From the Heart (8 page)

Kasey glanced up and saw him. A smile moved across her face. “Hello, Jordan. This is the music appreciation hour.”

He returned the smile. “Am I invited?”

“Uncle Jordan.” Alison scrambled up and forgot to brush out the creases in her skirt. “You should hear Kasey play. She's wonderful.”

“I did.” He glanced at Kasey again. “You are.”

“Alison was having a little difficulty with Beethoven,” Kasey explained. “So I went upstairs for my friend. He's been helping me.”

“He?” Jordan shot Alison a look as he sat on the sofa. He pulled her down on his lap. “Don't you think it's rather odd to call a guitar ‘he'?”

Alison giggled and looked up at him. “I did, but I didn't like to say so.”

“Very discreet.” He nuzzled her neck.

Alison responded by flinging her arms around him and clinging. The depth of his reaction shook him. Kasey had told him there was nothing comparable to a child's love, but he hadn't fully understood. Now, with the small girl hugging him, he felt the total power of it. How had he missed it before? How had he ignored it? Closing his eyes, he held her close and let the sheer pleasure of unconditional love run through him. She smelled of powder and shampoo, and her hair was fine and soft against his cheek. His brother's child. His, now. And he'd already wasted too much time.

“I love you, Alison,” he murmured.

He felt her grip tighten. “Really?” Her voice was muffled against his neck.

“Yes.” He kissed her hair. “Really.”

He heard her sigh and relax. She kept her face buried against his neck. He opened his eyes and met Kasey's.

She was weeping silently. When he looked at her, she shook her head violently as if to deny the tears. She rose, but he stopped her before she could dart from the room.

“Don't go” was all he said.

She turned back to look at him, then began to fumble for a
cigarette. For the first time, he heard her swear at the lack of a match. She walked to the window and stared out.

I love them both, she thought and rested her forehead against the glass. Much too much. To see them together like this, to watch them find each other—the joy of it filled her. She sighed and let the tears run their course. He had looked so stunned when she had put her arms around him. Kasey could see each emotion move through him.

How much time do I have before I lose them both?
Taking a deep breath, she worked to bring herself under control. I won't think about it now. I can't think about it now. When I opened the door, I knew it was going to shut in my face sooner or later. She felt the pain ebbing. Kasey brushed the drying tears from her cheeks. She turned back just as Beatrice glided into the room.

“Jordan, I'll be leaving now. The Conway party.” Seeing Alison on his lap, she frowned. “Is Alison ill?”

“No.” He felt the child straighten and kept his arm around her. “Allison's fine. Enjoy yourself.”

She lifted a brow. “You should be attending yourself. You shouldn't neglect your social duties.”

“I'll have to neglect them awhile longer. Give my best to the Conways.”

Beatrice sighed. As she turned to leave, she spotted Kasey's guitar. “What is this?”

“That's a guitar, Mrs. Taylor.” Kasey stepped back into the center of the room.

“I'm aware of that, Miss Wyatt.” Beatrice sent her an arched look. “What is it doing here?”

“It's Kasey's,” Alison put in. She felt protected and secure in Jordan's arms. “She's going to teach me to play.” She glanced up at Kasey, having taken this for granted.

“Is that so?” Beatrice's voice was clipped and frosty. “And what possible use would it be for you to learn such an instrument?”

“It's essential that a child develop an interest in music at an early age, don't you agree, Mrs. Taylor?” Kasey smiled and cut off the cold response Jordan had on the tip of his tongue. He saw his mother's brow crease and relaxed again.

“Naturally.”

“I'm an advocate of introducing children to the classics, and all forms of music, in infancy. There have been some very interesting studies on the subject.”

“I'm quite sure there have.” Beatrice's eyes swept back to the guitar. “But—”

“The Spanish guitar, such as this one, was developed from Oriental models during the seventeenth century.” Kasey had on her lecturing voice, and Jordan was struggling with a grin. His mother was definitely outmatched. “During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a succession of Spanish virtuosos, including, as I'm sure you know, Andrés Segovia, have proven the guitar to be an important artistic instrument. I'm sure you'll agree that broadening Alison's musical abilities will be a tremendous asset to her when she takes her place in adult society.”

Beatrice was still frowning but looked a trifle dazed. Kasey gave her a friendly smile. “That's a lovely dress, Mrs. Taylor,” she added.

