by Lori Foster
From down the hall, she heard a male voice. Walt, and he obviously wasn’t alone. What if he had a woman with him? Her heart sank to her toes, but she held her ground. If Walt was trying to move on, she’d deal with that, too, but she was done running.
Her sneakers made no sound on the thick carpet. The words got more distinct as she reached the end of the hall. He was in Danny’s bedroom.
“This was his favorite ball. He had a thing for balls. A lot like you.”
She peeked around the corner. Walt was sitting on the floor, beside the crib, Sebastian lay beside him. Walt was showing the dog the soft rubber ball that had been Danny’s favorite toy. Sebastian, who was looking much better with the infection gone and his hair growing back, gave it a sniff, tucked it in his mouth, and then put his head back on Walt’s leg.
“We used to talk about getting him a dog just like you in a couple years. Someone he could grow up with, play ball with, talk to.”
Walt rubbed that special spot behind Sebastian’s ear. The dog tilted his head and moaned, but he never let go of the ball. Walt gave it a little tug. Sebastian tugged back. A sad, somehow tender smile played about Walt’s lips. She knew what he was remembering. Danny didn’t like to give the ball back either.
He ruffled the dog’s head. “You would have liked Danny. He had a way of laughing that made everyone around him happy.” He stopped rubbing and took a breath. “Just like his mother.”
Kathy hadn’t laughed in what felt like forever. Hadn’t cried, hadn’t lived, hadn’t done anything worthwhile in more than six months. She’d just shut down, leaving her husband to fend for himself while she punished herself.
“Today’s his birthday.” He reached beside the dog and picked up a book of matches. “He would have been one.”
Tears poured down her cheeks. So Walt was here, in their son’s room with a dog they’d talked about getting, celebrating alone. That was so wrong. The match flared. He leaned forward.
She couldn’t bear it. “Don’t.”
He stopped, Sebastian woofed. Very carefully, Walt stood and turned. In front of him she could see a corner of the brightly decorated racing car birthday cake he’d bought.
“It’s his birthday, Kathy. I can’t pretend he didn’t exist, that this day isn’t special.”
Neither could she. She took a step into the room. Then another, feeling the pain rise up, keeping her gaze locked on Walt’s so it wouldn’t overwhelm her. She stopped right in front of him, unable to read his expression. She didn’t know what to say, except, “I loved him, too.”
It was as if she’d given him the world. He shook out the match. His arms came around her, strong and secure the way they always had. “I know.”
And standing in them, she let herself feel the love he always had for her, clinging to it as tightly as she clung to his arms while she confessed, “I didn’t mean to sleep through his feeding time. I swear I didn’t.”
His grip tightened. “Kathy, you can’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But if I’d woken up I might have—”
His finger caught under her chin, lifting. “If you hear nothing else, hear this. The only person I’ve ever blamed for Danny’s death was myself.”
“How could you possibly blame yourself? You weren’t even there.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t there. Not before, during, or after.” His thumb tucked into the corner of her mouth with the haunting softness of a kiss. “But you were, and you were hurting and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to make it better. No matter what I tried I only made it worse, until finally, you left.”
“I didn’t leave.”
“What the hell would you call it?”
It sounded so stupid. “Sparing myself the humiliation of you kicking me out.”
His grip on her chin tightened to the point of pain, and then he let go, but only to wrap his arms around her and hold her so tightly her ribs hurt. Beneath her ear was the beat of his heart, around her the strength of his arms. And somehow her arms were around his waist, too, holding him just as tightly. It wasn’t close enough.
His cheek settled on her head. “I told you the day you gave yourself to me, there was no going back.”
He’d been nineteen to her eighteen. So young. “But you couldn’t know this would happen.”
He couldn’t know they’d lose their baby.
His gaze didn’t flinch from hers, just held steady with that conviction that was so much a part of him. Once Walt set his path he never varied from it. He was always that sure. “I’ve always known we were forever, sweetheart, and no matter what life threw at us, I always knew I wanted to go through it all with you.”
“Even after . . .”
His thumb pressed, parting her lips. “Especially after.” Grief darkened the gray of his eyes. “He was our son. It was our loss. No one else understood how that hurt, how it still hurts.”
Oh God, it did hurt. “But—”
His mouth found hers, cutting off the protest, softly, at first as if he, too, had forgotten the path home, but then his head tilted, his mouth opened and the emotion flowed. Love, passion, grief, joy—it came at her in a dazzling array. All she’d ever wanted. All she’d needed, just waiting for this moment, for her. Just waiting to guide her out of the abyss, back to solid ground.
She locked her arms behind his neck. Oh, God, she’d missed this so much, missed him so much.
I love you. I love you. I love you. The words kept pounding in her head, picking up the pace of her pulse, filling her lungs, her mind, her heart.
“I love you, too.”
She breathed in the vow, holding him tighter.
“Don’t ever let me go again. Please.”
Butterfly kisses brushed over her cheek, nose, and lashes. So many, so soft compared to the steel in his voice. “Never. From now on, Kathy girl, if things get rough, we turn in, not away.”
Into each other’s arms. Into their love. She relaxed into his embrace. “Yes.”
