by Janet Dailey
“I’ll see,” was all Linc would promise. “Thanks for the invitation.”
A few seconds later, Reece hung up the telephone. Perhaps it was just as well Linc didn’t come tonight. Joanna was tired after traveling all day. She would probably welcome a quiet evening. He returned to the porch where his niece was relaxing. She lazily opened her eyes to look at him.
“Business?” she asked.
“No, social,” he replied. “I had invited Linc Wilder for dinner this evening. I bought this cabin from the Wilders. They own most of the land around it. He just called to say he couldn’t make it.”
“It’s probably just as well,” Joanna declared wryly. “I probably would have stuck my foot in my mouth again and said something embarrassing.”
“I wouldn’t worry about what happened this afternoon.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll bring your luggage in so you can shower and clean up before dinner.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not sure I can move.”
Chapter Four
A morning sun had already burned away the swirling layers of mist from the lake’s surface when a woodpecker flew to an oak tree growing close to the cabin. It hammered at the bark and the sound carried through the wire mesh of the opened bedroom window. Joanna stirred beneath the lightweight coverlet at the prodding noise.
As it persisted, she dragged open her sleep-heavy eyelids, becoming aware of the daylight pouring through the window. Initially, she was disoriented by the strangeness of the room until she remembered where she was.
With a yawn, she folded back the covers and slid out of bed. Her cotton robe was lying on a chair. She slipped into it before leaving the loft bedroom for the second floor bath.
Fifteen minutes later, with the sleep washed from her face and her teeth brushed, Joanna descended the rustic log staircase. Her uncle was seated at the breakfast table by the window that looked out over the lake. He turned in his chair when she entered the spacious kitchen.
“Good morning,” he greeted her with a brightness that Joanna doubted she could match. “Did you sleep well?”
“Ask me that question after I’ve had my orange juice and coffee.” Her smile showed traces of tiredness as she walked to the refrigerator to help herself to the container of orange juice inside.
“What would you like for breakfast this morning?”
“Nothing.” She carried the glass of orange juice to the table and pulled out a chair opposite him. “I’m not hungry when I first get up in the morning,” Joanna explained. Reece poured a cup of coffee for her from the insulated pot on the table. “Thanks. What’s on the agenda today?”
“I thought we could drive to the post office in Branson after you’ve had a chance to enjoy your morning coffee and dress.” There was a brief flash of white as he smiled. “I will drive so you can enjoy the scenery and not worry about running into any mules.”
Joanna smiled with a wry pull of her mouth. There continued to be a nagging regret that she hadn’t seen the inherent amusement in yesterday’s incident at the time. She wasn’t very proud of the way she had reacted—regardless of the causes for her ill-humor. It wasn’t any justification for the way she had behaved.
An hour later, Joanna was riding over the narrow lake road again, this time in the plush comfort of her uncle’s Chrysler New Yorker, its shocks absorbing the roughness of the lane. It didn’t seem to take them any time to reach the place where she’d had her accident.
“There should be a sign posted that says Mule Crossing,” she suggested, pointing out the spot to her uncle as they approached it.
He smiled in acknowledgment of her joking remark. “Jessie Bates has his cabin just down the road,” he explained.
“Does he have a family?” she asked, suddenly wondering if the tall cowboy had been his son, even though there wasn’t any resemblance.
It occurred to her that she hadn’t mentioned the presence of a second man to her uncle, but it hardly seemed important now. Remembering the censure that had been in the man’s hard, golden-brown eyes stirred some of the previous day’s antagonism to life.
It didn’t matter that her behavior had warranted his criticism. Since her resentment of the cowboy was at odds with her regret, that was an additional reason not to mention to her uncle the presence of a third party at the accident.
“No. To my knowledge, Jess has never been married,” Reece replied to her question as they passed the spot where her car had gone into the ditch without slowing.
Settling back in the richly upholstered car seat, she mused aloud, “I suppose there are a lot of hillbillies around here.” She wasn’t conscious that there had been anything derogatory in her use of the word.
“I don’t doubt that there are many, but don’t make the mistake of believing that simply because they live in the backwoods that they are backwards.” He stressed the two words to be certain she was forming an incorrect perception of Ozark natives. “In their own way, these natives are extremely worldly—as intelligent and shrewd as any corporate executive.”
“I won’t make the mistake,” Joanna promised with a smile.
After covering a few more miles of the lake road, a white board fence ran parallel with them. Cattle grazed in the grassy tree-studded meadow it enclosed. Joanna noticed again the ranch house sitting back from the road on the mountain knoll.
“That’s a beautiful home,” she remarked to her uncle. “Who lives there?”
“Linc Wilder.” His sideways glance was slightly mocking. “He happens to be fourth generation hillbilly.” And Joanna knew this was an example to prove his statement that hillbillies were not backward. “Very few describe themselves as hillbillies,” he explained. “They use the term ridgerunner. I’m sure you must have noticed that most of the roads here run along the mountain ridges, hence the name.”
As they turned onto the main road, Joanna gazed out the window at this ancient mountain country. Since she wasn’t driving, she could ignore the traffic and admire the scenery instead.
