She was eighteen. She’d never lived. There hadn’t been a serious romance in her young life. He could rob her of her innocence, make her a toy, leave her broken and hurting and old.
“No,” he whispered. He forced himself to put her down. He held her arms, tightly, until he could force himself to let go and step back.
She was shaky. She felt his hunger. He wasn’t impervious to her. But he was cautious. He didn’t want to start anything. He was thinking about her age. She knew it.
“I won’t...always be eighteen,” she managed.
He nodded, very slowly. “One day,” he promised. “Perhaps.”
She brightened. It was like the sun coming out. “I’ll read lots of books.”
His eyebrows arched.
“You know. On how to do...stuff. And I’ll buy a hope chest and fill it up with frothy little black things.”
The eyebrows arched even more.
“Well, it’s a hope chest. As in, I hope I’ll need it one day when you think I’m old enough.” She pursed her lips and her gray eyes twinkled. “I could fake my ID....”
“Give it up.” He chuckled.
She shrugged. “I’ll grow up as fast as I can,” she promised. She glowered at him. “I won’t like it if I hear about you having orgies with strange women.”
“Most women are strange,” he pointed out.
She hit his chest. “Not nice.”
“How’s the driving?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I haven’t hit a tree, run off the road or approached a ditch since you left,” she said smugly. “I haven’t even dinged the paint.”
“Good girl,” he said, chuckling. “I’m proud of you. How’s the job coming along?’
“It’s great! I’m working on this huge story! It may have international implications!”
Odd, how worried he looked for a few seconds. “What story?”
“It involves a kidnapping,” she continued.
He frowned.
“A chicken was involved,” she added, and watched his face clear and become amused. “A little girl whose doll was taken away for punishment stole a chicken and dressed it in doll’s clothes. I understand she’ll be cleaning the house for days to come.”
He laughed heartily. “The joys of small-town reporting,” he mused.
“They never end. How was your trip?”
“Long,” he said. “And I’m starving.”
“Sara made a lovely casserole. I’ll heat you up some.”
He sat down at the kitchen table and watched her work. She made coffee and put a mug of it, black, at his place while she dealt with reheating the chicken casserole.
She warmed up a piece of French bread with butter to go with it. Then she sat down and watched him eat while she sipped her own coffee.
“It sure beats fried snake,” he murmured.
She blinked. “What?”
“Well, we eat what we can find. Usually, it’s a snake. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, a big bird or some fish.”
“In an office building?” she exclaimed.
He glanced at her with amusement. “It’s not always in an office building. Sometimes we have to go out and look at...projects, wherever they might be. This time, it was in a jungle.”
“Wow.” She was worried now. “Poisonous snakes?”
“Mostly. It doesn’t really affect the taste,” he added.
“You could get bitten,” she persisted.
“I’ve been bitten, half a dozen times,” he replied easily. “We always carry antivenin with us.”
“I thought you were someplace safe.”
He studied her worried face and felt a twinge of guilt. “It was just this once,” he lied, and he smiled. “What I do is rarely dangerous.” Another lie. A bigger one. “Nothing to concern you. Honest.”
She propped her face in her hands, her elbows on the table, and watched him finish his meal and his coffee.
“Stop that,” he teased. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for twenty-odd years.”
She grimaced. “Okay. Just checking.”
“I promise not to get killed.”
“If you do, I’m coming after you. Boy, will you be sorry, too.”
He laughed. “I hear you.”
“Want dessert? We have a cherry pie.”
He shook his head. “Maybe later. Where’s Sara?”
“I have no idea. She didn’t even leave a note.”
He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the speed dial. He got up and poured more coffee into his cup while he waited.
“Where are you?” he asked after a minute.
There was a reply. He glanced at Michelle, his lips pursed, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, she’s right here.”
Another silence. He sat back down. He was nodding.
“No, I think it’s a very good idea. But you might have asked for my input first....No, I agree, you have exquisite taste....Yes, that’s true, returns are possible. I won’t tell her. How long?...Okay. See you then.” He smiled. “Me, too. Thanks.”
He hung up.
“Where is she?” she asked.
“On her way home. With a little surprise.”
“Something for me?” she asked, and her face brightened.
