“Why is that?”
“She needs a decent man to show her she doesn’t have to keep proving herself—that she’s enough, just the way she is.”
Longing rose in him, wild and fierce. He wanted to be the one to take her by the hand and show her all the wonderful things he saw in her. Her courage, her strength, her kindness.
He was still reeling from that realization when Milo raced over with the dogs close behind.
“Eat,” the boy said.
McKenzie smiled. “I bet it’s ready by now. If it’s not, we might have to start eating mosquitoes.”
She opened her mouth and pretended to chomp the air, making Milo almost smile.
How would he help his brother hold on to that almost-smile when Katrina walked out of their lives? He had no idea. Milo’s impending heartbreak almost made him wish he’d never offered her a job that day in the supermarket.
Almost. But not quite.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“WHAT A LOVELY EVENING,” Katrina said as Bowie drove the short distance between Redemption Bay and Serenity Harbor. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy spending summer evenings on the lake.”
“It was beautiful.”
In the blue glow from the dashboard lights, his features appeared harsh, with more contrast and deeper shadows. She studied him freely here in the dark, trying to memorize the angle of his nose, the curve of his strong cheekbones.
She would miss him.
She curled her hands into fists on her lap, trying her best to ignore the ache of emotion in her throat. The evening had been beautiful not only because of their surroundings but because it gave her the chance to be with Bowie and Milo. She would have dozens of memories to store up and relive after she left them.
“So has Ben talked you into a boat yet?” she asked.
“He’s working on it. I’m not convinced yet. Boat ownership is so much work. You know what they say about it, right? The happiest two days in a boat owner’s life are the day he buys a boat and the day he sells it.”
She smiled. “There you go. When you think about buying a boat, you can look forward to at least two happy days in your future.”
“At least,” he said, his teeth flashing white in the dim interior.
“Yes, they’re a lot of work, from what I understand, but a lot of fun, too. Like most things worth having in life, right?” Relationships. Families. Careers. All took effort before one could savor the joy.
“I suppose that’s true. Some people want to skip the work part and focus only on the fun.”
That had been her, Katrina realized. She had loved the fun of dating but had never been willing to invest the time and effort to find something meaningful.
When they reached his house and he pulled into the garage, she climbed out and opened the door for Milo. The boy blinked at her, eyes bleary. They had put in a long day, and she couldn’t blame him for being exhausted.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I can do that,” Bowie said. “You’ve been on duty all day.”
“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I won’t have many more chances to help him into bed.”
His features tightened briefly, but he said nothing as she ushered Milo into the house and down the hall to his bedroom. The little boy was too tired for a bath, so she decided to let him skip it, even though usually it was one of his favorite parts of his routine. She helped him wash his face and hands—all those dog germs!—and brush his teeth, then he slipped into his pajamas and climbed into his bed.
“No story tonight, okay?” she said when Milo had the covers tucked up to his chin. “It’s been a long day and we read a bunch of stories earlier. Straight to sleep, bud, so we can have fun tomorrow at the parade.”
She kissed his forehead, aware of that heavy ache in her chest again. Oh, she would miss this little boy. When she rose, he pantomimed holding a cup and taking an imaginary sip from it.
“You need a drink of water? Just a moment. I’ll get you one.”
“No need.”
At the voice, she turned and found Bowie with his shoulder propped against the door frame, holding a glass of water. How long had he been there? Though she’d left his presence only fifteen minutes earlier, her heart still skipped as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
He was the sort of man who could cause a woman to make a terrible mistake. Something irrevocably stupid, like lose her heart to him.
Not her, of course. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Look at that.” She forced a smile. “Your brother beat me to it.”
He unfolded from the door and moved toward the bed, holding out the water glass for his brother. After Milo took it and sipped what appeared to be about a tablespoon of water, he handed it back, then pointed to his forehead.
Bowie frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he confessed. “You want me to put water on your forehead?”
Katrina hid her smile. “I think he wants you to give him a good-night kiss, like I did.”
Understanding dawned on his handsome features. “Oh. Got it.”
He set the glass on the bedside table and leaned in to kiss the boy’s forehead in exactly the spot where her mouth had been.
“Good night, kiddo,” he said, running a hand over Milo’s hair. The boy didn’t go so far as to smile—that was reserved for magical moments that involved dogs of some sort, apparently, or maybe boats—but he did wear a completely contented expression.
Milo had come so far in the few weeks she had been here. She wasn’t vain enough to think she had much to do with it. She had only provided the structure and a few tools to help him feel comfortable enough in his new environment to begin to thrive.
With all her heart, she hoped he could continue the same progress after she was gone.
She turned on the sound machine he liked, and immediately the music of rippling water over river rock sounded in the room.
