"Come on, sugar," he said softly and caught her hand and began leading her under the overhead curtain of hop vines.

Amanda followed him, feeling good about herself, feeling that she, for once, wasn't a freak. Here was a man who liked her, a man who didn't want to teach her anything or give her a test. Here was a man who wasn't angry because she was displeasing him.

Suddenly, Sam turned and pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her. It felt so good to be kissed. He wasn't Taylor, who hated her kisses; he wasn't Dr. Montgomery, who only kissed her when he was proving something to her.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back, her arms going around his neck.

His lips went to her cheek, her ear, her neck. His hands began to roam all over her body, clutching her b.u.t.tocks and jamming her hips against his.

"Oh yeah, honey, give me," he murmured, his mouth moving down to her shoulder.

She felt his hand on the filmy shoulder of her dress, then she heard a little tear.

"Sam," she said, pushing at him, but he didn't budge. His mouth was making her shoulder wet and the grinding of his hips into hers was beginning to hurt. "Sam, please let me go."

"Not yet, honey. Not till I get what you been promisin'."

Amanda was beginning to get concerned. His arms were tightening; his hands were moving. One big hand grabbed the side of her breast.

"No!" she cried, but he put his mouth over hers again. She didn't like his kisses. They weren't nice like Dr. Montgomery's kisses. She moved her head away. "Stop it! I want to go home."

"You are home, girlie."

He put one arm under her knees and lifted her as he sank to the ground.

She was frightened now and she began to struggle in earnest, but she was half his weight and she had no effect on his strength. "No!" she screamed, pushing at him, pummeling any part of his body she could reach with her fists.

He grabbed her sleeve and she felt the fabric tear away as he began to run hot kisses down the front of her. She leaned her head back to scream for help but he put a thumb to her windpipe.

"No reason to make a fuss, baby," he said. "I'm just givin' you what you been wantin' all evenin'."

His mouth fastened on her breast and all Amanda could do was fight for air. She knew she was losing consciousness.

And then, all of a sudden, the thumb was removed. She opened her eyes to see that Dr. Montgomery had Sam by the hair.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Hank said, seething. "You're just what I thought you were."

Sam jerked out of Hank's grasp. "She wanted it. She's been askin' for it all night. You mad because she won't give it to you?"

The next second Sam was on his back, blood running from his split upper lip where Hank had hit him.

"I'm gonna ma.s.sacre you, old man, then I'm gonna take her," Sam said, coming to his feet and preparing to run at Hank.

"You and what army?" Hank said softly before sidestepping Sam's head-down charge. He laced his fingers and brought both fists down on the back of Sam's head.

Sam kept going for a second, then fell facedown in a hop plant.

"So much for old men," Hank said from above Sam's inert body, then he turned to look at Amanda. Her face was whiter than the silk of her dress and she was holding the bodice together with her hands.

"Come on, let's go," he said as gently as he could, considering the fact that he could easily wring her neck. He put out his hand to her but she walked past him, her little nose in the air. All right, if that's the way she wanted it, she could have it. He wanted to comfort her but she didn't look like she needed any comfort. He didn't glance at the unconscious football player but rubbed his aching hands and followed Amanda back to the road.

Reva was waiting for them, but Amanda walked right past her and started back toward town and the car.

"Sam do that?" Reva asked, referring to Amanda's torn dress.

"Yeah," Hank mumbled, watching Amanda as she stalked ahead.

"I guess our date's over," Reva said. "It sure has been interesting."

Hank wasn't listening to her. He'd barely heard Amanda's cry of no. If he'd been two hop rows farther away, he wouldn't have heard her. Thinking about seeing that jerk's body wrapped around Amanda made him want to go back and kill him.

Amanda didn't stop until she was at Hank's Mercer, then she stepped inside, sat down and looked straight ahead.

"Move over and let Reva in," Hank said with more anger than he meant.

"No thanks," Reva said. "I think I'll go back to the dance. But thanks a lot, Doc. Maybe we can get together again sometime." She practically ran across the street to the steps of the Opera House.

