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  He released her for a moment to remove his shirt and tie. When he enfolded her again Carrie knew the exquisite sensation of skin on skin for the first time in her life. His upper arms were muscular and smooth, and his chest was broad and firm with a central pattern of light brown hair. Carrie clung to him, naked to the waist, awash in a sea of feeling but still worried about what would happen in the next few minutes. Should she tell him that he would be the first? He was an experienced man, he would surely know, and she didn’t want to surprise or disappoint him.

  Jason kissed her again, his mouth open and relentless, his breath coming in short bursts. She felt him pressed against her, fully ready as he reached for the waistband of her pants. She tensed immediately. He felt it and his hand stilled.

  “Let me,” he groaned. “Please, Carrie, don’t stop me now.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her hips, her whole body trembling. It was several seconds before she realized that he hadn’t moved. She opened her eyes.

  He was looking down at her, an expression of extreme unhappiness on his face. With a sigh that seemed wrenched from the depths of his soul he sat up, turning away from her.

  “I’m pushing you,” he said miserably. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that, and I am doing it right now.”

  He put her aside gently and stood up, running shaking fingers through his thick hair.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie,” he added, after a moment. “I hope you don’t think I’m a boor.”

  “I don’t,” she said, sitting up and crossing her arms over her bare breasts. He saw what she was doing and handed her his shirt. She slipped it on gratefully. It fit her like a tent.

  He knelt before her and framed her face with his hands. “Carrie, please try to understand. It’s been many years since I cared for anyone and I’m finding it difficult to go slow.”

  Many years? Carrie thought confusedly. His wife had been dead for only two.

  “I know that I’m older than you are,” he continued. “I don’t want to ask for too much and send you running in the other direction.” He smiled ruefully. “I promise I’ll do better.”

  “You’ve done just fine,” she whispered, bending forward to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. He shut his eyes briefly, and then stood up.

  “I think I’d better leave before I disgrace myself further,” he said, looking around for his discarded clothes. He found his jacket and tie and then surveyed her on the sofa, where she sat surrounded by the folds of his shirt like a Carthusian monk in an ordination robe.

  “My shirt?” he said, raising one eyebrow.

  “Just a second,” she replied, fleeing upstairs, where she changed into a bathrobe. She returned with his shirt in her hand and gave it to him.

  “Thank you,” he said archly, putting it on. Then he paused and said, “It smells like you now.”

  Their eyes met and Carrie swallowed, yearning toward him. But he was master of the situation again. He finished dressing briskly and said, “I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday for the formal, all right?”

  She nodded, hugging herself tightly.

  “Don’t scrunch up like that,” he said, noting her posture. “I’m leaving; I’m not going to attack you.”

  Carrie didn’t answer. He couldn’t know that she feared, not him, but her own response to him.

  They walked together to the door, and he said, “Good night, Barbie doll. Sleep well.”

  He started to go, and then glanced back at her. She was following his departure with huge eyes, wanting to ask him to stay, hoping that he would go and obviate her decision. He saw her expression and opened his arms. Without hesitation she ran into them.

  “Soon, Carrie,” he whispered, his cheek against hers. “When you’re ready.”

  He released her and went through the door.

  Chapter 7

  During the following week Jason arranged for a new tutor to take over Carrie’s duties. He sent a glowing report on her handling of the case to Mr. Dunphy, lest the principal think he requested the change out of dissatisfaction with Carrie’s performance. He merely said that he wanted Johnny to be tutored during the day, since he was often tired by the time Carrie was able to get to the house after work. Everyone seemed to accept this explanation, except Lois Bonner, who had witnessed Jason’s dramatic arrival the day he came to the school to see Carrie. Lois’ curiosity remained unsatisfied, however, because Carrie would tell her nothing. To do so would have been the equivalent of taking out an ad in the classified section of the local newspaper.

