Blue Mist of Morning (12 page)

"As I said, you're his sister and he loves you. If the two
of you were never close, I imagine it was because he's quite a few
years older than you are."

"Well, that's true," Jenny conceded reluctantly, but a
deep frown marred her brow. "But even so, he has no right to try to
tell me what to do. I don't care if he is my brother."

"I really don't understand your attitude," Anne said
quietly. "Why do you resent Ty?"

"Because he's not my father, but he's trying to act like
he is!" Marching across the room, Jenny went to stare out into the
darkness beyond the window. "He tries to boss me around and refuses to
let me do what I want to do. But he's not Daddy and he'll never take
Daddy's place, no matter how hard he tries. I just wish he'd leave me
alone. I'm grown up now, and I don't need a father, which is a good
thing isn't it, since I don't have one anymore?"

As Jenny's voice broke revealingly, tears of sympathy
sprang to Anne's eyes. She moved across the room to stand beside the
girl at the window. "You're really missing him, aren't you? I know how
you feel."

"Oh, no you don't!" Jenny snapped, jerking her head around
to stare at Anne impatiently. "You couldn't possibly know how I feel!"

"Oh, but I do. My father died when I was seventeen, too."

Regret flickered over Jenny's face, then she bent her head
and stared at the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't know," she murmured
almost inaudibly. "So I guess you
do
know how I
feel."

"Yes. Very lost and confused and a little angry that it
had to be your father who died and not somebody else's," Anne suggested
softly. "You hate to feel that way, but you do. And you wonder if you
always did enough to let your father know you cared about him." As
Jenny stifled a sob, Anne touched her shoulder lightly. "Everything
you're feeling is perfectly natural, but you can't take your
unhappiness out on other people, especially the ones who care about
you. I think you should remember that your father was Ty's father, too.
His loss was as great as yours."

"But Daddy and I were so close," Jenny said, her voice
thick. "You see, he and Mother didn't think they could have another
child after Ty, but when he was nearly seventeen, I came along and my
father was ecstatic. He'd always wanted a daughter." She smiled rather
sheepishly. "I have to admit he did pamper me and give me almost
anything I wanted. And we did things together."

"My father and I did, too," Anne said, her voice lowering
reminiscently. "I was his first born, and since he really expected me
to be a son, he just decided to treat me like one. He took me fishing
with him and bragged to his friends that I could bait a hook better
than any boy he'd ever seen. We had great times together. He was a
farmer and, much to my mother's dismay, he taught me to drive a tractor
by the time I was eight."

Jenny laughed and a vibrant animation erased the sulky
unhappiness that was usually in her face. "You must have had a lot of
fun with him. My father was a lot of fun to be with, too." Her smile
faded and she sighed. "We were just so close. I don't think Ty
understands how I feel now that he's gone."

"I'm sure he does. Ty was close to your father, too," Anne
tried to explain. "They worked together at Manning Consultants, and
they always seemed to me to have a very wonderful relationship. So, try
to remember that Ty is probably missing him as much as you are."

Jenny shrugged, apparently unwilling to admit that fact as
yet. Young as she was, she could only perceive her own grief and she
assumed it was far greater than that felt by anyone else. Almost
defensively, as if she didn't want to allow herself to think about
anyone else, Jenny steered the conversation back to her previous
argument. "Well, I don't know how Ty feels. All I know is that he can't
take Daddy's place with me. He can't order me around. I'll do what I
want and go out with anybody I please."

"If you mean Kirt Callen, then Ty's doing you a real favor
by telling you not to see him," Anne said bluntly. "You don't want to
get involved with a man like that. He's a notorious playboy, and you're
too young for him."

"He likes younger women," Jenny said self-righteously. "He
says we're more natural and more fun and lots less cynical than older
women."

"I bet he did. That sounds like a well-practiced line to
me. Don't you realize men like him will say anything they think women
want to hear?" Anne shuddered slightly, finding the mere thought of
Kirt Callen disagreeable. "But no matter what he says, he's not the
right man for you. He has no respect for women. He only wants to use
them. He's…"

"I don't want to hear what you think of him," Jenny
interrupted tersely, flouncing away to sprawl across the bed again.
"How do I know you're not just trying to make me dislike him because
you're interested in him yourself?"

