by Ginna Gray
Jane was a small, vivacious woman in her late thirties. An eternal optimist, she bounced through life thoroughly enjoying each day, intensely interested in everything and everyone. Though she was not particularly pretty, no one ever noticed. She had laughing eyes and an incandescent smile that made you feel good just to be around her. She was a bubbly, outgoing extrovert, the direct opposite of Katy.
When the chairs were stacked, Jane turned toward the kitchen. "Come on. Let's have a cup of coffee and prop our feet up for a few minutes before we leave."
In the kitchen Jane poured out two mugs of coffee and handed one to Katy. Kicking off her shoes, she curled herself into the corner of the battered old couch that occupied one wall and tucked her feet under her. She looked at Katy and patted the adjacent cushion. "Come sit down. I'm dying to know what's going on at the farm. I heard only this morning that Trace has inherited Green Meadows. Is that true?"
Katy almost laughed aloud at the avid curiosity written on Jane's face. She knew she really shouldn't be surprised that news of Henry Barnett's will had already spread. It was next to impossible to keep anything a secret in Tyler. The city had grown to a respectable size, but in many ways had retained its small town attitude. As the richest, most powerful family in that part of Texas, the Barnetts had always been the subject of a great deal of speculation and gossip. The fact that Trace had inherited the farm was bound to start tongues wagging.
Katy sat down on the couch. "Yes. It's true."
"Ooohhh, isn't that delicious!" Jane squealed with delight. "I'll bet that witch, Saundra, is ready to have a stroke. The only reason she married Henry Barnett was to get her greedy little hands on his money. And now she's been left high and dry."
"Not quite. Though she'll have no share in the farm or any of the other family holdings, I believe she inherited a modest amount in cash." Katy took a sip of coffee, then smiled wryly. "Of course, what the Barnetts call a modest amount would probably be a fortune to other people."
"Mmmmm. Is she going to stay on at the farm, do you think?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. I make it a point to stay as far away from the Barnetts as I possibly can."
"Humph! I can't say that I blame you. Henry was a first-class snob, and so is that high-and-mighty alley cat he married," Jane burst out indignantly.
Jane and Saundra Barnett were the same age and had attended school together, but that was the only thing they had in common. Saundra was a brittle, sophisticated woman. She had thoroughly enjoyed the affluence and social position her marriage provided, while making no pretense of caring for her elderly husband. Her frequent, passionate affairs were common knowledge.
In one of her lightning-quick changes of mood, Jane's anger disappeared, and her face lit up with a smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Tell me, is Trace still the gorgeous hunk he was four years ago?"
Katy's eyes grew round in feigned shock. "Why, Jane Cawley! And you a married woman! Whatever would Frank say?" She gave her a stern look and shook her head. "Gorgeous hunk, indeed!"
"I may be married but I'm not blind. And Frank wouldn't care. He knows he's the love of my life," her friend answered pertly. "So come on, tell me about Trace. Is he still as sinfully attractive as he was?"
Katy looked down at the mug of coffee she held in her hand and slowly traced one finger around the rim. She didn't want to talk about Trace. She didn't even want to think about him. It tied her insides up in knots. "Yes, I suppose you could say that he's attractive ... if you like the type."
Jane looked amused. "And just what type is he?"
"Dangerous."
The word slipped out before she thought, and Katy was instantly appalled that she had voiced her feelings aloud.
The blank astonishment on Jane's face slowly faded as she stared at Katy's bent head. She pursed her lips together thoughtfully. "Now that's a very revealing reaction. Don't tell me. Let me guess. Trace made a pass, didn't he?"
Katy looked up and smiled weakly, her cheeks pink. "No. It's not that."
"Then what is it? You don't usually react so violently toward a man. You just look right through most of them, as though they didn't exist."
"Oh, I don't know." Agitated, Katy waved her hand in the air in a vague, frustrated gesture. "It's just that he's so—so ..."
"Sexy?" Jane's eyes were dancing as she asked the provocative question.
