Linda Castle (15 page)

“Yes.” C.H. bent over his lean middle and jerked on the sock and boot. Years of digging and hiking had kept him thin and his confinement had worn on his patience. “Everyone who knows me would say so.”

“Then why have you been wearing a hangdog look since you came in here?” Dr. Lambkin folded his arms across his chest.

“Well, I have been a little preoccupied lately. You know that Honoria has gone to Montana to dig, of course?”

Dr. Lambkin rolled his eyes. “How could I
not
know it? Every newspaper in town has been following the expedition. How are things proceeding?”

‘Fine. Honoria sends regular messages. She is a capable girl and I have faith in her—that is not the reason I have been muddled in my thinking.” C.H. stared at the wall with an unfocused expression.

“Then what is?”

“It is all this old business being stirred up. No good will come of resurrecting the past.” C.H. shook his head from side to side. “No good at all.”

“How is he?” Lambkin asked softly.

C.H. snapped to attention and his brows knit together. “How is who?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Charles Herbert Cadwallender. You know very well who I mean. How is Temple?”

‘Temple is—” C.H. sighed and lifted his palms into the air. “Well, he is Temple.” C.H. allowed his hands to drop onto his thighs as if further explanation eluded him. “He is a rascal—he’ll never change.”

“I see. And how is Honoria handling him?”

C.H. expelled a heavy sigh. “I wish I knew—I just wish I knew what she was doing about him. And I wish I didn’t.feel I had made a grave error by allowing her to go in my stead.”

“Things going as well as that, eh?” Dr. Lambkin asked gently.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you are right, though, I need to take a walk and clear my thoughts.”

“Good idea, get some air and some exercise, I am sure once you stretch your muscles all of this will seem much better.”

C.H. took his physician’s advice when he left the office. The afternoon sun was warm on his face and
his feet picked an old familiar path without his even being aware of it. Before he realized it, he was standing in Central Park. The sunlight mottled the leafstrewed grass into dappled patterns of shadows. A sense of peace swept over him while he strolled the old grounds.

Within the hour his newly healed foot began to cramp from overuse after weeks of immobility, and cried out for a rest. He glanced around and found an empty park bench near a lovely fountain. His cane was a helpful anchor while he gingerly levered himself down to the cool iron bench and stretched out his foot. Birds gathered at his boots, unaware he had no bread or seeds to give them. They bobbed and pecked, coming within inches of his boots, reminding him of Livingstone, which in turn brought his thoughts to Honoria.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” A man’s voice caused the birds to take flight in a flurry of wings.

C.H. looked up, but all he saw was a slender silhouette haloed against the brilliant orb of the sun.

“Yes, yes—nice day,” C.H. muttered absently while he squinted against the brightness.

“May I sit with you?”

“Of course.” C.H. looked away and blinked. He was blinded by the lingering effects of the sunlight—helpless as a baby, while white and black spots danced in front of his eyes. Slowly his vision returned to normal. The first thing he saw was a pair of adventurous pigeons waddling near his feet once again.

“How is your daughter doing, Professor?” The voice brought C.H.’s head-around. This time he could see his bench companion clearly. A well-dressed
young man with sharp intelligent eyes searched his face.

“You’re a reporter,” C.H. declared without preamble.

“Yes, I am. My name is Thaddeus Ball. I interviewed Temple Parish before he left.” The young man pulled a stubby pencil and pad of paper from his pocket. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Leave me alone.” C.H. started to rise from the bench.

The reporter snapped the pad closed and replaced it in his vest pocket with amazing alacrity. “If you don’t want to be interviewed, that’s fine.” Thaddeus smiled and revealed a wide gap between his two front teeth. “I only thought you might like to set the record straight about what happened ten years ago.” The young man shrugged and looked away as if the subject had little appeal to him one way or the other.

C.H. studied the reporter’s profile while a myriad of emotions flowed over him. “Why are you interested?” he finally asked, unable to resist the bait the young man so artfully dangled in front of him. “You couldn’t have been much more than a toddler at the time.”

The reporter turned and smiled wider. It was a friendly smile, without guile or pretense. “I hate loose ends—all those things happened ten years ago but there is one
big
loose end.”

“But what does it matter to you?” C.H. gripped the head of his cane a little tighter while he waited for the reporter’s answer.

“Call it professional curiosity. I have been doing a little discreet digging of my own, if you will excuse the pun. What I am finding just doesn’t add up. Tell me, Professor, why wasn’t there a formal inquiry?
Why did Temple just leave and let all the wagging tongues draw their own conclusions?”

C.H. suddenly felt every one of his sixty-plus years. “I wish I knew. That question has nagged at me since the first.”

“All right, let me ask this, why didn’t
you
speak out?”

