The Trouble with Andrew (5 page)

“Wow!” Len repeated, turning to Katie and Drew. He looked across the cul-de-sac at what had been Katie's house, then he stared at her hard, his amazement turning to worry. “Katie, you okay? What are you doing over here? What about your little boy?”

“Len, obviously Katie's here because…” Sophie said, extending a hand to indicate that there wasn't much left of Katie's house.

“Oh!” Len said.

“It's all right, Len. Jordan is inside, sleeping,” Drew said, and Katie nodded, smiling.

“Yes, we're fine, thank you.”

Even as they spoke, they saw Brandon Holloway and his wife, Midge, come running from across the street. They were the only other neighbors Katie had met before the storm. The newlyweds had the smallest of the cul-de-sac houses. Midge was cute, a petite young woman with shoulder-length curly dark hair, a gamine face and velvet brown eyes. Brandon was about five ten, with a serious young face, sandy hair and a nice build.

Katie didn't feel quite so out of place once the Holloways had arrived—odd to feel improperly dressed under the circumstances—since the Holloways were both in terry robes, as well. They both wore sandals, while Katie's feet were bare.

“My God!” Brandon cried. “You all right, Katie? I've never seen anything like it. Your roof is half gone, you know. Your windows are shattered, your house—”

“I know,” Katie said.

“Brandon, you don't have to get quite so descriptive,” Midge advised softly.

“Oh!” Brandon said apologetically. “It's just in such bad shape, I hope that you and Jordan”

“It's all right,” Katie said, “we're fine. Jordan is sleeping inside Mr. Cunningham's house.”

“They're both fine,” Drew said.

“Thank God! We were so lucky!” Midge said, her dark eyes wide. “We seem to have lost a few roof tiles, and the darnedest thing—our shed has disappeared. Just disappeared.”

“No, Mrs. Holloway, it didn't disappear,” Len said quickly.

“I don't think so, anyway,” Sophie said.

“Then where—” Brandon asked.

“There's a shed sitting in our side yard,” Len told him.

“I did keep telling you that I wanted a shed, Len,” Sophie said, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, it seems like you've got one,” Brandon said. “Mine!”

“Young man, you're welcome to take it back,” Sophie told him. “Any time. It's not in great condition.”

“Nothing is!” Midge noted.

“Things don't matter terribly. They can always be replaced somehow,” Drew said. “But we're missing a few people. Excuse me. The Keoghs and Ted Barlow were rushing into the Thomason home when I found Mrs. Wells and Jordan out here. I'm going to go over and see that they're all okay.”

Katie started to follow him, then gritted her teeth, nearly gasping as she stepped on a piece of broken, twisted metal. It looked like a part from a car, she thought fleetingly.

Midge had been watching her. “Katie, wait, I'll get you some shoes.”

“That's all right, Midge. You're so tiny—”

“And she has flippers for feet,” Brandon supplied cheerfully. Midge stared at him. “Sorry!” he said quickly.

Midge grimaced. “All right, so I'm small, my feet are not. My shoes are an eight and a half, Katie.”

“Perfect,” Katie told her. Katie wore an eight, but she wasn't about to say that her feet were a half-size smaller than Midge's, not after Brandon had called his wife's feet flippers.

Midge ran to her house while Katie waited with Brandon, Len and Sophie in the debris-strewn yard. They could still feel the wind, and the sky remained an ominous shade of metallic gray. It would start to rain or drizzle again in minutes, Katie knew. But like Drew Cunningham, they were all worried about the fate of the rest of their neighbors.

Drew returned, running from the southern edge of the cul-de-sac, before Midge could acquire the slippers, and though his features remained taut, his look somewhat grim, he still seemed relieved. “The Thomasons came through just fine—Lucy doesn't think they lost any roof tiles, but I think she has to be wrong there. Ted, Susan, Seth and Amy are all fine, too—Susan says they're not coming out just yet.

They're going to stay with the Thomasons for awhile, since they have a daughter just a year older than Amy. Until—until we find out what the hell happened here and their home is rebuilt.”