Together they were strong enough to survive anything.
A cold nose shoved between them, brushing the exposed flesh of her stomach. She jumped.
Walt chuckled. How she’d missed that sound most of all.
“I think someone’s jealous.”
“Yes.”
He stepped back, letting the dog between them. Kathy didn’t mind. Sebastion needed love, too.
“You might as well know, while you were gallivanting about—”
She pretended to slap his arm. “I was getting help.”
He caught her hand, but didn’t let go, as if having her near was too new for him, also.
“Uh-huh, well, while you were working things out, Sebastian and I had a talk.”
“And?” She knew what was coming. Walt wouldn’t invite just anyone to his son’s birthday party.
“He’s decided he’d like to stay.”
It was a statement and a question in one. She looked down at the red, white, and orange cake with the spot on the corner that looked suspiciously like it’d been doggie nibbled. In the middle sat a single red candle shaped in the form of a number one. Danny’s favorite color.
She took a breath against the wash of pain, holding Walt’s hand, knowing he was going to be there at the end, making it bearable.
“Kathy . . .”
She squeezed Walt’s hand as she imagined Danny there beside the cake, his sturdy body dressed in denim shorts and a shirt, his smile lighting up the room when he saw Sebastian. Tears spilled over her cheeks. Bold and fearless but so sweet. Danny had been such a good boy. The best of Walt and her.
I love you, baby.
The image faded.
“Kathy?” Walt asked again, turning her to face him. “We don’t have to keep him.”
Her first instinct was to hide what she’d been thinking, but she looked at the cake again. The cake wasn’t store-bought. Walt had had it made up specifically for the occasion in Danny’s favorite colors with Danny’s favorite
toys decorating the border. It was exactly what she would have done if she could have. Moving back into Walt’s embrace, she put her hand against his chest, feeling the medallion beneath his white T-shirt. He hadn’t taken it off.
“I was just imagining Danny here, picturing his face when he saw what you’ve done.” She looked up, catching the same torment in his eyes that lived inside her. “He would have loved that cake, Walt.”
For a second, his expression broke. It was such a shame men weren’t allowed to cry. The tears he didn’t shed roughened his voice.
“I hoped so. Every time I looked back, all I could see was that damned funeral with everyone dressed in black and not a color to be found. It never struck me as right. He was a happy kid. I just wanted . . .” He choked off, his hand clenching in a fist.
She eased her fingers between his, giving him something else to hold onto other than the pain.
“A happy memory?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “A happy memory.”
Bringing his hand to her mouth, she pressed a kiss to the center of his palm before wrapping his arm back around her waist, binding them together.
“It’s all right, Walt.”
And it really was. The cake wasn’t perfect. Neither was the dog. Nor was Walt, or herself for that matter, but together they could get a start on something perfect for all of them. A new beginning.
She wiped at her tears before holding out her hand. “Give me the matches.”
“Why?”
She leaned back so he could see her face and she could see his. So much love shone down at her it was hard to believe she’d ever thought it gone.
“It’s our son’s birthday. I want to celebrate his life. With you.”
He handed her the matches.
SCAREDY CAT
Patricia Sargeant
To my dream team:
My sister, Bernadette, for giving me the dream
My husband, Michael, for supporting the dream
My brother Richard for believing in the dream
My brother Gideon for encouraging the dream
My friend and critique partner, Marcia James,
for sharing the dream
And to Mom and Dad always with love
Thanks to Lori Foster and Dianne Castell
for including me in this project.
CHAPTER ONE
“Come on, Tom. Stop playing hard to get and come to me.”
Kendra Willis balanced on the aluminum extension ladder propped against the single-car garage attached to her town house. She’d reached her right hand toward her suddenly deaf, short-haired tabby American bobtail. Her left hand formed a white-knuckled grip around the edge of the roof. She hated heights.
She masked her fear with a soothing croon. “Come on, Tom. Come here, baby.”
Thomas blinked his wide, grass-green eyes and crouched his silver-and-black striped body even closer to the red-tiled roof. He lowered his head to his paws.
Kendra gaped. “You’re . . . you’re not going to sleep up here, are you?”
“Forget that damn cat.”
She glanced down—way down—in response to the grouchy voice. Crap. She hated heights.
Her boyfriend, Harvey Sievers, stood on her black-topped driveway. June’s early evening sunlight glinted off his silver BMW. A ruby-red polo knit jersey clothed his lean torso. His tight buns, clad in tan khaki pants, rested against his driver’s side door. Annoyance tightened his perfect mocha features.
“I’ve told you before. Tom has a name.”
Harvey crossed his long legs at his ankles. “Leave it.”
She narrowed her eyes at his deliberate challenge. “I can’t go to the movies with you if Tom’s stuck on the roof. We’ll be gone for hours.”
Harvey checked his silver-and-pearl Rolex, then refolded his arms across his chest. “If we don’t go right now, we’ll be late for the movie.”
“Then help me get Tom down.” Her voice wobbled with nerves and frustration. “At least hold the ladder steady so I can climb up to the roof.”
“If you’re so afraid of heights, get off the damn ladder and get in the car.”
