Solomon's Decision (13 page)

"About what I've done. You're going to be really angry, and I want you to yell at
me in private. Okay?"

"I wouldn't yell at you," she said, pulling her arm free of his clasp. Why was it that
every time he touched her, some sort of bone-dissolving force flowed from him to her,
making her want to melt against him? "You've done something wonderful for the Social
and everyone in Sunset County will benefit from it."

"Trace's condition was that all profit from his concert would go to preservation of
Wounded Bear Meadow," he reminded her.

"Oh, I understood that. But we usually make several thousand from the
carnival....Oh, lord! That's something else I have to do. Get more prizes." She reached for
the pad and pen beside the phone.

"Madeline, before you do anything, there's something you really need to know."
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he guided her to the table and pushed her into a chair.
Perching on the table, one leg swinging, he stared at her. His expression seemed
troubled.

"Oh?" She wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"Last year Trace did a concert for the Trust in North Dakota. Same kind of
deal--there was a wetland we wanted to purchase and he donated the proceeds."

"That's very nice of him, but I don't see...."

He laid his fingers across her lips. It was all she could do to keep from kissing
them.

"Madeline, that concert was more than a hundred miles from the nearest moderate
sized city. There was no bus service into town, no train, not even a landing strip." He
waved his hand in the general direction of the Garnet Falls airport. "How many people do
you suppose came to the concert?"

How should she know? Taking the first figure that popped into her mind and
doubling it, she said, "Four thousand?"

His expression was amused. "Try again."

"Darn it, Erik! How should I know? I've never been to a concert like that in my
life. For all I know, we won't have any more people than we did last year." And last year
had set an attendance record.

"There were nine thousand four hundred thirty-two paid admissions,
Madeline."

She stared. "You're kidding me," she finally said, after assimilating the meaning of
his words.

"Nope." His grin spread. "We managed to buy the wetland and put some extra into
our permanent acquisition fund."

"We won't have that many here," she said, "will we?" What would little Garnet
Falls, Idaho, do with an influx of nearly ten thousand people? Where would they all
park?

"We'll probably have more. That's why Amelia called Wally, and why she's
talking to the State Police right now."

The doorbell pealed. Erik's hand stopped her from jumping to her feet. "Just
remember, Madeline. I'm here to help you. And I've been involved with an event like this
before, so don't be afraid to ask for my help."

What she'd like to do was dump the whole problem in his lap. Ten thousand
people! How much food would ten thousand people eat? Could the women of Sunset
County make enough ice cream to feed them all? And if they could, was there enough
home freezer space in Garnet Falls to store it? In the county?

Maybe it was time to take her vacation. She could go to Hawaii until the fifth of
July, maybe. Mexico, hot as it would be, sounded more tempting than staying here for the
next ten days.

The doorbell pealed again and she heard Amelia call, "Keep your britches on,
Wally. We're comin'!"

Wally proved the easiest of her problems to solve. Where the Wednesday Club
would never have paid public officials for doing their regular job of policing the park and
school fields, both Madeline and Amelia recognized that the expected crowd would far
exceed the capability of Garnet Falls' five-person sheriff's force to patrol. Wally agreed to
cooperate with the State Police on traffic control and to contract for the necessary
personnel from a private security firm in Boise, as long as the Wednesday Club guaranteed
their fee.

But the time Amelia and Erik left, about eleven-thirty, Madeline actually believed
everything was going to work.

* * * *

Erik hoped she was dressed. He didn't need any more frustrations this morning. Of
course, wanting to mash someone's nose across his face was a far cry from fighting his
body's mindless response to a woman who made it plainer every day that she wasn't the
slightest bit interested in being more than a friend.

His finger was about to press the doorbell again when the door opened. Even
through the screen, he could smell warm, just bathed woman, redolent with the lingering
scents of shampoo, soap, and toothpaste. His whole body clenched. Damn! She was still in
her bathrobe.

"Erik! What on earth?"

He jerked the screen door open and forced his way inside as she backed away
from him. "Kiss me!"

