by Delia Latham
Oddly enough, Lea rarely heard or acknowledged the cruel barbs. She seemed blissfully unaware of the ruination of her own beauty. In true childlike fashion, his little Sweetie Bird saw only the good in people, felt only their humanity and compassion, heard only the kind words she chose to hear. He wished he could grasp some of that innocent, child-like quality and make it his own.
With his daughter safely buckled in, he slid behind the wheel. The quiet purr of the big engine brought a satisfied smile to his face as he made the turn out of the driveway. He still preferred Old Betsy nearly every time, but it was nice to occasionally ride in style.
“Better call Trina.” Leave it to Lea to be the thoughtful one. Catarina, the nanny who had cared for the little girl most of her life, was unaware her charge had been removed from the premises. She would discover it within moments though, and she’d be frantic. Rick knew Trina left Lea outside by herself only because the child insisted on some alone time—”me time,” she called it—though Rick couldn’t think where on earth she might have come up with that phrase. He had given permission to allow her time alone on the lawn while she read occasionally, but with strict, unnecessary instructions to Trina to keep an eye out the window on a frequent basis.
Nodding, Rick tapped a couple of buttons on his cell phone, setting the hands free option, and listened while the phone rang inside his house.
“Si? Meester Dale’s casa—uhm…house. Yes?”
She lapsed often into her native tongue, but the woman’s obvious efforts to speak English in gratitude for her life in America touched Rick’s heart. “It’s me, Trina. I have Lea, and we’re going into town for a little while. We didn’t want you to worry about her.”
A loud screech filled the car and Rick and Lea grinned at each other. “You take mi niña? I no see? Oh, Meester Rick, lo siento tan, I so sorry! I see her outside only just now, I promeese!”
Rick chuckled. “It’s OK, Trina. It’s my fault. I should have come in and said something. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“See you later, Trina.” Lea raised her voice and spoke to the distraught woman. “I’m fine, OK? Have fun while I’m gone. You should walk down to the lake and feed the swans. You love to do that.”
Rick rang off, shaking his head. Lea’s precociousness never ceased to amaze him. She constantly sought to make someone smile and, as evidenced by her suggestion to her caregiver, was far more considerate than a lot of adults.
“Daddy?”
He slanted a glance her way. “Hmmm?”
“How come you didn’t take me with you to church? I like Sunday School.”
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to come up with something believable, because anything less would not fool his intuitive child.
“Well, I really wasn’t sure about this church yet, Sweetie Bird. I thought I’d check it out myself first.”
She sat in silence for a brief few seconds. Finally, she sighed. He knew his answer hadn’t satisfied her, but maybe she would let it go. “Well? Did you like it?”
Head cocked, he nodded, half surprised at his own answer. “Yes, very much.”
“Then I can go with you next time?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She clapped her hands in a blatantly childish gesture that made him breathe a little easier. Sometimes dealing with Lea’s advanced intelligence wore a bit. It was a relief when she exhibited genuine six-year-old behavior.
He wondered how Kylie would react to the scars on his daughter’s face. Scratch that. How would she feel about him having a child, period? He hadn’t told her yet. Not that he’d lied. The subject of previous marriages simply hadn’t come up. For that matter, he had no idea whether or not Kylie had ever been married, but somehow he thought not. She seemed too innocent still. Too trusting. Too…whatever that little something was that most women lost after a failed marriage, Kylie still had it.
And he liked it.
Kylie's Kiss
7
So Rick Dale wasn’t the one. Much as Kylie liked him, the attraction clearly lacked mutuality. Best to face that fact right away and avoid the heartache later.
Fact or not, her traitorous heart still did an enthusiastic flip-flop when the object of her soul-searching appeared in the office on Monday afternoon.
“Hey, there’s Ms. Kylie Matthews. How did I know I’d find you here?” He leant against the doorframe, arms crossed, killer smile firmly in place.
