Valley of the Vapours (The Americana Series Book 4) Page 5

  It was an offer of compromise that wasn't really a compromise, but there was a humorous lift to her mouth. "What a choice!" Tisha murmured. "If I don't willingly agree to have you guide me around, you're going to do it anyway."

  "It is somewhat of a Hobson's choice, isn't it?" Roarke chuckled complacently. For the first time since they had met, her answering smile was one of genuine amusement and it brought a sparkling glitter to her eyes, which caused an unreadable expression to creep into the dark gaze that dwelt on her face.

  "Pass the peacepipe, then," she sighed.

  "Since I don't have one, will a handshake do?"

  The firm pressure of the large hand closing over hers sent a pleasant rush of warmth through her bloodstream. And the sensation remained even after he released her hand. A slow, captivating smile spread over his face. Its dazzling brilliance almost blinded her as she turned in answer to the guiding pressure of his hand on her back.

  "We'll walk along the promenade first," Roarke announced in a low, musically pitched tone that seemed to vibrate around her. "It will better set the mood for the early history."

  He had shortened his supple, athletic strides to match hers as they walked the paved pathway towards the tree-covered mountain rising in the heart of the city.

  "You must tell me everything about Hot Springs," Tisha commanded in a playful taunt.

  "All the Indians knew about the springs and their stories of its restorative powers were passed from tribe to tribe," Roarke began with mocking compliance. "It's believed that these tales sent Ponce de Leon on his search for the Fountain of Youth, but unfortunately he never traveled far enough inland to find it. Therefore the first European to view the steaming valley of the vapours was the Spanish gold-seeker Hernando DeSoto, guided here by friendly Indians." A huge rock blocked their path and Tisha stopped when Roarke did. "The plaque on this tufa rock commemorates DeSoto's arrival here in 1541."

  Then he led her around the rock to the steps leading up the hillside to a wide, tree-sheltered brick walk scattered with benches and tables.

  "But it was La Salle who came here in 1682," he went on, "and claimed the territory for France. If you remember your American history, the territory was given to Spain, then returned to France again in the secret treaty of Madrid in 1801. Subsequently Napoleon sold it to the United States as part of the Louisiana Purchase. President Jefferson, who initiated the purchase, sent two scientists here the following year to find out more about the hot water that flowed from the mountain."

  "You said it was called the Valley of the Vapours. Why aren't there any vapours now?"

  "That's because of the forty-seven springs only two have been left open for display purposes. The rest have been channeled into an underground reservoir where they're piped into the various bath houses," he explained. "The City of Hot Springs is set in the middle of a national park. An Act of Congress in 1832 set aside the entire area, but later amended it to allow the town to grow about it." His hand moved to her elbow to guide her towards a set of steps. "The display springs are below us."

  Back against the side of the mountain were two clear pools of steaming water set amongst rocks much like the large one Tisha had seen at the beginning of their walk. It was a very peaceful, sylvan setting, a miniature glade behind the row of commercial bathhouses. Her fingers dipped quickly in and out of the hot water pool.

  "The temperature of the water averages a hundred and forty-three degrees Fahrenheit as it flows out of the mountain," Roarke smiled.

  "What makes it so hot?"

  "There are several theories about that, none of which have been proved. All the thermal water from the hot springs naturally possess radium emanation, which is believed to be the cause of the heat."

  "It is rather fascinating, isn't it?"

  "I'm glad you're not too stubborn to admit it," he commented, looking into the tranquil depths of her sea-green eyes.

  An expression of chagrin chased across her face before Tisha inquired quickly in an effort to change the subject, "Is there more?"

  "The history of Hot Springs would fill a book. All I did was give you the general highlights. This was the temporary headquarters of the State Government during the Civil War. The city was the termination point of the legendary Diamond Jo railroad. We'll skip the part that this was a favorite resort of the notorious Al Capone." He stretched out his hand towards her. "Come on, let's walk some more."

