“A lot of good it did me,” she said.
“Not your fault,” he said, surprising her.
“Not to hear my father tell it,” she said, before she could stop herself. She knew she sounded bitter but didn’t care.
“In some ways, your old man reminds me of Meg’s,” he said, referring to his youngest nephew’s new wife. “They both want to claim ownership of a daughter without making any effort whatsoever to be worthy of being called a father. Of course, Meg’s old man at least recognizes her talent, whereas you’re father is clueless about the talent you have.”
“I don’t have any musical talent.”
“I didn’t say ‘musical,’ darlin’. I just said talent. And you are—without a doubt—one of the most talented negotiators I’ve ever met. It takes someone special to be able to talk people from all over the place into seein’ things your way—and to then think what they’re seein’ was their idea in the first place.”
“Everyone but you,” she said, turning her head to study his profile.
He smiled. “Yeah, well, I’m special, too.”
Kitty found herself smiling in spite of herself. “You are that,” she murmured, though his grin said clearly that he’d heard her.
Bart didn’t respond but instead made a couple of quick turns then pulled into an alley between the back yards of houses.
“Where are we?” she asked, feeling the first hint of alarm.
“Home,” he said, pulling in behind a two-story structure.
It was an old Victorian house in a neighborhood full of them. Like its neighbors, it was clearly a part of the movement to preserve and renovate these old beauties.
“You didn’t say anything about taking me to your place,” she said, nervous in spite of her resolve.
“I said I was takin’ you to dinner,” he said, getting out of the car.
“But…!”
He closed his door with a firm hand then came around the hood of the car to open her door for her.
“Dinner usually means a restaurant,” she said, making no move to get out.
He sighed. “But tonight is all about tellin’ you the truth, darlin’, and I can’t do that at a restaurant any more than I could at your office.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I haven’t poisoned anyone, yet.”
Kitty hesitated another moment then took his offered hand and stepped out of the car. Looking around, she noticed the house across the alley was three stories, and she recognized the black SUV and the white van.
“Your nephews?” she asked, gesturing across the way.
“Mel was living in the top floor apartment when we met her. We were able to buy the house from the owner right before she and Matt were married. Then Addy came along, and this place came up for sale. It was a mess, but John and I moved over here when Luke and Candace married. Then John found Meg, so we spent all our time on the upstairs apartment. My space was only finished about a month ago.”
The whole time he was talking, he was gently herding Kitty into the apartment, and by the time he finished with the explanation, she was standing inside the back door, staring around at the kitchen, stunned by what he had done.
“I have to say, it’s not what I’d expected, but this is incredible,” she said, moving around the room, touching various surfaces.
The kitchen and dining area beyond were traditional in design, though the open floor plan and high-end finishes took it a step beyond. Closer inspection showed it leaned more toward the simplicity of mid-century modern in the furnishings, but blurry water-color paintings of mountains and forests harkened back to the past. The lighting was mostly hidden, the furnishings comfortable-looking. The small round table under a simple hanging lamp was set for two, complete with wine glasses and candles ready to light. Bart crossed the room to touch a switch, and a cheerful gas fire began to burn brightly in the fireplace.
“Confident, weren’t you?” she said, gesturing toward the set table.
Bart grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
After tapping a button on the microwave oven, he opened the big oven and brought out a pan of bubbling lasagna.
“Italian?” she asked. “You continually surprise me, Bartholomew.”
“Don’t worry. I put it together, but it’s Mel’s red sauce.”
“Ah.”
He placed the glass pan in a woven tray, carried it to the table, then returned to the refrigerator and brought out what looked like a spinach salad, which he proceeded to toss with vinegar and oil dressing.
“The bread’s in the microwave,” he said.
When the oven dinged, she opened the door to find a loaf of sliced Italian bread in a basket. Pulling it out, she smelled the garlic in the butter.
“Wine?” he asked.
“I might as well,” she said.
Bart grinned and poured red for them both before reaching into a drawer for a lighter and lighting the candles. Setting the lighter aside, he flicked off the kitchen lights.
“I guess that’s everything,” she said.
“Not quite.”
Before she could move past him to the table, he took hold of her arms, backed her against the kitchen counter, and reached up to pull her hair free of the chignon. She heard the pins hit the countertop and hardwood floor as he combed his long fingers through the heavy waves, and she was shocked to feel the ripple of desire run through her from her scalp to her toes. When he was through, he held one thick lock to the light.
