by Janet Dailey
"I can finish unpacking later. Mom and dad are probably anxious for us to come down." Despite her reply, Jonni began to fold the nightgown neatly to lay it in the drawer.
When she did so, Trevor walked over to let his hands slide over her hips, careful to avoid her sore rib cage. His mouth made a slow trail across her cheek to her mouth.
"My lovely country sophisticate," he murmured, "with her silks and satins and fashion-designed jeans." He teased her lips with a nibbling kiss. "I should have thanked Stockman for warning me about those squeaking floorboards. It could have been awkward if your father had caught me stealing into your room in the middle of the night for a preview look at you in that nightgown."
"Trevor!" Jonni drew her head back from his kiss, a frown of protest creasing her forehead.
"Don't worry, love," he mocked her. "I won't embarrass you, although I admit to being tempted."
"Don't tease about things like that." She moved out of his arms, not seeing any humor in his remark. "I want my parents to like you. It's bad enough that you're from New York City."
"I suppose I would fare better if I were some Kansas hick." Hidden in his voice was the sting of truth.
"I'm a Kansas hick," Jonni reminded him, resenting the term with a surge of pride.
Trevor didn't want to argue. Catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he planted a hard, silencing kiss on her mouth.
"You've become a beautiful, elegantly refined hick," he declared. "And soon to be Mrs. Trevor Martin — with your parents' approval and consent, of course. Shall we see what we can do about obtaining that?"
Pushing aside her sensitivity to the vaguely derogatory term, Jonni linked her arm with his and started toward the opened door to the hallway. Her return to her childhood home had started out wrong, but she was determined, the day wouldn't end the same way.
Chapter Three
"WHAT WILL YOU HAVE to drink, Trevor?" John Starr acted the host, handing Jonni her requested cup of coffee. "Besides coffee, we have some cold beer in the refrigerator and some whiskey in the cupboard."
"Whiskey, please, with a splash of water." Trevor hitched up his trouser legs as he sat down beside Jonni on the living-room sofa.
"A man after my own heart," her father declared in approval of Trevor's choice. "I'll have the same. My only allotted, and prescribed alcoholic drink of the day," he added.
"Prescribed?" Jonni questioned his use of the word.
But her father ignored it. "If we'd known we had an engagement to celebrate tonight, we'd have bought some champagne and had it chilled and waiting to drink to the two of you." He walked across the braided rug that covered nearly the entire oak floor of the living room. "It'll take me a minute to get some ice and water from the kitchen."
"What did he mean, prescribed?" She addressed the question to her mother.
"It's that heart condition of his. Dr. Murphy prescribed a shot of whiskey a day. It's supposed, to help his blood or something. Can you believe it?" Caroline Starr laughed in a show of unconcern. "Those two men! One lies and the other swears to it."
"Is it serious?" Trevor questioned.
"When you get to be our age, nothing is ever dismissed lightly. But no, as long as John doesn't overdo it, he'll live to be a hundred," she assured them. "Luckily, Gabe doesn't give John a chance to do anything too strenuous."
"When was this discovered? Neither of you said anything to me." Jonni frowned.
"Not in detail, no," her mother admitted. "We glossed over it a few years ago when we told you John was retiring to take things easier. He doesn't like to talk about it. It isn't easy for him, Jonni, to admit he isn't the man he once was. You have to understand that. Besides, it honestly isn't anything to worry about or I would have told you." Approaching footsteps forewarned them of John's imminent return, and Caroline Starr swiftly changed the subject. "Did you notice the new drapes, Jonni? I finally found some material that would match that unusual shade of blue in the sofa. The room is so much cooler in the summer."
"Yes, I saw them." Jonni followed her lead, glancing at the light blue drapes hanging at the windows. "And you've added to your collection of wood carvings." She glanced at the mantel of the fireplace. "That eagle and his nest are breathtaking."
"Wait until you see the old cigar-store Indian John found in a junk shop. It's a treasure, isn't it, John?" She glanced at her husband with pride.