“Good night, kiddo,” she murmured.
“Night,” Bowie added.
He flipped the light switch off and closed the door behind Katrina.
Though neither suggested it, they moved together to the kitchen/family room that had become the hub of his home.
“He seemed to enjoy himself tonight,” Bowie said.
“He went on a boat ride and got to play with two of his favorite dogs. In Milo World, that’s pretty much the definition of the best day ever.”
“It was a pretty good day in Bowie World, too,” he said.
“You sound surprised.”
He shrugged. “Between Milo and working to get my team operational at the new facility, I’ve been too busy for much socializing since I came here.”
“Everybody needs a little downtime, even if they have to schedule it in. If you don’t take it voluntarily, eventually your body will wear out and force you to find it.”
“Apparently that’s a lesson I have to learn again and again.”
“We all need the reminder ocassionally.”
“On that note, I think I’ll go outside and enjoy the beautiful evening for a few more moments. Care to join me?”
The invitation shocked her, especially as they had so carefully avoided being alone together since the wedding. For a long moment, she didn’t know what to say.
She knew what she should say, what any rational, self-protective woman with common sense would: Thank you, but no. I’m going to go hide away in my room, where I’m completely safe from any temptation offered by a gorgeous man in the moonlight.
What she should say and what she wanted to say were two completely different things. When she compared his invitation with the alternative—lurking in her room, pretending to watch TV and doing her best to forget that said gorgeous man was outside in the
moonlight on his own—she knew there was really no comparison.
She could go talk to him for a few moments. It was too early for bed, anyway.
“Sure,” she finally said. The moment the word was out, she wanted to call it back but couldn’t figure out how to do it without sounding even more stupid.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
The glass of wine she’d had at dinner was more than enough. She didn’t tend to make the best decisions when she drank—as evidenced by half the men she had ever dated. Since it was hard enough to resist Bowie Callahan when she was stone-cold sober, she should probably avoid anything else that might cloud her mind.
“Water?” he asked.
“Yes. Thanks. I can grab it.”
She pulled out a glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice and filtered water from the refrigerator, took a long, healthy, rather desperate drink, then filled it again.
He pulled out a beer and led the way to the terrace, flipping the switch on the globe lights as he did. The night was unusually warm for this high elevation, which usually cooled down dramatically once the sun set.
Her natural instinct was to chatter about nothing in order to fill all the empty space between them, but somehow, for once in her life, she was able to hold her tongue.
He didn’t seem in a talkative mood either as he sank beside her into the other lounger that faced the water. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.
He looked tired, poor man, working hard to make things happen at Caine Tech while dealing with new challenges in his personal life. She wanted to bring him a pillow and a blanket, to tuck it around him and hold him while he slept.
Oh, mercy. What was wrong with her?
“You and McKenzie seemed to have a lot to talk about tonight.”
As soon as she said the words, she wanted to kick herself. It was none of her business whom he talked to and what they talked about.
He gave her a sideways look, somehow timing it just right so the moonlight slipped out from behind a cloud in time to bathe him in pale light. It still wasn’t enough light for her to read his expression. “We were talking about you, actually.”
“Me? And here I thought you were talking about something interesting—Haven Point politics or one of the charities McKenzie works for or something.”
Why would she be a topic of conversation between them? McKenzie knew her better than just about anybody, except Sam and Wynona. She carried plenty of embarrassing secrets about Kat. Which of those had she opted to share with Bowie?
“She’s a good friend who cares about you,” he said, which put her mind at ease at least a little.
“I care about her, too. We’ve been friends forever. As long as I can remember. Grade school, anyway.”
“That’s what she told me.” He paused. “She’s worried about what you’ll do if the adoption of Gabriela doesn’t go through.”
She had a wholly immature desire to clamp her hands over her ears to block out what he was saying, as if just entertaining the possibility could risk making her worst fears come true.
If that was the case, the opposite had to work, too. “It’s going through,” she insisted firmly. “I won’t consider any other outcome.”
“You can’t always control the world. What will you do if the court doesn’t approve the paperwork or this country doesn’t allow her an entry visa?”
“I’ll move to Colombia and become an expat,” she said promptly. “If I can, I’ll continue teaching English down there. If not, I’ll scrub floors or work in the orphanage kitchen or sell flowers on a street corner. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with her.”
He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “You would do that? Walk away from your family and your home—everything familiar in your world—simply to be with a girl you didn’t even know existed a year ago?”
She wished she had better words to explain what to most people probably made no sense whatsoever. “She’s my daughter, Bowie. I love her. Mothers will make whatever sacrifice is necessary for the good of their children.”
