Free New Way to Fly by Margot Dalton Page B

enfold the other woman in a warm impulsive hug.
    Brock continued to stare in amazement as Amanda held Mary for a long moment, patting her back and murmuring something. Then she turned away with a casual laughing gesture, piled some boxes in Mary’s arms and took another heap herself, walking beside the other woman into the house.
    Mary looked much more relaxed after the warmth of that hug. In fact, just before the door closed behind them, Brock was fairly certain that he saw her laugh.
    Still shaking his head in wonder, he lowered his hammer and gazed at the lacy blue arch of sky framed among the shifting leaves overhead.
    Who was she, this Amanda Walker? What was she really like?
    She claimed to want nothing in life but money and luxury, yet she took the time to come and visit a woman like Mary Gibson who couldn’t possibly be worth that much of her time. And there was no denying the warmth and spontaneity of that sudden embrace.
    Brock frowned, got to his feet and threw his tools into the back of the truck. Finally, without ceremony, he gathered up Alvin, soup bone and all, and tossed him in along with the tools.
    Alvin didn’t miss a bite, just hit the straw-covered metal deck, skidded into a pile of burlap sacks, thensettled back comfortably with the bone still clutched in his jaws. Brock stood and regarded the dog in contemplative silence, fingering his tanned jaw. “Alvin,” he said at last, “I think maybe I’d better make a trip into Austin tomorrow. I think I have some business to tend to. Don’t you?”
    Alvin yawned, revealing the damp black interior of his mouth and an impressive set of shiny white teeth. Then he belched and returned to his careful demolition of the soup bone.
    Brock climbed into the cab of the truck, backed around carefully and started down the hill toward his ranch, one denim-clad elbow resting casually on the window ledge.
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    A MANDA SAT in the comfortable living room of Mary Gibson’s home, looking around with interest. The room was warm and casual, just what she’d expected in this big sprawling ranch house. But there were surprising touches here and there—a polished brass bowl filled with autumn flowers and grasses, several delicate watercolors, some exquisite little collector’s items that added grace and balance to the decor.
    They also revealed something about the woman who lived here, Amanda reflected. Despite her dowdy appearance, Mary Gibson clearly had good taste, and an artist’s eye for color and harmony in her surroundings.
    Amanda picked up a dainty china horse with windblown mane and tail to examine the beautiful little sculpture, then set it down hastily when the door to Mary’s bedroom opened.
    Mary moved haltingly toward the archway leading to the living room. She paused, half-hidden behind one of the broad oak pillars.
    â€œCome on,” Amanda coaxed gently. “Come right out here and show yourself off, Mary. I’ll bet you look just lovely.”
    Stiffly, her face pale with tension, Mary edged out from behind the pillar and stood in front of the younger woman with her hands folded childishly in front of her.
    â€œOh, my,” Amanda breathed with complete sincerity. “Mary, it’s like a miracle. You should see yourself. Did you look in the mirror?”
    Mary gave a jerky nod, still appearing on the verge of bolting for cover. But the warmth of Amanda’s praise seemed to have relaxed her somewhat. A little color touched her weathered cheeks, and her eyes softened with emotion.
    â€œTurn around,” Amanda ordered, getting up off the couch and examining the other woman with a calm professional air. “Let me see the back. I believe the fit is perfect. I don’t think it even needs to be touched.”
    Mary pirouetted stiffly and then looked up atAmanda, her mouth twitching in an awkward smile. “Pretty spiffy, right?” she asked. “Mary Gibson, of all people, in a