A Family Kind of Wedding (3 page)

They toured the second story with its three bedrooms and bath. The rooms were compact, with high ceilings and tall windows. The master bedroom, Katie noticed, had a view of the carriage house where Luke Gates had taken up residence. She thought of the rangy Texan—a sexy, rawboned cowboy with a slow-growing smile and a quiet manner. But beneath his easygoing exterior she sensed there was a deeper person, a man who had more than his share of secrets. Or maybe her reporter instincts were working overtime. Everyone accused her of searching out mysteries, stories and scoops where there were none. Nonetheless, she stared through the glass at the carriage house and said, “Tell me about Luke Gates.”

“Not much to tell,” Tiffany admitted. “But he's the perfect tenant. Quiet. Clean. Keeps to himself. Pays on time.”

“He's from Texas, right?” Katie asked, spying the bridesmaid's dress for Bliss's wedding hanging from a hook on the back of Tiffany's closet door. Draped in plastic, it was a blue gown identical to the one Katie was to wear.

“Somewhere around El Paso, I think, although it seems to me he mentioned something about spending some time working at a ranch near Dallas. But I really can't remember. As I said, he doesn't say much.” She slid an interested glance in Katie's direction. “Why?”

“Just curious.” The truth of the matter was that Luke was the most interesting man to show up in Bittersweet in years. Not that it mattered.

Tiffany raised one dark brow. “Good-looking, isn't he?”

Katie lifted a shoulder. “Only if you like the cocksure, I-don't-give-a-damn cowboy type.”

Tiffany laughed. “Don't we all?” she said in a whisper, as if she expected J.D. to hear her.

Katie didn't answer, only grinned as they left Tiffany's room, walked down the short, carpeted hallway and stopped at a six-paneled door with a large Keep Out sign swinging from the knob.

“Yeah, right.” With a wink at Katie, Tiffany gave the door a sharp rap with her knuckles, then twisted the knob and walked into what could only be described as a “healthy mess”—just the kind Katie's own boy loved. Cards, marbles, shoes and clothing were strewn over the floor, a bookcase was crammed with video games, books, baseball cards, tennis racquets and empty soda cans. Posters of rock stars and baseball greats decorated the walls, and the bed was a disaster, the edges of the mattress visible beneath rumpled sheets and a cover that was draped half on the floor. In the middle of it all, Josh and Stephen were thumbing through a sports magazine while Christina rummaged through the closet. In Katie's estimation this was a ten-year-old boy's idea of heaven. “We have a deal,” Tiffany explained. “Every Saturday morning—which is coming up in a few days, Stephen—he cleans this up, changes his sheets and puts everything away to my satisfaction. Then he can go out with his friends, and I don't bug him until the next Saturday.”

“Awesome,” Josh said, showing off his preteen vocabulary as if he knew the meaning of straightening up.

“If you guys need any snacks, I bought some chips and cookies this morning.”

“Cool,” Josh said, and the boys, with Christina hurrying after them, scrambled out of the room.

“I quit fighting this mess because I had bigger problems with Stephen,” Tiffany admitted, and Katie remembered the boy's run-in with the police. Stephen had been questioned about Isaac Wells's disappearance because he'd been hired by the reclusive farmer to do odd jobs and had, at one time, stolen the keys to Isaac's classic car collection.

“How's Stephen doing?”

“Better.” Tiffany sighed. “I hate to admit it, but J.D. has been a big help. Everyone told me that a boy needs a positive role model, a man to look up to, but I didn't want to believe it. After Philip died I wasn't going to ever get married again.” She picked up a couple of empty cans and brought them with her. “Then J.D. came along—well, actually kind of pushed his way into my life. I had to let him because he was Philip's brother and the kids were his niece and nephew, but I never expected… Oh, listen to me. I'm rambling. Come on, let me show you Christina's room.”

They walked through a half-open door to a charming room filled with a canopied bed, stuffed animals and a box of toys. A lacy dust ruffle matched the curtains that framed a view of the side yard. Katie's heartstrings tugged a bit. She'd always wanted a little girl, a sister for Josh, but of course it wasn't going to happen. Having a daughter was part of a pipe dream—one she'd given up long ago. Now, she had to concentrate on her son and her career. Period.

