Nurture

by Susan X Meagher

  She leaned over and kissed his smooth cheek, noticing just a bare hint of cologne. "That's the nicest compliment I've had in years, Conor. Thank you."

  Giving her a broad smile he said, "I really like Jim, Catherine. He's been very nice to me, and he seems like a sharp guy, but letting you get away makes me doubt both his intelligence and his sanity."

  "You're just the antidote for my bruised self-esteem," she chuckled, linking her arm in his to head for the door. She took a black silk stole and a black beaded bag from the table by the front door and handed Conor her keys.

  "What kind of a statement do you want to make, Catherine?" he asked playfully. "We can take my truck."

  She considered his offer for a moment and then admitted, "I can't imagine getting out of your truck without falling on my face, Conor. Other than that, though, it would be a kick."

  As he drove along the highway in the usual, heavy traffic, Conor gave Catherine a glance and asked seriously, "How do you want to play it, tonight? Am I a friend, a date, or what?"

  "What do you feel comfortable with?" she asked carefully. "I suppose my goal is to shake people up a little and make them not approach me with their false sympathy over my divorce."

  "Oh," Conor said, a smile covering his handsome face. "So you'd like everyone to think we're..." Turning slightly, he gave her a waggling eyebrow grin, the original his sister had stolen from him years before. "Works for me."

  Catherine placed a hand on his forearm, briefly wondering if he was wearing armor under his Armani. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Conor. No one will come out and ask if we're dating, of course. They're far too polite for that. But I certainly wouldn't mind if my erstwhile friends thought I could attract a handsome young man." She paused briefly then asked, "How are you at acting interested in a woman old enough to be your mother?"

  "Catherine," he said softly, his crystal clear blue eyes landing on her briefly, "you're barely thirteen years older than I am, so the mom thing doesn't work." His eyes darted to her once again as he said, "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, but I find you devastatingly attractive, and if you weren't Jamie's mother, I wouldn't have to act interested in you. You'd know just how interested I was." His smile returned. "This is honestly the first time that I regret having Jamie as a sister-in-law."

  Squeezing his arm once again, Catherine said, "I can't imagine that's true, but I'm going to convince myself that it is. Thank you."

  He smiled at her again. "Almost a year ago, I had a conversation with my sister about Jamie. She was talking about her new friend, and about how great she was, and how much she liked her. I remember that she said, 'Conor, this woman is so special, but she's with a guy that doesn't have the brains to see it.' The same thing applies to you, Catherine," he said, shaking his head. "It's gonna be a very lucky guy that finally snares you."

  She didn't comment, feeling like she might cry if she even tried to speak. Her stomach flipped when she thought of the huge compromise she'd made to keep Giacomo in her life. She patted Conor's arm and sank back in her seat, wondering if she'd compromised her morals as well as her future.

  The first few minutes were difficult. The wild beating of Catherine's heart was nearly audible, and her hand was so cold and clammy that not even Conor's warmth took the chill off. No sooner had they stepped into Davies Hall than she had second thoughts, even though it was far too late to turn back. The startled looks of her friends and acquaintances were making her uncomfortable, and she had a momentary thought to slip out before she and Conor caught anyone else's attention.

  Catherine's stomach clenched, and she was stricken with panic as she considered that she might follow in Jamie's footsteps and lose her insubstantial lunch. The feeling intensified as her former friend, Laura Martin, made a beeline for her. Catherine gripped Conor's hand so tightly that he winced, but before she could warn him, the woman was in their faces, looking smug and superior, as always.

  "Well, this is a surprise," she said, her eyes roaming over Conor with thinly veiled distaste. "For a minute I thought you had brought Jamie's 'friend', but then I realized that this must be her brother." She smiled sweetly at Catherine. "It must be hellish to try and find a suitable escort for an affair like this. It's nice that you have some ... options." She gave Conor a look like one she would have given a spilled load of trash.

