The Homeplace (The Americana Series Book 15)

by Janet Dailey

  Chapter Eleven

  "YOU'VE BEEN UNNATURALLY QUIET, Cathie." Andy glanced curiously at the girl walking beside her. "All through lunch you didn't say two words except to nod your head yes or no to whatever I said."

  "Is that so unusual?" The brittle smile couldn't reach the dull green eyes. Cathie sighed, turning her gaze away from her roommate's probing eyes to study the rolling, dark gray clouds slowly billowing over the entire sky and the incredibly still trees with not a breath of wind stirring their leaves. "I don't know, maybe it's the weather." Or Rob Douglas, her mind added, sending a twisting dagger of pain to her heart.

  "Well, the forecast predicts thunder showers." Andy's brown eyes turned skyward, too, as she plucked at her nylon uniform clinging stickily to her skin. "And those clouds look as if they're going to burst any minute. It will probably be raining when I get off work tonight, since I left my umbrella at home."

  When they neared the corner where they would separate, Cathie to go home and Andy to return to the dental office, the first fat raindrops splattered on the dust-covered pavement. Andy's palm turned upward to assure herself it was raining.

  "It isn't going to wait until this afternoon," she declared, looking at the droplet on her hand. "I'm going to make a dash for the office before I get drenched." She was already moving away from Cathie at a brisk pace. "I'll see you tonight."

  Cathie returned the wave, making her steps swifter as she crossed to the other side of the street. The rain was falling faster now as the air around her became more muggy but with a fragrant cleanness. For several blocks, the rainfall was steady and gentle, like a tepid shower. Cathie couldn't bring her feet to hurry despite the growing dampness of her peasant top and the gold-colored slacks. There was no desire to return to the emptiness of the house that she had done her best to avoid these past four days. She wanted no time to think about Rob Douglas, or the torment of her situation would be more difficult to bear.

  Thunder rumbled as darker clouds rolled overhead, accompanied by darting tongues of lightning. The air became slightly cooler, stirring up a sighing breeze that gradually grew into a wind. As Cathie made her turn half a block from her house, the drops began falling closer together, driven now by the wind. Common sense made her sprint the short distance to the door rather than risk a complete soaking. At the closing of the door behind her, a fiery flash of lightning split open the clouds and sent torrents of water to ricochet off the ground.

  The gusting wind was whipping the rain through the open windows. Cathie scrambled hastily to close them before the water could do more than dampen the floors and furniture. After she had wiped the small pools under the windows, she turned the towel on herself, blotting away the few drops that were still clinging to her skin. There were few gaps between the roaring thunder and the streaking lightning. She felt a kinship with the violent storm as if its fury was unleashing her own pent-up emotions and bringing some measure of relief.

  Curling up on the sofa with her arms wrapped around her knees, Cathie stared out the window at the angled sheets of driving rain. It hammered at the quaking leaves of bushes and trees and beat down the drowning blades of grass. The birds, squirrels, rabbits, and all the rest of the little creatures had taken shelter from the deluge. Cathie's head came up with a start. Duchess! There was no covering flap on her kennel and the rain would be beating unmercifully. Cathie raced toward the door, pausing only to take the clear plastic, bubble-shaped umbrella from the closet. Paying no heed to the buffeting rain, she headed straight for the kennel, scolding herself for forgetting the aging shepherd.

  "Duchess! Come on, girl," she called coaxingly before dropping to one knee beside the small dark opening. No red gold nose came out. The sky had darkened ominously, making it difficult to see in the dim interior, but a searching hand ascertained that Duchess wasn't inside. The metallic gleam of the chain half hidden by grass caught her eye, and lifting it, Cathie saw the rusty broken link and knew that Duchess had run away.

  There was no telling how long she had been gone since Cathie couldn't remember seeing the dog when she had dashed in the house a quarter of an hour earlier. And she had been gone all morning, which gave the shepherd ample time to break free and run off.

