Читать книгу Something To Talk About - Laurie Paige - Страница 10

But when had women ever been wise when it came to growing boys who, in their eyes, needed nurturing? Kate chided herself as she carried a basket of hot muffins and just-picked strawberries up the steps to the apartment. She had a mug of coffee and a pitcher of milk with her.

The door to the apartment was open when she arrived at the landing. Jess stood there, his face expressionless, but she sensed the scowl.

“I brought Jeremy some hot muffins,” she said.

A flicker of suspicion darted through his eyes, then was gone, replaced by an implacable wall of distrust that made her angry. He had levied a judgment against her for no reason, and she didn’t like it.

After an eternity he opened the screen door and let her in. “He isn’t up yet,” her new tenant informed her.

The scent of his aftershave stroked her senses. He was apparently just out of the shower, his dark hair still damp, his face smooth from a shave. He seemed as fresh as the crisp morning air that cascaded down from the lofty peaks overlooking the long, broad valley. The strain she’d noticed yesterday had eased somewhat from around his eyes. He looked rested, although not completely restored, and she realized how tired he must have been when he and his son had arrived.

Against her will, pity stirred as she stepped past him into the apartment. He had been injured in the line of duty and asked for nothing except a place to recuperate—and maybe a chance to reestablish a closeness with his son.

He wore a T-shirt and khaki shorts. His feet were bare. The bruises, the scars, the tightly stretched skin, all told of unremitting pain that had to be endured because there was no other way. The crimped lines at the corners of his mouth spoke louder than his fierce denial of need.

It was a thing she’d done for months on end—this holding back, this keeping within, all the misery that cried out from the depths of a person. She knew about things like that. Suddenly the tears were close to the surface.

Drawn against her will into a maelstrom of past emotion that she didn’t want or need, she crossed swiftly to the table and set the feast down. “I’ll just leave everything. I brought some milk.”

He made a sound that could have been a mumble of gratitude. She put the container of milk in the refrigerator. On the counter was a spoon and a jar of instant coffee.

“There’s fresh-brewed coffee, too.” She put the insulated mug on the counter beside the spoon.

“Thanks.” He waited by the door for her to leave.

The return path took her past him. Nervousness made her clumsy. She caught her sandal on the hooked rug in front of the door, causing a stumble. His arms were there to catch her in an instant, so fast that it took her completely by surprise.

The morning changed. First there had been the cold breeze, nipping into the apartment from the open door, then there was warmth all around her, like the sun enfolding her.

His hands spread heat into her arm and waist where he touched her. Through her slacks she felt the weight of his thigh pressed between hers, sending shafts of sunlight splintering through her abdomen. Her breath caught.

In the wary silence between them, she heard the sibilant hiss of air as he took a deep breath. She experienced the unexpected thundering of his heart. Unbidden yearning rushed through her, a flash point of need so powerful it left her helpless and subdued.

For the space of two heartbeats, she lingered in the embrace, unable to move. His pupils widened as his gaze locked with hers. The same terrible need blazed in him as in her.

Something inside leaped, startled as a young deer, then dipped crazily before righting itself.

They moved at the same time, drawing back, pulling away, dropping their arms, removing their hands from contact with hot, suddenly yearning flesh. The withdrawal signaled loss that she couldn’t comprehend.

He cursed under his breath.

She sighed with relief.

“Thanks for the food,” he said stiffly.

“No problem,” she replied. She fled down the steps.

“What’s this I hear about a good-looking stranger at your place?” Megan gave Kate a mock-severe stare, then spoiled it by grinning at Shannon.

Both Megan and Shannon were cousins to Kate from her mother’s side of the family. She and Megan lived on Windraven, the family ranch once managed by their grandfather. Megan lived in the big house with their grandfather, Patrick Windom, who had suffered a stroke a few years ago. Their grandfather was in a wheelchair and had rarely spoken since his son, Megan’s father, had died in an auto accident ten years ago.

