From the Heart (4 page)

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

He turned away and remained busy for some moments dropping sail. Kasey leaned against the rail without offering assistance. “Jordan, perhaps I've given you the wrong impression.” Her tone was lighter again, more at ease. “I told you I wasn't a professional virgin. But I don't go to bed with just anybody.”

He didn't even glance at her. “I'm not just anybody.”

She tossed back her hair. “You don't have an ego problem, do you?”

“Not that I've noticed. Where did you get that ring you wear?”

Kasey glanced down at her hand. “It was my mother's. Why?”

“Just curious.” He picked up the hamper. “Shall we see now what Francois has packed for us?”

T
he days were green and golden in the perpetual summer of Palm Springs. The sky was cloudless, the desert air dry and warm. To Kasey, the sameness was both inescapable and stifling. Routines were a necessary part of life which she characteristically rebelled against. The Taylor household moved smoothly—too smoothly. There were no curves to negotiate, no bumps. If anything could make Kasey nervous, it was a perfection of organization. The human condition included flaws. These Kasey understood and accepted. But flaws were scarce in the Taylor residence.

She worked with Jordan daily, and though she was aware that her lack of regimentation frustrated him, she was confident he could find no fault with her information. Kasey knew her field. She learned more of him. He was an exacting, disciplined writer and a demanding, meticulous man. He was able to extrapolate precisely what he wanted from the flood of facts and theories she provided. And Kasey, a tough critic, grew to respect and admire his mind. It was simpler for her to focus on his intelligence and talent than to dwell on him as a man, an individual who both attracted and unsettled her. Kasey wasn't accustomed to being unsettled.

She wasn't at all certain she liked him. They were opposites in many ways. He was pragmatic, she voluble. He was reserved, she extroverted. He ran on intellect, Kasey ran on emotion. Both, however, were used to being in control. It
disturbed her that she was not able to master her attraction for him.

Kasey would never have considered herself idealistic. Yet she had always thought that when she became deeply involved with a man, it would be with someone who would fit neatly into the packet of her requirements. He would be strong, intelligent, with a well of emotions she could easily tap. They would understand each other. She was quite certain Jordan didn't understand her any more than she understood him. Their lifestyles were at complete variance. Still, she continued to think of him, to watch him, to wonder. He was crowding her mind.

As she sat in his study, reading over a draft of a new chapter, Kasey recognized that on this level, at least, they were reaching a firm compatibility. He was capturing the feelings she was trying to project to him, then intermingling them with dry facts and data. It was proof of her own usefulness. Being of use was essential to her.

Kasey laid the papers back in her lap and looked over at him. “It's wonderful, Jordan.”

He stopped typing and, lifting a brow, met her eyes. “You sound surprised.”

“Pleased,” she corrected. “There's more empathy in this than I expected.”

“Really?” The statement seemed to interest him as he leaned back in his chair and studied her.

It made Kasey uncomfortable. She felt that he was intuitive enough to see through her if he chose to. That, she wouldn't care for. She rose and walked to the window.

“I think you might delve deeper into the two subcultures of Plains life. The semiagricultural tribes of the eastern plains lived in villages and had traits of the Plains as well as the eastern and southeastern cultural areas. They consisted of ____”

“Kasey.”

“Yes, what?” She stuck her hands in her pockets and turned back to him.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course not. Why should I be?” She began to search for her pack of cigarettes.

“When you're nervous, you go to the window or,” he paused and picked up her cigarettes, “go for these.”

“I go to the window to see what's outside,” she countered, irritated with his perception. She held out her hand for her cigarettes, but he put them down on the desk and rose.

“When you're nervous,” he went on as he crossed to her, “you have a difficult time keeping still. Something has to move—your hands, your shoulders.”

“That's fascinating, I'm sure, Jordan.” She kept her hands firmly in her pockets. “Did you take a course in psychology from Dr. Rhodes? I believe we were discussing the subcultures of the Plains Indians.”

“No.” He reached over and twined one of her curls around his finger. “I was asking you why you were nervous.”

“I'm not nervous.” She struggled to keep her body perfectly still. “I'm never nervous.” A smile moved over his face.

“What are you grinning at?”

“It's very rewarding to unnerve you, Kasey.”

