Chapter Eleven

There’s a party this Saturday that I’d like to take you to,” Jim Foster told Cara. He had followed her into a stall where she was filling a trough with hay. “Will you go with me?”

It was the end of September and in the mornings a crisp touch of fall was in the air. “Why—why, I don’t know, Jim…” She was startled that things like parties still existed.

“Why not?” he demanded impatiently. “Are you forbidden to do anything but work?”

Good question, Cara thought, and looked up at him with a stirring of compassion. She had to admit that he had made every effort to be kind to her. He had even defied Jeth’s orders by openly befriending her, a surprise move that had made her ashamed of her earlier suspicions. She wondered if Jeth was aware of their limited association. There was no reason for him to be jealous of Jim now. Impulsively, she said, “I’d love to come. What should I wear?”

She should wear, Jim told her without hesitation, a dress! She chose a dusky blue one with a scooped neckline and short sleeves and a full skirt that swirled just below her knees. To complement the dress she selected a pair of high-heeled suede sandals in the same shade of blue.

Cara spent all of Saturday afternoon readying herself for her date. She gave herself a beauty treatment from head to foot, rolling the short bob of platinum hair for the first time since Fiona had cut it and pedicuring her feet. The appearance of her hands, she was relieved to see, had greatly improved since the box of work gloves had mysteriously appeared in her room the day after her last conversation with Jeth. As the time neared to meet Jim at their prearranged spot outside the house, Cara found herself getting more excited about the evening ahead. She hummed to herself as she put the finishing touches to her makeup and slipped on her shoes. It had been so long since she’d dressed up, fussed with her hair—had fun! When she had finished dressing and stepped back from the mirror for her first full view of herself, Cara had to blink twice, she was so shocked at the woman staring back at her. Could that platinum-haired, golden-skinned, violet-eyed stranger possibly be her!

A knock came at the door, breaking into her bemusement. She drew away from the mirror, still enrapt, and opened the door, expecting to find Fiona on the threshold. Instead Jeth Langston stood there, taller and even more commanding than she remembered, dressed for dinner in a shirt and slacks of gray twill whose color was reflected in the hard clarity of his eyes. Cara stood stock-still. A faint fear that he had come to prevent her from going made her heartbeat quicken.

Jeth spoke first. “Jim Foster just called from the bunkhouse. Something has come up, and he won’t be able to take you to the dance tonight. I told him I’d tell you. He sends his apologies.”

Cara did not reply immediately. Disappointment cut sharply, and when at last she spoke, her voice was strained. “Is Jim still on the phone?”

“No.”

“I see. Thank you.” She moved back to shut the door, glad of the excuse to avert her face.

“Miss Martin…” Jeth put out a broad hand to prevent the door from closing.

Cara forced herself to meet his eyes with dignity, knowing she would find them alight with mockery, or worse—softened with pity. He was not the least deceived by her cool manner. The man knew exactly how she must be feeling. After all, she had been stood up, and now here she was, all dressed up with nowhere to go. But to her surprise, the gray eyes were sweeping over her in undisguised admiration.

“It would be a shame for all of that to go to waste,” he said politely. “Fiona is visiting relatives tonight and has left me on my own to cook. I know it’s not my company you’d hoped for tonight, but maybe you’d consider joining me for one of my steaks and a bottle of that wine you like?”

Cara’s heart began to race at the temptation of the offer. The thought of spending the evening alone in her room, where she spent all of her nights and weekends, was abhorrent to her, especially since she had so looked forward to the evening.

“I’m surprised you don’t have plans for the evening,” she hedged, unsure of Jeth’s motives. Was this invitation offered to give him another opportunity to hurt and humiliate her?

“Mine fell through, too.”

“I hope you were not especially looking forward to them.”

“I think I can rightly say that my disappointment is less than Jim’s. How about it?”

“You are suggesting a truce for the evening?”

“Why not? It beats spending it alone in separate trenches.”

Cara gave him a small consenting smile, her teeth as white and luminescent as pearls in contrast to the dark honey of her skin and the soft pink lipstick. Jeth took an audible breath.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen that.”

“What?”

“Your smile.”

“Then as usual you’re one up on me, Mr. Langston, for I’ve never seen one of yours.”