“That sounds fine,” Sophie said enthusiastically. “Ted Barlow can come over and stay with us—he and Len both love a good game of cribbage after dinner.” Sophie looked enthused, as if the idea was appealing. “Oh!” she said, turning to Katie. “Of course, dear, you and Jordan are welcome, too. I'm just not sure—”

“Katie can stay in my den or the weight room,” Brandon suggested.

“Mrs. Wells and her son are welcome to remain in my house, for just as long as necessary,” Drew said firmly.

“But—” Katie began.

“Here we are!” Midge called cheerfully, running back. “Shoes, Katie, a choice of them!”

Midge had brought over several pairs, black loafers, white sneakers and beige pumps. Katie had to grin, thinking of herself dressed for business in Drew Cunningham's terry bathrobe and Midge Holloway's pumps.

“Midge,” Katie told her, “thank you, but really, I don't need so many, and I am insured.”

“Katie,” Brandon said, “she'll never know they're gone. She has more shoes than a shoe store.”

“And really, dear,” Sophie said practically, “just what are you going to do? Run around barefoot until you're able to make the insurance claim?”

“Good point,” Len noted proudly.

“I concede,” Katie said. “Though there just may be something left in my house. Midge, thanks,” Katie told the woman. “I'll return them just as soon as—” She broke off, wondering when “just as soon as” was going to be.

But it didn't matter what she might have said. Just then, the wind seemed to take off with a sudden, whimsical whistle, and the rain began to fall once again. Sophie shrieked and waved a hand, grabbing Len by the shoulder. “See you later!” she called.

“Ditto!” Brandon said, setting his hands on his wife's shoulders and turning to make the run across the street.

“Come on,” Drew Cunningham told Katie gruffly. The rain was beginning to pelt quickly. He set a hand on Katie's back to guide her across the destroyed lawn. She was startled by the jolt of sheer electricity that seemed to streak through her with that simple touch. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. She had found him arresting from that first moment when she had lain among the banyan roots and he had reached a hand down to her and stared at her with eyes that seemed pure gold and fire.

She hurried ahead of him and into the house. He followed behind her, closing the door. “I imagine it will be like this off and on for awhile now,” Drew said.

“I imagine,” Katie said. “Still…”

“Still what?”

She'd been about to say that she really needed to get into what was left of her house no matter what the sky was doing. But she decided to wait awhile. She had the distinct impression that he would try to stop her, that he would tell her the structure was unsafe, that he would do something to hinder her efforts. He was one of
those
men, she thought. Accustomed to giving orders—quietly, politely, of course, but in one of those voices no one thought to disobey. He seemed to be the confident sort, assured in his knowledge and judgment.

Not that she meant to be stupid. She was now more than ever aware that her life was worth far more than anything in the house. She didn't intend to leave Jordan an orphan. But she was fairly confident—and competent—herself, and she knew how to be careful.

Still…

“I wonder if the real brunt of the storm is over,” she said.

“Let's see what they're saying now,” Drew suggested.

They went to the sofa, not soaked but a little dusted with raindrops. Jordan was still sound asleep, sprawled out and taking up most of the space on the chesterfield, which left Katie very little room when she sat next to Drew. Their thighs touched. She stared at the television, listening to the voice of Mayor Suarez. He was pleased that downtown Miami seemed to have escaped the storm. The skyscrapers had held; from what the mayor could see, there were some blown-out windows, but not much more.

Yet right after the mayor spoke, they heard from reporters moving southward down Route 1. The tales they were telling were devastating and grew worse as the reporters made their slow trek down the highway. Not a single traffic light was working. The road was blocked by trees, by downed poles, by such ridiculous things as household appliances. The farther south they went, the worse it was. They were beginning to estimate that certain areas had been hit with winds raging over two hundred miles an hour.

Another report came in, assuring people that emergency services would be available. Shelters were listed. Katie realized that thousands of people in the area were homeless.

