by Janet Dailey
"Ah, he's talking to somebody." Tad sighed with the impatience of youth.
At that moment Clay had joined them. "There you are, Cathie. I've been looking for you."
"I stopped to talk to Tad. Clay, this is one of my students, Tad Douglas," Cathie introduced. "This is Clay Carlsen."
"Is he your husband?" Tad looked Clay over with almost grown-up speculation.
"No, he's my fiancé." To which the boy nodded with an indifferent understanding.
"Are you ready to go?" Clay asked as Tad turned his gaze away from them. Cathie had the feeling that Clay's arrival was the reason for Tad's unspoken wish to discontinue their conversation. She had told him goodbye and received a mumbled response.
"So that's your difficult pupil and the son of Rob Douglas," Clay remarked as they reached his car.
"Tad's not difficult," Cathie defended. "He just doesn't seem to be coping with his new environment.''
"Why don't you discuss it with his father?" Clay suggested practically, opening the car door and helping Cathie inside.
Cathie took her time before replying, smoothing the accordion pleats of her yellow-flowered spring dress while Clay walked around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. She didn't want to get into a discussion with Clay about Rob Douglas. She knew he would scoff at the dread she felt at the thought of meeting Tad's father. Thus far Cathie hadn't seen him or spoken to him and she considered herself lucky that she hadn't. The opportunities had been there to do so. Her roommate, Connie, had had several dates with him, although none recently. Fortunately, as far as Cathie was concerned, Connie had always been ready the moment Rob Douglas had arrived. Andy attributed that to the fact that Connie wasn't eager to introduce him to any other female. Still, on those evenings when Rob Douglas had been expected, Cathie had kept to her room, using the pretext of school papers to correct.
The very fact that their eventual meeting had been prolonged added to its importance and to Cathie's apprehensions. Rob Douglas was firmly established as the new owner of the Carlsen farm, a circumstance that the passage of time hadn't been able to dampen her resentment about. And his son Tad's vague comments about him had tended to increase her antagonism. Most of all there was her own presentiment that once she met him there would be more catastrophic changes in her life beyond the loss of a piece of land that had been in her family for generations.
All of these feelings she had tried at one time or another to explain to Clay. He hadn't been able to understand or attach any importance to them and their discussions had always ended with Cathie losing her temper. Therefore, when Clay had suggested that she discuss Tad's adjustment to his new life with his father, she had passed it off with, "Tad will adjust in time after the newness wears off," and Clay had been content to accept that.
Like many of the other teachers, Cathie applauded the cries of "School's out! School's out! Teacher's let the monkeys out!" that heralded the beginning of summer vacation.
The increased workload of preparing final exams, grading them and filling out report cards convinced Cathie that the summer vacation was really for the teachers. There was pride in passing all her students on to the fifth grade and pity for Mrs. Gleason, who would inherit Charlie Smith with the rest of the class. Charlie had very considerately brought his pet garter snake to the class picnic, to the horror of the shrieking girls and the amusement of the laughing boys—all except Tad, who maintained his lonely on looking position to the very end.
The week after school closed Cathie used to recuperate from her previous hectic pace. Although officially it was still spring, the weather had summer's heat. The first few mornings she slept late and lazed in the backyard, sunning herself to acquire the golden tan that came so naturally to her complexion. Then she indulged in a brief buying spree so her summer wardrobe would contain some of the newer fashions. It was difficult to keep from remembering that last year at this time she had spent her days at the Homeplace doing some of the heavier housework that her grandmother wasn't able to do anymore and indulging in her grandfather's passion for cribbage.
The rising sun cast a cherry-red glow over the horizon before climbing higher to shine in a cloudless blue sky. In the distance the pealing of bells chimed their announcement of Sunday's services. Her hair had a rich golden sheen as Cathie smoothed the white satin collar over her navy blue choir robe. Then she filed in with the rest of the choir to take her seat. The resonant sound of the organ filled the church as it began the prelude. The congregation stood to raise its voice to sing the hymn "Holy, Holy, Holy" and Cathie's alto voice joined in the harmony.
