Hank smiled crookedly and got off the couch. "If he does have a daughter, I'll stay away from her, I swear. I don't care if she wears nothing but black silk stockings and walks into my room in the middle of the night, I'll still stay away from her."

Mrs. Soames chose to ignore that remark.

Chapter Three.

Amanda suppressed another yawn and tried not to look with dismay at the tall stack of books on her desk. For days she had done nothing but read books on economics in preparation for the professor's visit. Both her father and Taylor had drilled her about the importance of this man's visit and how Amanda was to be a gracious hostess. "And keep him away from here," J. Harker had said. "I don't want him snooping around my land."

Taylor had given her a list of museums and places of interest to visit. Perhaps she might go with him to Terrill City to visit the library there. He wanted Amanda to brush up on her local history so she could act as a knowledgeable tour guide.

Amanda so wanted to please the two men in her life but it seemed to be almost impossible with this Dr. Montgomery coming. The fear that her father and Taylor shared-that Amanda might act like her mother-was beginning to worry Amanda too. She must not, under any circ.u.mstances, forget herself. She must make her father and Taylor proud of her. This professor was a man of great learning and she must not disgrace herself with him. Taylor said Amanda had a frivolous streak in her-no doubt inherited from her mother-that must be suppressed. And he said that the outcome of what happened with the union leaders depended on Amanda's favorably impressing Dr. Montgomery. A great deal depended on the high caliber of Amanda's intellectual stimulation of Dr. Montgomery. She returned to the books.

Hank drove through the beautiful California countryside south of Sacramento, the little Mercer open all around and allowing him to smell the flowers and enjoy the fragrant breezes. It was a beautiful little summer car, no top, no doors, just a bright yellow body, yellow wheels, and black leather seats. It was a man's car, low to the ground, very fast when pushed, the heavy steering improving the faster it went. The car did have a flaw in the fact that the brakes were next to useless, but its speed and torque (it could climb very steep hills in fourth gear) made up for the bad brakes.

Hank was looking forward to a few weeks of rest on a hop farm. He imagined Caulden's plump wife serving hot biscuits and gravy in the mornings. He imagined lying in a hammock and dozing in the sultry heat. It would be nice to get away for a while from books and students and papers to grade.

North of Sacramento was Kingman, and he slowed down to look. It was a medium-sized town built around five railroad tracks, and from the hustle and bustle of the people, the place looked to be thriving. There was the Opera House that played motion pictures every Friday and Sat.u.r.day night and matinees during the week. He pa.s.sed a rich-looking residential area with big, well-kept houses.

At a filling station on the west side of town, he asked where the Caulden ranch was. The attendant turned and pointed toward the horizon. All Hank saw across the flat land was another town in the distance.

"It's near that town?" Hank asked.

"That 'town' is the ranch," the attendant replied.

Hank stood and stared at it for a while, looking at building after building spread along the horizon, and he began to understand why the ULW wanted to start at this place. Make a ruckus here and the world would hear the noise.

He got back into the Mercer and started driving toward the Caulden Ranch. He pa.s.sed several side roads that no doubt led into the ranch but turned when he came to a wide road bordered by palm trees and flowering shrubs. The road led half a mile to a two-story brick house with a wide, deep verandah around most of it.

No one came out at the sound of his car and so he went to the door and knocked. A maid answered, an unsmiling, l.u.s.terless-looking little woman who politely took his straw hat, led him out of the dark paneled vestibule and into the big hall. To the left was a pair of french doors, and the maid politely knocked, then slid one door open.

"They are waiting for you," the maid murmured and Hank moved past her.

In the library, directly before him was a fireplace flanked by two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked into the green lushness of a conservatory. He smiled slightly at the sight and thought he'd like to explore the place. To his right were two more doors, both shut.

To his left, he could feel the eyes of people, so he turned slowly and saw two men. The older one had the belligerent look of a mean little kid who was being made to do something he didn't want to do, while the other one looked as perfect as a store mannequin. He's a cold fish, Hank thought, and immediately liked the older man better.

"I'm J. Harker Caulden," the older man said, as if daring Hank to challenge him. "And this is my son-in-law, Taylor Driscoll."

Hank held out his hand to shake, but Caulden ignored him, so he turned to Driscoll. Driscoll's hand was as cool as his looks and his hand felt fragile in Hank's.

"You don't look like a college teacher," J. Harker said daringly.

Before Hank could speak, Taylor stepped forward. "What Mr. Caulden means, Dr. Montgomery, is that we a.s.sumed you'd be older, a bit more mature."

Hank grinned. "I hope I'm not a disappointment."

"No, of course not," Taylor said. "You are welcome. I imagine you'll want to get settled before luncheon. Martha will show you to your room."

Hank knew he'd been dismissed. He nodded and left the room. You aren't any more disappointed than I am, Mr. Iceberg, he thought, I was hoping for a pretty little farmhouse. Oh well, he could always leave in a day or two. He followed Martha up the stairs.

J. Harker was chewing on an unlit cigar and pacing the library. "I don't like it one little bit," he said. "He doesn't look like a college professor should. He looks too young, too healthy. He looks like he might go out in the fields and lead a strike himself."