Beatrice glanced down at the mauve silk. “Thank you.” She brushed absently at the skirt. “I had planned to wear my white voile, but it's rather cool tonight. One doesn't wear white when it's cool.”

“Really?” Kasey's brows lifted curiously. “That dress doesn't appear very warm.”

Beatrice sent her a disparaging glance. “I have a mink to wear over it.” She turned and left the room, not at all certain how she had lost the upper hand.

“My, my, my,” Kasey muttered. “Aren't I a fool?”

“A very cagey one,” Jordan remarked. His mother had annoyed her, that was clear enough. But she had kept her temper much more under control than he would have. And there was still a trace of humor in her eyes. He laughed suddenly.

“Your grandmother has just been confused by a master,” he told Alison. “Oriental guitars and seventeenth century.” He shook his head. “Is there anything you don't carry around in that encyclopedia you have for a brain?”

Kasey was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I don't think so. Is there something you'd like to know?”

He tilted his head, amused at the challenge. “What's the capital of Arkansas?”

Alison giggled and whispered in his ear.

“Arkansas,” Kasey murmured. Her gaze wandered to the ceiling. “Arkansas . . . south central United States. North boundary, Missouri; east boundary, Mississippi and Tennessee; south, Louisiana; west, Texas and Okalahoma. Twenty-fifth state as of June, eighteen-thirty-six. Arkansas has soil favorable to agriculture, numerous mineral deposits that include the only diamond mine in the United States and extensive forest areas. The name comes from a Siouan tribe, the Quapaw. There are no natural lakes of importance, and it has a relatively mild climate. Oh, yes.” She held up a finger. “Little Rock is the capital as well as the largest city.”

She dropped her eyes from the ceiling and smiled guilelessly at Jordan. “Would anyone like to take a walk before dinner?”

T
he climate in Palm Springs was dry and warm and sunny. The servants in the Taylor household were well-trained, solicitous. The food was invariably superb. And the monotony of it all was driving her crazy.

If Kasey could have loved Jordan less, she could have escaped. But as each day passed, she knew she was adding links to the chain that kept her there. The time she spent with Jordan on research was a stimulant, as was the time she shared with Alison. But there were long hours with only idleness, and she had never been able to cope with idleness.

In the night, in Jordan's arms, she could let herself forget everything else. But their hours together as man and woman were all too brief. When he would leave her bed, she was left with too much time to think. It was difficult for her to admit that for all her sophisticated education and free-thinking ideas, she was uncomfortable in an affair. Perhaps if the relationship could have been more open, she would have had less doubt. But there was a child to think of.

It was already December. For Kasey, time was running out. In another month, perhaps six weeks, her usefulness would be at an end. And what then? she asked herself as she stepped outside. How much longer could she put off thinking about the future? She should have been booking another lecture tour for January. She should have found out if the Patterson dig was going on schedule in March.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and stared at a palm tree. She needed to get away, she decided. She needed to start thinking about herself again. She had to write her doctorate. She shut her eyes against the glare of the sun.

If she didn't start to make the break soon, it would hurt much, much more when the time came. How would Jordan feel when she left? Kasey stepped from the patio onto the lawn. Would he feel as though he'd lost something? Or would he simply remember their time together as one pleasant autumn?

As someone who made it a habit to pick apart the human brain, she found it strange that she couldn't fully understand Jordan's. Perhaps it was because he was more important than anyone else had ever been. Emotions clouded her intuition, and she couldn't see clearly. She was only certain of Alison.

She had the child's love. It was simple, open. At eleven, a child had no masks.
How many does he have?
she wondered, thinking of Jordan. How many do I have? Why do we insist on wearing them? She looked around again at the smooth, even lawn, the perfectly groomed trees and organized flowers. I have to get away from here, she thought again. I can't stand the spotlessness much longer.

“Kasey!”

She turned to watch Alison dart toward her a few steps ahead of Jordan.

And when I do go, she reflected, they'll have each other. That much I can take with me.

“We couldn't find you.” Alison grabbed her hand and smiled up at her. “We wanted you to go swimming with us.”

The simple request set off a chain of emotional reactions.
They don't belong to you,
she reminded herself as her heart reached out for them. You've got to stop pretending they do. She kept her eyes on the child, unwilling to deal with one of Jordan's intuitive looks.

“Not today, love. I was just going for a run.”

“Swimming uses more muscles,” Jordan commented. “And you don't sweat.”

