by Janet Dailey
"Run, Shooting Star. Run!" Sorrel shouted in counterpoint.
Off to the side, Alex muttered directions to the jockey. "Stop holding her back. Let her have her head. Let her run."
As the two horses thundered closer, the black filly seemed to flatten out a bit more and shot into the lead. The chestnut tried to answer the challenge but ran out of ground. The duo swept past the finish line with the filly a half-length in front.
In the aftermath of laughter and congratulations that carried the others off the veranda to wait for the racers to canter back, only Lije noticed the one-horse shay coming down the lane. He studied the vehicle, unable to make out its two occupants, but he felt sure he recognized the bald-faced roan pulling it.
Stepping off the veranda, he moved to his father's side just as his ever-alert servant Deu came up. "Someone's coming down the lane, Master Blade."
As his father turned to look, Lije added, "If I'm not mistaken, the horse and shay come from Johnson's Livery."
"I think you are right." The Blade pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, but his attention remained on the vehicle. The two blowing racers trotted back to the group, distracting the others.
"Can you see who it is?" Lije asked.
"Not yet."
"I think there are two people," Deu said.
As the horse and shay drew closer, Deu's observation was confirmed. The vehicle's hooded top kept the faces of its occupants in shadow, but it was clear there was a man at the reins, accompanied by a woman in a gown of lavender. The sharp clip-clop of the roan's hooves and low rumble of the shay's wheels soon attracted the notice of the others.
"We have visitors, Eliza," Will remarked.
She turned with a frown. "Who on earth would come calling today?"
Curious, the others gathered around. Instinctively, The Blade glanced over his shoulder to locate Kipp. But he was on the far side of the group, holding the bridle of his son's filly, absently stroking its black muzzle.
When the driver halted the shay in front of the house, one of the grooms dashed forward to hold the roan's bridle. Lije watched as the man climbed out of the vehicle and straightened to stand tall and erect, his golden beard shot with silver. Lije jerked his gaze to the shay's passenger, recognition jolting through him.
"Why, it's Jed Parmelee," Eliza murmured in surprise as Jed came around to the passenger side and extended a helping hand to his female companion. "But who is that with him?"
Lije knew the answer to that even before the gloved hand appeared and the first dainty foot peeked from beneath the hem of her lavender gown. He steeled himself against the sight of her as Diane Parmelee stepped to the ground and raised her lavender-and-lace parasol. She lifted her head, her glance instantly seeking him out. He found himself staring into the bewitching blue eyes that had haunted him since he left Massachusetts. A smile played across her lips, warm and faintly enigmatic. Lije tried to be indifferent to her, but her mere presence reached deep inside, twisting him in knots as it always had. Sheer pride kept him from joining the others when they went to welcome the pair.
"Jed Parmelee, what a wonderful surprise. I almost didn't recognize you without your uniform," Eliza declared, then turned to his daughter. "This surely can't be Diane. Haven't you grown into a lovely young lady? Your father must be very proud of you."
"I hope he is, Mrs. Gordon."
"Eliza. I insist you call me Eliza."
There were more greetings exchanged, but Lije paid little attention to the chatter of voices until his grandfather voiced the question uppermost in his own mind. "What are you doing back in this area, Jed?"
"Visiting old friends," he replied.
"If we are welcome, that is," Diane added, looking straight at Lije.
"What a thing to say," Eliza exclaimed. "You are always welcome at Oak Hill. Surely you know that."
"I wasn't certain. Lije has yet to speak to me." Again Diane held his gaze, her look bold and lightly challenging, yet filled with confidence.
All attention shifted to him. He sensed the knowing speculation in his father's glance and ignored it. Emotions ran raw through him, too many to unravel. He wanted her, he hated her, he loved her, and most of all, he resented her coming here and putting him through this hell again.
"A visitor is never turned away from the door of a Cherokee." Lije stressed his heritage, but kept his voice level, his feelings pushed out of it.
