Keeping Katie

by Stella Quinn

  “I couldn’t. Wow. I didn’t know I was hungry until I tried the first one, and then when I tried it? Those blueberries, were they dusted in—”

  “Confectioner’s sugar, yep.”

  “And the batter! There was something, I just can’t—”

  He grinned. “Vanilla bean extract. Homemade. I know, I’ve got skills.”

  She was grinning up at him, and he almost forgot his worry about how he was going to break the news of the Agony Aunt letter to her.

  Almost, but not quite. “Coffee on the patio?” he said.

  “Sure. But listen, you cooked, I should wash up.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve got all day to clean up. I’ll bring the pot out. There’s…er, something I need to show you.”

  “On Prince? Does he have a hotspot? Fluffy dogs can be prone to them.”

  “No, not at all.”

  She walked to the sink and rinsed her plate and cutlery off before piling them neatly on the drain board.

  There was no way this was going to end well.

  Chapter 25

  Katie dried her plate and rested it in the rack. She’d come out here prepared to be all aloof and businesslike. Check that the premises met the requirements of the refuge, show Anton Thriller Price that she didn’t care a hoot about him or his dumb prowess with silly word games, and then get the heck back into her hatchback and zoom off into an amazing future.

  She hadn’t expected to be charmed.

  Waffles…who could be served homemade waffles made by a good-looking guy in a polka-dot apron poring over the chewed-up remains of a 1960s family cookbook and not feel their resolve soften? And if he thought she hadn’t noticed the scraps of cooked batter he’d slipped to the adoring dogs at his feet, he was mistaken.

  Anton Price may be annoyingly good at word games and a little insensitive about her own cloddish ineptness at them, but he was a sweetheart. No one could resist that.

  No one whose name began with Katie and ended with Shields, anyway.

  “I’ve been pretty upset with you for a few days,” she confessed.

  He winced. “I know. About that—”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I want to. Because...that’s not all I have to explain.”

  “You look serious,” she said. He also looked wary.

  This was not good. Maybe she should just find her keys and make her excuses. She’d found Veronica, after all, and that was the only thing that had connected her and Anton. Prince had found a home. That was all her responsibilities taken care of, wasn’t it? If she could just teach Rose not to dig holes under the hydrangea, she could kid herself she’d had a win-win month, and not admit what a giant emotional mess it had actually been.

  “I wasn’t meaning to make fun of you the other day.”

  Oh, she did not want to get into this. She’d overreacted about her sister going on a week-long trip with her new friend. She’d overreacted to that comment of Anton’s. She was a lousy judge of what was going on around her, and her emotions were shot.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “It was probably me, getting it wrong. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

  “I don’t think less of people who aren’t into word games like I am. I am clueless about loads of things, dog training for one,” he said, spreading his arms to encompass the dog toy massacre that must have occurred sometime during the brief period Prince had been resident in the house.

  “I’ve spent a year teaching myself to cook because when I turned thirty, I couldn’t boil an egg,” he went on. “I failed my driving test three times, I have a tantrum when I can’t find my car keys, and I fall asleep when anyone tries to talk to me about politics.”

  Every last failure just made him more of a sweetheart. And made her more of an ogre for overreacting. Why was she finding it so hard to find the words to admit she had stuff going on in her head which she wasn’t handling very well?

  “That’s not all, Katie. I’ve found something. A letter in the Dear Anna section. I think it’s the one you’re looking for.”

  Darn it. Now she’d messed up again. She hadn’t even told Anton that she’d been in contact with Veronica. He’d been sweet enough to come with her on a stakeout, call in a favor with his bank manager, dig through dusty back issues of newsprint for her, and she’d not even thanked him, or let him know the crisis was over.

  Self-absorbed, that’s what she was.

  “Anton. I’ve spoken to Veronica.”

  “You have? Katie, that’s great!” He was swinging her in a hug before she knew what was what. How she wished she could stay there, held, warm, cared for.

  She pushed herself away. “Turns out, I wasted your time.”

  “No, Katie, I—”

  “She wasn’t abducted by aliens or held against her will by some doomsday conspiracy theorist.”

  “That’s...good news, isn’t it? Why are you sounding disappointed?”

  Shoot, did she? She sighed. “I’m disappointed with myself, to be honest.”

  “For what? Being concerned about your closest living relative? That doesn’t make you a disappointment, it makes you a great sister.”

  “What? No, that’s—”

  She broke off. He didn’t know the worst of it. Sure, she’d overreacted. She had been worried, but had she been worried that Vee was in trouble? Or had she been worried about what she, Katie, would do without her?

  Worse, her worry had banked down to a low simmer as soon as she’d started getting to know Anton. Some days, she’d been more worried about what dress to wear so he’d think she looked pretty than she had about her own older sister. What was wrong with her?

  “I think,” Anton said gently, his hand coming to land on hers, “that maybe you were worried about yourself. You missed her. You were lonely. You were worried how you would ever fill the void if you became less important in her life.”

  “That is so not true,” she said, but the tears that had started streaming down her face like the Hoover dam wall had just broken were saying something totally different.

