Holding the Dream (11 page)

“That's okay, you can indulge in obsessive expectant fatherhood for a minute.”

“There's more. It's not an excuse for letting my sister dangle.” He sat again, with a muscle in his cheek twitching. “We've decided to settle with Ridgeway. Goddamn bastard cheats on Laura, scalps her, ignores his children, alienates half
the staff at the hotel, and we end up cutting him a check for a quarter million just to avoid a premature termination suit.”

“It's rough,” Byron agreed. “But he'll be gone.”

“He better stay gone.”

“You could always break his nose again,” Byron suggested.

“There is that.” Willing himself to relax, Josh rolled his shoulders. “You could say I've been a little distracted the last few weeks. And Kate, she's always been so self-reliant. You begin to take it for granted.”

“Laura's worried about her.”

“Laura worries about everyone but Laura.” Josh brooded for a minute. “I haven't been able to get through to Kate. She won't talk about it, at least not to me. I hadn't considered going over her head to Bittle. Is that what you're getting at?”

“It's none of my business. The thing is . . .” Byron studied his beer for a moment, then lifted those calm, clear eyes to Josh. He'd thought it through, as he did any problem, and had come to one conclusion. “If Bittle does decide to pursue a case against her, wouldn't she be better off to take the offensive now?”

“The threat of a nice fat libel suit, an unjustified suspension, loss of income, emotional distress.”

Byron smiled and finished off his beer. “Well, you're the lawyer.”
 

It took him the best part of a week, but Josh was hotly pleased when he strolled into Pretenses. He'd just come from a meeting with the partners of Bittle and Associates.

He caught his wife around the waist and kissed her thrillingly, to the delight of the customers milling about the shop.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. And what are you doing in my parlor in the middle of the day?”

“I didn't come for you.” He kissed her again and barely restrained himself from laying a hand on her stubbornly flat
stomach. He couldn't wait for it to grow. “I need to talk to Kate.”

“Captain Queeg is in the office, rolling marbles and talking about strawberries.”

Josh winced. “I thought you were calling her Captain Bligh these days.”

“He wasn't insane enough. She's redoing the filing system. Color-coded.”

“Good God. What's next?”

Margo narrowed her eyes. “She put up a bulletin board.”

“She must be stopped. I'll go in.” He drew a deep breath. “If I'm not out in twenty minutes, remember, I've always loved you.”

“Very funny,” she muttered, and managed to hold the smile back until he'd slipped into the rear office.

Josh found Kate mumbling over files. Her hair stood up in spikes, and the first two fingers of her right hand were covered with rubber tips.

“Less than a year,” she said without turning around, “and you and Laura have managed to misfile half of everything. Why the hell is a fire insurance invoice in the umbrella file?”

“Someone should be flogged.”

Unamused, she turned, eyed him. “I don't have time for you, Josh. Your wife's making my life a living hell.”

“Funny, she says the same thing about you.” Despite her ferocious glare, he walked over and kissed the tip of her nose. “I hear you're color-coding the files.”

“Somebody has to. The software I installed keeps clean records, but you're better off backing up with hard copy in retail. I told Margo to do this months ago, but she's more interested in selling trinkets.”

“God knows how you can expect to keep a retail business running by selling things!”

She drew in a breath, refusing to hear how foolish she sounded. “My point is you can hardly keep any business successful if you don't concern yourself with the details. She's been logging shoes under wardrobe instead of accessories.”

“She needs to be punished.” He grabbed Kate's shoulders. “Let me do it.”

Chuckling, she shoved him back. “Go away. I don't have time to laugh right now.”

“I didn't come by for laughs. I need to talk to you.” He pointed to a chair. “So sit.”

“Can't this wait? I have to be back in the showroom in an hour. I want to get the files in shape first.”

“Sit,” he repeated and gave her a brotherly nudge. “I just had a meeting at Bittle.”

The impatience drained out of her eyes, leaving them cold and blank. “Excuse me?”

“Don't take that tone with me, Kate. It's past time this was dealt with.”

She continued to take that tone, quiet and icy, as fear clawed at her insides. “And you decided you were the one to deal with it?”

“That's right. As your attorney—”

“You're not my attorney,” she shot back.

“Who went to court to get you out of that speeding ticket three years ago?”

“You, but—”

“And who looked over your lease for your apartment before you signed it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Who wrote your will?”

Her face turned mutinous. “I don't see that that has anything to do with it.”

“I see.” Idly, he studied his manicure. “Just because I've handled all the pesky little legal details of your life doesn't make me your lawyer.”

“It doesn't give you the right to go behind my back and talk to Bittle. Particularly since I asked you to leave it alone.”

“Fine, it doesn't. Being your brother does.”

Bringing up family loyalty was, in Kate's opinion, hitting below the belt. She sprang to her feet. “I'm not the
inadequate, incapable little sister, and I won't be treated like one. I'm handling this.”

“How?” Primed to fight, he got to his feet as well. “By color-coding the files in here?”

“Yes.” Since he was shouting now, Kate matched her voice to his. “By making the best of the situation. By getting on with my life. By not whining and crying.”

“By backing down and doing nothing.” He poked his finger against her shoulder. “By going into denial. Well, it's gone on long enough. Bittle and company know that they're facing legal action.”

“Legal action?” The blood drained out of her face. She could feel every drop flow. “You told them I was going to sue? Oh, my God.” Dizzy, she leaned on the desk.

“Hey!” He grabbed her in alarm. “Sit down. Catch your breath.”

“Leave me alone. Leave me the hell alone. What have you done?”

