“No. I was finished. It’s been so hot. I had to take a swim.”
“Yes, it is hot. That’s why I was walking down here by the channel. It’s cooler than on the road.”
He was curious about her from the beginning. Not only was she a strikingly beautiful girl, she was different. Her skirt was cotton, clean and pressed, but unfashionable. Her white cotton blouse smelled of laundry soap and starch rather than Youth Dew, which was what all the girls seemed to be wearing these days.
Beneath the blouse he could see the outline of a white brassiere that must have been as confining as a strait-jacket. Most of the girls he knew wore something called a demicup push-up bra, which did just that, he was certain, with the sole intention of driving their dates crazy.
He dragged his eyes away from her chest, ashamed of himself for imposing on her the analysis he gave to every woman he met. She was just a kid. Fifteen? Sixteen? At most. And she still looked scared half to death of him.
But God, she was a looker. Clear skin; eyes the color of the fog that rode low over the bayous; a neat trim body with a softness about it that was all female. Her hair gleamed darkly, like polished mahogany wood. Every time a breeze stirred the limbs of fee trees overhead, dappled sunlight shot sparks of fire through the heavy strands.
“Where are you going?”
“Into town. I work at Woolworth’s.”
He didn’t know any girls who actually worked during the summer. Most lay out by the swimming pools, private or public, cruised the main drag until they saw someone they knew and organized parties for the evenings.
“I’m Rink Lancaster.”
She was looking at him strangely and it occurred to him that her fascination was with his state of undress. She was fighting her curiosity, but her eyes kept flickering to his chest, his stomach and to the as yet undone snap of his jeans. Normally that would have boosted his confidence that this was going to be an easy conquest. He would have taken such an appraisal as an announcement that the woman was willing and available. But the innocence in this girl’s eyes made him irritatingly self-conscious. With her eyes constantly returning to his fly, Rink was dismayed to feel unwelcomed arousal enlarging him.
Trying to keep an air of propriety, he stepped forward to offer her his hand. She flinched momentarily, then shyly placed her palm in his. “Caroline Dawson,” she said tremulously, lifting her eyes to meet his.
They stared.
Time ticked by, insects hummed around their heads, an airplane whined high overhead, the channel water lapped the mossy rocks lining its banks. It was long moments before they moved and dropped their hands.
“Dawson?” Rink asked at last and wondered why his voice sounded as it had ten years prior when it was “changing.” “Pete Dawson’s daughter?”
Her eyes dropped to the ground and he saw her shoulders sag. Damn! Why had he asked in that incredulous tone of voice? Everyone knew Pete Dawson. He played dominoes all day in the pool halls, begging money off anyone dumb enough to stop and talk to him, until he had enough to buy a bottle of cheap whiskey to get him through to the next day.
“Yes,” she said softly. Then, shaking slightly and raising her head with an air of pride that made Rink’s chest feel warm and full, she said, “I’ve got to be going or I’ll be late for work.”
“It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Be careful walking through the woods.” She laughed. “What’s funny?”
“You telling me to be careful when you just went swimming in there.” She pointed at the channel. “There could be water moccasins and Lord knows what else in there. Why didn’t you go to the swimming pool in town?”
He shrugged. “I was hot”
He was hot. God, was he hot. When she had laughed, her head had gone back, making her throat look white and vulnerable and inviting. Her hair had shimmered over her neck and shoulders. Detergent and starch were beginning to smell better man any fancy perfume his nose had ever come in contact with. The fragrance blended so well with the clean fresh scent of her skin. Her laughter, husky and genuine, had seemed a tangible thing that reached out and stroked him. It stroked him right where it felt damn good and right where it hurt like hell.
Yes, he was hot. Burning up with heat. “What time do you get off work?” He was as surprised as she by his question.
“Nine o’clock.” Cautiously she began to back away.
“After dark? You walk home after dark?”
“Yes. But then I don’t go through the woods. Only in the daytime.”
He pondered that. This girl was like none other he had ever met, here in Winstonville or at Ol’ Miss.
“I’ll be late for work,” she repeated and backed away farther, though he sensed in her a reluctance to part, too.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t be late. Be seein’ you, Caroline.”
“Good-bye, Rink.”
There was more said in that parting than either had verbalized. He counted on their meeting again. She never thought they would.
He had walked back to his convertible and vaulted behind the wheel without opening the door. He made the drive to The Retreat in record time and went immediately to his room, bounding up the stairs two at a time, and …
Now, as then, thoughts of Caroline swirled through his mind. He could see himself entering this very room that summer afternoon twelve years ago. He had tossed his discarded clothes onto the floor and fallen into this same chair. He had sat in the same slumping posture then as he did now, the same woman filling his mind. She was still a mystery, still elusive and haunting and obsessive.
And now, as then, he knew that no matter what he might do, there was little hope of easing his aching, throbbing desire.
Chapter 3
It was early when she awoke. She had hoped to sleep longer, to put off waking up and facing the crises of Roscoe’s illness and Rink’s return to Winstonville.
