Considering Kate

by Nora Roberts

“No. I’ve got both eyes on the dad.” Laughing, she leaned in to give him a kiss. “You go ahead after those California girls, pal. I like country boys.”

  “Behave yourself.”

  “Not a chance.”

  He laughed, turned on the engine again. “See you, gorgeous.”

  She stepped back, waved. “Fly safe,” she murmured.

  It was traditional for Natasha to close the shop on New Year’s Eve. She spent the day in the kitchen, preparing the myriad dishes she’d set out for the open house she held every New Year’s Day. Family, friends, neighbors would crowd the house for hours.

  “Brand should have stayed until after the party.”

  “I wish he could have.” Natasha checked the apricots and water she was boiling for kissel, turned the mixture down to simmer. “Don’t sulk, Katie. There were times your life and your work kept you away.”

  “I know.” Kate continued to roll out pastry dough as she’d been taught. “I just need a little more sulk time. I miss the jerk, that’s all.”

  “So do I.”

  On the stove, pots puffed steam. In the oven, an enormous ham was baking. Years ago, Natasha thought, she’d have had three children underfoot while she was juggling these chores. There would have been squabbling, giggling, spills to mop up. Her patience would have been sorely tried a dozen times.

  It had been wonderful.

  Now she only had her Kate, pouting over the pastry dough.

  “You’re restless.” Natasha tapped a spoon on the side of a pot, set it on its holder. “You don’t have enough to fill your time while the building is going on.”

  “I’m making plans.”

  “Yes, I know.” She poured two cups of tea, brought them to the table. “Sit.”

  “Mama, I’m—”

  “Sit. So, you’re like me,” Natasha continued as they both took seats at the crowded table. “Plans, details, goals. These are so important. We want to know what happens next, because if we know, we can have control.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. When I came here to open my store, it was very hard. Hard to leave the family. But I needed to. I didn’t know I’d meet your father here. That wasn’t planned.”

  “It was fate.”

  “Yes.” Natasha smiled. “We plan, you and I, and we calculate. And still, we understand fate. So maybe fate, for all your plans, brought you back.”

  “Are you disappointed?” She blurted it out, and felt both relief and dread that it had finally been asked.

  “In what? You? Why would you think so?”

  “Mama.” Searching for words, Kate turned her cup around and around. “I know how much you and Dad sacrificed—”

  “Wait.” Dark eyes kindling, Natasha tapped her fingers hard on the table. “Maybe, after all these years my English is failing. I don’t understand the word sacrifice when it comes to my children. You have never been a sacrifice.”

  “I meant, you and Dad did so much, supported me in every way when I wanted to dance. Please, Mama,” Kate said when Natasha started to speak. “Just let me finish this. It’s been on my mind. All the lessons, all those years. The costumes, the shoes, the travel. Letting me go to New York when I know Dad would have preferred I’d gone to college. But you let me have what I needed most. I always knew that. I wanted you to be proud of me.”

  “Of course we were proud of you. What nonsense have you put in your head?”

  “I know you were. I know. I could feel it, see it. When I was dancing and you were there, even when I couldn’t see you through the footlights, I could see. And now I’ve tossed it away.”

  “No, you’ve set it aside. Kate, do you think we’re only proud of you when you dance? Only proud of the artist, of that skill?”

  Her eyes were brimming. She couldn’t help it. “I worried that you might be disappointed that I gave it up to teach.”

  “Of all my children,” Natasha said with a shake of her head, “you are the one forever searching in corners to see if there’s a speck of dust. Even when there isn’t, you can’t help but poke in with the broom. Answer me this, do you want to be a good teacher?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Then you will be, and we’ll be proud of that. And between these times, between the dancer and the teacher, we’re proud of you. Proud that you know what you want, and how to work for it. Proud that you’re a lovely young woman with a kind heart and a strong mind. If you doubt that, Katie, you will disappoint me.”

  “I don’t. I won’t. Oh.” She let out a long breath and blinked at the tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so weepy lately.”