“Look, Jordan—”

“I don't believe I've seen you angry before,” he commented, then took his other hand to her throat. Her pulse was beginning to hammer. Desire stirred inside him as it played under his palm.

“You wouldn't like it if you did.”

“I'm not at all sure,” he murmured. He wanted her. Standing there, he could all but feel the movement of her body under his. He wanted to touch her, to explore the sharp angles of her body and the softness of her skin. He wanted her to give herself to him with the enthusiasm that was so much a part of her. If he had ever wanted a woman as much before, he couldn't remember. “It's always interesting to watch a strong person lose control,” he told her, still caressing her throat. “You're a very strong woman, and very soft. It's an arousing combination.”

“I'm not here to arouse you, Jordan.” Her body yearned for him. “I'm here to work with you.”

“You do both very well. Tell me . . .” His voice slid over her skin as gently as his fingers. “Do you think of me when you're alone at night, in your room?”

“No.”

He smiled again. Though he drew her no closer, Kasey felt the needs battering inside her. She was unaccustomed to restraining passion, unused to feeling it necessary.

“You don't lie well.”

“Your arrogance is showing again, Jordan.”

“I think of you.” His fingers roamed to the back of her neck and tightened. “Too much.”

“I don't want you to.” Her voice was weak, and that frightened her. “No, I don't want you to.” Shaking her head, she pulled away from him. “It wouldn't work.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” She fumbled and became more frightened. No one had been able to do this to her before. “Because we're looking for different things. I need more than you'd be able to give me.” She ran a hand through her hair and knew she had to escape. “I'm going to take a break. We can pick up after lunch.”

Jordan watched her dash from the room.

She's right, of course, he thought, frowning at the closed door. Everything she says makes perfect sense.
Why can't I stop thinking about her?
He walked around his desk and sat back down at the typewriter. She shouldn't appeal to me. Leaning back, he tried to dissect what he felt for her and why. Was it simply a physical attraction? If it was, why was he suddenly drawn toward a woman who was nothing like any other woman he had desired? And why did he find himself thinking of her at odd moments—when he was shaving, when he was in the middle of structuring a paragraph? It would be best if he simply accepted his feelings as desire and left it at that. There wasn't room for anything else. She was right, he decided. It wouldn't work.

He turned back to his notes, typed two sentences and swore.

Dashing through the parlor on her way to her room, Kasey spotted Alison sitting primly on the sofa reading. The girl looked up, and her eyes lit.

“Hi.” Kasey could feel nerves and longings still running through her. “Playing hookey?”

“It's Saturday,” Alison told her. She gave Kasey a hesitant smile.

“Oh.” She would have had to be blind not to see the needs in the child's eyes. Setting aside her own problems, she sat next to Alison. “What're you reading?”

“
Wuthering Heights.
”

“Heavy stuff,” Kasey commented, flipping a few pages and losing Alison's place. “I was reading Superman comic books at your age.” She smiled and ran a hand down Alison's hair. “Still do, sometimes.”

The child was staring at her with a mixture of awe and longing. Kasey bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Alison.” She swept her eyes down the girl's blue linen pants suit. “Are you attached to that outfit?”

Alison looked down and stammered. “I—I don't know.”

“Do you have any grubbies?”

“Grubbies?” Alison repeated, experimentally rolling the word around on her tongue.

“You know, old jeans, something with a hole in it, a chocolate stain.”

“No. I don't think—”

“Never mind.” Kasey grinned at her and set the book aside. “With all the clothes you have, one outfit shouldn't be missed. Come on.” Rising, she took Alison's hand and pulled her to the patio door.

“Where are we going?”

Kasey glanced down at Alison. “We're going to borrow the gardener's hose and make mud sculptures. I want to see if you can get dirty.” They stepped outside.

“Mud sculptures?” Alison repeated as they wound their way around to the garden.

“Think about it as an art project,” Kasey suggested. “An educational experiment.”

“I don't know if Haverson will let you have a hose,” Alison warned.

“Oh, yeah?” Kasey grinned in anticipation as they approached the gardener. “We'll see.”

“Good day, miss.” Haverson tipped the brim of his cap and paused in his pruning.