  “I get it,” he said. “Katie, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She wanted to snap at him, like Prince would have snapped at anything that made him anxious a few weeks ago. Fear aggression—it was a thing, right?

  But in the battle between fight or flight, flight won. She wasn’t ready to admit anything to Anton. Even more, she wasn’t ready to admit anything to herself.

  “I have to go.”

  “Katie, please. You’re upset. Maybe I should drive you?”

  “No. Thank you, I just...” Darn it, where had she dropped her purse?

  “Before you go. I know this is a bad time, but—there’s something else.” He lifted a sealed plastic bag from the counter. In it was a sky-blue envelope. “I told you I found a letter which I think might have been the clue you needed. This is the original that came to the newspaper office.”

  Her sister’s trademark stationery; she’d know it anywhere. Grabbing it from him, she picked up her purse from where she’d spied it on a stool below the counter and motioned a downcast Rose to her side.

  “If you want to talk about this, you know where I am,” he said. “Anytime, Katie. I mean that.”

  She couldn’t speak, so she got the heck out.

  Chapter 26

  “I’ve got some chores to do, pal,” said Anton to the dog at his feet. “Can you be trusted not to destroy my garden if I leave you home alone for an hour?”

  Prince gave a yawn and rolled over onto his back. A week he’d lived at the cottage, and now he thought he was king.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” With a bit of luck, the hell-hound he was now responsible for would be too worn out from his morning run to chew up anything else.

  He pulled his satchel over his shoulder. The day was too glorious to drive, and the Cove to Coast Herald office was only a ten-minute stroll down the cliff track. He’d walk.

  And think.
/>   Like he’d been thinking ever since Katie had hurried away from his house in her ancient hatchback.

  He’d wanted her to stay as much as he’d wanted to keep breathing. He needed to tell her that...to let her know that she wasn’t the only one who struggled sometimes to work out how much to care, how much to let go.

  How much to live.

  She’d taught him that. Or rather, the feeling in his heart that had been growing bit by bit since he’d first met her had taught him that. He was tired of living quietly in his cliffside house, living a half-life.

  He wanted more. Heck, he wanted it all. And his all started with a prickly, warm-hearted, soft-skinned woman called Katie.

  But he had to get his own house in order first, and for that he needed to talk to Danny.

  The newspaper office was full of hammering and muttered oaths when he arrived.

  He walked through the foyer and into the back office, to where a huge man in overalls was frowning down into an open toolbox. Julie sat at the desk where she paid the bills. “What’s going on?”

  “Safe cracker,” she said.

  “I thought we found the code two weeks ago? In Danny’s diary.”

  “Oh, we did, pet. Worked a treat.”

  He looked over to the corner of the room, where Danny was kneeling on the floor beside the green-enameled safe. “I don’t understand. Danny?”

  “Oh, don’t disturb him, Anton. He’s thinking.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her.

  “He decided to use a new code when he locked it last night. Now he can’t remember what he chose, so Trevor here,” she nodded at the overalls guy, “is seeing what he can do.”

  “Might be an explosives job, Danny,” said Trevor.

  “Son of a gun. That safe is older than I am. It’s precious, Trev.”

  “It’s also stubborn as an old mule.”

  “You got a minute, Danny?” Anton said.

  “Maybe. If it comes with a cup of coffee and a cookie, I do.”

  Anton raised his eyebrows helplessly at Jules.

  She nodded. “Cookies in the tin,” she mouthed.

  He headed for the kitchen nook, found a fresh batch of something chunky and home-made in the tin as promised, and checked the coffee pot.

  Danny took his coffee black, which was lucky, because the milk in the fridge smelled like something a dumpster would refuse to accept. He tipped its remains down the sink and filled Danny’s favorite mug.

  “Here,” he said, carrying his peace offering back out to the workroom. “Now can we talk? It’s about Page Seventeen.”

  “Love it. Keep up the good work,” said Danny. “Getting a lot of great feedback about those photos you put in.”

  “Er...thanks. Here’s the thing. I’m working on a manuscript that’s going to take up a lot of my time.”

  Danny stopped rifling through the real estate pages at the back of an old issue of the paper. “You’re not quitting!”

  “This was always a temporary gig, Danny.”

  “I don’t accept your resignation. As your boss, I insist you continue.”

  He snorted. “Danny, you don’t even pay me. I do this for fun, remember?”

  “We can pay. Julia? Julia? Find the checkbook would you, my love. Mr. Price here is extorting money from an old man.”

  “We don’t need the checkbook, Jules,” he said. “It’s not the money. I don’t need money, I need time.”

  “But the readers, Anton. They love your column. I’ve got local advertisements lined up for months wanting to get on Page Seventeen.”

  He held his hands up in the air. “No can do, old friend.”

  “Don’t you old friend me. Sucking the lifeblood out of my newspaper like this, you oughta be ashamed. After I took you in outa the goodness of my heart.”

  He chuckled. “You came to me, Danny. Well, to be fair, it was Jules who delivered your message.”

  Danny was on a roll. All that was missing was a stage and a spotlight. “I took you in when no one else would give you a job in this town.”

  “You don’t pay me; I thought we’d covered that.”

