Man From Tennessee (12 page)

He kissed her again, striding into the house. The side of her head was cradled to Kern’s shoulder. She could hear and feel his thumping heartbeat as if it were part of her. He
was
part of her.

Rhea was perhaps the better mate for Kern. Trisha was not fighting that, or the past. The only thing that seemed to matter was that she take the only chance she might have, that the moment not be allowed to slip through her fingers like shifting sand. She had love to give him at this moment, a love that ached for the scar on his forehead and his laughter, for the land he cherished and even the problems it brought him. And for the feel of his body covering hers. It was a moment she had to take and she knew that it was right; inside was such a vibrant surge of need that she could not deny it…

He laid her gently on the bed, sitting next to her, not turning on the light. The room was warm and dark. The covers that he’d dragged down first left silk-cool sheets, her hair tousled against them. Shadows in the room showed a face grave above her, strangely silent, watching.

His hands moved. With frustrating slowness he unbuttoned her blouse, resisting her hands when she tried to help him. So she lay still, her eyes never leaving his. The blouse was slipped from her shoulders and dropped. The skirt had a side button and zipper; he found them, shivering the skirt down over her hips and releasing it to the floor as well.

Coolness feathered over her skin, a coolness she had not felt through the long sultry day and evening of too many clothes. His eyes warmed that odd little chill, shining black in the night-darkened room. Her body was silvery light by contrast, slim supple limbs, the sensual hill and valley of woman, her eyes open to his. She was vulnerable—more emotionally vulnerable than she’d ever been with him before.

He raised her up to undo the bra. Her body was faintly trembling, a dew of moisture like satin coating her flesh. Her blood was on fire, waiting. The briefs covered so little, yet they were the most difficult to take off. His palms chased them slowly down her thighs and calves, intimate, erotic. She was burning. The aching inside seared; the effort to lay still was monumental.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, Tish,” he murmured huskily. “I want you like something—clawing inside of me. I always have. Your skin is so soft…”

He was silent, but when she reached up with trembling hands he simply clasped them, held them in an iron-fast hold, and then let her go. The sheet was smoothed to her breasts; he leaned over to press a tantalizingly sweet kiss on her forehead. A brother’s kiss. Shocked sapphire eyes watched him stand erect. “No, Tish, not tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t want Dutch courage between us. It matters too much—not for me, but for you.”

He was gone, and the war began inside her. She had the urge to slip into his room, insisting as if she had no pride…the urge to sleep off the wretched dizziness…the urge to weep with frustration and confusion. And last, just as the dawn glowed a rainbow haze in the mountain valley, came the urge to laugh. They had changed roles and she saw the irony. How well he had paid her back for the night by the stream and the night they had been dancing. The tease he had invoked when undressing her she knew had been deliberate torture…

The thought ached inside that somehow it was going to be nearly impossible to leave him if they made love, but a second thought overshadowed the first as sleep finally overcame her. She could not leave him again with that old impression of five years ago, of a woman cold, too inhibited and too frightened to take what there was in life.

Trisha backed up to the doorway, brushing a sheen of moisture from her forehead before resting her hands on her hips. No one would have recognized Julia’s room from the way it looked two weeks ago. The heavy oak furniture had been replaced by wild cherry of a more feminine mode, and the soft blue of the carpet and spread and draperies richened the effect of the wood. Julia’s love of flowers had spilled over onto the vases on each side of the bed, and the bedside tables had been a find: old, intricately carved tobacco stands from another century, the copper inside glowing like new pennies. An old mirror had been another find: resilvered it reflected all the clutter on the dresser that made it a woman’s room—perfumes and the cloisonné brush and comb Julia always carried with her.

“A perfect little hideaway,” Julia said from behind her. With a radiant smile she surveyed the room with both approval and pleasure. “But there was no need for you to work yourself to the bone, Patricia, particularly today! The curtains would have waited. It must have been a hundred and ten on that ladder! Now stop altogether. I’ve got lunch all set up outside today.”

