Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  Bunny and Barb sipped on their wine until the glasses were drained.

  Bunny talked about her problems with Michael, and Barb talked about learning the ropes at the private investigative business. Howard, being retired FBI, was a valuable asset to Colt, but for Barb, the learning curve was tough.

  Bunny thought it sounded very exciting, and she wished she was married to an ex-FBI agent and delving into the world of private investigation. Heck, she wished she were married. Then she thought about her problems with Michael and how horrible Richard had been lately. Marriage didn’t seem very appealing when observed from the back end of a divorce.

  They had paid their check and were scooting from their booth when Barb grabbed Bunny’s arm. “Don’t look now,” she whispered while watching the entrance, “but we’re about to have company.” She lifted her eyebrows, smiled and waved to someone.

  Ignoring the don’t-look-now, Bunny turned while slipping an arm into her coat. Approaching them was none other than Colt Baron and Tate Kilbourn.

  Oh, noodles. Bunny struggled to get her other arm into its sleeve, all while attempting to appear calm and collected and hopefully stunning.

  Finally, her hand appeared at the end of the sleeve, and while the coat felt unusually tight, she stood straight and, having nothing better to do with her hands, clasped them in front of her.

  “Curly!” Colt said, giving Barb a friendly punch to the arm. “Long time, no see, amiga.”

  Barb gave him a look. “It’s been the longest four hours of my life.”

  Colt looked at his watch. “You can’t count. It’s been six, at least.” He grinned, then leaned back on his heels. “Man, the four of us need to stop meeting like this. It’s getting to be a habit.”

  Tate gave a quick nod and made a mild attempt at a smile. His hands were plunged into his coat pockets. “Funny.”

  Bunny forced a laugh and wondered whether it would look strange if she just ran out the door and waited for Barb there. Yeah. That would look strange. “Small world,” she said. “I just can’t seem to get away from this guy either. We work together too. And our kids are both in the school musical—Kiss Me, Tate.”

  She smacked her hand over her mouth, horrified. “Kate!” she sputtered in an attempt to undo the worst slip of the tongue ever. “Kiss Me, Kate!” She should have run when she had the chance. “The play is, uh, Kiss Me, Kate.” She emphasized the K in Kate, realizing the more she babbled, the worse it sounded.

  Tate looked like he was trying hard to keep a grin under control, and Colt was eyeing him with a smirk.

  That was it. She’d need to look for a new job now. “We should probably go, right, Barb?” She turned to grab her purse only to find that it wasn’t there.

  She sidestepped and looked in the seat where Barb had been sitting. “My purse! Do you see my purse?” She looked under the table in a panic. She really didn’t need this right now. “I came in with it, right?” She looked to Barb for help. “Of course I did. I paid, so I must have had it.”

  Barb tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, sweetie, look under your coat. Actually, why don’t you just take the whole thing off and try again. It’s...”

  It was on inside out. And she’d put it on over the purse that had already been thrown over her shoulder. That’s why it felt so tight. She waved her hand to dismiss her ditzyness. “You know what, let’s just go, Barb. I can...” Noodles! Her voice cracked again. “See you Monday, Tate. Bye, Colt.” Bunny wanted to gallop out of the restaurant, but tried instead to make a graceful exit.

  Who was she kidding? She’d already missed graceful by a long shot.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TATE’S KITCHEN TABLE WAS SWATHED in light, a gift from an early morning March sun. The first day of March. Gripping his coffee mug with both hands, he stared out the window, grateful that spring was just around the corner. The winter hadn’t been too harsh, but then again, it wasn’t over yet. He looked forward to a good warm day for taking Willow out in the canoe. They could go to Lake Muir, or maybe they would drive a little farther and paddle the Potomac.

  And his gardens would need some tending. He had already ordered mulch, which would go down on the hosta and tulip beds, around the base cherry and dogwood trees, and under the butterfly bushes. He wondered though, if heading up the set-building crew for the school musical would cut deep into those plans.