In the next twenty minutes, Tiffany showed her through the living quarters on the first floor of the house, then pointed out two apartments in the basement, and an upper and lower unit in the old carriage house.

The boys were shooting baskets near the garage and Christina was chasing Charcoal across the lawn by the time the tour was over.

“So, what do you think?” Tiffany asked as Katie slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

“It's definitely a possibility.” The truth of the matter was that she wanted to say yes right then and there. “I'll think about it,” Katie promised, but she'd already half made up her mind. She could rent out her house and save money, spend more time with Josh and concentrate on her career without constantly worrying about making the mortgage payment. She might even be able to trade in her car for a slightly newer model.

“Right now all the units are occupied except for the third floor that J.D.'s using as his office. I'll start advertising the space as soon as we move. Uh-oh. Chrissie! Watch out!” Tiffany raced across the backyard. Her daughter had tripped and tumbled over an exposed root. For a second there was no noise as Christina's tiny face screwed up and turned a deep shade of purple. The scream was next, a pained wail loud enough to cause the boys to give up their game.

Tiffany scooped Christina up off the ground. “It's okay,” she said, brushing bark dust from the little girl's tangled black curls.

Tears streamed down Christina's cheeks, and she cried, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” over and over again.

“I think it's time for us to leave,” Katie said. “Josh! Let's go.”

“Oh, Mom, can't I stay a little longer?”

Christina was sobbing and gulping air now.

“Nope, it's time.”

“But—”

“Hop in the car, bud. Now!” Josh cast her an I-can't-believe-you're-so-unfair look, but she ignored it and turned back to Tiffany who was brushing aside Christina's tears with a finger. “Thanks for the offer. I'll talk to Josh and give you a call.”

“Good.”

The back door of the house burst open, then slammed against the side of the house. J.D. hurtled down the steps. His face was a mask of concern, and his eyes focused hard on Christina. “What happened?” he demanded, sprinting across the backyard with long, athletic strides. At the sight of J.D., the child brightened visibly.

“A minor catastrophe.” Tiffany was holding her daughter close, and Christina, who had been quieting down, started crying hysterically again.

“Is that right? Looks pretty major to me. Come here, dumpling,” he said, prying Christina from her mother's arms. “Let's make sure you're gonna live.”

Christina's tears stopped, and she offered J.D. an impish smile that made Katie think her injuries weren't quite as painful as she'd let on. But then, she was only three.

“I'll see you later,” Katie said as Josh climbed into the passenger seat. She waved to the small family as she climbed behind the steering wheel. She tried to start her car. The ignition ground, and she pumped the gas before the convertible coughed twice, then sputtered. She swore under her breath and said a quick little prayer. Again she twisted the ignition. With a sound like the crack of a rifle, a spurt of blue smoke shot out of the tailpipe, and the engine caught. “Good girl.” Katie patted the dash. At least the darned thing was running. She only hoped that the temperamental car wouldn't die as she backed out of the drive.

“Can we stop and get a hamburger?” Josh asked. He adjusted his seat belt and leaned his seat into a half-reclining position.

“I suppose. I was planning pasta salad for dinner but—” she glanced his way and saw the expression of distaste on his oversize features “—I guess a bacon cheeseburger and a basket of curly fries sounds better.”

“And a milk shake.”

“Chocolate.”

“Good deal, Mom.” Josh gave her a thumbs-up. “I
hate
pasta salad.”

“I know,” she said and swallowed a smile as she reached over to rumple his stick-straight hair. Right now, staring out the bug-spattered window, he reminded her of his father; a man she hadn't seen in eleven years, a man who probably still didn't know he had a child. Her hands started to sweat against the wheel. For years she'd told herself that Dave didn't need to know he had a son, that he'd run out on her and left her pregnant without a backward glance, that he didn't deserve Josh's attention.

Lately, however, seeing all the mistrust and damage that had occurred because of her own father's lies, she doubted the wisdom of a hasty, emotional decision made when she was a scared, pregnant teenager. Wouldn't it be better for Josh to know his dad? To understand where he'd come from?

