Against the Wind

by Gwynne Forster

  “You told me not to crowd her,” he told Jordan. “Do you think I have to go on another man’s turf in order to get a woman?” He was careful not to give Jordan complete assurance; a little jealousy would be good for him, because he wasn’t used to it.

  Jordan frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, a signal that he didn’t care for the remark. And he confirmed that when he said, “You’re way off. Talk what you know.”

  “Whatever you say,” Turner told him. From where he stood, the denial was as weak as a puff of smoke battling a March wind. He might as well have agreed. “You know anybody around here who’d be curious about Leslie?”

  Jordan almost dropped the brush. “Why? What happened?”

  “The guy looked a little weather-beaten, but when he started talking, I got the impression that he had some education. I guess what I’m saying is that the man had probably seen better days.”

  “He asked about Leslie?”

  “Yeah. And you, too. Wanted to know whether she stays at your place and what her relationship is to you. Didn’t seem very hostile, but he doesn’t know any more now than he did before he asked. Jordan, I could swear he followed me from here. Otherwise, why did I see him in Frederick and again in Boonsboro, places where I stopped on my way to Hagerstown? I’m pretty sure I saw him in a bar in Frederick. He stared at me so that I got edgy and came pretty close to confronting him. But Boonsboro? He was following me all right, all the way to Hagerstown. That’s where he finally approached me. You want to watch your back, Jordan, and keep Leslie in front of you where you can see her.”

  Turner’s description of the man puzzled him. It could be the same one, but something didn’t tally, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “You staying over tonight?”

  “Can’t. I’m leaving after supper. I’ve got to be at my office early tomorrow morning. Why?”

  “If you see him on the way out, stop somewhere and call me. You didn’t mention this to anyone else, did you?”

  They started toward the house, and Turner stopped and rubbed his jaw with his index finger, as though unsure of his next move. “Naturally, I didn’t mention this to anybody, but maybe you should tell Cal.”

  “I will eventually. And thanks, I owe you one.”

  * * *

  Leslie had finished work for the day and was preparing to go to her apartment when Julia placed a hand on her shoulder, detaining her. “Jordan wants you to stop by the den before you go to your place.”

  Julia had noticed the coolness between them at dinner and had sensed Jordan’s displeasure with Leslie, though she was certain that Leslie’s work was not at the root of it. She watched Leslie through half-slowered lashes. Surely Jordan wasn’t annoyed because he’d found her talking with Turner. Whatever the problem, it wasn’t child’s play, and it bore watching. She spoke to the younger woman.

  “Don’t be afraid of Jordan, Leslie. There’s no reason to be. If you have a problem, let him help you with it. We’re a family here, and you’re one of us.”

  Leslie gaped at her, nonplussed. “Thank you. I…well, thank you.”

  * * *

  “You wanted to see me?” She stood with her back against the closed door, her gaze fastened on the portrait of Jordan’s parents that hung above the big mahogany desk where he sat, his shoulders hunched forward. She leaned against the wall and waited. He chose his words carefully. “As I recall, we have something to discuss. I want to know what that man wants with you.” He almost prayed that she’d trust him. He felt something for her, more than he knew was healthy.

  “I don’t know what the man wants with me.”

  He didn’t believe her, and permitted himself to show the anger that boiled up in him. “Then perhaps you can explain why a man trailed Turner in three different towns, cornered him and raised questions about you?”

  She stood straight and looked him in the eye. “The person you should grill like a trial lawyer is the man who’s looking for me. I don’t control him.”

  Incensed at her refusal to trust him and her willingness to throw away circumstances that he knew she valued, he bounded around his desk and grabbed her by the shoulders. He wanted to shake her. “Don’t be a fool, Leslie. Can’t you see that I want to protect you? Or don’t you care? If you leave here, where will you go? Back to that cell for the aged where you were living? He’d certainly find you there. Dammit, why can’t you trust me?”

