Carolina Man (14 page)

“You do that.”

He waited until the door had closed behind her before he put a kettle on to boil for tea.

And tried not to think of her peeling her damp blouse from all that pale, smooth skin on the other side of the door.

K
ATE STRIPPED OFF
her blouse with quick, jerky movements. This wasn’t a date, she cautioned herself. But he’d brought her dinner. And flowers.
They reminded me of you
. The sentiment should have been cheesy. Instead, he’d made her laugh.

And yearn.

Still . . . Not a date. Maybe a booty call? Simple, basic. Oh, God, she should have shaved after all.

She could hear him through her bedroom door, opening cabinets, rattling flatware. It made her edgy, having a man in her space, moving among her possessions, touching her things when she wasn’t there.

Afraid of what I’ll find in your junk drawer?

Maybe.

She had too much clutter in her past, too many ugly memories stashed away. It was hard to overcome the habits of a lifetime, the fear of inviting someone in, physically or emotionally.

No one came over when Kate was a child. No friends from school, not even Aunt Sharon, her mother’s sister. Kate had understood without ever being told that nobody could know about Daddy’s drinking.

The secret was her father’s.

But the scars and the shame were Kate’s.

She took a sweater from a drawer. She wasn’t a child anymore. She knew what it meant when a guy showed up with takeout and flowers, when you met him with a tongue-tangling, breath-stealing kiss at the door. He wanted sex. And she wanted . . . Oh, God, she wanted him.

And that was the danger. Because as soon as you wanted something, it could be taken away. Especially if you let yourself want someone like Luke, with a family who loved him, a little girl who needed him, and a job that guaranteed he wouldn’t stick around. She could not possibly be anything more than an adjunct to his life.

But did that mean he couldn’t be part of hers?

She clutched her sweater to her breasts, grasping at the possibility. Maybe Luke could be a special treat she allowed herself. Like a candy bar. You couldn’t live on a constant diet of candy bars. Eventually you’d either starve from lack of real nutrition or get sick from a surfeit of sweetness.

But Luke was decent. He made her laugh. She craved his company, was so hungry for his attention. Surely she could have . . . a taste?

She cracked open the door to the bathroom where she’d left the cat. Snowball was in the corner on a pile of towels. At Kate’s entrance, the cat froze with one leg in the air.

“It’s okay. It’s just us girls. I need to do a little grooming myself.”

Kate smiled. Maybe the cat was a ruse for both of them. Luke hadn’t even asked to see Snowball yet.

She turned to the medicine cabinet over the sink. And nearly shrieked at her reflection in the mirror. The humidity of the bath had frizzed her hair, creating a mess of wild curls. Her makeup had migrated under her lower lashes. She looked like a Mardi Gras mask.

She scrubbed hastily at her face, dabbed antibiotic ointment on her scratches and—still clinging to some concealment—patted tinted moisturizer over her scar. She yanked her sweater over her head before taking another glance in the mirror. Her appearance would have to do. Maybe it was just as well she didn’t have time to fuss.

Or to change her mind.

She turned to the cat in the corner. “Ready?”

Snowball regarded her with wary yellow eyes. Kate wasn’t at all sure how the cat would react to being picked up. But carrying the cat with her would remind Luke—would remind
Kate
—that she had a life, too. She was not only a booty call.

“You and me, cat. Showtime.”

Somewhat to her surprise, Snowball tolerated her touch. Hesitantly, Kate scooped the cat into her arms. It was all bones and fur, its heart beating frantically against her palm. But it made no move to get away.

Encouraged, Kate walked into the other room.

And stopped, feeling as though she’d stepped into a foreign country. Her little table was set with white dishes and her fat red Christmas candle. There were flowers jammed in a pitcher on the counter and sweet, spicy, garlicky smells in the air.
Babe, I am all over your space
.

Her heart took a hard, quick extra thump. “I wasn’t expecting . . .”
Candlelight and roses.
Romance
.

“The all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet?” Luke offered dryly.

She laughed, subtly reassured. “There does seem to be a lot of food.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you like, so I got some of everything.”

“That was . . .”
Unprecedented
. “Thoughtful. It looks great.” She shifted Snowball awkwardly in her arms. “I brought the cat.”

“Not as a menu item, I hope.”

A smile tugged her lips. “Definitely not. I thought you should get to know each other.”

“Hey, Snowball.” He extended his fingers. The cat didn’t hiss. But when he scratched its head, its ears flattened and it shrank closer to Kate.

“Guess I shouldn’t have made that crack about the menu,” Luke said.

“She’ll come around. She’s not feral,” Kate said, cuddling Snowball almost protectively. “She’s a stray.”

Luke ran a finger around the cat’s ear and under its chin. He had long fingers. Broad, square nails and knuckles. “There’s a difference?”

Kate nodded, trying to ignore that strong, masculine hand just under her jaw, so close to her face. “The vet explained it to me. A feral that has never had positive human contact rarely makes a good pet. But a stray like Snowball, an animal who comes from a normal, loving home, is already socialized. You shouldn’t have any problems with her.”

The cat turned its head into Kate’s sweater, ignoring Luke entirely.

He withdrew his hand. A corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“She’s standoffish now because she’s scared,” Kate said.
You and me both, Snowball
. “All she needs to be part of a family again is love and patience.”

Luke’s gaze rested on her thoughtfully.

Kate’s pulse thudded. What did he see?

“I can be patient,” he said at last. “Why don’t you put the cat down while we eat? Maybe she’ll get used to me.”

