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Patrick often thought that his friend looked like a used-car salesman when he smiled like that, sunglasses hiding his green eyes. In fact, he was a car salesman, albeit new ones, and very successful at it. It had something to do with the charm that oozed out of Evan’s pores. He could sell a monster pickup to an eighty-year-old grandmother with cataracts or a minivan to a teenager looking for a chick magnet. Patrick didn’t understand it. If he didn’t know Evan well, he wouldn’t trust him on a bet.
“How’d the big race go?” Evan asked.
“You didn’t check the site?”
Evan tipped his glasses down to eye Patrick, then pushed them back up. “Please. I’ve got better things to do with my time than track your wake.”
Patrick snorted his disgust. “We took second.”
“Against Voltaic?” Evan whistled. “Not bad for a bunch of amateurs.”
Patrick flipped him off good-naturedly and leaned back against the cockpit coaming.
Evan eyed the swollen, bruised hand. “You get in a fight or something?”
“Punched my truck.” Patrick flexed the fingers, again feeling a stab of pain. “Didn’t break anything. But I don’t think I’ll race tonight.”
Evan shook his head and slid around to lean his back against the cabin, stretching his legs out along the seat. “Who pissed you off?”
Patrick saw his brother coming down the dock and didn’t answer. Ian climbed on board.
“Ian! You see your brother’s knuckles?”
“Yep. That truck will never be the same.”
“Any good reason?” Evan cocked his head. “Or just staying in practice?”
Patrick ignored the joke and went below to get his brother a beer. He didn’t want to talk about Kate right now. Maybe not ever.
“It has something to do with a woman.” Ian took the can Patrick handed him.
“Naturally. Kate?” Evan asked.
Ian nodded. “You’ll have to pry the details out of him yourself.”
Evan swiveled his head to look at Patrick, one eyebrow raised above the edge of his sunglasses. “She dumped you!”
Patrick sighed. “Look, can we talk about something else?”
Evan and Ian looked at each other, then back at Patrick. “No,” they said in stereo.
“He knocked her up,” Ian volunteered.
Evan’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Patrick over the rim of his sunglasses again. Then he pushed them back up and started to laugh, loud and long. Patrick took a deep drink of his beer, emptying it. He went back down and got another. When he returned, Evan was still laughing, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Patrick glared at Ian, who shrugged innocently.
Finally, Evan got control of himself. “Damn, that’s perfect,” he said on a final gurgle. “Here’s to you, Dad,” he added, raising his drink.
“That’s the tricky part—” Ian began.
“Whose mess is this anyway?” Patrick interrupted.
“Yours, Patty,” Ian said. “So, tell him.”
Evan looked back and forth between them. “What rest? She’s knocked up. You get married, live happily ever after until you don’t. End of story.”
“That’s the problem,” Patrick began reluctantly. “She doesn’t want to get married—”
“That’s perfect!” Evan crowed.
“She doesn’t want to get married to me.”
“Why not?”
“Kate doesn’t think Patrick is father material,” Ian said. “He’s gone too often racing.”
Evan snorted. “What difference does it make if he’s here or not? He’s the father.”
“Tell that to Kate.” Patrick popped the tab on his beer and took a long swallow.
“She’s going to find a guy who’s more qualified for the position,” Ian elaborated when Patrick fell silent.
“Wow!” Evan swore. “That’s hard-core.”
“She wants me to give it up,” Patrick added grimly.
“What? Racing?”
Patrick nodded.
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a world-class skipper!” Evan straightened from his slumped position. “She might as well ask you to stop breathing. What’s she got against sailors anyway?”
Patrick shrugged. “Search me. She’s never even been sailing.”
“Well, you can fix that easily enough.” Evan patted Aphrodite’s hull.
“So what are you going to do?” Ian asked.
“Somehow, I have to change her mind. I have to show her that I can be a good father.”
“Hey, I know! Just borrow one of Jeannie’s kids for a few days to cart around with you. Kate’ll get the idea.” Evan chortled at his own joke.
“Knock it off, Evan.” Patrick glared at his friend. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not like she has guys lined up to marry her,” Evan scoffed. “She’s pregnant.”
“She has at least one,” Patrick countered. “She’s meeting him tomorrow.”
Evan shook his head and took another swig of beer. “I don’t believe it.”
“I do,” Ian said quietly.
Evan looked at him.
Ian shrugged. “She’s beautiful and vivacious. She’s an artist. Smart, too. And she runs her own business. The fact that she’s pregnant wouldn’t be that much of a deterrent for some guys.”
“It would be for me.”
“No one’s asking you to step up to the plate, McKenzie,” Patrick said.
“Sounds like no one’s asking you to, either, Berzani,” he shot back.
“Shut up, both of you,” Ian interjected. “So, how are you going to change her mind, Patty?”
“Go see her tomorrow, before she meets this other guy. If I can talk to her, I think I can make her see it could work.”
Ian nodded while Evan shook his head. “It’s going to take more than fancy talk.”
“Maybe I should take your advice, then,” Patrick said slowly.
“My advice?” Evan asked, surprised.
“Yeah.” Patrick nodded as he thought through the idea. “I should take her sailing. She’ll understand everything then.”
Evan grinned. “Brilliant!”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Patty,” Ian said, frowning. “She’s never sailed and—”
“That’s why I should do it,” Patrick interrupted. “I’ll surprise her and show her how great it really is.”
