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Authors: Rose Marie Ferris

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BOOK: Promises to Keep
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With each mile they covered now the terrain became more rugged, the descent from the pass more abrupt. Preferring a picnic at one of the wooden tables by the river to a meal taken indoors, they stopped at the 'carryout' window of a fast-food cafe in Afton to buy provisions for lunch.

It was noticeably cooler now that they were farther north. There was a crystalline quality about the air and the barest hint of a breeze whispered through the stately ranks of the pines, inviting the bronzy-orange leaves of the willows to dance and fly away with it.

Because she'd eaten so little at breakfast, Julie was ravenous and the fish and chips tasted like ambrosia —with the addition of malt vinegar, better than ambrosia, she qualified as she greedily ate every crumb of her portion.

They'd finished their food and were almost through with their drinks when, without warning, Garth announced, "Daniel Leeds is married."

Julie darted a look at his face. It was a model of inscrutability. Her eyes skidded away from him and she pretended an interest she no longer felt in the river rushing by their picnic spot.

"Is that supposed to be of some significance to me?" she asked.

"You damned well know the answer to that!" Garth exclaimed harshly.

"Why are you telling me now? Yesterday you refused to discuss it even though I wanted to. Today, because it happens to suit
you
, you resurrect the subject."

"I didn't bring it up out of choice, I assure you," he replied. "It simply seemed to me that you should be informed of the fact before you actually see him."

Steeling herself to look directly at him, she persisted, "But why tell me now—at this moment? Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"

"I only learned about it last night when I called Leeds to let him know I'd located you and that we're on our way to see him." With exaggerated patience, Garth explained, "I've only spoken to him once. That was shortly after you disappeared and our conversation was confined to my notifying him that you might be coming to Jackson Hole. A few days later he telephoned to let me know you hadn't turned up. He asked to be kept posted and I saw that he was, but I didn't speak to him personally—not on that occasion and not since then. I asked my administrative assistant to take on that dubious privilege and he handled all the subsequent communications with Leeds as well."

Garth paused to drink the last few swallows of his beer. He studied the empty can meditatively as he scraped designs over the trademark with his thumbnail.

"When I called last night, Mrs. Leeds answered." He shook his head disgustedly and crushed the beer can. "She sounds a good deal older than her husband," he remarked caustically.

"How do you know she was his wife?" she argued, taking his criticism of the Leedses as a personal insult. "Maybe she's his housekeeper. Maybe she's a friend or a relative."

Garth's mouth hardened to a cynical line. "Sorry, Julie, but she was speaking in such a low tone of voice, I could barely hear her and when I suggested we might have a bad connection she told me it was because she'd answered the call on the extension in their bedroom. And she said—and I'm quoting her verbatim—'Dan's in bed. He's been so worried about Julie that he's hardly slept in the past few weeks, so I'd rather not disturb him.' To top it all off, she invited us to stay with them. Even
you
will have to admit, the only thing all of that could possibly add up to is 'wife'!"

Julie's reaction to this indictment was a disdainful silence.

"Well?" Garth prompted when she offered no opinion.

"You've convinced me," she conceded.

"And?"

"And nothing. Zero. Zilch! It makes no difference to me because I don't remember Daniel Leeds. And even if I did, he could have
ten
wives for all I'd care. I don't believe there's anything more than friendship between us."

Garth's expression became more skeptical than ever and, stung by the calculating way he was looking at her, she asked, "Why would I marry you if I were in love with someone else?"

"I can think of several possibilities," he replied steadily. "The most likely one is that you were unhappy with your limited role in his life and you reached the conclusion that there was no future in continuing an affair with a married man. You decided that you'd look out for number one and after your grandmother died you came to California to reduce the odds you might waver in your decision."

His mouth twisted into an unpleasant downcurve that was almost a sneer. "What it all boils down to, is that you married me for a reason as old as time— money !"

"I've never heard anything more absurd!"

"What's absurd about it?" he asked, purposely misunderstanding her. "I'm no Onassis, but I'm not exactly a pauper either."

