Envious

by Lisa Jackson

  “Don’t,” she warned herself, and Blue gave out a bark of agreement.

  But she feared it was already too late. Much too late.

  * * *

  A few days later Luke stared at a copy of Josh Kinkaid’s birth certificate. Luke smoothed the official paper open on the scarred maple table that had come with his apartment in the carriage house. The name of Josh’s father was missing, but the birth date was perfect. With a little math, Luke figured Katie had gotten pregnant about a month to six weeks before Dave Sorenson had left Bittersweet.

  It wasn’t proof positive, of course; she could have had another lover, but Luke had the painful sensation that he knew for certain that Josh Kinkaid was Ralph Sorenson’s only grandchild. His jaw tightened and he wondered where the feeling of satisfaction he’d anticipated in figuring out this mystery was. He was about to earn the money he’d been promised, about to give an elderly man a ray of hope before he died, about to betray a woman he thought he could all too easily fall in love with.

  At that thought, he started. He wasn’t falling in love! Hell, at best what he felt for Katie Kinkaid was lust. And what did it matter if he let Sorenson know the truth? The man had a right to meet his grandkid, didn’t he? Of course he did. Luke kicked out his chair, grabbed his hat from a peg near the door and walked outside to the landing where the sultry evening air was so thick it seemed to weigh against his skin.

  Somewhere over the mountains, thunder rumbled and he thought about his livestock at the ranch. He’d better check on the horses and cattle, than return to town.

  To Katie.

  His gut clenched when he thought of leaving her that morning in her bathrobe. He’d wanted to stay, to carry her back to the bedroom and finish what he’d started on the night of Bliss Cawthorne’s marriage. It had been five or six days since then, and the image of her lying on the bed, the shimmering blue gown peeled down to her waist, her gorgeous breasts exposed and crowned with rosy nipples, had haunted him. Day and night. He’d cruised by her house since then, telling himself that he was checking to see that no one was lingering in the shadows of her cottage, that no intruder was hell-bent on breaking in, that he was only checking on her.

  And he’d called. Asked her about Josh’s ankle and if she’d had any more hang-ups, or if she’d changed the locks. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t really any of his business, but he knew that it wasn’t his concern that bothered her; it was the unspoken current that existed between them, the passion that they both tried to ignore, that caused her tongue to lash out.

  He could break down and knock on her door. Use the same excuse he’d used the other night, about the potential prowler. And they’d end up in bed; they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves. But he knew it was a sham, a pretense to see her again.

  Trying to convince himself that he’d been overreacting—that no one had been observing them at the hotel the night of the Lafferty wedding, that nothing in her house had been out of place and no one had broken in, that the phone calls she’d received were just a rash of wrong numbers—he climbed down the outside staircase.

  The main house was nearly empty; a moving van had carted off most of Tiffany Santini’s belongings the day before. Boxes, crates and sacks were piled on the back porch and the windows were dark. Soon, Katie and Josh would be moving in. It calmed him somehow, to think that she’d be near. Sure, there’d be hell to pay because he knew himself well enough to realize that he’d use any reason to get close to her, any excuse to get her into bed with him.

  “Damn it all to hell.” What was it about that woman that made him want to protect her one minute and make love to her the next?

  As he crossed the dry, yellowed lawn he noticed that the sky was dark, thick with swollen-bellied clouds that blocked the sun. He made his way to the truck just as the first fat raindrops began to fall. Inside the cab it was hot, breathless. He opened the windows, shoved the rig into reverse and squinted as rivulets of rain slithered through the film of dust that covered his windshield. He wouldn’t think of Katie right now but sooner or later, he’d have to deal with her.

  * * *

  “I don’t believe you.” Josh, half lying on the rumpled sheets of his bed, stared at his mother with wide-eyed disgust.

  Katie cringed. “It’s true. Why would I lie?”

  “But you did. You lied.”

  “And now I’m telling you the truth,” she said, dying a little inside. “Dave Sorenson is . . . your father.” She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the yearbook from her days in high school. “I’d always thought there would be more time. That when you were older ... Oh, Josh, I made a horrible mistake.” Her voice was thick, her throat nearly closed. “Your dad and I . . .” How could she explain a short-term love affair to a boy who wasn’t yet eleven? “We were just kids and he moved away. By the time I knew I was pregnant with you, he was already gone and, I think, dating some other girl in his new town.” She pointed to Dave’s senior-class picture. He looked so young, so boyish, and yet he’d been her first love. “I’m sure he would have loved you a lot, but he never knew about you.”

  “Because you lied.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip and fought the urge to break down and sob like a baby. “Yes.”

  “You should have told me.”

  She felt as if she’d been stabbed through the heart. Of course she should have. “I know.”

  He swallowed hard and folded his arms over his chest. Thrusting out his chin, he demanded, “Are you gonna send me to him or is he comin’ here, or what?”

  “No,” she said, summoning every bit of courage she could muster. “He can’t. Not anymore. He died ... a few months ago, I guess ... and I didn’t know it. He was in the military. There was a helicopter accident while they were on maneuvers and . . . and he didn’t survive.”