Something flickered in her eyes. Irritation, he decided, certain it couldn't have been hurt. In any case it was too quickly veiled by the lowering of her lashes for Lije to identify it. When she raised them again, her eyes were clear of any reaction.
"I will remember that." Something in her voice told him that he had just given her something she could use to her advantage.
"We were about to have refreshments on the side lawn. It's shady there, with a bit of a breeze. You will join us, won't you?" Eliza invited.
"We would be delighted." Jed Parmelee inclined his head in acceptance.
For a fraction of an instant, Lije had the opportunity to make his excuses and leave. But there was cowardice in such an action, a tacit admission that she still had the power to disturb him. Lije would not give her that satisfaction.
When the general exodus began to the side lawn, Lije trailed along. He stayed slightly apart from the others, refusing the tea cakes Shadrach brought around and drinking the minted lemonade without tasting a drop of it. He rarely looked at Diane, but he was conscious of her every movement, her every breath.
She was the center of attention, the warmth of her smile captivating everyone from Sorrel to Will Gordon. Lije hadn't expected it to be any other way.
"Susannah wrote that you were living in Boston with your mother," Temple remarked.
"I was," Diane replied from her seat on the ornamental iron chair, looking utterly flawless and utterly feminine. "But, with all this talk of war and the call to arms, I naturally wanted to see my father again."
"Naturally." Will Gordon nodded his head in approval.
"What a pity Susannah isn't here," Eliza said with regret. "I know she would so like to see you."
"How is Susannah?"
"I had a letter from her only last week," Eliza replied and proceeded to relate, in detail, the current happenings in her daughter's life.
"I miss the walks Susannah and I used to take." Diane rose from the chair with a grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. "You have no idea how many times I've longed to come back—to see this country and all of you. I was born here in the Nation. I grew up here. Yet, sometimes it seems I have been away much longer than six years."
The ring of sincerity in her voice made Lije turn his head and cast a skeptical glance in her direction.
A sense of nostalgia seemed to settle over everyone else, holding them all silent for a moment. "Those were simpler times," Eliza murmured.
"Indeed." Will Gordon echoed the sentiment.
Diane drifted toward Lije, then paused and swung back to face the others. "Would you think me rude if I stole Lije so he could show me some of our childhood haunts?"
"Of course not. You two go right ahead." Eliza waved her hand, sending them on their way.
No one considered that he might object. But Diane had known that all along, Lije realized. She also knew he couldn't refuse her in front of his entire family. He said nothing when she moved to his side and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. He felt a little jolt at the contact and steeled himself against the disturbance.
"Shall we?" She tipped her head, slanting him that familiar look that both promised and withheld.
His answer was a smooth lift of his hand, indicating that she choose the direction they would take. She turned slightly, drawing him with her. Together they set out in the direction of the rose arbor. Lije made no effort to break the silence between them, letting it build along with his own tension.
"The arbor was always one of my favorite places," she murmured when they reached it. S
he withdrew her hand from his arm and moved closer to examine a fading rose. "It's a shame so few are in bloom now."
"Why are you here, Diane?" His voice was without emotion, but there was no less demand in it.
She tilted her head to one side and studied the changes a year had wrought in him. The ardent glow was gone from his eyes, leaving them cool and impenetrable. There was a new hardness ridging his jaw, a new harshness in the cut of his cheekbones. For the first time Diane doubted her ability to command the situation, but it only lasted a moment.
"Why?" Diane tipped her head to the side, letting the parasol frame it. "To beg your forgiveness, of course."
He released a short, humorless breath. "I can't imagine you begging for anything."
"I admit my experience is limited."
"What do you want with me? What new game are you playing now?"
"It's no game," she replied, quite seriously, but Lije was beyond hearing it.
"Go home, Diane. Go back to your fiancé and all the rest of your fine friends."
