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He fell silent, remembering how his father had come up with the nickname because of his son’s ability to enter and leave a room without being noticed, a trait that had proven helpful on more than one occasion.
Stirring his coffee, Dave grimaced. “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t want to talk about them, huh?”
Kat laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s been sixteen years since they died in the fire.”
“I know, but when you love someone, it’s hard to forget.”
The sharp pain of their death had dulled with time. What hadn’t diminished was the pain brought on by what he’d found the day he’d sifted through the ashes of the partially burned house. He wondered if that ache would ever fade—or if he’d get any answers.
Dave stood. “Well, I gotta run. I promised Marilyn I’d meet her and go wallpaper shopping.” He grinned. “We’re turning the spare room into a nursery.”
Kat grabbed Dave’s extended hand and shook it, feeling envy eat at him. “Hey, congratulations, Dad. Thanks again. Say hello to Marilyn for me.”
“Will do.” Dave waved and slipped out the door.
Kat watched Dave leave the café. He hadn’t changed since high school. Tall, lanky and devoted to the woman he’d loved exclusively since seventh grade, Dave had found happiness, happiness compounded by the addition of a child. Lucky devil.
For a moment Kat allowed the envy to seep in, before he stopped it with a reminder that he was here to rebuild his parent’s house and sell it, not to form relationships. He had other things to settle first. Wives, homes and babies would have to wait their turn.
Throwing some change on the counter, he smiled at the blonde, then headed for his car. If he was going to rebuild the house, he might as well bite the bullet and take a look at it to figure out what he was going to need in the way of building supplies.
A BABY.
Emily had been pacing her living room and repeating those two words for over an hour, but full comprehension of her father’s demand still hadn’t registered. Why had he done this to her? If only Rose were here. Having been with the family for nearly sixteen years and having acted as Emily’s father’s sounding board, Rose knew better than most why Frank Kingston had done things.
Fine time for Emily’s housekeeper cum maternal confidant to be somewhere in Mexico touring pyramid ruins with her friends. Emily’s mother had died when Emily was a teenager and Rose was the closest thing to a mother that she had now. She’d gotten used to talking through her problems with Rose. Rose had more logic in her little finger than most people had in their whole heads, even if she was a bit on the old-fashioned side.
Emily nearly had this self-pity thing down to a fine art when the doorbell rang. The last thing she wanted right now was company. Cautiously, she peeked through the side window, then swung open the door.
“Hey, sister.” Honey and her four-year-old son Danny smiled at Emily from the front porch.
Pushing between his mother and his aunt, Danny tugged on Emily’s shirttail. “Aunt Emily, c-c-can I go s-s-see the horsies?” Danny’s eyes glowed with excitement.
“May I, Danny.” Honey frowned at her son. “And it would be nice if you said hello before you start making your aunt crazy.”
“Aw, Mommy.” Danny rolled his eyes at his mother, but adoration shone from his gaze.
For the first time, Emily thought about the baby her father insisted she have as something other than a complication she didn’t need in her life right now. How bad would it be to have a little person like Danny to look at you with love, trust and honesty?
“Hello, Aunt Emily. Now, c-c-can I go s-s-see the horsies?”
Honey sighed and shook her head. “The child is going to grow up illiterate despite my best efforts.”
Another, more insistent tug on her shirt drew Emily’s attention back to her nephew. His stutter hadn’t gotten any better. She’d hoped that time would ease his grief over his father’s death, and his stutter would go away, as the doctor had predicted. So far, it wasn’t working.
Emily scooped his sturdy body up into her arms. The feel of him cuddled to her chest made her suddenly aware of how good it felt to hold a child close, to inhale that special child-fragrance. “Sure you can, sweetie. Just stay out of the stalls, do as Chuck says and don’t get too near the mommy horsies, okay? But it’s gonna cost you.” She tapped her cheek with a blunt nail. “Plant one right there.”
Danny grinned and bestowed a wet kiss to her upturned cheek. She set him back on his feet. Without hesitation, he scampered down the steps, then raced in the direction of the barn. Emily watched him, her heart assuming a strange new beat.
