Wishmakers (30 page)

“Do you practice being rude, or does it just come naturally to you?” Gloria was so angry her voice trembled, but she made herself look him directly in the eyes. “I don't have a weight problem. I've
never
had a weight problem. And if I did, anyone with any manners at all wouldn't comment on it.”

“That got to you, didn't it?” He raised his eyebrows.

“And…you led me to believe this was a…hangout for thugs and…and…drug users!” She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she spoke, so she looked out the window, afraid that if she continued to look at him, the gleam in his eyes would goad her to hit him again.

“I told you what you expected to hear,” he said, and there was laughter in his voice. “You've come from a nice, orderly, sheltered little world where you were taught to be wary and look down your pretty little nose at an uncouth character like me. Just because I don't fit into the mold of what you think is ‘respectable,’ you shoved me into the ‘undesirable’ category.” He chuckled. “Glory, Glory, this is the eighties. People are more tolerant now of us…hippies.”

She turned to look at him. Her anger was replaced with quiet dignity. “Don't laugh at me and don't analyze my life. You know nothing about it! You may think me naive for a woman my age, and that may be true to a certain extent. But I have my principles just the same. I'm just learning to stand on my own two feet after five years of being told, do this, do that—eat this, eat that—wear this, wear that. I was brainwashed into thinking I had to be subservient to a man's wishes. That's over—done with—finished! I'm a person in my own right, with my own opinions, and I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions without help from you or…anyone.” At the end she was striving to keep her tone level and her lips from trembling, but her traitorous voice betrayed her on the last word. She felt the tears rising and looked away from him.

“I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to make fun of you.” The softness of his voice was like a caress, and brought her eyes back to him. A faint frown pleated his brow, and his eyes, full of concern, were fastened on her face. She stared into their depths, and her mind went blank. She found herself tongue-tied and couldn't remember the rest of what she had wanted to say.

She looked away from him to some distant spot behind his head and willed her eyes to stay dry. Heartache parted her lips and she gulped small gasps of air into her lungs. She wished desperately that she were back at the motel. This bearded man disturbed her in more ways than she cared to acknowledge. He could make her reveal more about herself than she wanted him to know. She'd never met anyone quite so vibrant, so aggressively masculine, in her life. At times he was like a gentle giant. He attracted her, confused her, angered her, and made her feel achingly alive and feminine, something no other man had ever done. His smile and warm, caressing voice caused an unwelcome glow of happiness to start in her knees and work its way up to her chest.

They sat silently while Jack mentally kicked himself for having caused the pain reflected in her wide amber eyes. More than anything he wanted to cradle her face in his hands, bring her head to his shoulder, and comfort her. For a few moments he was completely honest with himself. She was a lovely woman, very desirable. He wanted to hold her and to kiss her. He wanted her to look at him with bright laughter in her eyes instead of the pain he saw there now. For the first time in years he wanted more from a woman than the quick satisfaction of a primitive desire. He wanted her mind, her body, her…love. The knowledge hit him with the force of a hurricane.
Christ! You stupid bastard! The last thing you need is a woman to complicate your life.

Helen brought their food, and without conscious thought of what she was doing, Gloria picked up the hamburger and began to eat. It was half consumed before she realized how hungry she was. She glanced at Jack, fully expecting to find him watching her with a taunting gleam in his eyes, but he was concentrating on his food. She glanced at the hands that held the sandwich. His fingers were long and slim and tipped with blunt, clean nails. A thin gold watch was nestled in the fine black hair on his wrist.

Jack looked up and met her gaze. “What are you thinking while those amber eyes are boring holes through me?” His voice was soft, without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“What are
you
thinking?” she replied, unwilling to answer his question.

“I'm thinking you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.” His voice was lower than before and his eyes had darkened to a clear jade.

“Thank you.” She was flustered at this unexpected turn in the conversation, but absurdly pleased by his compliment.

They didn't speak again until they had finished their meal, then Jack said, “Ready?”

Gloria nodded. He went to the register and waited for Helen to finish pouring coffee for the cowboys. One of them spoke to him.

“How're ya doin', Jack?”

