bitter pill than the one she'd had to swallow.
Even after they were seated in the restaurant and he'd drunk his first cup of coffee, Garth's manner toward her did not sweeten. He was pleasant to their waitress; smiling and very courteous. It seemed to Julie that she was the only one who provoked his ill-tempered grumbles. In the end she, too, fell silent, and after a few bites of scrambled egg she merely crumbled her. toast and pushed the food around on her plate.
"Aren't you going to finish that?" Garth asked sourly.
"I'm not very hungry."
His eyes roved over her, detached and critical as he conducted his assessment of her. "You look as if you haven't had a decent meal since you left California," he said.
So in Garth's opinion she was too thin, she thought, shrugging ruefully as she said farewell to her inflated estimate of her figure. "Well, you know hospital food," she replied. "You can tell the day of the week by the menu. It's so predictable, it's boring."
For a time after they resumed their journey, Julie occupied herself with watching the scenery. It promised to be another glorious day, though not as warm as the one before. They left the towns of Sage and Cokeville behind, heading toward the Salt River Range of mountains, and the highway began to climb more perceptibly. In whatever direction she looked, there was something to fire the imagination and please the eye.
When they passed a draw that was below the grade of the highway and Julie saw a horse-drawn canvas-covered wagon, she turned to ask Garth if he thought it might have been a chuck wagon, but after one short glance at him she changed her mind.
His eyes were gray and dark as slate—and as hard —rendering his expression more forbidding than ever. As if he knew she'd been about to say something, he put another tape on the stereo. After he'd adjusted the tuning knobs, the measured cadences of a Chopin nocturne filled the moody silence in the car.
Again Julie recognized the performing artist. It had to be Horowitz. Surely no other pianist could shade each nuance of the melody so poignantly and still maintain the fine balance between passion and bathos. It was becoming apparent that Garth had catholic tastes in music and, if one could rely on her familiarity with his selections, so did she.
Reluctantly she turned her eyes away from Garth. Thunderheads were massing above the mountain peaks far to the north, and she had the distinct impression that a storm was brewing inside the car that would rival any fireworks Mother Nature could cook up.
Though she tried not to, she couldn't resist stealing an occasional look at her husband. She thought he resembled some dark angel when he frowned at something he saw in the road ahead. Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered. She had the notion that being Garth's wife—really his wife—might be, for her, the most direct pathway to hell. But she had no doubt that if only he wanted to, he could make even that seem like heaven.
When they reached the summit of the Salt River Pass, Garth pulled into the parking area by the side of the highway and they left the car to stretch their legs. They walked along the ridge, gazing at the previously unnoticed face of Wyoming that was revealed to them from this vantage point.
A panorama of the rolling flanks of the mountains stretched out before them as far as they could see. It was a peaceful vista in variegated green, stimulating to the senses but so gentle to the soul that Julie felt a sharp pang of regret that, for practical purposes, she was seeing it alone.
But as if Garth felt as keenly as she did that it was somehow wrong to experience such sublime tranquillity and remain willfully hostile, as if he longed as she did to share it with someone, he touched the back of her hand. Although his touch might have been purely accidental, she responded by turning her hand into the encompassing warmth of his and he held her fingers tightly, almost painfully.
For a long time
Even after they were seated in the restaurant and he'd drunk his first cup of coffee, Garth's manner toward her did not sweeten. He was pleasant to their waitress; smiling and very courteous. It seemed to Julie that she was the only one who provoked his ill-tempered grumbles. In the end she, too, fell silent, and after a few bites of scrambled egg she merely crumbled her. toast and pushed the food around on her plate.
"Aren't you going to finish that?" Garth asked sourly.
"I'm not very hungry."
His eyes roved over her, detached and critical as he conducted his assessment of her. "You look as if you haven't had a decent meal since you left California," he said.
So in Garth's opinion she was too thin, she thought, shrugging ruefully as she said farewell to her inflated estimate of her figure. "Well, you know hospital food," she replied. "You can tell the day of the week by the menu. It's so predictable, it's boring."
For a time after they resumed their journey, Julie occupied herself with watching the scenery. It promised to be another glorious day, though not as warm as the one before. They left the towns of Sage and Cokeville behind, heading toward the Salt River Range of mountains, and the highway began to climb more perceptibly. In whatever direction she looked, there was something to fire the imagination and please the eye.
When they passed a draw that was below the grade of the highway and Julie saw a horse-drawn canvas-covered wagon, she turned to ask Garth if he thought it might have been a chuck wagon, but after one short glance at him she changed her mind.
His eyes were gray and dark as slate—and as hard —rendering his expression more forbidding than ever. As if he knew she'd been about to say something, he put another tape on the stereo. After he'd adjusted the tuning knobs, the measured cadences of a Chopin nocturne filled the moody silence in the car.
Again Julie recognized the performing artist. It had to be Horowitz. Surely no other pianist could shade each nuance of the melody so poignantly and still maintain the fine balance between passion and bathos. It was becoming apparent that Garth had catholic tastes in music and, if one could rely on her familiarity with his selections, so did she.
Reluctantly she turned her eyes away from Garth. Thunderheads were massing above the mountain peaks far to the north, and she had the distinct impression that a storm was brewing inside the car that would rival any fireworks Mother Nature could cook up.
Though she tried not to, she couldn't resist stealing an occasional look at her husband. She thought he resembled some dark angel when he frowned at something he saw in the road ahead. Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered. She had the notion that being Garth's wife—really his wife—might be, for her, the most direct pathway to hell. But she had no doubt that if only he wanted to, he could make even that seem like heaven.
When they reached the summit of the Salt River Pass, Garth pulled into the parking area by the side of the highway and they left the car to stretch their legs. They walked along the ridge, gazing at the previously unnoticed face of Wyoming that was revealed to them from this vantage point.
A panorama of the rolling flanks of the mountains stretched out before them as far as they could see. It was a peaceful vista in variegated green, stimulating to the senses but so gentle to the soul that Julie felt a sharp pang of regret that, for practical purposes, she was seeing it alone.
But as if Garth felt as keenly as she did that it was somehow wrong to experience such sublime tranquillity and remain willfully hostile, as if he longed as she did to share it with someone, he touched the back of her hand. Although his touch might have been purely accidental, she responded by turning her hand into the encompassing warmth of his and he held her fingers tightly, almost painfully.
For a long time
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