The Gentling (7 page)

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It wasn't until she had already rung the Cawleys' doorbell that the first pangs of doubt began to nag at her. Jane was as sharp as a tack. Katy wasn't in the habit of dropping by on the weekends, and Jane was bound to wonder why she had today. The bell pealed inside the house several times without any answer, and feeling something akin to relief, Katy turned to go. Before she had taken two steps the door was jerked open.

"Katy! Well, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Katy turned and smiled. "Oh, I was just at loose ends and I thought I'd see if you were busy."

"No. Of course not." Jane stepped back and opened the door wide. "Come in, come in. Everyone is out back around the pool. Come on out and join us."

Katy hung back. "Maybe I'd better not. I don't want to interrupt your Sunday with your family."

"Nonsense!" Jane reached out and grabbed her by the arm. "There's no reason in the world why you can't join us. As I recall, you left one of your swimsuits in the pool house the last time you were here. Besides, we all think of you as a member of the family anyway."

Frank and the kids were in the pool playing a game of catch with a beach ball when Katy and Jane stepped out onto the-patio. They paused just long enough to chorus a quick "Hi, Katy," before returning to the game, playing fast and furious, as though their very lives depended on the outcome. The Cawleys' fifteen-year-old twins, John and Jason, were on one side, teamed against Frank and seventeen-year-old Martha on the other.

"Good grief! It makes me tired just to watch them. How do you keep up with this crew?" Katy asked as she sank down onto a padded lounger.

"It isn't easy, believe me." Jane sighed and plopped down on another lounger. Arms stretched out behind her, she leaned back on her hands, then turned her head and gave Katy an inquiring look, her brown eyes narrowing shrewdly. "So, tell me. What happened at the farm to send you scurrying into town?" she asked with typical directness.

"Nothing." Katy kept her eyes on the game of catch and avoided looking at her friend. "It's just that Dad was up all night with an ailing horse, and he's exhausted. I thought I'd stay away from the house and give him a chance to catch up on his sleep."

"Mmmrn, and that's all there is to it, huh?"

"Yes, of course. What else could there be?"

"What else, indeed." Jane sniffed. "Only the most eligible, best-looking man in the county, that's all. And don't sit there and give me that big-eyed look. I know perfectly well that Trace Barnett is involved in this somehow."

"Of course he's involved. It was his ailing horse."

"Katy Donovan! Don't try to con me. I know good and . . ."

"Hey, Katy!" Jason called from the edge of the pool. "Why don't you get into your svvimsuit and you and Mom join us? We'll have a three-man relay. Girls against the boys. What do you say?"

Katy grabbed at the chance to escape Jane's inquisition. Jumping up, she headed for the poolhouse. "Sure. Just give me five minutes," she called as she skirted the pool. "We gals are going to beat the pants off you, you'll see."

A feeling of intense relief washed over Katy when she arrived home and turned into the empty drive. Though it was after nine, she had half expected to find Trace's pickup parked next to the house, but there wasn't a vehicle of any kind in sight. She relaxed and drove around to the back where she parked the car next to her father's pickup.

She smiled as she climbed from the car and started toward the house on slightly unsteady legs. She was feeling pleasantly exhausted by the afternoon and evening spent with the irrepressible Cawley clan. They had played water games until hunger had forced them to call a halt. Then, among a storm of unmerciful teasing and lighthearted squabbling, they had grilled hot dogs over the barbeque pit and stuffed themselves like ravenous wolves.

Katy had stayed as long as she had dared without raising Jane's suspicions any further. But by nine, after all the mess had been cleared away and the children had wandered off, jane once again began to ask probing questions, and Katy had beat a hasty retreat.

A long rectangle of yellow light spilling from the kitchen lit her way as Katy climbed the back steps and opened the door to the screened-in utility porch. The soft tap-tap of her heels on the board floor announced her arrival even before she called out, "Hi, Dad. I'm back."

"Katy me darlin'! It's about time you were home," her.father answered from the living room. "Where the devil have you been all day?"

