Читать книгу The Third Mrs. Mitchell - Lynnette Kent - Страница 10

KELSEY DISCOVERED almost immediately that two-inch platform sandals were not designed for walking. The kind of walking she was doing, anyway—jogging across the four-lane highway outside the diner, or striding uphill on the shoulder of the road with pieces of gravel slipping underneath her arch, her toes, her heel.

The third time her ankle turned on a rock, she kicked the damn shoe as far as it would go…across the road and into the ditch on the opposite side.

“That was stupid.” Trace finally caught up with her. “How are you gonna walk home with one shoe?”

She couldn’t answer, because that would mean loosening her jaw and taking her teeth out of her upper lip, which was the only thing keeping her from breaking into tears at this point. And she wouldn’t cry over him. She wouldn’t.

Heaving a sigh, Trace crossed the road and sidled down into the ditch. As he bent to pick up her shoe, a car roared up the hill in their direction. Instead of passing by, though, the dusty red Jeep stopped right beside her, blocking Trace on the other side.

Was she about to be abducted? In broad daylight at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning?

She braced herself as the door opened. The guy who got out didn’t look like a pervert—he was actually pretty cute, for being so old. His hair was too short, but he had great shoulders, visible under a sleeveless navy sweatshirt, and fantastic legs. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

Then he flashed a badge. “Pete Mitchell, with the highway patrol.”

Had her dad sent the cops after them? Typical. “Was I speeding or something?”

The state trooper frowned at her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be walking home on this road. Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

Trace came around the front of the Jeep. “Who’s this?”

Another flash of the badge. “I’m taking you and your sister home.”

“Yeah, right.” Kelsey took her shoe back from Trace and braced herself with a hand on his shoulder while she put it on. Thank God the ditch wasn’t filled with water. “Like we haven’t heard the drill since we were babies. ‘Don’t ride with strangers,”’ she mimicked in a falsetto tone.

The man rolled his eyes. “I’m glad to know the message stuck. Too bad you didn’t hear about staying out of the wrong neighborhoods. This road takes you right into the worst part of town.”

“We’ll be okay.”

“Sure you will, ’cause you’re riding with me.”

Kelsey crossed her arms and stared at him, hard. “No way.”

Hands propped on his hips, Pete Mitchell shook his head. “Look, I’m a…a friend of your aunt Mary Rose. We’ve known each other a long time.” He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t like it if I let you wander around town on foot. It’s an hour’s walk, easy, from here to your house. Just get in the car, and I’ll have you home in ten minutes.”

A friend of Aunt M’s? Oh, yeah…this was the guy who had stopped Mary Rose in the diner Thursday after the game. They’d talked for a second, then he’d left, and Mary Rose had stared around with a dazed look in her eyes and her cheeks blazing bright pink.

Just friends? Sure they were. This might be interesting, after all.

Kelsey let her hands drop to her sides. “I guess maybe we would be smart to get a ride. It’s a long way home.” She gave Pete Mitchell a friendly smile.

Trace’s eyes widened. “Kelsey? What the hell—”

The trooper relaxed and grinned back at her, and suddenly she realized how sexy he was.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve got good sense. Let’s go.”

Kelsey got into the front seat of the Jeep while Trace, muttering under his breath, climbed in back. The engine started with a rumble but Pete Mitchell waited until both she and Trace had buckled their seat belts before shifting into first gear and starting up the hill.

“Manual transmissions are so cool,” Kelsey commented, watching the trooper change smoothly from second to third.

He let the engine noise build to a roar, then flashed another one of those grins before easing into fourth. “Makes the driving a lot more fun. But working a clutch takes practice. You’re not old enough for a license yet, are you?”

“I’ve got my learner’s permit. But all I get to drive is my mom’s Volvo. It’s automatic. Boooorring.”

“I notice your aunt’s Porsche is a six-speed. Maybe you should bug her to let you drive.” His smile looked…wicked?

