Read West Wind for Free Online Page B

me.
This is Clay Knight. Clay, this is Robert Hall."
    The man stood, nodded at Robert and extended
his hand. They shook and exchanged brief greetings.
    "Nice to meet you."
    "Same here."
    Robert, always suave and polite, stepped to
the side and slid a possessive arm around Sabrina's waist. "Erica,
you recall Sabrina Windham. From the bookstore," he said.
    Erica nodded and smiled engagingly. Clay
extended his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Sabrina."
    Robert frowned, then subtly pulled Sabrina
towards his chest. "Please, enjoy your dinner," he said curtly.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Erica."
    Then he escorted Sabrina to his table where
first the restaurant owner and then the waitress fawned over
him.
    As she studied the menu, Sabrina realized
that Robert Hall led an extraordinary life, surrounded by people in
awe of his breathtaking good looks and elegant style. He seemed to
expect it, as if he considered it his due. It must be
difficult , she thought, to be so beautiful. It's as if
everyone wants a piece of him, wants to touch him, to taste
him . She recalled seeing his younger sister, Katrina Hall, and
having the opinion that both were so startling beautiful, they were
almost unreal. She wanted to lay a comforting hand on his, but then
she would be like all the rest of them. Wanting to touch him.
    As dinner progressed, her heart continued to
lighten under his compliments and admiring glances but strangely,
all she could think about was leaving for Rhode Island in the
morning. Her quest to find the Zephyrus took priority over her
companion's charms.
    Declining his offer of a late-night drive
along the lakefront, Sabrina soon found herself back on her
doorstep, her house key in her hand. Spending time with Robert was
everything she dreamt of as a young girl, but her trip to New
England dominated her thoughts. He took her hands in his, brushed
his lips against her cheek and said goodnight. "Please give Rose my
best wishes. Perhaps I'll see you again while you're in town?"
    She nodded distractedly. "I will, and yes,
perhaps. Thank you for a lovely evening, Robert." Then she slipped
inside, closing the door on her youth.
     
    * * *
     
    Sabrina rose at six, packed her suitcase and
headed East on I-80. She estimated it would take at least six hours
to get to Rhode Island, and she wanted to leave herself enough time
to eat lunch and freshen up before driving to Mr. Blair's house.
Her stomach twisted nervously. This kind of impetuous behavior
wasn't normal for her. She left spontaneity and reckless impulse to
her parents, Norman and Marta.
    She turned on the radio, hoping the
distraction would settle her anxiety. Unaccustomed to driving in
traffic, she was a bundle of nerves by the time she crossed the
Tappan Zee Bridge in New York. "It's all downhill from here," she
told herself. Then she hit the Connecticut traffic on I-95.
    "Where do all these people come from? It's
not even rush hour," she snarled.
    Instead of six hours, the drive took eight.
She pulled into Warren around two o'clock, her stomach rumbling
from hunger. She drove south on Route 136, Market Street, looking
for a café. She didn't want fast food; she needed to sit in a booth
and eat slowly, waiting for the roar in her ears to subside. She
drove past a cheery blue-and-white wooden sign with a sailboat and
arrow. It read "Warren Boatyard." In the distance, the Warren River
twinkled. She spotted piers and white boats behind many houses.
Finally, she found a small coffee shop and pulled in. The
Cadillac's large engine hissed when she turned off the
ignition.
    Sabrina closed her eyes, savoring the quiet.
She drove straight through, stopping only once at a rest area in
Matamoras, Pennsylvania. It was a nerve-wracking experience for a
city girl whose jaunts were measured in blocks.
    For a Saturday afternoon, the small town was
quiet. A young couple walked their terrier down the sidewalk, and a
lone man sat outside the coffee shop reading a newspaper. Sabrina
picked up her