After resuming her seat, Cathie allowed her gaze to shift over the congregation. Her view was limited, but her eyes casually inspected those within her sight. A tiny smile curved her full lips as she spied the small, smartly dressed boy sitting erectly in the fourth pew. Tad's hazel eyes were scanning the choir, finally coming to rest on Cathie. Even at that distance, Cathie could see the slight nod of recognition he gave her. She did the same in return, her heart swelling with tenderness that this serious little boy wanted to exchange a secret greeting with her. Perhaps she had made some headway with him after all.
"The Scripture reading for this Sunday is Matthew 13:44," the Reverend Mr. Wittman intoned. "'This kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.'"
While Mr. Wittman was speaking, a movement beside Tad attracted Cathie's gaze. As she disengaged herself from Tad's look, she mentally braced herself for her first glimpse of Rob Douglas. Her heartbeat quickened.
His strong, powerful face blocked out all thought of her surroundings as she studied it. His hair was brown as Andy had said, but it was a rich, vibrant shade. Its thickness and wave defied any orderly style, but its casual, almost wayward appearance made the man all the more attractive. Still, it was his face that commanded Cathie's attention. It was lean, with a sharply defined mouth and artfully chiseled nose accented by a strong jaw line and firm chin. Dark brows curved above eyes that appeared dark, although at this distance Cathie had to assume his eyes were brown, and above the brows was a wide, intelligent forehead. There was nothing soft about Rob Douglas's face, but there was nothing harsh either.
Yet all the innuendoes, the implied but never spoken comments were stamped in his face and in the arrogant tilt of his head. He reeked of virile masculinity, the supreme dominating male—the type that liberated Cathie had always loathed. She was further irritated by the fact that all around him people were sitting so stiffly, obviously uncomfortable in their unaccustomed Sunday finery, while Rob Douglas sat relaxed and assured in his impeccably tailored brown suit.
Cathie saw him glance down at his son, then follow his gaze to the choir. Antagonism welled inside her as Rob Douglas met her gaze. She felt a flush of anger fill her cheeks at the suggestion of amusement in his glance. Determinedly Cathie turned her attention to the minister, although through the rest of their service she found her attention pulled back to Tad's father as if he had some magnetic attraction.
The benediction signaled the close of the service. Cathie's movements were more hurried than the rest of the choir as she hastened to remove her robe and place it on its hanger. There was no pause to brush her hair or retouch her makeup. She simply adjusted the locket around her neck, smoothing the bodice of her pink dotted-swiss dress before gathering her white leather handbag and slipping out through the side door of the church. Escape seemed mandatory and Cathie glanced furtively around for Clay, only to see him cornered by Agnes Rogers. Her white dress heels tapped the pavement impatiently as she debated whether to walk over to free him from the woman's gossiping tongue or to retreat to the car and let him make his own excuses.
Before she could make a decision on the best course of action, Cathie saw Tad approaching. Something in the determination of his carriage with its squared shoulders and erectly held head told her that the only reason he was coming this way w
as to see her. Cathie felt guilty for not really wanting to see or talk to Tad at this moment, but the antagonistic sensation she had experienced toward his father was still too strong for her to conduct herself naturally with Tad, his son. As she debated turning away, pretending she hadn't seen Tad, the opportunity to do so evaporated.
The boy stopped stiffly in front of her and without any prelude of greetings said, "Miss Carlsen, my father would like to meet you, please."
If only the request had been made less formally, Cathie thought ruefully. A "Hey, my dad wants to meet you" would have put her so much more at ease.
The words of polite refusal formed. "My fiancé and I were just leaving. Perhaps—" Cathie almost said "another time" when she saw a look pass fleeting through his eyes that pleaded with her to consent. It was so unexpected to see an emotional reaction from Tad that Cathie immediately reformulated her reply for the boy's sake. "Perhaps since Clay is still talking to Mrs. Rogers, I'll have time to meet your father."
"He's over this way," Tad said, reaching to take her hand.
