Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  The kid, snuffling like an elephant, nodded.

  “Come on.” Pat took the kid’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  The kid started bawling like a calf being branded. “Don’t send me to jail, Mr. Stuart. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll never do this again. Honest.”

  “Would you shut up?” Pat hissed. “You keep making all that racket and the neighbors will have a SWAT team out here.”

  Rulli retreated to snuffling and Pat hurried him to his car. “Get in there,” he said, opening the back door. “Lie down on the floor and don’t make a sound. Not even a doggone peep.”

  Then he slammed the door shut and leaned against the car to wait. It wasn’t long before Trisha and the canine team came out.

  “Nothing,” Trisha said. “It was just a false alarm.”

  “Yeah,” the officer agreed. “Me and Oscar swept the place from top to bottom. There’s nobody in there.”

  The dog looked toward Pat’s car and whined. Pat took a deep breath and held tension at bay.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” The dog continued whining and the cop looked at Pat.

  “Ah.” Pat put a smile on his lips and, after a quick glance at Trisha, looked the officer in the eye. “I helped out a neighbor last night. Drove her and her dog to the emergency veterinarian clinic up on South Bend Avenue.”

  The officer nodded but his expression was still quizzical.

  “Her dog was in heat.” Pat cleared his throat. “I haven’t had a chance to have the car cleaned yet.”

  “I see.” The cop laughed, a man-to-man kind of thing. “Come on, Oscar. No romance tonight. You’re still on duty.”

  He pulled the dog back to the police car and opened the door to let him in the back seat. After giving them a quick salute, he got into the front seat.

  Pat remained leaning against the car until the lights of the cop car disappeared around the corner. Even then he didn’t move, barely allowing himself to breathe.

  “Are we going to leave?” Trisha asked. “Or are you enjoying the view?”

  Instead of replying, Pat just unlocked his door, then reached back to unlock the rear door. “Come on out, kid.”

  “Rulli?” To say Trisha’s voice was full of surprise would be putting it mildly. “What in the world are you doing in Mr. Stuart’s car?”

  Rulli started sobbing again.

  “He’s sure got the hang of that,” Pat said.

  “Rulli, honey.” Trisha ignored Pat and put her arms around the kid. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

  Rulli’s answer was to cry louder, which caused Trisha to hug him even harder. Pat could feel his lips turn into a sour expression. He wasn’t sure if he was irritated at Trisha’s naiveté or whether he was just plain jealous of the kid.

  “You can stop that wailing anytime now,” Pat said.

  Trisha turned so that she was between Rulli and Pat. “Come on now, honey,” she said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s Angie.” The kid paused to intermix his sobs with hiccups. “She’s gonna kill me.”

  “What?” Trisha said.

  “So I was trying to get into the club.” His sobs were lessening in intensity. “I was gonna sleep on the couch in the study room.”

  “Why do you think Angie is mad at you?” Trisha asked.

  Rulli shuffled his feet and wiped his nose, but couldn’t seem to find any words.

  “Come on, kid,” Pat said. “Out with it.”

  The kid looked up at Pat, then reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a crumpled paper. He stepped out of Trisha’s embrace and gave it to Pat.

  Trisha stood up and came to look over his arm as he unfolded the paper. It was a spelling test. Rulli hadn’t just flunked it; he’d bombed it. Only three out of twenty words were spelled right. Pat looked down at him.

  “Pretty lousy. Doesn’t look like you studied.”

  Rulli just shook his head and wiped his nose again. “I told you Angie’s gonna kill me.”

  Trisha was stooped down in front of the boy again. “Honey, you can’t let her—”

  “What’s Angie got to do with it?” Pat said. There was a bigger lesson to be learned here. One that Trisha was never faced with.

  “She’s gonna be mad at me,” Rulli replied. “She’s gonna hit me.”

  “Is that why you study?” Pat snapped. “Just because your sister hits you?”

