Forgotten Dreams (6 page)
Just as she reached for the bucket containing the rooster's ground corn, Toni heard the sound of heavy
footsteps coming toward her along the brick pathway. It must be Mr. Timmons, she decided. He'd spent the morning working in the yard and had probably left some of his equipment.
But when the footsteps reached the corner of the storage house, Toni could see that it definitely wasn't Mr. Timmons, the gardener. The man paused, then propped one strong arm against the shed and smiled at her.
She stared speechlessly at Christian Barr, the pail slipping from her hand and landing bottom up on the ground at her feet.
"What are you doing here?" she finally sputtered as she continued to stare disbelievingly at him.
"Now, is that any way to greet your new neighbor?" Christian asked, his dark eyes running over her jeans-clad body, then touching on the goat, the rooster, and the spilled feed.
"My neighbor?" Toni repeated incredulously. Good Lord! Was he the man she'd seen earlier at the window? "Don't tell me you've bought Cartlaigne?" The question tumbled from her lips and Christian grinned.
"Ahh ... I can see you're still as gracious and even-tempered as I remembered. As for the house, I've leased it for six months."
Six months! Toni could see the quiet, peaceful days of her future being thrown into complete chaos. She could well imagine the grounds of Cartlaigne being overrun with his guests, the solitude shattered by the wild parties he was famous for throwing.
During her brief moments of unhappy reflection, Toni failed to notice that Christian Barr had walked around the enclosure and through the gate. The surprise that registered on her face when she turned and
saw him beside her changed to something akin to horror as she watched him go down on one knee with the intention of scooping up the corn and returning it to the pail.
The events of the next few seconds seemed like a movie in slow motion. Instead of her hastily spoken "You'd better get out of here" having the desired effect upon her new neighbor, he merely paused with a double handful of grain before him and frowned up at her.
Before Toni could say more than "The goat" and point, cross-eyed Billy had somehow managed to draw a dead aim on Christian Ban and was charging, head down, for all he was worth!
The impact sent Christian sprawling amid bits of hay, straw, and goat droppings. A fine shower of ground corn settled over his large frame like the flakes of a first snow.
Once his mission was accomplished, Billy gave a triumphant bleat, shook his head back and forth a few times, then trotted back to the corner of his shelter and began to chew on his favorite piece of wood. . Toni was gripped by a paralysis that was broken only when she saw Christian Barr gingerly raise one hand to his forehead and heard the most awful flow of curse words streaming from his mouth.
She ran to him then, not sure whether to try to help him to his feet or leave him alone. She settled the dilemma by attempting to brush the corn from his head and shoulders. "Are you hurt badly?" she asked anxiously. "Can you sit up?"
Christian slowly turned his dark head and leveled such a blazing look at her that Toni withdrew the hand that was resting on his shoulder and sat back on
her heels.
"Who the hell owns that goat?" he asked in a tone that could only be described as frozen fury.
"M-my aunt Sara," Toni stammered. "I'm terribly sorry. Of course I'll pay for any medical bills. Do you think you can stand up?"
"That cross-eyed bastard should be shot and his owner sued!" Christian roared, staring at the culprit. "Now just a minute," Toni threw right back at him. "I've apologized for what happened to you and I've offered to pay your medical bills. And while I share your opinion of the goat, I don't like you talking that way about my Aunt Sara."
She gave him a cool smile as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "After all, you were and still are trespassing."
"Trespassing?" he roared again, his large hands busily knocking the dirt and corn from his face and hair.
"In case you didn't hear me, Miss Grant, I'll repeat it. I've leased Cartlaigne and its grounds for six months.' "So?" Toni shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "So," Christian began in a tone only slightly lower than before, his eyes blazing, "I don't care to be used as a battering ram by your aunt's livestock. I'm afraid the goat will have to go."
"And I think you should have the individual who drew up your contract explain to you exactly what property you leased, Mr. Barr."
Christian dropped a forearm over one updrawn knee and stared icily at her. "Now, why should I go to that trouble when I'm sure you're just dying to set me
straight?"
"Very well," she briskly replied. She turned her head and nodded toward the row of trees and shrubs that ran between the big house and the cottage.
