by Lisa Jackson
“By early next summer. Soon as the winter snowpack melts.” He wasn’t used to being grilled, wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Where is your ranch, exactly?”
“Outside of town about three miles or so.” He decided to end the conversation before she dug too deep. She was a nosy one, this Katie Kinkaid. If he let her, she’d talk to him all afternoon. “I gotta run.”
“Wait a minute. I’m a reporter with the Rogue River Review—that’s our local paper—and I’d like to do a story about the ranch when you open.”
So that was it. He should have known.
When he hesitated, she barreled right on. “You could think of it as free advertising.” She angled her face upward for a better look at him and he thought he noticed a hint of defiance in the tilt of that impish chin.
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
“Here—let me give you my card.” Whipping open a small purse, she scrounged around for a second, extracted her wallet and edged a clean white business card out of a slit behind a picture of her son obviously taken a few years back. “Here. Just give me a call, or I’ll contact you.” She looked up at him expectantly as he flipped the card over and over between his fingers.
“I don’t have anything like this yet,” he admitted. “The deal just went through, but I’ll call you later.”
“Or I’ll call you,” she repeated quickly, as if she thought he was giving her the brush-off. Apparently she was used to being in charge.
“Fine. Nice meetin’ ya.” He slid her card into the back pocket of his jeans and walked to his truck. A black cat that had been sunning himself on the hood, perked up his head; then, as Luke opened the driver’s door, the animal shot to his feet and hopped lithely to the ground.
“Oh, come here, Charcoal,” Katie said, bending down and picking up the slinking feline. “That’s a boy.”
As Luke rammed the truck into gear, cranking on the steering wheel, he caught a glimpse of Katie in the rearview mirror. One hip thrust out as she cradled the cat against her chest, dark glasses hiding her eyes, lips tinged a soft peach color, she exuded a natural sensuality that caught a man off guard and squeezed tightly. Too tightly.
His gut feeling about her was simple: Katie Kinkaid was a woman to avoid.
* * *
Katie was still petting the cat, staring down the driveway and asking herself a dozen questions about the enigmatic cowboy who had taken up residence in Tiffany’s carriage house when J.D. Santini’s Jeep roared into the drive. J.D., Tiffany’s brother-in-law and soon-to-be husband, was behind the wheel.
Katie stepped aside as the rig rolled to a stop.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Tiffany apologized. Her face was flushed, her gold eyes bright as she climbed out of the Cherokee. “We went to the farm and the kids swam in the lake and . . . Well, we just lost track of time.”
J.D. stretched out of the rig. His grin was wide, a slash of perfect white teeth against a dark complexion.
“Don’t let her kid you,” he said, winking at Katie. “Stephen, Josh and Christina amused themselves and this one”—he slung his arm familiarly over Tiffany’s shoulders—“couldn’t keep her hands off me.”
Tiffany burst out laughing and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Dream on, Santini,” she teased, but she wasn’t able to hide the sparkle in her gaze. She was, without a doubt, totally and gloriously in love.
Katie didn’t feel the least little bit of envy. She believed in love—for other people. It just wasn’t in her cards. “I haven’t been here long and besides, I got to meet your new tenant.”
“Luke? Hmm.” Tiffany frowned slightly. “He keeps to himself most of the time.”
The boys climbed out of the back of the Jeep and Christina, Tiffany’s three-year-old daughter, hopped to the ground. The minute her sandals hit dry grass she ran, black curls bouncing at her shoulders, plump little arms stretched upward to J.D., the man who was her uncle and was about to become her stepfather. “Piggyback ride!”
“Sure, dumpling.” J.D. lifted her to his shoulders. Christina giggled and clung to J.D.’s head and for the first time in a long while, Katie felt a touch of sadness that her son hadn’t yet met his father. In time. All in good time, she, told herself.
“Hey, Mom, what’re you doin’ here?” At ten, Josh had teeth that were still too big for his face, freckles that stood out and huge, deep coffee-brown eyes.
“Picking you up.”
“Already?”
“You’ve got soccer practice.”
“Not until five.”
“He can stay—” Tiffany started to offer but caught the quick shake of Katie’s head.
“Another time.”
“Okay, but at least come into the house for a quick glass of iced tea or lemonade. There’s something I need to talk about.”
“It sounds mysterious,” Katie said.