  She looked up at him, and her gaze suddenly fastened on his mouth as she sucked in her breath, shocking him out of anger and into sensuality. His hands, hands that he normally controlled automatically, went of their own volition to either side of her head, drawing her to him. But just as he lowered his head, his mind regained control and he stopped and backed off. Displeased with himself for having almost succumbed to an urge he’d had for weeks, one that surely spelled trouble, rage surged within him, and he didn’t bother to snuff it out.

  “What else have you misled me about? That heart-rending tale about your childhood and how you got through college, how much truth was in it? And your wariness of men, of me. You’re not scared right now, are you? Four days ago, you were so afraid of Turner that a thirty-foot-long kitchen wasn’t big enough for the two of you. But this afternoon, I find you practically sitting in his lap, as happily as you please. What did he offer you? A place to stay while you finish your degree? Did you try seducing him like you did me just now?” He knew he was being unfair, but so was she.

  Her facial muscles twitched in anger, and she drew back her hand, but quickly got a grip on her temper and let it fall to her side. “How dare you!”

  She’d come near to striking him, and the fire in her eyes blazed with the brilliance of a belching volcano, fire that spelled passion, womanly passion. Her refusal to let him bend her ignited in him a powerful urge to have her and, even as he flamed in anger, desire rioted through him.

  “Damn you!” he swore.

  He pulled her to him, lowered his head and bruised her lips with his angry mouth. She pushed at his chest, but he held her until she became pliant and her fingers wound their way to his shoulders. But when he drew her closer to him, she backed away. Nobody had to tell him that because he’d moved in anger, her pride wouldn’t let her succumb to what she felt, or probably even to admit it even to herself.

  She proved him right when, in a voice as dull as warm buttermilk, she said, “I never expected that from you. I said I didn’t know what he intends to do if he finds me. I still don’t.”

  He stood rooted to the spot as she walked out of the room.

  He’d been out of bounds. Way out. But she hadn’t been straight with him when he’d wanted, needed some reassurance that his faith in her hadn’t been misplaced. And he hadn’t intended for her to enjoy that kiss, but she had. She’d melted, those wide brown eyes so smoky you’d have thought they were hazed over with fog. And her lips, so soft and yielding, sweet as newborn innocence. He’d stopped because he’d had to. Another second and she would have had him on the edge.

  He sat down to think and made up his mind. He’d find the man. And then what? Leslie was definitely fudging the truth when she’d disclaimed knowledge of any man’s reason for wanting to find her.

  He slammed his fist on the desk. She hadn’t actually said that. She had avoided lying by saying she didn’t know what he intended to do to her. That was something, but it wasn’t good enough. And another thing. She hadn’t divulged the name of the finance company that she owed. Why hadn’t she? He’d also like to know why she had seemed so much more at ease with him since Sunday, when she’d seen him almost naked. And she’d managed to conquer her guardedness around Turner, too. Something was rotten in Denmark. He put on a business suit, got into the Town Car and drove to Preston. He would never permit himself to be ignorant about anything vital to himself and those close to him. And he was ignorant about Leslie.

  * * *

  She hadn’t lied, though she’d skirted the truth; she knew why Faron Walker w
anted to find her, but not what he aimed to do to her. Only that he wanted revenge. She didn’t want to meet Julia and her questions, so she started toward the side door, but with her hand on the knob, she drew back. It wouldn’t surprise her if Faron Walker was loitering outside, and if he…She didn’t let herself complete the thought. She walked rapidly down the hallway, out the kitchen door, and up the winding steps to her apartment. Sitting on her bed drinking tea, the door locked and curtains drawn, she let her mind wander back to that second, that single second, when Jordan Saber’s lips caressed hers. Oh, he’d been angry, mad was more like it, and had done what conquerors do. He had displayed his power. Yet, he’d handled her with such gentleness. She hadn’t dreamed he’d ever kiss her or even that he might want to, and she didn’t kid herself. He hadn’t been motivated by affection, but by frustration. She’d pulled back, because she hadn’t wanted him to know how much she enjoyed it.

