Читать книгу Family: The Secret Ingredient - Leandra Logan - Страница 12

Grace took her time navigating through the dark winding roads of the opulent Lake Minnetonka neighborhood, indulging in the guilty pleasure of escape.

She hadn’t meant to burn Dickie there at the end by not accepting his ride. But all in all, he was better off with her folks. They’d ply him with smokes and liquor and compliments until his large hungry ego was bloated to the max.

Not as good as sex, but as good as he was bound to get from any of the Norths tonight.

As it was, bed was a place she and Dickie hadn’t been together yet. But not for Dickie’s efforts. He had begun putting on the subtle pressure to take their relationship to the “stage of consummation.” And lovemaking put in such articulate terms didn’t do a thing to entice her.

She stared out onto the wide manicured lawns, thick with mature trees. Methods aside, Grace decided she was in no hurry to consummate their relationship. It seemed a bad sign for any lasting union. But passion wasn’t predictable, couldn’t be measured like the temperature on a thermometer. Perhaps a relationship that was slow heating up wouldn’t burn out so fast. Who knew?

At last she turned off into her Edina town house development, passing small neat yards fronting beige, blue and white duplex structures. She didn’t always roll by the front of the attached structure she shared with her brother; it depended upon which entrance she used to the community. As it happened, she was doing so tonight. And to her surprise, there was a familiar black Jeep parked at her front curb—with a security car alongside, its roof aglow with flashing lights.

Grace pulled up in the rear and alighted to the street. On highs heels she clattered up between the vehicles to join the security man standing there. She recognized him immediately as one of three uniformed men who patrolled the community round the clock.

“Ben! Hello!”

“Evening, Miss North.” He tipped the brim of his gray hat to her.

She pulled the shawl covering her bared shoulders tighter against the evening chill. “Trap a dangerous invader on my property?”

“Seems harmless enough.”

“Harmless?” she gasped in doubt.

“Well, he knows you were in Minnetonka. And knows it’s your birthday. Has the cake to prove it.”

A peek into the Jeep revealed Kyle, looking very glad to see her.

Without a doubt, she could become addicted to that look.

She shuffled her heels like a little girl in tennis shoes. “You came all the way back here to bring me a cake?”

He rubbed his chin. “Yeah.”

“Gee.”

“I never expected to run into you,” he admitted. “Michael gave me a spare key to your place, so I just expected to be in and out in a flash.”

“Well, come in now,” she urged.

Ben cleared his throat. “I suggest you park round back, son. In Miss North’s driveway.”

“Yes,” Grace agreed more firmly. “Follow me round back.”

“THANK GOD YOU CAME along when you did!” Kyle had eased the truck up close to the open garage door and was moving to join her in the garage.

“It’s not that serious. Ben would’ve called me at my parents’ place and you would’ve been cleared.”

“That would’ve been a little embarrassing for me,” he admitted, ducking into the garage. “I haven’t even seen your parents since my return. Hardly a great way to reconnect, collared like some vagrant.”

She flashed a sympathetic smile, then jabbed the remote to lower the garage door and beckoned him to the service door connected to the house.

She led him through the mudroom to the kitchen. Palming the wall, she flipped the switch controlling the overhead fixture.

“Aren’t you afraid of waking your kitten?”

Grace gestured to the empty basket beside the dishwasher. “She has decided my space is far superior to her own. Found my bed and just stretched out flat.”

Kyle had a sudden and vivid image of doing much the same. Startled by the idea, he avoided her eyes. Instead he concentrated on the cake keeper on the table. He whisked off the lid to reveal a homemade two-layer chocolate confection. It was slightly uneven and held a birthday salutation etched in white icing, which was signed off with a K and a very squiggly B.

Grace gasped, placing a hand at the sweetheart neckline of her dress, on the soft skin of her rising breasts. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Kyle’s eyes centered not upon the cake, but her breasts, imagining his own hand checking out her heartbeat. Heaven help him, she was a sex goddess in that dress.

For the first time in his life, Kyle envied a bed-hogging kitten.

She peeled off her shawl and moved closer to the table, yet unaware of her sensual impact. “I haven’t had a wonderful homemade cake since camp. I can’t believe you went to the trouble. That you did this for me.”

