by Janet Dailey
"What was all this about, Tad?" His stern words brought no response from the boy. Rob Douglas's hand shot out and twisted Tad's face up toward his. "I want an explanation."
Cathie knew that closed sullen look on his son's face. She had seen it often enough in class. Although she had the opportunity of turning away and avoiding another meeting with Rob Douglas, she chose not to take advantage of it.
Stepping forward, she said, "The other children were teasing him about his name."
The fiery dark eyes were turned on Cathie and she experienced relief that his anger wasn't directed at her. Rob looked all the more imposing in brown slacks and a tight fitting knitted short-sleeved shirt. The muscular physique that his Sunday dress had only hinted at was revealed by his casual clothes.
"What do you mean, his name?" Rob Douglas released Tad's chin, which immediately fell back to his chest.
"Tad, short for tadpole or a frog." Cathie spoke quietly as if the softness of her voice would ease the pain those words had inflicted.
The grim line around Rob's mouth grew even grimmer as he looked down at the bent sandy-haired head of his son. He inhaled deeply to control his anger and glanced at Cathie. "I appreciate the information, Miss Carlsen. Good day."
After a brief nod in her direction, he herded Tad across the street to where his car was parked. Cathie watched them for a minute before turning back toward the library, trying to refocus her thoughts on choosing books, but finding Rob Douglas a potent influence on her mind.
"Aw, come on, Cathie," Andy wheedled. "You said yourself that Clay wasn't coming over tonight, so you have no reason for not coming with us to Black Hawk Lake."
"Really, Andy, I don't feel like going swimming tonight." Cathie refused for about the sixth time, and the second time since their evening meal. "I would rather spend a quiet night alone here at the house."
"There's a whole group of us going. Nobody's matched up with anyone else, so you don't need to worry about Clay getting jealous," the dark-haired girl persevered. "I agree that it's terribly peaceful with Connie on vacation at Okoboji, but it's too beautiful a night to sit around by yourself."
"That's exactly what I want to do," Cathie insisted.
"Well," said Andy, sighing as she lifted her shoulders in a resigned gesture, "if that's what you really want to do, far be it from me to try to change your mind. But you're really going to miss an awfully fun evening."
"I'll try to survive," Cathie replied drolly as she secured her blond hair behind her head with a tortoiseshell clasp.
A car horn tooted impatiently in front of the house. "That must be Mary Beth!" Andy exclaimed, racing out of the kitchen to the front room where her beach bag and towel were. As she retraced her steps, speeding toward the outside door, she called out to Cathie, "I don't know what time we'll be back, so don't worry if I'm late. Bye!" And the door slammed.
The oscillating fan continued to whir noisily from its position on the kitchen counter, so the house didn't become completely silent at the departure of Andy. Cathie stared at the closed door, her green eyes clouded and without their usual jewel-bright sparkle. Now that she was alone, she stopped fighting the restless feeling that had been nagging at her all afternoon and evening. The true reason she had declined Andy's invitation wasn't because she wanted to spend the evening alone, but because she didn't feel like going swimming with a boisterous and laughing group of people. Nor was she missing Clay's company, even though he was tied up this evening.
It was a strange mood she was in, unsettled, restless. There were plenty of things she could do-read one of the books she had picked up at the library today, write her parents a letter, do some washing. Cathie could think of all the things she could do, but nothing that she wanted to do.
After wandering aimlessly through the house twice and drawing concerned looks from the dog Duchess, Cathie finally picked up one of the library books and settled in an easy chair in the living room. It was a futile attempt because she kept reading the same page over and over without remembering what she had read. The ring of the telephone was almost a relief.
Lifting the black receiver, she said, "Hello."
"Hello. This is Rob Douglas. I wondered if you were free this evening?"
For a moment Cathie's heart stopped beating before it began racing away at an incredible speed. She collected herself before answering. "You must want Connie. She's on vacation. This is Cathie Carlsen speaking."