"Yes. I guess so." The agreement was given begrudgingly. Katy stood up and walked to the sink and rinsed out her cup. Just thinking about Trace made her feel quivery. Turning, she leaned back against the counter and gripped the edge with both hands. Her troubled expression revealed her inner confusion. "I don't know. Maybe it's just my overactive imagination, but he makes me so nervous and jittery. The way he looks at me . . . the things he says. It gives me this crawly sensation. I get the overpowering feeling he's up to something."
"Oh-ho! And I can just imagine what! Listen, honey. I wouldn't doubt my instincts if I were you. Trace has always had an eye for good-looking women, and I somehow can't see him passing up a gorgeous thing like you, especially since you live practically on his doorstep."
Katy pushed away from the counter and stooped to pick up her purse from beside the couch. "I'm afraid this is one woman he'll just have to pass up. I want no part of him ... or any man."
"Oh, Katy, don't say that," Jane replied sadly. "Marriage with the right person can be wonderful. And, besides, you were born to be a mother. Why, you love every one of the little imps who comes here."
The words sent a wave of longing through Katy, so strong it was almost a physical pain, but she gritted her teeth and fought it down. "That's right. I do. And for me, they'll just have to be enough." She had abandoned all hope of having a family of her own three years ago. For her it was impossible. She knew Jane was puzzled by her attitude, but it couldn't be helped. She couldn't explain, not even to her.
"Katy Donovan! I swear, sometimes you make me so mad I could—"
"My, my. Don't tell me you two are having an argument?"
The two women jumped, then laughed as they turned to see Frank Cawley standing propped against the door frame. A pleasant man with average features, he was the calm, pipe-smoking type, and the perfect counterbalance for Jane's bouncy, effervescent personality. Outside of her parents, they were the most ideally suited couple Katy had ever known.
Jane catapulted herself off the couch straight into her husband's arms, giving him a hard kiss on the mouth, which he returned with enthusiasm. "Hi, darling." She sighed happily, leaning back within his embrace.
"Hello, crazy lady." Frank gave her an affectionate squeeze and ruffled her short-cropped hair, then turned his direct gaze on Katy. "Now, tell me, beautiful. Why was this wife of mine lighting into you like a shrew?"
"Oh, it's the same old thing," Jane spat out disgustedly, before Katy could answer. "She absolutely refuses to have anything to do with men, especially Trace Barnett." Spinning around, she planted her hands on her hips and glared. "You know, Katy, you could do a lot worse."
"Honestly, Jane! Even if he is interested, which I seriously doubt, you don't really think marriage is what he has in mind, do you? People like the Barnetts don't marry farm workers' daughters."
"Mary Kathleen Donovan! Don't you dare let me hear you say such a stupid thing again! You're just as good as anyone. And a lot better than most. Certainly better than that bitch, Saundra, and she married a Barnett, even if it was that old snob, Henry."
Katy laughed nervously. Her friend's vehemence startled her. "Jane, for heaven's sake! Don't get so upset over nothing. I merely said the man makes me nervous, and now you're screaming at me because I won't marry him." She turned bewildered blue eyes on Frank. "Does she always jump to conclusions like this?"
He grinned. "Always. Especially when she's defending someone she loves. A regular little tigress, that's my Jane."
"Yes, well. Sorry, love. I didn't mean to get so carried away." Jane smiled ruefully. "It's just that you're one of
my very favorite people, and I'll not let anyone run you down. Not even you."
"And I have to say, Katy, I think you're wrong about Trace," Frank added softly, as he took his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. He dipped the bowl into the pouch and filled it, carefully tamping down the loose tobacco with his thumb. "When a young woman is as warm and sweet and lovely as you, all other considerations fade in importance."
Katy gave him a bitter smile. She liked Frank. He was a good friend, and one of the few men with whom she felt at ease. But he was still a man. "Well, this is all rather academic, isn't it? I've only talked with the man once since he returned."
