Valley Of The Vapours: Arkansas Part 10

"I told you to leave!" The thread holding her father's temper snapped.

"No!" She planted herself firmly in his path. "Not until you accept our explanation."

"I don't need your explanation! I knew what had been going on when I walked into the room!"

"For heaven's sake, Dad, I'm your daughter. Won't you listen to me?" Despair and frustration rimmed her voice. Then her mouth turned down in a grim line. "Or is it because I'm your daughter? Because you know what you would have done in the same circ.u.mstances?"

A glimmer of guilt flickered across his face before he quickly blacked it out. "That's sheer nonsense!" he bl.u.s.tered. "And don't try to sidetrack me."

"I'm not trying to sidetrack you. I'm trying to keep you from making a fool of yourself and me!"

Richard Caldwell stared at her for a long minute, resisting the plea in her tear-filled, angry green eyes. His hard gaze drifted towards Roarke, who was still quietly watching the proceedings.

"Mr. Madison and I are going to have a private talk," her father declared in a controlled tone. "I want you to get in your car and go home with Blanche."

"I can't. The battery is dead in my car," Tisha retorted, maintaining her mutinous stand in front of him.

"Then take my car!" he snapped.

She folded her arms and continued to glare at the tall, dark-haired man. "I'm supposed to be the wronged party in this farce. Surely I'm ent.i.tled to listen to this "private conversation"?"

"Females can't discuss things intelligently when their emotions are involved. You'd start getting hysterical," he stated forcefully.

"Oooh!" The angry sound was ripped from her throat. "You're the one who can't discuss things intelligently! You weren't even here last night, yet you're so positive you know everything that happened!"

"I will not tolerate your insolence any longer!" her father exploded. "You will leave this house now!"

"I am not leaving you here alone with Roarke!" Tisha exclaimed, raising her voice to match the level of her father's.

There was a slight sound of movement behind her, then a hand was touching her waist. "I'm capable of fighting my own battles, Red," Roarke drawled in an amused tone.

"I was beginning to think you were the type that hid behind a woman's skirt," Richard Caldwell jeered.

Over her shoulder, Tisha saw the sudden narrowing of Roarke's eyes, although his expression remained outwardly bland. From her own experience, she knew Roarke was a formidable opponent. She had never been able to get the best of him even though there were times when she thought she had.

"I appreciate your concern over last night's events, Mr. Caldwell," Roarke replied with amazing calm. His glance slid down to Tisha with a rea.s.suring glint in the depths of his brown eyes. "And I quite agree that it will be difficult to discuss this rationally with your daughter's temper erupting all over the place."

She gasped at his sudden betrayal of her. "I am not leaving!"

"Go on." He gave her a little shove. "Take Blanche home. I'm certain your father and I can come to some understanding."

This time she turned her rebellious stand to him, tilting her head back to glare at him defiantly. "I won't go."

"You will do as your father wishes," Roarke stated in a very quiet and very firm tone.

"And if I don't, what will you do-pick me up and carry me out to the car?" Her voice trailed away on the last word as the look in his eyes reminded her of last night when he had unceremoniously carried her into the house.

"If necessary," he murmured.

Tisha was defeated and she knew it. One glance at her father saw the glimmer of respect in his eyes at the authoritative tone of Roarke's voice. He would probably applaud as Roarke carried her bodily out of the house if she continued to resist.

The venom on her tongue was divided equally between the two men. "I think both of you are disgusting with your highhanded, arrogantly right male airs! I'm leaving, but it's because I can't stand the sight of either of you!"

Bitter tears burned her eyes as she marched out of the kitchen with her aunt trailing quietly along in her wake. At her father's car, she paused, then walked around to the pa.s.senger's side.

"You drive, Blanche," she commanded tightly. "I'm so mad I'd probably run us into a tree."

Her teeth were making marks in her knuckles as her aunt started the car and turned it down the lane. Hot tears of frustration scalded her cheeks.

"I've never been so humiliated in all my life," she muttered. "Why did Dad have to show up? Why is he always ready to believe the worst?"

"He missed you, Tisha," her aunt murmured softly. "He drove up to spend the day with you."

"Well, I wish he hadn't come. I never want to see him again!" she declared angrily. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I didn't mean that. He's my father and I love him," she sighed, brus.h.i.+ng the tears from her face. "But why can't he trust me?"

