by Janet Dailey
"Possibly," he conceded. "But that brings the conversation to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."
"What's that?" Again she was wary.
"It seems to me that the only chance you and I have to work out this mutual dislike is to get to know one another better," he suggested.
"How would that help?" Plainly skeptical.
Truthfully Jonas wasn't any more convinced than Molly sounded. "I hope that if I learn more about you, I'll realize that you are an individual. That you're Molly O'Shea and not some man's daughter. You might find out that Jonas Concannon isn't a bad guy once you get to know me."
"Do you think so?" Molly frowned, mirroring the doubt she felt.
"It wouldn't be easy." It would be a strenuous exercise in emotional control, considering the fiery passions of jealousy that ran through him each time he looked at the young girl.
"How would we go about doing it?" She wanted to know.
Hell, I don't know! Jonas thought impatiently, but swallowed back the outburst. "I suppose we'd have to get together regularly and talk."
"About what?"
"I don't know." His gaze restlessly swung away from her expression of concentration and demand. The bay mare stamped at a fly buzzing around her legs. "Horses, maybe. The things we like to do and what irritates us."
"You don't know very much about Morgans," Molly stated, harking back to their exchange the day of the accident. "You should go to the Morgan Horse Farm in Weybridge and learn something about them."
"Maybe I'll do that," Jonas agreed patiently.
A sudden twinkle appeared in her eyes. "You can bone up on them." At the blank look, Molly tipped her head to one side, grinning. "Don't you get it? A doctor boning up on something."
"Yes, I get it," he smiled, but the bulk of the smile was turned inward. "I'll 'bone-up' on Morgans between now and—say, the day after tomorrow."
Molly paused, unsure. "I don't know. Maybe mom—"
"I don't think you should mention it to your mother," Jonas interrupted.
"You want me to keep it a secret from her?" She frowned.
"I think it's best until we find out if it will work."
She digested his answer slowly. "I suppose you're right," she agreed with reluctance. "But she doesn't like me going anywhere unless I tell her where I'll be."
"You usually ride Satin about this time every day, don't you?" Jonas had seen her out often at this time, but he didn't tell her that.
"It's cooler in the late afternoon, early evening," Molly explained.
"Simply tell your mother that you're going out to ride Satin, which will be partially the truth. You just won't mention that you'll be meeting me." It occurred to him that he was teaching Molly to lie, but it seemed the expedient thing to do.
"Where should I meet you? Here by the fence?" Jonas glanced across the meadow to the chalet. A meeting here could easily be seen from the chalet. It was entirely possible that if Bridget discovered Molly was seeing him, she would put a stop to it. At this stage, he knew Molly would not disobey her mother to meet him.
"No. Do you see that maple tree in the clearing nearly at the top of the hill? He pointed behind him to the lookout spot he haunted. Molly craned her neck, then nodded. "I'll meet you there at this same time unless I have an emergency or it's raining."
"Okay," Molly agreed.
In a fluid movement, Jonas rolled to his feet, indicating his desire to end the conversation. Molly stared at him towering above her a second before scrambling to her feet, brushing the leaves from the seat of her jeans. There was a certain anxiety about her expression. Despite her agreement, she seemed to doubt the wisdom of it.
Jonas held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
Her small hand was engulfed in the largeness of his as they shook hands to seal their pact. She left it there for a minute to stare at him.
"I may not stop not liking you." Molly seemed to feel honor bound to voice the possibility.
"I might not change the way I feel about you, either," he admitted. "But we won't know if we don't try." And if he didn't try, it could mean Bridget might be lost to him.
"Yeah," she nodded unenthusiastically and withdrew her hand to walk to the fence where the bay was tied.
Jonas didn't attempt to offer her assistance over the fence. Crossing, Molly untied her horse and mounted. She paused to look at him one last time before turning the mare toward the pasture meadow. As they cantered away, Jonas started up the hill, plagued with his own set of doubts.
