The Gentling (6 page)

Behind the stables the road wound through a small stand of trees, and when they entered it, they were immediately enclosed in almost total darkness. Katy's heart began to thud painfully. You fool! You utter fool! Why did you insist upon walking? she berated herself silently. It would have taken no more than five minutes to get home by car. Instead, here she was, walking along a dark, country road with a man who terrified her.

A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the dirt road, muffling the sound of their footsteps. As quiet as it was, their approach startled a small, nocturnal creature, and it scurried deeper into the woods, amid a frantic rustle of brush. From nearby came the low, mournful hoot of an owl. The small sounds added to the feeling of complete isolation, and Katy felt gooseflesh rise along her arms. She shivered and drew the shawl closer to her body.

"Are you cold?"

The sharp question gave her a start. "What? Oh . . . no . . . that is . . ." The days were now pleasantly warm, but the early spring nights still held a biting chill. It had nothing to do with her reaction, but it provided a convenient excuse. "It's just a little cooler than I thought it would be."

The hand that gripped her elbow slid up her arm, and she shivered again. "You are cold. Here, wear my coat."

"No, I couldn't ..." she began, but before she could stop him, Trace had shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it across her shoulders.

"There, that should help."

"But now you'll be cold," Katy protested. She didn't want to wear his coat. It was still warm from the heat of his body, and smelled faintly of tobacco and aftershave. She felt suffocated in the engulfing, wide-shouldered garment. It was almost like being held in his arms.

"Don't worry about me. I've been living in the high country for the last four years. I'm used to the cold."

"The high country? Where is that?" she asked cautiously. The question was not prompted by curiosity, but by a desperate hope that conversation would dispel the intimacy which seemed to surround them.

"Colorado. I bummed around for a time after I left the farm, then I ran into an old friend. One of my college buddies. To make a long story short, we ended up going into the ranching business together. Using a part of my inheritance from my grandmother, along with what Hank had been able to scrape together over the years, we bought a small spread, fifty head of cattle, and a good seed bull." He laughed softly. "It's been an uphill struggle al! the way, but now our herd is considerably larger and we're finally beginning to show a profit."

Katy held her breath for a minute, then asked the question that was tormenting her. "Are you going to go back?"

The road opened suddenly into the meadow. In the weak, silvery light of a crescent moon, Katy saw Trace's mouth curve with ironic amusement. "No. At least, not for a while. And then probably just on flying visits."

He looked up at the dark, velvet sky, his eyes skimming over the bright clusters of stars. "When I got the call from our family attorney about Dad's death I came here intending to stay only long enough to attend the funeral and pick up the remainder of my personal belongings." He looked down at Katy and shrugged his broad shoulders, smiling. "I think I was more surprised than anyone to learn that Dad had left the farm to me. I suppose he finally suffered an attack of conscience."

"Well, after all, you are his son."

"Yes, I am that." He sighed wearily. "But I think the real reason he did it was because I'm my mother's son. You see, it was her money that saved the farm." Katy's start of surprise drew a bark of bitter laughter from Trace. "As I understand it, my grandfather was a very poor business man with very extravagant tastes. By the time my father inherited the place, it was mortgaged to the hilt. So ... he married my mother. Her family had just struck it rich in the oil business, and with their help he was able to get the farm back on its feet and recoup the family fortune, even increase it. Unfortunately, he was never able to forgive my mother for being one of that contemptible breed known as the nouveau riche, a group of upstarts with no pedigree to speak of. It seemed to embarrass him." He paused, then continued bitterly, "I remember waking up one night to hear them quarreling. He took great delight in telling her he'd never loved her, that she was socially inferior, and he would never have married her if it hadn't been for her money." His voice hardened and deepened. "After that she was never the same."

Katy was horrified. Temporarily her fear of Trace was forgotten, submerged under a huge, engulfing wave of compassion and pity, something she had never expected to feel for this man. It was difficult for her even to imagine growing up in such a cold, bitter environment. The love that had existed between her mother and father was warm and deep and constant. Katy had grown up secure in the knowledge that she was the wanted and cherished result of that love.

In the pale light of the moon Trace's expression was cold and formidable. How awful it must have been for him. He had adored his mother, that much she remembered. Was that why he had rebelled so against his father? Was his wildness, his open defiance, Trace's way of fighting back, of striking out at the man who had hurt her? It was possible. Still, it had nothing to do with her.

"You really shouldn't be telling me all this, Mr. Barnett. It's none of my business." She preferred to keep their relationship an impersonal one, the way it had always been. If he persisted in telling her the intimate details of his childhood and his parents' marriage she couldn't do that.

"I want you to know, Katy. I want you to understand," Trace said softly.