  As her ire rose, her stomach calmed, and in seconds Catherine's discomfort abated. "Laura Martin, this is Conor O'Flaherty," she said, her impeccable manners coming to the fore. Turning to Conor she added, "Ryan and Jamie know Laura's daughter, Cassie. She's the young woman who gave that delightful interview to the National Inquisitor." She actually took a step back as she said this, just to make sure she wasn't hit with blood or bone fragments when Conor decked the woman.

  Laura's already pale face paled further and then flushed as she spluttered, "Cassie didn't say one thing that wasn't the truth, Catherine."

  Conor's blue eyes had narrowed to slits, and his posture became very aggressive. He was leaning toward the small woman with malevolent intent when Catherine put her hand on his arm to draw him back. She didn't get a hand over his mouth, however, and he started to let the woman have it.

  "First off, my sister is not just Jamie's friend," he growled. "She's her lover... her partner... her spouse."

  Laura's eyes widened at his words and his tone. Not because she didn't know the truth, but because it was so unseemly to speak it.

  "My sister's told me all about your daughter," he spat, his eyes sparking fire. "It's clear that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." He turned and draped one long arm around Catherine's waist and guided her away from the obnoxious woman, not stopping until they were on the opposite side of the room. His expression was contrite as he gazed at her and said, "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I just get so pissed off when people are cruel, especially where Ryan's involved."

  "Conor," Catherine said, squeezing his large hand, "you have nothing to apologize for. There was a large part of me that wanted to see you knock her across the room." His big blue eyes widened at her statement, and she insisted, "I'm being perfectly honest. She's an evil woman, and if I didn't feel so guilty for spending as much time with her as I have, I'd feel justified to hit her myself."

  He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Thanks," he said softly. "I thought I'd ruined your night."

  Catherine laughed. "Conor, you're the highlight of my night. The only way my evening will be ruined is if you don't enjoy yourself."

  "Not a chance," he assured her. "Let's not let the idiots get us down, okay?"

  "It's a deal," Catherine said. Looking around, she commented, "It didn't dawn on me that people would recognize you, but it makes perfect sense. I guess my little scheme didn't work," she said with a trace of disappointment in her voice. "I suppose everyone will think I've had to resort to bringing family members to events. That's rather like bringing your cousin to the prom."

  Conor gave her a studied look. "Even though you're a member of our family, there's no legal or moral reason that you and I couldn't be dating. I'm only going to look like your cousin if we act like cousins." His eyes twinkled with mischief. Catherine blinked at him in surprise as he continued, "Let's take a turn on the dance floor and show 'em a thing or two."

  "Wha ... what do you want to show them?"

  "I wanna show 'em how to dance!"

  "You ... know how to dance?" she asked, having assumed that Conor's talents lay in swinging a hammer rather than a partner.

  "Sure do," he said. "I'm pretty darned good, if I do say so myself. My Granny's main purpose in life was to make sure we had a little class. After our mother died, she got even more focused ... since she considers us orphans," he said. "She's very big on knowing how to dance, and how to use the proper utensils at a meal, all that crap." He grinned.

  "You're just full of surprises." She beamed as Conor led her to the dance floor.

  "That's what makes life interesting, Catherine." He took her small hand in his
and led her seamlessly around the ballroom. Their height difference did not impair their gracefulness in the least, even though he was somewhere around six foot five and she was a hair under five foot four. His hair was so black that it matched the obsidian studs in his starched shirt, hers so fair that it shone like the sun. His skin was burnished to a rich, dark warmth, hers was nearly alabaster. His body was beyond sturdy, filling his well-made suit out perfectly; hers was nearly frail, only her months of following Ryan's workout program having caused some beginning signs of definition in her exposed shoulders and arms.

  Even with the striking differences in their bodies, their coloring, and their ages, there was something so complementary about the pair that they not only didn't appear out-of-place, they looked absolutely perfect together, and their relaxed, smiling faces only served to highlight their connection.

  "I don't often dance with someone that moves as well as you do," Conor murmured into her ear as they moved gracefully around the floor.

