by Janet Dailey
After paying the nominal entrance fee into the State Park, they followed the path into the cleared, ploughed area. Unlike the other visitors who carried hand tools of claw rakes, small scoops and pans, Tisha and Blanche were armed with sketch pads and pencils. Scattered over the field on each side of the hill were people, singly or whole families, painstakingly sifting through the dark brown soil for diamonds.
Millions of years ago there had been volcanic eruptions near an area covered by water. The sudden cooling of the molten rock by water caused a tremendous pressure that transformed carbon particles into precious diamonds and crystals.
The volcanic pipe, this womb of the only diamonds found in their natural state on the North American continent, was beneath Tisha's feet. It was an exhilarating sensation. The first discovery of diamonds in the 1900s started a rush that threatened to equal the California gold rush. But Tisha also remembered the intrigue that cloaked its past. Attempts to commercially mine the diamonds had been met with frustration, mysterious fires, and even murder before the State of Arkansas finally purchased the Crater of Diamonds outside of Murfreesboro and turned it into a State Park.
Blanche was already seated on the ground with the trunk of a tree for a backrest and her sketch pad propped on her knees. But Tisha was too caught up in the atmosphere of the place to settle down. Instead she wandered down a furrow in the field to where an elderly, grey-haired man was standing hip-deep in a pit he had dug. He was going through the soil, particle by particle, before discarding it on the growing mound beside him.
"Are you having any luck?" Tisha called to him.
He glanced up, blue eyes sparkling above round smiling cheeks. "Nope!" he answered, tossing the panful of earth away and reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his brow." "Course, it would help if I knew what the heck I was looking for!"
"That would be my problem, too," Tisha laughed.
"They say if you find one you can't mistake it for anything else but a diamond." He leaned back to rest a moment, obviously welcoming the break and the offer of conversation. "The problem is to remember that they don't just come in white. There's some that are tinted yellow, brown, pink, and tan. Not to mention they have black diamonds here, too. But when it's a case of finder's keeper's, you can't resist looking. A person might find one."
"I suppose it's a question of whether Dame Fortune is sitting on your shoulder or not?" she smiled.
"When you realize that nearly all the people out here are amateurs, with maybe a little experience as rock-hounds, luck plays an important part," he nodded agreement. "But somebody is always finding one."
"I hope today you're that somebody."
"The fun is in the looking," he shrugged, and picked up his shovel.
Tisha wished him good luck and walked further along the furrow, smiling as she found herself studying the ground in anticipation that a diamond crystal might be lying on the top. The diamond fever was contagious, she decided. Just as compelling was the memory of the man's face, roundly smiling and containing such a love of life. While it was still fresh, she found a comfortable rock to lean against and opened her sketch book.
In her first attempt, she couldn't quite capture him and flipped to a fresh page. This time there was no hesitation in the strokes of her pencil as it flew across the paper. Adrenalin seemed to be pumping through her, accenting the exhilarating feeling that she was doing the best portrait she had ever done.
"That's excellent, Tisha!" Blanche exclaimed. While Tisha had been engrossed in her drawing, her aunt had walked silently to stand beside her. "You've captured Roarke exactly."
The tip of Tisha's pencil stopped in mid-stroke. The face staring back at her from the paper was Roarke Madison. His mouth was almost curved into a smile. There was that lazy, arrogant look in his eyes. The muscles in her stomach constricted into a sickening knot as Tisha realized what she had done.
Blanche paid no attention to her niece's silence as she began enumerating the successful qualities of the drawing. That hint of a smile is such a great indication of his superb sense of humour. And you've caught the strength and determination in the jawline. I'm amazed, though, at the way you captured the self-assurance that's so much a part of his character."
"He's arrogant!" Tisha slammed the book shut and scrambled to her feet.
Blanche's brown eyes twinkled with amusement. "He does make your blood run hot, doesn't he?"
