It was almost as if—almost—as if she'd fallen in love with him from the inside out. Wait! She was startled. Love? Was that really what it was? Had she honest-to-God fallen in love? It would be hard not to love Cass. He was so everlastingly thoughtful and considerate. To say nothing of how good he looked in a pair of jeans.
However, buns aside, Cass had made Max memorize his cell phone number, just in case he needed, wanted, something when Kate wasn't available. He'd offered to go to an orchid show with her, though she was certain he'd be bored into rigor mortis with looking at room after room of blooming flowers. One evening, after days of arguing about their doubtful usefulness, he'd even brought dead-bolt locks for both her front and back doors.
It had been a bad day. Her painting had not gone well, she'd been interrupted by a number of increasingly annoying anonymous telephone calls, Max was in the grumpy stage of recovering from an ear infection and she'd baked a sour cream pound cake that fell as she was taking it out of the oven. She'd not been particularly gracious.
She eyed the locks. “Lovely. Do I hang them from my ankle?"
His eyes narrowed at her rudeness. “They are deterrents against the uninvited guest,” he said carefully.
"Sure. Against ghosts."
He turned his back on her. “I'll have them in before I leave."
And he was as good as his word. She did manage to pull herself together enough to thank him and he'd stayed for a cup of coffee. She apologized and he grunted a reply.
She stared down into her coffee cup. “Look, I am appreciative. I just fail to see how a lock, how a dozen dead bolts, are going to keep Leah from terrorizing us. It's pointless. And I'm scared."
"Come home with me. I rattle around in that big house until I get on my own nerves. Bring Max and..."
She leveled a look at him that stopped him cold. If Huey ever got word of something like that, he might have grounds to get Max. Innocent or not, it would make no difference to a good lawyer. Unwholesome atmosphere at home. Not conducive to thriving. A mother who believes she is being hassled by a ghost. She could almost hear Huey's lawyer talking to the judge. Even to her, it didn't sound like a healthy home environment for a child.
Cass had stood up. “All right. I get the picture. Then go to Bree's. I don't care where you go, just get out of this house of horrors."
But she couldn't do that either. And, anyway, Leah hadn't done anything truly harmful. Nothing at all since she frightened Max out of his wits and had Babe snarling at nothing. Nothing visible, anyway.
And, considering Leah in the same light she had Cass, she needed to think about her, too. How much of Kate's love/hate feelings toward Leah were real, and how much could be attached to the need to make right an accident for which, right or wrong, she still carried a sizable weight of guilt? Just last week, she'd stood in the door of their old bedroom, mentally apologizing to Leah for the millionth time, and closed her eyes, leaving herself open to whatever, whoever might want to speak to her. Nothing. She'd left the room feeling foolish and empty.
Her ambivalent feelings toward Leah made her wary of what she felt for Cass. Was it possible that the empty place that remained after Leah's death was still so poignant that she was trying to fill it with another good friend? Cass? For he was, first of all, her friend even if there was a ripple of coolness between them. And if so, why him and not Bree? Maybe subconsciously she feared being alone for the rest of her life. Could she simply be overriding her unacknowledged dread of being alone to the extent that she was amplifying her feelings for Cass? Oh God, she hoped not. He was such a nice man and she liked him so very much. Even if she was still a little irked at him for being a bit high-handed about Joe.
He'd been supportive of her in ways no one else knew. In ways she knew she had no right to expect. He was patience personified in helping Max train Babe to sit on command. He'd fixed a loose down spout after the last rain. He'd spent one entire evening on the concrete, beneath the van, searching for the cause of a rattle he didn't like. Then he'd taken it to the shop and had it repaired. He was always available. With a sigh, Kate realized he was well on the way to becoming indispensable.
As the lights of Springfield came into view, glowing eerily though the early fog and mist, her thoughts flowed toward the man she was to meet, Joseph Kinicki. He was married she knew, yet he flirted outrageously over the phone in a comic, teasing manner that made her think that if she ever took him up on one of his invitations, he'd run the other way. And while she didn't approve of his suggestive bantering, she couldn't help but like him. That Cass was jealous was laughable. And that led to another thought.
