“It's perfect! I didn't expect to have so much room or a private bath. Oh, thank you, Aunt Ethel.” She put her arms around the little woman and hugged her. “You've gone to so much trouble for us. I hope I'll be worth it to you.”
Gloria was glad her aunt wasn't aware of the grandiose style she had lived in while married to Marvin. Even the high-rise she and Peter had moved into after the divorce was plush; Marvin owned the building, and in the settlement had insisted she was to live there with their son. In her desperation to leave him she had agreed. Marvin couldn't bear to lose control of anything, even a woman who didn't measure up to what he expected his wife to be. He had to have her under his thumb. Well…that was over now.
“Just having you and Peter here is all the thanks I want,” Ethel was saying. “Now, let's shake a leg. I ring the supper gong at six-thirty. If Jack and Gary aren't here by then, we'll keep the food warm for them.”
That proved to be unnecessary.
Gloria came to the table in an Indian-print caftan with a high neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. She and Peter took their places after Ethel had introduced them to an insurance adjuster, a bulk-paper salesman, an independent trucker, and to Gary, the man who had gone with Jack to get her car. He was a short, husky man who made no attempt to mask his curiosity. Bright, friendly eyes swept over her in frank appraisal, and she found herself returning his smile.
The meal was served family style; dishes were passed from left to right. Ethel kept up a merry line of chatter while she refilled the bread plate and poured coffee. The men teased her.
“Is this all we get?” Gary asked.
“You say that every time,” Ethel shot back. “But I see you're not losing any weight.”
Gloria was grateful that she wasn't expected to add much to the conversation. She placed tiny servings of food on Peter's plate and urged him to eat. He was so tired and sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open.
One time she lifted her head to find Jack's green eyes staring at her from across the table. Her large, tawny-gold eyes widened perceptibly and her lips suddenly felt dry. She was the first to look away. When she glanced back at him later, she was surprised to catch him studying her again. He really was a monolith of a man, she thought. His size alone was enough to intimidate without the hair and the beard. He seemed to be perfectly at ease, and ate enormous portions of food.
Gloria had caught the paper salesman eying him apprehensively and had to suppress a smile. She wondered what Jack would look like without all that hair on his face. The one thing she was sure of was that he was not young, for all his wild look. He was somewhere between thirty and forty, and she could detect a certain amount of polish beneath the rough exterior, when he chose to let it shine through.
Peter was half asleep by the time the meal was finished. His eyelids drooped and his legs were rubbery. Gloria stood, excused herself, and struggled to get him on his feet. For some time now he had been too heavy for her to carry.
“Come on, honey. Let's get you to bed.” She shook him gently. He sagged against her. She took a few steps and he wrapped his arms about her legs. “Oh, honey, I know you're tired, but—”
“C'mon, hotshot. You're dead on your feet.” Jack knelt down beside Peter and touched his shoulder. The child turned immediately, and his hands went up and about the man's neck. He was scooped up with one powerful arm.
“Where's…Cisco?” Peter mumbled.
“The pup's gone to bed. Don't you think that's where you should be?”
“Can I feel your whiskers, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“They tickle.”
“Yeah?” Gray-green eyes looked down into Gloria's. Surprised by the amusement that shone so blatantly, she flickered her eyelids in an instant of confusion. “Where to, ma'am?”
“Ah…this way.” She went ahead of him to the office and through the door to their room. She flicked on the soft light beside Peter's bed and turned down the spread.
Jack laid the boy gently on the bed, lifted his small feet, slipped off his canvas shoes without untying them, and dropped them on the floor. He reached for the blanket and covered him.
“Are you goin' now, Jack?” Peter's eyes were only half open.
“Yeah, hotshot. I'm goin'.”
“Will…you come back?”
“I don't know about that, kid. I've got things to do. You'd better get to sleep now.”
“I want ya to come back—” Peter tried to sit up, but Jack held him down gently.
“We'll see, kid.”
“That means no.
He
always said that. You're not ever comin' back.” Peter's eyes filled with tears and his mouth trembled as if he was going to cry.
“Who said so? Well…okay, hotshot. I come by here once in a while. I'll stop in. How's that?”