“Not all mothers,” he said, his expression suddenly tight.
What had his childhood been like? He had given her hints here and there, and her imagination had filled in some of the gaps. She wanted to know more, though.
“Was yours really so bad?” she finally asked.
He said nothing for a long moment, so long she thought perhaps he would ignore her, then he turned and looked out at the lake. “Plenty of people had it worse than I did.”
But plenty had it better. He didn’t say the words, but she guessed them, anyway. He confirmed her suspicions a moment later.
“My mother was a sixteen-year-old runaway when she had me. I have no idea who my father is. I doubt even Stella knows.”
“That explains how a man in his thirties could have a six-year-old brother.”
“Right. She was sixteen when she had me, in her early forties when she had Milo. As far as I know, she didn’t have any other children in between.”
She couldn’t imagine it. Sixteen, the same age as sweet Lizzie Lawson, barely a child. “How did she take care of you?”
“She had an insurance settlement from her parents, who were killed in a car accident before I was born. Before she ran away from foster care herself. It paid out a small amount monthly—though she usually blew it all by the second day of the month on booze or drugs.”
“What about the rest of the month?”
“Stella was a survivor. I’ll give her that. She was very much into doing her own thing, living without rules and not being responsible to anyone. Somehow she had a knack for finding others who shared her counterculture ideas. She would glom on to anybody who could take care of her. Us, I guess. One guy after another—or woman, depending on her mood. Sometimes we lived in a commune-type situation. It wasn’t what you might call a traditional childhood.”
She couldn’t imagine it, especially coming from her sheltered, traditional small-town background with a mother and father who had adored each of their five children.
“With that much insecurity, I’m surprised you weren’t taken away and shuttled through the foster care system.”
“I was, a few times, but she always managed to play the game enough to convince the family court she was competent to care for me. Those times were rare. More than likely, if child welfare services came sniffing around because a teacher or a neighbor reported something, we would just pick up and leave.”
Oh. Poor boy. That must have been so hard on a kid, never settling in one place long enough to grow roots. No wonder he loved this beautiful house on the lake so much.
Katrina gazed at him, feeling that tug and pull of her heart again. Some part of her wanted to tell him to stop talking right now, aware that with each word she was coming to care for him more. At the same time, she wanted to know everything about him, all the pieces of the puzzle.
“You said you hadn’t had contact with your mother for years. How old were you when you...parted ways?”
“I started making plans to leave when I was about thirteen. It took me about two years to put my strategy into action. I taught myself to use computers, earned my GED and got into MIT.”
She stared, astonished at the sheer depth of accomplishment behind those simple words. “How can you say all that in the same casual tone I use to tell Sam I picked up new mascara at the grocery store today? You should be yelling it from every rooftop!”
His jaw tightened. “No. I shouldn’t. I don’t pat myself on the back at all. I did things I’m still not proud of. I was a hacker, Kat. I lied, I stole, I cheated my way into MIT. I learned Stella’s lessons well and went after my goals without regard to the consequences.”
“Nobody can c
heat their way into MIT.”
“They can when they have my particular skills,” he said, with no trace of ego in his voice.
“Were you caught?”
“I would have been, probably. Instead, the guilt became too overwhelming and I came clean to the dean of my college a month into my first classes. I was lucky. The school could have pressed charges and made it so I couldn’t be admitted into another computer science program in the country. Instead, they took pity on me and gave me a chance to prove myself.”
She could picture him clearly—young, driven, brilliant. How could MIT not have recognized his genius? He had proved himself and more.
“Anyway, after I left for MIT, I didn’t hear from Stella again. I looked for her a few years ago, but apparently she changed her name and moved to another state. The trust fund had run out years before, and I couldn’t even trace her that way. She might have changed her name, but I don’t think she changed her lifestyle at all.”
“That’s why you don’t know anything about Milo’s background. Because he basically grew up off the grid like you.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I hate that I couldn’t help him to have a better start in life.”
A better start than Bowie had.
Unable to help herself, she reached between them and rested her hand on the back of his in a gesture intended only for comfort. After a surprised moment, he turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with hers.
They stayed that way for a long time while a breeze teased the ends of her hair and an owl hooted in a tree somewhere nearby and something splashed gently out on the water.
She could feel the heat of him, sense each steady breath, and she didn’t want to move a muscle for fear of disturbing the peace that swirled around them like the soft summer night.
She was falling in love with him.
The truth, cold and overwhelming, washed over her as if someone had just picked her up and tossed her into a storm-tossed Lake Haven.
No! She couldn’t be falling for him. She refused to allow it.
Every Spanish curse word she had learned from the older boys at the orphanage raced through her head as the magnitude of her foolishness sank in.
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