The Gentling Page 8

  The bald statement made Trace's body jerk as though he'd been touched with an electric prod. His jaw clenched, and his fists curled into white knuckled fists at his sides. He stared at the older man, his throat working convulsively, and it was several seconds before he could ask the question that hovered in the air. "Did they ..."

  "No!" Tom answered quickly, shutting off the dreadful word. "No, not that. Thank God." Katy's soft crying made him wince, but he gritted his teeth and went on. "They had dragged her into the woods, but your father and I were returning from town and we heard her screams. We got there in time to prevent ..." He closed his eyes and waved away the rest of the statement. "But she'd fought them and they had hit her. Bv the time we arrived she was unconscious." Tom's face contorted with remembered pain and anguish, and he turned away sharply, unable to continue.

  "Who were they?" Trace demanded through his teeth.

  Tom's face twisted with bitterness as he looked back over his shoulder. "They were guests here at the farm."

  "What were their names?"

  "I don't know."

  "What the hell do you mean, you don't know?! Weren't they prosecuted?"

  "No."

  "No? Didn't they receive any punishment?" Trace demanded incredulously. "Didn't you at least give them the beating they deserved?"

  Tom braced both arms against the fireplace mantel and hung his head, dejection in every line of his body. "No," he whispered hoarsely.

  "Do you mean you let them get away scot free? You did nothing?" The questions came out slowly, menacingly, the low, savage tone chilling.

  But Tom had had enough. He swung around and confronted the younger man with blazing eyes. "What do you want from me, lad? Don't you think I wanted to tear them limb from limb for what they'd done to my Katy? Of course I did! But I couldn't. At least, not then. Katy needed medical attention." Tom ran an agitated hand through his white hair. "By the time I got back from town, your father had spirited the two men away," he said grimly. "He said if we tried to prosecute his friends, he'd testify on their behalf. He'd swear in a court of law that Katy had enticed them into the woods. It would have been our word against his."

  "And you continued to work for a man like that?" Trace ground out in a seething rage. "My God, man! What happened to that fierce Irish pride?"

  "I swallowed it for once in my life!" Tom roared back. "And believe me, it was a bitter pill. Look at me, lad. Look at me! I'm sixty-three years old. Who's going to hire an old man like me? I had a wife who needed constant medical attention. What choice did I have but to stay?"

  Trace looked like a wild man. His eyes were two glittering slits of green fire. His jaw was clenched in anger, and a muscle jumped spasmodically in his cheek. He looked ready to explode.

  Swearing violently, he swung around and brought his fist down hard on the back of a chair in a fit of frustrated rage. He stood with his back to the other two, his big frame shaking as he fought for control.

  Katy was crying openly now. Wordlessly Tom sat down beside her and gathered her into his arms once again. Her deep, wrenching sobs tore at him, and he laid his cheek against the top of her head, his face ravaged with pain, as the silent tears squeezed from beneath his tightly closed lids.

  The three remained that way for a long time, no one daring to move, until finally, finally, the weeping gave way to a series of jarring hiccups, and Katy sat up and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

  The movement seemed to release Trace from his frozen stance, and he turned slowly. He took a step forward, then stopped when she flinched away from him.

  "Katy . . . I—I don't know what to say. Words can't express how sorry I am ... or how ashamed I am of my father's part in what happened. I know that doesn't help but . . ."He gestured weakly with his hand, then let it fall back to his side.

  Katy's chin trembled as she looked down at her hands. Her fingers worked nervously at the skirt of her blue cotton sundress, creasing the material into tiny pleats. She pressed her lips together, unable to speak.

  "But, Katy, none of this changes anything," Trace rushed on urgently. "I love you, and I want to marry you. I—"

  "No! Don't say that! For God's sake, don't say that! Just leave me alone!" she cried as she turned and buried her face against her father's chest.

  "Katy . . ." Trace took another step toward her but Tom held up his hand and shook his head.

  "No, Trace. Not now, lad. Not now," he cautioned softly. "Let her be. She's had enough for one day."