A few feet short of the maple tree, his appointed meeting place with Molly, he stopped and looked through thickly leaved branches to the steep slopes of the chalet's shingled roof. He wondered what Bridget was doing, and tried to visualize her working around the house. An aching loneliness settled in.
From the kitchen window, Bridget watched Molly cantering the mare toward the horse shed. Her stomach was twisted in knots. What had Molly been talking to Jonas about? It had to have been Jonas. Even at that distance, she would recognize his tall masculine physique.
Her gaze swerved anxiously to the rock and tree-strewn hillside on the other side of the narrow, valley meadow. Jonas had disappeared up the slope. She could see no sign of him anywhere, but it didn't lessen her sensation of unease.
Bridget remembered her mother's warning that Jonas might use Molly to get to her. But she also remembered his resentment and Molly's dislike. There had to be some plausible explanation for their conversation.
Impatiently she walked to the back door, then stopped. No, she shouldn't go charging out to the stables, confronting Molly with the fact that she had seen her talking to Jonas. Her astute daughter would wonder why it was such a big deal, to use Molly's vernacular.
She returned to the sink and began drying the dishes, a task that was normally Molly's chore, but Bridget needed something to occupy her time. Molly would not be up immediately, since she had to clean the tack, rub down the bay and feed her.
The last pot was in the cupboard when Molly finally walked in the back door. Her sweeping glance saw the draining board empty of clean dishes and she smiled broadly.
"Thanks, mom."
"You're welcome." Bridget tried not to study her too closely. "Did you have a good ride?"
"Sure. Can I have a piece of cake?"
"There's an apple in the refrigerator. Have that instead."
Molly wrinkled her nose and walked to the refrigerator. Bridget lifted the draining board, from the sink and put it in the cupboard under the counter. She glanced at her daughter, trying to find a casual way to bring up the subject. There didn't seem to be one.
"Did I see you talking to Jonas?" she asked finally.
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," Molly recited and laughed as she bit into the red skin.
"Did you talk to him?" Bridget persisted.
"Yes, for a while," Molly admitted in between bites.
"What about?" Bridget held her breath.
Molly shrugged. "He asked whether I was all right and said that Satin looked well. Nothing much, really."
"You seemed to be with him long enough for more than that to be said," Bridget said stiffly.
"He told me it was all right if we rode on his property the way we used to when Mr. Hanson owned it. He said the signs were just there for strangers," she explained.
"I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't, but he is our neighbor," Molly replied. "Plus most of the hilly ground is on his land. Riding over it strengthens Satin's muscles. Jonas isn't such a bad guy, I guess. At least he's stopped talking to me as if I was still an infant."
Munching on her apple, Molly sauntered into the living room. Bridget watched her for a few minutes before turning around to wipe the counter top for the third time. Molly's explanation of the meeting made it sound plausible and innocent enough, yet Bridget couldn't shake off the niggling doubts.
Molly had said that she didn't think Jonas was such a bad guy, even though she claimed to still
dislike him. There was a definite softening in her attitude, though. It produced a dilemma for Bridget. She didn't want her daughter to dislike Jonas, but it certainly would make things difficult for her if Molly began liking him.
There was nothing left to do in the kitchen, yet Bridget was reluctant to enter the living room and pretend an unconcern she was far from feeling. Instead she slipped out the rear door of the small chalet, needing some time to be alone.
In the west, the setting sun was splintering pink and gold rays over the green mountains. A serene hush had settled over the valley. The air was still, the temperature cooling. Bridget felt the quiet peace close around her, but it brought no comfort to her troubles.
Bridget wandered to the pasture fence. In the stable, she could hear the rustle of the horses moving around in their stalls, the scent of hay drifting faintly in the air. Black-and-white-spotted Holsteins were grazing in the pasture meadow.
Her gaze swung to the hill rising on the far side of the pasture, Jonas's land. For, an instant Bridget thought she saw a flicker of movement near the top. Her heart did a crazy leap as she stared intently, but she could make out nothing. A sigh quivered through her.
