by Lisa Jackson
So, now, what to do?
Katie took a long pull from her bottle of soda. A lot of people had been questioned about Isaac’s disappearance. Ray Dean, a local thug who had been in and out of prison several times, was the most current “person of interest” in the case. Ray had recently been paroled, but most of the people in Bittersweet believed it was only a matter of time before he was arrested again for some kind of crime. So how could he be involved? She decided it was time for her to find out.
After letting Blue back into the house, she spent the next couple of hours at her desk writing the story about receiving the letter. She polished the text, then reworked an article about the new school-district administrator and another on the making of applesauce using other fruits and berries to change the color and flavor of an old favorite.
“Not exactly Pulitzer material,” she muttered under her breath, because though the community was interested in the warm folksy articles that the Review was known for, she preferred something meatier, something with a little flash. When she’d completed her work, she emailed the columns to the office, then reviewed her notes on Isaac Wells again.
“Who knows?” she said, snapping off her computer as she heard Josh stirring. Rubbing a crick from her neck, she made her way back to her son’s room and found him dozing again. She folded her arms under her breasts, leaned against the doorjamb and watched him sleeping so peacefully. The sleep of the innocent.
In repose Josh looked a little more like Dave than was usual. Or maybe it was her imagination working overtime. Ever since learning of Dave’s death, she saw flashes of him in their boy. Which was ridiculous. Everyone who met Josh thought he was the spitting image of his mother.
Still, Katie saw the resemblance to his father in the shape of his eyes, the slight bump in his nose, even the way he walked.
And now Dave was gone. Her throat grew thick with memories she’d repressed for over ten years. She’d been young and foolish, anxious to grow up. Dave, just a little older than she was, had had the same wide brown eyes and thick eyebrows he’d given his son. He’d been a quiet boy who had moved from Texas with his mother and father. The first friends he’d made in town had been her half brothers, Nathan and Trevor, two hellions if ever there were any.
Katie sighed as she stared at her son. How could she tell him about his father? That there had been a poignancy, a deep sadness in Dave that had touched her heart? Whereas David Sorenson had been drawn to her wild brothers and their outgoing tomboy of a sister, she’d been attracted to his shy smile and clever, dry wit. Oh, Dave, she thought, why did you have to die? And how? She’d never even asked. So stunned by the news, she hadn’t voiced the question as there hadn’t been much opportunity and she hadn’t been sure she wanted to know.
Guilt, an emotion she tried to ignore, pricked at her mind. Dave, while he was alive, had the right to know that he’d fathered a son, and, dammit, Josh should have met his father. When Dave and his family had left Bittersweet, she’d told him that her period was late, that there was a chance she was pregnant, but that her monthly cycle was irregular. He’d never called and asked what had happened, and by the time she was certain she was carrying his child, her pride was wounded, her heart broken, and she’d refused to try and track him down like some pathetic, unwanted woman. Looking back now, she realized she had probably made a mistake.
Her throat grew tight, and she told herself that no good came from self-recriminations, that she could mentally beat herself up, but what was done was done. She just had to tell Josh the truth, and, of course, inform Ralph and Loretta Sorenson that they were grandparents.
Easier said than done.
A dozen worries skated through her mind. What if they decided they wanted partial custody of Josh, that this boy was all they had left of their only son? Conversely, what if, upon learning that Dave had fathered a child, they didn’t want to deal with Josh and felt that seeing him was too painful a reminder of their late son? What if they didn’t believe her, thought she was lying or, worse yet, was trying to scam them because they were a wealthy family that, after Dave’s death, had no heir?
Just as she chided herself for borrowing trouble, Josh stirred and blinked. “Mom?” he asked around a yawn. He stretched one arm over his head.
“How ya feelin’, bud?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not great.”
“How about breakfast—or lunch? It’s nearly noon.”
“Whatever.”
He started to climb to his feet and winced. “Ouch.”
“Hey. Use the crutches.”
“I just gotta go to the bathroom,” he complained and hopped on one foot down the hallway.
Don’t nag him, she reminded herself as he managed to shut the bathroom door behind him. He’s gonna be grumpy for a while. He’s in pain, but he’s got to do for himself. Rather than over-mother him, she went to the kitchen and finished her cola. She’d just tossed the empty bottle into a sack on the back porch when she heard the bathroom door open, then the sound of Josh hopping to his room. He muttered something under his breath that she probably didn’t want to hear.
Blue whined at the back door, and while she held it open, she heard the uneven cadence of crutches hitting the floor as Josh hitched his way down the hall. She was wiping the counter when he paused at the archway leading to the dining room. “Is the car okay?” he asked, leaning forward on his crutches in order to scratch the old hound behind his ears.
“We can only hope. The mechanics at Len’s seem to be baffled.” She held up both her hands, showing him that her fingers were crossed.
Blue grunted in pleasure.
“I think we should get a new one.”
“Do you?” Josh had been pushing for a new car for the past couple of years. “And give up the cool convertible?”
Rolling his eyes theatrically, he nodded. “It would be cool if it wasn’t a billion years old. I think we need something like a Corvette or a Porsche or…or a Ferrari.”