Jeth lit the grill by the pool and prepared their drinks while Cara tossed a salad and put two potatoes into the oven to bake. There had been a tense moment in the kitchen when Jeth had returned to inquire about lighter fluid for igniting the mesquite. “Fiona keeps extra supplies of that sort up here,” Cara told him, and made to get it, automatically pulling up the kitchen stool the two women used to reach items on high shelves.

Jeth saw her intention and said, “Don’t bother with that; I’ll get it,” and came to stand behind her, reaching over her platinum head to rummage for the new can. His body touched hers. Her whole being tensed at his proximity, and for a few insane seconds she absurdly imagined that his lips had brushed the top of her hair. It seemed an age before he moved away. “I’ve got it,” he said at last. “Come outside. I have your wine ready.”

They sat sipping their drinks beside the pool and watched the last of the September sunsets hover near the horizon. Cara was convinced that nowhere in the world were there more dramatically beautiful sunsets than in West Texas: “To make up for the fact that we don’t have much else in the way of nature to brag about,” Leon had said to her on the roundup.

“This is such an ideal place for parties, Mr. Langston,” she said, indicating the spacious deck and pool. “Do you ever use it for that?” There had been no guests in the house since her arrival.

She could tell from the way Jeth toyed with his drink and did not answer immediately that her question had touched sensitive ground. Without the slightest change in tone, he replied, “I find my Dallas town house more suitable for entertaining.”

Cara stared at him. His meaning was unmistakable. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting her eyes steadily. “Because of you.”

“But, Mr. Langston—!” She was genuinely distressed. “I don’t mean to deprive you of the use of your home. Of course not! Why, it isn’t as though I would crash your parties. Surely you don’t think I would!” She was agitated and embarrassed. The wine had turned to vinegar on her tongue.

“Miss Martin, let’s not ruin a salvaged evening by breaking our truce. It may surprise you, but I credit you with a great deal more propriety than that. I’m sure you’d be more than willing to stay out of sight while I’m entertaining, like some unsuitable relative confined to the attic while everyone else is having a good old time in the drawing room below. No, thanks. That’s not my style. I go to Dallas often anyway. It’s just as easy to fulfill my social obligations there.”

He spoke with finality, and Cara’s thoughts flew to the newspaper picture of Sonya Jeffers. No doubt his fiancée knew all of his friends and business associates; she probably made a splendid hostess. She was also probably very curious about the woman living in her future home. Cara would have been.

Jeth changed the subject by asking about Marblehead. She answered his specific questions about its history, then, without mentioning his name, found herself describing all the places that she had loved and shared with Ryan. She was oddly comforted by speaking of them to the brother who had loved him. She told Jeth about Marblehead Harbor and Devereux Beach and the waterfront with its never-ending variety of sights and sounds and smells. She had been talking for some time when she suddenly broke off, aware that she was monopolizing the conversation and that Jeth’s thoughts seemed far away. In Dallas! Cara thought in stricken dismay.

“Forgive me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize I had become boring.”

Jeth glanced at her quickly. “Nonsense. You know that you could never be boring. I was simply completely transported to Devereux Beach, that’s all—with you and Ryan.”

So he had known, of course, of whom she was speaking. A sudden remark trembled on her lips, unspoken. She had almost said, I wish you could have been there with us.

Jeth asked suddenly, “Do you miss Boston very much?”

“Not as much as I thought I would,” Cara answered truthfully. In astonishment it occurred to her that she did not miss Boston at all.

“You must find West Texas vastly different.”

“Not all that different, Mr. Langston,” Cara replied. “Perhaps because I grew up on the edge of the Atlantic, I am accustomed to vastness and space and uncluttered horizons.”

“Do…you like anything about this part of the country?”

Cara laughed. The wine had made her slightly reckless. “If I said that I like everything about it, you would probably interpret that as meaning that I intend to stay and claim Ryan’s share of the land in order to live here the rest of my life!” When he looked startled, she said with gentle assurance, “I have promised to return it to you, Mr. Langston, and so I will. But to answer your question, yes, I like West Texas. I like the clear, clean air and dry, honest heat. I even like the wind, which blows endlessly like it’s searching for a home. And I like the land itself because it’s uncompromising and hard, like you, Mr. Langston. However, when I went to plant my garden, I found that, given attention to its needs, the land can be very giving, very loving…”

“Like me?” Jeth asked cryptically, the gray eyes intent upon her face.