“Don’t ask me,” Kate replied. “Shannon was the one who sent him and his son my way.”

“No wife?” Megan asked.

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Ah,” Megan said in understanding.

“He’s divorced. Look, I just tried to do a favor for a fellow officer,” Shannon defended herself. “When I checked him out, the sergeant in Houston told me Jess Fargo was a hero and that he’d been shot in the line of duty, protecting an innocent bystander in the street where the shoot-out occurred. His kneecap was shattered by a bullet, and even then he managed to stop the guy from taking a woman waiting at a bus stop as a hostage. Oh, and his ex is getting married again and dumped the son on him a couple of weeks ago.”

“He has scars,” Kate said, seeing the uneven pattern of the gun wound, the neat medical incisions and the crosshatched pattern of stitches. She laid a hand over her abdomen as a sharp echo of past pain flashed through her again.

Shannon’s brow crinkled in worry. “I’m sorry, Katie, I didn’t mean to make you remember.”

“You didn’t. I’m okay.” Kate summoned a smile. “And, as usual, I felt sorry for him and his son and let them have the apartment. I’m such a sucker for a sad story.”

Remembering how she and Jess had really met, she started laughing, a little shakily but with true mirth.

“It must have been a real tear jerker,” Megan said in a wry tone. “Do tell all.”

Her cousins thought her story about tossing the hose down only to have the shut-off lever hit the ground and stick in the open position, then the man showing up with a gun, looking ready to shoot anything that crossed his path and also getting drenched, was hilarious.

“A great beginning,” Shannon said, beaming at Kate. “I predict even greater things to come.”

“Huh,” was Kate’s reaction to that.

What a trio the cousins were, Kate mused as she read absurd birthday cards and opened lovely presents—a chemise top with a lace blouse to wear over it, shorts and a shirt to go with the other two pieces, and the promised bag of cookies.

Shannon’s parents had divorced when she was a kid, so she tended to herd people into family units, although she seemed leery of matrimony for herself. Megan had had to deal with the tragedy of her mother’s strange and unhappy death from drowning, plus the quarrels between her father and grandfather, then her grandfather’s stroke after her uncle Sean’s accident. Megan wanted everyone to get along and be happy.

Kate considered her own emotional baggage. She had always had a need to heal every wounded creature she met. Life, the very act of living, could be so very complicated and serious. Her husband had accused her of having a God complex.

She had tried to help him, to bring the joy of living back into his life, but she had failed. No, it was wrong to think that way! He had chosen his path. She had chosen to live. But she had lost their child and the ability to have more.

She’d also lost something of her faith in life, she acknowledged with a familiar stab of sadness and remorse. She could forgive Kris for shooting her, then himself, but she would never forgive the loss of the baby she’d carried for seven precious months—

“What?” she said, jolted from the past by a nudge.

“I have to get back to work,” Shannon reminded them. “Some people don’t have the luxury of doing what they want, when they want. Some of us hold down a real job.”

“You love it,” Megan declared. “You’d have to, to work in the domestic crisis unit for as long as you have.”

Shannon laughed, tossed her share of the bill on the table and headed out with a wave.

“Thanks for lunch and the presents,” Kate called after her. “Lunch and presents, too,” she said to Megan as the waitress refilled their tea glasses. “I hope you didn’t blow the budget.”

“I used my own funds,” Megan informed her. “I’m training three other colts along with Wind Dancer.”

“Mmm, you’ll probably want a raise. I think we could swing one, a small one,” Kate quickly added.

As bookkeeper for the five-thousand-acre ranch, she knew to the penny what everything cost. Keeping the place going was the goal of the three cousins. After Megan’s father had died in the auto accident and their grandfather had had a stroke immediately after the funeral, the three cousins, the last of their family, had banded together and determined to keep the ranch going. It hadn’t been easy.

Megan shook her head, her bright coppery curls bouncing with each movement. “I’m fine. With the policeman there, you’ll have income from the apartment. That will help you out.”

