“She's very like you," Luke remarked quietly.
"Yes," came the reply. Tom went back to his own pole, baited the hook and tossed the line out into the lake. His thoughts were dark ones. He knew Elysia wasn't going to want him in her house, but he had to try to make his peace with her. He glanced at his daughter and knew that it was worth the effort.
They caught five big bass between them, which Luke volunteered to clean. "Come over about six," he told Tom.
Tom glanced from the child's eager face to Luke's. He grimaced. "I don't know..."
"You have to," Crissy pleaded. "Me and Uncle Luke and Mama can't eat all these big fish alone. Please?"
"Okay," he relented. "I'll see if I can rent some body armor," he murmured to himself. "Boy, am I going to need it!"
He went home to clean up, wondering how Luke was going to fare when he broke the news to Elysia. It would probably be bloody.
"You what?" Elysia exploded.
Luke held up a hand. "Go upstairs and clean up, pumpkin," he told Crissy.
She hesitated. "Mommy, you have to say it's okay," she told her mother somberly. "I invited Mr. Tom to come help us eat the fish. He helped us catch them. I like him," she added belligerently. "He's going to tell me all about Indians."
"Go on," Luke prompted, smiling. "It will be all right."
Crissy went, glowering at her white-faced parent on the way.
"You can't," Elysia cried when her daughter was out of sight. "You can't have him here! If he's around her enough, he'll see...!"
"He already has," Luke said.
He jumped forward and helped her into a chair, because she looked as if she might faint.
"You told him," she accused hoarsely.
"I did not. Crissy did."
"Crissy? But she doesn't know!"
"She told him that her dad was redheaded," he explained. "It wasn't a great leap of logic from that to the way she resembles his sister— not to mention himself."
"Oh, dear God," Elysia whispered, closing her eyes. "Dear God, what’ll he do?"
"Nothing, judging by this afternoon," Luke said. He knelt by her chair, one hand on hers in her lap. "Listen, he's not vindictive. He doesn't blame you. He's got secrets of his own," he added, hoping to get her attention.
That did. She looked at him through misty eyes. "He does?"
"You remember what we were speculating about?" he asked. "Well, we were right on the money. Sex was a taboo at home. Their father beat them for showing the slightest interest in the other sex. He said his conscience was eating him alive about you. He thought he'd go to hell for sleeping with you."
She gasped. "Good heavens!"
"He said that it's taken all these years for him to come to grips with it," he continued quietly. "The main thing that came out is that he was angry at himself, not at you. It was guilt and shame that caused him to let you go without a word, and kept him from coming after you. He didn't even consider that you might become pregnant. His father taught him that desire was nothing more than sick lust."
She closed her eyes and shivered. "How he must have felt," she whispered.
"He's a case," he agreed. "I don't suppose there was a woman brave enough to chase him at all until you came along. That cold reserve of his is rather formidable, even to other men."
"I'll say," she agreed, remembering the Tom of six years ago. She looked up. "Why is he coming to dinner?"
"Because I invited him." He held up a hand. "This can't go on," he informed her. "Half the town's talking already about the way the two of you avoid each other. We all have to live here. It's time to make peace. Or at least, a public peace. This is the first step."
"He'll be lucky if he gets in the door un-wounded," she said coldly. "Do you have any idea what he's been saying to me lately?"
"No," he said warily.
"He's accused me of sleeping with that damned Frenchman to market my boutique's designs," she said furiously. "He thinks I'm a slut!"
"No, he doesn't..."
"You can't imagine the things he said to me at the business meeting just the other day," she added. "Not to mention that we were about to have lunch in Rose's Cafe downtown and when he saw me come in the door, he gave up his place in line and left."
He pursed his lips. "He didn't mention that."
"He was probably too busy thinking of ways to get to my child," she raged. "Well, he won't get her. He can come here tonight, but you are never to invite him into this house again while I'm living in it, Luke! I won't be persecuted by him, not even for my little girl's sake!"
