Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  “Let’s see if we can sit with Ben,” Pat was saying. “Give you a chance to lobby for more funds for your club.”

  She jumped at his words. “It’s not my club. It belongs to the neighborhood. I just work there.”

  “What would it be without you, though?”

  There was definitely a measure of respect and admiration in his voice and that seemed even more dangerous than his hand. She should have come by herself this evening, the hell with the parking and pollution. She could have taken a cab and made a contribution to the area economy. She could have taken a bus. Walking, even home at midnight, would have been safer than this constant barrage her heart was under. But she was all smiles as they met Ben.

  “Pat.” Ben shook Pat’s hand vigorously. “Trisha. How are you, my dear?”

  “Just fine, sir.” She paused a moment to get her brain working again. She could swoon all she wanted later; she had the kids to fight for right now. “Although we still need a new van.”

  “I thought you were using—”

  “Oh, Pat’s been very generous with us,” Trisha said. “But conflicts will arise. Besides, Pat’s van isn’t really suited to transporting groups of children about.”

  Ben nodded. “We’ll need to look into that. Maybe you should discuss this with Joe Henning. He’s in charge of grant requests this year.”

  “Thank you,” Trisha replied. “I’ll do that.”

  Then with a quick nod, Ben was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. Trisha hated to see him go. She was alone—relatively—with Pat again.

  “I guess we won’t be sitting with him,” Pat said.

  “Let’s go find Joe Henning,” Trisha said, moving farther into the hall. She needed to stay busy. “I’d rather sit with him. It’ll be a lot more productive.”

  Pat smiled and shook his head. There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t read.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” he said. “The constant pleading would get me down.”

  She stopped and turned toward him. It was suddenly important that she know exactly how he meant that.

  “It’s not that you’re not good at it,” he said. “You aren’t too pushy or rude or even impatient when you’re pushed aside the way I would be. But don’t you get tired of always having to ask for stuff?”

  “All the time,” she said and let a touch of the weariness seep into her voice. She felt that she could be honest with him and show for a moment some of the frustrations that she felt. “It seems like I spend all my time begging instead of working with the kids. But there are so many good causes, and so many people needing, I know that we won’t get much unless I badger.”

  “I couldn’t,” he said.

  She just shook her head with a slight smile. “Don’t you plead with different businesses to locate their facilities here?”

  “I don’t plead.” He looked shocked at the suggestion. “I sell our area. I point out all the advantages to locating a plant, warehouse or whatever here. There isn’t any pleading involved.”

  “Oh, no?” She liked that look of horror on his face. It was almost as if she’d started singing “A Hundred Bottles of Beer.”

  Little lines of impatience had formed around his lips. “The companies get something when they come here. I’m just pointing out that what we’re offering is better than what anyone else is offering.”

  “And how’s that different from me?” she asked. “I try to sell the idea that turning kids into productive citizens is a plus for everybody.” She smiled and gently tapped Pat’s chest with her finger. “You never can tell how things will turn out. Maybe fifteen or twenty years from now, one of my kids will be the executive director of some civic organization. I’ve heard that it happened before.”

  A gentle smile filled his face, one with enough tenderness in it to melt a girl’s heart. Trisha quickly put her hands down and behind her back. And kept them there so she wouldn’t follow her instincts and throw her arms around him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. She forced her eyes to focus on the flower centerpiece on a table just beyond Pat, and forced her voice to be matter-of-fact.

  “Or my kids may be doctors, or firemen or carpenters. Anything where they can take care of themselves and their families and contribute to society.”

  “You know—” his voice was soft and low, a whisper into her heart “—someone once said that you were a great salesperson.”

  She dared a smile into his eyes. “This someone,” she whispered back. “Was he wise?”

  “Very much so,” he said.

  They looked into each other’s eyes. The hubbub of voices surrounding them faded to a gentle, distant hum. There was a string quartet playing, the music filling the air like a gentle spring rain, bringing life and sweetness to the day. Trisha suddenly found it hard to think.

  “Let’s find a place to sit,” she said, turning and looking quickly around. “All the good places will be taken if we’re not careful.”

  “There’s Beth Liederman,” Pat said. “Isn’t she the corporate fund director for Martin’s Supermarkets?”

  They made their way around the room, stopping to chat here and there, and found seats at Beth’s table just before they started serving dinner. Trisha was glad to sit down, glad to have the chance to talk to Beth and certainly glad to have something else to do besides focusing on Pat.

  She was able to pitch the club to Beth over salads and get a promise of some aid from the chairman of a local real-estate firm who was also at the table. Over the main course, Trisha felt brave enough to talk to Pat. And after the introductions and speeches and opening of the local fund-raising campaign, as the evening was winding down, she found the courage to tease him, telling the others about his determination to win all the relay races at camp.

  “That’s Pat,” someone said. “Always has to win. That’s why he’s so successful.”

  As everyone laughed, Pat leaned over to her. “Nicely done,” he whispered, his breath a teasing tickle on her ear. “I acted like a jerk and you made me look only competitive. Maybe I should bring you along to my meetings so you can interpret all my actions in a positive vein.”

