The Mist of Quarry Harbor Page 7

  Chan sat beside her, shaking his box and then turning it upside down. “I like to get my prize first,” he said, peeling away the wrapper.

  “Is that the way you get it first? By shaking it? What did you get?” Cassie leaned against him with her cheek on his shoulder, watching as he opened the box and pulled out a small, flat packet.

  Chan tore it open. “Oh, boy! Tattoos! A skull and crossbones and a snake.”

  Cassie giggled and began shaking her box. “I’m glad you got those and not me. Let’s see what I got.”

  “I guess that means you won’t want to trade.”

  Intent on loosening a corner of the wrapper, Cassie didn’t answer. Finally successful, she ripped it away. Tearing off the top of the box, she saw the tip of an envelope sticking out of the popcorn. “Got it! Here, hold this.” Thrusting the box into Chan’s hands, she slit open the packet with her thumbnail. “It seems to be a ring,” she said. “I didn’t know they—”

  Cassie frowned as she held a large emerald-cut diamond ring between her thumb and index finger. She looked quizzically at Chan. “I don’t think . . . did you . . . ?”

  Chan set the Cracker Jack box aside, took the diamond from her, and placed it on the ring finger of her left hand. Smiling tenderly at her confusion, he said, “I love you, Cassie. Will you marry me? Soon?”

  Cassie’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Don’t what? Don’t you love me?”

  Cassie shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve often thought . . . but this is so sudden.”

  He took her left hand and kissed her fingertips. “When something is right, you go for it. Why hang back when all that joy is there for the taking? Do it, Cassie! Say you’ll marry me.”

  Cassie’s head was trying to stay afloat in a flood of delicious sensations and heightened emotions. Something at the back of her mind whispered, wait, but she loved Chan. She had already admitted that to herself. What, indeed, was there to wait for?

  “Oh, Chan!” she breathed. Throwing both arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek and then his ear. “I love you, too.”

  Unmindful of passers by, Chan kissed her, a long, lingering promise that was interrupted by Ricky’s scream. The little boy, unwatched by the adults, had awakened, picked up one of the icy glasses of lemonade, and spilled it down his front.

  Laughing, Cassie disengaged herself and tended to Ricky’s distress. As she lifted him out of the stroller, Chan asked again, “Well? Will you?”

  “Of course I will. When is soon?”

  “I leave tonight, and I have to be gone a week. I get back late Sunday night . . .”

  “So, I suppose you’re talking about Monday morning,” she teased as she began pulling off Ricky’s shirt.

  “How about the Friday following?”

  Cassie stopped in mid-sleeve and stared. “You’re kidding!”

  Ricky’s protestations brought her back to her task, and she pulled his chubby little arm the rest of the way out. “How am I going to get ready for a wedding that quickly? Besides, that week is murder for me. I have wall-to-wall meetings at St. Alphonse Monday through Thursday afternoons, and the mornings will all be prep time.” Looking around, Cassie said, “Hand me that shirt.”

  “Not to worry. Leave everything to me.”

  Cassie took the shirt from him and cast a skeptical look from under her lashes. “‘Not to worry,’ he says. It’s only my wedding.”

  Chan threw back his head and laughed. “No, trust me! Don’t you think I can plan a wedding?”

  Cassie regarded the sparkling ring on her finger. “Well, maybe. The engagement was pretty clever, though if some little kid had got the wrong box of Cracker Jacks . . .”

  “I took care that that didn’t happen. What do you say? A week from this coming Friday?”

  “I say . . . mmmmm . . . yes!”

  Chan leaned over Ricky to kiss Cassie again, but the little boy yelled, “Bubbles!”

  Grinning, Cassie handed him over, saying, “You’d better take him quickly. We don’t have another change of clothes.”

  When Chan came back they finished the rounds at the zoo. He held her hand as they sat on the bank and watched Ricky throw bread to the ducks swimming in the pond. As Cassie pushed the stroller through the reptile house, Chan had his arm around her waist, and in the nocturnal house, as she stood in the dark holding Ricky, Chan’s arms encircled her and his cheek pressed against her hair.