"Take my word for it. I'll never compete with you for his
attention. He's not my type, I assure you," Anne said flatly, walking
across to stand at the foot of the bed as she gently added, "And he's
not your type either…"

"I'm busy," Jenny cut in, making a great show of
straightening the papers in front of her on the bed. "Do you mind?"

Sighing inwardly, Anne shook her head, knowing she would
get nowhere fast if she tried to make Jenny listen. Patience was what
the girl needed, and to win her trust, Anne knew she dare not
sermonize. At least tonight they had started to become acquainted, and
that was a beginning. After saying goodnight and getting no response at
all from Jenny, Anne quietly left the room.

It was only about nine-thirty, too early for bed, so Anne
went back downstairs to the comfortable study. Soon she was engrossed
again in the mystery novel she was reading, and by the time she
extricated herself from the baffling tangle of clues, over an hour had
passed. She was getting sleepy and, wanting a long hot bath before bed,
she decided to go up to her own bedroom.

As she walked through the wide hall toward the stairs a
moment later, she heard the sound of a key turning in the front door
lock and halted her steps. She turned just as the door swung open and
Ty stepped inside, carrying a tan leather suitcase in one lean hand. To
her dismay, the mere sight of him was catalyst enough to make her heart
start a crazy palpitating beat. It was a purely involuntary physical
reaction, one she was powerless to control, but she berated herself for
responding to him like a foolish adolescent.

Suddenly he looked up and saw her standing there. After
allowing his narrowed gaze to wander lazily over the length of her
body, he gave her one of those slow, easy smiles, which only served to
make her heart beat even more erratically. Nonetheless, she smiled back
at him as he strode down the hall to join her at the foot of the
stairs. When he stopped close in front of her, she detected the
now-familiar lime fragrance of his aftershave. Stilling the
ridiculously urgent desire to touch him, she tilted her head to one
side inquiringly. "How was your trip?"

"Not bad," he answered, holding her gaze. "The owner of
the land the Petersons wanted to purchase out there finally came to
terms. And how about you? How was your weekend? Did Jenny give you any
trouble?"

"None at all. In fact, she never left the house. I was
surprised," Anne admitted. "But I think we should be relieved. Since
she didn't seem at all interested in going out, she can't be very
involved with Kirt Callen. But I do suspect she talked to him on the
phone several times, though I can't be absolutely positive. She took
all the calls in her room, where she spent most of the weekend."

Ty unbuttoned his tan suit jacket and his vest, then
removed his tobacco brown tie, while never once looking away from Anne.
"I suppose she knows why you're here?" he questioned matter-of-factly.
"Is that why she stayed up in her room? Didn't you get any chance at
all to talk to her?"

"We talked tonight, for the first time." Anne went on to
relate in detail her conversation with his sister, then finished by
saying, "And yes, she knows exactly why I'm here. She confronted me with it, and I didn't lie to
her. I told her I was indeed here to keep an eye on her."

"That's probably best," Ty said simply, cupping Anne's
elbow in one hand as he guided her up the stairs. "Though my sister is
acting immaturely these days, she's nobody's fool. It wouldn't have
been a good idea to lie to her about your reason for being here. But
how did she react when you admitted you were keeping an eye on her? Did
she seem to resent it?"

Anne smiled. "I did get the impression that she wanted to
call me a spy, but she expressed more of a resentment toward life in
general than she did toward me in particular. It's so obvious to me
that she needs someone to talk to. I think, with luck, she might be
willing to be a bit more friendly with me. Not right away, but
eventually."

Pausing at the head of the stairs, Ty turned Anne toward
him. "You see, I knew I was making a wise move by bringing you here,"
he said softly. "You know how to deal with a girl Jenny's age, while I
lack a great deal of expertise in that area, I'm afraid."

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," she
advised him wryly. "I haven't won Jenny's trust yet."

