Conquer the Memories

Chapter 5

By the time they reached the house, they were both soaked, and laughing. “At least give me credit,” Sonia complained. “You notice it didn’t rain a drop until we were finished with dinner. I suppose you thought that was nature’s doing?”

Craig deposited the tray in the kitchen and, after a quick, token cleanup, led her toward the bedroom. “You’re dripping, my talkative one. As soon as you get warm and dry, you can tell me all about your powers over the skies.”

“Skeptic. All my life I’ve been surrounded by skeptics.” Sonia groped in the dark for the bedside lamp. Peeling off her wet clothes, she tossed the soaking garments into the bathroom helter-skelter, then pulled on a multicolor caftan that trailed the floor. Her shivers promptly stopped, and she picked up a brush from the dresser.

“Under the covers,” Craig ordered.

Muttering about overbearing men, she threatened him with the brush, but dived rather meekly for the blankets, hunching the pillows behind her. “I’m hardly going to catch cold from one little rain.”

“Who said anything about your catching cold?” Craig stopped unbuttoning his shirt long enough to press a kiss on her forehead. “I’m just keeping you in your place.”

“Bed?”

“Bed,” he agreed.

“You think I’m going to put up with that kind of talk?”

She leaned back, watching Craig remove the rest of his clothes. The skin around his ribs was still bruised and discolored, and she saw white strain lines under his eyes that she hadn’t noticed in the darkness outside. Tugging the covers up to her chin, she again felt angry with herself for being so insensitive as to initiate lovemaking when he clearly wasn’t well yet.

He wandered into the bathroom, and Sonia picked up a magazine from the bedside table, but didn’t open it. Her eyes roved restlessly over their bedroom. The ceilings were tall and beamed; a stone fireplace took up one corner. The white stuccoed walls had a Spanish flavor; the burnt-orange carpet added a warmth and quiet to the room; and the wall hangings were mixed Sioux and Navaho, in wood-browns and muted oranges and creams, with a hint of pale blue. The room pleased her-it had a rich sensual quality that reflected, she thought with a warm rush, exactly what had always gone on within it. Loving. Not just sex, but affection and closeness, and an intimacy too joyous for laughter, too deep for tears. Sonia relaxed. Occasionally over the past two weeks, she’d been haunted by the specter of the man who had so badly frightened her in Chicago; yet the longer she was home and around Craig, the easier she found it to put the incident in perspective. However horrible it had been, that episode of less than an hour’s duration could not permanently mar the life she had with Craig.

He returned from the bathroom stark naked-but then, he always slept stark naked. He slipped between the sheets next to her, readjusted the pillows behind her as if she weren’t perfectly comfortable the way she had them, and picked up a magazine from his own bedside table. “Are you warm enough?”

“Sweltering, thank you.”

His dark eyes flicked over hers possessively. “If only sass could keep you warm.”

She chuckled, but her eyes turned serious as she flipped through the magazine. “We’re home for a change. I mean, really home. It seems as if we’ve been hop-skipping everywhere from Washington to Denver for the last couple years.”

“Feel good?”

“I’ve loved it all, but yes, it feels terrific to just be home.” She set down the magazine, giving up all pretense of reading, and snuggled on her side. “I talked to Marina on the phone yesterday.”

Marina managed the largest department store in Cold Creek, one that catered to customers with excellent taste in clothes. Marina and Sonia were old friends. Several years before, they’d talked about Sonia working in the store; after all, before she was married, she’d had those years at the Denver boutique. Sonia had never had the time to commit to a job with Marina. She and Craig had had a home to build-she’d wanted to travel with her husband and knew she worked well at his side. The ranch itself took time…She’d never been idle.

But the idea of setting up a fashion-consulting service in Marina’s store had intrigued her for a long time. The oil boom had increased the number of jobs in Cold Creek, both for men and for women. Women reentering the work force, Marina had told her, felt fashion-nervous. They didn’t want to waste their hard-earned dollars on wardrobe mistakes, but were eager to be appropriately dressed. Sonia would be the perfect adviser, Marina had told her often; she had the flair for clothes, several years of experience and an inimitable way with people.

Wardrobe consultants were nothing new; they had proved successful in larger cities, and Sonia had discussed the job idea with Craig before.

“She wants me to come down there next week,” Sonia started to say.

“No,” Craig said swiftly.

She glanced up at him in surprise. He’d always supported the idea. Actually, no matter how often he teased her about her clothes, she knew he was proud of her taste-particularly if she could show it off in a world full of women.

