TWICE VICTORIOUS (19 page)

She sought something innocuous to say. "I wish it weren't so stormy."

"Umph." The steering wheel didn't seem in quite as much danger of being
mangled, but the muscles at the corners of his jaw were still knotted.

"Will they cancel the cruise, do you suppose?"

"No."

"Are you terribly behind at work?"

"No."

"Are you going to be like this all evening?" She kept her voice pleasant, despite
the anger that was growing within her.

"You don't like the way I am?" The implication was that she could take him or
leave him, preferably the latter.

"Stop the car!"

He ignored her, which was just as well, since she had no desire to hitchhike on the
freeway. Steaming, Stell sat quietly, counting the mileposts to their destination.

As soon as he stopped the car, she was out of it, never mind the pelting rain.
Surely there was a phone in the waiting room. Even if she had to pay for a taxi all the way
to Portland, it would be better than an evening with a total boor.

She was punching in her calling code when an arm slipped around her waist and a
deep voice spoke in her ear. "I'm sorry, Stell."

Her hand faltered.

"Please." He took the receiver from her, returned it to its cradle. "I was taking my
frustrations out on you. It's been a hell of a day."

"You were really nasty." She didn't bother hiding her anger.

"I was. And I'm sorry. Can we just forget it and enjoy the cruise?" He gestured out
the rain-streaked window at the docked sternwheeler.

What a bribe! She'd been interested for years, ever since she first read about the
sternwheeler
Columbia Gorge
and its dinner cruises. Until now, there hadn't been
anyone in her life who was an appropriate companion for something so romantic.

It was really no contest. She'd rather be with Adam than alone, rather be with him
than with anyone she knew. Even ill-tempered, he filled an otherwise empty place in her
life.

Adam knew he wasn't fit company this evening. It had been a hell of a day, but he
thought he'd left his frustrations and exhaustion in the shower. By the time he'd picked
Stell up, he was looking forward to a carefree evening, counting the hours until they could
be making love.

Then she'd told him she could ride her bike again.

He did his best to enjoy the cruise, to hide his apprehension. Time was slipping
away, leaving him little opportunity to show Stell what life with him could be.

A summer storm ruffled the waters of the Columbia River, turned the tree-clad
hillsides into dripping curtains of dark green. The evening sun found gaps in the lowering
black clouds, arching rainbows from cliff to water, from chasm to mountaintop.

Their table was by the window, giving them a view of nature's spectacle. After the
plates were removed, Adam reached across to take her hands in his. "Still angry with
me?"

Stell seemed to pull her eyes from the view with difficulty. She had been
unusually quiet ever since his apology, but she didn't seem to be sulking. Just slightly
withdrawn.

"Angry?" It was as if she'd forgotten their disagreement. "Oh. No, Adam. No, I'm
not angry. Just thinking."

"A penny," he prompted.

She shook her head, not looking directly at him. "My thoughts aren't worth even
that." Her smile looked forced at first, then gradually reached her eyes. "Don't mind me. I
guess I'm just tired."

She slipped into her jacket and picked up her clutch purse before he could reach to
help her. "Shall we stroll the deck?"

"It's raining."

"Pooh. Just a light mist. I thought you were a native Oregonian." As she walked
ahead of him, Adam realized she wasn't limping at all. She really was getting better.

Seeing her improvement should make him happy, but it didn't. It frightened
him.

Stell hadn't deliberately withdrawn from Adam. When she finally realized his
anger in the car followed immediately upon her announcement that she was riding again,
she'd really tried to think of something else to talk about. The trouble was, she was so
excited, so full of hope and anticipation, no other subject even occurred to her.

It had been sort of like what Gramps had often told her: "If you can't say
something nice, don't say anything at all." Telling Adam about her hopes and plans was
definitely not saying something nice.

With an effort she pushed anticipation to the back of her mind. "It seems to be
clearing up." The sun had dipped behind the mountains and the Columbia Gorge was
growing dark. Although a big fat black cloud sat directly over them, the western sky was
almost clear, only a few scarlet and gold streaks marking the remnants of the storm.

