Chapter Five.

TISHA shifted her brush to her other hand and flexed the tense fingers that had been gripping it. Her shoulders sagged as she studied the half-finished painting. It didn't seem to matter what she did today, nothing turned out right.

"Problems?" Blanche asked, the heavy sigh from Tisha drawing her attention.

"Yes, a lack of talent," Tisha declared disgustedly.

Blanche laid her own brush down and, wiping her hands on a rag, walked over to her niece's side of the studio. Reaching into the pocket of her smock, she took out a cigarette and lit it before placing a hand on Tisha's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Tisha glanced upwards. "This bouquet is all wrong. It looks as if I'd stuck the violets on a straight line. I did the same thing with the daffodils earlier." Her shoulders moved in a deprecating shrug. "I can't do anything right today. I know what I'm doing wrong, but I can't correct it."

"You can't just learn what your mistakes are, Tish, or you end up only learning mistakes and making them. Discover the right things you do so you can do them more often."

"Blanche, you are a gem!" The scowl left Tisha's face as her mouth turned up at the comers in a rueful smile. "How do you come up with all those pearls of wisdom?"

"Common sense and experience," smiled Blanche, flicking back the natural white streak in her hair that had fallen forward over her dark brow. "Experience also tells me that you're as strung up as a high-tension wire. Sometimes tension can stimulate creativity, but in your case it's only causing frustration."

"What's your suggestion?" asked Tisha.

"Let's take the rest of the afternoon off." Her brown eyes glanced at the skylight and the windows, continuing from ceiling to floor. "The light has gone anyway."

Tisha's own gaze shifted to the windows. Through the panes, she saw the rolling dove-grey clouds that blotted out the early afternoon sun. The tops of the pines were gently swaying, yet there was nothing threatening about the clouds. But the good light was gone, as Blanche had said. Her aunt had returned to her easel and was busy cleaning up her brushes.

A sigh broke from her lips as Tisha followed suit. All her effort had been wasted motions. Nothing she had done was of sufficient quality for resale. All because of the face that kept dancing in front of her eyes, the face with golden-brown hair and velvet-dark eyes. It would have been so much better if she hadn't gone out with him the night before. She would rather have considered herself a coward for refusing his challenge than face the discovery that he had the ability to sensually arouse her.

"Tisha. Tisha, are you listening to me?"

With a start, she realized Blanche had been speaking to her. "I'm sorry, I was daydreaming. What did you say?"

"I asked if you'd ever been to the Crater of Diamonds," her aunt repeated, a curious frown marking her forehead.

"No. A bunch of us were going to go once as a lark, but we never did. Why?"

"I thought we might drive over there this afternoon."

"To hunt for diamonds?" Tisha laughed shortly, not quite able to visualize her creative aunt digging in the dirt.

"We could," Blanche agreed with a knowing smile. "But I had in mind to do some character sketches. A busman's holiday."

"I'll endorse any suggestion," adding to herself, "that will detract my thoughts from Roarke Madison."

"Everyone has a bad day now and then. Don't let it get you down," her aunt said. The soothing tone was prompted by the desperate ring in Tisha's voice.

And Tisha could hardly correct her. Blanche liked Roarke and wouldn't understand the abhorrence Tisha felt about the way she kept dwelling on him. Nor could she express her grat.i.tude for the way her aunt had abstained from questioning her about the events of last night, because Tisha wasn't prepared to talk about it.

"I would not change into anything too nice," Blanche called after her as Tisha started from the studio after straightening her things. "You might decide to do a bit of grubbing in the earth."

Tisha thought it unlikely, but she put on a pair of faded jeans and a scooped-neck knit shirt of olive-green. A pale yellow scarf secured her long hair at the nape of her neck and grabbing an equally faded denim jacket from her closet, she wandered outdoors to wait for her aunt.

It was mid-afternoon before Blanche turned her car down the graveled road carved out of a thick stand of pines. A light breeze whispered through the needles while an Indian summer sun peeped through a cloud and streamed down to lay golden bars on the ground. The stillness surrounding them was so profound that Tisha could almost imagine she and Blanche were the only humans for miles. The rows of cars in the car-park came as something of a surprise.

After paying the nominal entrance fee into the State Park, they followed the path into the cleared, ploughed area. Unlike the other visitors who carried hand tools of claw rakes, small scoops and pans, Tisha and Blanche were armed with sketch pads and pencils. Scattered over the field on each side of the hill were people, singly or whole families, painstakingly sifting through the dark brown soil for diamonds.

Millions of years ago there had been volcanic eruptions near an area covered by water. The sudden cooling of the molten rock by water caused a tremendous pressure that transformed carbon particles into precious diamonds and crystals.

The volcanic pipe, this womb of the only diamonds found in their natural state on the North American continent, was beneath Tisha's feet. It was an exhilarating sensation. The first discovery of diamonds in the 1900s started a rush that threatened to equal the California gold rush. But Tisha also remembered the intrigue that cloaked its past. Attempts to commercially mine the diamonds had been met with frustration, mysterious fires, and even murder before the State of Arkansas finally purchased the Crater of Diamonds outside of Murfreesboro and turned it into a State Park.