  Helpless frustration tightened Trace's muscles, and for a moment he looked as though he were going to ignore the command. He stared at Katy's huddled figure for a long time, then sighed and nodded reluctantly. "All right. I won't say any more. But I'll be back."

  The screen door banged against its frame as the heavy thud of boots hammered across the wooden porch. Then there was only silence.

  ❧

  Tom unfolded the newspaper, turned a page, then refolded it with a snap. The dry, rustling sound drew Katy's attention, and she looked up from the magazine she was reading. A tender expression settled over her features as she watched her father, scowling at the newspaper through the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was such a good man, and so extraordinarily patient with her.

  Not once since Trace had stormed out yesterday had he even mentioned the discussion or the traumatic events of three years ago. He had said his piece and brought it all out in the open. Now, how she handled it was up to her. She knew without asking that she would always have his love and support, and, if she wanted it, his advice, but he would push no more. Yesterday, when he had insisted upon telling Trace the whole sordid story, had been one of the few times he had ever pressed her into something against her will.

  Katy's gaze returned to the magazine in her lap, and she idly turned another page. Her eyes were slightly out of focus as she stared at the phony, professional smile of the girl in the toothpaste ad. As usual he had been right. Listening to him tell that awful story had been difficult, painfully so, but the long overdue tears had been a catharsis. Three years of built up tension, fear, and anger had been purged from her system, and when her hiccuping sobs had finally ceased, she had felt drained, both physically and emotionally. At her father's insistence she had gone directly to bed and had fallen immediately into the deep oblivion of exhausted sleep. When she awoke this morning she had felt more at peace than she had in years. The business with Trace wasn't over yet, she was aware of that. But perhaps now that he knew the reason for her attitude he would accept her rejection of him.

  So immersed was she in her thoughts that she didn't hear the soft fall of footsteps across the porch. When the knock sounded she jumped, her eyes flying to the door.

  Her father lowered his newspaper and gave her a quick, concerned glance, then tossed it aside and rose from his chair to answer the summons.

  "Good evening, Trace."

  "Tom."

  A hinge squeaked noisily in the tense silence as the screen door was opened, then closed. Katy felt Trace's presence in the room as surely as if he had touched her. The changing sound of footsteps told her that the two men had left the hardwood floor and were crossing the braided rug, but she kept her eyes on the blurred image in the magazine.

  "I know you're here to see Katy, so why don't I just make myself scarce for a bit," Tom offered politely.

  Katy's head jerked up, but before she could open her mouth to protest, Trace was speaking.

  "No, don't go, Tom. I think it would be best if you both hear what I have to say."

  "Very well, lad. If that's what you want." Tom extended his hand toward the other fireside chair. "Have a seat, then."

  Katy's heart was beating against her ribs like a newly caged bird as she watched Trace lower his long frame into the chair facing hers. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and trained his eyes on the faded, work-stained Stetson that his hands were restlessly turning. Then, without warning, he looked up, straight into
Katy's eyes.

  "Will you marry me, Katy?" he asked with a curious, dull flatness.

  She stared at him for a moment, knocked off balance by the suddenness of his question, then, swallowing hard, turned her head aside. "I—I'm sorry, Trace. I. . . can't," she stammered painfully.

  There was a moment of thick silence, then he expelled his breath in a heavy sigh. "That's what I thought you'd say."

  Katy looked back at him, drawn by the grimness of his tone. "I can't!" she said more urgently. "Surely you can see that?"

  "No, Katy. It's not that you can't, but that you won't. Unless you're forced to."

  "Don't be silly." She laughed nervously. "You can't force someone to marry you."

  "Can't I?" His eyes bored into her with hard determination and, strangely, what appeared to be regret.

  "No. No, of course not," she asserted with more conviction than she felt. She had the strangest sensation that control of the situation was rapidly slipping from her hands.

  He looked at her for a long time, the hazel eyes narrowed and intent, then asked blandly, "Tell me, Katy, where do you think your father got the money to pay your mother's medical bills?"