  "I had lessons also, Conor. My mother and your grandmother sound like they'd get along perfectly," Catherine said, laughing. "I was taking some kind of dance or piano class from the time I was in third grade."

  "It doesn't seem like it when we're young, but those lessons really can pay off," Conor said. "If I didn't know how to dance, I'd feel like a dope out here, trying to keep up with you. I should write to my grandmother and thank her." He turned Catherine gently to lead her around another couple who were not having an easy time keeping up with the music.

  "You should add a thanks for teaching you about the proper way to use flatware," Catherine said. "I didn't mention this because I didn't want to scare you off, but we're at the head table."

  "Ooh ... you are Jamie's mother," he teased. "Ryan says that's just what Jamie does to get her to do things. She springs 'em on her when it's too late to turn back."

  Batting her warm brown eyes at her escort, Catherine asked, "You're not angry, are you?"

  "Of course not. I'm perfectly comfortable here, Catherine." They danced a little more, moving across the floor with enviable grace. "One thing puzzles me," Conor said a few moments later.

  "What's that?"

  "You didn't know that I knew how to dance, and you didn't know that I knew how to behave at a formal dinner. Why didn't you ask me? It would have been kind of embarrassing for you if I ate with my hands and wiped my mouth on my sleeve."

  "Conor, I've had many meals with you, and it's obvious that you're a very well mannered man."

  "Yeah, but there's a difference between being couth and fitting in with this crowd," he said, twitching his head in the direction of the other guests.

  Catherine thought about his question for a moment, giving it her full concentration. "I've been worried about this night," she said. "I didn't want to come alone, but I also didn't want to be with some stranger, or someone I'd have to entertain. I knew that I'd feel perfectly comfortable with you, and no matter how awful the evening was, we'd still have fun. That's been very reassuring to me," she said, tilting her head as she gazed into his eyes.

  He gave her a gentle hug, pressing her small body into his. "I'm very glad that you asked me." With an even wider smile, Conor added, "The cousins are all jealous."

  She laughed. "Oh, Conor, surely they wouldn't enjoy hanging around with this crowd?"

  "You just don't get it, do you?" Conor smiled to himself as he picked up speed and whirled Catherine around in a tight spiral. How can someone be as gorgeous and as much fun as she is, and have so little confidence in themselves?

  The dinner portion of the evening went better than Catherine had dared to hope. Conor was the definition of suave, thoroughly charming the elderly woman who sat to his left, managing to make her giggle her way through her entire meal, to her husband's great displeasure.

  Catherine was able to tend to her social obligations, knowing that her escort was perfectly able to fend for himself. The only near disaster was when Conor leaned over at one point and commented, "Most of the women at this table are as brittle as a fifty year old shingle." Catherine had just taken a spoonful of soup into her mouth, and it was through sheer will that she didn't spew the bisque onto the table.

  Conor gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that. We always try to make each other spit. I lost my head there for a minute."

  She tossed her head back and laughed, a full-throated, genuine, belly laugh. Every other person at the table turned to look at Catherine, none of her long held acquaintances having ever heard anything even remotely approaching a real laugh come from her mouth. Finally getting herself under control, she clapped a hand on Conor's arm and leaned in to whisper, "I guarantee you're the only man in this entire room who's tried to make his date spit." Giving him a squeeze, she added, "I am so glad that you agreed to come with me. You know how to show a woman a good time."

  As soon as the guests had finished their dinner, the board members all went to the podium to say a few words about their particular area of expertise. Conor was favorably impressed with Catherine's smooth delivery. She didn't look the least bit nervous to be speaking to the crowd of at least five hundred people. Since she was the president of the society, she was the last to speak, and he noted with approval that her speech was shorter and more to the point than any of the others. As soon as she concluded her remarks, the band started to play again, and without even resuming her seat she tapped Conor on the shoulder. "Dance with me?"

