God help him, it still hurt. Hurt like hell. He wanted to think he was indifferent to Kate, that she meant nothing to him now. But the memories wouldn't hurt so damn bad unless he still felt something for her. So what did he feel for Kate? Anger. Distrust. Most definitely. But the sexual attraction that had once been so powerful between them was still there, at least on his part. He'd like to deny it, but he couldn't. Okay, so part of what he was feeling was just good old-fashioned lust. He could deal with that, couldn't he? Yeah, sure. All he had to do was avoid Kate.
But what about your daughter? What about Mary Kate? a tormenting inner voice asked. She's dead, he told himself. He shouldn't let Kate's enthusiasm affect him. Just because she believed a little girl who'd been kidnapped by some child abduction ring as an infant was Mary Kate, didn't make it so. Let Kate believe in miracles, let her cling to the dream that their child was still alive and they'd someday be reunited with her. He couldn't share that dream. For him that dream was a nightmare. He'd realized a few months after Mary Kate was stolen from them that the only way he could function, the only way he could survive and not fall apart completely was to let go of his daughter. Everyone involved in Mary Kate's kidnapping case—from local and state law enforcement to the FBI—had told them the odds were that they'd never see their child again, that if she hadn't been found within a month or less, they had to stop hoping, consider her lost to them forever and move on. He'd done that. Kate hadn't. In a way, his ex-wife had been far stronger than he, even if she had suffered an emotional breakdown. Even now, after all this time, she clung to the hope that she would find their daughter.
Trent hadn't been able to tell Kate eleven years ago that the reason he chose not to hope, chose to relinquish the dream of being reunited with Mary Kate, was because he didn't have the courage to face each new day with the agonizing questions of where their child was, what was happening to her, if she was being taken care of or being abused. He'd chosen the easiest route to recovery by convincing himself that their baby girl was dead.
What if Kate's right? What if the FBI locates Mary Kate? Didn't he want to see his daughter? Didn't he want to know firsthand that she was well and happy and loved?
Trent's cell phone rang. He slowed the Jag, removed the phone from its holder and punched the On button. "Trenton Winston."
"She's at the Magnolia House," his aunt Mary Belle said. "I made some inquiries to find out if she was still in town. She is. But I suggest you go see her tonight. My guess is she'll be gone by morning."
Before he could reply, his aunt hung up on him. Damn infuriating woman! How did she even know Kate was in Prospect? Had Guthrie told her that Kate had come to Winston Hall? Or had she seen Kate when she arrived or when she left? Aunt Mary Belle knows, he told himself, she knows Mary Kate may be alive. If she knew, that meant she'd talked to Kate. God help us all. What had it been like when those two had met again face-to-face?
Trent realized what he wanted to do, what he had to do. Deny it all he liked, the bottom line was that if his daughter was still alive, he had to know. He was older now, maybe a little wiser and a heck of a lot tougher than he'd been eleven years ago. Whatever happened, he could handle it and maybe this time he could actually help his wife—make that his ex-wife—through whatever lay ahead for them. He owed her that much, didn't he? He'd failed her miserably in the past.
Twenty minutes later, Trent parked his Jag in the rear parking area, got out, locked his car and headed for the Magnolia House's back entrance. When the cold night wind chilled his face, he flipped up the collar on his suede jacket. He swung open the hotel's back door, then walked down the hall and into the lobby area. He didn't know the clerk by name, although his face looked familiar.
"Good evening," Trent said.
"Good evening, Judge Winston," the man replied.
"I believe you have a Ms. Kate Malone staying here."
"Yes, we do. She's in room one-oh-four."
Trent eyed the man whose name tag read B. Walding. "I thought y'all weren't allowed to give out guests' room numbers."
"Ordinarily we're not," Mr. Walding said. "But since Ms. Malone is your ex-wife and you're who you are and all … well, it's like Miss Mary Belle said—"
"So my aunt has been here to see Kate … to see Ms. Malone?"