  As the rain began darkening her unprotected gold slacks, Cathie debated whether or not to go in search of the dog. Its final destination, she knew, would be the farm. The question was, had Duchess already reached it or was she en route? Cathie tried to convince herself that the dog would take shelter, but visions of soft, trusting eyes and the graying muzzle wouldn't go away. It was foolish to try to find Duchess in a storm that showed no signs of letting up. Cathie argued with herself all the way to her car.

  The windshield wipers had little effect on the onslaught of rain as the car crept along the highway with Cathie peering out of the rain-streaked windows for a glimpse of the dog. At every place that offered any sort of protection for the shepherd, she rolled the window down, ignoring the biting spray on her face to search for the telltale red gold color. The big tree loomed ahead of her at the intersection of the county road and the highway. The Homeplace was only a quarter of a mile west on that graveled road.

  Cathie inhaled deeply. "Well," she sighed aloud, "I've come this far, so I might as well go all the way."

  Her car tires slushed onto the sodden gravel road. The air rumbled with repeated rolls of thunder that seemed to match the quaking going on in her own body. She parked the car near the machine shed, wishing there was a place where it would be out of sight. Snatching the umbrella from the passenger seat, she scrambled out of the car to dash toward the corn crib. The soaking wind tore her pleading calls for Duchess from her throat, drowning them in the fury of the storm. Faintly she heard an answering yelp. There, framed in the machine-shed doors, sat Duchess.

  Cathie dashed into the rain, her sandals slipping and sliding in the mud. The remnants of the leash was still attached to the shepherd's collar. Cathie had but one thought-to get the dog from the machine shed to the car. But Duchess had an entirely different idea as she retreated farther away from her mistress into the dark recesses of the shed. With a diving grab, Cathie caught hold of the leash and began the thankless task of dragging the reluctant dog to the doorway.

  The umbrella had to be abandoned since Cathie couldn't manage the dog and the umbrella at the same time. She paused in the doorway to catch her breath and assess the distance from the shed to the car. Through rain-spiked lashes, she studied the path that was quickly becoming a quagmire and wondered how much of a fuss Duchess would put up between here and there. If only the dog were human, she could explain why she didn't want to stay in the shelter of the machine shed. Why it was so important to leave before Rob discovered she had been here.

  A blinding flash of electrically charged fire raced jaggedly across the sky, momentarily darkening the pupils of her green eyes. Her gaze scanned the clouds. With a sharp intake of breath, she saw the dark finger snake out of a cloud, its weaving funnel dancing above the ground before disappearing back into the clouds. She had lived in Iowa too long not to recognize a tornado, however far away it might be. Duchess whined and pulled backward on the leash, and instantly Cathie fell to her knees and threw her arms around the dog's neck.

  "What are we going to do? We can't leave now!" Closing her eyes tightly against the panic that leaped in her chest, she buried her head for a moment in the damp hair of the shepherd's neck.

  "I thought I was seeing things when I spotted your car parked down here!" an angry voice barked above her head.

  Cathie remembered to keep a hold on the leash as she jumped to her feet, her wide frightened eyes turning on Rob while her heart hammered away somewhere in the area of her throat.

  "Don't just stand there!" He reached out to grasp her wrist. "Didn't you see that funnel cloud? We have to get under cover."

  "Duchess," Cathie murmured protestingly, foolishly thinking of the shepherd instead of herself. "I can't go without her."

  Rob cursed s
ilently under his breath as he picked up the whimpering dog and ordered Cathie to go ahead of him. "Go to the root cellar behind the house!" he shouted.

  Without the shelter of a roof, she was drenched by the pounding rain in seconds. Widened green eyes kept scanning the clouds, knowing that at any second another funnel might be born. Blocking out the sound of thunderous claps and explosive fireballs, she tried to keep her ears tuned for that terrifying sound of a hundred jet engines. Cathie was gasping for breath when she reached the slanted wooden door that led down to the root cellar. Rob was at her heels, the sodden dog limp and quivering in his arms. It took all her fear-weakened strength to lift the door for Rob to precede her. The small electric bulb shining at the bottom of the steps was a beacon light leading to security and safety. Cathie tumbled down the stairs toward it, letting the door slam shut overhead.