  “She hits hard.”

  “So what? In a couple of years, she’ll be in middle school with lots more homework. She won’t have time to hit you. If the only reason you’re doing your work now is because you’re scared of her, what are you gonna do then?”

  Rulli kicked at the ground with his toe. “I dunno.”

  “Sure, you do,” Pat said. “We both do. You’ll stop studying. Why don’t you just quit school now? Drop out now and quit wasting everyone’s time.”

  “Pat!” Trisha turned Rulli to face her. “Mr. Stuart doesn’t mean that. He—”

  “I damn well mean it!” Pat snapped. He spun Rulli to face down the block. The streetlight almost made the corner into a stage for the group of young studs they’d passed on their way in, drinking and mouthing off. “See those kids down there? Is that what you want to be?”

  “No,” Rulli said with a decided sniff in his voice.

  “Why not? They got cars. They got clothes. They got money. And you can bet nobody makes them study their spelling.”

  “Pat!”

  “I ain’t like that,” Rulli said, some of the sniff being replaced by testiness. “I’m gonna fly jet planes when I grow up. Big jet planes. Those jerks ain’t even been in a tiny plane.”

  Pat found his words had disappeared along with his breath. He swallowed hard, feeling more than a little stunned at the backbone in Rulli’s voice and more than a little proud that the kid had dreams. It was more than he expected. He cleared his throat roughly. “Pilots have to know how to spell.”

  “I know.”

  “But not because their sisters say so. Because they have to be able to read maps and directions and manuals and all sorts of things.”

  “I know.”

  Rulli’s voice had grown softer, less belligerent and more tired. Pat put his hand behind the kid’s shoulders and gently moved him forward. “Come on, kid. We’ll take you home.”

  Trisha made small talk with Rulli in between giving Pat directions to the house. It was a good thing because Pat could not have talked to save his life. He felt like a balloon with all the air emptied out.

  He pulled up to the house Trisha indicated, the only one in the block with all the lights on. The car had barely stopped when Angie came flying out the front door and down the steps, followed by an elderly woman.

  “Let me,” Trisha said under her breath to Pat. Before he could agree, she was out of the car and leading Rulli up to the others.

  Pat just watched the scene as one would watch a silent movie. Some anger, some tears, then some hugs. He was glad Trisha wanted to direct that. It wasn’t his scene at all. None of this was. He was glad when she got into the car.

  “That was really wonderful, what you did,” she told him.

  Her voice was brimming over with some emotion. He didn’t want to know “what” and just pulled away.

  “He needed it.” Pat made a show of watching for traffic. He sensed he was heading toward dangerous ground and it had nothing to do with where his car was going. “Now’s the time to catch these kids and set them in the right direction. Eight’s not too young.”

  “He’s a good kid,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll make it.”

  “With you looking out for him, how can he not?”

  Pat wanted to give the lady some straight facts, wanted to burst her little rose-colored bubble and introduce her to the real world. He was here for Rulli at this moment. But who knew when Rulli’s pivotal moment would come—next week or next year? And would Pat happen to be there at that exact moment when he could
make a difference? Pat hadn’t known the right moment to save his brother or his father—why should anybody expect he could save some stranger’s kid?

  But he couldn’t tell her that. Hell, she worked with these kids. She should know how the world worked. If she had one last illusion left, he was not going to be the one to destroy it. He pulled into her parking lot in silence and walked her up to the door.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “You really went above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Hey, it’s not every day I meet a real live Boy Scout,” she teased.

  But he wasn’t in a teasing mood. “I’m about the farthest thing from a Boy Scout that exists,” he said. “I’m not loyal, or trustworthy or dependable.”

  But she just laughed, moving in closer to him. “But you’re kind and I am so glad I know you, Patrick Stuart,” she said, and reached up to kiss his lips.

