Foxfire Light (6 page)

As they exited the store and started toward the car parked in the lot, Joanna murmured, loud enough for her uncle to hear, “So that is the Widow Parmelee.”

Her sidelong glance caught his startled look. “What do you know about her?” He recovered quickly and sounded only mildly curious.

“Do you remember I told you that I stopped at a gas station yesterday to ask directions?” she said.

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, not following what that had to do with Mrs. Parmelee.

“When I told him that I was trying to reach the cabin owned by my uncle, Reece Morgan, he knew you right away,” Joanna explained. “He asked if it was the same Morgan who was sweet on the Widow Parmelee. Are you the same Morgan?” she asked, already guessing the answer after what she had witnessed inside.

Her question appeared to make him vaguely uncomfortable. Faint Lines creased his forehead. “Yes, I suppose I am that man.”

“And is the Widow Parmelee sweet on you?” she prompted.

A heavy sigh came from him as he stopped beside the car's passenger door to open it for her. “I don't know. Sometimes I think she finds me attractive. Yet every time I ask her to have dinner with me, I get the cold shoulder. Linc advises me to be patient. I'm an outsider. So—” There was an expressive lift of his shoulders. “I am patient.”

“Personally, I think she needs her head examined for not snapping you up,” Joanna declared.

“Now, do you see why I want you to spend the rest of the month here?” he laughed at her strident defense of his attractiveness. “It's your moral support I require.”

O
utside the cabin, the shadows were lengthening as sundown approached. Joanna wiped the last of the cooking pans dry and stacked it in a lower cupboard with the rest of the pots and pans. Folding the damp dishtowel, she neatly hung it on a wallrack to dry.

“We're all finished.” Joanna turned to her uncle and halted briefly to study the picture he made, so maturely handsome and well-dressed, except for the plain white apron around his waist to protect his dark slacks. It struck an incongruous note. “I wish I had a picture of you in that apron.” A bemused smile deepened the corners of her mouth.

“Why?” His out-reaching glance was curious as he untied the bow in back to take it off.

“Somehow you just don't seem the domestic type to me,” she shrugged.

“Just what is the domestic type?” Reece challenged with an amused look.

Joanna was without an answer to that. She was saved from a reply by the sound of a vehicle turning into the cabin's drive. “I think you have company,” she said to her uncle.

“Perhaps it is Linc. I have been wanting you to meet him,” he stated as he moved past her into the living room.

Joanna was slow to follow him, taking time to hang up the apron he'd left on the countertop. The vehicle's motor had already stopped and a door had been slammed when she started for the living room. She heard the creaking hinges of the screen door as her uncle opened it to admit the visitor.

“Linc. I'm so glad you came by.” The delight was evident in her uncle's greeting.

“Hello, Reece. How have you been?” There was the heavy thud of footsteps ascending the steps of the front entrance.

But it was the familiar sound of the man's voice that caused Joanna to falter in her stride a foot short of the opening to the living room. It couldn't be the cowboy. From the little Reece had told her about Linc Wilder, she had gained the impression that he and her uncle were the same age, contemporaries.

“Fine. Come in. Come in.” Her uncle's voice urged the man into the house.

Joanna continued into the living room, less
certainly than before. Alarm bells went off in her head when she recognized the tall, broad shouldered man crossing the threshold. Instead of the faded Levis and workshirt, he was wearing a white shirt with pearl snaps and slim-fitting, western cut slacks of tan drill.

It wasn't his casual attire that held her attention, but the rugged planes of his tanned features—sun-hardened and strong. The brim of his cowboy hat shadowed his eyes but Joanna had no difficulty remembering the hard amber flecks in the light brown irises that glittered their message of caution.

She watched the straight, firm Line of his mouth curve in a smile that gentled the hard contours of his face as he shook hands with her uncle. It was an expression that didn't last long, fading when his glance traveled beyond her uncle to notice her.