“Pretty good, Roy. You got them mangy old steer of yours ready for shipping?”

“Just about.”

The man cast admiring glances at Gloria, who was now standing beside the door. His look invited an introduction; Jack ignored it and turned his attention to digging bills out of his jeans pocket. The cowboy had a dark, weathered face, light-brown hair, and a long, slim body. His eyes were frankly admiring as they toured Gloria's trim figure. When she met his gaze, he smiled, and his face lit up with charm. He nodded to her and narrowed his eyes in a way that said he would like to know her, but she turned away.

Gloria climbed into the dusty pickup and wondered idly if comfortable cars were banned in this part of the country. Almost everyone drove either a pickup truck or some other type of four-wheel-drive equipment. After five years of riding in Lincolns and Cadillacs, it had taken her a while to get used to her small compact car, which was a luxury compared to this jolting truck.

They were headed down the highway toward the motel before Jack spoke.

“Roy considers himself God's gift to the ladies. You'd be smart to not encourage him.” He spoke softly, but his words were accompanied by a cool look.

“Is he married?”

“No. But he's on his fourth or fifth ‘live-in,’ as far as I know.”

“Does he own a big ranch?” Sensing his irritation, some little devil in Gloria prodded her to ask the question.

Jack's head swiveled around and he eyed her unsmilingly. “His pa owns the ranch. Roy'll have to share it with a raft of brothers and sisters. That is, if there's anything left to inherit.”

“Does he live on the ranch?”

“In a trailer house. He needs his privacy.” There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

“Does his family approve of his ‘live-ins’?”

“I don't know, I haven't asked them. Why all the questions? Are you thinking of making a play for Roy?”

The bitterness in his voice caused her to look at him sharply. His brows were drawn together in a deep frown of disapproval; suddenly the fun had gone out of the game. Without answering his question she turned to stare out the window.

There were a million questions floating around in her mind. Who was Jack Evans? What had happened to cause him to drop out of the mainstream and live this unconventional lifestyle? Why was he so hostile all of a sudden? Why wasn't she feeling elated because she had, at last, managed to get under his thick skin and irritate him? Was he angry because the cowboy had flirted with her? Did he think she was so shallow that she'd be flattered by the man's rakish attention?

The highway from the rest area to the motel seemed infinitely shorter than it had the day she'd ridden over it with Jack on the motorcycle. Still, it was full of hills and curves, and Gloria was relieved when she could see the familiar orange doors of the motel.

The truck rattled over the metal bridge that covered the drainage ditch and proceeded through the empty parking area. Dusk had settled, and Gloria vaguely wondered why Aunt Ethel hadn't turned on the office lights. Jack braked to a stop just short of the yawning doors of the shed where Ethel parked the truck. Gloria got out without a word or a backward glance. The back door of the motel slammed shut, and Peter ran to meet her.

“Mom! Mom! I c-couldn't f-find you!” Ragged, desperate sobs accompanied his frantic words. Tears streaked his face. He grabbed her around the legs and held on.

“Oh, honey! Didn't Aunt Ethel tell you I went to Lewistown to take the U-Haul back?” She dropped her purse, knelt down beside him, and hugged him to her. “There, there, don't cry. I should have told you I was going.”

“I was s-scared,” he stammered.

“There was nothing to be scared about. You knew I'd be back. Aunt Ethel was with you.”

“Aunt Ethel is sleepin'. I made noise, but she didn't wake up. People called on the radio and she didn't wake up.”

“Aunt Ethel is…sleeping? At five o'clock?”

Gloria blanched, remembering that her aunt never napped, and a cold hand of fear began to squeeze the breath out of her.

“Oh, my God!” She loosened herself from Peter's clinging arms and ran to the door. “Aunt Ethel! Aunt Ethel!”

The kitchen was dark and she fumbled with the light switch. She went quickly through the swinging doors to the living area, switched on another light, then stopped short, the back of her hand going to her mouth.

Her aunt lay on the couch with an arm hanging down, palm out. Her mouth was open and twisted to the side. Gloria leaned over her. She was so pale and still. Fear shattered her heart.
No! No! Oh, dear God! Don't let her be…dead!
Her mind raced, imagining the worst.