Hank started the car, got in the driver's side and turned toward the Caulden Ranch without saying a word to Amanda, but he silently cursed her all the way back. She had no sense about men, or sense about anything else for that matter. All she knew about were books and schedules. Why did she think she could handle some l.u.s.ty young man like that Sam? And Hank didn't really blame Sam after the way Amanda had thrown herself at him.

He turned an angry look toward her just as another car pa.s.sed them, and when he saw Amanda's face, his anger left him. She looked scared to death, as if her life were over. He pulled the car down a side road, stopped under an oak tree, then went to her side of the car.

"Get out," he said.

"I want to go home," she said in little above a whisper.

He put his hand on her arm but she flinched away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she said in a high-pitched half-scream.

"Amanda, I'm not a rapist and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll let you think all men are." He put one arm behind her back and another under her knees and scooped her out of the seat and into his arms.

When he touched her, she came alive, pounding his chest, kicking, pulling his hair. But he held her tightly, only grunting a few times when she hit some sensitive spot. After a long while she began to cry, and Hank moved with her to sit under the tree, where he held her close to him and stroked her hair while she cried.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

Amanda was beginning to recover. "My pride."

Hank handed her a handkerchief. "Nothing else? Just an ugly dress torn?"

"It's a beautiful dress. The prettiest one at the dance."

"Think so?" Hank said happily.

Amanda blew her nose again. "I don't know what happened. He was so kind at the dance. And it was nice to have a man want to kiss me."

Hank felt personally insulted. "I keep kissing you and you don't seem to think it's so nice."

"Yes, but you just want to teach me a lesson. You want me to change myself into what you want me to be, and Taylor wants me to be whatever he wants. Sam just thought I was... that I was pretty."

Hank knew there was more truth in her words than he liked to admit. "But you flirted with him and made him think you were easy."

"I just wanted to feel wanted."

"I see. You want to tell me what happened today with you and Taylor?"

She shuddered at the memory of the scene in the library. "No, I don't."

"That bad, was it?"

She sat up in his lap, and for all the intimacy of their contact they may as well have been sitting in a parlor on chairs.

"Something I'd like to know is, if you wanted a man to make you feel desirable, why didn't you come to me?"

"You?" she asked. "But you don't make me feel desirable. You make me feel stupid. You make me feel that everything I do is wrong. You yell at me, ridicule me, threaten me, tell me I have no idea what life or love is. Taylor may not make me feel like a femme fatale but he thinks I'm smart."

She got off his lap, stood and tried to pull the torn parts of her dress together. "Taylor chooses my clothes; you pick out a dancing dress for me. I really don't see any difference except that Taylor does it without shouting. I must say, though, Dr. Montgomery, I do like your food better than Taylor's, but as for day-to-day contact, I much prefer Taylor's quietness, and after tonight I am further convinced that he's the man for me. Tell me, are dates always this much 'fun'? I think I'll stay home next time if you don't mind. Now, may we return to my home where I'm safe?"

She turned away and got in the car, trying to conceal that her body was still trembling from Sam's attack. During the years she'd stayed at home with Taylor as her tutor, she seemed to have missed out on part of her education. Taylor never kissed her, but then along came Dr. Montgomery and he did. Yet Dr. Montgomery didn't maul her or hurt her, nor did his hands feel like slime on her skin like Sam's had.

She turned her face to the wind and tried not to cry. For the thousandth time she wished she had never met Dr. Montgomery. If Taylor rarely kissed her, it wouldn't have mattered because she never would have known about kissing or fast little cars, or dancing, or succulent food if she hadn't met Dr. Montgomery. And she wouldn't have become reacquainted with Sam or Reva, who had given her dagger-looks all evening. How different her life would be now if he'd never come.

And now she needed to get it back where it had been. She had to get home, sneak into the house (something else she'd never done before he came) and get to her calculus book so she could pa.s.s her test in the morning.

Hank stopped the car some distance from the house so no one would see the lights or hear the motor. "Amanda," he said, turning toward her, "you really can't blame me for what happened tonight."

