Man From Tennessee

Chapter Six

Julia maintained a steady blaze of conversation from the moment they left her hospital room to the time they reached the Mercedes. With Kern on one side and Trisha on her other, captive listeners both, Julia was all too tempted to make the most of their mutual and obvious relief at seeing normal color in her cheeks again.

“…I never did have any tolerance for institutions. It’s ‘we’ll’ do this and ‘we’ll’ do that and a wheelchair to move two feet across the hall. Half the time it’s paper cups, and when they do come up with a glass it hasn’t been washed properly. There’s no butter for the bread, not a fried egg to be had. I told that little renegade of a nurse on the afternoon shift that I was old enough to determine cholesterol levels for myself, thank you very much, and as for privacy…”

Kern opened the front passenger-seat door for his mother, who then obstinately wanted to sit in the back. “You two sit together. I’ve grown quite accustomed to being completely by myself,” Julia said petulantly.

“We’ll have you home in no time,” Kern said peaceably as he started the engine. “We were hoping you’d be hungry-”

“Of course I’m hungry. I haven’t had a decent meal in two days. Trisha, I’m never forgiving you for talking me into that place. I am going out to dinner, Kern. I’m sure that child of a doctor told you that my blood pressure’s back to normal.”

Trisha leaned over the back of the seat. “But I’ve got lamb, darling,” she said coaxingly. “With a mint sauce just like you love. The table’s all set; it’s just a matter of a quick reheating…”

“Wonderful. We’ll have it tomorrow. I’ve been in this horrid wilderness for nearly four days and so far all I’ve seen of it is beds. It’s no use your talking, Trisha. We are going out. And don’t tell me Kern didn’t know what was coming or he wouldn’t have put on a suit.”

“There was a debate between a suit or the spangled kind of T-shirt I don’t seem to own,” Kern said blandly. “I didn’t really know if you would have to prove how healthy you are by insisting on a club, Mother, or whether a simple restaurant would do-”

“Let’s not be sarcastic.” She added disparagingly, “Probably all you have in this place is a simple restaurant. I’m not difficult to please, Kern, although I do prefer a decent wine list…”

Kern parked on a side road off the main drag in Gatlinburg. Further down the road neon signs flashed a tourist’s dream of motel choices, promising everything from waterbeds to the newest movies, in-room fireplaces and live entertainment. Where the three of them walked were the shops, a clustered mélange of attractive stores offering everything from imported Italian sandals to X-rated T-shirts. Christian Dior labels were back-to-back with a Native American crafts store, French antiques, Danish cheeses…

“Perhaps we’ll go shopping tomorrow, Trisha,” Julia said thoughtfully, glancing suddenly at her daughter-in-law’s pantsuit. “I haven’t seen that before, have I? A marvelous color on you. So while I was stuck in the hospital you went shopping, did you?”

Trisha let go of Julia’s arm long enough to divest her purse of a tiny wrapped package. “For you,” she said mildly.

“To make up for forcing me into that place,” Julia suggested, but her eyes softened on Trisha. “Well…thank you, Patricia. I’ll open it when we get to the restaurant, if we ever do, Kern.”

He stopped in front of a windowless brick-front building with a half dozen steps leading down to a glossy black door, unmarked and all but unnoticeable if it hadn’t been for a single gas lantern shining on the steps.

“A basement, Kern?” Julia asked pleasantly. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

“Do you want to spank her or shall I?” Kern murmured to Trisha as a black-suited waiter led Julia first to a small corner table.

The impulse was to laugh. It took willpower to reject it, willpower not to share even an understanding smile with him when she knew they were both feeling equal quantities of exasperation and sheer joy at Julia’s improved health. But it wouldn’t do, Trisha knew, being drawn into that orb of male dominance, and she moved deliberately ahead of him, pretending not to see the way his eyes suddenly narrowed in catlike challenge.

Her attention was honestly captured by the restaurant in seconds. A manmade waterfall divided a small dance floor from the dining area, the sparkle of water through colored lights making rainbow prisms on the beamed ceiling. The pianist was playing semiclassical music, his touch gentle and relaxing. The wall as they’d come in was completely filled with wine racks, the bottles tilted, labeled so that anyone could choose their own. Candles and starched white linen, the sponge of soundless carpet and the heavy dark beams above, shadows and the irresistible pastel lights in the waterfall…it was all lovely.

