The Gentling (8 page)

His fingers tightened against her scalp, forcing her head up. Stunned, shaking with fright, Katy could only stare with huge, stricken eyes as his mouth moved closer, closer. When she felt his warm breath mingle with hers, she uttered a strangled "No!"

It was too late. He brushed a soft kiss against her parted lips, then another, and another—delicate butterfly caresses that sent her blood racing through her veins.

Trace raised his head and smiled down at her. "Good night, Katy." Bending swiftly, he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. In the next instant he was striding away down the road.

The deafening roar of her heartbeat pounded in Katy's ears as she stared into the darkness that had swallowed him up. How did one fight a man like Trace? His gentle persistence was like the changing seasons, the steady ebb and flow of the tides—a gradual, inexorable force that would not be denied. The thought sent a shiver rippling through her. Hugging herself tightly, Katy stared up at the brilliant pinpoints of light in the sky and drew in several deep breaths. Well, she wouldn't give in to him. She wouldn't!

❧

"Are you sure we can't give you a lift, Katy? It would be no trouble, really."

"Jane's right, Katy," Frank added his support to his wife's offer as the three of them walked down the hall toward the office. "Green Meadows isn't that far. Besides, I'd hardly call a drive into the country on a glorious day like this a hardship."

"Thanks. I appreciate your offer. But Dad said he'd be here at six to pick me up." Katy smiled back over her shoulder at her two friends as they stepped, single file, through the door into the office.

"Well, I just wish you had told us your car would be in the garage for a few days. There's no need for your father to run back and forth like this." Jane stopped in the middle of the room to rummage through her purse and finally extracted a large ring of jangling keys. She opened the door, motioning for the others to go through ahead of her. "If it's not repaired by Monday, just tell him we'll bring you home," she ordered imperiously.

"Yes, mother hen." Laughing, Katy stepped through the outer door, then came to an abrupt halt that sent Frank and Jane skidding into her.

"What the ..." They had cried out in unison, but the startled exclamation died on their lips at the sight of the tall, sandy-haired man leaning against the wall, just outside the door. Three pairs of rounded eyes stared at him, and Trace smiled back, a hint of devilish amusement in his expression.

"Trace! What are you doing here?" Katy choked out the words through a tightly constricted throat. But even as the question was asked she had a sinking feeling what his answer would be, and her eyes began to dart around in search of her father.

Trace pushed himself away from the wall, closed the distance between them, and slipped his arm around Katy's waist. Before she realized his intent, he lowered his head and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth that unnerved her. While she was trying to gather her scattered wits, he turned and extended his hand to Frank.

"Hello. I'm Trace Barnett," he said pleasantly.

"Frank Cawley," the other man answered with wary caution, accepting the proffered hand. "And this is my wife, Jane."

Katy's heart lurched at the dazed expression on

Jane's face when Trace turned that devastating smile on her.

"You must be Katy's boss. Tom was telling me how much she enjoys working for you. I understand the two of you have become good friends."

"Yes. Yes we have," Jane replied distractedly. "Katy's a dear."

Smiling, Trace looked down at Katy and pulled her closer. Belatedly she became aware of the familiarity of the embrace and tried to pull free, but his fingers bit warningly info the soft flesh of her midriff. "Yes, I quite agree," he concurred in a husky, intimate tone, as his possessive gaze wandered over her. "Very dear."

For a moment Katy could only gape at him. Trace was deliberately trying to give the impression they were romantically involved! She darted an uneasy look at Jane and Frank, and her heart sank al! the way to her knees. From their surprised, but very definitely pleased expressions, it was obvious that was exactly what they thought.

"Trace, you can't . . ." she began worriedly, but the muscular arm pressing against her back turned her toward the steps and urged her forward.

He smiled at the startled couple as he guided her past them. "Sorry to run, but I promised Tom I'd bring Katy straight home. Perhaps the four of us can get together soon," he tossed over her shoulder. "I'm anxious to get to know Katy's friends." And with that, he led a shaken Katy swiftly down the walk.

"I'm parked about a block away," he informed her as they reached the city sidewalk and turned right. "When I arrived, the drive in front of the school was filled with waiting mothers, and I didn't feel like joining the queue." He gave her his most beguiling smile. "You don't mind walking, do you?"