  He had already spent his entire Saturday locating and moving old scenery pieces from previous plays to his garage, where, he learned Friday night, most of the work would have to take place. Hildie had mentioned, almost as a slip of the tongue, that the school didn’t have the room or tools for set building. That would have been information better offered up front, and he kicked himself for not thinking to ask the question.

  Willow bounded into the kitchen, far more energetic than usual for a Sunday morning. She bent and planted a kiss on his bearded cheek. “Morning, Tater Tot.”

  “That’s Tater Pop to you, my child.” He watched suspiciously while she grabbed the coffee carafe and poured herself a cup. Not only was she awake, and apparently happily so, but she was dressed. “What time is it, anyway?”

  She squinted at the digital display on their microwave. “Eight thirty-two.” She pulled a bottle of flavored creamer from the fridge and poured a generous amount into her cup.

  “A little early for your kind, isn’t it?”

  She took a seat next to him and slurped. “We’re getting together to run lines at The Java Hut.”

  “Who is ‘we’ exactly?”

  “A few of us.”

  “You’re full of specifics today.”

  “You’re beating around the bush today.”

  “I don’t think it’s me doing the beating, but okay, I’ll go ahead and ask—will Charlie Bergen be there?” By her choice of attire—jeans and a frilly blouse instead of her usual sweatpants and Rustic Woods High School hoodie—he was pretty sure of the answer.

  She smiled. “He would be one of the few. Yes.”

  “I think you need a chaperone. I’ll go get dressed.” He made a pretense of rising from his chair.

  “Nice try, old man. I know you better than that.” She slurped some more. “What do you have planned for today?”

  He loved her, but the girl needed to learn the skill of drinking quietly. He raised his own cup. “Need to head over to the condo just to make sure all is well.”

  “Any offers yet?”

  He shook his head. “But several people have been through according to the management, so hopefully soon. I’d like to have this done with.”

  Tate ran a hand through his yet unwashed hair. Months earlier, after a year or more of hounding from May and himself, Morton had agreed to purchase a retirement condo at Whispering Pines. Once Morton relocated to the condo, he’d intended to repair his large, empty house and put it up for rent. Days before the scheduled move, he’d become ill, and was soon diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer.

  Logic would dictate that moving to the condo was more important than ever, but Morton would have none of it. If death was imminent, he decided he would rather go in the house he had owned most of his life. Selling the condo had become Tate’s responsibility. The staff at Whispering Pines said the units usually went quickly, but winter was slow for everyone. He checked on the place once a week to pick up realtor’s cards and to turn off lights and water faucets.

  It seemed prospective buyers liked to turn faucets on to test them, but lacked the intelligence to realize that turning them off again was not only smart, but good manners.

  “And Morty?” Willow asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll spend some time with him today. You should come.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “Let’s meet here at...” He looked at the microwave clock and did some mental calculations. “Two o’clock. You need a ride to the Java Hut?”

  She shook her head. “Nina’s picking me up.” She popped out of her chair. “Speaking of which, I need to get ready.”


  He smiled. Willow looked plenty ready to him. He skimmed the cast list with his mind’s eye. Nina. Nina. Oh, right. Nina Page. She was the lead. He hoped she wasn’t anything like her mother. He took one more hefty swig from his cup, and then set about getting his own day moving.

  Sunglasses still in place to block the beautifully bright day, Tate strode casually through the doors at Whispering Pines. The lobby was usually quiet, with a person or two at the desk making an inquiry and a few elderly residents sitting in the adjoining common room.

  Today wasn’t that day. Two women stood at the desk, one speaking frantically to Dan Baker, the facilities manager, who was holding a phone to his ear. His assistant, Nancy, stood beside him, her ear to another phone.

  Tate pulled the sunglasses down on his nose to focus on the unfolding scene.

  The frantic woman was Bunny Bergen.

