by Gina Wilkins
Tate and Kim spent a very pleasant hour walking the sidewalks of the cozy neighborhood, with Kim pushing Daryn in a stroller. They admired a few especially nice lawns and savored the weather, which was lightly overcast and several degrees cooler than it had been back home. Tate was sorry for the nice outing to end, and he was pretty sure Kim felt the same way—though he couldn’t have said whether it was because she had particularly enjoyed the time with him or was just that reluctant to return to her mother’s house.
He suspected the latter.
After returning from the walk, they spent a half hour in the living room, watching a news broadcast while Daryn played with a couple of toys on a blanket spread on the floor. Bob and Betsy were in the kitchen, making final preparations for dinner. Betsy had effusively refused any assistance other than her husband’s, insisting that Kim and Tate should take the time to chat with Julian and Stuart—which would have been difficult, since Julian immediately went back out to the garage to work on Bob’s car and Stuart drifted off to his room with a vague mumble about needing to make some phone calls.
Watching Daryn rocking unsteadily on her hands and knees, Tate winced wryly when the baby plopped down on her tummy with an “oof” sound. Rather than fuss or try again, she lay there happily kicking and slamming Mr. Jingles against the blanket, causing the bells inside him to clatter noisily.
“I take it she’s not crawling yet?”
“Not yet.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the blanket, Kim reached out to pat her daughter’s diapered-and-rompered bottom. “She comes close, but hasn’t quite put the moves all together. I’m sure Mom would say I’m doing something wrong that’s holding Daryn back, even though the pediatrician assures me she’s developing just fine.”
He started to say something, but she stopped him by holding up a hand and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I guess I’m just overly sensitive when it comes to my parenting skills. Probably because I’m always so aware that Daryn’s well-being is all on me.”
“Then she’s in very good hands. I’m sure your mother knows that, despite some of the things she blurts out.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never doubted that you’re a very committed mom. That was one of the first things I learned about you.”
Kim glanced at the doorway, as though aware that this wasn’t exactly a private venue in which to have this conversation, but then she smiled at him. “Thanks, Tate. I needed that.”
He winked at her, pleased that he’d been able to boost her bruised confidence. “Anytime.”
Kim had just tucked Daryn into her travel crib upstairs when everyone was called to dinner. Betsy sat at one end of the dining room table, with Bob at the other end, Julian and Stuart on one side and Kim and Tate on the other. A portable baby monitor sat beside Kim’s plate, though not a peep had issued from it.
Betsy served a simple fare of steaks, grilled corn on the cob, baked potatoes and a side salad. Bob had grilled the meat and corn, though Betsy hinted that she was exhausted from baking potatoes and making the salads and a cake for dessert. Tate made a few more silent observations about Kim’s background as everyone filled their plates.
His own family was by no means perfect. He and his sister did their share of squabbling, though they’d grown closer since moving out on their own. His dad was a workaholic whose time had been stretched thin, but he loved his wife and kids and they’d known he would always be there if they needed him. His mother was a bit of a hypochondriac who tended to fret about her children’s well-being, but she’d relaxed a little during the past few years, finally accepting—for the most part—that they were old enough to take care of themselves.
An average family, with average strengths and weaknesses. He loved them, drew strength from them. Knew they loved him, too.
Before dinner was half finished that evening, he could see that Kim’s family had almost nothing in common with his own. She had very few bonds with her half brothers, perhaps because they had each been raised so differently. She barely knew her latest stepfather, though she seemed to like him well enough, considering this was only the second time she’d met him. As for her relationship with her mother—well, no wonder that was so strained. Frankly, Betsy was a nut.
Tate hadn’t yet decided if there was a streak of malice beneath that beaming, scheming face. Betsy was undoubtedly self-centered, unapologetically deceitful, deliberately tactless—but was she aware that her thoughtlessness caused her daughter pain, or was she simply oblivious to consequences? He’d been amused by her until he’d become aware of her little digs at Kim. He hadn’t found those in the least funny.
“Does anyone need more iced tea?” Betsy asked, filling a somewhat awkward silence that had fallen over the table once the standard compliments for the food had been exchanged. “Bob, sweetie, why don’t you bring the pitcher and top off the glasses?”
Nodding congenially, Bob jumped up to fetch the tea pitcher. Not for the first time, Tate thought that even after three years of marriage, Bob seemed perfectly happy being ordered around by his wife. Tate wondered how much longer that satisfaction would last.
Betsy turned toward Kim with a slight frown. “Did I hear a fuss from Daryn?” she asked, cocking her head toward the baby monitor.
“No, Mom, she’s sound asleep.”
“You’re sure you shouldn’t go check on her? How do you know that thing is working?”
“It’s working.”
Unlike Bob, Kim was visibly losing patience with Betsy. Tate didn’t blame her, but she really should learn to let her mother’s little barbs deflect off her. Betsy didn’t seem to dig at her sons in quite the same way. Was it a mother/daughter dynamic thing—or did Betsy know it was harder to push emotional buttons with Julian and Stuart?
