Tender Triumph

"Don," she almost pleaded, "I'm really trying not to make a scene but if you don't stop this I'm going to start screaming and we're both going to look very silly."

He jerked back and glared at her. "What the hell's the matter with you anyway?"

"Nothing!" Katie said. She didn't want to make an enemy of him, she just wanted him to go away. "What do you want?" she asked finally.

"Are you kidding? I want this woman I'm look­ing at—the one with the gorgeous face, a luscious body and a virginal little mind."

Katie looked him right in the eye. "Why?" she said baldly.

"Sweetheart," he teased, while his eyes made a thorough inspection of her body. "That is a stupid question. But I'll answer it the same way the man answered when they asked him why he wanted to climb the mountain. I want to climb you because you're here. Do you want me to be more blunt? I want to climb on you, or if you prefer to, you can—"

"Get away from me," Katie hissed. "You're dis­gusting and you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk!" he said, offended.

"Then you're just plain disgusting! Now go away."

He stood up and shrugged. "Okay. Shall I send Brad over? He's interested. Or how about Dean, he's—"

"I don't want any of you!" Katie said furiously.

Don was genuinely bewildered. "Why not? We're no worse than the next group of guys. In fact, we're better than most."

Katie was slowly straightening, staring at him as his words began sinking into her brain, pounding in her head. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I said we're as good as the next group of guys, and better than most."

"You're right..." she breathed slowly. "You are absolutely right!"

"So what's the problem? What are you saving it for, anyway? Or, more importantly, who are you saving it for?"

And suddenly Katie knew. Oh God, she knew! She almost stumbled over Don in her hurry to get around him. "It's not that damn Spaniard, is it?" he shouted after her.

But Katie couldn't take the time to answer, she was already running. Running down the path, burst­ing past the door in the stockade fence and breaking a fingernail in her urgent haste to pull open the sliding glass door.

Breathless with fear that she was already too late, she dialed the number Ramon had written on the pad beside the phone. She counted the rings, her hope dying with each one that went unanswered.

"Hello," a woman's voice said on the tenth ring when Katie was about to hang up.

"I—I'd like to speak to Ramon Galverra. Is he there?" Katie was so surprised to hear a woman's voice answering what was obviously a residential phone, that she nearly forgot to give the informa­tion the woman was obviously waiting for. "My name is Katherine Connelly.''

"I'm sorry, Miss Connelly, Mr. Galverra isn't in. We expect him shortly, though. Shall I ask him to call you?"

"Yes, please," Katie said. "Would you be certain that he gets the message that I called, as soon as he arrives?"

"Of course. As soon as he arrives."

Katie hung up the phone and stared at it. Was Ra­mon really out, or had he asked that friendly sound­ing woman to fend Katie off? He'd been furious when Katie told him she'd been married before... perhaps now that his passion had had two days to cool off, he was no longer interested in acquiring a "used" wife. What should she do if he didn't return her call? Should she assume that he didn't get her message and call him back? Or should she take the hint and realize that he didn't want to talk to her?

Twenty minutes later the phone rang. Katie snatched it up and breathlessly said, "Hello."

Ramon's voice sounded even deeper on the tele­phone. "Katie?"

She squeezed the receiver so tightly that her hand ached. "You said to call if I—I wanted to talk." She paused, hoping he would now say something to help her, but he remained silent. Drawing a long breath, Katie said, "I would like to talk.. .but I'd rather not do it on the telephone. Ramon, could you possi­bly come over?"

There was no emotion in his voice. All he said was "Yes."

But that was enough. Katie glanced down at the yellow bikini and flew into her room to change it. She debated over what to wear as if what she select­ed might make the difference between success and failure. Finally choosing a soft peach cowl-neck top and matching slacks, she dried and brushed her hair, added peach lipstick, some blusher, and then mas­cara. Her eyes were sparkling and her color was high as she looked in the mirror. "Wish me luck," she said to her reflection.

She went into the living room, started to sit down, then snapped her fingers. "Scotch," she said aloud. Ramon liked Scotch; she didn't have any. Leaving the front door slightly ajar, Katie raced next door and borrowed a bottle of J&B from the man who lived there.

She half-expected to find Ramon waiting for her in the apartment when she came back, but he wasn't. She went into the kitchen and fixed Ra­mon's Scotch the way he ordered it when they were out—on the rocks with a splash. Critically, she held the glass up to the light surveying the contents. Exactly how much was a splash, anyway? And why had she done such a stupid thing as to mix his drink so early that the ice would melt by the time he got here? She decided she would drink it. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she carried the glass into the living room and sat down.

At a quarter to nine the shrill ring of the doorbell brought her leaping out of her chair.

Restraining herself at the last moment from fling­ing the door wide, she composed her features into a formal smile and opened it properly. In the mellow glow of the gaslight Ramon was framed in her door­way, looking very tall and devastatingly handsome in a light gray suit and maroon tie. His eyes looked directly into hers, his expression unreadable, neither warm nor cold.

"Thank you for coming," Katie said, stepping back and closing the door after him. She was so ner­vous she couldn't think where to begin. She decided to opt for a compromise. "Sit down and I'll fix you a drink."

"Thank you," he said. He walked into the living room and took off his suit jacket. Without even turning his head to glance in her direction, he tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair.

Katie was thoroughly abashed by his attitude, but at least if he was taking off his jacket he expected to stay for a little while. When she returned from the kitchen with his drink, he was standing with his back to her, his hands in his pockets, staring out her living-room window. He turned when he heard her and for the first time Katie saw the deeply etched lines of strain and fatigue at his eyes and mouth. Anxiously she scanned his features "Ramon, you look exhausted."

He loosened the knot of his tie and took the glass Katie was holding out to him. "I have not come here to discuss the state of my health, Katie," he in­formed her brusquely.

"No, I know," Katie sighed. He was cold, remote and, Katie sensed, still extremely angry with her. "You aren't going to help me get this over with, are you?" she said, voicing her thought aloud.

His dark eyes were impassive. "That depends en­tirely upon what you have to say to me. As I told you before, there was little I could offer you if you married me, but one of the things I offered you was honesty between us. Always. I expect the same from you."

Nodding, Katie turned away from him, grasping the back of a chair for physical support since it was perfectly obvious she wasn't going to get any moral support from the man behind her. Drawing a shaky breath, Katie closed her eyes. "Ramon, at the church on Tuesday, I—I realized that you are probably a devout Catholic. And then I realized that if you are, you couldn't—wouldn't marry me if I had been married in the Catholic church and then divorced. That's why I told you I was divorced. It wasn't a lie, I was divorced, but David is dead now."

The voice behind her was coolly unemotional. "I know."

Katie gripped the back of the chair so hard her fingers went numb. "You know? How could you?"

"You had told me once before that I reminded you of someone else, someone whose death brought you great release. When you were telling me about your former husband, you again made th

e remark that I remind you of him. I assumed that you proba­bly did not know two men who remind you of me. Besides, you are an extremely transparent liar."

His complete indifference tore at Katie's heart. "I see," she said, her throat constricting with tears. Apparently Ramon didn't want another man's wife, regardless of whether she was a divorcee or a widow. As if she had to further punish herself by actually having him tell her that in so many words, Katie whispered, "Would you mind explaining to me why you are still angry with me, even after what I've just told you? I know you are, only I'm not sure why you are, and—"

His hands gripped her arms and he spun her around, his fingers pressing into her flesh. "Because I love you!" he gritted tersely. "And for two days you have put me through a living hell." His voice sounded harsh, as if it were being gouged from his chest. "I love you, and for nearly forty-eight hours I have waited for you to call, dying inside with each hour that you did not."