Lifelines: Kate's Story (36 page)

“I
let her talk. That’s all.”

“There’s
been a time or two when I’ve been grateful you let me talk.” In her silence, he
heard his heart beat. “Kate?”

“All
you ever told me was that there were problems in your marriage. You never told
me what.”

Did
she want him to talk about Rachel?

“Mac?”

“Hmm?”

“I
don’t know your name. You weren’t Christened Mac, were you?”

“I
don’t think I was Christened at all.”

“Is
it a secret? Your name?”

“Richard.”

“Richard?”
She sounded disappointed.

“I’ve
never liked it much, either. My mother was the only person who called me
Richard.” And Rachel, but he didn’t want Rachel between them, because it had
occurred to him that that’s what he’d done wrong—talking to her about Rachel.
He said, “The name on my birth certificate is Jacob Richard McGregor. Nobody’s
ever called me Jacob, because my dad was Jake. He called me Little Mac when I
was a kid, and when I shot up to six feet around the age of fourteen, he
dropped the little.” He was chattering like a fool. “Kate? Do you want me to
tell you about my marriage?”

“I’m
not sure what I want.”

He
blew out a breath. Friendship got complicated when you stirred sex into the
mix. “Are you, like, standing at the end of the kitchen counter?”

When
she laughed, he felt the sound in his gut.

“No,
I’m like sitting on the sofa with the remote phone.”

“I’m
in the shed in my construction yard. I just bought a bunch of new furniture
today, and I’m enjoying my new easy chair.”

“What
made you splurge on new furniture?”

“My
wife broke in and trashed the place while we were out on the boat.” Shit. Why
had he said that?

“Mac,
I—”

“Don’t
worry about it. The new furniture is better than the stuff I had. I could pick
you up and give you a tour. I don’t have coffee and you don’t drink beer, but I
can offer a National Geographic for entertainment. This month’s issue features
Egyptian tombs. As for the coffee, I could pick up some.”

Her
silence lasted so long he thought she’d hung up.

“Mac—”

“Kate,
I’ve got a nasty feeling I screwed up our friendship yesterday. I can’t afford
to lose you as a friend.”

“You
don’t have coffee?”

“No,
I forgot to pick it up.”

“Give
me directions and I’ll come to you. I’ll stop for coffee on the way.”

He
turned the yard light on and opened the gate, then he checked the A-frame truck
and did a circuit of the building. The first time he brought Rachel here she’d
grimaced at the equipment and tools, and he’d felt deflated, because he was
proud of the yard. He and Jake worked two years to pay for the new building,
but Rachel wasn’t interested in construction yards. Why should she be? She
liked nice clothes, education, and money.

He
wondered what his mother had liked. Perfume, because she’d screamed at him when
he knocked over a small bottle on her vanity. She’d also liked her friends.
Once, he’d come into the kitchen, attracted by the sound of her laughter. His
mother and another woman, both filled with giggles that dried up when he
entered the room. Then his mother frowned and reached for him, and he leaned against
her and listened to the drone of their voices.

“She
needed more than me,” Jake said on one of the rare times when he mentioned
Mac’s mother. “I was never what she wanted.”

Neither
was I, Mac thought. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took another turn
around the yard. Inside, his new furniture waited for Kate, and the National
Geographic. He planned to pick it up when she came inside, and offer it to her.
She would laugh, and he might ask her to read the article about Egyptian tombs
to him while he made coffee. He would keep his hands busy, keep the talk
moving, and avoid transmitting sexual signals.

At
least he hadn’t blown their friendship. He’d screwed up with Rachel, but he
planned to do everything as right as possible with Kate. He could live with the
frustration.

He
heard her car. The wheels crunched slowly on the gravel road, and when Mac
walked out to the gate and waved her in, she rolled down her window.

“Park
over by the building,” he said, and they exchanged a smile before she drove into
the yard.

It
wouldn’t be hard to love Kate Taylor.

He
locked the gate and crossed the yard. She got out of the car and walked to meet
him, where he’d expected her to wait by the car. She’d worn little streaks of
moonlight in her ears, and jeans with a curve-hugging sweater on top. She
looked great.