“Done! Just give me two minutes to freshen up,” Trisha told her. Walking to the bathroom, she could hardly wait to splash cool water on her hands and face. She was more than pleased with the work she’d done, and her easy smile showed in the reflection in the mirror, as did a little rueful arch of her eyebrows as she glanced at herself. There was a bit of a stranger in the mirror. The emerald-and-navy halter top and matching shorts were an outfit she’d insisted to Julia she’d never wear, but the heat had convinced her that morning to change her mind. Still, she was not accustomed to dressing with so much skin showing, and her hair was beginning to look as if she’d professionally streaked it, a natural silver added to the gold just from being in the sun. Her skin had a light honey cast.

“Patricia, are you still working?” Julia called out.

With one last flick of the brush, Trisha set it down and hurried out to the patio. “You really do have it all set up out here,” she commented, sinking promptly into a lounge chair with feet up in the heat. The picnic looked delectable, or would have if she’d been less broiling, simply less overweary from a night of too little sleep.

“I’m going fishing this afternoon.”

Trisha blinked. “I beg your pardon. I could have sworn you just said…”

“I expect I shall hate it.” Julia poured three glasses of iced tea, molding a napkin around Trisha’s to absorb the moisture before handing it to her. “Don’t ask me why I’m going, the very idea of fishing…well, Mr. Michaels has a degree in agricultural economics, and he was so very nice about it, and I might as well do something one does in this sort of country…” Julia sat ramrod-straight in a lounge chair, weaving her hand like a fan in front of her face.

“I don’t think you should be going out for an entire afternoon in this heat without a rest,” Trisha commented.

“Oh, don’t you?” Julia said dryly. She leaned forward, adjusting a wrought-iron footstool with a bright yellow cushion for her feet. “You persist in trying to manage me! Speaking of which, how long are we staying here, darling?”

The casual question was enough to make Trisha lean her head back and regard her mother-in-law with narrowed eyes. “Well, that depends on how happy you are here, of course,” she said lightly.

“I’m all very nicely settled in here, as you very well know. In fact, I decided the second day we were here that I’m going to spend some of the time with Kern and some of the time up north. We’ll split up the year or something. When he’s had enough of me, I’ll just go back to Grosse Pointe—hopefully in time for the start of the symphony season. I haven’t mentioned it, because I’ve been waiting for Kern to have the nerve to tell me that I need a medical watchdog full-time.”

Trisha couldn’t control an impish smile, seeing the wheels turn in Julia’s mind at the anticipated argument. It was settled, but Julia would bring some drama into it.

“However, I wasn’t referring to myself, Patricia, but to you. Surely the two of you have talked by now. Anyone with eyes in her head can see that the only time Kern has his eyes off of you is when he’s sleeping. But you, darling, are not such an easy read. Now have you or haven’t you two decided to try and make a go of it?”

When Julia’s tone was the most innocent, her eyes were the most steel-like. Trisha turned away, sipping at her iced tea and then setting it down. It suddenly occurred to her that Julia was dotting all the
I’
s in rather earthquake fashion: her future was settled; her room was done; her health and humor were back on an even keel. All the reasons Trisha had stayed for. To stay beyond that required an invitation that had not been forthcoming.

“I see,” Julia murmured into the little silence. “You’re expecting him to say it all, when you happened to be the one who walked out on him five years ago.”

“Nothing is simple,” Trisha said quietly, stung by the accusation delivered so mildly. “Leave it, please.”

“Either you love him or you don’t.”

Trisha vaulted up from the lounge chair, flicking back her hair with a brisk toss, and leaned over to kiss her mother-in-law’s forehead. “Darling, you’re so damned healthy again that I’m inclined to tell you to mind your own business. But I won’t, of course, I love you too much, no matter how meddling you are. And you’re getting freckles on your nose, Julia.
Most
unacceptable in a lady of sixty-seven.”

Julia’s hand promptly darted to her nose as if one could wipe away the offending subject. In those few seconds Trisha was already putting distance between them. “Wait a minute, Patricia! Where are you going? There’s lunch—”

“I’m not hungry,” Trisha responded over her shoulder. “And once you have lunch, you take a half-hour rest before going out, Julia. Do you hear me?”

It had been a long time since she’d tried to find the place. There was a woody ferned area that was almost impenetrable, but only for a short distance. And then it was a craggy climb where the trees grew at crazy angles to reach the sun on the sharp slope. She could hear the sound of water falling halfway up the climb, and already the rest of the world had disappeared—no houses, no roads, no human sounds intruded. It was so high up that there were faint wisps of misty clouds on a level with her, guarding the secret of a place, a secret she’d kept within herself for more than five years.

