Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning (14 page)

That last phrase might have held a question, but Donna felt no obligation to answer.

Only Nora remained in the dressing room when Donna began the high-speed makeup removal routine she’d perfected since arriving in Denver.

She had her coat half on as she passed Nora’s table, but the other woman’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Thank you. I know — Well. But you reminded me tonight that I used to be you. Nice.”

Donna swallowed. Nora had been catty and waspish and sometimes downright unpleasant, and she wasn’t exactly apologizing. Still . . . “I wish you well, Nora.”

The usual mocking smile returned. “I do, too — wish me well.”

Donna nodded, accepting the thank you . . . and the other woman’s limitations.

Grover was nowhere to be seen, but as soon as Donna opened the exterior door, she spotted Lydia talking fast to Ed, whose gaze had already zeroed in on her.

Lydia turned, following the direction of Ed’s look, said one last thing, then waved at Donna and hurried down the alleyway to catch up with the others.

Ed brought Donna to him with one arm, lowered his head and kissed her thoroughly.

When they both had to breathe, he said, “I hear you defended my honor. Thank you.”

She sighed. “Lydia.”

“Oh, no, she was the latecomer to the party. I’d heard about it from the minute I showed up back here. Grover, stagehands, a woman from the orchestra I don’t know, and Henri came out still in full makeup to fill me in on
Killer Donna
. According to him, you called me a stud and —”

“I did
not
—”

“ — said Angela should be so lucky.”

“Well, I did sort of imply that.”

He laughed, tightened his hold, and kissed her even more thoroughly.

This time when the paltry need for oxygen forced their mouths apart, he said, “I have something for you.”

She looked quickly to his face, saw the pleasure there. Then down, and saw a small box in his hands.

She sucked in a breath.

A jewelry box. A jewelry —
oh my God
. . .

No — not a jewelry box. At least not
that
kind of jewelry. Wrong shape. More like a box for a necklace. Wrapped in blue paper with an inexpertly manipulated gold ribbon and bow.

A somewhat chunky necklace, come to think of it.

The box tipped in Ed’s hands, and whatever was inside slid to one end with a sound that didn’t seem quite right for a necklace.

She looked into eyes that had lost their smile, replaced by uncertainty.

“Donna —?”

“For me?” she asked. She couldn’t let him ask about her reaction. She couldn’t even think about it herself. “What is it?”

The box leveled off, and his smile edged back. “That’s what unwrapping’s for.”

He extended it, and she took it, smiling at his pleasure, shutting away any other reaction.

One tug and the ribbon untied. Then she tore at the paper.

“Ah, you’re one of those unwrappers, huh?” he teased.

“You expected me to delicately peel away one corner at a time?”

“Not for a second.”

She ignored his chuckle, tossing the paper, and taking the top off the box.

It took an extra beat, blinking down at what she held.

“Buttons?” She said the word more to confirm her recognition of the flat, round objects than to draw an answer. “Oh . . . Oh!
My
buttons. The buttons for my coat. Are these —? They
are
. The original designer buttons. How on earth did you — where did you —?”

“It took some doing,” he admitted. “It was mostly Maudie. She gave me a list of places to look Thursday afternoon, and wherever I went and mentioned her name they’d dug into every last corner, trying to find what I was after. It was a longshot, but we hit it.”

“Maudie. Ah, so
that’s
what you two were conspiring about the other night.”

“Yup. Was afraid you’d worm it out of me right then. And I was afraid you’d notice we took a button from your sleeve.”

“My sleeve?” Her fingers went to the cuff.

He grinned. “Other one. You touch this one a lot, and I figured you’d notice. So I asked Maudie to take it from the other one.”

“Oh!” She switched to the other sleeve and her fingers immediately discovered two buttons instead of three. “Maudie cut it off? You two
were
conspiring.”

“Only so you can sew on those buttons and —”

“And have a perfect coat. Thank you, Ed. Thank you so much.” She sighed with huge satisfaction. “My coat will be absolutely perfect.”