Trisha was seated, suddenly conscious that Kern’s fingers lingered on her shoulders as the waiter seated his mother. “I would have taken you somewhere else, but you did specify a wine list, mother,” he drawled. “If you object to the ‘basement,’ though-”

“Sit down, sit down. Stop making a fuss,” Julia said, scolding him, but the steel eyes were taking in the entire scene with the same undisguised pleasure that Trisha showed. With a sigh Julia settled back, allowing them all to relax while drinks were ordered. Her own wine she had chosen herself, a rosé from the Loire Valley. Trisha obediently ordered the drier pinot noir that Julia knew she would like. But Kern, predictably, listened to no one, insisting on his favorite whiskey straight up. “Well,” Julia said finally as she sipped her rose and looked at both of them, “are the two of you getting along?”

Trisha twirled the dark wine in her glass, watching the flame’s reflection on the glass. “Of course we’re getting along,” she offered smoothly, not looking at Kern across the table from her. To expect Julia not to probe at the earliest opportunity would have been to expect rainbows served for breakfast. “And we’ve both been looking forward to showing you the area. I have all kinds of ideas for you…”

Throughout almost all of the dinner course, Trisha coaxed at Julia’s interests, paying no attention to the dark-eyed man who persisted in disturbing her by staring from across the table. The Tennessee mountains were loaded with little out-of-the-way barn shops that sold antiques-one of Julia’s loves. Clothes she liked as well, and Gatlinburg was not averse to stocking for expensive tastes. There was a professor at the camp who played bridge, as did Trisha; they only needed a fourth. And as far as the garden club Julia belonged to at home… “There’s nothing to compare with what’s here, darling, and June just couldn’t be a better time. There are people who make annual pilgrimages here just to see the rhododendron in bloom. All over the heaths there’s mountain laurel and Dutchman’s-breeches…”

“One would almost gather you’re taken with this place yourself, Patricia,” Julia commented curiously.

Trisha heard the buildup of enthusiasm in her own voice, and became quieted. It was for Julia’s sake, of course, and if there was a chance Julia would be happy here she would do her best to help, as she’d promised Kern. But he mustn’t misunderstand. The waiter served coffee and after-dinner liqueurs. Trisha sipped at hers while the other two talked. The pianist inadvertently kept drawing her attention; from classical pieces he had switched to old, romantic love songs. Songs of lost love, forsaken love, loneliness, hope; melodies generations old in composing, timeless in theme…

“It’s lovely, Patricia!”

Trisha drew her attention back to the tiny jade rose in Julia’s palm, the present she had all but forgotten. “I thought you would like it,” she said softly.

“It’s just exquisite.” Julia sighed with pleasure. “I’ll have to forgive you both for the last two days, I suppose. Kern, I see the bandage is off your wrist, even if that scar still looks dreadful. What do you think, Trisha? You haven’t told me whether or not you find Kern changed in five years.”

No, Julia wasn’t going to let it go, Trisha thought wearily. Her eyes met Kern’s over the wineglass for the first time since dinner started. The candlelight played with his face, too, found hollows and valleys in the craggy features, reflected a soft texture to his beard and an untamed glint in his eyes. “He’s changed a great deal,” Trisha said lightly, her defenses bristling at that look. “We’ve become such good friends that he’s even suggested I stay a little longer-that is, assuming you’d like to, Julia. Whatever you feel like doing will be fine by me.” She suddenly had the ridiculous feeling that she should never have used the phrase “good friends.” Ice barriers were a little different than thrown gauntlets, but then it was said, too late to take back.

“Well, I would like to stay for a least a few days, perhaps a week,” Julia said vaguely with a faint frown. Trisha knew her answer was not quite what the older woman wanted. “And you, Kern,” the older woman persisted determinedly. “You must be surprised at how much Patricia has changed…”

“Very,” Kern agreed shortly. His features were still fixed on Trisha’s, and with a sudden restiveness he stood up, offering his hand to her across the table. “You don’t mind if we dance for a few minutes, Mother?”