And then there it was. Tired, hot prickly… Trisha stood still and surveyed her haven. The water fell from the cleavage of two smooth-breasted rocks fifteen feet above, splashed down to an almost perfect circular pool and escaped in a little trickling stream down the mountain, beyond her sight. Surrounding the pool was a mix of huge, sun-warmed boulders and stretches of velvet moss, where a profusion of flowering bushes nurtured patches of shade. The pool itself was bedded with rocks so white they resembled snow flecked with gold in the sunlight. The taste of the water was almost sweet, bracingly cold, and it had the look of jewels of a treasure: the sunlight put diamonds in the waterfall, opals in the clear reflecting pool, and purest gold in the pool bed, emeralds in the brush nearby.

As far as she knew, no one knew of the place, not even Kern. Long ago she had had no excuse for going so far off the trail, no possible reason to make a path when it was clear no one had traveled there before. The peace had been there like a promise five years ago, and she craved it now. She perched on a flat oblong rock with her knees tucked up and her eyes closed, willing the sun to melt away the chill of heartache Julia had invoked.

An invitation from Kern for a renewal of commitment—no, there hadn’t been one. Julia’s busy eyes had interpreted physical desire as something else in Kern, but Trisha had never expected more. She was the one who had failed him in the past and she could not blame him for not offering second chances. And for just this moment she was not even going to let herself believe how painfully she wanted that second chance. There would be time for that when she was home again, time for despair and a twisting, sharp sort of anguish that even now was trying to shred and tear inside. She opened her eyes.

Not now. Not this moment. This moment is just…free, she told herself. She stayed absolutely still until the peace of the haven penetrated past mind and heart and skin, as if the sun could heal soul—and like a gift, the peace was there.

The rock was hot, and restlessly she uncurled to stand, her canvas-shoed foot slipping into the chilling stream as she did so. It was delightfully cold. In a moment she had both shoes off and then with increasing speed all the rest of her clothes. The pool was only three feet at its deepest, ideal for cooling off if not swimming. She stepped precariously from rock to rock with her arms raised for balance, the sun hot and vibrant on her flesh, the icy water lapping at her knees. The waterfall drew her irresistibly.

There was no one around to hear her startled laughter as the weight of icy water streamed through her hair and over her slim body in torrents. She stood as long as she could stand it, until finally, with her skin tingling fresh and pink, she breathlessly struggled back again over the slippery round rocks of the pool to the flat rock at the edge. The heat of the smooth stone felt good and she perched with her toes stretched to the water, raising her face to the sun.

The sun dried and pearled a luster to her skin in minutes. The lush primitive landscape seemed to reflect inside her; she felt herself a creature of the senses, uninhibited and free, the sun’s touch an erotic warmth on her bare breasts, the whisper of a strand of hair on her cheek a tickle of the sensual. She closed her eyes again to the glare of sun on water, not asleep and not quite awake, feeling the delicious warmth flood over every inch of her.

She stirred at the sudden cry of a startled bird.

Kern was standing across the pool from her, staring over the rippling silver of the water. His hands were on his hips, his shirt clinging damply to him in the heat.

Dirt was caked on his boots, patched on his jeans; a sheen of sweat glistened in the sun on his forehead. Disheveled, hot, dusty, the bronze of his skin glowed around the physical power of the man, the sheer sexual magnetism only intensified by the moisture on his skin and his disheveled appearance.

She didn’t move. Caught and naked beneath his gaze, she felt a vibrant rush of response in her body, a response that only intensified inside as she watched him as he must have watched her.

The shirt was stripped, a broad expanse of golden chest uncaged to the sun. Belt and boots, jeans and briefs…she drew in her breath. He waded in the water, and she saw that
all
of his body had a golden tan. His stomach was flat and his thighs pure sinew and the man moved like liquid. He submerged for a moment under the waterfall. His nakedness was so natural in the country he fit so well, a country of predators and prey. Yet it was also a country where the most vulnerable of wildflowers flourished in such gentle profusion…images flooded her mind in a wild warm rush. He was wading toward her, his eyes burning.