"To us, it is." He grinned back as he added whiskey to two glasses.
"It was in pretty bad shape," her mother explained, "but John managed to restore a lot of it. He has it in his den. We'll have to show it to you later."
"You've done a lot of changing since I was home." Jonni glanced around the room. The arrangement of the furniture looked the same, but there were two new chairs and a polished oak table that she didn't remember. The walls were a lighter shade of blue gray to contrast with the woodwork. "It all looks familiar, but with little differences."
The ensuing conversation became a discussion of the house and its contents, what had existed, been added or removed since Jonni had lived there. Each item seemed to make its own conversation, whether it was the leather recliner her father hadn't wanted to part with or the rickety antique table her mother had bought for a song and spent a fortune to restore.
When her father finished recounting his story about a massive Lincoln desk of walnut he'd bought only to discover there wasn't a door or window large enough to get it inside the house, they were all laughing.
Caroline Starr wiped the tears of laughter from her blue eyes. "As you can tell, Trevor, John and I share a passion for old things, not all of them necessarily deserving the word antiques. But we seem to get sentimentally attached to them all the same. I hope we aren't boring you with our nonsense," she said.
"Not at all," he assured her, and Jonni reached over to slide her hand over his, silently thanking him for not being bored by her parents' less than sophisticated outlook.
"We may not be boring him," her father inserted, "but I'll bet we're starving him. When will dinner be ready?"
Her mother glanced at her watch in surprise. "I didn't realize it was so late." She hastened to her feet.
"I'll help you, mother." Jonni started to rise.
"No, you stay here with Trevor," she insisted. "Everything is either in the oven or steaming. The table is already set. I can manage this time."
"I'm sure you can, but four hands — Jonni began.
"Sit," her father ordered, his eyes twinkling. "Obey your mother."
"Yes, daddy." She smiled and sank back into the cushions beside Trevor, knowing it was a lost cause to argue with the two of them.
"You already have Trevor's ring on your finger. It's a little late now to be trying to impress him with your cooking. You still can cook, can't you?" John asked. "I remember some of your first meals. Fortunately you improved very quickly before we all acquired terminal ptomaine."
"Yes, I can still cook. And let's not bring up past disasters," Jonni insisted with a laugh.
"Has she fixed dinner for you yet, Trevor?" her father quizzed.
"Yes, a couple of times," he admitted. "But we eat out a great deal."
"I much prefer Caroline's cooking to anything served in a restaurant," her father stated. "Wait until you taste what she can do with a piece of beef. It absolutely melts in you mouth. Caroline is an excellent cook. Jonni takes after her."
"I enjoy cooking, although I haven't had the time or opportunity to do much of it." Jonni hoped it wasn't a skill she'd lost from lack of use.
"You will," her father winked.
Trevor noticed the vague apprehension in her expression and misinterpreted its cause. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. "Don't worry, honey, I won't chain you in the kitchen after we're married. With the uncertain hours I keep we'll probably still eat out a lot. It will be much easier than you trying to keep a meal warm until I get there."
"You don't exactly have banker's hours," Jonni admitted, and checked the si
gh that trembled on her breath.
"John." Her mother appeared in the living-room archway. "You're going to have to come out to the kitchen and talk to Gabe. He feels he's intruding by joining us for dinner this evening. He insists he'll fix something at his place, but you know he can't even crack an egg."
"I'll speak to him." John's mouth thinned into a no-nonsense line as he left the room.
Caroline hovered in the doorway. "Gabe is so impossible sometimes," she said with a slight grimace of disgust. "He's been like a son to John — you know that, Jonni. Why on earth would he get the idea that you wouldn't want him to have dinner with us?" She continued to gaze in the direction her husband had taken.
It was the last thing Jonni wanted, but it was also the last thing she wanted to admit to her mother. She kept silent, knowing her mother didn't really expect her question to be answered. She darted a sideways glance at Trevor. His look held the same reaction she felt. He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, a gesture of understanding.