Blanche was already seated on the ground with the trunk of a tree for a backrest and her sketch pad propped on her knees. But Tisha was too caught up in the atmosphere of the place to settle down. Instead she wandered down a furrow in the field to where an elderly, grey-haired man was standing hip-deep in a pit he had dug. He was going through the soil, particle by particle, before discarding it on the growing mound beside him.

"Are you having any luck?" Tisha called to him.

He glanced up, blue eyes sparkling above round smiling cheeks. "Nope!" he answered, tossing the panful of earth away and reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his brow." "Course, it would help if I knew what the heck I was looking for!"

"That would be my problem, too," Tisha laughed.

"They say if you find one you can't mistake it for anything else but a diamond." He leaned back to rest a moment, obviously welcoming the break and the offer of conversation. "The problem is to remember that they don't just come in white. There's some that are tinted yellow, brown, pink, and tan. Not to mention they have black diamonds here, too. But when it's a case of finder's keeper's, you can't resist looking. A person might find one."

"I suppose it's a question of whether Dame Fortune is sitting on your shoulder or not?" she smiled.

"When you realize that nearly all the people out here are amateurs, with maybe a little experience as rock-hounds, luck plays an important part," he nodded agreement. "But somebody is always finding one."

"I hope today you're that somebody."

"The fun is in the looking," he shrugged, and picked up his shovel.

Tisha wished him good luck and walked further along the furrow, smiling as she found herself studying the ground in antic.i.p.ation that a diamond crystal might be lying on the top. The diamond fever was contagious, she decided. Just as compelling was the memory of the man's face, roundly smiling and containing such a love of life. While it was still fresh, she found a comfortable rock to lean against and opened her sketch book.

In her first attempt, she couldn't quite capture him and flipped to a fresh page. This time there was no hesitation in the strokes of her pencil as it flew across the paper. Adrenalin seemed to be pumping through her, accenting the exhilarating feeling that she was doing the best portrait she had ever done.

"That's excellent, Tisha!" Blanche exclaimed. While Tisha had been engrossed in her drawing, her aunt had walked silently to stand beside her. "You've captured Roarke exactly."

The tip of Tisha's pencil stopped in mid-stroke. The face staring back at her from the paper was Roarke Madison. His mouth was almost curved into a smile. There was that lazy, arrogant look in his eyes. The muscles in her stomach constricted into a sickening knot as Tisha realized what she had done.

Blanche paid no attention to her niece's silence as she began enumerating the successful qualities of the drawing. That hint of a smile is such a great indication of his superb sense of humour. And you've caught the strength and determination in the jawline. I'm amazed, though, at the way you captured the self-a.s.surance that's so much a part of his character."

"He's arrogant!" Tisha slammed the book shut and scrambled to her feet.

Blanche's brown eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "He does make your blood run hot, doesn't he?"

"No!" The denial was out before she realized her aunt was referring to her temper and not desire. Red flames swept into her cheeks. "I mean yes, we rub each other the wrong way."

"The chemistry between two people can be compatible or combustible," her aunt shrugged good-naturedly. "With you and Roarke, it's obviously the latter."

A heavy sigh shuddered Tisha's shoulders. "Combustible." That was an excellent word, she thought. She brushed back the tendrils of hair near her forehead and nodded agreement to her aunt's words.

"Don't be so glum," Blanche teased gently. "You can't help it if you don't like him."

Darkly green troubled eyes turned their roundness on the older woman's face. For a moment Tisha hesitated, then the overwhelming need to confide in someone took command.

"Roarke Madison is all the things I don't like in a man-arrogant, argumentative, domineering. Yet," Tisha swallowed nervously, "yet he makes me feel more like a woman than any other person I've dated."

There was a pregnant silence as Blanche studied the embarra.s.sed flush on her niece's face. "Are you saying that you find him s.e.xually attractive?"

"It doesn't make any sense, I know." Tisha shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening viciously on the sketch pad. "I don't like him or respect him. Women are a means of entertainment to him. His type doesn't think of them as human beings, only toys to be thrown aside when they no longer amuse him."

"That's rather a harsh judgment," Blanche murmured in an effort to placate the vehemence in the younger girl's tone.

"Is it?" Tisha retorted bitterly. "He's one of those predatory males who charm you into letting your guard down, then rush in for the kill."

"You've hardly had any time to get to know him. Aren't you afraid you're being too hasty in condemning him?" At the denial forming on Tisha's mouth, Blanche went on hurriedly but calmly, "I'm not saying that you're wrong in your opinion of him. Your first meeting with him was under inauspicious circ.u.mstances and it's affected your att.i.tude towards him."

"I think he would have made me bristle no matter how I met him," Tisha declared.

"That could be true." A speculative gaze rested on Tisha. "But it bothers you more to know he arouses you physically, doesn't it?"

The line of her mouth was straight and slightly grim as Tisha nodded an affirmative reply. It made her feel she was betraying herself.