Trisha shook her head. “I really don’t think-”

“What a marvelous idea,” Julia said cheerfully. “Take your time, both of you. I’ll be perfectly content here with another cup of coffee. I like to rest for a while after dinner; you both know that.”

His hand grasped hers, urging her up. Trisha felt all but herded to the far end of the room that contained the dance floor, the polite smile she had worn all evening for Kern now oddly fixed on her face. There were only two other couples on the floor. The pianist glanced up from his moody love song to smile lingeringly at her, but Kern whirled her around to face him. She sensed impatience and a sudden virulent voltage at his nearness that she ignored, as she had ignored it for hours, as she was going to continue to ignore it.

He hooked both of his hands at her waist, forcing her fingers to rest on his shoulders or be left awkwardly hanging in midair. She caught her breath when his fingers laced behind her, locking them breast-to-chest. “Kern, I think we should be taking your mother home. It might be too long an evening for her…”

“She’s fine for fifteen minutes. The question is whether you can last that long, keeping that polite distance you’ve guarded all afternoon.”

She drew in her breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hand slipped up her back to the nape of her neck, and she found her arms around his waist. His fingers splayed in the soft disorder of hairstyle to force her face up to his. “You’re more honest when you don’t talk at all, Tish. So don’t.” It was an order and a warning; no smile touched his sensual mouth. His weathered cheekbones were taut and a sudden graven stillness came upon him. He stared down at her with eyes like liquid rock, and she felt his desire to possess.

She held herself stiffly when his hand forced her cheek to the soft silk of his shirt, her lashes low on her cheeks in an effort to hide the raw fear in the pit of her stomach. If he was trying to punish her for her coolness, or to prove for the sake of old revenge that she could no longer control her emotions around him-he was succeeding. The brush of a beard grazed her forehead; she found her arms encouraged tighter around his waist; and thighs grazing together in the motion of rhythm. The stroke of his fingers on the nape of her neck was deliberately soothing, gentling to her defenses. It was a painfully old love song the pianist kept playing, half love and half irretrievable loss, the melody suddenly aching inside of her.

Her body was finally molded pliant for him, just as he wanted. Almost despairingly she told herself that it didn’t matter, that there was nothing that could happen on a dance floor. But it did matter-his lips pressed on her forehead and his arms tightened possessively around her as he felt her defenses falter. One hand slowly swept up and down her spine, molding her even closer. It was an embrace, not a dance; they both knew it. Yet she could not seem to move quite yet, with eyes closed absorbing the feel of his chest, his thighs in fluid movement against hers, his arousal alive between them…

And the pianist had his secrets, a way of cradling the words he sang with his tongue before he reluctantly set them free. There was no mike, only a throaty low voice not really trying to compete with the piano, just slowly measuring out a lingering poem of helpless longing…

Should I stay?

Would it be so wrong…

If I can’t help

Falling in love with you…

The song she’d never heard before, but the rhythm seemed so old, so hypnotic, that she gave in finally. Like a drug she couldn’t fight, her hips moved against his, feeling a sweet rush like champagne in her head. When she glanced up at his dark hooded eyes there was a sweet exultation in her own. Long ago she’d shied away from the fierce dominating passion she’d seen in Kern. His eyes seemed like black fire, and the feminine in her felt as potent as too much wine. Yearning ached through her in almost a feverish rush; a need to increase the look of desire in his eyes surged through her until there was no going back. Her hands escaped slowly from his waist to ripple gently over his chest, fingers climbing until they found flesh, circled around to the nape of his neck and threading in his hair. Her hips were cradled in his if she moved just so, the rhythm like the music, a frictionlike danger building between them as her swelling breasts rubbed against his, as her thighs courted pressure…

She heard a harsh odd sound from the base of his throat and looked up. There was almost a smile on his lips. “Not here,” he scolded chidingly.

“Only here, Kern,” she corrected softly.

