“And in the meantime, Davey’s suffering,” Kate murmured, more to herself than the housekeeper.
When Davey came back and they were seated at one end of the huge, formal dining room table, Kate suggested they draft a schedule of the time Davey wanted his father to spend with him.
“And he’ll have to do what I ask?”
“We’ll negotiate,” Kate explained. “But yes, I think he’ll agree to most of it.”
Breakfast every morning, he suggested, glancing at Kate for approval. She nodded and made a note. An hour each evening before bedtime. Saturday and Sunday afternoons. One all-day outing a month on a weekend. The requests seemed pitifully small and yet it was clear from the hopeful gleam in his eyes that they would mean so much to Davey.
As Kate drew up the list, she used her own childhood as a model, then modified that optimum to allow for David Winthrop’s current emotional state. It would be pointless to demand that he correct everything overnight. If she could get him to commit to making small changes, the big ones would come eventually. Coaching one of those teams his son was on, perhaps. A weekend fishing trip. An honest-to-goodness vacation.
Kate thought back to the special relationship she had shared with her father. He had always been there for her and Ellen, cheering them on in sports, encouraging them with their schoolwork.
Only recently had she discovered that he hadn’t even been Ellen’s natural father. Yet he had never openly differentiated between the two of them. If Kate and he had shared a special bond, he had done his best to balance that by spending extra time with her sister. She couldn’t imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t played such an integral role in their family.
To Kate’s growing irritation, David Winthrop still wasn’t home by Davey’s bedtime. Mrs. Larsen found them in Davey’s playroom, a huge, cheerful room filled with games, long-neglected stuffed animals, a rocking horse, sporting equipment and a state-of-the-art computer. The colorful storybook murals on the wall had obviously been painted with loving attention to detail. Davey had confirmed that his father had done them.
Mrs. Larsen observed Kate and Davey silently from the doorway for a moment before saying firmly, “Bedtime, young man.”
“But I have company,” he protested, glancing up from the Monopoly board. “Besides, Ms. Newton owes me a bundle. I’ve loaned her a lot of money and I’m about to foreclose on her last property.”
Mrs. Larsen gave Kate an understanding look. “The boy’s destined to be a real estate mogul.”
“He’s sneaky,” Kate added. “Had me in hock up to my eyeballs before I realized what he was up to.”
The housekeeper’s mouth curved faintly in what probably passed for a smile. “Then it’s definitely bedtime. We adults have to stick together. Davey, I’m sure Ms. Newton understands that rules are rules around here.”
“I certainly do,” Kate said with obvious gratitude.
Davey grinned. “You just don’t like losing.”
“Nope,” Kate agreed. “Never have.”
He regarded her hopefully. “Could you tuck me in? I don’t really need anyone to do that,” he added quickly. “But I thought maybe you’d want to, since you don’t have any kids of your own.”
Kate swallowed hard, touched by the bravado that masked a cry for affection. “I would be happy to tuck you in.”
“I have to take a shower first, but I won’t be long. You won’t leave, will you?”
Kate cast a look at the usually stiff housekeeper and discovered that her eyes were surprisingly misty. Sensing no disapproval from that quarter, she shook her head. “I’ll wait right here,” she promised.
When Davey had gone, Mrs. Larsen regarded her somberly. “The boy misses his mother. What you’re doing for him is a real nice thing,” she said stiffly.
She walked out before Kate could respond. Kate wondered if she knew the real reason Kate was around or if she’d simply been referring to her agreement to remain to tuck the boy in.
When Davey came in a few minutes later, he was wearing pajamas, and his damp, sandy hair was slicked back. He showed Kate his room, pointing out pictures of his softball and soccer teams, the trophy he’d won for football. “We were champions,” he told her as he smothered a yawn.
“I’ll bet your dad was really proud,” Kate said.
Davey shrugged. “I guess. He didn’t get to the game. He had to work.”
“Things like that happen sometimes,” Kate told him, thinking of how many times she had put social engagements on hold because of a backlog of work. It wasn’t the first time it had occurred to her that she might have been every bit as distracted from parental responsibilities as David Winthrop, and without the recent loss of a spouse as an excuse.
“I’m sure he wanted to be there,” she said, mouthing the platitude in the faint hope that it would reassure Davey.
“He never even asked about it,” Davey retorted, then sighed. “I guess he just forgot.” He glanced at Kate. “Do you ever wish you had a kid like me?”
Kate felt an odd and definitely unexpected twinge of yearning deep inside. “Yes,” she said. She meant it only to reassure him, but as she spoke she realized with amazement that it was true. Right this instant she did wish she had a child who cared whether she was home at night, a child who wanted desperately to share the excitement of accomplishments, a child who would give meaning to an existence that had recently seemed to lack focus.
She smoothed his hair and smiled as his eyelids fluttered closed. “Yes,” she said again softly. “I wish that I had a boy just like you.”
* * *
It was nearly one in the morning when David finally trudged wearily into the house. He’d meant to get home earlier, but somehow the work had been so engrossing that he’d never even noticed the time.