Clearly, the gesture meant something special to her. To think he actually had some impact on this pampered, beguiling princess. Seemed impossible.

“Button helped,” he erupted. “No big deal.” In fact, the cake was sort of an afterthought that deserved little attention, just an impulsive gesture to seal their deal. Moreover, he’d thought it a good exercise for Button to do something kind for someone she didn’t particularly like yet. He could only imagine the monster cake she just bit into at her official party.

Arms folded over her chest, Grace was presently giving him the once-over. Lost in her, he’d forgotten about his own sorry state of dress. Allowing Button to run the egg-beater had left his decent shirt and slacks speckled with cake batter. Having little clean laundry he’d thrown on a faded gray T-shirt and some very sorry blue jeans with fabric so thin, they left little to the imagination.

There as a strange light in her green eyes now, suggesting hunger, delight, desire.

It was one thing for a male deprived of intimacy for a full year to feel lustful in these circumstances, but Grace…Surely she wouldn’t use her imagination on him this way, would she?

Dammit, this was little Gracie, the lanky tagalong. And he was unsure of her thoughts!

It was a struggle to trigger lucid conversation, but he managed. “So how was the big party?”

She shrugged, sinking into a chair at the table. “Probably as you remember. Routine.”

Kyle did remember, having helped with the catering on occasion. Never before had he ever been concerned over whether or not she had a date, though. The relief that she’d proven to be alone out on the street tonight had been overwhelming. For no good reason, he was very glad indeed.

She was staring up at him in curious amusement. “All in all, Kyle, you’ll find you haven’t missed much around here.”

Kyle sank into a chair beside her. Setting his elbow on the table he propped up his chin and stared her down. “For starters, I missed watching you grow up.”

She shot him a pained look. “I wasn’t exactly a baby when you left.”

“Guess not,” he slowly relented. “But I was graduating college and you were still too young to vote. There must be some events worth a report.”

She deadpanned him. “I am voting now.”

He laughed richly. “Still quick with the wit. But seriously, fill me in.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything that will help me get my balance round here, help me belong again.”

SHE SIGHED CONTENTEDLY. “Well, Michael and I have shared this duplex since my senior year at St. Catherine’s. I have a degree in theater arts, but my first love is fashion design. Did a lot of work for the plays there, discovered I was more comfortable offstage creating the costumes.”

“Far away from the North accounting empire.”

“Oh, yes. That’s exclusively Michael’s forte.”

“Wondered which way he would fall. When we were roommates, he seemed more interested in juggling girls’ phone numbers than any other kind of numbers.”

“He works way too hard now. You’ll be good for him, Kyle. Maybe you can rediscover his playful side.”

“What do you do for fun these days? Still pal around with Heather Crain?”

“Definitely. Though she’s Heather Basset now. Married a very nice guy from our old crowd, a real estate agent.”

“That scrawny blonde with the blue eye shadow and inline skates is married?” He wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. “Look out!”

She huffed in frustration. “You always end up impossible, Kyle.”

“Okay, I’ll back off. Just one last thing. All the instances that I’ve thought of you over the years, believed you were perfectly happy, breaking boys’ hearts, was I on the right track?”

He’d thought of her over the years? The news made her melt into the hard wooden chair. “You were close. But I’m still sorting things out.”

“Guess a fair amount of confusion goes with the territory.” He sobered, raking a hand through his jet hair. “I too am still sorting.”

Her face crinkled tenderly. “I’m so sorry about Libby.”

“Yeah.”

“It must be hard, raising Button on your own.”

“Amelia will be helpful.”

“How old is she now?”

“Late sixties, I think.”

“Wow.”

He shook a finger at her. “Gotta warn you, she wouldn’t care for your doubtful look. Button’s given her a new lease on life. She is a challenge Amelia intends to conquer.”

Grace conjured up a picture of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with deep lines around her eyes, her hair in a long salt and pepper ponytail. “She did seem like the invincible kind,” she heartily assured.

“Perfectly said.”

“Would I be prying too much if I asked you how you ever connected with Amelia again? It must have been terribly hard.”