Kasey lifted her eyes to his. She watched Jordan's narrow immediately and recognized that he sensed something of her mood. She wasn't willing to be seen so clearly.

Smiling, she gave Alison's hand a quick squeeze. “I still think I'd rather run.” She turned and streaked away.

“Something's wrong with Kasey.” Alison looked up at her uncle, but he was watching Kasey dash for the wall that bordered the estate. “Her eyes looked sad.”

Jordan glanced down at Alison. Her words had mirrored his thoughts. “Yes, they did.”

“Have we made her sad, Uncle Jordan?”

The question struck him, and he looked up in time to see Kasey disappear through the side gate.
Have we?
Her capacity to feel was beyond anyone else's he had known. Didn't it follow that her capacity to hurt was just as great? Jordan shook his head. Perhaps he was reading something more into a simple mood.

“Everyone has moods, Alison,” he murmured. “Even Kasey's entitled to them.” When he glanced down at the child again, her eyes were still on the side gate. Jordan swung her up over his shoulder to hear her laugh.

“Don't throw me in!” She laughed and wiggled.

“Throw you in?” Jordan countered as if the thought had never occurred to him. He mounted the steps to the pool. “What makes you think I'd do a thing like that?”

“You did yesterday.”

“Did I?” He glanced over his shoulder at the hedges and wall. Kasey was on the other side. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling. With an effort, he brought his attention back to Alison. “I hate to repeat myself,” he said and tossed her in.

An hour later he found Kasey in the drawing room. The run hadn't helped her mood. He watched as she paced from window to window. He felt her restlessness.

“Thinking of making a break for it?”

Kasey whirled around at his voice. “I didn't hear you come in.” She searched for an ease she couldn't find, then turned away again. “I've changed my mind,” she told him. “This place isn't a museum, it's a mausoleum.”

Jordan lifted a brow, then took a seat on the sofa. “Why don't you tell me what's wrong, Kasey?”

When she turned back, there was a flare of anger in her eyes. It was easier to feel anger than despair. “How can you
stand it?” she threw out at him. “Doesn't the everlasting sunshine ever get to you?”

He studied her a moment, then leaned back against the cushions. “Are you telling me you're upset about the weather?”

“It isn't weather,” she corrected. “Weather changes.” Kasey pushed her hair away from her face with both hands. She felt a dull, throbbing ache at the base of her neck.

“Kasey.” Jordan's voice was quiet and reasonable. “Sit down and talk to me.”

She shook her head. She had no desire to be reasonable just yet. “It amazes me,” she continued, “absolutely amazes me that you can write the way you do when you've cut yourself off from everything.”

His brow went up again. “Do you think that's an accurate statement? I live in a favorable climate, so I've cut myself off?”

“You're so damn smug.” She spun back away as her hands balled inside her pockets. “You sit here in your sanitized little world without an idea as to how people struggle through life. You don't have to worry if your refrigerator breaks down.”

“Kasey.” Jordan struggled to keep his patience. “You're veering off again.”

She turned back and stared at him. Why couldn't he understand? Why couldn't he see what was underneath it all? “Not everyone can rest on his laurels and bask in the sun.”

“Oh, we're back to that.” Jordan rose and crossed to her. “Why is it you consider my money a black mark on my character?”

“I have no idea how many black marks you have on your character,” she retorted. “My objection to your money is that you use it to insulate yourself.”

“From your viewpoint.”

“All right.” She nodded. “In my view, this entire section of California is an outrage: golf, furs, parties, Jacuzzis—”

“Excuse me.” Alison stood in the doorway and stared at both of them. It was the first time she had seen either of them angry. Jordan stifled a reply and turned to her.

“Is it important, Alison?” His voice was calm, but his eyes weren't. “Kasey and I are having a discussion.”

“We're having an argument,” Kasey corrected. “People have arguments, and I never shout during a discussion.”

“All right.” He nodded at Kasey, then looked back at his niece. “We're having an argument. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to finish it?”

Alison took a step back but hesitated. “Are you going to yell at each other and everything?” There was more fascination than concern in the question, and Jordan held back a smile.

“Yes,” Kasey told her. Alison took a long, last look, then darted for the stairs.

Jordan laughed before he turned back to Kasey. “She's apparently pleased at the prospect of a rip-roaring fight.”

“She's not alone.”

He studied Kasey a moment. “No, I can see she's not. Maybe you'd like to throw something. That's always a nice touch.”