  The scent of potatoes, apples and pears all mingled with the odor of the musty earthen walls. Duchess didn't bother to shake the water from her saturated coat but scrambled beneath the jar-laden shelves the instant Rob set her on her feet. Now that the race to safety was over Cathie's legs were no longer capable of holding her up. She forced them to carry her to an upright crate where she collapsed with quivering relief.

  "Where's Tad?" The thought of the boy somewhere out there in the storm struck fear in her heart.

  "Over at the Smiths'," Rob answered calmly in spite of the angry frown creasing his stern features. "I called over a half hour ago when I heard the tornado warning on the radio. They're all safe in their basement. And Mrs. Carver is at the hospital with her grandson. What were you doing out in this?"

  Cathie wiped the excess water from her forehead that kept trickling down from her hair. "Duchess ran away and I couldn't face the thought of her being out in the storm. I knew she'd come here."

  "Of all the stupid..." His mouth clamped tightly shut on the rest of his words. "Didn't you even have the radio on in your car?"

  He was standing above her, the pale green print shirt plastered to his wide shoulders accenting every rippling muscle. At the brief negative movement of her head, he sighed in exasperation and raked his fingers through his curling hair.

  "How long do you think this will last?" Cathie asked, involuntarily flinching as a resounding crash of lightning made itself heard through the thick earthen walls that muffled all but the loudest sounds.

  "Half an hour, an hour." Rob shrugged dismissively as if time was of little consequence. "It depends on how large a cell this storm is."

  As he walked toward the stairwell, Cathie noticed the portable radio and flashlight sitting on the shelf near the exit. Rob flicked the radio on to a local station, and the serene melody of a popular ballad filled the air.

  Impatiently his gaze slid over her. "I didn't think to bring a towel or blanket to dry ourselves with."

  A burning rush of color flamed in her face, and she knew that her own cotton top was just as revealing in its wetness as his had been. "I don't mind," she murmured.

  Water dripped from the ventilation shaft, sounding much louder than the steady hammer of rain on the wooden door. The shepherd was still cowering under the shelves, her ears flat against her head and her eyes, wide and frightened by the violence outside. Cathie silently wished that Rob would stop pacing back and forth like a caged panther. The small muggy cellar was becoming charged with an unbearable tension, and she knew her racing pulse no longer had anything to do with the storm taking place outside. Trivial conversation was impossible for Cathie. She was too conscious of Rob as the man she loved and not as a fellow human being trapped by the storm.

  The explosive report of striking lightning threw the dimly lit cellar into complete darkness. Cathie leaped to her feet. The shriek torn from her throat was generated more from surprise than genuine fear. Before she could recover her wits, Rob's arms were around her, drawing her against the firmness of his body.

  "The power went out, that's all," he murmured, holding her in the protective circle.

  For a moment Cathie couldn't move or breathe, so overwhelming was the desire to slip her arms around him and lift her head from his muscular chest for his kiss. His previous rejection of her made the natural impulse impossible to carry out, another humiliation more than her pride could bear. Unwillingly she held herself away, his arms not letting her escape altogether, but she was free from the hypnotic beat of his heart beneath her head. A quivering sigh raced over her body.

  "You're cold," Rob observed, his voice coming from somewhere near the top of her head.

  "So are you," she answered quickly, her fingers still touching the cool dampness of his shirt that clung to his firm waistline like a second skin. "It's... it's these wet clothes."

  "As soon as this storm eases, we can change into something dry."

  Cathie was grateful for the darkness that concealed the torment his nearness was causing. "Yes," she agreed, attempting to shift out of his arms.

  But he tightened his hold. "It would be best if you stayed close to me to ward off the chance of a chill."

  "No, no, I'm all right," she protested, pushing ineffectually against his chest.

  "Don't turn female on me, Cat," he said angrily, pulling her roughly against him. "I'm not going to try to seduce you."