"Yes, sir. She left about thirty minutes ago and she did mention on her way out that you'd probably be stopping by to see your wife … your ex-wife."
Trent nodded, offered Mr. Walding a weak smile and glanced around trying to decide which corridor led to one-oh-four.
"To your right," the clerk told him.
"Thanks."
Nervous and unsure of how Kate would react to him just showing up, Trent marched down the hall. When he stood outside the door to one-oh-four, he hesitated. Once he knocked on the door, there would be no turning back.
He knocked several times. No response. He knocked again, harder this time.
He heard the sound of movement from inside the room, then footsteps. The door flew open and Kate stood there in a pair of baggy, bright pink pajamas, her long blond hair disheveled and her face void of makeup. And heaven help him, she was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
She stared up at him with those big, sky blue eyes of hers and his stomach knotted painfully. He remembered only too well how he'd felt the first time she'd zeroed those baby blues in on him. He'd gotten an instant hard-on. If he'd been honest with himself at that moment, he'd have known he was a goner. He'd never wanted anything as much as he'd wanted Kate Malone.
"I want to go with you to find Mary Kate," he told her.
She stared at him, an incredulous expression on her face. "You want to … are you telling me that you now believe there's a good chance our daughter is still alive?"
"I don't know what I believe," he admitted. All he knew was that he didn't want Kate to go through this alone. But he could hardly tell her that. She might read more into a statement like that than he intended. "We can be civil to each other, can't we? We can do this together as Mary Kate's parents and not as…" Trent shuffled his feet. "There's no need for us to hurt each other any more than we already have."
"I agree." As if suddenly realizing she'd been staring at him, Kate cleared her throat, glanced away and then said, "Meet me here in the morning at eight o'clock. If we can take your car, I'll turn my rental in and we can ride to Memphis together."
He nodded, then turned to leave. Sensing her watching him, he glanced over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, temptation personified. Spending days, perhaps weeks with her was going to be pure torture for him. "Thanks, Kate," he said before walking away hurriedly, knowing that if he'd stayed another minute, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Kate hadn't slept much and felt the effects of a restless night. Knowing she needed some fortification to be at her best this morning, she'd eaten a substantial breakfast and downed three cups of regular coffee at the Prospect Café. When she paid the bill and left, she breathed a sigh of relief. Lucky for her, no one had recognized her. Apparently the local gossip mill hadn't processed the news that Trent Winston's ex-wife was in town. The café was a block from the hotel, so she'd walked the distance, despite the frigid temperature. The clouds that had falsely predicted a cold rain late yesterday had dissipated overnight and today promised to be sunny. The early morning sun shining brightly did little to warm things up. When she stepped out of the café, Kate slipped-on her red leather gloves and tightened the red wool scarf around her neck.
As she approached the Magnolia House, she checked her watch. It was 7:53 a.m. Would Trent show up? Of course he would. If he hadn't already been certain of what he planned to do, he'd never have come to see her last night. While she'd tossed and turned during the long, seemingly endless night, she had been unable to turn off her mind, to stop a hundred and one thoughts from bombarding her. Memories of the past mixed and mingled with the present a
nd unrealistic dreams for the future. If dreams came true, what would she want? She'd want to be a mother to Mary Kate. That was a given. But what about being a wife to Trent? Perhaps, in the deepest recesses of her heart, that dream existed.
Dreams were well and good. In their place. But she had to face reality. The odds were against her. Even if they found Mary Kate, Trent was right—it was too late to be the child's parents. Could she accept that fact? She really had no other choice. She had to accept the hard, cold facts in order to protect her daughter. One thing she knew for certain—the only thing that mattered was Mary Kate.