“The initial call with the news of Libby’s death, the existence of a secret great-granddaughter was very difficult.” He paused, wincing. “Amelia was stunned, then harsh over our defection—as was her right. But amazingly she showed up in Chicago for the funeral. After that, her visits became a regular thing. Eventually I must’ve passed some kind of benchmark, for she made me a proposition—move in with her, reopen the bistro and try to make a go of it.” He marveled over the memory. “She put it in such a way as to make it sound like a favor to her, a second chance at family. I’m not the smartest man around, but I did see a hell of a deal there for all three of us.”

She patted his hand. “A terrible twist of fate for you, losing Libby.”

“Maybe I could’ve averted the disaster. Looking back, there are things I’d have done differently. But hey, no one can turn back the clock.”

He clapped his hands together then, as if to break the mood. “Hey, this is way offtrack. Part of my reason for coming is to firm up our deal, decide my weekly hours. You dashed out so fast today, we never settled things.”

“Well, demands of the job.” She bit her lip self-consciously. Bailing out in a panic was kind of embarrassing now.

“I would prefer to come Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from nine to whatever,” he said, unaware of her discomfort. “Probably work sometime after the noon hour, depending on the meal prep. I promise not to be too big a pest,” he added jokingly.

“Hah! You’ve already rearranged my kitchen.”

He was disgustingly gleeful. “For your own good, trust me.”

She smacked the table hard. “You think I’m going to fall for that old line all over again? You and Michael always had me running in circles, washing your car, running your errands—to learn!”

“This time you will benefit, princess, I swear.”

She smiled lamely as he waved a white paper napkin in truce. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

“For the record,” he went on huskily, “if you don’t know it yet, Grace, I am so thrilled to have this job. I need to make the money somehow, and a sweet distraction like you is an unusual bonus.”

“Glad to help,” she said haltingly. “Anything I can…” Her mouth went dry as cotton.

His blue eyes brightened. “Anything?”

Her heart tripped alarmingly. “What have you in mind?”

“I wasn’t going to impose this soon, but if you know something about wallpaper…”

“What about wallpaper, Kyle?”

“The bistro needs some and I am a dunce when it comes to decorating.”

“Oh.” She was sinking in quicksand, pure and simple. “Well, I guess I could help with that.”

“Busy tomorrow?”

“I can spare some time,” she stumbled.

“Super. You’re the best.” He shifted in his chair. “Suppose I should be going. Unless you’d like to share this cake first.”

“I’d love to,” she retorted, “if I could find my knife set.”

“It might have been a knife set once, Gracie. Now, it’s a pile of ragged steel blades with dried wooden handles.” He eyed her knowingly. “You aren’t supposed to put them in the dishwasher.”

“Oh, never mind.” With a crooked grin she dragged a manicured finger into the thick fudgy frosting.

He was aghast. “Hey, you didn’t learn that at home.”

“Did it at summer camp. Have you ever tried it?”

He opened his mouth to protest, only to find her finger full of frosting smack dab on his lower lip. With artist’s flair she began to frost his mouth. “There now. No cleanup.”

Kyle snagged her wrist, aghast. “You did that to the boys at camp?”

“Never you mind.” With a squeal she tried to wrench from his firm grasp. Shaking with laughter they stood up and began to tangle for control. In their struggle Kyle pulled her against his chest. Then the laughter died off.

This was her chance. To steal the kiss that had eluded her over and over, as recent as today when Michael stormed in here. Tired of fretting over her every move, she stood on tiptoe to lock lips.

Clasping a hand to her head, meshing the frosting between their lips, Kyle savored the taste of Grace. Her lips were so warm and soft. He was tempted to plunge his tongue into her mouth, until he remembered who she was, where their relationship belonged.

“God, Grace.” With a heaving breath, he let her go. He searched her face in a shell-shocked way. “That was…”

Her mouth curved naughtily. “Much better than camp.”

“I was going to label it an accident.”

As much pride as she had, she couldn’t let that go unchallenged. “I’d rather you consider it a nice experiment.”

He sighed indulgently. “Fair enough. It’s something I wanted to try too, since the moment I saw you.”

“Now you sound apologetic!”

He lifted his brows, perplexed. “You’re taking a great little kiss and beating it to death.”

“Oh, you—you—kitchen cop!”

He broke into spontaneous laughter. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Yes. Now find my knives and cut that cake!”

Tension broken, they began moving about the kitchen like a couple, dodging one another with a twist, a turn and a laugh. Kyle produced a knife and two forks while Grace opened the refrigerator. “I don’t believe it. You brought me a carton of milk!”