"I'm aware that Connie is on vacation and I know whom I'm speaking to." There was a suggestion of dry amusement in his voice. "It's you that I wish to see, Miss Carlsen."
"Me? What do you want to see me about?" A frown creased her forehead as her hand tightened its grip on the receiver.
"There are some personal things I want to discuss with you," Rob answered. "May I come over?"
"What personal things? About your son?" Cathie wanted it clarified before she would consider agreeing to another face-to-face confrontation with him. "Surely we can discuss it over the telephone?"
"I don't care to discuss my personal affairs over a party line. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
"Just a moment, I-" she began, but the line on the other end was dead. Slowly she replaced the receiver on its hook, wishing that she had gone with Andy instead of staying home.
Then cold anger swept over her at his high-handed assumption that simply because he said he was coming over she would be there. He hadn't even waited for her to say whether she was free.
"Duchess, I think it's time someone taught Mr. Douglas a lesson." The dog's tail wagged briefly as if in agreement while Cathie hurried toward the small desk in the living room to retrieve some paper and a pencil. She quickly jotted down a note addressed to Rob Douglas that stated she had a previous engagement, then rummaged through the desk drawers to find some adhesive tape.
A wicked sparkle gleamed from her green eyes as she taped the message to the front door. She paused long enough to imagine Rob Douglas's face when he saw it before dashing back into the house for her handbag and the car keys inside it. After several minutes' delay trying to remember where she had left the bag, Cathie found it and sped out of the door to the small garage.
The heavy garage door was its usual stubborn self, opening halfway, then refusing to budge until Cathie had broken a sacrificial fingernail. Inside the car, she put the key in the ignition, listened to the motor turn over once, then twice, then three times before it finally coughed and sputtered into life. Excitement flushed her face, giving it a youthful vigor as she turned in the seat to look out of the back window and reverse the car out of the garage into the drive. Before she could maneuver the car into the street, a gold and brown El Dorado pulled into the driveway, effectively blocking her escape.
Her hand smote the steering wheel in anger. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" she muttered under her breath.
"Such language?” Rob Douglas' tongue clicked in mock scolding as he leaned down to look in the window on the driver's side. His mouth quirked at the furious expression on her face. It was not a smile, but pique touched by amusement at her futile attempt to elude him. "You surely didn't think it would take me twenty minutes to drive that distance? The farm is barely two miles from town."
"If you would read the note on the door, you'll find I have another engagement," she stated coldly. "So if you will kindly move your car, I'll be on my way."
He reached in the opened window, turned off the motor and extracted the key from the ignition, his arm brushing her rounded breast. "You're lying, Cat," he stated calmly. "You don't have any other appointment."
"And just how do you know that?" she demanded, refusing to reach for the keys that were being held just out of reach.
"If you legitimately had other plans for this evening, you would have seized on that excuse for not seeing me immediately. As it is, you only thought of it after I'd hung up," he smiled. The smile didn't lessen the hard, uncompromising glitter in his eyes. "I can't understand why you're so anxious to avoid me, Cat,
especially since I only want to talk to you as parent to teacher."
"Stop calling me Cat!" She was bristling with anger as he opened the car door for her. Brushing away the hand he offered, Cathie stepped out of the car, seething with fury that he could see through her pretense so easily. "My keys, please."
Rob Douglas dropped them in her outstretched palm and Cathie transferred them to her bag. Her hands clenched the leather bag tightly as she stood silently in front of Rob, too aware of the way he towered over her. He looked so cool and collected in his creased plaid slacks and crisp gold shirt. She unnecessarily smoothed her hair back to where it was caught by the clasp, fighting to get control of her temper.
"I suppose we should go in the house," Cathie suggested icily.
"It would be more conducive to a business conversation than the hard cement of your front steps," he agreed, stepping aside so she could lead the way, a cool, arrogant gleam lighting his brown eyes as she stalked past him.