A late-model black Bentley pulled up at the front of the Magnolia House just as Kate crossed the street. She instantly recognized the driver. Right on time. Actually a few minutes early. Trent emerged from the car, looked in her direction and threw up his hand. She waved back at him, but forced herself not to increase her pace. She had run to him, into his open arms, countless times in the past, always striving to please him. But no longer. She wasn't the girl she'd once been. Time and circumstances had changed her dramatically.
When she drew closer, Trent came toward her, and they both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She offered him a cordial, halfhearted smile. "I've already checked out and put my bag in the rental car," she told him. "If you'll follow me to—"
"That won't be necessary," Trent said. "Guthrie will take care of your rental car later. We'll leave the keys with the clerk at the hotel." He cupped her elbow. "Why don't you give me the keys and I'll get your bag and give the keys to the clerk? You can wait here for me." He opened the front passenger door of his car.
Mr. Take-charge. Trent's trademark. During their brief marriage, he'd made all the decisions and she'd allowed him to, with very little protest. Do not pick a fight with Trent first thing. Choose your battles. This issue is not worth arguing about and you know it.
She unzipped her leather purse, retrieved the car keys and handed them to Trent. "Thanks." Avoiding direct eye contact with him, she got in the Bentley and closed the door.
The car had a luxurious feel. Real tan leather and real wood. It seemed odd that Trent, who loved his sports cars dearly, would be driving this sedate sedan. This was a family car, not a bachelor's wheels. Maybe this was Aunt Mary Belle's car. No, probably not. She doubted that his aunt was driving these days, not after her stroke. Besides, she'd always preferred to be chauffeured around by Guthrie.
A few minutes later, Trent returned, opened the trunk and placed her suitcase inside, then he got into the Bentley and glanced at Kate. "Ready?"
"Yes."
"You've had breakfast?" he asked.
"Yes. At the Prospect Café."
"Then we're set until lunchtime." He inserted the key and started the engine. "Do you have a route preference?" he asked. "It's close to an eight-hour trip whether we go through Tupelo or Decatur."
She laughed spontaneously, surprised that he'd asked her opinion. The man was certainly a contradiction these days. Part old Trent, part new Trent.
He eyed her quizzically.
"You're driving," she said. "You choose."
He nodded, then pulled the Bentley into the flow of the sparse morning traffic. "If at anytime during the next few days—or however long this takes—I become overbearing and insufferable, feel free to hit me between the eyes with a two-by-four."
Kate smiled. At least this new Trent had retained the old Trent's sense of humor. "I'll keep that in mind. And don't be surprised if I do as you suggested. You see, I'm not the easily manipulated, naive, love-sick fool I was when we got married."
"You might have been naive and in love, but you were never a fool." Trent kept his gaze focused on the road. "And as I recall there were times when neither I nor Aunt Mary Belle could bring you around to our way of thinking."
Kate's smile vanished as she remembered how tragically her Easter Sunday rebellion nearly twelve years ago had ended.
"Don't go there," he told her. "I was not referring to that Easter Sunday. I seem to recall more than one occasion when you balked at being bossed around."
"I'm sure you and I remember the past differently."
"Some things, perhaps, but…"
"But what?"
"Nothing. I think we're better off not discussing the past. We're less likely to argue if we stick to the present. Don't you agree?"
"If that's what you want. Believe me, dredging up the past isn't something I enjoy."
While he kept his gaze focused directly ahead and both of them stayed quiet, Kate studied Trent. He was remarkably handsome. He came close to being a pretty boy, but wasn't. Not quite. His nose was a little too prominent, his mouth a little too wide. Age had given him an air of distinction, the kind old money and privilege could give a man approaching forty.
"How long have you been a circuit court judge?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Five years."
"Do you like being a judge?"
"Yes, I do."
"Wasn't it a problem for you to take time off from work to come with me?"
"I arranged for another judge to take my cases for the time being. I consider this a family emergency." Trent cast her a sidelong glance. "What about you? Can you afford to take time off from work? If not, I can help you financially."
