Kat Attalla Special Edition (52 page)

Chapter Three

Jake slammed his coffee mug down on the kitchen table. The steaming hot brew spilled over the edges, leaving a deep brown stain on the yellow tablecloth. "Damn it, Trevor. I'm not a chauffeur for some spoiled city princess."

Trevor pulled off a chunk of bread from the crusty loaf on Jake's plate. "What's the big deal? You said you had to go to
Clovis
this week anyway."

"On business. You're the one who promised to help. Why don't you go with her?" He pulled the bread out of Trevor's hand and used it to scoop up the last bite of his eggs.

"And what am I supposed to do if she needs me to drive it back for her?"

"Why not tell her the truth? If you tell it with just the right touch of sympathy, you might get her to chauffeur you around. It would keep you out of--" He cut off his thoughtless comment too late.

Trevor didn't say a word, but his knuckles turned white as he clenched the fork.

"I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. Forget I asked. I'll explain it to her, and we'll figure out something' else." Trevor shoved his chair back from the table and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Jake raked a hand through his hair, and groaned. For years he had been after Trevor to act like an adult and take on a little responsibility instead of seeing if he could live up to the reputation the town had bestowed on them both. Renting out his house had been a good idea. Trevor had taken it seriously, fixed up the place, and followed through. So why did it anger him when his twin finally began to act his age?

Jake collected the breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink. He looked out the window and saw Kate curled up on the porch swing with a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. Chloe, dressed for school and waiting for the bus, leaned against the porch rail, laughing and talking as if she'd known Kate for years instead of one day.

Trevor joined their little early morning party and soon appeared to be enjoying himself as much as the others. As he watched from the kitchen like the only child in kindergarten who didn't get an invitation to the party, Jake realized that for the first time in his life, he felt left out.

* * * *

"Hey, Kate, what are you doin' up so early?" Trevor asked. "I thought you New Yorkers never got out of bed before eleven o'clock."

Kate scrunched up her nose. "Keep it up, and I might mistake you for Jake after all."

Trevor grunted indignantly and straddled the rail. "Oh, please. I'm better-looking than the old guy."

"And sooooo modest," Chloe added, jumping to the defense of her father. She narrowly avoided the hand that reached out in a playful smack. "You missed."

"Don't you have to be at school?" Trevor asked with mock annoyance.

"Bus is late, as usual. Besides, I was telling Kate about the farm. In one more week they begin the planting. It's real crazy for a couple of weeks. We used to have to hire help through the summer, but since Uncle Trevor's back, we don't have to this year."

"Chloe, I see the bus coming up the road," Trevor interjected smoothly, obviously hoping to get off the subject. Could it be that Trevor's return hadn't been voluntary? He told her that he owed Jake a lot of money. Was that part of the payoff?

Her curiosity got detoured when Chloe grabbed her books and headed down to the road. "I'll see you later, Kate. You can feed the calf again this afternoon if you want."

"We'll see. I have a few things to take care of today. I might be too late for that."

"What about after dinner?" Chloe called out, and paused to get an answer, even as the bus driver blared the horn again.

"Sure. I'll be here. Go on, before the bus leaves without you." Chloe disappeared into the long yellow school bus, and Kate let out a sigh. She genuinely liked the girl, but just listening to Chloe talk with such animation could exhaust her. "I guess I better get ready myself. It's two hours to
Clovis
, right?"

"More or less," Trevor agreed, "but if you hold off another day, I might be able to arrange something."

"It's not necessary. I never should have asked in the first place. You have work, and I'm capable of doing this myself."

"That's not the problem, Kate. I don't have a driver's license. It was suspended last year for driving under the influence of alcohol. It was stupid and I have to pay for it. I depended on my friends to drive me places, but as I explained yesterday, I'm not always the best judge of friends."

"I'm not buying an eighteen-wheeler. Just a little jeep or something like that. I'll be fine by myself. It's a sunny day. The roads are clear."

"There's a storm on the horizon," Trevor said humorously. She didn't understand until he jerked his head in the direction of his house. Jake strode across the front lawn like a man on a mission.

Her morning had begun at five-thirty with the glorious sunrise, and she thought at the time that nothing could ruin the day for her. It only took two hours to be proven wrong.

"When are you leaving?" Jake asked.

She turned towards Trevor, who looked just as confused as she, and then back to Jake. "I just moved in. Why would I leave?"

Jake huffed. "Did you want to go to
Clovis
today or didn't you?"

"He asked you to take me?" she cried out. Trevor smiled sheepishly, and Kate found it impossible to get angry with him. "Trevor is under the delusion that a woman can't buy a car or truck on her own. I can assure you that I'll do fine by myself."

"For once, he's right. You won't get a good deal on your own. Since I have business to attend to, it's only a minor inconvenience to go to the dealership with you."

Trevor gave his brother a slap on the back. "Jeez, Jake, that was touching. I'll bet you impress a lot of women that way."

His blue eyes narrowed against the early morning sun. For one brief second, Kate would have sworn that he blushed, but then decided that it must have been the sun reflecting off his deeply tanned cheeks. He didn't express a hint of sincerity in his offer, or a trace of concern for his patronizing comments.

"Don't put yourself out on my account. I don't need your help."