“Oh, that I wouldn’t know.” Cara felt her cheeks grow hot. The wine had gone to her head and she had said too much. She should never drink. It was obvious that she couldn’t handle alcohol. “Do you suppose we might put the steaks on? I’m getting a little tipsy.”

Later, when the evening was over, Jeth did not offer to escort her up the stairs to her room, and she thought she should be grateful for this unexpected consideration. How awkward to be taken to her bedroom door when he knew full well that she felt the physical vibrations between them—sexual tensions that had increased as they began to play chess. Chess, she decided as the game wore on, was not a game to be played between a man and woman physically drawn to the other. Every move became fraught with a double meaning, and Cara grew more and more uncomfortable as Jeth’s aggressive moves began to place her queen in hopeless jeopardy.

“Leaving before the game is through?” he asked with cool mockery when she remarked at the lateness of the hour and asked to be excused. He could not have known how close his remark came to the truth or how deeply it pierced. Her year at La Tierra was now half over. She had not needed the carefully marked calendar she had discarded long ago to remind her of the rapidly passing days. Yes, she would be leaving before the game was through.

“Perhaps another time,” she said, giving him a polite smile and searching with her toes for the high-heeled sandals she had slipped off beneath the game table. The sumptuous fur rug had been too tempting for her stockinged feet to resist. Unhurriedly, Jeth placed his cigar in the ashtray and stood up, his fit, powerful body emanating a physical magnetism that stopped her heart. As she watched him wide-eyed, the rancher came around the table and gently drew her by the wrists to her stockinged feet. Conscious of the disparity in their heights, Cara tried not to tense as she felt Jeth’s smooth, dry fingertips, his thumbs still in control of her wrists, slide sensuously to nestle in her palms. She was too inexperienced to know if the action was deliberately provocative. All she knew was that his touch sent fire through her and that she could hardly breathe as he lifted her hands for his examination.

“I am glad to see that you managed to salvage these. Now they look as they always should.”

“Well—yes—” Cara was flustered and could not meet his eyes. She wondered if she should mention the box of gloves—she had sent a brusque thank-you by way of Fiona—but her pride and the shallow capacity of her lungs kept her silent.

“Do you think these hands can learn to hold and shoot a rifle?”

The question was so unexpected that Cara’s glance shot up, and her lips parted in surprise. Jeth’s eyes dropped to their moist softness, and Cara instinctively pulled at her hands. The rancher’s thumbs pressed deeper, and she allowed them to remain in his. “Tomorrow morning after breakfast I’m taking you out on the range for some target practice. If you’re going to ride Lady the far distances you do, you should take a rifle along and know how to use it. It’s a practice of the ranch that I rigidly enforce so don’t argue about it. You never know what you can run into out there, especially with winter coming and the coyotes hungry.” He released her hands and with easy grace reached down the other side of the chair where he had been sitting. When he straightened up, the slim blue sandals dangled from his fingers. “Were you looking for these?” he asked with a wry lift of his brows.

Cara reached for them, and a little shock passed through her as he held them a fraction of a moment longer than necessary before yielding them to her. “Good night, Mr. Langston,” she said in a voice less firm than she would have liked. Then she fled the room before she could be compelled to stay.

The next day Jeth drove Cara in the jeep out to a remote section of the ranch to give her brusque lessons in aiming and firing a .30-30 rifle. Every nerve in her was alert to the nearness of his body as he positioned the stock of the gun into the small of her shoulder and held her steady while she fired. He seemed unaffected by the closeness of her head or of his arm unavoidably pressing her breast during the demonstration. Cara was so intensely aware of him that she had difficulty concentrating.

During the drive back to the house, Jeth flicked a glance over the silk blouse and tailored slacks that she had chosen for the outing and remarked, “If you plan to be here during the winter, you’ll need some new ranch clothes. Tomorrow take the Continental and go see Miss Emma again.”

“You’ll probably think me a coward, Mr. Langston, but I’d rather wear the rags I have than have another encounter with Miss Emma. Besides, I don’t have any money.”

The Texan looked at her in surprise. “What about Ryan’s money?”

“That’s just it—it’s Ryan’s money.”

“Don’t feel guilty about spending it now. You’ve earned it. If you’re disinclined to spend it, consider it payment for your work while you’ve been at La Tierra. You’ve certainly earned more than your room and board. Marfa isn’t the only place around here to buy clothes. You can go a few miles farther the other way to Alpine and shop. No one will know who you are if I’m not with you.”