  “Oh, I doubt that you need me,” she said with a laugh.

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  The look in his eyes was for her alone and seemed to be a product of the wild dreams plaguing her all evening. The night was suddenly both too young and too old. She wanted it to go on forever, yet her heart shied away in fear.

  “Let’s go out on the terrace before we leave,” she said and cleared her throat, shocked by the hoarseness that had crept into her voice. “I love the view.”

  He nodded and took her arm, guiding her to the terrace on the riverbank outside. The night had turned pleasantly cool and they walked over to the railing along the river. The water went rushing over the dam below them, the sound drowning out the city noises, but not the beating of her heart. She wanted to slide her hand over just the few inches that separated her and Pat. She wanted to touch his hand, to feel it lying beneath hers and share the night with him.

  Instead, she looked out toward the lights on the east bank. They were just shops, restaurants and apartments, but under the cover of the darkness, they added a magical spell to the night. Glittering diamonds of reflected light danced on the water while, far above them, stars danced in the sky.

  Pat put his hand over hers. The movement startled her and she turned toward him, finding him closer than she’d thought. But not close enough. She leaned forward, letting her lips touch his.

  There was wonder in his touch and a bewitching hunger in his nearness. She moved into his arms, letting the night cast its spell over them. She was tired of fighting her needs, tired of pretending that her heart didn’t sing when his eyes found hers. His lips moved against hers, sending a slow yearning through her soul that continued to grow even when he pulled away a moment later.

  They stayed at the railing, his arm resting lightly aroun
d her waist as they looked out over the river. She could feel her body shaping itself to fit his. It was such a beautiful evening. She wished it wasn’t ending.

  “Want to go back to my place?” she asked. “I make a mean pot of coffee.”

  “Sounds great.”

  * * *

  Pat flipped through the CDs piled by the stereo, mostly classical music with a few nature recordings mixed in. Sounds of the rain forest? He shook his head and put them back.

  “Boy, oh, boy,” he murmured. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come. Just because his hormones went into overdrive around Trisha didn’t mean they had anything in common.

  “Want to put something on?” she called from the kitchen.

  “No, thank you,” he replied. “I’m not cold.”

  Trisha groaned aloud, but didn’t say anything more. He walked over to the counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area. Two shorthaired cats were sitting there glaring at him, a small reddish one and a larger, dark brown one. He tried to stare back, but they were better at it than he was, and he finally had to look away. It was obvious they didn’t like him.

  Trisha put two mugs of coffee on the counter. “These are my roommates,” she said. “Lucy and Sniffles. Lucy’s an—”

  “An Abyssinian,” Pat said, indicating the little red. “And that one’s a Burmese.”

  “You like cats?” She seemed eager to find some connection.

  “They’re okay.”

  “But you know the different breeds,” Trisha said.

  “I went to a cat show once. When you’re on the road, you can get caught with a lot of time and nothing to do.”

  “Oh.”

  They each took a mug and went back into the living room to sit down. He took a chair near the windows. One that was uncomfortable and not quite big enough for him.

  He would have preferred to sit on the sofa with Trisha, but her feline companions were already there, cuddling up around her and glaring at him. Defiantly pointing out that he didn’t belong. Hell, he didn’t need two snooty cats to tell him that. He wasn’t a total dummy.

  “So how long have you been doing industrial development?” Trisha asked.

  Pat shrugged. “Almost ten years. Pretty much since college.”

  “How’d you happen to go into that?”

  Her eyes were on him, but her hand was absently petting the dark brown cat. It was leaning against her leg, purring noisily and radiating contentment. Pat looked away.

  “I went to a small college,” he said. “Since nobody came recruiting me, I had to go out looking. And that was the first job I found. I became the director of industrial development for a small county in southern Illinois.”

  “Oh.”

  “I found that I was good at it and therefore, I guess, enjoyed it.”

  She sipped at her coffee, so he did the same while he tried to figure out where the conversation could go from there. He already knew Trisha’s work history, so he couldn’t ask her about that. And he didn’t want to talk about the kids at the club; that would just bring back her professional side. The smaller cat walked along the edge of the sofa, as if on a tightrope, until it came to the end. It daintily stretched its neck to sniff at Pat’s hand.

  “Hello, Lucy,” he said softly, but the cat darted away at the sound of his voice. He tried to laugh it off. “So much for my magnetic personality.”

  Trisha smiled and it lit up the room. “She’s a little cautious until she gets to know you.”

  Something which wouldn’t happen in his lifetime. Pat drank some more of his coffee, then leaned forward and put his cup on the end table. “This is a nice place,” he said as he glanced around the room. “You been here long?”

  “Two years.” She also looked around, a puzzled frown in her eyes. “I got it because it was convenient and inexpensive. It always seemed pretty ordinary to me.”

  His eyes took in the framed wildlife prints, the profusion of plants around the window and the quilted throw over the back of the sofa. “It’s what you’ve done with it that makes it different. It reflects your personality.”