"Of course not. I asked you to please take me to the dance. I even begged you to buy me a dress with half the bodice transparent. And I've told you how much I love your little picnics and all the other entertainments you've planned for me. Why should I blame you for any of the dreadful things that have happened to me since your arrival? My fiance can barely stand the sight of me; I'm attacked by an old friend. But I'm sure it's all been my fault, not yours."

Hank didn't answer her but turned and started walking with her back to the house. He knew that what he was doing was right, but sometimes she made him doubt himself. Maybe he should take her at her word and leave her alone.

At the door to her bedroom, Hank took Amanda's hand and kissed her palm. "Good night, Miss Caulden," he said softly, then went into his room before she could speak.

He didn't sleep well that night but kept hearing over and over Amanda's words that he had no right to interfere in her life. She was right when she pointed out that all the bad things that had happened to her had been caused by him. Tonight she had been nearly raped, and if she had been, it would have been his fault. She had not wanted his help, yet he had forced himself on her.

At three a.m. he got out of bed and walked to the balcony outside. He could see Amanda's light still on and see the shadow of her bent over her desk. She was no doubt studying her calculus, trying her best to please the man she loved.

Hank walked back into his room and began to pack. He wasn't sure what he'd been trying to prove with Amanda, but right now he felt like a complete failure. The missionaries who went to Hawaii had felt they were right, but in the end they had brought disease and destruction to the Hawaiians-just as he was destroying Amanda, the woman he- He stopped. He didn't know how he felt about Amanda but he did know he'd do most anything before he hurt her. Maybe it had all been vanity, to see if he could take her away from Taylor Driscoll. And what if he'd won? Would she become another Blythe Woodley, who thought he should marry her? Would Amanda also tear up wallpaper samples and throw them at him? She was better off where she was, with Taylor, and if she wanted every minute of her life put on a schedule, then it was her choice.

He wrote a thank-you note to Mr. and Mrs. Caulden for their hospitality, although he'd never seen her and rarely seen him, then he tried to write to Amanda but couldn't. What could he say? Forgive me for trying to take control of your life when you have given control to someone else?

At 5:30 he heard movement upstairs and knew that it was nearly time for Amanda's punishment test. He swallowed his anger at such an injustice and closed his suitcase. It wasn't his problem any longer-never had been, for that matter-and went downstairs. As he left his thank-you note on the hall table, he noticed a light on in the library and that the sliding doors weren't quite closed.

Telling himself it wasn't any of his business, he peeped inside. Amanda, looking small and fragile, sat behind the ma.s.sive desk, a paper and pen before her. But her head was on the desk, her hand palm up beside her. She looked like a sleeping child.

He felt a pang of remorse. She was asleep because he'd kept her out late and she'd spent the rest of the night studying. Silently, he slid one door open, then shut it and went to her. She was so soundly asleep she didn't hear him and didn't move as he took the test paper off the desk and looked at it. It was a difficult, complicated test and Hank cursed Driscoll once again.

It didn't take Hank but a moment to decide what to do. He took Amanda's pen, some pieces of Caulden's expensive stationery for scratch paper, sat down in a leather chair, a book for a desk, and began to work the problems. Thirty minutes later, he had finished and Amanda hadn't moved. He put the paper on the desk just as he'd found it, then, on impulse, wrote Amanda a short note and put it in her lap. Also on impulse, he kissed his fingertips and touched her hair, which was once again tightly drawn back. "Goodbye, Sleeping Beauty," he whispered and left the room and the house.

Chapter Eleven.

"Well, Amanda," Taylor said loudly, startling her awake so that she nearly fell out of the chair. "It looks as if my a.s.signments bore you, as if you do not care whether you pa.s.s a test or not. Perhaps it's me who does not matter to you."

Amanda took a moment to adjust to where she was and what was happening, then she felt a sense of panic. She'd so wanted to do well on this test that she'd stayed up all night studying, which had caused her to fall asleep the moment she'd sat down to take the test.

Her fists clenched at her sides and she once again knew that Taylor's anger was caused by Dr. Montgomery. If he'd never come to Kingman she'd never have ended up going to a dance and being nearly raped, nor would she have had a test at six o'clock on Sunday morning. Nor would she have to see Taylor picking up the blank test paper.