He shook his head. “You know better.” He drew apart from her! She was suddenly curiously aware that the song was ended, and that it was not the same song they had started out dancing to. Julia was looking their way, a gentle smile on her mouth for the two of them. This was a restaurant after all, other people… Then a disquieting sense of déjà vu, of dancing with Kern and being bewitched beyond all rhyme or reason came to mind.

Kern had a message from the camp when the three of them got home, and for a short time he had to go out. Trisha spent an hour settling Julia in and from there wandered outside in the back. The grass was squeaky with dew beneath her feet, and she slipped off her sandals, swinging them with one hand, feeling the damp carpet curling around her bare toes. Stars peppered the cloudless, breezeless night.

Her head ached just a little from the unaccustomed wine. This time drinking in the clear mountain air, she stood pensively for a long time. The mood from their evening was suddenly erased. The feeling of vulnerability seemed to be assaulting her from all sides-from the look of her face in the mirror when she was brushing her hair, from her every response around Kern, from each time she looked at the mist-swirling mountains and felt small and insignificant. Vulnerability was something she’d never wanted to feel again. It was an unwelcomed emotion.

Finally she heard the click of the door behind her. There was no reason to turn to know who it was. She’d been waiting for Kern. “I’m going to need some money,” she said quietly.

“Fine.”

She half turned then. His answer was almost humorously indifferent. Kern rarely smoked, and from where he was leaning against the house, the glow of ash sent up a whisper of smoke.

“Not for me,” she said by way of qualification. “For your mother. I want to redo that room downstairs, Kern, in a style that would suit her. She thought it foolish at first, but I just reminded her that you had lots of space and you wanted her to have her own personal room when she came down for other visits. It might be a beginning, if she becomes attached to it.” Trisha hesitated when he didn’t comment. “She has expensive tastes, but I wouldn’t overdo. I know what I’m doing with fabrics, Kern, and I know exactly what would appeal to her…”

“Don’t be absurd, Tish. You know damn well there’s money for whatever she wants-or you want,” he said impatiently. “It bothered the hell out of me when I knew you were working and attending night school at the same time-”

“That was four years ago.”

“And the checks I sent you all came back. Now are we done with that subject?” She could hear his heel crush the cigarette butt.

“Yes.”

“And we suddenly have nothing else to talk about, do we, Tish?”

“Nothing.” She shivered then, though there was no reason for it in the still-warm night, and she moved forward to go inside. Barefoot when she came up the slope to Kern, to her he seemed taller than life, his head towering over hers. Her hand was on the doorknob when he reached out to stop her with an unexpectedly gentle hand. His fingers brushed back a strand of hair from her face and then his palm rested like a warm caress on her cheek.

“You’re a giver, Tish. I’d expect you to come up with an idea for my mother. You’ve been there for her for years when you didn’t need to be. She wasn’t your responsibility. And you were there for me at one of the roughest times in my life-”

“Kern.” Her fingers curled at his wrist, trying to dislodge the sensual palm.

“You haven’t really changed. The look’s very different, but you’re still afraid to reach out and take, Tish, to take what’s yours. I don’t understand what you’re afraid of. I never have,” he admitted bluntly. “There’s just…life. If you don’t reach out and take what you want, there’s nothing.”

His fingers smoothed down her cheek, caressed her throat, and let go. She was still for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of confusion. Her image of herself had been the opposite of a “giver.” She had failed to give him the response he needed in a wife. And what was he trying to tell her now? To seize this moment? Make love with him because the chemistry was there, as if there were no consequences? Was he even aware of how loud the words were that he hadn’t said? There was no mention of her staying here beyond a short time. She had been the one who insisted on staying, for Julia. She hesitated, then said, “You find it easy to go after what you want, no holds barred, Kern. But I can’t just-”

“You can. But if you don’t, Tish, I will. I want you and I’ll wait. But not long. Not anymore.”

The clipped phrases seemed to emphasize the threat. Threat? It was a promise he was delivering in gentle tones that echoed in the night.

Trisha was doing her best not to punish the Mercedes on the deplorable little dirt road. Potholes polka-dotted every few feet of the narrow path, and dust sprayed behind them in thin sandy clouds. Oblivious to both the bouncing and the early morning heat, Julia beside her had a hand shading her eyes as she peered out the window. It was not the first time in the past four days that their goal was an antique shop, and Julia by the hour was thriving on every little adventure Trisha had thought up for her.

