Chapter Seventeen #2
Each time he took the time to really look at her, he was astonished again by her beauty, because she never used it as most women did, but left it to him to rediscover.
He’d learned to ignore it after he’d learned she’d no intention of taking him for a lover; he wasn’t a man to languish after lost causes, that was the stuff of drama, not for a man who used that ephemeral stuff to make his fortune.
But now, as she stood slender and straight as a shaft of moonlight in her narrow gray gown in the center of his room, he noted her lovely face and form again—the fragility of one as well as the lushness of the other—that contrast that made her so enormously appealing, and restrained himself from taking her into his arms. She looked stunned enough to allow him that, but he was too wise not to know that would take the sense from his words, and this was a woman he could only win with his words.
And he very much needed to win her. He spoke the truth and was as surprised to hear it as she was.
“I need a wife,” he said quietly. “What transpires in my bed never touches my heart, and that makes life lonely. My life is the theater and I can think of no more wonderful thing than to share it with someone who has also dedicated herself to it.”
But then he saw her absolute incredulity, and like any accomplished dramatist, left off telling the strict truth, concentrating instead on words he thought might move her, “Is that what you’ll do if you don’t accept me—dedicate your life to the theater?
Work day and night and dwindle to nothingness in the hours between performances?
I can’t see it. You have a loving nature, Hannah.
You deserve far more, whatever cruel trick nature may or may not have played you.
For there’s always the possibility that there’s little the matter with you that another man mightn’t cure—I don’t count on it, but in time—if you’d care to see…
? At least, you’d always have company,” he said, quickly changing the subject as he saw her avert her head, “and a loving heart to sustain your own, you deserve as much, my dear.”
“And you?” she said when she could, as he waited for her to answer, “What do you deserve? Don’t you think you deserve a normal wife and children, like any other man?”
“I’ve never planned on it,” he said honestly.
“I’d be content with a wife I admired—and yes,” he added when he knew at last that he had to, when he saw her great dark eyes still filled with doubt and disbelief, “it’s true—no sense dissembling at such a time—one with a famous name, who could act as well, could not hurt at all.
At least I’m honest,” he said, surprising himself again by turning aside so he couldn’t read what was in her face now.
“So honest that you’ll admit you’d seek—certain wifely surcease elsewhere if you had to?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he answered as quietly, “but only if you asked me to tell you—you’d never know otherwise, that I promise you. Aside from the necessity of it, if it had to be, you’re of the theater, so that oughtn’t to surprise you either.”
“No…” she began. He cut in impatiently, “Come, Hannah, why be alone, do you dislike me so much? I confess, I hadn’t thought it.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I meant, ‘No, I wouldn’t be surprised.’ But…
I don’t know, Kyle, I just don’t,” she said, looking so vulnerable his control broke at last, and he stepped forward to take her into his arms and hold her close.
Finding how wonderfully well she felt there, he scarcely dared breathe or move, lest he do more than hold her.
She noted, inconsequentially, that he bore the not unpleasant scent of lemon verbena, and the peppermints he was so fond of.
He was slender to look at, and his frame felt light-boned, but his arms were very strong.
They were so close, she felt his heart beat fast and hard against her own, and was amazed to feel him tremble as he said, “Think on, then. Take your time. I’ll ask again, never fear.
Never fear me, either, Hannah. Let me do that,” he laughed shakily, “for I’ll always try my utmost never to hurt you. ”
He found the control to step away from her then, suddenly afraid of the truth she’d forced him to admit.
Because for all he’d thought his spontaneous proposal a clever business move as well as an act of kindness, he knew it to be far more now, and was alarmed and not a little frightened at how, for the first time in his adult life, he’d deceived himself without meaning to.
“Well, and so. In the meanwhile,” he said, recovering himself, for he was nothing if not adaptable, “let us rehearse. You’re earthly perfection as it is, let’s make you heavenly.”
“Lord, Kyle,” she said on a nervous laugh, as willing to let the other matter go as he was. “You’d have to kill me to do that.”
