Something Extra Read online

  Something Extra

  Janet Dailey

  CHAPTER ONE

  The pinto, a mixture of chestnut and white, reluctantly submitted to the pressure of the reins and turned away from the rich grasses of his pasture. His head bobbed rhythmically from side to side as he plodded down the rutted lane. Fifteen summers had been seen by his soft brown eyes. He no longer pranced and tossed his brown and white mane, nor tugged at the bit between his teeth. Through the years he had grown fat and lazy, saving his energy to swish away flies and tear at the long green grass so that he would have the strength to see another South Dakota winter sweep by.

  The horse didn’t need to look at a calendar to see the month of September preparing to make way for October. He had only to look at the trees and their green leaves that were dotted with gold and orange, or to raise his brown eyes to the blue skies and see the gathering of birds which were ready to begin the migration to the south at the first sign of cold. The waving fields of wheat next to his pasture had ripened and their grains of gold hung heavily on their slender stalks. The days were still warm, but the nights held a chill. The pinto had already begun growing his shaggy coat to ward off the cold north-west winds.

  A heel dug firmly into his side, and he snorted his dislike before amiably breaking into a rocking canter. The weight on his back was light and the hands holding his reins were gentle. The pinto’s dark ears pricked forward as a brightly plumed rooster pheasant took wing ahead of them. But there was not the slightest break in his stride. A hand touched the side of his neck in praise, followed by a checking of reins. The aging pinto gladly settled back into a shuffling trot and finally to his plodding walk.

  The girl astride his bare back sighed deeply, letting the circled reins drop in front of her while placing her hands on her hips. Her bare legs dangled from his fat sides as she balanced herself easily on his broad back. She squinted her own soft brown eyes at the sun’s glare, feeling its warmth on the skin not covered by the white halter top or the blue shorts. If she had looked for them, she would have seen all the signs of autumn that the horse did. But her gaze flitted over them all, looking but not seeing.

  Her figure was adequate, not over-curvaceous nor over-slender, just somewhere in the middle. In her bare feet, she stood five feet four, an average height for an average build. Her hair was the same warm brown shade as her eyes, thick and cropped in a feathery boy-cut that allowed its thickness and natural wave to frame her oval face. Again her features were average, not possessing any startling beauty, only a pleasing wholesomeness.

  When she was younger, Jolie Antoinette Smith used to moan about her lack of glamorous beauty. Her father always used to gather her in his arms in one of his giant bear hugs and in his laughing voice teased her.

  “You have a pair of very nice eyes to see with; a nose to breathe and smell with; nice, generous lips to frame a mouth that talks and eats with its full set of white teeth.” Then he would lift her downcast chin with his hand and study her face closely. His voice would become very serious. “And by my latest count, you have two thousand, four hundred and thirty-seven freckles, which you ought to thank the good Lord for, because he’s the one who sprinkled gold dust all over your face.”

  She would be scowling by that time at the faint freckles that were there and not there, so light were they. Her father would then tickle the corner of her mouth, forcing her to smile.

  “And he also gave you a matching set of dimples!” he ended triumphantly. Even though Jolie knew he was prejudiced in her favor, she always felt better after one of those sessions. It was only as she grew older that she realized he had been trying to make her content with the way she was, with the things she couldn’t change. Yes, she had long ceased to curse the fact that she had been endowed with both freckles and dimples, too, and learned to endure the good-natured teasing that they always brought.

  Even though Jolie seldom rated a second glance when she was walking down a street, the men who did become acquainted with her found that she was an excellent listener, had a ready smile, and could carry on a conversation without giggling. She was the kind of girl that got invited home to meet mother while her girl friends were invited to parties. After hearing tales of what went on at some of the parties, Jolie wasn’t sure she would have liked it, but she never had the chance to find out for herself.

  She was home now after a little more than three years in which she had crammed a four-year college course. She had finished her education and obtained her degree, but now what? What came next? Inside Jolie felt that surge of restlessness, that heightening sense of dissatisfaction.