“Hey, good idea.” She glanced out the window at the neighborhood they were going through, at houses with sagging porches and yards littered with tires and trash. A gang of boys stood on one street corner, smoking and jiving each other over gangsta rap from a boom box on the sidewalk.

Kelsey shivered. Walking past that group would have been scary. No question.

She felt more than saw Pete Mitchell glance across at her. “That was some argument, back at Charlie’s.”

So much for polite conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No problem.” He nodded and glanced at Trace through the rearview mirror. “I hear you played a good game Thursday. Leading scorer on the JV?”

“Yeah.” Trace was at his most uncommunicative.

“Bet you can’t wait to get on to the varsity squad. You’re in—what?—eighth grade? I guess you’ve got a couple of years yet. Think you’ll play football, too?”

“Don’t know. Maybe.”

Pete gave up on coaxing the boy into saying something on his own. Forcing a kid to talk was the quickest way to kill any chance for communication. The best results came from letting them know the option was there and then backing off until they decided to take it.

Sure looked as though the LaRue kids could use somebody to listen, though. The air around the two of them practically boiled with what they weren’t saying. A divorce in the family was toughest on the kids—all this bad stuff happening around them over which they had no control.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Without comment, Pete braked for the stop sign at Boundary Street—the unofficial border between the poorest section of town, with its public-housing projects and broken-down rentals, and the historic, luxurious homes on The Hill. On the south side of Boundary, kids lived with a whole different scale of troubles. Troubles that made Kelsey and Trace look as if they’d landed in Oz by comparison.

“Here you go,” he said as he pulled up to the curb in front of a house probably worth more than all the buildings south of Boundary Street put together. The announcement wasn’t necessary—Kelsey and Trace were scrambling out of their seat belts as fast as the latches would release. “Have a good day.”

Trace stalked off without so much as a nod. Kelsey got out, then leaned back into the car with a smile that flirted a little too much for Pete’s comfort. “Thanks.”

He gave her a discouraging lift of his eyebrow; her immediate pout told him he’d made his point. “You’re welcome.”

“Kelsey?” The girl straightened up and looked over her shoulder at the woman coming around the side of the house. Pete followed Kelsey’s gaze and groaned silently. If the blond curls piled on top of her head hadn’t advertised who this was, the honeyed voice would have.

Damn. His plan was to drop the kids off without running into their aunt. Wasn’t it? No ulterior motive here, right?

Fighting a sensation of imminent doom, he eased out of the Jeep and propped his arms on the roof. “Hey, Mary Rose. You’re out early.”

She held up a pair of garden clippers, as if that explained everything. “What’s going on? Kelsey, where’s your dad?”

Kelsey imitated her brother’s indifferent shrug. “Who knows?”

“He was supposed to bring y’all home.”

“Well, he didn’t.” Before her aunt could say another word, Kelsey stomped up the walk and slammed the front door behind her.

That left Pete to face the question in Mary Rose’s blue eyes. “They, uh, had an argument. At the diner.”

“And how did you get involved?” The suspicion in her tone suggested the ulterior purpose he hadn’t acknowledged.

“The kids left on their own, intending to walk home. I didn’t think that was such a good idea, so I caught up and gave them a lift.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned a deep pink under her tan. “Thanks. They should know better than to walk here from Charlie’s.”

“Kelsey was too mad to be thinking about much of anything.”

“Did you hear the argument?” She held up a hand before he could answer. “What am I saying? No doubt everybody in the diner heard.”

“Well, yeah. L.T. had some trip planned, but Kelsey told him she wasn’t going and then stomped out.”

Fists propped on her hips, Mary Rose stared down at the sidewalk, shaking her head. She wore a pink knit shirt, which clung close to her breasts, and pale jeans, which hugged her hips and thighs. The sight stirred something hot inside him that Pete knew he had no business paying attention to. After all these years, after two failed marriages, he could leave well enough alone. Right?

“Well, thanks again.” Throwing off her preoccupation, Mary Rose sent him an impersonal smile. “We appreciate your taking care of the kids.”

