"My family does not drink alcohol," she said. "This is for sale." She turned away from him and continued telling him the facts about the winery.

"You're a regular little encyclopedia, aren't you?" he said as they got back into the car.

Amanda, under other circ.u.mstances, might have thought his words were a compliment, but somehow his tone was not that of a compliment. She didn't know what to reply to him.

At 3:51, as Taylor's schedule said, she had the chauffeur return them to the ranch house so that they arrived back at precisely four p.m. Amanda suggested that Dr. Montgomery make use of their library, but he had given her an odd look, said he could take care of himself and had left the house. Later, Amanda had seen his little two-seater, topless car speed down the road toward town.

She sat down at her desk and tried to study her French textbook, but her hands were shaking. He was a very unsettling man. She had never been very good with strangers, but this man made her feel awkward and strange and, well, she didn't like to think this, but he somehow, well, made her feel angry. He didn't exactly sneer, he didn't ridicule, but somehow, she felt disapproval coming from him. Not disapproval of the ranch-at times he'd shown some interest in things, such as listening for the rustling sound a hop made when it was ripe-but she felt he disapproved of her.

She left her desk and went to the small mirror over the dresser. What was it about her that he disapproved of? Did he find her physically repulsive? Stupid? She had tried to be as accurate a guide as possible and had spent several days memorizing Taylor's facts about the ranch, but she felt she had failed. Were Dr. Montgomery's female students so much more erudite than she that by comparison she was a moron?

Again, she had that feeling of anger but she pushed it down and returned to her desk. Tomorrow she was scheduled to take him to a museum in Kingman and she had to tell him about Digger Indians, the Donner Party and early mining in the area. She had better review her facts.

Hank sat on a bar stool eating a three-inch-thick corned-beef sandwich and drinking a beer-his third.

What a little prig she was, he thought. What a self-righteous, know-it-all, fact-spouting little prig! She lectured him as if he were an elementary school student. She was the lady of the manor and she had been given the onerous task of entertaining the town blacksmith, an uneducated lout who didn't know a knife from a fork. He'd seen the way she looked down her little nose at him while they were eating that tasteless meal.

No doubt she thought of him the way her father thought of the laborers, that they should be grateful to get to work for so ill.u.s.trious a family as the Cauldens and how dare they ask for decent wages? Why, it should be enough that he allowed them to bask in his sunshine, to touch his crops. She, that sanctimonious little Miss Amanda, probably thought he was thrilled to get to stay in a house like theirs. Tomorrow she'll probably ask if I've ever seen a flush toilet before, he thought, slugging down the rest of his beer.

He wasn't sure what he should do. His instinct was to leave the Caulden house immediately, but he felt an obligation to the governor and, most of all, to the unionists. Maybe his presence could prevent trouble. Maybe he could watch out for the laborers' rights better if he were inside the Caulden house. Just being there, he might be able to stop something before it started. Logically, he knew he should stay. Emotionally, he wanted to get away from the cold little Amanda and her even colder fiance. And to think that when he'd first seen her he'd- He didn't know what it was that he'd felt, but she'd snowed on it and killed the seed.

He left the cool, dark bar and stepped into the bright sunlight, thrust his hands into his pockets and went to his car. It was about time for dinner at the Cauldens'. Wonder what they were having? Boiled chicken and boiled rice and boiled potatoes?

Amanda had never seen Taylor so angry.

"That is not the dress I told you to wear to dinner," he said under his breath.

Amanda tried to keep her back straight and not cry. Taylor hated tears. "I forgot. Dr. Montgomery upset me and-"

"Upset you how?" If possible, Taylor made himself taller. "Was he forward with you?"

"No, he doesn't... I mean, I think he dislikes me."

"Dislikes you?" Taylor was aghast. "Amanda, I am surprised at you. I thought you above these female vapors. Did you follow the schedule? Did you explain to him each part of the ranch?"

"Yes, I did it exactly, to the minute as your schedule said."

"Then there can have been nothing wrong. Now go upstairs and change your clothes and do not tell me any more of your fantasies. You are going to make me think that I have chosen the wrong woman to marry."

"Yes, Taylor," she whispered and went to her room. Alone in her room, dressing as fast as she could, she felt it again, that little gnawing sense of anger. She hadn't felt anger since Taylor came to live with them. Before he came she often felt anger. She used to get angry at her mother, at her father, at her friends at school.

Then her father had hired Taylor and given him absolute control over Amanda. He had taken her out of school in Kingman and started giving her private lessons. Things had changed then. Amanda soon learned that anger and/or defiance was a useless emotion; Taylor didn't allow either. He had put Amanda on a schedule that didn't allow for anger (4:13 p.m.

temper tantrum). No such thing was permitted. And he had hired Mrs. Gunston to make sure Amanda did what she was told.

