IT TAKES A VERY SPECIAL MAN TO WIN THAT SPECIAL WOMAN!
Overwhelmed by single fatherhood, widower David Winthrop feared he was failing his savvy, sad-eyed, ten-year-old son. Still, he never expected hotshot divorce attorney Kate Newton to descend upon him like some avenging angel, bristling with maternal indignation on behalf of Davey junior, her pint-size “client.”
Worse, David found himself itching to peel away Kate’s power pinstripes. But could this tough lady lawyer, so adept at wrenching marriages asunder, prove woman enough to make David’s tattered family whole?
THAT SPECIAL WOMAN! She’s friend, wife, mother—she’s you! And beside each Special Woman stands a wonderfully special man.
A Note From The Author
These times present an exciting challenge for women. As we learn to balance professional and personal lives, just as Kate Newton does in Kate’s Vow, we open ourselves to a glorious realm of possibilities. Not all of the decisions we make will be easy. Nor will all be free from heartache. We have, however, the opportunity to choose our own futures, to be whatever we want to be—career woman or parent; married or single; or an idyllic, if difficult, combination blending marriage, children and a career. That is the choice Kate ultimately, happily makes. Writing Kate’s Vow as part of Silhouette Books’ That Special Woman series has given me a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the strengths of all women. We are special because of what we bring openly and enthusiastically to our relationships with men, with children, with each other. Most women, like Kate, possess a unique generosity of spirit, an optimistic view of the world that encompasses joy, compassion and hope. In the end, what makes Kate special is what makes each of us special—a will to learn and grow, a determination to survive, a deep understanding of the value of friendship and, most of all, an unstinting capacity to love. I wish that for each of you, along with a very special man with whom to share them.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
One more hour of paperwork, Kate Newton thought wearily. One more hour and this horrible week with its endless confrontations and sad, bitter stories of marriages gone wrong would be over. By Friday afternoons, what had once seemed challenging had lately become draining. It seemed she could hardly wait anymore to leave the office behind. That in itself was more troublesome than she cared to admit. High-priced, barracuda divorce attorneys were supposed to thrive on a steady diet of late hours and endless work. And until recently Kate had reveled in every minute of it.
She sighed as she stared at the piles of depositions and court documents still on her desk. She was suddenly struck by an unprofessional and almost irresistible urge to shake a few of her clients and tell them to wise up, drop their divorce petitions and fight for their marriages. Just the thought of doing something so completely out of character shook her. What the devil was wrong with her lately?
The buzz of her intercom provided an almost welcome interruption of her introspection, even though at this hour on a Friday it almost certainly promised disaster.
“Yes, Zelda,” she said to her secretary, whose mother had been fascinated by F. Scott Fitzgerald and his flamboyant, nutty wife. Zelda Lane had taken the whole Fitzgerald mystique to heart and was every bit as colorful as her namesake. She was also, thank goodness, incredibly efficient.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Zelda said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He says he’s a prospective client.”
Something in Zelda’s tone put Kate on alert. “Okay, what’s the deal?” she asked irritably. “I don’t have any appointments on my calendar. Is this one of those arrogant sons-of-bitches who expects to barge in and get first-class treatment?”
Her secretary uttered a sound that might have been a muffled hoot of laughter. “I don’t think so, boss. I think this is one you ought to see.”
Kate sighed. Unfortunately Zelda’s instincts were usually worth exploring. “Does this prospective client have a name?”
“David Allen Winthrop,” she said.
Kate heard a muffled exchange, then Zelda added, “The third. David Allen Winthrop III.”
Kate knew all about men who were so precise, so full of themselves and their own importance. They were the kind she normally preferred to take to the cleaners in a divorce proceeding.
“Send him in,” she said, already plotting her strategy for putting the bozo in his place with a stern lecture on busy schedules and the courtesy of making appointments.
Her office door swung open to admit the redheaded Zelda, whose expression hovered between amusement and anticipation. In a woman with her zany, off-beat sense of humor, that was yet another warning signal. Kate should have slammed the door on her secretary and the as-yet-unseen prospective client, sneaked out the back door and headed for a long weekend of much-needed relaxation in Malibu.
She watched the doorway expectantly, her gaze leveled just above Zelda’s shoulder. The movement she saw, however, was waist high. She glanced down. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Her would-be client was about ten years old.
She blinked at the kid, whose sandy hair had been slicked back neatly. His face, with its smattering of freckles across the nose, had been scrubbed clean. His gray blazer and navy slacks looked as if they had come off the junior rack at Brooks Brothers. The stylish effect was completed by a perfectly knotted tie and a white dress shirt. Either this kid’s summer camp had a rigid dress code or he was practicing for Wall Street at a very early age.
Judging from his earnest expression that whatever had brought him here was deadly serious to him, Kate held out her hand and formally introduced herself. “I’m Kate Newton, Mr. Winthrop. What can I do for you?”
