Window on Today

by Joan Hohl

  Anne smiled and sighed. “I agree with you in principle,” she avowed, “but in this instance, I really think you should have listened.”

  “Why?” Karla asked, vaguely uneasy.

  “Because most of it is true?” Anne’s smile was cynical. “The genius himself has admitted it.”

  Karla didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to hear whatever it was Anne was so obviously anxious to tell her. Her lips were still tingling from the heat of Jared’s mouth; her senses were still in a heightened state of awareness. Every inch of her body continued to ache for every inch of his.

  Dammit! Karla protested silently, curling her fingers into her palms. She didn’t want to know!

  She was on the point of dismissing the subject by turning away from Anne when a vivid memory flashed into her mind. Too sharply, Karla recalled Jared’s behavior and his insulting remarks to her two nights before.

  Was Jared capable of ruthlessness? she asked herself. The answer came into her mind at once. Yes, she believed he could be ruthless if he chose to be. Karla’s shoulders drooped in resignation.

  “All right, Anne,” she said wearily. “Suppose you fill in the blanks for me.”

  Anne bit her lip. “Karla, please understand that I mentioned it only because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Karla nodded, convinced by the younger woman’s dismay that she was not acting out of jealousy or the viciousness that motivated most gossips. “I understand,” she murmured, “and I appreciate your concern.”

  “Well, for one thing—” Anne began, but broke off, glancing at the door when a customer entered the gallery. “Shall I take care of him?” she asked, indicating the elderly gentleman, who smiled rather timidly at them.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Karla replied, returning the man’s smile. “But you could make a pot of coffee. It’s almost lunchtime, and we haven’t even had our morning break.”

  Karla spent close to half an hour chatting with the affable gentleman, who was new to the world of art but eager to learn about it. Consequently, when she was free to join Anne in the back office, much of her inner tension had eased, due in no small degree to the profitable sale she had made to the man.

  After seeing the customer out, Karla turned the discreet sign in the window so as to change the message from Open to Will Return in One Hour, then locked the door and, humming softly, walked to the office. The tension began to coil through her again at the sight that met her eyes as she entered the small room: Anne was seated at the desks, her narrow shoulders hunched, a brooding expression on her face, staring into a cup of coffee as if hoping to discover the answers to all her problems within the depths of the cream-laced liquid.

  Suppressing a sigh, Karla squared her shoulders and walked briskly to the coffeemaker, perched atop a metal file cabinet. “Okay, Anne, we have one hour,” she said, filling a ceramic mug with the steaming brew before turning, eyebrows arched, to look at the young woman. “I suggest we get on with it.”

  The brown eyes Anne raised had a sad puppy-like appeal. “You are somewhat enchanted by him, aren’t you?”

  Karla shrugged. The threat of losing an exorbitant sale wouldn’t have forced her to confess to the confusing riot of sensations Jared had unleashed in her, enchantment being only one of them. “That’s neither here nor there,” she replied, lying through her teeth. “I’m a big girl, and quite capable of taking care of myself,” she continued, feigning a confidence she was far from feeling. “Just give me the information you feel I must have, and I’ll decide how to proceed from there.”

  “All right, you’re the boss.” Anne exhaled a long, soulful sigh. Then she frowned. “You do know that Jared’s father, Rhys Cradowg, is a very important man in Arizona, don’t you?”

  Karla narrowed her eyes in thought as she rummaged through her memory file. She did remember the name, simply because it was so unusual, but was unable to come up with any solid information connected to it, and she said as much to Anne. “The name is familiar but...” She gave her assistant a deprecatory smile. “I’m afraid I was too involved with the hundred and one details necessary to launching the gallery to register any outside information.” Her frown reflected Anne’s. “Why? Is it imperative that I know how important Jared’s father is?”

  “Yes,” Anne responded adamantly. “You see, Rhys Cradowg is, today, a broken man.” She paused to sip her coffee—and, Karla decided later, for effect. “And he was broken by the single person capable of piercing his defenses ... his son.”

