Читать книгу Husband for a Weekend - GINA WILKINS - Страница 7

As much as he disapproved what he’d heard of Betsy’s maternal behavior—or lack of it—Tate couldn’t help but be amused by her. Was she really as oblivious to reality as she acted? She was either one of the most natural actors he’d ever encountered, or she was a little delusional. Maybe both.

A seemingly compulsive flirt, she held his hand and twinkled up at him as she towed him into her house, leaving Kim to follow behind with the baby. He looked rather helplessly over his shoulder at her, but Kim merely wrinkled her nose and shrugged as if to remind him that she’d tried to warn him.

“Everyone, look who’s here! Come say hello to Kim and Tate and precious little Daryn,” Betsy called out as they entered the crisply air-conditioned interior of her home.

Tate wasn’t one to pay much attention to interior decor, but he got an impression of tidy, rather generic furnishings and framed prints in a neutral color scheme with touches of gold and green. And flowers. Lots of flowers, cheerily arranged in glass and ceramic vases displayed on nearly every surface. He might not know a lot about furniture, but he could name every bloom on display.

A young man with limp brown hair and a vaguely disgruntled frown looked up from the tablet computer he’d been fiddling with on the living room couch. “Tate? I thought you said his name was Trey.”

“It’s Tate the Third, obviously,” Betsy replied without a pause. “He’s decided he prefers Tate. Stand up and greet your sister and brother-in-law, Stuart. Where are Bob and Julian?”

“Bob wanted to show Julian something under the hood of his car,” Stuart replied vaguely, remaining seated. “Hey, Kim.”

She greeted him politely, and only a little more warmly. “Hi, Stuart. How’s it going?”

“It’s all good. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he muttered in response to his mother’s meaningfully cleared throat.

“Good to meet you, too, Stuart.” Tate had forgotten to ask Kim if her stepfather and her brothers had been told the truth about her marital status; judging by Betsy’s words to her younger son, Stuart, at least, was still in the dark.

The teen nodded, then redirected his attention to his computer.

Betsy sighed in exasperation, and turned to Tate with a little moue of apology. “Stuart’s not much of a talker, I’m afraid. But I’m sure he’s delighted to welcome you to the family.”

Tate shared a baffled look with Kim. “Um. Okay.”

Sounds from the doorway announced the arrival of the final two members of the family. Tate summed up the newcomers in a sweeping glance. Bob Shaw was a meek-looking man in his late forties with thinning, sandy hair, a ruddy face, a potbelly and a warm smile. Julian was of medium height and weight, somewhere in his mid-twenties, dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans.

Of Betsy’s three offspring, Julian Cavanaugh bore the strongest resemblance to their mother. Dark blond hair spilled over his forehead, dipping into eyes the same clear blue as Betsy’s. Kim and Stuart must have inherited their brown eyes from their fathers. Tate couldn’t say whether Julian’s smile, as well as his coloring, resembled his mother’s. The way the guy was scowling now, it was hard to picture him smiling at all.

Betsy slipped a hand beneath her husband’s elbow. “We’re all here now. Isn’t this lovely? Bob, Julian, this is Kimmie’s husband, Tate Price the Third. And look how much our little Daryn has grown since the last photographs I showed you. Isn’t she adorable?”

Bob kissed Kim’s cheek, tickled Daryn, then stuck out a hand to Tate. “It’s nice to finally meet you—Trey, is it?”

“Tate,” he corrected. “I’ve decided I prefer to be called that.”

Betsy giggled softly in response to his quote of her, and he winked at her.

Bob nodded knowingly. “Thanks for coming with Kim to the reunion, Tate. It means a lot to Betsy.”

Apparently, Bob was in on the secret. “My pleasure.”

Julian eyed Tate with open suspicion. “Took you long enough to get around to meeting us. This is the first time Kim’s been home since you got married.”

So Betsy had lied to both of her sons. As amused as he was by the woman, Tate could understand why Kim had wanted to put some space between herself and her wacky mom. It had to be both frustrating and exhausting to try to keep up with Betsy’s whims and schemes.

Kim didn’t make it necessary for Tate to come up with a response to Julian’s accusation. “That’s not Tate’s fault. I’ve been very busy. Between my work and the baby, I’ve had very little free time. This long weekend is the closest I’ve come to a vacation since the last time I saw you.”

“That was at the reception for Mom and Bob,” Stuart mumbled without looking up from his computer. “It was the day after my fifteenth birthday. We were going to have a cake for me at the reception but no one remembered to order one.”