  She had not the strength or will to fight him as he maneuvered through the darkness to the crate, easing her down to the earthen floor so the two of them could use if for a backrest. Weakly Cathie let him cradle her in his arms, the burning warmth of his body sapping what little opposition remained. For an eternity of minutes they remained there, with Rob never commenting on the rigidity of Cathie's slender frame.

  Rob moved slightly, lifting his arm from around her shoulders. "The rain seems to have let up. I'm going to check to see what it looks like out there." He reached above their heads for the flashlight, mercifully not shining it on Cathie's pale, strained face.

  The beam of light picked out the path to the wooden steps. As the hinges creaked on the overhead door, the disc jockey on the radio station said that the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. With the cellar door opened, partially illuminating the underground room, Cathie could tell the falling rain had a more gentle patter to it. At the sound of Rob's shoes descending the stairs, she rose to her feet inhaling deeply and attempting to wipe the nervous strain from her face.

  "Its safe to go inside now," said Rob, his face shadowed by the gray light coming over his shoulder from the opened door.

  As if in confirmation of his words, the cellar light came back on, only to be switched off by Rob as Cathie walked past him to the steps. Duchess was much more reluctant to leave their shelter, consenting only after several repeated commands. Then the shepherd raced around the house, heading for the comparative safety beneath the front porch. Rob's swinging stride brought him abreast of Cathie as they walked swiftly toward the back door. Stealing a glance from the corner of her eye, she watched him run an appraising look over the farm seeking signs of the storm's damage to his property. None was visible except for a few broken tree limbs. Cathie couldn't help wondering if the Smith farm and Tad had fared as well.

  Once they entered the house Rob made straight for the telephone, and Cathie knew his thoughts were on his son. She waited anxiously while he put the call through. After a brief exchange of words, the grim lines around his mouth eased into a smile which he cast over his shoulder to Cathie, signifying that Tad was all right. She smiled tremulously back, her heart singing that Rob should be so perceptive of her thoughts.

  "No damage at the Smiths' either, and Tad is fine," Rob said, turning to her after he had replaced the receiver. "I talked to Ray. From what he's been able to find out from his neighbors, the few tornadoes that were sighted all stayed in the air, although the accompanying winds did take a few trees."

  "That's a blessing," Cathie agreed, blinking at the acid burning of tears in her eyes for caring so much about what happened to Rob's son. But the subsequent shuddering of her shoulders was from relief at
knowing Tad was safe and unharmed.

  "There's a robe hanging on the bathroom door," Rob said, misinterpreting her shiver. "After you get out of those wet clothes, you'd better take a hot bath."

  "What about you?"

  "I'll use the shower downstairs." Cathie started to turn away, feeling foolish for voicing her concern for his well being. "Set your clothes outside the bathroom door," Rob added, "and I'll toss them in the clothes dryer in the basement. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to get them dry."

  Cathie hadn't realized how chilled she was until she slipped out of her wet clothes, wrapped herself in the large terrycloth robe and set the clothes outside the bathroom door while the tub was filling with water. She knew she should have insisted on leaving immediately rather than prolong her stay with Rob, but it had been so much easier giving in to the authority in his tone. As she crawled into the tubful of hot water, she was glad she had stayed. The water was a balm to her raw nerves as it eased the aching tension of her muscles held so tightly in check when she had rested against Rob. She lay in the tub gaining strength from the soothing caress of the water until she heard Rob moving around in the kitchen.

  There was a rap on the door. "I've poured you a cup of coffee," Rob called out from the other side.

  "I'll be out in a minute," she answered, stirring herself into mobility even though she could have used a longer respite from his presence.

  Rob barely glanced up when she padded into the room minutes later, the robe securely belted around her waist. "Sit down." He motioned toward the table, sliding a glance in her direction over his shoulder.

  Her green eyes were drawn admiringly to his crisp appearance in his fawn-colored trousers and a complementing silk shirt. When he turned away from the counter carrying her cup of coffee, she veiled her look with dark lashes. He stopped beside her chair, brushing her arm as he set the cup down and causing a renewed fluttering in her stomach. Involuntarily she drew away.