Besides the cla.s.ses, Taylor had said Amanda's mother was a bad influence on her. After all, didn't Grace Caulden have a "past"? J. Harker had agreed, and Grace had been sent to some expensive spas around the world, and when she returned, her daughter had not even been allowed to hug her h.e.l.lo. Grace had retired to a spare bedroom at the back of the top floor and had rarely come out since.

As Amanda started down the stairs again, she vowed she'd try harder to please Dr. Montgomery and therefore please Taylor.

Chapter Four.

Hank was late for dinner and he felt Taylor's cold displeasure as soon as he walked in the door. Was this house run like a military school? Again, J. Harker did not appear and it was just the three of them eating. If you could call what was on the plate eating. He'd been wrong about the menu. It was boiled chicken, boiled rice and boiled beets.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut. "You feed your hands this well? No wonder unionists are choosing you to picket."

Taylor gave him a look to freeze. "It is better for the body to eat lightly. Amanda and I constantly fight gluttony."

"You've won," Hank said and pushed his plate away. "You mind if I'm excused? I have some reading to do."

"Amanda is finished also," Taylor said. "She would like to show you the almond orchard."

"That's all right. I've seen a lot of the ranch today." He got out of his chair and started toward the door.

Taylor gave Amanda a glare that let her know she was to follow the professor. With a yearning look toward her half-eaten food, she followed Dr. Montgomery.

Hank stopped when he heard her behind him. "Afraid I'll see something I shouldn't?"

"I have no idea what you mean, Dr. Montgomery," she said honestly.

"You wouldn't know where the kitchen was, would you?"

"Through there," she said, pointing, then followed him. She had not been in the kitchen for years, not since Taylor had found her there one day eating milk and cookies. He had been horrified at her impending obesity.

In the center of the big kitchen was an oak table covered with many dishes: roast beef, gravy, at least five vegetables, yeast rolls, b.u.t.ter, fruit salad, green salad, and on a counter were three kinds of cake. The servants were sitting down to dinner, food halfway to their mouths when they stopped at the sight of Hank and Amanda.

"Miss Amanda!" the cook gasped and sprang to her feet.

Hank just gaped at the food. "Mind if I join you?"

"No!" Amanda said, knowing that Taylor would be furious with her if she allowed him to sit with the servants. "I mean-"

The cook, who had been with the family since Amanda was a baby, knew a great deal of what was going on. She also knew what this big, strapping, healthy Dr. Montgomery had been given to eat today. "I'll fix you a plate," she said to Hank.

"Yes," was all he could say, his mouth watering. "And from now on, I want real meals."

She smiled at him. "If Mr. Taylor will allow-"

"I will allow it," Hank said, taking the heaping platter of food from her.

"Miss Amanda?" the cook said, holding out an empty plate.

Amanda didn't remember having seen so much food in her life and she felt fairly faint for wanting it. But Taylor wouldn't approve; he didn't like plump women. "No, thank you," she said at last.

"All right," Hank said, "take me to the almond orchard or someplace where I can sit down."

Amanda went out the back door behind Hank, leaving the delicious smells behind her and following his fragrant plate like a hungry dog.

"There," Hank said, his mouth full and pointing with a loaded fork toward the little summerhouse. It was a floor, a roof and four latticed posts, and inside seats all around.

She followed him into the summerhouse and sat opposite him and all she was aware of was the smell of the food.

"You aren't going to tell me when this was built?" Hank asked, wolfing down roast beef. "Or what kind of wood this is?"

"It was built in 1903, right after my parents and I moved here. It is made of cypress and is an exact copy of an English gazebo my mother saw in a magazine."

"Oh. Sorry. I guess you don't like to talk about your mother."

She was surprised that he knew. Everyone else in Kingman knew, so why not this stranger? He was eating a b.u.t.tered roll. Taylor did not believe in bread and certainly not b.u.t.ter. "I'd rather not talk about her."

"I understand. When did she die?"

"Die?" Amanda asked. "My mother is not dead."

"But she doesn't live with you, then?"

"My mother stays in her room. Perhaps, Dr. Montgomery, we should change the subject."

She turned her head away and Hank sat there, eating, and watched her. Seeing her profile in the moonlight made him remember his first impression of her, as if she came from another time and place, as if he'd known her before. But her coldness, her haughtiness, her sn.o.bbery made him know he was mistaken. He wondered if her thin little body was capable of emotion.

He turned at a noise and saw the cook coming through the darkness and bearing two plates, each heaped high with three slices of cake.

"Thought you might like a little something else," she said, setting the desserts down and taking Hank's empty plate, then leaving.

Hank offered a plateful to Amanda, but she shook her head. "Suit yourself, but it's awfully good." Little prude, he thought, too cool to even accept a piece of cake. No doubt she thought her purity would be threatened if she touched devil's food cake. He wondered if she and Taylor kissed at all. Probably it would be a kiss as tasteless as that afternoon's fish.

Amanda didn't dare look at him while he was eating the cake. Her stomach was rumbling and the smell was making her mouth water. But she didn't dare eat any because Taylor might smell it on her breath or see bits of chocolate between her teeth. He wouldn't like her if she were so weak-willed as to eat cake that wasn't on the schedule.

