Conquer the Memories

Chapter 8

Sonia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as she neared her Passat. George was standing next to it. He was nearly as much of an institution around Craig’s ranch as Charlie was; he was the best of ranch hands and had been with Craig for years.

He was also about the size of a fairy-tale giant, his leathery skin permanently sun-weathered and his blunt shoulders rather hunched as he stood with hat in hand. “I was wondering if I could get a ride to town, ma’am,” he said politely.

Her eyebrows raised just a fraction farther. “Well, of course you can, George, but…” She had to raise her chin to see his eyes. The man had to be six foot fifty. And was looking oddly uncomfortable. “The trucks all break down at once on you?” she questioned teasingly. George had never asked for a lift to town before, and the kind of supplies he usually brought back would hardly fit in her Passat.

“Sort of.” He shifted. “I need some parts from town. Just thought if you were going, you might not mind if I tagged along.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she assured him, and slid into the driver’s seat, motioning George to get in as well. It was like watching a bear climb into a bassinet, but he managed to cram his long body into the passenger seat, his knees just about touching his chin. He stared politely ahead as she started the engine. “If it would save you a trip, I’d be happy to buy those parts for you,” Sonia offered.

“That’s okay, ma’am,” he said flatly.

Which just about settled that; George never wasted words. Sonia repressed a chuckle. One did get the feeling he would be more comfortable on a horse than next to her in the Passat. Charlie had driven to town in one of the pickups, she remembered fleetingly; perhaps the other was in use as well and George had simply been stuck for a ride. She glanced absently in the rearview mirror. Her pert white sharkskin skirt, soft purple blouse and sandals didn’t blend too well with her companion’s rough jeans and spurred boots. It didn’t bother her, but poor George was radiating nervousness.

“Tell me where you need to go,” Sonia suggested lightly. “Lawson’s or the hardware? My business won’t take long, George. If you need to get something quickly back to the ranch I could cut it out altogether. For that matter-”

“I just want to go to Brock’s, ma’am.”

Brock’s. Marina’s department store. Sonia adjusted the sun visor and managed to hide her surprise. George must be buying something for a girl friend; no wonder he was so untalkative. She spent the next five miles whimsically envisioning a romance in the offing.

The thought delighted her, but…well. George wasn’t exactly handsome. He was true-blue loyal, dependable and strong-hearted, but his speech was usually rather crusty-when he got around to talking. He spent at least four nights a week with a bottle and four poker buddies; he occasionally liked a good brawl, and…he chewed.

Sonia was hard-pressed to imagine the kind of woman he would shop at Brock’s for. George? And on ranch time, in the middle of the working day? It had to be love. George was the type who would come to work with pneumonia; playing hooky wasn’t his thing at all.

She cleared her throat as they neared the edge of town. “You know, George, if I could help you out by buying something for you,” she repeated.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

The “ma’am” drove her nuts, but she let it be.

George needed a shower. Not drastically, but Sonia rolled down the window just a little instead of opting for air conditioning. Wedding plans filled her mind…difficult to imagine, though, because the giant next to her didn’t exude the most romantic of auras. Still, she wanted to help him.

“You’re looking for a special gift?” she tried tactfully.

George shifted uneasily. “Just parts, ma’am.”

Parts. In Marina’s store. All right. Sonia parked on the street in Cold Creek, and almost before she’d put the key in her purse found George opening her door for her. She blinked, stared at him in total bewilderment as she stepped out of the car. The last she knew, she could open a door on her own, and chivalry wasn’t exactly the first word that came to mind in free-associating George’s name.

The town had boomed in the past few years. Stores and businesses had popped up; the library was new, and suddenly parking was at a premium. Cold Creek had barely heard of McDonald’s ten years before; now there were two…and enough traffic to justify them. Sonia had mixed feelings about some of the changes. She was afraid the town would lose its sleepy Western flavor, but overall it was hard to find fault with growth that brought in jobs and prosperity for her neighbors.

She started walking with George at her side. His legs were miles long, and he was doing a touching job of trying to slow down to her pace. She tried to speed up accordingly; he tried to slow his gait further.