"All the more reason to keep him where we can watch him. I admit his age and looks threw me for a moment, but I will try to make up for the rudeness of both of us. He must be kept away from the fields. We have to save every penny we can this year or we'll lose everything."

"You don't have to remind me," J. Harker said bitterly. "It's just that he don't-"

"Doesn't," Taylor corrected him automatically. "Doesn't look as a professor should. Amanda will-"

"Amanda! Surely you don't think I'll let her go out alone with him. "

Taylor's face showed little emotion. "I have taught her well and she is obedient. She will help us now that we need her."

J. Harker looked hard at the man who was to be his son-in-law. Taylor seemed to have supreme confidence that he was going to get everything he wanted out of his life. Years ago Harker had tried to get him to marry Amanda, but Taylor wanted to wait until she was "trained properly." Harker hadn't protested, but now he thought Taylor was making a mistake if he let Amanda go out alone with this good-looking young buck. "I think you'll be sorry for this," Harker said. "She has the blood of her mother in her."

"I know Amanda," Taylor said. "There's something... insolent about that man that Amanda will greatly dislike. Trust me. She will help us."

"You have more faith in women than I do," Harker said, clamping down on his cigar.

The bedroom the maid led Hank to was quite nice. It was at the front of the second floor, looking north with east and west windows. There was a pretty little private balcony with two wrought-iron chairs and a tiny table. While standing on the balcony, to his left was the roof of the first-story verandah wrapping around the windows of what he a.s.sumed was another bedroom.

His room was dark and clean and the furniture of good quality, but it had none of the homey touches that Hank had grown used to with Mrs. Soames. He looked at the books in the bookcase and found nothing of interest and so began to hang up his clothes. He had refused Martha's offer of help.

He removed his dusty traveling jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and headed for the bathroom Martha had pointed out to him. The door was closed, so he knocked.

"Yes?" came a woman's voice.

"I'm sorry," Hank said, "I'll come back."

"I will be out in three and a half minutes," said the woman.

Hank was already on his way back to his room when he heard this. A woman who knew exactly how long she was going to be in the bathroom? Hank stopped where he was and lounged against a wall where he could see the tall clock and the bathroom door.

As the hands neared three minutes, he reached into his pocket for a coin to flip to lay odds with himself whether or not she'd be punctual.

At exactly three and a half minutes the bathroom door opened and out stepped what Hank thought was surely the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Tall, thin-too thin-big brown eyes that looked wary, sad, frightened and curious all at once. Deep, dark chestnut hair. He didn't see what she was wearing, for he seemed to see her in several gowns: medieval velvet, Napoleonic muslin, Victorian taffeta, Edwardian linen.

The coins in his hand fell to the floor.

"May I help you?" the woman-vision asked.

"I... ah, I..." Hank stuttered stupidly.

The next second the vision was gone and he was able to see again. No, she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world. She was very pretty, true, but, technically, she wasn't as beautiful as Blythe Woodley. But he couldn't stop staring at her.

"Are you Dr. Montgomery?" she asked.

He began to recover. "Yes, I am, and you are?"

"Amanda Caulden. Welcome to my home."

She held out her hand to him and he almost didn't take it. What in the world was wrong with him? "Thank you very much. I met your father and his son-in-law. You must have a married sister." He was doing his best to make conversation but he was getting lost in her eyes. Not again, Montgomery, he commanded, thinking of what had happened with Blythe Woodley. Don't even consider it.

"Taylor is my fiance. Now, Dr. Montgomery, if you'll excuse me, I'm late."

"You're leaving?" he said, then cursed to himself because he sounded like a little boy whose mother was leaving.

"No, I shall join you at luncheon. Shall I help you pick up your coins?"

"No, I can," he said quickly, and immediately went to all fours and reached under a table for a coin, then turned to look up at Amanda and b.u.mped his head. She took a step forward and saved a vase of flowers from falling to the floor.

"Perhaps I should call a maid," she suggested.

"No, I'll be fine," he said, then b.u.mped his head again.

Amanda just looked at him, expressionless, then opened the door to the room next to his and went inside, closing herself from his view.

Hank sat on the floor and cursed for a full five minutes, but he couldn't get the image of her from his mind. He saw her as something from a painting from Fragonard: on a swing, laughing, satin skirts blowing, exposing lacy petticoats and tiny shoes with jeweled buckles. He saw her running through fields of golden wheat, long hair streaming out behind her. He saw her dancing a tango, wearing a slinky dress.

He saw her in his arms.

He stood, his eyes on the door to Amanda's room, and, without conscious thought, he walked softly to her door and put his hand against it.

It was at that moment that Amanda opened the door to her room-and almost got Hank's hand in her face.

She was too startled to do anything but stare at him, her eyes wide.

"I... ah, the coins. I, ah..." Hank stammered, then gave her a weak smile.

"It is time for luncheon," she said firmly and turned sideways to get past him. She halted on the stairs and put her hand to her breast and willed her heart to stop pounding. Was this man insane or just very eccentric? He didn't look like a college professor. In fact, he didn't act as if he had a brain in his head. She had left the bathroom and there he had stood, staring at her as if he'd never seen a woman before. Amanda had looked down to see if perhaps she had forgotten some important article of clothing. Then he'd thrown coins on the floor and floundered about, nearly knocking over furniture as he tried to retrieve them.

