by Nora Roberts
They’d cruised up the river, down and now up again, and this … connection between them remained.
She didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
Enjoy, Cat, she ordered herself. Just enjoy the moment.
She stretched and thought about snuggling back into sleep. They were docked in Saint Louis, and Duncan was doing whatever it was he did on these early mornings in port. She had the entire day off, and no desire to go into the city. She’d take the afternoon to work on her demo, though she wasn’t entirely convinced Duncan really meant to do anything with it.
Still, she’d taken the controls back and had fired Cicero. The moron. She’d need that demo when this gig was up. She’d have to find a new agent, another run. The salary from this one would tide her over, give her enough of a cushion to select representation with more care.
She wasn’t going back to those one-night stands in hotel bars, riding the bus from city to city and living out of her trunk in some two-bit room.
She’d had just a little too much of a taste of the good life, and she liked it.
No time like the present, she decided, and rose to dress and take advantage of the near-empty boat.
She strolled out on deck, wincing against the bright flash of sunlight until her dark glasses were in place. The heat was outrageous, shimmering visibly over the water, and had driven those who remained on board inside, where air-conditioning made life civilized.
But she liked the heat, and treated herself to a stroll before buckling down to work.
Sometimes, when she was alone like this, she liked to imagine the boat was hers. Her personal vessel with its glossy white paint and fancy rails. She hadn’t realized she’d enjoy life on the river quite so much, and already knew she’d miss it dreadfully when it was over.
But nothing lasted forever, she reminded herself. So you grabbed on to all you could while you had it.
Then she turned the corner and saw Duncan in a hard embrace with a slim strawberry blonde.
Son of a bitch! Her hands fisted at her sides even as her heart slammed down to her toes. Nobody two-timed Cat Farrell. Nobody played her for a fool. She wanted to lunge forward, rip the slut’s eyes out, then finish up by scooping Duncan Blade’s cheating heart right out of his chest and tossing it overboard.
All that held her back was a thin, vibrating strand of pride. Damned if she’d let him know he could hurt her. So she sucked the hurt in, tossed her head and strolled toward them as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Nice morning. You jerk.”
The easy smile he’d sent her blinked away into bafflement. “Huh?”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Pride hadn’t held, after all. And there was a vicious satisfaction in jabbing him in the chest. “You think you can climb out of bed with me, then cozy up with some—”
“Mother,” Duncan said quickly, grabbing Cat’s hand before she could jab him again and put a hole in his heart. “And not just some mother, my mother. Mom, Cat Farrell. I was telling you about her.”
“So you were.” And obviously leaving out some very pertinent details, Serena thought, but she smiled and offered Cat a hand. “First I have to thank you for the compliment.”
Mortified, and furiously working out why this unspeakable embarrassment was Duncan’s fault, Cat took the offered hand. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blade.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Serena said with a laugh. “You’ll spoil it.”
Some of the stiffness went out of Cat’s shoulders. After all, she thought, the woman was lovely. She didn’t look like anyone’s mother with that gorgeous glinting hair and those exotic lavender eyes. The breezy yellow slacks and blouse set off a slim figure, and her skin was rose-petal smooth.
“An honest mistake.” But Cat took her hand back and shoved it into the pocket of her baggy shorts. “You’re beautiful.”
“I like you. We’ve surprised Duncan, too,” Serena went on. “His father and I decided to fly in and meet the boat, take a day before we head west. We have some business in Vegas.”
“And that’s not all.” Thoroughly delighted with Cat’s reaction, Duncan slid an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “My grandparents are here. They’re going to cruise down to New Orleans with us.”
Terrific, Cat thought. God. “That’s nice for you. You’ll have to excuse me, I was just …” She trailed off as a man headed down the deck toward them.
He was tall, his golden skin gleaming in the sun. Dark glasses shielded his eyes and made his sculpted face mysterious and not a little dangerous. Silver glinted in a rich mane of raven black hair.
