WAGERED WOMAN Page 9

  It was while she was fumbling in the back of a bathroom drawer for that special small bottle of shampoo which just fit in the pack, that her groping fingers found the little foil pouches she'd stuck there two years ago.

  Delilah pulled out one of the condoms and looked at it. She'd bought them after she'd taken that required course for teachers in sex education. She supposed they were still usable…

  Delilah looked up from the small pouch to her own face in the mirror. What, really, was she thinking?

  Nothing but the truth, she thought grimly. Because the attraction she felt for Sam Fletcher was powerful. It was just possible, given the long days together, and the longer nights…

  No. She shook her head. It was not going to happen. She wasn't going to surrender to this … pull he exerted. And there was absolutely no need to be prepared.

  She tossed the condom back where it had come from and firmly shut the drawer.

  Then she went to the service porch off the kitchen, where she stored a pack full of basic, sturdy cooking equipment—things like tin plates, flatware, a cup, a saucepan and a frying pan.

  She smiled for the first time in hours when she found the frying pan. He'd suggested she have it ready in case he got near her. She would—though unfortunately it was only aluminum and wouldn't be near as threatening as her nice cast iron one had been.

  She also kept plenty of high-energy snacks and freeze-dried food on hand for camping trips. She filled another pack with these items, since she had no idea what kind of cooking setup they'd have or how much he would bring. Basically, she assumed he would be taking care of the food problem. But she didn't intend to starve if she was wrong.

  After that, she straightened her house.

  She considered, for about half a second, calling Nellie and asking her to look after the plants. But dealing with Nellie and her passion for other people's business was more than Delilah felt she could handle right then. It was going to be rough enough when she returned next Sunday. By then, she had no doubt, the whole town would be buzzing. She and Sam Fletcher were going to be grist for the gossip mill, she was certain.

  Delilah almost felt like crying when she realized that. Her spotless reputation as the only Jones in North Magdalene who led a civilized life was not long for this world. Everyone would be saying that she was just as wild as the rest of them after all.

  Well, Delilah told herself firmly, she'd lived through it when she was little, and she could live through it again. And besides, there was no point in borrowing anguish anyway. She had a whole week with the wild man to get through before she worried about the gauntlet of whispering and rumors that would come next.

  Pushing concern about what hadn't happened yet to the back of her mind, Delilah set a tray of water under each of the plants to keep them going until her return.

  After that she was ready—a full hour before Sam Fletcher was due to pick her up.

  She tried lying down, thinking a little rest would probably do her good. But her eyes stayed wide open and her body wouldn't relax. So she got up and wandered around her little house, checking the back door and the window locks.

  The sky lit up beyond Sweetbriar Summit as she lifted the curtain over the sink. The rabbit beyond the glass stood out for a moment in sharp relief. Its wide eyes seemed to look at her, startled, full of reproach and dumb entreaty. Then the sky went dark, thunder rolled, and Delilah was looking at her own tired reflection and the first rain drops blown against the glass.

  For a frozen moment, she remained there, poised with the kitchen curtain raised, staring at her own shadowed face. Then the sky lit up again, the rabbit flashed and disappeared as the thunder crashed once more.

  Delilah Jones, who despised foul language as much as she loathed gambling and mind-altering chemicals, swore roundly. Then she whirled from the window and stomped outside in the rain to gather up the wooden figures one by one.

  She would have left them, she reassured herself, she really would, if only the rain hadn't come. But they were simply too fine to leave to be destroyed by the storm. In spite of who had made them, they were beautiful and deserved to be treasured.

  But not by Delilah, of course. Oh, no. She would never keep them. She would insist that he take them back, that was all, once the wagered week was over. And if he wouldn't, why she'd return them to him the same way he'd brought them, by stealth. She'd wait for a time when he wasn't at home, and she'd drop them off, and that would be the end of it.

  Back inside, she set them on the kitchen table. They appeared undamaged, as far as she could tell, and seemed to have been coated with a thin layer of shellac or varnish which had protected them quite well. But they were wet from the rain.