“Hello, Mr. Haverson.” Kasey gave him a flash of a smile. “I wanted to tell you how much I admire your garden. Particularly the azaleas. This.” She touched a funnel-shaped blossom. “Tell me, do you use oak leaves as mulch?”

Fifteen minutes later Kasey had her hose and was busily manufacturing mud behind a clump of rhododendron bushes.

“How did you know all of that?” Alison asked her.

“All of what?”

“How did you know so much about the flowers? You're an anthropologist.”

“Do you think a plumber only knows about pipes and grouting sinks?” She smiled over at Alison, amused by the concentration on the child's face. “Education is marvelous, Alison. There's nothing you can't know if you want to.” She turned off the hose and crouched down. “What would you like to make?”

Gingerly Alison sat beside her and poked at the mud with a fingertip. “I don't know how.”

Kasey laughed. “It's not acid, love.” She plunged in, wrist deep. “Who's to say Michelangelo didn't get his start this way? I think I'll do a bust of Jordan.” She sighed, wishing he hadn't popped into her head. “He's got a fascinating face, don't you think?”

“I suppose so. But he's rather old.” Alison, still cautious, began to work the mud into a pile.

“Oh.” Kasey wrinkled her nose. “He's only a few years older than I am, and I'm barely out of adolescence.”

“You're not old, Kasey.” Alison looked up again. Her eyes were suddenly intense. “You're not old enough to be my mother, are you?”

Kasey fell in love. Her heart was lost, and there was no turning back. She was needed. “No, Alison, I'm not old enough to be your mother.” Her voice was soft, understanding. When the girl dropped her eyes, Kasey lifted her chin with a fingertip. “But I'm old enough to be your friend. I could use one, too.”

“Really?”

The child was crying out to be loved, to be touched. Kasey felt a wave of anger for Jordan as she cupped Alison's face in
her hands. “Really.” She watched the smile start slowly until it bloomed over the child's face.

“Will you show me how to make a dog?” Alison demanded and stuck her hands into mud.

When they walked back to the house an hour later, they were giggling. Each carried a pair of mud-caked shoes. Kasey's mind was clearer than it had been for days. I need her as much as she needs me, she thought and glanced down at Alison. She laughed and stopped to lift the child's streaked face.

“You're beautiful,” Kasey told her. Bending, she kissed her nose. “However, your grandmother might disagree, so you'd better get upstairs and into a tub.”

“She's at a committee meeting,” Alison commented and giggled again, seeing the mud on Kasey's cheek. “She's always at meetings.”

“Then we won't have to bother her, will we?” Kasey took Alison's hand and began to walk again. “Of course, you're not to lie to her. If your grandmother asks you if you were building mud sculptures behind the rhododendrons, you have to confess.”

Alison pushed her untidy hair behind her ear. “But she'd never ask me anything like that.”

“That simplifies things, doesn't it?” She pushed open the patio door. “I liked the dog you made. I believe you have artistic talent.” As they walked through the brocaded parlor, Kasey began to search her pockets for a match. The room jangled her nerves.

“I liked your bust better. It looked just like—
Uncle Jordan!
”

“Yes, it was rather good.” Kasey stopped at the foot of the stairs and dug in her back pockets. “You know, I never seem to have a match when I need one. I wonder why that is.” Then, noting Alison's stunned expression, she glanced up. “Oh, hello, Jordan.” She smiled amiably. “Have you got a light?”

He came down the steps slowly, looking from girl to woman. Alison's linen pants suit was splattered with dirt. Her hair had escaped from its band and had traces of mud clinging to it. Her eyes stared out at him from a thoroughly dirty face.
Her hands were brown past the wrist. So were Kasey's. A dozen reasonable explanations coursed in and out of his mind and were discarded. If he had learned nothing else during the past days with Kasey, it was to explore the unreasonable first.

“What the hell have you been doing?”

“We've been engaged in art appreciation,” she returned easily. “Very educational.” Kasey gave Alison's hand a squeeze. “You'd better go see about that bath, love.”

Alison's eyes flew from her uncle's to Kasey's. She scurried up the stairs and disappeared.

“Art appreciation?” Jordan repeated, staring after his niece. He frowned back at Kasey. “You look as if you'd been wallowing in mud.”