Jennifer Greene - Man From Tennessee

Trisha did not wake until nine, a late hour in this household, so she was not surprised to find the house empty and no sign of Kern when she went downstairs. Dressed in the new jeans and shirt, with a battered pair of tennis shoes she’d remembered to throw into her suitcase, she gulped down half a cup of coffee and carted a sweet roll outside with her.

She was determined to work herself into a better frame of mind. Last night she had slept long and hard, but dreams had haunted her. Kern’s lovemaking had been rapturously consummated in one dream; yet in another he had thrown the name of tease at her, which churned like pain inside. In a third dream he had repeated over and over, “There’s only one way it can end for us, Tish. In bed. I can get you out of my system so easily if I see once and for all how cold and ungiving a woman you are!”

Daylight had come as a relief. She felt a need to do something physical to distract her from the increasing confusion she felt around Kern. Brushing crumbs off her hands from the roll, she shoved them in her back pockets and walked.

Kern’s land was a unique blend of landscapes. At the highest level was the spruce and fir forest, dense and abundant with berries at this time of the year, trillium sometimes blanketing a long stretch of forest floor. Some of the most spectacular waterfalls were above those areas he kept private, one of which she knew was uniquely special to any place on earth, yet it was not where she headed.

Below the fir-tipped peaks was the kind of land the campers came for, the cove-hardwood forest the region was famous for. It was magical to walk through. The huge tree trunks, some so wide four or five men couldn’t span their arms around them, stretched to the sky, forming leafy umbrellas high above her head. Yellow poplar, oak, basswood, hemlock-she remembered only a few of the names. Sunlight dappled down in long dusty streaks, shining on dogwood and rhododendron and an incredible number of wildflowers that only flourished in this protected area. Soft mosses covering the rich dark earth felt spongy beneath her feet.

An unusual wistfulness touched her expression as she walked. The city was her life now. She had roots established and a frenetically paced job that usually suited her well. But unwillingly, she could too easily remember that it wasn’t a cement-and-computer world where she’d wanted to raise her children, but here, with nature’s values and nature’s laws.

A hot whispering breeze brushed against her checks as she continued on, trailing a sprawling pattern of delicate white mountain laurel that bordered the path. Half an hour later she glimpsed the roof of Kern’s horse barn, and a wry smile touched her lips. Out of simple curiosity she headed that way. It was very dark inside, and the smells seemed doubly pervasive because of it. Trisha loved the smell of leather that was well cared for and recently polished, fresh hay and the scent of the horses themselves.

She noticed that two stalls were empty and suspected that either Kern or Jack had rented the horses out to campers. One horse stomped his feet at the sound of the stranger entering; another let out a plaintive whinny, bored after yesterday’s rain and inactivity. She stroked the silky necks as she ambled by. Four of the horses she’d never seen before, but of course Kern would have expanded his stock in five years.

“Would you ride with me?”

Trisha whirled, startled by the sudden tiny voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “Hello,” she offered cheerfully to the pigtailed little blonde dejectedly leaning against the stable door. She recognized the child from breakfast the day before. “It’s Georgia, isn’t it?”

The child nodded. “Would you go for a little ride with me?” she requested again. “My mom’s sick, and my dad promised but now he can’t. I can ride real good, but no one will let me go alone.”

Trisha crouched down to be more on a level with the big sad eyes. “Oh, I’d love to, honey, but I’m not very good with horses. I wouldn’t even know how to saddle one.”

The big blue eyes fluttered wide with hope. “You don’t need saddles. You just put on a big blanket. We could just go for a little while. Mr. Jack’ll say okay, and so will my daddy. Please? Oh, please?”

“Honey, I just can’t…”

One huge crystal of a tear formed in the child’s eye and slowly dribbled down her cheek. Trisha sighed. The first time she had gotten on a horse she had set off at an instant gallop and all too soon found herself head over heels, rolling on the ground. Her relationship with horses from then on had been never to travel in the direction of the stables without sugar, carrots or apples, all of which she was willing to deliver with crooning words and petting, and all from the other side of the wooden gates.

Georgia’s mother was still in her nightgown and nursing a cold. Her father was making tea for his wife. Trisha went into humorous detail as to her utter lack of experience with horses, her proven lack of control over them, and the more relevant fact that Georgia was their only daughter. The Shearers were clearly more interested-and grateful-in the idea of a babysitter.

And Jack proved equally helpful, bustling promptly ahead of them to put the reins and blanket on a huge roan at the far end of the stables. “Kern already told me to give you any help you wanted if you wandered down here. I thought he said for sure you wouldn’t be near the horses, but it doesn’t matter. Mildred’s just a lamb, and I’ll show you a good easy trail to follow. You won’t run into any trouble. If you’re worried at all, though, I’ll get a mount and go with you. Kern said-”

“No, thank you,” Trisha said firmly, aware of the blonde’s admiring look. She grinned. “Some humiliations are better faced alone. A lamb, you say?”

“Really, she’s very gentle.”

It was not as if she had other plans for the morning, and a short trip around the campgrounds wasn’t going to kill her. Georgia comfortably vaulted in front like a pro, and Jack helped Trisha slide on just behind her.

Three hours later Trisha snail-paced the walk to Kern’s with a gamboling Georgia at her side, seeking lunch. Hurrying was not the order of the day. Unconsciously she stiffened still further at the sight of Kern at the door, his arms folded across his chest as if he had been waiting. His eyes narrowed only momentarily on the child and then rested on Trisha, who was making a monumental effort to walk normally.

“I was about to send out a search party for you. There was a time you wouldn’t go a quarter mile off the trail on your own, bright eyes; and in this country, if you haven’t forgotten, one leaves word before just taking off for hours at a time.”

“It never occurred to me that you would be worried,” she answered honestly, not at all pleased that just looking at him was enough to promote an image of last night, of steel-gray eyes softened in passion. She swept past him to the cool bright kitchen with the child in hand, all too aware he was radiating both impatience and exasperation. “I’m sorry, Kern. I knew you were busy and I never planned on being in your way. Jack knew where we were. Have you had lunch?”

“I would have, but I kept expecting you to come in. Rhea had been coming over to fix meals, but somehow she’s under the impression that she’s not wanted here for the moment. I wonder who could conceivably have given her that idea.”

It didn’t seem particularly wise to answer that. She ran a quick brush through her hair and washed her hands in the bathroom, returning to the kitchen to make sandwiches, with Georgia perched on the counter next to her. It was Georgia who put cheese, meat and lettuce to the bread slices. The first finished product, wobbly though it was, was presented proudly to “Mr. Kern,” who now sat in a kitchen chair, watching both of them.