by Janet Dailey
"As I recall," her aunt said idly, wandering into the small alcove of the bedroom remodeled to serve as a private studio for Tisha, "those arguments between Lenore and your father always ended in laughter and kisses. A weaker woman couldn't have brought him the happiness he knew with your mother. Richard couldn't dominate her. That's why he loved her."
"Well, I wish he'd stop trying to dominate me!"
Blanche smiled. "I don't believe he'll ever succeed at it. You're too much like your father and your mother."
"Why can't he see that? Why can't he accept that I know my own mind?" she demanded.
"There are two reasons for that, Tish. The first and underlying cause is that reformed rogues always make the strictest parents. And my brother sowed a lot of wild oats before he met Lenore." She paused to watch the acceptance of her words revealed on her niece's face and continued when she received the recognition. "Secondly, the loss of your mother when you were only fourteen increased Richard's sense of responsibility towards you. He knows he can't take your mother's place, but he feels he must actively involve himself in your life, more so than if your mother was alive or if you had an aunt that only showed up when it suited her."
"Oh, Blanche!" A radiant smile immediately took possession of her features. "I wouldn't have any other aunt but you. You always seem to be here when I need someone to talk to, to put all my little problems in their proper perspective."
"I'm glad I can be helpful once in a while."
"You are," Tisha affirmed. "Now tell me, what brings you out of your Ozark Mountain hideaway in Hot Springs all the way to Little Rock? I'm sure you didn't come to act as a referee for me and my father."
"I'm using the excuse that I came to pick up art supplies." There was a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "But I was really motivated by a sense of guilt that it had been too long since I'd seen my family—you and Richard. I tend to lose track of time."
"It wasn't much of a welcome we gave you." Chagrin clouded the green eyes looking into the gentle brown light of her aunt's gaze.
"I hope I haven't been gone so long that I require trumpet fanfares and red carpets," Blanche laughed easily. As if to change the conversation away from herself, the slender woman turned to the array of paintings haphazardly scattered about the alcove. "Your father indicated that you weren't having much financial success in your work."
"That is unfortunately true," Tisha sighed, walking over to stand beside her aunt, "at least in the paintings that I do for my own satisfaction. I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that I'm commercially adequate but not artistically unique. My brush doesn't have the stroke of genius behind it directing it the way yours does."
Blanche studied a nostalgic still life depicting an old butter churn sitting in the corner of a wooden porch where sunflowers bobbed their golden heads above the railing.
"There's nothing wrong with being a commercial artist, Tisha. What have you been selling?"
"Some greeting cards and calendars, but mostly it's been advertisements." Grimness pulled at her mouth. "Dad was right, you know, I'm not earning enough money to make it on my own. However much I'd like to have a place of my own I would be dependent on my father's benevolence."
With a frustrated movement, she pushed her long hair behind her ear. The silken tresses caught the sunlight streaming in the window, transforming the colour that appeared to be a simple auburn under artificial lights into a fiery golden-red shade.
"Sometimes I wish I'd been born a man," Tisha declared. Her voice vibrated with a disguised anger. "A woman is controlled by her parents until she marries. Then she's a slave to her husband's whims for the rest of her life. I think I hate all men. The way they've tried to convince us that they're so much better than women is sickening. We are the weaker sex because we were given less muscle and more brains. A woman can outwit a man any day."
Dark eyes glinted in Tisha's direction. "Who's disillusioned you about the male sex? This Kevin boy or your father?"
"I think it's a combination of every male I've known," Tisha replied, bitterly serious and cynical. "Someone once told me that to get a man to like you all you had to do was listen and only open your mouth to ask questions about him. Men want a girl to be attractive but silent. They don't care what her accomplishments or talents are. They always act as if they're doing you a favour by asking you for a date."
"You've been reading too many of those feminist pamphlets," Blanche scolded her mildly. "Men and women are first of all human beings, each possessing their own faults. You aren't trying to tell me that there haven't been a few boys you've liked, are you?"
A sheepish grin spread over Tisha's face as she realized how pompously superior she had sounded. "Actually there've been more than a few," she admitted frankly, "but I've never fooled myself into believing that I was in love with any of them. That's probably why I never raised too much fuss when Dad would put his foot down on going out with one of them. But I won't allow him to tell me who I'm going to marry."
"For all his arrogant interference, Richard is concerned about your happiness, although I do agree that he has a poor way of showing it," her aunt agreed. "Now that he knows how totally you oppose this Kevin, he won't force you to see him."
"Not Kevin. He'll find someone else," Tisha grumbled. Her hands flew about the air in a hopeless, beseeching gesture. "I love my father dearly, Blanche, but I just can't live with him. As long as I do, he's going to persist in trying to manage my life. I suppose the only thing I can do is give up painting and get a job."
"I have another idea that might work," Blanche told her, turning back to look at more of her niece's paintings. "You could move to Hot Springs and live with me."
"Seriously?" Tisha breathed, unable to believe that she had heard correctly. Blanche Caldwell was notoriously protective of her privacy and solitude.