❧
On the way home Katy thought about Jane's indignant outburst. She hadn't meant to give the impression that she thought herself inferior to the Barnetts. She didn't. At least not in the ways that mattered. But neither did she fool herself into thinking they were on an equal footing. The Barnetts, and their kind, had a very definite advantage over ordinary people, an advantage they did not hesitate to use—power and influence. Katy had learned, the hard way, that without it you were helpless and vulnerable. She also knew that theirs was a closed society. They socialized only with people within their own circle, and they married only their own kind. And if one of their group was threatened, the other members of the pack closed ranks around them. You didn't stand a chance if you crossed swords with people like the Barnetts.
Katy drove home automatically, her mind occupied with her gloomy reflections. It was not until she turned into the drive that she realized her thoughts had once again strayed to Trace. Stop it! she told herself harshly. Stop thinking about him! The man was becoming an obsession. And why, she didn't know. It had been four days since that evening she had arrived home to find him waiting on the porch.
On the surface, nothing he had done or said that night could be faulted. Not really. Was it all just her imagination? Katy laughed in sudden self-derision. Maybe she was just becoming vain. Had she become so accustomed to fending off men that she automatically assumed every one she met was going to make a pass? Lord, surely she hadn't become as self-absorbed as all that!
No, Katy assured herself firmly as she climbed from the car. That look in his eyes, and the silky, sensuous tone of his voice when he spoke to her hadn't been a product of her imagination. But now that she'd had time to think about it, she realized his flirtatious manner probably didn't mean a thing. She had forgotten, for a while, that Trace and his crowd played by a different set of rules. It was probably second nature to him to flirt with every passably attractive woman he met. It was instinctive, an automatic reflex. It meant no more to him than blinking. Once he had walked out the door, he had probably forgotten all about her. Fool that she was, she'd spent the last four days worrying and fretting over how she was going to discourage him without jeopardizing her father's job, when if she'd just given it a little serious thought, she would have realized that the whole thing was ludicrous.
Katy unlocked the front door and stepped inside, then leaned back against the panel and closed her eyes. So why wouldn't this crawly feeling go away? a tiny voice whispered.
When her father's truck pulled into the drive Katy was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes. The sleeves of her blue and red plaid shirt were rolled up to her elbows, revealing the delicate bones of her wrists and forearms. Faded jeans hugged her hips and thighs like a soft second skin. Her raven-black hair was sleeked away from her face and held at her nape by a tortoise-shell clasp.
The front screen door banged against its frame. Katy didn't even look up. "Hi, Dad. I'm out here in the kitchen," she called over her shoulder.
"Whatever you're cooking smells delicious." Tom poked his head inside the kitchen door and smiled coaxingly. "I hope it will stretch to three. I invited Trace home to share our dinner."
It took a moment for his words to soak in. When they did, Katy turned slowly, her eyes wide with shock. She stared at her father, unable to believe what she'd heard. Then her gaze slid past him and collided with a pair of glinting hazel-green eyes, and the color slowly drained from her face.
A mocking, half smile played around one corner of Trace's mouth. His amused expression told her he was well aware of her dilemma.
"I hope this isn't an inconvenience, Katy. If it is, please feel free to say so." His tone was very polite, very proper, but Katy knew he was taunting her. Trace was quite obviously enjoying her discomfort.
"Nonsense, nonsense," her father cut in. Sniffing appreciatively, he stepped over to the stove and inspected the bubbling pots. "Katy is frying chicken, and she always cooks twice what we need. Now, come on. It's all settled." He motioned for Trace to follow as he started toward the door. "I'll show you where you can wash up, then I'll fix us a drink before dinner."
Katy stared at the two broad, retreating backs. How could he do this? How could he? Her father knew how she felt! But more important, he knew perfectly well that a man in his position simply did not invite someone like Trace home for dinner. Why, old Henry would have had apoplexy had he even suggested such a thing!
