“And people say men are violent,” he grumbled.
“But when we kick butt, we do it different,” Angie went on. “When we’re done, we smile and say stuff like ‘excuse me’ and ‘have a nice day.’”
“Finish your french fries,” Pat said.
Trisha laughed again and patted his hand. He looked so cute when Angie got the best of him. “You’re getting quite an education here.”
“I am indeed fortunate.”
“Can I have some pie when I’m done?” Rulli asked.
Trisha just looked at Pat. This was his treat. He just shrugged as if he didn’t know what the big deal was. “Yeah. You finish your fries, you can have whatever you want.”
“Can I have your car?” Rulli asked.
The two kids squealed in laughter, falling back in the seats as if they were suddenly too weak to sit up.
“Good one, Rulli,” Angie said.
“Yeah.” He nodded his head, eyes shining like an eager little puppy. “I know.”
Trisha couldn’t help but laugh with the kids. At times, Pat was such an innocent. For all his tough west-side background, the kids seemed able to worm their way around him awfully easily.
He frowned at her, no doubt because of her laughter. “I really appreciate your help,” he said.
“This is a rough world, fella.” She picked a french fry out of the package in front of him, warm comfort surrounding her like a shawl. She had never felt so much a part of something, so content. “If you don’t learn to take care of yourself now, you never will.”
“Like I said, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She smiled at him and his eyes softened; his lips curved into a smile that was powerful enough to curl her toes in her shoes. There was fire in his gaze that said he remembered their passion of last night. And that hunger was lying restless just under the surface. That whenever she wanted to rekindle that flame—
“Hey, Pat, I’m ready for my car.”
Pat blinked, looking as if he’d just awakened from a deep sleep.
“I mean, my pie,” Rulli said, going off into hysterical laughter.
Angie joined him. “Good one, Rulli,” she said after a moment.
“I know.”
Pat looked at Trisha. “I feel like retching.”
“It’ll be easier to pay for the pie,” Trisha replied.
He reached for his wallet and gave each of the kids money for dessert. They dashed off to the counter as he slowly returned his wallet to his pocket.
“They’re certainly high tonight,” he said, turning to watch the kids wait their turn impatiently.
“They were going home to an empty house again,” Trisha said. “It was a surprise that they could talk you into taking them, too.”
“For me, too.” He turned back to her. “To be honest, when I came to pick you up and the kids were around again, I wondered whether it was a ploy to avoid being alone with me.”
Trisha reached over to take his hands in hers. His eyes seemed to swallow her up and, for the moment, she let them. But there were things he needed to understand. Last night hadn’t changed much of anything in her life. Except that little part that she gave to him. “The club is part of me,” she said. “That’s just who I am. I can’t put the kids aside when it’s my time to leave for the day.”
“So I’m learning.”
There was something in his voice that she didn’t understand. Something that almost made her afraid. “You didn’t have to take us all out,” she said, her heart pulling back slightly. “Or I could have paid for the kids.”
He made a face at her. “You don’t really think I’d begrudge the few dollars for their dinner, do you?”
“No.”
“In fact, I would have gladly spent more to go someplace that served real food,” he said. “It’s just that a dinner for four wasn’t my plan for the evening. I was thinking of the two of us at a more intimate little restaurant. Tablecloths, delicious food, plenty of wine.”
She tightened her hold on his hands, needing for him to accept her as she was. “We can do that some other time.”
Something inside him seemed to give way and he nodded. “Sure. Some other time.”
Trisha leaned forward with a sigh. “The kids really needed this,” she said. “They had a meeting with Jessie Adamanti this afternoon.”
“The social worker?”
Trisha nodded. “She’s hoping not to have to put them into foster care where they could get split up and tossed from home to home, but there aren’t too many couples looking for older kids. There is one that’s a possibility, but she’s afraid Angie may be a bit too much for them.”
Pat’s eyes grew stormy. “Angie’s a good kid. She can be a pain, but she’s a good kid.”
Trisha shrugged. “But she’s not everybody’s idea of a perfect little girl. She’s not into ruffles and lace. She’s doing well if she combs her hair—curling it would probably cause her pain. And she wouldn’t be caught dead with a doll.”
Pat glanced over to the counter where the kids were contemplating their purchases as if they were vital to national security. “They don’t seem too worried.”
“Rulli probably doesn’t know and Angie wouldn’t show fear if she was dying.”
He kept on watching them. They made their choices and were paying for the desserts. He turned back to Trisha. “Would they really separate the kids?” he asked.
“If there was no other choice.”
He seemed to share her worry. His eyes were quiet, his mouth a tight little line. “Angie’s a tough kid,” he said. “She’s going to make it, I know. But not if they take Rulli from her.”
“Unfortunately, it may not be in anyone’s control.”
“Maybe if I talked to this Adamanti woman,” he said. “You know, explained things to her about the kids...”
Trisha just shook her head. “Jessie doesn’t need things explained to her,” she said. “She’s a good, caring person. She knows the kids and knows what they need.”
“Yeah, but—”
“This isn’t a contest where, if you act the toughest or the fastest, you’ll get your way,” she said.