"Yes, seriously," her aunt nodded, meeting the questioning eyes with calm assurance. "If you want a career in art, there isn't any need to sacrifice your work because of money and a stubborn father."
"But what will Dad say?"
"How can he openly oppose his own sister acting as chaperon?" Blanche laughed, a deep throaty laugh to match her low-pitched voice.
"What about…I mean…will I interfere with your work?" asked Tisha, blurting out the thought that was uppermost in her mind.
"I'm a person who enjoys being alone by myself. I live that way for preference." There was a faint smile in the otherwise serious face. "That's not to say I'm temperamental. I could paint in the middle of the busiest intersection and never notice the traffic. I think I might enjoy having a fellow artist staying with me, especially since she's my niece."
"What can I say?" Tisha cried, elated by the sudden turn of events that couldn't help but meet with her father's approval. In spite of all their arguments, she didn't want to alienate her father's affections by openly rebelling and leaving home without his sanction.
"If you'd like to stay with me then say "yes". It's as simple as that. I'll handle your father," Blanche assured her. "Of course, your social life will probably suffer until you can get acquainted."
"If you mean by social life dating, then I don't think I will mind a break. Maybe abstinence will improve my image of the male sex. Lately everyone I've dated always seem to turn out to be so immature and self-centered."
The laughter sounded again as Blanche closed her hand over Tisha's. "What you need, dear, is a little affair with an older man. Remind me to introduce you to my neighbour."
"Don't let Dad hear you say something like that," she grinned, "or he'll never let me stay with you."
"It's rather unjust the way fathers, especially those who've lost their mates, have no qualms about having an affair with a woman, but they insist that their daughters be good little girls," her aunt declared with a decided twinkle in her eye. "Not that I'm advocating that you have an affair. Aunts have their prejudices, too, although we're not nearly as straitlaced as parents."
"What does that mean
?" Tisha teased. "That the porch light goes on twenty minutes after my date drives up to bring me home instead of Dad's usual five minutes?"
"Something like that," Blanche laughed, squeezing her niece's hand lightly before releasing it. "Now I must go persuade your father that it's his idea that you come stay with me. You aren't the only one who panders to his ego!"
Chapter Two
TWO days after Blanche's departure, Tisha was en route to her aunt's house outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. Her compact Mustang car was jammed with clothes, paints, canvases, and every other personal possession she couldn't bear to leave behind. The lightness of her heart had nothing to do with being released from under her father's dominating thumb. It was a result of the loving farewell from her father. It had almost made Tisha wish she weren't leaving. Almost.
Autumn was beginning to make its vivid mark on the forested Ozark hills, splashing gold and scarlet colours on the leaves of the trees. Only the pines remained forever green as a direct contrast to the autumn hues. The sun shone brightly in a milky blue sky, but there was a nip in the wind that blew from the north.
Tisha had only been to her aunt's house twice since Blanche had moved into it less than a year ago, but her memory of the route through the back roads was faultless. At a crossroads of the tree-lined country road, she slowed her blue compact to a stop, remembering the intersection clearly because of the winding road that curled up the mountain, its almost immediate curve preventing Tisha from seeing any oncoming traffic. It was the road she had to take to her aunt's house. Luckily there was rarely any traffic on these back roads, so she felt very secure in pulling into the intersection and making the turn on to the winding road.
Just as she completed the turn, an expensive foreign sports car came roaring around the curve, taking more than its share of her side of the road. There was no place for her to go to avoid the oncoming car as the hillside fell steeply away on her side. Only skilful driving on the part of the other driver saved them from a head-on collision, clipping her front bumper as he swerved by.
For a split second after she had braked her car to a halt, Tisha sat frozen behind the wheel, paralyzed by the narrow miss that had left her unharmed but shaken. Slowly she unclenched her white fingers from their death grip on the wheel, a trembling rage taking possession of her at the reckless driver who could have got them both killed. The white sports car had stopped near the crossroads.
Tisha bounded out of her car, the sunlight setting her hair afire to match the anger burning in her green eyes. Long legs carried her with a striding gait down the slight incline to the car and the man just stepping out of it.
An ignited temper issued forth a stream of angry words. "You imbecile! What were you doing coming around that corner so fast? You could have got us both killed!" Tisha shouted. "Didn't you realize there was an intersection on the other side of the curve, or did you think because you drove a flashy car you had the right of way and the right to be on my side of the road! People like you shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel!"
Tisha was five foot six, but she had to tilt her head back to look into the face of the man who was easily two inches over six feet tall. His strong features were set in a serious expression, but his brown eyes gave the impression that he was smiling at her. Her heart began beating at a rapid tempo, an after-effect of the accident, no doubt.
"After that vigorous tirade, you can't have been harmed." His low-pitched, slightly husky voice had a very pleasing sound, but Tisha was too incensed to notice.
"No thanks to you!" she retorted sharply, swinging her head in an angry gesture that sent her hair flying about her shoulders. "You must have been doing seventy when you came around that bend. And people talk about the idiotic way women drive!"
"Hardly seventy," he said complacently, "or I never would have been able to avoid hitting you head-on."