C.H. turned to look Mr. Ball straight in the eye. “I didn’t want to do anything that would put Temple under more suspicion. My colleagues kept insisting that if I pushed for an investigation and brought more scrutiny to Temple, his past associations and activities would be held against him. They seemed to think he might end up behind bars.” C.H. was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t do that to the lad. I could not be the reason Temple lost his freedom. Temple is not the kind of person that could stand being confined.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Wonder rang in the reporters voice.

A melancholy wave of loss swept through C.H. “I love him like a son, though he’d never believe it. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must get home.”

Thaddeus Ball watched the old man limp away while a hundred new questions danced through his head. This mystery was getting more interesting with each passing day.

He stood and started walking. There was a story here—a big story—the kind of story that could make a career. Thaddeus intended to do some digging of a different kind, right here in New York City. It was about time someone unearthed the truth about Temple Parish, exactly what had happened at Dandridge University and why it remained such a well-guarded secret.

Memories buffeted C.H. while he slowly walked home. Thaddeus Ball’s questions had unlocked a Pandora’s box and now all the old feelings that C.H. had ignored came pouring out. He opened the door to his silent house and stepped inside. Late-afternoon shadows were capering across the floor of the library when he entered the room.

C.H. took a meerschaum pipe from the gutta-percha box on a dusty shelf. He wrapped his fingers around the bowl and closed his eyes. He had never used the pipe. Not because he didn’t like the gift from Temple, or because he didn’t favor pipe smoking, because he did on both accounts. He just couldn’t stand to be reminded of what had happened.

“Ah, Temple. Why did you have to do it, boy?” C.H. whispered. His head snapped up, shocked by the hollow echo of his own voice in the too-large, tooempty brownstone. He shook his head at his foolishness and replaced the pipe in the gutta-percha box and closed the lid. His blunt fingers lingered for a moment on the ornate design pressed into the top.

He pulled his hand away. What was done was done and no amount of wishing would undo or change anything. Temple was gone from his life. Now the only thing left was Honoria and his work.

That was what he needed to concentrate on, not the past, not his failure to keep Temple from larceny, just his beloved daughter and the work.

“B
last and stuff.” Livingstone’s screechy outburst made Constance jump. She felt like a clock that had been wound too tight.

“It hasn’t let up a bit,” Temple observed sourly in between long agitated strides, continuing to glare at the tent opening as if he could will the rain away.

Constance neatly folded the paper she had been reading. “There are some bits you might find interesting.” Temple turned and met her gaze with one brow arched and she nearly regretted her words.

“Hmmm, which newspaper do you recommend for my afternoon reading?”

“They are all much the same.” She avoided his eyes while a hungry hollow feeling invaded her middle. “Although the
Banner
seems to do the most thorough reporting.”

“Yes, I quite agree, but I myself am a bit partial to the wagging-tongue section of the
Sentinel
—I believe it is in the piece you are holding now. In fact, I think I saw my name in print on that very page.” He nodded toward the folded paper still in her hand.

Constance immediately shoved it deep into the stack
at her feet. “You may find this hard to believe, Temple, but I do not follow your exploits in the papers.”

He crossed his arms at his chest while a knowing grin spread across his face. “Really? I could have sworn you mentioned reading something about my South American dig….”

Heat flared through Constance’s cheeks. He had caught her in the lie. Even though she felt her face coloring hotly she forced herself to return his taunting stare. The hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth while he studied her.

“Admit it, Connie. You have been reading the gossip just now, and you have read it before. Tell me, am I accused of defiling a lady or have I been implicated in some act of grand larceny?”

Constance was horrified that Temple could be so flip about her deceit and his reputation. “How can you joke about the slurs against your character?” She twisted her fingers together but she managed to meet his gaze without flinching.

One side of his mouth jerked into a wry cynical expression.

“Never having had a good reputation to guard or display, I find it less than tragic when the papers embellish, the truth or invent some preposterous lie just to improve their circulation.” He uncrossed his arms at his wide chest and defied Constance to correct him.

While she stared at him, the scandalous account she had just read took on new meaning. “Temple, I…” A strange tangle of emotions swept through her. She wanted to believe that most of what she read and heard about him was false. But she told herself that she was foolish beyond belief.

He gave her a sadly wicked grin. There was something
cloudy and unreadable in his eyes. “Little Connie, you will mar your lovely brow if you keep frowning at me like that.”

Constance unconsciously touched the spot above the bridge of her glasses with one fingertip. As he said, a deep furrow did crease her flesh.

Suddenly Temple took in a great breath and curled his hands into fists at his sides. “Enough of this melancholy nonsense.” He plastered a bright, if somewhat false smile on his face. “We are stuck until the rain stops and that is that. Now what can we do to pass the time besides moan about my wasted youth and the veracity of New York’s reporters?”

