would see you home. Now, what's it going to be? Do we drive or do we walk?"
Katy looked at him uncertainly in the dim light filtering through the windows, her teeth worrying the soft inner tissue of her bottom lip. She saw the rock-hard determination in his expression and knew she was not going to be able to dissuade him.
She sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "We walk."
Ignoring his arm, she descended the veranda steps and started around the corner of the house to follow the path that led to the stables. Trace fell in step beside her. Katy walked quickly, her chaotic thoughts tumbling over themselves in a jumble of confusion. Her mind groped in frantic desperation for an avenue of escape, but she could not concentrate. Awareness of the tall, vigorous man at her side flooded her senses and her brain simply refused to function.
As they neared the stables, they could hear the mare's nervous whicker. A rectangle of light spilled from one of the stalls at the far end of the row. Katy heard her father's voice, crooning encouragement to the frightened animal, his tone low and soothing, the words unintelligible.
Green Acres Farm rarely called in the local veterinarian. They didn't need him. Not when they had Tom Donovan. But perhaps Trace didn't know that.
Katy looked up at him. "If you feel you should be there, Mr. Barnett, please don't worry about me. I assure you I can find my way home alone with no problem."
He grasped her upper arm and began to lead her past the row of stalls. "Give it up, Katy. It won't work. I'll check the progress at the stables later, but right now I intend to walk you home. So no more arguing."
Behind the stables the road wound through a small stand of trees, and when they entered it, they were immediately enclosed in almost total darkness. Katy's heart began to thud painfully. You fool! You utter fool! Why did you insist upon walking? she berated herself silently. It would have taken no more than five minutes to get home by car. Instead, here she was, walking along a dark, country road with a man who terrified her.
A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the dirt road, muffling the sound of their footsteps. As quiet as it was, their approach startled a small, nocturnal creature, and it scurried deeper into the woods, amid a frantic rustle of brush. From nearby came the low, mournful hoot of an owl. The small sounds added to the feeling of complete isolation, and Katy felt gooseflesh rise along her arms. She shivered and drew the shawl closer to her body.
"Are you cold?"
The sharp question gave her a start. "What? Oh . . . no . . . that is . . ." The days were now pleasantly warm, but the early spring nights still held a biting chill. It had nothing to do with her reaction, but it provided a convenient excuse. "It's just a little cooler than I thought it would be."
The hand that gripped her elbow slid up her arm, and she shivered again. "You are cold. Here, wear my coat."
"No, I couldn't ..." she began, but before she could stop him, Trace had shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it across her shoulders.
"There, that should help."
"But now you'll be cold," Katy protested. She didn't want to wear his coat. It was still warm from the heat of his body, and smelled faintly of tobacco and aftershave. She felt suffocated in the engulfing, wide-shouldered garment. It was almost like being held in his arms.
"Don't worry about me. I've been living in the high country for the last four years. I'm used to the cold."
"The high country? Where is that?" she asked cautiously. The question was not prompted by curiosity, but by a desperate hope that conversation would dispel the intimacy which seemed to surround them.
"Colorado. I bummed around for a time after I left the farm, then I ran into an old friend. One of my college buddies. To make a long story short, we ended up going into the ranching business together. Using a part of my inheritance from my grandmother, along with what Hank
Katy looked at him uncertainly in the dim light filtering through the windows, her teeth worrying the soft inner tissue of her bottom lip. She saw the rock-hard determination in his expression and knew she was not going to be able to dissuade him.
She sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "We walk."
Ignoring his arm, she descended the veranda steps and started around the corner of the house to follow the path that led to the stables. Trace fell in step beside her. Katy walked quickly, her chaotic thoughts tumbling over themselves in a jumble of confusion. Her mind groped in frantic desperation for an avenue of escape, but she could not concentrate. Awareness of the tall, vigorous man at her side flooded her senses and her brain simply refused to function.
As they neared the stables, they could hear the mare's nervous whicker. A rectangle of light spilled from one of the stalls at the far end of the row. Katy heard her father's voice, crooning encouragement to the frightened animal, his tone low and soothing, the words unintelligible.
Green Acres Farm rarely called in the local veterinarian. They didn't need him. Not when they had Tom Donovan. But perhaps Trace didn't know that.
Katy looked up at him. "If you feel you should be there, Mr. Barnett, please don't worry about me. I assure you I can find my way home alone with no problem."
He grasped her upper arm and began to lead her past the row of stalls. "Give it up, Katy. It won't work. I'll check the progress at the stables later, but right now I intend to walk you home. So no more arguing."
Behind the stables the road wound through a small stand of trees, and when they entered it, they were immediately enclosed in almost total darkness. Katy's heart began to thud painfully. You fool! You utter fool! Why did you insist upon walking? she berated herself silently. It would have taken no more than five minutes to get home by car. Instead, here she was, walking along a dark, country road with a man who terrified her.
A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the dirt road, muffling the sound of their footsteps. As quiet as it was, their approach startled a small, nocturnal creature, and it scurried deeper into the woods, amid a frantic rustle of brush. From nearby came the low, mournful hoot of an owl. The small sounds added to the feeling of complete isolation, and Katy felt gooseflesh rise along her arms. She shivered and drew the shawl closer to her body.
"Are you cold?"
The sharp question gave her a start. "What? Oh . . . no . . . that is . . ." The days were now pleasantly warm, but the early spring nights still held a biting chill. It had nothing to do with her reaction, but it provided a convenient excuse. "It's just a little cooler than I thought it would be."
The hand that gripped her elbow slid up her arm, and she shivered again. "You are cold. Here, wear my coat."
"No, I couldn't ..." she began, but before she could stop him, Trace had shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it across her shoulders.
"There, that should help."
"But now you'll be cold," Katy protested. She didn't want to wear his coat. It was still warm from the heat of his body, and smelled faintly of tobacco and aftershave. She felt suffocated in the engulfing, wide-shouldered garment. It was almost like being held in his arms.
"Don't worry about me. I've been living in the high country for the last four years. I'm used to the cold."
"The high country? Where is that?" she asked cautiously. The question was not prompted by curiosity, but by a desperate hope that conversation would dispel the intimacy which seemed to surround them.
"Colorado. I bummed around for a time after I left the farm, then I ran into an old friend. One of my college buddies. To make a long story short, we ended up going into the ranching business together. Using a part of my inheritance from my grandmother, along with what Hank
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