  Without thinking, he moved to her side. “What’s wrong?”

  Bunny turned in surprise. “Tate! What are you...?”

  Dan Baker hung up the phone. “He’s not answering.”

  “I know he’s not answering,” Bunny said in exasperation. “That’s why I’m here. I even had Yetta text him, but he’s not coming to the door. Something is wrong! You need to give me the key.” Her voice rose several octaves.

  Nancy covered the mouthpiece of her phone. “Mr. Kinkle is on the phone and says his father hasn’t been reachable since Friday night,” she said to Dan.

  “Neither has mine,” said the woman next to Bunny. “What’s going on in this place?”

  Bunny held her hand out across the desk. “Mr. Baker, just give me the key while you help these other people—”

  The man shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Mrs. Bergen.”

  “You can’t give the woman the key to her father’s unit when there’s obviously a problem?” Tate asked louder than he had intended.

  “Mr. Kilbourn, this is between—” The phone rang, and the man looked at it briefly. “Nancy, answer that please.” He ignored Tate and focused on Bunny. “This is an unusually busy Sunday,” he said to her, “and I apologize for the inconvenience. As soon as things settle down, I will contact your sister—”

  “Mr. Baker,” Nancy interrupted, “I’m sorry, but, um, Roger Whitaker’s daughter is on line two. She says her father isn’t answering his phone, either. And I still have Mr. Kinkle holding on line one, worried about his father.”

  Tate could sense Bunny’s fear and frustration. Her hands were balled into fists on the counter, and her face and ears as red as peppers. He placed his arm on the desk, leaned forward and spoke with forceful clarity. “Mr. Baker, I happen to know that you personally have authority to enter a resident’s condo when the resident’s life might be in danger. I suggest you exercise that authority with regard to Ms. Bergen’s father right now—before your potential legal problems grow out of control.”

  “Mine too!” the other woman yelled. “I do have authority, and I want my father’s key now!”

  Nancy and Dan retreated to a back room and returned quickly. Dan, a set of keys in his hand, motioned to Bunny to follow him to the elevator. “Let’s go.”

  Bunny followed, then turned to Tate. He thought she was going to thank him, but the fear in her eyes held a different plea.

  “Shall I come?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  When the elevator didn’t arrive quickly enough, the three of them took the stairs, two at a time, to the fourth floor. They stopped in front of apartment number 403, where Dan Baker fumbled with the keys until he finally picked one and unlocked both the deadbolt and doorknob.

  The three of them shoved into the tiny entrance, and Bunny gasped.

  Tate held her shoulders while maneuvering to see what had upset her.

  Four elderly men lay unconscious—two on the couch, one on the floor face down and the last one in a reclining chair with his limbs sprawled every which way. Cans of Red Bull littered the place along with empty chip bags and pizza boxes.

  He would have thought them dead until one of the men emitted a snore loud enough to wake the dead.

  Bunny ran past the four men and disappeared into the bedroom. Tate heard her yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, are you okay?”

  When Tate stepped into the living room and spied the gaming unit connected to the television, he couldn’t suppress a laugh. Another man snored as Tate picked up a controller and pressed one of the buttons. The television awoke from its sleep mode, displaying the start screen for Steel Warriors, a popular video game pitting aliens against heavily armed soldiers. Tate had played the game himself at Colt Baron’s house. He was impressed with Bunny’s father.

  He turned at the sound of an older woman’s voice. “They’re addicted,” said the lady. “Play that damn game day and night. I keep sayin’, ‘DH you’re wasting your life away with those crazy games.’” She looked around the room. “Man, they musta had a wild time last night, eh?”

  Dan Baker flipped open his phone just as Bunny returned. “He’s okay,” she said, “but a little mad right now.”

  Tate heard the man holler from what must have been his bedroom. “Get the hell outta my house! I’ll do what I want to do!”

  Bunny winced.