"No!" The denial was out before she realized her aunt was referring to her temper and not desire. Red flames swept into her cheeks. "I mean yes, we rub each other the wrong way."
"The chemistry between two people can be compatible or combustible," her aunt shrugged good-naturedly. "With you and Roarke, it's obviously the latter."
A heavy sigh shuddered Tisha's shoulders. "Combustible." That was an excellent word, she thought. She brushed back the tendrils of hair near her forehead and nodded agreement to her aunt's words.
"Don't be so glum," Blanche teased gently. "You can't help it if you don't like him."
Darkly green troubled eyes turned their roundness on the older woman's face. For a moment Tisha hesitated, then the overwhelming need to confide in someone took command.
"Roarke Madison is all the things I don't like in a man—arrogant, argumentative, domineering. Yet," Tisha swallowed nervously, "yet he makes me feel more like a woman than any other person I've dated."
There was a pregnant silence as Blanche studied the embarrassed flush on her niece's face. "Are you saying that you find him sexually attractive?"
"It doesn't make any sense, I know." Tisha shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening viciously on the sketch pad. "I don't like him or respect him. Women are a means of entertainment to him. His type doesn't think of them as human beings, only toys to be thrown aside when they no longer amuse him."
"That's rather a harsh judgment," Blanche murmured in an effort to placate the vehemence in the younger girl's tone.
"Is it?" Tisha retorted bitterly. "He's one of those predatory males who charm you into letting your guard down, then rush in for the kill."
"You've hardly had any time to get to know him. Aren't you afraid you're being too hasty in condemning him?" At the denial forming on Tisha's mouth, Blanche went on hurriedly but calmly, "I'm not saying that you're wrong in your opinion of him. Your first meeting with him was under inauspicious circumstances and it's affected your attitude towards him."
"I think he would have made me bristle no matter how I met him," Tisha declared.
"That could be true." A speculative gaze rested on Tisha. "But it bothers you more to know he arouses you physically, doesn't it?"
The line of her mouth was straight and slightly grim as Tisha nodded an affirmative reply. It made her feel she was betraying herself.
"I wish I knew what to tell you," Blanche sighed, putting a comforting arm around her niece's shoulders. "It's something you have to work out for yourself, I guess. What do you say we start for home now? We can stop along the way to eat and save us from fixing a meal tonight. I know a great little restaurant that serves delicious catfish and hush-puppies."
"That sounds fine," Tisha agreed, trying to match her aunt's cheerful voice as they jointly turned to retrace their path to the parking lot.
"It looks as if we're going to get some rain from those clouds after all." The woman's head raised to scan the overcast sky, now a menacing shade of turbulent grey. "I don't know which I dislike more, driving after dark or driving in the rain."
"We don't have to stop to eat. It wouldn't be too much trouble to cook something at home," Tisha suggested.
"We need the night out," Blanche insisted. "Besides, I think the rain will hold off until later this evening and we have ample time before the sun goes down."
On the drive back, it seemed as though her forecast was going to be correct, but when they walked out of the restaurant, it was into a driving downpour of rain. Blanche willingly accepted Tisha's offer to drive the few miles to the house.
Although the sun wasn't officially down, the black clouds made it appear as dark as night. The rapid lashing back and forth of the windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the onslaught of water. Tisha was glad when they reached the lane leading to home.
"Do you think we dare stop at the mailbox to pick up our mail?" Blanche asked.
"I don't see why not," Tisha answered. "The road is firm, so there's no worry that we'll get stuck. I can pull over close enough so all you have to do is roll down the window to reach the box."
"I was expecting some important letters," her aunt murmured.
"It's no problem. We'll stop," Tisha assured her as the car headlights picked out the mailboxes by the side of the road and Tisha slowed the car to a stop beside the first one.
The wind drove the rain inside the car as Blanche hurriedly rolled the window down and stretched her arm out to retrieve the mail, then quickly rolled the window up before she was completely drenched.
"Whew!" she laughed shortly as she shook the water off her exposed arm. "Let's get home where it's warm and dry."