“…what I want is one of those big iron kettles,” Julia continued. “You know, the kind they used to hang in the fireplace. I thought I’d put it out on the front steps and plant it with flowers.”

“We’ve seen a half dozen of them,” Trisha remarked.

Julia smiled. “They were always asking too much. But today, I just have a feeling…”

Trisha grinned. Her mother-in-law was dressed in a loose shirt and trousers that were decidedly baggy. The raw silks had been put away. Julia did not want to be “taken” because she was a city slicker, but the overall new image invariably made Trisha chuckle.

The store they stopped at was more of a shed than any other sort of establishment. The cobwebs clung to the corners and Trisha wondered idly if the wizened old man actually thought there was some saving grace in four inches of dust and dirt. A cloud of it stirred as they stepped inside, their footprints distinctive on the wooden floor.

“You want something?” The old man rocked, watching their slow intrusion in his store.

“Probably not,” Julia answered pleasantly.

Trisha fought the inclination to sneeze. There was barely room to navigate between the shaky wooden shelves packed into the shed, and each was filled with hopeful saleables, none of which had ever known a dust rag.

“Well, now…” He stood up, suddenly interested, sparing a glance for Trisha’s lovely pink-jeaned frame and lighting on the deliberately worn-looking Julia. “You must have come out this way for something.”

“Just looking.” Julia fingered a cracked bowl disdainfully, set it up to view from a dusty window, and set it down again. Trisha marveled. It was a full ten minutes before the two even touched on the subject of iron kettles. Finally Julia nudged with her foot a cobwebbed kettle in the corner. “I suppose you’re charging an arm and a leg for that.”

“Well now…”

“Never mind. I can see the rust. All the work to clean it up-”

“From the first settlers that ever came to this area,” the old man said firmly. “Earned its rust, it has.”

“So you say. How much?”

“I thought twenty-five,” the old man said cautiously.

“Oh, well.” Julia turned to Trisha. “Remember the one we saw for twelve in Kentucky? I knew I should have gotten it then. Perhaps next month we could make a trip up…”

Julia had seen no kettle in Kentucky, Trisha knew well. Yet the fibs flew fast and furious. The huge wrought-iron kettle took on added age, makeshift tragedy in its past, a history involving wagon trains and Indian uprisings. Julia was incredulous at the price, the amount of work it would take to refurbish it, and simply could not believe it was quite what she wanted. It was over forty minutes before Trisha was able to get the kettle in the trunk of the Mercedes, and even then she had to wait while the two finished their bickering at the back door. Julia’s smile was radiant as Trisha started the engine.

“Eighteen dollars!” She gloated. “An absolute steal! I haven’t had such fun in ages!”

“I knew you liked antiques,” Trisha commented, “but I always thought it was more the Queen Anne-type treasures-”

“Oh, no, my dear, it’s the primitives I’ve always treasured. They simply don’t belong in Grosse Pointe. Now, at Kern’s it’s a different story! Way back when I was first married I even liked to refinish the primitives; I like the feel of old wood and history around me.”

“That from the lady who was ready to turn around after the first look at ‘this wilderness country,’” Trisha murmured teasingly.

“Well, you’re no better, Patricia! Five years of effort to teach you the difference between Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky, and you go disappearing into those woods every afternoon and come back looking like some…backwoods child!”

Trisha grinned mischievously. “Speaking of fashion, darling, when we get home I think I’ll take a picture of you just as you look right now and send it back to Grosse Pointe. Backwoods child, is it?”

“Idle threat,” Julia said peaceably, regarding Trisha’s pink jeans and black-and-pink, scooped-neck sweater with suddenly narrowed eyes. “It’s a good thing I took you shopping. I can’t understand why Kern didn’t do so to begin with. You could hardly have survived around the countryside in the few things you came with.”

Trisha was silent, aware that she now had a closetful of purchases pressed on her by Julia. They would be repaid in time, when they were home, although Julia would argue about it. But taking things from Kern, even on a borrowed basis, had a very different cast…

“It really is very different here than I first thought,” Julia admitted thoughtfully as they pulled up to Kern’s house.