"Better," Hank said as he put his cleaned plate aside and leaned back against the post, his legs stretched out. "What do you have planned for us tomorrow? I a.s.sume you do have my day planned."

She frowned at his tone then began to quote Taylor's schedule. "We go to the Kingman Museum in the morning, then home for luncheon, and then a scenic tour of the area. That should take us to dinner time."

"What do you do for fun?"

"I do watercolors and sew," she answered, smiling to herself. Taylor gave her excellent grades on the watercolors and they were used as a reward for other subjects well done.

"How do you stand the excitement?" he murmured. "What do you and your lover do on nights on the town?"

"We do not go into town," she said, confused. Taylor said Kingman was too provincial to be worthy of his time, that he'd not visit a city smaller than San Francisco, where he went once a year to buy clothes and other necessary items. Other than those two weeks, he rarely left the ranch.

"Too good for it, are you?" Hank asked and realized he was getting nasty. Something about her primness, her smugness, her refusal to even bend enough to eat a piece of chocolate cake, brought out the worst in him.

He stood. "I'm going to bed. You coming in?"

"Yes," she said softly, and gave one last look at the shadow that she knew was the second plateful of cake.

Moments later she was in her room, and on her desk were pages of notes on the history of Kingman that she was to commit to memory before going to bed. She sat down heavily in her chair and wished for the thousandth time that Dr. Montgomery had never come. For some reason he seemed to dislike her a great deal, more with each pa.s.sing minute, and to earn this dislike she was having to work twice as hard, miss meals, and repeatedly incur Taylor's wrath.

So tonight she would have to stay up late studying, and tomorrow she'd have to take him to a museum, and no matter how hard she'd try to be a good guide, she'd no doubt displease him. Why was he so hard to please and Taylor so easy? If she did what Taylor had written down, in the exact order, exactly on time, Taylor was happy. Perhaps she should ask Dr. Montgomery what he wanted of her. But no, that wasn't a good idea, because if it conflicted with Taylor's schedule, she'd have to ignore Dr. Montgomery's wishes.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and thought she'd better stop pondering and get to work.

Hank stood on the cool balcony, looking at the stars and smelling the rich fragrances of the night, and wished he had a whiskey. To his left was Amanda's room and he could see a light through the curtains, could even see the shadow of her sitting at her desk. He knew he could step off the balcony onto the verandah roof and walk right across to her window.

And then what, he thought. Have Miss Amanda tell him how many feet it was from his balcony to her window? He wondered what she'd do if he kissed her. Tell him the history of kissing?

He went back into his room, took off his clothes and climbed into bed. He went to sleep right away, but a couple of hours later he woke and, on impulse, put on his robe and went to the balcony. Amanda's light was still on and she was still hunched over her desk.

Frowning, he went back to bed. However much a prude she was, she was certainly diligent at whatever she did.

When he woke the next morning it was late and he sensed that people were already up and at work. He dressed hurriedly, then raced down the stairs. Amanda and Taylor were standing in the doorway to the dining room, Taylor looking at his pocket watch, Amanda obediently behind him.

"I guess I'm late again," he said without concern, and walked past them into the dining room. On the sideboard were silver servers full of scrambled eggs, biscuits, gravy, ham, sliced pineapple, waffles and syrup. "Ah," he said in the tone of a hungry man confronted with delicious food.

He filled a plate and sat down, then looked up to see Taylor and Amanda watching him. There was a sneer of disgust on Taylor's coldly perfect features but on Amanda's... It was just fleeting, but he almost thought he saw wistfulness or maybe it was true hunger, but the look was gone instantly and she looked down at the watery poached egg in her cup.

After breakfast the limousine and chauffeur were waiting and Hank almost groaned. Another day of touring and lectures.

An hour later they were standing in the Kingman Museum, which, as far as Hank could tell, was a tribute to the Caulden family.

"My father bought four ranches at one time," Amanda was saying. "They were very inexpensive because the silt from the mines nearby had caused the Gla.s.s River to flood and deposit the silt over the land. At great expense, my father dredged the silt off the land and exposed the rich soil underneath. He also put a stop to the mining."

"I bet he did," Hank murmured.

"Then he irrigated the land and-"

"Became rich," Hank put in.

Amanda looked away. Again he was making it clear that he didn't like her or her family.

"When did your father buy this museum?" he asked on a hunch.

"Two years ago." She didn't understand why he laughed at that.

"Come on, I've had enough. Let's go outside."

"But it isn't time yet. We still have forty-two minutes in here."

"I plan to spend forty-two minutes enjoying the out-of-doors."

Reluctantly, she followed him outside. She hoped Taylor wouldn't find out that they had left the museum early. And now what was she to do with him? She started toward the waiting limousine but he wasn't with her. She turned and looked at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking more like a very large little boy than a man. She did so wish he would stand up straight like... like Taylor did.

"How far is it to town?" he asked.