Prime, was all Cat could think. Absolutely prime. The champion of heartbreakers.
“Justin.” Serena held out a hand. “Come meet Cat Farrell, the singer Duncan’s been telling us about.”
His father, Cat mused. Well, no wonder Duncan was sinfully attractive. He came from premium stock.
“A pleasure.” Justin caught Cat’s hand between both of his. “Both Mac and Duncan have told us what an asset you are to our entertainment area. I’m hoping we can book you into the Comanche Atlantic City.”
She didn’t dance a jig—but she wanted to. “I’ll look forward to it.” She had to get out of here, Cat thought, before she did something ridiculous. Like turn cartwheels. “I have some work to do. I hope I’ll see you before you go.”
“Count on it,” Serena said under her breath as Cat walked away. Then, lifting a brow, she turned to her son. “So …”
“So, let’s go inside before we melt. I want to make sure Grandma and Grandpa are settling in, and I need to get the papers Dad wants to review.” Duncan took his mother’s hand. “And yes, I’ll tell you about it.”
“Good.”
* * *
An hour later Serena rattled the ice in her tall glass of cold tea and laughed. “He set you up! He just plopped her down on your boat the same way he plopped Justin down on my ship all those years ago.”
“More or less,” Duncan agreed. “I’m going to have to thank him for it.”
“Don’t. Please.” Justin held up a hand. “You’ll create a monster.”
“Well, I can’t fault his taste. She’s fabulous.” Behind his desk, Duncan kicked back in his chair. “Professionally speaking, she’s amazing. It’s a miracle she isn’t topping the charts. Bad management is what I figure. But we’re going to fix that.”
“We?” Serena said.
“The family has connections,” he said simply. “And I intend to use them. I know she grew up poor and she grew up rough, and her life hasn’t changed much there. But there’s no reason for that to continue when she’s got a gift like she does. That’s the business side. As for the personal, I just haven’t quite figured it out yet. She’s … unusual, and I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for her.”
Frowning a little, he picked up a brass paperweight in the shape of the MacGregor clan symbol and passed it from hand to hand. Feelings were the issue, he mused. Strong and urgent, soft and sweet, a tangled confusion of them neatly winding around his heart.
No other woman, at any other time, had ever come close to taking root in his heart.
“Maybe because she’s not like anyone else. I’m going to exercise our option and book her for another six weeks. Professionally, it’s a solid move. She really pulls them in. Personally, it’ll give me a little more time to … figure it out.”
Part of you already has, Serena thought, slipping her hand into Justin’s as she studied her son’s face. But your head just hasn’t caught up with your heart.
* * *
She didn’t have much time herself, Serena mused as she slipped away from her family to find Cat. She wanted a clearer impression of the woman who was dazzling her son. Though she’d managed to wheedle some facts out of her father—while scorching him for interfering in her child’s life—she needed more.
Who was Cat Farrell, and was her heart big enough to make room for Duncan?
She laughed at her
self as she reached the doors of the main lounge. Not to put too fine a point on it, she supposed she was about to follow her father’s footsteps and do some meddling of her own.
Then she opened the doors and stopped. Stopped and just listened.
Cat was at the piano at the corner of the stage.
She played well, not brilliantly, Serena thought, but with enough style to give that stunning voice a path to follow. And that voice caressed the heartbreaking lyrics of “Am I Blue” with a power that had to come straight from the soul.
When it was done, Serena’s eyes were wet.
“You should be too young to do that song justice,” she said, smiling when Cat’s head whipped around. “But you sing it as though it was written for you.”
Struggling not to be uncomfortable, Cat turned on the bench. “That’s my job.”
“No, it’s your gift. You made me cry.”
“The highest of compliments. Thanks.”
“I know I’m interrupting.” Still, she crossed the room to sit beside Cat on the piano bench. “I was hoping to persuade you to join all of us for dinner tonight.”