“I can’t leave Tom outside. If something happens to him, I won’t be home.”
Harvey uncrossed his arms and came off his beemer. “I’m getting tired of this, Kendra. You act as though that cat is your child. It’s not.”
“I know that.” She was precariously balanced on an extension ladder. Did Harvey really need to have this argument now? Unbelievable.
Obviously, Harvey wasn’t going to steady the ladder so she could climb up, and Kendra was too afraid to come down. Besides, Thomas was still on the roof. She looked up at the brawny bobtail. He returned her gaze with wide, innocent eyes. Unbelievable.
She scanned the town house complex, wondering if her neighbors were watching this spectacle. Identical brick-and-concrete homes grew in neat grids framed by narrow, paved roads. Well-tended lawns and young trees decorated each two-story unit.
A couple of houses down, a man stood, hands on hips, inspecting his yard. He reminded Kendra of an NFL tight end at training camp. Long, sculpted legs extended from black running shorts and a charcoal-gray T-shirt strained across a wide chest. Funny, she didn’t recognize him.
Harvey continued his lecture. “It’s a stray you took in two months ago. So you saved its life. That doesn’t mean you have to turn yours upside down for it.”
That made her mad. “Tom isn’t a stray. He’s my cat. And I’m not turning my life upside down for him. I’m taking care of him. Now, please hold the ladder so I can climb onto the roof.”
“If I come anywhere near that ladder, it will be to get you down.”
Kendra gripped the edge of the garage roof with both hands. Sweat collected on her palms, making her hold slippery. Oh, man. If she fell, she’d make her bobtail and her boyfriend really, really sorry.
She looked over her shoulder at her very annoyed date. Well, she was annoyed, too. “What about Tom?”
“Make your choice, Kendra. Me or the cat?”
Had he lost his mind? “You can’t seriously be jealous of Tom.”
“Ever since you took in that cat, you don’t have time for me. I’m sick of it.”
Kendra gasped. “That’s not true.”
Harvey spread his arms. “Tonight is a perfect example. We’ve been talking about seeing this movie for months. What are you doing? Chasing after your cat. That’s not how I want to spend a Friday night.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you, Harvey. We just spent Memorial Weekend together. Three. Whole. Days.”
“That was last week. And it was at your place with your cat.”
Harvey would have a problem with parenting. If he couldn’t handle one self-sufficient cat, he’d freak with a baby.
He raised his voice. “Are you coming or not?”
Kendra’s neck was getting stiff. Her fingers were growing numb. “I won’t choose between you and Tom.”
Harvey dug his keys from the front pocket of his pants. “You just did.”
She watched in disbelief as he climbed into his car and reversed out of her driveway. Without giving her another look—another thought?—he drove away. Leaving her stuck on the ladder. Leaving her. Over her cat? Unbelievable.
Kendra met Thomas’s wide-eyed gaze. His ears twitched. With one fluid motion, he rose and prowled to the end of the roof. He looked over the front of the garage down to the driveway, glanced back at Kendra, then dove gracefully over the edge.
“Tom!”
She watched, incredulous as he landed on his feet. Without missing a beat, he walked into her open garage, settled into a shaded corner and groomed himself.
“You’ve got to be kidding. And you couldn’t have come down twenty minutes ago because . . . ?”
“Because it’s his world and things only happen on his time.”
Kendra squeaked, startled into almost losing her balance on the perilous ladder.
“Sorry.�
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A smooth, smoky voice rose to her from her driveway. The tall, dark-skinned stranger from a few town houses over stood bracing the ladder. Thank goodness she was wearing black linen capris instead of a skirt.
Hallelujah. She was saved.
But Kendra still couldn’t move. She was pinned to the ladder, not by fear this time, but by the stranger’s liquid brown gaze. His almond-shaped eyes were kind and amused as he stared up at her. High cheekbones and a strong, square jaw completed a very attractive face.
Competent hands held either side of the ladder. His muscular shoulders looked like they could bear her weight if she lost her balance.
“Climb down. I won’t let you fall.”
Just those words, so casually offered, relaxed her. Kendra believed him.
He never let go of the ladder, not even when she stepped onto the driveway. His long, muscled arms caged her in. He smelled warm and sweaty from his early-evening run. His T-shirt was damp, molding the cotton to his pectorals. Kendra fisted her hands to keep her palms from doing the same.
She ducked under his right arm to put distance between them. Just because Harvey was being a butthead didn’t mean she could fall into the sweaty embrace of the first bronze Adonis who held a ladder for her.
“Sorry.” Her rescuer dropped his arms. He stepped back, running a hand over his close-cropped hair.
“Thank you for your help.” Her voice was husky, making her self-conscious.
“You’re very welcome.” He offered his hand. “I’m Paul Strahan.”
“Kendra Willis. I’m lucky you happened by, otherwise I would’ve spent the night on that ladder.”
He had long, sexy dimples that bracketed full, kissable lips. “I doubt that. You weren’t that far off the ground.”
“Maybe not from your perspective.” The man must be six-foot-two to her five-foot-three. Heights were relative.
“If you’re that afraid of heights, why did you climb the ladder?”
“To get Tom.”