  Tisha didn't think twice about accepting his hand, nor leaving it there as they retraced their way back up the steps to the quiet mountainside promenade. A squirrel scampered along the brick railing beside them, stopping every now and then to sit on his haunches and chatter at them.

  "I think he's doing a bit of begging," Roarke chuckled. "The small animals around here are quite tame."

  "Next time I'll remember to bring something," Tisha promised the persistent squirrel.

  He followed them for several more yards before he finally decided there would be no handout and raced back the way he had come. The pair continued past two older gentlemen seated at a concrete table, engrossed in a game of checkers.

  "Would you like to sit down for a while?" Roarke asked, motioning towards a bench on the side of the walk near the mountain.

  Tisha slid on to the bench in silent acceptance, placing her bag and sketch pad on the table. She felt sublimely content. The traffic on the street beyond and below them was muffled by the lush foliage of the trees beginning their transformation from their summer dress to their autumn cloaks. She watched with idle indifference as Roarke reached behind them to pluck a late blooming dandelion and twirl it in his fingers. Then his dark gaze moved over to her face to study it with silent thoroughness.

  "I wonder if you like men?" he mused.

  A tiny creasing frown knitted her forehead as she tried to follow his thoughts. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile as he noticed her confusion.

  "I think we'd better find out," Roarke murmured, reaching out with one hand to tilt her chin while he held the yellow dandelion beneath it. The clear skin of her throat reflected the luminous amber colour of the wild flower. "Umm, that was a very positive reaction!"

  There was no coyness in the glinting laughter in her eyes as she met his gaze and remembered this game she had played as a child.

  "What about you?" she teased easily, her hand covering his to move it under his chin. Roarke allowed the initial movement then, stiffening his arm before the dandelion reached its destination.

  "It won't work on men over thirty," he smiled, and Tisha became suddenly conscious of how close his face was to hers, and the disturbing way his gaze was resting on her mouth. "Too much beard!"

  She fought off the attack of breathlessness as she removed her hand from the warmth of his and put a safe distance between them. "It's all right," she declared airily. "I already know you find women very attractive."

  "And how do you know that?" he asked quietly, a trace of mockery in his smile.

  Tisha shrugged, as if to say her sources were secret, but declined a verbal answer to his question. Instead she drew her foot on to the bench and wrapped her arms around her knee to study the less disturbing scenery.

  "It's very peaceful here, isn't it?" she commented.

  "You even manage to pretend you're enjoying my company," Roarke jibed.

  "I can force myself to be pleasant to anyone if the surroundings are sufficiently distracting." She had become too physically aware of him and had resorted to stinging words to protect herself from further moments of vulnerability.

  "Why did you revert back to a waspish tongue?" A quizzically amused frown appeared on the tanned forehead. "Are you afraid of being a woman?"

  "What nonsense! I already am a woman." Her eyes widened at his question, a suggestion of hauteur in the tilt of her head.

  "Prove it." His dark eyes challenged. "Have dinner with me Friday night."

  Tisha recoiled slightly. "Why?"

  "Why do you think?" he countered.

 
"I suppose your arrogant male pride," her expression was deliberately coldly scornful,"‘is suffering because you haven't been able to conquer me. I haven't fallen into your arms or your bed with the alacrity of the other women you've known. You probably think with wine and candlelight you'll be able to seduce me."

  "The thought does have a ring of appeal," he admitted.

  "Then we'll simply forget you made the invitation, Mr. Madison," Tisha declared, reaching stiffly forward to gather her bag and sketch pad.

  "Call me Roarke," he instructed with infuriating calm. "If we're going out Friday, we should be on first-name terms."

  A furrow of exasperation slashed across her brows as she glanced back at him. "Didn't you hear what I said? I'm not going!"

  "Why? After all your fervent avowals that women are the superior sex, don't you think you're capable of parrying my advances?" he inquired with a satirical quirk of his brow. "Or maybe you don't really believe all that nonsense you've been spouting?"

  "Of course I do!" she cried angrily.