Trying to take the attention off Kim, he spoke to her brothers. “We haven’t had much chance to get to know each other yet. I understand you’re recently out of the service, Julian. What do you do now?”
“Bob got me a job at his accounting firm,” Julian answered without a great deal of enthusiasm. “I’m taking night classes toward getting a CPA.”
Before Tate could respond, Stuart frowned. “Kim hasn’t even told you what Julian does?”
Realizing his mistake, Tate suppressed a wince, but Kim rescued him that time.
“Tate’s simply trying to make conversation, Stuart,” she said evenly. “Besides which, I couldn’t tell him much about either of you because I haven’t heard what you’ve been up to lately.”
Betsy cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you called more often…”
Tate spoke again quickly to her brothers. “Kim has talked about both of you, of course, but I thought we could get to know each other in person now.”
He was going to have to do better than this if he didn’t want to blow the whole marriage charade before the reunion even began tomorrow. “Tell me about yourself, Stuart. What have you been up to this summer?”
Stuart shrugged, but a look from his mother made him answer politely enough—for a teenager. “Just been hanging out. I have a part-time job at a video game store at the mall.”
“Stuart starts college a week from Monday,” Bob added as he refilled Tate’s tea glass.
“Yeah? Where will you be going, Stuart?”
The teen muttered the name of a well-respected liberal arts college in Springfield.
“He’s going to live here at home and commute,” Betsy said. “I wasn’t quite ready to send my baby away. That will come soon enough, won’t it, Bob? We’ll have to get used to an empty nest eventually.”
When Bob merely smiled and nodded, and no one else responded, Tate tried to keep the conversation moving. “I’ve heard that’s a very good school. Have you chosen a major yet?”
“Good choices.”
Stuart chomped down on his ear of corn to discourage further conversation.
“Tell Tate more about your new job, Julian,” Betsy urged, picking delicately at the baked potato and salad in front of her. She’d passed on the steak and corn, saying that she was watching her weight. She’d looked archly at Kim’s plate as she’d made the comment, but for once using a modicum of tact, hadn’t remarked aloud about Kim’s choice to have a reasonable serving of everything.
“I work in accounting, Mom,” Julian replied curtly. “Hardly anything more to tell.”
“What about your real love?” Bob asked Julian with a look that might have been sympathetic. “Restoring old cars?”
Julian slanted a look at his mother that was almost defensive. “It’s a hobby, that’s all.”
“An obsession, you mean,” Stuart mumbled. “At least, that’s what your ex called it.”
Julian scowled. “Yeah, well, she’s a—”
“Julian,” his mother interrupted quickly, with a pointed look at Tate, as if to remind her son they had company among them. “Tate, don’t get the wrong impression. Julian isn’t a mechanic, he’s an up-and-coming financial advisor. He enjoyed tinkering with cars as a teenager, but he doesn’t have nearly as much time for that now, isn’t that right, Julian?”
“No,” Julian said, and if he tried to hide the regret, he wasn’t entirely successful. “I don’t.”
“What types of cars have you restored?” Tate asked, doggedly trying to keep the conversation moving.
“Couple of classic Mustangs. I’m working on a ’69 Mach 1 now. It’s in pretty bad shape, haven’t had much time to work on it, but it’s got great potential.”
“Sixty-nine, huh? Nice. Which engine?”
For the first time since they’d been introduced, Tate saw a spark of enthusiasm in Julian’s eyes. “Three fifty-one V8.”
“Windsor or Cleveland?”
Beneath the table, Kim lightly tapped his leg, then gave a thumbs-up sign when he glanced down.
The spark in Julian’s blue eyes flared into a flame of passion. “Windsor—not quite as easy to find the parts, but she’s going to purr like a tiger when I’ve got her up and running.”
“Shaker hood scoop?”
“Yes, of course. And I was thinking of—”
“Oh, there’s no need to get all technical about the mechanical aspects,” Betsy interrupted impatiently. “You don’t want to bore our guest, Julian.”
Julian subsided with a slight flush, looking down at his plate.
Tate was finding Betsy less amusing all the time. “Actually, I have a lot of admiration for a skilled mechanic, whether on a professional or recreational level.”
“More challenging than gardening?” Stuart asked in a slightly mocking murmur.
Feeling Kim stiffen beside him, Tate laid his hand quickly on her thigh, silently assuring her that he didn’t need her to jump to his defense. “In its own way,” he agreed equably.
Betsy frowned reproachfully at her younger son. “Tate is a landscape designer, Stuart. Didn’t you hear Kim say he has a degree in the field? What do you think of my flower beds, Tate? Bob and I have worked quite hard on them this summer.”
“They look great,” he said, making an effort to speak as warmly as before. He was determined to keep this visit pleasant for Kim, though he was aware he had an uphill battle ahead if her family continued to snipe at each other this way. “Nice use of color.”
“Thank you. I’m a member of a local gardening club. We meet once a week during the summers, and we visit each other’s gardens. I had them here last month for lemonade and tea cakes in my backyard garden. Everyone was quite complimentary.”