"What?"

Taking one more step forward, he clasped her around the waist. "Kiss me, I said.
Now!"

Before she could do more than think about arguing, he possessed her mouth,
slipping his tongue into its minty depths. She was soft and yielding, her breasts flattening
against his chest, her bottom round and lush, filling his hands.

Her relaxation was gradual, and Erik gloried in every bit of it. First her arms slid
up and around his neck, pulling him even tighter against her. Then her tongue came to
meet and play with his. Finally, her feet left the ground as her legs, one at a time, wrapped
around his. She moaned as he lifted her higher, until only the thickness of his jeans and her
light robe kept them apart. She was hot against his arousal, hot and ready.

He lost himself in her, finding renewal and an end to anger in her mouth, her
sweet response. He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

Some small vestige of sanity remained, and he ended the kiss, loosened his clasp
on her buttocks. She clung to him with a little whimper of protest, but her legs dropped to
the floor and took her weight. He stroked her back until her breathing calmed, letting his
own slow, his heartbeat return to normal at the same time.

"I can't believe I did that," she said, her face buried in the angle of his shoulder.
Her whole body had gradually stiffened, but he prevented it when she tried to remove
herself from his embrace.

"I can't either," he acknowledged, "but I'm not sorry I did. At least something's
gone right this morning." He released her, but kept one arm around her waist so she
wouldn't run away. "Have you got any milk? That stuff they call coffee at the Conestoga
House is enough to dissolve carbon steel."

He followed her into the kitchen and nodded his thanks when she poured him a
glass of milk. "Don't let me delay you," he said, as she looked indecisively at the toaster.
Two slices of dark bread sat waiting in its slots. "I thought I'd walk you to work and catch
you up on the latest developments. I didn't mean to interrupt your morning routine."

"I usually dress while the coffee's perking," she said, sounding uncertain, shy.
"But it got done while we...while I was answering...Would you like some toast?" Her chin
came up with her question, as if she had decided to ignore the kiss.

As if she could. Her desire had been as strong as his, and he had a hunch she was
as uncomfortable with that little fact as he was.

"Go," he commanded. "Get yourself dressed. I'll make myself at home."

She hesitated, but she went.

Erik didn't really want toast, not with his mouth still feeling sticky from the overly
sweet, doughy cinnamon roll he'd eaten at the Conestoga House. But an egg, some protein
to overwhelm the effects of all that sugary icing, would taste just right. He delved into the
refrigerator.

When Madeline returned, wearing a full-skirted dress the colors of summer
flowers, he had poached eggs and toast waiting for her. He'd even placed a daisy in a water
glass, to center the table.

She stopped when she saw the table. "Oh, Erik, how thoughtful!" Her smile
brightened his day considerably. It was unfortunate he was going to have to tell her the bad
news.

"All right," she said, pouring them both more coffee, "what are these latest
developments you came to tell me?" She looked so happy this morning, so fresh and eager
for the day's surprises.

"Charlie Bittenbusch got me out of bed at five-thirty. He wanted a breakfast
meeting about the Social."

She frowned. "I wonder why he didn't call Amelia, or me."

Erik gritted his teeth. "He's planning on seeing you at the Commissioners' meeting
this morning."

"What? What Commissioners' meeting? There isn't one sched-- Oh. I see. He's
calling one, isn't he?"

"Can he do that?"

"If he can get a majority to agree, he can. But I don't understand. Why?"

"Oh, he's got a grand agenda, Charlie has," Erik said, his anger growing again.
He'd met some self-serving bastards in his time, but Charlie Bittenbusch was about tops.
He glanced at the clock. Quarter to eight. "I'll fill you in while we walk downtown. Just so
you won't get too many nasty surprises all at once."