Huge brown eyes regarded her somberly. “I’d like a divorce.” He said it in the same unemotional tone with which he might order vanilla ice cream, even though everyone knew he’d really prefer chocolate.
Kate’s composure slipped a notch. “Excuse me?”
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes for just an instant. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You handle divorces?” His voice began to regain a little of his earlier confidence. “I read all about your last case in the paper. It sounded like you were good. A little rough on the husband, but generally quite good.”
Kate was struck by the unexpected insightfulness from a pint-size analyst who should have been playing zap-bang computer games.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. You seem—” She fumbled for a word that wouldn’t offend his determined dignity. She settled for blunt. “It’s just that most people who get a divorce are a little older. Who exactly do you want to divorce?”
If this kid was married, she was giving up law, moving to a ranch in Montana and raising sheep. She wanted nothing further to do with the human race.
“My father,” he said.
His tone was filled with such regret that Kate felt something deep inside her shift. Maternal instincts she’d never known she possessed roared to life. “I think we’d better talk, Mr. Winthrop. Why don’t you have a seat over there on the sofa? How did you get here, by the way?”
“I’m supposed to be at a movie. Our housekeeper will pick me up.”
Kate followed him to the conference area in her office and took a chair across from him. “Okay, then, why do you want t
o break things off with your father?” She absolutely refused to use the word divorce again.
“Irreconcilable differences,” he said in that formal tone that gave Kate the creeps.
“I see.” She nodded sagely and tried once more to gather her composure. Zelda’s expression of barely controlled mirth wasn’t helping. She glared at the secretary. “You can leave us now.”
“Sure, boss. Could I bring you something? A soft drink, perhaps?” she said to the boy with as much deference as she would display toward an heiress. Zelda had had lots of practice with heiresses, but none that Kate was aware of with kids.
“Coffee,” he told her, then added as if it was an afterthought, “with a lot of cream, please. And three sugars.”
Kate, who drank her special-blend Columbian coffee black to savor the taste and aroma, cringed. Still, she couldn’t help admiring a kid who was so determined to present a mature impression. Impression, hell, she corrected. This boy was more polite than half the men she knew. He was sitting soldier-straight on her sofa, even though the position looked awkward. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor. There was none of the fidgeting that had driven her crazy with all of her sister’s kids. The kid was so self-possessed, it was downright disconcerting.
When Zelda had delivered the coffee, Kate regarded her prospective client soberly. “Okay, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”
“I think it’s fairly straightforward,” he said, as if he’d been studying court documents for the proper wording. “My father and I don’t get along.”
“In what way?” she asked, genuinely fascinated now by both his demeanor and his claim. What would send a boy to a divorce attorney? Insufficient allowance? Strict discipline? A parental drug problem? Abuse? God forbid it was the latter.
“We never see each other anymore,” he said, and then his lower lip trembled dangerously. “Not since my mom died.”
Kate swallowed hard against the unexpected lump that formed in her throat. It was at least the size of a boulder. Her associates would be astounded at the rare display of emotion in a woman with a reputation for going for the jugular no matter how many tears were shed in the courtroom.
“When did your mom die?” she asked gently when she could form the words.
“Six months ago. It’s been very hard on my dad,” he said as if he’d heard that said by a zillion adults making excuses for a thoughtless parent.
“I’ll bet it’s been hard on you, too.”
Those huge brown eyes, suddenly brimming with unshed tears, met hers. “Sometimes,” he admitted in little more than a shaky whisper. A tear spilled down his cheek. “But I’m trying really hard to be brave for my dad’s sake.”
“Do you and your dad talk about it?”
He shook his head. “It makes us both too sad.”
Kate suddenly wanted to leave her Century City office, go straight into Beverly Hills or Bel Air or whatever upscale part of town this man lived in and strangle him. No doubt he was hurting. Even without knowing the details of Mrs. Winthrop’s death, she could imagine how devastating it must have been for her husband. She must have been very young, and that was never easy on anyone. But he had a son—a son who, for all his grown-up pretenses, was still a little boy who was hurting desperately inside. Kate recognized that kind of pain. She was at a complete loss about how to deal with it. The one thing she did know was that David Winthrop’s way wasn’t it.
“What would you do if you got a divorce?” she asked.
For only the second time since his unscheduled arrival, he appeared uncertain. “I was hoping maybe you could find someone who might adopt me. Maybe with some brothers and sisters, a mom and dad. You know, like a real family,” he said wistfully. “Do you think you could find anyone like that? I wouldn’t be any trouble. I promise.”
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Kate said as a furious determination swept through her. David Allen Winthrop, Jr. or the second or whatever the hell this boy’s father called himself was about to get hit with both barrels of her mighty indignation. She would make him feel like slime. She would negotiate a settlement for his precocious, lonely son, if it took a hundred hours of her extremely well-paid time. Pro bono. No charge. The mother and brothers and sisters were beyond her control, but by the time she was done, David would have his father back, she thought resolutely.