Trisha stepped out of the car to take out the kettle from the trunk. She understood too well what Julia was feeling, because the emotion was shared. The past days had been nothing like her life here before. She was continually more aware of how much she seemed to have missed five years before; and in trying to arouse Julia’s interests she had been rather unwittingly arousing her own…a mistake, she knew. Once Julia was fully strong again, and in a position to make up her own mind if she could accept a move and be happy here, it was going to be difficult for Trisha to suddenly leave, and it didn’t have to do only with Kern.

As Trisha stepped inside the cool hallway to the kitchen, she saw Kern sitting at the kitchen table with maps spread out before him. Julia bent to kiss her son on the forehead, smoothing down his hair as if he were a six-year-old with a cowlick, an image Kern presented not at all. “We’ve been having an absolutely wonderful time. Bought a tremendous old kettle. I’m going out in the woods after it cools off this afternoon and get some azaleas, I think, though first I’ll have to deal with that rust…”

Trisha crouched down to take out from the refrigerator the tuna salad she had made earlier. In short order she had thin-sliced tomatoes to put on top and then added some slices of cheese, setting the tray under the broiler for a few short minutes. After pouring three glasses of lemonade, she reached on tiptoe for napkins from the top of the refrigerator-and turned to find Kern’s slate-gray eyes all over her.

He could make her conscious as no other man ever had of exactly how her jeans fit, of whether or not her hair needed combing. She knew the sun had added color to her complexion, and there was even an added pound or two from a new appetite encouraged by so much exercise. In spite of herself she was becoming more and more relaxed until her eyes collided unexpectedly with that watchful, waiting look of his. Then she felt like snatching up the car keys and running. “What have you been up to this morning?” she asked calmly.

“It’s what you two might like to be up to this afternoon that I was thinking about,” Kern responded. “Around two I was hoping to talk you both into a helicopter ride.”

Trisha frowned, taking the tray from the oven with a hot pad. “You know your mother isn’t fond of flying, Kern.”

Julia returned from freshening her hands in the bathroom. “An understatement, darling.”

“Lately there’ve been more helicopters in the area than cars,” Kern said absently. “The highest mountain ranges have been plagued with a tiny insect called a balsam woolly aphid. That bug is capable of destroying the entire adult Fraser fir population, and as yet there’s no solution. Our one option is to spray out sterile aphids from a helicopter so that they’ll mate with the damaging females. The ‘girls’ have only a short lifespan, so with no offspring their destructive habits are short-lived.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Julia commented. “I’ve heard of farmers spraying from planes…”

“Helicopters are more suited to the mountains,” Kern explained, “because obviously they can go right down into the affected area.”

“But you said it was a Smokies problem, Kern. Why do you have to get involved? Why don’t the forest people just handle it? If you have to put your own time and money into something that’s their problem-”

“Because the park is next to us, Julia, there are some problems that affect Kern’s land, too. It’s not an issue of time or money,” Trisha interrupted.

“Trisha, I wasn’t attacking you,” Julia chided primly. “For heaven’s sake, it was just an idle comment! I swear you’re getting as batty about this land as Kern is…”

Trisha drew in her breath, suddenly hearing herself as Julia seemed to. Kern had a fist propped under his chin, eyes glinting perfectly devilish amusement at her for taking on his cause. She stood up and cleared away the plates, turning away from him.

“Anyway, Kern, as far as going up in this helicopter, no. I never could handle air travel in any form. It was one of the reasons Trisha had to drive me here. But we haven’t planned anything beyond a bridge game down at the camp late this afternoon, Trisha. There isn’t any reason why you couldn’t go with Kern.”

“The outing was for you, darling,” Trisha pointed out quickly. “I’ve lived here before. I know what the area looks like.”

“I really don’t want to play bridge anyway. Not today. I want to fool with my kettle.”

