Charades (6 page)

     “What?” Mercy asked in a small voice.

     “I keep remembering our kiss last night,” he said. “I want to do it over and over again. All day today. I am embarrassing you? I feel like fool, already. But…” His face colored and he looked away. “I am sorry. I have never learned to do this.”

     “It’s all right, Wulf. I understand.”

     “Ach, too much study, study, study, work, work, work. Do you feel what I feel, too? Tell me you do.”

     Is this what love is all about? Mercy wondered. “I–I don’t know. What are you feeling?”

     “You do not feel it too?” Wulf’s face crumbled. “Like I have know you all my life. You make my work hard because I cannot think. Always I wonder what you are doing? Where you are? And I am jealous when I see you down there with that cowboy.”

     He gestured with irritation toward the barn. “I almost came after you. And,
liebchen
, you know I am never, ever jealous.” He hung his head. “I stay here and wait because I am afraid to look like a fool.”

     His face grew bleak. “What do I do without you after this week goes? Is it possible we might look at real engagement?”

    
Engagement
?

     “Please do not laugh, but I think I love you. It makes me crazy!”

     Wulf had such a look of desperation on his face Mercy’s racing heart softened and slowed. The dating game had passed him by too. Maybe that’s why her usual anxious state had faded, the anxiety turning into something else, an engine inside of her that pumped heat in waves and sent showers of sparks spreading throughout her body. He means it, Mercy thought as she studied his face. How could something like this be happening to her?

     The sounds of the ranch receded. All she could hear was their rapid breathing. The fragrance of the tiny white flowers on the gazebo’s vine swept over them like incense. His rugged face with its late afternoon shadow tempted her to reach out and touch him. She stopped herself, looking down and twisting the ring on her finger. “Do you mean you want me to keep this ring, that you want to marry me for real?”

     “Mercy, I…”

     “I’m sorry if that sounds blunt, but I need to know exactly what you have in mind.”

     Wulf frowned. “
Ach, liebling
, I…”

     “I think I might love you, too.” Mercy blurted, then covered her mouth with her hand.

     “
Liebling
!” he exclaimed, managing to look satisfied and offended at the same time. “Yes, I want you to keep that ring. I have already told you that I love you.” His face brightened. “I can prove it to you! Come with me to Germany to meet my family. We can go when I am through here.” He stopped. “Have you a passport?”

     “Well, yes, but I—”

     “That is super! I have so much to show you in Germany.”

     His excitement communicated both invitation and encouragement.

     Silently Mercy studied his face. Wasn’t this going too fast? Contemplating marriage should take a long time, shouldn’t it? It had hardly been seventy-two hours since they’d met. Were they both crazy to be considering a real engagement?

     “You are quiet. I have spoken too soon.”

     Her heart swelled with love and compassion at the dejection in his voice. Although she wanted desperately to say yes, Mercy forced herself to slow down. “I think we need more time,” she began. “Why, we haven’t even had a decent courtship interval.”

     She bit her lower lip. “It’s not you,” she hastened to say when she saw him stiffen and start to interrupt. “It’s me. I’m just not sure what I’m doing. I mean, I’m twenty-five, but I’ve never been anywhere, or done anything. All I know about life is going to school. Yes, I have a lot of education, but as you can see, I’m not very sophisticated.” Mercy faltered, looking down at the ground, “I’d feel awful if I failed you as a wife.”

     And how could she possibly explain her hesitancy about sex without telling him everything, Oh, God! “We haven’t even talked about religion or children,” she blurted. “They are two of the most important facets of marriage.”

     Wulf frowned and started to speak. “I’m old-fashioned, I guess, and…”

     Mercy swallowed, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. All she wanted to do was touch him, feel him, have him touch her. Her breasts swelled, the tips aching. The dark, secret place between her legs dampened and swelled.

     “Catholic and four,” he said.

     “What?”

     “I am Catholic. I want four children,” Wulf grinned at her.

     She laughed. “You have answers for everything, don’t you?”

     “
Ja
. I mean no. Mercy,” he said, his fingers playing with the silky length of her hair, “I am scared, too, but I will wait for you as long as you like. Just please say you will come to Germany with me after we leave here. I cannot bear to leave you. If you come with me, I promise no ‘hanky-panky,’ as you Americans call it.”