Wrong answer. Every time she put him at a distance, Pete got an irresistible urge to close the gap. He walked around the front of the Jeep, braced his feet on the curb and leaned back against the passenger door. “Did you come into town to take care of your sister’s garden?”

Mary Rose glanced at the clippers in her hand. “I’ll do whatever Kate needs. She’s pretty overwhelmed right now.”

“Why don’t you let the yard service take care of things?”

Her mouth tightened and her eyes blazed. “Because when L.T. moved out, he stopped sending his landscaping crew to do the work. And the allowance he gives her doesn’t exactly cover a lawn service.”

Pete muttered the word Adam DeVries had used earlier to describe LaRue. “She should sic her lawyer on him.”

“Easier said than done.” She fiddled with the clippers, opening and closing the blades. “Daddy wants to keep the situation low-key, attract as little publicity as possible.”

“Your dad is acting as her lawyer? But he does business with LaRue, doesn’t he?” Pete thought for a second, then shook his head. Her father had, after all, engineered their divorce. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Don’t make it sound so…so selfish. Daddy wants L.T. and Kate back together. He thinks that by making as few demands as possible, L.T. will…will feel less resistance to coming home.”

“Seems to me he’s interfering the same way he did ten years ago. Telling your sister what’s best for her instead of letting her decide for herself.”

“That’s ancient history.”

“More like history repeating itself, I’d say.”

Mary Rose took a breath to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when she was standing here face-to-face with Pete Mitchell, remembering how her parents had badgered her into getting a divorce. She recalled her dad’s calm, rational arguments, delivered nonstop until she couldn’t seem to think on her own.

“I’m sorry for your sister,” Pete said, breaking into her thoughts. “Sounds like she could use at least one person on her side. And not,” he said, with a pointed look at the clippers, “just to do the yard work.”

“I am on her side!”

He tilted his head. “Are you? Better be sure, Mary Rose. Looks like the stakes are pretty high. There are two kids involved.”

“I’m aware of that. Kate and Kelsey and Trace are the only people who matter in this situation.” Who was she trying to convince? Why did it matter what Pete Mitchell thought, anyway? “Have a good Saturday.”

“You, too.” He straightened up away from the Jeep and walked back to the driver’s side, giving her a chance to stare at his tight butt and the long length of tan legs left bare by his gray cotton-knit shorts.

Mary Rose swallowed hard. Falling in lust with a gorgeous guy—this gorgeous guy—had caused her enough trouble for one lifetime. She did not intend to make the same mistake twice. Besides, there were enough people in this family making mistakes already. Somebody needed to think straight. To stay in control.

Over the last ten years, Mary Rose had made staying in control her specialty.

When she stepped into the house through the front door, Kate was coming down the stairs. “What happened? They’ve locked themselves in their rooms and won’t talk to me.”

Mary Rose told her what Pete had said. “L.T. is behaving like an idiot.”

Kate sat on a step, folded her arms on her knees and curled over until her face was hidden. “I don’t know how to make things better.”

“I don’t think that’s your responsibility.” Sitting beside her, Mary Rose put an arm around Kate’s thin shoulders. “You’re not the one who messed them up to begin with.”

“Mama says—” Kate took a deep breath, but didn’t continue.

“I know what she says. But she wasn’t there, Kate, and she doesn’t know everything. You did the best you could, and L.T. left anyway. So now we just have to figure out how to help Trace and Kelsey get past this.”

“How can I, if they won’t talk to me?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Mary Rose got to her feet. “I’m just the aunt, so it doesn’t matter what I think. Let’s see if they’ll talk to me.”

She knocked on Trace’s door first, though it was farther down the hall than his sister’s. The bass vibrations rattling the door panel suggested that any sound short of a major explosion wouldn’t get through to the boy inside. A twist of the knob demonstrated that he had, indeed, locked himself in. Mary Rose went back to Kelsey’s door.

No loud music here, though the floorboards were shaking from Trace’s stereo. “Kelsey, it’s Mary Rose. Can I come in?”