“Then I’ll help you…”

There was a little silence, in which she could almost hear the echo of her own voice protesting too much. She did not want to go anywhere with Kern. She knew it and he knew it, but to this point she had the excuse of keeping a careful and continual eye on Julia’s health. The lady whose darting eyes surveyed both of them now denied that need, a fresh bloom of color in her cheeks, the shine of rest and renewed health in her eyes… Trisha turned from them both and heard Kern’s chair scrape back as he rose.

She bent to set the tray in the dishwasher, and when she stood back up Kern was there. His wrists rested loosely on her shoulders, pinning her at arm’s length. His shoulders were wide enough to effectively block out Julia, kitchen, everything but Kern in front of her. One finger reached up to lazily smooth the hair from her cheek. “Trisha just wants to make sure you’re happy, Mother. That’s all Tish is interested in. You’ll have to convince her you wouldn’t feel deserted if she left you for a couple of hours.”

The teasing tone was boyish; the look in his eyes was strictly a man’s. There was seduction in his eyes, and when she stooped down below his arms to escape from him, there was Julia again. Keeping the lady happy was how she justified being here.

“I would not feel deserted for a couple of hours.” Julia almost snorted. “You’d think I was some sort of invalid!”

Trisha sighed and gave her mother-in-law a smile. “Well, then-of course I’ll go,” she managed to say finally, before turning back to Kern in defeat.

Matthew Redding landed on an open stretch of land near Kern’s camp. A thin, well-weathered man in his forties, he wore coveralls and a smile that didn’t know how to quit. “Mr. Lowery, you didn’t mention we were taking a passenger!”

So much for Kern’s plans for ever taking Julia. “I’m Trisha, Matt,” she said, extending her hand. “Let’s keep it on informal terms.”

“And we sure will do that, honey. We’re going to be on close terms real quick. The old bird’s set up for two-three in a pinch. And a pinch is what I call first-name terms!”

Laughing, Trisha vaulted up into the bubblelike cubicle, eyeing the control panel with an amateur’s enthusiastic interest. Kern folded in on her right as Matt settled in at the controls, the pilot turning to her with an impish grin. “You really don’t mind it cozy?”

“No problem. I love these things!”

“No nerves about flying in one of them?”

“No.” Trisha shook her head exuberantly. “I’ve clocked in a few hours in a little single-engine Cessna, but never a copter. I’m really curious to know the difference.”

“You what?”

It was a delight to shock those all-knowing gray eyes for once. Kern’s arm stretched across the back of the seat to make more room for all of them, also making it all but impossible for her to settle anywhere comfortably but in the curve of his shoulder. Which she did, facing Matt. Her annoyance at being roped into the venture had all but disappeared. “It was nothing, really. Instead of a vacation last year, I spent the money on a few flying lessons. Didn’t get enough for a pilot’s license by any means, just got a taste-or should I say a tease? I’ve always wanted to fly,” she admitted wistfully.

“Good,” Kern murmured next to her ear. “You can finish your lessons here and take over the copter. Then I can send this old reprobate back to Detroit where he belongs.”

“This is yours?”

Kern nodded, motioning impatiently to his wrist, as if to say that the temporary impairment had forced him into hiring the pilot in the interim. The noise of the whirling propellers promptly deafened all other sounds. They were off the ground in a moment, heading directly over the treetops. Matthew handled the controls as if the bird were a well-loved toy that thrived on being played with, his turns sharply angled and his ups and downs deliberate. Trisha found herself laughing at the sudden roller-coaster sensations in her stomach, and Matt’s grin was sheer showing off.

But it was not a sightseeing trip they were on, regardless of what Kern had said, and it didn’t take long for Trisha to realize it. It was a swift pace to one spot, a hover, and then a repeat of the same. The men attempted no verbal communication over the rhythmical whirr of the helicopter blades.

Once they were off Kern’s land, Trisha lost track of landmarks, and distances were deceivingly different by air than by road. The day was cloudy, the sun occasionally casting a lemony haze on stretches of forest as they passed. From the miles of lush green forest there was suddenly a narrow patch of barrenness illuminated by sunlight, where a few stalky pine trunks were bleakly standing. There the earth was grayish rather than the rich brown that would have been natural. Ash. Trisha felt a lurch of horror at the fire’s devastation, but already they were moving on.