     He looked so sincere, her heart warmed.

     “
Liebling
, I do not want to say good-bye now that I have found you. My family will also want to meet you.”

     Could she risk her heart, particularly after the way she’d hidden herself in self-imposed exile so long? In spite of her fears, excitement bubbled up within her.

     “I’m Catholic,” Mercy said, trying to use what few functioning cells still worked in her brain, “although not a very good one. So, we have religion in common. I don’t know about the four children. Two sounds better.” Her voice trailed off, and she cocked her head at him. His background had checked out according to both Judy and Hazel. What woman wouldn’t be swept off her feet by a man as good-looking and as kind and sincere as Wulf? “Perhaps the time spent here and in Germany will help us get to know each other better.”

     “
Ja
. That sounds good.” Excitement glittered in his eyes.

     Going to Germany! Whether she said the words or not, Mercy knew she’d already decided to risk everything on this once in a lifetime trip. “Give me until the end of the week to think about this, okay?”

     “No problem. I’ll book flights now. We can cancel them if necessary.”

     She nodded and inhaled a deep breath. Hand in hand they walked back up to the house. It was dangerous in that gazebo—the way he had looked at her, the way her body had felt when she was sitting on his lap. It was all she could do to keep from shivering with excitement.

     Dorie and she played golf alone that next morning while the men closeted themselves in the library going over details of their joint venture. On the way back to the house after their game, they spied Wulf practicing on the putting green.

     “Dorie? Can I ask you a question?”

     Dorie braked to a halt and turned to her. “Shoot, girl. I can tell something’s troubling you.”

     “There are so many cultural differences between Wulf and myself. I don’t know if it’s that or if it’s just my own nervousness about the upcoming wedding, but suddenly I’m just not so sure about everything, myself included.” Stop beating around the bush, she told herself. “What do you think of Wulf as a future husband?”

     “I don’t really know him that well,” Dorie protested.

     “I know that, but…”

     Dorie nodded. “You want to know what I think of him as potential husband material. Is that it?”

     Mercy’s face flamed. That was exactly it!

     “Well, honey,” Dorie said, “there’s so many things that go into the makeup of a good man, a woman is just darned lucky if she comes out with a winner. I did, but no one can promise you that. It depends on what goes into the relationship. How committed is he to love and faithfulness? How much loyalty, respect, and consideration does he show you, even when it comes to the little things in life? If those kinds of basics aren’t there, I think that’s a pretty good sign to stay away.”

     Mercy frowned. Naturally, Wulf treated her and the Ryder's with respect. He wanted this deal badly enough to scheme and pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

     “But,” Dorie went on, “he’s got my vote. According to Red, he knows his stuff and his company trusts him with unlimited discretionary power. They must have a good reason to do something like that.”

     “That’s a good point,” Mercy conceded.

     “On a personal level,” Dorie continued, “I’ve noticed how he treats you. I can tell you’re important to him. A person can’t fake that. He’s very taken with you.”

     Mercy nodded, relieved. “Neither of us has had much experience. He’s a workaholic and I’m an educational nun.”

     “Well, he’s sure not a smooth operator, now is he?” They both laughed. “But on a more intuitive level,” Dorie continued, “I’d say you have a pretty good man there. I caution you, though, don’t let his actions deceive you.”

     “What do you mean?” Mercy asked, suddenly wary.

     “Hey, don’t go tensing up on me like that. I mean he’s a very complex, private person. There are probably levels to him you won’t find out about even ten years down the road. He may never open up with you, or he might open up just with you. Who knows? A woman takes her chances, like everyone else. Life is a risk, you know.”

     “Thanks for talking with me,” Mercy said as she gave Dorie a hug. Who else but practical, forthright Dorie could put all those doubts and conclusions into such an understandable package?

     “Sure thing.” Dorie grinned, letting off the brake and speeding up the golf cart. “Glad I could help. I guess Red told you that your father was my first golf teacher years ago.”

     “Yes. He evidently taught you very well.”

     “I’ll never forget him. That man was a real looker,” Dorie commented.