Conversation.
Now!

“You
didn’t bring Socrates.”

“I
fed him before I left. I’ll have to be back by eight to let him out.”

“Sure.”
He took her arm before he remembered he’d planned not to touch, but she turned
to walk with him, and he couldn’t get himself to let go.

“Have
you changed the locks?” she asked.

“Huh?”
Brilliant, McGregor!

She
turned her head as he turned his. With their faces mere inches apart, if he
firmed his hold on her elbow and—

“Your
locks. You said your wife—” She made a gesture with her free hand and her gray
eyes reflected light from the moon. “What did your wife do here?”

He
shrugged. “She tore things up, dumped my coffee on the bed along with the
margarine and some milk. I’ve cleaned it up.”

When
he let go of her arm at the door, she held on. “Has this happened before?”

“No,
but it wasn’t a surprise.” Why did it embarrass him to talk about Rachel? He
supposed because he’d made such a mess of his marriage. “She’s sometimes ...
unpredictable.”

“That
must be hard for you to live with.”

“I’m
not living with it. Not now.” He opened the door for her. “It’s straight ahead,
unless you want a tour of the warehouse? That’s through the door on the right.”

She
stopped three steps into the office and looked around. He looked, too, and saw
his messy desk, the filing cabinet heaped with papers, the fax machine with a
fax he hadn’t torn off hanging from it.

“I
should have cleaned up the office.”

She
smiled then. “Don’t clean up for me.”

He
rammed his hands into his jeans pockets and kept five feet between them as he
followed her into his room. She did a slow circle, taking in his furnishings,
then said, “I like this. I have a picture in my garage that could be a sister
to that sailing ship. I’ll give it to you for the other wall.”

“I’ll
make coffee, shall I?”

“I
left it in the car.”

“I’ll
get it.”

“Stop
being nervous, Mac.”

He
blew out a breath. “Look, let’s go somewhere. We could—did you say you needed
to be back by eight? But it’s already—”

“Eight
in the morning.”

“I
thought you wanted ... friends?”

Her
eyes measured him for a handful of seconds, “Mac, it’s the middle of the night,
and I’m wearing nail polish, perfume, and the sexiest sweater I own.”

“I’m
trying not to look at the sweater,” he admitted.

“I
want you to look.” When her breasts rose with her laugh, he felt himself harden
in response, and he closed the space between them.

“I’ve
done enough looking,” he murmured, and closed his eyes to soak in sensations
from warm lips, lush curves, her sultry scent. Her lips found a spot under his
jaw that sent a shudder through his whole body.

“Kate...”

She
slid her arms around him and stole his thoughts. “This new furniture of yours?
I don’t see a bed.”

He
couldn’t breathe. “Futon ...it ... ah ...”

She
lifted her face and settled into his kiss. “Show me,” she breathed.

R
achel
slammed the shift lever into drive. Damn Richard! He could be so fucking
stubborn. She’d waited until half an hour before their counseling appointment
to call him. Then, when he answered his cell phone, she heard someone on that
damned job of his talk in the background. So Richard tells her to wait a
minute, and goes on about a damned hot pool, as if his wife didn’t matter!

“I
can’t get the car to start!” she wailed when he got back on the phone.
“Something’s wrong with it. You’ll have to pick me up. I’ll walk out to the
road to save time, and you can pick me up on your way.”

“Call
a taxi. I’ll see you there.” And he hung up!

She
stormed out of the house, and didn’t lock it because she didn’t give a damn if
someone stole his tools out of the garage! She had her portable computer in the
car, so what did she care if he lost everything? She twisted the key, slammed
into drive, and didn’t take her foot off the throttle until she started
skidding on the gravel near the highway. Fucking Richard!

Take
a taxi.

Asshole!
If she had an accident, he’d be sorry. He hadn’t thought about her once in
weeks. So maybe she shouldn’t have wrecked his place, but he deserved it. He
stayed away and tormented her, manipulated her with rules and conditions.

