Something Different/Pepper's Way (7 page)

The horse was coming up the middle of the narrow beach at a gallop. It was pure white and absolutely gorgeous. The black saddle and bridle stood out starkly, and the metal studs decorating the saddle glinted in the sunlight. And on the horse’s back was a man.

In the brief moment granted her for reflection, Gypsy felt distinctly odd. It was as if she’d stepped into the pages of fiction… or into the world of film fantasy.

The rider was dressed all in white—pants, boots, gloves, and shirt. The shirt was the pirate-type, full sleeves caught in tight cuffs at the wrist and unbuttoned halfway down. And the rider wore a mask and a black kerchief affair which hid all his hair. Almost all. A copper gleam showed.

Gypsy took all that in in the space of seconds. And then horse and rider were beside her, and the totally unexpected happened. Gypsy would have sworn that it couldn’t be done except by trained stuntpeople on a movie set. Forever afterward, she maintained that it was sheer luck,
not
careful planning, that brought it off.

The horse slid to a halt with beautiful precision, leaving the rider exactly abreast of Gypsy. Then the animal stood like a stone while the rider leaned over and down.

“Wha—” was all she managed to utter.

She was swept up with one strong arm, and ended up sitting across the rider’s lap. Through the slits of his mask, darkened eyes gleamed with a hint of green for just a moment. And then he was kissing her.

Ravishment would have been in keeping with the image, she supposed dimly, but the rider didn’t use an ounce of force. He didn’t have to. He kissed her as if she were a cherished, treasured thing, and Gypsy would have been less than human—and less of a woman—to resist that.

She felt the silk beneath her fingers as her hands came to rest naturally—one touching his chest and the other gripping his upper arm. The dark gold hair at the opening of the shirt teased her thumb, and the hand at her waist burned oddly. The hard thighs beneath her were a potent seduction.

She felt the world spinning away, and released it gladly. Her lips parted, allowing—inviting—his exploring tongue. Fire raced through her veins and scorched her nerve endings. She felt the arm around her waist tighten, and then… the devastating kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Gypsy was lowered back to the sand, green eyes glinted at her briefly, and then the horse leaped away.

Dazedly she stared after them. She took a couple of steps back and found her seat by touch alone, sinking down weakly.

The horse and rider had disappeared. Without conscious thought she murmured, “Say, who was that masked man?”

Then she giggled. The giggle exploded into laughter a split second later. Gypsy laughed until her sides ached. Finally she wiped streaming eyes, and tried to gather her scattered wits. In a long and eventful life nothing quite so wild had ever happened to her.

A gleam from the sand at her feet caught her attention, and she bent down to see what it was. She held the object in her hand for a long moment, then her fingers closed around it and she laughed again.

Delighted laughter.

It occurred to Gypsy as she climbed the stairs to her backyard a few minutes later that Chase had somehow found the time to plan that little scene very carefully. Where had he got the horse? And how could he have been certain that she’d take a walk on the beach? The only thing she
didn’t
wonder about was the point of it all.

Heroes.

She crossed the yard and entered the house through the kitchen, still giggling. Who would have thought the man would go to such absurd lengths to catch her attention? Why in heaven’s name hadn’t some woman latched onto him years ago?

Gypsy hastily brushed that last thought away.

There was a gallon of milk in her refrigerator, and no sign of the Mercedes next door. She smiled and went on through the house to her work area. After a moment’s deliberation she placed the masked rider’s souvenir on the middle shelf of her bookcase. She studied the effect for a moment, nodded to herself, and sat down at the desk.

This time she did accomplish some work. Her notes fell
into place naturally, and she didn’t foresee any major problem with the forthcoming book. Aside from pushing Corsair off the desk twice and firmly putting Bucephalus outside after he’d chewed on her ankle for the third time, she worked undisturbed.

“You should lock your doors. Anybody could come in.”

It was Chase, back in his jeans and shirt of the morning, and carrying a bag from a hamburger place in town. Before she could say a word, he was going on cheerfully.

“Hamburgers; I didn’t feel like cooking. Let’s eat.” He headed for the kitchen.

Gypsy rose from the desk, smiling to herself. So he was going to play innocent, eh? Well, she could play that game as well. It occurred to her wryly that Chase was rapidly on his way to becoming a fixture around the place … but she didn’t have the heart to send him away.

At least that’s what she told herself.

“How do you know I haven’t already eaten?” she asked, following him into the kitchen. “It’s past two o’clock.”

“You’ve obviously been busy; I guessed that you’d forget about lunch. What’s the drink for the day? I forgot to ask this morning.”

“Juice. I’m having tomato.”

“With hamburgers?”

“With anything. What would you like?”

“The same; I’m always open to new experiences.”

Gypsy started to comment on his remark, then thought better of it. She poured the juice while he was setting out their lunch on the bar.

“Will you do something about this dog? I’m going to fall over him and break my neck.”

“He’s supposed to be outside. Why did you let him back in?”

“I don’t argue with a dog that size.”

“Right. Out, Bucephalus.” She put the dog back out in the yard.

“Salt?” he asked politely, holding up a salt-shaker when they were seated.

“No, thank you.” Gypsy tasted the hamburger thoughtfully “I notice you ordered them both with everything.”

“Certainly I did. That way, no one gets offended later.”

“Later?”

“When we make mad passionate love together, of course.”

“Is that what we’re going to do?”

“Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“You could sound a little more enthusiastic,” he reproved gravely.

“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never heard something like that announced quite so calmly. Or so arbitrarily.”

“My military upbringing, I suppose.”

“Better learn to rise above it.”

“What?”

“Your military upbringing. We’ve agreed that I don’t like to be ordered around.”