  She had come home and all was different while it remained the same. Home. A three hundred and sixty acre tract of land sixty miles from Yankton, South Dakota, where for the entire twenty-one years of her life, Jolie’s parents had farmed. It had been a good life, and a hard life at times, the difference dictated by the weather and its effect on the crops. But it was her parents’ life and not hers.

  The pinto paused to munch on a tempting clump of grass until Jolie raised herself out of her indifference to lift his head away.

  “If you eat any more, Scout, your sides will burst,” she admonished. Dutifully the horse plodded on. “Poor old Scout,” Jolie sighed, “you’ve changed, too, just like me. Whoever said ‘You can’t go home again’ was right.”

  Her parents had lived by themselves for the last three years and had grown accustomed to it. They no longer knew how to treat Jolie. She was not a child any more, but to them she would never be quite an adult. Madelaine, her older sister by one year, was married and already had two children as well as a life completely separate from Jolie’s. Change was the only constancy. And that included John Talbot.

  Jolie saw his pick-up truck parked on the field turn-off of the country road. His tall, sunburned figure was standing on the edge of a wheat field, the muscles in his arms gleaming in the late morning sunlight. A stalk of wheat was between his teeth as he lifted an arm in greeting. Without any effort his long stride carried him to the edge of the field as Jolie drew level atop her pinto. His large hands encircled her waist and lifted her to the ground. There John lowered his head and with the ease of habit claimed her mouth in a kiss. Jolie responded just as naturally, liking the warmth and the closeness of his body next to hers.

  “Hi.” The gleam of quiet affection in his tawny gold eyes was comfortably pleasing, as was the slow smile. “It’s been a long time since you’ve come out to visit me in the fields.”

  Snuggling against his shoulder, his muscular arm firmly holding her there, Jolie nodded agreement as she slipped her arm behind his back and around his waist. The pinto contentedly began grazing on the grasses near the lane, ignoring the couple walking slowly toward the lone cottonwood that stood on the edge of the wheat field.

  “Dad says your wheat is ready for harvest.” Jolie easily fell into the main topic of conversation in the area. It was a safe subject that steered clear of her restlessness. John plucked another stalk of wheat before sinking down on the ground beneath the shade tree. He stripped the golden grain from its head, tossing two into his mouth.

  “Still a little too much moisture,” he decreed. “Another day or two of sun like this and it’ll be ready.” He pushed the straw hat back on his light brown head and gazed out over the golden sea of grain. “It’s going to be a good harvest.”

  “Dad’s shoulder is bothering him, which means rain before tomorrow night.” The blade of grass in her hand split down the middle at the nervous pressure of her fingers. She tossed it from her in disgust.

  “You can tell him for me that he can hold it off for another couple of days,” John smiled, and drew Jolie into his arms.

  She turned her head just as he was about to kiss her an
d his lips instead found her cheek. But he wasn’t deterred, letting his mouth wander over her neck and the lobe of her ear half-covered by her brown hair. For Jolie, there was nothing soothing in his caress and her lack of response made her feel uncomfortable. She wriggled free, plucking another blade of grass and studying it intently.

  His measuring eyes were on her. Jolie could feel them trail over her face and she tried to appear undisturbed.

  “What’s wrong, Jo?” he asked quietly. If he was angered or hurt, there was nothing in his voice to reveal it.

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. She glanced back at him hesitantly, letting him glimpse the melancholy expression in her eyes that silently apologized.

  “You’ve been home a week now. No calls on any of your job applications?”

  “I haven’t applied anywhere.” His eyebrows raised briefly at her statement, but his face remained impassive otherwise. Jolie inhaled deeply as she averted her eyes from his face. He always knew so much more of what she was thinking and she couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in his mind. “I’ve got my diploma and I don’t even know what I want to do with it.”

