Rumor Has It

by Tami Hoag

  Against her better judgment Katie eased herself onto Nick's shoulders, her roller clutched in her right hand. The fingers of her left hand threaded into his thick black hair as he rose carefully, his muscles bunching and straining beneath her. “If you drop me, Leone, you're going to have a bald spot.”

  “I wouldn't dream of dropping you, kitten.”

  The endearment raised a few eyebrows among Katie's longtime friends and brought a blush to Katie's cheeks, though she had to admit she didn't mind Nick having a pet name for her. It struck her as odd, because she usually found pet names to be somehow demeaning or insulting. But coming from Nick it didn't sound that way at all. She felt closer to him, and that was definitely what she wanted.

  She tried to concentrate on painting, but it was difficult while sitting on Nick's shoulders with Nick hanging on to her ankles. More than once he let one hand wander up to her knee to tickle her there or snuck his fingers under the hem of her jeans to tickle her calf. She retaliated by squirming around until he got a crick in his neck and had to set her down.

  Working side by side with his new neighbors Nick told them about growing up working in the construction industry. As a teenager he had spent summers working for his father, a carpenter, and his uncle Guido, the bricklayer.

  “My old man found out early on I was better at hitting my thumb with the hammer than hitting the nail. Everyone was a lot happier when I took up cooking.”

  “I know my wife will be glad,” Darrell said, wiping some paint from his hand on the leg of his overalls. “Zoe is wild for Italian food.”

  “What am I wild for?” Zoe asked, coming into the room with her two children trailing behind her.

  “His body,” Katie said teasingly. She ducked the rag Darrell tossed at her.

  “Dream on, darlin’,” Zoe said dryly, rolling her large dark eyes as she sent her husband a loving smile.

  Reese charged across the room to his father. “Let me paint, Daddy!”

  Little Charisse, the younger of the two Baylor children, ran after her brother, tears brimming in her eyes when she realized Daddy could only hold one of them up to help paint the wall. Without the slightest hesitation, Nick scooped her up.

  “Here you go, sweetheart. You can help me paint.”

  Charisse eyed him warily over her shoulder, then accepted the roller with both hands and went to work, evidently satisfied this stranger was okay because he was working next to her daddy.

  “I don't know if that's wise, Nick,” Zoe said in a warning tone. Dressed for her shift at the hospital, she automatically stepped out of the range of splattering paint. “She'll get more paint on you than she will on the wall.”

  “That's okay.” Nick grinned. He tickled the little girl with his free hand. “We're doing just great, aren't we, honey?”

  Charisse shrieked in delight and smacked the paint- soaked roller against the wall, sending a shower of tiny blue specks into Nick's face. Only the children were painting as everyone else nearly doubled over laughing—everyone except Katie, who had become unusually quiet.

  He was unquestionably good with children. But that didn't have anything to do with the two of them, Katie told herself. She managed a smile as she reached out and wiped a smudge of paint from Charisse's pudgy cheek.

  “You're a good sport, Nick,” Zoe said, tossing him a clean rag to wipe the paint off. “You must really like children.”

  “What? Are you joking? I don't like kids, I love ‘em,” he said, gently wrapping his big hand around Charisse's tiny ones to help her move the roller in the proper manner. “Someday I'll have a dozen.”

  “Now don't you go doing anything stupid. You hear me, Katie Marie?” Maggie called toward Katie's bedroom as she toed off her sneakers.

  Katie emerged in a pink jogging suit, her long dark hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She took the jumbo plastic bottle of diet cola from her friend and headed for the kitchen with her wolfhound tagging along behind her.

  “I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” she said.

  Maggie scowled. She plunked a rented movie down on the VCR and went to the kitchen, stuffing her hands into the pockets of the long black cardigan she wore over an oversized yellow T-shirt. “I mean something stupid such as not seeing Nick anymore just because of a careless remark.”

  “I'm not doing that,” Katie said. She tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave oven and punched the appropriate buttons. She pulled a chew treat out of a drawer and gave it to her dog, watching him wander off to flop down on his pillow behind the couch.