He didn’t sound particularly resentful, Tate decided. More matter-of-fact, as though he were accustomed to being overlooked. Tate wondered if Stuart, too, would separate himself from his family as soon as he felt comfortable being on his own. It sounded as though Julian came around somewhat more often than Kim now that he’d gotten out of the service, but from what he’d observed thus far, Tate certainly didn’t fault Kim for her different choice.

If Betsy even heard Stuart’s comment, she gave no sign. Instead, she patted Bob’s arm and said, “Sweetie, why don’t you help Tate bring in their bags and show him to their room? The boys and I will catch up with Kim and Daryn until you get back.”

Tate looked at Kim with a slightly lifted eyebrow, but she nodded for him to go ahead. As he followed Bob from the room, it occurred to him that he and Kim would be sharing a room for the night. Of course her family would assume they shared a bed—besides, he doubted there would be an unfilled bedroom with the whole family here.

Bob seemed to follow the direction of his thoughts. “There are three bedrooms upstairs,” he explained, motioning toward the staircase on their way out. “Ours and Stuart’s and the guest room. Julian has an apartment not far from here, so he’ll be sleeping there tonight. Betsy said you were bringing a portable crib for the baby?”

Remembering seeing the folded crib in the large trunk, Tate nodded. Daryn would bunk in the same room with them like a teeny-tiny chaperone, but it could still be awkward. He’d just have to do his best to put Kim at ease, even if it meant sleeping on the floor himself.

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he said, opening the back of the car. “I’ll probably have to make a couple of trips. It’s amazing how many supplies one little baby requires for only a weekend.”

Bob chuckled. “I remember.”

In response to Tate’s questioning look, he explained, “I’ve got two kids of my own, both college-age now. They live with their mother, my ex-wife, in Texas, but I see them quite often.”

“They won’t be here this weekend, then?”

“No, they haven’t exactly bonded with Betsy’s family.” He sighed lightly and gave a little shake of his head. “Can’t really blame them for that.”

Giving Tate a rueful little shrug, he reached into the car and pulled out the travel crib and a heavy bag. “My in-laws are … complicated. It’s no wonder my poor Betsy has to resort to rather extreme measures when dealing with them.”

“Like inventing a husband for her daughter, you mean?”

“Well, yes. I must say, you’re being a good sport about all of this.”

Tate shrugged. “Just helping out a friend.”

“Is that all you and Kim are? Friends? Because when you smiled at her, I thought maybe …”

Scooting around the older man, Tate grabbed a couple of bags and hefted them out of the car. “We should get these things inside. Kim might need something for the baby.”

Bob took the hint immediately. Hefting his own load a bit higher, he turned toward the house. “I’ll help you get the rest on the next trip.”

Rather relieved, Tate followed with his own armload. The one thing he did not want to do before spending a night in the same bedroom with Kim was to overanalyze his feelings about her.

“Well?” Betsy demanded of her sons almost the minute Bob and Tate left the room. “What do you think of your brother-in-law? Didn’t I tell you he was a great guy?”

Kim sighed and gave her mother a chiding look over Daryn’s head. She saw no need to keep lying to her half brothers about this fake marriage—not that there was really any need for Betsy to lie to anyone about it, but especially not her own sons. At least she seemed to have told Bob the truth.

Still reluctant to humiliate her mother publicly, Kim vowed to draw her aside at the first possible opportunity and request that they find a way to let Julian and Stuart in on the secret. Maybe they could just call it a big joke on the rest of the family.

“He seemed okay.” Stuart answered his mother’s question with a shrug, again without looking up from his screen. “Better than I expected, I guess.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Before Kim could ask for clarification, Julian spoke up. “Seems kind of cocky to me. Just because he’s an architect or whatever doesn’t mean he’s any better than the rest of us.”

“Tate isn’t an architect, he’s a landscape designer. A very talented one,” Kim correctly mildly, though she felt her defenses rise in response to the criticism.

Stuart shot a look at their mother. “You told me, too, that he was an architect.”

Was the game already over? Whatever else they might be, her brothers weren’t dumb, and they’d already been taken aback by the apparent name change. Kim figured there was no way her mother was going to be able to cover all the fabrications she’d told them.

Betsy gave a sad sigh, and for a moment Kim thought her mother was actually going to come clean.

She should have known better.