  She drained her cup, set it on the marble-top night table and grinned. She couldn’t help it as laughter poured out of her. By now, he was probably swearing, furious with himself, but he couldn’t take it back. Never. That second belonged to her, and it would have to do for all time, because she definitely wasn’t going that way.

  She crawled into bed, turned out the light and immediately sat up. What seemed like a fistful of pebbles hit her bedroom window. The meanness had begun to occur with increasing frequency. She suspected Faron, but she couldn’t get a court order on a hunch. She glanced at the intercom that Jordan had installed in her room, wondered if she should call him, and decided against it. She’d had enough of his questions.

  * * *

  Jordan stretched out on his bed, locked his hands behind his head and contemplated his next move. He’d gone to the women’s residence that evening to learn what he could about the mystery surrounding Leslie. He hadn’t expected that the manager would be a shrew with an intense dislike for Leslie, or that she would indulge in groundless gossip and baseless accusations about Leslie. When she had informed him that she knew Jordan Saber well, and that she was disappointed that he’d “take up with Leslie,” the lie enabled him to put everything else she’d told him into proper perspective. The phone rang, and he glanced at his Rolex before lifting the receiver.

  “I didn’t see the driver,” Turner informed him, “but an old brownish sedan was parked just a couple of steps from your gate. I’d bet my boots that was the same car that parked right behind mine in Boonsboro. But the driver wasn’t in the car, so he had to be prowling around. Watch it, Jordan.”

  “Thanks. I will.” He hung up and sat there in the dark, nursing an eerie feeling. The man had known that he was away from the Estates, and that Leslie was probably not well protected. What if he attacked her in his absence? This was a complication that he didn’t need. He slept fitfully.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Jordan headed for the orchard where Cal was inspecting fruit trees. The unusually cool, long spring meant a late peach harvest, but it promised to be a heavy, healthy crop. As he walked down the long row, he removed his hat to let the early morning breeze flow through his hair as it brushed his face. He loved the Estates, with the gently swaying trees, the green brush that cooled the air in mornings, the plants that responded so eagerly to thoughtful care and the brook that lulled him into peacefulness, subtly, like a woman’s sweet whispered entreaties, every time he neared it. When he’d had to choose between his career and saving the farm, there had been no contest.

  The farm was his life, and he had willingly undertaken the back-breaking work and made the sacrifices to build it into the prize that was Saber Estates. He missed teaching full time, especially the graduate students, but he’d saved the farm, and that mattered more. If he got through this year, he’d be financially sound.

  Cal was looking at the base of a tree that bore white peaches, one of Jordan’s most prized varieties. Jordan never thought of the man as an employee; he was brother, friend, surrogate father and confidant. Cal had guided him through those awkward years when he was bursting into manhood. His uncle Riddick, from whom he’d inherited the nucleus of the Estates, had been a gentle, caring man, but a washout as a surrogate parent. Jordan knew that his system of values had come from Cal, who had taught him perseverance, honor and the value of self-control. And watching Cal with Julia had been his guide to the mysteries of man-woman relationships and the rewards of loving. He broke his stride and paused beside Cal.

  “Any insects?” he asked him

  “No, but the bark’s peeling. I think it’s just showing age. And you shouldn’t be. It’s pretty early in the morning to be so sluggish, Jordan.”

  Jordan shrugged. “Sometime my mind balks at the workout I give it. Say, I’ve been meaning to let you in on some rather depressing happenings around here.” He told him that Leslie was being harassed by one or two men, her failure to explain it, his conversation with the manager of the women’s residence the previous evening and about Turner’s message.

  As he usually did, Cal thought for a while before answering. “Jordan, I’ve always admired Leslie’s courage, and what you’ve just told me hasn’t changed my good opinion of her.” He pulled a strip of diseased bark from the peach tree. “That woman at the residence is the reason why whoever’s looking for Leslie knows she’s here. Did you straighten her out?”

  “Cal, when a person has a tongue as loose as that and shows so little respect for the truth, you don’t tell them anything.”

  “You’re right. We’ll have to trap him.”

  “Bet on it.”