"But you will," he informed her, escorting her along the
corridor to the left. "I have faith in you. You've already had one good
idea—about taking her to St. Croix with me. I'm going to
invite her this week. Let's just hope she says yes."

As they stopped at her room, he stepped across the hall,
opened the door directly across from hers, and put his suitcase down on
the floor just inside the dark room. Anne's eyes widened slightly and
her heart, which had finally begun to behave normally again, now
recommenced those thudding palpitations. It had never occurred to her
that his room might be so close to her own, and though she knew she
shouldn't let his proximity bother her, it very definitely did. Unable
to look directly at him when he moved back across the hall toward her,
she feigned a great interest in a blue-glazed delft vase on the small
mahogany table beside her door, then gestured hesitantly. "Well, you
must be tired after that long flight, so I'll just say goodnight."

"Not so fast, Anne. I'm not that tired." Catching her by
one hand, he drew her toward him. His fingers came up to brush over the
sensitive skin beneath her widening eyes. "And you look much less tired
now," he said, his voice deep and melodious. "No more dark circles."

"I… do feel more like a human being," she
admitted, bracing herself not to react to his disturbing touch. "Maybe
I
was
trying to work too many hours a day."

Ty didn't answer. His fingertips traced the contours of
her cheeks, then sought the wisp of golden hair that brushed her
temple. Rubbing the silken strand between his fingers, he whispered
softly, "Your hair's like spun gold."

Anne held her breath as every inch of her skin burned with
her knowledge that his eyes were sweeping over her. She felt as if she
were standing naked before him. At last she could bear the intense
appraisal no longer. She looked up at his tan face, until finally his
blue eyes met hers. "Why must you always look at me that way when I
wear jeans?" she asked defensively. "Surely you don't think they're
inappropriate attire for me here? If I'm going to live in this house, I
think I should be allowed to dress comfortably. Up at your mountain
house, it was different. We were there on business, so I understood why
you expected me to wear my office clothes. But here…"

A wave of his hand silenced her immediately, as he stared
at her with the utmost confusion. Then, after a few seconds,
understanding gentled his finely carved features, and shaking his head,
he smiled. "If you didn't wear jeans that weekend in the mountains
because you thought I didn't approve, then you were sadly mistaken,
Anne."

"But I…"

"Frankly, I was disappointed when you changed that
afternoon to your pristine little skirt and blouse. And I was even more
disappointed when you never wore the jeans again the entire time we
were up there." He smiled mischievously. "If I stared at you that day,
I'm sorry. It was only because I'd never seen you dressed so casually
before, but I certainly didn't mean to convey disapproval. On the
contrary, I distinctly remember thinking that you have the
perfect… uh, shape to look fantastic in jeans."

Tapping her forefinger against her lips, Anne looked at
him with some suspicion. Usually he was an unfathomable man, his
expression frustratingly unreadable, but this time, she realized, there
was no mistaking the appreciative glimmer dancing in his blue eyes.
And, having detected the suggestive note in his half-serious remark
about her shape, she shook her head at him. "Really, Mr. Manning, I'm
surprised at you," she said, exaggerating a prudish tone. "A busy man
like you shouldn't waste time thinking about what is or isn't the
perfect… uh, shape for jeans."

Ty stepped closer. "You think not?"

"Absolutely," she retorted primly, turning swiftly to step
inside her room. And as Ty playfully swatted her derriere, she spun
around, trying to stare at him indignantly. That was impossible,
however, and she found herself returning his teasing grin before she
pushed the door firmly shut.

Thirty minutes later after a relaxing, scented bath, Anne
left the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom and went immediately to
turn back the quilted rust-colored coverlet on the antique
carved-mahogany bed. As she yawned behind her hand, she stepped out of
her slippers. A moment later, when she heard a loud thumping noise in
the hall, she padded barefoot across her room, opened the door and
looked out, just in time to see Jenny gather up the books she had
dropped and then disappear down the stairs. As Anne started to close
her door again, Ty's was suddenly opened. When his dark brows lifted
questioningly, she explained. "It was Jenny. She dropped some books on
her way downstairs."