"If you hadn't been going so fast and on my side of the road, you wouldn't have hit me at all," Tisha reminded him curtly.
"This is essentially a private road used only by the people who live on the mountain. I didn't expect to meet anyone." His gaze was moving leisurely over the blue denim slack suit she was wearing.
She bridled visibly at his arrogant statement. "That's no excuse for reckless driving!"
"You're quite right, Red," he agreed smoothly, reaching out to capture her elbow with a darkly tanned hand. "Let's go see what damage I've done to your car."
He had turned her half around before Tisha realized what was happening and she quickly jerked her arm free, not missing the mocking line of one eyebrow he directed at her action. One darting glance at the sandy brown hair bleached nearly blond by the sun and the attractively carved features of his ruggedly handsome face warned her that he was a man accustomed to charming his way out of situations. He would soon find that she wasn't the type to fall victim to his considerable persuasions. She put on her coldest expression as she fell into step beside him.
"You have your car pretty well packed," he commented as he walked past it to examine the front. "Are you moving somewhere around here?"
"That's my business," she replied with what she thought was cutting sarcasm, but his mouth twitched in amusement.
He was really quite insufferable, Tisha thought as she watched him while he surveyed the damage to her car. He was wearing an expensive brown suede suit of genuine leather that made much of his lean, muscular build. His blondish brown hair was thick and inclined to wave, but his waywardness seemed to suit the slightly untamed look about him. There was a suggestion of a cleft in the chin that jutted out to emphasize the unrelenting hardness only hinted at in the rest of his features. At a guess, Tisha judged him to be in his early mid-thirties with no wedding ring on his finger, if that was anything to go by.
"There doesn't seem to be any damage done except to your bumper," he announced, closing the bonnet of her car. His brown eyes had a knowing gleam in them when he met her gaze as if he knew he had been subjected to her scrutiny. "A good body repair man should be able to take care of it easily. If you're going to be in the area, I can give you the name of a local man who could do it for you."
"The way you drive you have, no doubt, needed his services in the past," she murmured with cloying sweetness.
"There have been one or two occasions when I've had him do work for me," the man admitted without really admitting anything.
"I'll bet there have," she snapped acidly, assuming her former aggressiveness. "Do you get a commission for all the business you direct his way?"
His gaze narrowed slightly sending her pulse leaping with an unknown fear. "As you put it earlier, Red, that's my business," he replied, his mouth moving into a cryptic smile.
Tisha chose to ignore his rebuke. "That's the second time you've called me that," she said sharply. "My name is not Red."
"It isn't?" His brown eyes glittered over the auburn highlights in her hair made coppery bright by the sun. "What's your name?" At the closed expression stealing over her face, he added quickly and mockingly, "For the benefit of my insurance company, of course."
Tisha hesitated, wishing she didn't have to tell this arrogant stranger anything about herself while knowing that that it was true that he would need her name for his insurance company.
"Patricia Caldwell," she admitted grudgingly.
"Patricia," he repeated, letting the name roll slowly out of his mouth as though he were savouring the sound of it.
The complacent regard of his gaze as he let it roam over her was a bit unnerving, but Tisha refused to submit to the sudden rush of heat. She guessed that most women would be fascinated by his smile.
"My friends call me Tisha," she announced coldly, "but you may call me Miss Caldwell."
"Miss, not Ms," he commented with a mocking widening of his eyes. "And you struck me as the type seeking equality of the sexes."
"I have no desire to be equal to a man," Tisha replied. Her chin lifted to a haughty angle. "I don't wish to stoop to his level."
He tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "You're a termagant worthy of Petruchio!"
"Which makes me grateful that Shakespeare paired him with Katharina, because I have no wish to be "tamed" or dominated by a man." Her olive dark eyes were emitting fiery sparks.
"What a pity," he murmured, the laughter still dancing in his eyes. "It might have been an interesting challenge."
"Shall we dispense with the personal comments and get down to the problem at hand, namely the damage to my car?" Tisha requested sarcastically. "I'll need the name and policy number of your insurance company."
One side of his mouth twitched again with ill-concealed amusement, but he reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a leather-encased tablet and a pen. She watched the quick, sure strokes of the pen as it flew across the paper before he tore it off and gave it to her.
"My name and telephone number is there also should you need to contact me," he said.
Unwillingly Tisha glanced at it, the bold slashes spelling out the name Roarke Madison followed by a telephone number and his insurance company.
"Are you relieved that my name isn't Petruchio?" he taunted softly.
"My only concern is getting my car repaired," she flashed.
As usual her caustic words had little effect on him as he added smoothly, "It would be a good idea to get that bumper taken care of as soon as possible. It's rubbing the tire and it will eventually ruin it."
"I'm quite capable of seeing that it gets fixed."
There was an expressive lift of his shoulders. "My offer still stands if you want the name of a reputable bodyshop. I wouldn't like to see you get taken by some sharp repairman."
"What you mean is that you wouldn't like to see your insurance company get taken or your friend lose some business."
There was a small silence as the man named Roarke Madison slowly walked from the damaged front bumper, ignored Tisha as he went by and stopped behind her to lean a hand on the roof of the car.