They had reached the house, and shrugging off his hand, Katy turned and walked quickly up the brick path to the porch. "I do understand. Believe me, I won't again make the mistake of assuming you share your father's opinions and values." Rummaging through her purse for the house key as she climbed the steps, Katy was extremely conscious of Trace walking beside her, his eyes on her down-bent head.

At the door, without warning, his hands descended on her upper arms and he turned her around. Instinctively, Katy hunched her shoulders forward and tried to pull free of his hold, but found herself trapped between the door and Trace's hard body. She raised frightened eyes to search his face. A silent plea shimmered in their blue depths. She had left a light burning in the living room, and from the soft glow spilling onto the porch, she could just make out his expression. It held a strange mixture of tenderness and determination, with just a touch of impatience.

"Oh, Katy. How long are you going to ignore it?" he asked softly, his voice edged with exasperation.

The feel of his warm hands on her shoulders was so unnerving that she could barely concentrate on his words. She shook her head as if to clear it and stared at him, transfixed. "Ignore what?"

"This thing there is between us."

Alarm bells began to clang in her head. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

He gave her a little shake. "Stop it, Katy. You're as aware of me as I am of you. Don'tdeny it." Lifting one hand, he ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. "It started four years ago. I wanted you then, very much, but you were so young and so painfully shy, I knew I had to wait. Then I quarreled with my father. At the time I was grateful nothing had developed between us, because I couldn't stay after that." His voice dropped to a low, husky pitch, while his eyes burned possessively over her frightened face. "When I looked up and saw you at my father's funeral, all those feelings I had four years ago came rushing back, only stronger this time. I'd made up my mind to stay, even before I knew I had inherited the farm. I wasn't going to let you slip through my fingers again."

Wide-eyed, Katy stared at him. She shook her head wordlessly, feeling the familiar, cold fear unfurl itself deep inside her. It was happening all over again. This man wanted her. He admitted it openly. And he seemed to think all he had to do was reach out and take her, that she would accept that, even be pleased. That he could even think such a thing filled her with a deep sense of shame and humiliation. What was there about her that made men think she was theirs for the taking like some pretty toy? It was so unfair! She wanted to cry and rage at the same time.

"You don't know what you're saying!" she cried desperately. "There's nothing between us! There never has been and there never will be! So why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Oh, no, Katy," he said quietly, determinedly. "I'm not going to let you hide behind that pathetic little shell you've built around yourself. I've tried to be patient with you, to let you get used to having me around, and it's gotten me absolutely nowhere. Well, no more." He pulled her close, and Katy's hands came up to push him away, but it was useless. His arms slid around her back and tightened, molding her slender body to his hard one, her soft breasts crushed against the muscular wall of his chest.

Katy's first instinct was to fight. She wanted desperately to lash out and claw and kick, to inflict as much injury as possible, but she had learned, to her sorrow, that that was not the way to handle an explosive situation. Instead, she held herself rigid. Like a tethered animal watching the approach of a hungry predator, she stood perfectly still, her eyes huge in her white face, as Trace's head began its slow, purposeful descent.

"No, please don't," she whispered helplessly, and heard him give a soft laugh an instant before his lips settled over hers.

It was a tantalizing kiss, soft and gentle, and infinitely sensual. He explored her lips with a controlled passion that made no demands, yet established, beyond a doubt, his absolute possession. Katy was stunned by the complete lack of brutality in his lovemaking. It was something she had expected, had braced herself for, and its absence left her confused and disoriented. She felt weak. Boneless.

Trace's mouth moved unhurriedly over her lips, persuasively teasing and nibbling at their trembling softness until they parted without her being aware of it. When the tip of his tongue touched hers, a tingling shaft of excitement streaked through her, and she shuddered violently from head to foot. Feeling her reaction, Trace ended the kiss. He drew his mouth slowly from hers and smiled down at her bewildered face.

"You see. That wasn't so bad, was it?" he mocked gently.

Numb with shock, and something else she couldn't even attempt to define, Katy could only stare at him. She was weak and shaken, and knew, vaguely, that her condition was not due entirely to fear.

Trace cupped her face in his hands and ran his thumb over her parted lips. A searing blaze leaped in his eyes as he watched them tremble beneath his touch. Regretfully, he let his hands slide down to curve around her shoulders and dragged his gaze away from the sweet temptation of her mouth. Katy's heart turned over at the virile, passionate look in his eyes as they roamed over her face. "I may as well tell you right now, Katy me darlin'. I mean to have you. And nothing you can do or say is going to alter that."

He lowered his head once more and bestowed a swift, hard kiss, then took the key from her nerveless hand and opened the door. "Now, go to bed, Katy. I'll see you tomorrow." A hand in the small of her back gently pushed her inside, then the door was closed behind her.

It was only as she stood, stock still, in the middle of the living room, listening to the sound of his receding footsteps, that she realized his coat was still draped over her shoulders.