"Don't do me any favors." The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Looks like I'm still sensitive about money issues. Your aunt Mary Belle often intimated that I'd married you for your money."
"She knows better," Trent said. "She knew better at the time. Any idiot could see how much in love we were. It wasn't a one-sided thing and everyone knew it. Even Aunt Mary Belle."
A zinging warmth spread quickly through Kate. Hearing Trent say in such a matter-of-fact way that he'd been so very much in love affected her deeply. She had believed he loved her—up until the day Mary Kate was abducted. From that time on, he'd given her numerous reasons to doubt his love.
"I don't need any financial help, but thank you for offering."
"Then your job as an investigator pays well?"
"Yes, it pays very well."
Silence.
Kate's heartbeat drummed softly in her ears. The well-insulated Bentley kept the outside noises to a minimum. How was it that this man she had once loved beyond all reason, who'd been her husband, her lover and her friend, now seemed like a stranger? Because that's what he is, she reminded herself. Just as I'm a stranger to him. I'm no more the same person I was than he is. Losing not only Mary Kate, but each other, both Trent and she had come through the ordeal with numerous battle scars. And in the years in between, they'd gone their separate ways and built new lives.
"You use your maiden name. Does that mean you haven't married again?" Trent said.
"No, I … no, I haven't remarried."
"You should have married again, Kate, and had other children."
"It's not too late," she told him. "I still could. But what about you? I halfway expected to find you married and…" She cleared her throat. "I heard you were the man about town and it was the lady voters who got you elected to the judgeship."
Trent chuckled. "You listened to local gossip while you were in town."
"Only to Mr. Walding, the clerk at the Magnolia House."
"Did he mention my dating a lady named Molly Stoddard?"
Tension tightened Kate's muscles. "No, he didn't."
"Molly is a widow with two children. We've been dating for about a year. Steadily these past three months."
"Then it's a serious relationship?" Kate asked, although she already knew it was; otherwise he'd have never mentioned the woman.
"It's been heading that way." Trent gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled strength. "What about you? Anyone special in your life?"
"Hmm." No, there's no one special, but I wish there was. She didn't want him to think she'd been pining away for him all these years. "As a matter of fact, I've been seeing a great deal of another Dundee agent
. We're very close." Damn, Kate, that's it—just lie to the man. But she wasn't really lying. She and Lucie Evans did see a great deal of each other. They were close—the best of friends. Girlfriends, that is. There was nothing romantic in their relationship.
"I'm glad you have someone. Are you and—what did you say his name was?"
"His name? Uh, er, Evans. Lu-Luke Evans." Now you've really lied and you can't deny it, she told herself. There is no Luke Evans!
"Are you and Luke planning on getting married?"
"No, marriage isn't in our immediate plans." That much was true—neither she nor Lucie had any wedding plans. As a matter of fact neither of them were even dating anybody seriously.
"I've been thinking about asking Molly to marry me."
"What?" She hadn't meant to react by practically screaming her response, but his statement had surprised her. No, it had more than surprised her. It had struck a nerve. Even after being divorced for over ten years, she supposed she still thought of Trent as her husband. "I'm happy for you and … I wish you the very best."
"I haven't asked her, yet. I've just been thinking about it. But I'm not getting any younger. I'm going on forty. And Molly's a wonderful person and I adore her kids."
Molly was wonderful. He adored her kids. Was that any reason to marry a person? Once she wouldn't have thought so. Now, she wasn't sure. Maybe the second time around, a person should look for something other than mad, passionate love. Maybe that's what she should do. Find a wonderful man and settle for contentment instead of passion.
Get real, Kate, you'd never settle for anything less than being in love and you know it.
"Did you tell Molly that you were leaving town with your ex-wife?" Kate asked.
"Yes, of course. I phoned her last night and explained the situation. She was very understanding. That's the way Molly is. Understanding and kind and—"
LAYING HIS CLAIM Page 4