“That was my mistake.” Looking somewhat mournfully toward Kim, Betsy explained, “When Kim mentioned that Trey—I mean, Tate—was a landscape designer, I thought she meant an architect. I can be so scatterbrained sometimes.”

When everyone merely nodded in response to that comment, she added, “I would have been corrected much sooner if my daughter ever found time to call—or better yet, to actually visit her mother occasionally.”

Both her brothers looked at her somewhat reproachfully, and Kim scowled. All of a sudden, it was all her fault? How did Betsy keep getting away with these antics?

“Look,” she said firmly, “there’s something you need to—”

“So you married a gardener, not an architect?” Julian nodded in satisfaction, as if that explained something that had puzzled him. “That makes more sense.”

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Well, it just seemed odd that you’d be married to a successful architect and still be working all the time, rather than staying home with your daughter. I figured Mom had exaggerated some about your husband’s financial success, but now I get it.”

“You get what?” Kim asked, studying him through narrowed eyes.

Looking back down at his computer, Stuart mumbled, “He’s saying you’re probably supporting the guy while he plays around at being a ‘landscape designer.’”

Kim gasped in response to Stuart’s cynical translation. Before she could make an indignant response, Julian spoke again. “I figured something had to be keeping him around. You make pretty decent money as an occupational therapist, don’t you?”

Kim had to clamp down on her tongue with her teeth to stop herself from saying things that were entirely inappropriate for her daughter’s tender ears. She reminded herself that twenty-four-year-old Julian had recently been through an ugly divorce and was probably still bitter about it. Following their mother’s repeated examples, he’d rushed into an impetuous, infatuation-based marriage, and it had been no surprise to anyone when the union ended in flames. Grandma Dyess had not offered her ring to the couple.

Still, Julian’s resentment and disillusion was no excuse for him to attack her—and especially not Tate, who’d done nothing at all to deserve this level of cynicism.

She made herself speak with icy dignity. “I work because I love my job, and I’m good at it. As for Tate, he has a degree in urban horticulture and landscape design, and the business he and his partner established in Little Rock is doing very well. They’re in growing demand, and they’ve already made quite a reputation for themselves in both residential and commercial circles. I’m very proud of what they have accomplished in a relatively short time.”

“Why, thanks, honey. I’m proud of you, too.”

Hearing Tate’s amused drawl from behind her, Kim looked around with a strained smile. She hadn’t intended for him to overhear, of course, but she had spoken quite honestly. She was impressed with how hard Tate and Evan had worked to establish their business, and with the success they had enjoyed thus far.

“We’ve brought in everything from the trunk,” he said. “Is there anything else in the car I should grab?”

“No, that’s all, thanks.”

Daryn was beginning to fuss and chew her fist, which made a perfect excuse to escape for a while. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to feed Daryn. Tate, would you mind bringing her bag for me?”

She nodded toward the large, flowered bag sitting on the floor beside the diaper bag. She was capable of carrying both bags and her daughter, but she didn’t want to leave Tate alone to her family’s mercies.

“Of course.”

“Do you need help?” Betsy made the offer rather vaguely, and Kim wasn’t surprised that her mother didn’t argue when assured that her assistance was not required.

The cheery, yellow-and-white kitchen sat at the back of the house, with a big window over the sink overlooking a nice-size backyard planted with more colorful flowers and an inviting patio designed for entertaining. Kim took in the details at a glance, then turned to Tate, who stood behind her, smiling sympathetically.

“Deep breath,” he advised.

She filled her lungs and let the air out slowly, but the exercise did little to relieve her irritation.

“I was thinking my brothers deserved to be told the truth,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Judgmental brats.”

“You looked annoyed when I came in. I heard you defending my business to them. I appreciate what you said, but you know you really don’t have to leap to my defense with your brothers. I’m pretty good at standing up for myself.”

“I know. It still made me mad.” Balancing Daryn on her left hip, she warmed baby food in the microwave and filled a sippy cup with cold milk. Daryn was already reaching eagerly for the cup when Kim sat at the table with the baby on her knee. “They had no excuse for being so snotty about you when you were perfectly nice to them.”

Sitting across the table, Tate shrugged as he watched her spoon strained peas into Daryn’s open mouth. “No big deal, they don’t know me. She puts that away pretty well, doesn’t she?”

Kim wiped a smear of green from her daughter’s chin with a paper towel. “She loves her veggies. And by the way, she is a very healthy weight.”

