MM01 - Valley of Fire (17 page)

“I can't marry you. I don't know you.”

“I'm a lonely old bachelor living in a big old house in Tupelo, but I'm perfectly willing to live anywhere in the world as long as you're there.”

His disarming candor enchanted her. She decided to play his game. “What about your work?”

“I can take it or leave it. I'm what folks call filthy rich.”

“From Colombian emeralds?”

“Yes.”

“And bordellos?”

He tipped back his head and roared with laughter. “Where did you hear that?”

“Somewhere in Tupelo.”

“You're too smart to believe everything you hear.”

“Then it's not true?”

“I've been wicked in my time, but not that wicked. If you promise not to tell anyone...” He leaned closer and kissed her knees. “My bordellos are nothing more than ordinary stocks and bonds. Tame stuff.”

“I can't think when you kiss my knees.”

“Good.” He braced her foot on his knee, pushed up her dress, and planted long, lingering kisses on her inner thigh.

“Please, Rick.”

“Sweetheart, I believe we're going to have to undress you again.” His voice was hoarse and thick as he unsnapped her garter belt. Her hose and panties whispered down her legs.

He stripped off his pants, sat in her swivel chair, and pulled her down on top of him.

She sighed.

When he captured her mouth and her passion spiraled, she knew it would always be that way with them. The chair rocked back and forth, and from time to time threatened to tumble over. They laughed and murmured sweet love words.

Summer dusk fell over the campus, and still Rick and Martha Ann loved. The chair had gotten too confining, and they moved to the floor. It was hard and dusty, but neither of them noticed.

At last Rick propped himself on one elbow and gazed down at her.

“The next time we're going to try this on a soft bed.” He looked ruefully at her half-open blouse and his unbuttoned shirt. “And without any clothes.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and he covered it with his own.

“If you say 'There won't be a next time,' I'm going to spank your bare bottom.”

His words were mumbled against her lips, but she knew exactly what he was saying.

“Rick.”

“What, my pet?”

“You're going to have to let me up. I have a seven o'clock faculty meeting.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

“You haven't said yes.”

“I can't say yes—but I can't say no either.”

“That will do.”

He stood up and held out his hand. She pulled herself up and began to straighten her clothes.

“I must look a sight.”

“You look like a woman who has been thoroughly loved.”

“That's what I was afraid of.” She went to her desk and got her lipstick out of her purse. “Good grief. Look at the time.” It was six forty-five. “Rick McGill, you're going to ruin my reputation.”

“All the more reason for agreeing to let me make an honest woman of you.”

She jerked her comb out of her purse and ran it hastily through her hair. “I told you, I'm not going to agree to such a thing. Where are my stockings?”

Grinning, he picked them up off the floor and handed them to her. She quickly put them on and snapped her garters.

“Wow 'em, sweetheart,” he called as she hurried out the door. It banged shut behind her, and he went whistling toward her desk.

A tiny wisp of white caught his eye. “Well, well. What have we here?”

He reached down to her desk and snagged the object between his thumb and forefinger. It was Martha Ann's white lace panties.

Still whistling, he stuffed them into his pants pocket.

 o0o

“Dr. Riley?”

She jumped. Good grief, Dr. Bluebakker was scowling at her as if she had circulated copies of his English 205 exam. Could he possibly guess that she was sitting at the faculty meeting without any panties? She bit her bottom lip and tried to get a grip on herself.

“Yes, Dr. Bluebakker?”

“I've asked you
three
times already what you thought about the Sixth Annual Lecture Series? Do you agree that we should invite that local romance novelist to address our student body?”

Martha Ann perked up. “You mean Peggy Webb? I think she would be an excellent choice. You know, there's been a lot of interest and a lot of good writing in that genre.”

She was feeling proud of herself for holding it all together. She leaned back in her chair and relaxed. “By the way, what's the date for our sex series?”

“Dr. RILEY!” Dr. Raymond Bluebakker looked shocked, but the rest of the faculty burst into laughter.

“Loosen up, Raymond,” Dr. Simeon Jonas said. “We've been in this damned meeting too long anyhow. It's time to go home.”

