Jennifer Greene - Silver and Spice

He took a can out of the trash and held it up so that she could read the label: Natural Cactus in Salt Water, Drain before Using.

“I beg your pardon,” she apologized gravely.

“You persist in thinking I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She persisted in thinking nothing of the kind. Jake always knew exactly what he was doing. Her smile faded, just a little. No one but Jake would have made her knead bread dough in the middle of a snowstorm in the Bighorns; no one but Jake had ever elicited purely whimsical laughter from her. She was fascinated by the mountain lore he’d picked up from heaven knew where. Fascinated, happily relieved that she wouldn’t have to eat bee soup, and just slightly…sad.

Her dark prince had always charmed her, had always created a quiet, intimate, delicious fantasy when just the two of them were together. How could she help reaching out for him? But a lifetime was very different from scattered moments. Sand castles never lasted.

Are you thinking about that boring stuff again? Her emotions warred with her mind. Anne, can’t you leave it alone even for a minute?

Jake’s eyes sought hers over the crackling fire. The chicken was sizzling on the spit, the bread was browning and the slices of cactus were arranged on two small plates, pimiento slices between them, swimming in a dressing of tarragon-and-pepper-seasoned oil. All of it, unbelievably, looked and smelled quite good.

“You will reserve judgment, Anne, until we’ve had dinner.” His voice was still teasing, but for a moment the humor didn’t reach his eyes.

Anne decided to reserve judgment a little longer. The look in his eyes had nothing to do with Apache-fried chicken.

“Delicious, Jake. I mean it.”

Anne had tried the bannock first. The bread was a little tough, oddly sweet, and delectable with melted butter. That had given her the courage to move on to Jake’s Apache-fried chicken, and two pieces later she was licking her fingers. The strange batter was fire-sealed and crisp, the meat unbelievably succulent.

“Have another piece.” Jake dropped down beside her with a second platter of chicken. The wind was whistling through the cliffs, but at least in their sheltered valley the snow had stopped. Their fire lapped up the darkness, warming their faces and toes…but not their backs. Anne knew her spine was never going to thaw, but at the moment she was hungry for another piece of chicken…

A sterling silver fork, utterly incongruous in this wilderness, suddenly made its way in front of her nose. As Jake dangled a forkful of cactus salad before her, Anne swallowed. “Listen, Jake, it’s not that I don’t want to try your salad. I’ve grown cactus in my kitchen, you know. I like cactus. Which is why it occurred to me that maybe the Indians might have found an edible variety. Particularly if they were suffering from absolute starvation-”

Since her mouth was unfortunately open, Jake took advantage and inserted a sliver of the pale green cactus between her lips. It tasted like a smooth, mild avocado-not at all what she was expecting. “Good?” he asked.

She took the plate from his hands. “If I answer that, I’ll never hear the end of the I-told-you-so’s. You think I was born yesterday?”

“I told you-” With exacting precision, she aimed a forkful of chicken at his wagging tongue, and chuckled at his response.

“You’re looking for trouble,” he suggested.

Actually, she wasn’t, not just then. As rapidly as she was devouring the salad on her plate, Jake was forking cactus bits to her from his own, knowing her fondness for anything that even vaguely resembled an avocado.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.

“Freezing. Don’t take that away,” she protested when he started to rise with the chicken platter.

He set it back down. “I’m beginning to think you’ve never been on a cookout before,” he said, amused.

“You know darn well I haven’t. It’s a mystery to me how people could do this for recreation. The fire, for instance. Your toes burn while your back freezes. Your fingers get sticky, which means sooner or later everything else gets sticky. At least it’s too cold for bugs, but I’m afraid to take my eyes off the woods for fear a bear or cougar will come lumbering down for its dinner. This is supposed to be competition for a restaurant with soft lighting and Irish linen and inside plumbing?”

“Anne?”

Her eyelashes flashed up, shadowing spikes on her cheeks in the firelight. How had his face loomed close so suddenly? She could smell him, all pine and cold freshness. “I hate to have to tell you this, honey, but you’re having a wonderful time.” Jake dropped a kiss on her forehead that reeked of satisfaction, readjusted his scruffy wool scarf rather possessively around her ears, and started cleaning away their debris.