  Whatever she had expected him to say, that was not it, and she blinked in surprise. "Why, I suppose he borrowed it from the bank. Why do you ask?"

  "Because the money didn't come from the bank. It came from the operating capital of this farm. Week by week, over a period of several years, your father borrowed what in total amounts to well over twenty-five thousand dollars." He paused to let that sink in, then added softly, chillingly, "They were unauthorized loans, Katy."

  Her breath hissed through her tight throat, and for a moment she could only stare at him. Then her incredulous gaze swung to her father.

  "Is this true, Dad?"

  "I'm afraid it is," he admitted regretfully.

  "But—but why? Why?"

  "If there had been any other way, I would've taken it. But the banks wouldn't loan me the money. They all said I was too old, and the amount was too great. I asked Henry Barnett for a loan, but he turned me down flat. So I took what I needed. It wasn't difficult. Henry never bothered to give the books more than a cursory glance. As long as the farm was showing a healthy profit, he was happy." Tom paused, then his voice hardened. "I'm sorry I had to do it that way, but I would've taken money from St. Peter himself to ease my Kathleen's last days."

  A feeling of utter despair engulfed Katy as the seriousness of her father's actions began to penetrate. She rubbed shaking fingers across her forehead and closed her eyes. "Oh, Dad. What have you done?" she murmured helplessly.

  "If I had been here, I would have given your father the money, Katy. I hope you believe that. I think you should know, also, that he's been paying the money back in regular monthly installments," Trace said quietly, and Katy's eyes flew open.

  "Does that mean you're not going to prosecute him?" she asked, her face alive with hopeful expectancy.

  Pain flickered in the hazel eyes. "No, I'm not going to prosecute."

  The moment the words were said, Katy slumped back in the chair, nearly faint with relief, but the reprieve was short lived. His next words hit her like a spray of buckshot.

  "But if you won't marry me, I'm going to have to dismiss your father."

  "No! You can't mean that! You'll get your money back. Dad will keep up the payments and—and now that I know, I can help," she cried desperately. "That way it will be paid back twi—"

  "It isn't the money, Katy," Trace interrupted in a flat, hard voice that stopped her cold.

  Her confusion was evident, and seeing it, he continued in a softer, more caressing tone. "I love you, Katy. If I can't have you as my wife, I don't think I could bear to see you every day, to know that you were here at the cottage, just a few hundred yards away, yet completely out of my reach."

  "The lad's right." Her father spoke up before Katy could voice the protest on the tip of her tongue. "I know how he feels. If you aren't going to marry him, then we must move on."

  "But . . . Dad! You love this place!"

  "Aye, that I do. And I'd hoped to live out my days here. But if we must go, we must." She started to speak but he held up his hand and cut her off. "No, Katy. I sympathize with Trace wholeheartedly. Had your mother refused to marry me I couldn't have borne to see her every day. It would be an act of cruelty to stay, and I have too much respect and admiration for Trace to be a party to that."

  Stunned, Katy stared at her father, barely able to breathe. A frightening sensation of utter helplessness began to seep into her, penetrating to the very marrow of her bones, and she felt her stomach muscles twist into a hard knot. There was no way out but one, and her mind shied violently away from the thought. If her father lost this job, he would never find another, at least, not one that would pay well enough for him to handle the enormous mountain of debt that loomed over them. And certainly her own meager salary would be of little help. She loved her father dearly and would do anything to help him . . . but to marry Trace, to live intimately with him. ... A steel door clanged shut in her mind, blocking out the frightful images, and Katy closed her eyes, her body shuddering in remembered terror.

  "Katy, listen to me."

  Trace's voice came from close at hand, and when she opened her eyes, she found him crouched in front of her chair, his hands braced on either armrest. Instinctively, she shrank back into the cushions. His nearness was oppressive. Katy could feel the heat from his body, smell the clean, male scent of him. His earthy masculinity was a powerful force that wrapped itself around her, making her acutely aware of her own fragile femininity as no other man ever had.

