A Family Kind of Wedding (16 page)

She was replacing the receiver when he entered the kitchen. Her face was drawn in concentration until she saw him and grinned. “Well, well, Mr. Gates,” she teased, “don't you clean up nice.”

“Do I?”

“Here.” She handed him a cup of coffee. “Now, sit.” At the table were two place settings complete with orange juice, toast, ham, eggs and hash brown potatoes.

“Yes, ma'am,” he drawled in his best Texan accent, and she laughed, the sound as musical as wind chimes in a summer breeze.

They ate and talked as Blue sat on the floor at Katie's side, his brown eyes following each morsel that she forked into her mouth. Every once in a while, she'd toss the dog a tidbit, and he'd deftly catch the treat with a snap of his jaws.

It felt comfortable and right in the cozy kitchen. In her fluffy bathrobe and slippers, Katie was innocently seductive, expressive with her hands and eyes as she talked about her job, her son, her ambitions and her family.

“So it's all rather complicated,” she admitted as she poured the last cup of coffee. “All those years I'd grown up with and tolerated my half brothers, never dreaming that I'd end up with not one, but two half sisters.” She grinned, showing off the sexy overlap of her teeth. “Kind of weird, when you think about it. How about you? Any siblings?” She munched on a bite of toast.

“Nope.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“So where are your parents?”

He felt his eyebrows quirk and drained his cup. “My mom took off with some other guy when I was two, and my old man was killed in Vietnam when I wasn't much older.”

He noticed the color drain from her face. “I was kicked around between a couple of aunts and pretty much raised myself.”

“I—I'm sorry.”

“Nothin' to be sorry about.” He saw the pain in her eyes and refused to let her pity him. “Trust me, it was harder on them than it was on me. I was in and out of juvenile homes for a while until I met my wife.”

“Your…wife?” she repeated, stunned.

“Ex-wife.” He shoved his chair back. “I've been divorced for years.”

“Oh.” She forced a smile that didn't seem genuine, and tiny lines deepened between her eyebrows.

“It's over, Katie. Been over a long time.” Why he felt compelled to explain, he didn't understand. “We didn't have any kids together, and the last I heard, Celia had divorced her second husband and was on her way to marrying a third—not that I care. I don't even know where she's living now.”

She seemed troubled, and he felt something tug at his heart. Katie Kinkaid, for all her tough-as-nails-investigative-reporter inclinations, was soft inside, couldn't stand to see anyone hurt.

He went to her chair, reached under her arms and drew her to her feet. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, bending down so that the tip of his nose brushed hers.

“Thanks…thanks for staying here last night.” Katie could scarcely breathe. His hands, big and possessive, held her on either side of her rib cage. One corner of his mouth lifted into that smile she found so damnably sexy.

“My pleasure, Ms. Kinkaid.”

“Mine, as well.” Cocking her head to the side, she looked up at him, heard a deep, heartfelt groan develop from somewhere around his lungs, then gasped as he pulled her roughly to him and pressed hard, insistent lips against hers.

In a heartbeat her blood was rushing through her veins, her bones began to melt, and she sagged against him, only to be released quickly. She nearly lost her balance and glanced up to find his eyes a smoky blue. “I gotta go,” he said.

“Y-yes.”

With another quick kiss to her cheek, he turned and walked through the back door. Katie was left with her heart pounding wildly, her thoughts tumbling disconcertingly and a new hunger burning deep in the most womanly part of her. She dropped into her chair and held her head in her hands as she realized that she was starting to fall in love with a man she barely knew.

“Don't,” she warned herself, and Blue gave out a bark of agreement.

But she feared it was already too late. Much too late.

* * *

A few days later Luke stared at a copy of Josh Kinkaid's birth certificate. Luke smoothed the official paper open on the scarred maple table that had come with his apartment in the carriage house. The name of Josh's father was missing, but the birth date was perfect. With a little math, Luke figured Katie had gotten pregnant about a month to six weeks before Dave Sorenson had left Bittersweet.