“I’d say so.”
“But you guys have already given me so much,” she began, protesting.
“You can take that up with my sister,” he pointed out. “Not that it will do you much good. She’s very stubborn.”
She laughed. “I noticed.” She paused. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
Sara pulled up into the driveway and got out of her car. She popped the truck and dragged out several big shopping bags. She handed some to Gabriel and one to Michelle. She was grinning from ear to ear.
“What in the world...?” Michelle exclaimed.
“Just a few little odds and ends that you’re going to need to start college. Come on inside and I’ll show you. Gabriel, get your nose out of that bag, it’s private!”
He laughed and led the way into the house.
* * *
Michelle was speechless. Sara had exquisite taste in clothing, and it showed in the items she’d purchased for their houseguest. There was everything from jeans and sweats to dresses and handbags and underwear, gossamer gowns and an evening gown that brought tears to Michelle’s eyes because it was the loveliest thing she’d ever seen.
“You like them?” Sara asked, a little worried.
“I’ve never had things like this,” she stammered. “Daddy was so sick that he never thought of shopping with me. And when Roberta took me, it was just for bras and panties, never for nice clothes.” She hugged Sara impulsively. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”
“You might try on that gown. I wasn’t sure about the size, but we can exchange it if it doesn’t fit. I’ll go have coffee with Gabriel while you check the fit.” She smiled, and left Michelle with the bags.
* * *
They were sipping coffee in the kitchen when Michelle came nervously to the doorway. She’d fixed her hair, put on shoes and she was wearing the long, creamy evening gown with its tight fit and cap sleeves, revealing soft cleavage. There was faint embroidery on the bodice and around the hem. The off-white brought out the highlights in Michelle’s long, pale blond hair, and accentuated her peaches-and-cream complexion. In her softly powdered face, her gray eyes were exquisite.
Gabriel turned his head when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He sat like a stone statue, just staring. Sara followed his gaze, and her face brightened.
“It’s perfect!” she exclaimed, rising. “Michelle, it’s absolutely perfect! Now you have something to wear to a really formal occasion.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.” She glanced at Gabriel, who hadn’t spoken. His coffee cup was suspended in his hand in midair, as if he’d forgotten it. “Does it...look okay?” she asked him, wanting reassurance.
He forced his eyes away. “It looks fine.” He put the mug down and got to his feet. “I need to check the livestock.” He went out the back door without a glance behind him.
Michelle felt wobbly. She bit her lower lip. “He didn’t like it,” she said miserably.
Sara touched her cheek gently. “Men are strange. They react in odd ways. I’m sure he liked it, but he’s not demonstrative.” She smiled. “Okay?”
Michelle relaxed. “Okay.”
* * *
Out in the barn, Gabriel was struggling to regain his composure. He’d never seen anything in his life more beautiful than Michelle in that dress. He’d had to force himself out the door before he reacted in a totally inappropriate way. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until her mouth went numb. Not a great idea.
He stood beside one of his horses, stroking its muzzle gently, while he came to grips with his hunger. It was years too soon. He would have to manage the long wait. Meanwhile, he worried about the other men, young men, who would see Michelle in that gown and want her, as he wanted her. But they would be her age, young and untried, without his jaded past. They would be like her, full of passion for life.
It wasn’t fair of him to try to keep her. He must distance himself from her, give her the chance to grow away from him, to find someone more suitable. It was going to be hard, but he must manage it. She deserved the chance.
* * *
The next morning, he was gone when Michelle went into the kitchen to help Sara fix breakfast.
“His truck’s gone,” Michelle said, her spirits dropping hard.
“Yes. I spoke to him late last night,” Sara replied, not looking at her. “He has a new job. He said he might be away for a few weeks.” She glanced at the younger woman and managed a smile. “Don’t worry about him. He can take care of himself.”
“I’m sure he can. It’s just...” She rested her hand on the counter. “I miss him, when he’s away.”
“I’m sure you do.” She hesitated. “Michelle, you haven’t started to live yet. There’s a whole world out there that you haven’t even seen.”
Michelle turned, her eyes old and wise. “And you think I’ll find some young man who’ll sweep me off my feet and carry me off to a castle.” She smiled. “There’s only one man I’ll ever want to do that, you know.”