Duchess met Cathie at the door, her tail wagging until she saw the stranger following her mistress. A shrinking shyness sent the dog hiding behind Cathie's legs, the graying muzzle sticking out to test the air in case it was someone she knew.
"Your watchdog?" Dark eyebrows raised significantly.
Cathie wished it were true, then she could have set Duchess on him. Instead she sighed, "She's just a pet. She was my grandfather's dog, but she always was shy around strangers, and since I took her from the farm, the poor dear has been even worse." She gave the red gold head hugging her knees a reassuring pat. "Go and lie down, Duchess."
"She's a beautiful animal, even if she is beginning to show her age. An English shepherd, isn't she?"
"Yes," Cathie nodded abruptly. "Would you prefer the kitchen or the living room?"
"Wherever you think would be most comfortable."
There wasn't any room that would seem comfortable to Cathie as long as Rob Douglas was in it, but since he left it up to her, she chose the kitchen. Its strictly utilitarian atmosphere would not encourage casual conversation. With luck their discussion about Tad would be short and she could send him quickly on his way.
"Would you care for something to drink?" She didn't want to offer him anything, but her ingrained hospitality demanded it of her. "I could make some instant coffee, or I have pink lemonade in the refrigerator."
"Spare me the instant coffee," Rob refused firmly, revealing the same aversion she felt toward it. "But I will have some lemonade, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Minutes later she set a glass for each of them on the Formica-topped table and drew out a chair on the opposite side of the table from where he was seated. "Now, what did you want to discuss about Tad?" she requested in her most businesslike manner.
"You didn't seem surprised by the episode this afternoon. I take it this has happened before."
"Yes. It's not at all unusual for a child to be teased about his name. Another boy in my class is named Jack, but the children invariably call him Jack Rabbit because his ears stick out. It's something a teacher can't prevent." Cathie didn't have any intention of being blamed for it.
His thorough study of her face was making her uncomfortable. "I'm not accusing you of anything," Rob told her, looking unbearably relaxed and in charge. "How does he get along in school?"
"You signed his report card," she returned defensively. "He's an excellent student, as I said before."
"I don't doubt his scholastic ability," he agreed with marked patience. "I'm more concerned about his ability to get along with other children."
"Doesn't Tad talk about what goes on at school to you?" Cathie was unwilling to point out how singularly detached Tad had been from the rest of the class.
"I want your view."
"Very well," she took a deep breath. If he wanted her view, she would give it to him just exactly the way it was without any of the frills of teacher diplomacy. "Tad seemed to be determined not to become a part of the class. He never took part in any discussions, didn't join in any games unless he was forced to, and kept to himself at all other times. He was the straggler, the last one to arrive in the room and the last to leave. He avoided all contact that he could with the rest of the students." Cathie paused, taking in the grim set of Rob Douglas' jaw. He wasn't liking what he was hearing and there was a pleasing sense of revenge that she was upsetting him as much as he upset her. "Even the way he dressed, his expensive slacks, set Tad apart. They weren't the clothes for the rough and tumble play of boys."
"He didn't make any friends?" His gaze hardened and Cathie's eyes were drawn to the small scar, its pencil-thin line making the glitter in his dark eyes appear all the more portentous.
"None."
His hand closed tightly over the glass on the table. "Did you think his behavior was natural?"
"Of course not." An angry frown creased her forehead.
"Then why didn't you see fit to notify me of Tad's behavior?"
Cathie knew she had been wrong in that. If it had been anyone other than Rob Douglas, she would have contacted the parent. But she had been too determined not to have anything to do with him. Even now she couldn't admit that she was wrong.
"I believed that, given time, Tad would adjust," she answered primly. "After all, it wasn't just the school that was different. He had moved to a different state, had a new home, and I had heard that his mother died last fall. Those are quite a few changes for a small boy to adapt to, and I didn't think the two months of school was enough time for him to do it."