“Is that what you do, Tate?” Bob asked. “Design flower beds for homes and businesses?”
“Partially, though we specialize in adding water features to landscaping. We’ve also focused on urban food gardens recently. With the growing interest in healthy, locally grown organic foods, we’ve had quite a demand for ways to use limited areas of ground in a manner that is both productive and visually appealing.”
“Perhaps you could come speak to our club soon,” Betsy said on a sudden rush of inspiration. “I know my fellow gardeners would love to hear you speak.”
“You’ll have to contact his secretary and get on his waiting list,” Kim said without waiting for Tate to respond. “Tate and his partner are in high demand as speakers, and they’re working on a book about urban gardening, so they’re quite busy. They charge a fee for their speaking engagements, of course.”
Betsy blinked, then smiled brightly again. “Well, that’s very impressive, Tate. Of course, I’m sure you can make an exception to do a favor for a member of the family. I’d be quite the hit with my garden club if you would volunteer a session for us.”
Kim sighed gustily and opened her mouth to deliver what would likely have been a scathing response had she not been interrupted by a whimper from the baby monitor.
She pushed back her chair. “I’d better go check on Daryn.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tate said quickly, jumping to his feet. “Just in case you need help with her.”
“Hurry back, you two,” Betsy called after them. “We haven’t had dessert yet.”
As much as Tate usually liked dessert, he could honestly say that this time he would just as soon skip it. Because he knew that wasn’t going to happen, he merely nodded and followed Kim quickly out of the dining room, glad he had an excuse to escape the tension there for a least a few minutes.
Chapter Four
Just as Kim had expected, Daryn was sleeping soundly in her portable crib when Kim entered the bedroom with Tate at her heels. Kim had recognized the sound she’d heard through the monitor as just one of those little noises Daryn sometimes made in her sleep. Any other time, she’d have waited a bit to see if she needed to respond, but she’d leaped on the excuse to get away from her family for a few minutes—and so had Tate.
“Well?” she asked quietly as she turned toward him. “Now do you understand why I tend to avoid my family reunions? And you haven’t even met the worst part of the family yet.”
He groaned softly.
“You’re the one who volunteered for this,” she reminded him.
“Yes.”
Was he second-guessing that impulse now? She wouldn’t blame him if he were. She certainly regretted that she’d let herself get swept into the scheme.
Tate glanced at the sleeping baby, speaking in a stage whisper. “She’s okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s a sound sleeper, just makes little noises sometimes.”
He nodded, then glanced at the queen-size bed that took up the majority of the floor. Automatically, she followed his gaze. Between the bed, a nightstand and dresser, a small reading chair, the portable crib, the bags holding their things and all the baby supplies, little space was left in the guest room.
Thinking of the night ahead, she swallowed. It was obvious that she and Tate were going to have to share that bed. There wasn’t room on the floor for him to stretch out, even if she would allow him to make that gesture.
She trusted him, of course. In all the time she’d known Tate through his sister, he’d given her no reason to believe he was anything other than a decent, honorable guy. Commitment phobic, perhaps, but then that was a good thing in this case, since she’d made it clear that she felt the same way. He would anticipate no awkward expectations from her and vice versa. Friends. Pals. Lunch buddies.
Buddies who had somehow allowed themselves to be talked into playing husband and wife for a weekend.
“How long do you
think we can hide in here?”
She smiled wryly in response to Tate’s exaggeratedly stealthy question. “I suppose we’d better go have dessert.”
Making sure Daryn was still sleeping, Kim left the lamp on the dim setting when they left the room. She did not look at the bed again on her way out.
Because it was such a pleasant evening, Betsy insisted they have dessert and coffee on the patio, where she could show off her flower beds to Tate. Kim carried the baby monitor with her, setting it close by as she settled into one of the wrought-iron spring rockers grouped around a matching, round wrought-iron table. Tate sat beside her again. She noted that Julian took the seat next to Tate, though their mother looked a little peeved that Julian had beaten her to the chair.
Apparently, some of Julian’s initial antipathy toward Tate had dissipated during the discussion of classic cars. She couldn’t say Julian was exactly warm toward Tate now, but he seemed a bit more willing to give him a chance—especially after Tate told him his first car had been a restored ’70s muscle car. They talked cars during dessert even though Betsy did her best to interrupt them every few minutes and redirect the conversation. Their mother had never approved of Julian’s passion for classic cars—a love he shared with the nomadic musician father who had drifted sporadically through his life.
With Kim’s father dead, Stuart’s in prison, Julian’s who-knew-where most of the time and their last stepfather completely out of their lives, it was no wonder they all had relationship issues, she thought wryly. As for herself, she had no intention of dragging a series of men through Daryn’s life the way Betsy had done with her and her brothers.
Almost as soon as he’d swallowed the last bite of his cake, Stuart made an excuse to leave, saying he was meeting friends in town. Bob and Julian went back to the garage, leaving Kim and Tate outside with her mother.
“I wish everyone had stayed around to talk a bit longer,” Betsy said with a slight pout. “But this will give us a chance to prepare for tomorrow.”