Who was he trying to kid? He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of spending another night trying to figure out how to form a new bond with his son. The weekend had been sheer torture. Davey’s patient, hopeful glances had filled him with an intolerable level of guilt and left him wishing that parenthood came with an instruction book. It had never seemed difficult when Alicia was alive. She had planned outings. She had been the driving force that had filled the big old house with laughter.
He walked into the den, tossed his jacket on the back of a chair and poured himself a drink. Only then did he notice Kate Newton, sound asleep in a wing chair in front of the French doors opening onto the patio.
He stood over her, indulging this odd fascination she seemed to hold for him. She was wearing another one of those power suits, this one in a pale gray. A ruffle of ice blue silk edged the deep V neckline. She had kicked off her gray high heels and sat with her legs tucked under her. A slight breeze fanned the cloud of black hair that fell in curling wisps against her cheek. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked utterly feminine and vulnerable. Desirable, he thought, recognizing the sharp awakening of his senses with amazement.
As if she’d been aware of the wayward direction of his thoughts, she snapped awake, blinked and immediately began hunting for her shoes. David grinned as she jammed her feet into them. Cinderella fearful of having to deal with a prince? He held up the decanter of brandy.
“Would you like a drink?”
She shook her head. He shrugged and poured his own, then sank down in the chair opposite her.
For a moment he simply relished the blessed silence and the unexpected, but surprisingly welcome companionship. Then finally, knowing that the topic couldn’t be avoided forever, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I had a business dinner with my client.”
He regarded her in disbelief. “You had dinner here, with Davey?”
“There was no one else around to eat with him,” she said.
There was no mistaking the note of censure. “Mrs. Larsen is here,” he retorted.
“I’m sure Mrs. Larsen is a lovely woman. I know she’s a terrific cook. But she is sixty-five year
s old and she prefers to eat in the kitchen alone with the TV blaring.”
“How would you know that?”
“She told me herself.”
David sighed in defeat. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I have a career.”
“No one’s career takes that much time,” she countered sharply.
Something in her voice alerted him that even she found a certain irony in that statement coming from her. “Not even yours, Ms. Newton?”
“I don’t have a son at home who needs me.”
He regarded her curiously. “Who do you have waiting for you at the end of the day?”
“At the moment, my mother’s cats. She’s off on her honeymoon.”
“And as we all know, cats are pretty independent, so you can stay out as late as you want.”
“We’re not talking about me, Mr. Winthrop.” She reached for a piece of paper. “Davey and I drew up a list of ideas.”
“Demands.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. I think they’re reasonable.”
David couldn’t help being more intrigued than ever by the woman who was championing his son. He’d made a few calls over the weekend, checked her out and discovered that she had exactly the high-profile reputation she’d claimed. He’d also learned that she always represented the woman. He had a feeling there was a story behind that.
“How come you never take the man’s side?” he asked, watching closely for her response.
“Because men usually have powerful allies in court, including a good many of the judges. I like to even the odds.”
“Why’d you choose this kind of law? Were you getting even with some man who did a number on you?”
Though she didn’t answer, he could see by her startled expression that he was right. “Who hurt you so badly, Kate Newton?” he asked. He’d formed the question first out of mild curiosity. Only after it was spoken did he suddenly realize that he genuinely wanted to know.
“It’s an old story and hardly relevant,” she said indifferently, though there was a faint flicker of pain in her eyes.
“If you’re planning to meddle in my life, then I think everything about you is relevant.”
“I wouldn’t need to meddle if you’d just agree to the terms I’ve outlined.”
He declined to accept the paper she held out. “I never deal with business matters this late. I like to look papers over carefully when I’m fully alert. In this case it would probably be a good idea to have my own lawyer examine them. Who knows what a woman with an ax to grind against men might try to do to entrap me,” he said slyly. “Of course, if I knew a little more about you, perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary.”
She looked disconcerted by the subtle innuendo he’d allowed to underscore his taunt. “Another time,” she said, plunking the paper on the table beside him and practically bolting for the door.
Surprised somehow by the skittish response, David followed at a more leisurely pace. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Outside, striding across a lawn already damp with dew, she slowed down just long enough to remind him, “I expect your response to our requests within the next few days.”
“You’ll have it tomorrow,” he said, then, probably as much to his own amazement as to hers, he added impulsively, “Over dinner.”
She halted in her tracks. Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. “With my client?”
David found himself grinning at discovering yet another flaw in that suit of armor she wore. Kate Newton might have the upper hand in a courtroom, but here, on his turf both literally and figuratively, he could clearly rattle her. He realized it delighted him in some indefinable way.
“If you insist,” he said, making it an unmistakable taunt.
Clearly refusing to be daunted, she squared her shoulders. “I do, Mr. Winthrop. I most definitely do.”
“Then, by all means, Ms. Newton. We will have our chaperon along.”