At that moment her mother turned, seeing the exchange but not its meaning. "Maybe if you spoke to him, Jonni, Gabe would get this ridiculous idea out of his head," she suggested.
"Oh, mother, really, I — The words of refusal came instantly, but Trevor interrupted them.
"Perhaps it would be a good idea, honey," he said. "We wouldn't want Gabe to feel left out."
Her startled look questioned his sanity but obviously he no longer regarded Gabe as a threat. Which, of course, he wasn't. Was he? The fact that she had asked herself that question sent a shiver of alarm down Jonni's spine. She did her best to ignore it.
"I'll see if I can persuade him to stay," she agreed, rising.
With a falsely cheerful smile at her mother, Jonni walked past her toward the kitchen. Before she reached it, she heard the placating tone of her father's voice although she couldn't make out the words. As she opened the kitchen door a fist slammed down on the counter top, rattling the dishes in the cupboard above with its force.
"Damn it, John! You don't know how the hell I feel!" Gabe didn't attempt to control the violence in his voice. Its emotional fury almost took Jonni's breath away.
"If you break mother's china, I can tell you how she'll feel," she declared with a shaky laugh.
Gabe's head snapped in her direction. An invisible shutter closed his expression, concealing the black rage she had glimpsed for only an instant. Her father wore a worried look when Jonni glanced his way.
"Have you talked Gabe into having dinner with us tonight?" she asked.
"Is that what you're doing out here?" Gabe responded in a low, taunting challenge. "To lend your persuasions to John's?"
His dark, expressionless eyes were leveled at her. Jonni wanted to look away, but she couldn't break free of an odd compulsion to return his gaze. There was a shaky fluttering of her pulse.
"Yes," she admitted. She assumed a bright pose as if staring into the dark lens of a camera instead of his eyes. "You know they want you to eat with us," she reasoned.
"What about you and your … fiancé?" He hesitated over the term, as if there was an epithet he would have preferred to use.
Bristling, Jonni curved her lips into a honey-sweet smile. "We want you to join us, too," she lied.
He smiled with one side of his mouth. The resulting expression conveyed amusement and derision. "Who am I to deny what Jonni Starr wants?" Gabe mocked.
"Then you'll stay?" The lilt of her voice made it a question.
A resigned sigh came from him as he turned away. "I need a few minutes to get cleaned up." Both his hands were on the kitchen counter. They seemed to be supporting almost his full weight. He looked and sounded very tired.
In a flash of sympathy at his apparent weariness, Jonni offered, "Can I get you a cold beer from the refrigerator, Gabe?" She saw the wicked, laughing look he gave her father.
"Maybe that's the answer, John. Maybe I should get rip-roaring drunk," Gabe suggested with cynical humor. To Jonni, he said, "No, I don't want a beer." Shoving himself away from the counter, he walked toward the rear of the kitchen. "I'll use the back washroom to clean up. Tell Caroline I'll be at the table whenever she's ready to serve dinner."
He puzzled Jonni. Everything about Gabe puzzled her. She stared after the man she had thought she'd known until the closing of the washroom door shut him out of her sight. Her confused gaze wandered to her father.
"What's the matter with Gabe, dad?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
He didn't immediately answer as he took a deep, considering breath and walked toward her. Draping an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her to his side for an instant, a sad smile curving his mouth.
"Gabe had a bad day, one, of the frustrating kind where things happen that a mere human is powerless to prevent. It's been a long, cold winter, and a dry spring, so far. It gets a man down, even the strongest."
"I suppose that explains why he was so rude and irritable today." Jonni's mouth tightened, remembering how infuriating he had been. "But that's no excuse for bad manners."
"Under the circumstances, I hope you'll be a little understanding and overlook Gabe's bad temper." That same smile was still on his mouth. "After all, you're happy. You've got what you want — a tall, dark, handsome man and a ring on your finger." Keeping his arm around her shoulder, he walked her toward the door. "And that man is waiting in the living room for you. You'd better get in there and rescue him from your mother before she starts telling him all those stories about you when you were a baby!"
