The Gentling (2 page)

A great many people were surprised and stunned when Henry Barnett's will was read and it was disclosed that Trace had inherited Green Meadows Farm. Katy smiled wryly to herself. Not the least of whom was Saundra Barnett, Henry's young widow. She had fully expected to inherit everything. How shocked she must have been to learn that she would receive only a modest sum in cash.

The coffee maker gurgled to a stop and Katy placed the glass pot on a tray. After adding two cups, cream, and sugar, she picked it up and pushed through the door.

"Here, let me do that." Trace jumped up and took the tray from her hands and placed it on the low coffee table. To Katy's dismay, instead of returning to the chair, he joined her on the sofa. The nervous, panicky feeling intensified, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Clenching her jaw, she picked up the coffeepot and concentrated fiercely on filling the cups.

"Cream and sugar?"

"No, just black."

Katy handed him the cup, being careful not to touch him.

Apparently very much at ease, Trace leaned back against the sofa and drank his coffee slowly. Katy didn't have to look at him to know he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her. She added sugar to her coffee and watched the swirling, brown liquid intently as she stirred it.

"Tell me, Katy. What have you been doing these past four years, other than growing incredibly beautiful?" he asked softly.

She looked up, and her stomach gave a sickening little lurch. His eyes glittered with a disturbing intensity as they roamed over her, warm and boldly sensual. It was the same look she had surprised on his face yesterday.

Katy stared down at the cup in her hand and ran one finger slowly around the edge. "For the last year I've been working at a nursery school in Tyler. Before that I took care of my mother."

She felt tears stinging the back of her eyes and quickly looked away. It was still difficult to talk about her lovely, brave mother. They had known since Katy was fourteen that Kathleen Donovan was dying of a slow progressive muscular disease, but that had not made her death any easier to take. For six years, during the time when other girls her age were in open rebellion against their parents, Katy had spent every spare moment with her mother, heartbreakingly aware that she was slowly slipping away.

"I'm sorry about your mother, Katy. I know you were very close to her." Trace's voice broke through her sad thoughts, soft and infinitely gentle.

She looked at him then and saw that there was a genuine compassion in his eyes. Somehow she hadn't expected that from him, and it had a devastating effect on her fragile self-control. Her chest was tight with suppressed emotion and her throat hurt, but Katy knew she had to make some reply. Otherwise she was going to burst into tears. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she smiled faintly.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnett. Actually, I'm the one who should be offering condolences. My mother died almost a year ago, but you've only just buried your father."

"Ah, but I can't pretend that my father and I were ever close, and there was certainly no love lost between us." Trace smiled dryly. "Therein lies the difference."

Taken aback, Katy looked down at her hands. Her relationship with her parents had always been a warm, loving one. They were a unit, a family. The cold indifference in Trace's voice when he spoke of his father made her shiver. When the silence ran on she searched her mind desperately for something to say.

The problem was solved for her when Trace said, "Tell me, whatever happened to your plans for college? I seem to recall hearing that you wanted to be a teacher."

Sensing criticism, Katy's head jerked up. "There wasn't any money for college. My mother's illness was very costly. Dad had to borrow just to pay for her therapy arid medication, and he's still paying off the loan." She stared at him, her blue eyes defiant. "But whatever the cost, whatever the sacrifice, if it added just one day to her life, it was worth it."

He looked at her tenderly and smiled. "Of course it was."

His soft agreement dissolved the small spurt of defensive anger, and Katy felt foolish for having bristled. Being this close to Trace made her nervous and on edge.

He leaned over and placed his cup on the coffee table. The movement strained the soft cotton shirt tautly across his broad back and shoulders. Katy's eyes were drawn irresistibly to the play of flexing muscles beneath the thin material, and she felt her mouth go suddenly dry. She looked away quickly when he sat back and turned sideways on the sofa, draping his arm along the back. Her stomach muscles clenched into a hard knot. She was vitally aware of his hand, resting just inches away from her shoulder.

"It's a pity though," he mused, as his eyes roamed over her face in open admiration. "You would have made a very good teacher. You're the gentle, quiet type that children take to." He paused and grinned. "And I've always found that children have a great appreciation for beautiful things." Reaching out with one finger, he ran it along the delicate curve of her shoulder, and Katy flinched.

"Don't, please," she pleaded desperately. She closed her eyes and shivered, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. Her nerves were screaming. She had known he would touch her. He had come here for that purpose, not to see her father. All his soft concern and interest was just a ruse. He was just like all the rest of his kind—rich, influential men who thought they could take whatever they wanted, with no thought for anyone else. However, being her father's employer, Trace was in a much more powerful position than the others she had met.

She stood up. "I think it would be best if you just left a message for my father, Mr. Barnett. I really have no idea when he'll be home."

Trace smiled and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Oh, he won't be too long. He went into town to pick up a part for the tractor. He should be back any time now."

Not if he stopped off for a drink, Katy thought sadly. That was something he had been doing regularly since her mother's death. Thomas Donovan was a broken man, shattered into a million pieces. The loss of his beloved Kathleen had been a blow from which he had never truly recovered. It didn't happen often, and he never drank during working hours, but when his pain became too much for him to bear, he occasionally sought relief in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It hurt her to see him grieving so, and she didn't have the heart to scold him.

Katy turned back to the devastatingly attractive man who sat lazily on the sofa, looking at her with a glint of amusement in his eyes. She twisted her hands nervously. "In that case, I'm afraid I really must start dinner, Mr. Barnett."

"That's all right. I'll keep you company in the kitchen. I like to watch a woman being domestic." He grinned and winked. "It's something you don't see very often these days."