Automatically reaching up to smooth her hair, she managed a shaky smile. “Because you’re a master detective?” Rick’s friendship with Clay wouldn’t make it easy to put him out of her mind, since he apparently intended to make a habit of popping in and out at will.
He left the wall to hold itself up and stepped into the room. “Precisely, my dear Watson!”
“Ricky D, is that you?” Clay strode into the room and slammed a huge paw onto his friend’s shoulder. Kylie brought a hand to her lips to hide a smile when Rick sent her a grimacing glance of mock agony. “What are you doing in here distracting my assistant?”
“Hey, what can I say, man? You know how to pick ‘em.”
“I do, don’t I? Come on in.” Clay headed for the door between his private office and Kylie’s, then stopped. Turning, he narrowed his eyes first at Kylie, then at Rick, who hadn’t moved an inch. “You are here to see me, aren’t you?”
“I’m here to see both of you.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, let’s go into the lobby. I just happen to have some time.”
Kylie followed the two men, but stopped just outside her office. Clay indicated one of several groups of chairs arranged in cozy seating areas, then lowered his large frame into one of them. “What’s up?”
Rick hesitated, holding out a hand to Kylie. “Please join us.”
Clay lumbered to his feet and crossed the room, spinning the lock on the door with a little flourish. “Yes, do. We’re closed anyway.”
Both men waited until Kylie was comfortable before taking chairs themselves. She smoothed her skirt, thinking this kind of thing could happen only in Castle Creek. Where else would a successful business man close his office for a casual chat with a friend? And from what she’d heard, chivalry was a dying entity in most places, with women actually taking offense when a guy displayed gentlemanly behavior.
She snuggled with satisfaction into her chair. Not her. It might be old-fashioned, but she loved it when men behaved like cowboys and gentlemen.
“Planning to join us sometime today, Kylie?” Clay’s amused voice broke into her reverie. Startled, she jerked her head upward to find both men grinning her way.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I—I was just thinking.” Warmth rose in hateful waves upward from her neck, and she groaned silently. Would she still blush when she was eighty?
“So you were. Anything we need to know?”
That was Rick, and Kylie quickly shook her head. “No. It was nothing. I’m really sorry.”
Her boss opened his mouth to speak again, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but Rick broke in. “As long as nothing’s wrong.”
“No. Just me doing that wool-gathering thing I do. Please go on.”
“OK.” Rick settled into a seat across from Kylie and Clay and sat in silence for a moment, a slight frown drawing his dark brows together. Finally, he looked up, first at Clay, then in her direction. “Kylie, I haven’t had a chance to share with you about Lea, though I believe Clay knows a little.”
Her heart sank and her gaze flew to her boss, who nodded. Yes, he knew about Lea, whoever she was. This didn’t sound good. “Who’s Lea?”
“She’s my little girl.” Kylie drew in a slow, deliberate breath, forcing herself to stay calm. So he had a daughter. As long as a wife wasn’t the next announcement, she could handle that.
“You have a child. How old is she?”
“She just turned six.” Rick’s expression softened as he spoke, and Kylie knew without a doubt that Lea was his life. His green eyes, startling against
the olive of his skin, met hers without flinching. “She’s a special child, Kylie. Smart, beautiful, charming….”
Kylie found herself fascinated by the adorable little self-derisive grin that played about his lips.
“And sweet as cotton candy.”
Kylie couldn’t help smiling. “You don’t like her much, huh?”
“She is my heart and soul.” A little sheepish, but unrepentant.
“When do we get to meet this perfect child?” Clay’s grin lit up his craggy face. “Destiny’s already looking forward to it, but be warned—she’s going to try to keep her. My wife has a thing with kids, man. She loves ‘em, and they always love her right back.”
Rick laughed a little, but his tone was serious. “I hope she still feels that way after she meets Lea.” He pulled a wallet from his pocket, then sat for a moment, saying nothing.
Puzzled, Kylie watched him run slender fingers through his thick black hair. Again and again he invaded the thick waves, managing to somehow leave them only slightly mussed. Finally, he opened the billfold and pulled out a photo.