“It’s a family deal.” She knew nothing about families, and everything about being the outsider.
“We’d like you to come. You’ve met my father.”
“Yes, briefly, when I was in Vegas. He makes an impression.”
“Oh, indeed he does.” Laughing, Serena shifted to noodle with the keys. “He was very taken with you.”
After a beat, Cat nodded. “I suppose Duncan told you that Mr. MacGregor arranged for me to have this gig.”
“For his own purposes, yes. That’s The MacGregor. He can’t help it.” She smiled gently. “I hope you’re not offended.”
“No. Surprised.”
“Really, why?”
“I’d have expected him to browse through the debutante line for his grandson.”
“And to that The MacGregor would say, ‘Debutante! Hah!’ A good heart and a strong spine’s what he looks for, and I’d say you have both. A good mind, strength of purpose and an appreciation of family.”
Cat lifted her eyebrows. “I barely finished high school, so far my purpose has mostly been to earn enough to keep from going hungry and my only family is my mother. Though I appreciate her very much.”
“And to that he would say ‘Cat Farrell has grit.’ There’s no winning with Daniel MacGregor.”
Cat looked down at her hands, then at Serena’s. Duncan’s mother had a lady’s hands, she mused. A lady’s face. A lady’s way. She thought she was getting the drift. “And you’d like me to move along, Mrs. Blade, before Duncan starts thinking his grandfather might have a pretty good idea.”
Serena stopped playing, looked over and into Cat’s eyes. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s obvious enough. I know what I am and where I come from. My father was an ordinary man who had the bad luck to die when he wasn’t yet thirty. My mother’s a waitress who never had a chance to be anything else. And I sing for my supper. Your father might be old and sentimental, but you wouldn’t be.”
“I see.” Serena considered. “And if I offered you, say … ten thousand dollars to move along, what would you say?”
Green fire flashed, cold and bitter. “I’d say go to hell, Mrs. Blade.”
To Cat’s surprise, Serena threw back her head and laughed delightedly. “Oh, I knew I liked you—the minute you tore into Duncan on deck, I knew it. Cat, since you don’t know me, I won’t be insulted by you considering me a shallow snob, more interested in pedigree than my son’s happiness, but …” She paused, and her lovely eyes sobered. “You should think more of yourself than you apparently do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the fact that the only one in here who’s thinking of you as less than an interesting, appealing and delightful woman, is you.”
Gently now, she laid a hand over Cat’s. “I love my son. He’s a beautiful young man in every possible way. How could I be less than happy that you love him, too?”
“I didn’t say I loved him.” Struck with sheet-white panic, Cat yanked back and scrambled up. “I didn’t say that.”
Can’t be, she thought dizzily. Won’t be.
“No.” Serena smiled again. “No, you didn’t. But if you ever do, I’ll be very happy for him. I’ll let you get back to work.” She rose gracefully. “Think about dinner, will you?”
Serena was nearly out the door before Cat could speak again. “Mrs. Blade?”
“Yes?”
“I figured when I saw this setup—” she gestured to encompass the boat “—that Duncan was a lucky man. Looks like I didn’t know the half of it.”
“Oh yes,” Serena said. “I really do like you.” Then she breezed out, content.
Chapter 17
Cat hadn’t expected to fall in love during a six-week gig on the river. And she certainly hadn’t expected to find herself in love with a ninety-year-old man.
But she fell, head over heels, for Daniel MacGregor.
He was a rogue, and that appealed to her own sense of adventure. He was a hothead, and she appreciated pitting her own temper against an equal. His heart was sentimental mush, his mind razor sharp. The combination was more than she could resist.
She wasn’t quite so sure of Anna MacGregor. There, she thought, was dignity, serenity and that steel-and-velvet ladylike quality that could never be learned. You were born with it.
Her daughter had it, Cat mused. She imagined all the MacGregor women did, including those who’d come into the family through marriage.
