Cold Fire

see every corner of the world before they died together in their sleep. But just three years later they were … gone.”
    “I'm sorry, Jim.”
    He shrugged. “It's a long time ago. Twenty-five years.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Come on, let's go. It'll take us four hours to reach the farm, and it's already nine o'clock.”
     

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    At the Laguna Hills Motor Inn, Holly quickly changed into jeans and a blue-checkered blouse, then packed the rest of her belongings. Jim put her suitcase in the trunk of his car.
    While she returned her room key and paid her bill at the front desk in the motel office, she was aware of him watching her from behind the wheel of his Ford. She would have been disappointed, of course, if he had not liked to watch her. But every time she looked through the plate-glass window at him, he was so motionless, so cool and expressionless behind his heavily tinted sunglasses, that his undivided attention was disconcerting.
    She wondered if she was doing the right thing by going with him to the Santa Ynez Valley. When she walked out of the office and got in the car with him, he would be the only person in the world who knew where she was. All of her notes about him were in her suitcase; they could disappear with her. Then she would be just a woman, alone, who had vanished while on vacation.
    As the clerk finished filling out the credit-card form, Holly considered phoning her parents in Philadelphia to let them know where she was going and with whom. But she would only alarm them and be on the phone half an hour trying to reassure them that she was going to be just fine.
    Besides, she had already decided that the darkness in Jim was less important than the light, and she had made a commitment to him. If he occasionally made her uneasy … well, that was part of what had drawn her to him in the first place. A sense of danger sharpened the edge of his appeal. At heart, he was a good man.
    It was foolish to worry about her safety after she had already made love to him. For a woman, in a way that could never be true for a man, the first night of sexual surrender involved one of the moments of greatest vulnerability in a relationship. Assuming, of course, that she had surrendered not solely because of physical need but because she loved him. And Holly loved him.
    “I'm in love with him,” she said aloud, surprised because she had convinced herself that his appeal was largely the result of his exceptional male grace, animal magnetism, and mystery.
    The clerk, ten years younger than Holly and therefore more inclined to think that love was everywhere and inevitable, grinned at her. “It's great, isn't it?”
    Signing the charge slip, Holly said, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
    “Why not?”
    “Well, it's not first sight, really. I've known the guy since August twelfth, which is … sixteen days.”
    “And you're not married yet?” the clerk joked.
    When Holly went out to the Ford and got in beside Jim, she said, “When we get where we're going, you won't carve me up with a chainsaw and bury me under the windmill, will you?”
    Apparently he understood her sense of vulnerability and took no offense, for he said with mock solemnity, “Oh, no. It's full-up under the mill. I'll have to bury pieces of you all over the farm.”
    She laughed. She was an idiot for fearing him.
    He leaned over and kissed her. It was a lovely, lingering kiss.
    When they parted, he said, “I'm taking as big a risk as you are.”
    “Let me assure you, I've never hacked anyone to bits with an ax.”
    “I mean it. I haven't been lucky in love.”
    “Me neither.”
    “This time will be different for both of us.”
    He gave her another kiss, shorter and sweeter than the first one, then started the car and backed out of the parking space.
    In a determined attempt to keep the dying cynic in her alive, Holly reminded herself that he had not actually said he loved her. His commitment had been carefully and indirectly phrased. He might be no more reliable than other men she had trusted over the years.
    On the other hand, she had not actually said that she loved him, either. Her commitment had been no more effusively stated than his. Perhaps because she still felt the need to protect herself to some extent, she had found it easier to reveal her heart to the motel clerk than to Jim.
     

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    Washing down blueberry muffins with black coffee, for which they had stopped at a convenience store, they