  “Everyone’s home reflects their personality.”

  That stopped him. He thought of his house and its constant state of disarray, of the walls bare of any prints or paintings or photos revealing secrets about his inner soul. Maybe there were no secrets. Maybe the constant disarray was his way of keeping it all at a distance.

  It quickly dawned on him that he ought to go. If he stayed here any longer, he’d be too depressed to move. He got to his feet.

  “I should be going.”

  “Already?”

  Pat knew it was just a polite response. She had to have seen how awkward this was. He picked up his mug and carried it to the kitchen counter. The cats jumped up to sniff at the mug.

  “I didn’t break it,” he told them. “I didn’t even spit in it.”

  Trisha just laughed. “They think everything is theirs,” she said. “That’s how cats are.”

  “We had one when my mother was alive,” he said suddenly. “Buster. But it was very definitely her cat. She had him before she married my father. He sat in her lap, followed her around and couldn’t have cared if the rest of us fell off the face of the earth.” He hadn’t thought of Buster in years. And stranger still, why was he suddenly articulating that memory?

  “What happened to him when your mother died?”

  Pat shrugged. “He was pretty old by that time. Fourteen, I think. My grandmother took him. He lived another couple of years, but never seemed really happy.”

  What a stupid story to be telling. Why was he always telling these things to Trisha? She must think his life was nothing but one long tragedy. Why didn’t he tell her about his successes? Like quarterbacking his high school football team to the city championship in his senior year, or making the dean’s list seven out of eight semesters in college, or—

  The phone rang and, with a slight smile of apology, she went to answer it. He was tempted to just duck out while she was occupied, but that seemed cowardly. Besides, no one got good phone calls at midnight. She might need him for something. He got her mug from the living room and washed both of them out. He was drying the one he’d used when she hung up the phone. She looked more annoyed than worried.

  “The alarm’s gone off at the club,” she said. “The police think everything’s fine, but they want me to come out and let them in the building.”

  He put the mug down. “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, don’t be silly. It’s not your problem.” She had gone into the living room and picked up her purse.

  “I’ll drive you,” he repeated, and went to the door to wait for her.

  She had started looking for something in her purse, but stopped at his words. Her eyes came up and met his, for a moment holding his gaze as if reading something there. Or giving him some kind of test. He must have passed, for she looked away with a nod and followed him out to his car.

  “This happen often?” he asked as he unlocked her door.

  She waited to answer until he’d gotten in and was starting the car. “Oh, maybe once or twice a month. It’s usually some kids fooling around. They trip the alarm and run off before the police get there.”

  “Ever anything worse?”

  “Once a broken window.” She paused as he pulled out into the street. “I sure hope it’s just a false alarm. We can’t afford to get a broken window boarded up, let alone repaired.”

  “Don’t you have insurance?”

  “With a huge deductible. It costs too much to get coverage for all the little stuff.”

  With nothing else to say he drove through the darkened streets. A group of young men, on a corner just down from the club, caught his eye and he traded glares with them as they drove by.

  He was glad he hadn’t left earlier, or just dropped Trisha off after the dinner. She’d have had to drive out here by herself and he wouldn’t have liked that. It was probably safer than a big city, but no place
was really safe these days.

  He pulled into the club parking lot right behind a police car, its lights flashing silently, sitting near the back door. A young cop was leaning against the car. His canine partner, head hanging out the door, was trying to catch the night breezes.

  “Hi, Trisha,” the cop greeted her as she got out of the car. “Sorry to drag you out here.”

  “No problem.”

  But the cop was eyeing her in that red silk dress, then turned to look at Pat. His eyes said he must have interrupted something. He just nodded at Pat. Pat nodded back.

  “You check all the doors?” Trisha asked. “How about the windows?”

  “Everything looks tight from the outside.” His glance darted back to Pat for a second. “I thought I should have Oscar sweep the interior for you. Make sure everything’s fine and dandy in there.”

  “Guess we’d better.” Trisha looked at Pat. “Do you want to wait out here?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding.

  The officer opened the door for his dog. It jumped out onto the ground, where he ordered it to sit, and he then hooked a leash to its chain collar. The dog whined and looked over toward a line of bushes along the far end of the parking lot, but the cop just ordered the dog to heel and the three of them walked to the front door. Trisha unlocked the door, then let the officer and his dog enter first.

  Pat waited until the door closed behind Trisha, then walked toward the bushes. His years on the streets had given him a kind of sixth sense. And right now that sense was telling him there was someone in those bushes—someone not too dangerous.

  “All right, you,” he growled. “Come on out of there.”

  He waited and nothing happened. He was sure someone was in there, but maybe they weren’t as cowardly as he’d hoped.

  “I said, come out here. Now.”

  There was a kind of sniffling, sobbing sound; then a little figure stumbled out of the bushes into the light.

  “Rulli?” Pat bent down and looked closer. “What the hell are you doing here this time of the night?”

  Rulli’s reply was to start crying in earnest.

  “Are you the one that tripped the alarm?” Pat asked.