Carolina Man (A Dare Island Novel)

by Virginia Kantra

  “It’s okay. It’s just us girls. I need to do a little grooming myself.”

  Kate smiled. Maybe the cat was a ruse for both of them. Luke hadn’t even asked to see Snowball yet.

  She turned to the medicine cabinet over the sink. And nearly shrieked at her reflection in the mirror. The humidity of the bath had frizzed her hair, creating a mess of wild curls. Her makeup had migrated under her lower lashes. She looked like a Mardi Gras mask.

  She scrubbed hastily at her face, dabbed antibiotic ointment on her scratches and—still clinging to some concealment—patted tinted moisturizer over her scar. She yanked her sweater over her head before taking another glance in the mirror. Her appearance would have to do. Maybe it was just as well she didn’t have time to fuss.

  Or to change her mind.

  She turned to the cat in the corner. “Ready?”

  Snowball regarded her with wary yellow eyes. Kate wasn’t at all sure how the cat would react to being picked up. But carrying the cat with her would remind Luke—would remind Kate—that she had a life, too. She was not only a booty call.

  “You and me, cat. Showtime.”

  Somewhat to her surprise, Snowball tolerated her touch. Hesitantly, Kate scooped the cat into her arms. It was all bones and fur, its heart beating frantically against her palm. But it made no move to get away.

  Encouraged, Kate walked into the other room.

  And stopped, feeling as though she’d stepped into a foreign country. Her little table was set with white dishes and her fat red Christmas candle. There were flowers jammed in a pitcher on the counter and sweet, spicy, garlicky smells in the air. Babe, I am all over your space.

  Her heart took a hard, quick extra thump. “I wasn’t expecting . . .” Candlelight and roses. Romance.

  “The all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet?” Luke offered dryly.

  She laughed, subtly reassured. “There does seem to be a lot of food.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what you like, so I got some of everything.”

  “That was . . .” Unprecedented. “Thoughtful. It looks great.” She shifted Snowball awkwardly in her arms. “I brought the cat.”

  “Not as a menu item, I hope.”

  A smile tugged her lips. “Definitely not. I thought you should get to know each other.”

  “Hey, Snowball.” He extended his fingers. The cat didn’t hiss. But when he scratched its head, its ears flattened and it shrank closer to Kate.

  “Guess I shouldn’t have made that crack about the menu,” Luke said.

  “She’ll come around. She’s not feral,” Kate said, cuddling Snowball almost protectively. “She’s a stray.”

  Luke ran a finger around the cat’s ear and under its chin. He had long fingers. Broad, square nails and knuckles. “There’s a difference?”

  Kate nodded, trying to ignore that strong, masculine hand just under her jaw, so close to her face. “The vet explained it to me. A feral that has never had positive human contact rarely makes a good pet. But a stray like Snowball, an animal who comes from a normal, loving home, is already socialized. You shouldn’t have any problems with her.”

  The cat turned its head into Kate’s sweater, ignoring Luke entirely.

  He withdrew his hand. A corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “She’s standoffish now because she’s scared,” Kate said. You and me both, Snowball. “All she needs to be part of a family again is love and patience.”

  Luke’s gaze rested on her thoughtfully.

  Kate’s pulse thudded. What did he see?

  “I can be patient,” he said at last. “Why don’t you put the cat down while we eat? Maybe she’ll get used to me.”

  Kate stooped to release the cat, grateful for the chance to hide her face. She watched as Snowball slunk over the carpet, pausing now and then to sniff at her new surroundings.

  “Thanks for rescuing my kid’s cat.”

  The look in his eyes made her face warm. “No problem,” she lied breathlessly. “I hope it gets along with the new puppy. Um, Ronald?”

  “Not anymore. Taylor changed its name.”

  “To what?” Their other dog, the big one, was Fezzik, she remembered. “Inigo? Humperdinck?”

  “You know The Princess Bride?” He sounded surprised.