“I know that. But the squeaking wheel gets the grease.”
“The wheel is already squeaking the loudest,” Trisha said. “And it’s getting all the grease there is. If that one couple doesn’t work out, Jessie said she’ll feature the kids in the ‘Sunday’s Child’ column. They have good results finding homes for kids with that.”
Pat seemed to relax. “I just want things to work out for them.”
“We all do.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Angie asked. She had a chocolate ice-cream cone and was devouring it as if she thought it might vanish.
“We’re just talking,” Trisha replied.
“What about?” Rulli asked. He had a cherry pie and red was smeared around his mouth, making him look as if he were grinning.
“Oh, nothing much,” Trisha said.
“Yeah, right.” Angie licked her cone, all the while staring at Trisha and Pat. “If you were talking about nothing, then how come you’re holding hands?”
Trisha glanced down and found that their hands were indeed still clasped. She pulled her hand back quickly.
Rulli snickered. “Good one, Angie.”
“Yeah, I know.”
* * *
“About the other night,” Pat said as he took a left on Western Avenue. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. That wasn’t my plan when I came over.”
Trisha turned from the window. His voice had been careful and controlled, as if he’d rehearsed his speech. “I never thought it was.”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” he said.
She let her eyes dance over his face, at least the part that she could see, but it didn’t give her insight into his sudden confession. “I thought it was something spontaneous.”
&nbs
p; “It was.” He shrugged. “But we never got a chance to talk about it and I didn’t want you to think—”
Trisha just laughed. He was so sweet. “Do you think I’d be sitting here in the car with you if I thought you’d taken advantage of me? I would not have abandoned cleaning my closets for you, even if it is a gorgeous fall afternoon.”
“Well, I didn’t know.” She was sure he was trying to hide it, but she couldn’t help laughing at his little hurt sound.
A hint of guilt covered her sun and she leaned over to slip her arm through his. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Don’t pout,” she teased. “It was very nice of you to clarify things. It’s the mark of a true gentleman.”
“I’m not a true gentleman,” he snapped.
She sat up, frowning at him. “It’s not an insult, you know.”
“It’s a misnomer,” he said, sounding irritated.
“I see.” She didn’t understand where this all was going. Was he back in his grumpy mood of the other day? “You’re not a gentleman, you’re not a hero, and you’re not a role model. Anything else you aren’t that I should know?”
“Probably lots.” He sounded so tense suddenly, so serious.
“And I suppose it’s just a coincidence that all those roles involve someone admiring you. Involve someone approving of your behavior.”
“I just think everyone has strengths and weaknesses,” he said. “And my weaknesses aren’t anything to do with interpersonal relationships. I’m much better working on a business level. You know, negotiating a deal, finding the financing—that sort of thing.”
“Impersonal things,” she said.
“It’s better to know who you are and be honest about it, than to lead people on.”
Suddenly everything became clear. He needed to know she wasn’t about to slip chains on him. “You haven’t led me on, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she told him. “I’m enjoying our friendship, but I’m not looking for it to be anything more. Honest. I barely have enough time for the life I have now. I can’t take on anything else.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I’d like to go on as we are,” she said. “As friends.”
“That sounds perfect.”
He reached down for her hand, and squeezed it. There seemed to be no reason to let go, so she didn’t and just laid her head against his shoulder once more. She felt so comfortable with him, so much as if they belonged together. Though she did have some misgivings about this little shopping trip.
“So, as my friend,” she said after a moment, “one whose strength is in financing deals, do you really think we should be doing this? I mean, before we even have the money?”
“We’re just looking today,” Pat said. “We need to get an idea of what we’re talking about so we’ll know how much money we have to raise.”
“I just don’t want to get my hopes up,” she said. “We might find out we can’t buy anything for months and months.”
“It won’t be that long.”
“That’s what you say,” she said.
“Boy,” Pat said. “You have a very cynical outlook on life.”
“It must be the company I’m keeping.”
“Swell.” A car was pulling out of a spot in front of the dealer’s door and Pat pulled into it. “I knew I’d get blamed sooner or later.”
“Good.” She released her seat belt. “Then I didn’t disappoint you.”
Suddenly his arms were around her and he was pulling her to him, tilting her chin up. “I don’t think you could ever do that,” he murmured before bending down and kissing her.
The world and all its burdens disappeared. There was nothing but the two of them, nothing but the fire raging in their hearts and the needs that his touch awoke in her. Together they could find a world of wonder and beauty, a world where only joy existed and only sunshine ever reigned. His arms tightened around her, and her heart cried out its delight. This surely was heaven. There could be nothing more perfect.
Slowly they pulled apart. Trisha found it hard to breathe and gazed ahead at the building. She remembered herself that they were just friends, but the racing of her heart seemed to mock her. So what? There were different kinds of friendships, that was all.
“That man’s staring at us.” A white-haired, older man was standing behind the big glass doors, smiling at them. Trisha grinned at Pat. “I guess they don’t get too many people parking here to make out.”
“We weren’t making out,” Pat said. “I just gave you a little kiss.”