     Mercy smiled. “I’ve enjoyed your company so much while we’ve been here. Although you don’t look like my mother, when I’m around you I feel her presence again.”

     Dorie’s face colored under her deep tan. “I’m not saying anything I wouldn’t say to one of my own girls.” She climbed out of the cart and turned to Mercy. “Now, you just go back and join that long, tall drink of water on the practice green. Okay?”

     “Thanks,” Mercy said, waving and turning the cart around.

     Wulf stood up as her cart approached. As soon as she stepped out of the cart, he walked over and pulled her into his arms. Her heart leaped with barely suppressed excitement.

     “Wulf?” she asked, teasing him, “Your putting is terrible. Is there anything wrong with your eyesight besides needing glasses to read?”

     “No,
liebling
. I chose you, didn’t I?” he said.

     His leer was so comical, Mercy laughed at his roguish behavior. He was trying to be cool again, but he was failing miserably. His fumbling flirtatiousness touched her in a way that little else could. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

     “
Ja
. I know what I like,” Wulf said, pulling her against him and rubbing his chest against her breasts, “and I like you.”

     “Stop that,” Mercy said, pulling away. She tried to look severe, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “We have to work on your putting.” She tried to line him up with the ball by putting her arms around him from the back.

     Wulf looked over his shoulder and laughed. “This will never work. You are a pigmy.”

     “A pigmy! Why, you great big horse, I wouldn’t look like a pigmy, if you weren’t so darned huge,” she retorted.

     “Did I tell you how much I like pigmy monkeys at the zoo?”

     “Now you’re calling me a monkey? You’ll live to regret that.” She shook her finger at him, the light-hearted banter spreading sunshine in her heart.

     He grabbed her finger, bringing it to his mouth and biting on it playfully. Suddenly, the air felt too hot, her chest too tight. His expression intensified as he sucked her finger into the heat of his mouth. Mercy shivered as sensuous tremors burst throughout her body.
Oh, God! He’s doing it again!

     “Wulf,” she whispered as she pulled her finger away. “We’re here to work on your putting.”

     “
Ja
,” he grinned, looking very satisfied with himself. “We work now.”

     Her breathing slowly returned to normal as she stood back and watched him, giving him pointers. Within a short time, he began to do much better. In fact, Mercy began to suspect he did poorly yesterday just to let Red catch up with him. Or maybe it was a lame attempt to be alone like this. She felt her face flush.

     “Wulf, you’re a fraud,” she teased, after he sank his ninth or tenth putt over twenty feet.

     He stopped, frozen in place. “What do you mean?” he asked, slowly turning around to her, his eyes unreadable behind dark glasses.

     Why was he so upset? “You knew all along how to putt,” she explained. “You just used it as an excuse for me to put my arms around you, didn’t you?” She put her hands on her hips, trying to look severe, but still curious over his abrupt change in attitude.

     Wulf let out a long, slow breath, slouched, and said with a teasing grin of his own, “Of course. I want you alone with me to have my way with you. It worked,
nicht wahr
?”

     “Yes, silly. It worked.”

     He walked the few steps over to her, kissed her soundly and went back to his putting. Each time he sank a long-distance putt, he cracked his knuckles. The memory suddenly gelled. There was a young man who had made waves in the world of golf, competing at the young age of twenty-one against far older contenders and winning. He had a habit of cracking his knuckles every time he putted a long distance in one stroke.

     What was his name? Mercy frowned as she concentrated. Wulfgar Rheinhart did
not
ring a bell. A name like that would be hard to forget. She racked her memory, but she’d watched hundreds of games and they all tended to run together. She remembered her father saying that many young golfers were just “flashes in the pan,” who rose quickly and disappeared just as fast. “I was one of those,” he had said. “I played for the money. I hated the traveling and being away from my family.”

     Hadn’t that young man also been German? Joel? Josh? Joseph! Joseph something. Sturm? Stern? Stein? Steinberg! That’s it, Joseph Steinberg. She studied him closer. Of course, he would have filled out since then, she thought. If Wulf was indeed Joseph Steinberg he would have added a good fifty pounds or more. No doubt that extra weight contributed to those exceptionally long drives of his. Few people could drive a ball that far with that kind of consistency.