  He was amazed at the hunger that swept over him, at the way that all his doubts vanished at her slightest touch. He let his arms slide around her, pulling her closer. Her softness was a lure that he could not resist, her lips a temptation that he no longer wanted to fight.

  There was no reason to run from this desire. There was no reason to pretend it didn’t exist. It didn’t matter if they were suited or not. A kiss wasn’t forever. It was now, this moment, a flicker in the breadth of their lives. They could touch and kiss and delight in the other; it was as right and natural as basking in the warmth of the sun.

  Yet when they finally pulled apart, and he saw the warmth in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks, he was no longer so sure he should ignore the warnings of his heart.

  “Thanks again,” she said lightly.

  Her lips were curved into a smile so tempting, he wanted to crush her mouth once more to his. “No problem,” he said gruffly. He was suddenly glad his schedule was taking him out of town soon. He needed time to think.

  Chapter Seven

  “Sir.”

  Pat squinted at the waitress, trying desperately to clear the wool—or rather, the thoughts of Trisha—from his mind. Obviously the waitress wanted him to order something.

  “Uh, yeah.” He picked up the menu. He’d decided on something when they’d first come in, but he was damned if he could remember what it was. Probably steak. That was always a safe bet in these hotel joints. “I’ll have a filet mignon, medium—”

  “Whoa, Pat.”

  “Earth to Pat. Anybody home?”

  “What?” He looked around the table, bewildered. He was in Cleveland, attending a regional conference of industrial development specialists. After spending the day in workshops, six of them were having dinner in the hotel dining room.

  “We were going to order another round first.” The speaker was Harry Ales, director of industrial development for Flint, Michigan. “You want a refill?”

  Pat stared at his glass of red wine, still almost full. If he said yes, he’d wind up with two glasses of wine that he’d barely touch. “No.” He shook his head at the waitress. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The waitress nodded and left to fill the rest of the table’s drink order. He didn’t want to drink, but he wasn’t all that interested in eating, either. In fact, he didn’t want to be here at all. He found he was missing Trisha and the brightness of her smile. And even the kids.

  “Are you all right, Pat?” Carole Langhorn was gazing at him from across the table, a worried expression on her face.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You look like you’re someplace else.”

  “Maybe he’d just rather be someplace else,” said one of the men, whose name Pat had forgotten.

  “Nah,” Pat replied. “I just had a hard couple of weeks.”

  “Poor baby,” Carole cooed.

  “Yeah, getting that big plant for your city would tire anyone out.”

  “I’ll say,” Harry Ales said. “It must get damned tiresome having people shake your hand, slap your back and tell you how great you are every minute of every day.”

  “Not to mention the walking on water,” Carole said with a laugh. “That gets old in a hurry.”

  “And the mess it makes of your shoes.”

  Good-natured laughter filled the air around their table. The industrial development business was a small world and, within a matter of hours after he’d secured the agreement, development people all over the Midwest knew what Pat had accomplished. In fact, he was supposed to give a workshop on it tomorrow morning.

  “I was just trying to figure out what to say at my workshop,” Pat said.

  “Hell’s fire, Pat. What’s to say?”

  “Yeah. Just tell the folks to work hard and get lucky.”

  “Especially the lucky part.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  The drinks came and the laughter grew louder. Pat shrank back even further into his cave.

  The past several weeks had been hard. Maybe it wasn’t Trisha. Maybe he just needed a vacation. He was having trouble keeping track of the days lately. Gran had always said that time flies when you’re having fun, but he hadn’t been having all that much fun.

  Although, to be honest, that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, he’d come back from that camping trip a little ragged around the edges, but it hadn’t been what one would really call a bad time. And then that dinner with Trisha last Saturday certainly had been enjoyable.

  Trisha. He felt—more than saw—her short blond hair, her bright green eyes and her smile. Especially her smile. Happy, full of joy, with a dash of mischief. She filled his dreams nicely but he would much prefer for her to be here in person.