"That is the property line. Which is, I might add, duly recorded in the county records. This property and that house"—-she waved one hand toward the cottage and the grounds surrounding it—"are called Cartlaigne Cottage. It's owned by my aunt, Sara Cartlaigne." She turned back to the man facing her, whose temper didn't appear to be mellowing at all. "I suppose it's an easy enough mistake to make."
"How generous," Christian said acidly. "Tell me something, Antonia. . . . May I call you by your given name? I mean . . . we've shared so many intimate moments, I feel foolish addressing you as Miss Grant."
"Most of my friends call me Toni," she told him.
"Well, since I'm quite certain you don't include me in that exclusive circle, I'll stick with Antonia."
"What was your question?"
"Do you get some strange pleasure from causing pain to the men in your life? Is there some peculiar quirk in your general makeup that enjoys seeing a man maimed, bleeding, or worse?"
"Why, of course," she said innocently, striving to control her own rapidly rising temper. "I even set aside a certain time each day in which to think up new and exciting ways to declare war on the male population of the world."
"I can damn well believe it. I've met you on four different occasions. On the second one I prevented your irate fiance from taking a swing at you. On the third I was attacked by a dog, and on the fourth I was nearly killed by a goddamn goat!"
Toni scrambled to her feet, her small body quivering with rage. "Well, maybe you wouldn't have so manyproblems if you didn't spend so much time poking your nose into other people's business!"
She spun around and hurried to the gate. Once she was on the other side of the barrier and the latch was firmly in place, she glared at Christian Barr. "I'll leave you to your kinsman." She waved toward the goat, who was keenly observing the antics of the two humans. "At the moment, not only do the two of you appear to have exactly the same type of personality, you also smell exactly the same!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Toni hurried through the back door of the cottage and into the "new" kitchen, which had been a sizable butler's pantry until its renovation in the early forties. Mrs. Donovan, the housekeeper, fondly referred to as Mrs. D, was putting the final touches on dinner. She turned and smiled.
"I was about to come out and check on you," the older woman told Toni. "Being two miles from town has its good points, but with it getting dark so much earlier now, I'd feel better if you would feed the animals in the morning."
"Frankly, Mrs. D, I think the animals are mean enough to lopk after themselves. I'm convinced that that awful old goat would be a great deal happier if he were given an endless supply of wood to eat."
"And cloth," Mrs. D added with a rueful shake of her gray head. "You dare not put anything out to air without first making sure the gate to bis pen is securely fastened. By the way, I saw the lights on over at
the big house. Do you think the Masons have come back?"
"No," Toni said slowly, "it's not the Masons. I ran to our new neighbor while I was looking after the animals. His name is Christian Barr."
"That sounds like a nice, romantic name." Mrs. D smiled. "Did you think to ask what line of work he's in? Is he married? How long will he be with us?"
"Unfortunately," Toni remarked dryly, "he'll be with us' for six months. That's how long he's leased the house. He isn't married and he's a journalist."
"Oh, my!" The housekeeper beamed. "Having such a man next door will certainly be nice. I'll have to invite him over to dinner soon."
And I'll be sure to make other plans when you do,
Toni thought. "Is Aunt Sara feeling better after her nap?"
"I'm not so sure," Mrs. D replied in a concerned voice. She paused in her dinner preparations and looked at Toni. "Brent and Susie did explain about the light strokes, didn't they?" At Toni's confirming nod, Mrs. D went on. "Well, I'm no doctor, mind you, but I think she's had another one."
"Today?"
"Within the last few days. She's not as alert as she's been, and I noticed when I was dressing her for dinner that she's favoring her right arm."
"Shouldn't we call the doctor?" Toni asked, her concern apparent in her eyes.
"I did," Mrs. D calmly assured her. "But since her regular visit is in the morning, and considering how upset she gets if a fuss is made, he suggested we not say anything. We're to watch her closely. If there are any sudden changes, then of course we're to call him."
"Are you satisfied with that, Mrs. D?" Toni asked doubtfully. "I realize you've been with Aunt Sara for over thirty years and probably know her better than her family does. Do you think having the doctor out to see her would upset her?"