Sara grimaced. “There are so many things you don’t know.”
“They won’t matter,” Michelle replied very quietly. She searched Sara’s eyes. “None of it will matter.”
Sara couldn’t think of the right words. So she just hugged Michelle instead.
Nine
M
ichelle was very nervous. It was the first day of the semester on campus, and even with a map, it was hard to find all her classes. Orientation had given the freshmen an overview of where everything was off the quad, but it was so confusing.
“Is Western Civilization in Sims Hall or Waverly Hall?” she muttered to herself, peering at the map.
“Waverly,” came a pleasant male voice from just behind her. “Come on, I’ll walk you over. I’m Randy. Randy Miles.”
“Michelle Godfrey,” she said, shaking his hand and smiling. “Thanks. Are you in my class?”
He shook his head. “I’m a junior.”
“Should you be talking to me?” she teased. “After all, I’m pond scum.”
He stopped and smiled. He had dark hair and pale eyes. He was a little pudgy, but nice. “No. You’re not pond scum. Trust me.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure. Are you from San Antonio?”
“My family is from Jacobsville, but I lived here with my parents while they were alive.”
“Sorry.”
“They were wonderful people. The memories get easier with time.” She glanced around. “This is a huge campus.”
“They keep adding to it,” he said. “Sims Hall is brand-new. Waverly is old. My father had history with old Professor Barlane.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Just a word of warning, never be late for his class. You don’t want to know why.”
She grinned. “I’ll remember.”
On the way to Waverly Hall, Randy introduced Michelle to two of his friends, Alan Drew and Marjory Wills. Alan was distantly pleasant. Marjory was much more interested in talking to Randy than being introduced to this new student.
“You’re going to be late for class, aren’t you?” Alan asked Michelle, checking his watch. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”
“Nice to have met you,” Randy said pleasantly. Marjory just nodded.
Michelle smiled and followed Alan to the towering building where her class was located.
“Thanks,” she said.
He shrugged and smiled. “Those two.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re crazy about each other, but neither one will admit it. Don’t let them intimidate you, especially Marjory. She has...issues.”
“No problem. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“You will.” He leaned forward, grinning. “I’m in the class you’re going to right now. And we’d better hurry!”
* * *
They barely made it before the bell. The professor, Dr. Barlane, was old and cranky. He gave the class a dismissive look and began to lecture. Michelle was grateful that she’d learned how to take notes, because she had a feeling that this class was going to be one of the more demanding ones.
Beside her, Alan was scribbling on scraps of paper instead of a notebook, like Michelle. He wasn’t bad-looking. He had dark hair and eyes and a nice smile, but in her heart, there was only Gabriel. She might like other men as friends, but there was never going to be one to compare with Gabriel.
After class, Alan left her with a smile and whistled as he continued on to his next class. Michelle looked at her schedule, puzzled out the direction to go and went along the walkway to the next building.
* * *
“Well, how was it?” Sara asked that night on the phone.
“Very nice,” she replied. “I made a couple of friends.”
“Male ones?” Sara teased.
“What was that?” Gabriel spoke up in the background.
“She made friends,” Sara called to him. “Don’t have a cow.”
He made a sarcastic sound and was quiet.
“How do you like your roommate?” Sara continued.
Michelle glanced into the next room, where Darla was searching frantically for a blouse she’d unpacked and couldn’t find, muttering and ruffling her red hair.
“She’s just like me. Disorganized and flighty,” Michelle said, a little loudly.
“I heard that!” Darla said over her shoulder.
“I know!” Michelle laughed. Darla shook her head, laughing, too.
“We’re going to get along just fine,” Michelle told Sara. “Neither of us has half a mind, and we’re so disorganized that we’re likely to be thrown out for creating a public eyesore.”
“Not likely,” Sara replied. “Well, I’m glad things are going well. If you need us, you know where we are, sweetie.”
“I do. Thanks. Thanks for everything.”
“Keep in touch. Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Your family?” Darla asked, poking her head into the room.
Michelle hesitated, but only for a second. She smiled. “Yes. My family.”