  “I love The Princess Bride.” It was one of her comfort movies as a child, as much for the deep affection between grandfather and grandson as for the romance of Princess Buttercup and her farm boy. Both fairy tales, both as far removed from her own experience as the moon.

  “Inigo would be good,” Luke said. “Mostly we’ve been using Dog. Or JD.”

  “Just Dog?” Kate guessed and was absurdly pleased when he nodded. “This looks amazing,” she said as they sat down. “Is that sesame beef?”

  “Sesame beef, General Tso’s chicken, pork fried rice, shrimp with garlic.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “So you’ll have leftovers.”

  “No, I meant . . .” Her gesture encompassed the flowers, the candle, the gently steaming tea. “All of it. I didn’t figure you’d be so . . .”

  “Housebroken,” he suggested, a gleam in his eyes.

  “Into table settings.”

  He spooned rice onto his plate. “Mom insisted we all pull our weight around the house. Meg’s a better cook, but I can set and clear the table. Do dishes. Make hospital corners.”

  “Was that your mother’s doing or the Marines?”

  He grinned. “Let’s say Mom would have made a good DI.” He gestured toward her place. “No chopsticks for you?”

  She shook her head. “I never got the hang of them. Too messy.” And she didn’t like to do things she wasn’t good at.

  He shrugged and dug into the carton of sesame beef, wielding his own chopsticks expertly. “So I guess your parents trained you, too.”

  She swallowed. This was one of those topics that normal people probably talked about all the time. One of those things that marked her as different. One of those memories too painful to share. “Oh . . . Yes. My father liked to live on base. But he wouldn’t pay a cleaning crew, and my mother could never get the house clean enough to please him or pass inspection. So I learned to clean.”

  Scrubbing the bottom of the oven and the rubber seal of the refrigerator door with a toothbrush. Staying on her knees after midnight, wiping down cabinets and baseboards with white vinegar and water. Praying her efforts would be good enough to avoid triggering her father’s deep dissatisfaction with his life.

  “Moving was the worst,” Luke agreed. “You did that all yourself?”

  She set down her fork. “You can’t really be interested in my housekeeping skills.”

  “Exchange of basic information, babe. Part of getting to know you.”

  “All right. Tell me about your home visit,” she said.

  He raised his brows. “Changing the subject?”

  “I am. Also I’m interested.” Which was easier to admit than I care. “Exchange of basic information,” she reminded him.

  He grinned, acknowledging her point. “It was fine.”

  She released her breath in relief and disappointment. “Just ‘fine’?”

  “What do you want me to say? Your friend came. She talked to Taylor. She seemed . . .” He paused as if searching for a word.

  “Friendly?” Kate suggested dryly.

  “That. And competent. Anyway, she didn’t ask any leading questions. No ‘when did you stop beating your daughter’ stuff.”

  “She liked you. All of you,” Kate said.

  “Good to know. Dad may have flirted with her some. Sam, too.”

  “And you? Did you flirt?” Kate was flirting. She liked it. Like another taste of candy bar, unfamiliar and delicious.

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of cocky humor. “I cooperated. Like you told me to.”

  “Well, it worked. Alisha thinks you all are providing an excellent environment for Taylor.”
<
br />   “Does that mean she’s going to tell the Simpsons they’re full of shit?”

  Kate shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. The most she can say is that the report was not substantiated and they’re closing their investigation.”

  “So the Simpsons could still bring up the allegation in court.”

  “They can bring up anything they want. But now, Alisha can just as easily testify in your favor.”

  “She can do that?”

  Kate smiled brilliantly. “If your lawyer subpoenas her. And if I know Vernon, he’s already filed the paperwork.”

  Luke held her gaze. “You’re really something, you know that?”

  She flushed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one.”

  She hesitated. She was pretty sure this was not the moment to critique his parenting techniques. But the subject had to be broached. “Alisha mentioned she was recommending counseling for Taylor.”