Silently chiding herself for falling victim to the beguiling boy, Cathie followed him through the thinning throng of churchgoers. Rob Douglas was talking to the minister when he spied them approaching. The lordly nod of goodbye that he gave Mr. Wittman as he turned to meet them set Cathie's teeth on edge. It was going to be difficult controlling her temper and maintaining the outward serenity a teacher is supposed to cultivate, Cathie realized.
He had an easy, graceful stride that covered ground quickly without appearing to do so. Now, at closer quarters, Cathie felt the full force of his attractiveness directed at her, the vitality and charm reaching out to pull her into his circle of admirers. Her eyes glittered with emerald green sparks as she resolved that she would not fall victim to the charisma that emanated from him. Let him find out that there were some women in this world who wouldn't hang on his every word, she thought with spiteful amusement.
The atmosphere between them was definitely charged as his velvet-brown eyes acknowledged the challenge in hers. Instead of being put off by it, Rob Douglas seemed to accept it and even find humor in it, which did little to smooth Cathie's already ruffled fur.
"This is my teacher, Miss Carlsen." Tad was taking his duties as introducer seriously. "Miss Carlsen, this is my father, Robert Douglas."
"How do you do, Mr. Dougals." The formal situation seemed to demand that there be a handshake, and very unwillingly Cathie offered hers.
"I'm very glad to meet you, Miss Carlsen." His mouth quirked with amusement as she practically snatched her hand away after only the briefest of contact with his. His voice was very clear and articulate but low-pitched, which Cathie decided was the reason Andy had described it as sexy, although she would only concede that it was pleasing to the ear. "My son has mentioned you many times. I believe he's sorry you won't be teaching him next year."
"Tad is a very good student." It was disconcerting to be at the disadvantage of having to look up because of the man's superior height. Cathie welcomed the opportunity to direct her gaze elsewhere, this time at the young boy standing beside them. "I was happy to have him in my class."
"I believe you're right, Tad. Miss Carlsen does resemble Patience."
The unexpected remark brought her head up sharply. A quizzical look was in her eyes as she brushed a gold lock from her cheek.
"Patience is a little yellow kitten. She has honey-colored fur and green flashing eyes," Rob Douglas explained. The gaze that roamed over her face and hair left her with the peculiar feeling that he had touched her. It was a distinctly unsettling sensation.
"I see," Cathie breathed, turning away from the mesmerizing depths of the brown eyes in favor of the more innocuous hazel ones. "Is Patience one of your pets, Tad?"
"You can hardly get close to her unless you wait long enough. That's why we called her Patience." Tad tilted his head way back to look up at his father. "The other day she let me pet her. She even purred."
"Maybe it's just grown-ups she doesn't like," his father commented. Deep grooves were carved on each side of his mouth as he studied Cathie with open amusement. "Your name is Catherine, isn't it? Mr. Wittman told me. Do your friends call you Cat?"
"My friends call me Cathie, Mr. Douglas," she retorted sharply, her hold on her temper snapping at his implication.
"Your teacher has claws, Tad." Silent laughter vibrated from behind the row of white teeth as his smile widened at the angry red flags in her cheeks.
There was a feline desire for Cathie to sharpen her so-called claws across his cheekbone and add a few more scars to go with the small one near his right eye. A glance down at Tad's bewildered face halted the biting comment that sprang to her tongue.
"You misunderstood me, Mr. Douglas," she said forcing a smile to appear on her taut face. "I was only correcting you that I'm called Cathie and not Cat. If I sounded sharp I suppose that's the teacher in me."
"That's argumentative, but we won't discuss it now." There was still the sparkle of superior laughter in his eyes.
The infuriating presence of Rob Douglas succeeded in making her forget all others in her vicinity. Therefore Clay's greeting—"Hello, Tad, Cathie,"—caught her completely by surprise. There was a moment of expectancy as both men waited for Cathie to introduce them.
"This is Tad's father, Rob Douglas." She glanced at Clay, who had been studying her heightened color and was now turning his appraising gaze to Rob Douglas, the obvious cause of her anger. Clay smiled at the way the man's eyes were admiring Cathie's upturned profile. There were few men who wouldn't be moved by her unusual beauty. "This is my fiancé, Clay Carlsen," Cathie finished.