Unable to remain seated at the table when she was fuming inwardly, Julie leapt to her feet and all but ran to the river's edge. She heard Garth's beer can rattle against the metal rim of the trash barrel before it dropped in and she was aware that he was close on her heels, but she kept her eyes determinedly fixed on the pebbly bottom of the streambed until he took her by the shoulders and forcibly turned her. He was annoyed by her obstinacy and nearing the end of his patience, and he shook her a bit in exasperation.

"I wish I could pound some sense into that hot little head of yours. For your own good, sooner or later you're going to have to face facts." The measured calmness of his voice was nullified by the severity of his frown. "It's fairly obvious that you have enough of a conscience to feel guilty about what you've done and that accounts for your amnesia. You must know that your doctors could find no physical cause for it. Perhaps if you accepted the truth about yourself, your memory would return."

"Heaven protect me from amateur psychologists!" she petitioned heatedly. In what she hoped was a withering tone, she asked, "Did you dream that one up all by yourself, or did you have some help?"

"It's my own idea," he acknowledged, "but Doctor Ziegler agreed with it."

"What Doctor Ziegler knows about human nature could be written in block letters on the head of a pin!" she retorted. "And let me tell you, Garth Falconer, you'll never convince me that I'm so mercenary that I'd be capable of marrying a man—any man—for money alone." The pitch of her voice had risen with the force of her anger and her fury overcame her caution as she added, "Furthermore, I don't think you've told me this out of an altruistic desire to help me. I think your motive was nothing more and nothing less than sheer, cussed egotism!"

"I'm willing to admit that I have my share of ego. What's wrong with that?" he countered evenly. "But as to my being driven by it—that's a case of the pot calling the kettle black!"

They were standing toe to toe, practically nose to nose, as if they were prize fighters squaring off in the ring. Her eyes blazed up into the accusing fire of his and his hands were intolerably heavy on her shoulders, yet he'd spoken with the same deceptive quietness as before. Julie thought his core of stillness, like the eye of a hurricane, masked a potential for cataclysmic destructiveness. She found it more frightening than if he'd bullied and blustered, but she would not permit herself the luxury of backing down.

"You—" She stopped and pulled sharply away from him. She was stymied, at a loss for an adjective odious enough to apply to him. Inadequately, she cried, "You can take your advice and your insulting opinions and blow them out your ear!"

"Come, come, Julie!" he chided mockingly. "You can do much better than that."

Rising to the bait, she snapped, "You're insufferable!"

He was completely unscathed by her outburst. His posture was relaxed and easy, with his hands resting on his hips, and that she had succeeded only in amusing him became obvious when he laughed outright. This goaded her into a further display of temperament.

"Oooh!" she wailed. "A person can't win with you. It makes me want to stamp my feet and scream."

"So?" He arched a condescending eyebrow at her. "Don't let me stop you. Lord knows you never have before."

Infuriated by this additional taunt, she actually did stamp her foot. As soon as she gave in to the impulse, she was embarrassed that she'd indulged in such childish histrionics. In a turmoil of anger and shame and confusion, she spun on her heel to dash away from Garth and into the pines. When she heard him calling her name, chasing her, she ran even faster. She felt as though she were being pursued by demons and she left the trail to dodge in and out among the trees and crash headlong through the underbrush.

In truth, her flight soon approached the proportions of a nightmare. From every side, branches and thorns reached out to clutch at her, to pluck at her clothing, to tear at her hair and skin. In her distraught state of mind, even the trunks of the trees seemed to assume frightening shapes.

Initially the pounding of Garth's steps and the snapping of twigs breaking beneath his feet kept pace with her and this was the most alarming aspect of all. But somehow she managed to elude him until she tapped her reserves of stamina for an additional burst of speed.

Julie could not begin to estimate how far she had run before she slowed to a walk. She no longer heard Garth so close behind and she knew only that she could not go any farther. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to sit on a fallen log. Her lungs were burning with a need for air and her chest was heaving as she labored to fill them. Her heart thudded erratically beneath her breastbone.