  Though Karla experienced a resurgence of unease, she didn’t feel at all enlightened. Frown lines deepening on her brow, she lowered herself onto the chair in front of the desk. “You’ve lost me already, Anne.” Tired patience shaded Karla’s tone. “Why would Jared want to harm his father?”

  “Because of his Apache heritage.”

  “I don’t believe I’m hearing this from you!” Karla exclaimed, jolting upright in her chair so abruptly that her coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and splashed onto her hand. Jumping up, she set the mug on the desk with an angry-sounding bang. And Karla was angry, furiously angry. She deplored the sort of prejudice that Anne’s statement hinted at—in effect, that because Jared was part Indian he was therefore part savage. Plucking a tissue from the box on the desk, she dabbed at the moisture on her hand while continuing to scowl at Anne. “Are you actually telling me that you believe Jared Cradowg is ruthless because he has Apache blood?”

  Anne shook her head vigorously. “No, of course not!”

  “Then what the hell are you saying?” Karla demanded, her anger still strong but tempered by the relief she felt. “Anne, I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

  Anne was trembling from the shock of being the target of Karla’s unusual blast of fury. “I don’t know all of it,” she said in a tremulous whisper. “Only bits and pieces.”

  Karla’s eyes widened. “Yet from these bits and pieces you pass judgment on a man’s character?” The anger in her voice had given way to sheer astonishment.

  “No!” Anne’s expression clearly revealed her regret at having initiated the subject. “Oh, God! Karta, please, let me try to explain.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Karla replied wryly. Picking up her mug, she walked to the coffeemaker. “Would you like a refill?” she asked over her shoulder in as natural a tone of voice as she could muster.

  “Yes, thank you.” Anne’s whisper contained a wealth of gratitude for Karla’s apparent attempt to restore a measure of normalcy. “I’m almost sorry I said anything,” she murmured, as Karla handed a cup to her.

  “ ‘Almost’ doesn’t count,” Karla said chidingly, returning to her chair. “Except in quoits,” she tacked on dryly, offering the younger woman a wry smile.

  With Anne’s response to the smile, the tension eased. “I feel like a fool, or a snitch, or worse,” she said, “but here goes.” She drew a deep breath, then began speaking rapidly. “As I understand it, Jared always adored his grandfather, and deeply resented hearing his idol referred to as a half-breed. And since—

  “Wait!” Karla cried, holding up her hand. “Half-breed? Are you telling me that man in the portrait is not a full-blooded Apache?”

  “Yes,” Anne said flatly. “His mother was pure Apache, but his father was pure Welsh.”

  “Incredible,” Karla breathed. “But that would explain Jared’s unusual height.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Anne said. “But I have heard of other, equally tall Indians. And, in Jared’s case, his father, Rhys, is also full Welsh and very tall.”

  “I see,” Karla murmured, comprehending how the traits of height and chiseled features and dark good looks, traits not unusual in both races, had manifested themselves in the compelling attractiveness of the man who made her senses reel and blood run hot. “Continue,” she said, suppressing a shivering response to her thoughts.

  “As I said,” Anne went on. “Jared resented the term ‘half-breed,’ which made life at home for him unpleas
ant while he was growing up, since it was apparently the only expression Rhys ever used in reference to his father-in-law.”

  “What?” Karla exclaimed. “But where was Jared’s mother?”

  “Right there.” Anne sighed. “My understanding is that Rhys was very domineering, the absolute master of all he surveyed, from his vast ranch lands down to the smallest items he possessed, and his behavior even extended to his son and his wife—at least until her death about five years ago. I was told that Jared and Rhys had a terrible argument after she died and that, leaving everything but his painting supplies and the clothes on his back, Jared left his father’s house for good less than half an hour after he had helped to lower his mother into the ground.”

  This time, Karla was unsuccessful at repressing a responsive shiver. “So Jared was raised on a ranch,” she mused aloud, unsurprised, since everything about him, from his long-muscled ranginess to his sun-darkened skin and his earthy appeal spoke of a man who had grown up close to the land.