Bridget hugged her arms around her stomach to contain the lonely ache she felt inside. "Why did I have to fall in love with you again, Jonas?" She sighed.
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Chapter Eight
"MOLLY," BRIDGET SIGHED in exasperation, "I thought I told you to wear your blue slacks."
"But the white slacks are neater," Molly argued, her mouth curving downward in a rebellious pout.
"They won't be so neat when they're all grass stained. Go up to your room and change before Jim gets here," she ordered.
"Aw, mom!" was the grumbling response. Molly turned to leave the kitchen, then stopped. "How come Jim is taking us to the picnic?"
"Because he asked us to go with him." Bridget added the silverware to the picnic basket.
"Yeah, but he's asked you out a lot lately and you haven't gone with him. How come you decided to go with him this time?"
"Because Jim is leaving," she explained. "He was offered a position at his old college when the man who held it was severely injured in a car accident."
"I thought he was teaching at the Technical College." Molly frowned.
'"He was, but he persuaded them to release him from his contract so he could take this other job. In fact, he's already moved. The picnic today is a kind of farewell party for him."
"I thought we were having the picnic because it's Labor Day."
"Okay, Molly, that's enough chatter," Bridget declared, giving her daughter a warning look. "You can talk until Jim comes if you want, but you're stiff going to have to change those slacks before we leave."
Molly flashed her an angry look and flounced from the room. The half-smile curving Bridget's lips didn't last long as she thought about the coming afternoon picnic. Her first instinct had been to refuse when she learned Jonas had been invited.
It was true that Jonas was barely acquainted with Jim, but he was old friends with the others at the picnic. He couldn't very well have been left out.
Still, it was one thing to meet him on the street or in a store and quite another to see him at an informal gathering like this picnic. Yet living in the same community Bridget couldn't hope to keep avoiding meeting him socially, so she had decided to attend the picnic.
There had been another reason for her acceptance, too. All summer, almost since Jonas's return, she had kept turning down Jim's invitations to go out. It hadn't seemed right to accept them when it was Jonas she secretly wanted to be with.
Bridget knew Jim had been confused by her sudden reversal, but she couldn't explain her reasons to him. She couldn't explain her reasons to anyone. But Jim was leaving and she couldn't turn down his last invitation.
Bridget had stopped kidding herself about Jonas. The ten-year separation hadn't ended her love for him. The only change was that she no longer trusted herself to give that love.
"Forgive and forget," someone wise had once said. But she could not forgive or forget that Jonas had chosen her parents' money instead of her love ten years ago.
A car pulled into the driveway, a horn honking. "Molly!" Bridget called. "It's Jim. Are you ready?"
"Coming!"
The scarlet leaves of the sumac set fire to the roadside. The rusty, cone-shaped seed clusters of the sumac were thrusting upward to the gold sun. Hills and mountainsides were beginning to don their autumn coat of many colors, the red hues of the sugar maple predominant.
It was a scenic drive to Brookfield. The white of a church spire gleamed brilliantly against the background of russet reds and golds of a distant hillside. The closer they came to Allis State Park, the quieter Bridget grew, pretending an absorption in the colorful scenery. Jim pretended not to notice her silence as he responded to Molly's steady stream of talk from her seat between the two of them.
Jim slowed the car as they entered the small community of Brookfield with its cluster of old houses, beautifully preserved. Bridget's tension increased while Molly leaned eagerly forward.
"Are we really going to cross the floating bridge?" she asked.
"We are unless you want to get out and swim across Colt's Pond," Jim teased.
They turned a corner and the floating bridge was at the bottom of the small incline. Buoyed by barrels, it offered passage over the narrow pond.
"We haven't been over this in ages," Molly breathed with excitement.
"Don't wriggle around or you'll capsize us," Jim warned in jest.