From downstairs she heard the front door open and close quietly. Throwing off the covers, she went into the hall and out onto the second-story balcony. The sun wasn’t yet up over the tops of the trees, though a peachy glow painted the eastern sky. One star and a half-moon were still vividly bright against a vermilion sky. Mist rose from the dewy grass in trailing wisps. It would be another humid day.
Below her, Rink stepped off the porch. He lingered on the bottom step and studied the landscape that Caroline knew he loved. This land was as vital to him as breath. She pitied him for all the years he had banished himself from the home he loved.
Slowly he walked to the car parked in front of the house. He had on jeans and a sportcoat, a pretentious combination for drugstore cowboys but exactly right for him. The jeans were fashionably faded but had been starched and pressed to knife-blade creases down the front of his legs. Caroline watched as he dug into the front pocket for the car keys.
He swung open the car door. That was when he accidentally caught sight of her standing there watching him from the balcony. Propping his arm on the top of the car, he stared back up at her.
She stood perfectly still, didn’t speak, didn’t greet him, except with her eyes. They locked with his and held. And held. For long moments, in the pinky gold of the dawn, they stared at each other. The hazy morning light surrounding them seemed unreal, outside of time. In that silent moment of intimacy they could let down their defenses. They could indulge themselves. There existed nothing else in the world save the two of them.
Then at last, without speaking a word, he got into her Lincoln and drove away. Dejectedly Caroline returned to her room and dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror and asked, “How could this have happened?”
The only man she had ever loved, or had ever come close to loving, was Rink Lancaster. For only a short while they had shared something special and rare. At least to her it had been. She had allowed herself to dream that the implausible might be possible. She had been duped into believing all he’d told her that summer. His words had been meaningless.
She had been nothing more to him than a novelty.
Now, by some whimsical twist of fate, she was married to his father. His father! When Roscoe had asked her to marry him, it had seemed the answer to all her dreams. She would have respectability, money. People who had looked down on her all her life would treat her with deference.
Rink had been gone, never to return. Why hadn’t she considered that he might come back and how she would feel if he did? Had she been completely honest with herself? Had she married Roscoe not because she’d wanted to make him happy and help him with his business, to be a friend to Laura Jane, but because she’d wanted to make Rink jealous and sorry that he had deserted her? Was she trying to pay him back for the heartache she had suffered when he left? Had she secretly hoped that he would hear about the marriage, remember that summer twelve years ago and be outraged?
She smiled sadly at her reflection in the mirror. “He’s merely amused, Caroline. Amused and disgusted.”
Haney was already in the kitchen when Caroline came down a short time later to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Good morning.”
“You’re up bright and early,” the housekeeper remarked over her shoulder.
“I have to get the payroll out and I want to do it early and leave the rest of the day free.” She sipped the coffee. “You’re up earlier than usual, too.”
“I want to cook a fine breakfast for Rink.”
“He’s already left, Haney.”
She whirled around and confronted Caroline to verify what she’d heard. “Already?”
“Yes. About an hour ago.”
Haney shook her head, making tsking sounds. “He’s not eating right. Here I was waiting to make him his favorite breakfast and he’s hightailed it out of here before I even got a chance.”
Caroline placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Why don’t you fix it for Laura Jane? Call Steve over to share it with her. I’m sure they’d like that.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. “But it won’t be the same without Rink. Nothing in this house has been the same since he married that gal and left town.”
Haney was right about mat, Caroline thought as she made her way toward the back of the house and into Roscoe’s study. Painfully, she remembered the day Rink hadn’t showed up at their rendezvous. Disconsolate, she had gone on to work only to overhear the town buzzing with gossip that Rink Lancaster was going to marry Marilee George, one of Winstonville’s prominent debutantes. Caroline’s world had never been the same.
She whipped through the bookkeeping without having to think too much about it. When she telephoned the gin, the morning shift foreman told her things were running smoothly.
“Got one machine that’s being ornery, but it’s nothing you need to worry about at a time like this.”
“I’ll count on you to carry on as though nothing’s out of the ordinary, Barnes. As long as he’s alive, Roscoe is still in charge and I report directly to him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the foreman replied before he hung up.
She was sure some of the men balked at the idea of taking orders from a woman, especially ol’ Pete Dawson’s daughter. But if they did, they never vocalized their feelings. They feared Roscoe too much. But what would happen when he was gone?
“Problems?”
Her head jerked up to see Rink lounging against the door frame. She realized that her brow was creased with worry and she relaxed it. “Minor ones. You know how it is at the gin.”
“Actually, I don’t.” He sauntered into the room. His sportcoat was hooked over his index finger and slung over his shoulder. The first three buttons of his plaid shirt had been left undone to reveal a tanned throat and a wedge of dark hair. “I left town before I had much to do with the running of the gin.” By now he was at the edge of the desk. He leaned far over it until his face was on a level with hers. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like, boss lady?”
Seething with anger, she surged to her feet sending her chair rolling backward on its casters. They faced each other like adversaries in a boxing ring waiting for the bell to begin the round.