"He's not out for revenge," he reminded her. "He's had as rough a time as we had. Maybe rougher. You can at least try to be sociable, can't you? Crissy likes him." He searched her wan face. "You loved him once."
"A long time ago," she replied, "and he never felt the same way, even then. He talked to me, but it was never more than that, until he got drunk. He doesn't love me. He wanted me that once, and now he doesn't anymore. He thinks I'm a gold digger, out for money and nothing else. He told me so. That was a week or so before the business meeting."
"Tom actually accused you of that?" Luke was surprised, because Tom hadn't said anything about that to him, either.
"We had words on the street, and I slapped him." She flushed at her brother's level look. "Well, he deserved it! He made me out to be cheap, and all because that French buyer had humiliated me loud enough for the whole town to hear." Her eyes flashed. "Hell will freeze over before I give him a contract for our designs," she added coldly. "He did that deliberately because I wouldn't have an affair with him."
"Did you tell Tom that?"
"He didn't let me tell him anything," she replied. "He made a lot of nasty accusations and I hit him. I'm glad I hit him," she added. "I only threw a shoe at him and missed at the business meeting, but I'll practice," she assured herself. "Next time, I'll knock his brains out!"
Luke had to bite back a grin. "He has got quite a few hang-ups," he reminded her. "It will take a brave woman to live with a man like that, if she can even get him in front of a minister to get married. He's frozen halfway through because of his father."
"I wish I'd known that in New York. It's too late to matter much now. A man that age isn't going to change." She stared out the window and grimaced. "But I'm sorry he had a bad time of it." She glanced back at her brother with a rueful smile. "I guess his upbringing was like ours."
He smiled sadly. "I guess it was," he agreed. "The world is full of wounded children who grow up to be wounded adults.
Sometimes they get lucky and find solace in each other."
"Sometimes they withdraw and strike at anyone who comes close," she replied.
He chuckled. "An apt description of our Mr. Walker. But he has a weakness. Crissy. She winds him around her finger."
"He really likes her?" she asked.
"He's crazy about her," he said. "She likes him, too. If you're wise, you won't try to separate them. There's already a bond growing."
"I wouldn't deny him access," she said defensively. "But it's going to complicate things. He doesn't like me at all, and it's mutual."
"He doesn't know you, Ellie. Give him a chance."
"Even if I would, he'll never give me one," she said finally.
He saw that arguing with her wasn't going to solve anything. He winked at her instead. "I'll clean those fish for you."
She was a bundle of nerves by five-thirty. Crissy, in a neat little pink skirt and tank top, was setting the table. She glanced at her mother with wry amusement for such a young child. Elysia, in a sedate denim dress and loafers, was pacing the floor. Her hair, in a neat chignon, gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the window.
Luke came down the hall with a grin on his handsome face. "You'll wear holes in the floor," he told her. "Quit that."
"I'll go mad long before six o'clock," she moaned. "Oh, Luke, why did you..." Her voice trailed off into a faint gasp as she heard the crunch of car
tires on the gravel driveway. She looked out the window, and there was the gray Lincoln.
"He's here." She choked.
"Is it him?" Crissy called, running into the living room. She looked out the screen door. "It is!" She opened the door and ran to him. "Hi, Mr. Tom!"
The sight of the child running toward him aroused odd sensations in Tom Walker. He opened his arms and caught her, lifting her high, his eyes twinkling with the joy that raged inside him. This was his own, his child, his blood. Amazing how attached he'd become to her in such a short time. He hugged her close, laughing.
She returned the enthusiastic hug, and chattered brightly about the meal they were going to have as he carried her effortlessly into the house.
"Gosh, you're strong, Mr. Tom," she said with a grin. “I’ll bet you could lift my pony."
"Not quite," he mused, setting her back on her feet. He shook hands with Luke and then turned to Elysia.
Her face was drawn. She looked frustrated and even a little frightened.
