by Diana Palmer
“Blake's the guardian, isn't he?” he asked, pausing to grab his bag from the conveyor as it moved past.
“That, and a distant cousin. The Hamiltons raised me,” she murmured. “I'm afraid it isn't the best weather for a visit,” she apologized, gesturing toward the rainy gray skies as they stepped outside and walked toward the parking lot. “It's been raining off and on all day and we're expecting some flooding before we're through. Hurricanes really get to us in the low country.”
“How low is it?” he asked.
She leaned toward him, taking the cue. “It's so low that you have to look up to see the streets.”
“Same old Kat,” he teased, using his own nickname for her, and he hugged her close. “It's good to be down south again.”
“You only say that because you're glad to get away from all that pollution,” she told him.
He blinked at her. “Pollution? In Maine?” he asked incredulously.
She batted her eyelashes up at him. “Why, don't you all have smokestacks and chemical waste dumps and bodies floating in the river from gang wars?” she asked in her best drawl.
He laughed brightly. “Stereotypes?”
She grinned. “Didn't you believe that we wore white bedsheets to the grocery store and drank mint juleps for breakfast when you first met me?”
“I'd never known anyone from the south before,” he defended himself as they walked toward her small foreign car. “In fact,” he admitted, “this really is the first time I've spent any time here.”
“You'll learn a lot,” she told him. “For instance, that a lot of us believe in equality, that most of us can actually read and write, and that…”
The sky chose that particular moment to open up, and rain started pouring down on them in sheets. She fumbled with her keys, barely getting them into the car in time to avoid a soaking.
Brushing her damp hair back from her face, Kathryn put the small white Porsche into reverse and backed carefully out of the parking space. It wasn't only due to her drivers’ training course that she was careful at the wheel. When Blake had given her this car for her birthday last year, he'd been a constant passenger for the first week, watching every move she made. When he talked she listened, too, because in his younger days, Blake had raced in Grand Prix competitions all over Europe.
She swung into gear and headed out of the parking lot onto the busy street.
“It's raining cats!” She laughed, peering through the windshield wipers as the rain shattered against the metal roof with deafening force. It was hard to see the other cars, despite their lights.
“Don't blame me.” Larry laughed. “I didn't bring it with me.”
“I hope it lets up,” she said uneasily, remembering the two bridges they had to cross to get back to King's Fort and on to Greyoaks. When flash floods came, the bridges sometimes were underwater and impossible to cross.
She saw an opening and pulled smoothly out into it.
“I see palm trees!” Larry exclaimed.
“Where did you think you were—Antarctica?” she teased, darting a glance at him. “They don't call us the Palmetto State for nothing. We have beaches in the low country, too, just like Florida.”
He looked confused. “Low country?”
“The coastal plain is called that because…well, because it's low,” she said finally. “Then there's the up country—but you won't see any of it this trip. King's Fort, where the family lives, is low country, too, even though it's an hour and a half away.” She smiled apologetically. “I'm sorry we couldn't fly down to pick you up, but the big Cessna's having some part or other replaced. That's why Blake had to drive down for his guests. There's a company executive jet, too, but one of the vice-presidents had to fly down to another of the mills in Georgia.”
He studied her profile. “Your family must own a lot of industries.”
She shrugged. “Just three or four yarn mills and about five clothing manufacturing companies.”
He lifted his eyes skyward. “Just, she says.”
“Well, lots of Blake's friends own more,” she explained. She headed straight down I-26 until she could exit and get onto Rutledge Avenue. “We'll go the long way around to the Battery, and I'll show you some of the landmarks on Meeting Street—if you can see them through the rain,” she said drily.
“You know the city pretty well?” he asked, all eyes as they drove down the busy highway.
“I used to have an aunt here, and I stayed with her in the summer. I still like to drive down on weekends, for the night life.”
She didn't mention that she'd never done it alone before, or that she was making this trip without Blake's knowledge or permission. Maude and Phillip had protested but nobody had ever stopped Kathryn except Blake, and they couldn't find him before she left. She could still see Vivian Leeds's smug expression, and her pride felt wounded. If he was involved with the blonde, he should never have touched Kathryn…but, then, she'd provoked him. He'd accused her of it, and she couldn't deny it. All she didn't know was why.
“I'd like to use this as a location for a book,” he said after they reached the turnoff onto the Battery, with its stone sea wall, and drove along it to Old Charleston.
She smiled at his excited interest as he looked first out at the bay and then across her at the rows of stately old houses.
They passed the Lenwood Boulevard intersection and he peered through the slackening rain. “Do you know any of the history of these old houses?” he asked.
“Some of them. Just a second.” They drove on down South Battery Street and she pointed to a white two-story antebellum house on the right with long, elegant porches. “That one dates back to the 1820’s. It was built on palmetto logs sunk in mud in an antiearthquake design later used by Frank Lloyd Wright. It was one of only a few homes to survive the 1886 Charleston earthquake that destroyed most of the city.”
“How about that!” He laughed, gazing back toward the house enclosed by its neat white picket fence.
