“Unlike Andy Winchester,” Kaye murmured sweetly.
Graham nodded. “That’s right,” he said, very seriously.
Kaye longed to throw something at him. So much for being sensitive to implications, she thought viciously. Sometimes Graham himself was downright dense!
“Or perhaps he actually didn’t realize that those things were flaws,” Graham went on, as if he was talking to himself. “I can’t think how McKenna got the reputation he has, if he can’t read a client any better than that.”
He walked her to the door of her apartment and left her with a reminder that he’d be back at six to pick her up for the evening. “I hope you’ll find a smile by then,” Graham said. He turned her face up to his and put a quick kiss on her cheek. “It will do no good to pout, Kaye. You’re simply going to have to accept the fact that you can’t always have everything you want.”
Then he was gone, leaving her standing on the step with her mouth open. It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, and then fury rose like a geyser from deep inside her. The idea, she stormed, of him implying that she was nothing more than a spoiled baby, throwing a temper tantrum because she couldn’t have the house she wanted!
She slammed the apartment door behind her and smiled grimly as the whole building seemed to shake under the impact.
“Oh, I always get what I want,” she said sarcastically. “That’s why I’m living in a one-room apartment on Williams Street—because I really couldn’t stand one of those elegant new condos downtown!”
Omar looked at her warily from the opposite end of the couch, seemed to decide she was not approachable, and put one paw over his eyes as if he couldn’t bear the sight.
The doorbell rang. It made her feel a little happier, since Graham had apparently thought better of that last careless remark and had come back to apologize.
Then she saw who was standing on her doorstep. “The word on the doormat does not apply to you,” she said icily. “You are not welcome. You are a traitor, and I want nothing further to do with you.”
She would have closed the door, but there was a large foot in a very nice black wingtip shoe blocking the way. Damn, she thought. I don’t know exactly what he wants, but if I let him in, I’ll probably never get rid of him.
Brendan said, mildly, “A traitor? I merely recognized the realities of the situation, and dealt with them appropriately.”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Graham is never going to buy that house, Kaye. You know it, even if you won’t admit it, and I know it. If we had both stayed adamant about it, we wouldn’t have changed his mind, but we would have convinced him that we’d both gone completely berserk. He would have told you to have nothing more to do with me.”
“At the moment,” Kaye said bitterly, “I can’t think that it would be any great loss.”
Brendan ignored the interruption. “—and you would have had to go back to looking at houses with Andy Winchester.”
“You really know how to hurt a girl’s feelings, McKenna.”
“It’s true, whether you like it or not. May I come in?”
“No. You’re just coming back because you need the commission to pay for that new car!”
“What difference does it make to you how I spend my money?” he asked quietly.
“Because it isn’t your money yet!”
“I’m not embezzling it, Kaye.” He shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t be so angry at me. In fact, you should be grateful that I kept my head.”
“I thought you were trying to sell houses, not talk people out of buying them!”
“I had no reason to suspect Graham might veto it. After all, you did tell me he said you could choose your own house.”
“He did.”
“Well, obviously, he didn’t mean it. It didn’t take long to see the way things really work with Graham Forrest.”
She resented the fact that he’d dared to say that, but she had to admit he was partly right. Graham had told her she could choose her house freely, and she could— as long as it met every one of his requirements.
“Instead of adding to the calamity,” Brendan said reasonably, “I pulled your chestnuts out of the fire, convinced Graham that I do know what I’m talking about and that I can restrain you from falling blindly in love with any more inappropriate houses.”
“I did not fall blindly in—” she began resentfully.
“Yes, you did. You didn’t even notice that the microwave oven they’d built into that brick wall in the kitchen was too high for you to reach.”
She thought about it, and concluded with regret that he was right. “You could have told me that yesterday,” she said, “before I made a fool of myself.”
“Would you have cared yesterday?” It was quiet.
Yesterday, the magical spell of that wild valley had been still tugging at her. She shook her head.
“Kaye,” he said, very seriously, “I don’t gain if the buyers aren’t pleased. If they don’t like what I’ve done for them after they move in, they don’t send their friends to me. I don’t think you would have been happy in that house. You would have cursed me every time you tried to walk around that kitchen.”
“If you’re so sure it’s the wrong house for me,” she said sadly, “then why did you even show it to me?” She was leaning against the door jamb, her face turned up to his.
There was a long pause. His eyes had turned an even darker blue, she noticed idly, and his hair was ruffled from the winter’s wind. “Because I didn’t know it wasn’t right till I saw you there,” he said, very quietly. “And I had no idea you’d fall so deeply in love with it.”
“That’s the house I want,” she said stubbornly. Then she added, more quietly, “You think I’m being unreasonable, don’t you?”