But she did mind. She minded very much. It wasn't enough that he had kissed her in front of her friends and given them a totally false impression of their relationship. Now he was leading her down a public street with his arm curved possessively around her waist in full view of the whole town. Several passersby were staring quite openly. Trace Barnett was a well-known figure in this town, and since he had inherited Green Meadows, speculation about him had been running rampant. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Katy accepted that news of this little episode would spread like a brush fire.

Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, she looked up and caught sight of the Whittingdale sisters bearing down on them from the opposite direction. Katy closed her eyes and groaned. The Whittingdale ladies were the nerve center of the Tyler gossip network. Two wealthy spinsters, they lived their lives vicariously through others. Who was doing what with whom was of vital interest to them, and Katy knew they had always found Trace's escapades particularly titillating.

"Trace, will you let me go," she whispered furiously, while desperately trying to dislodge his hand from her waist. "Flora and Irene are coming this way."

"So? Let them come," he answered, with a distressing lack of concern.

"Let me go! What are you trying to do? Ruin my reputation? You know as well as I that if they see us like this, within five minutes they'll have me branded as one of your women."

"Not one of my women. My only woman."

The calm pronouncement brought her to a jerking halt. Wide, distressed blue eyes searched his face in growing panic. "Wh-what do you mean? What are you trying to do, Trace?" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch when she noticed the smug expression on his face.

The encircling arm was removed from her waist, and he turned her fully toward him, his big hands cupping the curves of her shoulders. Katy was uncomfortably aware of the rapid approach of the Whittingdale sisters, but knew it was useless to fight against the steely hold. She stood staring at him uncertainly.

"It's really very simple, Katy," he drawled with a complacent smile. His hands tightened and he drew her closer. "I'm staking my claim. I'm giving all the other single males fair warning that Mary Kathleen Donovan is spoken for."

The stunning words, the quiet tone, the deadly serious look in his eyes, all combined to send an icy chill trickling down her spine. Automatically, without her even being aware of it, her head began to move from side to side in frantic, insistent denial. And all the time, Trace was drawing her closer. Mute with fear, Katy could only watch helplessly as his head bent slowly toward her. With his lips poised directly over hers, he paused and glanced over her shoulder.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he said pleasantly, when the Whittingdales drew abreast of them. And then, ignoring their scandalized gasps, he lowered his mouth to Katy's.

It was a long, lingering kiss, not brutal, but demanding nevertheless, the insistent pressure of his lips prying hers apart and forcing her to accept his warm, thrusting tongue. Katy writhed beneath the searing kiss and tried vainly to twist away, but Trace slipped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. His previous kisses had been brief, fleeting affairs, ending before she'd had time to panic, but now she was suffocating under his devouring male dominance, hysteria boiling up inside her, choking her.

The nightmare was happening all over again. The horrid, vicious pictures flickered through her mind, and she couldn't shut them out. She was being used, humiliated, stripped of her will as though it were of no importance, forced to accept a man's hot, demanding mouth and the insolent touch of his hands, like some worthless, mindless nothing. And she knew only too well that if she resisted, those same hands could turn violent, could hurt her. A dark, black terror gripped her, and Katy began to shiver uncontrollably, her knees buckling.

Helpless tears ran down her face from beneath her closed lids. They trickled against Trace's lips, and when he tasted their salty wetness he broke off the kiss to look down at her. Shock froze his features at the sight of her ghastly pallor.

"Katy! My god! What's wrong?"

She sagged between his hands, her head drooping forward until her chin touched her chest. A dizzying blackness swirled around the edge of her consciousness and her stomach churned. "I . . . I . . . think I'm going to be sick," she whispered weakly.

"No, you're not."

Bending, he scooped her up in his arms and covered the short distance to the car with long, ground-eating strides. Somehow he managed to open the door and thrust her inside. Then his hand was on the back of her neck, pushing her head down between her knees.

"Take deep breaths, Katy, and let them out nice and slowly. That's my girl." He crooned the soothing words as she obeyed. He was squatted down on his haunches beside the open door, bending protectively over her, his hands tender as they stroked the back of her neck and shoulders.

