The woman sent Tyler a curious look. Kate intercepted the look and, after a moment's hesitation, said, "This is Tyler Jamison. My friend, Ruth Lewis."
"Nice to meet you," Ruth said, her brown eyes very curious. "Are you here for the race?"
"Yes, I am."
"My husband, Larry, was going to race but he had an accident a few days ago."
"I'm sorry," Tyler murmured,
"Oh, he'll be okay. He just won't be able to race until next year. Kate saved me by making me enough dinners to fill my freezer."
"It was nothing. I like to cook," Kate said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "And let me know if you need anything else. Oh, I also picked out a few books for Larry in case he goes crazy waiting for that leg to heal. I'll bring them by tomorrow."
"I can stop by the bookstore and get them."
"It's not a problem."
"Thanks again," Ruth said. "I hope you enjoy Castleton, Mr. Jamison."
"I'm sure I will." Tyler paused, waiting until Ruth and her children had walked out of the dining room. "So you're a good neighbor and a good cook. I'm impressed. Was that a skill you learned after your mother died?"
"Actually before. My grandmother taught me. She used to live with us when I was really small. She'd cook all the meals. I think she and my mother carved out their territories early, and they rarely crossed the lines."
"Your mother's mother or your father's mother?"
"My father's mother. She could make a feast out of nothing. She'd take celery and carrots and onions and turn it into a thick, rich stew. It was like magic."
He leaned forward, captivated by the softness in her voice when she spoke of her grandmother. He had a feeling Kate was a woman who still believed in magic. He wondered if she could possibly rub off on him, but he doubted it. The thick skin he'd grown repelled magic and all other silly sentimental notions.
"My grandmother died when I was eleven," Kate added. "After that, my mom and I split the cooking and, when my mom got sick, it became my job."
"And are you as good a cook or magician as your grandmother?"
"Oh, no, I'm not nearly as good. I've never quite mastered the concept of completely letting the recipe go and making it up as I go along. My grandmother knew instinctively what would work and what wouldn't. I still need a cookbook and a measuring cup.
"What about you?"
"Me? I need a microwave and a frozen dinner. Or a good take-out menu."
Kate laughed, and the warm sound ran through him like a pretty song that he wanted to hear over and over again. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. "This is one thing I've never been able to master, a perfect cup of coffee."
"Now, that's something I am good at, as long as you like your coffee strong and black."
"Actually a little hazelnut and vanilla are my preference."
"That's sissy coffee."
"I don't have anything to prove." Kate sat back in her seat. "Thanks for the dinner. It was a nice break."
"You're welcome. But I'm sure there must be lots of men on this island interested in giving you a break."
"Is that a roundabout way of asking me if I'm seeing someone?"
"Are you?"
She hesitated. "Not that it's any of your business, but, no, not at the moment. I do get asked out. Just because I was free tonight does not mean that I'm not usually busy on the weekends."
"I believe you," he said with amusement.
She made a face at him. "Actually, I'm not all that busy," she admitted. "I've even been accused of not having a life."
"Something else we have in common."
Disbelief flashed through her eyes. "That's a stretch. I can't believe you don't have a social life." She paused. "So, what's wrong with you?"
"I don't think there's anything wrong with me."
"There must be, if the girls are turning you down."
"I may have heard a few comments about working too much." Along with not being able to open up, not trusting anyone with personal information, not sharing his thoughts, not putting his heart into the relationship, and numerous other complaints. Tyler didn't really understand why the women he'd dated felt they had a reason to complain. He'd never promised to give his heart. He'd never led anyone on. But it didn't matter. Women who started off okay with casual inevitably ended up wanting more, a lot more.
"Travels all the time, doesn't want to commit, here today, gone tomorrow," Kate said with a knowing nod. "Ambitious, competitive, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything for what you want. I know the type. I grew up with one."
"Your father?"
"Yes. He's a charming man, gregarious, fun loving, a storyteller. Most people think he's a terrific guy. Kind of like you, I bet. But my father has a dark side, an obsessive nature, an ambition that knows no bounds." Her blue eyes filled with shadows. "He has a desire to win at all costs."