“I don’t know.” Constance was surprised by the mercurial change in his mood. “I have a chessboard.” She looked up and met Temple’s eyes.

He took a step toward the cot where she sat. Then he reached down to clasp her hands inside his rough warm palms. His smile blossomed into a genuine expression of happiness. Her heart constricted at the sight of it. “A chessboard? A real chessboard?” A hot tingle crept from her fingers to her torso while Temple gently held her hands.

“I try to be prepared. I carry a chess set and my fishing rod and one or two other things.”

“Yes, I remember the fishing rod.” Temple grimaced and wondered if he would continue to be soaked at regular intervals throughout this dig.

“Would you like to play?” Constance asked.

“It would take our minds off the storm and keep us occupied until it clears.” Temple released her hands abruptly. He shouldn’t have touched her. He shouldn’t have allowed himself that pleasure. Already his thoughts were straying to the pulse spot in Connie’s
throat. He fought to control the powerful desire surging through him. “Break out the chess set, and we will attempt to lose ourselves in a good game.” He smiled at Connie and hoped she would not detect the lustful tension coursing through him.

Temple’s sudden ebullience filled the tent. She was smiling when she rose from the cot and crossed the floor. Even Livingstone quit pacing along his perch and began to clean and fluff his feathers as if he’d been calmed. Constance opened the rounded lid of one of her trunks and burrowed deep inside. She felt Temple’s eyes upon her while she searched for the chessboard.

Temple watched fabric flutter into the air like doves as Connie tossed out discarded items. She nearly climbed inside the huge trunk in her effort to locate the promised chess set.

“What shall we play for?” Her muffled voice wafted from the trunk.

“What?” Temple moved a little closer, not sure he had heard her correctly over the din of the storm.

“I asked what stakes we will play for,” she said in a louder voice. “It makes the game much more interesting when you have something to lose, don’t you think?” She levered herself out of the trunk enough to look at him from beneath her outstretched arm.

Her words penetrated Temple’s brain like an arrow. “Yes, the game is always more important when the ante is high.” He wondered if she had any idea just how high the stakes in this contest had become.

The storm continued while crates were shifted and the board set up. Now Constance was bent over the chess set, concentrating on her next move., Suddenly
her forehead met Temple’s with a thud. They had both been leaning forward over the board, unaware of how close they were.

“Oops.” She pulled back and sat up straight on the edge of her cot, which served as her seat during the game. The spot where Temple’s forehead had touched her flesh seemed to burn with electric fire.

“It was my fault.” Temple ripped his eyes from Constance’s face. Instead of the game taking his mind off her, he had only become more focused on her. Each breath, every little sigh while she played sizzled through him.

“I should have been paying more attention.” He shifted his weight on the camp stool and frowned at the board, willing himself to ignore her. She had already taken several of his pawns; now his queen was in dire jeopardy—right along with his wayward heart

He wanted to kiss Connie again. It would be his greatest pleasure to take her in his arms and make love to her while the rain relentlessly pelted the tent. He shook his head and tried to banish the lustful thoughts from his mind.

It didn’t work.

“Bishop and rook…queen. Temple is a pirate,” Livingstone squawked. “Bishop and rook, bishop and rook. Blast and stuff…Temple is a pirate, awrk.”

Temple turned and glared at the offensive bird. When he looked back he found Connie was trying not to smile. He felt his own mouth twitching at the corners in spite of himself.

“I think it might be in my best interest to teach that creature some new phrases.” Temple winked at Constance and some of the latent tension between them vanished.

She giggled. Whether it was because of his silly comment or the fact he was openly flirting with her he didn’t know, but her soft laughter sent his pulse racing like a runaway team.

“And what, exactly, would you teach him to say?” There was just the barest hint of a dimple in her cheek as she tried not to grin.

^“
Oh, I don’t know. Temple is a prince,’ would be nice, or how about ‘Temple is the best’? Anything but being called a pirate.” He watched her deftly remove one of his knights from the board. Her quick mind had remained on the game while his had meandered down the proverbial garden path.

“Connie, you little minx.” He sat back on the camp stool and stared at her in wide-eyed shock. “You distracted me. And I think you did it on purpose.”

“Me? How can you say such a thing?” Her brown eyes twinkled with playful mischief while she toyed with him.

“I am wounded. All this time I thought you were honorable, Miss Constance Honoria, but I find you are a devious and scheming woman.” He chuckled and allowed the feeling of frisky camaraderie to steal over him. Suppressed memories of playing board games by a crackling fire in C.H.’s snug brownstone invaded his mind.