“Who will clean the stables?” she asked, more for his reaction than anything. A warm little glow had begun in the center of her heart.

“No one as well as you,” he answered, surprising her still further, even though his mouth remained stern and his eyes on the road straight ahead. “However, I told you that you’d keep that job until I needed you more somewhere else. I need you in the study.”

Instantly on guard, she faced him. “Doing what?”

Jeth laughed shortly. “Why, Miss Martin, what a suspicious mind you have! I want to take advantage of your skills as a librarian, not you. My library is in chaos. It’s time the books and papers were put in some kind of order. Will you please see to it for the next few weeks?”

It was a command couched in a request, Cara knew, but how much nicer to tell her like that than in the high-handed fashion he usually used with her. “What about the fields? Am I still to work out there?”

“Pepe will be putting them to bed for the winter. He won’t need you for that. Your talents will be put to better use in the study. You’ll begin Tuesday. Take tomorrow off and take your time looking around Alpine. There’s a museum there that might interest you and a fairly good restaurant where you can get a decent lunch. Write me a check for the amount you think you’ll need, and I’ll leave you cash for it on the hall table. Also a map of the town and my keys to the car.”

He thinks of everything, Cara thought, happy for the opportunity to have a change in her routine. She had only been off the ranch one time with Jeth, and tomorrow would be an especially nice time to get away: it was her birthday.

  

The fall roundup was in progress and Jeth Langston had been gone from the ranch over three weeks. Cara thought about him constantly as she indexed and catalogued the valuable collection of books in his study. Her suggestion that Ryan’s books from upstairs also be included had earned her a silent look of gratitude from the rancher that had warmed her heart for days. “How ridiculous!” she chided herself. “After all, I’m doing him a favor, not the other way around!” But she spent hours lost in the scrapbooks and photograph albums depicting the Langston family and the history of the ranch. By the time she had indexed them with the other memorabilia and documents, she felt intimately knowledgeable about every Langston who had ever been, including Jeth. He was impossible to imagine as an infant, but Cara found that indeed he had been one, and, from the photographs, held lovingly and often on his beautiful mother’s lap.

Touching Jeth through the photographs, learning about him in the articles and clippings she read, made her miss him terribly, with a craving that gnawed at her heart and violated her sleep. She longed for him to return to the ranch, if only briefly, as he had during the spring roundup, leaving Jim in charge. Just a glimpse of his tall figure striding toward the house from the landing strip would be enough. She could content herself with that.

Cara was puzzled that she had not seen Jim since their broken date. The foreman had been in the mountains with the roundup for the remuda when she returned from her shopping trip to Alpine, but she thought it strange that he hadn’t sought her out to offer an explanation before he left for the October cattle drive.

She was sitting in the living room playing the Steinway when she sensed Jeth’s presence. Her fingers stilled over the keys, her shoulders tensed in anticipation of her joy before she turned on the bench to find him watching her, the black Stetson, now returned for the winter, pushed back on his dark head. Quietly she pulled the cover down over the keyboard. “Hello,” she said, turning back to him. The interrupted notes of “Clair de Lune” hung in the air as they stared at each other.

Slowly Jeth said, “I haven’t heard Debussy played like that since…well, in a long time,” he amended. “How have you been?”

Lonely, Cara wanted to say, but she spoke calmly, giving him a slight smile. “Busy. The library is finished.”

“I’ll go up and change and then you can show it to me. We’ll have a drink together.” He did not wait for her to answer but left the room, the welcome sound of his black boots striking the tiled floor.

While Jeth changed, Cara decided to run out to the Feed-trough to see Leon. She had missed the dear old fellow. Like Jim, she had not seen him since her return to the ranch from her day’s outing, not having wanted to interfere with his preparations to ready the chuckwagon for the roundup.

A half hour after speaking with Leon, she stormed across the ranch yard into the house to Jeth Langston’s study. A small balled fist rapped sharply on the door, and when Jeth called, “Come in,” Cara opened the door, not bothering to close it after her, and marched up to the rancher with blazing eyes and heaving chest. “You are insufferable!” she announced to the startled Texan. “How could you fire Jim Foster just because he asked me out!”