"And you think I'm like that?" Tyler asked, annoyed by her assessment. She didn't know the first thing about him, didn't know where he'd come from, what he'd been through, what winning even meant to a man who'd lost everything very early in life.
She stared at him for a long moment. "Aren't you?"
"No, but I know someone who is like that. My own father."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer right away. Talking about himself had never come easy. And his natural reticence had been increased by his father's constant reminders: No one needs to know who we are, where we come from, what we're doing here. Just keep quiet. Mind your own business, and make sure they mind theirs.
"Tyler?" Kate prodded. "You were saying?"
"Never mind."
"You can't do that. You can't start and not finish."
"You do it all the time," he pointed out.
"Tell me something about yourself. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't walk out the door right now and watch my back where you're concerned."
He couldn't afford to have her walk out the door or start watching her back. He'd have to tell her something, but what?
"Forget it," she said abruptly, reaching for her purse. "I think it's time I went home."
"All right. You win. Put your purse down."
She hesitated, her handbag firmly planted on her lap. "I will after you start talking."
"You know, if you're this demanding on sharing personal information, there may be a reason why you aren't busy on Saturday nights."
"And if you're this secretive, it's no wonder you aren't married or involved in a serious relationship."
"Are we even again?" he asked, feeling ridiculously charged up by their exchange.
"Stalling, stalling, stalling," she said, putting the strap of her purse over one shoulder.
"Fine. What do you want to know?"
"Start with something easy. Tell me about your childhood, your family."
"My family isn't easy."
"Tell me about them anyway. Think of it as a way of gaining my trust. That should give you some motivation."
He debated just how much to tell. Hell, with the way things were going, she probably wouldn't believe him anyway. "Okay. I was born in San Antonio."
"Texas. I knew I heard an accent."
"I lived there until I was twelve. That's when my parents divorced."
"That must have been difficult."
"It was, but it got worse. A few weeks after the separation, my father picked me up from school one day and told me my mother didn't want me anymore. She couldn't handle two boys, and my brother was younger, so I had to go with him. I didn't have a change of clothes or a toothbrush. Or a chance to say good-bye."
Tyler's chest tightened at the thought of Mark waiting on the porch for him, hoping to play catch or throw a football or follow his big brother around. With their dad gone and their mother interested in dating, Mark had only had him. And, that day, Tyler hadn't come home to take care of his younger brother. Damn.
"Oh, my God," Kate breathed. "That's awful."
He hated her look of pity.
Hated himself even more for sharing something with her that he hadn't shared with anyone else. He didn't know why he had told her. He could have told her anything. She wouldn't have known if it was the truth or not.
"Your mother must have tried to find you," Kate said. "Where did you and your dad go?"
"All over the country." Endless motel rooms, dive apartments, cities that looked the same. "It took me awhile to figure out that we were hiding. My father had these letters, you see, from my mom and my brother. They told me how much they loved me and how someday we'd be together, but for now it was better if we were apart. I stupidly believed the letters were genuine. And more letters and postcards followed those, including a note that told me they had moved to a new house. There was even a goddamn description of the new house. I was completely taken in."
"Oh, Tyler. How could you have known? Your father sounds like he was very clever. And you were just a kid. How could you not believe him?"
"By being smarter. I should have found a way to call home. In the beginning I was angry. I didn't want to call. If they didn't want me, then I didn't want them. But I started to waver with time, started to talk about a visit. That's when my dad pulled out his ace."
"What was that?"
"He told me there was a fire. The house was gone. My mother and brother were killed. We only had each other. And you know what else he did? He made up an obituary. That's how sick and twisted he was. And I bought it," he said in self-disgust. "I was an idiot. I look back now and see that I had countless opportunities to figure things out." He doubted he'd ever be able to forgive himself for being so trusting. "At any rate, by the time my mom caught up with us, six years had passed. I was eighteen years old. I didn't need a mother anymore, and even though she was happy to see me, she didn't really need another kid. She'd gotten remarried. My brother had been officially adopted by his stepfather. My mother had another child, a girl. Life had moved on for all of us."
