CHAPTER TEN

Introversion

After lunch, they shopped for accessories—hats and gloves to match the evening dresses, shoes, boots to wear with the gauchos, and reticles. Margaret insisted she spend her birthday money on the accessories, and, by the time they were finished, they had spent every penny. But Margaret was happy. They took her purchases back to the hotel.

"Should we try the hotel restaurant for dinner?" Margaret asked with a grin.

"We could," Heath said. "I ain't had none of them fancy dancy Rocky Mountain oysters or snails or any of that other swanky crap I wouldn't feed a hog since the last time we were there."

Margaret laughed. "Maybe we'll get the snooty waiter again."

Heath hoped not. He still blushed at the memory of the waiter scowling at them. Margaret didn't seem affected by it, but, to Heath, it brought home that he wasn't worthy of eating a fancy meal in a high-class place. The Barkleys may have accepted him, but he had still grown up as a scorned bastard—and memories of rejection were never far away.

Heath held her hand as they walked down the stairs. He wished she already had one of her new dresses. But he was thankful the dressmaker understood her problem and dealt with it so kindly. He needed to remember to tip her when they picked up the dresses.

"A table for two, please," Heath asked.

The Matre'd guided them to a private corner. At first, Heath appreciated the thoughtfulness of giving them privacy. But then he realized he'd seated them where they couldn't be seen by the more proper clientele. He tried not to let it bother him.

Heath ordered a bottle of Barkley red wine.

"You sure you don't want any Rocky Mountain Oysters?" Margaret teased.

"I'm sure, but I'm happy to order some for you," he said. "In fact, roundup is just over a week away. I'm sure we'll end up with enough of those, uh, oysters, that I can save a mess of 'em for you."

"Maybe you should talk to the management here and see if they'd like to purchase them from you."

Heath laughed aloud. "Sir, could I interest you in some bull testicles?" he said softly so only Margaret could hear.

She joined his laughter.

His face burned. He shouldn't have talked like that in mixed company. "I'm sorry, Margaret. That wasn't appropriate."

Margaret grinned at him, her green eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "When have I ever cared about what was appropriate?"

"We're gonna get kicked out of here," Heath whispered.

"It would be worth it."

"I'm always afraid they'll find out I'm a bastard who grew up in a mining camp." Heath looked around to make sure no one was listening. "And will publicly announce that fact."

"Oh, Heath." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with that."

He smiled. "It makes me appreciate things all the more."

The waiter brought by a bottle of wine wrapped in a cloth. He poured Heath a small amount. Jarrod had taught Heath how to sniff it, swirl it, and then taste it. The sniffing and swirling meant nothing to Heath, but he went through the motions so he'd be validated. Then he took one sip and shook his head. "That ain't Barkley wine."

The server uncovered the wine. "Oh, this is the finest wine we have."

"I asked for Barkley wine," Heath said firmly.

"You don't want a free upgrade?" The waiter's nose pointed into the air.

Heath glanced at Margaret. "Shall we dine elsewhere?"

Margaret nodded. "Yes, Mr. Barkley," she said loud enough to be heard. "I do believe we should."

Heath took her arm, making a note to let Jarrod and Nick know about the "upgrade," and they strolled out of the restaurant.

Heath waited until they were out the front door and away from the hotel. "Well, my lady, what is your pleasure?"

"I saw an Italian restaurant just up the street," she answered. "How about some spaghetti?"

Heath smiled. "Sounds good to me."

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Columbo's was busy and noisy, but they were quickly seated at a small table in a crowded section. They laughed and chatted throughout dinner, and, by the time they left, they were both feeling the wine.

They returned to the hotel. Heath unlocked Margaret's door for her.

"Heath," she whispered. "Please come in and stay with me for a while."

Heath thought about it for at least two seconds, and then nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm going to change out of these uncomfortable clothes. Would that bother you?"

"No," Heath answered, imagining she would put on a different dress.

But, instead, after several minutes, Margaret reappeared wearing a silky, floor-length peignoir set. At least the thin robe was tightly tied shut. She sat on the bed, allowing her long dark hair to be free of the ties and pins that held it in place. "Would you hold me tonight?"

Heath hesitated.

"I don't want to be alone," she said. "I just want to be held."

Heath swallowed hard. "Okay." He took off his shoes, his suit jacket, his tie, and his belt, and then sat on the bed next to her.

Margaret lay her head on his chest. "Please hold me."

Heath wrapped his arm around her.

They sat like that for a long time, neither moving.

"You don't know how much I appreciate having you as a friend," Margaret finally said. "Sometimes I feel so lonely I think I might die."

Heath nodded.

"Most of the time, I enjoy being alone. I like being able to think thoughts without having people around me asking what I'm thinking. Being around people is exhausting to me. Do you think that's because I've never been around a lot of people?"

"I doubt it," Heath answered. "I think some people are just born needing to be alone more, and other people are born liking to be smothered by others."

"At the finishing school, the girls all wanted to go to dances and to parties. I never did. I'd much rather stay home and read a book or write or just sit and think than go out in a crowd."

Heath nodded. "I'm like that too. The Barkleys all love to give parties and go to parties. I dread them. I do everything I can to get out of 'em without being rude."

Her hand rested on his chest.

He reached over with his other hand and placed it on top of her hand. "They always want to be surrounded by people. But I can only take so much of it, and I have to sneak away and be alone."

"Is that hard for you? To live with so many people?"

"As long as I can have time alone, it don't bother me. Sometimes Nick, though, decides I'm mad at him or pouting, as he calls it, but I'm not. I just need to be alone for a while. But then he busts into my room and insists I talk to him." Heath shook his head. "He just don't understand that I need some space to recharge."

Margaret nodded.

"And being sick or hurt in that house is stifling. They all want to pile on top of you—I guess because that's what they like. Nick is the worst. I'll wake up hurting or sick, and there Nick will be, sprawled out right next to me, holding on to my arm or leg."

Margaret giggled.

"And no matter how many times I tell him to leave me the hell alone, he thinks I don't mean it and I really do want him there stealing my oxygen."

"I'm exactly that way, too." Margaret looked up and him. "Heath, please, no matter what happens, please always be my friend, okay? You're the only person who understands me."

Heath lifted her face and kissed her. Eventually, they scooted down to a reclining position and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Heath awoke first, his head spinning from too much wine. At first, he wasn't sure where he was or who he was with. After thinking a few minutes, he remembered. He was still fully dressed, and Margaret's robe was still tightly tied. He breathed a sigh of relief.

But he was in no hurry to move. Waking up with his arms around Margaret felt good, felt natural. He lay there contemplating this woman who was unlike any woman he'd ever met. He lay there wondering what it would be like to awaken next to her every morning.

He lay there and did not move.

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