“Oh, sure. Or maybe a Jaguar or—”
“A BMW.”
“In your dreams,” she said, flashing him a smile.
“Mo-om!”
“Back to the real world, bud. What can I get you for breakfast?”
“We need a new car.”
“You get no argument from me on that one. I just have to figure out how to pay for it.” She tossed her sponge into the sink. “If you want me to make you something to eat, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
He bumbled his way across the kitchen and half fell into the chair Luke had occupied the night before. “How about a double-cheese bagel?”
“You’re in luck. There’s one left.” She reached into the cupboard, and while opening the plastic bag with one hand, she pointed a knife at his bad ankle. “Keep that raised, okay?”
“Okay,” he grumbled and hoisted his foot on to the seat of a second chair. His hair was rumpled, and he was still wearing his soccer uniform from practice the day before.
“We’ll have to figure out a way for you to take a shower,” she said as she sliced the bagel and slipped both halves into the toaster.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever.” She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything more and scrounged in the refrigerator until she found a tub of cream cheese.
“So why was that guy with you last night?” Josh asked, and she looked up sharply to find him staring at her with curious eyes.
“You mean Luke.”
“Yeah. Why was he here?”
“He rescued me when the car broke down.” The toaster popped. Quickly, as she slathered the bagel halves with cream cheese, she ran down the details of the night before and only left out the fact that Luke Gates had kissed her. That was one little fact that no one would ever know. It had been a mistake. A big one. She wouldn’t be surprised if Luke was as embarrassed about it as she was—if he even remembered.
She placed the bagel halves and a glass of orange juice on the table i
n front of Josh.
“So why did he hang out? Why didn’t you call Uncle Jarrod or Uncle Trevor or—”
“I offered,” she interrupted. “But I guess Luke just wanted to see it through and make sure I was okay.”
“Humph.” Josh bit into his bagel, and she let the subject drop.
The telephone rang sharply. Katie snagged the receiver before it had a chance to jangle again.
“Ms. Kinkaid?” a gravelly voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Len down at the service station. I took a look at your car, and I’ve got some bad news.”
“What?” she asked, feeling a headache starting to pound at the base of her skull.
“You really need a new engine, or at least to have this one rebuilt.”
“No.” She felt a sudden weight on her shoulders. Even though she’d told herself she was prepared to hear the worst about her car, she’d held out a slim hope that the old convertible could somehow be resuscitated.
“’Fraid so. The rings are shot, the distributor cap needs to be replaced, the cylinders are only working at about thirty percent of capacity…” Len rattled off a list of repairs that made her tired. In her mind’s eye she envisioned hundreds of dollars flying out of her wallet just the way they did on cartoon shows. “So,” he said, and she imagined him scratching the silver stubble that forever decorated his chin, “looks to me like you might want to scrap her out and start over. For the same amount of money you could get a car a few years newer and probably a helluva lot more dependable.”
“I—I’ll think about it,” she said and hung up slowly.
Josh’s eyebrows lifted with an unspoken question.
“That was Len at the service station,” she said, deciding not to let this one last piece of bad news bring her down. “Looks like we’re going to have a funeral.”
“What?”
“The car’s officially dead.”
Josh’s face split into a wide grin. “So we’re gonna get a new one?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Yeah, probably.” How, she wasn’t quite sure.
“All-l-l-l ri-i-i-ight!”
“But the most important thing is, we’re going to move.”
“Move?” he repeated, suddenly serious. “Where to?”
“Tiffany’s house.”
“No way.” Josh looked at her as if she’d just said they were going to be living on Jupiter.
“Yes, way. They’re moving to a farm J.D.’s family bought—the old Zalinski place—so Tiffany wants me to be the manager of the apartments in exchange for living there free. We’ll be closer to the main part of town and the school. We’ll rent this place out, and yes, I think we’ll be able to afford a new car—just not a BMW.”
Josh’s smile fell away, and his eyes thinned suspiciously. “Wait a minute. Doesn’t the guy who was here last night live over there?”
“Yep.” She’d thought about Luke residing right next door, and she didn’t like the rush of anticipation she felt when she considered how close they’d be. “But he won’t be renting there for long. He’s got a ranch outside of town.”
“Good,” Josh said as he kicked open the screen door with his good foot so that Blue could saunter outside and lie in his favorite spot in the shade of a rhododendron bush near the back steps. “’Cause I don’t like him. I don’t like him at all.”
Katie bristled a little. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. It feels weird when he’s around.”
That wasn’t surprising, she supposed. Josh probably sensed that she was interested in Luke. At that thought she froze inside. She was not interested in him. Not really. It just had been so long since a man had shown her any attention, since she’d let a man flirt with her. Remembering Luke’s kiss, she touched the tips of her fingers to her lips, then realized that her son was staring at her.
Quickly, fearing he might read her mind, she reached for the phone again. Cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear, she dialed the number of John Cawthorne’s ranch. “I’m going to see if I can borrow Grandma’s car ‘cause I’ve got some errands to run this afternoon. Will you be okay here alone for a couple of hours?”