"That's a terrible story." She gave him a searching look. "You're not lying, are you?"
"I'm telling you the truth."
"About this."
"About this," he agreed.
Kate sat back in her chair. "Well, I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. I only told you because I know what it's like to live with a father who's willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants."
"My dad looks like a saint in comparison."
"It's all in the perspective, isn't it?"
"Where is your mother today?"
"Dallas."
"And your father?"
"He died a couple years ago." Tyler picked up his coffee cup, regretting his confession. "I wonder what they put in this coffee. I don't usually spill my guts like that."
"It's truth serum. That's why I brought you here."
He appreciated the light tease in her voice. She was letting him off the hook instead of going after him when he was down. She wouldn't make a very good reporter, but she might just make a good friend. Not that they were going to be friends, he reminded himself. That wasn't possible.
"It's interesting to me that you picked a career that would take you on the road," she said. "Seems like you would have wanted to settle in one place, put down roots, reconnect with your family, your mother and your brother."
"Is that what you wanted?" he asked, countering her question with one of his own. "Did those years at sea make you yearn for the hard ground under your feet?"
"Absolutely. When I first got back, I'd lie in my bed at night and feel the boat rocking beneath me. It took weeks to get my land legs back, to get comfortable with steadiness."
"And you don't miss the rush of the sea?"
She hesitated. "I should tell you that I don't miss it at all."
"But ..." he prodded.
"Maybe a little. I don't miss the racing. But sometimes I miss the wonder of it all, the incredible sunsets, the awesome quiet, the sense of being a part of something so much bigger than we are."
"What don't you miss?"
"The cold, the endless wet, the hard work, putting up the sails, taking them down, fighting the wind, then praying for the slightest breeze, feeling helpless and vulnerable."
"What else do you miss? Or, should I ask, who?"
"What do you mean?" A wary note entered her voice, but Tyler paid no heed.
"Do you miss Jeremy?"
Kate reached for her water glass and took a long sip. Tyler almost regretted his abrupt change of topic. But experience had taught him to get the interviewee comfortable then strike. Whatever answer he or she came up with wasn't as important as the reaction, and judging by Kate's reaction, Jeremy was a very important subject.
"I ran into Sean earlier," Tyler continued. "That's why I was late."
She raised an eyebrow. "You ran into Sean? How convenient."
"Actually, I was looking for your father at the Oyster Bar. I found Sean instead. He told me that you and his brother, Jeremy, were going to be married after you came home from the race."
Her eyes filled with shadows. "Yes, we were."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
"Is that why you don't want to talk about the race -- because Jeremy died?"
"It's a good reason, don't you think? I won a big race, but I lost someone I loved very much. Can't you understand that I want to leave it in the past? It has been difficult to move on, but I've managed to get my life together. I don't want to go back to that place. I don't want to talk about it. I want you to drop the article idea and write about someone else. Would you do that for me?" She paused, her gaze pleading with him to let it go.
Tyler wanted to say yes. He wanted to promise her he wouldn't hurt her. He wanted to tell her there would never be a story. But she was asking him to choose between his brother and her, and he couldn't do that.
"Maybe you should go back to that place," he said finally. "Sometimes hindsight makes things clearer. Decisions you made can be reexamined."
Each word he spoke seemed to draw the blood from her face until she was a pale version of herself. Why? What had he said? Was she thinking about a decision she'd made -- maybe the decision to give up her baby?
She and Jeremy had been engaged to be married. If anyone was pregnant on that boat, it was probably Kate. Jeremy had died, leaving her alone. Had she felt her life was over? Had she chosen to give away her baby rather than be tormented by the memory of a family that could never be?
"Is there something you wish you'd done differently?" he asked.
For a moment he thought she might answer him, might tell him what he really wanted to know.
Her mouth trembled slightly. Her lips parted, then closed. She got to her feet. "I don't believe in looking back. It's a waste of time. The past is the past. I'm only interested in the present."
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