“I didn’t order you around. I just stated a fact.”

“That we’re going to make mad passionate love together.”

“That’s right.”

“Best laid schemes, and all that.”

“Ever hear the one about the dropping of water on stone?”

“Are you trying to say—”

“I’ll wear down your resistance eventually.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were you.”

“But you’re not me, Gypsy mine.”

“I’m not
yours
either.”

“We’ll be each other’s—how’s that?”

“The last thing I need in my life is a man who accuses my cat of leading him up a tree.”

“Let’s forget about that, shall we?”

“Put down that catsup bottle!” Gypsy giggled in spite of herself. “I’ll never forget. That’s another of my faults, by the way.”

“You seem to have a regular catalog of faults.”

“Precisely. Sorry for the disappointment, but I’m sure you can find somebody else to while away your vacation with.”

“One of
my
faults, Gypsy mine, is that once I set my mind on something, I never give up.”

four

GYPSY THOUGHT ABOUT THAT CALM STATEMENT
during the remainder of the day. As a declaration of intent, she decided, it lacked something. And what it lacked was a simple
definition
of intent. Just exactly what had he set his mind on? Her, apparently. But what exactly did he—

Oh, never mind! she told herself irritably. It wasn’t going to do her a bit of good to keep wondering about it.

And in the meantime Chase was making his presence felt. Not in a big way; he left right after lunch, politely saying that he didn’t want to interrupt her work. But he came back. He came back four times to be precise—between three and six P.M. Each time, he stuck his head around the corner of her work area and apologized solemnly for bothering her. And each time he asked to borrow something. A cup of sugar, a stick of butter, two cups of milk, and a bud vase, respectively.

It was the bud vase that piqued Gypsy’s curiosity.

“What’s he up to, Herman?” she asked her typewriter after Chase had vanished for the fourth time. Herman didn’t deign to reply. Herman did, however, repeat a word three times. At least she
blamed
Herman for the mistake.

She was still glowering at Herman ten minutes later, when
Chase returned. He came over to the desk this time, decisively removed the sheet of paper from Herman, and then looked down at Gypsy with a theatrical leer.

“Are you coming willingly, or will I be forced to kidnap you?”

“Coming where?” she asked blankly.

“Into my parlor, of course. My house, if you want to be formal.”

“Why should I come to your house?”

“You’re invited to dinner.”

“Invited or commanded to attend?”

“Invited. Forcefully.”

“And if I politely refuse?”

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and kidnap you. Of course, if I’m forced to those lengths, no telling when I’ll release you. Much better if you come of your own free will.” His voice was grave.

Gypsy sighed mournfully, unable to resist the nonsense. “I suppose I’d better come willingly, then. Do I have your word of honor as a gentleman that I can come home whenever I want?”

He placed a hand on his chest and bowed with a certain flair. “My word of honor as a gentleman.”

Since he was still leering, Gypsy looked at him suspiciously, but rose to her feet. “Is this a dress-up party, or come-as-you-are?”

“Definitely come-as-you-are. We’ll have a dress-up party later. Better put some shoes on though.”

Gypsy silently found some sandals. Corsair was sleeping on one of them and wasn’t happy at the disturbance, but she ignored the feline mutters of discontent. Chase was waiting for her in the hall.

He led her out the front door and across the expanse of
green lawn to his house. Since the two properties were separated by only a low hedge, broken in several places, it was a short walk. He opened one of the double doors and ushered her inside.

It was Gypsy’s first look inside the house that she had admired so much from the outside. Immediately and wholeheartedly she fell in love with it.

The front doors opened into a huge, open area. The sunken room was carpeted in a deep rust-colored pile, and both the light-colored paneling and the open, beamed ceiling added to the spaciousness. The furniture—a pit grouping and various tables—was modern. There were plump cushions in a deep ivory color, and colorful throw pillows for a pleasant contrast. A combination bookshelf and entertainment center ran along one wall, containing innumerable books, an extensive stereo system, and a large-screen television set.

If the remainder of the house looked like this … Gypsy took a deep breath, dimly aware of Chase’s gaze on her. “Did you do the decorating?” she asked finally.

“All the way. Would you like the nickel tour?”

“Please.”

The remainder of the house looked
better.
There were three bedrooms, two baths, a large study, a formal dining room in an Oriental motif, a combination kitchen and breakfast nook that Julia Child would have killed for, and a Jacuzzi.

The Jacuzzi occupied a place in half of the redwood deck in back, which stretched from the glass doors opening into the breakfast nook to the identical glass doors opening into the master bedroom. The deck was enclosed by glass around the Jacuzzi, and houseplants abounded, giving the illusion of a jungle scene.

Gypsy stared around her for a moment and sought for a
safe topic. “I thought you weren’t good with plants,” she managed finally.

“I’m not. But for some reason, houseplants do well for me. This concludes the nickel tour, ma’am. Now, if you’ll come back to the dining room with me, dinner will be served.”

She preceded him silently, speaking only when they’d reached the dining room. Gazing at the table laid out formally and intimately for two, she murmured, “Now I know why you wanted the bud vase.”

Chase seated her ceremoniously and in grand silence, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Gypsy stared after him for a moment, then looked back at the bud vase. After a moment she reached out and gently touched the single peach blossom it contained. Idly she wondered why he’d chosen that particular flower. Did it have some special meaning? She didn’t know.

What she
did
know was that, like a person going down for the third time in a deep river, there was little hope of saving her now.

Gypsy had never in her life had pheasant under glass, vichyssoise, or anything else Chase served her that night. She enjoyed it all, but the picture they must have presented sitting at the formal table wearing jeans and casual tops caused her to giggle from time to time.