* * *
Michelle adjusted to college quite easily. She made some friends, mostly distant ones, and one good one—her roommate, Darla. She and Darla were both religious, so they didn’t go to boozy parties or date promiscuous boys. That meant they spent a lot of time watching rented movies and eating popcorn in their own dorm room.
One thing Sara had said was absolutely true; college changed her. She learned things that questioned her own view of the world and things about other cultures. She saw the rise and fall of civilizations, the difference in religions, the rise of science, the fascination of history. She continued her study of French—mainly because she wanted to know what Sara and Gabriel spoke about that they didn’t want her to hear—and she sweated first-year biology. But by and large, she did well in her classes.
* * *
All too soon, final exams arrived. She sat in the library with other students, she and Darla trying to absorb what they needed to know to pass their courses. She’d already lived in the biology lab for several days after school with a study group, going over material that was certainly going to come up when they were tested.
“I’m going to fail,” she moaned softly to Darla. “I’ll go home in disgrace. I’ll have to hide my head in a paper sack....”
“Shut up,” Darla muttered. “You’re going to pass! So am I. Be quiet and study, girl!”
Michelle sighed. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“I’m going to fail,” one of the boys nearby moaned to Darla. “I’ll go home in disgrace...”
She punched him.
“Thanks.” He chuckled, and went back to his books.
* * *
Michelle did pass, with flying colors, but she didn’t know it when she went back to Comanche Wells for the holidays.
“I’ll have to sweat it out until my grades come through,” she said to Sara, hugging her warmly. “But I think I did okay.” She looked past Sara and then at her, curious.
“He’s out of the country,” Sara said gently. “He was really sorry, he wanted to be home for the holidays. But it wasn’t possible. This was a rush thing.”
Michelle’s heart fell. “I guess he has to work.”
“Yes, he does. But he got your presents, and mine, and wrapped them before he left.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “He promised that we’d love the gifts.”
“I’d love a rock, if he picked it out for me,” Michelle sighed. “Can we go shopping? Minette said I could work for her over the holidays while I’m home, so I’ll have a little money of my own.”
“Whenever you like, dear,” Sara promised.
“Thanks!”
“Now come and have hot chocolate. I want to hear all about college!”
* * *
Minette had some interesting assignments for Michelle. One was to interview one of Jacobsville’s senior citizens about Christmas celebrations in the mid-twentieth century, before the internet or space travel. It had sounded rather boring, honestly. But when she spoke to Adelaide Duncan, the old woman made the past come alive in her soft, mellow tones.
“We didn’t have fancy decorations for the Christmas tree,” Mrs. Duncan recalled, her pale blue eyes dancing with delightful memories. “We made them from construction paper. We made garlands of cranberries. We used candles set on the branches to light the tree, and we used soap powder mixed with a little water for snow. Presents were practical things, mostly fruit or nuts or handcrafted garments. One year I got oranges and a knit cap. Another, I got a dress my mother had made me in a beautiful lemon color. My husband kissed me under the mistletoe when we were still in school together, long before we married.” Her face was wistful. “He was seventeen and I was fifteen. We danced to music that our parents and relatives made with fiddles and guitars. I wore the lemon-yellow dress, ruffled and laced, and I felt like I had possession of the whole world’s treasures.” She sighed. “We were married for fifty-five years,” she added wistfully. “And one day, not too long away now, I’ll see him again. And we’ll dance together....”
Michelle had to fight tears. “Fifty-five years,” she repeated, and couldn’t imagine two people staying together for so long.
“Oh, yes. In my day, people got married and then had children.” She shook her head. “The world has changed, my dear. Marriage doesn’t seem to mean the same as it used to. History tends to repeat itself, and I fear when the stability of a civilization is lost, society crumbles. You’ll study the results in your history classes in college,” she added, nodding. “Do you have Dr. Barlane for history by any chance?”
“Yes,” Michelle said, stunned.
The old woman laughed. “He and I graduated together from Marist College, both with degrees in history. But he went on to higher education and I got married and had a family. By and large, I think my life was happier than his. He never married.”
“Do your children live here?” she asked.
“Oh, no, they’re scattered around the world.” She laughed. “I visit with them on Skype and we text back and forth every day, though. Modern technology.” She shook her head. “It really is a blessing, in this day and time.”