It wasn't proof positive, of course; she could have had another lover, but Luke had the painful sensation that he knew for certain that Josh Kinkaid was Ralph Sorenson's only grandchild. His jaw tightened, and he wondered where the feeling of satisfaction he'd anticipated in figuring out this mystery was. He was about to earn the money he'd been promised, about to give an elderly man a ray of hope before he died, about to betray a woman he thought he could all too easily fall in love with.

At that thought, he started. He wasn't falling in love! Hell, at best what he felt for Katie Kinkaid was lust. And what did it matter if he let Sorenson know the truth? The man had a right to meet his grandkid, didn't he? Of course he did. Luke kicked out his chair, grabbed his hat from a peg near the door and walked outside to the landing where the sultry evening air was so thick it seemed to weigh against his skin.

Somewhere over the mountains, thunder rumbled, and he thought about his livestock at the ranch. He'd better check on the horses and cattle, then return to town.

To Katie.

His gut clenched when he thought of leaving her that morning in her bathrobe. He'd wanted to stay, to carry her back to the bedroom and finish what he'd started on the night of Bliss Cawthorne's marriage. It had been five or six days since then, and the image of her lying on the bed, the shimmering blue gown peeled down to her waist, her gorgeous breasts exposed and crowned with rosy nipples, had haunted him. Day and night. He'd cruised by her house since then, telling himself that he was checking to see that no one was lingering in the shadows of her cottage, that no intruder was hell-bent on breaking in, that he was only checking on her.

And he'd called. Asked her about Josh's ankle and if she'd had any more hang-ups, or if she'd changed the locks. She'd told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn't really any of his business, but he knew that it wasn't his concern that bothered her; it was the unspoken current that existed between them, the passion that they both tried to ignore, that caused her tongue to lash out.

He could break down and knock on her door. Use the same excuse he'd used the other night, about the potential prowler. And they'd end up in bed; they wouldn't be able to stop themselves. But he knew it was a sham, a pretense to see her again.

Trying to convince himself that he'd been overreacting—that no one had been observing them at the hotel the night of the Lafferty wedding, that nothing in her house had been out of place and no one had broken in, that the phone calls she'd received were just a rash of wrong numbers—he climbed down the outside staircase.

The main house was nearly empty; a moving van had carted off most of Tiffany Santini's belongings the day before. Boxes, crates and sacks were piled on the back porch, and the windows were dark. Soon, Katie and Josh would be moving in. It calmed him somehow, to think that she'd be near. Sure, there'd be hell to pay because he knew himself well enough to realize that he'd use any reason to get close to her, any excuse to get her into bed with him.

“Damn it all to hell.” What was it about that woman that made him want to protect her one minute and make love to her the next?

As he crossed the dry, yellowed lawn he noticed that the sky was dark, thick with swollen-bellied clouds that blocked the sun. He made his way to the truck just as the first fat raindrops began to fall. Inside the cab it was hot, breathless. He opened the windows, shoved the rig into reverse and squinted as rivulets of rain slithered through the film of dust that covered his windshield. He wouldn't think of Katie right now; but sooner or later, he'd have to deal with her.

* * *

“I don't believe you.” Josh, half lying on the rumpled sheets of his bed, stared at his mother with wide-eyed disgust.

Katie cringed. “It's true. Why would I lie?”

“But you did. You lied.”

“And now I'm telling you the truth,” she said, dying a little inside. “Dave Sorenson is…your father.” She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the yearbook from her days in high school. “I'd always thought there would be more time. That when you were older… Oh, Josh, I made a horrible mistake.” Her voice was thick, her throat nearly closed. “Your dad and I…” How could she explain a short-term love affair to a boy who wasn't yet eleven? “We were just kids, and he moved away. By the time I knew I was pregnant with you, he was already gone and, I think, dating some other girl in his new town.” She pointed to Dave's senior-class picture. He looked so young, so boyish, and yet he'd been her first love. “I'm sure he would have loved you a lot, but he never knew about you.”

“Because you lied.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip and fought the urge to break down and sob like a baby. “Yes.”

