. The silence was shattered, however, when Mark appeared suddenly with a large sketchpad, a handful of charcoal pencils, and a hopeful look on his amiable face.