Thunder rumbled ominously overhead as Tisha maneuvered the car into the garage, thankful they had left the doors open, even if it was an invitation to burglars.
"I'm going to have to change out of this blouse," Blanche said after they had entered the house through the connecting garage door. "Why don't you put on some coffee?" She lifted the damp garment away from her skin and laughed. "It's unbelievable I could get so soaked when I only had the window down for a few seconds."
Tisha was already filling the coffee pot with water. Her shoulders were stiff from the strain of peering through the driving sheets of water.
"Hurry up and change." she instructed her aunt. "Or I'll drink this whole pot myself!"
A quarter of an hour later Tisha was snuggled up in the armchair in the living-room, a fresh cup of coffee beside her as she listened to the rain hammering at the window while lightning walked about outside. Blanche had changed clothes and was sitting on the couch going through the mail.
"Oh dear!" Blanche murmured suddenly.
Tisha glanced over and saw her staring at a fairly large package "Is something wrong?"
"That stupid mailman put this package in the wrong box," Blanche sighed impatiently. "It's Roarke's, and he put it in my box instead of his."
"You can give it to him the next time you see him, can't you?"
Her aunt nibbled anxiously at her bottom lip. "I can, yes," she admitted. "Except the other night when he came to pick you up. I was talking to him and he mentioned that he had some plans he was supposed to have done by Monday, but he couldn't finish them because he was waiting for some information on a new product. He was hoping it would be in today's mail. And now the mailman's given it to me."
"That's not your fault." Tisha couldn't muster any sympathy for Roarke's problem.
"No, but I know he needs it before he can finish. Would you mind running it up to—No, never mind," Blanche shook her head firmly without finishing the question. "I'll take it up to him."
"That's silly. You don't have to run that up to him in this storm!"
"I know he needs it. And I know what it's like to try to finish something and not have the necessary tools or materials," her aunt insisted, rising to her feet.
"You're really going to take it up to him tonight, aren't you?" Tisha shook her head incredulously. "As much as you fear driving in this kind of weather, you're going anyway."
"I know how you feel about him, Tish," her aunt said as she reached into the closet for her raincoat and umbrella, "but he is my neighbour and a friend. He would do the same for me, regardless of what you think about him."
There was a resigned droop to the corners of Tisha's mouth as she realized she wasn't going to be able to persuade her aunt to change her mind. And her conscience wouldn't allow her to let Blanche drive in this kind of weather. As independent and self-sufficient as her aunt was, there were a few things that unnerved her. Two of them were driving in a thunderstorm and after dark.
"If I can't talk you out of it," she said grimly, reluctantly getting to her feet, "then I'll take it for you, Blanche."
"That isn't necessary."
"I think it is," Tisha asserted. "Now put your coat back in the closet and give me the umbrella."
"I'll ride along with you."
"There's no need for both of us to go out in this storm." She bypassed the denim jacket that matched her jeans in favour of her water-repellent windbreaker hanging beside it in the closet. "You stay home and save me a cup of coffee."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" Blanche asked anxiously.
"I don't mind," Tisha breathed in exasperation, and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. "Where's the package?"
"Here." Blanche pushed it into her hands. "And, Tish?"
"Yes?" Tish paused before walking through the kitchen to the connecting garage door.
"Roarke's house is something of a showplace. It would be worth putting up with his company for a few minutes just to see it." Blanche didn't allow time for Tisha to reply as she added, "Drive carefully."
Tisha thought to herself that the house would have to be pretty fantastic for her to stay. In her present frame of mind, she didn't want to be alone with Roarke. Her attitude towards him was much too ambivalent. Until she was able to control or understand her feelings, the less she saw of him the better it would be.
The heavy downpour forced her to keep the car at a crawling pace as she negotiated the quarter of a mile to Roarke's house. She nearly missed the shrub-bordered driveway entry, her headlights picking it out at the last minute. The rain was creating miniature rivers in the graveled road while the towering pines seemed like high walls closing in on the car.