  Gloria called from Bridgeport, where her troupe had a three evening engagement. She was disappointed that she hadn’t met Jason, but pleased that Carrie had used her tickets to good advantage. She promised to return before Thanksgiving and catch up on the romance report.

  A few days before the formal Carrie searched out her only evening dress, encased in plastic and stashed at the back of her closet with the odds and ends she rarely wore. She wanted to make sure that it hadn’t grown moss, gone out of style, or otherwise become unsuitable. It was a simple Grecian style crepe in pale peach with a high neck, but backless. Most of the fancy clothes designed for petites made her look and feel like Miss Muffet, so she had been ecstatic to find this one and had kept it for several years. She tried it on with the high-heeled shoes she planned to wear to check the length and all was well. She made a mental note to take it to the cleaners and hung it on the closet door so she wouldn’t forget.

  The rest of the week passed in a flurry of counseling forms and mid-term progress reports. The night of the formal arrived and she was ready for it, fifteen minutes early, in fact. She had swept her hair into what she hoped was a sophisticated chignon and wore the only real jewelry she owned. It was a necklace and earrings in coral inlaid with tiny diamond chips, left to her by her mother. She fastened the clasp of the necklace at her nape and stepped over to the wall mirror in her bedroom. She was satisfied. Not much by comparison with the celebrated Louise, perhaps, but pretty good for Carrie Maxwell.

  Her confidence in her appearance was justified by the look on Jason’s face when she opened her door to admit him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, surveying her thirstily from her piled dark hair to her dainty leather pumps.

  “Thank you,” Carrie replied, reacting to the sight of him in formal clothes. He was wearing a charcoal gray tuxedo with an off-white pleated shirt and a bow tie. A navy topcoat sat carelessly on his shoulders. He watched her as she went to the hall closet and took out a heavy, handknit wool shawl.

  “Won’t you be cold,” he asked, “wearing just this?” He held it for her and she wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “I don’t have a cape,” Carrie replied, looking up at him as his hands fell away from her.

  “The car’s warmed up,” he said, smiling as he opened the door and led her outside. She tucked her shawl more closely about her as she realized that he was right; it was indeed a cold night.

  The drive to the country club was short, and Carrie was surprised by the lavishness of the grounds as Jason guided the car down the incline toward the main entrance. She had driven past the gates many times but had never been inside them. The atmosphere on this occasion was more like that of a Hollywood premiere than a seasonal affair for the local ranching community. A string of taxis waited at a stand by the curb, and uniformed attendants took over the cars of the guests as they arrived. The two-story stone colonial was ablaze with light, and a hostess dressed in a tailored suit with the club crest affixed to the breast pocket greeted them just inside the door.

  “Jason McClain and guest,” Jason said, presenting his invitation. The woman took it and crossed his name off a list on her bookstand. Then she signaled for them to follow her.

  They passed through a wide entry hall, where Jason checked their coats. On the floor of the hall was a carpet in wine with a small gray pattern, complemented by deeply sashed gray satin drapes at the full length windows on either side of the room. Do
uble doors opened into a large reception area, featuring a raised bandstand at one end and a wall-to-wall bar at the other. In between, small round tables seating four or six were strategically placed around a central dance floor. Carrie estimated that about three hundred people were expected. Waiters circulated through the milling crowd with trays of prepared drinks while other guests ordered for themselves at the bar. The hostess led them to a table in the middle of the room. It was set for four. Place cards at the other two seats indicated that their dinner companions had not arrived yet.

  “Relax,” Jason said in her ear. “You look nervous.”

  “I guess I didn’t expect it to be quite such a big deal,” she confessed as he pulled out her chair.

  “You fit right in,” he said reassuringly, smiling. Carrie smiled back but reserved judgment on that topic. While she could see that she was dressed appropriately, she was very aware that many of these people had known Louise, some by sight, others more intimately. She couldn’t help wondering what they would think of Jason’s new friend.

  “Is it always this big?” she asked as he sat next to her.