From the higher elevations of the winding road, she could see the rippling effect as the land spilled away in wave after wave of tree-covered mountain ridges and the diamond glitter of the lake in the nearby valley. She was beginning to revise her opinion about the wild land—and the people who lived here. She was almost sorry when the buildings of town came into view.
It was mid-morning but the day was already beginning to feel hot when they reached the resort town of Branson.
“Have you been awake long enough to be hungry?” he asked. “We can stop at a local cafe if you feel like eating.’”
“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. I’ll wait until lunch.”
“Do you remember that Kewpie doll I gave you six years ago?” Reece waited for the traffic to pass before turning onto the street.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I still have it.” She had been sixteen at the time and crushed that her uncle had brought her a doll when she was trying to be so grown up. Then Joanna remembered vaguely, “You had just come back from vacationing here, hadn’t you? Is this where you bought the doll?”
“Yes, from a quaint little shop down the street. We’ll stop there and you can look around. I’m sure you don’t remember, since it was long before your time, but Kewpie dolls were very popular in the forties. Rose O’Neil, the woman who created the original Kewpie doll, was from this area.”
“I have the feeling there is a great deal to learn about the Ozarks and its people,” Joanna stated and sent him a twinkling glance. “And I also have the feeling that you are planning to teach me about it.”
Her uncle neither confirmed nor denied her suspicion. “I think you will grow to appreciate and enjoy the culture of this region as much as I do.” He parked the car in the lot next to the doll shop.
The picturesque building looked as though it had been converted from a two-story home for commercial use. Its stucco exterior was painted baby pink and an assortment of dolls crowded the displays at its curtained windo
ws. It looked enchanted rather than out of step with its surroundings.
As the nearly full parking lot had indicated, there were plenty of shoppers inside when Joanna entered the doll store with her uncle. She was drawn first to the artfully arranged shelves of Kewpie dolls for sale. The mischievous-looking cupids came in a variety of sizes and poses, bright-eyed imps that had timeless appeal.
Wandering further into the shop, Joanna realized that nearly every kind of doll imaginable was there—rag dolls, corn-shuck dolls, china dolls. They were all represented. It was a little girl’s dream world, and an adult’s fantasy of toyland.
Absorbed by the collection of dolls, she wasn’t aware she had become separated from her uncle until she noticed him standing at a counter ahead of her. He was just greeting one of the store clerks, an attractive and mature woman with light brown hair. The woman’s slimness and her erect carriage gave the impression of height although she wasn’t as tall as Reece. Her uncle turned, his gaze quickly locating her.
“Joanna, come here,” he summoned her with a smile and a motioning wave of his hand. “I’d like you to meet the proprietor of this shop.”
The information renewed Joanna’s interest in the woman, since she was so impressed with the quality of the shop. Age had begun to etch the lines of maturity about the woman’s mouth and blue eyes, but not unattractively. Her smile was warm, yet polite, friendly yet with a trace of reserve. Joanna liked the air of quiet dignity the woman possessed.
“This is my niece, Joanna Morgan.” Reece introduced her first to the woman. “Joanna, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Rachel Parmelee.”
“Welcome to the Ozarks, Miss Morgan.” The hand she extended to Joanna was slim and smooth.
“Thank you.” She smiled, liking the woman immediately. “I know you have probably heard it before but you have a lovely shop, Mrs. Parmelee.” Where had she heard that name before? It sounded so familiar to her.
“You’re very kind.” The woman returned the smile, then inquired, “Is this your first visit to our area?”
“Yes,” Joanna admitted.
“Joanna only arrived yesterday,” her uncle elaborated on her answer. “I’m afraid her first impression of the Ozarks wasn’t very favorable. Now I have the task of correcting it.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay,” Rachel Parmelee murmured.
Something had happened to change the woman’s attitude. Joanna could sense it. There was a coolness in her voice and her expression that hadn’t been there before. She was puzzled by it because it seemed to have happened when Reece joined the conversation, and he had said nothing offensive, nothing remotely personal that could have been misinterpreted. She glanced at her uncle and realized that he had noticed it, too. His expression had altered, a certain stiffness entering it that wasn’t natural for him.
“We are keeping you from your customers.” His remark appeared to offer an excuse for her sudden coolness toward them. “We won’t take any more of your time.”
There was a disturbing darkness to his gaze, an intensity that could almost be measured. Joanna watched the woman drop her glance to avoid it.
She took her lead from Reece. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Parmelee.”
The instant she said the woman’s name a second time, she recalled where she had first heard it. The man at the service station had mentioned it. What was it he had said? Something about her uncle being sweet on the Widow Parmelee, she remembered. With new eyes, she studied her uncle and the woman.
“Have a good day.” Rachel included both of them in the comment.
“Perhaps we’ll see each other again soon,” her uncle said. It was almost a question but it received no answer as the woman smiled politely and moved along the counter to a customer looking at a selection of dolls in a glass case.
Reece turned to Joanna. “Did you wish to look around a little longer?” he inquired.
“Another time, perhaps,” she said, because she guessed that he wanted to leave.