  He picked up his chopsticks. “Yeah, she said something about that.”

  “And?”

  “I told her I’d look into it.”

  That sounded noncommittal. Kate frowned. “It might really help Taylor to talk to somebody.”

  “You’re probably right. She sure isn’t talking to me. But it’s only been a week and a half.”

  “I meant a professional. Maybe someone on base . . .” She broke off as he shook his head. Her stomach sank. She should have expected this resistance. He was a Marine. In the military, there was still a stigma attached to seeking counseling. But if there was anywhere they had experience helping children cope with loss and grief, it would be there. “If you’re worried about how it would look—”

  “I’m not.”

  She tried again. “Ignoring Taylor’s issues won’t make them go away.”

  “I didn’t say I was ignoring them.”

  “No, but I know how it is.” The memories crowded, thick and painful. “You can’t admit you have a problem because you’re afraid you’ll look weak. Or it will hurt your career.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “I know what my father—” she said and stopped.

  Luke waited.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Your father,” he prodded.

  She closed her eyes briefly. She was trained not to open the door to a line of questioning. And she’d thrown that door open with Luke. She’d let him in. Dangerous for Kate the lawyer. Disastrous for Kate the woman. Her throat swelled. She couldn’t speak.

  He leaned forward and took her hand across the table. “Look, I get that you want what’s best for Taylor. So do I. I’ve lost too many buddies because they wouldn’t get the help they needed. I just don’t think Taylor needs to drive an hour and a half each way to talk to somebody on base. I thought maybe you could give me some names.”

  “Me.”

  “Yeah. Before, you said you saw a lot of psychologists in your line of work. I figure you might know somebody local who would be good for Taylor.”

  “I . . .” Once again, he’d surprised her. “Of course. I’d be happy to make some recommendations.”

  “Great.”

  “But she might not be able to get an appointment until January,” Kate felt compelled to say. “The holidays are a busy time.”

  “That’s fine. It’s still probably faster than she’d be seen on base. I appreciate the help.” He released her hand and sat back easily in his chair. “So, what made you want to go around rescuing things?”

  Her hand felt cold without his. She clasped it around her tea mug. “It’s my job.”

  “It’s a job,” he corrected, those brilliant blue eyes on her face. “It didn’t have to be yours.”

  “There’s always a need for family attorneys.”

  “I get that. The country needs Marines, too. But not everybody joins up. Was it, like, a family thing?”

  “What?”

  “Being a lawyer. Did your parents encourage you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But they’re proud of you. I mean, you help people.”

  He would see it that way, in terms of service rather than salary. “I guess.” She shrugged. “We don’t really discuss my job much.”

  “Too confidential?”

  Too close to home. Alcoholic husbands who beat their wives were not an acceptable topic of conversation in her mother’s world.

  Kate pushed her food around her plate. “They were pleased when I was accepted into law school. I suppose it gave my mother some bragging rights with the other officers’ wives. Not as good as getting a son into the Naval Academy or having her daughter marry a doctor, but—”

  “Wait. Why shouldn’t you go to Naval Academy? Or be a doctor, if that’s what you wanted?”

  “Oh, please. Like I have to explain military culture to you. You’re a Marine.”

  “So that automatically makes me a sexist?”

  “In my experience, yes. Women are harassed and discriminated against in the Marine Corps every day.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  “So you believe women should have equal rights with men,” she said, testing.

  “Yeah. And equal pay and opportunities. I’m not saying that bad shit doesn’t go down, I’m just saying I’ve served with some outstanding female Marines.” He held her gaze. “So maybe I’ve learned not to generalize.”

  “Wow.” She sat back, surprised and impressed. “Did you just smack me down for making generalizations about the Marines?”

  He grinned at her and served himself out of a carton. “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said dryly. “Maybe because I’ve been making unfair judgments about you since before we met?”

