William didn’t hesitate. “ ‘Which silver pattern do you like best?’ ”
Jackie grinned. She was beginning to like this man, and her overwhelming sleepiness was starting to subside.
“What’s the worst thing a man can say to a woman?” he asked.
Jackie was as quick to answer as he had been. “When you’re shopping and the man says, ‘Just exactly what is it you’re looking for?’ ”
Chuckling, he walked the few feet to his car to open the door and remove camping gear. “What’s the nicest thing a man can say to a woman?”
“I love you. That is, if he means it. If he doesn’t mean it, then he should be horsewhipped for saying it. And you? What’s the nicest thing for you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes is the very best thing a woman can say to a man.”
Jackie laughed. “To any question? No matter what she’s asked, it’s what you most want to hear?”
“It would be rather nice to hear yes from a woman’s lips, at least now and then.”
“Oh, come on
, a man who looks like you has never heard a woman say yes to whatever you asked her?”
His arms full of blankets and canteens and a basket of food, he grinned at her. “One or two, but no more.”
“Okay, it’s my turn. What’s the kindest thing you ever did for someone and didn’t tell anyone about?”
“I guess that would have to be adding a wing to the hospital in Denver. I sent the money anonymously.”
“Oh, my,” she said, remembering how rich the Montgomerys were.
“And you?”
Jackie began to laugh. “Charley and I had been married for about four years, and with Charley you never stayed in one place long enough to learn your neighbors’ names, much less put down roots. But that year we had rented a small house that had a very nice kitchen in it, and I decided to cook him a marvelous Thanksgiving dinner. I talked about nothing else but that dinner for two weeks. I planned and shopped, and on Thanksgiving Day I got up at four A.M. and got the turkey ready. Charley left the house about noon, but he promised he’d be back by five when everything would be ready to serve. He was going to bring some of the other pilots from the airfield, and it was going to be a party. Five o’clock came and there was no Charley. Six came and went, then seven. At midnight I fell asleep, but I was so angry that I slept in a rigid knot. The next morning there was Charley, snoring away on the sofa, and there was my beautiful Thanksgiving dinner in ruins. You know what I did?”
“I’m surprised Charley lived after that.”
“I shouldn’t have let him live, but I figured the worst thing I could do was not let him have any of my dinner. I bundled everything up in burlap bags, went to the airfield, took up Charley’s plane and flew into the mountains—we were in West Virginia then, so it was the Smokies—where I saw a dilapidated old shack perched on the side of a hill, a measly little trickle of smoke coming out of the chimney. I dropped the bags practically on the front porch.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed. “Until now I never told anyone about that. Later I heard that the family said an angel had dropped food from heaven.”
He had the fire going now, and he smiled at her over it. “I like that story. What did Charley say when he got no turkey?”
She shrugged. “Charley was happy if he had turkey and happy if he had beans. When it came to food, Charley was into quantity, not quality.” She looked up at him. “What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you?”
William answered without thinking. “Being born rich.”
Jackie gave a low whistle. “You’d think that was the best thing that had happened to you.”
“It is. It’s the best and the worst.”
“I think I can see that.” She was thinking about this as William poured water from a canteen onto a handkerchief and, with his hand cupping her chin, began to clean the wound on the side of her head.
“What’s your deepest, darkest secret, something that you’ve never told anyone?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told.”