When Kate was ready to leave a half hour later, she found Jake standing next to her car, tapping his foot impatiently. Dressed in black, with a Stetson tilting low on his head, he looked every inch an outlaw. She refused his offer to drive, so he shrugged and tossed his hat in the back before slipping into the passenger seat. As she tried to find her way through the maze of country roads that led to the highway, she almost wished she had let him drive.

Barbed wire crisscrossed a shimmering tapestry of silver green grass and a kaleidoscope of wild flowers bordered the streets. Past the grazing land and newly plowed fields, they sped towards
Clovis
in awkward silence. Jake stared when he thought she didn't see. The deep frown lines etched in his weathered face reflected his disapproval. Had he taken a dislike to her car, her money, or just her?

"Why don't you ask and get it out of your system?" She had hoped to call attention to his impolite staring, but he seemed undisturbed.

He folded his hands behind his head and stretched his body out full length. "What are you running from?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you hiding out from a husband?"

Kate choked on a laugh. She had barely had time to date in the last ten years, let alone find a husband. "I've never been married."

"Parents?"

"Both died in a car accident a few years ago. I get along great with my sister, no mobster has put out a contract on my life, and even the IRS would be hard-pressed to find fault with my income tax return. Any other brilliant theories, or could you try to accept the fact that I'm here because I like it here?"

"Why Tannersville?"

"What would you suggest?"

"
Paris
.
France
, not
Texas
," he said in a slow, lazy drawl that made him sound sexy even when he insulted her.

"Ever been there, Jake?"

"Nope. But I'll bet you have."

"I have. The people are rude, the food is loaded with cholesterol, and they don't speak English. Thanks for the suggestion, but I'd rather look at an occasional oil well than the
Eiffel
Tower
any day."

"That was very nice, the way you danced around the subject, but you didn't answer the question. Why did you leave
New York
to begin with?"

She kept her eyes forward on the road to avoid his inquisitive gaze. Jake's curiosity had him asking far too many questions for her comfort. "The timing was right and I needed a break."

"That's some job you have that allows you to take a year off. What did you say you did?"

"I didn't," she answered, being deliberately obtuse. She felt him getting frustrated with her evasiveness, but she didn't let that bother her. If he asked a direct question instead of trying to trap her, she might be more inclined to answer, up to a certain point. "I'll make you a deal. Tell me what it is that you find so irritating about me, and I'll tell you what it is I do for a living that has me stressed-out at twenty-six."

"I find everything about you irritating. Your hundred-dollar sneakers, your sixty-dollar jeans, your little red sports car. I don't like having my daughter subjected to things she'll never be able to have."

"You mean exposed, not subjected."

"Don't argue semantics. You get the point."

"No, I don't. She sees it on television all the time. And I didn't have these things when I was fifteen, either. I worked for them. The car was a gift."

She could read the doubt in his eyes, but she hadn't lied. When her first album went platinum, Bill and her parents gave her the car. Since Bill, as her agent, and her mother, as her manager, took a bigger percentage of her earnings than she did, they could afford it.

At the time, they had given her a peace offering. On her twenty-first birthday she had threatened to file suit against them for the mismanagement of her funds while she was a minor, but they reached a compromise and her contract had been revised.

"How much time did you spend on your back to get a car like this?" Jake asked.

She slammed the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt. Thank goodness for that German antilock brake system or they might have ended up in a ditch, and she wouldn't have cared. The implication of his words went beyond the bounds of bad taste and plunged right into offensive. He had no right to judge her. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Jake released the white-knuckle grip he had on the dashboard and turned a thundering glare in her direction. "I know who I am, lady. Who are you?"

Who am I?

She wished she knew. For so many years she had been Katherine, dutiful, beleaguered daughter of Rosie and Anthony Costello. Or Leather, the "Queen of Flash." She had two separate personalities inhabiting one body, but neither one was truly her.

* * * *

Kate’s vacant stare remained transfixed on his face, but Jake felt certain that she didn't see him.

"Who am I?" she repeated, almost to herself. "I have no idea," came the simple answer that appeared to have been torn from her very soul.

A fight, he could have dealt with. He pushed her into one. Her honest emotion had a sobering effect on him. For the second time that morning, he said something for no other reason than to hurt. She had at no time behaved in a manner that warranted that kind of accusation. She obviously came from money, and the car was most likely a gift from someone in her family.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

She didn't acknowledge his apology or give any indication that she heard him. She had shut him out and withdrawn inside herself. He became more convinced that she ran away from someone, or something.

A silvery tear trickled over her high cheekbone and then streamed down her neck.

"Kate?"

Her eyes narrowed and then focused on his face. "A musician."

"What?"

She wiped the back of her hand across her face and gulped in a deep breath of air. All the pain and sorrow he'd witnessed seconds before disappeared, replaced by a cold, matter-of-fact facade. She could bury her emotions faster and deeper than he could. If he didn't feel like such a heel, he would be impressed.

She held her chin high and met his stare. "You wanted to know what I did for a living. I'm a musician."

A musician? It fit her. She was artistic, in a very appealing kind of way.

"Do you want me to drive?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm fine."

He glanced at her trembling hand as she reached for the gearshift. "Sure you are."