Honey sighed. “The child is incorrigible.”
“You worry too much about how he’s going to grow up. He’s a good kid. He’ll be fine.”
“I plan on making certain of that. Speaking of fine, will he be okay out there?”
Emily nodded. “Chuck will keep an eye on him. He loves having Danny around.” She continued to watch as Danny’s short legs carried him to the barn. “And you can stop worrying about him. He’ll make a fine man some day.”
“Well, you don’t help matters when you—” Honey leaned into Emily’s line of vision. “Do I see maternal longing in those green eyes?”
Emily straightened and glared at her sister. Sometimes the closeness they had was more of a liability than a blessing. Maybe if she just ignored her…. “Did you come over here just to antagonize me or is there another purpose for your visit?” She walked into the house ahead of Honey, leading her into the kitchen. “Coffee?”
Honey feigned a look of horror. She backed up, as if to escape some threat. “What terrible thing have I done to be subjected to a cup of that black poison you call coffee?”
Smiling for the first time today, Emily waved her into a chair and got a can of soda for each of them from the refrigerator. Honey could always cheer her up. “Okay, so I can’t make coffee to save my life. Shoot me. With Rose around, I don’t need culinary talents.”
“Em, you may be an ace with those four-legged beasts you love, but you wouldn’t know a culinary talent if it bit you on the backside.” Honey popped the can, tucked a wayward strand of her long, blond hair behind her ear, then took a sip. “When’s Rose due back?”
“Not for a while. About two weeks, I think.” Sighing, Emily looked around the sparkling yellow kitchen. “If someone doesn’t take pity on me, I just may starve to death before then. One can survive for just so long on peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
Honey snickered at her younger sister’s blatant bid for a dinner invitation. “You sure picked the wrong night to wangle a dinner invitation. Tess is making her prizewinning meat loaf tonight. Now, if you’d waited until tomorrow night, Tess has it off and I man the kitchen.” She curled her nose. “But I don’t dare go near it while Tess is there.”
“It’s a good thing the woman has a day off, or I’d worry more about Danny’s nutrition than his manners.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand why your mother-in-law has kept her for all these years. Amanda can certainly afford someone better.”
Honey shrugged. “Tess grows on you.”
“So does bacteria, but most people don’t encourage it.” Tess made the only gray meat loaf Emily had ever seen in her life. She wasn’t a cook by any means, but even she knew meat loaf should be brown.
Avoiding Emily’s comment, Honey took a sip from her soda can.
Lowering her voice as if she might be overheard, Emily leaned toward Honey. “Wonder where she won that prize, and how many drinks the judges had before they awarded it to her.”
Honey snickered. “Never mind where she won it. If hers was the winner, can you imagine what the losers were like?”
Both women laughed.
“So, what does bring you here, aside from being thrown out of Amanda’s kitchen by a woman small enough to have learned how to cook in a hollow tree with a bunch of elves?”
“Just plain nosiness.” Honey set her soda can down. “What did Tippens want to see you for?”
Emily’s good mood evaporated. She rose, then walked to the trash and deposited her empty can. “It seems Dad’s will had a codicil.” She turned to her shocked sister.
“A codicil? Can they do that? I mean, so long after the will has been read?”
“From what Lawrence said, it can be done any time the deceased requests it be done. Apparently, due to a filing glitch, the codicil was just discovered.”
“But how can something like that get misplaced?”
Emily glanced at her. “Larry said his father’s filing system left a lot to be desired.” Grabbing another soda from the refrigerator, Emily popped the top. Gas hissed from the can. “It gets better. Seems Dad insisted that if I’m to keep Clover Hill Farms, I have to have a baby.”
“A baby?” Honey’s lower jaw dropped. “And if you don’t?”
“If I don’t, the farm goes to the Horseman’s Benevolent Association.”
“What? Well, that sucks dead canaries.” Honey leaned forward and rested her forearms on the pine table. “What in blazes possessed Dad to do such a thing?”