Jeth regarded her without speaking, all expression in the gray eyes slowly fading. Then he calmly returned to the task of pouring their drinks. “Here,” he said, handing her a glass of wine. “Maybe that will settle you down.” His eyes fell to the low opening of her blouse, then traveled back to her face. “You still have a tan,” he observed, “and your hair is still sun streaked. What have you been doing to get so much sun?”

Struggling to gain control of her temper, Cara set the glass of wine down untasted. “I’ve been helping Pepe,” she answered. “With so many men gone on the roundup, he needed help. This Indian summer has kept everything out there growing and productive. Now, Mr. Langston—”

“I didn’t tell you to work out there,” he interrupted. “You take too much on yourself, Miss Martin.”

“Mr. Langston, don’t change the subject. How could you fire Jim because of me? He’d been with you for years and was an excellent foreman. No wonder you didn’t get away from the roundup like you did in the spring…” Cara bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Jeth’s brows raised. “So you noticed?” He took a sip of his drink, considering her over its rim. “Jim meant to weave his way into your affections, Miss Martin. I don’t mean to shatter any illusions you might have concerning his feelings for you, but you could have been as plain as a fence post, and he would have done the same. He had in mind to convince you not to sell your share of La Tierra to me; then he meant to put himself in charge of running one-half of my ranch.”

Cara knew Jeth spoke the truth. It was all as clear to her now as the straight nose on his hard, handsome face. There had been something basically self-serving in the foreman’s character, an opportunistic streak that she had dimly suspected. But what really hurt was to know that Jeth thought Jim could have succeeded. That was why he had kept her busy the evening Jim was fired. That was why he had taken her out on the range all the next day, had sent her to Alpine to shop and sightsee the day after.

Another thought struck her. Jeth had never been jealous of Jim at all! He had only been fearful that his foreman would gain an inside track on her affections, a possibility that might have cost him half of his beloved La Tierra.

Her fists still balled, Cara wanted to strike at the ruthless face that she loved with all of her heart and soul. “You didn’t have to pretend that you wanted me to have some new clothes, Mr. Langston, in order to prevent Jim from seeing me after you fired him. I wouldn’t have turned over Ryan’s share of the ranch to him, no matter how much you’d like to believe otherwise.” Tears stung her eyes. “I don’t feel like showing you the library tonight. If you will excuse me—”

She was halfway to the door when Jeth’s words stopped her. “I sent you to Alpine because it was your birthday.”

Cara was sure her feelings were expressed in the tensing of her shoulders, the halting of her footsteps. Because she knew her face would betray her, she did not turn around. “How did you know?”

“I know everything about you, Miss Martin. The detective, remember?”

“Oh, yes.” All he needed to know of her, he was saying, could be reduced to a few pages in a file folder.

The rancher had come up behind her. “Turn around, Miss Martin.” When she did, he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Are those for Jim?”

Let him think so, she thought. “I feel responsible. If I hadn’t been here, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Many things would not have happened if you had not been here, Miss Martin. Believe me, Jim is a minor casualty.”

The tears dried in Cara’s eyes. She understood what he was implying. He hated her very presence on La Tierra. Well, he needn’t worry that she would impose herself on him in the future. She would stay completely out of his way. He would not set eyes on her again, not if she could help it. On the day her promise to Ryan was fulfilled, she would quietly disappear. He wouldn’t even know what had happened to her, nor would he care, for on that day the papers would arrive releasing her claim to the ranch, and he would be free to marry.

“I dislike you intensely, Mr. Langston,” Cara said bitterly. At the moment, it was the truth.

“I am aware of that, Miss Martin. It’s such a shame.”

Without a word, she turned and left him standing in the middle of the paneled room, a tall, forceful figure who gazed after her long after she was gone.

As winter approached, the shorter days made it more difficult for Cara to avoid the owner of La Tierra Conquistada. Twilight came early and fell fast, halting the ranch activities that kept Jeth out of the house. Having no assigned duties and finding solace in work, Cara volunteered her now-coveted services where they were needed. She helped Homer in the stables and Leon in the Feedtrough, ignoring Jeth when he happened to appear unexpectedly. For convenience, she had to bring Lady back to the smaller stable for the winter, where Jeth’s bay was stalled, and resigned herself to the anguish she felt when their paths crossed there.