"Then you did learn of my engagement," she said in a pleased voice, turning fully toward him now. "I was very angry with you for a time, Lije. In fact, I accepted John's proposal of marriage purely out of spite. I think I secretly hoped you would come charging back to rescue me when you learned of it. Of course you didn't. So I had no choice but to rescue myself." Her smile widened at the memory of it. "You would have enjoyed seeing Mr. John Albert Richards's face when I told him I would never marry such a rude, arrogant snob as he."
"Is that what really happened?" he challenged. "Or did he reject you?"
A look of hurt flashed across her face. Briefly, she tipped her head down, then threw it back with regained poise. "I have my share of faults, Lije Stuart, but lying has never been one of them."
Silently, he looked at the pride and determination in her expression and felt the weakening of his resolve. He looked away. She had made a fool of him once; she would not do it again.
"You have plenty of other beaux, Diane. Go console yourself with them." He started walking, needing to release some of the coiled energy inside him. She instantly fell in alongside him.
"I am afraid they have all gone off to war," she said with airy unconcern. "So you see, I'm quite alone now." "That is your problem."
"You are being extremely difficult, Lije Stuart," she declared, impatience in her voice.
He stopped and swung about. "Just how did you expect me to react? Did you think I would rush to your side when you stepped from the carriage?" he said with scorn, then taunted, "Or perhaps you thought I would sweep you into my arms and confess that I still loved you."
"That would have been nice," she said, a teasing twinkle in her eyes.
"This time you are the fool," he stated and watched the light in her eyes dim. He told himself he was glad. "You can't always have what you want, Diane."
"Even when I want you?" she asked softly.
He hardened himself against it. "Tell me, Diane," he challenged, "Does your mother know you're here?"
"She knows." The simple answer didn't begin to describe the vicious words she had exchanged with her mother, the hateful things that had been said and were not soon to be forgotten. But her gaze remained clear and direct as Diane deliberately injected a light note into her voice. "She informed me that if I came, I would never be welcome in her house again, that I was no longer her daughter."
He arched an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to believe that?"
She smiled dryly. "I assure you she was quite sincere." The lazy breeze brought the sound of a woman's laugh to them, and Diane looked back to the cluster of people on the side lawn, easily picking her father out of the group. He was the one with silver-gold hair watching Temple Stuart with thinly disguised adoration. "It was never really you my mother hated, Lije," she said thoughtfully. "You—or for that matter, anyone of Indian descent—are merely a symbol of whom she truly hates, and that is your mother. I think she always knew my father was secretly in love with Temple even before they were married. In her mind, your mother was a rival for his affections. It never seemed to matter to her that your mother saw him only as a friend. She became twisted with jealousy, and that jealousy eventually turned into hatred. I thought when she left my father and married Mr. Austin, she would get over it. She hasn't. Now, I doubt she ever will." When Diane turned back, she found Lije watching with a new wariness.
"You can put away your bag of women's tricks, Diane. I am wise to them now."
"You never gave me a chance to come to terms—"
"It's a bit late for coming to terms, isn't it? More than a year has passed. Or had you forgotten that?"
"I hadn't forgotten," she shot back. "You aren't the only one with pride, Lije Stuart."
"Pride? Is that your excuse? But then, it does fit, doesn't it? After all, you were too proud to marry a Cherokee."
"That wasn't it at all."
"Wasn't it?"
"No!" She stopped, recognizing that she would never reach him through anger. She sighed and lowered her head. "We are righting again, just as we did that night. It didn't begin that way." She drew on that memory when she looked up, letting it shine through her eyes. "Do you remember the way we waited until no one was watching before we slipped away—the way we laughed when we ran down the path to the garden. You caught me there and gathered me into your arms. Do you remember, Lije?"
"I remember." But it was the sight of her upturned face as much as the memory that trapped him in her spell again.