“Which do you want to lose?” she shot back, hating that he was controlled and she was not. “The Ming vase or the Fabergé box?”

“Kasey.” He put his hands on her shoulders. Enough, he thought, was enough. “Why don't you sit down and tell me what this is really about?”

“Don't patronize me, Jordan.” She stepped away from him, temper snapping. “I get enough of that from your mother.”

There was little he could say to that, as he knew the truth of it. What he hadn't known was that Kasey had been touched by Beatrice's attitude in any way. Perhaps there were many things he still had to learn about Kasey. And perhaps the time to learn them was when she was upset enough to lower her guard.

“My mother has nothing to do with you and me, Kasey.” His voice had softened, but he didn't reach out to her.

“Doesn't she?” Kasey shook her head. How could it be that he didn't notice it or understand how difficult it was to make love with him in a house in which she had to deal with constant disapproval? “Well, that's one small point of disagreement. We have several others.”

“Which are?”

“Doesn't it worry you that the most important thought in Alison's head in five years will be what dress she wears?”

“Good God, Kasey, what are you talking about?” Frustration made his voice as hot as anger made hers. “Will you come to the point of all this?”

“Point?” She shouted at him now, enraged by her inability to express her feelings and his inability to understand what she was trying to say. “What point is there when you've absolutely no concept of how I feel or what I need?” She shook her head again. “There is no point, Jordan. No point at all.” With this, she fled through the patio doors.

Ten minutes later Kasey sat under an oak tree in the north corner of the lawn trying to gain control of her emotions. She detested losing her temper. Nothing she had said to Jordan had made sense—to him and, barely, to herself. Honesty forced her to admit that it was basic fear that prevented her from speaking what was in her heart. She loved him too much for her own peace of mind.

Heart or intellect—which should she listen to? Her intellect told her she shouldn't love him. He didn't love her. Wanted her, needed her, perhaps, cared for her. All mild, pale words compared to love. Intellect reminded her that there were too many essential differences between them to make anything but the most transitory relationship possible. Intellect stated it was time to remember her priorities—her doctorate, her work in the field. It was time to pull up stakes and get back to it.

But her heart thrust the love on her. She was caught between the two—heart and intellect—and she was unable, for perhaps the first time in her life, to make a clear decision.

She pulled up her legs and rested her brow on her knees. When she heard Jordan sit down beside her, Kasey didn't move. She needed another moment, and he, sensing it, said nothing. They sat together, close but not close enough to touch, while a bird began to sing in the leaves directly above their heads. She sighed.

“I'm sorry, Jordan.”

“For the delivery but not the content?” he returned, remembering the other time she had apologized.

She gave a quick laugh but kept her head on her knees. “I'm not really sure.”

“I don't think I'd mind being shouted at if I knew why.”

“Blame it on the waning of the moon,” she murmured, but he slipped a hand under her chin and lifted it.

“Kasey, talk to me.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak. “Really talk to me,” he added quietly. “Without the clever evasions. If I don't know you, or what you need, it might be because you do your best to keep me from finding out.”

Her eyes were very clear and directly on his. “I'm afraid to let you in any more than I already have.”

Her candor unbalanced him. After a moment he leaned back against the trunk of the tree and drew her to his side. Perhaps the easiest place to begin to learn of her was through her background. “Tell me about your grandfather,” Jordan requested. “Alison said he was a doctor.”

“My grandfather?” Kasey stayed in the circle of his arm and tried to relax. The subject seemed safe enough. “He lives in West Virginia. In the mountains.” She looked out at the even, cropped lawn. There wasn't a rock in sight. “He's been practicing for nearly fifty years. Every spring he plants a vegetable garden, and in the fall he chops his own wood. In the winter the house smells of wood smoke.” She closed her eyes, and leaning against Jordan, let herself remember. “In the summer there are geraniums in the window box outside the kitchen.”

“What about your parents?” He felt the tension seeping out of her as the bird continued to sing out overhead.

“I was eight when they were killed.” Kasey sighed again. Each time she thought of them, the needlessness for their death swept over her. “They were taking a weekend together. I was with my grandfather. They were coming back for me when another car crossed a divider and hit them head on. The other driver had been drinking. He walked away with a broken arm. They didn't walk away at all.” Her grief had dulled with time but remained grief nonetheless. “I've always been glad they had those two days alone together first.”

Jordan let the silence drift a moment. He began to see why
she had understood Alison so quickly. “You lived with your grandfather afterward?”