  “Looks like it’s grown since the last time I was here,” he replied, glancing around at the crush. He leaned forward. “Would you like a drink?”

  “If you’re having something,” Carrie answered.

  He stood again to go to the bar, and on the way Carrie saw him stop and speak to several people. He looked at ease, enjoying the conversations, and she was relieved that his return to Fairfield County Society seemed to be going well. He came back with the couple sharing their table, a Mr. and Mrs. Dunne, who greeted Carrie cheerfully and made no mention of Jason’s late wife. Mrs. Dunne was a simple soul who regaled Carrie with stories of her two teenagers while her husband talked horses with Jason.

  The band played background music while drinks were served and Carrie enjoyed the elegant atmosphere. Dancing began soon after that, and Jason led Carrie to the floor amid the throng of other guests.

  Carrie had never danced with Jason; it was heaven to drift in his arms to the strains of soft music. He held her lightly but securely, and she was delighted to discover that he was an accomplished dancer, confident and graceful. He pulled her closer and swung her into a series of turns, whirling her until she was giggling and dizzy. Then he paused and enfolded her, barely moving, as she pressed her cheek to his starched shirtfront and closed her eyes.

  They opened again a few seconds later when Jason halted suddenly. Carrie stepped back from him to see another man, dark and handsome in a saturnine way, tapping Jason on the shoulder. He was cutting in on them.

  Carrie’s expression changed from surprise to alarm when she saw the look on Jason’s face. His mouth was hard, almost cruel, and his hazel eyes shot sparks. She knew instantly that this was no ordinary social encounter. She put her hand on Jason’s arm and he shook it off as if she were a bothersome insect.

  “What are you doing here, Miller?” Jason demanded in a low, menacing tone that froze Carrie’s blood.

  “Cutting in on your date,” the dark man replied, smiling charmingly at Carrie.

  “I don’t think so,” Jason said curtly, taking Carrie’s elbow and turning her away. She was relieved that they had avoided an unpleasant confrontation, but only for a second. The dark man followed them, blocking Jason’s path.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I got in?” the man inquired of Jason, his tone needling.

  “Through the sewer?” Jason suggested, still trying to steer Carrie out of range. “Or did you crash?”

  “I’m escorting Beth Dandridge,” his antagonist informed him.

  “I’ll send her my condolences,” Jason snapped. He tried to move again and Miller stepped in front of him.

  Jason turned to Carrie. “I’ll be only a minute,” he said, obviously deciding to remove her from the fray. “Just wait for me at our table.”

  Carrie complied, eager for him to put an end to the unpleasant encounter. But she had barely reached her seat when she saw the men squaring off, exchanging muttered barbs that she couldn’t hear. She gasped as Jason’s fist crashed into the man’s jaw. Miller toppled to the floor.

  Mrs. Dunne screamed as Jason jumped on top of his opponent, raining blows on his upper body. The man put up a token resistance, landing a few punches, but it was clear that he was no match for Jason’s uncontrolled fury.

  The others on the dance floor backed away, crying out in shock and dismay. The band stopped playing on an upbeat note, as if by agreement. Carrie was sickened by the fight. Was this the Jason who could prepare a dinner tray lovingly for his son and groom a horse as if he were polishing Cartier silver? She didn’t recognize him. He had been transformed into an ugly, violent stranger. She turned away, unable to watch.

  Two of the other men tried to separate the combatants as she slipped to the edge of the crowd. She looked back once to see Jason being pulled off Miller by force. He was struggling with those aiming to break up the fight, trying to fling himself on the dark man again. At the point of tears, Carrie ran from the ballroom and out the front door. Leaving her wrap behind she flagged down a taxi and gave the cabbie her address.

  She had been home no more than twenty minutes when Jason began banging on her door.

  “Carrie, let me in.”

  “Go away,” she called out to him, wiping her wet eyes and tightening the sash on her robe.

  “Carrie, I have to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say,” she yelled at the door.

