“I saw you.”
“Saw me!” She jumped to her feet and handed him the bowl. “Thanks for the supper, Mr. Adams. I’m afraid I must leave. I have to go to work early in the morning. At my job in the attorney’s office.”
“Oh. So that’s why you were there.”
“And why did you think I was there?”
She knew what he thought. And he was right about why she had gone to the lawyer’s office to start with. But he had no right spying on her.
* * *
Steve stared at her. The lawyer must have told her about the deed. Her temper sparked as hot as the fire in the grate, as bright as the flames of red-and-gold hair cascading about her face. He couldn’t tell if reflection from the fire or the fire in her eyes shot flames at him.
But why was she angry at him? What had he done to set her off this time? He couldn’t help what had happened long before he’d come on the scene, couldn’t help what her grandfather had done. Surely she understood that. He wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to grab her and kiss the anger and hostility out of her. He clenched his hands at his sides to keep them off her.
“Well, why? Why did you think I was at a lawyer’s office? You thought I was there looking for a way to get my land back, didn’t you?”
He unclenched his hands. How was he to answer her? For a while he had thought she might find a way to get the land. That her grandfather really had left at least a part of it to her. Then he’d seen the record—and was still puzzling over it.
Kate dropped back into the chair. “If I were in your shoes, I might spy on you, too.”
He relaxed and grinned at her. “Like you did after the first time you saw me in the woods?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did, too.”
A smile lit her eyes. “Okay. Maybe you caught me on that one. Maybe I shouldn’t accuse you. So tell me how you happened to see me in the lawyer’s office.”
“I didn’t see you in it. I drove by as you were leaving.”
“Oh.”
She was more subdued as she spooned the last bite of soup from her bowl and took the last bite of bread.
“You ready for pie now? I’ll put a couple slices in the microwave.” He reached for her bowl.
“Sounds good.” She smiled at him as she placed her spoon in the bowl and handed it to him.
He returned her smile. “Two slices of warm apple pie coming right up.”
At the kitchen doorway, he hesitated and almost turned back. He hated keeping things from her and wanted to tell her about his trip to the courthouse.
But he had a feeling she wasn’t telling him everything, either. Without comment he continued into the kitchen to warm their pie.
Chapter 9
Kate turned from the computer and reached for the ringing telephone. “Paul Boyer’s office.”
“Kate. The doctor’s putting me on bed rest again.”
“Oh, Jane, I’m sorry.”
“Can you work full-time for a while? You can call me for help or bring things by my house, if you need to. I’ll talk to Mr. Boyer about it.”
“I’ll be going back to school after the holidays.” If I go back.
“Maybe I can be back in the office part-time by then. But can you work every day until then?”
“I...don’t know.” If she worked all day every day, when could she check on what was going on in the house and woods? When could she help work on the place?
I know the plans I have for you...plans to prosper you, to give you a future and a hope.
Kate thought about the way the Scripture kept returning to her mind. Could she trust it? Did she believe what the Bible said? She grew up believing every word in the Bible—although she didn’t understand it all. Could she stop believing just because she couldn’t understand all the things going on around her or how the verse could possibly apply to her life now?
She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. “All right, Jane, I’ll do it. If Mr. Boyer agrees.”
“Great. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you. If he’s there let me talk to him a minute.”
After talking with Jane, the attorney walked into the office where Kate worked at the computer. “Jane says you are able to work while she’s incapacitated and call her if you need to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He handed her the letter he’d signed. “Please see that it gets in the afternoon mail.”
Kate reached for the letter as the front door opened. A boy of about ten dragged into the office, head down, hands dangling at his sides.
Paul Boyer turned to look at him. “Pauley, what are you doing here?”
“You missed my game again.” He let his backpack slip from his shoulders to the floor.
“I’m sorry, Paul Jr. I got caught up in court.”
Kate felt her eyes widen. Not true, Mr. Boyer.
Paul Jr. slumped into a chair. “That’s okay, Dad. We lost anyway.”
“How did you get here from the game? It will be a while before I can go home.”
“Joel’s mom dropped me off. I’ll wait.” He propped his chin in his hands and stared at the floor.
Kate’s heart went out to him. She could well understand how he felt, being ignored by the people he loved most. She wished she could do something to make him feel better.
The phone rang, and Mr. Boyer stood silently waiting while she answered it.
She held her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Lucas Oswald, about the Walters case. Should I tell him you’ll call him back?” She nodded toward the desolate boy.
Boyer glanced at his son and frowned. “No, I’d better talk to him now. I’ll take it in my office.”
After the door closed behind him, Kate looked at the boy. He still sat slumped over, his head down.
“Paul Jr.?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t look at her.
“You like chocolate cake?”
He shrugged without looking up. “Yeah.”
“I have a piece in my desk drawer. You want to share it?”
He looked up, interest lighting his eyes. “You got enough?”