What he had been doing when she opened her door and nearly walked into his hand, she didn't like to think about. She continued down the stairs.

"Amanda, you are late," Taylor said sternly.

"I... I met Dr. Montgomery."

Taylor was watching her. "He is younger than we antic.i.p.ated and therefore more dangerous. He must be kept occupied. Have you studied the topics for today's discussion?"

"Yes," she said in a faraway voice. She couldn't possibly voice her complaints to Taylor. She couldn't say that she didn't like Dr. Montgomery, or that she was even a little afraid of him. Taylor wanted her to spend time with him and she had to do it-for Taylor.

Dr. Montgomery sauntered down to the dining room at five minutes after one. At least this time he was fully dressed. Even though Taylor had lived in the same house with Amanda for eight years, had shared the same bathroom, she had never seen him in his shirt sleeves as Dr. Montgomery had first appeared to her.

Now he wore a simple, rather too casual tan suit and he had a way of sitting in his chair that was not quite proper.

"Was I late?" he asked. "Sorry. It took me a while to find all the coins. I can't afford to lose anything, not on my salary," he said, smiling at Amanda as if they shared some private joke.

Amanda did not return his smile. "I wonder, Dr. Montgomery, if we might discuss some of the issues of your book."

Hank was looking down at his plate in astonishment. No bowls or platters of food were served, just individual platefuls of what looked to be invalid food: a pale, soggy fish, about six green beans, three slices of tomato. He was hungry and this wasn't going to fill a hole in a sock, much less the hole in his belly. He looked at the identical plates of Taylor and Amanda-except Amanda had even less on her plate. He'd have to get something to eat later.

"Dr. Montgomery?" Taylor said.

Hank looked at him, at the way he sat, shoulders back, neck stiff, and thought he took a lot on himself. He was just a fiance yet he sat at the head of another man's table. And why was he waiting to marry Amanda?

"Oh yes, issues," Hank said and took a bite of his fish. It was as flavorful as eating a spongy piece of air. "I guess the real issue is, Who owns the land? Does the rich rancher or the worker? Does the rancher have the right to treat the worker as he wants or was slavery abolished? When are you two getting married?"

Amanda was speechless at the man's presumption and rudeness, but Taylor was very smooth. He acted as if he hadn't heard the last question.

"I believe it is the rancher's land. The workers are not slaves, they can leave when they want," Taylor said.

"And let their wives and kids starve?" Hank answered. "Look, maybe we better not get into this yet."

"Of course, you're right. This afternoon Amanda will take you on a tour of the ranch and you can see how a ranch of this size operates."

Hank looked across the table at Amanda and thought it would be better not to be alone with her. He wondered how long her hair was when it was down. He'd already finished his meager meal, so he watched Amanda and Taylor eat their tasteless food ever so slowly. They seemed so prim and proper, yet they were in love and about to be married. Did they kiss pa.s.sionately beneath the palm trees? Did Amanda slip into Taylor's room at night?

"If it's all the same to you, I thought I'd find a hammock and doze for the afternoon," Hank said, then saw the two of them gaping at him. Now what did I say? he thought.

Taylor recovered first. "It has been arranged and there is no hammock," he said, as if he expected no further change of his plans. Hank wanted to defy the arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but if Taylor was forcing the lovely Amanda on him, why should Hank fight him? Besides, they could go into town and get something to eat.

Amanda had hoped Taylor would allow the man to waste the afternoon lying about in a hammock, but he hadn't, and Amanda knew he must have his reasons. She added laziness to the list of Dr. Montgomery's attributes. She already had clumsy, poor table manners, aggressive, slovenly dresser. How many others would she discover this afternoon?

At the end of luncheon, Amanda said, "I will meet you at 2:15, Dr. Montgomery, in the north vestibule."

His eyes twinkled. "Which end of the vestibule?"

"I beg your pardon?"

He smiled at her. "I will be there precisely at 2:15, not thirty seconds later."

When she turned away from him she was frowning. For some reason she seemed to amuse him. She went upstairs to get ready, and when she came down he was waiting for her, leaning against the wall as if he were too tired to stand up straight. "Shall we go?"

"Your wish is my command."

She didn't know why, but his every word seemed to grate on her. The chauffeur waited for them, but Dr. Montgomery hesitated before getting into the back seat with Amanda.

Amanda did her best with him, oh how she tried, but he never seemed to be listening to her. Taylor had drawn a map for her that showed the route they were to take around the ranch and he'd listed facts she was to tell Dr. Montgomery, facts she'd memorized about how much it cost to run a ranch the size of the Cauldens'. She told Dr. Montgomery acreage, number of hops produced, number of employees fed and sheltered. She showed him the other crops grown on the ranch: figs, walnuts, almonds, corn, and strawberries and asparagus in the spring.

But he just sat in the back of the limousine and stared out the window and said nothing.

She showed him the grape fields and the small winery.

"How about a bottle?" he asked, pulling one from its holder.