"But you still didn't think I needed to know what was going on." Rob shook his head in exasperation and anger. "Why?"
"I thought he would confide in you," Cathie flared. "You are his father!"
"Yes," he sighed, leaning against the padded chair back. Grim lines deepened the grooves around his mouth, determination etched in the carved lines. "I am his father."
"Surely you had some indication of what was going on?" The somber concern in his face made Cathie unconsciously soften her tone and take the sarcasm out of it.
Rob looked at her sharply from beneath the dark gathering of his brow. "When you were listing the adjustments Tad has to make, you didn't include a father that he doesn't know."
"What?" Cathie breathed, her head tilted to the side in surprise, not quite sure she had heard him right.
"I met Tad's mother when she was only seventeen. She was a fey unworldly creature, unlike anyone I'd ever met. Her parents were extremely wealthy and owned a large estate on the east coast. When she told them she wanted to marry me, it was probably the only time in her life that she'd stood up to them. Since she wasn't of legal age, we needed their consent, and they would only give it if we agreed to live in the small guest house on the estate grounds." Rob continued in a flat, unemotional voice. "I won't embarrass you with the more intimate failures of our marriage except to say that when Yvette discovered she was pregnant, she used it as an excuse to move back to the main house. I stayed on. I thought when our child was born he would tie us together, but her parents, Yvette and Tad became the family and I was the one who was excluded."
In spite of herself Cathie felt a welling of sympathy for him, even though she realized he was too proud a man to accept it, if he ever needed it, which she doubted.
"We were divorced a year after Tad was born. The fey, unworldly charm that had attracted me to Yvette was the result of an excessively sheltered and controlled life. Her parents' world was conducted within the confines of the estate walls, and because Yvette knew no other, she saw no harm in raising our child in the same way. At the time I had neither the money nor the power her parents possess, so there was no chance of taking my son away from her. I was refused visiting privileges with Tad unless Yvette or her parents were with me. The last time I saw Tad he was five years old. He sat passively in a chair the whole time, dressed like a miniature mannequin, not playing or showing any desire to play. I didn't go back again until Yvette's death last fall. It was worse than the last time I saw him, and I
knew it was my last chance to get him away from that sterile, suppressive environment. The court hearing took place in February and the judge awarded me custody. Only now is Tad beginning to doubt all those stories he was told about how I didn't care about him, that I'd deserted him and his mother. So you see, that shell of hardened reserve he protects himself with is a difficult thing to combat and this teasing by his classmates only serves to reinforce it."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Her voice was tight. She didn't want to know about his past or that of his son. She didn't want to become involved in his life, and yet some unseen little voice kept telling her she already was, that their paths were already entwined. "You should be telling Mrs. Gleason, his new teacher."
Rob leaned forward to rest both arms on the table and gaze intently at Cathie. "There are three long months of summer vacation. Three months during which you and I together could help Tad take a giant step forward."
"Why me?" she protested, feeling herself being drawn into the whirlpool of his plans and wanting to resist, to shut her ears to his low, persuasive voice.
"Because Tad likes you. Your approval has become important to him. You haven't been sullied in his mind as I have by the name-calling of his grandparents. He can accept you as you are."
"I don't understand. What could I possibly do to help him?"
His gaze firmly held hers. "You told Tad once that you used to spend your summers on the farm. I can barely persuade him to walk in the barn door, and if it weren't for that little yellow kitten that lives in the barn, I wouldn't get him that far."
"And you think I might be able to talk him into being more adventurous," Cathie finished his thought.
"Let's put it this way. Tad is intrigued by the tree house in the grove opposite the house. He asked me once if I thought you used to play in it as a child, but he won't venture over there. Several other times he's inquired whether you might have done something or other when you were on the farm."
"So what are you asking? That I take him on a grand tour of the place?" She had to make her voice sarcastic to hide the ache in her heart brought on by her cherished memories of the Homeplace.
