Now and Always (19 page)

Warren wouldn't shed his baggage easily. His wounds were still too fresh, too new, but eventually he would come around. Katie had thrown him into the lion's den with her financial problems, the shelter, and Clara. No wonder he was so antsy. All she had to do was think of his smile, his smarts, and the way he had been willing to help her at first. She knew that waiting for the right man — the man God created for her, wasn't a burden but a blessing, a show of faith.

The old gypsy woman surfaced to mind, and she quickly dismissed her. Katie did not believe her circumstances had
anything
to do with the present situation — but the prediction was eerily close . . .

Bunk. All she had to do was convince Warren that he had chosen his first love unwisely. Then they could form a deep and lasting relationship — or try.

She circled the jeep to the passenger seat and opened the door. Bobbi blew a bubble. “What's the hangup? What did you want me to do?”

“Come with me.” She could just imagine Bobbi's reaction when she was asked to hand over her clothing to Clara Townsend.

But the plan went without a hitch.

Bobbi had a pair of gym shorts in her backpack, and when she put on her long coat, the inappropriate dress wasn't noticeable. Katie was forced to explain what was happening, and Bobbi quickly jumped aboard the ruse.

“I'll call Mom and tell her to bring me an extra set of clothes to school. She won't mind.”

Clara was less cooperative. When she put on Bobbi's miniskirt and slashed-neckline blouse, she shook her head, uttering disgust. The black wig she'd worn on arrival went back on. Black boots and voila! She could pass for a teenager — from the air or at the end of the barn lot where the reporters waited.

Fifteen minutes later, Katie and Clara, dressed as Bobbi, walked out of the house and got into the jeep. A helicopter hovered overhead, but Katie started the engine, adjusted the rearview mirror, and a minute later drove off. The helicopter turned and followed while Ben and his deputies finished loading horses into the stock trailer. Camera lenses moved from Katie and the teenage girl back to the horse activity.

As they reached the group of reporters clustered at the end of the drive, Clara leaned forward, fiddling with the radio dials; the long black hair of her wig swung across her cheeks like a curtain. The helicopter circled over the horse trailer, claiming the reporter's attention. They let the jeep through without a second glance.

Following orders, Katie pulled up in front of the high school shortly before ten o'clock. Clara bounded out, slamming the door. Looping her arms through Bobbi's backpack, she blew a bubble and popped it. Then she turned and sidled up the walk. Katie drove off.

Katie circled the building, and the jeep sat idling as Clara emerged from the other side. She got in the back seat and lay down, pulling a blanket over herself.

Back on the highway, Katie pulled into the Conoco station and waited until two large semis tunneled the pumps. She squeezed the jeep between the two trucks and got out.

“Can you get any
closer
, lady?”

Her cheeks colored, but she ignored the trucker's remark. She zipped her credit card through, selected the gas grade, and then began to pump.

Clara cracked the door open, looked around, and then shimmied into a waiting car at the opposite pump. The car drove off with Ben's plainclothes deputy at the wheel and pulled onto the highway.

As easily as that, Clara Townsend was on her way to a new shelter.

Around three o'clock, Katie flipped on CNN. The breaking news banner scrolled across the bottom, and a news commentator broke into the programming. Katie backed into a chair to listen.

“Breaking news regarding Neil Townsend, former presidential campaign manager. NBC has learned that Townsend was taken into custody one half hour ago. Viewers will recall the recent national search for Townsend's wife, senatorial candidate Clara Townsend, who's in a fight for a second term seat and was located in a battered women's shelter. It appears Senator Townsend has been hiding from her abuser, Neil Townsend. Information has been obtained concerning Neil Townsend's activity in illegal campaign contributions. Townsend is accused of helping to divert nearly two million dollars of state funds into his party's election campaign.”

Shaking her head, Katie switched off the television. Relief filled her. It was over. Clara could leave the shelter and resume her campaign with a day left to bask in the unexpected turn of events. She was glad for the woman, but sad that one guilty party went free and pulled the wool over the voters' eyes, because Katie had serious doubts that Clara was unaware of her husband's illegal activities. It was possible that the knowledge was the central cause of the abuse, but then she would never know.