Kate realized she’d forgotten to mention rent to her new tenant. She wondered how much he could afford. “Yes. Every dollar counts, since the price of beef dropped.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if he spent the summer? Then you can get another teacher in there when school starts.”

“He’s only going to stay a few days, a month at the most.”

“That’s too bad.”

Kate wasn’t sure about that. “I have to run. I’m helping Rory set up his bookkeeping system.”

“Have fun.” Megan wrinkled her nose.

Bookkeeping was not Kate’s cousin’s idea of entertainment, but Kate liked it. She liked the order of numbers and the certainty of the balance sheet. She wondered if she liked those things because life had never seemed to add up, not to her. For instance, when did the good balance the bad? Shaking off the useless nostalgia, she stood. “Thanks again for the gifts.”

Kate stored her presents in the car, then drove over to the offices of Dr. Rory Daniels. Kate had known Rory all her life. After finishing veterinarian training, he had gone into partnership with Doc Bloom. He was an excellent vet and an expert on horses, advising Megan on the ranch breeding program.

Tall, racehorse trim, a year behind her in age, he had coal-black hair and light-blue eyes. While she explained the bookkeeping entries on the new computer system to him and his secretary, she noticed how handsome he was…but she kept seeing Jess Fargo….

When Kate returned home in the late afternoon, she found the coffee mug and milk pitcher on her back steps, along with a check for a month’s rent for the same amount she’d charged the teacher. He must have asked Shannon the rental price.

From her upstairs bedroom she could see Jeremy at the lake, sitting on the pier and staring into the water, looking forlorn. After changing clothes, she dug up some fishing worms and headed for the path to the lake with two poles.

“Hi,” she called out before stepping on the rough planks.

The boy’s head snapped around. For a moment she saw his misery, then the shy grin appeared. Her heart clenched in pity. Kids were hurt the most when a marriage failed.

He probably felt left out now that his mom had decided to remarry and had packed him off to his father.

“You from Houston, too?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Going to be a cop?”

He cast her a startled glance, then shrugged.

“I thought my cousin was loony when she went into police work, but she seems to like it and she’s good. The world needs people like that. Is your dad a good cop?”

Jeremy appeared shocked that she would ask. “The best,” he told her. “He got a medal from the mayor for saving a woman’s life even after he was shot.”

She nodded. The son’s pride in his dad and his admiration for the man were obvious. There was respect, too. That was good, but the youngster was lonely. His eyes, the same shadowy green as his father’s held emotion too deep for one so young. He’d seen a lot of life, this kid who tugged at her heart. She sighed and looked away.

The relationship between the father and son was none of her business, she reminded herself. Stay out of it.

But there was one other thing she wanted to say to her young guest. “My mother died when I was a senior in high school. When my dad remarried a couple of years later, I resented it. I thought it was somehow a betrayal of my mother, but I realized that life goes on, you know?”

Jeremy ducked his head and studied the water lapping against the posts of the pier. He nodded jerkily.

“I felt left out of their happiness. It was kind of hard until I got used to the idea. I was sort of lost and lonely.”

“My mom’s boyfriend doesn’t want me around,” he blurted out, his voice breaking on an upward note of distress.

“Hmm.” She waited a long minute. “He probably thinks the same about you—that you don’t want him around. Maybe he’s worried that she loves you more than she loves him. People are like that, you know, sort of insecure about things.”

A frown, very like his father’s, appeared on the smooth brow of the youngster. She figured she had given him enough to digest for now. Besides, she didn’t want to get involved with anyone else’s problems, especially those of a hardheaded detective who would be out of her life in a few weeks.

“I dug up some worms,” she mentioned casually, picking up one of the rods. “I have an extra spinning outfit.”

She put a worm on the hook and cast into the lake. Hardly a minute went by before she had a bite. “Bluegills. They get hungry about this time of day.”