Josh lifted a shoulder. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“I know, I know, but you’re only ten—”
“Almost eleven.” He stuffed the end of one of the bagel halves into his mouth, and Katie heard the sound of someone picking up the phone on the other end of the line.
Her mother answered with a quick, “Hullo.”
“Hi, Mom,” she said, feeling warm inside at the sound of Brynnie’s voice. “It’s Katie. I’ve got kind of a crisis.” Then, hearing her own words, she said, “Don’t have a stroke, it’s not serious—not really, but the car is in the shop again.”
“I thought Jarrod fixed it yesterday.”
“He tried, but as a car mechanic he makes a great private investigator.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, it looks like I’m going to have to go car shopping soon, because Len thinks it would cost more to fix the convertible than it’s worth. Josh is laid up—a sprained ankle—and I need to run out and do a couple of things, so I was wondering if I could borrow your car.”
“Of course you can!” Brynnie didn’t hesitate for a moment. She might have had lousy taste in men and had more husbands than a cat had fleas, but she was a good mother and had always put her children first in her heart. Katie had never doubted how much she was loved. “I’ll bring it down and sit with Josh for a while.”
“But aren’t you going crazy, what with Bliss’s wedding plans and all?”
“Bliss has it all handled, believe me.” Brynnie chuckled and coughed a bit. “Never been married and she’s carrying this off like a pro. As many times as I walked down the aisle, I was rattled each time, let me tell you. Now, is Josh all right?”
Katie slid her son a glance. “I think so. His pride might be more bruised than his ankle.” Josh, who was reaching for his crutches, didn’t seem to hear her comment.
“Tell him Grandma’s coming over, and I’ll take him on in Hearts or Pitch or whatever card game he wants.”
“I will,” Katie promised.
“Good. Now—what?” she asked, obviously turning away from the phone as her voice faded for a few seconds. “Oh, Katie, wait a minute, your father wants to talk to you.”
Katie was still uncomfortable hearing John Cawthorne referred to so casually as her father. As much as she loved her mother, she couldn’t forget that Brynnie had kept the truth from her until this past year, that Brynnie let her live a lie, even given her another man’s surname.
“Katie?” John Cawthorne’s voice blasted over the phone. “What’s this I hear about your car givin’ up the ghost?”
She went through the whole story again while Josh finished his breakfast, then hobbled into the living room. As she was ending her tale, John interrupted, “We’ve got lots of rigs out here. If you can drive a clutch, you can have the Jeep. It’s just sitting in the garage collecting dust.”
She didn’t want John Cawthorne’s or anyone else’s charity. “I just need to borrow something for a couple of days.”
“Fine, fine, but there’s no sense putting yourself out much. Brynnie’ll drive the Jeep into town, visit with Josh and I’ll come pick her up later. Now, what’s this about Josh hurtin’ himself playin’ soccer? You know, I told you that game was more dangerous than football. No pads. No protection.”
She talked with him for a few minutes, heard for the dozenth time about the pros of football, which was played at the same time of the year as soccer, and how a fine, “strappin’” boy like Josh should get into a decent sport. She hung up, wondering if borrowing the car was worth hearing all the advice. As much as she disliked Hal Kinkaid—a surly, quiet man who seemed to forever carry a chip on his shoulder—at least he didn’t butt into her life. In fact, he’d never shown much interest in her at all.
Growing up, Katie had felt neglected and
had knocked herself out trying to get Hal’s attention. She’d been flamboyant in high school, part of the “wild crowd” who drank and smoked, though she’d drawn the line at drugs. She’d flirted outrageously, gained an ill-gotten reputation and, of course, lost her virginity to Dave. At the thought of her one and only lover, she felt a pang of grief. In retrospect, getting pregnant was the best thing that had happened to her. She’d settled down, suffered the indignities and slurs about being an unwed mother when it wasn’t quite as fashionable as it was today, but given birth to the greatest kid in the world. She glanced into the living room where Josh was flopped on the couch with his ankle propped on the overstuffed arm. Nope, she wouldn’t have changed anything about her life. It was just too darned good. Even if she did have to put up with John Cawthorne’s opinions on every subject in the world.
When her mother came over to drop off the car, Katie hoped to speak to her in private, tell her about Dave. All in all, Brynnie was the only person in whom Katie could confide.
And what about Luke? Are you going to tell your mother that for the first time since Dave Sorenson, you enjoyed kissing a man, even fleetingly wondered what it would be like to make love to him?
She swallowed hard at the thought. Making love to any man was out of the question right now. She had too much to do to get involved with anyone. Even if she had the time, Luke Gates was the last man in the world she could dare trust.
And yet…she couldn’t help fantasizing about him a little. After all, what would it hurt? It wasn’t as if she would ever get the chance to make love to him.
“Thank God,” she whispered and realized that a sheen of perspiration had broken out all over her body.
* * *
“Oh, honey, I hope you’re not getting yourself into the kind of trouble you can’t get out of.” Worry pinched the corners of Brynnie Cawthorne’s mouth as they walked through the overgrown vegetable garden at the side of Katie’s house.
“I’ll be fine.”
“But a letter from Isaac Wells?” Brynnie bent over and picked a plump cherry tomato from a scraggly vine.