  Chapter Four

  Jordan headed back toward the stables to get Casey Jones, his bay stallion. He wanted to examine his experimental corn seedlings near the brook. “Great morning, isn’t it?” he said to Ossie, who sat on a workbench in a corner mending a saddle.

  “Yeah. Too bad it won’t stay like this all day. We could use some rain, too. The grass at the edge of the ravine is getting brown. Maybe we ought to turn on the sprinklers.”

  Jordan knocked his hat back with his thumb and forefinger and laughed, as he always did when Ossie referred to the irrigation system as sprinklers. “Not a bad idea. I’m taking Casey down to the corn patch. Be sure and mend that stirrup. Be back in about an hour.”

  “Sure thing. Oh, Jordan. Any reason why a Ford, maybe green, maybe brown, parks down there near the gate some nights? I’ve seen it there twice. Whoever’s in it drives off just as I get to the gate. You know anything about this?”

  Jordan paused in the act of straddling his horse. “Something’s going on, Ossie, and I can’t get a handle on it. If you see that car again, get the license number.”

  Ossie wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, already damp from the rising humidity. “I thought maybe it was somebody visiting Leslie. I think he’s kinda short, because I couldn’t see much of a figure in the driver’s seat. Oh, well…” He looked up at Jordan and shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Jordan took Casey on a slow gallop toward the brook. Ossie didn’t know how close he’d probably come to the truth. If the man hung around the Estates regularly, he’d have to lock the gate and give the men keys, and he hated making a fortress of his home. But he couldn’t shake the notion that the mysterious stranger represented a threat to Leslie, and his persistence suggested that he sought vengeance. He took out his pocket recorder and gave himself a reminder to visit a private investigator.

  * * *

  Leslie opened the kitchen door and stopped. Ossie leaned against the counter sipping coffee, as Julia laughed almost hysterically.

  “You can put all of that guy’s brains in half of a peanut,” Ossie said. “It’s not funny, Julia. Suppose you had to work with him every day. Cal says he can’t tell the difference between up and down, and Zeke swears Rocket thinks a cocktail is the rear end of a rooster.” He laughed. “Zeke blew my mind when he said that.”

  Julia wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Come on now, Ossie, you and Zeke
and that husband of mine leave Rocket alone. You’re stuck with him, anyway.”

  Ossie held out his cup, and Julia refilled it. “I know. Jordan’s aware of the guy’s limitations, but he says the man has to live. And who am I to talk? Jordan is a rare man; there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

  “I know that, Ossie, and so does Jordan.”

  Feeling as if she were eavesdropping, Leslie went to the broom closet and hung the brushes she carried, cleared her throat and smiled a greeting to Ossie. “‘Morning, Ossie. Who’s the guy with all the brain?”

  Ossie turned around to the sink, dumped the remainder of his coffee in it and nodded toward Leslie. “‘Morning, miss. I’ll bring the eggs in around nine-thirty,” he told Julia, walked out and let the screen door slam.

  Julia stared at Ossie’s departing back. “Well, I’ll be…What got into him?” Leslie didn’t care for Julia’s inquiring look and bristled when the woman asked, “You sure there’s nothing between you and Ossie? He’s such a fine man. I never knew him to act like that. You’d have thought he saw a UFO coming at him.” She shook her head as though in wonder.

  Leslie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her patience with Julia’s thinking on the subject of Ossie and herself had just about worn out. “Why would you think there’s anything between me and that man?” she asked Julia, not caring about the sharpness of her tone. “He hardly acknowledged my presence. As soon as he saw me, the fun went out of him. If you want to know why he acts as if I’m poison, ask him.”

  Leslie supposed that her reply had annoyed Julia, because she could see the woman deal with her temper. With admirable control, Julia stopped stirring soup and laid the spoon on a saucer. “I thought you’d have figured out by now that Ossie’s well thought of around here. He’s educated way past what he does out there. He was down on his luck before Jordan brought him here, and one of these days he’s going to be right back where he was. I thought the two of you might get together.”