If only Katie's financial woes could be solved as satisfactorily as Clara's public problems, the shelter could grow, and she could get back to two lattes a day, a harmless pleasure to blunt the larger issues.

Twenty

At last, calm reigned. The press and whumping helicopters disappeared like snow on an April day. Katie breathed a sigh of relief, and then set about making the women feel comfortable, assuring them that the ugly event was behind them. Best of all, the horses were back.

Normalcy returned, and Katie had had enough excitement to last her a good long while.

She closed the door to her office
and lifted the receiver. Warren had turned down her earlier dinner invitation, but he should be happy now. The crisis was over. Clara had left Cope, and today the voters would make their political choices at the polls. Katie wanted to resume the congenial footing she had with Warren BC (before Clara). She dialed his number and waited. He picked up on the third ring.

“I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. What's up?”

“Nothing. I called to invite you to dinner tonight. Tottie is cooking a pot roast, and there's chocolate pie with whipped cream for dessert. We eat at six, which should give you plenty of time to get your work done.”

“Can't, Katie. I'm not feeling that great. Think I'm coming down with a virus.”

“You're sick?” How many excuses could a man come up with? But then again, a flu bug was still going around.

“I'm just lying here, don't feel like working, and I'd hate to make anyone else sick.”

“Yeah, especially Meg. She just had a bout with a bug recently, and she's only weeks away from delivery.”

“Then it's settled. I shouldn't be around her.”

He sounded grumpy. Poor guy. He couldn't catch a break. Well, if Mohammed wouldn't come to the mountain, she'd come to him. Not that she could cure him, but Tottie's herb-laced chicken soup had speeded recovery for the other women. “Take care of yourself.”

“Will do. Thanks for the invitation.” The line went dead, and Katie shook her head. What man would take care of himself the way a woman would? She'd take him some soup and make sure that he was taking plenty of vitamins, maybe do a few of his outside chores.

Tottie was at the stove when Katie entered. “Do we have any chicken thawed out? I want to make a pot of soup to take to Warren. He's coming down with a bug.”

“Land, tell him to stay far away from here.” The housekeeper turned, holding a knife and a carrot. “He seemed fine yesterday.”

“Well, he's sick today.” Katie dug out the stainless steel soup pot and held it up for inspection. “Is this pot okay?”

“That'll work.” If Tottie disapproved of Katie's act of kindness, Katie was thankful she kept it to herself. “There's a stewing hen in the freezer.”

“Great. I'm going to vote before I take the soup to Warren.”

Tottie nodded. “Did that early this morning.”

“Think Clara will win?”

The housekeeper shrugged. “I voted for her.”

A couple of hours later Katie backed out of the drive with a steaming pot of chicken soup sending fragrant vapors throughout the jeep. Warren would be feeling better in no time. The absence of the press was salve to her frayed nerves.

Katie pulled out to pass a tractor. She really needed to talk to Warren. The last few days had been amazing, and she wanted to sit down with him and rehash every aspect. The news media were making Clara out to be a heroine, and her reelection should be a breeze. Who would have thought it would turn out like this?

Katie voted at the Veteran's Hall then got back in the jeep and headed to the Tate place. Hammering caught her attention as she got out, balancing the pot of soup. Warren wouldn't be in the barn, feeling as badly as he did. Curious, Katie set the soup back on the floorboard of the jeep and followed the sound. When she stepped into the barn, she spotted Warren swinging a hammer, nailing a board onto a stall.

He stopped and straightened, then caught sight of her. For a split second he registered surprise, then irritation. “Well, look who's here.”

“Hey. I brought you some soup.” He didn't look flushed or indicate any kind of illness. His color was good.

He reached for another nail and hammered it home. “Be with you in a minute. The horses damaged the stall, and I want to get it fixed. Everything back to normal?”

