“Mama, you’re crazier than he is. Didn’t you hear him? He thinks he’s K. C. Cowboy again?”
Her mother laughed softly, her breasts, large enough to comfort the whole world, gently rising and falling. “Lord, he was such a fierce tyke. The bruises he used to get from those silver six-shooters banging his bony hips. And the time he tried to lasso his mother’s prize Persian?”
Anna had to smile. “Would’ve hog-tied her, too, if the cook hadn’t seen him out the kitchen window.”
“And you, missy, wrapped in a stained linen tablecloth, a foil tiara on your head and your hair halfway down your back, red and blond as the day’s beginning. No wonder he fell in love with you.”
Anna stopped smiling. “Mama, I’m not a countess. He’s not a cowboy.”
Her mother tilted her head, regarded her daughter. “Close your eyes, Anna. See with your heart.”
She stared at her mother. “Close my eyes? In a world gone crazy?”
Her mother smiled. “Love is crazy, angel.” She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s hush. “It’s a big part of its appeal.”
“Great. I’ve got one nut out there with a former roller derby diva. I’ve got another nut in here with me.”
Her mother smiled serenely.
“You’re actually enjoying this. Crazy isn’t funny, Ma. Crazy can be dangerous.”
Her mother was still smiling. “Go see him.”
Beyond the door came Ronnie’s voice. “Steer wrestling? That’s a day in the park compared to stepping in the rink with Attila the Honey of the Trenton Turbos.”
Anna stood up.
“Are you going to him now, child?”
“I’m going out there before Ronnie gets her skates and shows him her patented ‘Jackhammer’ jump.”
“What are you going to say to him?”
She set her hands on her hips. “Hello. Long time no see. You may think you’re a cowboy named K.C. and I’m a countess, but you’ve obviously suffered some kind of temporary break with objective reality. You’re Kent Landover, head of one of the fastest-rising computer companies in the country, a self-proclaimed workaholic and a man who was quoted as saying his planned marriage to a member of the company’s board, Hilary Fairchild, will be ‘a consensual merger that will benefit both their professional and personal lives.”’
Her mother rested her chin on her fist. “You’ve been keeping a scrap book.”
Anna ignored the remark. “Then I’m going to ask Mr. Landover to give me his psychiatrist’s beeper number and, depending on freeway traffic, we’ll have this all resolved in less than thirty minutes.”
Her mother looked up at her. “This man couldn’t have come a moment too soon.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “I give up.” She started toward the door.
Her mother called her name. She looked back.
“You’ve read the articles, seen the news reports about Kent?”
“How can you miss them?” she defended.
“He looks like he’s a man who has everything, doesn’t he?”
She shrugged. “Certainly more than most. He always had.”
“Then why do you suppose a man who has it all wants only to be a cowboy in love with you?”
“I told you. He’s crazy.”
“Is he?”
“Yes.” She reached for the doorknob, but didn’t turn it.
“It’s okay to be afraid, darling.” Anna heard the gentle smile in her mother’s voice.
She sighed. “I’m not afraid. I’m trying to determine the best way to handle this situation. How’s he look?”
“Like a man besotted.”
“You’re not making this any easier.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is, child—especially love.”
Anna leveled a stern look at her mother. “How’s he look?”
Her mother chuckled. “A whole heck of a lot better than you, Countess.”
Anna looked down at her clothes still covered with spots of something dark that smelled like anchovies. She picked at a suspicious yellowish-brown dried smear.
She looked back over her shoulder at her mother. “Some countess, huh?”
Her mother was still smiling that infuriating smile. “Wait until you see the cowboy.”
Anna reclaimed her hold on the door handle. “For the final time, Ma. There’s no countess. There’s no cowboy.”
She said it so convincingly, she almost believed it herself. She twisted the doorknob and opened the door as if ready for what lay on the other side.
She saw him. At the same time he saw her. He stood, but didn’t step farther. She, too, stopped. She’d seen the pictures throughout the years—the publicity that came with being the son of a wealthy, well-connected family, then an entity in his own right. The photos showcased a serious child, a serious youth, and finally, a serious man. He kept his curly blond hair cropped short, his clothes conservative and tailored. She hadn’t seen one picture of him smiling.
He came toward her now, his smile so broad and full of life, she had to smile back.
He took her hands in both of his. Not until his fingers found hers did she realize she was trembling.
“Anna” was all he said. Then again, “Anna.” Impossible as it seemed, his smile widened even farther. Suddenly her whole world was in that smile…and went no further.
She looked up into his eyes. Those she remembered most of all. She saw again the ever-present intelligence, the piercing blue, the sky, the sea and all dreams in between.
For a moment, one mad moment, she believed he could be K.C.
She disentangled their hands, stepped back. She saw the dark green hospital scrubs he wore.
“Kent,” she said.
He raised a finger to her lips. “No. K.C. Surely you remember?”
Yes, she remembered. She’d never forgotten. His finger touched her cheek now. She raised her hand and captured his touch in her own. He held to her fast.
“K.C.,” she allowed. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze remained on her. “I’ve come for you, Anna. Marry me. Be my bride.”
She heard the words as she’d heard them so many times in her imaginings. She looked into his eyes, crescent shaped, cobalt ringed. She’d say yes. She’d promise him anything. Just let him look at her like that for the rest of her life.
“Marry me, Anna.”
How, with one look, one touch and a few words, had he wrapped her within his illusion? How could she see K.C. before her when he’d barely existed before, had never been more than the play of childhood, the brief, bold vision of youth?
She was shocked back to simple reality. Kent Landover was before her now. K.C. was gone, might never have been. And she was left as crazy as her mother, as crazy as this man.
She stepped back once more, putting distance between them. His hand tightened on her fingers. She saw his oversize scrubs. What she’d thought were beige loafers she now saw were foam rubber slip-ons. The uniform of the institutionalized.