Katy remained bent over for a long time, drawing in deep, reviving gulps of air. Finally her heartbeat slowed, and the dizzying sickness began to fade. She lifted her head and gave him a wan smile. "I—I think I'll be all right now," she said in a weak, quivering voice.

"Are you sure?" Trace very gently cupped her jaw with one hand and scanned her white face Worry and puzzlement flickered in his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

Over his shoulder Katy noticed the clutch of people gathered on the sidewalk, gaping at the spectacle she'd provided, and turned her head away sharply, her humiliation deepening. Good Lord! By tonight the story would be all over town.

If the embarrassing situation bothered Trace he certainly didn't let it show. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and very tenderly wiped the perspiration from her face, pushing back the disheveled strands of glistening black hair. When finished, he fastened the seat belt around her, stood up and closed the door firmly, then walked around to the other side and slid in behind the wheel. He didn't even glance at the crowd of people on the sidewalk. Pausing briefly, he cast her a quick, assessing look, then flicked the ignition key and pulled away from the curb.

A merciful numbness settled over Katy and she sat huddled against the door, staring out the side window with dry, sightless eyes. The rose fields whizzed by in a long streak of blurred rainbow colors.

"All right, Katy," Trace said quietly, but determinedly. "I think it's time you and I had a serious talk. What happened back there?"

"Nothing. At least, nothing that concerns you," she said with a zombielike flatness. "Just leave me alone, Trace. That's all I ask. Just get out of my life and leave me alone."

"No, Katy. I won't do that. I can't do that. Haven't you realized that yet?"

Katy didn't answer him, and after a few minutes he sighed. "Okay. If you're not ready to talk yet, I won't press. But when we get back to the farm we're going to have this out. It's gone on far too long. Something is wrong, and I intend to find out what."

Katy's only answer was a cool, level look. So they were going to have a talk, were they? she thought resentfully. Just like that. Whether she agreed or not. Well, think again, Mr. Trace Barnett.

He didn't look at her, and finally she returned her gaze to the passing scenery. She felt raw and vulnerable, exposed. Trace's very presence scraped against her nerves. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She'd had her life under control before Trace returned, but somehow he had managed to penetrate her protective shell of indifference. More so today than usual, because his sudden appearance had come as a shock. On Monday he'd flown to Colorado to settle his affairs there, and she had not expected him back so soon.

The car had barely come to a stop in the drive when Katy reached for the door handle. She scrambled out and dashed for the house, but Trace was too fast for her. He moved across the yard like a shot and took the porch steps in one leap. Before she could get the screen door completely open he was beside her, grabbing her arm and shoving the door shut again.

"Oh, no, you don't, Katy. You're not going to run out on me now," he said determinedly.

"Let me go!" she demanded. "You have no rights over me! I'm not part of the farm property!" Katy was fighting for control. She knew if she didn't get away from him soon, she was going to explode. She was hovering on the raw edge of panic, and it would take very little to push her over. Her frayed nerves simply couldn't stand any more strain.

"I never said you were. But for God's sake, Katy! Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Because it's none of your damned business!" she shouted wildly. Twisting her arm free, she snatched at the screen door again, but Trace slammed his hand against it with a splintering force that made the wooden frame tremble.

He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Dammit, Katy, you—"

"What the devil is going on here?" Tom Donovan's massive bulk loomed up on the other side of the screen door. His brows came down in a thunderous scowl as he noticed his daughter's distraught face, and his narrowing gaze swung to the man holding her. "Take your hands off her, Trace," he commanded with quiet menace. "Now."

Defiant anger flared in the hazel eyes as they locked on the older man. A muscle jerked beside the grim line of his mouth, and for a moment Trace looked as though he were about to argue. Then, his jaw tight, he slowly, reluctantly, let his hands fall to his sides and took a step backward.

Pushing open the screen door, Tom stepped out onto the porch and silently gathered Katy into his arms. He held her close, his huge frame absorbing the violent tremors that quaked through her, his rough, paw-like hand tenderly stroking the silky head lying against his chest. He fixed the younger man with a bard, demanding stare. "What did you do to her?"