  “Home economics graduates always make good wives,” John stated.

  Although there was a light, teasing air about his words, Jolie knew it was a testing statement. But how could she possibly tell John that she didn’t love him, or at least not the way she wanted to love the man she would marry. What was worse, she felt so guilty for not loving him.

  John Talbot was a girl’s dream. Not only was he good-looking, extremely so, but he was also solid and dependable. Just looking at his tanned features, so clean-cut and handsome, made Jolie wonder if she wasn’t out of her mind for not snatching up this man who had waited faithfully the last five years for her. She didn’t deny that John had a magnetism that attracted her to him, but nothing happened — no bells rang, her heart didn’t beat any faster — when he held her in his arms. It wouldn’t be fair to marry him when she knew this.

  “Did you ever wonder why I didn’t give you a ring while you were at college?” the quiet baritone voice asked her.

  Jolie nodded, too full of her own feelings of guilt to reply vocally.

  “I knew you liked me, even loved me, but I knew you weren’t in love with me.” Jolie grimaced and John lifted her chin that was threatening to sink into her chest. “You were eighteen and I was twenty-four. I decided it was only fair for you to wait until you had graduated. But, to trade on an old cliché, absence hasn’t made the heart grow fonder, has it?”

  “I feel like the lowest beast on earth, John,” Jolie whispered, “but I’m not really in love with you. I care about you more than anyone I’ve ever met. In my way, I do love you.”

  For just a moment his fingers dug into her shoulders, revealing the pain that his face didn’t show. Then he had released her and was lying back against the tree trunk.

  “The way you feel wouldn’t satisfy either one of us for long.” His smile was slow and regretful with only the barest traces of bitterness around the corners of his mouth. “So what are you going to do now? Are you going to stay around here?”

  “I don’t think so.” There was an almost imperceptible shake of her head as Jolie replied. “I thought if I came back here to the farm it would give me a chance to put my thoughts together. After three years of being whisked along by the steady flow of classes, homework and odd jobs, I feel as if somebody has just put me ashore. I thought coming home would reorientate me but it’s only made me more confused. I don’t want to take just any job, but I can’t keep sponging off my parents either. I’ve cost them enough.”

  “It will all work out.”

  “I hope it does . . . for both of us. John?” His gaze that had been turned unseeingly on the landscape reverted to Jolie. “Is it too much to ask that we still be friends?”

  His hand reached out and ruffled her hair in a gesture reminiscent of her teenage days. “Of course,” he smiled, moving agilely to his feet. She rose to stand silently beside him. “Don’t be so solemn, honey,” tracing the curve of her cheek with his finger. “It’s not as if I’d suddenly discovered you weren’t in love with me. I think I would have been more shocked if you were, and a little bit afraid that you were lying.”

  Jolie stood on tiptoe and planted a soft kiss on his mouth, her eyes brimming with tears she didn’t have any right to shed. “Aunt Brigitte will have my scalp for letting you go.”

  “Don’t tell me your neurotically romantic aunt is here,” John laughed.

  “Aunt Brigitte is a died-in-the-wool spinster. How can you possibly consider her romantic? Mother swears she would be surprised if Aunt Brigitte had ever been kissed.”

  “Don’t you believe it. There is one woman who knows exactly what love is all about.” That was a puzzling statement to Jolie and one that John was going to let her think about by herself. “Uncle Ray will be wondering where I am, so I’d better shove off.”

  She didn’t realize at first that he was leaving until he was already several steps away from her. “John, I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she called after him.

  There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders before he turned and waved. Yet his stride quickly carried him away from her toward his car. Jolie watched him drive off before she walked over to her rotund horse still contentedly stuffing himself with grass.

  The screen door slammed behind her as Jolie entered the two-story, white-framed house. She didn’t feel any better or worse than before she had left that morning. Only one thing was definite and that was she would not be looking for a job anywhere near home. It wouldn’t be fair to John, not that he was the type to jump off a cliff. Actually, he was the opposite, the kind who met a problem head on and conquered it.