In order for Cass to be jealous, he had to first care. A quiet little bubble of happiness floated to the top of her throat, but was followed just as quickly by the fact that she didn't want to feel joy if he cared. But she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curling up and a glad balloon of something unidentifiable rising in her chest. He cared enough that he didn't want her having dinner with Joe Kinicki. Whether or not the relationship went anywhere, it was nice to be cared for. Possibly not fair to Cass, but still nice.
The restaurant was subtly elegant in mauves and cream, the lights and music low, and the maitre d’ showed her directly to the table where Joe was waiting. Her heels made no sound on the lush carpet as she made her way to a candlelit corner. Joe rose to meet her.
As she suspected, he was a handsome man, dark hair and eyes, white shirt and soft burgundy tie beneath an impeccably tailored, beautiful dark suit. It was no stretch at all to believe he dealt with fabrics. He smiled into her eyes as he took one hand in both of his.
"You are just as I imagined,” he said. “Lovely as the orchids you paint. Hello Kate Foster.” He waved the waiter away and held her chair himself.
His grin was infectious and she found herself responding. “And hello to you, Joseph Kinicki. Full of blarney as always."
He seated himself opposite her with an expanse of white tablecloth and a glowing cream-colored candle in a small pedestaled hurricane lamp between them.
"How can you say that?” He pulled a pained look. “I'm as transparent as glass. And delighted to finally meet you face to face. It isn't at all surprising that you paint exotic flowers. You are a flower yourself."
"Joe,” she sighed and shook her head. “You've heard the alternate meaning of PhD?"
He laughed. “Sure. But in this case it refers to orchid petals."
Talk was easy. Many past telephone conversations, mostly business, made it seem less as if they were strangers. They talked about his wife, who ran a business of her own and traveled a great deal, and Kate's journey south from Winnetka to Winsom and settling into her family home. They talked about Max and T-ball, the inordinate amount of rainfall in the Midwest...
"Eight point six inches in three days! My God, Kate, it's a wonder you're not floating!"
"And more is predicted all the way through the weekend. It's coming up from the Gulf and Hurricane Jolene."
"Don't you live near a river? Are you safe?"
"Some people are worried about the levee holding,” she admitted, “but I'm high and dry. Don't worry. When is it you are going to Barbados? Are you taking your wife this time?"
The wife, it appeared, would be in Europe and unavailable for vacations for some time. His eyes avoided hers. Then his expression changed.
He folded his hands on the table, aimed a seductive smile her way and said, “I'm hoping you can get away. You'll have finished the new project by then. How about it? Are you up for some fun in the sun? I can recommend the chef at the hotel. He is truly magnificent. And the water is more shades of blue and green than there are on your palette. The people are captivating, and the whole island is simply gorgeous.” He raised his eyebrows. “All expenses paid. Can I tempt you?"
"Sure,” she grinned back. “Me and all six kids. Grandma and the dog would like very much to go, as well."
"I'm serious. I'd love to take you."
"This isn't
my year for Barbados, I'm afraid. You'll have to endure it on your own."
"Your puritanical little soul is getting in the way again, Kate."
"If so, it's my own little soul and I'll live with it,” she said gently. “So, where is the fabric you brought me?"
He made a put-upon face and lifted a package from an empty chair. “It's the most smashing color you ever saw. Island Teal. I can't wait to see what you do with it."
The breath caught in her throat as she opened the package. “Oh Joe, it's breathtaking."
Orchids blossomed in her mind, colors immediately presenting themselves as candidates to work against this wonderful blue-green, reminding her of the sea surrounding a South Seas island. Her hands caressed the material, crushed it gently in her fist and smoothed it out.
"I feel as if I ought to create a miracle with this lovely stuff. Where on earth did you find it?"
"That's my secret. And I expect nothing less than a miracle from your brushes."