  There was no point in talking about how she'd felt that afternoon—hurt, empty, filled with a longing she knew was pointless. How many times had she felt the same mix of emotions in the last five years? Hundreds. Probably thousands. For a long, long time after her accident she had felt them every day. Then she had struggled to push those feelings out of her life until they only haunted her on special occasions—Christmas, the announcement of a friend's pregnancy, the birthdays of friends’ children. She wasn't going to discuss those feelings now, nor was she about to let them interfere with her decision to have a relationship with Nick.

  “You're not?” Maggie eyed her suspiciously.

  “No.” Katie selected two tall glasses from the cupboard, slipped behind Maggie to the refrigerator to pull out a tray of ice cubes, and plunked three into each glass. Maggie never took her eyes off Katie as she watched her open the pop bottle and pour equal measures of the fizzing liquid into each glass. “Nick and I are going to the concert in the park tomorrow.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. What movie did you get?”

  Maggie planted her hands on her narrow waist and looked disgusted. “I came over here prepared to give you a big speech. Now you tell me I don't need to. Do I get an explanation?”

  Katie took the popcorn out of the microwave, grabbed her glass, and headed for the living room with Maggie right on her heels. They settled on the Chippendale love seat.

  “I'm sorry I spoiled your big moment, Mary Margaret,” Katie said dryly, propping her stock inged feet on the low cherry butler's table and reaching for the TV remote control on the end table beside her. “I've decided I want to go on seeing Nick. We enjoy each other's company. If things start looking serious, I'll have to tell him about… everything. Then he can decide for himself. In the meantime I plan to enjoy myself,” she said with a smile that didn't quite erase all the worry from her eyes.

  “Good for you.” Maggie's look still held traces of suspicion, but she dropped the subject.

  They sat back to watch an old Tracy- Hepburn movie, but Katie's thoughts were elsewhere. She was postponing telling Nick about her accident. Reasons for and against that decision battled inside her. To tell him now could be premature; they hadn't been seeing each other for long. Putting it off was giving her more time to enjoy being with him, because there was every chance he would want to break it off when she told him. On the other hand, waiting was selfish. Waiting was dangerous. What if she waited too long?

  The trick was going to be in the timing. No one knew better than Katie how important timing was. A split second's miscalculation had cost her her dream of a place on the United States equestrian team, her dream of a career in riding, her dream of children of her own. Bad timing had nearly cost her her life. This time it could cost her her heart.

  “I could have picked you up,” Nick said, easing a bottle of white wine into the wicker picnic basket on his kitchen table.

  “It's a beautiful day. We'll enjoy the walk,” Katie said brightly. “Besides, I think you picked me up yesterday enough to last me.”

  He turned and tapped a finger against the end of her nose. “Cute.” Looking down at the enormous gray dog sitting at Katie's feet, he said, “You could have thrown a saddle on him and ridden him.”

  He tossed the wolfhound a piece of cheddar cheese, then turned back to his packing, adding beige linen napkins in silver rings, and a container holding two generous wedges of cheesecak
e.

  “Are you planning to feed everyone at the concert?” Katie asked. She'd patiently stood and watched him pack cold chicken, a container of pasta salad, a plate of cheeses, a bunch of green grapes, a small loaf of Italian bread, and a box of crackers.

  “Fine wine and fine food to go with fine music,” he said smugly. Taking her completely by surprise, he turned and gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. “Ain't you got no class, lady?”

  Katie giggled as she dropped her dog's leash and ran her hands up Nick's chest to his shoulders. She raised up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his.

  Nick didn't question his good fortune. He slid his arms around Katie and lifted her against him as he took command of the kiss. She tasted like springtime—fresh and sweet—and smelled like a bouquet. She was so soft and giving against him, all he could think of was carrying her across the hall to his bedroom, taking off her pretty summer dress, and making love to her until they were both exhausted. His body responded as if that were exactly the plan for the day—until Watch intruded.

  The wolfhound wedged his long nose between them and whined.