“You should have told me.”

She felt as if she'd been stabbed through the heart. Of course she should have. “I know.”

He swallowed hard and folded his arms over his chest. Thrusting out his chin, he demanded, “Are you gonna send me to him or is he comin' here, or what?”

“No,” she said, summoning every bit of courage she could muster. “He can't. Not anymore. He died…a few months ago, I guess…and I didn't know it. He was in the military. There was a helicopter accident while they were on maneuvers and…and he didn't survive.”

Josh gasped, and his face, tanned from the summer sun, turned a sickly chalky shade. Tears filled his eyes.

“I don't believe you,” he said again.

“It's true.”

“How do you know?”

“A friend…he told me.” For the first time she considered the fact that Luke could have been mistaken or lied, and she mentally kicked herself for not checking it out herself. She was a reporter, for God's sake. She knew better than to take someone's word. She spent days double-checking sources, and yet this time, she'd taken Luke's story about Dave as if it were Gospel from the Bible.

But he wouldn't have lied.

“You shoulda told me. Told him about me,” Josh said.

“As I said, I'm sorry, Josh.” She sniffed, as tears drizzled down her cheeks. “So sorry.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I—I couldn't. It was wrong. Bad. I wish I could change things, but I can't. I…” She sighed and fought the urge to break down altogether. “I just can't. Not now.”

He blinked and looked away toward the window that was open just a crack. Outside, thunder rumbled over the hills, and rain began to drip down the windowpanes. Blue growled from the living room. With a swipe of one hand Josh wiped the tip of his nose, and as Katie touched him he shifted, using his shoulder as a shield, silently shunning her.

They were only inches apart, but the distance between them seemed vast. Unbridgeable.

“Josh—”

“Leave me alone.”

“Honey, please—”

He hopped to his feet, winced from the pain in his ankle, then skewered her with eyes filled with hatred. With a condemning finger pointed at her nose, he whispered his newfound mantra: “You shoulda told me.” His voice cracked, and Katie's heart shattered into a million pieces.

“You're right,” she admitted, standing and wanting so badly to fold him into her arms. Here in his room where model airplanes, books, CDs and magazines had begun to be packed into boxes for the move. Boxes of memorabilia that his father had never seen. A soccer trophy winked in the harsh light from the overhead fixture—a trophy Josh had never shared with his father. How had she been so selfish? She'd denied her son his right to know his own dad. Just as she'd been denied the knowledge of her biological father. “You're right, Josh. I made a mistake,” she admitted, “but I can't change anything now. I can only let you meet your other grandparents—your father's parents. They want to see you.”

“Just leave me alone.” His chin inched up in rebellious defiance, and his cheeks were wet from his silent tears.

“Listen, Josh—”

“I said, leave me alone.” He snagged up the yearbook, and Katie told herself she had no choice but to let him sort through his feelings, whatever pain she'd inadvertently hurled at him. She swallowed hard. “Think about it.”

“I don't want to talk to anybody!”

“Okay, okay, I'll let you be,” she said, knowing he needed time to adjust to the bomb she'd just set off in his life. “But Grandma's coming over and—”

“I don't want to see her,” Josh insisted, reaching for the remote control and clicking on the small television set to a decibel level guaranteed to shatter glass. “I don't want to talk to anyone.”

“You might. Later.”

He glared at her with red-rimmed eyes that were filled with silent, deadly accusations. His chin wobbled, and his back stiffened in some vain attempt at manhood.

“I'll be in the living room. When Grandma gets here, I'll send her in.”

“No.”

“Josh—”

His lips compressed, and she held both hands up as if to fend off an attack. “Okay, okay, bud, I'll give you some time alone, but I think we should talk this out.”

“I don't want to talk to you or Grandma or anyone.”

“We'll see.” She walked out of the room and jumped as the door slammed behind her. Clearing her throat she headed for her desk and told herself it would all work out. Of course Josh was hurt, disappointed and angry. Of course he wanted to scream and cry and mourn for a father he'd never known.