As far as Kate was concerned their dinner was miracle enough for one night. They ate grilled swordfish with a chunky pineapple sauce, twice baked potatoes and melt-in-the-mouth pecan pie. Sipping a smooth Napa Valley Zinfandel wine, Kate relaxed and sighed that she'd probably put on ten pounds but the dinner was worth every ounce.
Joe grinned. “I love to feed a woman who loves to eat. And all those ounces are in the right place, love."
As they ate, while Kate sneaked repeated glances at the package of silk, they talked about movies they'd seen recently, who was going to run next for political office, and books they'd both read. Before they left Joe mentioned a project he had in mind for the future.
"It's a silk, free-falling, calf-length jacket with matching shell. Scooped neckline. Ankle-length skirt. Jacket has slits on the sides, with three-quarter sleeves. The pattern looks stunning and I'm envisioning it in aubergine. What do you think?” He named a price and smiled triumphantly. “Interested?"
"Of course I'm interested. You devil, you know I'm interested!” The thought of working with the rich purple silk almost made her eyes water. She'd use cascading creamy Cattleyas and—"I can't take it on, though, for another six weeks, at least. Will the client wait that long?"
"Do you need an assistant?"
"A what?"
"A personal assistant."
"An assistant? Whatever for?"
"A very personal assistant.” His eyebrows wiggled lecherously.
"Joe! You're impossible. Be serious for a minute. Will the client wait?"
"I'll see to it. I knew the minute I touched it, the piece had your name written on it. There's also the possibility of a wedding gown. It would have to be white on white, of course. And I don't know yet about the bridesmaids’ dresses. I'm working on it."
"Wedding dress?” Mentally she framed what she might do. Something with very subtle pastel shading, almost invisible on the white, outlining the orchids maybe. Something at which you'd have to look closely to see the color at all. Just a hint. Excitement swelled in her chest. What a remarkably beautiful garment she could create using only white on white. And maybe bridesmaids’ dresses too...
"Joe, you are a wonder. I can't thank you enough."
"Just keep painting your gorgeous orchids on my fabrics and I see a rather nice and profitable future for each of us."
She nodded happily. “You send me your marvelous silks and I'll paint."
They were on their way to the door when he asked casually, “Any men in your life? Or are you still celibate?"
She turned, tilted her eyes up at him and let a smile play around her mouth. “That, Mr. Kinicki, is none of your business.” He was the second man to whom she'd said that tonight.
He sighed elaborately. “Of course you're right, but I'm curious. You are too special to sit in self-imposed isolation on a shelf. Some man is going to come along and sweep you off your feet one of these days. And since it doesn't look like it's going to be me, I'm interested."
"I'll be sure to alert you when that time comes."
He gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek, locked her into her car and stepped back as she put it into gear.
She was driving through thick fog, homeward bound, when it occurred to her that she hadn't thought of Leah the entire time she was in the restaurant. Joseph Kinicki, lady's man that he was, a flirt and a tease, was good for her.
* * * *
Driving conditions were not good. The hour's trip home would take longer than usual and her stomach had been tied into knots before she even left the city limits. Cass was right. The weather was, indeed, foul. The rain seemed to have petered out, thank heaven, but the fog that moved in was wicked. Kate drove with both hands on the wheel, leaning forward to better see through the windshield. When the cell phone rang, a half hour out of Springfield, she nearly jumped out of her seat.
"Hello?"
"You aren't home yet and I'm worried. Are you all right?"
Cass. She groaned. She had lost track of time in the restaurant. The atmosphere had been lovely, her dinner the best she'd eaten in months, and she'd enjoyed talking to Joe. However, the weather being as bad as it was, she wished now that she'd been more aware of the hour.
"I'm fine,” she assured Cass. “Visibility is awful, though, and I'm driving no more than twenty-five miles an hour."
"There are weather warnings all over the central part of the state. I'll feel better when you're home safely. Where are you?"