When he raised his head, revealing the torment in his eyes, her heart nearly stopped. What was wrong with Lea? Whatever it was, did Rick think it would make a difference in how she or Clay might feel about the child? If so, he certainly didn’t give them much credit.
“This is Lea.” He handed the photo to Clay, who smiled and passed it on to Kylie.
“She’s a cutie all right, my friend. You weren’t exaggerating. So what’s the problem?”
Kylie wondered the same thing. The photo showed a partial silhouette of an extraordinarily beautiful child. Unlike her olive-skinned father, Lea was a vision of light. Golden hair, porcelain skin, eyes the color of a robin’s egg. Kylie met Rick’s gaze, mystified by his obvious unease. “She’s lovely.”
“Thank you. I think so.” He pulled out another photo and handed it to Clay. “In spite of this.”
Kylie’s stomach clenched and threatened to revolt. Her boss’s flinch was slight, but unmistakable. Oh, dear God, please help me handle whatever this is with grace. How ironic that her first real prayer in years would be one of such a pitifully begging nature. Somehow, she knew her reaction to this photo could mean life or death for her relationship with Rick. How strange that she’d be thinking in terms of a relationship now, when only moments before she’d been ready to concede defeat.
Clay nodded slowly, then met Kylie’s eyes. He held briefly to the picture even after her fingers closed on it. His words were directed to his friend, but his gaze held hers. “You’re right, my friend. Nothing could make this child anything less than perfect.”
He released the photo into Kylie’s grip. By now she did not want to look at it. Something in Rick’s eyes and Clay’s voice told her she could be in trouble. But what choice did she have?
Her gaze moved in slow, jerking movements from Clay’s face to the photo in her hands. She gasped, overwhelmed with sympathy—and total panic.
Another silhouette, shot from the opposite side of Lea’s face. Long, lumpy red welts stained her exquisite skin, puckering her cheek into an inhuman mask. Kylie had no idea she was crying until the tears tickled her face, even as her throat closed and her stomach lurched.
The photo fluttered to the floor as she leaped to her feet. Sending the two men a desperately apologetic look, she flew out of the room with a hand over her mouth.
Kylie's Kiss
8
There goes my pastrami on rye. Not my favorite way to cut calories.
At the sink, she splashed cold water on her face, sparing not a single thought to preserving her makeup, which had streaked its way down her cheeks while she heaved up her lunch. As she watched water swirl down the drain, her mind traveled backward, to a time when she was about the age of Rick’s little girl.
She’d been at the park with a friend who lived down the road. The two of them had brought lengths of cardboard to use as makeshift sleds on a grassy hill the neighborhood children loved to use like a ski slope. Her mother hadn’t been aware of her whereabouts, or Kylie wouldn’t have been there. Neither of the sisters were allowed to partake in activities their mother considered improper for refined young ladies.
The worst had happened when, on her way downhill for the half dozenth time, Kylie’s cardboard sled stopped before she did. She wound up with one cheek badly scraped. Luckily, the abrasions were superficial and left no lasting scars. But the temporary scabbing was extensive, and quite unsightly.
Mother had been beside herself. Daddy took care of the necessary first aid, while Kylie’s beauty queen mother seethed about the damage to her daughter’s face. Daddy finally sent her out of the room so he could tend to the sobbing child in peace.
Until the scabs healed, Kylie hadn’t been allowed to accompany her mother anywhere. She was, in fact, barely permitted in the same room. Shay teased mercilessly, calling her little sister by names she considered inventive at the time, like “Scarface,” and “Scabhead.” When visitors showed up at the house—which was often, as her mother loved to entertain—Kylie was restricted to her room. “Until you look human again, you’re just going to have to stay out of sight.” Mother’s perfect nose wrinkled, and the full lips curled in disgust. “No one wants to see that face. It’s— it’s revolting.”