  “Hello! Who is it?” The imperious call came from the sun porch.

  “It’s me, Aunt Brigitte,” Jolie replied, sticking her head around the door with a wave of her hand. “Where’s Mother?”

  “In town getting groceries.” When Jolie would have gone on to her own room, her aunt motioned into the room. “Come sit with me.”

  The iron-gray hair was drawn into a severe bun at the back of her aunt’s head. Jolie had always regarded her aunt, who was twelve years her mother’s senior, as being stern and practical, but in the light of John’s statement, Jolie wondered how correct her assessment was. Her features, which had always possessed the uncompromising lines of age, could quite possibly be attractive when her aunt smiled as she was doing now.

  “What have you been doing since you’ve returned home?” Her Aunt Brigitte’s questions always sounded more like commands, but then she had been a teacher for the last thirty years, Jolie mused.

  On rare weekends her aunt journeyed to her only sister’s, Jolie’s mother, to spend two uneventful days on the farm. This was one of those rare times.

  “Relaxing from the grind of all the finals, mostly, and trying to figure out where and what I want to do next.”

  “That sounds as if it’s a momentous problem.” Jolie saw her aunt’s lips quiver, almost breaking into a smile. Brigitte Carson glanced up, noting the troubled expression on her niece’s face. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Jolie sighed heavily and turned away from her aunt’s searching gaze.

  “Where have you been this morning?”

  “Out with John.”

  “I’m quite sure he had an answer to your dilemma.”

  “Yes, he had a suggestion.” Jolie’s voice was soft and simultaneously firm. “I’m not in love with him, Aunt Brigitte.”

  It was her aunt’s turn to sigh and she did. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sorry for you as well as for John. He would have been a loving husband and father. You are quite sure about how you feel?”

  “What is love?” Jolie asked quietly, turning away from the window to her aunt. “I’m twenty-one years old and I don’t even know what it is.”

  “That, my dear, is an eternal question that will be asked as long as there are people on ear
th.” Her aunt’s dark gray eyebrows raised significantly. “At least, I do know you aren’t in love with John or you wouldn’t ask.”

  “Which is a tricky way of avoiding my question.” Depression turned down the corners of her mouth. “And please don’t use mother’s old quote — Love is many things to many people.”

  “The kind of love that I believe you’re talking about is a rare thing where bells ring,” her aunt answered her quietly. “Mostly because it’s a selfless love and there are few people who can give of their feelings so freely and completely. Others search for it so hard that they never find it. There are only a lucky few who really do find it.”

  “Did you, Aunt Brigitte?” The withdrawn expression on her aunt’s face drew the whispered question from Jolie’s lips.

  “Yes, once. A car accident took him away from me.” A melancholy smile lifted the usually stern mouth. “And that love completely spoiled me for second best, which has made my life very lonely. The type of love you’re speaking about can cost very dearly. Perhaps that’s why it’s so precious.”

  “Do you suppose I’ll ever find it?”

  “Not with that mopy expression on your face. Nobody would be interested in a mourner.” From experience, Brigitte Carson put just enough sharpness in her teasing words to pull Jolie away from the depths of depression.

  “Well, I certainly need something to do with myself in the meantime. I’m not looking forward to leaving here and still, I don’t want to stay.”

  “Sometimes, Jolie, it’s difficult to make a decision when you’re surrounded by the people you know. You want their suggestions even knowing they’re not helpful. The best thing for you to do would be to take off for a week or two. Go somewhere by yourself, relax, and have a good time. It’s surprising how clear everything becomes afterward.”

  “There isn’t any place I particularly care to go,” Jolie shrugged.

  “Oh, surely there’s some place that you’ve always wanted to see.”

  A light shone for a moment in Jolie’s eyes as she thought of her long-held childhood wish before she blinked it away.