She didn’t know why she was letting her mother’s little digs get to her. It didn’t bother her so badly when they were aimed at her, but she found herself getting very defensive about her daughter. She would have to work on that.

Tate smiled at her in a way that made her suspect he knew exactly what she was thinking. “She looks perfect to me.”

For only a moment, she was caught up in his warm amber gaze, her hand frozen with the spoon of peas halfway to her daughter’s mouth. Daryn made a sound of impatience and Kim jerked her attention back to the task at hand, chiding herself for getting distracted by Tate’s pretty eyes. This was no time to allow her thoughts to drift into that territory—not that there was ever a proper time for that, she reminded herself sharply.

Her mother swept into the kitchen on a faint cloud of floral perfume. “Honestly, Kim, couldn’t you have offered Tate a cold drink? What can I get for you, Tate?”

He shook his head, the faintest of creases between his brows as if he were holding back a frown. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure? I have fresh-squeezed lemonade in the fridge.”

“Maybe I’ll have some later.”

Her hostess duties out of the way, Betsy turned again to Kim. “I should have thought to get a high chair. It would be much easier for you to feed her if you didn’t have to hold her in your lap. I’ll send Bob to buy one right now.”

“That’s not necessary, Mom. This is fine. Besides, we’re only going to be here one night.”

“For this visit, yes, but I was rather hoping you’d come back more often now.”

Refusing to be swayed by Betsy’s plaintive tone, Kim looked from her mother to Tate and back again. “You’ve made that rather difficult for me, haven’t you? I can hardly drag Tate back after this. It’s bad enough that I let you talk me into this crazy scheme this time.”

Her mother glanced quickly toward the doorway, then looked relieved that no one was there to have overheard. “Your husband doesn’t have to accompany every time you visit your family,” she said carefully. “We all understand that he’s quite busy with his business.”

Betsy’s next words reminded Kim why she wasn’t likely to visit even without the awkwardness of the marriage lie. “I’m surprised to see you feeding the baby solid foods and milk from a cup. I nursed my babies for a full year, you know. It’s a much healthier start than jars of commercial baby food and regular milk.”

Because she didn’t want to fight with her mother in front of Tate, Kim drew a deep, steadying breath before replying evenly, “I nursed and pumped for as long as I was able and still work full-time, Mother. I also prepare most of Daryn’s food myself, using fresh fruits and vegetables and a food processor. Daryn’s pediatrician recommended I start her on solid foods and whole milk a month ago when her weight was beginning to drop. She has thrived ever since.”

She did not add that she well remembered her mother bottle-feeding Stuart formula; Betsy had been too busy playing at being a high-society charitable volunteer to spend time nursing the baby who’d been raised by nannies until the acrimonious divorce had caused a drastic change in Betsy’s financial standing. Kim doubted it would do any good to call her on the discrepancy. Her mother was so skilled at deception that she seemed to believe her own tales, and she would argue heatedly if disputed.

“You needn’t worry about your granddaughter, Mrs. Shaw. Kim is an amazing mom. She always puts Daryn’s needs first. She’s totally committed to making sure Daryn has a good life. I’ve always admired that about her.”

Kim felt her cheeks warm in response to the unexpected and very sincere-sounding compliment.

Eyeing Tate appraisingly, her mother said, “Please call me Betsy, dear. After all, we are family.”

Kim rolled her eyes. Tate smiled, but she noted he didn’t look quite as charmed as he had before.

After feeding Daryn, Kim decided to take her out for a walk, saying that the baby needed a daily dose of fresh air and Kim needed the exercise. Suspecting it was primarily an excuse to get away from her family for a bit, Tate offered to walk with her. He needed to stretch his legs, himself, after their car trip, he said.

Though Betsy seemed a little miffed that they were so eager to escape so soon after their arrival, she hadn’t tried to detain them, though she had asked if her sons wanted to join the walk. Both Julian and Stuart had declined, to no one’s surprise.

Tate and Kim spent a very pleasant hour walking the sidewalks of the cozy neighborhood, with Kim pushing Daryn in a stroller. They admired a few especially nice lawns and savored the weather, which was lightly overcast and several degrees cooler than it had been back home. Tate was sorry for the nice outing to end, and he was pretty sure Kim felt the same way—though he couldn’t have said whether it was because she had particularly enjoyed the time with him or was just that reluctant to return to her mother’s house. He suspected the latter.