  “One of the largest ranches in the entire Southwest,” Anne said emphatically. “And those in a position to know claim that Jared is an even more expert cattleman than his father ever was.”

  “And he has never gone back?” Karla asked, unable to believe that anyone could sever such strong bonds that easily.

  Anne shook her head. “Not as far as anyone knows. But I’ve heard that Jared and Rhys had locked horns several times since then, and that Rhys has come out the loser every time.”

  Karla was quiet a moment, digesting the story. Then she frowned at Anne. “I’m not sure I quite understand why you or anyone else would call Jared ruthless because of his actions. I mean, everyone knew how much Jared loved his grandfather, and they knew that Rhys mistreated the older man,” she added, keeping Anne silent with a flick of her hand. “I would think that people would call Rhys ruthless and offer Jared sympathy and compassion.”

  “But that’s just it!” Anne exclaimed. “Jared did receive sympathy and compassion—at least when he first took up residence here in Sedona. But he turned the sentiment against himself by his coldness and his arrogant attitude.”

  “But surely his attitude was understandable, under the circumstances!” Karla protested, telling herself she was defending her outraged sense of fair play, and not the man under discussion. But she knew, deep inside, that she was lying to herself; she was strongly defending the man.

  “Up to a point, yes!” Anne argued. “But only up to a point. And that point was reached and exceeded not once but many times.” She paused for a sip of the now tepid coffee before explaining. “The first point occurred when his father had a massive stroke after one of their confrontations—apparently an unusually vicious one. Rhy was very close to death and calling for ... begging for Jared—and that has been confirmed by his doctors.” She drew a sharp breath, as if angered by the memory, “Jared refused to see him, both in private, to his father’s doctors, and later very publicly.”

  “Publicly?” Karla repeated. She suddenly felt exhausted, and the tension and uneasiness had returned to claw at her nervous system.

  “Yes.” Anne’s voice reflected Karla’s weariness. “In all fairness I must say that Jared didn’t seek publicity. Quite the contrary, he shunned it assiduously. But as it happened, an overeager television newsman from Phoenix decided to follow Jared for a few nights, in the hope of sniffing out a juicy segment to spice up the late news. The second night he got lucky. He followed Jared to Flagstaff, to the home of his then current lady love.” Anne lowered her gaze at Karla’s involuntary shudder at the term “lady love,” but continued doggedly. “There was a camera crew waiting when Jared emerged from the house, looking tired and irritable, early the next morning. I saw the newscast that evening, and I must admit the reporter badgered Jared. But that was no excuse for what he finally said when the man persisted in questioning him about Rhys.”

  Of course, Karla had to ask, “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Let him die and go to hell, because that’s exactly where he belongs.’“

  Not even attempting to conceal the appalling shock she was feeling, Karla closed her eyes. How could Jared say anything so unspeakably cruel about his own father, regardless of the provocation? It was beyond her comprehension how anyone could wish for the death of any person, let alone his own flesh and blood. For long minutes an unnatural quiet gripped her and the small room. Anne’s raggedly indrawn breath shattered the silence.

  “That’s only part of it, Karla.”

  Karla gazed at Anne with dulled eyes. “You might as well finish.” Her voice was as dull as her eyes. “I don’t see how it could get much worse.”

  Anne’s expression should have warned Karla how wrong she was. The young woman, winced and bit her lip. “It concerns his ... ah, women.”

  “Women?” Karla sat up straight, the dullness in her eyes and tone replaced by sharp alertness. “How many women?”

  Anne shrank back in the leather desk chair. “I don’t know the exact number. There are only four that I am certain of.”

  “Only four!” There wasn’t a hint of humor in Karla’s abortive burst of laughter. “Only four! Good Lord!”

  “Yeah.” Anne nodded her head solemnly. “That’s the way most people feel.”

  Distracted by the sickening memory of her thrilled and flattered response to the person who was emerging as the modern man’s answer to Casanova, Karla hadn’t absorbed Anne’s remark. “What?” she asked blankly.