With his face turned away from her, he flicked out the light, tossed his magazine aside and slid down lower in the sheets, reaching for her. “I didn’t mean to make that sound so harsh,” he said quietly. “I just want to see you take it easy for a while, sweet. Loaf. Play lazy lady.” His hand stroked her cheek, and then slid down to rest around her waist. “You’d be good at consulting work for Marina, Sonia, and of course you can do anything you want to do. But give it a month or two, won’t you?”

“It’s not as if anything has to be decided this week,” she agreed, and yawned helplessly, sleepiness stealing over her like a silken web. She didn’t really object to the thought of a few weeks of doing absolutely nothing for a change. Still, there was a curious note in her voice. She had been so sure Craig would approve of the project, and instead he’d practically jumped in to quash it.

She smelled warm and feminine and soft, snuggling closer to his warmth. Craig’s eyes blinked open in the dark, unseeing, his jaw oddly tight. He forced himself to relax. Sonia was never going to be content just sitting home for long; he knew that. To keep her down hadn’t been his wish at all, and never would be. But there were a dozen protective eyes on her at the ranch; the idea of her gone all day, vulnerable, among strangers…“Not that I want you to get bored,” he whispered. His lips pressed into her hair. “I’m going to the site in the morning. Think you can wake up early enough to come with me?”

“Certainly. Except that you’re not going to the site tomorrow. Craig, it’s still too soon, you’re not-”

“About eight. You haven’t been out there in a long time.”

She sighed. She hadn’t accompanied him to work in a long time, primarily because he was so busy there that he barely had time to breathe. She could hear the implacable note in his voice, though, and thought fleetingly that if she went with him she could at least make sure he didn’t become overtired.

“You want to go?” he asked.

“I’d love to go.”

“You’re not going to be cranky if I wake you up that early?”

“I am never cranky in the morning,” she informed him.

He chuckled. “Sleep,” he urged her. “I love you, little one.”

Sonia slid a knee between his, settled her arms loosely around his waist and tucked her head just under his chin. No human being could possibly sleep that way for an entire night, but she couldn’t sleep at all if she didn’t start out that way.

Craig did his part in the nightly ritual, arranging the comforter to her chin, then sliding his hand slowly down her back to her bottom, where his palm rested on the curve of her hip. Against her stomach, like a warm surprise, was the feeling of his throbbing and most intimate arousal, nurtured by nothing more than the physical closeness between them.

In time, he fell asleep. Sonia cuddled contentedly, waiting for the darkness to claim her as well. Part of Craig remained distinctly unsleepy, still pulsating against her, making her half smile. And then not. Before the attack, she thought fleetingly, a cracked rib wouldn’t have stopped his making love to her. Nothing had ever stopped his making love to her, almost from the first moment he’d met her. Until now.

Groggily, Sonia wandered into the bathroom, flipping on the faucets for the shower as she wrapped a turban around her hair. Waiting for the water temperature to warm, she was terribly afraid the nice, sleepy euphoria was going to fade the instant she stepped under the pelting spray.

The ominous premonition proved true as she closed the sliding glass door and felt the pulsing hot water rush over her flesh. Her eyes even opened-a miracle. Through the cloudy glass, her eyes registered all the pale blue and silver features of “her” bath…she could hear Craig’s disgraceful baritone coming from the “his.”

She was the one who’d thought that “his” and “her” bathrooms were critical when they were designing the house. After all, how long could romance last when one had to brush one’s teeth in front of one’s mate and have an audience for putting on makeup? Not to mention that she had a longtime habit of hanging out her pantyhose to create an obstacle course.

“Sonia? Are you finally up, sleepyhead?”

In principle, next-door bathrooms were a good idea. Except that Craig had modified the original architectural plans when they’d put the shower in. “No,” she murmured grumblingly.

A glass door slid open behind her. Not the shower door that she’d just closed, leading into her bathroom, but the glass door that divided their individual shower stalls. Suddenly, there was nothing dividing their individual shower stalls; and one very naked, very wide-awake man with wicked dark eyes aimed a hand shower sprayer in her direction, attacking her unmercifully until she was gasping.

“Feel more wide awake?” Craig said mildly. “It’s really much easier if you get it over all at once.”

“Did you hear me asking for advice? You know, if we ever have a two-year-old, he’s going to feel right at home with you.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I haven’t had my coffee.”

“Coffee couldn’t possibly make you look more beautiful. Sonia, you are delectable in the buff,” Craig said gravely.

Color touched her cheeks, and a small smile curled on her lips. “Why can’t you just let me be mean and cranky in the morning? Why do you always have to put me in a good mood?” she complained, switching off the faucets as Craig shut off his. Dripping, Sonia brushed deliberately against him on the way out of his shower door, and reached for one of his towels.