After returning from the walk, they spent a half hour in the living room, watching a news broadcast while Daryn played with a couple of toys on a blanket spread on the floor. Bob and Betsy were in the kitchen, making final preparations for dinner. Betsy had effusively refused any assistance other than her husband’s, insisting that Kim and Tate should take the time to chat with Julian and Stuart—which would have been difficult, since Julian immediately went back out to the garage to work on Bob’s car and Stuart drifted off to his room with a vague mumble about needing to make some phone calls.

Watching Daryn rocking unsteadily on her hands and knees, Tate winced wryly when the baby plopped down on her tummy with an “oof” sound. Rather than fuss or try again, she lay there happily kicking and slamming Mr. Jingles against the blanket, causing the bells inside him to clatter noisily.

“I take it she’s not crawling yet?”

“Not yet.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the blanket, Kim reached out to pat her daughter’s diapered-and-rompered bottom. “She comes close, but hasn’t quite put the moves all together. I’m sure Mom would say I’m doing something wrong that’s holding Daryn back, even though the pediatrician assures me she’s developing just fine.”

He started to say something, but she stopped him by holding up a hand and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I guess I’m just overly sensitive when it comes to my parenting skills. Probably because I’m always so aware that Daryn’s well-being is all on me.”

“Then she’s in very good hands. I’m sure your mother knows that, despite some of the things she blurts out.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never doubted that you’re a very committed mom. That was one of the first things I learned about you.”

Kim glanced at the doorway, as though aware that this wasn’t exactly a private venue in which to have this conversation, but then she smiled at him. “Thanks, Tate. I needed that.”

He winked at her, pleased that he’d been able to boost her bruised confidence. “Anytime.”

Kim had just tucked Daryn into her travel crib upstairs when everyone was called to dinner. Betsy sat at one end of the dining room table, with Bob at the other end, Julian and Stuart on one side and Kim and Tate on the other. A portable baby monitor sat beside Kim’s plate, though not a peep had issued from it.

Betsy served a simple fare of steaks, grilled corn on the cob, baked potatoes and a side salad. Bob had grilled the meat and corn, though Betsy hinted that she was exhausted from baking potatoes and making the salads and a cake for dessert. Tate made a few more silent observations about Kim’s background as everyone filled their plates.

His own family was by no means perfect. He and his sister did their share of squabbling, though they’d grown closer since moving out on their own. His dad was a workaholic whose time had been stretched thin, but he loved his wife and kids and they’d known he would always be there if they needed him. His mother was a bit of a hypochondriac who tended to fret about her children’s well-being, but she’d relaxed a little during the past few years, finally accepting—for the most part—that they were old enough to take care of themselves.

An average family, with average strengths and weaknesses. He loved them, drew strength from them. Knew they loved him, too.

Before dinner was half finished that evening, he could see that Kim’s family had almost nothing in common with his own. She had very few bonds with her half brothers, perhaps because they had each been raised so differently. She barely knew her latest stepfather, though she seemed to like him well enough, considering this was only the second time she’d met him. As for her relationship with her mother—well, no wonder that was so strained. Frankly, Betsy was a nut.

Tate hadn’t yet decided if there was a streak of malice beneath that beaming, scheming face. Betsy was undoubtedly self-centered, unapologetically deceitful, deliberately tactless—but was she aware that her thoughtlessness caused her daughter pain, or was she simply oblivious to consequences? He’d been amused by her until he’d become aware of her little digs at Kim. He hadn’t found those in the least funny.

“Does anyone need more iced tea?” Betsy asked, filling a somewhat awkward silence that had fallen over the table once the standard compliments for the food had been exchanged. “Bob, sweetie, why don’t you bring the pitcher and top off the glasses?”

Nodding congenially, Bob jumped up to fetch the tea pitcher. Not for the first time, Tate thought that even after three years of marriage, Bob seemed perfectly happy being ordered around by his wife. Tate wondered how much longer that satisfaction would last.

Betsy turned toward Kim with a slight frown. “Did I hear a fuss from Daryn?” she asked, cocking her head toward the baby monitor.

“No, Mom, she’s sound asleep.”

“You’re sure you shouldn’t go check on her? How do you know that thing is working?”

“It’s working.”

Unlike Bob, Kim was visibly losing patience with Betsy. Tate didn’t blame her, but she really should learn to let her mother’s little barbs deflect off her. Betsy didn’t seem to dig at her sons in quite the same way. Was it a mother/daughter dynamic thing—or did Betsy know it was harder to push emotional buttons with Julian and Stuart?