“Everything sounds mysterious to you. Believe me, this isn’t anything you’ll want to write in the paper.”
“You never know,” she teased. After having grown up in a houseful of older half-brothers Katie was overjoyed to discover she had not one, but two half-sisters. For most of her life she hadn’t known that Tiffany was her sister; it was only after her husband died that Tiffany had decided to move to Bittersweet where her grandmother, Octavia Nesbitt, had spent most of her life.
The boys took off for the house at a dead run and by the time Katie, Tiffany and J.D. had crossed the shaded backyard and climbed the few steps to the back porch, the wail of an electric guitar screamed through the open window of Stephen’s room. “My son, the rock star,” Tiffany said with a laugh.
“I wanna see!” Christina wriggled unsteadily on J.D.’s shoulders until he helped her down to the floor. She scurried ahead of them through the open door of the house and clambered up the stairs. The airy kitchen smelled of dried herbs and wildflowers that were bunched and hung from the exposed beams overhead. Artwork, schedules and old report cards decorated the refrigerator while a rack of copper pans was suspended over a center cooking island.
“I’ll bet the boys are gonna love her wanting to get in on the action.” Tiffany opened the refrigerator and hauled out a pitcher of iced tea.
“If they’re like my brothers,” Katie said, “they’ll lock the door and tell her that because she’s a girl she’s not allowed inside. It’s a plot by all older brothers to mess up their younger sisters’ self-esteem.”
“Didn’t seem to take in your case,” J.D. observed as Tiffany poured them each a glass.
“Careful, Santini, you’re outnumbered here,” Tiffany warned him as she sliced a lemon and dropped wedges into the drinks. She handed Katie her glass and waved her into a chair at the table. Leaning thoughtfully against the counter she asked, “So, are you ready for the wedding this weekend?”
“Can’t wait.” Katie took a long sip of tea. “How about you?” She pressed the cool glass to her forehead as Tiffany settled into a chair.
“I’ll be okay, I guess. I’m thrilled for Bliss and Mason, but . . .” She let her voice trail off as she took a swallow of cold tea.
“Don’t tell me,” Katie guessed. “You’re still having trouble dealing with dear old Dad.”
Small lines of concern appeared between Tiffany’s eyebrows. “Let’s just call him John.”
“Okay, so the fact that John Cawthorne is going to be there is bothering you.”
“Not only that he’s there, but that he’s giving the bride away.” Tiffany sighed and, resting her chin on her open palm, stared through the window. “It . . . it brings it all out in the open again.”
Katie knew what her half-sister was talking about. The situation had been painful for everyone involved. John Cawthorne had sired one daughter out of wedlock and hadn’t bothered to marry the girl—Tiffany’s mother. According to Tiffany, there was no love lost between Rose Nesbitt and John Cawthorne. But he hadn’t finished fathering daughters. He’d married a woman named Margaret from San Francis
co and she’d borne him a second daughter—the legitimate one—Bliss.
Not one to ever be satisfied, John had started living a dual life—part of the year in Seattle with Margaret and Bliss, the other down here in Bittersweet where he met and fell in love with Brynnie Anderson, who, in between several husbands, carried on an affair with Cawthorne. As luck would have it, Brynnie, who already had three sons, got pregnant with John’s third daughter. However, Katie had always assumed her father was Hal Kinkaid, her mother’s third husband, whose name she was given. No doubt about it, the family situation was one tangled mess of relationships and emotions. “So, what’re you going to do when you and J.D. get married?” Katie asked.
“I want to go before a justice of the peace.”
“No way.” J.D. set his glass on the table and skewered his bride-to-be with determined eyes. “This is my first and last marriage and I want it done right.”
“I know, I know. Then ... then I suppose that Stephen will give me away.”
“Fine.” J.D. seemed satisfied. “Now that I’ve exerted my testosterone-filled rights, I think I’d better make a quick exit.” He walked to Tiffany and brushed a kiss across her ebony crown. “Besides, I’ve got some paperwork to finish, then I’ve got to call Dad. I’ll be down in a couple of hours.” He hoisted his glass in Katie’s direction. “Ms. Kinkaid,” he said with a lift of one corner of his mouth. “It’s been a pleasure. As always.”
“You, too, J.D.”
Carrying his glass, he walked briskly out of the room and Tiffany’s gaze followed longingly after him.
“Boy, have you got it bad,” Katie observed.