“Pretty much so.” No mention of the supposed illness. No embarrassing stammers that he'd been caught in a lie. “Neil Townsend has been arrested, and Clara is predicted to win her reelection bid. Everything has turned out okay. I'm relieved.”

Warren nodded. “You were lucky this time.” He whacked a nail. “Women like Clara can go to other shelters. Let someone else worry about them.”

“Well, let's agree not to agree about that.”

“Still gullible, I see. Women like that will never have a home. Women like that will always be attracted to losers.” He whacked another nail. “Women like that are plain stupid.”

Stupid?
Her chin rose a notch, then two. “I'm a woman. Do you think that I'm stupid?”

He turned to look at her, heightened color creeping over his features. “No, of course not.” He stepped closer, pulling her into his arms. “I don't think
you're
stupid. That's not what I meant.”

“I'm a woman.”

He grinned. “I noticed — and a darn fine one. Look, I know I'm hard-nosed about the subject, and I'm working on my attitude. Okay? I know I've got issues, and I need to let go of them. Tell you what, let's go to the house, and you can fix me a bowl of that soup. What'd you bring me?'

“Chicken noodle.”

“My favorite.”

He walked her to the jeep and carried the kettle of soup inside where she set the pot on the stove and reheated the soup. They sat at the table, talking as he ate. “This is great. Did you make it?”

“It's Tottie's recipe. I just followed it.”

“Seasoned just the way I like it. Lots of black pepper.”

“Warren.” He'd kept silent about the lie, but she couldn't. “I thought you were ill.”

“Yeah — craziest thing. An hour ago I felt like I was coming down with a bad case of something. But I took a hot shower, and I suddenly felt better.”

“Really.”

He glanced up. “Honest, Katie. I know I refused dinner at your house, but at the time I felt bad. Really bad.”

She could heighten the situation and argue that he felt good enough to work on the barn, but she didn't. Sometimes a hot shower did do wonders.

They chatted about community affairs, not touching on the shelter or his averted illness again. Later curled in his arms before a roaring fire, Katie sighed with contentment. “I'm so glad that the harassment is over. I'm sure all the strange incidents were just Townsend trying to get back at Clara. There's no reason for his cronies to bother me any longer.”

“I hope you're right.”

There was a moment of silence, and Katie and Warren both realized what the other was thinking. Lips parted. He tasted of warm coffee and cream. She snuggled closer, and his mouth settled more firmly over hers. Odd that exploding rockets and blaring bands weren't spinning in her head. His kiss was expert; practiced and certainly without fault. Just odd that she didn't melt and run into her stockings, the way she expected she would feel when he finally got down to the business of romance, of kissing her with a purpose instead of a benign peck, or worse, an obligatory gesture that hinted of real interest. Popping fire, cozy room. Everything needed for a romantic evening between a man and a woman. Did it matter that John Philip Sousa and his marching band failed to materialize for her? He deepened the kiss, and she settled into his embrace. Relationships took time, and theirs was still in its infancy.
Time, Katie.
Relationships took time to build and grow and flourish. Just because she had high hopes for the bond didn't
mean that Warren reciprocated.

After the kiss, their conversation resumed as if it had never been interrupted.

“Of course I'm right, but I still wonder why a man as prominent and wealthy as Neil Townsend would want to jeopardize his career by pestering me.”

“Katie.” He playfully bonked her on the head. “Open your eyes. You were a threat to him. You had his wife, and he wanted her.”

“I suppose that's the reason.”

“I'm not saying it's right to hit a woman, but Clara might have had it coming.”

She sat straight up. “You're not serious.”

“Settle down, I didn't mean that in a threatening way, but some women can get real aggravating, Katie. You have to know that.”

“And a man can't? I don't care how aggravating a woman —or a man becomes, no one has the right to use physical force. When you say things like that, Warren, I have to wonder where your mind is. I know you've been hurt by a woman. But you can't judge all women by your bad experience, and I really would appreciate it if you would stop making these kinds of remarks.”

He chuckled, reaching out to soothe her. “That shelter is really a hot button with you, isn't it?”