  "Then why are you so afraid to go out with me?"

  "I'm not!"

  "Good. I'll pick you up at seven." Roarke rose lazily to his feet and sketched her a mocking salute before walking away. Tisha's mouth was still working to find the proper words of protest even after he was out of hearing.

  Chapter Four

  FOR three days she tried to come up with plausible reasons to cancel her date with Roarke Madison. A half a dozen times, she reached for the telephone to call only to back away, knowing how he would poke holes in her weak excuses. Blanche was no help at all, believing Tish had accepted the date in an effort to make peace with her neighbour. Her aunt had been so delighted by her concession that Tisha had been left with no recourse except to go.

  Roarke arrived precisely at seven o'clock, but Tisha was deliberately not ready. A half an hour later she walked into the living room knowing full well the olive and peacock blue caftan accented the colour of her eyes, sparkling now with the light of battle. It had taken nearly three-quarters of an hour just to coil her long hair on top of her head to shimmer in the artificial light like a mink crown. Only sunlight could turn it to fire. The style added years and an illusion of experience.

  "I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up." Roarke rose to his feet, impeccably dressed in dark evening clothes. Unhurried steps brought him to her side where he towered intimidatingly over her, dark eyes sweeping her in insolent appraisal.

  "Now why would you think such a thing?" Tisha asked sweetly.

  His finger touched the jade stone hanging from her ear and sent it swinging. His voice was a husky murmur meant for her ears alone.

  "Maybe it's that little pulse jumping in your throat that tells me you aren't quite as poised as you appear." Louder he said for Blanche's benefit, "We'd better be going."

  Tisha was forced to dim the angry light that had leapt into her eyes as she turned to bid her aunt good-night. It was exceedingly difficult not to pull away from the hand that gripped her elbow.

  "We won't be late, Blanche," she promised, brushing the woman's cheek with her lips.

  "You two enjoy yourselves." Then with a wink at Tisha, she added in a teasing whisper, "Remember, twenty, minutes and the porchlight comes on!"

  The flush on Tisha's cheeks wasn't caused by rouge as she darted a speaking glance at her escort. "There won't be any need of that tonight." She knew there would be no lingering goodnights taken outside the door.

  "What was that about?" Roarke asked as, minutes later, he opened the car door for her.

  "A family joke," not meeting his glittering eyes as she made sure her long skirt was out of the way so he could close the door.

  A golden sunset had painted the western sky with dusky amber and cream colours and Tisha pretended to be studying it when Roarke slipped behind the wheel.

  "You don't think we're going to be reluctant to bid each other goodnight when the evening is over?" he queried, a brow lifting in mockery as she turned in surprise. "I've had my share of porchlights turned on by impatient parents."

  "What? No shotguns?" she asked sarcastically.

  "No, no shotguns." With a flick of the wrist, he started the motor and reversed out of the drive.

  Tisha folded her hands primly in her lap. "I hope they'll hold our dinner reservation."

  "I took the precaution of making it for eight o'clock," Roarke replied, a suppressed smile deepening the lines around his nose and mouth. "In case you took your time in dressing."

  He seemed to thwart her at every turn, she thought angrily. "You're probably more accustomed to women undressing for you, aren't you?"

  "You could call it Madison's Law." He was definitely laughing at her attempts to belittle him. "What goes on must come off."

  "Well, you didn't see fit to tell me where we were going," Tisha announced. "It's difficult choosing what to wear when I didn't know if we were going to a hamburger joint or a steak house."

  "Obviously you realized I wasn't as impoverished as the boys you're accustomed to dating." His glance slid over her sophisticated attire. "I hope all that hair on top of your head doesn't give you a headache."

  "Only my escort is capable of that," she retorted sharply. "It won't make me top-heavy either. I'm not likely to stumble and embarrass you."

  "The thought never entered my mind." His voice was as dry as the wind blowing off the Mojave Desert. "But don't get any ideas about accidentally dumping your food or drink in my lap tonight or I'll be forced to drop mine on top of your pretty head."

