Free The Gentling by Ginna Gray Page B

stare, and Katy lowered her head. Her soft Sips trembled as she whispered huskily, agonizingly, "Ever since Mother died. You see . . . he loved her so, he can't bear to go on without her. It's killing him, little by little, day by day." The last was choked out on a rising sob. and she averted her head, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened. Katy's chin quivered as she fought to suppress the emotions churning inside her. Her throat ached with the effort.
    Trace drew in a deep breath and expelled it very slowly, in a long, resigned sigh. "That's what I thought," he said, his tone grim. "I've noticed he doesn't seem the same as I remembered him, even sober."
    "No, he's not. When Mother died, something in him died too. Some vital spark." Katy stood with her arms crossed over her midriff, rubbing her elbows in agitation. "He's . . ."
    Tom's deep, rich baritone, raised in song, halted Katy's words. They both turned to stare at the house, unable to speak as a hauntingly sad song floated out on the still night air.
    The piercing sorrow in her father's voice snapped the precarious control Katy had over her emotions, and huge, scalding tears welled up to blur her vision. Biting her lips, she widened her eyes and tried to hold them back, but it was no use. One by one, they trickled over.
    She turned to Trace then, clutching desperately at his arm, her tear-drenched eyes unconsciously beseeching. "Trace, please. He never drinks during working hours. I swear it! You've got to believe me!"
    At first her desperate pleading seemed to shock him. Then a look of pure anguish flickered across his face. "Oh, Katy, Katy," Trace breathed sadly, cupping her face between his hands. Rough, calloused thumbs brushed back and forth across her cheeks, wiping away the steady flow of tears. "Do you really think I would dismiss your father? Do you have so little faith in me? Right now Tom is like a wounded animal, and he's easing his pain in the only way he knows how. I can't condemn him for that."
    Katy stood rigid before him, blinking her eyes to stem the tears, staring at him in growing wonder. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
    A dejected look entered the hazel eyes and Trace shook his head sorrowfully. "Katy, don't you know that Tom has always been more of a father to me than my natural father? It was Tom who bailed me out of trouble countless times during that period when I was behaving like a reckless fool. It was Tom who gave me good, sound advice. It was Tom who understood how I felt." He paused and darted a look toward the house, then sent her that lopsided smile, and Katy's heart gave a queer little lurch against her ribs. "Anyway, I'm not stupid. Tom knows and handles animals better than any man alive, drunk or sober. So don't worry, Katy. I'm not going to dismiss your father just because he's hitting the bottle. We simply have to give him time and hope he eventually snaps out of it."
    The rush of gratitude she felt almost overwhelmed her. The vivid blue eyes were swimming with emotion as she looked at him, her chin wobbling. "Thank you, Trace," she whispered unsteadily.
    His face became pensive and he stared at the house again. "I know losing her was a terrible blow, but still, it must be wonderful to share that kind of love." The wistful longing in his voice was unmistakable, and something deep inside her stirred. His gaze swung back to Katy and he smiled. His fingers slid into the hair at her temples, the calloused skin snagging the silky strands. "And it must be wonderful to grow up surrounded by that kind of love."
    "Yes. It is."
    "That's what I want for my children," he said with a soft fierceness that tugged at her heart strings. "That's what I'm determined to give them. And myself."
    For a moment Katy was able to ignore the caressing movements of his hands. Pity for this man overwhelmed her as she compared his cold, loveless childhood with her own. When she was much younger, she had been envious of Trace,