“It’s not really red, and it’s not really brown, is it?” He smiled. “Chestnut, maybe.”
Kitty had to swallow, before she could speak. “It mostly depends upon what color I’m wearing—and the lighting,” she said.
“And you often dress in black, don’t you?”
“It’s professional,” she said tightly. “If you’re through playing with my hair, now, I’m hungry.”
Bart grinned. “Right.”
He surprised her once more when he pulled her chair out for her. Then he was serving her lasagna, and passing her the salad. Nothing more was said as they began to eat what turned out to be a delicious meal.
“You were going to tell me the truth,” she said, when she finally came up for air long enough to sip her wine.
“After dinner,” Bart said. “I want you to enjoy your dinner, first.”
“That sounds ominous,” she said, wishing she could make a joke about it.
Bart shook his head and drank some wine. “Nothing of the sort, but you may want to leave right after, and I want to enjoy our dinner, first.”
Kitty sighed and started on her salad.
When she looked up a moment later, he was smiling at her, and she felt her face heat.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothin’. Only it’s good to see a woman enjoyin’ her food. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bought dinner for a lady only to have her pick at it.”
Kitty shook her head. “Just lucky, genetically speaking. I have a very high metabolism that lets me enjoy food without worrying about putting on the pounds.”
Bart narrowed his eyes. “Does it really matter so much to women? Shoot, no man wants to be seen out with a bag of bones.”
Kitty reached for her wine once more. “That’s nice to know, but you’ll have to take it up with the fashionistas.”
Bart snorted. “Oh. Them.”
Kitty surprised herself by laughing.
“That’s better,” Bart said. “You should laugh more often.”
Kitty froze then very deliberately returned her wine glass to the table. Before he could stop her, she pushed away from the table and stood.
“I’ll take that truth, now,” she said, trying desperately to ignore all the sensations she was feeling in response to the way he was looking at her.
This is business! She admonished herself. Forget the way he’s looking at you!
Easier said than done, she told herself.
When she finally looked up
to meet his gaze, his golden eyes darkened.
“All right,” he said, his tone of voice a soft growl. “Come into the living room.”
Kitty moved ahead of him, careful to keep some distance between them. When she reached the far side of the room, she turned to face him and was surprised to see him drawing the curtains. She felt a quiver, deep in her belly, and had to force herself not to flee.
“You want to know why the boys won’t play in the big houses.”
“Yes.”
She thought she heard him sigh. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets like before and jingled his change. For some reason, he seemed to be finding it difficult to meet her eyes, now, and she was amazed.
“Are they in trouble with the law?” she asked, thinking it might be the only explanation.
Bart managed a small smile.
“No. It’s nothin’ like that.”
“Then what?”
He took a deep breath. “There’s somethin’ some of the men in our family do,” he said, “somethin’ we can usually control under normal circumstances. Once we hit twenty or so, we can control it pretty well, but there are things that can set us off—loud noises, wild crowds, flashing lights, that sort of thing.”
“The sort of thing they’d have to deal with on a big stage.”
“That’s just it, darlin’,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “See, in a small house, especially someplace like the Fiddlers’ Cave, the stage is small, it’s near a door, and the crowd’s only gonna be about a hundred people. It’s plenty loud, but everyone’s on the same level, and the really bright lights are limited to a handful of parcans. There’re no special effects or laser lights or smoke or anything else that might set us off.
“But in a big house…” He shook his head. “I learned lighting and sound in college, but I interned out in Vegas, and I can tell you that was one helluva challenge for me. I don’t want the boys to have to worry about all that—and they know it wouldn’t be easy, so they’re happy to take my lead on this.”
“Are you telling me they’d be willing, but you won’t let them?” she asked, incredulous.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “No, it’s somethin’ we’ve talked about—a lot—and they don’t want to take any chances, either.”
“Any chances on what?” she asked, exasperated.
Bart eyed her closely then seemed to nod to himself.
“Okay. You want to know, so here goes.” He moved to the far side of the room. “I want you to sit down, and promise me you’ll stay seated, no matter what happens.”
“I’m not going to promise anything, Bartholomew Saint, until you tell me what’s going on!”
“I’m gonna show you exactly what happens to us, but you gotta promise me you’ll stay put and keep an open mind. I’m not gonna hurt you, no matter what you see me do, but I can’t have you runnin’ outa here, until we have a chance to talk after.”
“Okay,” she said, dropping onto his couch. “Fine. Just do…whatever you’re going to do, so we can get on with this.”