Laurel and Hardy, she thought wryly. Relief filled her as they finally reached the display windows of Brock’s. George awkwardly rushed forward to open the glass doors. “Thank you,” she murmured. It was like being trailed by an apprentice knight in shining armor, give or take the plug of Skoal tobacco in his cheek.

Counters laden with cosmetics and lingerie confronted them; George stopped stock-still, his expression not unlike that of a calf being led to a pen. Sonia chuckled; she couldn’t help it. “I had in mind going to see someone in the back offices,” she said lightly. “I’ll be there half an hour or so. Will that be long enough for you to get your…er…parts?”

“You’re not leaving the store, ma’am?”

She bit her lip to keep from chuckling. “George, if I can buy something for you so you won’t have to go through all this-”

George looked blank.

Sonia gave up. “I’ll see you in a few…” She’d taken a step forward; so did George-directly on her heels. How could a man so graceful on a horse be such a clumsy puppy in a mere department store? She sighed. “I’ll meet you at the front door in half an hour All right?”

“Sure, ma’am.”

But he certainly looked uneasy. Sonia swallowed a grin as she wended her way past the display of shoes and then summer clothing. Marina’s offices were in back, past a steel door that led to a sudden confusion of computers and phones and bustle, a total contrast to the carpeted retreat Marina had tried to make of the store itself.

Sonia paused in the doorway to her friend’s office. Marina had a phone to her ear and her glasses perched on her cinnamon-colored hair. Her brown linen dress had clearly been through a rough morning, wisps of her hair were going every which way, and in usual style, she’d bitten off her lipstick. The desk was stacked high; somewhere in the debris were a computer. Marina inevitably looked buried. She was only five feet tall, and at forty-five had a few well-earned wrinkles on her brow, bright blue eyes that radiated shrewd intelligence and a broad, warm smile the minute she noticed Sonia in the doorway.

“Call you back,” she barked into the phone, and waved Sonia over. “Get in here, you hermit. You haven’t been to see me in ages. I want to know what you think of these.”

In minutes, Sonia was surrounded by fabric swatches and samples. Marina shoved a chair against the backs of Sonia’s legs and thrust a cup of jet-black, overstrong coffee into her hand.

“I’ve got to make some decisions on next spring’s line,” Marina said distractedly. “It’s everything I’ve already talked to you about, Sonia. I made a fortune on dressy clothes in the past, but that’s just not what’s required anymore. Many of the women who shop here nowadays are holding down new jobs and buying professional-looking clothing at reasonable prices. Now, I want to make some changes, but I don’t want to lower the quality of our merchandise. I won’t carry cheap lines, of course. Workmanship and taste are still crucial, but…”

They talked about the prime rate, Sonia’s roses, Marina’s cats and local politics, and between times scribbled out choices of style and compared notes. Marina’s life was the store. Sonia loved the chatter and always had. Clothes had once been her business; she loved the feel and smell and look of fabrics; she loved to work with color and had an intrinsic understanding of the way a style could affect a woman’s mood and confidence.

“You’ve been thinking about the job, haven’t you?” Marina probed.

“About working with you as a fashion consultant?” Sonia’s voice was thoughtful. “You know I’d like to, Marina, but the issue is time. We’re finally home for a long period now, but Craig’s busier than ever on the extraction project. I could do some of the ranch paperwork for him-I like being free to take off with him when he has to travel, and…” She hesitated, finally deciding not to mention that she wanted a child to be part of her future as well.

“Perhaps you could work here part-time, then, Sonia.” Marina had that determined set to her jaw. “Look, I can’t tell you how many women ask for help. They come in knowing just how much they want to spend, but they don’t have the vaguest idea what clothes to choose. Suddenly, we’ve got jobs for women in this area. Only they haven’t gotten out of jeans in a century. Now they need comfortable, reasonable, attractive outfits to wear to work, and I want them to feel comfortable walking in here-”

“And spending their money-”

“Oh, hush, you.”

“On clothes that make them feel good about themselves.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“You have a buyer,” Sonia reminded her.