He heard her indignant intake of breath as, chuckling, he turned and went back into the house. For some reason he felt better than he had in ages.
Chapter Four
Normally Kate spent her weeknights at her Century City apartment, only blocks from her office. The location saved transportation time, which was especially critical given the kind of jam-packed schedule she maintained. But after leaving David Winthrop, she was thoroughly wide-awake, far too wired to sleep.
Surely someone with her analytical capabilities could figure out why. It wasn’t just the disturbing conversation they’d had before she’d left the house, she decided finally. It was the way she’d felt when she’d awakened to find him studying her so intently. There had been a cozy intimacy, a sweet tenderness to that moment that had struck a responsive chord somewhere deep inside her. Combine that with the way she’d felt when she’d kissed Davey good-night and she could be heading for emotional disaster.
In an attempt to derail herself from that track and to rid herself of that disconcerting sensation, she found herself driving the entire winding length of Sunset Boulevard, emerging finally on Pacific Coast Highway. She turned toward Malibu.
But as she drove along the dark coastal road, nearly deserted at this hour, she couldn’t seem to shake the somewhat astonishing reaction she seemed to be having to David Winthrop and to his son. Was she suddenly going through some sort of mid-life crisis? True, her emotions had been topsy-turvy for weeks now, but this sudden maternal yearning and this unexpected awakening of her senses were so entirely out of character she had no idea what to make of them.
She knew all about marriages, the bad ones, anyway. By the time she met most couples, they were engaged in bitter acrimony, all positive aspects of their love wiped out by pain and anger.
By contrast, she’d always considered her own parents’ marriage idyllic. Only recently had she discovered it had been more a marriage of convenience. She had been stunned by the revelation that while her father had adored her mother, her mother had secretly harbored a lifelong love for another man, Brandon Halloran. Worse, from Kate’s perspective, her father had known about it, had accepted the bargain, willing to play second best to a memory.
All of that had only served to confirm her jaded view that even the best marriages represented nothing but a series of bad compromises. So, with every last illusion destroyed, why was she suddenly experiencing these faint stirrings of need to get involved in a relationship that could only lead to emptiness and pain?
Maybe it was a simple matter of lust, she consoled herself. She was a healthy, active woman whose hormones had been ignored for too long. Perhaps they were simply reminding her of that. And David Winthrop happened to be in the vicinity when the awakening occurred.
That had to be it. That was something she could understand. That was something she could control. She nodded in satisfaction as she parked in the garage of her modest Malibu beach house. She had no intention of indulging those wayward hormones, but it was good to know what she was battling here. She would be on her guard, especially around David Winthrop.
She winced as she recalled how easily he’d detected her motive for insisting that Davey join them for dinner. She might have protested for a month that her client had a perfect right to sit in on their meeting, but neither she nor David would have believed that was all there was to it. She wanted a chaperon, just as he’d accused in that amused tone of voice. And they both knew that the only reason she felt that way was because she was attracted to him and feared that attraction.
In the living room of the beach house, after opening the sliding glass doors to the pounding of the Pacific’s surf, she dug through a stack of magazines she subscribed to mainly to have on hand for weekend guests. The most recent issues of a slick, monthly film magazine were buried amidst news weeklies, women’s magazines and upscale architecture and gourmet periodicals. Kate flipped through, looking for any mention of David Winthrop or his set designs. Maybe she’d stumble across something that would cast him in such a negative light it would kill this stirring of fasc
ination she felt.
She was skimming the last issue in the stack, one over a year old, when she turned a page and saw his face staring up at her. Eyes alight with excitement, he was standing in the interior of a comic-book world created for a blockbuster that had been released at Christmas. In his denim shirt and jeans, he looked every bit as handsome as the actor who’d played the superhero. In fact, she decided with careful objectivity, he was probably even more attractive with his natural, rugged masculinity, his careless hairstyle, the faint stubble of a beard on his cheeks. He appeared to be a man unaware of his looks, just confident in himself.
What struck her even more, though, was how alive he looked. Enthusiasm had chased away the shadows in his eyes. He seemed perfectly comfortable and happy in this make-believe world of primary colors and cartoon-style structures. It occurred to her, given the date of publication, that the picture had probably been shot before his wife’s death, perhaps even before her illness had progressed to its terminal stages.
Kate touched her fingers to the laughing curve of his mouth and wondered if she would ever see this relaxed, lighthearted side of David Winthrop. She had a feeling if he was disturbing her equilibrium now with just a glimmer of his charm, he would be devastating if he ever turned the full force of that smile in her direction.
She was still holding the magazine when she finally fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep in which a larger-than-life hero bearing an uncanny resemblance to David Winthrop saved her from mythical dragons.
* * *
What the hell had he been thinking of? David wondered as the dinner hour approached on Tuesday night. The very last thing he wanted to do was have dinner with a woman whose avowed intention was to separate him from his son. Finding her in his living room in sleepy disarray the night before had momentarily blinded him to Kate Newton’s real character.
Kate's Vow (Vows) Page 4