  Katie dropped back on her heels, laughing at the disgruntled expression Nick wore.

  “Your brother trained him to do that, didn't he?” Nick asked in an accusing tone. “He's not attack trained, he's breaking- up- lovers trained.”

  A secret smile stole across Katie's lips as she knelt and hugged her dog. Lovers. That word had a nice, warm ring to it on a spring day full of promise. Doubts and fears didn't belong at a picnic in the park. Katie had determinedly left them at home.

  “He's just jealous,” she said, scratching Watch behind his silky ears. The scent of lavender clung to the dog from his weekly bath. “You don't mind my bringing him along, do you? He loves concerts in the park.”

  “I don't mind, as long he knows you are my date and he's just a shaggy chaperon.”

  When Nick started straightening the kitchen, Katie asked if there was anything she could do to help.

  “Yeah. There's a blanket on my bed we can take to sit on. Why don't you get it?”

  His room looked no different than it had the first time she'd seen it. It looked like a cyclone had hit and left no survivors. There was a pillow on the floor beside a copy of Gourmet magazine and a pair of running shoes. The door wore a different assortment of shirts hung in all the same places as before. There were jeans slung over the back of a chair and a pile of mismatched socks on the seat. There were no pictures on the walls, no curtains at the window, only a cracked, yellowed shade. Katie shook her head fondly as she searched the jumbled bed for the blanket. The first thing she picked up turned out to be a cape.

  A cape? A beautiful black satin cape with gold silk lining. How odd, she thought.

  “What's this?”

  Nick turned. His heart went to his throat and lodged there. “ A… it's a…”

  “Cape,” Katie supplied the word for him, too preoccupied with the garment to notice the look of panic on Nick's face.

  “Right!” He thought he had put it away. How could he have been so careless? His pulse pounded wildly as he tried to think up a reasonable explanation. Thank God she hadn't found any part of his costume that was harder to explain than this one. A cape was bad enough, but a black satin G-string would be next to impossible.

  Katie frowned as she slung the cape over her shoulders and looked at the way the hem dragged the ground. “It's a man's cape,” she said.

  “Yeah… it's a… a… something else I found in the attic.” His words came out sounding more like a question than an answer, but then that went well with his expression. He looked as if he were a teenager who'd been caught out after curfew without a legitimate excuse.

  “It's in awfully good shape,” Katie remarked, running the luscious fabric through her hands.

  “It… was … in a trunk.” That much was true. He'd packed all his Highwayman gear in a trunk and thought never to take it out again, until that toad of a county engineer had shown up with his demand for a new curb and gutter.

  It occurred to Nick he had a perfect oppor tunity to tell Katie the whole truth. He had no intention of doing that, however. He was off balance now, and somehow, the timing seemed wrong. Here was Katie Quaid, proper and elegant in her stylish spring dress, with her wolfhound at her side and her hair done up in a classic chignon, out for an afternoon of Mozart in the park. Nick got the feeling an erotic dancer from New Jersey wouldn't quite fit in.

  He was being an out- and- out coward. He accepted that. He didn't mind being a coward for a while longer if it meant spending more time with Katie. He would tell her. Soon. He just wanted to make sure the timing was right. As a dancer and a gourmet chef he knew timing was everything. It could mean the difference between a perfect routine and a sloppy one. It could mean the difference between a culinary triumph and a disaster. In this case it could mean the difference between building a solid relationship with Katie and losing her.

  FIVE

  “ARE YOU SURE this is what you want to do for your birthday, Maggie?” Katie asked, unable to keep the apprehension out of her voice. “Wouldn't you rather go to a five- star restaurant and eat yourself sick?”

  “No.” Maggie took her gaze off the traffic long enough to shoot her friend an irrepressible grin. “I'd rather go to Hepplewhite's and stare at gorgeous men until my eyes fall out. What's the matter, Katie? You should be immune to gorgeous men after all the time you've spent looking at Nick these last few weeks.”

  Katie squirmed on the passenger side of the front seat. She already was feeling embarrassed, and they hadn't even gotten to the nightclub yet. “When I see Nick, he's got clothes on.”