She gestured toward White Point Garden where a small group of people were just disembarking from a horse-drawn carriage. “There are several carriage tours of the old part of town,” she told him. “They're fun. I'm just sorry we don't have time today, but, then, it's not really the weather for it, either.”
He sighed. “There wasn't a cloud in the sky when I left home.”
“That's life,” she told him. “Look on the left over there,” she added when traffic let her turn onto Meeting Street. “That first house was once owned by one of the Middletons who owned Middleton Place Gardens. The second house is built in the Charleston ‘double house’ style—brick under cypress weather-boarding. It's late eighteenth century.”
“Lady, you know your architecture,” he said with grudging praise.
She laughed, relaxing in the plush leather seat. “Not like Aunt Hattie did. She taught me. A little farther down, there's a good example of the Adams-style construction—the Russell House. It's now the headquarters of the Historic Charleston Foundation.”
He watched for it, and she caught a glimpse of smiling appreciation in his eyes as they studied the three-story building through its brick and wrought-iron wall.
“I wish we had time to go through Market Street,” she said regretfully as she gave her attention to traffic. “There's a place where you can get every kind of food at individual stalls, and there are all kinds of shops and little art galleries…” She sighed. “But I guess we'd better stop at a restaurant a little closer to home. The wind's getting up, and I don't think the rain's any closer to quitting.”
“Maybe on the trip back,” he said with a smile, and winked at her.
She smiled back, flicking the radio on to a local station. The music blared for a few seconds, and then the weather report came on. She listened with a face that grew more solemn by the minute. Flash-flood warnings were being announced for the area around King's Fort as well as the rivers near Charleston.
“I hope you're not hungry,” she murmur
ed as she turned back into Rutledge Avenue. “We've got to get home, before that flooding covers the bridges.”
“Sounds adventurous,” he chuckled, watching her intense concentration as she merged into traffic.
“It is. Are you hungry?” she persisted gently.
“I was rather thinking along the lines of a chilled prawn cocktail,” he admitted with a grin.
“I'll have Mrs. Johnson fix you one when we get home,” she promised. “We keep it, fresh-frozen, because it's Blake's favorite dish.”
He stared out the window at the gray, darkening skies, lit by shop lights and car lights. “Some of those trees are bending pretty low,” he remarked.
“I've seen them bend almost to the ground during a hurricane,” she recalled nervously. “That's what this is about to be, I'm afraid. If I thought I could spare the time, I'd stop and call home. But I'm not going to risk it.”
“You're the driver, honey,” he said.
She smiled wryly. If Blake had been with her, he'd be at the wheel now, whether or not it was his car, taking over. She shifted in the seat. Comparisons were unfair, and she had no right to even be thinking about Blake now that he was practically engaged. But she couldn't help wondering what was going to happen when she got home. As Phillip had once said, Blake didn't particularly care how many people happened to be around if he lost his temper.
The rain followed them all the way to King's Fort, and despite Larry's periodic reassurances, Kathryn couldn't help worrying. The little sports car, in spite of its brilliant engineering and design, was too light for some of the deep puddles of water they soared through. Once, Kathryn almost went into a mailbox as the car hydroplaned over the center line. She recovered it in time, but she was getting more nervous by the minute. There was no place to stop until they got to King's Fort, or she'd have given it up.
She gritted her teeth and drove on, refusing to let her passenger see how frightened she really was. If only Blake had been with her!
They were approaching the first river bridge now, and she leaned forward with anticipation, peering through the heavy rain as she tried to see if the bridge was still passable.
“How does it look?” he asked. “I think I can still see the road…I can!”
“Yes,” she breathed, relieved. She geared down to get a better view of the rising water. It was already over the banks and only inches below the low bridge. A few more minutes…she concentrated on getting across and didn't think about it.
“Is it much farther to the next bridge?” he asked.
“About twenty miles or so,” she said tightly. He didn't say anything, but she knew he was thinking the same thing she was—that those few minutes might mean the difference between getting across or not.
There was almost no traffic on the road now. They only met two vehicles, and one of them was the state police.
“I hate to mention this,” Larry said quietly, “but what if we can't get across the second bridge?”
She licked her dry lips “We'll have to go back to King's Fort and spend the night in the hotel,” she said, thinking ahead to Blake's fury when he caught up with her. “But the river shouldn't be that high yet,” she said soothingly. “I think we can make it.”
“Just in case,” he asked with a speaking glance, “what kind of temper does your guardian have?”
She tightened her hands on the wheel without answering.
When they reached the long river bridge, her worst fears were confirmed. Two uniformed men were just putting up a roadblock.
She rolled down her window as one of them approached. He touched his hat respectfully. “Sorry, ma'am,” he said quietly, “you'll have to detour back to King's Fort. The river's up over the bridge.”
“But it's the only road into Greyoaks,” she protested weakly, knowing no argument was going to open up the road.
The uniformed man smiled apologetically. “The Hamilton estate? Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid it is. But there's no way across until the water level drops. I'm sorry.”