  She found a clean cotton cloth and wiped each one carefully. Sweet heavens, they were marvelous to touch, the wood smooth as tumbled stone, only warmer, more alive. She palmed the plump stomach of the bear cub, and stroked the long legs of the doe. And then she thought of the little raccoon, stuck up there in the shadows of her tallest bookcase.

  She found a stool and brought the raccoon down and set it on the table with the others and thought that it was as beautiful in its unfinished roughness as the others were in their smooth and varnished splendor.

  She sat down at the table, still holding the little raccoon. She smiled at it.

  And then, beneath the pinging of the rain in the gutters, she heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up out in front.

  Good gracious, it was Sam! A frantic glance at her watch told her she'd been mooning over the wooden animals he'd carved for the best part of an hour.

  Swiftly, she pushed the figures toward the far side of the table, near the windows. That way he couldn't possibly see them from the front door—which was as far as he was going to get this time. She'd learned enough after what had happened last time never to let him into her house again.

  But then, as soon as she pushed the animals out of sight, she felt foolish. Why shouldn't he know she'd brought them in, after all? Leaving them outside had been childish anyway. And she wasn't going to keep them. She could make that perfectly clear.

  She heard his boots on her step, followed by his knock at the door. She went to answer.

  He smiled when she opened the door, and for a crazy moment, she almost felt like they were partners—longtime companions heading off on some grand adventure.

  Behind him, in the east, the orange glow of the rising sun bled through a space in the heavy cover of clouds, creating the most miraculous of effects, a quarter of a rainbow arch, glimpsed for the briefest of seconds, and then gone as the clouds rolled and reformed once more.

  His hair, pulled back tidily now, was dewed with water, and he smelled of the rain, as did the whole brightening, glorious, cold world.

  He said, "Where's your gear? Let's get loaded up." And he stepped forward, gaining entrance as she'd sworn he wouldn't, because she was too busy thinking forbidden thoughts to remember her intention to keep him on the porch.

  "I…" She stepped back, and then decided that ordering him out would be ridiculous. They should get her things together and they'd be out of there soon enough. "I have two packs out on the service porch—cooking utensils and some food."

  "We probably won't need the utensils. The cabin has all that, or at least it's supposed to. But I haven't been there in a year, and someone could have helped themselves. You never know these days. How about if we go ahead and take your cooking gear, just in case?"

  "Sounds fine."

  "Okay. Now what kind of food?"

  "Some canned meat and snacks and some freeze-dried entrees and fruits and vegetables, too."

  "Great. We can take that for backup, just in case. What else?"

  She gestured toward the hall that led to her room. "My clothes and sleeping bag."

  "Fine. You get your clothes." He headed for the kitchen, beyond which lay the service porch.

  She remembered about the carvings at the same moment that he saw them. He paused, his huge frame filling
the kitchen doorway. Then he turned and looked at her, one sandy eyebrow raised.

  She just stared back for a moment, since her voice had somehow become hung up in her throat. Then she managed to mutter defensively, "Well, it was raining. So I brought them in."

  "I see." He went on looking at her, his expression different than ever before. It was a rather soft expression, actually. A rather vulnerable one…

  Delilah swallowed. "I'll get my things."

  "Good idea."

  Neither of them moved.

  "Well…" she said.

  "Right." He turned and headed for the service porch. She shook herself and went to her bedroom where her sleeping bag and clothes pack waited.

  When she slid into the passenger seat of the shiny Bronco 4 x 4, he handed her a notepad and a pencil. She shot him a questioning look.

  "We'll drive down to Grass Valley first, to shop for food," he explained. "We can plan the menus on the way, so we'll know just what to buy."

  "Where are we going, anyway?"

  "Hidden Paradise Lake."

  "Where's that?"

  "You'll see." He started up the engine and turned on the wipers and lights.