Still, because he was essentially a man of routine, she was able to chart his comings and goings with some accuracy, and the two of them rarely met. For Cara, the long hours before bedtime were the hardest to fill. Occasionally she watched television with Fiona in the housekeeper’s suite of rooms off the kitchen. In her own room she studied Spanish, which she was now able to speak with increasing fluency. She wrote her once-a-week letter to Harold St. Clair and read the best sellers and classics she got from the traveling bookmobile that stopped at the ranch every Tuesday.

Cara looked forward to the arrival of the bookmobile each week. She had become friendly with Honoria Sanchez, the gentle Mexican woman who was its driver. Honoria was also a librarian, and Cara enjoyed their professional chats.

Thanksgiving came and went and La Tierra began to gear itself for the Christmas holidays.

“They won’t be nearly as exciting as in years past,” Fiona grumbled in the kitchen one morning. “Señor Ryan is gone and El Patrón will spend the holidays in Dallas.”

With the Jeffers, Cara conjectured, and why not? They must be like family to him, and with this the first Christmas without Ryan…Sympathy for Jeth lay in her heart for days before she found the nerve to go to his study one evening after dinner.

He had expected Fiona, as was evident by the surprised lift of his brows, the unblinking stare with which he regarded her entrance into his sanctuary. “Why, Miss Martin—” He spoke ironically. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit?” He rose languidly from the wingback chair to greet her, but not before his posture had suggested to Cara that he had been deeply sunk in his thoughts, his gaze lost in the fire that burned brightly in the limestone fireplace.

Cara’s hands fidgeted at her sides. “Uh, Mr. Langston, I—I would like to discuss with you your plans for Christmas. Or rather, that is…my plans for Christmas.”

“Sit down, Miss Martin,” Jeth invited, indicating the other chair next to the fireplace. “You have plans for Christmas? I had thought you would be staying here.”

“Yes, well, you see, that’s what I want to talk to you about.” She was acutely embarrassed. She had to moisten her lips to go on, a gesture that brought the lids half down over Jeth’s eyes. “Fiona has told me that ordinarily when…Ryan was alive, you stayed home for Christmas and that the ranch hosted many festivities and parties. This year I understand that you are going to Dallas to be with your…fiancée’s family—”

“My fiancée?” Jeth raised up in his chair, his expression instantly alert. “Who told you about my fiancée?”

So it is true, Cara thought, a hand squeezing her heart. “I read of your engagement in the Dallas Morning News,” she answered, amazed to hear the steadiness of her voice. How is it possible that the dead can speak? “I’m afraid you’re leaving because of me, that you’d be entertaining if I weren’t here. If I go away for several weeks, your normal holiday activities won’t have to be interrupted. Mr. Langston—” Cara raised an imploring hand when she saw Jeth about to interrupt. “I would like to do this for Ryan’s sake. I can’t bear for his brother to have to go somewhere else to spend Christmas because of me.”

“Where will you go?” Jeth asked noncommittally.

“I have several places,” she answered swiftly. “That doesn’t have to be a concern of yours.”

“Miss Martin,” Jeth said on a sigh, “I happen to know that you have nowhere to go. You have no money to get there even if you did, unless, of course, you use Ryan’s money, which you won’t do, not if I have learned anything about you. I appreciate your consideration for my feelings, but you can be assured that I would not allow you to run me out of my home. I prefer to be in Dallas this year for Christmas. There are too many memories here of…what should have been.”

He had turned his dark head away from her to resume his contemplation of the fire. It was a sign of dismissal, Cara knew, and she ought to get up and go. But his last remark held her sadly enthralled, like the hum of music when the final notes are played. The two of them were what should have been, she was thinking—not lovers, perhaps, but at least the best of friends. They had so many experiences in common. They had both been deprived of their parents at a sensitive time in their lives. They had each known the loss of worked-for dreams, deferred forever because of family obligations. And they had loved and lost in common a fine human being. Yet here they were, each sailing alone in his own ship on a sea of grief when they might have made the journey together, for a year at least.

Cara got up to go, and Jeth rose also. “Very well, Mr. Langston.” She held out her hand politely. “If I do not see you before you leave, I hope your holidays will be pleasant.”

His firm hand closed around hers. “When did you read of my engagement, Miss Martin?”

“Sometime last summer, Mr. Langston.”

“I see. Happy holidays to you, too, Miss Martin.”

Cara withdrew her hand and walked quickly from the room.