“And she’s terrific at selecting quality stuff in up-to-date styles, but she doesn’t know the women in this area-she doesn’t understand the kind of jobs they have, and she can’t talk to them the way you do.”

“Lord, you must be desperate for cheap help,” Sonia said wryly, and they both laughed. They talked a few more minutes before Sonia gave Marina a quick hug and told her she’d get back to her in a few days. She stepped out of the office, humming under her breath, energy restlessly surging through her after sitting so long. Pushing open the steel door that led to the selling floor, she took a step through and nearly collided with George.

He didn’t, she noticed with surprise, have any packages in his hands. In fact, he didn’t look as if he’d moved a fraction of an inch from where she’d left him. An odd gleam of wariness suddenly flickered in her eyes, then was gone.

“Ready to go, ma’am?” he questioned politely.

“Actually…” She glanced up at him. “Did you finish your…shopping?”

He opened his mouth and then took a nervous breath. “If you have anything else to do, Mrs. Hamilton, I got no problems waiting around.”

Which didn’t answer her question, Sonia noticed. “I have one more thing I’d like to do, George, if you’ll give me another fifteen minutes. You could catch a quick cup of coffee in Harry’s across the street, couldn’t-”

“That’s okay, ma’am.”

Actually, it wasn’t. Sonia determinedly caught those eyes shifting hurriedly away from hers. “I have just a small amount of personal shopping I need to do,” she said gently.

“That’s okay, too, ma’am.”

“George…” A wisp of a smile touched her soft lips. She’d planned the trip to town for one main purpose, and as much as she loved Marina, talking clothes wasn’t it. Pleasing Craig was her purpose, and though George’s unprecedented behavior was amusing, Sonia hadn’t really planned on shopping with a sidekick who stuck to her like glue. “I really think you’d be more comfortable waiting in the car,” she tried one more time.

He evidently didn’t think so, standing silently before her with his hat in his hands. I’m sorry, George, she thought briefly, and swept into the lingerie department, hearing a booted foot abruptly stumble behind her.

If George wanted to watch her shop for bras and panties, it was certainly fine with her. The plans she had in mind for Craig that evening, though, were rather private. Totally private, actually. Slowly she fingered a beige satin nightgown on a mannequin and turned with a deliberate smile for George. “What do you think?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his cheeks turning beet-red, and his hands twisting his hat. “Pardon, ma’am?”

The counter next to the nightgowns was piled with bras, lovely filmy little see-through things. She lifted one rose-colored confection to the light and again turned to George with a cheerful smile. “I don’t know whether I like this or the blue one…”

He fled.

He stationed himself near the door and turned toward an innocuous display of scarves and belts. Poor George, Sonia thought, but the dancing light in her eyes had already died. A thoughtful expression replaced it. There were days when it took a bulldozer to get through to her.

She suddenly realized that George hadn’t accompanied her to Brock’s to get parts, and he hadn’t come to get a present for his girl friend, either.

He was here, she realized, to watch over her. Amusement warred with exasperation inside her. Craig, you silly, foolish man. Dammit, I’m all right. When are you going to get that through your head?

“Would you like some help, Mrs. Hamilton?” A soft-eyed blonde stepped shyly forward.

“No, thank you, Sharon.”

With a ruthless eye, Sonia fingered only the most luxurious of satins, the most frivolous of laces. It was time she took some direct action against her increasingly enigmatic husband. Craig could occasionally be unbudgeable. Bullheaded, in short. Maybe it was going to take him a little more time to get that incident in Chicago out of his head, and maybe the wisest thing for her to do was simply ignore that receipt she’d found in his desk, ignore George, ignore all the little signs that her husband’s possessiveness had burgeoned out of control.

Patience, she urged herself. In all but one arena. She held a lacy shocking-pink robe up to the light and put it down again. Not nearly sexy enough.

Craig had always been a strong, dominating personality. It might be a well-kept secret most of the time, but she was a long way from being a marshmallow herself. And not that she really believed anything was seriously wrong with their relationship, but occasionally it couldn’t hurt to use a little guerrilla warfare. Her eyes lit up and narrowed on an emerald satin nightgown.