  She shot him a grim look as he pulled out of her driveway and onto her street. "Gee whiz." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Here we go, on our way to who knows where. Maybe we'll get lost, and never find our way back."

  "Don't worry." Sam reassured her, "I called Marty Santino and had him meet me at the store so I could show him how to handle the receipts while I'm gone. I also drew him a map. He knows where to send the search party if we don't return Sunday."

  "Terrific," Delilah said, thinking exactly the opposite. Marty still lived at home, with Julio and Maria and their only daughter, Alma. In her mind's eye, she could see all the bleary-eyed Santinos, awakened by the departure of Marty in the middle of the night, waiting up for him to come home and tell them all about how Sam Fletcher was running off with Delilah Jones for a week. Delilah stared out at the pouring rain and beat the pencil on her knee for a moment. "Did you … tell Marty that I was going with you?"

  "No."

  She stilled the pencil from its nervous tattoo. "Oh." She felt a sweet wash of relief.

  Sam swung the Bronco onto Pine Street

  , and then from there onto Main. In a few hundred yards, Main became the highway. In the rearview mirror, North Magdalene, gleaming in the rain, disappeared around a turn.

  They drove for a few moments in weighted silence, and then Sam swore softly. "Damn it, Lilah. Someone in town will put two and two together, you know. If not Marty, then Brendan. Or your father. Or your pal, Nellie Anderson—"

  "Look. Let's drop it, okay?"

  He gave her a narrow look. "Did you tell anyone you were leaving?"

  She shook her head. "I'm a single, self-sufficient adult. I can go where I please, and I'm accountable to no one—during my vacations from school, anyway."

  Sam muttered a few more choice expletives.

  "Will you please stop swearing?"

  "Nellie and Linda Lou are a couple of nosy bit … er, cows, as far as I'm concerned," he said. "But they do care about you. Did it ever occur to you that they'll worry when you don't show up at church this morning?"

  It hadn't, Delilah realized. She'd been too busy dreading the way their tongues would wag when they heard where she'd been. "That is my business."

  "Fine." He shook his head in an I-give-up sort of way, and gave all his attention to the twisting road.

  Delilah raised the pencil. Suddenly planning the menu seemed very attractive. "Does this cabin have a stove and refrigerator?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, then, we can have real meals. We can get some steaks, and some hamburger, a few vegetables, salad stuff. Not to mention eggs, bread, milk—all the staples." She cast a glance at Sam. He was glaring at the road. "Sam?"

  He waved a hand. "Fine. Whatever you say."

  She lowered the note pad to her lap. "Sam. What do you want from me?"

  He shot her a look that sent a bolt of heat right down to her core, but all he said was, "Honesty. And a little plain sense."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "You are a schoolteacher. A highly respected and admired member of your community. If you disappear into thin air for a week, there will be hell to pay."

  Delilah felt her temper rising. She grimly reminded herself that it had gotten her nothing but trouble the last time she let it loose. She said, through clenched teeth, "You are absolutely right. So why don't you turn this vehicle around and take me back home?"

  He slowly shook his head, never taking his eyes from the twisting, rain-slicked road. "I paid well for this week. By God, I'll have what I paid for. And you agreed to it—including whatever inconvenience it might cause you."

  "Inconvenience?" She breathed the word in restrained fury. "You force me to go away with you against my will, and you think all it will be is inconvenient for me?"

  "Nobody forced anybody. It was your choice."

  She gripped the pencil in a tight fist and stared at the streaming windshield. "I am not even going to dignify that remark with a reply."

  "Glad to hear it."

  There was a seething silence. Delilah reminded herself that they had a week to get through. She was going to have to watch herself, or she'd murder him before the day was out.

  After a few minutes, when her adrenaline had settled down and she thought she could look at him without leaping across the stick shift and scratching his eyes out, she said, "Now. What else do we need?"

  "Gasoline. There's a generator to run."

  "Gasoline. Fine. What else?"

  "You need to decide who you're going to call."

