TWELVE
Jayne woke up to feel her husband’s arms around her. God, how she’d missed him! She burrowed a little deeper under the covers and thought about how good it was to have him home again. Last night had been like a second honeymoon. If only they could stay like this and ignore their problems. Perhaps they needed blackout drapes like Marc, so they could sleep and make love all night and all day.
The sun streaming in through the shuttered window cast a bright pattern of gold stripes against the knotty pine-paneled walls. Moira had burned cattle brands into the wood at strategic intervals and the bedroom had the look of an elegant bunkhouse. Jayne squinted and tried to read the time on the Lone Ranger alarm clock Paul had found for her in an antique shop. Seven-fifteen. At seven-twenty, the clock would whinny like Silver and play the first eight bars of the 1812 Overture. She reached out and pulled the plug so it wouldn’t go off. The button had broken off while Paul was gone and she hadn’t gotten around to fixing it.
The bedroom was filled with promotional objects that had been sold in the forties by the enterprising cowboys and cowgals of the silver screen. It had all started when Jayne had casually mentioned that she’d always wanted the Tonto Trick Lasso she’d seen as a child, advertised in the back of a Lone Ranger comic book, and Paul had turned it into a holy quest. Now she had the lasso, along with a Gene Autry hat rack, a Roy Rogers Happy Trails phonograph that played only seventy-eight RPM records, a Gabby Hays Sidekick trunk that sat in the corner next to her dressing table, and a Dale Evans Little Cowgirl mirror framed with rope. Paul had even managed to find a Cisco Kid poncho, obviously a product of some tongue-in-cheek promoter. He’d spent hours searching for cowboy movie memorabilia until she’d begged him to stop. That was another of their basic differences. She’d always enjoyed trying new activities, but Paul threw himself into them with such zeal that they ended up as work instead of fun.
Jayne grimaced as she remembered suggesting they camp out at the Grand Tetons for a week last summer. She’d always wanted to see Jackson Hole. Paul had agreed that it might be fun and the next thing she knew, their living room had been loaded with camping equipment. She could see the need for backpacks and sleeping bags and she hadn’t objected to the three tents: One for sleeping, one for cooking, and one for storing their supplies. Paul said he wanted to be prepared for any contingency and he’d pored over countless volumes on life in the wild, taking notes on the proper procedures for setting up their base camp and making detailed lists of the supplies they’d need. Jayne had thought all this preparation was silly. They were just going for a week and if they ran out of something, they could get in the car and drive to the store. And if the tent blew down, or the air mattresses went flat, or it was too cold at night, they could always dash up to the lodge to get a nice comfy room there. Absolutely not, Paul had been firm. Jayne had wanted to camp out and that was exactly what they were going to do.
Paul had been so thoroughly prepared that absolutely nothing had gone wrong. But what Jayne had thought would be a carefree week of romping through the park and sleeping out under the stars had turned into a test of their survival skills.
The same thing had happened when they’d taken up tennis. She’d watched Laureen and Alan play and it looked like fun, so she’d asked Paul if he’d pick up a couple of racquets and a can of balls while she took care of the rest of the things she had to do in town. She should have known better. Paul had purchased every conceivable item of tennis equipment, all the proper clothing the salesman insisted they’d need, and a stack of instructional videos. He’d even arranged for them to take lessons from a pro three times a week. Naturally, the fun had gone out of it.
Jayne sighed. Paul researched a subject to death while she tended to go off half-cocked. There simply had to be a happy medium.
“What is wrong, Jayne?”
Jayne opened her eyes to find Paul staring at her. “I was just thinking about tennis, that’s all. And how it’s no fun anymore.”
“I know. I have thought similarly. Perhaps it would be more enjoyable if we failed to keep score.”
“You’d go for that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. “I thought you were keeping a log of how many matches we won.”
“I deep-fived it.”
“You mean deep-sixed. Then you’re willing to play just for fun?”
Paul nodded and glanced at his watch. “We can go to the court before brunch. Unless you would rather argue first.”
“But I don’t want to . . . oh, you mean that kind of argue.” Jayne began to smile. “I’d love to, but I can’t think of anything to argue about.”
“Speak the words grumble-mumble. And then walla, walla, artichoke.”
“What?” Jayne pulled back a little to stare at him.
“It is a crowd noise. A month ago, I became the additional in a movie of the television.”
“You were an extra? How did it happen? Tell me!”
“I was walking to the office of Marc, and the director invited me to join them.”
“And you did? Just like that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. It was totally out of character for Paul to do anything spontaneous.
Paul grinned. “I knew you would say to have fun and I did. They first divided the group into two sections. One was to speak the grumble-mumble, and the other the walla, walla, artichoke. The director told us it would simulate the sound of many persons arguing. Which words do you choose to speak, Jayne?”
Jayne frowned slightly. “I think we’d better postpone this, Paul. We’re supposed to meet the gang for brunch in less than an hour.”
“It does not matter to me if we are late.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. You are of more importance than the clock which tells the time.”
Jayne wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Paul had definitely mellowed.
Hal popped the last of a strawberry muffin in his mouth and waved Jayne away as she passed the plate. “I had three already and I couldn’t eat another bite. We’d better save a couple for Clayton and Rachael.”
“What’s keeping them?” Vanessa looked thoughtful. “I knocked at their door on the way up here, but they didn’t answer. I know Clayton’s not exactly the passionate type, but maybe . . .”
“That’s enough, Vanessa!” Hal cut her off before she could finish. “They probably just overslept like Jayne and Paul. Yesterday was quite a day, right, Jayne?”
“Right.” Jayne felt the blush rise to her cheeks and hoped she didn’t turn the color of the red cowgirl shirt she was wearing. She wasn’t sure whether Hal was referring to Paul’s return, or to everything else that had happened. “Anyone want another piece of Laureen’s quiche?”
Alan rubbed his stomach. “Just one more. My wife makes the best quiche I ever tasted.”
“That’s sweet, Alan.” Marc winked at him. “And pretty sly, too. Did you marry Laureen to get a controlling interest in her quiche?”
“No, he didn’t,” Laureen laughed. “I was a terrible cook when we got married.”
Vanessa looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. If you were a terrible cook, I don’t see why in the world he’d ever . . .”
“Vanessa!” Hal clamped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe you were ever a bad cook, Laureen.”
“I was, though. The first time I made breakfast for Alan, I burned the toast and the eggs were as hard as rocks.”
“And I didn’t even notice.” Alan smiled at her. “I was thinking about how pretty you looked across the table. I could have been eating cardboard.”