  “You’re changing your life. It’s an emotional time. And you give yourself too much time to think and worry. Kate, why aren’t you out with your friends? You have so many still in the area. Why aren’t you going out to a party tonight, or with some handsome young man, instead of staying home on New Year’s Eve to bake a ham with your mama?”

  “I like baking hams with my mama.”

  “Kate.”

  “All right.” But she got up to finish the pastry. She needed to keep her hands busy. “I thought about going to one of the parties tonight. But most of my friends are married, or at least coupled off. But I’m not a couple and I’m not really…shopping around. You know?”

  “Mmm. And why aren’t you…shopping around?”

  “Because I’ve already seen something that appeals to me.”

  “Ah. Who?”

  “Brody O’Connell.”

  “Ah,” Natasha said again, and lifted her tea to sip and consider. “I see.”

  “I’m very attracted to him.”

  “He’s a very attractive man.” Natasha’s eyes began to dance. “Yes, very attractive, and I like him very much.”

  “Mama—you didn’t send him down to look at the job to throw us together, romantically?”

  “No. But I would have if I’d thought of it. So, why aren’t you out with Brody O’Connell for New Year’s Eve?”

  “He’s scared of me.” Kate laughed when her mother made a dismissing noise. “Well, uneasy might be a better word. I might have come on a little strong, initially.”

  “You?” Natasha deliberately rounded her eyes. “My shy little Katie?”

  “Okay, okay.” Laughing now, Kate set aside the rolling pin. “I definitely came on too strong. But when I ran into him the first time in the toy store when he was getting a toy for Jack, and we were flirting, I thought we were on the same wavelength.”

  “In the toy store,” Natasha murmured. She and Spence had met the first time in the toy store, when he had been picking out a doll for his daughter, Freddie.

  Fate, she thought. You could never anticipate it.

  “Yes, then when I realized he was buying that truck for his son, I assumed he was married. So I was annoyed he’d flirted back.”

  “Of course.” Natasha was grinning now. It just got better and better.

  “Then, of course, I found out he wasn’t, and the field was open. He’s interested, too,” she muttered and banged the rolling pin. “Just stubborn about it.”

  “He’s lonely.”

  Kate looked up, and the little spark of temper she’d hoped to fan into flame flickered out. “Yes, I know. But he keeps stepping back from me. Maybe he does that with everyone, but Jack.”

  “He’s very warm and friendly with me. Yet when I asked him to come by tomorrow, he made excuses. You should change his mind,” Natasha decided. She rose to get back to work. “Yes, you should go by his house later, take him a dish of the black-eyed peas for luck in the new year, and change his mind about coming by tomorrow.”

  “It’s pretty presumptuous, dropping by a man’s house on New Year’s Eve,” Kate said, then grinned. “It’s perfect. Thanks, Mama.”

  “Good.” Natasha dipped a finger into the pastry filling, licked it off. “Then your father and I will have a little New Year’s Eve party of our own.”

  Brody nursed a b
eer and wished he hadn’t eaten that last slice of pizza. He was sprawled on the couch, with Jack, in the center of the disaster that had been their living room. Some B horror flick involving giant alien eyeballs was on TV.

  He loved B movies—couldn’t help himself.

  In a couple of hours, he’d switch it over to the coverage of Time’s Square. Jack wanted to see the ball drop—and had insisted he could stay awake until midnight.

  He’d done everything but prop his eyelids open with toothpicks to make it, which explained the state of the house. He’d finally dropped, snuggled into the crook of Brody’s arm.

  Brody would hold the fort until five minutes before midnight, then wake Jack up to see the new year in.

  Brody sipped his beer and watched the giant eye menace the humans.

  And nearly jumped out of his skin when the knock sounded at his door.

  Cursing, he slid Jack down onto the couch so he could lever himself off. The odds of someone coming to his door after ten at night, he figured, were about the same as giant alien eyeballs threatening the Earth.

  He stepped over and around toys, shoes, socks, and headed for the door. Somebody lost or broken down, he decided. Everyone he knew was celebrating the new year, one way or the other.

