by Gina Wilkins
* * *
Hands on the wheel, Tate slanted a quick, sideways glance at Kim, who sat very straight and prim in the passenger seat of her car, her face turned away from him as she gazed out the side window. The car was so small their arms almost touched over the center console, but it might as well have been a yacht for all the emotional distance between them at that moment. She hadn’t said a word since he’d driven away from her house ten minutes ago.
Was she regretting again that she’d become involved in this admittedly outlandish scheme? Probably she wondered why he’d allowed himself to be swept into the plan by his sister and friends. He’d had plenty of time to ask himself that question during the past nine days, and still hadn’t come up with an answer that was entirely satisfactory. He’d decided to stop analyzing and just go with it, a philosophy that had always served him well in the past.
Was Kim anxious about what lay ahead? He couldn’t blame her for that. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, figuring the next couple of days would be interesting and provide plenty of funny stories for his friends, but he was aware of the challenges they could encounter. He hoped she wasn’t uncomfortable being alone with him now—especially after that unexpectedly volatile kiss.
Surely she knew she could trust him not to let things get out of hand; just as he knew she wouldn’t read too much into his behavior this weekend, since she had always been adamant that she wasn’t looking for a relationship. He and Kim were friends, and he treasured that friendship. He had no intention of breaking that bond.
Okay, maybe there’d been times when he’d been tempted to carry their relationship beyond a casual acquaintance. Maybe there had been more than a few occasions when he’d looked at her laughing with her friends across the lunch table and felt a strong urge to have her all to himself. More than once, he’d considered asking her out, but he’d always dissuaded himself with the reasons that would not be a good idea. He didn’t want to ruin their comfortable friendship. He had always been wary of dating single mothers. His sister would never forgive him if he did anything even unintentionally to hurt her friend. And then there was the fact that Kim had never given him any significant sign that she wanted him to ask her out, despite an occasional moment of what he thought of as heightened awareness between them. Even now, after a kiss that had shaken him to his bone marrow, Kim was as reserved and carefully cordial with him as ever.
Maybe the kiss hadn’t been as stimulating for her as it had been for him. He’d thought he saw some of his own surprise and awareness mirrored in her eyes when she had pulled away, but then she’d turned and planted one on Evan. Which, Tate admitted privately now, had rather annoyed him. Just what purpose had that served in preparing her for the coming weekend?
A particularly enthusiastic round of tinkling and babbling came from the backseat as Daryn pumped her toy and kicked her feet. “She seems content back there,” he said, figuring talk about the baby would set Kim more at ease.
She glanced over her shoulder. “She likes riding in the car. She’ll probably fall asleep soon.”
“She sure likes that monkey.”
“Mr. Jingles,” Kim informed him with a faint laugh. “A gift from her father.”
Tate kept his eyes on the road and his tone casual. “Yeah? I thought you said he wasn’t a part of your lives.”
“Oh, he’s not. He visited me in the hospital when Daryn was born, left the monkey and a generous check, wished us both the best and walked out of our lives. Last I heard, he was living in Alaska where he’s pursuing his dream to be a bush pilot.”
It was the most he’d heard her say about her child’s father. Perhaps she was simply acknowledging Tate’s inevitable curiosity about the man whose role he was filling this weekend. Maybe she didn’t want those questions to become the elephant in the car with them, so to speak.
“You don’t sound bitter,” he commented.
She shrugged. “Chris is a nice, fun guy, but he’d make a terrible husband and father, as he is the first to admit. We were together for a while, but I never expected it to last forever. Granted, Daryn was a surprise, but both Chris and I would have been miserable if we’d tried to stay together for her sake. Especially him, since he didn’t really want a child. As for me, I consider myself blessed to have her, and I’ll always think fondly of Chris because of her.”
It didn’t sound as though she received any support now from Daryn’s father, but judging from the months Tate had known Kim that didn’t surprise him. He’d always thought of her as very independent and self-sufficient. He admired that about her. Just as he appreciated her calm, quiet demeanor that didn’t quite mask a delightfully dry sense of humor. And her ease with keeping their luncheon conversations flowing and interesting. Not to mention that she was certainly pleasant to look at with her wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair, brown eyes the color of good whiskey, a cute smattering of freckles across an impishly tilted nose and a slightly crooked smile that always made his pulse jump into overdrive when aimed in his direction.
Another happy squeal and frantic clinking came from the backseat, reminding him of the main reason why he’d never done anything about that racing pulse. As loath as he was to compare himself to Kim’s ex, Tate was in no better position to take on the massive responsibility of a child—especially now, when his long-planned business was just taking off.
“Do you mind if I turn on some music? Daryn drifts off to sleep more easily when there’s music playing. She needs her nap.”
Though he couldn’t help wondering if Kim was trying to ward off any further conversation as much as soothe her baby, Tate shook his head. “Feel free. What does she like? Heavy metal? Acid rock? Please tell me it doesn’t involve purple dinosaurs.”
Kim laughed softly. “You’re a little dated on kids’ TV, not to mention rock genres, but there are no purple dinosaurs involved. I usually tune in to a pop or country radio station, but we’re not picky.”
