My Man Pendleton (27 page)

A soft chuckle of delight emanated from behind the closed kitchen door, a sound of happiness, familiarity, and love. Obviously, Pendleton had a much better relationship with his family than she had with hers. He could laugh with his sister. Not sarcastically, not ironically. But warmly. Lovingly. Genuinely.

Kit wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation in the worst way, but she feared hearing his laughter again, so she moved away from the door and into the living room. The Sunday
Courier-Journal
lay scattered where they'd left it that morning, half on the flowered chintz sofa, half on the hooked rug below, and she scooped up a few errant advertisements to skim through them.
Value
City
had just received a massive shipment of Cobbies priced half-off, she noted, fleece wear was on sale at Target, and at Jacobson's, it was Clinique Bonus Time.

But what had once been her favorite time of the week—Sunday evening spent hunting and gathering amid the sales circulars—suddenly held absolutely no appeal. Instead, she found herself focused on the man's voice that was barely detectable in the kitchen behind her, and the way he spoke low and laughed often with his sister.

Forty-five minutes later, when Pendleton finally hung up the phone, Kit was staring clueless at clue number one in the Across column of the crossword puzzle. She heard the creak of the kitchen door as he exited, and the soft scuff of his hiking boots accompanied by the clatter of Maury's toenails as they both crossed the dining room. But she didn't turn around. Instead, as she watched the puppy settle himself in front of the hearth, Kit pretended she didn't notice the man, in spite of the way her skin grew warm, her breathing went shallow, and her heart began to hammer hard in her chest.

And she kept not noticing him until he leaned over the sofa from behind, resting his weight on the forearms he braced against the back. But still, she didn't look at him, not even when he turned to look at her. For a long moment, they only remained so, neither speaking nor acknowledging each other. Finally, Pendleton broke the silence with a single, quiet word that almost shattered her fragile composure.

"Honey," he said.

Unable to keep from looking at him any longer, she turned her head, narrowing her eyes at his odd sentiment. Hesitantly, she asked, "Yes
…
dear?"

A flash of confusion tinted his face for a moment, then he smiled. "No, I mean,
honey.
The word. One across," he said, gesturing toward the crossword puzzle. "'Bee creation.' Five letters. Honey."

"Oh." Pretending that she hadn't just humiliated herself beyond words, Kit clicked her ball-point pen and quickly recorded the word in even, block letters. Then, in a desperate maneuver to drive his attention elsewhere, she feigned indifference and asked, "All quiet on the home front?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Carny just wanted to talk about some guy she met, that's all. She likes him, but Joey doesn't, and she thinks it's going to cause problems."

"Joey?"

"My nephew. Carny's son. He's thirteen going on thirty-five, and naturally, he knows everything. He's a good kid, but he's way too overprotective of his mother."

Pendleton had a nephew, too? Kit thought, oddly envious for some reason. She'd always liked the idea of having nieces and nephews, and had been strangely sad when Holt and his wife had split without having kids.

"Is your sister divorced?" she asked, telling herself she posed the question only because she wanted to make idle conversation, and
not
because she craved knowledge about every single aspect of Pendleton's life.

He shook his head. "She never married. She got pregnant when she was a teenager, but the sonofabitch stupid idiot jerk moron sonofabitch that knocked her up skipped out on her."

"You said 'sonofabitch' twice. Wasn't that redundant?"

"No."

His expression bordered on savage, she noted, so all she said in response was, "Oh."

"Hey, she's done just fine without Joey's father," he added immediately, rising with no hesitation to defend his sister's honor.

"I'm not surprised," Kit told him. "If the rest of the Pendletons are like you, then they must be a resourceful bunch."

He grinned, a happy, easy grin that nearly stole her heart. "Yeah, we are," he agreed softly. But he didn't elaborate.

"And are your mother and father doing well, too?" she asked, wanting—needing—to hear more about this happy family who rose so quickly to help and shelter and protect one another.

"According to Carny, they're fine. I really should call them, too, though. I haven't touched base with Mom for almost a week. She always calls me at work. She and my dad are hard to get at night."

"What do they do?"

"Bowl, mostly."

She chuckled. "No, I meant what do they do for a living?"

"Oh. Well, my mom never worked, and as of last year, my dad is retired. He used to work construction." He smiled, one of those warm, heartfelt smiles, as if he were remembering something very, very important. "In fact, he gave me my first job when I was fifteen. Pouring cement."

"You know," she said, "it's very strange that I know so little about you and your family, when you know so much about me and mine."

"Yeah, a little
too
much," he said derisively.

She made a face at him, but it was impossible to feel irritated when he was gazing at her like that. As if he were happy to be here with her, sharing the kind of innocuous, getting-to-know-you conversation they were sharing. Before she realized his intention, he launched himself over the back of the sofa and landed deftly beside her. Close beside her. Uncomfortably close. She started to stand, but he seemed to sense her unease and scooted over to put a more acceptable distance between them.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "But if you know nothing about my family, it isn't because I don't want to talk about them."

She dropped her gaze back down to the newspaper folded on her lap. "No, I'm the one who should apologize. You're right. If I'm unaware of the particulars of your family, it's because I've been too wrapped up in the particulars of my own to ask."

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of her apology.

"So," she said. "You have a family in
New Jersey
."

He nodded.

"Mom and Pop Pendleton, a sister named Carny, and—" She halted abruptly when something extremely important occurred to her.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Pendleton," she said softly, "I just realized that I don't know your first name."