“What are you thinking about, Temple?” Her voice was so soft, for a moment he wondered if he had really heard her or if his mind had conjured up the question.

“Old times. Remember that winter it snowed so much and we had to stay indoors because some friend of C.H.’s had decided that breathing cold air weakened the constitution?”

“I remember.” Constance rolled her eyes toward
the top of the tent. “But it was lovely to look at, wasn’t it? The snow billowing down outside while we drew pictures in the frost on the windowpanes. And I remember Cook making cider and gingerbread.” Her eyes took on a faraway look and her smile slowly faded. “I was so happy that winter.”

“So was I.” He admitted the truth even though it made him squirm on the camp stool to do so. “Even though the snow reminded me of my mother’s death. I think that was the first and last time I ever actually enjoyed looking at it.”

“Remember that Christmas morning?” Constance’s brown eyes were bright with feeling behind the barrier of her spectacles.

“Uh-hum.” The memory took root in his mind. “C.H. was a good sport—wasn’t he?”

“I suppose you could call him that.” Constance leaned forward toward Temple. One strand of her brunette hair fell forward to rest on the chessboard. “You were the best snowball launcher I have ever known, Temple Parish. Better even than Papa.” Her sweet breath fanned across his face when she whispered the compliment as if it were still a secret shared only between them.

Without thinking, he reached out and picked up the dangling lock of hair. He rubbed its silken strands between thumb and fingers absently for a moment.

“It is nice to hear you say I was good at something, Connie.” When he realized what he was doing, he abruptly placed the dark strand behind her ear.

“I thought you were good at a great many things, Temple. I never understood why you didn’t know it yourself.”

“Maybe I believed the opinions expressed so often
by those Dandridge professors.” It was madness, but he reached out with both hands and grasped the corners of her spectacles to gently slide them from her face. She blinked, whether from surprise or because she was trying to focus, he couldn’t say.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long, long time.”

“Why?”

“To have you look at me without them as a shield—I don’t know, I just had the urge to take off your glasses.” Temple could not give her answers when he had none for himself. He simply wanted to remove the glass as if it symbolized all the barriers that stood between them.

A quick succession of lightning brought low rumbling thunder sweeping through the tent. The sound was like drums being beaten.

“Do you always give in to your impulses, Temple?” She stared at him openly, not pulling away but making no effort to come closer as her heart matched the tempo of the thunder.

Temple knew he was standing on the edge of a crumbling cuff. He could retreat and continue to deny this emotion that clawed at his insides. He could pretend that Connie was still a little girl and he did not want her so badly it made him ache.

Or—he could take a leap of faith and hope Connie would not mock him for the torrent of feelings he had discovered lying dormant within him.

He swallowed hard and studied her face. Her lashes were long and wildly curly. Flecks of pale green and gold glowed within her chocolate eyes. Another growl of thunder shook the tent and vibrated through the soles of his boots.

“Sometimes I do not give in to my impulses. I have been wanting to do a particular thing for a long time but I have not allowed myself”.

“What?” she whispered. “What have you been wanting to do?”

“This.” He leaned farther over the board and touched his lips to hers. Hunger bubbled to the surface, but he held himself tightly in check while he tentatively tasted her sweetness. By degrees the intimate caress matured. The kiss unfolded, changed and evolved into something seductive and powerful. It became a tempting promise of what could be—and what should not ever be.

Temple pulled back and looked into her eyes while the sound of renewed rain beat a steady tattoo on the canvas over their heads.

Constance was shocked by the roar of her own pulse which threatened to drown out the crackling lightning and booming thunder. The touch of Temple’s lips had ignited something strange and wonderful within her. Some unfamiliar voice inside her head hinted there was more beyond kissing. Instinct promised this was just the beginning and that Temple could lead her— teach her.

And that frightened her.

She was torn between wanting to feel the electric touch of his lips and jerking away before she made a complete fool of herself. Indecision warred with desire while the minutes ticked silently by and thunder shook the tent and drowned out the sound of the storm. Then while she was staring into his eyes, contemplating her own ruin, the unmistakable sound of a horse’s hooves splashing through mud right outside her tent broke the spell.

The tent flap flew open and rain blew inside. The lantern guttered when the cold Montana wind whipped through the opening and more chills marched up Constance’s back and arms while reason returned to her. Her cheeks flamed when she realized what she had been about to do. She groped for her glasses among the chess pieces. She was aware of Temple moving around the chess table and placing his body between her and the opening of the tent as if to protect her from some unknown threat.

“Miss Cadwallender?” Holt Morgan called from beyond the loose tent flap. “Miss, are you in there?”

“Mr. Morgan?” Constance shoved the spectacles onto her face and blinked in surprise.