  He nodded agreeably and got up to join her on the dance floor, which was populated by just a few other couples. "Nice job," he smiled as he grasped her right hand in his left, and placed his right hand on her waist.

  "Thank you. Public speaking isn't my favorite thing to do, but I've gotten over my nervousness by doing it often."

  "If you were nervous, it was impossible to tell."

  Catherine smiled at him, having to lean back in his embrace to see his eyes. "I wasn't nervous tonight," she said, as though that fact was a surprise to her. "I'm not sure why, but I am remarkably unconcerned about what people think of me tonight." She moved closer and rested her head on his chest as the music slowed and segued into a gentle rhythm. "Right now I should be making small talk with everyone. I normally make sure I speak with every person who attends one of these events." She sighed heavily as she added, "I honestly don't care tonight. I just want to enjoy myself."

  "You deserve to enjoy yourself," he said, giving her a squeeze. "You obviously do a lot for this organization. Tonight should be a time for you to relax and feel good about your contributions. All of the people here saw you ... they all heard your speech ... you've done enough. They don't own you."

  Once again Catherine leaned back in his arms and gazed at him for a long minute. Something clicked in that moment and she blinked up at Conor, maintaining the look for so long that he eventually gave her a puzzled smile and asked, "What's going on behind those brown eyes?"

  "What you said," she murmured, her voice distant and faint. He leaned down closer so that he could hear her as she said, "They don't own me."

  He straightened and cocked his head at her, his puzzled smile still in place. "No, of course they don't. No one owns you, Catherine. You're your own woman." This was so obvious to him that he didn't think it merited comment, but it was clearly a revelation to Catherine.

  "I am, aren't I?" Her voice held as much question as certainty.

  "You are," Conor said more forcefully. "You're a strong, determined, decisive woman."

  Catherine blinked up at him and asked in a small voice, "Do you really see me that way?"

  He smiled at her and gave her another gentle hug. "It's not a matter of seeing you that way. That's what you are. Everyone sees you that way." He gazed into her eyes and saw the fragile, wounded woman that lurked just under the surface of her competent, controlled exterior. "You're the only one who sees a different image," Conor said softly, closing his eyes as he gave her a warm hug. "I don't know why you don't believe in the you we all know and love, but I h
ope that someday you will."

  Blinking away her tears, Catherine took Conor by the hand and led him onto a small balcony and let the cool March night help her re-gain control. She took in a few deep breaths, Conor's powerful arm covering her exposed shoulders, his heat keeping her surprisingly warm. "I was my father's daughter," she said softly, the words floating from her lips on small clouds of vapor. "Then I was my husband's wife." She looked up at Conor with a warm, confident smile and said, "One day I'll be known as my daughter's mother." She shivered in the cold night, her body finally reacting to the chill. "But for now ... for right now ... I'm my own woman." She wiped the tears from her eyes, amazed at how cold the drops became as they slid down her cheeks.

  "Catherine Evans is gone, Conor. She's a thing of the past." Warm brown eyes, overflowing with tears met Conor's. "I'm giving up the Evans name," she said with surprising decisiveness. "I wasn't going to do it ... I thought it would cause too much controversy ... but I'm not an Evans any longer." She snuggled closer, her skin so cold that it was painful, but she couldn't bear the thought of going back inside. Conor saw her shiver and took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

  "Thank you," she sighed, the residual warmth surrounding her like a blanket warmed by the fire. "I'm a double Smith, you know," she said conversationally, even though it was obvious he could not possibly know that.

  "No, I didn't know that." His cocked head urged her to go on.

  "My great-grandmother was a Smith and she married my great-grandfather, who shared the same last name. They met at Stanford," she said wistfully, "just like Jim and I did. My great-grandfather was a member of the Pioneer Class," she informed him. "That was the first class to be admitted as freshmen. My grandmother was two years younger, but she graduated, too. She was a biology major." She smiled up at Conor. "Just like Ryan."

  "Wow," he said, suitably impressed. "It must have been hard for a woman to even go to college then, much less major in a science."