“Yes there is … Laura Jane,” Caroline reminded him softly. Rather than hovering inside the door, she forced herself to enter the kitchen. She didn’t want Rink to know that his presence intimidated her in her own house. She wasn’t Roscoe’s widow yet, and as his wife she certainly had a right to be here. Going to the refrigerator, she poured herself another glass of iced tea which she really didn’t want.
“Bless her heart, Rink,” Haney contributed as she polished an already gleaming glass. “She beats me to the mailbox every day looking for a letter from you. On her account you shouldn’t have stayed away, no matter the had words between you and your daddy.” “
I hated not being here for her. Is she all right?”
“Sure, sure. Pretty as a picture.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Haney thumped the glass onto the counter. “I know what you meant,” she said tightly. “And yes, she’s fine. I know by the way you’ve asked about her in your letters that you have no idea what Laura Jane is really like, Rink. She may not have been much for book learning, but she’s smart as a whip about some things. You didn’t stay around to watch over her, but you’re as possessive as a mama bear with her cub. Watch out. She’s a grown-up lady now and might not take kindly to being treated like a breakable object. She’s a beautiful young woman. If folks got a chance to meet her, few would even realize she was different.”
“But she is,” he insisted.
“Not so different,” Caroline said. “She knows exactly what’s going on in the world, but her emotions are fragile. I worry more about her vulnerability than what mental deficiencies she has. If someone she loves should disappoint her, she might never recover.”
His eyes never left hers as he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, tossed it down and pushed his chair away from the table. “Thanks for the sermon, Sister Caroline. I’ll try to keep it in mind.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean—”
“Of course you did,” he snapped and reached for the coffeepot, sloshing a generous amount into his cup.
“Rink Lancaster, you’ve got no call to light into Caroline that way.” Haney was shocked by the automatic antipathy between these two. They hadn’t known each other for five minutes, yet each time they looked at each other sparks flew. Apparently Rink didn’t cotton to the idea of his daddy taking a bride as young as Caroline. But he’d been gone for twelve years. What difference had Roscoe’s marriage made to him? Unless it had something to do with The Retreat. “Where are the manners your mama and I drilled into you? You remember that Caroline is your daddy’s wife and deserves your respect as such.”
Rink, his eyes still on Caroline, lifted one corner of his mouth in a mocking smile. “My stepmother. I keep forgetting that.”
“Here comes Laura Jane,” Haney said, glancing worriedly at the two in the kitchen. “Don’t upset her, Rink. She’s already had one shock today and she took it well.”
Laura Jane’s soft voice trailed through the screen door before she pulled it open. She froze, her willowy body poised like a Grecian statue in the doorway as she spied her brother. For a moment her face remained blank, then it began to glow and the glow spread to her eyes, over her cheeks and became the most radiant of smiles. “Rink,” she whispered.
She launched herself against him, folding her thin arms around his neck and burying her face in his shirt collar. His arms went around her and he rocked her back and forth while hugging her tight. His eyes were squeezed shut against the emotions that assailed him. Laura Jane was the first to pull back. With fingers that looked too fragile to have life in them, she explored her brother’s face, his hair, his shoulders, as though to reassure herself that he was truly there.
“You’re so tall,” she remarked. “And strong.” She laughed, gripping his biceps.
“You’re beautiful and so grown-up.” His eyes took in all of her, a beautifully delicate young woman. Then they both started laughing with the sheer joy of seeing each other. They hugged again.
“Daddy’s going to die, Rink,” Laura Jane said solemnly when they finally released each other. “Did Caroline tell you?”
“Yes,” he said softly and ran his finger along her chin.
“But now you’re here. And Haney and Caroline and Steve … Oh, my goodness! I forgot to introduce you.” She turned to the stable manager, who had walked with her back to the house and who was now standing just inside the screened back door. Laura Jane took his hand and pulled him forward. “Steve Bishop, this is my brother, Rink.”
