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When he used that condescending tone, she wanted to leap across the table and scratch his eyes out. Instead, she told him, “Do you think you scare me, Will? Just remember, neither one of us would look particularly good in ‘prison orange’ jumpsuits, in case you have any thoughts of breaking our vow of silence.” She laughed derisively at the thought.
Pushing her chair back, she returned to the living room. “I hope you had your fun for the evening. Sorry it didn’t work, Will. I was going to offer to help clean up but you can do it by yourself. After all, you made the mess. Oh, by the way, dinner was delicious…my compliments to the chef.” She emphasized the word chef, for his benefit as she knew it would piss him off.
Camille spread the papers she brought home across the coffee table trying not to be distracted by the clanging and banging noises coming from the kitchen. Finally all was quiet and an apologetic Will plopped down beside her on the couch.
“I’m sorry, Love. You drive me to frustration. Why are you so cold-hearted toward me? What have I done? I know I haven’t been keeping up my end of the finances, but I try to make up for it in other ways. I cooked dinner for you tonight and you were unappreciative, I must say.”
Camille leaned back and looked at him. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
Will sighed. “Apparently not. What am I supposed to be getting?”
“You know, we were very good friends for many years. We should have remained friends and not tried to be anything else…like co-habitants of a house. We argue like husband and wife but don’t enjoy any of the perks of marriage. Now that you quit your job or got fired or whatever, it is really putting a strain on what little friendship we have left.”
He turned her body sideways with her back to him so he could rub her shoulders and then whispered in her ear, “We could enjoy some of those perks if you’d just let your sanctimonious morals go for a little while. We could be friends and lovers, Camille, with no strings attached.” His lips were warm as he brushed them along her neck. “Let yourself go for once. I guarantee I would more than pay my way,” he murmured.
Maybe it was the wine or her exhaustion but the room seemed abnormally warm. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. She was keenly aware of all her senses: the feel of the plush carpet under her bare feet, the dim lighting, the soft strains of a favorite classical song, the fragrance of the fresh floral arrangement on the mantle. She could smell him, too. It was a strong manly, earthy scent. They all combined to remind her of someone she had loved long ago. Will’s hands felt warm on her back and her arms as he encircled her and his hands slowly made their way to her breasts. She ached to be with him for the night but instead pulled away and stood up.
“It won’t work, Will…not yesterday, not tonight, not ever. Remember our agreement.”
He watched her walk up the stairs and wished he could convince her to be his. “Damn the agreement! Someday, Camille,” he said under his breath, “it will work, if only for one night and even if it takes a bit of blackmail.”
CHAPTER 4
JACE GROANED AS he realized how late it was. The sun was already up and shining in his bedroom windows, nearly blinding him. He tossed and turned all night but must have finally fallen asleep a few hours ago. That certainly made for a short night. At age 42, his body often felt like he was 72…maybe even 102, he thought ruefully.
Throwing the covers back, he stretched and then gingerly swung his bad leg out of bed first. The stiffness was always the worst in the morning. After a few hours and a bit of exercise, the muscles loosened up and the pain diminished.
First things first…he made his way to the kitchen and the coffee pot. Taking a shower while it brewed, he made a decision. Today, he was not going to think about the bills or the bar or his monetary predicament. He was going to play hooky and go for a very long, leisurely ride.
Before he could leave, he had to make a phone call he?
??d been dreading and putting off for months. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Hello? This is Calvin Frasier.”
Jace swallowed hard. “Yes, Mr. Frasier, this is Jace Matthews…from Bozeman, Montana. Do you remember me?”
“Well, Jace, of course I remember you. You purchased two of the finest horses we had. Are you looking to buy a few more?”
Jace laughed nervously. “No. Not exactly. You know I was more than pleased with the two I bought from you, but some unexpected events have sort of taken over my life and I’d like to ask a huge favor, if I may.”
They talked for an hour, discussing the events Jace referred to and Cal’s children and grandchildren. Finally, they agreed to talk again in a few weeks after Cal discussed Jace’s proposal with his son, Ben, who was taking over a large share of the ranch responsibilities these days.
Jace breathed a bit easier now that he’d made the phone call. Even though Cal said Ben was taking over the ranch, Jace was certain Cal still had the final say in most decisions. He walked to the barn feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
He saddled one of his geldings and placed the supplies on the other. He would ride one on the way to his destination and use the other as his pack horse. Then he would switch them on the way back. They needed some exercise and so did he. When he was riding, he could let his mind wander and pretend he was still taking groups of people on trail rides or guiding groups of hunters and fishermen to their favorite spots.
When he had the horses ready to go and their grain packed, he grabbed some provisions for himself and his dog and stuffed them in his saddle bags. Filling his thermos with hot coffee, he mounted Jesse, his favorite of the two, and leading Jasper, he headed towards the government land, operated by the Bureau of Land Management, also known as BLM land that bordered his 80-acres. His property was too small to be called a ranch in Montana but too big to be just a parcel and he absolutely detested the word, ranchette, as some people liked to call the smaller spreads. To him, that sounded like something ‘Barbie and Ken’ would own. He lovingly referred to his small acreage as his homestead. There were many memories here and it would break his heart if he had to sell it to survive.
Jace’s injuries allowed him to ride for only a few hours before he had to rest or walk a bit. That was the reason he had to give up the very lucrative business of trail rides and guide trips. No one wanted to stop that frequently; it would take all day to reach camp.
Even though no structures could be built on the government land, he had permission to take groups on day trips. They rode and enjoyed the wilderness experience during the day and returned to the cabin, which was on his personal land, in the evening. Sadly, the majority of the people he took out, with the exception of the hunters and fishermen, were unfamiliar with the term “roughing it,” and wouldn’t have the first idea of how to pitch a tent or build a campfire.
He dismounted and sat on a flat boulder. Pouring some of the coffee into his cup, he closed his eyes for a few minutes. Remembering the different groups he’d been hired to take on week-long wilderness adventures, one group in particular always came to mind, even when he willed it to disappear.
It was a group of eight adults, five men and three women. They all worked for the same brokerage firm in California. He had some good buddies in Silicon Valley and they kept him busy with groups they referred to him. The individuals in those groups were the “new rich” and they all had more money than they knew what to do with. This particular group had been given a ‘Week in the Wilderness’ as a reward for their exceptional work on the account of a high-profile client. They were the usual know-it-alls, even though they were definitely greenhorns. One of the women was particularly outspoken but sweet and attentive to him. To top it off, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her name was Lorna and she had it all, it seemed. It wasn’t long before she had a piece of his heart, too.
Jace shook his head to clear the memories. It didn’t do anyone any good to relive the past. It was over…long ago and far away. He might as well ride for a bit longer until he reached the cabin. The scenery was breathtaking and he never tired of soaking it in. He loved Montana, especially Bozeman and the surrounding countryside. This was truly God’s country. He frowned at that description. Once upon a time, he had been a firm believer in God and he would have described his faith as strong. Who could possibly live here and not believe there was a God?
