search her pockets for a match. The room jangled her nerves.
âI liked your bust better. It looked just likeâ Uncle Jordan! â
âYes, it was rather good.â Kasey stopped at the foot of the stairs and dug in her back pockets. âYou know, I never seem to have a match when I need one. I wonder why that is.â Then, noting Alisonâs stunned expression, she glanced up. âOh, hello, Jordan.â She smiled amiably. âHave you got a light?â
He came down the steps slowly, looking from girl to woman. Alisonâs linen pants suit was splattered with dirt. Her hair had escaped from its band and had traces of mud clinging to it. Her eyes stared out at him from a thoroughly dirty face.Her hands were brown past the wrist. So were Kaseyâs. A dozen reasonable explanations coursed in and out of his mind and were discarded. If he had learned nothing else during the past days with Kasey, it was to explore the unreasonable first.
âWhat the hell have you been doing?â
âWeâve been engaged in art appreciation,â she returned easily. âVery educational.â Kasey gave Alisonâs hand a squeeze. âYouâd better go see about that bath, love.â
Alisonâs eyes flew from her uncleâs to Kaseyâs. She scurried up the stairs and disappeared.
âArt appreciation?â Jordan repeated, staring after his niece. He frowned back at Kasey. âYou look as if youâd been wallowing in mud.â
âNot wallowing, Jordan. Creating.â She pushed her own untidy hair out of her eyes. âWeâve been building mud sculptures. Alisonâs very good.â
âMud sculptures? You were playing in mud? We donât even have any mud.â
âWe made some. Itâs really very easy. You just take some waterââ
âFor Godâs sake, Kasey, I know the formula for mud.â
âOf course you do, Jordan.â Her voice was soothing and calm, but he caught the laughter in her eyes. âYouâre an intelligent man.â
He could feel his patience ebbing. âWould you stay on the point?â
âWhat point was that?â She gave him a guileless smile that nearly turned into a grin as he heaved a deep breath.
âMud, Kasey. The point was mud.â
âWell, thereâs little else I can tell you about that. You said you knew how it was made.â
He swore as his fingers tightened. âKasey, donât you think itâs a bit juvenile for a grown woman to take an eleven-year-old girl and spend the afternoon in a mud pile?â
So you know how old she is, Kasey thought and gave him a long look. âWell, Jordan, that depends.â
âOn what?â
âOn whether you want an eleven-year-old girl for a niece or a forty-year-old midget.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about? Even for you, thatâs hard to follow.â
âThe child is bordering on middle age, and youâre so wrapped up in Jordan Taylor, you donât see it. She reads Wuthering Heights and plays Brahms. Sheâs neat and quiet and doesnât intrude on your life.â
âJust a minute. Back up a bit.â
âBack up a bit!â Her anger had a habit of springing quickly. She pushed at her hair again. âSheâs just a little girl. She needs you, needs someone. Whenâs the last time you talked to her?â
âDonât be ridiculous. I talk to her every day.â
âYou speak to her,â Kasey countered furiously. âThereâs a wealth of difference.â
âAre you trying to tell me Iâm neglecting her?â
âIâm not trying to tell you anything. I am telling you. If you didnât want to hear it, you shouldnât have asked.â
âSheâs never complained.â
âOh, damn !â She whirled away, then spun back again. âHow can such an intelligent man make such a ridiculous statement? Are you really