Wouldn't she, as a teenager growing up, have given her right arm for the truth? She owed that much to her son.

“I hate to say it, Katie, but what you need is a man.” Jarrod Smith, Katie Kinkaid's oldest half brother, slammed down the hood of her old convertible and swiped at a mosquito that had hovered near his head. The minute she'd arrived home after dropping Josh at soccer practice, she'd called her brother to check under the hood. But she hadn't wanted or needed his advice on the sad state of her love life.

“I think what I need might be a new car.” Katie frowned at her ancient two-door—a gem in its day—and wondered how she could possibly afford the payments on a newer model. Her gaze traveled from the single-car garage to her little bungalow, the place she and her son had called home for nearly a decade. Two windowpanes were cracked, the dryer was temperamental, and the carpet should have been replaced years before. No, she couldn't swing buying a new car right now.

“This—” Jarrod thumped a greasy finger on the faded finish of her convertible “—is the least of your worries.” Wiping the oil from his hands on to a soiled rag, he shook his head. Sweat dampened his brown hair and slid down the side of his face. “You've got Josh and—”

“And I don't need a lecture. Least of all from you,” she said, irritated that the subject of her being a single parent was a matter for discussion. Just because their mother had married for the fifth time this summer and her two half sisters were planning to “do the aisle-walk thing,” as the media now called it, didn't mean that she needed to hook up with a man. Independent to a fault, she supposed people thought her, but she couldn't imagine being tied down to one man. Not that she didn't have a fantasy now and again. Raising a boy alone was no picnic, but she wasn't sure a husband and stepfather would help the situation. In fact, she was certain it would do more damage than good. “No one ever
needs
a man, Jarrod,” she said, leveling a gaze at him that she hoped would burn into his hard-edged heart. “Least of all me.”

“I'm just telling you that it wouldn't hurt.” He glanced around the backyard where a rusted basketball hoop hung at an odd angle from the garage and the dandelions battled it out with the crabgrass for control of the lawn. Weeds choked the flower beds, and the patio furniture needed to be treated for a severe case of rust. Yep, the whole place needed a makeover—and badly. Even her old hound dog, Blue, who was lying in the shade of the porch, one silvering ear cocked though his eyes were closed, could probably use a flea bath, a teeth cleaning and a “buff and puff” from Elsie, the local dog groomer.

It didn't make Jarrod's suggestion any more palatable. She was a woman with a mission, imagined herself launched into a career in high-profile journalism. It was coming her way, and soon. She might already have been sent her one-way ticket to fame and fortune—if the anonymous letter she'd received in this morning's post was to be believed.

“A man, Katie,” her brother repeated.

“You're like a broken record or CD, these days.” Planting both fists firmly on her hips, she asked, “So what do you suggest? That I take in a roommate so that I don't con my lazy, no-good, self-serving half brothers into doing odd jobs like fixing the dryer or the dishwasher or the car for me?”

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Jarrod's mouth. “Now, that's an idea.” He swiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead and left a grease stain on his brow.

“Or should I just take out an ad in the personals, hmm? ‘Wanted: Handyman and part-time father. Must do light housework. References required.'”

“Maybe you should just get married,” he said, and Katie bristled at the thought.

She wasn't interested in marriage with anyone. Wasn't even dating. For a second her thoughts skipped to Luke Gates, then, horrified, she cleared her throat as well as her mind. “Our family has enough of that going around,” she grumbled as they walked toward the back porch where several wasps were busily constructing a muddy nest in the corner of the ceiling. Blue struggled to his arthritic legs, and his tail whipped back and forth. Katie couldn't let the subject drop. “If you haven't noticed, Jarrod, I don't have time for another man in my life. Believe me, Josh is enough.”

“He's one boy.”

“And a great kid,” she said automatically as she tugged open the screen door. A jagged tear in the mesh was getting bigger by the day, but she ignored it as she always did. She had bigger worries, but she wasn't about to tell her older brother that she was concerned as all get-out about her son, that it was hard as hell to raise a boy alone, that sometimes it scared her to death. Nope, she'd somehow deal with Josh and whatever challenge he came with. He was worth it.