Steve had to disengage his fingers from Laura Jane’s in order to shake hands with Rink, who was staring at him with guarded eyes. “Mr. Lancaster, nice to meet you.”
“Call me Rink,” he said, shaking Steve’s hand with a firm grip. “How long have you worked here?”
“A little more than a year.”
Rink glanced at his sister and then back at the stable manager. “Laura Jane has mentioned you in her letters.”
“One of the mares had a foal yesterday, Rink,” Laura Jane informed him excitedly. “Steve helped her.”
“And I need to get back to them,” Steve said.
“Why don’t you stay and have a piece of pie with us?” Haney offered.
He looked at Rink, then away. “No thank you. I need to check on that filly.”
“I’ll be over to see her in the morning, Steve. Is that all right?” Laura Jane inquired, taking his hand again.
“Sure,” he said softly, smiling down into her guileless face. “She’d miss you if you didn’t come to visit.”
He pulled his hand free and went to the back door. “Good night, Steve,” Laura Jane called.
“Good night, Laura Jane,” he replied. Then he touched the brim of his straw cowboy hat in a salute to everyone else and disappeared into the darkness, limping slightly.
Rink stared after him, bracing himself in the doorjamb. Haney bustled around, slicing generous portions of pecan pie and scooping vanilla ice cream on top.
“None for me, thank you, Haney,” Caroline said. From the comer of her eye, she saw Rink turn around to look in her direction. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go upstairs.”
“Do you need anything?” Haney asked, concerned.
“A good night’s sleep,” Caroline said. She leaned over Laura Jane and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Good night. Tomorrow we’ll go to the hospital and you can see your father.”
“Yes, I want to. Good night. Isn’t it wonderful that Rink’s home, Caroline?”
“Yes, it is.” Caroline straightened and met Rink’s eyes. “Haney has your room ready for you. Good night, Rink.”
Before he could respond, she was out the door and making her way through the dining room and up the stairs. Being in the same room with him was proving too much for her. Besides, he and Laura Jane and Haney, who had been a mother to them after Marlena had died, deserved some time alone together.
Her tread down the upstairs hallway was muffled by the Oriental runner that extended its length. Her bedroom was softly lighted by two bedside lamps. She switched one of them off. Darkness seemed comforting tonight, as though it hid what one didn’t want to see, didn’t want to think about She went to stand at the wide window that looked out over the back acreage of The Retreat and down the grassy slope to the river channel. The moon was only half full, but she could see it reflecting on the water in the distance. Everything looked so peaceful.
Caroline was anything but serene. She had suffered three shocks today. She had learned that her husband was going to die. She had seen that Steve’s affection for Laura Jane went beyond friendship or even compassion. And Rink had come home.
With a long sigh, she moved away from the windows and began to undress. After running a deep, hot bath, she gratefully sank into the scented bubbles and closed her eyes. Only then did she let herself cry. For Roscoe. He had been frustrated by his illness yet stubbornly refused to see his doctor. A man of his vitality couldn’t tolerate being ill. Perhap
s it was better that the end would come soon. Forcing a man of Roscoe’s spirit and ambition to lie useless and ailing in a hospital bed for months would be inhumanly unkind.
She lay in the tub for a long while until her tears dried and the water cooled. She prepared for bed. The house had grown quiet. When the gentle knock came on her door as she was pulling back the bedcovers, she jumped in a startled reaction.
Opening the door only a crack, she peered into the shadowed, silent hallway. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you.”
Rink pushed his way through the door. Unless she wanted to create a scene, she had no choice but to let him in and close the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the floor and pivoted slowly, taking in the furnishings of the room. He crossed to the window and trailed his hand down the draperies, as though remembering the feel of them from long ago. He surveyed the items on the antique dressing table. He stared at himself in the beveled mirror over it. Was he looking for the little boy he had once been?
“This was my mother’s room,” he said at last.