  Not everyone, he realized with a jolt as he opened the door to Kate.

  “Hi. I took a chance you’d be home. My mother sends this.”

  He found the small covered bowl thrust into his hands. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. You hurt her feelings saying you were too busy to come by tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t say I was too busy, I…” What the hell had he said? He’d made it up on the spot, and for the life of him couldn’t remember.

  “The black-eyed peas are for luck,” Kate told him. “Mama really hopes you’ll change your mind and stop by. There’ll be plenty of kids for Jack to hang out with. Is he up? I’ll say hi.”

  She slipped past him into the house. He’d been too distracted to stop her. Or even try to. But he was already hurrying after her across the little foyer and into the big, messy living room where the TV blared.

  Mortified, he snatched up toys and debris in her wake.

  “Oh, don’t start that.” She waved a hand impatiently. “I know what houses with children look like. I grew up in one. What a great tree!”

  Arms full, he stared at it. He’d seen the one in her parents’ living room. Beautiful ornaments, placed with care. His and Jack’s looked like it had been decorated by drunk elves.

  “We had one that looked like this. Freddie, Brand and I nagged Mama until she agreed to let us do the tree one year. We made a hell of a mess. It was great.”

  There was a fire snapping in the hearth so she walked over to warm her hands. She’d spent over an hour dressing, so that she could look completely casual. The deep purple sweater was lightly tucked into gray trousers. Tiny gold hoops glinted at her ears. She’d left her hair loose after a heated self-debate, so that it streamed down to her waist.

  She imagined he’d taken less than ten minutes to look fabulous in his jeans and sweatshirt. “Terrific house,” she commented. “Native stone, right? Such a quiet spot. Must be great for Jack, all this running room. You’ll need to get him a dog.”

  “Yeah, he’s made noises in that area.” What the hell was he supposed to do? Now? With her? “Thank your mother for the peas.”

  “Thank her yourself.” Kate turned, then spotted Jack facedown on the couch, one arm dangling. “Conked out, did he?” she went to the boy, automatically lifting his arm back on the cushion, draping the ancient afghan over him. “Trying to stay awake till midnight?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked baffled, Kate thought. Baffled, rumpled and mouthwatering standing there with her mother’s bowl and Jack’s toys piled in his arms. “I love this movie,” she said easily, glancing at the TV. “Especially the part where they open up that doorway and it’s full of alien eyeballs and tentacles. Why don’t you offer me a drink? It’s traditional.”

  “Beer’s it.”

  “Oh, major calories. Okay, I’ll live dangerously.” She walked over, took her mother’s bowl. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  “It’s…” She was wearing perfume—something just sliding toward hot. The room had never experienced that sort of seductive female scent before. He glanced to the left, dropped a toy car on his foot.

  “I’ll find it. Want a refill?”

  “No, I’ve got—” For God’s sake, he thought, dumping the toys and going after her again. “Look, Kate, you caught me at a bad time.”

  “Boy, look at these ceilings. Have you been doing the rehab yourself?”

  “When I have some spare time. Listen—”

  He broke off, swore, when she strolled into the kitchen. “Wow.” She scanned the room. Granite countertops, slate floor, oak cupboards and a charming little stone hearth.

  And every inch covered with dishes, pots, school papers, newspapers, discarded outerwear.

  “Wow,” she said again. “This took some real effort.” She stepped over to the counter where what was left of the pizza had yet to be put away. Broke off a corner. Nibbled. “Good.”

  The drunk elves, he thought, had nothing on the war-crazed monkeys that had invaded his kitchen. “It’s usually not this bad.”

  “You had a party with your son. Stop apologizing. Beer in the fridge?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Hell with it. “Why aren’t you at a party?”

  “I am. I just came late.” She handed him the beer. “Open that for me, will you?” She sniffed the air while he twisted off the cap. “I smell popcorn.”

  “We pretty much finished that off.”