  Her reaction brought a quick thinning of his mouth, but Trace pressed on doggedly. His eyes locked with hers, and Katy felt her mouth go dry. She tried to look away, but there was an earnest plea in the green depths that held her mesmerized.

  "Katy, I promise you, I give you my solemn word, if you accept my proposal, the marriage will not be consummated until you are ready."

  Surprise flickered in her eyes. "You—you mean it would be a marriage in name only?" she asked, her expression guarded.

  Wry amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as his head moved from side to side. "No, Katy. This will be no marriage of convenience," he stated unequivocably. "I love you, and I want very much to make love to you, and I'm confident I shall one day, but not until it's what you want also. I promise I'll not force you or seduce you. You have my word on that. But I reserve the right to do everything in my power to make you want me too. However, you will be in complete control. When our marriage becomes a real one it will be at your request."

  Katy noted his use of the word when instead of //, and silently marveled at his self-confidence. How could he be so positive? And why would he want to take such a risk? She glanced instinctively toward her father, seeking his advice, but his face remained unreadable. Her gaze swung back to the man crouched at her feet. A worried frown creased her delicate brow. "Trace . . . what if that never happens?"

  "That's my problem, Katy. Not yours. All you have to do is trust me. And you can," he added softly, persuasively. "Believe that."

  He picked up her clenched hands and gently pried them apart. Long, brown fingers stroked back and forth over the silken skin in a loving caress. "One day, my love, we'll look back on this and laugh. I refuse to believe the love I feel for you could possibly be one-sided. It's too strong, too deep. The problem is that your emotions have been encased in a block of ice for so long they're numb. But the ice cracks a little more every time I touch you. We both know that. With time and patience, it will melt completely, and I think you'll find that you love me too." He stared at her intently, willing her to believe him. "I'm betting my whole future on it, Katy."

  Confusion clouded her blue eyes. She felt torn in two directions. Fear still held her in a tight grip, but Trace's words pulled at her heart like a powerful magnet, stirring long-buried dreams. As a child she had woven wonderful fantasies of somed
ay having a marriage like that of her parents, of sharing that kind of deep, boundless love, of having a home of her own and a small brood of beautiful, happy children. That dream had died three years ago. She had buried it so deep that she had not believed it could ever be resurrected. But it had happened. The old yearnings stirred inside her.

  Honesty forced Katy to admit that she did feel some sort of basic attraction for Trace. Her body had recognized it long before her conscious mind had accepted the fact. What if he was right, if all he'd said was really possible? Could she love him, wholeheartedly, in every sense of the word?

  "Katy, I don't expect an answer now." Trace's voice broke into her thoughts. "But I want your promise that you'll think about it. Will you do that?"

  "I—I—" She stopped and chewed worriedly at her lip, her eyes wide and wary. Finally, she took a deep breath and whispered, "Yes. I'll think about it."

  "Good. That's all I ask." He patted her hand and stood up. Katy remained in the chair and watched, dazed, as her father saw him to the door. He pushed the screen door part way open, then paused, and turned back to face her. "Just remember, Katy. It's a chance for happiness for both of us. Don't throw it away." Then he was gone.

  "Well, my girl, what do you think?" Tom asked as he returned to the sofa.

  Agitated, Katy stood up and began to pace the floor in front of the hearth, her heels clicking impatiently against the hardwood floor. She retraced her steps several times, then stopped and flung out her hand, a harried expression on her face. "Oh, I don't know! I just don't know!"

  "Well, I'll say this. You'll not be gettin' a better proposal than that, me darlin'."

  The thickening of his brogue lifted the corners of Katy's mouth. It told her more clearly than words ever could how deeply concerned he was for her.

  "I know that, Dad." She folded her arms over her midriff and resumed her pacing. "That is, if he keeps his promises. That was a very pretty speech, I'll admit, but, supposing I did accept, what's to prevent him from claiming his rights after we're married?"