The Trouble With Valentine's Day (16 page)

Her grandfather liked Grace. More than just a friend. More than he liked the other widows in town. When had that happened?

Kate snagged a few olives, then she moved to the shelves filled with photos. What did she think about her grandfather dating Rob's mother? She'd always thought she'd be happy that he was moving on with his life. Living again. Was she? She honestly didn't know.

The photographs on the shelves were three and four deep, and in the front sat a picture of a naked baby on a white lambskin. Another was faded and yellow, of the same baby sitting on a man's lap, whom Kate assumed was Rob's father. She popped an olive in her mouth and looked at Rob in a grade school photo, his hair in a crew cut, with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. A prom picture of him in a powder blue tux and his date in silver lamé with enormous shoulder pads up to her ears. This time his hair was in some sort of spiked Duran Duran do with long bangs. But most of the photos of Rob were taken of him in different hockey jerseys.

In quite a few of the pictures, he was so young that his hockey jersey hung over his hands. In all of them his big green eyes were bright with excitement. There were action photos of him taking a shot or skating with the puck at the end of his stick. Others with his helmet low on his forehead, this time his eyes menacing as he delivered hits to opposing players. A magazine cover of him with his arms in the air, holding a stick over his head, his smile enormous. Testosterone practically oozed from the Kodak paper, a startling contrast to the lace curtains and pink wicker sofa.

Kate reached for a more recent photograph of Rob. He held a naked baby to his chest, his lips pressed to the top of her dark head. His daughter's delicate features against his raw masculinity.

The front door opened and Kate replaced the photo. She turned as Rob walked in and shut the door behind him. He wore a long-sleeved dress shirt, white, tucked into a pair of khakis with a razor crease. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand. The last time she'd been in the same room with him, he'd kissed her and put her hand on his crotch. She felt a wary little jump in her nerves, which disturbed her since she thought she should feel a lot more angry and indignant than she actually did.

Grace moved across the room toward him. “You're late.”

“Store closed late.” Rob gave his mother a hug. “Hello Stanley,” he said, then he looked over the top of his mother's head, and his green gaze met Kate's. “Hello, Kate.”

“Hello,” she said, and she was pleased that her voice did not reflect the spike in her nerves.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” Grace took the bottle of wine and looked at it. “I told you to get a Merlot. This is a Chardonnay.”

He shrugged. “You know I'm a beer drinker. I don't know squat about wine. I just bought the most expensive, figuring it had to be the best.”

Grace shoved it back at him. “Take it in the kitchen and open it. Maybe Kate can show you how to use a corkscrew.”

She could, but she didn't want to. “Sure.” She followed Rob through the dining room, her gaze skimming down the pleat in the back of his white shirt to where it tucked into his tailored pants. The khaki fabric hugged his behind, and two brown buttons closed the back pockets. The pant legs fell in perfect, straight lines to the hem, breaking at the heels of his soft leather loafers. He might not know wine, but he did know a thing or two about expensive clothes.

He set the bottle on the white countertop and opened a drawer. “The glasses are in the cupboard above the refrigerator,” he said and pointed with the corkscrew.

The kitchen was as feminine as the rest of the house. The walls were peach, with tulip-and-white-rose-wallpaper borders. With his wide shoulders and height, Rob looked a little out of place in the ultrafeminine surroundings. A lot like a bull in a china shop.

Kate opened the cupboard doors and reached inside to grab four glasses. An extremely good-looking, well-groomed bull who seemed perfectly at ease. “I think my grandfather likes your mother,” she said as she set the glasses on the counter next to Rob's hip. “I think they're becoming friends.”

“Good, my mother likes your grandfather.” He held the bottle in one big hand and twisted the corkscrew with the other. “I can't remember her ever inviting a man over for dinner.” With little effort, he pulled the cork out with a pop and poured Chardonnay into the first glass. “Of course, my mother and I haven't lived in the same town until recently. So she could have had lots of men in her life and just never told me.” He filled a second glass, then handed it to Kate.

“When did you leave home?” she asked and took it from him. His fingers touched hers, warm against the cool glass.

“I got drafted into the NHL when I was nineteen.” He pulled his hand away and reached for his own glass. “Between you and me,” he said and raised it to his mouth, “I know what a Merlot is, but I like white wine better.”

“You lied to your mother.”

“It wouldn't be the first time.” He smiled like an unrepentant sinner, and she felt herself relax a little. “Or even the second. I guess old habits die hard.” He took a drink and watched her over his glass.

She felt the corners of her mouth tilt up despite her best effort not to smile at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said and took a sip of her wine.

He lowered his glass. “I'll bet you've told a whopper or two.”

“Sure.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and swirled the wine in her glass. “I used to tell huge lies all the time. My dad was in the military, and we moved around a lot. When you go to a new school every few years, you can make up your past. You can be anybody you want.”

“Who did you say you were?”

“Mostly head cheerleaders and class presidents. Once I said I was a prima ballerina.”

He shoved a hip into the counter and stuck his free hand in his front pocket. “How did that work for you?”

“It didn't. No one ever believed it. I have three older brothers, and I was a tomboy. Plus, I was a complete klutz.”

“I bet you were a cute klutz.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her mouth, then moved up to the top of her head. “I bet with that red hair, the boys loved you.”

He had to be joking. “Believe me, no one liked my red hair. Plus, I was taller than most boys my age. I had braces and I beat most of them at basketball. I could have let them win, but I'm fairly competitive and don't like to lose.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I know that about you.”