“I’m a country fan, myself.”
“I knew that,” she reminded him, reaching for the radio buttons.
Of course she did. Just as he knew her favorite television programs because of their weekly chats over lunch. He hoped whatever happened this weekend didn’t affect those easy conversations he’d always enjoyed so much. He supposed he hadn’t thought that far ahead beyond this impulsive outing. As hard as it would be for him to state exactly why he had agreed in the first place, he knew he had to make certain that he and Kim remained friends afterward. She meant too much to him—on a platonic basis, of course—for him to risk not having her in his life, at least on a once-a-week basis.
* * *
After a brief stop halfway into the trip for a walk break, a diaper change for Daryn and ice-cream cones for Tate and Kim, they were back on the road toward Springfield. Kim had offered to drive the rest of the way, but Tate confided he was a restless passenger and would just as soon drive, if she didn’t mind. Since she would rather ride and sightsee than negotiate the turns and traffic on the road clogged with tourists headed for Branson, Missouri, Kim was happy to agree.
Daryn fussed a little at being strapped back into her car seat so soon, but she fell asleep again within a few minutes on the road, to Kim’s relief. For the most part, Daryn was an easygoing baby who rarely cried, but she’d thrown a few memorable fits in her time. Kim was glad this wasn’t going to be one of those times.
A little more than an hour’s drive lay ahead of them when they crossed the Arkansas/Missouri state line. Kim pointed that out to Tate, telling him she would guide him to her mother’s house after they reached Springfield. She’d never been to this house, but she had been given detailed directions. Her mother had moved into a new place since Kim had last been persuaded to come for a visit.
“You know, it just occurred to me,” Tate said with a sudden frown. “What has your mother been calling me? You
said she’s told everyone you’ve been married for more than a year. Did she give your imaginary husband a name?”
“She said she called him—er, you—Trey. You know, as if you were Somebody the Third. She thought that sounded impressive, I guess.”
“Hmm. That’s rather a coincidence. Actually, I am the third Tate in my family. My mom’s dad and his dad were both named Tate, though obviously there’s no ‘the third’ in my name.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you prefer answering to Tate. As to your last name, she said she never mentioned it and no one asked.”
“Rather odd, isn’t it?”
“Not in my family,” she replied with a faint sigh. “As competitive as they all are, they wouldn’t want to hear too many details about this perfect life Mom has concocted for me.”
She saw him slant a look her way, and she could only imagine the thoughts going through his head. He and Lynette came from such a normal, stable family. Tate was in for a shock when he met Kim’s relatives. It was just as well she wasn’t bringing him home as a mate, even a potential one, she told herself. He’d be running in panic before the weekend was over rather than tie himself to anyone from the dysfunctional clan he was about to meet.
She checked the directions again as Tate turned onto the street where her mother lived. “Second house on the left,” she said, checking the numbers. “Yes, this is it.”
A car and a pickup truck were parked in the driveway of the buff-brick house, so Tate pulled up to the curb. “Nice place,” he commented, studying the modestly middle-class house on the tidy street lined with similar homes. “Somewhat more… um, normal than I was expecting.”
“It is quite average-looking, isn’t it?” She eyed the cheery flowers in the beds on either side of the small front porch. “Apparently, Mom is a suburban housewife these days.”
“As opposed to…?”
“Her first husband, my father, was in the military, so she was an army wife living on base for a few years. They split when I was just two and he died in a motorcycle accident not long afterward. Her second husband, the father of my first half brother, Julian Cavenaugh, sang in a traveling bluegrass band based in Branson. We lived in a mobile home park and Mom threw pots and made macramé wall hangings to occupy herself while he was on the road. They divorced when I was eight, when the singer decided he made better music as a single act. Her third husband had a lot of money, so she was a society maven in St. Louis during that phase, when my younger half brother, Stuart O’Hara, was born. That marriage ended when I was thirteen, when Stuart’s dad was caught in a tax fraud scheme and lost everything, including my mother.”
Tate didn’t say anything, so Kim finished her convoluted history quickly while reaching for her bag. “Her fourth husband was a cattle rancher in a little town about fifty miles from Springfield. Mom embraced country life, learning to bake and knit and raise chickens. I lived there until I was eighteen and left for college. I never went back—she and Stan split up before my first semester ended. She was involved with several men after that, but didn’t marry again until three years ago. This latest one, Bob Shaw, is a tax accountant, a couple of years younger than Mom. She turned fifty earlier this year, though she wouldn’t admit it under threat of torture. I’ve only seen Bob once. He seemed nice enough, if a little bland.”
“Are you close to your brothers?”
“Not really. Stuart was just a little boy when I moved out, and I haven’t seen him all that often since. Julian entered the military the day after he graduated from high school, married soon after that and was deployed overseas for the most part until he got out of the service and moved back to Missouri a few months ago, sans the wife. Apparently, she found new companionship while he was serving in the Middle East.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. My brother and I share our mother’s luck with romance, apparently.”