Now there was lethal ammunition.

Sonia stretched lazily as she stood up from the table. “I can’t understand why I’m so sleepy. Think I’ll turn in early tonight.”

Charlie lifted his eyes from the plate of cherry pie. “You look about as sleepy as popcorn that just got the heat. And it’s only eight o’clock, you know.”

“I know.” One by one, she fed the dinner plates into the dishwasher, trying to work slower than her usual speed, which was like Parnelli Jones in a car race. Craig had called to say he would be working late, that he’d have dinner in town and hoped to be home by nine.

“And did you know that those pups of yours chewed straight through a brand-new harness last night?” Charlie asked.

“The harness shouldn’t have been left on the ground,” Sonia instantly defended them.

Charlie snorted. “That Rayburn lady in town said she’d take one on, and pay good money for it, too.”

“She doesn’t have any kids.” After she made a swift swipe of the counter, the kitchen looked spotless-barring the broiler pan in the sink.

“So?”

“Charlie, I’m not going to sell the pups to just anybody.”

“Take out the just,” Charlie suggested. “Five bucks says you don’t sell any of them to anybody, flat out.” He shoved his plate forward and lit his cigar. Sonia could have kicked him. Instead, she scrubbed the broiler pan, washed his dessert plate, whipped the leftover pie into the refrigerator and turned to face Charlie with another ostentatious yawn.

“What’d you buy in town?” he asked her, as if she hadn’t given him every opportunity to amble toward the door.

“Nothing.”

“You came home with a package.”

“Did your mother ever tell you you were nosy?” She leaned back against the counter, regarding her momentary nemesis with an affectionate grin. “Do you hear me asking what you did in town all day?”

“I went to the bank, the hardware store, had lunch with Jim Olsen and checked out the colt Baker wants to sell. Now, what was in the package?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Five bucks says it’s got a neckline that’ll make Craig holler.”

“Craig doesn’t holler.”

Charlie snorted. “Just ’cause he doesn’t yell at you, I wouldn’t be making no rash assumptions that man can’t let loose with the best of them. You just got him hoodwinked so he thinks you’re softer than melted butter.”

She had a fine answer for him, but unfortunately the phone rang. Charlie had only to raise a hand to reach the wall extension. Adjusting his cigar, he barked into the phone, “Hamiltons’, Charlie here.”

His face changed from teasing, gregarious Charlie to an odd stillness. “It’s all right. You can talk to me. I’ll relay the message. Yes…”

She was watching him curiously when his eyes darted in her direction, then shifted. “Nothing important,” he mouthed to her with a smile, then stood up from the chair, taking the phone as far away as its cord would let him.

“You know, Mr. Hamilton was expecting a little more action by now. As in, results. Not that I’m saying you don’t know your business, but if I were you…”

His voice was low, and he had turned his face away from her. Sonia felt something twist inside her. Maybe the person on the other end of the line wasn’t the Chicago detective Craig had hired to find the muggers; maybe the call was just business. Like hell.

Charlie hung up a moment later, and crushed his cigar in the ashtray on the counter. “Craig told some dude he might be interested in some horses of his,” he said blithely.

“Sure.” Sonia straightened from the counter and headed for the door, her tone suddenly crisp. “Did I tell you George went to Brock’s with me this afternoon, Charlie? He bought a fan belt for the pickup.”

“He wha-?” Charlie’s voice trailed off. He stared at her, guilty awareness imprinted on his face as clearly as a milk mustache. “Now, look. Sonia…”

“Forget it.” She kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”

Enough, she told herself firmly. Enough, enough, enough. Everyone on the ranch seemed to be involved in conspiracies, primarily regarding her. Since when had anyone ever had to treat her like porcelain?

In her bathroom, she flicked on the tub faucets and reached for a vial of perfume. She poured in a few drops and, on second thought, emptied the little bottle. The fragrance burst free in the steamy water; she stole one more look at the clock in the bedroom, then closed the doors to seal in the scent, and rapidly stripped off her clothes. Eight twenty-four. She had half an hour, anyway, before Craig was due home.