  “Well, that’s what I get for being late.” She leaned back against the counter, took a sip of beer. “Want to go sit on the couch, watch the rest of the movie and make out?”

  “Yeah. No.”

  “No to which, the movie or the making-out?”

  She was laughing at him. He wanted to be enraged. But was only aroused. “You keep getting in my way.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  With his eyes on hers, he closed the distance between them. Took the bottle from her hand, set it aside.

  New Year’s Eve, he thought. Out with the old. In with the…who knew?

  “Well.” Pulses thrumming, she started to slide her hands up his chest, but he caught them in his.

  “No. My turn.”

  He lowered his head, and his mouth began to whisper over hers.

  “Dad?”

  “Oh God.” It came out on a low moan as Brody stepped back.

  Jack stood in the doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes. “What are you doing, Dad?”

  “Nothing.” And the doing of nothing with Kate was very likely to kill him.

  “Actually your dad was going to kiss me.”

  “Kate.” He said it in precisely the same tone he’d used when Jack said something unfortunate.

  “Nah.” Jack, in his oldest Power Ranger pajamas, studied them owlishly. His hair stood up in pale spikes, and his cheeks were still flushed from sleep. “Dad doesn’t kiss girls.”

  “Really?” Before Brody could back too far away, Kate simply grabbed ahold of his shirt. “Why not?”

  “Because they’re girls.” To emphasize the point, Jack rolled his eyes. “Kissing girls is yuck.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She bumped the father aside, crooked a finger to the son. “Come here, pal.”

  “How come?”

  “So I can kiss you all over your face.”

  “Nuh-uh!” His eyes widened, and danced. “Yuck-o.”

  “Okay.” She peeled off her coat, tossed it to Brody, then pushed up her sleeves. “That’s it. You’re doomed.”

  She made a grab, giving him enough time to yelp and run for cover. She played dodge and dart for a few minutes, surprising Brody at how easily she avoided trampling on toys. Jack squealed for help, obviously having a great time.

  She caught h
im, wrestled him to the couch, pinned him while he laughed and screamed for mercy.

  “Now…the ultimate punishment.” She dashed kisses over his cheeks, punctuating them with loud smacks. “Say yummy,” she ordered.

  “Nuh-uh!” He was breathless and his belly was wild with laughter and delight.

  “Say yummy, yummy, yummy or I’ll never stop.”

  “Yummy!” he shouted, choking on giggles. “Yummy, yummy.”

  “There.” She sat back, whistled out a breath. “My work is done.”

  Jack crawled right into her lap. She wasn’t soft like Grandma, or hard like Dad. She was different, and her hair was soft and tickly. “Are you going to stay till midnight when it’s new year?”

  “I’d love to.” She glanced over her shoulder at Brody. “If your dad says it’s okay.”

  Some battles, he thought, were lost before they were waged. “I’ll get your beer.”

  Chapter Five

  “Now.” Frederica Kimball LeBeck dragged her sister into Kate’s bedroom, firmly closed the door. That would, she calculated, insure them approximately five minutes of quiet and privacy. “Tell me everything—from the beginning.”

  “Okay. According to scientific evidence, there was a great explosion in space.”

  “Ha ha. About Brody O’Connell.” Eight years Kate’s senior—light where Kate was dark, petite where Kate was willowy, Freddie flopped on the bed. “Mama told me you’ve got him in your crosshairs.”

  “He’s not a rabbit.” Kate flopped on the bed in turn. “Gorgeous, though, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. Excellent shoulders. So what’s the deal?”

  “The deal is he’s a widower, doing a bang up job raising a terrific boy. You saw Jack right?”

  “Can’t miss him. He’s giving my Max a run for his money,” she added, speaking of her own six-year-old son. “They’re bonding over video games.”

  “Great, that’ll push Brody into the social mix. I don’t think he’s given himself much chance to play.”

  “He’s getting one now, whether he wants it or not. Grandpa and Uncle Mik shanghaied him. I saw them shoving him out the door so they could all go look at your building and make manly carpenter-guy noises over it.”