  Later, Cassie’s report to Punky was breathless and almost inarticulate. Her friend had stopped by on her way home from work and curled up, wide-eyed, at the end of the couch to listen as Cassie described her day and showed off her ring.

  “He’s so . . . so . . . oh, I can’t describe it! He said he would plan this wedding, and I can plan the next one—when we’re sealed in the temple. And he was so good with Ricky. And I just love him!”

  “You hide it so well,” Punky said dryly. “What did Ben say?”

  Cassie was suddenly quiet. “I didn’t tell him,” she said, intent on smoothing the nap on the couch beside her. “He didn’t stay. Just picked up Ricky and left. I don’t think he noticed the ring. Besides,” she said defensively, “he said he was stepping aside. He’s going to find someone who’ll be crazy about him and Ricky.”

  “The ring is kind of hard not to notice,” Punky said. “It’s awfully big.”

  Cassie held her hand out and wiggled her ring finger to make it sparkle in the lamplight. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She smiled dreamily.

  Punky stood. “I’m leaving. You’re obviously twitterpated, and it’s a scientific fact that twitterpated people are terrible company.”

  “Oh, Punky! I’m sorry! And I didn’t even ask how your banquet went.”

  “No, it’s not that, really. Everything went fine, but I’m not used to so much responsibility, and I’m dead on my feet. Congratulations, dear Cassie. I hope you’re able to manage until Chan gets back.”

  “I will. I have a new client. St. Alphonse, over in Mesa. Isn’t that great? I won’t have to leave town for several months. But, I’m really scrambling because we have a deadline to make. I’ll be working twelve-hour days.”

  “I probably won’t see much of you, then. Between work and rehearsals, I’m going to be busy, too.”

  Cassie saw Punky to the door and then spent some time planning her next two weeks to make sure she could accomplish all she needed to before that Friday. “I can manage if I work Sundays,” she said to herself, but as she lay in bed that night she had the guilty feeling that she was using work as an excuse to keep from facing Ben Torres in church the next day.

  9

  Whatever the reason, Cassie stuck rigidly to her schedule, working impressively long days. She had been given office space in the hospital, so she saw little of her counterparts at The Fulton Group, and the appearance of a large diamond on her left hand went unnoticed. While Chan was gone, two letters came for him, and she glowed as she read his name on the envelope with her address underneath. They had agreed that after they were married he would move in with her. “I hope you don’t mind if I give this address out before we’re married,” he had said, and she answered, “The only thing better than a letter for Mr. Chandler Jordain in my mailbox would be a letter for Mrs. Chandler Jordain.”

  When Chan got back in town, she gave him his mail and said she couldn’t spend time with him except lunch and dinner. Since she had to eat anyway, that wouldn’t disrupt her work. Usually he came to join her at the cafeteria at St. Alphonse’s, but one night he persuaded her to let him cook dinner for her at home. She got away from the cancer center a bit early, and as she parked and walked to her door she saw that Chan was outside, standing on the curb and talking to someone in a dark sedan. It was a newer car, though not the latest model, and Cassie noted on the back bumper a small saguaro cactus sticker that was the logo for El Cheapo Rentals, a local, cut-rate car rental firm.

  Chan’s face was hard, and he scowled as he bent
to talk to the driver, jabbing the air with his index finger to make his point. Cassie hesitated, uncertain what to do, but the car drove away and Chan, spying her on the sidewalk, broke into a smile.

  “Who was that?” she asked when he joined her.

  “Someone from the past. A former business contact.”

  “It didn’t seem to be a happy meeting.”

  “Didn’t make me unhappy,” Chan said lightly. “I don’t know about him.” He kissed her. “Don’t distract me now; I’ve got a dinner to get on the table.”

  They lingered so long on the patio in the twilight that Cassie gave up going back to the office that night and said it was the cafeteria or nothing from then on. In fact, she declared, she was going to eat at her desk. Chan wasn’t even welcome at the cafeteria.

  Chan laughed. “That’s all right. I’m busy, too. I’m planning a wedding. But remember, Friday you’re mine.”