“You're not just sayin' it?”
“Hey…I don't talk to hear my head rattle.” Jack pretended to frown.
“Are you…sure? You're not just sayin' it?”
“Course, I'm not just sayin' it. If I say I'll be back, you can make book on it.”
“What's that mean?”
“It means I'll see you the next time I come by. Good night, hotshot.”
“Night, Jack. Night, Mom,” Peter sang out happily. He snuggled contentedly under the blanket and was almost instantly asleep.
Gloria batted her lashes furiously to keep the tears at bay. She had had no idea of the depth of the child's disappointment concerning the man who was his legal father. Marvin's stock answer for everything Peter asked him had been “We'll see.” Peter was right in saying it was the same as no.
“I should put on his pajamas,” Gloria said, opening the suitcase.
“Why?”
“Well…because he always sleeps in pajamas.”
“Why? Is there a law that says the kid's got to be roused up out of a good sleep to undress him so he can sleep? Doesn't make sense to me.”
“I doubt if many of the things I do would make sense to you, Mr. Evans,” she said carefully.
“Is that right?” He looked around the room. “Are you going to stay here?”
“I'm planning on it.”
“You won't like it. You'll be bored,” he said flatly.
“How do you know?” She felt a shiver of anticipation each time she looked at him. Anticipation of what? It was absurd that he was even here in her room.
“I know, You've run out here to escape from something. Is it being divorced?”
“What makes you so sure I'm divorced?”
He shrugged. “One out of every three women your age has been married at least once. There's no reason to believe you're any different.”
“Thank you for the information, Mr. Gallup.”
He ignored her sarcasm and glanced over to where Peter was sleeping, then down at her. His eyes narrowed. “Did your old man take his frustrations out on the kid?”
Gloria felt a tremor in her heart. “What makes you say that?”
“I'm not blind or deaf, Glory. The kid's hurtin' for masculine company. He's been disappointed a lot, hasn't he? Why didn't he say ‘my dad’? Before I left with the pickup he told me that
he
didn't like puppies.” He waited. “Well?” he insisted when she didn't say anything.
“It's none of your business.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged again and bent forward, and she imagined she felt his breath on her face. “You're right. It seems stupid to me that people get married in the first place. Stupider yet, when they have kids they don't want.”
“For your information, Peter is wanted and loved. But I can understand why
you
would think the way you do about marriage. I'm sure it's too conventional for the likes of you.”
He chuckled at her sarcasm, then he looked at her for so long a time that her self-confidence began to crumble. Critical eyes traveled over her trim body. She searched her mind for something cutting and clever to say that would put him firmly in his place. Why didn't he leave? Why was he still standing there? Her eyes held a definite shimmer of defiance when she met his glance. His eyes traveled over her face, taking in the wide amber eyes beneath arched brows, the straight nose, wide mouth, and the proud way her head lifted above her slender neck. Then he nodded his head, as if he had come to a decision about her.
There was something in his eyes, in the way they were assessing her, that made her breath quicken. She wasn't
afraid
of him, yet all her defenses were raised. She didn't fully understand this inner need to protect herself from him, it was just there and seemed to be purely instinctive. The chaos existed only in her mind, she was sure of that.
“Poor, scared little girl,” he murmured, raising his hand to cup the back of her head. “You're almost as helpless as that kid over there.” Then as if talking to himself, he said on a breath of a whisper, “Two little lambs being chased by the big, bad wolf.”
“I'm neither poor, scared, nor chased, Mr. Evans.” Gloria stepped back away from his hand, hoping her lie was convincing. She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to be calm; she desperately hoped that he didn't know how nervous she was. She moistened her dry lips. “Thank you for your help today. I'd like to pay you for going after my car.”
“Okay. What are you offering?”
“Whatever you think it's worth,” she said coolly. “I won't quibble about the bill.” It irritated and disappointed her that he was so willing to accept payment.
“Is that a promise?” he asked softly. His tone, more than his words, jarred her nerves. “On the surface you appear to be a typical example of a liberated woman, but underneath you're vulnerable, and scared to death. What in hell did that man do to you?”