"I can explain," she began, then fell silent. Explain how? she thought desperately, trying to make up a story other than the real one. "I..."

Taylor turned surprised eyes on her. "You have done very well," he said quietly. "I had no idea you were so good at mathematics." He had never given her much tutoring in mathematics, not because she wasn't good at numbers but because he'd never done well at the subject himself. He much preferred the arts and literature. He'd been so angry at her for her disgusting s.e.xual display that he'd wanted to give her the most difficult a.s.signment possible. Her study a.s.signment had been from a beginning book of calculus but her test had come from a third-year book, yet, according to his answer sheet, every answer was perfect. According to this test, she was well past his knowledge of any form of mathematics.

"Good?" Amanda asked stupidly. "But I didn't even understand the questions."

He gave her a cold look. Was she making fun of him? "You have proved your point," he said. "Now go and change your dress. Wear the mauve silk. I do not like that dress at all. And fix your hair. It is coming undone. After breakfast I will inspect your sewing."

He put her test paper on the desk, then turned and left the library so abruptly that Amanda thought he was angry about something other than her sleeping. He hadn't said a word about her blank test paper.

She reached across the desk and took the test paper, then stared at it in astonishment. Neatly, concisely, each problem was answered in what looked to be her own handwriting. Even the fives were made the way she made them. Had she answered the questions in her sleep?

Even as she thought that, she knew it was impossible. It was while she was staring at the test in bewilderment that she saw the folded paper in her lap. She opened it.

Dear Miss Caulden, Forgive me for interfering in your life; I was wrong. The test can in no way make up for my presumption but I hope it helps. I wish you and your fiance the best in the future. Yours very sincerely, Henry R. Montgomery P.S. My doctorate did not come from a mail-order catalog.

It took Amanda a few moments to realize that Dr. Montgomery had saved her with Taylor and that the tone of the letter said that he was gone. At once she felt a great sense of relief. He had somewhat redeemed himself for the horror of last night, but nothing could fully make up for all he'd done to her in the past days.

She leaned back in her chair for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could get her life back to the orderly, calm pattern it had been. Now she could make Taylor want to marry her. She'd follow his directions, keep to his schedule and study without stop, and before long he'd mention marriage again, and after their marriage they'd... What? she thought.

Continue following Taylor's schedule? Study forever? Would she be delivered of a baby in the morning and have a French test in the afternoon?

Stop it! she commanded herself. She'd marry Taylor and live happily ever after is what she'd do. And she'd start right now by going upstairs and changing her dress and pulling her hair back into place.

She slipped Dr. Montgomery's note into her pocket and meant to tear it into a hundred pieces and flush it, but when she was alone in her room she found herself carefully folding the note and putting it in the very back corner of her top drawer, in with her underwear. She told herself she could use it as evidence if needed. Evidence of what she didn't know, but she kept the letter just the same.

She went to her closet and took out the mauve dress and frowned. It was a color she did not like. The pale bluish purple made her skin look sallow and her eyes colorless. On impulse, she took down a hatbox from the top of the closet and removed tissue paper until she reached the beaded white-satin gown she'd worn last night, then held it up before her to see herself in the mirror. The fringe of beads would have been lovely if she'd danced.

Her heart nearly stopped when Mrs. Gunston gave a perfunctory knock on the door and entered. Amanda was standing in her slip and she hastily thrust the beaded dress behind her.

"You are not dressed," Mrs. Gunston said, looking shocked. "You were to have been downstairs three minutes ago."

"I was busy," Amanda said, holding the white dress at arm's length inside the closet. "I will be down as soon as possible."

"As soon as-"Mrs. Gunston gasped, her big ugly face looking even uglier. "You are not on schedule. The master shall hear about this." She turned on her heel and left the room, nearly slamming the door behind her.

"The master?" Amanda said, then recovered herself. She had to get ready to go downstairs to breakfast and she had to get back on schedule. Then she remembered she hadn't even looked at her schedule that morning.