“I have plenty.”
“Okay.” He got up and ambled toward her.
Kate opened a desk drawer, took out a covered plastic container and set it on the desk. She lifted her shoulder bag and opened it. “You want to run next door to the barbershop and get drinks from their machine?”
“Sure.”
She smiled and handed him a couple of bills. “I’ll take anything diet. Get whatever you want. I think they have a snack machine, too. Get a package of crackers, if you’d like. It may be a while before your dad’s ready to go.”
While Paul Jr. was gone, she opened the container and sliced off a tiny corner from the cake wedge. Leaving it in the container where the boy couldn’t see how small it was, she placed the larger portion on a paper plate for him. She got up and pulled a chair near the desk.
Paul Jr. returned carrying a couple of soft drinks in cans. “Diet cola okay?”
“That’s great. Have a seat.” She indicated the chair across the desk from her.
The boy sat down, and Kate placed the plate in front of him.
He picked up his plastic fork and dug in. “Wow! This is good.” He spoke with his mouth full. “Did you make it?”
“Sure did.” She took a tiny bite with her plastic fork.
He took another bite. “I wish my mom made cakes like this.” He bit his bottom lip. Chocolate coated his teeth. “I wish she stayed around long enough to make one.”
“Tell me about your game.”
Gloom surrounded the boy again. “I missed a free throw. If I hadn’t we would’ve won the game.”
“Oh, I’m sur
e you’re not the only one who failed to get a basket.”
“I scored two times,” he said eagerly, then slumped in the chair again. “But Jason Phillips scored lots more. He made eight baskets.”
He tilted his head to one side and studied Kate. “Do you play? You’re tall.”
“I’m afraid not. I have a brother who plays, though. He’s in high school. He plays all sorts of sports.”
“Is he good?”
“Pretty good. He’s won some trophies.”
“Does he live around here? Maybe he could play with me sometime. My dad’s always too busy.” He stuffed another bite of cake into his mouth. “This sure is good.”
“Thank you.” Kate smiled and took a tiny bite as the door opened from the inner office.
Paul Boyer walked out with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Look, Dad. Kate can make chocolate cake.”
Boyer cocked an eyebrow at his son. “Kate can make chocolate cake?”
“Yeah. It’s real good, too. You want a bite?”
“Not now, son.” Kate’s boss looked at her and smiled. “Maybe Kate will make another cake soon. And share it, too.”
He nodded at her and turned back to the boy.
She stared at his back. That was the first time he’d ever called her anything except Miss Sanderson. And he had never smiled at her that way before.
She would try to bake another cake before long. If his son didn’t get homemade goodies, he probably didn’t, either.
Unless he was like the man staying in her house, and cooked for himself.
She wondered what Steve was cooking for supper tonight. Maybe she’d stop by on her way home and find out.
“Dad, there’s another game Saturday morning. Can you go?”
Kate’s attention was drawn back to father and son. She watched the man’s face scrunch into a frown. “Oh, son, I’ve just made an appointment for Saturday morning.”
“Can’t you change it?”
“I’m afraid not. This appointment is with a very important client.”
Aren’t they all?
Paul Boyer turned away from his son as he studied the papers in his hand. The boy’s face crumpled. Before she realized what she was about to say, Kate asked, “Do you think I could go watch you play?”
Paul Jr.’s head jerked up, a look of surprised joy on his face. “Would you really come to my game? Mom will be busy, too.”
“I’d love to.” Despite her aversion to organized sports, she would like to go watch his game. If only to please him, and so he would know there was someone there to watch only him. She smiled at the grinning child.
His father looked at her, frowning. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind. If you don’t.”
“Oh, no. I would appreciate it—seeing as how neither his mother nor I will be able to go.” He studied her over the top of the papers he held.
Flustered by his scrutiny, she turned back to the computer screen.
Her boss cleared his throat. “I hope you appreciate what Kate—Miss Sanderson—is doing, son, giving up her Saturday morning to go with you.”
“Sure, Dad. She’s great, ain’t she?”
“Isn’t she, son. Isn’t she.”
“Yeah. I’m glad you think so, too, Dad.”
Kate suppressed a smile as she heard Mr. Boyer’s grunt just before his office door opened then closed again. She turned and winked at Paul Jr.
“What?” He glanced around him. “What?”
“Nothing. Eat your cake.”
* * *
Steve set his supper plate on the hearth and lifted a large stick of firewood from the chimney corner. He placed the wood in the fireplace and was arranging it on the fire with the poker when he heard a car door slam. Kate?
He grabbed an umbrella from its stand and hurried to open the door.
She was hurrying up the steps, huddled inside a dark hooded jacket. “It’s not raining anymore,” she said. “Just turning cold.”
He opened the door wider. “Come on in. I built a fire.”
She went to the hearth and held her hands toward the flames.