More of the lush fairy-tale green appeared, and the crystal of a stream one could see winding for miles. The splash of a waterfall was half hidden in trees, and just beyond was a heath, thick with flowers-purple-white, then the flame of azalea; perhaps a hundred acres of rhododendron alone. And then the barrenness again-a long ragged oblong patch this time. The fire had been a season ago, she was told, and now green was trying to make its way through the odd-colored soil in erratic patterns of new life.

“You want to see what happened ten days ago?” Matt shouted to Kern. “It’s down to your right.”

Unconsciously she pressed closer to Kern to see. She felt his hand smoothing back her hair and raised stricken eyes to his. This had been their land, once. Kern’s eyes met hers, inducing an unconscious tremor that pulsed through her body. His hand stopped its stroking and his fingers rested at the nape of her neck as they both looked out where Matt was hovering.

The bleak scene below was not large, a tribute to how rapidly the forest rangers reacted to a fire. Thousands of acres that might have been affected were not. Still, all Trisha could think of was a match being set on Kern’s land and what the land meant to him.

Matt headed back. “Fraser firs sure lookin’ better on your side of the ridge than on the Smokies side,” he called over her to Kern.

“Too soon to tell. The agriculture people will be here next week. We’ll see what they say,” Kern answered.

“There hasn’t been a fire for over a week.”

“Yes, but it’s too damned dry.”

“When are you going to take your turn at the controls, Trisha?” Matt turned to her with a teasing grin.

“As long as you’ve got crash helmets to put on…”

When they landed, Trisha wandered off to the Jeep to wait while the men talked for a few more minutes. The whirring sound of the propellers was still in her ears, and she felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and disquiet from the ride. It was not easy to forget what she’d seen.

Kern finally strode from behind her, patting her fanny as if to tell her to get a move on and get in. She moved so quickly to get into the Jeep that he laughed at her. “Well, bright eyes. Bringing up secrets from the deep, are we? Looking for a pilot’s job in the mountains?”

“Certainly,” she quipped back as he started the engine. “Barring a minor matter of a license and experience, of course.”

“Of course. Once upon a time I piloted a single-engine Cessna myself, but the license doesn’t extend to copters, and it seems I just haven’t found the time to go after it. But-fires, this aphid thing in the Fraser firs, marauding bears and wild boars, a missing camper on occasion-it occurred to me last winter that a copter’s a fast way of keeping control-”

“And a most intriguing little toy,” Trisha suggested innocently. “As Julia would say, the only difference between a man and a boy is the price of his toys.”

“Now don’t get sassy.” His eyes flickered over her, a grin slashed above the ebony beard. “If you’re nice to me, I might just sign you up for lessons.”

“Talk, talk, talk.” The wind was whirling her hair so helter-skelter in the open Jeep that she put both hands up impatiently, capturing a tousled knot at the top of her head.

He braked the Jeep and they both climbed out. “Hold it.” Kern leaned folded arms over the side of the vehicle, an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite fathom, but the teasing look was gone. “Were you just talking about wanting to fly?”

Trisha let her hair fall in a tumble to her shoulders, reaching in for her purse on the floor of the Jeep. “No. I’ve always wanted to fly,” she admitted. “But it’s just a dream, Kern, the way opening a crafts shop for me was once a dream I had here.”

“You never told me you wanted to do that.”

She shrugged, tossing back her hair, aiming for the house. “There’s irony somewhere. The dream was the selling of authentic Cherokee designs and the back-country quilting patterns; the reality’s been in dealing with plain old polyester on a mannequin.” She turned to smile at Kern as she opened the door to the house. “The ride was fun. Thank you very much.”

She waited. Kern hadn’t accepted being dismissed with civilized politeness before. He had always taken advantage of the few moments they had had alone. And the hall was empty, dark and quiet. But he just stood there, waiting for her to go inside, his eyes resting on hers with the awareness of a hawk’s. Suddenly embarrassed, Trisha hurried past him. He’s got you waiting for him to seduce you, she thought irritably. Less forgivable to her was knowing that she’d been standing there, not only anticipating but counting on it.