Kate stooped to release the cat, grateful for the chance to hide her face. She watched as Snowball slunk over the carpet, pausing now and then to sniff at her new surroundings.

“Thanks for rescuing my kid’s cat.”

The look in his eyes made her face warm. “No problem,” she lied breathlessly. “I hope it gets along with the new puppy. Um, Ronald?”

“Not anymore. Taylor changed its name.”

“To what?” Their other dog, the big one, was Fezzik, she remembered. “Inigo? Humperdinck?”

“You know
The Princess Bride
?” He sounded surprised.

“I love
The Princess Bride
.” It was one of her comfort movies as a child, as much for the deep affection between grandfather and grandson as for the romance of Princess Buttercup and her farm boy. Both fairy tales, both as far removed from her own experience as the moon.

“Inigo would be good,” Luke said. “Mostly we’ve been using Dog. Or JD.”

“Just Dog?” Kate guessed and was absurdly pleased when he nodded. “This looks amazing,” she said as they sat down. “Is that sesame beef?”

“Sesame beef, General Tso’s chicken, pork fried rice, shrimp with garlic.”

“It’s too much.”

“So you’ll have leftovers.”

“No, I meant . . .” Her gesture encompassed the flowers, the candle, the gently steaming tea. “All of it. I didn’t figure you’d be so . . .”

“Housebroken,” he suggested, a gleam in his eyes.

“Into table settings.”

He spooned rice onto his plate. “Mom insisted we all pull our weight around the house. Meg’s a better cook, but I can set and clear the table. Do dishes. Make hospital corners.”

“Was that your mother’s doing or the Marines?”

He grinned. “Let’s say Mom would have made a good DI.” He gestured toward her place. “No chopsticks for you?”

She shook her head. “I never got the hang of them. Too messy.” And she didn’t like to do things she wasn’t good at.

He shrugged and dug into the carton of sesame beef, wielding his own chopsticks expertly. “So I guess your parents trained you, too.”

She swallowed. This was one of those topics that normal people probably talked about all the time. One of those things that marked her as different. One of those memories too painful to share. “Oh . . . Yes. My father liked to live on base. But he wouldn’t pay a cleaning crew, and my mother could never get the house clean enough to please him or pass inspection. So I learned to clean.”

Scrubbing the bottom of the oven and the rubber seal of the refrigerator door with a toothbrush. Staying on her knees after midnight, wiping down cabinets and baseboards with white vinegar and water. Praying her efforts would be good enough to avoid triggering her father’s deep dissatisfaction with his life.

“Moving was the worst,” Luke agreed. “You did that all yourself?”

She set down her fork. “You can’t really be interested in my housekeeping skills.”

“Exchange of basic information, babe. Part of getting to know you.”

“All right. Tell me about your home visit,” she said.

He raised his brows. “Changing the subject?”

“I am. Also I’m interested.” Which was easier to admit than
I care
. “Exchange of basic information,” she reminded him.

He grinned, acknowledging her point. “It was fine.”

She released her breath in relief and disappointment. “Just ‘fine’?”

“What do you want me to say? Your friend came. She talked to Taylor. She seemed . . .” He paused as if searching for a word.

“Friendly?” Kate suggested dryly.

“That. And competent. Anyway, she didn’t ask any leading questions. No ‘when did you stop beating your daughter’ stuff.”

“She liked you. All of you,” Kate said.

“Good to know. Dad may have flirted with her some. Sam, too.”

“And you? Did you flirt?”
Kate
was flirting. She liked it. Like another taste of candy bar, unfamiliar and delicious.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of cocky humor. “I cooperated. Like you told me to.”

“Well, it worked. Alisha thinks you all are providing an excellent environment for Taylor.”

“Does that mean she’s going to tell the Simpsons they’re full of shit?”

Kate shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. The most she can say is that the report was not substantiated and they’re closing their investigation.”

“So the Simpsons could still bring up the allegation in court.”

“They can bring up anything they want. But now, Alisha can just as easily testify in your favor.”

“She can do that?”

Kate smiled brilliantly. “If your lawyer subpoenas her. And if I know Vernon, he’s already filed the paperwork.”

Luke held her gaze. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She flushed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

She hesitated. She was pretty sure this was not the moment to critique his parenting techniques. But the subject had to be broached. “Alisha mentioned she was recommending counseling for Taylor.”

He picked up his chopsticks. “Yeah, she said something about that.”

“And?”

“I told her I’d look into it.”

That sounded noncommittal. Kate frowned. “It might really help Taylor to talk to somebody.”

“You’re probably right. She sure isn’t talking to me. But it’s only been a week and a half.”

“I meant a professional. Maybe someone on base . . .” She broke off as he shook his head. Her stomach sank. She should have expected this resistance. He was a Marine. In the military, there was still a stigma attached to seeking counseling. But if there was anywhere they had experience helping children cope with loss and grief, it would be there. “If you’re worried about how it would look—”

“I’m not.”

She tried again. “Ignoring Taylor’s issues won’t make them go away.”

“I didn’t say I was ignoring them.”

“No, but I know how it is.” The memories crowded, thick and painful. “You can’t admit you have a problem because you’re afraid you’ll look weak. Or it will hurt your career.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know what my father—” she said and stopped.

Luke waited.

She didn’t say anything.

“Your father,” he prodded.

She closed her eyes briefly. She was trained not to open the door to a line of questioning. And she’d thrown that door open with Luke. She’d let him in. Dangerous for Kate the lawyer. Disastrous for Kate the woman. Her throat swelled. She couldn’t speak.