Jeremy watched her catch a fish before he picked up the rod and tried his luck. He lost a half dozen worms before he caught on. When he brought his first fish in and removed it from the hook, she saw a different person, one who was laughing and excited and happy, the way a youngster his age should be.

“Hey, that’s a big one, a seven- or eight-incher. I think we’ll have fresh fish for supper tonight.”

The sober expression returned. “I don’t know if my dad knows how to cook fish.”

“No reason for him to have to. A person should be able to cook his own catch, my dad always said. We’ll fry ’em up at my place and invite your father to join us. Okay?”

His grin was huge. She saw the father reflected in the son, when Jess Fargo had been young and idealistic and enthusiastic about life. A sense of sorrow overcame her. She shook it off. Jess Fargo wasn’t her problem.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy said. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“I’m Kate to my friends.”

No matter what she told herself for the next hour, she knew she was being pulled in like the fish on the end of her line. But there was a kid involved, and where kids were concerned, well, she couldn’t help but worry. So maybe she and Jeremy could be friends while he was there.

She counted the fish on their stringer. “We have enough. Let’s clean them.”

The boy followed as she led the way back to the garden and the compost heap. She removed a knife from her pocket and, on a big flat rock, cleaned her share of the catch, tossing the fish heads into a hole she dug at the edge of the compost. When she handed the knife to him, he followed her example.

At the house she dipped her fish into egg beaten with milk, then into cornmeal. While he got his share ready, she fried her catch in oil, then let him do the same.

“You want to invite your dad to join us?” she asked when she had fries and a salad ready to go with the fish.

Jeremy looked doubtful. “He was taking a nap when I went down to the lake. I think his leg was hurting awfully bad. He took two pain killers, then went to sleep on the sofa.”

“Shall I get him while you set the table under the oak tree?” She pointed at the picnic table through the window.

“Sure.”

“Paper plates are in here, forks in this drawer.” She pointed them out, then left, feeling quite irritated with the tough cop who didn’t want anything from anyone.

She marched up the steps and knocked sharply on the door frame. Through the screen, she could see Jess’s reclining form on the sofa. The television was on, the sound low.

He sat up abruptly, then swore as he swung his legs to the floor and put a hand on his injured knee.

“Supper,” she called out, keeping her tone cheerful.

“What?” He glared toward the door.

“Jeremy and I caught some bluegills. They’re ready to eat. At the picnic table,” she added, then hurried down the steps and back to her house.

“Is Dad coming?” Jeremy asked when she joined him.

“He’ll be along in a minute. He was still asleep. I had to wake him up.” She prepared glasses of raspberry iced tea. Handing one to Jeremy, she carried the other two outside.

She and Jeremy were seated when Jess came out of the apartment and limped down the steps with the aid of the cane. She pretended not to see his scowl. “Come and get it,” she advised, “before they get cold. We each get three.”

“Kate caught five and I caught four,” Jeremy told his father, surprising her with the use of her name.

Jess stood at the end of the table, taking in the food, then his son’s somewhat defiant expression. His hostess was busily spooning salad into a bowl. She didn’t glance his way. Which irritated the hell out of him.

Logic told him she had simply offered his son a chance to fish, then had let the kid enjoy the fruits of his labor. That’s what logic told him. His feelings were something else.

He was angry, as if she had entered into some conspiracy to win his son away from him. Guilt ate at him. He should have taken the boy fishing instead of going to sleep. The widow was probably trying to do a good deed for a lonely kid. He wished she would leave them the hell alone.

Her eyes became guarded when he took a seat next to his son, across the wooden table from her. He realized something of his feelings must have shown in his eyes. He forced a smile on his face and heartiness into his voice.

“Now this is what I call a real meal. You two caught these in the lake in—” He glanced at this watch “—couldn’t have taken more than an hour or so.”

“That’s right, Dad. You shoulda come down. The fish were really biting. I caught two with the same worm.”