Daddy tried to run interference, but he worked during the day, which left Kylie to endure her mother’s and sister’s unwitting cruelty alone. By the time her face healed, she had developed a horror of facial disfiguration that bordered on phobic. As the years passed, it increased to the point that Kylie often became physically ill at the sight of any kind of facial blemish.
Standing over the bathroom sink now, she turned the handle to stop the stream of water. Eyeing her pale reflection in the mirror over the basin, she lifted a trembling hand to smooth damp hair off her face. “You really did it this time, Ky. Rick will think you’re disgusted by his daughter.”
Aren’t you?
“No, I am not!” Kylie shook a finger at her impertinent reflection. “I have this thing about scars, you know that. But I am not disgusted by that child.”
Uh-huh. Have fun making Rick believe that.
Kylie groaned. “Shut up.”
How was she ever going to face him? She stared at the door for a long time, then drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and grabbed the handle. Whatever the consequences, she couldn’t hide out forever in the ladies room.
The lobby was empty. She crossed to Clay’s door and peeked in. Her boss sat alone, chin in hand, staring off into the distance.
“Clay?” Her voice sounded pitiful even to her.
He looked up and motioned her in. “Have a seat. You OK?”
Clay’s office wasn’t elaborate. Some people would consider it downright stark. Kylie had learned right away that her boss was a man of few excesses, and that propensity for moderation reflected itself in his surroundings. He kept close at hand everything he needed to do his job, but nothing more.
Which is why she’d always thought the comfortable wingback chairs facing his desk seemed so out of place. Sinking down into one now, she thought she understood the uncharacteristic excess a little better. Making his clients feel comfortable and at-home could be the difference in landing an account or losing one. Whatever his reasons for having the cushy seats in his otherwise Shaker-plain office, Kylie was grateful for them, since her shaky legs threatened to drop her onto the bland, industrial carpet.
“Kylie?”
She’d never wanted so badly to hide her face and refuse to look at someone, but she made herself meet his gaze. “I’m OK, Clay. It’s just—what must Rick think of me?” A little shudder shook her frame, and her voice responded with a matching tremor. “I guess I’ll never see him again, huh?”
The sympathy in Clay’s rugged face almost undid her. He sighed and shook his head, then raised both hands slightly off his desk as if trying to catch whatever answer she came up with. “I can’t answer that, Kylie
. I told him you’d been feeling a little off all day. Given the fact that you’ve been introspective and even quieter than usual, I think that was an honest observation. But the truth is, you—well, you have a problem, don’t you?”
Clay’s chair creaked as he levered his big frame out of it and rounded the desk, only to lean back against the other side and cross his feet, facing her. One over-sized hand landed on her shoulder, and she found herself surprised by its gentleness. “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m not sure I can.” The words squeaked past a huge ball of hurt lodged in her throat.
A slender form slid into the matching chair next to hers, and her head snapped up. Destiny?
Clay crossed to his wife’s side and kissed her cheek. Destiny patted his hand, but kept her sympathetic gaze on Kylie. “You can, sweetie. Me and God, we’re gonna help you.”
She raised her smoky green eyes and waved a dismissing hand at her husband, who emitted a massive sigh of relief. “Go on, you big wuss, get out of here. We’ll lock up when we leave.”
For such a big guy, Clay could move with surprising speed. He slid through the door and pulled it shut with a tiny click of the latch almost before Destiny quit speaking. His wife gave a toss of her auburn ponytail and a sardonic twist of her lips. “Men!”
Kylie leaned her head against the back of her seat, unable to respond. Her temples throbbed, radiating faint waves of nausea all through her body. “Destiny, I—I have a big problem, but you can’t help. I’m not sure anyone can.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If she started crying now, she might never stop.
“Well, it’s a fact no one can help if you don’t say something.” Destiny took one of Kylie’s trembling hands and wrapped both of hers around it. “Does this have something to do with Lea’s scars? Clay told me about Rick’s visit.”