The small table set beneath the back window drew her eyes, and she groaned. She didn't suppose Trace had ever eaten in a kitchen in his life. Flooded with a feeling of helplessness and frustrated anger, Katy jerked open a cabinet and snatched a plate from the stack. She rummaged through the cutlery drawer for the proper utensils, then marched across the room and banged the items down on the table. Well, if he intends to eat here, he'll have to, she thought angrily. They didn't even have a dining room!
When Trace reappeared, Katy was standing at the stove, gently turning each piece of chicken, exposing the golden brown crust that had already formed on one side. She kept her eyes on the bubbling oil.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Barnett, if my father's invitation put you in an awkward position or embarrassed you in any way," she stated stiffly.
There was a short pause before Trace replied. "I'm neither embarrassed nor did I feel any particular obligation to accept your father's invitation. I never do anything I don't want to do." He stared at her coolly, his head cocked to one side. "I would never have thought you were an inverted snob, Katy Donovan."
The needling taunt stiffened her spine. She held her head high and turned to face him. "You must surely know that your father would not even have considered coming to this house for dinner. And if my father had been foolish enough to extend an invitation, I have no doubt he would have been put in his place, very quickly and very firmly." Katy's soft voice was trembling with icy indignation. How dare he call her a snob!
The hazel eyes narrowed ominously. "One thing you'd better learn, Katy, and learn quickly. I am not my father." The low fury in his voice sent a shiver through her. "We saw eye to eye on practically nothing. So whatever preconceived notions you've formed about me, you can just throw out the window. I won't be tarred with the same brush, Katy. I'm my own man."
Confused by the harshness of his words and his determination to make her believe them, Katy mumbled a quick, "I'm sorry," and turned back to the stove. As she opened the oven door and slid in the tray of biscuits she felt his eyes boring a hole in her back. Finally, without a word, he turned and walked back into the living room.
A few minutes later her father bustled into the kitchen to prepare the drinks he had promised. Katy turned on him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
"How could you do this, Dad? You knew I didn't want that man here. How could you?"
The anguish in her voice brought his movements to a halt. He put down the two glasses he had taken from the cupboard and turned to her. Big, paw-like hands cupped around her face to tilt it up for his inspection. Smiling down into her troubled eyes, he saw the fear and anxiety there and shook his head sadly.
"Oh, Katy, Katy." He sighed heavily. "Dariin', Trace won't hurt you. He's a good man. Can't you see that? Why, over the past week he has earned the respect and admiration of every man on the place." Tom's weathered brow creased with worry as he searched her face. Lowering
his voice, he spoke to her soothingly, tenderly. "Believe me, sweetheart, if I didn't know I could trust him, I wouldn't let him near you."
Katy swallowed hard and lowered her eyes. Her chin quivering, she stared at a button on the front of his shirt. "All right, Dad. I won't say any more. It's too late now to do anything about it anyway."
The meal, and the rest of the evening, passed very smoothly, despite Katy's jittery nerves. Trace and her father consumed their food with the hearty appreciation of men who have spent the day out of doors doing physical labor. Katy barely touched hers. The talk centered around the farm—which mares were due to foal, which pastures were in need of attention, the cost of grain. It was strictly man talk and she was happy to sit back and let it all wash over her.
After the meal Katy served the men their coffee in the living room, then returned to the kitchen to do the washing up, grateful for the excuse to escape. She washed each dish carefully and slowly to draw out the chore as long as possible. As her hands went about the familiar task she stared past her reflection in the window at the dark shadows of the woods behind the house.
A storm was building up in the distance. Above the bare branches the sky glowed intermittently with eerie flashes of white as lightning streaked downward from a livid line of black clouds. Katy eyed it hopefully. If it moved this way, perhaps Trace would leave.
She sighed as she placed the last dish in the drain rack and pulled the stopper from the sink. What was the reason for his sudden friendly attitude? She thought about his taut anger when she had apologized for her father's presumptuousness in inviting him here. Was that it? Was he trying to demonstrate that he was not a carbon-copy of his father, that he had no intention of following his lead? If so, was he doing it out of sheer obstinacy, a determination to go against his father's wishes? Or did he really want to develop a better working relationship with his employees?
