From the Heart Page 2

  “Fun?” Fascinated, Alison stepped into the room.

  “Yes, fun. You can’t go to school all the time.” She pushed a stray curl out of her eyes. “And I’m definitely not going to be working twenty-four hours a day.”

  “There’s a tennis court.” Alison came a bit closer. “And the pool, of course.”

  Kasey nodded. “I like to swim,” she went on before Alison could comment. “But I’m not too good at tennis. Do you play?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Terrific. Maybe you can give me some lessons.” Her eyes swept the room again. “Tell me, is your room pink?”

  Alison stared a moment, trying to understand the change in topic. “No, it’s done in blues and greens.”

  “Hmmm, good choice.” Kasey made a face at the drapes. “I painted my room purple once when I was fifteen. I had nightmares for two months.” She caught Alison’s unblinking stare. “Something wrong?”

  “You don’t look like an anthropologist,” Alison blurted out, then caught her breath at her lack of manners.

  “No?” Kasey thought of Jordan and lifted her brows. “Why?”

  “You’re pretty.” A blush rushed into Alison’s cheeks.

  “You think so?” Kasey rose to peer at herself in the mirror. She narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes I think so, but mostly I think my nose is too small.”

  Alison was staring at Kasey’s reflection. As their eyes met in the glass, Kasey’s lit with a smile. It was slow, warm and all-encompassing. Alison’s lips, so much like her uncle’s, curved in unconscious response.

  “I have to go down to dinner now.” She backed out of the door, unwilling to lose sight of the smile. “Good night, Miss Wyatt.”

  “Good night, Alison.”

  Turning as the door shut, Kasey sighed. An interesting group, she decided. Her mind turned toward Jordan again. Very interesting.

  She walked over and picked up the nightgown again, then ran it idly through her hands. And where, she wondered, does Kasey Wyatt fit into all of this? With a sigh, she sat on the lounge chair. The conversation between Jordan and Dr. Rhodes which she had walked in on had been more amusing than annoying. But still . . . Kasey let Jordan’s description of her run through her mind again.

  Typical, she decided. A typical layman’s view of a scientist who happens to be a woman. Kasey was perfectly aware that she had unsettled Harry Rhodes. A smile tugged at her mouth. She thought she would like him. He was rather staid and pompous and, she reflected, probably very sweet. Beatrice Taylor was another matter. Kasey leaned back in the lounge chair and ordered herself to relax. There would be no common ground between herself and the older woman, but, Kasey thought, if they were lucky, there would be no animosity. As for the child . . .

  Kasey closed her eyes and began to unbutton her blouse as she lay there. Alison. Mature for her age—maybe too mature. Kasey knew what it was like to lose parents in childhood. There were feelings of confusion, betrayal, guilt. It was a lot for a young person to cope with. Who mothers her now? she wondered. Beatrice? Kasey shook her head. Somehow, she couldn’t picture the elegant matron mothering an eleven-year-old girl. She would see that Alison was well-dressed, well-fed and well-mannered. Kasey felt a second stir of pity.

  Then there’s Jordan. With another sigh, Kasey roused herself enough to pull off her blouse and slip off her shoes. He wouldn’t be an easy man to get close to. Kasey wasn’t at all certain she wanted to.

  Standing, she unbuckled her trousers and headed for the bath. What she wanted was to put her education and her experience to work on his book. She wanted to see the information she gave him utilized in the best possible manner. What she wanted, she thought and turned the hot water on full, was a bath. The hours on the plane, preceded by a week of lecturing in New York, had left her as close to exhaustion as she ever came. Thinking of Jordan Taylor would simply have to wait.

  Tomorrow, she thought as she lowered herself into the tub, would be here soon enough.

  2

  The sun glittered over the pool’s surface as Jordan completed his tenth lap. He cut through the water with strong, sure strokes. When he swam, he didn’t think but simply let his body take over. As a novelist, he found his mind too often crowded with characters, with places. With words. He started off the day by clearing it with something physical.