“Not unreasonable, exactly, but short-sighted. Graham will never consider that house, and you’ll get nowhere if you insist. The situation calls for some psychology... Kaye, if you’re not going to let me come in, would you at least stop leaning on the door? You’re cutting off the circulation to my toes.”
“Then take your foot out of the way,” she said. “If you think I’m going to invite you in for a glass of wine and a cozy chat, you’re wrong.”
“I couldn’t stay to drink it, anyway,” he said. “I have a date tonight.”
“Well, so do I.” Then she spoiled her unconcerned pose by asking, “Are you taking a lady out to dinner?”
He grinned suddenly, and it was like sunrise breaking over the lake. “I might. Who knows where we’ll end up? But I’m taking her to church first.”
“What a novel idea,” Kaye said dryly. “I’ll bet you have a great success rate with that approach.”
“It’s not bad.”
He looked very contented, and Kaye decided that there was no point in continuing that conversation; discussing his standard lines was obviously not going to disturb him. “Psychology,” she mused. “I’m not sure what you have in mind, but I know that I can’t afford to keep taking every afternoon off work while I look. House-hunting is getting to be an expensive hobby. What do you suggest?”
“I’m not quite sure. Why don’t we both sleep on it, and talk about it tomorrow? We can set up our strategy over Sunday brunch. My place, ten o’clock. I’ll make waffles.”
“But—”
“The alternative,” he reminded, “is Andy Winchester.” He slid a card into her hand and removed his foot from the door so abruptly that her weight had pushed the panel shut before she even realized that he had moved.
She glanced at the address he’d scribbled on the back of his business card, and sighed. With Andy Winchester as an alternative, what real choice did she have?
“Psychology,” she muttered as she turned back into her apartment. “Why do I feel as if I’ve just been on the receiving end of a whole load of it?”
*****
When she reached his apartment the next morning at two minutes to ten, there was no sign of li
fe, and his car was nowhere to be seen. She checked his card; the number agreed with that on the porch post of the big, square, white-frame house. It wasn’t the kind of place where she had expected him to live; though it was on the fringes of a neighborhood of historic homes, this house had nothing particularly significant about it. It was simply one of the thousands of plain-styled square houses that had lined the middle-class streets of Henderson at the turn of the century, and which had now been divided into apartments. And there was no reason on earth, she told herself, why Brendan McKenna shouldn’t live there. Certainly the fact that she was disappointed wouldn’t weigh heavily with him.
And she shouldn’t be particularly surprised, either, she reflected. The rents in this district were low, and the man did have a brand-new car to pay for now.
She climbed the steps. She felt a little uneasy, as if she was being watched, and she almost laughed in relief when she saw a huge orange tomcat sitting silently in the shadow of the porch railing. “Were you what was making me feel creepy?” she asked. The cat watched thoughtfully as she rang the bell, and then he stood up, stretched, and came across to stand beside the door.
Nothing seemed to be stirring inside. Kaye snuggled her chin into the furry collar of her white coat and thought about what she should do now. She wondered for a moment if Brendan’s date the night before might have been more successful than he had anticipated. If so, the man might not even have come home yet.
The door swung silently wide, and the cat slid sinuously past Brendan’s feet and inside.
It was the first time she had seen him wearing casual clothes instead of a jacket and tie, and his intricately patterned dark blue wool sweater made his eyes look like reflecting pools. The sleeves were pushed up to show well-muscled forearms. His hair was just rumpled enough to make her want to comb it with her fingers, and she realized that she had never once seen him with every hair in place.
This man is really dangerously good-looking, she thought. If the woman he was with last night only wants to take him to church, she needs her head examined.
But that, she reflected, is her problem, and not mine. “You have a visitor,” she said.
Brendan grinned. “I know,” he said. “And she looks wonderful in white fur, too.”
“Not me, silly. The cat. Didn’t you see him sneak in? Or is he yours?”
“That’s only Sultan. No one owns him; it’s more a matter of him owning the neighborhood. He’s been out all night with his harem, no doubt. Come in, it’s freezing.” He held the door wide.
She didn’t quite know what to expect—bare rooms? orange crates? stainless steel and glass?—but as soon as she stepped into his living-room, she relaxed. Of course, she thought. He had mentioned once that he was prejudiced about Victorian houses—that was why she had been disappointed that he didn’t live in one. Nevertheless, he had surrounded himself with bits of the elegance of that bygone era.
“That’s a beautiful Eastlake table,” she said, running a gentle hand over its glossy marble top. “I’ve got one almost like it.”
“I know. I spotted it the first time I was in your apartment.”