  Suddenly he sat straight up as if someone had pinched him. What in the world was the matter with him? He didn’t need a vacation; he needed to concentrate on his work. It was a good thing that he was going on to Atlanta from here, then to Pittsburgh.

  “So,” Pat said, “do you guys think the prime rate will be going up anymore this year?”

  The conversation died and they all stared at him, looking like the cattle he’d seen on the way to camp with the kids.

  “There is a strong correlation between new plant investment and the cost of money,” Pat said. “It’s an economic principle.”

  “What the hell’s that got to do with Wisconsin getting to the Rose Bowl this year?”

  Now Pat found himself staring.

  “We were talking about college football,” Carole said.

  Pat wasn’t the type to blush, but he felt a little warm around the collar. Man, did he sound stupid. He needed to get out of here before he put both feet in his mouth.

  “Are we going to eat anytime tonight or what?” he snapped.

  “Maybe we better feed him,” Harry Ales said. “He’s getting more than a little irritable.”

  Carole signaled for the waitress and their dinner orders were quickly placed; then the conversation returned to the upcoming college football season. Pat sat up and paid attention. No more Mr. Dummy. He was as aware and witty as anyone else at this table.

  “So how is Notre Dame going to do this year, Pat?”

  His mouth opened and quickly closed. He had this feeling that everything was alive in him except his mind. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Okay?”

  “No national championships?”

  As a resident of South Bend, Pat was supposed to have the latest info on the Notre Dame football team. He was supposed to be able to recite who had graduated, who was returning, who was injured, and the name of the priest who said the prayer at the start of the game. He could usually fake this kind of stuff, but not today.

  “Filet, medium-well?” the waitress said.

  Pat looked up, nodding eagerly. “Yes, that’s mine.”

  The rest of the food was distributed amid small talk that continued halfheartedly as they all dug into their meals. Once they were just about done, Carole waved the waitress over for coffee.

  “Say,” Harry Ales said. “I hear the
y have a couple of good nightclubs down in the river district. Anyone want to go?”

  Most of the people at the table answered they would.

  “Carole?” Harry asked.

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want to wash my hair and do a little reading.”

  Harry nodded. “Pat?”

  His mind was still sluggish, but he kick-started the damn thing. “No. No, thanks.”

  “You two got something going?” Harry asked as he looked from Pat to Carole and back again.

  “My husband wouldn’t like that.” Then Carole looked at Pat and smiled. “Besides, I think Pat’s occupied with someone else.”

  “I am not.” They were staring at him again and, for a moment, Pat considered throwing something at his dinner companions. “Well, it’s not like I don’t date. I just don’t have anyone special.”

  “Sure,” someone said with a snicker. “Then why have you suddenly turned into a monk? You were always the first one on the party line.”

  “Maybe he’s not occupied, but preoccupied,” Carole said. “Maybe she doesn’t know he exists.”

  They all laughed at that.

  Pat considered straightening them all out but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “I need to get back to the room and prepare for tomorrow’s workshop,” he said and dropped his money on the table. “Right now all I’ve got is three knock-knock jokes and a song from ‘Sesame Street.’” He got to his feet. “Good night, all.”

  They were all wearing irritating little smiles, but Pat didn’t let it bother him. He wasn’t going to let anything bother him. He was going to work on his talk and go to bed. Without calling anyone. Without missing anyone.

  And if tonight didn’t do it, he had another week of travel to learn to be on his own again.

  * * *

  “Lucy, no. You’re a bad girl.” Trisha snatched the chunk of chicken breast away from the kitten, but like an unruly child, the little cat just glared back, its green eyes flashing like tiny emeralds. “And I don’t need any back talk from you. I’ve had enough of it for one day.”

  And she certainly had. Angie had been a holy terror today. She and Rulli had started with their new tutor this afternoon—an elementary education major from the local branch of Indiana University. She was a very nice young woman but maybe, Trisha feared, a bit too nice.