After a time it struck her that these sounds were the only ones she could hear and she held her breath to listen for some sign of Garth, but there were only the trilling notes of birdsong and the drowsy hum of insects. Even the wind was still and the silence was ominous.

"Garth," she whispered. Her heart skipped a beat and again she was breathless, this time with foreboding. More loudly, she called, "Garth!"

When there was no answer, she began backtracking along the path she had made, stopping now and again to listen and call his name. She was becoming more panicky with each step she took and relief swept over her when she heard a faint sound of movement in the brush ahead.

"Ga-a-arth!" she shouted as loudly as she could and this time her cry was followed by a muffled moan. She rushed in the direction from which it had come. She was shaking with fear when she entered a sunlit clearing and saw him lying so deathly still on the ground. She ran to him and dropped to her knees at his side, one hand searching anxiously for his pulse.

"Garth," she sobbed brokenly, "oh, Garth! Are you hurt?"

His eyes opened and with blinding speed he grasped her wrist and pulled her diagonally across his chest. With the impetus of the same fluid motion, he rolled her over onto her back. Taken by surprise, she found herself pinned to the springy carpet of the forest floor by the full weight of his body.

For a moment she looked up at him, entranced by the gold-flecked green of his eyes. They were at the same time unfathomable and piercing. She recalled the facility with which he could divine her thoughts and, fearful of what her own eyes might reveal, she averted them to stare at the coarse curling hair that was just visible in the opening of his shirt collar.

"You louse!" she choked. "You were faking."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he drawled.

"If this is supposed to be some kind of joke, I fail to see the humor in it. You scared me half to death."

"It was no joke." Their eyes met again as she scowled at him. "You think
you
were scared! I was afraid you'd get lost or injured and how else was I to stop you?" Her scowl vanished and her expression softened as he made this admission. "God!" he exclaimed, "you run like a deer, and once you'd left the trail you had the advantage of size. You went straight through brush that I had to go around."

Although he had expressed concern for her well-being, his grip on her hadn't relaxed. He held her spread-eagled and his hands were like manacles about her wrists. In her discomfort, she stirred uneasily, feeling bruised and ill-treated. As she did so, she became intensely aware of the muscular length of his thighs resting intimately between hers, of the hardness of his chest crushing her breasts.

Suddenly there was an unbearable tension between them and in desperation Julie erupted into motion, renewing her struggles to escape him.

This time it was Garth who had not anticipated her attack and she almost succeeded in freeing herself. She derived some satisfaction from the fact that his breathing was nearly as heavy as hers when he finally managed to subdue her. His fingers tightened around her wrist, dwarfing it as they overlapped to measure its circumference.

"Damn, but you're strong!" he complimented her with grudging admiration. "For all that your wrists are about as big as matchsticks! Where do you hide all your muscles?"

His eyes wandered freely over her shoulders and arms and again she thrashed about, but this time her efforts were short-lived. He was prepared for such tactics and he controlled her easily.

"Get off me, you great heavy ox," she gasped. "I can't breathe."

"You've certainly changed your tune," he observed, showing a callous lack of sympathy for her plight. "You never used to tell me that—at least, not this early in the game." His actions contradicted his words, however, and he complied with her request, shifting slightly away from her and supporting the weight of his torso with his elbows.

No sooner had this been accomplished, than Julie had cause to regret her complaint. As a result of Garth's change of position, her shirt gapped open to the waist, revealing the full curve of her breasts.

Under the fire of his dilated gaze, she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. The lacy bra she was wearing provided little protection from his bold inspection of her. Not only that, her body had turned traitor and her excitement was transparently clear. All he'd had to do was
look
at her and the rosy nipples had grown saucily erect.

"You've torn your shirt," Garth murmured thickly, "and you've hurt yourself."

Even as he pointed this out, she became aware of the sting of the scratch. In her mind's eye she could see, as he must, the droplets of blood that had been drawn by the thorn when it inflicted the wound, saw the way their redness emphasized the ivory pallor of her skin.

BOOK: Promises to Keep
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