A Moment in Time (31 page)

"What kind of computer work?" she asked.

"Stuff related to the mines mostly," he said.
"Keeping track of production, sales, things like that, and of
course I'm constantly e-mailing management."

"So you're into mining," she said.

He nodded. "My grandfather started the mines,
then left them to my dad. When he died, I took over and started
expanding into related areas. Chemicals and stuff. I'd worked there
in the summers since I was fifteen anyhow, so I knew quite a bit
about the business."

"And your mother?" she asked. "Is your mother
still alive?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, "she lived
about two years after Dad died. She was so lonely without him.
They'd been a real team, you know? She didn't seem to want to live
after he died."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's okay," he said. "It's been a few
years."

"So you're left running everything on your
own?"

He nodded. "The last few years I've been able
to do nearly everything from home, but I go out west four or five
times a year and stay a few days. It puts a face on the boss for
the new people, and there's nothing like an up-close and personal
inspection to make sure things are under control." He grinned.

"I bet you're a tough boss," she said.

"I am," he said without hesitation. "But I'm
also fair, and I reward my employees accordingly. They also know
that there's not a job there that I haven't personally done, so
they know I'm not just some rich guy living off their labor. I've
worked alongside some of them." He paused and looked at her.
"That's enough about me," he said. "What about you?"

"What about me?" she said teasingly.

"I bet you had a coming-out party and went to
one of the Seven Sisters," he said, "and your father set you up in
a nice practice."

She laughed, almost sputtering brandy.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Your—your presumptions."

"I'm not wrong, am I?"

She nodded. "Yes and no," she said. "I did
have a coming-out party. That part you got right. But I didn't
really get into it. I wasn't part of that scene at all. In fact, I
wore a borrowed dress, and I didn't go to a single party but the
ball itself."

"You were doing what Mommy and Daddy wanted
you to do, I bet," he said.

"Exactly," she said. "It was easier than
arguing with them. As for school, I worked my way through
Cornell."

"You're kidding," he said, a look of surprise
on his face.

"No," she replied. "I worked in a bookstore,
worked as a waitress, a dog walker, baby-sat, house- sat, all kinds
of things. And I borrowed money. Lots of money. Student loans.
Which I am still paying off." She laughed, and he laughed with her.
"Sometimes I think I'll be in debt the rest of my life."

"Could have fooled me," he said. "You had a
coming-out and all that, but your parents didn't pay your way
through school?"

"No," she said. "My mother insisted on my
going to a finishing school in Switzerland or maybe doing
literature or French at one of the Seven Sisters. But I wouldn't do
it. I wanted to be a veterinarian. So she said I'd have to pay for
it myself."

"You're kidding," he said.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "But I
don't think she actually thought I'd go off on my own like that,
and I think she was just waiting for me to come running home."

He smiled. "Well, good for you," he said.
"That shows a lot of spunk."

She shrugged. "I just knew what I wanted,"
she said, "and I was going to get it come hell or high water."

"What do your parents think about it now?" he
asked.

"My father died before I went to college,"
she replied. "My mother . . . well, she still doesn't like it. She
has this Old World idea that I should be married to someone from
the same background and living the life of leisure. You know, like
one of the ladies who lunch in New York. The charity circuit and
all that. The way she lived until my father died."

"You'd wither up and die in that atmosphere,"
he said unhesitatingly.

She nodded. "I know," she said, "but try
telling my mother that."

"It seems to me she ought to be really proud
of you," he said. "I would be. I am."

Valerie laughed. "For what?" she asked.

"I've watched you in action," he said, "and I
think you're a top-notch vet. And person."

Valerie felt herself blush again. "Thanks,"
she said. "I appreciate that."

"Now," he said, "tell me about whoever it is
that's lucky enough to be engaged to you."

"Wha—?" She stared at him dumbstruck, unable
to finish her sentence.

Slowly, somewhat reluctantly, the shadowy
figure lowered the binoculars and let them hang loose on their neck
strap. Fingers quickly rubbed tired eyes.

Watching them had been almost mesmerizing, as
if observing some sort of forbidden ritual or an especially
tantalizing pornographic video, not that there had been anything in
the least bit lewd or lurid in their behavior. No, they had behaved
in an exemplary fashion.

It's the invasion of privacy. That's why
it feels so strange. Invading their privacy, watching them on their
own turf, without their knowing anything about it. It's a real
kick, though. A real sick kick
.

Watching even the most mundane of activities
could be fascinating if observed in this way, the interloper
supposed, but that was not what this was about. No, this had a
purpose, and an important one at that. In fact, seeing them
together had driven home the fact that the situation held a lot
more potential for danger than previously thought.

The way they'd chatted during dinner, all
cozy and relaxed and laughing, with some serious-looking moments
thrown in for good measure. The way he'd held her chair for her to
sit down, then the way he'd slid it back for her to get up. The way
he'd put a hand over one of hers during dinner, then the way he'd
put an arm around her waist when they went inside together.

Now they sat together on the couch, their
bare feet propped up on the coffee table like they were
sweethearts, their bodies close together, nearly touching while
they chatted on and on into the night.

Imagine their talk! Earnestly telling one
another all about their lives, their histories, past and present,
getting to know one another—all the ridiculous flotsam and jetsam
about where they came from and who they were—before they made that
inevitable leap into the old sack and onto each other's bodies.

It was enough to make you puke.

Spitting on the ground as if to expel a bad
taste, then looking at the glow-in-the-dark watch, the figure in
the shadows saw that it was a little after eleven. It was getting
late, and there was work to do. It was getting to be time to do
it.

"Who-who told you about that?" she finally
stuttered, her mind spinning with a million questions at once.

"Nobody," he said, looking at her with a
superior expression.