"It isn't you so much that he doesn't trust. It's Roarke." A small smile of half-humour flitted across her aunt's mouth. "Let's face it, if Roarke had been sixty years old and podgy, your father would have never jumped to the conclusions that he did. And if he walked in, as you said, and found you in Roarke's arms, you can't blame him for jumping to the obvious. You have to remember your father is a man who probably swept aside many a woman's objections. He most likely imagined Roarke doing the same thing with you."

A wave of shame washed over her. Only Tisha, and Roarke, too, knew how close her father's accusations had come to being the truth. Guilt was undoubtedly the reason her denial of her father's implications had been so vehement and perhaps less believable.

"If only that tree hadn't blown down last night," Tisha sighed, accompanying the sound with a grimace. "And the road crew hadn't so promptly cleared it away this morning."

"If only I hadn't sent you up here last night with that package," Blanche reminded her dryly. "I was the one who insisted that it had to be taken up last night."

"Oh, Blanche, I don't blame you," she a.s.serted quickly.

"I know you don't," Blanche smiled, parking the car in front of her house. "I left the coffee on."

"I hope it's strong and black," Tisha declared, opening her car door and stepping out, "because I could sure use it!"

Inside the house, Blanche poured them each a cup of coffee and carried it to the kitchen table where they sat in silent commiseration. A heavy sigh wrung itself from Tisha's lips.

"After what's happened, I don't imagine Dad will let me stay here. He'll probably pack me up and take me home where he can keep me under lock and key. If I thought he intimidated my dates before, it will be nothing compared to what he'll do now," she said with a resigned shake of her head.

"You don't have to leave," Blanche a.s.sured her firmly. "No matter what my brother says you're welcome to stay."

"Thanks," Tisha smiled, her gaze straying out the window. "What do you suppose he's going to do to Roarke?"

"I doubt that he'll do anything to him," her aunt said wryly.

"I wish I knew what was going on up there."

"We'll soon find out," Blanche stated.

It was over an hour later before they heard the sound of Tisha's car coming up the drive. She exchanged a sympathetic glance with her aunt as she prepared to meet the fury of her father. When he walked into the kitchen, there was a very satisfied smile on his face. He rubbed his hands together as if he had just successfully completed a very difficult mission.

"Is there any coffee left?" he asked cheerfully.

Tisha had expected anything but this seeming good nature. A puzzled frown creased her forehead as she watched him pour himself a cup of coffee and carry it to the table where she and Blanche were sitting.

"You're a very lucky little lady," he nodded at her as he straddled a chair at the end of the table. The sun winked over the silver wings of his hair near the temples.

"What do you mean?" Tisha asked warily.

"Your Mr. Madison has agreed to do the right thing by you," he announced smugly, taking a sip of the scalding liquid.

Her back stiffened at his words. "What do you mean? The right thing?"

"He's agreed to marry you, of course!"

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Stunned disbelief held her paralysed. "You can't be serious!"

"You're d.a.m.ned right I'm serious," he declared. "We'll get the blood tests and the marriage licence this week."

"No!" Tisha cried. "No, no, no, no! I'm not going to marry him!" She jumped to her feet in frustration.

"You most certainly are!"

"I don't even know the man," she protested with a desperate cry. "As a matter of fact I don't even like him!"

"You should have realized that before you spent the night with him."

"I spent the night at his house, but not with him. Surely he explained that? He did, didn't he?" Fear gripped her throat as she waited for her father to answer.

"Actually there was no reason to discuss the exact details of what happened last night," he shrugged complacently. "As soon as I discovered his intentions towards you were honourable, there wasn't any need to go into his intimate knowledge of you."

"His intentions were honourable!" Tisha repeated. "Do you mean Roarke does want to marry me?"

"I persuaded him that he should, and with all possible haste."

"Richard, did you threaten to bring charges against him?" Blanche demanded angrily.

"Not in so many words," he s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "But the man is intelligent. He understood I had to protect my daughter's reputation. And of course, he had to protect his against the possibility of scandal."

"You're actually going to force me to marry him!" Tisha cried. "I don't love him!"

"He's a very personable young man with an excellent career. Fairly wealthy too, from what I was able to determine. You could do very much worse. Kevin would never have been able to handle you, but I think Madison would be able to keep you in line," her father a.s.serted. There was a sparkle of fire in his eyes when he looked at her. "When I walked in that kitchen, you were very willingly in his arms and he had just kissed you, too. You may not be in love with him now, but with a man like that, it will come in time."

