The Master Fiddler Part 13

"Aren't you going to come and say goodbye to Jacquie?" his grandfather called. His question was met with silence. "You don't want her to leave without saying goodbye, do The Master Fiddler you, Robbie?" Sam called again. Nothing. He glanced apologetically at Jaequie. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with that boy's manners. I'll go get him."

"No." She placed a hand on his arm to detain him. "I...1 understand how Robbie feels. It's okay, really."

The last of her belongings were packed in the. car. Choya stepped away from the open door. There was a lump in her throat as her gaze ricocheted away from his impa.s.sive face.

The car keys were in her hand and the driver's door was open. But if Choya would say the right words, Jaequie knew she would never slide behind the wheel. He said nothing. Moistening her lips, she stepped to the door.

"Jaequie!" It was Robbie who hurried toward her. "Jaequie, I don't want you to go!" He stopped in front of her, his face stained with tears and more were running down his cheeks. "I want you to stay!"

She knelt beside him. "I have to go, Robbie," she explained with a tight smile.

He hurled himself into her arms, wrapping his small hands around her neck to cling to her desperately. Jaequie hugged him, closing her eyes as the pain in her heart became unbearable.

"Please, don't go," he sobbed into her blouse. "Please, Jaequie!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her mouth formed the words against his silky fine hair, almost the same shade of pale gold as her own.

"Please," he begged. "I love you. Please!"

A tear squeezed through her lashes, followed by another. "I love you, too, Robbie," Jaequie murmured, "but I have to leave."

"Why?" he pleaded to understand and clutched her tighter.

Jaequie knew if she had a hundred years, she would never be able to explain in a way he would understand. Opening her eyes, she focused her blurred vision on Choya, mutely appealing to him for help.

His gaze narrowed. He seemed about to say something, then the line of his mouth thinned tightly. Stepping forward, he gripped Robbie by the shoulders and drew him away from her.

"Goodbye," she whispered, but it was really said to Choya, not Robbie. She slid behind the wheel of the car before she completely lost control.

"You can't go!" Robbie started forward on his crutches, partially checked by the hard grip of his father's hands on his shoulders. "We're The Master Fiddler supposed to go to Fort Bowie on Sat.u.r.day, Jacquie. You can't leave until after that."

"I can't stay until Sat.u.r.day," she said, forcing an artificially bright smile. "I guess I'll have to see it some other time."

"You'll never find it by yourself," Robbie argued. "You've got to look through this pipe to find it and everything." She closed the car door and slipped the key into the ignition. "Don't go Jacquie. Please stay!"

There were too many unshed tears lodged in her throat for Jacquie to reply. Staring straight ahead, she started the motor. Robbie's cries were much too poignant for her to listen to many more without giving in. She didn't look back until she was driving down the lane. Then she glanced in her rearview mirror.

Robbie was hobbling after the car on his crutches. She could see that he was calling to her. Thank G.o.d she couldn't hear him. Soon she couldn't see him either as her eyes blurred with tears and the dust cloud from her accelerating car obscured him from view.

CHAPTER TEN.

Tiredly Jacquie stepped from the car. She automatically walked to the side door of the two-story white house, stretching her shoulder muscles cramped from the long drive. The door was locked to morning visitors, but the scent of bacon frying was drifting through an open kitchen window. Jacquie knocked and waited.

A woman with light brown hair peered cautiously through the door's window. Her blue eyes rounded in a mixture of disbelief and delight. There was a momentary fumbling with the lock, then the door was thrown open and the screen door unhooked to admit Jacquie.

"h.e.l.lo, mother," Jacquie managed before she was engulfed in her mother's embrace.

"Jacquie darling!" she exclaimed, a hand m.u.f.fling her half-sob as she stepped back to look at her. "We've been so worried about The Master Fiddler you!" hugging her again. "Why didn't you call or write? I've hardly been able to live with your father, he's been so upset about you." "I'm sorry, I "

"Look at me!" her mother declared with a laughing sigh. "You've barely walked in the door and I'm already scolding you as if you were still a child. I'm glad you're back!"

"So am I." At this moment, Jacquie was glad to be back with her mother's arm curved warmly around her waist.

It wasn't Choya's, but she was going to have to get used to that.