“Jack!” Her scream was like a lost wail. In blind panic she ran to the back door. “Jack!” She sucked air into her lungs in jerky gasps. “Come quick! Aunt Ethel—”

Jack shot past her with Peter clinging to his neck. When he reached the couch he set Peter on his feet, and the distraught child flung himself against his mother's legs, sobbing helplessly. Gloria fell on her knees and gathered him to her.

“Hush, darling, hush. Please hush,” she begged.

Jack searched Ethel's wrist for a pulse and lifted her eyelid. Then he got to his feet.

“She's alive,” Jack murmured gently, and a feeling of relief and gratitude flooded Gloria's numbed senses. “I think she's had a stroke.”

“We've got to get her to the hospital. I'll call an ambulance.”

“It'll take an hour for an ambulance to get here and back.” Jack put a reassuring hand on Gloria's shoulder. “Gary's car is in the shed. I'll get the master key from the office and unlock his room—the car keys are bound to be there. Lock up the front and leave a note on the table for him; he and Dwight should be here soon. Then gather up a bunch of blankets and a couple of pillows.” He was gone before Gloria could get to her feet.

“Aunt Ethel is sick, Peter. You're going to have to help us get her to the hospital. Go put on your jacket and bring the pillow from my bed.” The child stood there sniffling. “You're a big boy, and…Jack and I need you. Hurry now.” Her words seemed to calm him, and he ran toward their room.

Gloria scribbled a brief note to Gary, put it on the kitchen table, and went to her aunt's bedroom. She took several blankets from the closet shelf. She thanked God Jack was with her; her mind was so fettered with fear that she was only half aware of what she was doing. Peter returned, and with trembling hands she helped him into his jacket.

“Take the pillow to the back door and wait for Jack, honey. Oh, I'm so glad I have you to help me.”

“I love Aunt Ethel.”

“I love her, too, honey,” Gloria said, zipping up his jacket and hugging him briefly.

“Will she get a shot?” he asked gravely.

“I don't know, love. We'll have to wait and see.”

Jack parked the big sedan just a few steps from the back door. Gloria spread pillows on the backseat, and Jack carried Ethel out to the car. He gently laid her down on the seat and covered her with blankets. Gloria climbed in and sat beside her aunt. Jack lifted Peter into the front and fastened the seat belt around him.

“You sit up here with me, hotshot, and hold Aunt Ethel's pocketbook. There may be things in there the hospital will want to know.” He put the car in gear and drove out onto the highway.

Less than five miles down the road they met Gary headed for the motel. Jack pressed on the horn, blinked the car lights, and sped on past. Gloria glanced out the rear window to see the brake lights come on the big eighteenwheeler, then go off as Gary speeded up again. She wondered what he thought at seeing his own car go racing toward town.

Gloria teetered on the edge of the seat, holding her aunt's hand. She had no idea of how she would have reacted to this emergency if she had been there alone. She wanted to talk, wanted to tell Jack how grateful she was that he was with her, but she remained silent, and the big car ate up the miles.

They reached the railroad tracks at the edge of town and Jack slowed the car to ease over them, then turned onto a wide, tree-lined side street; at the end of it was a large gray building. At one side was a circular drive that passed under an enclosure with a large bold sign that said
EMERGENCY ONLY
. Jack drove the car in, stopped, and pressed on the horn before he got out. A white-coated orderly met him at the door and, after a few words from Jack, turned back to call for a stretcher.

Although she felt nervous and sick, Gloria managed to walk calmly down the corridor to the admittance desk and answer the questions they asked about her aunt. She was terribly glad Jack had thought to bring Aunt Ethel's purse; from it she extracted her insurance card, social security card, and driver's license. She fidgeted while the woman took what seemed like an eternity to note down the information. Her fear grew with each passing second. When the woman was finally done she hurried back to the room where Jack and Peter waited—wanting,
needing,
the security of Jack's calm presence.

She stood in the doorway and watched Jack cuddle Peter in his arms. The child was asleep, and Jack was shifting him so his head lay comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“He didn't have any dinner,” Gloria said absently.