“Joanna, come meet Linc Wilder.” Her uncle seemed oblivious to the subtle undercurrents impregnating the air as he invited her to come forward.

With a stiffness to her carriage, she started across the room. All her nerve ends were tingling under the study of those eyes. She knew her appearance was a definite improvement on the way she had looked the first time he'd seen her. The smooth style of her ash-blonde hair flattered her features, features that were enhanced by the light application of makeup—a hint of mascara to darken her lashes, a touch of green shadow to bring out the warm brown of
her eyes, and a lingering trace of brown-rose gloss to define the curve of her lips.

There was no artificial cause for the color in her cheeks as his re-assessing gaze traveled the length of her body, taking note of the slim-fitting designer jeans that hugged her hips, and of the clinging fabric of her red knit top that outlined the swell of her young breasts.

There was a definite shimmer of defiance in her eyes when she met his glance. All her defenses were raised against him. Joanna didn't fully understand this inner need to protect herself from him. It seemed purely instinctive, a reaction beyond her control. When she stopped beside her uncle, she was rigid with tension.

“Linc, I want you to meet my niece, Joanna Morgan,” her uncle finished the introduction.

The strong mouth slanted its Line but it never made the full transition into a smile. His glance locked with hers, his heavy with irony.

“Your niece and I have already met, although we didn't bother to introduce ourselves at the time.” He held out his hand to her, the gesture in the way of a challenge.

Joanna longed to ignore it but it would have meant a gross display of bad manners to a guest of her uncle's. She forced herself to shake his hand. His grip seemed to swallow her, the contact sending tingles up her arm.

“You have met?” Her uncle reacted to Linc Wilder's statement, the frowning arch of a dark brow directing a silent query to Joanna for confirmation.

“Yes, we have,” she admitted and withdrew her hand from his grasp the instant he relaxed it. She faked an air of innocent oversight when she met her uncle's puzzled glance. “Didn't I mention that there was another man present yesterday when my car landed in the ditch?”

“No, I don't recall that you did,” Reece frowned in an effort to remember what she had said.

“I must have forgotten.” She made light of the omission with a dismissing shrug.

Reece accepted her explanation that it had been an oversight and moved away from the door, inviting them to follow by his action. “Joanna told me about the incident on the road yesterday,” he admitted to Linc.

“Did she?” The mocking lilt of his voice dryly intimated that Joanna had colored the story so she wouldn't be seen in a bad light.

Her retort was quick. “Yes, I did. Reece knows me very well—and my embarrassing habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“Yes, Joanna felt badly about some of the things she said to Jessie.” Her uncle corroborated her assertion that she had been candid about her role in the events that transpired after her car landed in the ditch. Reece paused near the chintz-covered sofa positioned in front of the brick fireplace. “May I bring you some coffee, Linc?”

“Please,” he accepted.

“I'll get it,” Joanna volunteered, welcoming an excuse to leave the room.

“No.” Her uncle firmly rejected the offer. “You stay here. I want you and Linc to get acquainted.”

Joanna was left with little choice except to agree. As her uncle departed for the kitchen, she let her gaze swing to Linc Wilder. He was standing near the couch, watching her lazily with his cat's eyes.

Relegated to the role of hostess, she made a stiff gesture to invite him to sit down. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Dryness quirked the corners of his mouth as he folded his long body onto the couch.

He removed his hat, setting it on the adjoining sofa cushion, and combed his fingers through the brown thickness of his hair to unflatten it. His glance ran back to her in a prodding reminder that she was still standing. Joanna sat down in the nearest chair, too nervous to relax against the seat back.

“So you were embarrassed yesterday?” It was a baiting question. “You didn't appear to be.”

“No one likes to feel embarrassed. They usually try to cover it up with a show of indifference or bravado.” She relied on those ploys now and attempted to put him on the defensive by questioning his actions the previous day. “You knew who I was. You probably even guessed Reece was my uncle before I mentioned it. Yet you didn't acknowledge that you knew him. Don't you think that was rude not to let me know how much farther it was to the cabin?”