“Beats me. But when did he ever not make a sharp left when everyone else was ready to go right?” Throwing herself back in the chair facing her sister, Emily rubbed at the ache in her temple. “He promised me sole ownership of the farm. Why did he lie to me, Honey?”
Honey laughed derisively, took a sip of her soda, then shook her head. “Heaven only knows. Why did he do half the things he did? Why did he insist I marry a man I didn’t love? Why did he alienate his own son?” She rose and walked to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she looked out, presumably checking on Danny’s whereabouts. “Everyone in this valley knows that Frank Kingston was a law unto himself. That he left the farm to you came as a surprise to no one, considering that I detest horses and Jesse detested Dad.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t well-liked, but he sure was obeyed. I figure that Henry Tippens died of that heart attack so quickly after Dad died only because Dad was up there already and poor Henry didn’t dare keep him waiting.”
Despite Honey’s attempt at levity, Emily knew her sister still felt the pain of their father’s interference in her life. When he’d insisted Honey marry to make her unborn child legitimate and preserve the Kingston’s good name, he’d sentenced his daughter to a life with a man who suffered from a Peter Pan complex. The best thing Stan Logan ever did for Honey and Danny was get himself killed last year in a motorcycle accident. Since then, Honey had made it her life’s mission to make sure Danny didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.
Emily’s father hadn’t cared that he’d forced Honey to marry the wrong man. He just didn’t want the whole valley to laugh at him. Emily had never mentioned any of this to Honey. Aside from the fact that Honey didn’t seem to want to talk about it, Emily had promised her father she would never tell Honey just how much she knew about Danny and his father. To Emily, a promise was golden. Once made, it could not be broken.
She laughed to herself. Frank Kingston had been dead for five years and ironically, he was still running their lives from his grave.
“This may not be as bad as we think.” Honey had left the window and returned to her seat across from Emily. “Since you are going to marry sometime, it follows that you’ll have children, too. Right?”
“In theory that works, but I didn’t tell you the whole thing.” She glanced at her sister’s raised eyebrow. “I have to have the baby before I turn thirty. Since I just turned twenty-nine, that gives me exactly one and a half months to get pregnant.”
Honey let out a long breath. “Hells bells.”
“Of course, there’s the small problem of finding a man before then.” Emily smoothed the corner of the lacy doily in the center of the table. “That is, if I even want a man in my life to begin with.”
Honey’s laughter filled the kitchen. “I hate to tell you this, little sister, but it’s gonna be damned difficult to have that baby without a man.”
Emily placed both palms on the table and stared at her sister. “Honey, I can’t be a mother. I have no idea what to do with a baby. I don’t even know which end to diaper. I didn’t even help you take care of Danny when he was small.”
“Well, that would have been a little hard, considering I was traveling all over the United States from car race to car race with Stan. And as far as taking care of a baby goes, it’s an inborn instinct. Oh, and by the way, you diaper the end with no hair.”
“Cute, Honey. Really cute. I’m at a crossroads in my life and you’re making jokes.”
“Sorry.” Honey didn’t look contrite.
Emily stared at her sister. Maybe for some women mothering was inborn, but for Emily, the only babies she had any acquaintance with had four legs and a mane, and not a one of them grew up and attended college or got the measles or…or called her Mommy.
THE NEXT DAY, Emily settled more comfortably on her horse’s back. She did her best thinking in the saddle, and she planned on riding out to the west pasture, just to clear her head.
As she rode farther from home, hammering coming from the old Madison place disturbed the silence. She couldn’t imagine who would be hammering over there. It had been deserted since fire had partially destroyed it years ago.
She reigned in Butternut and walked him through the barrier of trees dividing her property from the Madisons’. The hammering stopped, replaced by the loud squeak of a rusty nail being torn from old, dry wood. Pushing the branch of a maple out of her way, she peered through at the ruins of the house.
On a ladder, shirtless and bronzed from exposure to the sun, was a man. With one hand he held on to the ladder, while with the other he tore off a half-burned board.