Caroline’s hands found each other at her waist and clung together moistly. “Yes, I know. It’s a lovely room. One of my favorites in the house.”
“It suits you,” he said, studying her reflection behind his in the mirror. “Just as it did her. It’s a totally feminine room.”
As he continued to stare at her, Caroline became uncomfortably aware of her attire. The nightgown and robe were no competition for the burning gaze Rink subjected her to. She was conscious of her nakedness beneath her nightclothes, even though she was covered from chest to toes. And most unnerving of all was the knowledge that Rink was conscious of it too.
His venturing eyes made pointed stops at her breasts, her waist below her waist. As though responding to some silent summons, those erogenous places awakened and stirred to life. Her nipples tightened. Her womanhood flowered. Caroline condemned them, condemned herself, yet was powerless to stop the currents of arousal that flowed through her with each glance of those dark gold eyes.
He was holding a tumbler of bourbon in his hand and took an appreciative sip. He savored it as the liquor slid like silky fire down his throat and into his stomach. “Daddy still likes expensive whiskey,” he remarked. “And pretty women. You look very pretty in this room, Caroline, with the lamplight on your hair.” He gave her one more thorough going-over in the mirror, then turned away.
He walked to the chaise in the corner of the room and stretched out on it. It was made for a much daintier figure than Rink’s. His boots hung off the end. He balanced the tumbler on his stomach, holding it with one hand while he put the other arm beneath his head, watching Caroline like a hawk. She stood nervously in the same spot where she had been standing when he’d entered the room.
“Mother and Daddy never shared this bedroom,” he said idly, but Caroline wasn’t deceived. Rink never said anything just for the sake of conversation. “I remember like it was yesterday the day he told her not to bother moving back into his bedroom after Laura Jane was born. Mother cried for hours. He never slept with her again.” He sipped the whiskey and laughed harshly. “I don’t think he ever forgave her for Laura Jane.”
“He loves Laura Jane,” Caroline protested. “He’s always done what he thought was best for her.”
He laughed again, more scathingly this time. “Oh, yeah, he’s good at that. Doing what he thinks is good for somebody.”
Caroline forced herself to move. She went to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, twisting the cord belt at the waist of her robe through her fingers. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“About husbands and wives sleeping together?” he asked, one black brow arching. “Or about Laura Jane?”
He was being deliberately provoking. Where had all his sweetness gone? All that tenderness he had showed her when they’d met in secret and poured out their hearts to each other? He was someone she didn’t know, yet was so very familiar with.
His shirt was unbuttoned and lay open. His chest rose and fell with each breath. She remembered how he had looked the first time she’d seen him, river water streaming down that muscular chest and matting the dark hair. His stomach was just as hard and flat now, corded with muscle. A black stripe of hair divided it into two perfect halves before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. Behind the fly of the snug-fitting jeans was profound evidence of his sex.
Flustered, Caroline’s eyes flickered away from him. “Why do you want to talk to me about any of it? I don’t want to get involved in the argument between you and your father.”
He found that extremely funny and chuckled for long minutes while he leisurely finished the whiskey. Then he got off the chaise and stalked toward her. The single lamp cast shadows on his dark features. He was satanic, dangerous and illicitly appealing as he stood there, looming over her. His knees were almost touching hers, he stood so close. She forced herself not to shrink away from him in fear. Not fear for what he might do to her, but fear of how she would respond if he did.
“I’ll need a car in the morning. I came to ask if I might borrow yours.”
“Of course,” she said on a breath of relief. “I’ll get you the keys.” She moved off the bed, avoiding brushing up against him as best she could. But as she squeezed past him, for one heart-stopping moment her thigh rubbed his and she felt the hard muscles contract. She moved away quickly and went to the dresser where her purse was. With shaking fingers, she fumbled for the keys, finally extracted them and dropped them into his palm. “Where are you going in the morning?”
“I want to see the doctor before I see my father. I’ll come back midmorning to drive you and Laura Jane to the hospital if you like.”