  “Nancy,” Dan said into his phone. “Tell the concerned relatives that we’ve found their fathers. They’re alive and well. Over stimulated maybe, but well.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BUNNY DIDN’T HESITATE TO ACCEPT Tate’s offer of a calming donut at a nearby bakery. The short walk to the shop was chilly, but she certainly didn’t mind.

  She sat at a small table next to the window and warmed her hands while Tate ordered donuts and coffee. Bunny asked for decaf; she’d had enough excitement for one day. She didn’t need any stimulants, thank you very much.

  Trying not to stare, she stole peeks at him while he stood at the counter. She’d never considered herself a beard woman, but she found his very seductive. Dark and trimmed close, peppered with silver flecks, it emphasized the strength of his jaw line. When he smiled at the cashier, lines appeared around his eyes. Nice lines. Lines she could imagine caressing with her finger, then kissing lightly as she made her way down...to those full lips.

  “One small decaf,” Tate said, shaking Bunny back to earth. “And a glazed donut.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  After placing their order on the table, Tate laid the brown tray on top of the stack behind him. He sat, scooted in, looked at Bunny and smiled, but said nothing.

  Bunny panicked. What should she say? She was horrible at small talk. She had hated the many required business dinner parties when she was married to Richard for that very reason. She considered talking about the weather, but they’d talked about the cold and sunny day on the walk over. It had been appropriate then.

  “Um, thank you again. For helping at the Pines.” She shook her head. “I don’t carry much clout there, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s that all about?” Tate bit into his donut, then quickly wiped away bits of glaze at the edges of his mouth. He licked his lips to catch anything there, and she went warm all over just watching.

  “Um, you mean, the business with the key?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not really sure. My sister seems to have taken control. She has power of attorney or something.”

  “That doesn’t seem very smart. What if something happened to her?”

  “She’s probably invincible. I’m not entirely sure she’s actually human. She might be a cyborg.”

  Tate laughed, which put Bunny more at ease. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “Why were you at the Pines?”

  “Checking on a condo my dad bought. He decided to keep his house instead, so we’re trying to sell it.” Tate stared at his cup, and Bunny wondered if he did so because he was uncomfortable.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did he decide to keep his house if he went to the trouble of buying a condo?�
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  He shrugged. “He’s...” He wasn’t used to confiding in people. “He’s not well.” Tate cleared his throat. “He’s been given six months at the most.”

  She placed her hand on his, an instant reaction to such horrible news. His hand was warm and rough. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

  “Thanks. Thanks.” He squeezed her hand lightly, and a little tingle ran up her arm. “We’ve hired a company that provides nursing care, and as his time grows closer, hospice will take over. He’s very comfortable right now.”

  She pulled her hand away and cupped her coffee with both hands, sipping gently. “It has to be very hard on you and your daughter. Do you have other family helping?”

  “My sister is in D.C.”

  “That’s good. I can’t believe you took on the school play with this going on. That has to be a lot of work. And dealing with something like this.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d be a mess.”

  “You’re probably closer to your father than I am to mine.”

  Bunny was surprised at the coolness with which Tate laid that one out on the table. “Oh.”

  “And I’m very jealous that your father plays Steel Warriors. He’s very hip and happening, I gotta say.”

  She shook her head and laughed. But she still felt sad, deep down, about his earlier comment. “I wonder if my sister knows about his addiction. Do you think I should be concerned?”

  “I think it gives him something to do. Did you see those guys? They were passed out like a bunch of teens who’d had themselves a really fun night.”

  He had a point. Maybe Bunny should let sleeping old men play. An awkward silence settled between them. Bunny wondered what else to say. She had plenty of questions. Are you married? He had a child, but didn’t wear a wedding ring. She didn’t know how to ask that without coming across as forward.

  Are you hot for Hildie Page? Again, not something you just blurt out.

  Did angels sprinkle moon dust in your hair? Well now, that’s just plain silly, Bunny. You can’t ask that. Of course they did.