As always, he succeeded in coaxing a smile from her. "I love you, dad." She planted a kiss on his cheek before moving ahead so they could walk single file through the door. Jonni paused on the other side. "What do you think of Trevor, dad? Do you like him?" An anxious thread wound through her question.
"He seems, to be a personable and prosperous man. But what's more important is your happiness. That's all your mother and I want — for you to be happy. Are you?" he asked, studying her.
"Yes, I'm happy. I'm very happy," she hurried to assure him.
"That's all that matters," her father insisted.
They entered the living room together. Jonni's blue eyes were sparkling with pleasure at her father's ready acceptance of her choice of the man she wanted to marry. Trevor lived in such a different world from the one John Starr knew that Jonni had thought he might be reluctant to endorse Trevor until he had an opportunity to know him better. Her attention was on the man smiling so warmly back at her and Jonni missed the concerned look of her mother.
"Did you speak to Gabe? Is he staying for dinner?" Caroline immediately began an interrogation."
"Yes, he's staying," her father answered. "Jonni and I talked him into it."
"What was his problem?"
As her mother asked that question aloud, Trevor rose to strand beside Jonni and whisper in her ear, "Did you use that famous Starr smile to change his mind?"
"And a personal invitation from you and me," she whispered back.
"Gabe's had a hard day." John Starr responded to his wife's question. "He didn't want his bad mood putting a damper on Jonni's celebration." He shrugged away the reason as unimportant.
"Where is he now?" Her mother looked toward the kitchen.
"In the washroom cleaning up." Jonni supplied that information. "He said he'd be only a few minutes and for you to serve dinner whenever you're ready."
"I'd better get the food on the table, then." She hurried to the kitchen.
Trevor glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite him. An ornately carved wooden frame surrounded the oval glass. It was an heirloom brought by the first of the Starr family to settle in Kansas, and was thus entitled to prominent display in the living room.
"Maybe I should have changed into a clean shirt," Trevor commented as he smoothed the length of his tie inside his jacket and inspected the result.
"No, you shouldn't have," Jonni responded.
His comment had drawn an amused and sli
ghtly derisive look from her father. She had explained to Trevor that her parents didn't stand on ceremony, but the habit to change for dinner was too deeply ingrained in him. He was simply too fastidious about his appearance.
"We seldom have reason to wear a suit and tie around here — her father injected the comment their exchange " — except to church on Sunday."
"New York's dress code isn't quite that relaxed." Trevor turned from the mirror, a look of vague dissatisfaction about him.
It wasn't all that strict in New York. Jonni could have told him about a number of excellent restaurants and nightclubs that didn't require formal attire, and circles of people she knew who dressed casually. But what was the point when he didn't go to those places or associate with those people? She kept silent.
A few minutes later her mother asked them to come to the dining-room table. With an odd number at the table, a balanced seating arrangement was impossible. Her parents were at opposite ends of the rectangular table with Jonni and Trevor seated on one side facing Gabe. The arrangement was uncomfortable, but the alternatives weren't any better.
"How long have you two known each other?" Caroline Starr passed the sour cream and potato casserole while her husband carved the meat. "I know Jonni has mentioned you in her letters, Trevor, and when we've spoken to her on the phone, but …" Her voice trailed off so he could answer her first question.
"We met two years ago."
"That long?" Her mother looked surprised.
"It was hardly a whirlwind courtship." Jonni laughed and accidentally looked into a pair of hard black eyes across the table from her. There was a nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach, ending her laughter, but she kept the smile on her face.
"She was most elusive," Trevor told her mother before smiling at Jonni.
"And he was most persistent." There was a teasing inflection in her voice, but little twinkle in her eyes.
"I regret that I never had the opportunity to meet you or John during your visits to New York to see Jonni. Unfortunately, I was always tied up