by Diana Palmer
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Can it be cured?” she asked.
“In the early stages, but the cure rate isn’t reassuring. Addiction isn’t easy to face or defeat.” He toyed with his coffee mug, searching her face. “It’s better not to start.”
She hesitated. “I’m sure it is,” she said. “Do little children get addicted, just like adults?” she added.
“Some of them are actually born addicted,” he said quietly. “It’s a hell of a world, isn’t it, when parents care that little about their own children?”
“It’s an even worse one when they sell that stuff to grammar school children. Mack said they actually searched lockers at his school and found crack.”
He glanced at her sharply. “There’s something of a turf war going on there,” he replied. “Marijuana dealers slugging it out with much tougher crack dealers.”
“Oh, lord.” Her nails were picking at her napkin, almost shredding it. His lean hand came out and covered them, dark against the soft pink of her nails.
“Let’s find something more cheerful to talk about.”
She forced a smile. “Suits me.”
He nodded, removing his hand. “I think this steer died of old age before they brought it in here,” he murmured, scowling over his steak. He prodded it with his fork. “See? No life left in it at all. It doesn’t move.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t really want your steak to move around by itself?”
He glared at her. “Why not? A good piece of meat should be robust, full of fight. I hate to eat anything this dejected.” He prodded it again and sighed, laying down the fork. “To hell with it. I’ll eat Jell-O instead.”
She just shook her head. He was fun to be with. And she’d imagined him so stern and brooding, but he was nothing like that. He had a dry wit and a no-nonsense attitude to life. She enjoyed his company as she’d never enjoyed anyone else’s.
In the week that followed, Becky ate lunch with Kilpatrick every day. She’d never been so happy in all her life. The only drawback was having to keep the fact from her family. She’d had enough headaches the other time she’d had lunch with Kilpatrick, so she didn’t tell them anything about how often she was seeing him.
Meanwhile, Clay was gone every night to his supposed job and spending most of the weekend in the company of Francine, the dark-haired beauty in the sports car. Clay never brought her in the house. Probably he was ashamed to have her see the cracked linoleum and poorly painted walls, Rebecca thought angrily. But Francine picked him up for work and brought him home, so that was one small blessing to be thankful for, she supposed. At least he wasn’t demanding a car to go with his designer clothes. And he stayed sober.
She’d asked him where he worked, but all he’d tell her was that it was at a convenience store on Tenth Street downtown. She hadn’t pursued that because she didn’t want to know if he was lying. If he was, and she caught him, it would mean more trouble. She’d had so much that she felt cowardly about going looking for more. It was easier to believe that he’d reformed, that his interest in Francine had straightened him out. But a teenage girl driving a new Corvette bothered Becky especially since she’d found out inadvertently that Francine’s folks were just mill workers.
Mack was quiet these days, too. He studied his math without being told, and he avoided Clay. Rebecca noticed that, and other subtle differences. They all bothered her, but she was beyond knowing what to do. She couldn’t even confide in Kilpatrick now, because if she mentioned anything about the company Clay was keeping or the designer clothes he was sporting, it just might land her little brother in jail.
She couldn’t talk to Clay anymore, so she tried to pretend everything was all right. She was just beginning to feel alive for the first time. She didn’t want her happiness marred by anything unpleasant. So if she just ignored what was going on around her, it didn’t exist.
Kilpatrick had started to watch her in a way that she found deliciously exciting. His dark eyes spent more and more time lingering on her breasts and her mouth, and even the timbre of his voice seemed to be changing. The way he spoke to her was different from the way he spoke to anyone else. Even Maggie had noticed.
“He seems to purr when he talks to you,” the older woman had mentioned just that morning, grinning wickedly at her colleague. “When he called to ask you to meet him in the parking lot, I could hear his voice change when you came on the line. Oh, he’s interested—really interested. Imagine that—our shy little wallflower carrying off the sexy D.A.”
“You stop that.” Becky laughed. “I haven’t carried him anywhere. And having lunch together is just convenient. I baked him a cake, you know.”
“Everybody knows you baked him a cake,” Maggie informed her. “The people he didn’t tell found out from his secretary. I’m surprised the news people haven’t dropped in to interview you on your baking skills.”
“Will you stop?” She groaned.
“Don’t mislay that program disk,” Maggie warned. “And if I were you, I’d go home late this afternoon and do some shopping in town. I have a feeling you’re going to need some party duds real soon.”
Becky frowned, brushing back her hair. She was wearing it long all the time now, because Kilpatrick liked it that way. She was taking more care with her makeup, too, and wearing the prettiest and most feminine clothes in her closet to work. It must have impressed him, because he certainly stared at her these days.
“Party duds?”
“Kilpatrick is being wined and dined by the political powers that be,” Maggie explained. “They’re trying to talk him into running for a third term. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the parties.”
“I’m not sophisticated enough for that kind of thing.”
“You don’t have to be sophisticated, child. You only have to be yourself,” Maggie said firmly. “You don’t put on airs. That’s why people like you. You’re just yourself. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked, all eyes.