  “I have your wrap here,” he said, trying a new tactic.

  “Leave it on the porch.”

  “Aren’t you even going to let me explain what happened?” he burst out, frustrated, pounding again.

  Carrie walked farther into the hall so that she wouldn’t have to shout. “I saw what happened. You attacked that man. There is nothing to explain. Good night.”

  There was a short silence followed by, “Carrie, you’re not being fair.”

  “Why should I be fair? Were you being fair to me when you engaged in a brawl in front of a crowd of people? The children in my class behave with more maturity.”

  No answer came for a full minute. Then the pounding resumed.

  “Carrie, if you don’t open this door I’m going to kick it in!”

  Carrie felt an angry flush crawling up her neck. “Do that,” she replied furiously, “and I’ll call the police. I’m surprised you’re not enjoying their hospitality already, after the scene I witnessed. I don’t respond to brutality any better than those people at the club.”

  Jason did not reply to this ultimatum. To drive home her point Carrie checked the bolt on the front door noisily and shut off the porch light. After several minutes of silence she was convinced that he had left.

  Carrie went back into the living room, sitting down and clasping her shaking hands in her lap. How could she be so angry with someone she loved so much? While she knew she couldn’t let him bully his way inside after what he’d done, a part of her had wanted to fling the door wide and embrace him. She wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. But it did. She told herself that she was right but didn’t feel any better. She switched on the television and watched an awful movie until eleven o’clock. Then, emotionally exhausted, she went to bed and right to sleep.

  In the morning she started worrying about Jason. Had he gotten home all right? He’d been very upset. Maybe she should have talked to him, not to condone his behavior but to listen to his side of the story. She dressed and made coffee in a state of anxiety, wondering if she should call him.

  She was still preoccupied as she locked the door behind her and headed for her car. As she reached for the handle she let out a little yelp of surprise. Jason was asleep in the back seat, still in his formal clothes, his long legs folded up like collapsible garden furniture. He had wadded her shawl under his head for a pillow and was using his coat as a blanket. He must have decided to camp out in her car so she would be forced to confront him when she
went to work. She glanced around for his car and saw it parked a little farther away. She sighed heavily, shaking her head, and opened the passenger door.

  “Jason, wake up,” she said. “You have to get out of there. I want to go to work.”

  He sat up, blinking, and then realized where he was. “Carrie, stay home today. We have to talk.”

  His upper lip was swollen and crusted with blood at the corner. One eye was bruised and there was a purplish welt on his cheekbone. He must have come to her directly from the fray, with no stops for first aid.

  “I can’t stay home,” she said briskly, depositing her briefcase on the seat. “Would you please stop these ridiculous antics and get out of my car?”

  “Call in sick,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Jason, I cannot do that. I have to reach the substitute service by six-thirty a.m. when I’m going to be out sick so they can get coverage for my class.”

  “What if you don’t discover you’re sick until six forty-five?” he asked logically.

  Carrie ignored that. “It’s eight-twenty right now and I’m due in at nine. If you don’t get out I’m going to drive off with you in the car.”

  “Tell them it’s an emergency,” he said, groaning as he uncoiled his stiff legs. “They’ll get somebody.”

  “I’m not going to lie. Do you know what happens to twenty-four fourth graders when their teacher doesn’t show up? They’ll be taking over the Board of Education Offices by nine-fifteen.”

  Jason looked so defeated that her heart went out to him. He had spent a very uncomfortable night in order to ensure that he would see her. The least she could do was talk to him.

  “All right,” she relented. “I have an idea. I know a woman who works as a substitute. She needs the money and is always ready to go in for a day. I’ll call her directly and see if she can cover for me.”

  “Thank you,” he said humbly, emerging from the small car in stages: head, torso, legs. He looked beat.

  “If you were going to pull this unorthodox stunt,” Carrie said, “why didn’t you sleep in your own car? It’s bigger and more comfortable.”