had been able to scrape together over the years, we bought a small spread, fifty head of cattle, and a good seed bull." He laughed softly. "It's been an uphill struggle al! the way, but now our herd is considerably larger and we're finally beginning to show a profit."
Katy held her breath for a minute, then asked the question that was tormenting her. "Are you going to go back?"
The road opened suddenly into the meadow. In the weak, silvery light of a crescent moon, Katy saw Trace's mouth curve with ironic amusement. "No. At least, not for a while. And then probably just on flying visits."
He looked up at the dark, velvet sky, his eyes skimming over the bright clusters of stars. "When I got the call from our family attorney about Dad's death I came here intending to stay only long enough to attend the funeral and pick up the remainder of my personal belongings." He looked down at Katy and shrugged his broad shoulders, smiling. "I think I was more surprised than anyone to learn that Dad had left the farm to me. I suppose he finally suffered an attack of conscience."
"Well, after all, you are his son."
"Yes, I am that." He sighed wearily. "But I think the real reason he did it was because I'm my mother's son. You see, it was her money that saved the farm." Katy's start of surprise drew a bark of bitter laughter from Trace. "As I understand it, my grandfather was a very poor business man with very extravagant tastes. By the time my father inherited the place, it was mortgaged to the hilt. So ... he married my mother. Her family had just struck it rich in the oil business, and with their help he was able to get the farm back on its feet and recoup the family fortune, even increase it. Unfortunately, he was never able to forgive my mother for being one of that contemptible breed known as the nouveau riche, a group of upstarts with no pedigree to speak of. It seemed to embarrass him." He paused, then continued bitterly, "I remember waking up one night to hear them quarreling. He took great delight in telling her he'd never loved her, that she was socially inferior, and he would never have married her if it hadn't been for her money." His voice hardened and deepened. "After that she was never the same."
Katy was horrified. Temporarily her fear of Trace was forgotten, submerged under a huge, engulfing wave of compassion and pity, something she had never expected to feel for this man. It was difficult for her even to imagine growing up in such a cold, bitter environment. The love that had existed between her mother and father was warm and deep and constant. Katy had grown up secure in the knowledge that she was the wanted and cherished result of that love.
In the pale light of the moon Trace's expression was cold and formidable. How awful it must have been for him. He had adored his mother, that much she remembered. Was that why he had rebelled so against his father? Was his wildness, his open defiance, Trace's way of fighting back, of striking out at the man who had hurt her? It was possible. Still, it had nothing to do with her.
"You really shouldn't be telling me all this, Mr. Barnett. It's none of my business." She preferred to keep their relationship an impersonal one, the way it had always been. If he persisted in telling her the intimate details of his childhood and his parents' marriage she couldn't do that.
"I want you to know, Katy. I want you to understand," Trace said softly.
They had reached the house, and shrugging off his hand, Katy turned and walked quickly up the brick path to the porch. "I do understand. Believe me, I won't again make the mistake of assuming you share your father's opinions and values." Rummaging through her purse for the house key as she climbed the steps, Katy was extremely conscious of Trace walking beside her, his eyes on her down-bent head.
At the door, without warning, his hands descended on her upper arms and he turned her around. Instinctively, Katy hunched her shoulders forward and
Katy held her breath for a minute, then asked the question that was tormenting her. "Are you going to go back?"
The road opened suddenly into the meadow. In the weak, silvery light of a crescent moon, Katy saw Trace's mouth curve with ironic amusement. "No. At least, not for a while. And then probably just on flying visits."
He looked up at the dark, velvet sky, his eyes skimming over the bright clusters of stars. "When I got the call from our family attorney about Dad's death I came here intending to stay only long enough to attend the funeral and pick up the remainder of my personal belongings." He looked down at Katy and shrugged his broad shoulders, smiling. "I think I was more surprised than anyone to learn that Dad had left the farm to me. I suppose he finally suffered an attack of conscience."
"Well, after all, you are his son."
"Yes, I am that." He sighed wearily. "But I think the real reason he did it was because I'm my mother's son. You see, it was her money that saved the farm." Katy's start of surprise drew a bark of bitter laughter from Trace. "As I understand it, my grandfather was a very poor business man with very extravagant tastes. By the time my father inherited the place, it was mortgaged to the hilt. So ... he married my mother. Her family had just struck it rich in the oil business, and with their help he was able to get the farm back on its feet and recoup the family fortune, even increase it. Unfortunately, he was never able to forgive my mother for being one of that contemptible breed known as the nouveau riche, a group of upstarts with no pedigree to speak of. It seemed to embarrass him." He paused, then continued bitterly, "I remember waking up one night to hear them quarreling. He took great delight in telling her he'd never loved her, that she was socially inferior, and he would never have married her if it hadn't been for her money." His voice hardened and deepened. "After that she was never the same."
Katy was horrified. Temporarily her fear of Trace was forgotten, submerged under a huge, engulfing wave of compassion and pity, something she had never expected to feel for this man. It was difficult for her even to imagine growing up in such a cold, bitter environment. The love that had existed between her mother and father was warm and deep and constant. Katy had grown up secure in the knowledge that she was the wanted and cherished result of that love.
In the pale light of the moon Trace's expression was cold and formidable. How awful it must have been for him. He had adored his mother, that much she remembered. Was that why he had rebelled so against his father? Was his wildness, his open defiance, Trace's way of fighting back, of striking out at the man who had hurt her? It was possible. Still, it had nothing to do with her.
"You really shouldn't be telling me all this, Mr. Barnett. It's none of my business." She preferred to keep their relationship an impersonal one, the way it had always been. If he persisted in telling her the intimate details of his childhood and his parents' marriage she couldn't do that.
"I want you to know, Katy. I want you to understand," Trace said softly.
They had reached the house, and shrugging off his hand, Katy turned and walked quickly up the brick path to the porch. "I do understand. Believe me, I won't again make the mistake of assuming you share your father's opinions and values." Rummaging through her purse for the house key as she climbed the steps, Katy was extremely conscious of Trace walking beside her, his eyes on her down-bent head.
At the door, without warning, his hands descended on her upper arms and he turned her around. Instinctively, Katy hunched her shoulders forward and
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