Katy wanted to scream! Was the man totally insensitive? She had al! but demanded that he leave, and still he would not budge!

During the last three years she had become adept at fending off predatory males. Her beauty had drawn the interest of most of the eligible men in the area at one time or another. At first they found her cool reserve challenging, but when it became evident that she was simply not interested, was in fact repelled by their advances, they quickly moved on to easier game. The male ego is a fragile thing at best, and a woman's complete lack of interest is too wounding to be endured for long.

Trace Barnett, however, was a different breed of animal, and Katy was slowly and alarmingly becoming convinced that he would not be so easily discouraged.

She stared at him wordlessly for a long moment. His dogged determination was unnerving. This man was dangerous and she knew it, yet she could think of no reason for refusing him. "Very well," she replied tightly, and turned on her heel. A muscle twitched in her jaw as she stalked into the kitchen.

Trying her best to ignore him, Katy opened the refrigerator door and pulled out two thick steaks. After scoring the edges, she sprinkled them with seasoning and placed them in a broiler pan, then set it aside. Trace leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her. Katy was acutely conscious of his long, lean frame, and its aura of pure maleness. Suddenly the kitchen seemed too small. Her nerves were stretched to breaking point, and when he spoke she jumped, her pulse leaping in alarm.

"So you're still hiding from the world," he said softly. It was a statement, not a question, and it caught her completely unaware.

A puzzled frown knit between her brows. Had she missed something? She didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. Turning back to the refrigerator, she began to remove the salad ingredients.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I'm talking about your job. It's typical of you to choose one where you seldom come into contact with adults. Men in particular. You were as skittish as a young deer four years ago, but I thought by now you would have outgrown that." He shook his head, his hazel eyes intent on her face. "If anything, you're even more withdrawn."

Katy took two salad bowls from the cabinet and placed them on the counter. She was trying desperately to keep her expression calm, though her insides were quaking. "I took the job in the nursery because I love children. That was why I wanted to become a teacher. Since that field was closed to me, this was the next best thing."

She had not looked at him while she spoke, but kept her eyes on her hands as they broke the lettuce up into small pieces, very slowly and precisely. He had no idea how nervous he was making her, or how terrified she was of breaking down in front of him. Only her father knew and understood, and he wasn't here.

Trace leaned closer and tilted his head to look into her face. He was smiling that crooked little half smile. His eyes were teasing. "If you love kids so much you should have some of your own. You'd make a wonderful mother, Mary Kathleen Donovan. But first you need to become a wife"—he paused, then added with a wicked grin—"and a lover."

His warm breath caressed her ear as the softly whispered, evocative words stroked over her, and she shivered violently. Katy put down the knife she was using to dice tomatoes and clutched the edge of the counter with both hands. She closed her eyes and fought down the hysterical bubble of fear that rose in her throat. She had to get him out of here, somehow, and she had to do it now. Lifting a shaking hand, she ran it over her brow.

"Look, Mr. Barnett, I don't think—"

A car door slammed and Tom Donovan's loud, booming voice carried through the open windows. "Katy, darlin', I'm home. Would you be havin' a hot meal ready for a poor starvin' man?"

Katy's eyes flew open in sheer panic. Her father was drunk or close to it. The thick Irish brogue was a dead giveaway. Under normal circumstances it was hardly noticeable, but when he was drinking or his emotions were aroused, he always lapsed into the lilting speech of his youth.

Her stricken gaze swung toward Trace, her blue eyes pleading for understanding. If her father lost this job, he would have a difficult time finding another at his age. He had been middle-aged when he had finally married and settled down. Though he had been a loyal and trustworthy employee, no one wanted to hire a man in his sixties.

The front door banged shut. Katy dried her hands and rushed past Trace.

Her father was standing just inside the living room, and her heart sank when she saw him. His face was flushed and he was definitely unsteady on his feet. Even his thick mane of white hair was untidy. Quickly, she walked over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Dad, where have you been? Mr. Barnett has been waiting for you." It was as much of a warning as she could give him. Katy could only hope that he was sober enough to understand.

Tom Donovan stiffened. "What?"

"Mr. Barnett is in the kitchen, Dad. He was here when I came home."

"I wanted to go over the work schedule with you," Trace said, as he stepped into the room. He hesitated a moment, his attention captured by the expression on Katy's face. The deep-set hazel eyes narrowed, then slid back to the huge man at her side. He stared at him for several seconds, his gaze hard and probing. Then, at last, he seemed to have reached a decision. Shrugging indifferently, he said, "However, since it's so late, we'll leave it until tomorrow."

Katy went limp with relief.

Tom's expression grew anxious. He was not so far gone that he missed the paleness of his daughter's face or the harried look in her eyes. A silent message passed between them, and Katy smiled tremulously, reassured by his presence. Only he knew what an ordeal it had been for her, being here alone with Trace for all this time.

A worried frown creased his brow. "Are you all right, Katy?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Dad."

Trace scowled and walked further into the room. His hard gaze sliced back and forth between Katy and her father.

"Is there some reason why Katy wouldn't be ail right?" he demanded with an angry edge to his voice.

"Well ... er ... no." Tom looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It's just that Katy has been . . . unwell lately."

"I see," Trace replied thoughtfully, his hazel eyes raking over her.

Katy held her breath, silently praying that he wouldn't probe further. She couldn't bear that.

Finally, after an interminable period of strained silence, he turned and picked up his hat from the chair, then gave the older man a curt nod. "I'll meet you at the stables first thing in the morning, Tom. Good night."