She waited through a long silence.

“I’m not feeling good,” Kelsey said finally. “Later, okay?”

“You think you’ll be feeling better about this later?”

Another extended pause. “Aunt M, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So we can talk about something else.” Perhaps the smell of whiskey on Kelsey during that hug at the soccer game Thursday.

She caught her breath. Only two days ago? Surely she’d been through at least a week’s worth of upheaval already. First Pete Mitchell, and then the kids, and Pete Mitchell again…

After a minute, the lock clicked and the door swung back. Kelsey stood in the opening, blocking access to her blue-and-white bedroom. “Talk about what?” She looked altogether too tired and stressed for a fifteen-year-old.

Mary Rose winked at her. “Have you seen the new Brad Pitt movie? The man is totally awesome.”

That got a small laugh. “Yeah, last weekend.” The girl backed up and allowed Mary Rose into the room. “Matt Damon didn’t exactly suck, either.”

“And Damon’s still single.” Mary Rose sat on the end of the bed. “A definite advantage.”

“Or how about Pete Mitchell?” Kelsey cocked her head and lifted a knowing eyebrow. “I thought he was extremely hot. For such an old guy.”

Mary Rose felt a wave of heat wash over her, starting at the crown of her head and going all the way to the tips of her toes. “P-Pete Mitchell?”

“He said he was a friend of yours. I could stand to have such friends.” She closed her eyes. “Those shoulders!”

“Um, yeah.” Pete did have great shoulders. And the most intense silver eyes… “I knew him a long time ago. We, um, dated for a summer.”

“And you let him go? Dumb, Aunt M. Really dumb.”

At least Kelsey was talking to her, even if the subject was just about the most uncomfortable one imaginable. She managed a casual shrug. “Pete was too old for me back then—he graduated with Kate. You should stick to guys your own age.”

Kelsey slumped onto the other end of the bed. “Like my social life isn’t already a total disaster.”

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“Ryan said he wanted to date other people, that he was bored.” She glanced up, her brown eyes brimming with tears and anguish. “That I was boring. And the next week, he’s going steady with Trisha Reynolds. A cheerleader.”

Mary Rose let a moment pass. “I think this guy sounds like somebody you’re well rid of.”

“Oh, sure, if I enjoy Trisha rubbing my face in it every day during algebra. And if I enjoy going to parties by myself and not having a date for the prom.”

“Being single isn’t a bad thing, Kelsey. It’s nice to run your own life without having to consult some man about what you’re doing every minute.”

Kelsey sat up against the pillows. “But you date, right? You’ve been dating the same guy for a long time.”

“Well, yes.” Mary Rose went to the window and stared down into the tops of the ligustrum bushes she hadn’t finished trimming. “Martin Cooper. Most people call him Marty.”

“Are you in love with him?”

How did this get to be such a difficult conversation? “I care about him, of course. He’s a very nice, dependable guy.”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“Um…yes.”

“And are you?”

A reasonable question, one she should be able to answer. “I don’t know.”

“How could you not know? Either you want to or you don’t.”

“When you’re older, it’s not quite that simple. I’ve been on my own for quite a while. I’m used to living alone, and doing what I want when I want to. Being married means having to consider somebody else all the time.” She laughed and turned back to the room. “Maybe I’m too selfish these days to get married.”

“But I want to be your bridesmaid. You have to have a wedding so Kate and I can choose our dresses.”

Mary Rose decided to steer the conversation into safer waters. “What color would you choose?”

Kelsey cuddled a pillow against her chest. “Anything but yellow. I look horrible in yellow. I think everybody does, don’t you? She was wearing a yellow dress this morning, and she looked like a banana. Of course, that might have been because her stupid dress fit her like a banana peel.”

For a second, Mary Rose was honestly puzzled. “She?” Then, just as Kelsey’s face changed, comprehension struck. “Oh. Her.”

Kelsey buried her head in the pillow. “The Bimbo.” In a softer voice, she said, “The bitch.”

Mary Rose put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What did you fight with your dad about, Kelsey?”