“Yes, that will be fine. I have some business to attend to here first thing in the morning.”
“Cotton gin business?”
“Yes. I do the bookkeeping.”
“So I understand from Granger. He said you became indispensable to Daddy before you married him.” He came a step closer. His breath was warm and fragrant with expensive bourbon as it wafted over her face.
“Granger often goes overboard with his compliments.” She tried to move aside, but he merely followed her with a matching sideways movement of his own. If anything, her avoidance tactic had brought them closer.
“I doubt that. I bet you’re indispensable to Daddy in a lot of ways, aren’t you?”
Her eyes flashed like lightning as she glared up at him. “Why do you insist on making these snide innuendos, Rink?”
“’Cause it just tickles the hell out of me to get a rise out of you, that’s why. Caroline, so young, so sweet, so demure, so … pure.” He snarled the word.
She lifted her hand, but he grabbed it and twisted her arm behind her, hauling her against him. Her breasts were flattened against his hard chest. She stubbed her bare toes on the toes of his boots. His face came down to within an inch of hers. When he spoke, each word was pushed from behind clenched teeth.
“I let you get by with that once, but if you ever slap me again, you’ll wish to God you hadn’t.”
“What would you do? Slap me back?”
He smiled with evil mischief. “Oh, no. That’s not how I’d get retribution. I’d so something you wouldn’t like at all.” He pulled her tighter against his aroused body so she would understand his implication. He brought his head down closer. “Or would you like it very much, Caroline? Hmmm?” His belt buckle gouged through her night-clothes to bruise her stomach. “You may be Mrs. Roscoe Lancaster to everybody else, but you’re still just Caroline Dawson to me, a girl walking through the woods in the summertime on her way to work … and driving me into a slow madness in the meantime.”
Caroline stared up at him. Her expression was one of defiance. Her eyes were dark, like a storm cloud blowing up from the Gulf that carried with it rain and wind and lightning. The hair he had complimented earlier fell away from her face to hang down her back in a rich cascade. “Then yo
u do remember, Rink. I was wondering if you had any memory of it at all.”
Rink’s eyes went wide for an instant before they narrowed. They scanned her face hotly, lingering long on her mouth, sliding down her throat to her breasts, which swelled in the opening of her robe, then going back up again. In those eyes was turbulence, the sign of an internal battle being waged.
“Yes,” he said roughly. “Yes, goddammit. I remember.”
She was released so suddenly that she reeled and caught herself against the dressing table. By the time she had regained her balance, he had stridden angrily from the room.
Damn! He wished he didn’t remember.
Back in his room, he tore off his shirt, refilled the tumbler from the bottle he had pilfered from the liquor cabinet in his father’s study and flung himself down into the leather easy chair that had always stood next to the windows. He took a swig of whiskey, but it had lost its charm and he set it aside in distaste. He bent down and pulled off his boots, dropping them with soft thuds onto the rug.
Leaning back, he rested his head on the chair’s deep cushion and let his mind go back, back to that summer day when he had taken all he could of the gin, his father’s harping and the humid Mississippi heat He had gone to the river, stripped to the skin and plunged into the stream where it ran cold. It was after he had gotten out, shaken himself dry and pulled on his jeans that he had seen her. …
“God Almighty!” Rink exclaimed. His fingers fumbled to zip up his jeans quickly. “How long have you been standing there?” He almost laughed out loud at her expression. If he was surprised at seeing her, the girl was absolutely paralyzed at seeing him.
He didn’t think she was going to answer; then she stuttered, “I … I just got here.”
“Well it’s a damn good thing, because I’ve been skinny-dipping. If you had come along any sooner, we would both have been embarrassed.”
His grin was wide and confident, with more than a trace of conceit. She was still shaking in her bobby socks and penny loafers, but she managed a timid smile. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” she said with a politeness that, under the circumstances, amused him.
Bitter Sweet Rain Page 3