“I was going to say you can sew on those buttons and stay warm.”

She laughed. “I will, I will. But for now . . . Would you rather I sew on buttons? Or shall we find another way to stay warm?”

No sewing was accomplished Saturday night.

After making love, they fell asleep. But when he woke in the early morning he seemed to know she was awake, too.

He kissed her hair, and said, “Egg nog.”

“Hot coffee with cinnamon, and whipped cream.”

“Mulled cider.”

“Hot-buttered —” Her voice broke. “Hold me, Ed. Please, just hold me.”

He held her. As night lifted and the December daylight found them.

There was no mention of what the passing time was leading to. Even as they packed, quickly, badly, in the short time left before she needed to leave for the finale’s special five o’clock curtain.

Only when she was four feet from the stage door did she stop and turn to him. “Will you —?”

“I’ll be here after the show,” he said. It sounded grim. “I’ll be here.”

She nodded. Their bubble was stretched to its limits.

She went up on tiptoe and he came down to her for a kiss. His tongue claimed hers with a rhythm and heat that was theirs. She clung to him. Wanting to sob, but unwilling to waste seconds of this kiss on something so useless.

“It’s final call, Donna!” Grover’s shout came as if from far away. “Get in here, girl!”

She spun away, not letting herself look back, moving automatically into the routines of a last show.

She sensed Ed in the audience, as always. But it didn’t buoy her this time.

Something else got her through that performance. Professionalism, or the audience’s enthusiasm, or self-protective numbness. She floated through it without once connecting with the reality of the moment. Even when the curtain came down for the last time after enthusiastic curtain calls from the Denver theater-goers applauding their thanks and farewells.

Farewells
. . .

Yes, that is what she would wish Ed. That he fare well always. Always.

“C’mon, Donna! Lots to do. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” barked Brad. And she realized she was standing alone, the rest of the company streaming toward the dressing rooms to get out of costumes and makeup and into their departure day routines to head —

She didn’t know where. She didn’t care.

The bus was in the alley behind the theater. If he looked down this side-alley toward the back, he could see workers moving around, packing up.

Ed didn’t look that way. He kept his eyes on the stage door, and his mind blank.

The door opened. Grover gave him a quick salute, then looked back into the building.

The doorkeeper barely had time to move aside before Donna came flying out. Ed met her, engulfed her in his arms, even as he turned her away from the interested gazes of those waiting for mundane autographs.

“Ed—”

He stopped her words with a kiss, now that he had her in a shadowed spot beyond the stage door.

He tasted the sorrow on her lips. He was beyond caring what she might taste on his.

They kissed, and kissed. Their bodies aligning themselves for what they most wanted to do this very instant. Her buttonless coat swung open, eliminating one obtrusive layer of clothing.

She unbuttoned his jacket, burrowing inside it, so they pressed that much closer together.

Then her hands pulled at his shirt at the back of his waist, finding his skin, and he did the same at her waist. So there, just there and where their mouths met, they were skin to skin, as they longed to be everywhere.

The bus horn blasted twice this time. She’d ignored the first, single warning. This one she couldn’t.

Donna broke from him.

“I have to —” She clamped her mouth closed, afraid her next sound would be a wail.

He spun around, grabbed her hand and headed toward the bus, with her in tow. Moving so fast that she half stumbled, trying to keep up.

His hold kept her from falling, but he didn’t slow.

And then they were there. Just beyond a shifting clump of humanity beginning to send individuals up the bus steps, one by one.

“Everybody on the bus, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” Even Brad’s bark was muted in the nighttime chill.

Ed put an arm around her, carrying her bag in his other hand. “I should have gotten the buttons sewed on for you. If that damned coat had buttons on it, you wouldn’t be shivering.”

Yes she would.

It was now. Right now.

The moment she’d known would come from the beginning.