"Well, you never asked me my first name."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what is it?"

"My first name?"

"Yes."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes." She gave his shoulder a soft smack, a gesture she hoped would make him hurry up and get on with it. "Come on, Pendleton. Tell me your first name."

He smiled at her. "What's it worth to you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. What's it worth to you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"If I tell you my first name, what do I get in return?"

She was stumped for an answer. "I don't know. I'll spin you some gold out of straw? What do you want in return?"

Immediately, she wished she hadn't asked, because she knew what his answer would be. He was going to ask her to leave. Something cold and unpleasant settled in her stomach, and suddenly, she wasn't having fun anymore.

"If I tell you my first name," he said, "you have to promise me you'll—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Don't say it. I already know. You want me to move out of your house."

Her response obviously surprised him, as if it honestly hadn't occurred to him to ask her to do such a thing.

"Don't you?" she asked.

"Actually," he said, "I was thinking more along the lines of if I tell you my first name, you have to promise me you'll start letting me cook dinner sometimes."

"Oh," she said, feeling even more confused. "Okay. If you must."

"Oh, I must."

"Fine. So
…
what's your first name?"

He hesitated, smiling that devastating smile for a moment. Then, plainly and succinctly, he told her, "Rocky."

Oh, now
that
definitely came as a surprise.

"Rocky?" she echoed, unable to prevent the bubble of laughter that punctuated the word. "Your name is
Rocky?
Are you serious?"

"What's so funny about Rocky?" he asked.

"Rocky Pendleton? That's your name?"

"Hey, I'm from
New Jersey
. What were you expecting? Nigel?"

She laughed harder. "No, but
…
Rocky? Who decided to name you Rocky?"

"My father. Axel."

"Axel
Pendleton?" She covered her mouth in a fruitless effort to hide her glee, laughing at this newly discovered aspect of Pendleton's persona.

"Yeah. Axel Pendleton. You got a problem with that?"

He must really be getting irritated, she thought, because suddenly, his
New Jersey
accent was extremely pronounced.

"No, I don't have a problem with that," she said, still chuckling. "You just don't seem like a Rocky, that's all." With no small effort, she managed to squelch her giggles some. Not much. But some.

He tossed his hand into the air. "Fine. You think my name is hysterical."

"No, honestly," she objected. "It was just surprising, that's all. Rocky Pendleton." Another bout of giggles erupted before she could stop them. "No, wait," she urged him when he opened his mouth to say more. "I can say it without laughing. I can. Watch. Rocky…"
She began to titter, so she bit her lip to stop it. "Rocky Pen…"
she tried again, still not quite able to contain herself. "Rocky Pendle—" Unfortunately, she never finished, because she began to giggle again. "I'm sorry. I guess I
can't
say it without laughing."

And then she broke down completely.

Pendleton glared at her. "Actually," he said, injecting more volume into his voice to lift it above her outburst, "Rocky is a nickname my father gave me when I was a baby. It's a shortened form of my given name."

Kit inhaled a deep breath in an effort to contain her merriment, then swiped at her watering eyes as she expelled it. Finally, she managed to ask, "And what would your given name be, pray tell?"

He glanced away, and she could have sworn she saw a faint stain of pink riding high on his cheeks. "It's short for, uh, Rockefeller."

"Rockefeller?"
she said, not even bothering to hide her amusement now as she let her laughter run loose. "You have got to be kidding."

"Will you please try to contain yourself?" he asked. "You're making a spectacle."

With a great deal of effort, Kit managed to rein herself in. A little.

"My parents both came from blue-collar backgrounds, all right?" he said. "And my mother, whose name, incidentally is Irene—want to make something of that?" he demanded.

Kit only shook her head in silence.

"My mom," he continued, "wanted something a little better for her kids," he continued. "So she gave us names she thought might
…
you know
…
win us cachet into a higher social circle."

Sounded logical, Kit thought. Still…
"Yeah, but Rockefeller?" she asked, speaking her thoughts aloud, battling a new fit of chuckles.

He ignored her. "Hey, it could have been worse. Carny's real name is Carnegie."

Kit shook her head. "Unbelievable," she said. "Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll keep calling you Pendleton. Frankly, I'm not sure I could call you Rocky without breaking into a fit of—" As if to prove the point, she burst into another animated round of giggles.

"Do you mind?" he said, clearly striving for an outraged tone of voice. Unfortunately, the smile that curled his lips completely blew the effort.

It also made Kit start laughing harder.

"Show some respect, will ya?" he asked. Then, contrary to his request, and with obvious reluctance, he, too, began to chuckle.

And once he showed that small sign of weakness, all Kit could do was laugh harder. And harder. And harder still. In fact, she began laughing so hard, she had to hug herself tight to keep herself from falling right off the couch. Unfortunately, even that didn't help, because by then, the giggles had irreversibly seized her, and she simply lost control, tumbling right off the sofa and down to the floor. Belatedly, Pendleton reached out to grab her, and for his efforts, he wound up right on the rug beside her. They landed in a heap, arms tangled, laughter joined, the fall having only increased their levity.

Their merriment ceased abruptly, however, when, as one, they realized the precariousness of their position. Kit lay on her back beneath Pendleton, his big body sprawled over hers in a manner that was most familiar. His thigh was settled between her legs, and his arm was nestled against her breast. Yet he didn't press his advantage. Nor did he retreat. He only gazed down at her, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes more than a little inquisitive.