  There was a steely quality to his voice that Tisha had never noticed before. It was that more than his warning that sat her back in her seat in silence for the rest of the drive. Roarke Madison was not only prepared to fence words with her, but he was also prepared to match fire with fire, and no holding back because she was a woman.

  In the car-park of the restaurant, Tisha deliberately stepped out of the car before Roarke could walk around to open the door for her. His eyes narrowed fractionally when he saw her standing with a challenging tilt to her head. If he was decreeing that the gloves were off, then she was going to follow all the way through.

  "I take it you don't want to observe the courteous acts a man does for a woman. So be it," he declared. A street light gleamed on the bleached brown head that inclined mockingly towards her.

  The swish of her long skirt had a regally haughty sound as Tisha swept ahead of him. Unfortunately the high heels of her shoes made speed impossible and Roarke was soon walking even with her, smiling at the disdainful expression on her face. As they reached the restaurant building, he moved ahead, opening the door and stepping through it, leaving Tisha to grope quickly for the handle before it slammed in her face. Her cheeks were flushed with anger when she caught up with him inside.

  Brown eyes flicked over her briefly, but long enough for Tisha to receive his message—she had wanted it this way. Before she could make a cutting retort the maître d'hotel was leading them to their table.

  They were barely seated when the cocktail waitress appeared. "A dry Martini," Roarke ordered, completely ignoring Tisha and forcing the waitress to ask her preference.

  "A daiquiri," she requested through gritted teeth.

  The poison arrow in the look she slung at Roarke was deflected by the shield of his menu. Angrily she opened her own, her hands trembling so badly she could barely read the print. With a burst of temper, Tisha shoved her menu on the table.

  "This is impossible!" she hissed as Roarke lowered his to glance at her with an elevated brow. "You might as well take me home, because I'm not going to put up with this!"

  She moved her chair away from the table and started to get up. "Sit down," he ordered, then repeated it in a more forceful tone. "Sit down or I'll sit you down!"

  And Tisha knew he was hateful enough to do just that. Reluctantly she leaned back in her seat and watched with seething indignation the slow smile that spread over his tanned face without reaching the
glittering brown eyes.

  "You're despicable!" she murmured savagely. For all his relaxed air, she had the impression of a cougar, sleek and golden, waiting to pounce on his prey.

  "If you don't want to act like a lady, I have no intention of being a gentleman," Roarke replied. "It's up to you whether we continue this war of insults or enjoy the evening."

  "It would be impossible to enjoy your domineering presence," she spat.

  His mouth tightened fractionally before he relaxed it into a mocking smile. "Do you deny that our truce the other afternoon produced a pleasant result?"

  The waitress arrived with their drinks, giving Tisha an opportunity to think about her answer before she replied. Her fingers closed around the fragile stem of the champagne-type glass as she made a pretence of studying it.

  "I won't deny that the afternoon had its pleasant aspect," she agreed, flashing him a defiant look that conflicted with the seeming compliance of her tone. "As a tour guide you were informative and interesting. It was later when you attempted to win me with your charm that I found it intolerable to continue the truce."

  "If you felt that way, why did you agree to go out with me tonight?" Amusement glinted in the look he bestowed on her.

  "I didn't agree," Tisha reminded him bitterly. "You tricked me into accepting."

  "Do you mean a mere man maneuvered an intelligent female like you into going out with him?"

  Her palm itched with a desire to slap that mockingly innocent look from his face.

  "And I thought you were trying to convince me that men were all muscle with very little brain," he concluded wryly. "Maybe your opinion needs some revising."

  "I never meant to imply that men weren't cunning," Tisha retorted.

  "You have quite a vocabulary," Roarke chuckled. "And you always manage to pick the right word that will turn a compliment into an insult."

  "How perceptive of you to notice!" It was her finely drawn brow that arched mockingly in his direction.

  "Shall we order now?" he inquired, picking up his menu again. "You might like the flaming shish-kebab. It would match your temper."