He reacted to her expression rather than to her cold greeting. "It's all right," he said gently, searching her eyes quietly. "We'll call a truce for tonight."
She drew in a steadying breath, ignoring the comment. "Dinner's ready, if you'd like to sit down."
"Come on and help me bring in the food, Crissy," Luke said to the child, herding her out of the room.
Tom heard the kitchen door close and he searched Elysia's worried face for a long moment. "I'm not very good at this," he began slowly.
"At what?" she asked tersely.
He shrugged. "Apologies. I don't think I've made two in my entire life. But I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day."
"You needn't butter me up because you like Crissy," she said coldly. "Regardless of your opinion of me, I'm not vindictive."
He searched her eyes. "She's a unique young lady. You've done a good job with her."
She moved restlessly. "Thank you."
He stuck his hands into his slacks pockets with a long sigh. "Are you and Luke close?" he asked suddenly.
The question should have surprised her, but it didn't. "Yes," she said. "We were physically abused children, so I guess we were closer than kids who had a normal upbringing."
His face grew very hard. "It's a damnable world for some children, isn't it? Even with the new protective laws, the secrecy hangs on. It's so hard for a child to accuse a parent, even one who deserves a prison term."
"I know." She searched his lean face with quick, curious eyes. "You want to know if Luke told me what you said to him, don't you?"
"He did, of course," he said knowingly.
She nodded. "He thought...it might help if I knew it all."
"And did it?"
She lowered her eyes to his chest, flushing. She'd been more intimate with this man than with anyone in her whole life. It hadn't bothered her before, but now it did. Vivid memories flooded her mind of that night with him.
They were embarrassing and they made her self-conscious around him.
"I won't stop you from seeing Crissy, if that's what you mean," she said, evading a direct answer, her tone cold with her inner turmoil.
"Thanks," he replied.
Neither of them spoke, having too much trouble finding the right words.
When Luke and Crissy came back, two pairs of eyes looked toward them with open relief.
"Shall we eat?" Luke murmured.
Crissy reached up and took Tom's hand. "You have to sit beside me, Mr. Tom, so you can tell me about Indians."
"Native Americans." Elysia corrected her without thinking and then flushed at Tom's keen glance.
"Is that right?" Crissy asked her companion.
"Actually it is," he told her. "Or, if you prefer, indigenous aborigines." He grinned. "Those two words get a workout lately."
Crissy tried to pronounce it and finally succeeded.
After they were well into their meal, Tom explained the divisions of Sioux to his young daughter. "There are Lakota, Nakota and Dakota," he said, "which refers to the use of the / and n and d in each of those languages. Then, there are Brule, or burned thigh, Sioux, Nez Perce, Blackfoot and Sans Arc." He explained to her that Sans Arc meant "without bows" and came from a sad incident in that tribe's history during which the group were advised by a shaman to put their bows and arrows into a pile. They were subsequently attacked, with tragic results.
"Tell me about your great-grandfather," Crissy persisted. "He was one of the warrior subchiefs," he explained. "He fought and was wounded in the Little Bighorn fight."
"Massacre," Crissy said knowingly.
He gave her a long look. "A massacre is when one group is totally unarmed and defenseless. Custer and his men had plenty of weapons."
"Oh," Crissy said respectfully.
"Back in the old days, trackers could tell by the shape of a moccasin which tribe he was tracking. The arrows were unique to each tribe, and even to each warrior."
"Goodness," Crissy exclaimed. "Can you track?"
He chuckled. "I can track my way to the nearest burger stand," he mused. "But out in the woods, I don't think I'd be much good at it. Now my sister's husband is a real tracker. And he's got Native American blood, too. Their little boy is just your age. He looks a lot like you," he mused, studying Crissy. "He has green eyes, too, despite his dark skin and hair."
"Have you seen the Cades lately?" Luke asked.
Tom shook his head. "I've been too busy, what with this move to Jacobsville. But I thought I might go up there for a few days next month. I don't know what I'll do with Moose while I'm away, though," he added thoughtfully.