The car rolled slowly onto the wooden planks atop the barrels, The bridge took its weight, dipping slightly, permitting water to flow over the boards. The tires made a soft splashing sound as Jim drove slowly across.
At the top of the hill on the opposite side of the pond was the fire tower in Allis State Park. They were among the first of their party to arrive at the picnic area, but the rest soon followed. Bridget kept bracing herself to see Jonas's wagon drive up. Everyone had arrived and there was still no sign of him.
"Where's Jonas?" Evelyn looked around with a frown. "Isn't he here yet?"
"I haven't seen him," someone else replied.
"You talked to him, didn't you, Bob?" Evelyn turned to her husband. "He was coming, wasn't he?"
"That's what he said when I saw him in town the other day," he shrugged.
"I wonder if we should wait for him," Evelyn murmured absently.
"I'm hungry, mom," her youngest complained.
"Let's fix the children's plates," Mary Chapman suggested. "If Jonas isn't here by then, I think the rest of us should go ahead and eat."
"We can save something for Jonas," Evelyn agreed.
The children were called and Molly came rushing up to Bridget. "Do we have to eat with the kids?"
Bridget glanced at the Chapman girl hovering beside her daughter. Both were in fifth grade and certain they were too old to be mixing with younger children.
"You and Patty fix your plates now, but I think it will be all right if you and she find some place by yourselves to eat away from the smaller children." She checked the breathless rush of thanks from the pair by adding, "Check with Party's mother first. She might want her to watch Tommy."
"We will," Molly promised before they went dashing off.
A few minutes later, Bridget saw the pair stealing quietly away to another picnic table beneath a tree, some distance from the other tables. When all the children had their plates filled and were seated at a table, there was still no sign of Jonas and the adults sat down to eat.
An hour later they were all sitting around the tables, the bulk of the food gone. A car door slammed. Bridget didn't turn around to see who it was. She guessed it was Jonas before the first greeting was called out to him.
"We were beginning to give up on you, Jonas. What kept you?"
He walked to the table. "Sorry I'm late."
"We saved some food for you," Evelyn s
miled.
"Thanks," Jonas smiled tiredly.
Bridget couldn't help noticing his crumpled appearance. His print shirt and brown trousers both looked as though they'd been slept in. His hair looked as if it had been combed with his fingers. His features seemed leaner, darkened by a shadowy beard growth. There were haggard lines etched around his mouth.
"From the looks of you, you must have been at one helluva party last night," Bob observed in jest
"It was no party," Jonas replied, sliding his long legs under the picnic table and sitting down with obvious weariness. "A maternity case."
"Who had their baby?" Mary Chapman asked.
"No one from around here." He shook his head. "A young couple had come up from Massachusetts to spend the holiday weekend at Lake Champagne. She went into labor about one in the morning. I was on call at the hospital."
"What did she have?"
"A girl." He made an effort to smile, but it couldn't reach his eyes. He glanced at Bob. "You don't happen to have any beer left?"
"I think there's a couple of cans left in the cooler." Bob winked.
"What would you like to eat?" Evelyn asked. "We have—"
"I'll take a couple of those hot dogs. That's good enough," Jonas insisted.
His gaze slid to Bridget, then skipped to Jim sitting beside her, but there was no outward reaction, except a kind of resignation. Bob sat a can of beer in front of him and Evelyn passed him some hot dogs and chips. The conversation became general again.
Jonas had finished the first hot dog and picked up the second when the blare of a horn sounded. He breathed in deeply and set the sandwich on the paper plate.
"Excuse me," he said, rising tiredly to his feet and stepping over the picnic-table bench.
He walked to his car as the horn blared a second time. Bridget watched him discreetly, her heart strings being tugged by his lack of vitality, something that had always been so much a part of him. Leaving the car door open, he sat sideways in the driver's seat. A second later she saw him with the receiver of a mobile phone in his hand.
"Let's start clearing up this mess," Connie suggested as she pushed up the sleeves of her sweater.