"Most of the time I've been at the Cawleys'. We swam and pla . . ." The words froze on Katy's lips, and she came to a stunned halt just inside the living room as her eyes lit on the long, lean man sprawled in one of the fireside chairs. His narrowed stare seemed to slice right through her as she stood rooted to the spot.

"Trace! Wh-what are you doing here?"

"He came to see you, my girl. Trace was under the impression you were expecting him."

There was a gruffness in her father's voice that Katy hadn't noticed before, and when she turned to him and saw his reddened, bleary eyes and disheveled appearance her heart sank. He had been drinking again. Heavily.

"I—I—must have forgotten. I—"

"Don't worry about it, Tom." Trace cut into her stammered explanation and sent her a knowing look that made her scalp prickle. "I probably didn't make my intentions clear last night." He paused and a slow grin curved his mouth. "That's a mistake I won't make in the future, I assure you."

The softly spoken words hit Katy with stunning impact, and she took a step backward, reeling under the implied threat. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight. Cold, icy fear was racing through her veins. Her eyes darted to her father, but he seemed sublimely unperturbed, his gaze trained on the glass in his hand.

Trace stood up, and Katy jumped. Her involuntary reaction brought his brows together.

"Is anything wrong, Katy? You seem . . ." he paused, his eyes narrowing on her white face, "nervous."

It was a politely worded question but Katy didn't miss the thread of steel in his voice. It made her even more nervous. She didn't want him probing for the cause. The fewer people who knew, the better.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she shook her head. "No. Of course not. I'm just tired, that's all."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "In that case, I'll be going." He picked up his hat and gave her father a grim smile. "Tom, I'll see you in the morning."

Katy sagged with relief. She followed him happily as he beaded for the door, barely able to believe she was getting rid of him so easily. Her deliverance was short-lived however. At the door he grasped her elbow and sent Tom an inquiring look. "You don't mind if Katy walks me to the gate, do you, Tom? I'd like to speak with her for a moment."

"Sure, sure." Tom waved his hand dismissively. "You two go on. Me, I'm going to bed." So saying, he rose to his feet and staggered toward the hall door. Wide-eyed, Katy watched his retreating back with something akin to panic.

"Oh, but . . ."

Her protest was cut off as Trace transferred his hand from her elbow to the small of her back, its forward pressure propelling her through the open door. Without engaging in an undignified struggle, she had no choice but to go with him.

Katy walked stiffly beside him. The pressure of that guiding hand on her back was burning through her clothing like a branding iron. She was shivering with reaction to this frighteningly masculine man, a combination of fear, anger and resentment, and had no doubt that he could feel the tremors that quaked through her.

At the gate he stopped and turned her to face him. Partly out of fear and partly out of sheer stubbornness, Katy kept her eyes fixed firmly on the third button of his shirt. His first words, however, brought her head up sharply, her eyes widening in dismay.

"How long has Tom been drinking like this, Katy?"

In the pale glow of light from the house she couldn't see his expression clearly. She looked at him with huge, stricken eyes, searching his face for some sign of compassion or understanding. Oh, dear God! Don't let him dismiss Dad, she prayed fervently. Not now. Not after everything else. Please, God, please!

Her gaze wavered beneath his penetrating stare, and Katy lowered her head. Her soft Sips trembled as she whispered huskily, agonizingly, "Ever since Mother died. You see . . . he loved her so, he can't bear to go on without her. It's killing him, little by little, day by day." The last was choked out on a rising sob. and she averted her head, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened. Katy's chin quivered as she fought to suppress the emotions churning inside her. Her throat ached with the effort.

Trace drew in a deep breath and expelled it very slowly, in a long, resigned sigh. "That's what I thought," he said, his tone grim. "I've noticed he doesn't seem the same as I remembered him, even sober."

"No, he's not. When Mother died, something in him died too. Some vital spark." Katy stood with her arms crossed over her midriff, rubbing her elbows in agitation. "He's . . ."