“He had this dumb idea that we should all go to the beach together after school lets out. Have you ever heard anything so stupid? Like I want to be cooped up with her in the condo for a week.”

“The condo?”

Kelsey peeked out of the pillow. “Sure. Good idea, huh?”

“Lousy idea. I’d have been furious, too. That’s a family place. Your mother did all the painting and decorating.”

“Exactly. So I told him what he could do with his beach trip and got the hell out of there. And I’ll tell you something else.” She sat up, her face red, her mouth firm, her chin in the air. “I am never going anywhere with him again. Whether she comes along or not. If he can’t come live with us and make us a family like we’re supposed to be, then I don’t care if I never see him for the rest of my life.”

At least she’d admitted how she felt. “He’s made a lot of mistakes, Kelsey. But he’s still your dad.”

“Biologically. A real dad stays with his kids. That makes him a total loser. If he doesn’t want me and Trace, we don’t want him.”

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Looking out the window, Mary Rose saw an SUV parked at the curb. “Who drives a dark blue Yukon?”

Kelsey sat up straight. “That’s Dad. I won’t talk to him. I won’t!”

“Shh. You don’t have to. Your mother will take care of it.”

“Oh, right. She couldn’t keep him here, she can’t get him back, and she can’t get him to give her any money. What makes you think she can handle anything at all?” The contempt in the young voice bit deep. “Next thing I know, he’ll be kicking my door down.” Kelsey stared at the door with a mixture of fear and despair. And, Mary Rose felt sure, even a bit of hope.

“No, he won’t kick your door down. I’ll give your mom some backup. You stay put.”

By the time she got to the top of the staircase, L.T.’s loud voice filled the house. “I’ll see my kids any damn time I please. Like right now.” He stomped out of the living room with Kate following, but stopped when he saw Mary Rose blocking his way up the stairs. He made a visible effort to recover his temper. “Hey, there, Mary Rose. I didn’t know you were here. That your Porsche outside? Nice car.”

A few times in the past, she’d thought he might be trying to flirt with her, but had refused to believe her sister’s husband would be so dishonorable. Now she believed it. “Hello, L.T. Are you on your way out? Don’t let me keep you.”

L.T.’s hulking frame was as intimidating as his loud voice. At Mary Rose’s words, his face, an older version of his son’s, hardened. “I’m going to see Trace and Kelsey, first.”

“Neither of them wants to talk to you, L.T. Why don’t you let things cool off for a couple of days, then give them a call?”

He looked at Kate, then at Mary Rose again. “You can’t keep me away from my kids. They’re not even hers, for God’s sake.”

Kate gasped. Mary Rose tightened her hands into fists. “You’ve got one minute to get out of here, L.T. Then we’re calling the police.”

“This is my house. I make the payments. You can’t kick me out.”

“Watch me.” Mary Rose turned and started back up the steps, to the phone in the upstairs hallway. L.T. stood his ground on the first floor as she picked up the phone and punched 911.

“I’d like to report an intruder,” she said to the operator. “The address is—”

With a snarled curse, L.T. whipped around and headed toward the front door. He slammed it hard behind him; the pictures on either side of the door frame jumped off their hooks and crashed to the floor.

On shaking knees, Mary Rose walked to the stairs and sat down on the top step. “Well, that was interesting.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “What else could possibly go wrong today?”

THE PHONE RANG at eleven-fifteen that night. Mary Rose was sitting up with Kate, watching TV reruns and waiting for the kids to arrive home at eleven-thirty, as expected.

But as Kate listened to the voice on the phone, as her eyes widened and her face paled, Mary Rose knew that the quiet night was about to take a turn for the worse.

“What? What’s wrong?” She got to her feet as Kate fumbled to replace the phone onto its cradle.

For an endless moment, Kate sat motionless, staring straight ahead without saying anything at all. Then she looked at Mary Rose, her eyes blank with shock.

“Kelsey and Trace are at the police station,” she said finally. “They’ve been arrested.”