"You got a moose?" Crissy asked, wide-eyed.
"That's his name," Tom said, correcting her. He chuckled. "Moose is sort of like a walking disaster. I've been around dogs most of my life, but he's unique. Kate saw him once and called him an albatross."
"What's that?" the little girl wondered aloud.
"There was a poem by Coleridge. The ancient mariner was forced to wear one around his neck—"
"I read that in school." Luke interrupted. "It was one of the only poems I liked."
"We could keep your dog for you," Crissy volunteered.
"No, you couldn't," Tom said before Elysia or Luke could speak. "Moose would shatter every fragile thing your mother and uncle have, and you'd have to recarpet the floor. He's a digger. If he can't get his paws into dirt, he'll try to unearth the carpet. Everything I own is saturated in lemon juice to keep Moose out of it. He really hates the taste of lemon."
"Why do you keep him?" Luke asked.
Tom made a face. "I don't know. I like him, I guess. He was a stray. I felt sorry for him. Now I feel sorry for myself. But he'll grow up. One day."
"We have two cats that somebody abandoned," Luke murmured, with a speaking glance at his sister. "I was going to take them to the pound, but she—" he gestured toward Elysia "—wouldn't hear of it. They went to the vet instead, for shots. Good thing she makes a good living at her boutique, or their appetites would bankrupt her."
"They eat an awful lot," Crissy agreed. "Especially Winter."
"Winter?" Tom ventured.
"It was when we found her," she replied. "And the other one is named 'Damn—'"
"Crissy!" Elysia burst out.
"Well, that's what Uncle Luke calls her,”
Crissy muttered.
"Her name is Petunia," Elysia said, smothering laughter. "But she likes shaving lotion, so every morning when Luke uses his, Petunia leaps into his lap and tries to lick him."
"Moose has several other names, too," Tom murmured, "But I won't repeat them in mixed company."
Luke chuckled.
"Would you like to see our cats?" Crissy asked when they finished dessert. "They live in the barn."
"Go ahead," Elysia told the other three occupants of the table. "I have to clear away."
Tom hesitated, but Crissy caught his hand and coaxed him out the back door.
She managed a smile. "I suppose so. Not that we've settled anything, but we're not attacking each other, either. I don't mind if he sees Crissy."
"They seem to be forming a bond."
"I noticed." She sighed. "Luke, you don't think he'll try to take her away from me?" she asked worriedly.
"No, I don't. He isn't that kind of man."
"I do hope you're right. I've only been around him for a few..."
The sound of tires on the gravel outside caught their attention. A tall, dark-haired man was just getting out of a racy red foreign sports car.
"Why, it's Matt!" Elysia exclaimed. "Whatever is he doing here?"
Chapter 4
Matt Caldwell was a handsome devil, dark-eyed and lean-faced and dark-browed. He moved with a lithe, sure gait and he was the favorite target of most of the single women in Jacobsville. Not that Matt ever seemed to notice any of them, except Elysia, and only on a friendly basis. His full name was Mather Gilbert Caldwell. But everyone called him Matt.
He grinned as he approached the people on the front porch, showing perfect white teeth.
"Are you a delegation?" he queried.
"You'd better hope we're not a lynch mob," Luke chuckled. "What brings you out here?"
"I'm looking for your dinner guest. Where is he? I've got a message for him from his sister."
"It must be a pretty important one to bring you out here," Elysia said. "And how did you know he was here?"
"Mr. Gallagher," he murmured dryly.
She groaned. "He's out in the barn with Crissy."
"Mind if I deliver the message?"
"Of course not," Elysia said.
He caught her by the hand and pulled her along. "You come, too."
She let him lead her away with an amused glance toward her brother.
"Is it bad news?" she asked as they approached the barn.
"Not at all." He glanced down at her. "Why is your dinner guest in the barn with Crissy?"
"She's introducing him to our cats."
"I heard she and Luke spent today out at Turner's Lake fishing with Tom."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 162