Her head tilted defiantly as she faced Rob Douglas again. There was an almost imperceptible raising of one dark brow.
"Carlsen?" his low voice questioned as he accepted the hand Clay offered.
"Cathie and I are distant cousins," Clay smiled.
"This is a very small and tight-knit community. You'll find that nearly all the families that have been here for a period of time are related to each other in one way or another." Cathie was angry with herself for making a further explanation. She and Clay shared the same last name, but there was certainly nothing incestuous about their relationship.
"I've heard that before," Rob nodded, a complacent smile remaining on his face as Cathie moved closer to Clay. "It must be very convenient. The only change you'll have to make is from Miss to Mrs., or are you the type that prefers Ms?" He didn't give either a chance to reply. "Whose grandparents was it that used to own my farm?"
Her teeth grated at his possessive pronoun.
"Cathie's," Clay answered for her.
"It's always belonged to a Carlsen ever since my great-grandfather bought it as unimproved prairie land over a hundred years ago." Angry pride forced her to stake her own claim on the farm that he called his.
A thoughtful look subdued the sparkle in his eyes as Rob studied her. "It must have been difficult to part with it after all these years. It's unfortunate that your grandfather didn't leave it to one of his children."
"My grandparents only had three children. Uncle Andrew was killed in a car accident when I was a child." The feeling of injustice crept into her voice, although Cathie tried to explain the circumstances calmly. "My father is a professor at the university and my aunt's husband is a doctor. My grandfather didn't feel it was fair to saddle either of them with a farm, which is why he asked that it should be sold and the proceeds divided."
"Your grandfather must have been a practical mart," Rob Douglas stated.
"The same can't be said for his granddaughter," Clay sighed, smiling as he put an arm around Cathie's shoulders. "She tried to persuade her father to buy the farm just to keep it in the family."
"I suppose the two of you could have lived on it once you were married to look after it for him." Rob voiced the same thought that Cathie had, but she found herself springing to Clay's defense rather than endorse his suggestion.
"Clay is an attorney. It wouldn't be fair to ask him to give up all those years of school to run the farm or to try to practice law at the same time as running the farm."
Rob Douglas intercepted Clay's look of surprise. Cathie held her breath in anticipation of some astute comment, but Rob made none.
"Tad and I have detained you two from your dinner long enough and I know Mrs. Carver is waiting for us," Rob stated, placing a hand on the shoulder of the boy standing patiently by his side. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Carlsen, and you, Clay."
Cathie didn't realize how rigidly she had been holding herself until she and Clay were alone. Then a trembling seized her legs as the after-shock of meeting Rob Douglas set in.
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Chapter Four
A MALE CARDINAL BUTTERFLY flitted across Cathie's path, his scarlet body and black-crowned head quickly disappearing amidst the branches of a flowering catalpa tree. Her white cotton sundress with its appliqués of daisies around the hem intensified the golden tan of her bared skin. She shifted the books she was carrying from one arm to the other. Beneath her leather sandals she could feel the burning heat of the pavement from the hot June sun. The asphalt in the streets was soft and mushy to the step. These were the days to enjoy the burning warmth of the sun before the scorching heat and high humidity of Iowa's July and August arrived.
Cathie was making her weekly trek to the local library, preferring to go in the middle of the week when there were fewer people and she had plenty of time to browse without interfering with anyone else. The last two books she read she hadn't enjoyed at all. Because of her meeting on Sunday with Rob Douglas, Cathie found herself picturing him as the leading male character in the novels, which had made it difficult to concentrate on the plots. She would have preferred to forget she had ever met him, but his image was too potent to wish away.
Her hand closed over the iron railing as Cathie started up the concrete steps that led into the small library. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a group of children gathered at the end of the block. Their chanting voices pierced her semi-daydream state. Cathie halted midway up the steps as she recognized Tad Douglas in the center of the group. The jeering sound of the children's laughter angered Cathie and she retraced her way down the steps and started walking toward the white-faced boy so determinedly trying to ignore the taunts hurled at him.