She eased the horse closer. When she was within shouting distance, she stopped.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Surprised, the man spun toward her, almost losing his balance. As he clutched the rung of the ladder, the muscles in his shoulders and arms danced under his tan skin. Butternut sidestepped and a shaft of bright sunlight blinded her from seeing the intruder clearly.
“I would have thought that after all these years, you’d have given up trying to send me to an early grave.”
Taken aback by his words and the familiar tone of his voice, Emily eased the horse closer. “Who told you you could tear this house apart?”
“I did. I own it, Squirt. Or have you forgotten?”
Squirt?
Emily sucked in her breath. Only one person in her entire life had called her Squirt, and he’d walked out on her without a word sixteen years ago. Gently nudging Butternut in the ribs, Emily moved into the shadow of an overhanging maple tree to see him more clearly.
Shock ebbed over her. Above his left eyebrow, just below a wayward lock of wavy, jet-black hair, a pencil-thin, two-inch scar marred his tanned skin. She knew that scar very well—after all, she’d been the cause of the injury that had produced it. When she was seven and he was eleven, she’d dared him to jump from the maple in her front yard with a homemade bedsheet parachute. Because he always did anything she asked of him, Kat Madison had jumped and landed facedown on a piece of glass in the driveway.
Kat, the only man she knew who could enter a room and not be heard. She might have known that, true to his nickname, he’d sneak back into town on silent feet. She recalled hearing the story of how he’d insisted on spelling his name with a K to make himself unique. He was unique all right, a unique jerk who cared nothing about a friend’s feelings.
Silently, the rhythm of her erratic heart pounding in her ears, she continued to study him. He’d changed. Matured. She quickly did the math in her head. Thirty-three. But more than his age had altered. The lanky Kat she’d known hadn’t had muscles out to here and skin the color of soft suede. Nor had that Kat ever looked at her with a mixture of longing and pain in his eyes.
She called her emotions under control, then hardened herself to say all the things she’d been waiting to tell him. Instead, the pain generated by his abrupt appearance spoke for her.
“Were you ever going to tell me you were here or were you going to just walked away again without a word?”
He said nothing. She fought back the sudden rush of tears unaccountably choking her. Turning the horse, she started to ride away, then pulled up short and glanced back.
“You could at least have written.” Her voice harsh with emotion, she stared into his dark eyes. Although his face twisted, he said nothing, offered no explanation, made no apologies. “Stay away from me, Kat Madison. Just…stay away.”
Quickly, before he could reply, she rode away, her skin cooled by the wind mixing with the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter Two
Kat stood in the reception area of the office of J. R. Pritchard and Associates, Private Investigations. He glanced around at the plush carpeting, the silk foliage, the gleaming chrome-and-leather furniture and the fancy door with the brass plate declaring the room beyond to be Private. Quite a contrast to the drab, grungy offices of the private investigators in the old Humphrey Bogart flicks Kat loved.
“Can I help you?” The curvaceous redhead behind the desk smiled up at him.
Yesterday, Kat would have smiled back, taking advantage of and pleasure in the obvious interest in the woman’s eyes. Why not now? His answer came with all the ease of morning turning to night.
Emily.
Their earlier meeting remained fresh in his mind. So fresh, that, even after a shower, he could still feel the dust stirred up by Emily’s horse’s hooves abrading his sweat-soaked skin. But the discomfort of the grit seemed a fitting cover for the pain inside. He’d lost the friendship of a person who had been a primary player in his young life, his confidant. The image of Emily’s pained expression was burned into his conscience.
“Sir?” The receptionist, eyebrow raised, captured Kat’s attention. “Did you want to see someone?”
“I have a three o’clock appointment to see Mr. Pritchard.”
The woman ran a bloodred nail down her appointment book. “Mr. Madison?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Pritchard has someone in the office with him right now. If you’ll take a seat, he’ll be with you in a few minutes.” She smiled and batted long, false, sooty lashes at him.
“Thanks.” Kat turned away, deliberately taking a seat behind the large silk tree that blocked the view of the receptionist.