Trying to take the attention off Kim, he spoke to her brothers. “We haven’t had much chance to get to know each other yet. I understand you’re recently out of the service, Julian. What do you do now?”

“Bob got me a job at his accounting firm,” Julian answered without a great deal of enthusiasm. “I’m taking night classes toward getting a CPA.”

Before Tate could respond, Stuart frowned. “Kim hasn’t even told you what Julian does?”

Realizing his mistake, Tate suppressed a wince, but Kim rescued him that time.

“Tate’s simply trying to make conversation, Stuart,” she said evenly. “Besides which, I couldn’t tell him much about either of you because I haven’t heard what you’ve been up to lately.”

Betsy cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you called more often …”

Tate spoke again quickly to her brothers. “Kim has talked about both of you, of course, but I thought we could get to know each other in person now.”

He was going to have to do better than this if he didn’t want to blow the whole marriage charade before the reunion even began tomorrow. “Tell me about yourself, Stuart. What have you been up to this summer?”

Stuart shrugged, but a look from his mother made him answer politely enough—for a teenager. “Just been hanging out. I have a part-time job at a video game store at the mall.”

“Stuart starts college a week from Monday,” Bob added as he refilled Tate’s tea glass.

“Yeah? Where will you be going, Stuart?”

The teen muttered the name of a well-respected liberal arts college in Springfield.

“He’s going to live here at home and commute,” Betsy said. “I wasn’t quite ready to send my baby away. That will come soon enough, won’t it, Bob? We’ll have to get used to an empty nest eventually.”

When Bob merely smiled and nodded, and no one else responded, Tate tried to keep the conversation moving. “I’ve heard that’s a very good school. Have you chosen a major yet?”

Stuart shrugged again. “I’m interested in mathematics and computer sciences.”

“Good choices.”

Stuart chomped down on his ear of corn to discourage further conversation.

“Tell Tate more about your new job, Julian,” Betsy urged, picking delicately at the baked potato and salad in front of her. She’d passed on the steak and corn, saying that she was watching her weight. She’d looked archly at Kim’s plate as she’d made the comment, but for once using a modicum of tact, hadn’t remarked aloud about Kim’s choice to have a reasonable serving of everything.

“I work in accounting, Mom,” Julian replied curtly. “Hardly anything more to tell.”

“What about your real love?” Bob asked Julian with a look that might have been sympathetic. “Restoring old cars?”

Julian slanted a look at his mother that was almost defensive. “It’s a hobby, that’s all.”

“An obsession, you mean,” Stuart mumbled. “At least, that’s what your ex called it.”

Julian scowled. “Yeah, well, she’s a—”

“Julian,” his mother interrupted quickly, with a pointed look at Tate, as if to remind her son they had company among them. “Tate, don’t get the wrong impression. Julian isn’t a mechanic, he’s an up-and-coming financial advisor. He enjoyed tinkering with cars as a teenager, but he doesn’t have nearly as much time for that now, isn’t that right, Julian?”

“No,” Julian said, and if he tried to hide the regret, he wasn’t entirely successful. “I don’t.”

“What types of cars have you restored?” Tate asked, doggedly trying to keep the conversation moving.

“Couple of classic Mustangs. I’m working on a ‘69 Mach 1 now. It’s in pretty bad shape, haven’t had much time to work on it, but it’s got great potential.”

“Sixty-nine, huh? Nice. Which engine?”

For the first time since they’d been introduced, Tate saw a spark of enthusiasm in Julian’s eyes. “Three fifty-one V8.”

“Windsor or Cleveland?”

Beneath the table, Kim lightly tapped his leg, then gave a thumbs-up sign when he glanced down.

The spark in Julian’s blue eyes flared into a flame of passion. “Windsor—not quite as easy to find the parts, but she’s going to purr like a tiger when I’ve got her up and running.”

“Shaker hood scoop?”

“Yes, of course. And I was thinking of—”

“Oh, there’s no need to get all technical about the mechanical aspects,” Betsy interrupted impatiently. “You don’t want to bore our guest, Julian.”

Julian subsided with a slight flush, looking down at his plate.

Tate was finding Betsy less amusing all the time. “Actually, I have a lot of admiration for a skilled mechanic, whether on a professional or recreational level.”

“More challenging than gardening?” Stuart asked in a slightly mocking murmur.

Feeling Kim stiffen beside him, Tate laid his hand quickly on her thigh, silently assuring her that he didn’t need her to jump to his defense. “In its own way,” he agreed equably.