“Not only did I beat the boys, if I had a crush on one, I slugged him really hard. Believe me, no one ever asked me out.”

“I bet they're kicking themselves in the ass now.”

She looked into his face. Thin smile lines creased the corners of his green eyes, but he didn't look like he was joking. For some reason, that made the old unattractive gangly girl part of her heart pinch just a little. It was an uncomfortable and confusing feeling, and she raised her wine to her lips. She didn't want to feel anything for Rob. Nothing but a big empty blank. “I wouldn't know,” she said before she took a drink.

Grace and her grandfather entered the kitchen, and Kate got busy helping Grace with the rib roast and baked potatoes. Rob dressed a salad with Italian vinaigrette and placed it in four bowls.

“What can I do to help?” her grandfather asked.

“You can place Kate's hors d'oeuvre plate on the table,” Grace answered. “I would hate to see it go to waste.”

Five minutes later, the food was on their plates and they were all seated at a pedestal table set with white damask and bone china. Kate sat between Grace and Rob, with her grandfather across from her.

“This is all mighty fancy, Grace,” Stanley said as he picked up his linen napkin and placed it in his lap. His shoulders looked stiff, like he was afraid to breathe.

Grace smiled. “I don't ever get to use my good stuff. It just sits in the hutch year in and year out. Let's mess it up.” She shook out her napkin.

Rob picked up his fork and speared a stuffed mushroom from the hors d'oeuvre plate in the center of the table.

“Rob,” his mother said, “could you say the blessing, please?”

He looked up and stared at her, as if she'd just asked him to stand on his head and speak French. “You want me to pray?” He set his fork down. “Right now?”

Grace's smile stayed in place while she gave him a hard stare. “Of course, dear.”

Rob bowed his head, and his brows came together to form a thick line. Kate half expected him to say something like, “Good food, good meat, good God, let's eat.”

He didn't. “God, please bless this food we're about to eat.” He paused a moment then added, “So that we don't get sick or . . . choke or something. Amen.”

“Amen.” Kate pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Amen.”

“Amen. Thank you, Rob.”

“You're welcome, Mother.” He grabbed his fork and ate the mushroom in two bites. He stabbed a few more and put them on his plate next to his potato, which was piled high with butter and sour cream. “You brought these?”

“Yes.”

“They're good,” he said and reached for a dinner roll.

“Thank you.” She took a bite of her plain potato, sans everything but salt and pepper.

“How're things going for you at the store, Kate?” Grace asked.

Before she could utter a word, her grandfather answered for her, “Katie's not a people person.”

Rob made a sound next to her like he was choking on his wine. Kate ignored him and looked across the table at her grandfather.
What?
She was a people person.

“Perhaps your talents lay elsewhere.” Grace refolded the napkin on her lap. “Stanley told me that you used to work in Las Vegas as a private investigator.”

She'd always been good with people. Her people skills were what had made her a good private investigator. “Yes, I was.” She turned her gaze to Rob, who was trying not to laugh. He obviously didn't think she was a people person either.

“Well, I think it's admirable that you left all that behind to help out your grandfather.”

Kate returned her attention to her grandfather.
I'm not a people person? When did that happen?
Probably about the time she'd been dumped by her last boyfriend and a psychopath had hired her to hunt down his family. “Actually, my grandfather is helping me out. When I decided that I didn't want to do investigative work anymore, I quit my job, and he's let me move in with him until I figure out what I do want to do.”

“And I'm glad to have her,” her grandfather said with a smile, but she wasn't so sure he meant it.

She really hadn't figured anything out. She'd been in Gospel going on two months, and she was just as rudderless as the day she'd arrived. As she cut into her prime rib and took a bite, the conversation went on without her. Lately, she'd begun to feel as if the thing she was looking for was right in front of her eyes, but she couldn't see it. Maybe, if she got out of her own way, she could see the forest for the trees.

“So, it sounds like you got in some skiing before the resort closed. That's good,” Stanley said, pulling Kate's attention from her thoughts. She glanced at her grandfather, whose gaze was directed at Rob. How had the conversation turned from the M&S to skiing in Sun Valley? Kate's least favorite subject.

“Yes. The trip I took in February was great. Lots of powder. Perfect weather. Cute lodge bunnies.”

Under the table, his knee touched Kate's. She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, but he was looking at her grandfather. “One of them had a very interesting tattoo.”

“Robert.” Grace leaned forward and stared at her son. “You know you have to stay away from bunnies of any kind. They're trouble.”

He laughed. “In more ways than one,” he said, then dug into his baked potato.

Grace gave her son one last withering glance and turned her attention to Kate. “Do you ski, Kate?”

“No. I never learned.”

“If you're here next winter, Rob can teach you.”

She seriously doubted she would be in Gospel next fall, let alone next winter. “Oh, I don't think—”

“I'd love to,” Rob interrupted, and his thigh pressed into hers again.

Warmth from his touch seeped through her skirt and heated up the outside of her thigh. She turned her head and looked at him as he popped the olive into his mouth. “No, really. I'd break my neck.”

He glanced at her lips and swallowed. “I'd take good care of you, Kate. We'll start off nice and easy.” A wicked little glint shone through his eyes as he raised his gaze to hers. “Real slow, then work up to something hard.”

Kate waited for his mother to call him “Robert” and scold him for his obvious sexual innuendo. She didn't. “Starting slow is so important,” Grace said instead. Then she played right into his hands. “And good equipment.”