She climbed out of the car without giving Tate a chance to ask any further questions. So far when she’d told him these stories about her family’s past, he’d merely listened intently, then kept whatever reactions he’d had to himself. Perhaps he was too bemused to think of anything to say, since her background was so vastly different from what she’d heard of his and Lynette’s.
She knew he would never look at her quite the same way after this escapade. She just hoped that when this weekend was over, they could at least still be comfortable as once-a-week lunch buddies.
Before she could even unbuckle Daryn from the car seat, the front door to the house opened and her mother rushed out to greet them. “Kimmie! Trey! I’m so glad you’re here. Where’s that grandchild of mine?”
Tate had time only to give Kim a look of startled amusement before Betsy descended on him. Her mother, Kim noted, had needed no rehearsal. No one watching would ever suspect that Betsy had never even met the man she was hugging so warmly.
Betsy gave Tate a smacking kiss on the cheek before drawing back to gaze up at him. “How was the drive?”
“Very nice, thank you. Um—have I met your husband?” Tate asked in a quiet voice meant only for Betsy’s ears. Kim barely heard him, herself, as she approached them with Daryn in her arms.
“Not just yet, dear.” Betsy smiled blandly as she replied. “Don’t you remember, I came alone to visit you and Kim after Daryn was born?”
“Of course.” Tate grinned, clearly charmed. “How could I have forgotten that?”
Betsy beamed. Kim noted that her mom had adopted her newest role with the same attention to detail as all the parts she’d played before. She looked every inch the middle-class homemaker with her blond-highlighted hair, red-plastic-framed glasses, yellow-print cotton top and ivory cropped pants. She barely resembled the woman who’d worn braids and tie-dye during her bohemian phase, or designer-labeled suits and heels to country club luncheons, or denim and gingham and boots on the ranch.
Betsy patted Tate’s arm with a pink-manicured hand. “Funny and handsome. As I’ve said many times before, my daughter is so fortunate to be married to you.”
Tate laughed softly.
Betsy turned to plant an air kiss near Kim’s cheek. “Hello, darling. You look wonderful—though I did like your hair better a bit shorter. And look at my little Daryn. She’s growing so fast! You’ll want to be careful not to feed her too much, dear. Chubby babies grow into chubby adults, you know.”
Reminding herself that quarreling with her mother was like arguing with a cat, Kim responded mildly, “Daryn falls right into the middle of the recommended size charts for her age, Mom. She’s perfectly healthy.”
It didn’t surprise Kim that Betsy made no attempt to hold the wide-eyed baby, just kissed her soft cheek, then stepped quickly back. “Oh, I just love your wedding rings,” she said in approval. “Yours looks a bit tight on your hand, Kim. As though maybe you’ve gained a little weight since your wedding day.”
Kim had been all too aware of the unfamiliar ring on her finger during the drive here. She didn’t really need her mother pointing out the flaws with it, especially since Kim was wearing it to satisfy her in the first place.
Betsy moved toward the house without waiting for a response. “Come inside. Everyone’s eager to meet you, Trey.”
“His name is Tate, Mom. He really prefers that.”
“Tate Price,” he murmured.
Betsy winked at him and linked her arm through his. “Of course.”
Tate grinned over his shoulder at Kim when Betsy tugged him toward the house. “I’ll come back later for the bags, honey,” he said, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly.
Kim gave him a saccharine sweet smile in return. “That will be just fine, sweetie.”
Feeling as though she were caught in a current she couldn’t quite escape—a familiar sensation when her mother was around—Kim fell into step re
signedly behind her mother and her “husband.”
Chapter Three
As much as he disapproved what he’d heard of Betsy’s maternal behavior—or lack of it—Tate couldn’t help but be amused by her. Was she really as oblivious to reality as she acted? She was either one of the most natural actors he’d ever encountered, or she was a little delusional. Maybe both.
A seemingly compulsive flirt, she held his hand and twinkled up at him as she towed him into her house, leaving Kim to follow behind with the baby. He looked rather helplessly over his shoulder at her, but Kim merely wrinkled her nose and shrugged as if to remind him that she’d tried to warn him.
“Everyone, look who’s here! Come say hello to Kim and Tate and precious little Daryn,” Betsy called out as they entered the crisply air-conditioned interior of her home.
Tate wasn’t one to pay much attention to interior decor, but he got an impression of tidy, rather generic furnishings and framed prints in a neutral color scheme with touches of gold and green. And flowers. Lots of flowers, cheerily arranged in glass and ceramic vases displayed on nearly every surface. He might not know a lot about furniture, but he could name every bloom on display.
A young man with limp brown hair and a vaguely disgruntled frown looked up from the tablet computer he’d been fiddling with on the living room couch. “Tate? I thought you said his name was Trey.”
“It’s Tate the Third, obviously,” Betsy replied without a pause. “He’s decided he prefers Tate. Stand up and greet your sister and brother-in-law, Stuart. Where are Bob and Julian?”
“Bob wanted to show Julian something under the hood of his car,” Stuart replied vaguely, remaining seated. “Hey, Kim.”
She greeted him politely, and only a little more warmly. “Hi, Stuart. How’s it going?”
“It’s all good. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he muttered in response to his mother’s meaningfully cleared throat.