Looking at Jeremy’s eager face, Jess felt the familiar twist of regret. He’d neglected his son since the divorce. It had been easier to stay away than fight with the boy’s mother over every single thing.

Excuses were a poor substitute for fathering, his conscience brusquely reminded him. Glancing up, he stared into eyes that were bluer than the summer sky. She saw too much, this reclusive widow who took the time to show a kid how to catch their supper. He bit back a curse at life’s complications, then helped himself to fish and fries.

“Here, Jeremy. This is the big one you brought in. You get to have him,” Kate said.

Their hostess forked the serving onto his son’s plate with an easy manner that implied a friendship was already established between the two.

He wondered how friendly she’d feel if she discovered he was there to investigate her family. One thing she didn’t know—her aunt, Megan’s mother, had been his sister. Half sister, actually.

Bunny and he had shared the same mother, but different fathers. His had been the drunk, hers the nice guy. But the good die young, and Bunny’s dad had died. Their mom had married his father a year later. His old man had been a loser.

Bunny had left home as soon as she got out of high school. She’d never returned. He didn’t blame her for that.

For the first year after her departure, he’d been so lonely he’d thought he would die. He’d loved her more than anyone. Later, he’d realized his big sis had been the one who had raised him. She’d sung songs and told him stories. Before she left, she had told him she would always love him better than anyone in the whole world. He’d lived on that love for years after his mom had died.

One thing—he’d always had doubts about that drowning accident. His sister had been an excellent swimmer. She’d taught him how, too, in the creek near their broken-down house. Also, there had been a man who had died, as well. Not her husband.

He couldn’t imagine Bunny not being faithful. She’d hated his father—her stepfather—for not being true to their mother.

There was a mystery tied to the scandal. He intended to find out what it was and what had really happened to Bunny, the only person he had ever trusted completely—

“Salad?” the widow asked sweetly, breaking into the dark thoughts that haunted him.

Kate would have been around nineteen, maybe twenty, when his sister and the man with her had died. He hadn’t learned about the deaths until he’d become a cop and started a search to find his missing relative. It was a shame Bunny’s husband, Sean Windom, had gotten himself killed in a car accident a few years later. Damned bad luck all around.

Jess wondered what Kate knew about the accident, but he wouldn’t ask. Not yet. First he wanted to do some undercover investigating before word got around and everyone closed up like clams at a change in the tide. He knew what these small-town people were like. They all banded together when trouble brewed and one of their own was involved. He wasn’t sure he suspected skullduggery, but it paid to be cautious.

“Thanks.” He managed a tight smile and took the bowl from her. She returned his smile in the same vein. It was as if she were taunting his determination to keep a careful distance.

She should have been inside his head last night. She might not be so smug if she knew the erotic thoughts that had run through his dreams, all of them about her and him.

“Good, huh, Dad?”

Jess relaxed somewhat when Jeremy broke the dangerous trend of thought with his innocent question. “Delicious.”

“I cooked the one you’re eating. Kate showed me how.”

“Well, that was…neighborly.”

He caught the smile she held back, and realized she knew he was fighting a totally irrational fury as well as an equally irrational attraction. He cursed silently, letting the bitterness flow, wanting it to drown the need this woman aroused, which he didn’t understand.

She was just a woman with gorgeous eyes that made him think of things he hadn’t let himself think on in years. He glanced around the yard, the garden, the supper the three of them were sharing in the warmth of the last rays of the sun. To an outsider he was sure they looked like the ideal family. Mom and dad and sonny makes three.

He had once wanted those very things, had dreamed of them, yearned for them, worked at making his life fit that ideal. That was when he’d been a stupid kid, one who thought he could make the world right. He knew better.

Kate and Jeremy were discussing the big ones that got away and arguing over whose had been the largest. He felt the pull of her deep within, in that place where he allowed no one.

No one.

He didn’t want any interference in his life, not at this stage of the game. He had all he needed to contend with at present, thank you very much.

Not that fate had ever cared much about his wishes.