Her lips glistened in age-old invitation, and Lije found himself falling into the old pattern of wanting her, needing her. It angered him even as he pulled her against him and brought his mouth down on hers, seeking to punish her for the ache that wouldn't go away. He ground his lips against hers in a searing kiss, but her lips were unexpectedly gentle beneath his and the dimension of the kiss changed.
Slowly, softly, his lips responded to hers. Her mouth felt so warm, so right. Needs he thought he had finished with sprang fresh and strong. He felt the tremulous movement he knew women used as seduction. It caught him back from the edge. Even as need continued to crawl through him, he released her and stepped back.
"You still want me, Lije." There was a whisper of relief in her voice.
But it was the shine of triumph in her eyes that he sought to crush. "I wanted you that night, too," he reminded her in a voice that was flat and cool. "But when I asked you to be my wife, you turned away and chided me for getting too serious."
"I confess I was very selfish that night." Diane moved closer, confident again. His words were cold to her, but he wasn't. She had no reason to fear on that score. The kiss had shown her that. Now she had only his pride to surmount, which would not be easy. But then, she'd had a difficult time swallowing her own, but she had managed it. He could, too.
"You see," she continued, lifting a gloved hand and running her fingertips along the edge of his lapel, ignoring his stiffness, "I wanted to find a way that we could be together without alienating my mother. I thought I could do that if you stayed in the East and became a success. Then you jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that I was hesitating because you were Cherokee. You were so certain of that you wouldn't listen to anything else I said."
He clamped a hand over her fingers, but he didn't push them away, merely stilled their movement. His hard expression never altered as his gaze made a feature-by-feature study of her face. "Do you truly expect me to believe that's the reason you refused me, Diane?"
"I never refused your proposal, Lije," she corrected.
"Is that right?" he mocked. "Then, can you explain why it's taken you over a year to come up with this interesting clarification?"
"You aren't the only one who suffers from an excess of pride, Lije. After all, I was the one wrongly accused. As far as I was concerned, it was your place to apologize. When you made no effort to contact me—when you left without so much as a goodbye"— The muscles in her throat constricted, choking off her voic
e. She paused and looked away, unable to let him see how deeply she had been wounded. She struggled to regain that pretense of lightness. —"it hardly endeared you to me."
"You say it all so easily."
"Easily?" She let a spark of anger show. "It is never easy to take the first step, especially when you stand there still determined to believe the worst of me."
His eyes narrowed in their study of her. "I don't know what to believe."
"Lije Stuart," she said in exasperation. "My mother has closed her doors to me; I have traveled across half a continent to straighten things out between us and let you know I still love you. If you still want to marry me, I accept. What else am I to do to prove myself to you?"
"I don't know." His fingers tightened on her hand.
Diane pressed her lips together in a firm line. "My father expects to remain in the Nation no more than a week. If I leave with him, I won't come back. When you finally do make up your mind, you have to come to me. I will not humble myself twice. Not for you or any man." "I don't recall asking you."
He took perverse satisfaction in the hurt that flashed through her eyes an instant before she jerked her hand from his grip.
"I think it's time we rejoined the others," Diane stated crisply.
"I agree."
This time she didn't take his arm. They walked separately back to the rest of the group, connected by sizzling undercurrents of tension and the memory of harsh words said long ago in anger.
Observing their approach, Jed Parmelee rose from the garden bench and offered the seat to his daughter. "You two weren't gone long." He divided his questioning look between them.
Diane ignored it and sat down, arranging the drape of her skirt with practiced ease. "No, we weren't."
Lije paused beside his mother's chair. She glanced up at him. "I just suggested to Jed that he and Diane stay at Grand View while they are here. I thought it was a wonderful idea, don't you agree?"
"Visitors are always welcome at Grand View," he conceded.
"We wouldn't want to impose," Jed began.
"You wouldn't," Temple quickly assured him.
"Diane tells me you plan to stay a week," Lije inserted, again concentrating his attention on Jed Parmelee.