“I need you to look at me—look at my eyes—and no matter what happens, you keep lookin’ at my eyes. Got it?”
Kitty sighed but nodded. “Your eyes. Right. Got it.”
She looked into those deep, golden eyes, until she felt her vision waver. Then suddenly she realized it wasn’t her vision at all, and her eyes opened wide as Bart began to change. He dropped to all fours, and his form warped until instead of a man, she faced a very large black bear across the room.
Kitty was on the verge of screaming, but she clamped her jaws against it when she shifted her vision back to those golden eyes. They were the bear’s eyes, but somehow they were still Bartholomew Saint’s eyes, too, and she trembled with this new, previously never-suspected version of reality.
“Oh, my God…”
The bear/Bart took a step toward her, and Kitty came halfway out of her seat, before she forced herself to sit back down.
“If that’s really you, Bart, I’d really appreciate it if you’d sit down.”
She could have sworn the bear was laughing at her when he plopped his backside down on the floor.
She let out a shuddering breath. “Okay. Okay. I guess you’ve made your point.”
The bear seemed to waver, then, his form morphing into something longer, taller, and thinner, and then Bart was suddenly standing there before her once more.
He took two steps forward, sat on the coffee table, and reached for her hands.
“Breathe, darlin’,” he admonished her as he gave her hands a squeeze.
Kitty took a very deep breath then managed to look up to meet his eyes once more.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Kitty.”
“It’s the eyes, right?”
“They’re one tell,” he said. “At least, all the people I know who are Shifters have golden eyes.”
“Shifters?” she asked, trying the word on for size.
“That’s what we’re called,” Bart said.
Kitty thought about that for a moment, then tensed. “Addy! She has golden eyes, too!”
Bart nodded slowly. “Addy’s a Shifter, though her animal is a mountain lion.”
“Oh, God.”
Bart smiled. “Don’t give her too hard a time about it, Kitty. Addy grew up without anyone else in the family to show her what to do, on account of her father dyin’ when she was only two. Talking to her Granny, it seems like there isn’t anyone else in her clan, so she was pretty mixed up, until Granny sent one of her songs in, and Mark went out to find her.”
“How…how many…?”
“How many of us are there?”
Kitty nodded.
“I have no idea. In our family, it’s pretty common. My pappy, grandpappy, oldest brother—that’s the boys’ pa—and me, a couple of cousins. Havin’ so many in one family might be unusual. As I said, Addy’s the only one left in her family—that we know about, anyway, since they’re not as close a family as the Saints are. There are others, I know, but I’m thinkin’ most Shifters stay away from the cities, so you probably don’t run into them very often. We’ve met only one other in Nashville, since we moved here. He’s a lieutenant in the Nashville Police Department.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Comes in handy, too, if somethin’ comes up, and we need somebody to cover for us.”
“What ‘something’?” she asked sharply, wondering if she really wanted to know.
“Well, like this past spring, when I was walkin’ the girls back to Mel’s car after dark one night, and there were these three drunks who wanted a piece of ’em.”
“Oh, my God. Was anyone hurt?”
“Well, none of us were—Addy and I handled them just fine—but I called our friend at the police station to tell him what happened to the three men after we left ‘em unconscious. Accordin’ to our friend, they never did remember what happened, which was good for us.”
Kitty could only shake her head. She ran her hand through her hair and sat back on the couch. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation with you.”
Bart smiled and moved to sit next to her. “I told you it wasn’t somethin’ to talk about in your office or in a restaurant.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?”
“I’m hopin’ you now understand why the boys can’t play the Grand Ole Opry. I mean, that place holds what, a couple thousand people?”
“Forty-four-hundred.”
“Geeze. I’m sorry, darlin’ but you gotta see that there’s just no way: forty-four hundred people, balconies, all those lights, and whatever else the management might dream up for a concert? There’s just no way. One of the boys would Shift for sure in that mess.”
Kitty turned her head and studied him for a time then sighed. “Yes. I see.”
She sat forward, her elbow on her knees, and rubbed at her temples. “My father won’t, but that’s okay. I’
m sure I can find another job someplace else.”
“What are you talkin’ about? Are you sayin’ he’s threatened to fire you over this?”
Kitty nodded and shook back her hair. She felt strangely free, with her long hair now loose and curling every which way. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”
“You won’t be tellin’ him about this, will you.” It wasn’t a question.
Bartholomew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 5) Page 2