  “I said that most people share your shock,” Anne explained. “From all indications, Jared is as ruthless with women as he is with his own father.” Her soft eyes grew dark with concern. “He apparently takes on and discards women with less care than he gives to his clothes. He’s a user, Karla. And that’s why I was so upset. I think you’re too good for that, too good for him.”

  * * * *

  Another user.

  The thought, and all the painful memories it conjured, nagged at Karla’s mind throughout the afternoon, but she hid her distress well.

  Karla’s defense mechanism kicked into gear moments after Anne finished speaking her impassioned thoughts. Inside, Karla was a seething mass of conflicting emotions, impressions, and reactions. Outwardly, she had turned to ice. She allowed none of her feelings to show—none.

  The day dragged on ... too quickly.

  Karla’s nerves tightened by increments with every glance she sent to the narrow watch encircling her wrist. She had agreed to have dinner with Jared at his place. He would be coming for her, no doubt with seduction in mind, at six-thirty.

  Karla had a decision to make. And she was too quickly running out of time.

  Customers came, customers went, and several left behind a tidy sum of money for purchases made. Karla appeared relaxed, talking and even laughing with the art patrons while discussing some of the finer points of various western art forms. Yet all the while, she scrupulously avoided glancing at the commanding canvas in the center of the display wall. With the possible exception of Anne, no one seemed to notice. And, having stated her opinion, Anne offered no further comment... that is, until they were locking up the gallery for the night.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Though she felt herself grow stiff, Karla finished locking the back door before turning to stare at Anne. “There’s no reason for you to feel sorry.” Her smile was faint. “There was no malicious intent.”

  Anne’s eyes flew wide open. “No! Of course not. But I’ve upset you”—she broke off to shake her head—”and after you’ve been so patient with me, explaining the business to me, being my friend.” Again Anne hesitated, swallowing roughly. “Karla, I wanted to prevent you from being hurt... not hurt you myself!” she cried in a voice heavy with self-condemnation.

  “I know.” Karla smiled with understanding and compassion. “It’s almost funny,” she observed sadly. “Your life can be going along nicely, if hectically, and all it takes is the presence of one male to completely screw up the works.
” She exhaled harshly. “It has got to be the story of almost every female’s life.”

  “Men hardly ever play fair.”

  Anne’s assessment of the male of the species drew a small burst of genuine amusement from Karla. “Unfairness is an innate character flaw in all men; they don’t know any better.” She sighed. “I hope some future generation of truly liberated women will finally succeed in cleaning up their act.”

  Anne reluctantly gave in to a grin. “I’d love to be there to see it.”

  “Oh, so would I, more than you can imagine,” Karla murmured in agreement. Her eyes narrowed as an image of another user flashed into her mind. Then she winced as Jared’s strong visage swiftly superimposed itself on that of the other man. “But I can’t envision that happening anytime soon, so I doubt we’ll be around to witness the occasion.” A bitter smile robbed her mouth of its natural softness. “The beasts are slow to learn.”

  Their slow pace revealing the weariness both were feeling, they walked to where their cars were parked side by side on the small macadam lot. As they separated, Anne moved her shoulders in a shrug of acceptance. “Well, as the saying goes, you can’t live with ‘em and you can’t live without ‘em.”

  As she slid behind the wheel of her car, Karla shot Anne a pained look. “Trite, very trite,” she drawled. “But unfortunately also very true.”

  The extent of that truth slammed into Karla a short while later. During the drive home, her mind was by necessity occupied with the business of negotiating the after-work traffic. She simply didn’t have time to ponder the information Anne had imparted to her. But it came rushing to overwhelm her the minute she shut her apartment door.

  What was she going to do? Worrying the question, Karla slumped into a chair and stared into space. She had to make a decision, and she had to do it PDQ!

  Reminded of the time, she glanced at her watch and felt the first stirrings of what she feared could grow into full-blown panic. Jared would be at her door in less than an hour!