  She remembered, and though it seemed it never would, Friday morning finally came. She was ready early, dressed casually, as Chan had asked, in Levi’s and cross trainers. Chan picked her up, and they went to the courthouse to get their marriage license. “No blood tests? No waiting period?” she asked. “I don’t need my birth certificate?”

  “Nope. They’re very wedding-friendly here. You just need your driver’s license to prove you’re of age.”

  With the document in hand, instead of taking Cassie home, Chan headed east out of town. He shook his head as Cassie peppered him with questions about where they were going, simply smiling enigmatically and saying that she would find out in due time. “Trust me. You said I could plan this wedding. You can do the next.”

  After the intense two weeks Cassie had just spent, she was actually grateful to sit back, close her eyes, and relinquish control. As she felt the sun on her face and the wind tugging wisps of hair out of the barrette’s severe confinement, the stress of the preceding two weeks sloughed off, leaving her feeling light and buoyant.

  She opened her eyes when they turned off the highway onto a gravel road. “Where are we going?”

  “All in due time,” he repeated.

  The road became rougher, dwindling into two dirt tracks, but still Chan drove on. Cassie hung onto the doorframe and cast apprehensive looks at her companion. “We’re almost there,” he said, pointing ahead.

  Cassie couldn’t see anything at first, but as they drew closer she saw horses, at least a dozen of them, standing in a clearing among mesquite and palo verde trees.

  “That’s a very pretty sight,” Cassie said tentatively.

  As Chan parked the car and came around to help her out, they were hailed by a middle-aged cowboy who came ambling toward them. “Howdy, Chan. Y’er right on time. Howdy, Ma’am. Glad to make your acquaintance. Buck Logan’s the name.” He was small and wiry; the skin on his face and neck was like old leather, and his hands were gnarled. But his movements were spry and his handshake was firm.

  “How do you do, Mr. Logan,” Cassie said, still mystified.

  “Got yer gear?” Buck inquired.

  “It’s right here,” Chan said, opening the trunk.

  “What is that?” Cassie asked, looking at the two athletic bags Chan was handing to Buck.

  “Your trousseau.” Chan closed the trunk and kissed her lightly.

  Understanding dawned as she watched Chan help Buck, Buck’s hefty wife, Edith, and their young adult son, Tory, load up a string of pack horses. Her eyes got wider and wider, and she pulled Chan aside. “I’ve never ridden a horse,” she whispered urgently.

  “You don’t need to worry. You just sit there, and the horse does everything.”

  “Chan! I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re on your way to your wedding.”

  “My wedding? What about the others? Punky and Ben? Where is Bishop Harris? I thought he was going to marry us.”

  Chan laughed. “No, you didn’t think about anything. We agreed that I would plan this wedding, and I did. Down to the last detail, my love. So, get on that horse. You can do it.”

  Chan was right. She did it. Mounted astride a gentle buckskin that Edith called Plug, Cassie not only endured, but was soon entranced with the experience. They wound through rugged desert landscape, dropping down into rocky canyons and winding up over ridges only to drop down again. After an hour or so, they stopped on the banks of a stream that cascaded over a fall and then meandered through a grassy meadow. In the shade of a small stand of cottonwoods, they unloaded the pack team. In less than an hour camp was set, including a tent with an inflatable mattress on a bed frame, crisp sheets, a comforter, and pillows. To Cassie, it looked as if everything they needed to make a comfortable stay had been thought of.

  They were married as sunset torched the sky, a conflagration of reds and oranges that formed a backdrop for their nuptials. Dressed in a simple white muslin frock, Cassie took Chan’s hand as they stood in front of Buck, who held a frayed leather bible in his hands and recited from memory the wedding service. The sky had muted to pink and gold when Cassie said, “I do,” and when she stood in the circle of Chan’s arms, holding her marriage license newly signed by Buck Logan, Justice of the Peace, the clouds had faded to purple and gray. Standing thus, they watched the pack train climb out of the valley and disappear over the ridge, and silence settled around them, broken only by the fluting notes of a mourning dove nearby. Chan loosened Cassie’s barrette and thrust his fingers into her hair as it tumbled down her back, and she whispered, “I know how Eve felt.”