  “Now, that is a shame,” Zoe said, leaning toward the front seat as far as her seat belt would allow. “Nick Leone is one fine- looking man, honey. The men at Hepplewhite's would probably look ordinary next to him.”

  Maggie changed lanes, scooting her car to the front of the pack on the highway. “I can safely say I wouldn't mind watching Nick do a little striptease.”

  “ Mag- gie!” Katie said with a groan. She dropped her head back against the seat and stared at the roof.

  “Don't be such a prude.”

  “I'm not a prude. We're going to pay money to watch men take their clothes off—I'm embarrassed.”

  “That's half the fun of going to one of these clubs,” Zoe said. “We women can act as silly and wild and embarrassed as we want to.”

  Katie glanced back over the seat, her gray eyes wide with curiosity. “You've been to one of these places before?”

  “Once, about two years ago. It was a blast. The men were terrific dancers. They could have left all their clothes on and still the show would have been worth the price of admission. One man in particular brought the house down. He did his whole act wearing a black silk mask tied across his eyes, so you never truly got to see who he was. Lord, he had the most beautiful body!” She rolled her eyes and nearly swooned at the memory. “And dance? That boy could have put Baryshnikov to shame.”

  Hepplewhite's, Katie discovered, was no sleazy strip joint. It was a large, lavishly decorated nightclub in a suburb of Washington. The air was filled with music, laughter, and excitement. Women of every description had come there for one reason—to have fun. It was a party atmosphere, and the party began shortly after Katie, Maggie, and Zoe claimed seats at a table near the stage.

  The first act was a dapper gentleman in a top hat and tails who did a clever routine to “Putting on the Ritz.” Maggie and Zoe were on the edges of their seats, cheering. Katie kept her hand ready to cover her eyes when things got too steamy. As his routine neared the end, she was certain he was going to end up wearing nothing but his top hat and spats. She was all ready to hide her eyes, when Maggie grabbed her hand.

  “For heaven's sake, Katie! They don't take everything off! Some things are best left to the imagination.”

  Katie slumped back in her chair, weak with relief. “Thank heaven.”

&nb
sp; It wasn't that she was so straitlaced, it was just that Katie hadn't had a lot of opportunities in her life to see naked men. Having them dance up to her was more than she was ready for.

  When she had been a teenager and her friends had been discovering the wonderful world of the opposite sex, Katie had been too scrawny to capture any young man's attention and too wrapped up in her riding to care. After her accident she had steered clear of men in general. Now they were parading around in front of her, taking their clothes off!

  She had to admit, though, Maggie and Zoe had been right. Hepplewhite's was a fun place. It seemed to her that the men who were dancing were enjoying themselves as much as were the ladies watching them. Katie had seen strip joints portrayed in the movies as dark, smoky rooms crowded with men who sat and leered while some bored, cynical woman undressed for them. Hepplewhite's was so far removed from her preconceived image, it seemed innocent in comparison. By the fourth act she had relaxed enough to clap along in time with the music as a blond “cowboy” danced for them.

  She caught herself comparing each of the dancers with Nick. None of them was as handsome or well built, in Katie's opinion. He probably could have danced circles around them. She thought back to the day he had helped out at the Drewes mansion and how he had teased her by saying he had been a male stripper. She was going to have to tell him he was eminently qualified.

  “It's him!” Zoe said excitedly. Her gaze was riveted to the stage as the headline act of the evening appeared. She pressed her hands to her breast. “Be still my heart. It's the Highwayman!”

  He was dressed all in black, from his hat to his gleaming boots. A mask of black silk hid his face. He drew his cape around him as he took center stage and command of the audience with one burning look. A hush fell over the crowd. Then, with a flick of his wrist, his hat sailed out into the room, and the show was on.

  The music was fast and driving. The Highway man never missed a beat. He was brilliant, spinning and leaping, twirling the black satin cape until it seemed as if it were a living thing. He slid it from his broad shoulders and snapped it and waved it and made it dance like a matador's cape before he dropped it to the floor.