“Yes, another time.” The phrase seemed to hold another meaning for him as his glance strayed to Rachel Parmelee with a certain wistfulness.
As they exited the store and started toward the car parked in the lot, Joanna murmured, loud enough for her uncle to hear, “So that is the Widow Parmelee.”
Her sidelong glance caught his startled look. “What do you know about her?” He recovered quickly and sounded only mildly curious.
“Do you remember I told you that I stopped at a gas station yesterday to ask directions?” she said.
“Yes,” he nodded slowly, not following what that had to do with Mrs. Parmelee.
“When I told him that I was trying to reach the cabin owned by my uncle, Reece Morgan, he knew you right away,” Joanna explained. “He asked if it was the same Morgan who was sweet on the Widow Parmelee. Are you the same Morgan?” she asked, already guessing the answer after what she had witnessed inside.
Her question appeared to make him vaguely uncomfortable. Faint Lines creased his forehead. “Yes, I suppose I am that man.”
“And is the Widow Parmelee sweet on you?” she prompted.
A heavy sigh came from him as he stopped beside the car’s passenger door to open it for her. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think she finds me attractive. Yet every time I ask her to have dinner with me, I get the cold shoulder. Linc advises me to be patient. I’m an outsider. So—” There was an expressive lift of his shoulders. “I am patient.”
“Personally, I think she needs her head examined for not snapping you up,” Joanna declared.
“Now, do you see why I want you to spend the rest of the month here?” he laughed at her strident defense of his attractiveness. “It’s your moral support I require.”
Chapter Five
Outside the cabin, the shadows were lengthening as sundown approached. Joanna wiped the last of the cooking pans dry and stacked it in a lower cupboard with the rest of the pots and pans. Folding the damp dishtowel, she neatly hung it on a wallrack to dry.
“We’re all finished.” Joanna turned to her uncle and halted briefly to study the picture he made, so maturely handsome and well-dressed, except for the plain white apron around his waist to protect his dark slacks. It struck an incongruous note. “I wish I had a picture of you in that apron.” A bemused smile deepened the corners of her mouth.
“Why?” His out-reaching glance was curious as he untied the bow in back to take it off.
“Somehow you just don’t seem the domestic type to me,” she shrugged.
“Just what is the domestic type?” Reece challenged with an amused look.
Joanna was without an answer to that. She was saved from a reply by the sound of a vehicle turning into the cabin’s drive. “I think you have company,” she said to her uncle.
“Perhaps it is Linc. I have been wanting you to meet him,” he stated as he moved past her into the living room.
Joanna was slow to follow him, taking time to hang up the apron he’d left on the countertop. The vehicle’s motor had already stopped and a door had been slammed when she started for the living room. She heard the creaking hinges of the screen door as her uncle opened it to admit the visitor.
“Linc. I’m so glad you came by.” The delight was evident in her uncle’s greeting.
“Hello, Reece. How have you been?” There was the heavy thud of footsteps ascending the steps of the front entrance.
But it was the familiar sound of the man’s voice that caused Joanna to falter in her stride a foot short of the opening to the living room. It couldn’t be the cowboy. From the little Reece had told her about Linc Wilder, she had gained the impression that he and her uncle were the same age, contemporaries.
“Fine. Come in. Come in.” Her uncle’s voice urged the man into the house.
Joanna continued into the living room, less certainly than before. Alarm bells went off in her head when she recognized the tall, broad shouldered man crossing the threshold. Instead of the faded Levis and workshirt, he w
as wearing a white shirt with pearl snaps and slim-fitting, western cut slacks of tan drill.
It wasn’t his casual attire that held her attention, but the rugged planes of his tanned features—sun-hardened and strong. The brim of his cowboy hat shadowed his eyes but Joanna had no difficulty remembering the hard amber flecks in the light brown irises that glittered their message of caution.
She watched the straight, firm Line of his mouth curve in a smile that gentled the hard contours of his face as he shook hands with her uncle. It was an expression that didn’t last long, fading when his glance traveled beyond her uncle to notice her.
“Joanna, come meet Linc Wilder.” Her uncle seemed oblivious to the subtle undercurrents impregnating the air as he invited her to come forward.
With a stiffness to her carriage, she started across the room. All her nerve ends were tingling under the study of those eyes. She knew her appearance was a definite improvement on the way she had looked the first time he’d seen her. The smooth style of her ash-blonde hair flattered her features, features that were enhanced by the light application of makeup—a hint of mascara to darken her lashes, a touch of green shadow to bring out the warm brown of her eyes, and a lingering trace of brown-rose gloss to define the curve of her lips.
There was no artificial cause for the color in her cheeks as his re-assessing gaze traveled the length of her body, taking note of the slim-fitting designer jeans that hugged her hips, and of the clinging fabric of her red knit top that outlined the swell of her young breasts.
There was a definite shimmer of defiance in her eyes when she met his glance. All her defenses were raised against him. Joanna didn’t fully understand this inner need to protect herself from him. It seemed purely instinctive, a reaction beyond her control. When she stopped beside her uncle, she was rigid with tension.
“Linc, I want you to meet my niece, Joanna Morgan,” her uncle finished the introduction.