“That obvious, huh?”
“You could hang a flashing neon sign that reads ‘I Love J.D. Santini’ around your neck and it would be more subtle.”
“Oh, well, I guess I should be more discreet.”
“Not at all! Love’s great.” Katie believed it with all her heart; it just didn’t seem to work for her. “Which brings us back to Bliss’s wedding this weekend. How’re you gonna handle the John situation?”
“I don’t know,” Tiffany admitted. Rubbing one temple, she leaned back in her chair. “What do you want me to do? Make up with the man? Let bygones be bygones and pretend that he didn’t ignore me for over thirty years?” She shook her head and swirled her glass. Ice cubes and slices of lemon danced in the amber liquid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound bitter, and in all fairness, John ... he’s been good to the kids and to me lately, ever since his damned heart attack. But I can’t just erase the past.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
“Just to sweep it under the carpet for a while?”
“No way, but maybe ... Well, if you want to, just give him a chance. That’s what I’ve decided to do.”
“You don’t have a mother who uses his picture for a dartboard.” Tiffany’s lips pulled into a tight little knot.
“Nope. My mom married him. Imagine that.” Katie let out a low, disbelieving whistle. The conversation had turned too heavy. Way too heavy. “So what about you and J.D.? When’re you going to tie the knot?”
“Later in the fall, we think, though ... Well, I don’t think I’m ready for all the fuss of a big wedding.”
“But you have to!”
“I’ve been married before.”
“So were Brynnie and John.”
“I know. My point exactly.” Tiffany studied her glass and frowned. “We’ll see. I think we should give it a couple of months.”
“Why wait?” Katie knew she was impetuous to a fault but when two people were so obviously in love with each other it seemed silly to put off the inevitable. Though she tried to ignore it, she was a romantic at heart.
“Actually,” Tiffany admitted, “there’s something I was going to discuss with you, something that has to do with me getting married.”
“What?” Katie asked, unable to contain her enthusiasm.
“Well, J.D.’s dad has finally convinced him that he and I and the kids should move out to the new farm that Santini Brothers is converting into a vineyard and winery.”
“The old Zalinski place.” Katie had already heard the news.
“Right. Even though J.D. argued with him and told him there was no way he was going to be involved with the company business again, Carlo can be very persuasive when he wants to be, so . . . as the old saying goes, he made J.D. an offer he couldn’t refuse. Not only did Carlo give me the deed to this house free and clear, but he is offering us the farmhouse if we’ll agree to live on the grounds. J.D. will still practice law for other people but he’ll be a consultant of sorts for Santini Brothers.” Glancing around the kitchen, Tiffany added, “It’s probably time I started fresh anyway. I moved here when Philip died and both of the kids hated it. Stephen openly rebelled and Christina suffered from nightmares. All that seems to have gone away, but J.D. and I and the kids need a new start. A place of our own.”
“Sounds great. Too good to be true.”
“Almost. But the problem is I’ll need someone to run this place—you know, manage the apartments and live on the premises. I thought it would be perfect for you and Josh. You could stay here rent free, collect a salary and still work for the Review.”
“You’re kidding!” Katie’s head snapped up.
“Dead serious. You could sell your place or rent it out,” Tiffany said, before draining her glass.
Katie didn’t know what to say. She gazed at the kitchen filled with all of Tiffany’s things—her baskets and shiny pots and hanging bundles of dried herbs. “I . . . I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. Talk it over with Josh.”
“Do. You’ve seen the place, of course, but let me give you the grand tour, show you what you’d be in for. Let’s start at the top.” They climbed two flights of stairs to a studio apartment set under the eaves. J.D. sat at a small table with his laptop computer glowing in front of him.
“Missed me?” he asked, as Tiffany approached him.
“Terribly,” she replied dryly. “I just couldn’t stand it.”
His smile stretched wide and he leaned back in his chair to stare at his fiancée. The silent message he sent her fairly sizzled and Tiffany’s cheeks burned red. “Well . . . uh, this is the smallest unit.” She pointed out the tiny kitchen and bath, then, with a sidelong look at her husband-to-be, led Katie down to the second floor.
“He’s incorrigible,” she muttered.
“Along with a whole list of other things,” Katie teased. When Tiffany eyed her skeptically, she added, “All good. All very good.”
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 DO NOT ENTER 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.”