  "Call? What do you mean, call?"

  He spoke with steady patience. "When we get to Grass Valley, you are going to call someone and explain that you've gone camping for a week and will return sometime next Sunday."

  "I loathe and despise you, Sam Fletcher."

  "Tell me something new. Who will you call?"

  She slapped her knee with the note pad. The sound was sharp and final in the enclosed space. "All right. I'll call someone. Will that satisfy you?"

  He shrugged. "It's a start."

  When they reached the big supermarket on Brunswick Road

  , Sam went inside while Delilah trudged to the phone kiosks by the newspaper racks.

  She had no trouble finding a phone that was not in use. Delilah picked up the headset and sighed.

  Whom to call?

  She knew she should probably contact Nellie or Linda Lou, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Right now, on her way to who knew where with Sam Fletcher, she didn't think she could bear to hear another woman gasping in shock and then palpitating to get off the line so she could spread the news.

  She decided to call Brendan, since he knew the basic background of the situation anyway. Delilah found his number through information and grimly punched the buttons.

  A soft, feminine voice answered. "Hello?"

  "Amy. It's Delilah."

  "Oh. Hi." Amy panted a little, as very pregnant women often did. "Gee, Delilah. Brendan told me. About everything that happened. I can't thank you enough."

  "It's okay. How's the baby?"

  "Fine. The baby's fine."

  "May I talk to Brendan?"

  There was a silence. "Well, sure," Amy said at last. "Give me a minute. I'll have to wake him up."

  "Wait. Amy?"

  "Yes?"

  "Does he have to be on the road again soon?"

  "Yes, tonight."

  "Well, then, maybe you'd better let him sleep. I can just as well tell you."

  "What?" Worry crept into the soft voice. "Are you okay? Is everything—?"

  "Fine. Nothing's wrong. Um, Brendan told you everything, right?"

  "Yes, he did."

  "That I'd agreed to go on a date with Sam Fletcher, to get back the Sweet Amy."

  "Yes, and that was wonderful of you,
Delilah. I can't tell you—"

  "It's okay. Really. But I'm calling because I … didn't explain, about the date."

  "You didn't?"

  "No. You see, it wasn't just for an evening."

  "It wasn't?"

  "It was for a week. This week, to be exact."

  Amy gasped, and then began panting harder than before. "Maybe you should talk to Brendan. You just hang on. I'll get him—"

  "No. No, Amy. Listen. Don't wake him. Just, please, listen. Okay?"

  "But a week? A week where?"

  "I don't know. Camping. At someplace called Hidden Paradise Lake."

  "Never heard of it."

  "Neither have I. But Marty Santino knows where it is, if for some reason somebody has to know. I just … realized I should let someone know, just in case. That's all."

  "But, Delilah…"

  "Really, Amy. I know what I'm doing. I'll be fine."

  "You're sure?"

  "Positive."

  "Delilah?"

  "Yes? What is it?"

  "That Sam Fletcher must really be gone on you, huh? I mean, it's awfully romantic, don't you think? Him givin' up the Sweet Amy for a week alone with you?"

  "Amy."

  "Okay, okay. I know you two are famous around here for how much you hate each other. And I should mind my own business. I know. But maybe you ought to give a guy like that a chance…"

  Delilah wanted to scream. Just what she needed. Advice from a hopelessly romantic pregnant twenty-two-year-old—one who'd married a Jones, to boot.

  "Amy," Delilah said in her best no-nonsense tone. "I am going camping with Sam Fletcher. I'll be back next Sunday. Marty Santino knows where we are. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't spread it all over town. That's all I called to say."

  "Okay." Amy's voice was softer than ever. She sounded hurt.

  Delilah felt like a bully. "Look, um, you take care of that baby—and that brother of mine."

  "I will." A pause. "I promise. And you take care … of yourself."

  "It's a deal."

  "Bye."

  Delilah hung up.

  "Good. That's handled," Sam Fletcher said from behind her.