The meeting broke up after that, and Martha Ann was the first one out the door . She'd kill Rick McGill when she saw him again.

 o0o

She couldn't, of course. When he turned up the next morning at her house, all she could do was smile.

He propped one foot on her doorstep and gave her the wickedest grin this side of the Mississippi. “I believe I have something you want.”

She still hadn't made up her mind about him, so she decided to play it cool. “You don't have a thing I can't live without.”

“I would keep 'em, sweetheart, but they're not my size.” Grinning, he pulled her panties out of his pocket.

“If that's not just like you to hold my panties hostage while I'm sitting barebottomed in the faculty meeting.”

“Yes. It's just like me.” He stuffed the panties back into his pocket. “We’ll have to do it more often.”

“We most certainly will not.”

He came up the steps two at a time and pulled her into his arms. “Dr. Riley, my pet, do you know how cute you are when you're playacting?”

“I'm not playacting. I'm darned good and mad.”

“There's but one cure for that.” He bent her over backward and kissed her.

 o0o

Old Mrs. Glenell Swan next door was just coming onto her front porch to get her morning paper. When she saw what was going on, she stopped to take it all in. The man was as handsome as any she'd seen on the TV. And there was her neighbor, that cute Martha Ann Riley, dressed in nothing but her pink cotton batiste nightgown and robe, getting kissed like one of those TV soap opera heroines. She looked like she was enjoying it, too.

Mrs. Swan stood there for a while, and when it looked as if they were going to go on all day, she pulled up her lawn chair and sat down so her arthritis wouldn't pain her. She didn't want to miss a thing.

She scooted her chair toward the edge of her porch and leaned toward her neighbor's house. The morning traffic hadn't started over on the highway, and the air was still and quiet. If she listened real hard, maybe she could hear what was being said.

 o0o

Rick took one last long, heady taste of Martha Ann, and then he released her. And not a second too soon, he decided. A little while longer and he would have taken her on her own front porch.

“That's not a cure. That's an assault.” Martha Ann stepped back and tried to regain control of the situation.

“In Tupelo we call it good morning.”

“In Fulton we call it scandalous.”

“I think it's nice.” The quavery old voice wafting across the way made them both jump. Mrs. Swan rose from her chair, grinning and waving. “Howdy do, Martha Ann? I see you got yourself a nice new beau.”

“This is Rick McGill, Mrs. Swan. But he's not a beau; he's just a friend.”

“Yes, I am, Mrs. Swan. And I'm planning to be her husband.” Rick was in a jovial mood. “You're invited to the wedding.”

“When?” the old lady asked.

“As soon as I can persuade her to marry me.”

Mrs. Swan giggled. “Young man, it seems to me you've got a powerful method of persuasion. Good luck to ya.” She bent down and got her morning paper, then tottered back inside.

Rick took Martha Ann's elbow and led her into her house, talking all the while. “The neighbors approve, sweetheart. What more could you want?”

“A few answers for starters.” He nuzzled her ear. “From the other side of the room. I can't think straight when you do that.”

“Anything for my sassy forties lady.” He straddled a wooden chair on the far side of a sunny room that was a combination study and den with a small kitchen nook.

Martha Ann went to her refrigerator and took out a pitcher of orange juice. She poured two glasses and carried one over to him. “And make it short. I have a nine o'clock class.”

“What do you want to know?”

She took a fortifying gulp of juice. “All that time we were in the Valley of Fire...”

“Memorable, wasn't it?”

“...and all those times in Velma's bed...”

“I love it when you blush.”

“Just hush up a minute and let me think.” She set her glass on the cabinet and turned her back to him. “I can't think when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know... with those bedroom eyes.”

He chuckled.

“It should be against the law for a blond-haired man to have such dark eyes.” She raked her hand through her hair. “I swear, you're going to drive me to cuss.” Suddenly she remembered her outburst in the airport. “Already have, as a matter of fact.”

“Sweetheart, I don't mean to make this hard.” He sounded contrite. The chair scrapped as he stood up.