Her grip on the wheel relaxed fractionally. If she could keep him on the line long enough, she'd be over the bridge. “About half way there. But Cass, the fields are flooded up to the sides of the road. What's it like at home?"
"Water standing in the streets. The gutters can't handle it all. It'll go down pretty fast, though, now that the rain has stopped. Just take your time. Don't get in a hurry."
A small bridge over a creek, normally only a thin trickle, emerged through the fog like some ethereal apparition and before she could draw a shaky breath she was on it. Then over. She could see nothing on either side but the gray blanket of fog, and the headlights which penetrated not nearly far enough for comfort. The bridge over the river still lay ahead.
"I'll be home in forty-five minutes, probably. And then I have to pick up Max from the June's. As early as it was, he didn't need to spend the night. Oh, and the portrait from Snooky's shop."
"Call me when you get there, will you? So I can go to sleep."
"Yes, I'll call. And thanks, Cass. I appreciate your concern."
Silence. “Yeah. Well ... How was dinner? The guy?"
"Joe? Joe was...” She shrugged against the shoulder harness. “Joe was Joe. I've never met him before, only spoken to him on the phone, but he's just about what I expected."
"Look, I was out of line earlier. I shouldn't have barked at you like that. You have a right to see anyone you like. I just thought, with the weather and all ... Anyway, I'm sorry."
Kate smiled, peering through the fog. She was surprised at herself for being so quick to forgive. “It's okay. It's kind of nice for someone to worry. I'd gotten out of the habit of anyone caring, I guess, and I snapped right back. But Cass, it seemed to me your attitude was a bit controlling. And you need to know I'm not going there again. I can't. Once in a lifetime is enough."
There was a small silence. “I guess it did sound like that. I said I was sorry and I meant it, but you have to let me worry. I need to do it.” A sigh. “Don't forget to call."
"I won't."
"And drive carefully."
"I will."
"Do you have on your low beams? They slice through fog better than high beams."
"Yes, Cass. I have on my low beams. I'll be fine. Don't worry."
"Okay. Great. Bye then."
"Bye."
He really was worried, the old sweetie. He needn't be. There were no problems, although she'd be happier if she could see better. But Cass—It was possible that trying to decide what to do about Cass Reynolds was going to rank right up t
here with one of the most important decisions of her life. She shook her head at the fog and the dark and the unreality of an unbelievable problem with Leah.
But Cass now. There was a soft, liquidy feeling in her heart that went far beyond fondness. With a little groan, Kate knew it was dangerous to let herself think like this. But there was the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the gentle way he cupped the heads of the boys on the team as he encouraged them, win or lose. He was such a great guy. And, she thought wistfully, she'd always wanted more children. What if...
Careful! Katey! Careful!
Leah? Here? Kate frowned, all mental antennae suddenly on high alert. Ghosts didn't leave the house or place where they died. All the books said so. Surely—
Blinding lights appeared, distorted by the fog, coming fast. She could hear the vehicle. A motorcycle? No, something big. Coming to meet her. Guard rails appeared along the road. Then grid work. The bridge! She was on the bridge!
And then, her rear window lit up in a soft halo of light. A car coming up on her bumper? The light wasn't strong enough for headlights. Her heart kicked into even higher gear. She couldn't breathe. Was it a car? She was going to be rear-ended! A car behind her and something huge coming at her from the front. She didn't dare go any faster. The guard rails—No place to go. Oh God...
"Careful, Katey. Careful, careful, Katey-did."
The mist, tires beating on the pavement, brilliant lights seeming to spear into her eyes—and then the vehicle was upon her, so close she felt the draft of air sucking her closer. An eighteen-wheeler. Desperately she fought the wheel and the zero visibility. For an instant the two vehicles were separated by no more than a coat of paint, she was sure. And then it was gone.
Suddenly there was an image on the rear window, still glowing softly. An odd shape. Almost ... almost like the one on the stairway at home. She looked harder, squinting her eyes against the glare. It wasn't. It couldn't possibly be...
It was Leah. It was Leah. All the hair on the back of Kate's neck went stiff.
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