Her planned soak was a quick one, just long enough for the perfume to permeate her skin. From there she stepped out to wrap a towel around herself, applied a scented cream to her feet and hands and throat, and when that was dry dropped the towel and hurried into the bedroom. Lights, she thought absently, and promptly turned on the shaded lamp on the dresser, then closed the curtains with a single glance outside to make sure Craig wasn’t driving in at that instant.

He wasn’t. The green satin nightgown was hidden in the closet; gently, she pulled it off the hanger and slipped it over her head. In front of the dresser mirror, she adjusted the two tiny straps and took a first glance.

The gown definitely had Garbo seductiveness, the satin slinky from neckline to floor, flowing smoothly even as it outlined her breasts and tummy and thighs. In its center was an embroidered cutout, baring a triangle of white skin at her navel. Her mood lifted into irrepressible wickedness as she brushed her hair into a deliberately disheveled mass of curls. No lipstick, but she bit her lips three times and then stared again. She definitely liked that little peephole in the center of the gown.

Glancing at the clock again, she hastily pawed through the trinkets in a box on her dresser. You’re not going to do this, she told herself, even as she drew out a tiny round glass jewel. Her father had given her the necklace when she was a little girl. It wasn’t valuable; she’d broken the chain years ago and simply kept the little green bit of glass because she loved it. It fit, precisely, in her navel.

She glanced at the mirror again. For heaven’s sake, take that out of there. This is not Arabia. She performed a tentative seductive undulation with her tummy; the stone popped out. Cheeks flushed, she picked it up, and gave the clock another worried look.

Ten to nine. And she’d forgotten the wine. With the glass jewel in her hand, she rushed back to the kitchen, grabbed a tray and two glasses, then added a bottle of wine to it. She started for the bedroom again, then rushed back for the corkscrew.

She was out of breath by the time the clock said nine, ready to collapse on the bed, exhausted. Listening for the sound of Craig’s car, she opened the wine, poured a glass to set on his nightstand, then poured one for herself. Moments later, she lay back against the pillows, carefully arranged the emerald satin gown around her, stubbornly stuck the jewel back in her navel and reached for her wine.

After a first sip, she rearranged the straps on the gown. The satin plunged as it was, but every little bit helped.

By the third sip, she relaxed and stopped panting like a mad thing. One couldn’t race around like a whirlwind and then instantly feel seductive, navel jewel or no navel jewel.

She set down the glass and closed her eyes. Truthfully, it was just as well Craig wasn’t here at this specific moment, because she just didn’t feel all that seductive. She felt…confused.

George had been…funny. Charlie’s face when he was fibbing over that phone call had also been funny. But her sense of humor seemed to have temporarily deserted her. She felt oddly disturbed, not able to pinpoint any exact source of worry, but just feeling it, as she’d felt after Craig’s one-sided lovemaking the night before.

As far as George and the investigator went, she knew Craig was acting out of love for her. He wanted to care for her and protect her and ensure that nothing like the Chicago incident ever happened to her again.

For that, she loved him.

But for the moment, all of it was just bringing back to the forefront of her mind the incident she’d been trying so hard to forget. She couldn’t possibly live her life looking over her shoulder for someone to attack her; she didn’t want to and she wouldn’t. She’d worked it all through weeks ago. Crime was real; insane people who liked to hurt others were real…The attack had shaken her world. And for the first week, she had been looking over her shoulder…but no more. The door was locked at night now, but she wasn’t going to stop smiling at the gas-station attendant just because she didn’t really know him all that well; she wasn’t about to avoid going anywhere out of fear. She refused to live that way; she refused to be afraid any longer…

She opened her eyes and glanced at the clock again. Ten. A creak sounded from the living room, and she jumped. Darn it, it was just a night sound; she knew that.

Craig, would you kindly come home and make love to me? she thought irritably. You have no idea how fast that kind of nonsensical reaction would disappear if you, my overprotective husband, would put the whole thing out of your mind as well.

The clock edged toward ten-fifteen, and still there was only silence. Sonia took one last sip of wine and closed her eyes.