“What a horrible, horrible storm,” she whispered. “No wonder my house went down.”

“The house shouldn't have gone,” he said curtly.

Katie stared at her host, wondering at the fury and tension in his voice and startled by the angry look he gave her.

Especially since Jordan's manner of sleeping had forced them to sit so close together. She was alarmingly aware of him once again, aware of the heat and fire that seemed to radiate from his form and sweep her with warmth. She was aware of the hard-muscled structure of him, of the thighs pressed against hers. Very aware of his locked jaw and the burning gold of his eyes. His house was still standing. Why was he so angry?

She was the one with nothing left.

“Why are you snapping at me?” she asked him. “It's hardly my fault my house went down.”

“I'm not snapping!” he said.

But he was. Definitely snapping. And she should have been angry in return—she was angry. But she was also alarmed, and worried about herself. Despite his anger, she found herself still fascinated by the heat of his proximity, by the feel of his thigh hard against her own. She could almost imagine that his jeans and the terry robe were both gone, that she could feel his flesh…

She jumped up, her cheeks burning, her heart pounding, shocked at her suddenly active hormones. He was an attractive man, she had long ago admitted that. All right, so her life hadn't included many attractive men, or perhaps it had, at times, but none of them had ever made her feel this way, and perhaps she hadn't wanted to feel this way. She'd been busy. Raising Jordan, making a living. And really, the only time she ever thought about having a man in her life was when her father was around to torture her, with the eternal “you're still young, Katie” comments, the “I have a friend I want you to meet at dinner.” Ron Wheeler was also fond of reminding her that she wasn't dead and that she didn't have any right to act as if she was, which wounded her, because she considered herself very busy. Jordan was into everything. He loved baseball, soccer, football and video games. He had school projects and homework. And she had her own work, which she loved. Long ago, Terry had encouraged her, and she had learned that she loved photography so much because she really had a good eye and could capture bits and pieces of life on film. For a long time, it had seemed that Jordan and photography were all that she really had to hang on to.

And so she had hung on to them. Which had been easy. Because nothing had tempted her to stray from the course. But now…

She was tempted.

Her father, she was certain, would dance in the streets.

Yet she wondered how she could be feeling such things, thinking such things, when her world had just been blown to bits. There was devastation out there, she reminded herself.

This man could even be married!

Old argument,
a voice inside her said, then demanded,
if so, where is his wife?

Out of town?

Smart people, she was suddenly certain, were out of town. And if he had a wife, she was probably smart.

No, nothing had indicated that he might have a wife.

Standing, she stared at his left hand—not that that would be any guarantee. But he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

And he was staring at her as if she had lost her senses.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked her.

“Nothing. You
were
snapping.”

He threw up his hands. “Well, if I was snapping, I'm sorry, but you shouldn't worry—I don't bite. You're not in danger.”

Katie wasn't so sure. But she was standing in his grand living room, in his robe, with Midge's shoes clutched to her chest as if she was about to take flight. Jordan remained on his sofa, sleeping as if he hadn't a care in the world.

“You can put those shoes down, you know,” Drew advised her.

She dropped the shoes, then realized she had dumped them all over his floor. It had been an immaculate floor, she was certain.

Until she and Jordan had dripped all over it, of course.

“Sorry,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I need to put these somewhere out of the way. For the time. I mean, of course, we really can't stay here—”

He leaned closer to where she knelt to retrieve the shoes. “Mrs. Wells, there aren't that many choices. You've heard the news. The shelters were over-crowded last night. And if all these reports are half true, tens of thousands of people are homeless. You have to stay somewhere.”

“Jordan and I don't want to impose—”

“It's no imposition!” he roared, exasperated.

Macho man, Katie thought again.

“I'm not quite sure it's the right thing to do,” Katie murmured. “Your family—”

“I'm not married, and I don't have children, and anyone I know and care about is an intelligent individual who can see that your home is not habitable and may never be. If you're uncomfortable about the arrangement, I have an office I can move into.”