"I wish I knew what to tell you," Blanche sighed, putting a comforting arm around her niece's shoulders. "It's something you have to work out for yourself, I guess. What do you say we start for home now? We can stop along the way to eat and save us from fixing a meal tonight. I know a great little restaurant that serves delicious catfish and hush-puppies."

"That sounds fine," Tisha agreed, trying to match her aunt's cheerful voice as they jointly turned to retrace their path to the parking lot.

"It looks as if we're going to get some rain from those clouds after all." The woman's head raised to scan the overcast sky, now a menacing shade of turbulent grey. "I don't know which I dislike more, driving after dark or driving in the rain."

"We don't have to stop to eat. It wouldn't be too much trouble to cook something at home," Tisha suggested.

"We need the night out," Blanche insisted. "Besides, I think the rain will hold off until later this evening and we have ample time before the sun goes down."

On the drive back, it seemed as though her forecast was going to be correct, but when they walked out of the restaurant, it was into a driving downpour of rain. Blanche willingly accepted Tisha's offer to drive the few miles to the house.

Although the sun wasn't officially down, the black clouds made it appear as dark as night. The rapid lashing back and forth of the windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the onslaught of water. Tisha was glad when they reached the lane leading to home.

"Do you think we dare stop at the mailbox to pick up our mail?" Blanche asked.

"I don't see why not," Tisha answered. "The road is firm, so there's no worry that we'll get stuck. I can pull over close enough so all you have to do is roll down the window to reach the box."

"I was expecting some important letters," her aunt murmured.

"It's no problem. We'll stop," Tisha a.s.sured her as the car headlights picked out the mailboxes by the side of the road and Tisha slowed the car to a stop beside the first one.

The wind drove the rain inside the car as Blanche hurriedly rolled the window down and stretched her arm out to retrieve the mail, then quickly rolled the window up before she was completely drenched.

"Whew!" she laughed shortly as she shook the water off her exposed arm. "Let's get home where it's warm and dry."

Thunder rumbled ominously overhead as Tisha maneuvered the car into the garage, thankful they had left the doors open, even if it was an invitation to burglars.

"I'm going to have to change out of this blouse," Blanche said after they had entered the house through the connecting garage door. "Why don't you put on some coffee?" She lifted the damp garment away from her skin and laughed. "It's unbelievable I could get so soaked when I only had the window down for a few seconds."

Tisha was already filling the coffee pot with water. Her shoulders were stiff from the strain of peering through the driving sheets of water.

"Hurry up and change." she instructed her aunt. "Or I'll drink this whole pot myself!"

A quarter of an hour later Tisha was snuggled up in the armchair in the living-room, a fresh cup of coffee beside her as she listened to the rain hammering at the window while lightning walked about outside. Blanche had changed clothes and was sitting on the couch going through the mail.

"Oh dear!" Blanche murmured suddenly.

Tisha glanced over and saw her staring at a fairly large package "Is something wrong?"

"That stupid mailman put this package in the wrong box," Blanche sighed impatiently. "It's Roarke's, and he put it in my box instead of his."

"You can give it to him the next time you see him, can't you?"

Her aunt nibbled anxiously at her bottom lip. "I can, yes," she admitted. "Except the other night when he came to pick you up. I was talking to him and he mentioned that he had some plans he was supposed to have done by Monday, but he couldn't finish them because he was waiting for some information on a new product. He was hoping it would be in today's mail. And now the mailman's given it to me."

"That's not your fault." Tisha couldn't muster any sympathy for Roarke's problem.

"No, but I know he needs it before he can finish. Would you mind running it up to-No, never mind," Blanche shook her head firmly without finishing the question. "I'll take it up to him."

"That's silly. You don't have to run that up to him in this storm!"

"I know he needs it. And I know what it's like to try to finish something and not have the necessary tools or materials," her aunt insisted, rising to her feet.

"You're really going to take it up to him tonight, aren't you?" Tisha shook her head incredulously. "As much as you fear driving in this kind of weather, you're going anyway."

"I know how you feel about him, Tish," her aunt said as she reached into the closet for her raincoat and umbrella, "but he is my neighbour and a friend. He would do the same for me, regardless of what you think about him."

There was a resigned droop to the corners of Tisha's mouth as she realized she wasn't going to be able to persuade her aunt to change her mind. And her conscience wouldn't allow her to let Blanche drive in this kind of weather. As independent and self-sufficient as her aunt was, there were a few things that unnerved her. Two of them were driving in a thunderstorm and after dark.

"If I can't talk you out of it," she said grimly, reluctantly getting to her feet, "then I'll take it for you, Blanche."

"That isn't necessary."

"I think it is," Tisha a.s.serted. "Now put your coat back in the closet and give me the umbrella."

"I'll ride along with you."

"There's no need for both of us to go out in this storm." She bypa.s.sed the denim jacket that matched her jeans in favour of her water-repellent windbreaker hanging beside it in the closet. "You stay home and save me a cup of coffee."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Blanche asked anxiously.

"I don't mind," Tisha breathed in exasperation, and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. "Where's the package?"

"Here." Blanche pushed it into her hands. "And, Tish?"