“Same thing.”
He gave her a look. “If you think it’s the same, you had very sheltered high school days.”
“My high school days were just fine, thank you.” She flashed him a knowing smile. “Maybe not as exciting as yours, but just fine.”
“Since my high school days consisted of working and studying, a saint’s was probably more exciting.” He opened his door. “Want to have dinner tonight?”
“Sure.”
He’d brushed aside his high school days as if they’d hardly mattered, but Trisha couldn’t let them go as easily. Her teenage years had been fun if she subtracted her anger at her father. There had been parties and friends and secrets passed in the hall between classes. Mainly it had been a time of trying on all different personas, of being safe because she had her own little clique, and of planning the future from a protected distance. Pat came around to her side and opened the door for her.
Maybe this was why he was so serious. Maybe he’d never learned to have fun. Was that something that you could learn later? She wished she knew how to bring joy into his life.
Pat helped her out of the car. As he was closing the door behind her, the salesman bore down on them.
“Good afternoon, folks.” The salesman’s grin grew wider as he stuck his hand out. “Jerry Barber.”
Pat took the man’s hand. “Hi, Jerry. Pat Stuart.”
“A pleasure meeting you, Pat. What can I do for you and the little woman?”
The little woman? Pat had turned to introduce her, but Trisha just shook her head. A devilish urge had taken hold of her.
“We’d like to look at some vans,” Pat said.
“Sure thing.” The man’s eyes lingered for a split second on Trisha’s stomach—checking for signs of pregnancy? “How about a minivan? We got a lot of young folks like you buying them. Then, when the family comes, they’re all ready.”
“No, that won’t do.” Trisha smiled sweetly at the man. “We need a standard-size van.”
“I see.” He laughed heartily, obviously trying to show that he was a with-it guy. “Expecting a lot of kids, are we?”
“Yes, we are,” Trisha said. “Six or eight. Although we might end up with as many as twelve.”
“Twelve?” He appeared to pale, then smiled. “Right, right. Sometimes you give the neighbors’ kids a ride.”
“No,” Trisha said. “No neighbors.”
The salesman blinked a few times. “Yeah, that’s the way it is these days,” he said. “The kids you live near aren’t the ones your kids want to play with. No one goes to a neighborhood school anymore.”
“Oh, mine will. I—we—” she flashed a smile at Pat “—we firmly believe in neighborhood schools.”
“Ah...”
Was he actually at a loss for words? “So,” she said, “do you have large vans or not?”
“Oh, yes,” the salesman replied, waving them toward the south edge of the lot where a row of shiny new vans stood. “We sure do, Mrs. Stuart.”
Mrs. Stuart. Suddenly her urge to tease the man fled as his words echoed in the breeze, shimmering in the air and smiling at her. They felt remarkably nice, like a taste of chocolate when you were expecting only the bitterness of coffee. Mrs. Stuart.
She shook her head. Hadn’t she been listening to her big speech a few minutes ago? About how they were friends and she had no time for anything else? Or her words from several weeks back about not trusting a man withou
t skinned knees? Maybe she needed to make recordings and play them often.
“Twelve, huh?”
She struggled to come back to earth and found the salesman facing her as they walked across the lot. “Maybe,” she said. “You know how it is. One comes, then another and before you know it you’ve got ten or twelve.”
“Uh-huh.” He gave Pat a forced smile, then waved at the vans ahead of them. “I’m not sure you could seat twelve in them, but eight would be no problem.” He hurried ahead to whip open the side doors of several.
Pat bent his head close to her ear. “Are you always this nasty?”
“Hey,” she protested, “what was nasty? He’s the one who called me a ‘little woman.’”
“I just have one question. Are you going to say ‘excuse me’ or ‘have a nice day’ when you’re done?”
For a moment, Trisha was puzzled; then she remembered Angie’s definitions last night and burst into laughter. “I just might,” she said.
His arm slipped around her. “Boy, I’d better be careful what I say.”
“At least you were warned.” She couldn’t help but move a touch closer, to feel his strength just a bit more around her. “You have Angie to thank for that.”
The salesman was standing beside the door of a blue van. “Now, this is a really nice model,” he said. “Leather seats, automatic transmission and power windows and locks.”
A million things for the kids to break. “I think we need something a bit more basic,” she said.
“Well, we have a nice one just over here without the power package.”
“Hey, don’t aim low,” Pat said. “Pick exactly what you want and we’ll find the funding.”
“I want practical,” she said as they followed the salesman over to a red van. “The kids would kill power windows in a week playing with them.”
“Maybe they’d surprise you,” he said.
She wouldn’t doubt it. Everything lately was a surprise. It was as if she were living in one of those glass balls and someone had shaken it up. But instead of snow falling, happiness was.
* * *
“Table for two?”
At Pat’s nod, the woman led them to a table in the far corner. A candle flickered on the table, its glow supplemented slightly by the dim lighting in the room. He was glad to see a linen tablecloth and napkins on the table. That should mean that real food would be available. And that would mean that he could show Trisha a good time. It was about time.
Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1) Page 19