As they walked, he told her about Charlie's plans to capitalize on Trace's visit to
Garnet Falls. The singer would be the Grand Marshall of the parade, instead of Erik--not
that Erik cared, because he'd only reluctantly accepted the honor in the first place. There
would be a formal reception at the Conestoga House on Thursday night--Erik had made the
mistake of telling Charlie when the band would arrive--and Charlie thought he might be
able to get the Governor to attend. He'd only grudgingly given in on leaving Trace's
schedule open Friday because Erik said his famous friend already had plans.

"He's got something else up his sleeve, I think, but I don't know what it is." Their
swinging arms brushed, and Erik caught Madeline's hand in his. It felt as if it belonged
there.

"With Charlie, there's just no telling. Whatever he proposed--and he'll say it's for
the county's benefit--you can be sure Charlie's going to make a profit on it."

Had she squeezed his hand? Erik couldn't be sure, but he responded, just in case.
"That sounds like a conflict of interest." They were nearing the corner of Oregon Street and
Sunset Highway, entering what passed for downtown Garnet Falls. He wondered if she
would make him release her hand now.

They were in front of the Baptist Church before she wriggled her fingers free.
"Madeline, I didn't mean to come on to you quite so...so forcefully this morning. I was
frustrated and mad, listening to Charlie's ideas about how Trace is going to put Sunset
County on the map. He doesn't seem to understand that the concert is all in benefit of the
Trust."

"I'm the one who should apologize," she said. "I practically climbed all over
you."

He sensed her moving away, both physically and emotionally. "We've got to talk
about all this, Madeline. We can't keep working together and tiptoeing around how we feel
about each other." Catching her hand again, he pulled her to a stop, just before the stone
bench at the end of the Courthouse steps. "I don't understand it, but I can't get within ten
feet of you and not want you." He touched her cheek, marveling at its soft texture, its
warmth.

"I don't think talking about it is gong to do any good, Erik. We'll just have to show
a little maturity, instead of groping each other like a couple of randy adolescents." She
stepped back, almost bumping the bench. "I really can't get involved with you. Not now.
Especially not now." She spun around and practically ran up the Courthouse steps.

That was all right. He'd see her in an hour, unless he missed his guess about
Charlie's ability to convince two other commissioners to approve the meeting.

The trouble was, he wasn't sure he wanted to be at that meeting. He had this awful,
gut-deep feeling that everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.

"Charlie, stop wastin' our time," Amelia snapped. "If you've got something to say,
say it. We've got better things to do this morning than sit around listenin' to you."

Several people in the audience nodded. The room was almost as full as for a
regular Commission meeting.

"Well, now, I'm a little concerned about those crowds," Charlie said, as if Amelia
hadn't interrupted, "and their effect on our little community. We'll have parking problems,
sanitation problems...."

Madeline reached into her skirt pocket for the list she'd been adding to all
morning. Portable toilets. Why hadn't she thought of them? The park facilities simply
weren't built to handle a crowd of the magnitude Erik predicted, even if the high school
restrooms were all opened as well.

Charlie was droning on. "Not to mention the amount of food needed to feed that
multitude." He lifted his arms as if intending to provide loaves and fishes for all.

Madeline wanted to vomit.

"What are you getting at, Charlie?" Bob Wolfe, who had obviously had come to
the meeting right out of his corral, drawled, "Isn't that the Wednesday Club's problem? It's
their Social."

"Yes, Charlie, what makes you think we can't handle all these problems?" Amelia
said, her tone deceptively sweet. "We've been putting on the Social for almost a hundred
years, and we've never had anything we couldn't handle yet."

"Not even the flood, back in '48," someone in the back called. Madeline thought
she recognized Lester's voice despite the background noise.

"How about the year they had to close the highway because of the big fire? We
just put everything on ice and held the Social the next day," a woman called.

"Fed all the firefighters, too," Emaline Cohoon boasted. "Least we could do, after
they kept the fire from comin' into town."

Madeline remembered that year. The range fire had all but surrounded Garnet
Falls. Her grandparents, and most of the other residents, had been on the verge of
evacuation when word came that the raging flames had been contained. That had been one
of the memorable Socials, for it had also been a feast of thanksgiving.