“Only myself,” he assured her, taking up his copy of the script, everything but work forgotten now, “because if it takes all night, you will get the renunciation scene down flawlessly—and I so do need my beauty sleep.”
“ ‘Oh Rogue, have you forgotten the lover you have forsaken?’ ” she cried, reading the first line of the troublesome scene again.
“ ‘Have you sipped from the cup and forgotten the intoxicating brew? Alas, alas, I have not’ ” she wailed, finding that he’d been right the last time they’d rehearsed: remembering reality did enhance fiction.
“ ‘Oh before God, my love, I cannot,’ ” she wept with realistic tears, causing Kyle to smile beatifically as she read on while remembering Gray, and weeping for it. But to some purpose at least, this time.
“She calls it her ‘sun porch,’ ” the older man grumbled, as he seated himself in a rocking chair and gestured his guest to another, opposite it, “but damned if one ray gets in here anymore, her plants all hog it. Did you ever see such a jungle?” he asked with some exasperation.
“Equatorial Africa, not Wyoming Territory. Built her a fine new house facing the setting sun, but she brought Connecticut with her all the way West. Can’t see a damned thing but aspidistra and ferns when you look at the windows, but it’s night now so it don’t matter, I guess.
Not much light out here either now, but at least we’re alone.
It’s too cold to sit on the porch, and this is better’n setting in her parlor—Ida’s got so many china dogs looking on there, I feel like I’m in a kennel,” he complained with a grimace that was suspiciously like a smile, as he always did when he criticized his wife, and took a long drink from his glass.
“Well, now. Gray, speak up, boy. What can I do for you?” he finally asked.
“Sure you don’t want to talk about where we should sit for a spell longer before I get to it?” Gray asked easily, sitting back and rocking.
The older man smiled into his glass, but grumbled, “Damned uppity cuss. You always was.”
Gray’s white-toothed grin gleaming in the dim light reflected from the adjoining parlor.
“And I always did wonder how come you talked just like all the hands and me,” Gray mused.
“ ‘Specially once I got to your old school back East, and found nobody else there did but you. ‘Pears you and me got a few things in common. Doc, even though you’re a learned physician and I’m just a wrangler.”
“God save me from such wranglers,” the doctor mumbled.
“And me from such old country doctors,” Gray agreed.
But then he stopped rocking, put his own glass down on a table, and leaned forward, his hands clasped together on his knees. “Doc,” he said seriously, “I need some advice. Medical advice.”
“Is it the leg?” the doctor put in quickly, only sitting back again when Gray answered. “No, no, it’s not much, but you did your best and it’s still there and kicking, all right. No, it’s something else.”
The doctor eyed the tall, fit man before him and motioned for him to go on.
Gray sighed. “I didn’t consult any experts in New York City,” he said, “because I’m damned sure they don’t know more than you; not about this.
Oh, not only because I know you read more medical journals than you do seed catalogs.
I suspect that you hide them inside your Police Gazettes so you don’t ruin your reputation,” he said on a laugh, before he went on in a quieter voice.
“It’s your experience, too. Sure, you put me together a time or two—just look at this old leg, but that’s not it either.
I guess it’s just that I trust you as completely as any ranch hand or farmer in the valley does.
Although I know half you put out is pure snake oil, for the devilry of it, the other half is solid good medicine. ”
“It’s not devilry, Gray,” the doctor said as seriously.
“These people wouldn’t trust a high-nosed medical specialist. And half of healing is trust. I came out here because I love the West, just like you do.
I don’t notice you talking New Haven style when you’re making a deal or giving out orders, either.
That’s just good business. For me, too. You can have a language barrier with a man even if you’re both speaking English.
No, it don’t pay to be high-hat if you want to get to know someone.
Knowing who it is you’re curing is more important than what you’re curing them of, most of the time. ”
“Yeah,” Gray nodded. “That’s what those New York doctors don’t seem to know, that’s why I hotfooted it back here.
Lord,” he said, stretching his back, “I been doing some hard traveling. Just to see you. I’m glad nobody’s birthing tonight.
Because when I’m done talking. I’m going back again faster than I came, if I can.
You see. Doc, I’ve got this friend who’s got a problem… ”