“I really do. Now, powder your nose and go to lunch. We wouldn’t want to upset the D.A., when we have all these big cases coming up in court next month,” she added with a mischievous smile.
“Heaven forbid,” Becky agreed. Impulsively she hugged Maggie, then escaped before things got embarrassing.
Kilpatrick was leaning on the hood of a black sedan, his long legs crossed, whistling faintly. He had on gray slacks and a light sports coat with a cheery red tie. Becky sighed at the sight of him.
He looked up as she approached, smiling. His dark eyes ran down her figure in the trim white suit and pink blouse she was wearing, her long legs in dark hose that ran into spiked white high heels. With her honey-colored hair long and loose around her shoulders and her face radiant with happiness, she was frankly pretty.
He whistled at her, and laughed when she blushed.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise. Get in.”
He put her inside and went around to climb in under the wheel. He reached for the key, then stopped when he saw the expression on her face. “I checked it,” he whispered, leaning toward her. “The wiring, the hood, everything. Okay?”
She buried her face in her hands. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re just human. And if my secretary wasn’t leaning halfway out the window watching, I’d kiss you until you screamed for mercy,” he added with a rakish grin.
She felt her cheeks go hot, and her eyes dropped involuntarily to his hard, chiseled mouth. She remembered the one kiss he’d given her and how it had felt—how her mouth had tingled all day with the memory of it. She wanted it again, but it wasn’t wise to let him know how much.
“I like your secretary,” she said to break the tension.
He chuckled, seeing her diversion for what it was. “So do I. We’d better go.”
He cranked the car and drove off.
The restaura
nt he took her to was a creperie. Becky gasped with delight at the menu. It was the fanciest place she’d ever been to, and she was busy for several minutes drinking in every detail to share with Maggie when she got back to the office. Maggie probably had been to places like this so often that she took them for granted, but the café at work and the local fast food joints comprised the total extent of Becky’s knowledge of prepared food.
“Haven’t you been to a creperie before?” Kilpatrick asked gently, frowning at her evident delight.
“Well, no.” She shifted and smiled self-consciously. “My budget doesn’t run to places like this, and even if it did, I’d have to bring my whole family along. It could get expensive. Mack could eat what you’re having and what I’m having and still ask for dessert.”
“Mack?”
“My youngest brother,” she explained. “He’s just ten.”
“Does he look like you?” he asked gently.
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling. “He loves to help me in the garden. He’s the only one who does, these days. Granddad can’t and Clay’s…got a job,” she blurted out.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Good for him.”
“He has a girlfriend, too, but I haven’t been given the opportunity to meet her,” she added nervously. “He never brings her inside.”
“She may not be the kind of girlfriend he wants to bring inside,” he mused, watching her puzzled expression. “Becky, at his age, sex is new and exciting, and boys don’t like having adults know what they’re up to. It isn’t surprising that he doesn’t bring her home.”
She felt a surge of relief. Could that be it? Could Clay be embarrassed to have his sister know that he was sleeping with someone? That was easy to answer. Clay knew that Becky was old-fashioned in her outlook and that she went to church. No wonder he didn’t want her to meet Francine!
“Could it be that simple?” she asked absently. “Oh, I thought he was ashamed of us!”
He scowled. “Ashamed? Why would he be?”
She hesitated. Her eyes fell to her coffee cup. “Rourke, we’re farm people. The house is old and falling apart, and we don’t have anything fancy in it. A boy trying to impress a girl might not want her to know how…frugally…he lived.”
“I imagine any house you kept would be neat as a pin,” he said after a minute, his dark eyes quiet and soft. “And I can’t imagine anyone being ashamed to show you off.”
She flushed and then smiled. “Thank you.”
“I meant it,” he said simply. He studied her for a long moment, yielding finally to a temptation he couldn’t put off any longer. “I’d like to take you out to dinner Saturday night. Will that be convenient?”
She knew she hadn’t moved an inch. She stared at him while her heart shook. “What?”
“I want to take you out on a date. Dinner and a movie, or a nightclub, if you prefer,” he said. “If you’re not afraid to go,” he added. “I could be a target again. I’ll understand if you want to wait until this blows over.”
“No!” she interrupted breathlessly. “Oh, no, I don’t…I mean, I’m not afraid. Not at all. I’d love to go!”
He picked up his cup and sipped rich black coffee. “Your family won’t like it.”
“Then they can dislike it,” she said stubbornly. “I’m entitled to go out once in a while.”
“I’m flattered that you’re willing to fight them over it,” he said, a peculiar light in his dark eyes.
She flushed. “What time?”
“About six,” he murmured, chuckling at her expression. “Wear something sexy.”
“I don’t have anything sexy,” she confessed. She smiled wickedly. “But I will have, by Saturday night.”
“That’s my girl.” He finished his coffee. “Now, how about dessert?”
The rest of the week went by in a flash. Becky stayed late and went shopping with Maggie for just the right dress to wear out to dinner. They found it in a small boutique, marked down fifty percent, and Becky couldn’t believe that she was actually the owner of such a grand party dress.
It was black, with spaghetti straps and a fitted, low-cut bodice and a full, flaring crepe skirt. It was the witchiest dress she’d ever seen in her life.