That was the other problem with the “his” and “her” bathrooms. Hers was a waste; it was never used. His toothpaste was better, too, and she’d gotten into the habit of stealing his shaving cream when she shaved her legs. Worse than that, she’d unfortunately become addicted to watching the way he vigorously rubbed his hair dry with a thick towel. And besides, she’d stocked his red-and-gold bath with huge, luxurious scarlet towels, twice the side of those on her side. With his towel wrapped around her, she squeezed his blue-and-white toothpaste onto her toothbrush, which inevitably seemed to be in there anyway.

“Think you can actually be ready to go in about half an hour?” Craig asked her.

“No problem,” she promised him.

She watched in the mirror as he took the towel off his head and leaned with both elbows on the marble counter, regarding her as she brushed her teeth. “Before we were married, I swore I’d never do this in front of you, you know,” she told him.

“You were always modest about the silliest things.”

“Turn your head.”

He did, deftly removing her thick scarlet towel at the same time. In all her naked dignity, she escaped to the bedroom a few minutes later. Ten minutes after that, she was dressed. A short-sleeved black crepe blouse tucked into a black-and-white checked skirt; red sandals, red button earrings and a red silk rose on her lapel finished the outfit. She flicked on mascara, whisked blusher on her cheeks and smoothed on cherry lipstick-all the makeup she ever wore. She might not be awake, she mused, but her husband was still fooling around with shaving cream.

She wandered promptly toward the smell of coffee.

The kitchen was positively drenched in sunlight. Cheerful yellow beams danced on the old Spanish tiles and on the fireplace in the breakfast nook. She closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma of coffee like an addict deprived of his fix, then took the first sip and wandered out of the dazzling brightness with the cup in her hand. One could only take so much cheerfulness this early.

Now, now, you’re in a better mood than you’re letting on, she chided herself absently. Darn it, you like being married to that man.

So what else was new?

She paused in the doorway to the living room, still sipping her hot brew. The cathedral ceiling gave the room an airy feeling. She’d furnished it with big overstuffed furniture in cream, not at all a practical color for a ranch-but then, they half lived in the kitchen and Craig’s den. Eight feet up, a narrow lanai ran along the inside walls; dozens of hanging plants spilled down from that. They were the absolute devil to water, but no arguing from the team of Craig and Charlie could make her give them up. Rugs and wall hangings in brilliant Indian and Spanish patterns added color that caught the morning sun…primarily because they’d put so many windows in the room. More cheerfulness, she thought wryly.

From those open windows, she had an inspiring view of the mountains, all smoky in the distance this morning. The rain last night, so rare for June, had drenched all the shrubs and greenery she’d planted a few years before. She needed to cut some roses and bring them in, she thought absently. And knew that it wasn’t the morning that was making her grumpy, but worry that Craig was overdoing it by going back to work so soon, even if it was only for a few hours.

“Ready?”

She whirled. He could not have looked healthier, her husband in his conservative white shirt with navy-and-gray patterned tie. A suit coat hung over his arm, matching his gray pants. He had on his tough go-to-work expression; a no-nonsense attitude radiated from his lithe stride. At least until his eyes appraised her from head to toe.

“Now, black and white is very conservative,” she informed him.

“Not on you.”

“You don’t like it?”

“You’ll draw eyes,” he said flatly. “In the next life, I’m going to marry a little mouse with a sunken chest who wears only brown.”

She chuckled. “Don’t kid yourself, sexy. You’re not going to be rid of me in the next life, either. Not by a long shot.”

“You’ve obviously had your coffee.”

“In the next life, I’m the one who’s going to wake up nice and cheerful. You’ll be the meanie.”

“You’ll still be stuck with me,” he said wryly, and swung an arm around her shoulder as they headed for the car.

It was an hour’s drive to the construction site. Anticipation increased in Sonia as they neared the project. She hadn’t been there in months, not only because Craig had been involved in meetings in Washington, but because a site where shale oil was being extracted was hardly the most natural place for a woman to be, unless she wore a hard hat and geologist’s boots.

Craig parked the car, viewing his wife’s antsy movements with a chuckle. “I have this terrible feeling you have a secret wish to run a bulldozer. Are you going to be able to contain yourself while I work through a few things in the office?”

“What do you pay a bulldozer operator?” she demanded.

“I refuse to answer that.”

“You haven’t really told me in a long time how the project’s been going.” She understood the basics. Craig’s in situ processing method of extracting oil from shale was ecologically sound as well as profitable. That balance had always been the tricky thing. And Craig’s method, if anyone asked Sonia, was the only one that really worked.

“How long are you going to be?” she asked him as they walked toward the two-story office building.