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. He always smelled so good. So
wonderfully male. "Would you like to go to Eugene with me next Saturday?"

"Eugene? I thought we were going to the Coast over Labor Day."

Oh, dear, what had she done? "Well, you had mentioned it, but then you went to
Taiwan, and I had to give Terry an answer, and, well.... Adam, I'm sorry." She bit her lip,
not liking the angry twist of his mouth. "One of the guys who was going to referee at a
stage race in Eugene next weekend was in an accident--"

He interrupted, his voice tight. "On a bicycle?"

"No." She contained her irritation. "No, his car was broadsided by a pickup. He's
got a broken shoulderblade, and some rather spectacular bruises." The sternwheeler
bumped against the dock, throwing her against Adam. His body was unyielding. "But that's
not important. What it means is that I'll be working all day Saturday and Sunday."

He said nothing as they walked down the gangplank. Silence filled the car until
they were halfway home. She wasn't going to apologize again. It wasn't as if she were
going to Eugene just to watch a race.

But if it were, shouldn't she expect him to understand? As soon as the traitorous
thought popped into her mind, Stell shoved it back and down. She would worry about
Adam's problems with her cycling when she resumed her training. Not tonight.

"Do you really need the money?" he said, finally.

"It doesn't hurt." What she earned for officiating at races wasn't all that much
either. She needed the contact with other cyclists, their support for her dream, their belief
in her ability to realize it.

"What time shall I pick you up?" It was said grudgingly, as if there were a million
things he would rather do than accompany her to Eugene.

"I want to take my van, so I'll pick you up. Is eight too early?" Be patient, she
reminded herself. He still didn't equate her commitment to cycling with his to KIWANDA.
She was determined to make him understand.

It was either that or give him up, an option she couldn't accept.

* * * *

Once a month Adam went to his mother's for dinner. Although they saw each
other often at the office, this gave them a time together when they didn't talk business.
Usually he enjoyed himself, but this week he was just out of sorts enough that he came
close to begging off. Now he wished he had.

"I don't remember when you've tried my patience so, Adam." Joyce Vanderhook
set the meatloaf on the table between them and seated herself.

"What'd I do now, Mom?" He helped himself to the meatloaf, scooped a baked
potato onto his plate. At least he'd have a hearty meal along with his scolding. With luck,
she'd made a custard pie, his favorite.

"It's not what you've done, Adam. It's what you're doing. Snapping, snarling,
going about as if everyone's your enemy."

"Hey, I know I've been a little short tempered lately, but it's not that bad."

Joyce just looked at him, as if to say,
Pull the other one, kid.

Damn! She always could put him on the defensive. "Look, Mom, I've had a lot to
do, getting the Fall Line out and all."

"Mitch is no longer competent?" she said, offering him seconds on green beans
with bacon. "You don't trust Juliana to manage her own division?"

"Mitch is so competent it scares me," he said, giving his Office Manager credit
where it was due. "And yes, I trust Juliana. Has she said something to make you think I
don't?"

"No." Joyce shrugged. "She can fight her own battles. But I wouldn't push her too
far, Adam. I think she's taken just about all she's willing to from you."

Adam felt his jaw drop. With exaggerated care, he set his fork on the side of his
plate, folded his napkin and laid it on the table. "Okay, Mom, let's have it. You've
succeeded in ruining my dinner. Why don't you make the rest of my day?"

"Why, Adam, I hadn't intended to upset you. I just thought someone should warn
you that you're becoming unforgivably arrogant again. I don't mind so much, because I'm
your mother, after all, and I'm used to your little flaws. But your sister and your employees
certainly can't enjoy being treated like they've no intelligence."

Adam pounced in the few words in her speech that he understood. "'Unforgivably
arrogant again?' Just what do you mean by that?"

"Well, sometimes you do act as if no one in the world is able to determine the
correct path but you." Not meeting his eyes, Joyce rearranged the condiments into a neat
circle before her. "Just like you did for me." She reached across and removed his plate.
"Now, would you like some custard pie?"