She whirled around. “Stay right where you are.” Her hand shook as she picked up her glass. “I declare, Rick McGill, I don't know whether you are a scoundrel or a saint.”

“A little bit of both, I'm afraid.”

His smile was so endearing, she almost gave up on trying to create order out of chaos. Watching him, she drained her glass and set it on the counter.

“Just when did you first know that I wasn't married?”

“Ahhh. You want to know if I deliberately set out to seduce a married woman?”

“Yes.”

His face became serious. “I've known from the beginning, Martha Ann.”

She wavered between being relieved and being enraged. The rage won. Batting the air with her fists for emphasis, she stalked around the room.

“Isn't that just like a man? Toying with a woman's feelings for the heck of it. I should have known. All of you are just alike.”

“So, I'm being lumped with the less-than-saintly Marcus Grimes.” Rick's voice was tight.

Martha Ann stopped her pacing and whirled in on him. “How did you know about him?”

“Any private investigator worth his salt would find out all about the woman he planned to seduce.”

Martha Ann failed to notice the hard edge in his voice and the deadly calm in his eyes.

“So, you admit it. It was just a seduction all along.”

“It started out that way.” He stepped around the serving bar and caught her shoulders. “But it turned into something else.”

“Love?”

“Yes, love.”

“How very convenient for you.”

“Not convenient.” His grip tightened. “Not convenient at all. And certainly not easy.” He caught her chin with one hand and forced her to look into his eyes. “Dammit, Martha Ann—See, you've got me cussing too.” His fingers caressed her jaw. “Sweetheart, I know you're mad, and you have every right to be. But remember, I wasn't the only one carrying on a little charade.”

“I had my reasons.”

“I'd like to hear them.” The harshness was gone from his face, his voice. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She was shaky inside, both from her mixed-up feelings and from the nearness of Rick. Oh heavens, she thought. She
did
love him so.

“The Riley girls don't have any sense about men. Never did.”

“Marcus and Lucky. I see your point.”

“And then there was that last goober I dated. He was nothing but a common, two-bit swindler.”

“I don't swindle and I don't steal, and the only excuse I have for not telling you that I knew the truth was that I decided to play your game and have some fun.”

Her lips quivered, then twitched, then turned up in a smile that was pure nostalgia. “We did have fun, didn't we?”

“Yes.” He gazed into her eyes. “You're a delightful woman, Martha Ann Riley. A funny, sassy, bright, passionate woman. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Rick.” Her hand touched his cheek. “It's not that I don't love you—I do—I've known it for a long, long time, perhaps since that first day I walked into your office.”

“You, too?”

“Yes. I've never believed in love at first sight before.”

“Neither have I. It just goes to show you that love is stronger than skepticism.”

“Ahhh, Rick.” She rested her head against his shoulder. He tangled his hands in her hair.

“Take your time, sweetheart. My love's not going to go away.”

From a distance they could hear the muffled growl and roar of the early morning traffic, like beasts being dragged reluctantly through a concrete jungle.

Martha Ann lifted her head. “I have to go to class.”

He kissed her forehead. “I'll miss you, sweetheart.”

Chapter Ten

It was that tender kiss on her forehead that she was still thinking about when she dismissed her last class for the day. Thank goodness, it was over. Her concentration had been fractured, to say the least.

She sank into her swivel chair and began to sort papers. Some she would take home in her briefcase, others she would file. How was a woman to know when to trust a man and when not to? Pressing her fingers over her eyes, she leaned back in her chair. Love was all well and good, but she was too old and too wise not to know that there were other considerations in a marriage. Trust. Dependability. Maturity.

Oh, help. All that sounded like the qualifications for a good stockbroker.

She just wasn't going to think about it anymore. She rose from her chair, smoothed down her skirt, and picked up her briefcase. Thank heaven. Rick hadn't interrupted her school day. Apparently he meant what he said about letting her take her time.

She was going straight home and curl up with a good book and spend two or three hours not thinking at all. Sometimes that was the best way to solve a problem.

 o0o

She was well into that good book, when she heard the commotion at her front door. It wasn't a knocking or even a call 'hello.' It was pure, unadulterated racket.