"No," she breathed helplessly, "I am not going to marry him!"

"The matter has been settled, and we won't discuss it any further." He set his cup on the table and rose from his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have to start making arrangements to be free this week. That's one of the blessings of being your own boss. In cases of emergency, you can delegate the work to your employees."

"I don't believe it," Tisha murmured, sinking into her chair as her father walked from the room. "How could Roarke agree to this?"

"I'm as surprised as you are," confessed Blanche.

"I keep feeling this is a nightmare and if I could only pinch myself hard enough I would wake up. Thank heaven for all the modern formalities you have to go through before there can be a marriage. Dad would have had us married on the spot!" Tisha shuddered. "I always knew he was terribly old-fas.h.i.+oned, but I never dreamed he would resort to this."

"Roarke has obviously agreed to this...marriage," her aunt said hesitantly. "Physically I know you attract him. I was wondering...have you fallen in love with him?"

"Me? In love with Roarke?" In spite of all the indignation Tisha put in her voice, the negative shake of her head was one of uncertainty. "Never!" she added firmly, partially afraid to examine her emotions. She rose quickly to her feet again. "I have to speak to Father. Somehow I have to make him understand that I won't marry Roarke!"

Chapter Eight.

FOR the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon, Tisha argued and pleaded with her father. Neither tears nor logic nor anger could persuade him to change his mind. She knew she would not be able to move him from his adamant stand as long as he believed that Roarke would marry her. She stormed into the studio where Blanche had discreetly retreated to allow them privacy.

"Please, go and keep Dad occupied," Tisha pleaded, bitter tears of frustration scalding her eyes. "I have to call Roarke, and I don't want Dad accidentally picking up the phone and finding out."

Blanche immediately set down her brush and began wiping her hands on a rag. "No luck?" she asked sympathetically, and the grim expression on her niece's face gave her a wordless answer of the futility of her attempts. "Roarke's number is in the address book by the telephone."

Tisha sent a clipped thanks to her departing aunt and walked to the telephone. With fingers trembling with anger, she dialled the number and listened impatiently to the rings that went unanswered. She was all ready to slam down the receiver when she heard Roarke's voice.

"Where have you been?" she demanded angrily.

"Who is that? Tisha?"

"Of course," she snapped.

"Yes, of course." There was dry amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice. "Who else would greet anybody that rudely? As to where I've been, I work for my living, you know."

"I haven't got time for idle conversation," Tisha retorted. The husky, mocking sound of his voice added more fuel for her fiery temper to feed on. "Father might find out any minute that I'm calling you."

"After what he already suspects, what harm is there in a telephone call?"

"Just shut up and listen! Father is always in bed by ten o'clock. I want you to meet me at eleven sharp down at the end of the lane. Have you got that?"

"Yes-"

She cut in on the rest of his words, "I'll see you there," and hung up the telephone. This was not the time for long-drawn-out conversation.

Tisha stayed clear of her father until the evening meal, where she maintained an icy coolness and occasionally tossed barbed remarks at him so he would know she still did not accept his edict of marriage. But nothing shattered his resolve that he was doing the right thing. By the time she and Blanche had cleared the table her father had retreated to the living-room, she was beginning to wonder if there was any way to elude the proposed wedding ceremony short of running away. Roarke was the key to the solution, she decided, immersing her hands in the dishwater. Between the two of them, they would come up with a way out of this mess.

Her gaze wandered idly to the window above the sink. With a start, Tisha recognized the white sports car pulling to a stop in front of the house. A glance at the clock told her it was only a few minutes past seven o'clock. Surely Roarke hadn't misunderstood her. She had said eleven, not seven.

The dish in her hand slid back into the water as she reached for the towel in her aunt's hand. "It's Roarke! He's here now!" she exclaimed in a panicked whisper.

"I thought you said you were going to meet him at eleven," Blanche frowned.

"That's what I told him." Only the excess water was wiped from her hands. "I have to stop him before Dad sees him!"

Before she was half-way across the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Richard Caldwell was already at the front door by the time Tisha reached the kitchen archway. She stopped in its frame, poised to take flight as she watched the calm, almost friendly way the two men greeted each other. Her heart was lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, pulsing wildly at the sight of the tall composed man exchanging pleasantries with her father.

"I hope you don't mind me dropping in this evening," he was saying in a condescending voice. His brown eyes glittered momentarily at Tisha. "I wanted to speak to your daughter. May I see her alone?"