“I’ve been trying to tame that oven,” he said. “I baked a couple of chicken breasts. One for you, if you want it.”
She eyed the plate on the hearth. “Okay.”
“You want rice and a salad?”
“Sure.”
When he returned to the room, she had removed her jacket and hung it on the old coatrack by the door. She was running her hand along the base of the rack, caressing the time-darkened wood.
“That’s a fine piece of craftsmanship. Did your grandfather make it?”
“Yes. He made it for my grandmother before I was born.”
“You can take it if you like.” He set her plate and a glass of tea on the small round table by the rocker. “Here, help yourself. I thought we would eat in here by the fire.”
After his short prayer over the food, they cut into the chicken breasts.
“I found an old trunk in the barn,” he said. “It’s full of Christmas decorations. I thought we might use them to trim a tree.”
“Help yourself.” She forked a bite of chicken into her mouth.
“It won’t be any fun by myself. I thought you might help. Could you come Saturday morning and look for a tree with me?”
“I’m busy Saturday morning. Going to a basketball game.” She cut another bite of chicken.
“A ball game? Sounds like fun. Around here?”
“Over at the school gym. A bunch of little kids.”
She didn’t take the hint and invite him along. Probably didn’t want to be seen around town with him, with his scraggly beard and ratty jeans.
He suppressed a smile. He’d have to show her how nicely he cleaned up sometime. “I thought you told me you don’t like sports.”
She shrugged. “I told one of the boys on the team that I’d come watch him play.” She bent back to her plate.
“A brother? Nephew?” He gave her a teasing grin. “A son?”
“Yeah. A son. My boss’s son.”
“Oh. You gave me a jolt there for a second. I thought you meant your son.”
She looked up with a frown. “Why would that surprise you?”
He chuckled. “A son old enough to play basketball? You would have been—what? Maybe thirteen at the most when he was born?”
She shrugged. “Who’s counting?”
“Me?”
She laughed.
“Do you want to come by and look for the tree Saturday afternoon instead of Saturday morning? Should be a little warmer by then. I’ll have sandwich makings.”
The laughter left her eyes. “You may not be here for Christmas.”
“Yeah, I intend to... Oh, I get what you mean.”
She sat with eyes downcast, chewing slowly. He studied her a moment before returning to his meal.
When she set her plate aside and touched her napkin to her lips, he stood with his own empty plate. “Ready for me to warm the pie? I have coffee making.”
“I can warm it. You don’t have to keep doing things for me.” She stood and reached for his empty plate.
“I like working in the kitchen.” He waited with an outstretched hand for her to hand him her plate. She seemed a little dubious but handed it over. He grinned at her. “You don’t believe me.” Was she always so quick to mistrust a person’s words and intentions, or was it just him?
* * *
After he’d gone, she went to the hearth and used the blackened poker to move burning logs around in the fireplace. She was lifting another stick of firewood when he stuck his head around the door. “Do you want...? Here, let me do that!”
&nb
sp; She shot him a hostile look and swung away from his outstretched hands with the wood in her arms.
He backed away, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry, I forgot for a moment. You’re not a weak, helpless female.”
After placing the stick of wood in the fireplace behind a smaller, fast-burning one, she brushed her hands together to remove clinging specks of bark. “Are you used to being around weak and helpless females?”
“Only when I try to help them overcome being weak and helpless.”
“What were you about to ask me?”
“If you want a scoop of ice cream on your pie.”
“Just pie and coffee, please.”
He brought a coffeepot and two dessert plates in on a tray and set them on the hearth. He grinned at her. “Do you want to pour your own coffee or do you trust me to pour it?”
She returned his grin with a chuckle. “You can pour it. Just don’t pour while holding the cup over my lap. I don’t trust you not to spill it.”
He laughed as he handed her a piece of pie. But he held the cups over the tray to pour their coffee. “Do you want to look through decorations this evening? I brought them inside.” He sat in the armchair and crossed his legs, a foot propped on a knee.
“No. I can’t stay that late. I have to get up early for work.”
Besides, she needed to think awhile about whether she wanted to share such a family-type activity with him, when he might have a family someplace else. She felt a little uncomfortable even being here with him when he might be married. But looking at him in the firelight, as he munched pie and stared into the flames, she told herself there was no need to even think about that. Any wife should know she didn’t have to worry about someone like Kate when a man as handsome and nice as he was could have any woman in the world.
Setting aside her empty pie plate and cup, she stood. “I’d better go.” She went to the coatrack beside the door and lifted down her jacket.
A big hand took it from her. Steve held the coat for her to put her arms into the sleeves. He reached round her and pulled it together.
She felt his breath stir her hair and gulped as she reached for the zipper.
He held the opening together while she zipped it, and then he gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “Are you coming back Saturday afternoon to help me with a tree?”
The Mistaken Heiress Page 8