"Very much so, honey," the older woman said patiently.
"At her age, it becomes a matter of intense pride for her to think she's still in control of her life. Your aunt has been blessed. Though she's not as sharp as she once was, on her good days she's amazingly alert." She patted Toni on the shoulder. "Don't worry so; she'll be fine. You scoot to your room and get dressed for dinner. It's almost six o'clock and Sara doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Toni did as she was instructed, pausing briefly at the door of the room that Aunt Sara always referred to as the sitting room. She peered in, looking for the tiny figure of her aunt, and smiled with relief when she saw that seemingly indomitable lady sitting in a large chair, her back ramrod straight. Her ebony cane was leaning against an arm of the chair and Aunt Sara was intently watching a noisy western.
Toni turned and walked to her room, the sound of bullets flying and horses pounding through Dry Gulch Canyon echoing in the background.
As she removed a long skirt and a blouse from the large armoire that served as a closet, she found her thoughts centering on Christian Barr. Seeing him there at Cartlaigne had been one of the biggest shocks of her life.
What can he possibly be doing in Natchez? she wondered as she undressed and stepped into the shower. She would have thought that his kind shunned quiet, sleepy rural towns for the more flamboyant life of the
larger cities. In his career he'd covered civil uprisings in foreign countries and interviewed some of the highest officials in the land. What was there in Natchez to compare with that?
But it wasn't so much his professional interest that had her mind swirling. It was the man himself. He possessed a certain charisma; a smoldering sense of excitement surrounded him. Despite herself Toni had to admit that he was an unusually intriguing man.
She stepped from the shower and reached for a towel, a dark frown on her face as she wondered how best to avoid her new neighbor. Moving hurriedly, she entered her bedroom and began to dress. "I only hope he isn't seriously injured from his bout with that damn goat," she muttered as she donned fresh underwear, then slipped into the skirt and blouse she'd laid out earlier. "On second thought," she said with an evil grimace, "it would be a novel experience to see the infamous Mr. Barr pitted against Aunt Sara. There's no doubt in my mind who the winner would be."
With genuine amusement, Toni wondered if her aunt could still be persuaded to make use of her old twelve-gauge shotgun, an item that in years gone by had done a great deal to enhance the old woman's reputation as an eccentric.
She was still smiling at the thought of a confrontation between her aunt and their new neighbor when she heard the tiny bell Aunt Sara kept on the table beside her chair.
That sharp, tinkling sound meant that dinner would begin in five minutes. It also meant that family and guests would also present themselves in what their hostess considered suitable attire; jackets and ties for the men, dresses—preferably long ones— for the women.
When Toni reached the door of the sitting room, she met Aunt Sara, leaning heavily on her cane, with Mrs. D close but not actually touching the older woman.
Sara Cartlaigne, as tiny as her niece, was dressed in a long navy-blue velvet dress. Her snowy white hair was worn up in a smooth coronet style that hadn't changed for as long as Toni could remember. And though her face bore the lines of age, the years had been kind. Her skin was soft and her eyes were bright
and sparkling.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Toni said with a smile as she leaned over and kissed a soft cheek. "Billy was rather testy when I went to feed him."
"Don't apologize, Antonia," Sara briskly shushed her niece. "Having you in this old house has done wonders for Mrs. D and me. Being a few minutes late isn't a crime." She smiled. "Take my arm, child. I'm not as steady on my feet as I once was."
Toni did as she was told, careful to maintain a cheerful expression. She kept up a steady stream of chatter and felt especially grateful to hear her aunt laugh. Asking for someone's arm and admitting to any sort of physical weakness wasn't Aunt Sara's style.
Once they entered the dining room and were seated at the huge old mahogany table, Sara questioned Toni at length regarding Billy, the work Mr. Timmons had done in the yard earlier in the day, and Susie's visit. Toni painted a comical picture of the aging goat, but was careful to leave out any mention of their newest neighbor's encounter with the family pet. She dutifully recounted exactly where Mr. Timmons had planted the spring bulbs and explained that the leaves from the large oaks were being used as mulch in the flower beds.