Well, she’d never be a lady, had no desire to be. She didn’t intend to get anywhere through marriage. She was a solo act, and intended to stay that way. But she could meet The MacGregor head-to-head and enjoy every moment.
“You don’t know one single Scottish ballad? What kind of singer are you?”
“A torch singer, Mr. MacG.” Enjoying herself, Cat rehearsed in the empty lounge for an audience of one. Daniel had taken to sitting at one of the tables whenever the lounge was closed, and commenting and kibitzing on her song list.
“That means you can’t have some variety?” He glowered at her from under snowy white eyebrows. “Why, there’s some Scottish tunes that will rip a man’s heart out of his chest while it’s still beating. With that voice of yours, any man with the blood of the Scots in him would fall in love with you.”
Deliberately, she skimmed a hand through her hair. “They all fall in love with me anyway.”
He barked out a laugh, thumped his big fist on the table. “You’re a sassy lass, Cat Farrell. Why aren’t you reeling in that handsome grandson of mine?”
It was another standard question, and Cat grinned wickedly. “Because I’m holding out for you. Why settle for small fry when you can have the big shark?”
His wide face went pink with pleasure. When he stroked his soft white beard, his eyes, blue as summer, were canny. “He’ll give you fine babies.”
“Give you, you mean. I’ve figured you out, Mr. MacG.” She leaned over and kissed him. “You won’t be happy until you have enough great-grandchildren to fill an auditorium.”
“Anna frets for them.” And since his wife wasn’t about, he sneaked a cigar out of his pocket. “And she worries day and night over young Duncan.”
“Your wife has a very smooth brow for such a worrywart.” Cat picked up a matchbook, struck one and grinned into Daniel’s eyes as he puffed the cigar into life. “If you run away with me, sugar, neither of us will have a worry in the world.”
“Seducing my grandfather again?” Duncan strolled in, feeling the lift in his heart he experienced whenever he came across them together. Which, he noted, was often.
“I might have talked him into taking me to Venice if you hadn’t popped up.” She’d barely managed to smirk before Duncan had her by the hair and was kissing the breath out of her.
“Now then.” Daniel thumped his fist again. “Th
at’s more like it! Keep a good strong hold on that one, lad. She’s slippery.”
“I’ve got her,” Duncan said easily. And he was beginning to think he meant to keep her. “Lounge opens in twenty, Grandpa,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on Cat’s. “Go play somewhere else now.”
“That’s no way to talk to your grandfather,” Cat said sternly.
“It is when he keeps trying to steal my woman.”
“This woman’s trying to steal him.” She tried to wiggle free and found herself firmly caught. “Some of us are working here, sugar.”
“I’m the boss, remember? Excuse us, Grandpa, I have to have a little business meeting with the talent here.” As he pulled Cat toward her dressing room, he called back over his shoulder. “By the way, Grandma’s on her way here. You’re going to want to lose that cigar.”
“Sweet Mary,” Daniel muttered, hurriedly stubbing out the cigar, waving at smoke. Then he smiled sentimentally as Duncan dragged Cat away.
He was willing to take odds there’d be a wedding before summer ended.
“Duncan, I was having a conversation with Mr. McG.”
“You’re having one with him every time I turn around. Can’t believe the old man’s beating my time.”
“I’m crazy about him.”
“So am I. But …” He closed the dressing room door, flicked the lock, then nudged her back against the wall. Watching her, he skimmed his hands up her sides, over her breasts, down again.
“Oh well,” she murmured as her heart rose up to pound hard in her throat. Keep it light, she ordered herself, keep it sexy. Don’t think, don’t feel any more than you can handle. “Why didn’t you say so?” She wrapped her arms around him and prepared to pull him into a hot, turbulent kiss.
But he framed her face with his hands, let his mouth hover over hers, then brush, then nibble. He wanted to hear her breath catch as it did when he took her slowly under. Wanted to feel that gradual, almost reluctant melting, that fluid surrender.