  “The perfidy of young people. Spineless shifters. Wasteful whippersnappers. No respect, none, my father started this business in 1926 and he’s spinning in his grave today, young man. Spinning.”

  Anton struggled to hide his grin. Jules had been right. Danny was easy to manage, you just had to know how. “Of course, if we could simplify my page down a bit. Make it less...burdensome.”

  Danny narrowed his eyes. “Now, see? That’s more like it. What’s your best offer?”

  “I do the crosswords, that’s all.”

  “Nope, no way, not happening,” said Danny, the light of battle in his eye. “The Agony Aunt column has been a feature in this paper since my granddaddy was in knickerbockers, and it’s staying.”

  “I thought your father started this business. You know, the one who’s spinning in his grave.”

  “Don’t use your word tricks on me, young man. The letters column has to stay.”

  “Gee, that’s a shame. Give my farewells in the next issue, won’t you?” He took a long stride to the door.

  “Now, son. There’s no call to be hasty.”

  He waited.

  Danny harrumphed. “This is my final offer, and if you don’t take it you’ll be back on the streets. The crossword and the photo column. It’s that or nothing.”

  Anton could see Jules standing in the doorway, bearing witness to the spectacle.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Danny,” he said, lowering his voice an octave and offering his hand for the old man to shake. If he’d known how easy it was going to be to ditch that pesky Dear Anna column from Page Seventeen, he’d have tried this months ago.

  “Darn straight I do,” Danny said.

  Anton dropped Jules a wink and clapped Danny around the shoulder. He loved his gig here at the newspaper, and now he could keep it with a clear conscience.

  He stood in the doorway of the Cove to Coast Herald for a moment, checking out the buzz of tourists milling their way along the historic district while he planned out the rest of his day.

  Land. That was next on his list. His eye fell on the newsstand by the door, where today’s issue of the paper lay in a neat pile for passers-by. Perfect. He slipped a few coins in the slot and helped himself to one. Time to see what was on offer in the back pages, where all the local real estate agents hawked their listings.

  He needed a takeout coffee. A picnic bench in the sun. And five shady acres of land.

  Chapter 27

  Katie sat on the timber step that led from the back porch to the garden. Late afternoon sunlight was dancing through the leaves of the old orange tree, and she turned her face into the warmth.

  It wasn’t cold, not really...but the sun was a comfort. Something about all that bright yellow never failed to cheer her.

  She sighed when she heard the noise of a car pulling into the front of the house and looked again at the blue envelope in her hand. She had struggled to find the courage to read her sister’s Agony Aunt letter, which had meant a long week of procrastination. And now her sister had arrived, in person, and ignoring her problems was no longer an option.

  Beside her, Rose lifted her heavy head, her ears pricked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s Vee. Go let her in, Rose.” The big dog gave a woof, then bolted in through the house to the front door. Katie stayed where she was and listened to the excited clicks of her dog’s nails on the floorboards, then the measured tread of her sister’s shoes as she came down the hall.

  “Katie?”

  “I’m out back,” she said, and wiped her clammy palms on the rough denim of her jeans. “Come on in.”

  “Hey, sis!” Her sister pushed open the old screen door and let it slam back into the house with a bang, like she always had, ever since she was little. Veronica traveled everywhere with her own little hurricane of energy spinning about her, all noise and lipstick and drama.<
br />
  The cloud of smell came first: perfume, a waft of coffee, and a heady reek of turpentine that let her know Vee had spent part of the day on one of her DIY projects. Next was the hug.

  “How are you? Gosh, it’s been weeks since I saw you last,” said Veronica, letting her go after a final squeeze and settling on the timber step beside her. “Yes, okay, I’ve missed you too,” she said to Rose, batting her away. “Go find a plant to destroy, would you?”

  Katie sniffed. A dog person, her sister was not.

  Her sister seemed to have worked out she was the only one saying anything. “Katie? You okay?”

  She took a breath and handed over the blue envelope.

  “What’s this? One of my letters?”

  “Read it.”

  “I don’t understa—”

  The silence was enough to tell her that Veronica had just read the front. The envelope wasn’t addressed to Katie Shields, 47 Prospect Street. It was addressed to Anna Tugoy.

  “How did you get this?”

  She blew out a breath. “How did I get this? Not from you, Veronica. So come on, I’m all ears, what does it say?”

  Her sister sighed. “Katie. I don’t even remember what I wrote, to be honest. It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  She had to wait a good while longer, as her sister took her time unfolding the flap of the envelope and pulling out the paper folded within. “Dear Anna,” her sister said aloud.

  “Anna’s a guy, by the way,” she couldn’t help saying, in a snarky tone she hadn’t used since she was about fourteen. Turns out, finding out her sister would rather blab about her private business in a public newspaper column than talk to her made her feel snarky.

  Veronica cleared her throat. “I’ve got a problem, and it’s been festering in my head and making me unhappy, so I thought I would write for advice. Here’s the thing. I met someone, and I’m pretty sure this guy is the one, not just some foolish crush (that’s a whole other story!). Problem is, I’m worried how my getting involved with someone, really involved, will affect my sister.”