She wanted to say something flip to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the conversation was too personal and that she didn't appreciate his humor. But all she could manage was a look of disapproval, which did nothing but intensify the devilish look in his eyes.
“I'll write you a check, Mr. Evans,” she stated curtly.
“I don't want your check, Mrs. Masterson.”
“I'll pay you in cash.”
“You said you wouldn't quibble about the price.”
“I won't—”
“I want the boy for a day. I'll take him up to my place—”
“No!”
He was watching her, trying to read her face; her features were clouded by anger and confused emotions.
“I can see the wheels turning in her mind.” He looked over her shoulder, as if he were talking to someone else. “She's thinking that I'm a pervert, a child molester, a ruthless criminal—”
“You could be…all those things,” she said in a tight, breathless whisper.
“Instant analysis based on…”
“Based on…appearance!” Gloria's temper flared.
“Okay. Based on appearance. Your opinion of me would have been quite different if I had come into that rest area in a Buick station wagon, a Bill Blass suit, with a short haircut and a clean-shaven face. But remember the old saying, You can't tell a book by its cover.”
“You said it, I didn't. I still appreciate what you did for us,” she said with a proud lift of her head.
“Yeah, sure. Brawn comes in handy once in a while.”
“Well…thank you, Mr. Evans, and…good night.”
“You're quite welcome, Mrs. Masterson, and good night to you too.” He placed one bent arm behind him and one in front and bowed deeply. “I really must be going. There's an orgy going on up at my place and a whole harem of naked women are waitin' to be pleasured by their favorite stud.”
Gloria didn't allow a muscle in her face to move, although she felt his twinkling green eyes mocking her all the way down to her toes. Her heart began to race, and the awakening of some emotion she didn't quite understand coursed through her.
“Don't let me keep you,” she said, keeping her features carefully composed. As if being alerted by his close scrutiny her heartbeat picked up speed.
“Oh, I won't, ma'am. I won't.” He gave her a playful salute, and left.
Gloria resisted the temptation to slam the door behind him. Instead she closed it softly and leaned against it; she could hear him laughing, lingering on the other side.
Go away,
she commanded silently. When she put her ear to the door to listen more closely, he began singing in a hushed, low, surprisingly good imitation of Elvis Presley's voice: “Glo-ree-a, Glo-ree-a…”
Gloria stood there for a long while after Jack walked away chuckling to himself.
What a strange, infuriating man,
she thought.
I could almost like him if…he didn't have that beard,
she admitted begrudgingly. Well, they wouldn't be seeing much of him, thank goodness, and Peter would soon forget him. They'd come West to start a new life and, damn it, she wasn't going to allow it to be complicated by an…aging hippie!
G
LORIA STAYED IN
her room until she heard the sound of the motorcycle going down the highway. She was angry at herself for allowing Jack Evans to irritate her. What right did he have to voice her innermost feelings? Yes, she was scared. Dammit! She'd been scared, poor, and alone most of her life—that was one reason she'd grabbed at the carrot of security Marvin had dangled in front of her eyes. But she'd discovered there are things worse than not having financial security: being in a loveless relationship that was eroding her self-worth and crushing her spirit, for one. She was proud of herself for being able to break it off, then later finding the courage to leave Cincinnati and the rent-free apartment and the allowance paid into her account every month. She was on her own now, with a four-year-old son to support. If she was ever going to break free of Marvin's domination and stand on her own two feet, it was now.
She went out to the kitchen. The men had all left, and Ethel was cleaning up. Gloria carried the dishes from the table to the sink. Ethel rinsed them and stacked them in the dishwasher.
“That didn't take long,” Ethel exclaimed when they had finished. “Let's sit down, put our feet up, and have a good visit. I leave the vacancy sign on until about ten o'clock in the summer, then turn it off and go to bed.”
Gloria followed her to the living room and watched as she knelt down to start a fire in the fireplace. “My, my. Here it is the first of September, and already the fire feels good in the evenings. We'll more than likely have snow flurries six weeks from now. It took me a while to get used to the winters here, but now I like the coziness of being snowed in, having a good fire going and a pot of chili on the stove.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled at Gloria. “Do you think your old aunt has lost her mind?”