A wistful expression touched her features with softness. Yes, darn him, she was having a perfectly wonderful time. This rough-and-tumble life was her idea of torture, but for a few special hours… The word lonely surged into her mind from nowhere; loneliness was an emotion they always banished when they were together.

Rising to help, she found herself watching Jake. While she brought their few plates and silverware into the motor home, he put out the fire. He was a very fussy man. By the time he was done, there wasn’t a sign that anyone had been near their cooking site.

The wind seemed to have pushed every last cloud out of the sky, and now a silver moon cast its pale glow on the tall pines. Anne draped the blanket closer around her, waiting for Jake. He’d made fun of himself for buying the chicken from the grocery store, but every movement he made said that he was a survivor, well used to the wilderness. His rugged features caught shadow, then light; his spine was always straight, his step silent. Was he lonely, too? she wondered fleetingly. She didn’t at all like the thought of Jake being lonely. His eyes suddenly captured hers.

“Would you kindly get your cold toes inside the motor home?” he scolded her.

“Yours have to be just as cold.” But he hurried her inside ahead of him, and slammed the door, leaving all the cold outside. They kept getting in each other’s way, taking off their coats and gloves and putting everything away. Anne started running water in the sink to wash their dishes, but Jake nudged her aside, which was just as well. He’d bunched the blankets up and dropped them in a heap, and she would have to refold them all. Once a picture-straightener, always a picture-straightener, she thought idly, but that wasn’t at all what was really on her mind.

“Isn’t it funny, Jake,” she said casually, “how you turned out to be wind and I turned out to be stone? We both started out so very much the same. Your parents were together when you were small, but you were jostled about just as much as I was. Different schools, different houses, all that.” She hesitated, then brushed past him to put away the neatly folded blankets. For a moment, she hid her face from him, her fingers-for no reason at all-clutching at the soft wool. “It just seems strange how very different we turned out. You’ve never even had the first urge to stay in one place, have you?”

Her tone was light. Don’t worry, Jake, I don’t care. I would never try to change you. I just thought I would ask, one time, if you could conceivably ever ever ever ever settle down…

His fingers suddenly curled around her shoulders, turning her to face him. To Anne, his eyes had never seemed as silver, as liquid, as they did at that moment. “I never could seem to care where I hung my hat,” he said quietly, “and I doubt that I ever will, Anne. Do you want me to lie to you?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

“I’ve been on the move a long while.” His thumb gently traced the line of her cheekbone. “And lonely, many times. But there’s excitement and challenge and a freshness about new ideas and new people, new worlds. So much to know and share and see. A place to you means safety, honey, but I’ve never been able to really believe that. That you can feel safe simply because you stay in just one place. And I won’t make you a promise I can’t keep.”

His lips touched down, cool and firm on hers. Her hands fingered the soft flannel of his sleeve, then moved up to his neck, drawing him closer, drawing in his kiss. She had her answer. Jake knew he wouldn’t change. And Anne knew she wouldn’t. So Jake was a rolling stone who couldn’t change his ways, but she’d always known that, deep down. Yet her kiss was one of hunger, of loneliness, of wanting to blot out the answer he’d given her.

His lips brushed hers once more, then lifted. A fingertip gently traced the line of her lower lip, slow and sensual. Brooding eyes searched hers. “You’re so damned sure that matters.”

She groped for an answer as honest as his own words, but a sudden playful tap on her backside startled her. “To bed with you. And to make absolutely sure you go alone, I’m going to hit the road again.”

She blinked, then frowned. “Jake, you’ve already pushed yourself too hard. You started driving this morning at two o’clock.”

“Stopping on the road wastes too much time,” he said. “I couldn’t be less tired.” There was no talking to him. Minutes later, she heard him start the engine. Anne took down her coil of hair and started brushing it. With the lights off in back, she curled up in the chair, welcoming the darkness as her brush worked vigorously until her scalp tingled and her hair was silken-smooth. She couldn’t seem to get rid of the feeling that she’d disappointed him. How very easy it would have been to tell him that she didn’t care where they went or how often they moved as long as they were together. She might have said that to him when she was eighteen. At thirty-one, that kind of lie really wasn’t possible. She knew all too well what was really important to her.