Michelle was surprised. “You text?” she asked.
“My dear,” the old lady mused, laughing, “I not only text, I tweet and surf, and I am hell on wheels with a two-handed sword in World of Warcraft. I own a guild.”
The younger woman’s idea of elderly people had gone up in a blaze of disbelief. “You...play video games?”
“I eat them up.” She shrugged. “I can’t run and jump and play in real life, but I can do it online.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t you dare tell Wofford Patterson, but I creamed one of his Horde toons last night on a battleground.”
Michelle almost fell over laughing.
“And you thought you were going to interview some dried up old hulk who sat in a rocking chair and knitted, I bet,” the woman mused with twinkling eyes.
“Yes, I did,” Michelle confessed, “and I am most heartily sorry!”
“That’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Duncan said, patting her hand. “We all have misconceptions about each other.”
“Mine were totally wrong.”
“How nice of you to say so!”
Michelle changed gears and went back to the interview. But what she learned about elderly people that day colored her view of them forever.
* * *
“She plays video games,” Michelle enthused to Minette, back at the office. She’d written her story and turned it in, along with her photos, while Minette was out of the office. Now she was elaborating on the story, fascinated with what she’d learned.
“Yes, there have been a lot of changes in the way we perceive the elderly,” Minette agreed. “I live with my great-aunt. She doesn’t play video games, but I did catch her doing Tai Chi along with an instructor on public television. And she can text, too.”
“My grandparents sat and rocked on the porch after supper,” Michelle recalled. “He smoked a pipe and she sewed quilt tops and they talked.” She shook her head. “It’s a different world.”
“It is.” She hesitated. “Has Gabriel come home?”
Michelle shook her head. “It’s almost Christmas, too. We don’t know where he is, or what he’s doing.”
Minette, who did, carefully concealed her knowledge. “Well, he might surprise you and show up on Christmas day. Who knows?”
Michelle forced a smile. “Yes.”
* * *
She and Sara decorated the tree. Two of the men who worked for Gabriel part-time, taking care of the horses and the ranch, had come in earlier with a big bucket, holding a tree with the root ball still attached.
“I can’t bear to kill a tree,” Sara confided as the men struggled to put it in place in the living room. “Sorry, guys,” she added.
“Oh, Miss Sara, it’s no trouble at all,” the taller of the two cowboys said at once, holding his hat to his heart. He grinned. “It was our pleasure.”
“Absolutely,” the shorter one agreed.
They stood smiling at Sara until one thumped the other and reminded him that they had chores to do. They excused themselves, still smiling.
“You just tie them up in knots.” Michelle laughed, when they were out of the room. “You’re so pretty.”
Sara made a face. “Nonsense.”
“Hide your head in the sand, then. What are we going to decorate it with?” she added.
“Come with me.”
Sara pulled down the ladder and the two women climbed carefully up into the attic.
Michelle caught her breath when she saw the heart of pine rafters. “My goodness, it’s almost a religious experience to just look at them!” she exclaimed. “Those rafters must be a hundred years old!”
Sara glanced at her with amusement. “I believe they are. Imagine you, enthralled by rafters!”
“Heart of pine rafters,” she replied. “My grandfather built houses when he was younger. He took me with him a time or two when he had to patch a roof or fix a leak. He was passionate about rafters.” She laughed. “And especially those made of heart of pine. They’re rare, these days, when people mostly build with green lumber that hasn’t been properly seasoned.”
“This house has a history,” Sara said. “You probably already know it, since your people came from Jacobs County.”
Michelle nodded, watching Sara pick up two boxes of ornaments and stack them together. “It belonged to a Texas Ranger.”
“Yes. He was killed in a shoot-out in San Antonio. He left behind two sons, a daughter and a wife. There’s a plaque in city hall in Jacobsville that tells all about him.”
“I’ll have to go look,” Michelle said. “I haven’t done any stories that took me there, yet.”
“I’m sure you will. Minette says you’re turning into a very good reporter.”
“She does?” Michelle was all eyes. “Really?”
Sara looked at her and smiled. “You must have more confidence in yourself,” she said gently. “You must believe in your own abilities.”