“Rink, Haney sent me in here after you. Breakfast is just now ready and she wants you to eat” Laura Jane happily skipped into the room to hug her brother. “Good morning. Caroline, I’m supposed to bring you, too. And Haney said no excuses.”
Another argument had been thwarted, but Rink wasn’t going to let her off easily. He extended his hand to her. “Caroline.” She had no choice but to place her hand in his and let him lead her around the desk. Nor did he release her hand until they reached the dining room. That he was also holding Laura Jane’s hand didn’t matter. Where his palm touched hers, where his fingers curled possessively through hers, Caroline’s skin tingled.
Despite Haney’s sumptuously prepared brunch, it wasn’t a pleasant meal. Rink didn’t seem too happy to find Steve sitting next to Laura Jane. Steve cast uneasy glances around the table, as though he might be asked to leave at any moment.
The hostility between Rink and Caroline was palpable, though they went out of their way to be polite to each other. Haney couldn’t figure it out and she was huffy because the tension between them was ruining all her efforts to make this a special homecoming for Rink.
“Why is everybody mad?” Laura Jane asked suddenly.
They all looked at her, dumbfounded. She alone was happy, enjoying the presence of those she loved. But her perception was keen and she had picked up on the antagonism that crackled around the table.
It was Caroline who finally spoke. “We’re all just worried about Roscoe,” she said gently, reaching across the table to pat the young woman’s hand.
“But Rink’s here. And Steve.” She blessed him with a look radiant with love. “Let’s all be happy.”
She shamed them into it. Rink stopped staring suspiciously at Steve and tensing every time he looked at Laura Jane. He and Caroline stopped glowering at each other and even got into a conversation about the townsfolk that Rink had known years ago. She informed him about who had married whom, who was divorced, who was prospering and who wasn’t.
When they were done, Steve stood and thanked Haney, then headed toward the kitchen. “Just a minute, Steve,” Laura Jane announced. “I’m coming with you to see the filly.”
“We’re going to the hospital, Laura Jane,” Rink said curtly.
“But I want to see the foal. I promised Steve I would come to me stables this morning.”
Steve shifted self-consciously from one booted foot to the other. “Laura Jane, your daddy will be disappointed if you don’t go see him. That filly’s not going anywhere,” he teased. “You can come see her another time.”
“All right, Steve,” she acquiesced softly. “I’ll come see you as soon as I get back.”
Steve nodded, thanked Haney again and left quickly. He didn’t look directly at Rink before going.
Caroline stood hastily. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes, Rink. Laura Jane, do you want to, freshen up before we go?”
“I guess so.”
They came back downstairs a few minutes later. Rink was waiting for them in the foyer. Haney stood beside him, holding a vase of fresh-cut roses. “Haney wants to follow us in her car and take Daddy the roses. Then she’ll come on back. Laura Jane, why don’t you ride with her and hold the flowers so they won’t spill.”
“I’ll do that,” Caroline offered hurriedly. Rink’s hard look said otherwise.
“I’d like to talk to you on the way.” Imperiously he helped her into the Lincoln while Haney drove the station wagon that belonged to The Retreat but was left at her disposal.
“Did you see the doctor this morning?” Caroline asked to break the tense silence.
“Yes. He told me what he’d told you and Granger.”
“Did … did he say when it—”
“Any time.”
They were on the highway, heading toward town, before Rink said another word. “Who is this Steve?”
“Steve Bishop.” Caroline was aut
omatically on the defensive. She thought she knew what was coming and she wasn’t going to like it.
Irritation thinned Rink’s lips. “Can you elaborate on that a little?”
“He’s a Vietnam War veteran.”
“Is that why he limps? A war injury?”
“He lost his left leg from the knee down.” She turned to him as she imparted that piece of news. He continued to stare out the windshield, but she saw his hands grip the wheel and the muscles in his arms bunch. His face was set in hard lines that bespoke an iron will and dogged determination. And pride. So much pride.
She knew he wanted to dislike Steve. Knowing he was permanently handicapped wasn’t going to make it easy to do. “He was bitter and surly when he applied for the job. I believe his attitude was a defense mechanism against being rejected. He’s conscientious, hardworking, honest.”
“I don’t like the attachment Laura Jane has for him.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask?” he demanded, swiveling his head around. “It’s unhealthy and dangerous, that’s why. She has no business hanging around a single man all the time.”
“I see no harm in it She’s a single woman.”
“And innocent about sex. Totally. I doubt if she even knows the difference between men and women and why the difference is there.”
“Of course she does!”
“All right, then, all the more reason why she doesn’t need to spend so much time in his company. Because I can guarantee that he knows the difference.”
“I think he’s good for her. He’s kind and patient. He’s been hurt and not only physically. He knows what it’s like to be an outcast and feel rejected as Laura Jane always has been.”
“What if he took advantage of her fondness? Sexually.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
Rink scoffed. “He damn sure would. He’s a man and she’s a beautiful woman, and plenty of opportunities present themselves.”
Bitter Sweet Rain Page 4