  That morning there had been one more character intruding into his brain. Kathleen Wyatt. He had found her fascinating. He wasn’t at all certain he wanted to be fascinated by a collaborator. His work was important to him, and the novel he was currently working on might be the most important in his career. He thought perhaps it would have been better if Kathleen Wyatt had been closer to the woman of his imagination. The reality of her was entirely too unsettling.

  As he reached the pool edge and made to turn for another lap, a movement caught his attention. Jordan glanced up to see a vague face surrounded by red-gold curls.

  “Hi.”

  Shaking water from his eyes, Jordan narrowed them against the sun. He focused on his collaborator. Kasey sat cross-legged at the pool’s edge. Her cutoffs and T-shirt exposed skin still pale from October in New York. Her eyes were bright with amusement as she smiled at him. Entirely too unsettling, he thought again.

  “Good morning, Miss Wyatt. You’re up early.”

  “I suppose I haven’t adjusted to the time change.” Her voice, he realized all at once, wasn’t eastern but had the slightest hint of the south. “I went for a run.”

  “A run?” he repeated, distracted from trying to place the vague accent.

  “Yes, I’m into running.” She lifted her face and studied the perfect sky. “Actually, I was into running before it was something to get into. Even though I resent being part of a trend, I can’t stop. Do you swim every morning?”

  “Whenever I can.”

  “Maybe I’ll try that instead. Swimming uses more muscles, and you don’t sweat.”

  “I never thought about it quite that way.” After pulling himself from the water, he reached for a towel.

  Kasey watched as he briskly rubbed his hair. His body, glistening with droplets of water, was lean and hard and brown. There were ropings of muscles in his arms and shoulders. The hair on his chest was blond, like the lighter streaks on his head that the sun had bleached. The brief suit clung to his hips. Kasey discovered she had been right about the athletic body beneath the conservative suit. She felt a flutter of desire and ignored it. This was not a man to become involved with, and now was not the time.

  “Swimming’s certainly kept you in shape,” she observed.

  He paused for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Wyatt.” He shook his head and picked up a short terry robe.

  Kasey stood in one swift, fluid motion. Her head was level with his chin. “Would you like to get started after breakfast? If you’ve something else to do, I can just go over your outline and notes myself.”

  “No, I’d like very much to get started. The idea of picking your brain becomes more intriguing by the minute.”

  “Really?” Her smile flashed over her face. “I hope you won’t be disappointed, Jordan. I’m going to call you Jordan now. We’d have gotten to it sooner or later.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Do I call you Kathleen?”

  “I certainly hope not.” She grinned. “No one else does.”

  It took him a moment to understand. “Kasey, then.”

  He was looking at her again in that deep, searching manner that left her slightly disconcerted. Jordan watched a frown come and go in her eyes.

  “Can we eat?” she demanded. It would be simpler, she decided, if they got down to more practical matters. “I’ve been hungry for hours.”

  Kasey and Jordan closed themselves in the study immediately after breakfast. The room was large, its walls lined with books. Here a scent of old leather and new polish mixed with tobacco. Kasey much preferred it to the other parts of the house she had seen. Here she could detect signs of production, though it was scrupulously
organized production. There were no scattered papers, no precariously piled books.

  Large, dark-framed glasses perched on her nose, Kasey sat by the window reading Jordan’s notes. Her feet were bare, and one swung idly in the air as she scanned the pages.

  She wasn’t beautiful, Jordan decided. Not in the classic sense, at any rate. But her face was arresting. When she smiled, it seemed she lit from the inside out. Her eyes seemed to hold some private joke. She was tall and boyishly slim, narrow-hipped and long-legged. A man, he thought, would find angles rather than curves when he got into her bed. He frowned, annoyed with the turn of his mind.

  There was a coltishness in her moves—an excitement and vibrancy which raced through her conversation as well. Now it was as though she had turned down the power. She was silent. Her features were tranquil. Her only movement was the carelessly swinging bare foot.