“But what if she hates it?” Ian asked.
“Never happen,” Evan said. “I’ll go along to do the work and Patrick can play skipper.”
“I am a skipper,” Patrick said drily.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
“Guys, I really don’t think you should do this.” Ian looked back and forth between them. His dark eyes were worried. “At least don’t spring it on her.”
“No, Patrick’s right,” Evan said. “It works better if he surprises her. She’ll love it!”
Patrick ignored his brother and Evan. He wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming a father, but he wasn’t going to let Kate push him aside before he figured it out. He had to change her mind. Taking her sailing was the perfect first step. Perfect.
Chapter Three
Kate carried her cup of tea out onto the brick patio behind her house. The early-morning air was cool and fresh after the heat and humidity of the previous day. Later, it would be hot, but now the temperature was perfect. She sat on a deck chair and looked at the garden.
Peeking out from behind the daisies, peonies and petunias were fantastical ceramic creatures sprung from Molly’s fertile imagination. Some of the beasts sported smooth, shining skin in ocher, sienna and russet. Their eyes glinted slyly. Others were rough-hewn and mossy, features grumpy and fierce. Between them, shining spires of red, green, blue and yellow glass—creations from Kate’s studio—spiked skyward. Delicate orbs of lustrous silver and gold glass hung from the branches of the wisteria, catching the light and reflecting it back to the house.
At the edge of the patio stood several large ceramic pots, also Molly’s handiwork. Crimson geraniums spilled over their sides, spicing the air with scent. Kate took a sip of her tea and savored the morning air. She emptied her mind, trying to concentrate on the whimsical beauty of the garden, but it was no use. All too soon, the pansies and marigolds were overlaid by Patrick Berzani’s angry face. She closed her eyes and sighed.
As the baby fluttered in her stomach, Kate went over the previous afternoon in her mind. Again. Her argument with Patrick was all she could think about, worry about. The night had been filled with disturbing dreams about him. In one, she and Patrick had soared through the air like eagles. They each held the hand of a tiny baby that squealed and giggled. Kate had felt exhilarated and free. When she turned to her companion, his face had changed, and her brother Danny looked back at her through large, sorrow-filled eyes. The baby’s hand slipped from her grasp and the two figures dropped away from her, falling through the air, becoming smaller and smaller. Kate had tried to scream but couldn’t. She woke with a gasp, her heart pounding. After that, she had given up on sleep and dreams and risen to make tea, hoping a new day would put the old one behind her.
“Good morning.”
Kate opened her eyes and looked up to see a tall woman in a bright orange-and-gold caftan step onto the patio. Her wild hair was caught up in a messy bun on the back of her head, tendrils flying and dancing as she moved.
“Molly! Good morning. When did you get back?”
“Late last night. I should still be sleeping, but the morning’s too glorious to miss.” The older woman brought her mug to the table and sat across from Kate with a sigh of satisfaction.
“How did the festival go?”
“Amazing,” Molly said, excitement lighting her oval, tanned face. “I sold everything! There wasn’t a cup or a vase left at the end.”
“Fantastic. I’m glad it went so well.”
“Me, too. It was definitely worth the trip.” Molly studied her carefully. “You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“You’ll have to get a nap in later.” Concern shone in the pale blue eyes looking at Kate.
“That’s my plan.”
“Good.” With a nod, Molly leaned back in her chair and stretched like a cat, slow and long. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, smiling happily. “Oh, what a wonderful morning.”
Kate smiled as she watched Molly. She knew her aunt wouldn’t care one iota that the sun highlighted every line on her face. She had told Kate often enough that she didn’t understand women who fought time. There were too many other interesting things to do with life than trying to look young. She was a woman comfortable with herself and her age.
With her hair, her wild caftans and a love for bright lipstick, Molly was the stereotype of an artist. She lived alone, happy and content by herself, in the house next to Kate’s. A common wall joined the two residences and they shared the garden with separate patios on either end. Behind the houses, fronting the main street was the retail shop they also shared. On the other side of the alley was the studio with Kate’s furnace and Molly’s kiln.
Their work complemented each other’s perfectly. Their shop, Fire Works, was popular and profitable enough. Molly claimed that Kate’s fantastic glasswork was the reason. The pieces had an airiness and delicacy that tempted the eye. Kate returned the flattery, pointing out how much of Molly’s colorful, fanciful pottery flew out the door every day. They had been in partnership for five years, ever since Kate had finished school and her apprenticeship.
It was through Molly that Kate had found her passion. As a girl, she had been fascinated by the clay and minerals her aunt used to create pottery. Shaping the raw materials and burning them into a new, solid form intrigued her. With Molly’s encouragement, Kate took it one step further and discovered molten minerals—glass—and her true artistic calling.
Kate ran her finger along the rim of her tea mug. Bright green with stripes of blue, pink, purple and orange, it was one of Molly’s bolder designs. She didn’t want to spoil the tranquility of the morning, but she had to talk to her aunt, the one friend in whom she could confide.
“Patrick’s back.”
Molly’s eyes snapped open. “You saw him! How did it go?”
“Not so well. He knows I’m pregnant.”
“You told him?” Molly asked in surprise.
“No, Shelly did. She told me she thought he knew. Oh, Molly,” Kate groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I made such a mess of it all. When he asked about the baby, I just panicked. Then I lost my temper.”
Molly chuckled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