  “Or maybe,” he said, “I want you to know that Taylor is safe with me. That I’m not going to put limits on her because she’s a girl. That I will support her and encourage her to grow up to be whatever she wants to be.”

  She stared at him, stricken. This was what talking led to. This painful honesty, this horrible yearning, this awful desire for the kind of family, the love and support she’d never had.

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. God only knew what he saw in her face. “Kate . . .”

  “Take me to bed,” she blurted.

  He went very still. “Now?”

  She’d surprised him. Good. It restored the balance between them a little. “Why not?”

  Sex would be less dangerous, less revealing, than this terrible emotional intimacy.

  “Because you’re upset. What did I say to upset you?”

  “Nothing. I just . . .” She closed her eyes, embarrassed. “Isn’t that what you came for?”

  “One of the things. I also said I wanted to get to know you.”

  “Please. The whole getting-to-know-you deal is just a polite way to get everything out there before you have sex with a total stranger. Herpes. Birth control. You might as well ask about my health history. Or prior partners.”

  “Okay,” he said so promptly she wondered if that had been his object all along. “No STDs, I practice safe sex, and you know about my only significant ex. Your turn.”

  She stared. “You’re serious.”

  He smiled. “You started it.”

  Like they were playing a game. She hadn’t had many opportunities to play as a child. But she did like to win. “Um. Okay. No diseases.”

  “Ever married?”

  She shook her head. “That would require that I actually date first. Which I don’t anymore.”

  “No time or no interest?”

  At least he didn’t assume she had no opportunities. She supposed she should be flattered. “No energy.”

  “Yeah, all that going out to eat can really take it out of you,” he said, straight-faced.

  A reluctant smile broke across her face. She tended to take things—herself—too seriously. She liked that he could make her laugh. But, still . . .

  “It’s differ
ent for guys. Look around next time you’re at a bar or a restaurant or even at the movies. The men are in jeans and T-shirts. Maybe they’ve shaved. And their dates are all made up and dressed up, like they have to knock themselves out just to be with these guys.” She stabbed her fork into a shrimp. “I have to dress for court. I don’t need to waste my weekends tweezing, waxing, and worrying about my underwear in return for ordinary food and mediocre sex.”

  He was looking at her with the warm, slightly unfocused look men got when they were thinking about sex.

  Point to me for mentioning the waxing thing, Kate thought smugly.

  “You could try doing something about that,” he suggested.

  What? Oh. “I suppose I could hold out for better restaurants.”

  “Or better sex.” A low note of laughter underscored his voice.

  Kate lifted her chin. “I can handle the sex part fine on my own. I don’t need a man to have an orgasm.”

  “Then maybe you should try a better man.”

  Their gazes met. Held.

  Kate’s mouth went dry. Her heart beat in the quick, staccato rhythm of a court reporter’s keys. What would sex with Luke be like? Better than mediocre, that look promised.

  She licked sweet sauce from her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse went wild. Something twisted deep inside her, tension coiling in a tangled mess of want and need. Her hands trembled.

  He stood. “Want anything else?”

  Her imagination rioted. What was he offering? “I can’t eat another bite.”

  His lips curved. “Sure? There are fortune cookies.”

  He was clearing the dishes as if that look, that kiss, had never happened, as if she’d never mentioned waxing or her underwear, as if sex were off the table. She wanted him so much she was shaking.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  He turned from the sink, his blue eyes laser bright, and pulled her out of her seat. “Maybe we both will.”

  He slipped his fingers into her hair and kissed her, brushing her lips with his, making her blood pound and the words die in her throat. He felt so good, warm and hard, muscled and lean against her. She spared a thought for her underwear—what had she put on this morning? She hoped it was the good stuff—before his mouth moved on hers, firmly, deliberately. He parted her lips with his, and her mind stuttered and blanked as the heat in her rose everywhere. She clutched her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. He fisted his hand in her hair, licking deep into her mouth, feeding the hunger that flared inside her.