"What do you mean nobody?" she asked. "How
could you possibly know about that?"

"It's simple," he said, breaking into a
laugh.

Damn him
, she thought.
He's playing
with me and enjoying it
. "Tell me," she said. "What's so
simple?"

"Remember the first time you came out here?"
he asked.

She nodded. "Of course, I do," she replied.
"Storm Warning had colic. Why?"

"I saw you that night," he said, suddenly
somewhat sheepish. "I was watching you out in the stable. In the
dark, so you couldn't see me."

"I see," she said with a nod, remembering the
eerie sensation she'd had that night of being watched.

"I couldn't help but notice that you were
wearing a real humdinger of a ring," he went on. "It practically
lit up the stall when the lantern light hit it. And it sure did
look like an engagement ring, at least to me, Doc."

She swallowed. It was true, she thought. That
was the night that she had accepted the ring from Teddy, and she'd
been wearing it when she came over to see about the horse. It was
so new that she'd forgotten she was wearing it when she'd
ministered to Storm Warning. Otherwise, she'd have taken it off to
keep from getting it dirty.

She gazed over at him and nodded. "Guilty as
charged," she said, smiling tightly.

"So you are engaged," he said, the look on
his face undeniably one of disappointment.

"You . . . might say that," she replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't?"

Was she imagining it, or did she detect a
hint of hope in his voice? "Well ..." She looked up at the ceiling
and shrugged. "Where do I begin?"

"The beginning's a good place, so they say,"
he replied, reaching over and taking her hand.

She looked down at his hand in hers and
realized that it felt natural, comfortable . . . and wonderful. She
looked back up at him. "I've been going with the same guy for a
long time," she said. "Since college. Everybody's always expected
us to get married sooner or later. Including me." She sighed
heavily, then continued. "Anyhow, to make a long story short, he
gave me the ring that night. The night I came over to see about
Storm Warning."

His eyes were glued to hers. "But I haven't
seen you wear it since then," he said.

"You're . . . you're awfully observant," she
said with a short laugh.

"I'm awfully interested," he said,
smiling.

She was silent for a moment, and he prodded
her with another question.

"So are you still engaged or what?" he asked.
"You don't seem like an engaged woman to me."

She shrugged again, then said, "I guess you
could say that officially we're still engaged."

"Officially," he repeated.

She nodded.

"In other words," he said, "you haven't. . ."
His words trailed off into silence.

"In other words," she said, supplying words
for him, "I haven't told him that I don't want to marry him."

"Aha," he said softly, a smile on his lips.
"This is getting very interesting." He paused, then said, "So when
are you going to tell him that it's a no-go situation?"

"I don't know," Valerie groaned. "It's . . .
it's so difficult to do, and I'm such a chicken that I keep putting
it off. But I know that I've got to do it sooner or later."

"Do it sooner," he said.

She looked at him with widened eyes.
"What-what are you saying?"

"You heard me," he said. "And I think you
know exactly what I mean."

"You . . ." She couldn't bring herself to
express what she thought he might mean.

"I want you free," he said. "For me."

Valerie's body jerked, as if she'd been
shocked by a bolt of electricity. She felt her heart begin to pump
violently, and a pulse beat hard against her eardrum. She couldn't
quite catch her breath, and she didn't trust herself to speak. It
was a moment of truth.

He's in love with me, she realized,
and I
am in love with him.

Before she could respond, he reached toward
her and pulled her to him. She acquiesced, easing into the warmth
of his arms happily, as if she were going home to a place she
belonged. He kissed her, and she felt a thrill rush through her
body, even as her hands felt the soft naturalness of his dark hair
and the alien scratchiness of the gauze bandages that were wrapped
around part of it.

To think that anyone could ever be afraid
of this man
, she thought.
To think that he has sparked dark
rumors as no one else around here ever has. And to think that he
loves me.

She kissed him passionately, forgetting all
else, giving herself up to this moment. It was an unforgettable
moment in time, occupying some unique and magical realm all its
own.

When he finally drew back, he smiled at her
and his eyes searched hers for any indication of what she was
thinking and feeling. She returned his smile unhesitatingly, then
whispered to him, "It'll definitely be sooner than later."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Valerie rolled over in bed and glanced at the
clock on the bedside table.
Six-thirty! What the hell?
she
wondered. The telephone had been ringing relentlessly, and she'd
tried to no avail to block out its awful early morning cacophony in
her tender ears. Then suddenly she remembered she was on call at
the clinic, and she quickly reached over, grabbing the
receiver.

"Hello?" she said, trying to clear the sleep
from her voice.

"Valerie?" The cultured voice was clipped,
imperious, and demanding all at once, immediately putting her on
alert.

"Mother?" she asked. "What-what is it? Is
something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Marguerite de la Rochelle repeated.
"Certainly not. Not with me at least."

"Oh," Valerie said. "It's just so early ... I
thought maybe . . . well, I didn't know. You don't usually call
this early on a weekend morning."

"I want you to come to breakfast," Marguerite
said. It was an order, not a request.

"Breakfast?" Valerie said. "But. . . I-I've
really got a lot to do around the house, and—"

"Breakfast will be served promptly at nine
o'clock," Marguerite interjected, "and I want you here. There are
some things we need to discuss. Your cousin Jamie is here, as you
know, and you've made no effort to see him."

"I haven't been avoiding Jamie at all," she
said in self-defense. "I was planning on having him over or coming
out there to see him. You know I've been busy at the clinic,
Mother, and I just haven't got around to it yet."

"No, indeed, you have not," Marguerite said.
"You have no time for family, do you, Valerie? So this morning is
ideal, isn't it? This
is
the weekend, and you're not
working, so we can have a lovely breakfast."