She smiled brightly. “It’s been wonderful, Ed. I’ll never for —” She couldn’t finish the word. “One of those ships passing in the night romances that you remember always, but —”

“That’s not what this is and we both know it,” he snapped.

She sucked in a breath and looked up. That was a mistake. She couldn’t maintain the pretense when she looked at him.

“Is it?” he demanded.

She shook her head. The motion loosed a tear from her bottom lashes and let it slide down her cheek.

“Let’s be honest about this. I can’t do what I do or be who I am except at the Slash-C. And you can’t do what you do or be who you are except on the stage, isn’t that right?”

Miserable, she nodded, releasing more tears. Even as a voice inside her cried,
I don’t know
.

“So, I’m going to kiss you one more time, and then I’m going. But we both know what this is. And we both know what’s ending now.”

He didn’t ask a question. She prevented that voice inside her from forming any answer.

She stretched to meet his kiss, arms wrapped around his strong neck. All that mattered was absorbing the feel of him, the taste of him into every pore, so she would always have this with her. Always.

The kiss ended, both of them breathing hard, hers with ragged edges that sank toward sobs.

“ ‘They Can’t Take That Away From Me’ — from us — isn’t that what that song says?” he said, no longer harsh.

Amid the welter of emotions inside her, she heard the melody of that sweet, sad song, heard the lyrics of a lover’s memories that would be held forever.

“You have changed my life,” he said. “I love you, Donna.”

Then he turned and strode away.

And she let him go, their bubble burst.

“— are you listening to me, Ed?”

He looked up from the breakfast table to where his mother stood at the door, gloves in hand, otherwise dressed to step outside.

“Fence. Battery Creek today. Back Ridge tomorrow,” he said.

She huffed. “Well, don’t be all day about it.”

“I won’t.”

She propped her hands on her hips. Her glare made no dent.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you since Denver. Staying on like you’d never come back, then driving all night as if you couldn’t get away fast enough. Foolish. It’s not like you. Are you sick?”

“No.”

She huffed again. She swung around, eager to get on with problems she could solve, then called over her shoulder, “Have a good day in court, Walt,” and was out the door.

Ed’s unfocused gaze returned to the table surface.

“Don’t be fooled by looks.” His father’s words were unexpected enough to make him look up again.

Anger shot through him. No one was going to dismiss Donna Roberts that way, like all he’d fallen for were her looks. He wouldn’t listen to that, not even from—

Reason caught up.

His father knew nothing about Donna, much less having an opinion about her.

“Lots of people are fooled by how much you look like your mother, don’t you be, too,” his father said.

Now he was really confused. “What?”

Walter Edward Currick shook out his newspaper and folded it along its creases. Only when they were perfect did he continue. “Your looks, and your love for the Slash-C, that’s what folks see. But you know why you get along so well with your mother? Not because you’re exactly alike, but because you aren’t. You’re my son, too.”

He looked into his father’s eyes. Seeing love there and understanding, but no inclination to relent.

“She’s worried about you,” his father said. “How you’ve been since you came back. She doesn’t understand.”

And you think you do
? The challenge shot through his mind, followed immediately by repentance. How could his father or anyone understand when Ed didn’t.

He kept silent. Usually his father took the hint.

Not this time. “You know the story of how your mother and I met, you know how your grandmother and grandfather met. First sight at a party, and that was it, first for your grandfather, then for me. And you’re a Currick, through and through.”

They looked across the table at each other.

Ed recognized his father’s strength in a courtroom. Not as a distant, theoretical matter, but something real. The draw to answer the unspoken question was so strong . . .

Ed pounded the side of his fist on the table, making the dishes, salt shaker, and newspaper — but not his father — jump.

“Not this time, damn it. No happy ending for this Currick after love at first sight.”

The
damn it
hadn’t released any of his frustration. He added a stream of curses.

They didn’t help, either. He wound down to silence, his father still looking at him.

He jerked out of his chair, strode to the door, and flung it open with a force that set the hinges screeching. But before it slammed closed with him on the other side, he stepped back in and caught the door.