  Josh gasped and his face, tanned from the summer sun, turned a sickly chalky shade. Tears filled his eyes.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said again.

  “It’s true.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A friend ... he told me.” For the first time she considered the fact that Luke could have been mistaken or lied, and she mentally kicked herself for not checking it out herself. She was a reporter, for God’s sake. She knew better than to take someone’s word. She spent days double-checking sources and yet this time, she’d taken Luke’s story about Dave as if it were Gospel from the Bible.

  But he wouldn’t have lied.

  “You shoulda told me. Told him about me,” Josh said.

  “As I said, I’m sorry, Josh.” She sniffed as tears drizzled down her cheeks. “So sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I—I couldn’t. It was wrong. Bad. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. I . . .” She sighed and fought the urge to break down altogether. “I just can’t. Not now.”

  He blinked and looked away toward the window that was open just a crack. Outside, thunder rumbled over the hills and rain began to drip down the windowpanes. Blue growled from the living room. With a swipe of one hand Josh wiped the tip of his nose and as Katie touched him he shifted, using his shoulder as a shield, silently shunning her.

  They were only inches apart but the distance between them seemed vast. Unbridgeable.

  “Josh—”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Honey, please—”

  He hopped to his feet, winced from the pain in his ankle, then skewered her with eyes filled with hatred. With a condemning finger pointed at her nose, he whispered his newfound mantra: “You shoulda told me.” His voice cracked and Katie’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, standing and wanting so badly to fold him into her arms. Here in his room where model airplanes, books, CDs and magazines had begun to be packed into boxes for the move. Boxes of memorabilia that his father had never seen. A soccer trophy winked in the harsh light from the overhead fixture—a trophy Josh had never sha
red with his father. How had she been so selfish? She’d denied her son his right to know his own dad. Just as she’d been denied the knowledge of her biological father. “You’re right, Josh. I made a mistake,” she admitted, “but I can’t change anything now. I can only let you meet your other grandparents—your father’s parents. They want to see you.”

  “Just leave me alone.” His chin inched up in rebellious defiance and his cheeks were wet from his silent tears.

  “Listen, Josh—”

  “I said, leave me alone.” He snagged up the yearbook and Katie told herself she had no choice but to let him sort through his feelings, whatever pain she’d inadvertently hurled at him. She swallowed hard. “Think about it.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anybody!”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll let you be,” she said, knowing he needed time to adjust to the bomb she’d just set off in his life. “But Grandma’s coming over and—”

  “I don’t want to see her,” Josh insisted, reaching for the remote control and clicking on the small television set to a decibel level guaranteed to shatter glass. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “You might. Later.”

  He glared at her with red-rimmed eyes that were filled with silent, deadly accusations. His chin wobbled and his back stiffened in some vain attempt at manhood.

  “I’ll be in the living room. When Grandma gets here I’ll send her in.”

  “No.”

  “Josh—”

  His lips compressed and she held both hands up as if to fend off an attack. “Okay, okay, bud, I’ll give you some time alone, but I think we should talk this out.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you or Grandma or anyone.”

  “We’ll see.” She walked out of the room and jumped as the door slammed behind her. Clearing her throat she headed for her desk and told herself it would all work out. Of course, Josh was hurt, disappointed and angry. Of course he wanted to scream and cry and mourn for a father he’d never known.

  She sank into her desk chair and sighed, stirring her bangs.

  And of course, he was right. She should have told him the truth. Years ago. But she hadn’t. Now, it seemed, they would all have to pay the price.

  Chapter Eight

  “Of course, Josh is upset,” Brynnie said, rummaging in her purse for a pack of gum that, it was advertised, would cut down her need for a cigarette. She tossed her keys, eyeglass case, coin purse and wallet onto Katie’s table before she found the gum. “Who wouldn’t be?” She opened the pack and shook out a stick. With a longing sigh for a smoke she’d sworn to give up, she plopped the gum into her mouth.

  Katie swiped at the counter haphazardly with her sponge. “I should have told him about Dave. No. Reverse that.” She rinsed the sponge at the sink. “I should have told Dave about Josh.” Wiping her hands on a towel hanging over the handle of the oven she glanced down the hallway. “He’s been in there over an hour.”

  “Give him time,” her mother advised.

  Katie bit her lip. She felt worse than awful. Sometimes she thought that as a mother she’d failed miserably. This was one of those times.

  Brynnie eyed the few boxes that were stacked in the corner. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll help you load these into the Jeep and you can take them over to the new place.”

  “Even though Tiffany and J.D. moved out the other day, I think they still have some things they want to do to the place before I call it home,” Katie said, though her half-sister had told her that the house was just about ready and had encouraged her to start moving. “Besides, I can’t leave Josh now.”

  “Of course you can.” Her mother wasn’t swayed. “Do you really think it makes any difference to him if you’re here or a few blocks across town?”

  “But if he wants to talk—”

  “He can wait. Besides, I’m here. I know the scoop.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I’m his grandmother and I’ve dealt with this kind of thing a lot.” Brynnie managed a smile as she popped her gum. “Besides, I kind of owe you one, don’t I?”