She held out her hand. “I will be happy to represent you,” she said as she formally shook his hand. She was already thinking of a precedent-setting case recently in Florida that might provide her with ammunition.
Now that the deal had been struck, however, Davey looked uneasy. “You have to tell me about your fee first,” he said. “I know you’re probably expensive, but I have an allowance. I don’t spend much of it. I have fifty dollars saved now. Is that enough, at least to start?” He held out some crumpled bills. A few pennies trickled to the floor, indicating the savings had been stashed in a piggy bank.
Kate extracted one dollar from the bills. “This is enough to put me on retainer,” she said, refusing to hurt his pride by declining any payment at all. “I’ll have Zelda give you a form to sign, saying you want me to be your lawyer. That will make everything official.”
He looked doubtful. “You got a lot of money in that case I read about.”
“It was a percentage of the settlement. We can make the same arrangement, if you like.”
“You mean my dad would have to give you money when I get the divorce?”
“Something like that.”
“He won’t like that.”
“They never do,” Kate said dryly. “But the court will see to it.”
In this case there would be no court and no settlement, if she had anything to say about it. In fact, she figured one stern lecture and some healthy outrage ought to fix things right up. Surely the boy’s father wasn’t being intentionally cruel. He was probably just a little misguided. Misguided could be straightened out in no time. It usually required no more than a determined logical assault.
“I’m very proud that you chose me to represent you,” Kate said. “I will be in touch. I promise.” She picked up one of her cards and scribbled on the back. “Take this. If you need me, call. I’ve given you my home number and my car phone.”
He tucked the card carefully in his pocket. His already grave expression grew even more worried. “Will it take long? School starts soon, and if I’m going to have to go to a different one, I’d like to start with everyone else.”
“I’m hoping it won’t take long at all. You give Zelda your dad’s address at work and your phone number at home. I’ll get started today.”
He hesitated at the door. “What if he gets mad and kicks me out before you can find anybody to adopt me?”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” she promised.
“But he might,” he said, as if this man he obviously adored was likely to turn out to be a tyrant.
Kate didn’t believe that for an instant, but she could see that he was genuinely worried about the prospect. With a rare impulsiveness she told him, “If he tries, you can stay with me until this is resolved.”
His eyes brightened for the first time. “Do you have any kids?” he asked hopefully.
“No.” It was something she’d never really regretted until now. At this moment she wished with all her heart that she could wave a magic wand and provide this kid with a ready-made family.
“Don’t you have to ask your husband?”
The ingenuous question made Kate’s hackles rise, but she merely shook her head. “No.”
“Then that’d be okay, I guess.”
In the last few minutes Kate had discovered that her dream child, one that skipped over all the messy stages, wasn’t nearly as appealing as she’d thought. David Winthrop personified such a miniature adult. Yet she found that she wanted badly to reach out and muss his hair and tug that tie loose until he looked more like a carefree kid. She wanted to see him smile and to hear him laugh. She wanted to
hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
Even so, she held back. She had a feeling David Allen Winthrop, for all his self-possession, was holding himself together by a thread. She would do nothing that might offend the pride and dignity he wore like a protective cloak.
One thing was for certain—she’d never felt such a gut-deep need to make a case turn out right.
* * *
“Go home,” Dorothy Paul told David Winthrop, scowling ferociously. Her plump, naturally cheerful face softened the impact of the scowl.
“It is Friday night,” she reminded him. “The weekend is just beginning. Enjoy it. Go to the beach. Take your son to Disneyland. Go to a ball game.”
“Are you through?” David asked, frowning back in annoyance. Obviously he’d given his assistant too much latitude. She thought she had the right to pry like some self-assigned mother hen.
“No, I am not through,” she said, ignoring his exasperation. “You’re working too hard. You have been ever since Alicia died.”
“That’s enough!” he snapped. The mere mention of Alicia’s name brought back too many painful memories of those last days and weeks before her death. He couldn’t relive that time. That was one of the reasons he slept fitfully, usually on the couch in his office. If he allowed himself to crawl back into the bed they had once shared so joyfully, he had unbearable nightmares about her suffering.
His longtime assistant regarded him patiently. “See what I mean? You would never use that tone with me if you weren’t exhausted.”
“I am using that tone with you because I am rapidly losing my temper.”
To his regret, the look she shot him was full of pity, not fear. “David,” she began in that gentle, mothering tone that was always a prelude to a lecture.
“Not tonight, Dorothy. Please. I’m beat.”
“So, go home.”
“I can’t. I want to finish this one last sketch for the set for Future Rock.”
“What makes you think you know what Mars actually looks like?” she said, coming close to peer over his shoulder.
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