“I’ve got just the shoes to go with it,” Maggie added. “Fortunately, you and I wear the same shoe size, and there’s no need to buy a pair when I’ve got an almost new pair I can loan you.”
Becky hesitated. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’ve got an evening bag that will match, too,” she continued. “Do you have any jewelry?”
“A gold cross my mother left me,” Becky said.
“The perfect accent.” Maggie grinned. “It will keep Kilpatrick honest.”
“You devil, you!” Becky gasped.
“Kilpatrick’s the devil, and don’t you forget it. Any man will take as much as you’ll give, no matter how nice he is. Don’t let yourself get carried away under the moon.”
“I won’t,” Becky promised, but without a lot of conviction. She had a feeling that if Kilpatrick ever turned on the heat, she wouldn’t have a prayer.
Maggie stopped by her apartment and produced a pair of spiked, strappy black velvet high heels and a black beaded evening bag for Becky. She lived in a spacious apartment overlooking the Hyatt Regency hotel in downtown Atlanta.
“I love your view.” Becky sighed, looking out the picture window at the busy streets below. “But not your pet,” she added with a grimace at the baby python Maggie kept in an aquarium.
“He won’t bite. Ignore him. You should see my view at night,” the older woman replied, smiling. “It’s magic. You need an apartment of your own, Becky. A life of your own.”
“What can I do?” Becky asked gently. “My grandfather can’t manage the boys alone. If I leave, there’s no money for a housekeeper or a nurse.” She shook her head. “They’re my family and I love them.”
“Love can build prisons, and don’t you forget it,” Maggie said firmly. “I know. I’ll tell you about it one day.”
She looked haunted for a minute, and Becky felt a surge of affection for her.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked Maggie.
Maggie smiled. “Because it’s easy to be kind to someone as nice as you are, my darling. I don’t make friends easily. I’m too independent and I like my own way. But you’re special. I like you.”
“I like you, too,” Becky said. “And not just because you’re staking me to shoes and a purse.”
“That’s nice to know,” Maggie said, laughing. “Okay, I’d better drive you back to the parking lot to get your car. But you’ll have to come over one Saturday afternoon and go shopping with me. I’ll show you where all the best bargains are.”
“I’d really like that,” Becky said.
“So would I.”
Maggie dropped her off at the parking lot and Becky drove home with pure reluctance. Well, she had until the next night to break the news to her family about her date with Kilpatrick. Maybe she’d work up enough nerve by then.
She got supper and only Granddad and Mack were there to share it.
“Is Clay at work?” she asked.
Granddad lifted an eyebrow. Mack shrugged.
“Well, did he come home at all?” she asked.
“He came by,” Mack said. “He and his girlfriend came in to get something out of his room. He said he’d be home late, if he came home at all.” He scowled. “I didn’t like her. She had on these tight jeans and a see-through tank top, and she looked down her nose at the house.”
Becky felt as if she were sitting on hot coals. “From what I hear, she doesn’t come from money.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Granddad said. “She’s old man Harris’s niece.”
Becky felt her knees go weak. “Really?”
He nodded. He cut his steak and ate it slowly. “Clay’s going to get into big trouble if he doesn’t look out.”
“Maybe it’s just infatuation,”
Becky said hopefully.
“Maybe it ain’t,” Granddad replied. He put down his utensils. “Why don’t you talk to him, Becky? Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“I’ve tried talking to him,” she said. “He just blows up and walks off. I can’t do any more than I’ve already done. I can’t protect him forever.”
“He’s your brother,” the old man said grumpily. “You owe him.”
“I owe everybody, it seems,” she said irritably, glaring at him. “I can’t go around picking up after him forever. He has to grow up.”
“The way he’s going about it, he’ll never make it. You might give a party for him. Invite some of the nice kids around.”
“We tried that once, don’t you remember? He left right in the middle of it.”
“We could try again. Or you could have a talk with him tomorrow night.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow night,” she said slowly.
Granddad gaped at her. “What?”
“I have a date.”
“A date? You? Wow!” Mack burst out enthusiastically. “Who with?”
Granddad scowled fiercely. “I know who with. That damned Kilpatrick man! It is, isn’t it?!” he demanded.
“Becky, you wouldn’t, would you?” Mack asked, his hazel eyes accusing and wide. “Not that man, after all he’s done to Clay?”
“He’s done nothing to Clay,” she reminded him. “He’s the one who turned Clay loose, if you remember. He could have prosecuted him.”
“He didn’t have a damned shred of proof. He wouldn’t have dared take him to court,” Granddad scoffed. “Well, you listen here, girl. You’re not dating any lawyer…”
“I’m going out tomorrow night with Mr. Kilpatrick,” she told her grandfather firmly, even though her heart was beating uncomfortably fast and hard and her hands were shaking with nerves. It was the first time in her life that Becky had ever deliberately defied him.
“Turncoat,” Mack muttered.
“You can shut up,” she told him. “I don’t answer to you, or to anybody else,” she added with a speaking glance at her grandfather. “I like him. I’m entitled to one date every five years. Even you have to admit that.”