"You look exhausted. Why don't you come sit down? I was just fixing breakfast for your father. Would you like some? Did you drive all night?"

"Yes to everything," Jacquie laughed at her mother's tumbling questions.

Her mother paused and laughed, her eyes twinkling brightly. "I've forgotten the questions."

"What's all this commotion about, Maureen?" Her father appeared at the doorway, adjusting his tie, silver hair glinting in the light. Jacquie looked at him lovingly, wondering how she could have forgotten how very handsome he was. He saw her and stopped. "Jacquie?" he breathed in a stunned voice.

The entire angry argument that had preceded her departure came rushing back. "Can I come home, Dad?" she asked humbly.

His mouth curved faintly with a smile, his chin quivering. He opened up his arms to her. "Welcome home, baby."

Jacquie flew into the bear hug of his arms with the same abandon that Robbie had once shown to her. "Oh, dad, I'm so sorry about everything," she declared with a tiny sob.

"So am I." He kissed her soundly on the cheek. "Let's just forget about it."

Her smile was taut with emotion as he held her away. "You would be surprised how much you've learned, Dad, in the nearly three weeks I've been gone."

"I've got smarter, have I?" he teased. "That's a sure sign that my little girl has done some growing up."

"Quite a bit," Jacquie nodded.

"Sit down, you two," her mother instructed. "Breakfast is on the table." She started pouring the orange juice as they sat down at the small dinette table. "You can't have liked Los Angeles very well?"

"I didn't make it to Los Angeles." Jacquie sipped at her orange juice, carefully avoiding direct contact with the curious glances of her parents.

"Where have you been?" It was her father who asked.

"I made it as far as Tombstone, Arizona The Town Too Tough to Die." She made a joke out of it. "I had a slight accident with the car nothing serious," she hastened at her mother's quickly indrawn breath. "But I had to have it repaired before I could go on. Then I lost my wallet with all my money, identification, et cetera and couldn't pay to get my car out of the shop."

"Is that when you called me?" Cameron Grey inquired with a tilt of his head. At Jac-quie's silent nod, he sighed. "I was angry when you called. Your mother and I had just been arguing about the way I'd lost my temper before you left. I kicked myself a hundred times after you phoned for not finding out where you were."

"I understand. I was a bit frantic at the time, though," Jacquie smiled faintly.

"I expect you were," her mother declared. "Stranded with no money. What did you do?"

"I..." she hesitated. "I got a job."

"Doing what?" Her father glanced at her curiously.

Spreading jam on her toast turned into a project. "Keeping house and cooking for a local rancher."

"My little girl doing housework and cooking!" he laughed incredulously. "We should have been there, Maureen. That would have been a sight worth seeing!" "Cam!" her mother cautioned. "Dad's right." Jacquie wanted to keep the subject on a light note and avoid any questions that might become too probing. "It was quite a sight. Mr. Barnett had this monstrous antique stove for cooking. He referred to my meals as burnt offerings."

"What about his wife? Was he married?" Maureen Grey asked.

"No, he was a widower." She shifted quickly away from his marital status. "He had a little boy named Robbie. I wish you could have met him, mother. You would have fallen in love with him."

"It sounds like you did," her father commented at the warmth in her voice.

"I did," Jacquie admitted. She loved Robbie almost as much as she

loved his father, al The Master Fiddler though not in the same way. She bit into the slice of toast.

"It must have been a well-paying job for you to earn enough to pay the repairs on your car and have enough money to come home," her father observed.

Did she detect a note of suspicion in his voice? Or was it her own guilty conscience? Jacquie wasn't certain which it was.

"Actually my billfold was found with everything in it, money and all. But by that time I'd already decided that I wanted to come home," she explained, adding with a bright smile, "and here I am!"

"What are you going to do now?" Cameron Grey glanced up from his plate, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Do you still plan on getting a job and working?"

"I was hoping it wouldn't be too late to enroll for the fall term at the university," Jacquie answered.

"I thought college was a waste of time," he mocked her gently.

"It was when I didn't know how I wanted to put the education to use," she smiled, not offended nor angered by his needling of her past outbursts. "I think I might like to teach in the elementary levels. Maybe the first or second grade with children Robbie's age."