  Kasey had been perfectly aware of Jordan’s survey. “You have a fascinating story in the works here,” she said, rupturing the silence and the sudden hum of sexual tension that had begun between them.

  “Thank you.” He cocked a brow. He had felt the tension, too, and was as wary of it as she.

  Pulling up her legs, Kasey picked up a cigarette. She held it absently while she continued to meet his eyes. “It would seem you’re dealing mainly with the Plains Indian. They do seem to most typify our image of the American Indian, though they’re the least typical of all.”

  “Are they?” He rose to light the cigarette she still held between her fingers. “I leave it to you to clear up the misconception and give me an accurate picture.”

  “You could do the same with a few well-selected reference books.” She settled back in the chair. “Why do you need me?”

  Sitting back, he gave her a considering look. His eyes made a slow, complete survey. It was calculated to disconcert.

  “You didn’t have to send to New York for that, either,” she commented dryly. “You’re not going to get maidenly blushes, Jordan.” She smiled and watched his lips curve in response. “I’ll tell you what,” she decided on impulse. “I’ll put an end to your curiosity, then you put an end to mine. I’m a professional anthropologist, not a professional virgin. Now, what, precisely, do you want from me as regards your current novel?”

  “Are you always so frank?”

  “Not always,” she said evasively. It wouldn’t be smart to get too frank with him. “Now, about your book.”

  “Facts; details on customs, clothing, village life; when, where and how.” He paused and lit a thin cigar, then regarded Kasey through a screen of smoke. “Those are things I can get from reference books. But I want more. I want why.”

  Kasey crushed out the cigarette he had lit for her. Jordan noted that she had taken no more than two halfhearted puffs. There were more nerves in her than she let show.

  “You want me to supply you with theories as to why a culture developed a certain way and why it survived or succumbed to outside pressures.”

  “Exactly.”

  With the storyline he was developing and the right slant, it could be a marvelous book, Kasey thought.

  “Okay,” she said suddenly. With a flashing smile, she dropped her eyes to Jordan’s. “I’ll give you a general outline. We can pick up specifics as we move along.”

  Three hours later Jordan stood at his window and gazed down at the pool. Kasey swam alone. She wore a one-piece suit that clung to her. He watched her dive beneath the surface and streak along the mosaic bottom.

  She swam, he decided, as she did everything else—with quick bursts of energy interspersed with moments of calm. She was a sprinter, not a long-distance runner.

  Kasey surfaced, rolled to her back, then floated. She thought about Jordan Taylor as she watched a few stringy white clouds work their way across the sky. He’s brilliant, conservative, successful. Incredibly sexy. Why does that worry me? She narrowed her eyes against the sun and let her mind and body drift. I should be very pleased with myself to have been asked to work with him. I was. It’s probably the house, she decided and closed her eyes completely. There’s no dust in it. How do people live without dust?

  He must belong to some very exclusive country club. I imagine there are some very classy women in his life. Kasey swore at herself and rolled over.

  She must have men in her life, Jordan thought. Other scientists, professors, probably a struggling artist or two. He cursed at himself and turned away from the window.

  Kasey pulled herself from the pool and shook the water from her hair. Well, she thought and glanced at a lounge chair, if I’m going to live with the wealthy for a while, I might as well enjoy it. She flopped down and let the sun bake the chill from her damp skin. There was something to be said for all this. Private pool, private tennis court. She let her gaze sweep the huge expanse of lawn bordered by lush, green hedges and a stone wall. She wrinkled her nose. Privacy we’ve got. I wonder how often he gets out of here. Her mind settled back on Jordan. With a sigh, Kasey accepted the fact that he would probably continue to intrude in her thoughts. Closing her eyes, she gave into jet lag and slept.

  “You could broil out here.”

  Kasey opened her eyes slowly and focused. “Hi.” She gave Jordan a sleepy smile.

  “You’re very fair. You’ll burn easily.”