"Wait a minute, Mom. What are you talking about?"

"Don't be impatient, Adam. Let me get the pie."

He stared after her, not believing her behavior. His mother was usually the most
straightforward woman in the world, outspoken and blunt. Now all of a sudden, she was
talking in circles, not making sense at all.

"Now," she said, sliding his pie across the table, "what did you say?"

"I asked you," he gritted between clenched jaws, "what the he...the dickens you
were talking about. What did I do for you that you obviously haven't forgiven me
for?"

Her head was bent over her plate and her hands were clasped tightly together and
pressing against her lips. Finally she looked up and met his eyes. "You took my freedom of
choice away from me, Adam. You treated me like a very stupid, very irresponsible
child."

"Mom, I never...when...? I don't know what you mean." Had his mother lost her
mind? He'd never done anything to hurt her. He'd given up his own dreams to make sure
she never suffered for all her sacrifices. And since then, he'd made sure she was
comfortable, that she didn't have to work unless she chose.

He'd treated her like his beloved mother, for God's sake!

And this was the gratitude he got.

"Maybe you'd better explain," he said, using all his will to control the resentment
that was boiling up within him. He shoved the pie away, knowing that he couldn't eat it,
that it would choke him.

"I wasn't ever going to tell you this, Adam. It seemed to matter so much to you to
take care of me after your father...after Nick died. You really were wonderful. Thoughtful,
self-sacrificing, sympathetic, and generous. I did...I do appreciate it, even if I wish you
hadn't."

"Mom, maybe you'd better just tell me, instead of talking all around the subject.
What did I do?"

"You quit, Adam." She pushed her pie to join his in the middle of the table.
Leaning back in her chair, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "You wasted all that
your father and I had done for you. You threw it away as if it didn't matter."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I always wondered," his mother continued, apparently not aware that he was
frozen in shock, "if you didn't use Nick's death as an excuse to quit because you lacked
self-confidence. Was that it, Adam? Were you afraid you might not win?"

"No. No, I...." He strangled on words of self defense.

"I never doubted you, you know, and neither did Nick. We always believed you
were the best in the world. I guess," she said, her voice quavering, "that's why I was so
angry with you. Why I still am, for that matter. We chose to do what we did, Adam,
because we believed in you. But you didn't believe enough in yourself to honor our
choices."

All he could do was stare at her, unbelieving.

"That's what I mean when I say that you were unforgivably arrogant. You knew
what was best for me, and you didn't ask what I might want. You didn't see that I might be
perfectly content in a small apartment, might enjoy the fabric store. Did it ever occur to
you, Adam, that I wanted to see you stand up there beside Steve much, much more than I
wanted to be taken care of?"

"Why didn't you say something?" He could barely force the whisper from a throat
gone tight.

"I tried. So did Juliana. But you weren't listening." Wiping her eyes, she smiled, a
hesitant, lip-trembling smile. "You still don't listen to us, Adam. You just go ahead and do
what you think is best. That's one reason why Juliana and I pushed the expansion, to show
you that you're not the only one in this family who knows what's good for
KIWANDA."

Adam later remembered rising from the table, thanking his mother for dinner. He
must have behaved normally, although for the life of him, he didn't see how.

Arrogant! If he spent a week searching the dictionary, he didn't think he could find
a word he'd hate having applied to himself more. Of all human failings, he detested
arrogance. God knows he'd seen enough of it when he was competing. And hated it, vowed
never to become like some of the young men who had challenged his skill. They had been
arrogant, with their imperious manners, their strutting conduct.

Arrogant? Was that how his mother, his sister saw his sacrifice? God! All he'd
wanted to do was make up to them for all they'd done for him. It had been too late for Pop,
but not for Mom.

All he'd done in the last seventeen years, all the choices he'd made, all the sweat
and all the struggle, had been for Mom and Juliana.

No he wasn't arrogant. He was a loving son, a considerate brother. He'd never
presume to dictate how his family lived, only help them live well. Mom just didn't
understand what he'd done, how much he'd sacrificed to make up for hers.