  “Why?”

  “For letting you think that Hal Kinkaid was your father.” Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “I, uh, should apologize to you for that little fib.”

  “I think it was more than a ‘little fib,’ but it doesn’t matter right now. It’s water under the bridge,” Katie said, waving off her mother’s concerns.

  “You didn’t think so at the time.”

  Katie managed a half smile. “Well, come on, Mom, you have to admit that of all your husbands, Hal was the least ... ‘memorable,’ for lack of a better word.”

  “You mean boring.”

  “That, too.” Katie rubbed her arms at the thought of her surly, overbearing namesake. He was a steady worker, but found absolutely no joy in life. “I never knew what you saw in him.”

  “Neither do I. Not now.” Brynnie motioned to the boxes.

  “Go on, Katie, take these over to the house. Give me a couple of hours alone with my grandson.”

  Katie hesitated. “If you think it’ll work.”

  With a wink, Brynnie slowly nodded her head. “Guaranteed.”

  “Okay, okay.” Katie walked down the hall to Josh’s room and rapped on the door with her knuckles. Her mother was just a step behind. “Bud?” Katie called through the panels.

  “Go ’way!”

  So Josh was still in his foul mood. Despite his order, Katie opened the door a crack. “No reason to be rude.”

  He didn’t look her way but she could read the I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you expression on his face. “I’m gonna run some boxes over to the new place, but Grandma’s here, okay?”

  “I can stay by myself.”

  “Not while I’m anywhere in the vicinity,” Brynnie said.

  “I never give up a chance to play darts or Hearts or Scrabble with my favorite grandson.”

  “I’m your only grandson,” he grumbled, but a dimple creased one cheek—a dimple Katie hadn’t seen since she’d told him about his father.

  “Then that makes you extra special, doesn’t it?” Brynnie edged into the room and looked over her shoulder. “Go on,” she mouthed to Katie as she took a seat on the foot of the bed. “Now, kiddo, what’ll the bet be?”

  “I dunno.”

  “I know. If I win, you’ll come over and mow my lawn, but if you win, I’ll take you and a friend over to the water park next weekend.”

  “Really?” Josh sent his mother a glance that said he knew he was being conned.

  “Of course.” Brynnie looked up, caught Katie standing at the crack in the doorway and gave her a curt little wave.

  “Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” Katie said, relieved that her son seemed to be jollying out of his bad mood. “I’ll see you both later.”

  She packed the Jeep with boxes, coats from the front closet and a few sacks from the kitchen, then drove to the old Victorian house she would soon call home. It felt odd, somehow; she and Josh had lived in the cottage for all of his life. But it was time for a change.

  She parked in an open spot by the garage, noticed that Luke’s pickup was missing and kicked herself when she felt a pang of disappointment. “Forget him,” she whispered under her breath as she started unloading boxes and carrying them into the old house. It seemed empty and cold. Fresh paint, a soft gold color that Tiffany had let Katie pick out, covered the walls and the wood floors gleamed, but the furniture was missing, the hanging pots, the dried herbs and the children’s artwork stripped from what had been Tiffany’s once-cozy kitchen. No black cat slunk through the shadows and without the wail of Stephen’s guitar, the patter of Christina’s busy feet or Tiffany’s soft laughter, the house was little more than a tomb.

  “Cut it out,” she reprimanded and busied herself by carrying box after box into the house and leaving it in the appropriate room. She’d finished her last trip and was actually hanging coats in the front hall when she heard the back door open.

  H
er heart nearly stopped.

  “Hello?” Luke’s voice filled the empty space.

  “In here.” Her pulse jumped a bit as he came into view—tall and rangy, in jeans and a faded denim shirt with its sleeves shoved to the elbows, his hair windblown. He brought with him the scents of rainwater and horses.

  “Movin’ in?” he asked, his blue eyes intense.

  “The first load.” She shut the closet door and suddenly felt tongue-tied. “I, uh, I’ll move the big stuff in a couple of days. My brothers have offered to help with the furniture and appliances.”

  He glanced around the empty rooms. “Your boy here?”

  “At home with Grandma.” A pang of regret sliced through her heart at the thought of Josh and his reaction to the news that the father he’d never known was dead.

  As if he read the pain in her expression, Luke said, “Wait here, I’ve got an idea.”

  “For what—?” she asked but he’d already turned on his heel and was striding toward the kitchen. A second later the screen door banged shut behind him. Curious, she couldn’t help but follow the sound and walk into the kitchen where she looked through the window and watched as he dashed through the raindrops to the carriage house, then took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time. A few seconds later he reappeared carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. She watched as he jogged across the yard and entered the house with the smell of fresh rain clinging to him.

  “I think we should christen the place,” he said, removing a corkscrew from his pocket and piercing the foil over the cork with the tool’s sharp tip. “Come on,” he encouraged, as if witnessing skepticism on her face. “Let’s do it right. In here.” As he started uncorking the bottle he led her into the parlor where bay windows, draped in gauzy curtains overlooked the front yard and a marble fireplace loomed against the opposite wall. The cork popped. “Here, you pour. I’ll be right back.”