  The hint of annoyance in his voice registered, and she studied him. “You’re right, I suppose.” She tested her skin by pressing a finger against her shoulder. “Not yet.” She gave him another direct look. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he had had a difficult time concentrating on his work knowing she was there within view of his window.

  “I’ll be a bit more up to standard tomorrow,” she told him, thinking perhaps he was irritated that she had given him only a few hours. “Planes wear me out. It must be the altitude.” Her hair was almost dry, and she pushed a hand through it absently. It appeared almost copper in the sunlight. “Do you want me?”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe I do.”

  Kasey caught the double entendre and thought it wise to stand up. “I don’t think we meant the same thing.” She smiled but kept out of reach.

  He took a step toward her, surprising both of them. On impulse, he reached out to touch her hair. “You’re a very attractive woman.”

  “And you’re a very attractive man,” she said smoothly. “And we’re going to be working in close quarters for some time. I don’t think we should—complicate things. I’m not being coy, Jordan. I’m being practical. I very much want to see this book through. It could mean every bit as much to me as it will to you.”

  “We’ll make love sooner or later, you know.”

  “Oh, really?” She tilted her head.

  “Yes, really.” Turning, he left her alone by the pool.

  Well, she thought, placing her hands on her hips. Is that so? I suppose he always gets his way. She stretched out on the lounger again. Though his high-handedness irritated her, Kasey admired his directness. He could drop the polished manners and elegance when he chose to. He might be more difficult than she had anticipated.

  It would be foolish to deny she was attracted to him and equally foolish to act on the attraction. Kasey frowned and twisted a curl around her finger. What did Kathleen Wyatt have in common with Jordan Taylor? Nothing. She would not, could not, involve herself emotionally or physically with a man unless there was a firm base. Attraction wasn’t enough, nor was respect. There was a need for affection, for friendship. Kasey wasn’t at all certain she could be friends with Jordan Taylor. Time would tell, she told herself and settled back again. Then a movement caught her eye.

  Looking over, Kasey smiled and raised her hand in a wave. Alison seemed to hesitate for a moment, then walked over to join her.

  “Hi, Alison. Did you just get out of school?”

  “Yes, I just got home.”

  “I’m playing hookey.” Kasey leaned back against the cushions agai
n. “Ever played hookey?”

  Alison looked horrified. “No, of course not.”

  “Too bad, it can be fun.” A sweet child, Kasey thought, and much too lonely. She shot the young girl a grin. “What are you studying?”

  “American poets.”

  “Have a favorite?”

  “I like Robert Frost.”

  “I always liked Frost.” Kasey smiled as lines flitted through her mind. “His poems always remind me of my grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “He’s a doctor in a remote section of West Virginia. Blue mountains, forest, streams. Last time I went home, he was still making house calls.” He’ll be making them when he’s a hundred, she thought, and missed him suddenly, acutely. It had been too long since she’d been home. “He’s an incredible man—big and strapping with white hair and a big, booming voice. Gentle hands.”

  “It would be nice to have a grandfather,” Alison murmured, trying to picture him. “Did you see him often when you were growing up?”

  “Every day.” Kasey recognized the wistfulness. She reached out to touch Alison’s hair. “My parents were killed when I was eight. He raised me.”

  Alison’s eyes were very intense. “Did you miss them?”

  “Sometimes I still do.” She’s still hurting, Kasey thought. I wonder if any of them know it. “To me, they’ll always be young and happy together. It makes it easier.”

  “They used to laugh,” Alison murmured. “I can remember them laughing.”

  “That’s a good memory. You’ll always have it.” There’s not enough laughter here, Kasey decided and felt a quick flash of anger for Jordan. Not nearly enough. “Alison.” She broke into the child’s thoughts. “I bet you dress for dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please.” Kasey grinned and shook her head. “Don’t call me that. It makes me feel a million years old. Call me Kasey.”

  “Grandmother wouldn’t approve if I called an adult by her first name.”