He’d brought it earlier with all the other groceries. How scary that she hadn’t even noticed. As Michael intimated, her meal schedule must be a disaster. “Can’t have chocolate cake without milk,” was all he dared to say.

Twirling round she grabbed two plates and mismatched glasses from the cupboard. The tall one was plastic, bearing the likeness of Michael Jordan, the stout glass bore a picture of Wilma Flintstone. She filled them with milk and brought them to the table.

“Take your pick.”

Kyle sank the knife into the cake with practiced strokes and eased layered slices on two plates. “My heart is with Wilma, but I am thirsty. Guess I’ll go for Jordan.”

They settled in cozily at the small round table.

His mouth curved warmly. He reached out and touched some of the smaller auburn curls at her temple. “Never expected to celebrate the tail end of your birthday this way.”

“Mmm…” The feel of Kyle’s roughened fingertips on her face was exquisite. She leaned into his hand as her new kitten might.

But this couldn’t be the beginning of something. Kyle was here because Michael had hired him to nurture her. He was widowed a year, full of secrets and troubles, with a small girl to raise.

She shouldn’t dare to hope for anything.

But neither should he be running the pad of his thumb down her jawline with that dreamy expression. “So, I’ll

call you first thing tomorrow.”

“Really?” she sighed.

“Sure. About the wallpaper.”

“Oh. Right. Whatever you want. Whatever you say.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Gracie I know.”

She sighed in resignation. As if he knew her at all.

IT WAS NEARLY ONE O’CLOCK in the morning when Kyle rolled down Amelia Anderson’s sedate Golden Valley street of modest homes and aged trees. Reaching her Cape Cod home, he expertly pulled into her narrow driveway. He’d swung into this drive so many times during college, when Libby was alive and living here with her grandparents, that dodging the plank fencing against the neighbor’s property and parallel hedge siding Amelia’s yard had become a practiced art.

Kyle parked and shut off the engine, his thoughts turning to his late wife, who had felt trapped here as child under Amelia’s suffocating tutelage. How gladly he’d played the hero, coming to rescue her by night, arranging their elopement, whisking her off to a new independent life in Chicago.

Since then, he’d come to feel more like a thief than a hero. How naive he’d been—they’d both been—to consider only their feelings in the equation. There were many factors over the years that caused him to reflect, all the lonely holidays, the lack of any new long-term relationships. Many of the friends they’d made eventually moved on or had extended families of their own to focus on. Unlike his own dysfunctional parents who’d basically ignored him, Libby’s grandparents—if a bit possessive—had at least wanted her in the bosom of their family.

He emerged from the Jeep, happy enough with the state of the union. Dashing across the shadowed lawn he noted that light streamed through the bay window from the living room. Perhaps Amelia had fallen asleep in her chair again, television droning, a knitting project for Button askew in her lap.

He unlocked the front door and stepped over the threshold into the small living room. The scene was partially as he expected. Amelia was in her recliner all right, her long gray hair loose round her shoulders, dressed in her long terry cloth robe, feet up, skein of pale yellow yarn in her lap. But she proved wide-awake, knitting needles clicking madly upon half a dainty mitten. Kyle often teased her about knitting in July, guessing Button’s size six months into the colder weather, but Amelia assured him she knew these things.

“You’ve been gone a good long while.” She regarded him over the tops of her reading glasses. Her lips puckered in disapproval. Kyle sighed, hanging his zip sweatshirt in the small hallway closet. He knew she was trying to be less controlling, but it was an ongoing effort. Old habits were tough to break.

“Grace showed up before I could leave.” He moved closer, hovering over Amelia’s chair. “So we ate some cake and firmed up plans.” And then she kissed me, with the gusto of a barroom floozy and the sweetness of a prom queen. I felt dismay, shock and complete helplessness for a matter of about sixty seconds.

He could feel a blush rising from his neck. Hopefully, his suntan would disguise it a bit. Avoiding her survey he stretched his arms over his head and glanced around. To his alarm, there lay Button, dressed in her frilly cotton nightie, curled up in the window seat. “What the…” He stalked across the room.

“I would have carried her to her room myself…”

“You know better, Amelia.” He gave the old woman a worried backward glance.