  It was their Sonoran Eden. After Cassie’s sheltered, intellectual upbringing, the passion that Chan had awakened was a world-shifting experience, a soaring, searing discovery of hidden knowledge and pleasure, and she understood now the meaning of the biblical “to know.” For two days and three nights they lived in their own world, a splendidly sensual, intimate, unfettered place, where time had been carried away with the pack train so that past and future had no place in their thoughts.

  Cassie wore her hair down, and as they roamed the canyons, Chan told her stories of the Lost Dutchman Mine and the Peralta family who owned the Spanish land grant that included all the land round about. They found the petroglyph that someone had carved, and wondered what was the engraved clue that would lead someone to fabulous wealth?

  On their last evening there, sitting next to Chan as they watched the lengthening shadow of the mountain called Weaver’s Needle slowly creep over the landscape, Cassie leaned against him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Sighing, she softly said, “You think of all the people who have watched that shadow, hoping it would point to a treasure hoard, when all along, the treasure was to be found in their own homes, by their own hearths, in their own beds.”

  Chan turned and looked at her, his dark eyes searching the depth of her blue ones. Smoothing away an errant tendril of golden hair, he smiled wryly. “You’re right,” he said, speaking as softly as she had. Tracing the line of her eyebrow and down her cheek with his fingertips, he slid his hand around to the nape of her neck and drew her to him. “Do you suppose that the shadows have reached our little tent-home?” he breathed in her ear. “Has it marked our hearth? Come.” Standing, he drew her up beside him. “Let’s go seek our treasure there.”

  * * *

  The lights of Phoenix were beginning to glimmer in the twilight as Cassie and Chan, Mr. and Mrs. Jordain, approached from the east. “Are you too tired for one more surprise?” Chan asked.

  “I’m just a little saddle-sore,” Cassie admitted. “You have another surprise? Haven’t you spent your quota?”

  “I was afraid you might be disappointed that you didn’t have friends to stand up with you at your wedding.”

  “If you had said at first that they wouldn’t be there, I would have said that it would be terrible not to have them. But it wasn’t terrible. It was lovely.”

  “Well, I’ve invited them to have dinner with us tonight.”

  “Oh, not at home! They may never leave!”

>   Chan chuckled. “Treasure hunting, my dear?”

  Cassie laughed, too. “Maybe.”

  “I talked to Punky,” Chan said. “She and Ben are going to meet us at Chuckwagon Chicken. She said that’s where you always celebrate.”

  “It is. It’s tradition.” She squeezed Chan’s hand. “Thanks.”

  They arrived first and found an empty booth, telling the waitress that they were waiting for the rest of their party. Punky came next and stood unnoticed for a moment because Cassie was turned toward Chan, listening to something he was murmuring in her ear.

  Clearing her throat loudly, Punky laughed at Cassie’s stricken look and plopped down in the opposite bench. “No need to ask how it went. Here it is almost October, and you two are exuding springtime.”

  “Oh, Punky! It’s so good to see you. Is Ben coming?”

  “I hope so. I left a message on his cell phone to meet me here. I didn’t tell him what for. There he is now.”

  The three of them turned and looked expectantly as Ben came through the door. They saw him speak to the hostess, saw her indicate where they were, and watched his eyes track and locate them in the back booth. Cassie was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling, her left hand raised to wave.

  Ben stood and stared for a moment. He didn’t return their greeting, did not smile. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the building.

  “What in the world?” exclaimed Punky. “What got into him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Cassie. “Why would . . . wait. Wait. What day is today?”

  “It’s Monday,” said Chan.

  “No. No. What is the date?”

  “The twenty-fifth. September twenty-fifth.”

  “Oh, no!” Cassie cried, sliding out of the booth. “I’ve got to talk to him!” Moving as quickly as she could through the tables, Cassie hastily pushed through the outside door just in time to see Ben’s car pulling out into traffic.

  Crestfallen, she watched his taillights, trying to keep track of them among the hundreds of moving red dots on the arterial, as if that act of constancy could atone for the fact that she had completely forgotten that this was the day, this was the place, she had promised he could ask her again to marry him.