“That wasn't rude. It was rural.”

“Which means?” she bristled.

“Which means we aren't in the habit of turning the other cheek,” he replied, his level gaze on her. “You didn't appreciate the help we gave you getting the car out of the ditch. So why should I help you again?”

“I did appreciate your help,” Joanna insisted.

“You didn't show it,” Linc Wilder countered. “Or were you trying to supposedly cover up your true feelings again?”

“Maybe I didn't sound properly grateful,” she conceded stiffly. “But you weren't exactly a model of tact yourself. You can't say that you behaved like a gentleman.”

“No, but I didn't see any lady in the vicinity either.” His smooth reply was almost a slap in the face.

Joanna whitened. “I hope you don't expect me to apologize for yesterday.”

“I expect nothing.”

“Good, because Mr. Bates is the only one who deserves an apology from me,” she stated with a cold glare.

An eyebrow was briefly lifted. “At least you recognize that,” he murmured.

“I recognize a lot of things, Mr. Wilder.” She was angry, controlling her temper and the volume of her voice with an effort. “I have already admitted that I'm not proud of the way I behaved yesterday, but that isn't good enough for you. I pity your wife for being married to such a hard, unforgiving man.”

“You can save your pity. I'm not married,” he replied.

“I can see why,” Joanna declared.

Her uncle returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three coffee mugs on it. He set it down on the short cypress table in front of the sofa, not noticing the sudden silence that dominated the room. After he had handed each of them a mug, he sat on the couch with Linc.

“It is a lovely evening,” Reece stated on a contented note. “Did you hear the whippoorwills outside a few minutes ago?”

“No. I must not have been listening,” Linc's drawled reply indicated a lack of interest. Joanna didn't answer at all.

For the first time, Reece noticed the closed expressions both of them were wearing and began to suspect that all was not right. He also sensed there would be no conversation unless he carried it. “Joanna admired your home when we drove by it today, Linc,” he offered as a gambit to draw both of them into the discussion.

“Did she? I'm flattered.” But a strong thread of mockery ran through the reply.

Reece saw the way Joanna's lips tightened in a thin Line, a sure sign of temper. “His house commands quite a fantastic view. You can see for miles. We will have to stop sometime so you can see it.”

“It sounds lovely. I can hardly wait.” She was equally taunting, cloaking it behind false politeness. As if this front of pleasantness was too difficult to maintain, she abruptly set her cup
down and rose from the chair. “Excuse me, will you? If I want to reach my mother before she goes out for the evening, I need to phone her now. I have some things I want her to send.” The last was added to Reece as an explanation for the phone call.

“Use the phone in the study so you can have some privacy.” Reece straightened, out of deference to her sex, but Linc remained seated as she left the room and closed the door. Resuming his seat, Reece let the silence run between them before he finally spoke his thoughts, needing to know what was wrong. “There is friction between you and my niece. What has caused it?”

Linc's gaze swung to the study door, narrowing slightly, then he attempted a smile. “Maybe it would be better if we talked about something else.”

“Is it something that happened yesterday?” Reece persisted with the subject, anxious to smooth out any differences between the two. “Joanna admitted to me that she had said some pretty unforgivable things. She is young and her temper is quick.”

“And her tongue is sharp,” Linc added. “And she's a little too big for her britches.” His glance ran sideways to Reece. “Sorry, but you asked for my opinion.”

“From the time Joanna was small, her mother—my sister-in-law—has attempted to run every minute of her life. It's natural that Joanna began to resent that and learn to stand up for herself.” Reece sketched in a little of his niece's
background so Linc could understand her present behavior. “She doesn't like being told what to do,” he paused to eye Linc with a knowing look. “And you are used to telling people what to do.”

“Message received,” Linc acknowledged with a wry twist of his mouth. “But I still think she needs to be pushed on her backside. It takes falling on your rear end a few times before you appreciate landing on your feet.”