“I do know the limitations of this old body. Did what I could under the circumstances, though. Covered her with a blanket, rested her head on a sofa pillow.”

Kyle scooped up the child in his muscled arms with ease and strode back to sit in the chair adjoining Amelia’s. “Why can’t she go to bed like other people?” he asked, perplexed.

Amelia shook her head. “She’s inconsistent on that score, it’s true.”

He sensed her hesitancy. “But?”

“Well, Kyle, you said you’d be back in an hour. She believed you. Decided to keep watch for your car.”

“Oh.” He gulped, reaching down to push black silken hair from Button’s cherub face. “Daddy is too blame, isn’t he?” With a sleepy moan Button twisted in his lap, sucking harder on her thumb.

“You are her everything,” Amelia chided. “And small children interpret things quite literally.”

He rubbed his mouth, sheepish. “Seems I slipped up.”

“Mothers have better radar for such things than fathers,” she granted. “You can’t hope to get every move right.”

Kyle sensed some disapproval in her voice that suggested he could’ve done better, but he kept on smiling.

“So, tell me, was the cake a success?” she asked in a kinder tone.

“Yes.” Kyle cuddled Button against his chest, sniffing her hair, which smelled faintly floral. “Grace appreciated it very much.”

Amelia adjusted her needles thoughtfully. “I remember the girl quite clearly, tagging along after you at the bistro. Bubbly, pretty. Curly reddish brown hair. Full of cheer and questions. Seemed crazy about you.”

She did? Kyle’s heavy black brows jumped.

Amelia didn’t acknowledge his reaction, if she noticed. “I never had much contact with the parents though. They came into the bistro a few times to get their son, Michael, gift certificates or to pick up the girl. Struck me as the cold fish type.”

“They are restrained,” Kyle admitted. He was deliberately careful in his wording. Victor and Ingrid had never treated him badly, but he had a sense that he didn’t quite make their grade. It was a vague feeling that didn’t warrant his resentment. Resentment took energy and he’d learned to reserve it only for extreme cases.

Her forehead furrowed as she inspected her stitching. “Don’t get me wrong about the Norths. I’m sure they’re decent. But you’d best keep in mind that the rich are different. Many of them have never felt the raw panic of facing mounting bills. It sets people apart, the yearning for more.”

The advice never stopped flowing. But he did have some recourse here, which he used gently. “We can be grateful to Michael for funding my payment to you,” he said. “He’ll be a good partner, as he’s far more interested in his father’s accounting firm and won’t be bossing us around. And working for Grace will allow me more time with Button and some extra cash. Just so you know, we’re set up for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Amelia stuffed her knitting in the canvas bag beside her chair and released the footrest on her chair. “I generally do have activities to fill some of those days. How will you manage? Perhaps I should cancel—”

“You shouldn’t,” he said adamantly, touched by her distress. “Our general deal is that you watch Button evenings and weekends, while I’m busy at the bistro. The weekdays are all yours, to follow your own schedule, no matter what.”

“I don’t expect that, and you shouldn’t guarantee it.”

He chuckled, gazing upon the bundle in his arms. “Guess you’re right.”

Button stirred in his arms then. Focusing on Kyle, she threw her arms around him. “You come back.”

“I always come back, honey.”

She pressed her soft little nose against his. “No heaven, Daddy.”

“Now, Button,” Amelia reasoned succinctly, “your father is not going to heaven any day soon. He was delivering a cake. You know that.”

Kyle squeezed her tight, exchanging a concerned look with Amelia. Button had been so insecure since Libby’s death, afraid she’d lose him to heaven too. “You did a good job on the cake, baby. Grace loved it.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “How’s Kitty?”

“Kitty was sound asleep, just like you should be.”

“My kitty,” she whispered fiercely.

“No, Button. You can visit Kitty, but she belongs to Grace.”

With pouty lips she crashed against Kyle’s shoulder and fell back asleep. He expelled a lung full of air. “That went well.”

Amelia regarded him sympathetically. “Lighten up. Isn’t your fault you got dealt this bad deck. Most fathers can slip away a few hours and not be concerned that their three-year-old will write them off as dead. It’s no one’s fault. We’re just left with…a situation. One we can surely handle.”

Kyle tried to appear convinced.