Tom's deep, rich baritone, raised in song, halted Katy's words. They both turned to stare at the house, unable to speak as a hauntingly sad song floated out on the still night air.

The piercing sorrow in her father's voice snapped the precarious control Katy had over her emotions, and huge, scalding tears welled up to blur her vision. Biting her lips, she widened her eyes and tried to hold them back, but it was no use. One by one, they trickled over.

She turned to Trace then, clutching desperately at his arm, her tear-drenched eyes unconsciously beseeching. "Trace, please. He never drinks during working hours. I swear it! You've got to believe me!"

At first her desperate pleading seemed to shock him. Then a look of pure anguish flickered across his face. "Oh, Katy, Katy," Trace breathed sadly, cupping her face between his hands. Rough, calloused thumbs brushed back and forth across her cheeks, wiping away the steady flow of tears. "Do you really think I would dismiss your father? Do you have so little faith in me? Right now Tom is like a wounded animal, and he's easing his pain in the only way he knows how. I can't condemn him for that."

Katy stood rigid before him, blinking her eyes to stem the tears, staring at him in growing wonder. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

A dejected look entered the hazel eyes and Trace shook his head sorrowfully. "Katy, don't you know that Tom has always been more of a father to me than my natural father? It was Tom who bailed me out of trouble countless times during that period when I was behaving like a reckless fool. It was Tom who gave me good, sound advice. It was Tom who understood how I felt." He paused and darted a look toward the house, then sent her that lopsided smile, and Katy's heart gave a queer little lurch against her ribs. "Anyway, I'm not stupid. Tom knows and handles animals better than any man alive, drunk or sober. So don't worry, Katy. I'm not going to dismiss your father just because he's hitting the bottle. We simply have to give him time and hope he eventually snaps out of it."

The rush of gratitude she felt almost overwhelmed her. The vivid blue eyes were swimming with emotion as she looked at him, her chin wobbling. "Thank you, Trace," she whispered unsteadily.

His face became pensive and he stared at the house again. "I know losing her was a terrible blow, but still, it must be wonderful to share that kind of love." The wistful longing in his voice was unmistakable, and something deep inside her stirred. His gaze swung back to Katy and he smiled. His fingers slid into the hair at her temples, the calloused skin snagging the silky strands. "And it must be wonderful to grow up surrounded by that kind of love."

"Yes. It is."

"That's what I want for my children," he said with a soft fierceness that tugged at her heart strings. "That's what I'm determined to give them. And myself."

For a moment Katy was able to ignore the caressing movements of his hands. Pity for this man overwhelmed her as she compared his cold, loveless childhood with her own. When she was much younger, she had been envious of Trace, admiring the big house, the high life-style, and all the material things he possessed in such abundance, when all along she had been the lucky one. There had never been a day in her life when she had been made to feel unwanted, never a moment when she hadn't been surrounded by love.

Against her will, she could feel herself softening toward him. As Katy stared into the rugged but somehow vulnerable face, she wanted desperately for Trace to know that kind of deep, abiding love, and her eyes clearly reflected her feelings. "1 hope you can, Trace," she said with soft sincerity. "I truly hope you can."

Trace smiled. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I fully intend to. And that brings us back to the original reason for my visit."

He brought his face closer to hers, and Katy's eyes widened with renewed fear. She gripped his wrists and tried to pull back but he tunneled his fingers deeper into her hair and held her immobile. Katy's throat went dry as she met the determined gleam in his eyes.

"You knew I was coming here today to see you, didn't you, Katy?'' The question was asked in a pleasant tone that, nevertheless, held a warning challenge, but Trace didn't give her a chance to reply. "I very considerately waited until late afternoon so I wouldn't disturb your father," he continued silkily. "And what do I find when I get here? Katy me darlin' has flown the coop. Well, running away won't do you any good, my love. You won't escape me that easily." His voice went low with warning. "Try it again, and I'll come looking for you."