Tisha hadn't realized the house was set so far back from the road. Tension closed her grip on the wheel and she knew her knuckles were white. At last a light pierced the gloom, a beacon in the midst of a storm. She parked the car in the small cul-de-sac and switched off the motor. It took some tricky manoeuvring to open the umbrella as she climbed out of the car and dashed through the puddles and driving rain to the overhang. The package was tucked under her jacket in an attempt to protect it from the downpour.
Impatiently she pushed the button to the doorbell. With the growling thunder it was impossible to hear if it was ringing inside. The wind was beginning to beat the rain in about her legs, so Tisha grasped the large brass knocker and began hammering it against the door. In seconds it was opened with Roarke framed in the doorway, wearing a cream pullover sweater and brown slacks.
"Tisha?" His surprise was obvious as he peered under the umbrella. "I thought only ducks were out in this kind of weather."
"Quack, quack," she said sarcastically, fumbling under her jacket for the package.
"You're never at a loss for an answer, are you?" Roarke chuckled. His hand reached out to close over her shoulder and draw her into the shelter of the house. "I confess that you caught me by surprise. I didn't think you'd miss my company so much that you'd come out on a night like this."
He had automatically taken the umbrella from her, half-closing it, and set it against the wall, a puddle of water forming almost immediately beneath it.
"I didn't come to see you," Tisha retorted angrily. The package was free of her jacket folds and she held it out to him. "This was put in Blanche's mailbox by mistake. She thought you would need it, so I ran it up here for her."
The door behind her was already closed. She would have preferred to hand him the package and run. After taking the package, glancing at it briefly, he tossed it on a walnut table.
"Thanks for bringing it, I'd been waiting for it. Blanche probably remembered," he smiled. "Let me take your jacket."
"I'm not staying." She backed away as he stepped forward to help her remove it. "I only came to give you the package. I'll leave now."
"You can come in by the fire and dry your clothes. I don't think your aunt will miss you if you stay for a few mi
nutes."
"No, thank you," she repeated coldly. "I'll just get wet again when I go back out to the car."
"I have a whole pot of cocoa made. Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup?" he offered.
"No, I wouldn't."
"I insist." Once again his hand closed over her arm before she could elude him. "It wouldn't be neighbourly to refuse my offer of hospitality in return for you driving through that storm to deliver the package."
"I really…" The protest died away as Tisha sensed that she wasn't going to win the argument. "Very well, I'll have one cup. Then I'm going to leave."
"One cup," he agreed with a patronizing nod of his sandy brown head. He pointed to her right. "The living-room is in there. I have a fire going in the fireplace. You can dry out a bit while you drink your hot chocolate. By the way, do you like it with marshmallows or whipped cream?"
"Whipped cream, please," she requested, moving away from him the instant he released her arm.
"Go on ahead. I'll bring the cocoa in a minute."
Hesitantly Tisha followed his instructions, slowly walking through the opening he had indicated. Without his presence to distract her, she took in her surroundings, glancing back at the marbled foyer with its white file floor and light walnut-panelled walls. Then her feet touched the thick, soft pile of a carpet and she looked ahead.
A carved wooden banister beckoned her down a small flight of three steps to a sunken living-room carpeted in a vibrant shade of dark blue. Floor-to-ceiling curtains of knobby white covered almost one entire wall while the rest of the walls alternated between paneling of walnut framing areas of cream-white.
Golden flames leaped behind a dark wrought iron screen in front of the glittering white stone fireplace in the centre of an inside wall. Tisha moved to the middle of the room, fascinated in spite of herself by the artistic perfection of its interior. A large sofa covered in white velour faced the fireplace. The whiteness of its cushions was accented by large pillows in the same bold shade of blue as the carpet beneath her feet. On either side of the fireplace, facing the sofa, were two large chairs with flanking tables, gleaming brightly with the reflected light from the fire.