She sighed. “Well, I'll have to go into King's Fort and call home…”
“You're out of luck there, too,” the officer said with a rueful grin. “The telephone lines are down. One way or another, it's been a rough day. I wish we could help.”
She smiled. “Thanks anyway.”
She rolled the window back up and hesitated just a minute before she put the small car into reverse, turned it neatly around, and started back toward King's Fort.
“I feel bad about this,” Larry said gently.
“Oh, don't be silly,” she replied with a smile, “it's all right. We'll just be…a little late getting home, that's all.”
He studied her wan expression. “I'll explain it to him,” he promised.
She nodded, but under her brave smile she felt like a naughty student on her way to the principal's office. Blake wasn't going to understand, and she sincerely hoped the river didn't go down until he cooled off.
Chapter Six
Kathryn pulled up in front of the King's Fort Inn and cut off the engine. She sat there for a minute with her hands tight on the wheel.
“Well, we tried,” she said wryly, meeting Larry's sympathetic blue gaze. “I hope my insurance is paid up.”
“Will he really be that mad?” he asked.
She drew in a hard breath. “I didn't have permission to come after you,” she admitted. “I think I'm old enough to do without it. But Blake doesn't.”
He patted her slender hand where it rested on the steering wheel. “I'll protect you,” he promised, smiling.
She couldn't return the smile. The thought of Larry protecting her from Blake was almost comical.
The rain was still coming down as they ran into the hotel, and Kathryn held up her raincoat, making a tent over her wild, loosened hair. She laughed with exhilaration as they stopped under the awning to catch their breath.
He grinned down at her, his red hair unruly and beaded with rain. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Not very fancy, I'm afraid.” She laughed, putting a tentative hand up to her disorderly hair. “I must look like a witch.”
He shook his head. “Lovely, as always.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She darted a quick look at the hotel entrance. “It's the only hotel in town,” she sighed, “and I'm sure we're going to cause some comment, but just ignore the stares and go ahead. We'll pretend we don't see any familiar faces.”
“This town isn't all that small, surely,” he remarked.
She smiled uncomfortably. “It's not. But, you see, the headquarters of the textile conglomerate is located here, and the family is fairly well known.”
“I should have realized. Sorry.”
“No need. Let's go in, shall we? You can get your bag later.”
He followed her into the carpeted lobby. “What will you do for a change of clothes?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Do without, I suppose. Maybe in the…” Her voice trailed off, and she paled visibly.
Larry looked at her with a puzzled frown. She was staring at a big, dark man who was sitting in an armchair by the window reading a paper. He seemed vaguely weary, as if he'd been in that particular chair a long time. Even at a distance he looked threatening. As Larry watched, he deliberately put down the paper and got to his feet, to saunter over toward them.
Larry knew without being told who the man was. Kathryn's young face was stiff with apprehension. “Blake, I presume?” he murmured under his breath.
Kathryn's fingers dug into her slacks, making indentations in the soft beige fabric. She couldn't get the words out.
Blake rammed his big hands into his pockets, towering over her, his face expressionless. “Ready to go home?” he asked curtly.
“How…did you find me?” she whispered.
His dark eyes swept over her face. “I could find you in New York City at rush hour,” he said quietly. Those fierce eyes shot across to Larry's face, and the younger man fought the urge to back away. He though
t he'd met every kind of personality in the book, but this man was something beyond his experience. Authority clung to him like the brown slacks that hugged his muscular thighs, like the red knit shirt that emphasized the powerful muscles of his chest and arms.
“Donavan, isn't it?” Blake asked in a cutting tone.
“Y-yes, sir.” Larry felt like a boy again. There was something intimidating about Blake Hamilton, and he knew without being told that he hadn't made the best of first impressions.
“The bridge is underwater,” Kathryn said softly.
“I know.” He started toward the exit, leaving them to follow.
“What about my poor car?” Kathryn persisted.
“Lock it and leave it,” he threw over his shoulder. “We'll send back for it when the river goes down.”
Kathryn looked at Larry helplessly. He nodded, and left them in front of the hotel under the awning. “I'll get my suitcase out, and lock the car for you,” he told her.
She stood beside Blake, miserable and shivering from the chill of the rain.
“Why?” he asked, the single blunt word making her want to cry.
She sucked in a steadying breath. “It was only a short drive.”
“With hurricane warnings out,” he growled, looking down at her with barely contained fury behind his half-closed eyelids.
She drew her eyes away. “How are we going to get home?” she asked weakly.
“I ought to let you and your boyfriend walk,” he replied coldly, staring out at the traffic in the wet street.
She looked down at her wet canvas shoes and then back up at him. He was only wearing a lightweight jacket with his shirt and trousers, and no raincoat.
“Don't you have an umbrella?” she asked gently.
He shifted his big shoulders, still not looking at her. “I didn't take time to look for it.” His eyes glittered down at her, and his face hardened. “Have you any idea how long I've been sitting here wondering where you were?” he asked harshly.
She reached out and tentatively touched his sleeve. “I'm sorry, Blake, really I am. I wanted to call, but I was afraid to take the time…”