“It was my grandmother’s—the only thing I have of hers.” Kaye’s voice was wistful. “If my father had ever found out what it was worth, he’d have sold that, too.”
“You’re lucky, at that,” Brendan said. “I’ve had to collect mine at auctions, because my mother is still using all the family stuff.”
“I’m surprised you live here. I don’t know what I expected—a Victorian, perhaps, or something thoroughly modern.”
“I move around.”
She shivered at the memories which stirred in her, roused by the casualness of his tone. In just that way, her father had spoken of each new move, each new rainbow. Everything would be better this time, he seemed to be saying. Only somehow, it always got worse instead.
Brendan was looking at her oddly, she realized. But he only said, “Make yourself at home. I’ll go start the waffles.”
His apartment took up most of the first floor. She wandered around the living room, reading the titles on his bookshelves and touching the fine wood furniture with sensual pleasure. The place was so sparsely furnished that he might have just been moving in, but the antique pieces were beautiful ones.
She followed a heavenly aroma to the kitchen just as he put two plates, each bearing a perfect golden waffle, on the breakfast bar. In the corner, the orange cat was giving himself a bath beside a recently-emptied food dish.
Brendan pulled out a high-backed wicker chair for her. “Since I don’t know what you like on your waffles,” he said, “we have a little of everything. Butter and maple syrup, cream cheese, marmalade, strawberries, whipped cream.”
“Everything looks wonderful,” Kaye said. “I shouldn’t, of course. The calorie level must be incredible.”
“If there is anything I detest,” Brendan said flatly, “it is a woman who fishes for compliments by complaining about a nonexistent weight problem.” He filled her coffee cup and sat down beside her.
Kaye was incensed. “I am not fishing for compliments!”
“Yes, you are, and you’re not getting any from me. You know you look great just the way you are.”
No compliments, hmm? she thought, and smiled. Not that it mattered what he thought of her. Still, it was nice to be appreciated.
“Try the maple syrup,” he went on. “It’s the best there is. My mother smuggles it across the state line whenever she comes to visit.”
“I didn’t know there were any restrictions on bringing food into Illinois.” The waffle was crisp and sizzling hot and delicious, and she was hungry.
“There aren’t, but she persists in thinking it’s a foreign country. She’s a poet, and the people who love her have learned that it doesn’t pay to make a fuss when she’s a little vague on things like geography. She’s also convinced that her favorite son is going to starve down here.”
“Down here? Where does she live?”
“Wisconsin. She’s forgotten that she taught me to cook, and I don’t disillusion her. I like getting care packages.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Kaye mused. Her heart twisted just a little at the idea; no one ever fixed care packages for her, or wondered if she was getting the right things to eat.
“Oh, she is. Would you like another waffle?”
“Yes, please.”
“Very good,” he applauded. “Not a bit of hesitation.”
“You’re corrupting me. How do you think we should handle Graham?”
Brendan shook his head. “Food first, serious discussions later. How was your date last night?”
She watched as he poured waffle batter onto the griddle. It was apparent that he knew his way around a kitchen, she thought. She had been tempted last night when he started to talk about microwave ovens to ask what on earth he thought he knew about them, but now she was glad that she hadn’t made a fool of herself. His kitchen was tiny and compact, but it was obviously used.
“Your mother was a good teacher,” she said.
“It’s all in the wrist.” He spun the golden waffle on to her plate. His fingers were long and brown. They were poet’s hands, she thought, and she wondered if he looked like his mother.
“It must have been an evening to remember,” he speculated.
“What?”
“Your date last night. You went off into a funk and forgot that you hadn’t answered my question.”
“It really wasn’t much. Graham was entertaining the president of one of the big supermarket chains.”
Brendan nodded understanding. “They must buy a lot of baby food.”
“Tons and tons of it. The supermarket mogul was all right, except that he kept making suggestive statements and then winking at me. His wife was a lady—I felt sorry for her.”
“Where did you have dinner?”
“Pompagno’s. I wish we’d gone to one of Graham’s clubs, instead. It would have been quieter.”
> “Just think.” Brendan put a fresh waffle on his plate. “As soon as we find you a house, you can entertain Graham’s buddies every evening, with all the privacy anyone could desire.”
“They’re not his buddies, you know. I don’t expect to find many kindred souls among Graham’s business contacts.”
Brendan shrugged. “That’s life in the upper crust,” he said, with a notable lack of sympathy. “It all balances out in the end, I expect.”
Enough of that, Kaye thought. “How was your date? Did you and the lady have fun at church?”
“Oh, yes,” he said airily. “I took your advice, by the way, and asked her out to dinner afterwards. Not that it did me any good. I was home in bed by midnight. Alone.”
No Place Like Home Page 7
