Bicycle Built for Two by Alice Duncan Page A

couple of things.”
    Sure, he did. As if Kate knew beans about
stocks and bonds. She snapped, “Be right back,” and kept
walking.
    Before she reached the door, Alex was there,
opening it for her. As she stomped past him, he said, “Don’t worry,
Miss Finney, I won’t squander the family fortune.”
    She felt her face blazing with fury and
humiliation as she walked down the hall.
    # # #
    The colors and scents of spring rioted in
the countryside. The grasses growing alongside the highway were as
green as sun-sprinkled emeralds, and the wild flowers shouted their
presence in bright reds, yellows, blues, and purples. Birds sang.
Crickets chirped. In green, green pastures, cows lowed and bulls
pawed the ground, wanting to get at the cows. Sheep dotted the far
hills like flecks of ivory, and the apricot, peach, and pear trees
were radiant with blossoms.
    Chicago’s filth and stinks
lay behind Alex like a bad dream. This was where he belonged: in
the country. The city was good for a change of pace every once in a
while, but this was what he loved. He breathed deeply and contentedly of the
clean country air as his traveling coach neared the family
farm.
    “Family farm,” he muttered aloud. He
wondered what Kate Finney would say if he referred to these acres
and acres that had belonged to the English family for generations
his “family farm” in her presence. Nothing nice, he was sure.
    The girl was driving him crazy. He’d known
he for two weeks now, and he still couldn’t fathom her. She didn’t
appreciate anything he did, she had a chip on her shoulder the size
of the Rock of Gibraltar, and she treated him with absolute
contempt. What was her problem?
    Kate hasn’t had a pleasant
life , Mrs. Finney had said. My children didn’t have
advantages , she’d said.
    Alex guessed that must account for Kate’s
cursedly insufferable attitude, but it was still hard to take. It
crossed his mind that his own attitude might not be so genteel if
he’d been reared in the slums of Chicago rather than the glories of
this clean, green countryside. He was still brooding about Kate
Finney when the coach barreled through the iron gates and
approached the house.
    Because he’d been puzzling over the Kate
Finney problem since he’d climbed aboard the carriage in Chicago,
Alex observed the English farmhouse with a new and critical
appreciation, thinking of it in terms of Kate, Bill, and Hazel
Finney.
    The house was typical of those built in the
early days of the century. Two stories. White paint. Green
shutters. Huge front porch with an awning that extended the entire
length of the house. Lots of big, shady trees lending their
loveliness to the picture. Cows in the pastures that surrounded the
landscape. Alex couldn’t see the chicken coop, but he knew the
chickens were in back of the house, scratching and clucking. The
barn, painted red out of adherence to tradition more than anything
else, stood a few yards from the house. It looked mighty tidy,
considering it was a barn. The pigs resided behind the barn, far
enough away from the house so that the family didn’t have to smell
them, but close enough to slop, even during the snowy winter
months.
    Alex was proud of the appearance of his
family estate. He’d worked hard to keep it up and make it better.
Still, it was basically a farmhouse, and he was basically a
farmer.
    He shook his head. Judging from her reaction
to that simple little Polish beer garden, Kate would probably be
stunned into silence if she were invited into what she would
certainly consider such a grand home.
    He couldn’t suppress a grin at the delicious
thought of Kate being stunned into silence. It might be worthwhile
to bring her out here for the mere pleasure of shutting her up. He
was sure she’d think Alex and his mother and sister resided in a
great and fabulous mansion, complete with grounds and servants.
    To Alex, the English farmhouse was a
comfortable old family home. Big enough, certainly, for a family