“No more than an hour or two.”

“I’ll just wander around, then.”

“No,” Craig said swiftly.

Sonia’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Craig, I don’t want to get in your way. You know I’m perfectly happy just poking around. Everyone knows me…”

He obviously wanted her in sight, she thought with amusement. Mrs. Heath met him at the door of his office, her crinkly gray hair standing on end as it always did. Piles of crises had accumulated in his absence, all of which Mrs. Heath politely indicated he should immediately resolve.

She served Craig a cup of coffee, then he went about the business of resolving. John was one of his geologists; his crisis had something to do with the marketing of nahcolite, a by-product of the extraction process. After that, Senator Brown wanted to discuss a section of the Synthetic Liquid Fuels Act that worried him. After that, the director of the Bureau of Mines…

Somewhere in midstream her husband seemed to realize he was holding her hand. He didn’t look the part of a lovesick teenager, Sonia thought with wicked humor; he looked very much the man in control. Tough and rough and hard and smart. She divested herself of his hand long enough to wander to the window.

Outside was a barren wasteland of sagebrush with the sun beating relentlessly down on it. It always amazed her that such a short distance from home, green rolling landscape turned into gutted gullies and arid rolls of parched land. The aboveground shale-oil workers always argued that messing up the landscape here was hardly an ecological crime. At first glance, of course, one saw no beauty. At second glance, however, one might see a herd of mule deer grazing on one of the hills, an eagle swooping down, a plant bursting into flower. Even the pitted gullies had their own kind of lonely beauty.

Two tall, gray, windowless structures gleamed silver in the morning sun, and a fleet of large trucks, bulldozers and cranes was parked by the office. That was all, though. No one could ever guess that three hundred people were probably working underground at this moment, or what was happening there.

Her feet were itching to take the huge elevators down to see what was going on at the heart of the project. She knew the mechanics…more or less. Oil was down there; that was a given. In conventional mining, the shale was brought to the surface, and the oil separated from it by a heating process called retorting. That method, unfortunately, left a legacy of slag, polluted water and air no one would want to breathe.

When the mining was done underground, very little water was required, no air pollution resulted and the slag presented only minor disposal problems.

It was so simple; Craig had explained it to her a dozen times. Underground, the men dynamited, leaving masses of broken oil shale. The rubble was later exposed to tremendous heat, which caused the oil to separate from the rock. Then the oil was pumped up and sent to the refineries. So simple, to produce a few hundred thousand barrels of oil a day that the country desperately needed…

And not simple at all, Sonia thought absently. Meeting energy needs was never simple. Any sudden increase in fuel supplies was enough to send prices plummeting, enough to destroy national economies as well as oil companies. Craig’s project received funds from the federal government and from private investors, all of whom had the same goals: to produce fuel in a way that would not upset economic systems, didn’t harm the environment and earned profits. Craig’s process was designed to achieve that goal.

Sonia stirred restlessly at the window. She was shamelessly proud of him. When push came to shove, though, she couldn’t care less about the project when her husband’s health was at stake. She turned and watched him for a moment with ruthlessly critical eyes.

Craig was on the phone; Mrs. Heath was in the doorway; John, in a short-sleeved shirt with his hard hat cockeyed, was leaning over Craig’s desk. Her man had loosened his tie twenty minutes ago, rolled up his shirt cuffs even before that. One arm was lazily folded over his ribs, but there were no pain lines around his eyes, no drawn look between his brows that signaled a headache.

And he was busier than a one-armed juggler. Smiling, Sonia slipped toward the door with a wink for Mrs. Heath. She was perfectly content wandering around on her own and hardly wanted to be in Craig’s way.

She’d made it to the end of the corridor before she felt a warm hand slip into hers again. She glanced up to find a very handsome man with a shock of brown hair over his forehead and a very clear pair of blue eyes focused on hers.

“That stuff will wait,” Craig told her. “I’ve got things to show you.”

He did, she admitted. Her husband had a great many things to show her, in spite of being constantly interrupted by people who needed-and claimed-his attention. His hand still remained irretrievably locked with hers.

The dusty workers from underground, talking about tolerances and heat and percussion problems, must have thought it strange.

So did Sonia. Craig had never before exactly tied her to his wrist while he went through the mundane details of his work. She didn’t mind. She’d always liked the simple intimacy of holding hands.

Whither thou goest, I shall go, she thought whimsically. Mr. Hamilton, you’re not feeling just a little violently possessive this morning, are you?

She said nothing aloud. He loved her, and sooner or later he’d notice what he was doing. She hoped sooner. She wanted to make a trip to the ladies’ room.