"My girl leaves a rebel and comes back a woman." He shook his silvery head in a marveling gesture. "I don't know if it's the rancher or who it is I have to thank for this change, but I'd certainly like to shake his hand some day."

Jacquie crimsoned a deep red. She couldn't help herself. His statement was the truth, but he had been speaking figuratively. She was a woman in love, not a schoolgirl turned rebel anymore.

"I couldn't have been that bad when I left," she laughed self-consciously, hoping neither of her observant parents would guess the reason for the blush.

"You were a bit of a handful, but not really so bad," her father smiled.

"That's good." She breathed in deeply. "Well, what have you two been doing while I've been gone?" she asked, diverting the conversation to another topic.

Her father left for his office directly after breakfast. Jacquie helped her mother clear the table, letting her do most of the talking. Together they unloaded the car, carrying the luggage to Jacquie's bedroom.

"Is something wrong, Jacquie?" Maureen Grey tipped her head to one side, only a few white hairs intermingling with her light brown hair.

"Wrong?" Jacquie tensed, smiling nervously. "What do you mean?"

"You seem ... well ... preoccupied, I guess," her mother frowned.

"I suppose I'm just tired from the long drive and lack of sleep," she shrugged.

"Of course you need rest and I've been chattering away like a magpie. We can finish unpacking later," her mother suggested. "Meanwhile, you climb into bed and get some sleep. We have plenty of time to talk."

"That's a marvelous idea," Jacquie agreed, suddenly feeling as tired as she had claimed to be. She gave her mother a quick hug. "It's good to be home."

Tears shimmered in the blue eyes. "You have no idea how glad your father and I are to have you back. Now get some sleep."

"I will," Jacquie promised.

There was the cool nip of November in the air. Jacquie gathered her college books and papers from the pa.s.senger seat and stepped from the car. Another night of studying was ahead of her, making up for the times when she had merely got by with the minimum of effort.

Plus, it was the only certain way she had to block out her potent memories of Choya. With each pa.s.sing day they became more vivid. So far she hadn't confided in her parents about him, although she thought her mother suspected there was more to her story than Jacquie had told.

She entered the house through the side door into the kitchen.

"Mom, I'm home!" Jacquie called.

Setting her books on the dinette table, she walked to the cupboard and removed a gla.s.s, then to the refrigerator where she filled it with cold milk. Her mother appeared in the doorway, a beaming smile on her attractive face.

"There's someone here to see you," she announced.

"Who?" Jacquie asked uninterestedly, raising the gla.s.s to her lips.

"A Mr. Barnett from Arizona. He said he met you there. I can'tremember his first name. It was very unusual though."Jacquie nearly choked on her milk. "Choya!""Yes, that's it," her mother nodded.

"What's he doing here? How did he know where I was?" Liquid fire raced through her veins at the thought that he was just in the next room. She panicked, knowing she didn't dare see him again.

"I suppose you gave him your address," her mother said. "He has obviously come just to see you."

"Tell him " She rubbed her hand across her forehead, trying to force herself to think. "Tell him that I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I'm on my way to the library to do some research on a term paper. I've got to go now." Setting the gla.s.s on the counter, she rushed for her books on the table.

"Nonsense." Her mother tucked a hand beneath her elbow. "If he has made a special trip to stop to see you, the least you can do is to say h.e.l.lo."

"Mother, no, please!" Jacquie protested anxiously.

Maureen Grey stopped, frowning, "Why on earth are you so afraid to see the man?"

"I'm not afraid." The denial was an outright lie. "It's just that " she began helplessly, then realized it was no use. She couldn't make her mother understand without explaining in detail. "I guess I have time," she sighed in defeat.

"That's more like it," her mother nodded. "He's in the living room waiting to see you."

Choya was standing in front of the sofa when Jacquie entered the living room with her mother. Tall and stunningly masculine, he wore a Western leisure suit of wheat tan with inserts of deep brown, matching the umber shade of his thickly waving hair.

Her stomach contracted sharply as the tawny cat eyes held her gaze with mesmerizing ease. Not for the first time Jacquie had the sensation she was looking at a predatory beast that had sighted its prey. The taut alertness was etched in every muscled inch of him. She felt weak at the knees.

"How are you, Jacquie?" The rich timbre of his voice tugged painfully at her heart.