She
spotted a cop as she hit the city limits and slammed on the brake. He turned
and followed her, harassing her. She needed to get to the counselor’s office
before Richard, so the God-damned cop fucking follows her. Asshole! Trying to
make her nervous, make her to do something so he could stop her. One of those
jerks who used his uniform to pick up women.

The
cop turned off before she got to Eleventh, and she took the corner with a
squeal of tires to get even with the asshole.

Richard’s
truck wasn’t here yet. She grabbed her purse, locked the car, and ran up the
stairs to John Ames’ second floor office. Anyone with second floor offices
should damned well put in an elevator. What if she needed a cane? Would he
expect her to walk up the stairs?

No
sign of the receptionist, but John’s door stood slightly ajar. She hurried
across the room and pushed the door fully open. “John?”

He
looked up from the papers on his desk, and stood. “Where’s Mac?”

“Richard,”
she corrected. “I don’t know where he is. It seems he’s too busy to pick me up
for this appointment.”

“You’ll
have to wait outside until he arrives.”

“Not
this time.” She walked past him and sat down in the chair Richard usually took.
If he wanted his chair, he could damn well pick her up, or get here ahead of
her. “Richard’s an asshole. You have no idea how cruel he is.”

“Rachel,
you need to wait outside.”

They
were all assholes, Richard and John and the cop, all the fucking men. Assholes.
Rachel crossed her legs and glared at John. Let him try to get her out; let him
put one hand on her and she’d slap him with a lawsuit before he could say
sexual harassment.

She
heard the waiting room door open.

“There,”
she said sweetly, “Richard’s here.”

She
liked the way John looked as if he wanted to curse, then he put on his
counselor look and she grinned because she’d just won the pissing contest.

“Mac,”
called John, “we’re in here.”

She
knew John emphasized the Mac to get even with her. He wasn’t worth shit as a
counselor. All these weeks and Richard walked out again. If John had done his
job, Richard would be on his knees to her.

When
Richard came through the doorway, John said, “Rachel just arrived,” and she
almost laughed out loud, but she needed John to play his role once more. Then,
if they needed a counselor, they would go to Kate.

Kate
cared about Rachel, and she wasn’t a fake. She wouldn’t let Rachel get away
with coming into the room the way John had, and she certainly wouldn’t try to
cover her ass when Richard arrived. It pissed Rachel off when Kate was
hard-assed, but that meant she would be tough with Richard, too, and would make
certain he knew how much his behavior hurt Rachel.

Richard
was staring at her now, so she made her face look sad, and she watched his
reaction as she spoke to John. “We had a horrible argument, John. Richard got
angry and in a rash moment, he moved out. We need you to help us, because we
both want to be together. We love each other deeply, and we’re desperate to
save our marriage.”

“That’s
not true,” interrupted Richard. “I don’t want us together.”

It
was easy to get tears to come. “Sweetheart, Richard, I know you’re angry, b—but
I—I can’t stop crying, and—oh, Richard, I’m so terribly alone. I feel as
if—when I was a child, with my mother dead and my father—I dreamed—nightmare ...
my father died again in my nightmare. I needed—really needed you, but you
weren’t there and I got in the car and drove to the construction yard and
you—you weren’t there either! I couldn’t—so afraid, didn’t know what to do.”
The tears became real, made tracks down her cheeks and she sniffed and rubbed
her face, just as a terrified little girl might.

When
she heard Richard get up, she gave one of those tearful hiccups.

“Rachel,
I’m sorry you were frightened.”

She
leaned toward him, but he didn’t come close enough to touch. She wiped tears
away and used the gesture to sneak a look. He’d walked away from her, to the
window. “Richard!” she wailed pitifully.

“I’m
not coming back, Rachel.”

“You’re
my husband! You promised to love me forever! You promised!” She started to cry
again before she leaped to her feet and flew across the room to him.

John
got in between them, saying, “Rachel. Mac. This is a time when you both need to
listen to each other. Let’s sit down.”

“No!”
screamed Rachel. She grabbed Richard’s arm. “You’re mine!”

Her
husband’s voice sounded like ice as he said, “I’ll do what I can to be sure
you’re OK financially, but the marriage—our marriage is over.” He looked so
hard, no tenderness at all.

“You’re
my husband!”