“What needed to be done. Now come on, honey, sit down.”

“Jesus Christ.” She exploded, and rather than a poke on his shoulder, she landed a punch on it. “How dare you?” Her color was back, flaming. “How dare you threaten legal action?”

“I didn't tell them you were going to sue. I merely left them chewing over that impression.”

“I told you to leave it. This is my business. Mine.” She threw up her arms, spun around. “What gave you this brainstorm, Joshua? I'm going to kill Margo.”

“Margo didn't have anything to do with it, though if you would open your beady eyes for five minutes, you'd see how worried she is about you. How worried everyone is.”

Because he might poke her again, he decided his hands were safer in his pockets. “I shouldn't have let it go this long, but I've had things on my mind. If By hadn't dropped by and given me a push, it would have taken me longer, but I'd have gotten to it.”

“Stop.” Breathing hard, she held up a hand. “Playback. Byron De Witt talked to you about me?”

Realizing his misstep, Josh tried a quick retreat. “Your name came up in conversation, that's all. And it started me—”

“My name came up.” Now she was breathing between clenched teeth—teeth that matched the fists ready at her sides. Anger was better, she realized, than panic. “Oh, I just bet it did. That son of a bitch. I should have known he couldn't keep his mouth shut.”

“About what?”

“Don't try to cover up. And get out of my way.” Her shove was fierce enough and unexpected enough to knock him back. Before he could make the grab, she was sailing past him.

“Just a damn minute. I haven't finished.”

“You go to hell,” she shot back over her shoulder, causing several customers to glance around nervously as she stormed out of the office. She sent Margo one seething glare before slamming the front door behind her.

“Well.” Struggling with a smile, Margo handed a bagged purchase to a wide-eyed customer. “That's thirty-eight fifty-three out of forty.” Still smiling, she handed over the change. “And the show was free. Please come again.”

With the wariness of a man who understood trouble when it stared at him from sultry blue eyes, Josh approached the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“We'll deal with sorry later,” she said under her breath. “What did you do to upset her?”

Just like a woman, he thought, to take the woman's side. “I tried to help her.”

“You know how she hates that. Why, instead of taking your head off, did she storm out of here looking like she was going to take someone else's head off?”

He sighed, scratched his chin, shuffled his feet. “She'd finished taking my head off. Now she's going for Byron's. He sort of suggested that I help her.”

Margo tapped coral-tipped nails on the glass counter. “I see.”

“I really ought to call him, give him some advance warning.” But when Josh reached for the phone on the counter, Margo laid a firm hand over his.

“Oh, no. I don't think so. We wouldn't want to spoil Kate's advantage.”

“Margo, it's only fair.”

“Fair has nothing to do with it. And you're going to be too busy waiting on customers to make personal calls.”

Now he stuck his hands in his pockets. “Duchess, I've got a meeting in a couple of hours. I don't have time to help you out around here.”

“Thanks to you, I'm shorthanded.” Knowing that that wouldn't get her very far, she let her shoulders slump. “And I'm feeling a little tired.”

“Tired?” Panic came on wings. “You should get off your feet.”

“You're probably right.” Though she felt strong as a horse, she scooted a stool over to the cash register and perched on it. “I'll just sit here and ring up sales for the next hour. Oh, Josh, darling, be sure to offer the customers champagne.”

Enjoying herself, she slipped off her shoes and prepared to watch her adorable husband handle a storeful of customers.

The only show she would have preferred to witness was the one that would be starting shortly in the penthouse office of Templeton Monterey.
 

The first analogy that came to Byron's mind was that of a wild, possibly rabid, deer charging.

Kate cut through his shocked, protesting assistant like a sharp knife through quivery jelly, snarled like a feral she-wolf, and might very well have delivered the knockout punch of a flyweight champ if Byron hadn't signaled his assistant to retreat.

“Well, Katherine.” He barely missed a beat when she slammed the door with a resounding
crack
. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip off your meddling nose and stuff it in your flapping mouth.”

“As much fun as I'm sure that'll be, would you like a drink first? Some water? You're a bit flushed.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” She sprang toward the desk, smashed her palms down on its polished, and just now crowded, surface. “What possible right do you have to mix in my business? Do I strike you as some weak-willed, empty-headed woman who needs a man to defend her?”

“Which one of those questions would you like me to answer first? Why don't I take them in order?” he said before she could shout again. “You know exactly who I am. I didn't mix in your business any more than any tentative and concerned friend would, and no, no indeed, I don't see you as weak-willed or empty-headed. I see you as stubborn, rude, and potentially dangerous.”

“You haven't got a clue how dangerous, pal.”

“That threat might have more weight if you'd take off those filing tips. They spoil the image.”

A strangled sound erupted from her throat as she looked down and discovered the brown rubber tips still on her fingers. Smooth and quick, she ripped them off and threw them at him. Just as smooth, just as quick, he caught them both before they hit his face.

“Good arm,” he commented. “I bet you played ball in school.”

“I thought I could trust you.” For reasons she didn't want to analyze, thinking of that made her eyes sting. “I even, for one brief, foolish moment, thought I could learn to like you. Now I see that my first impression of you as an arrogant, self-important, sexist jerk was totally on the mark.” Her sense of betrayal was every bit as keen as her fury. “I was reeling when you found me on the cliffs, I was vulnerable. Everything I said there I said to you in confidence. You had no right to run to Josh with it.”

He set the rubber tips on his desk. “I didn't say anything to Josh about that day on the cliffs.”

“I don't believe you. You went to him—”

“I don't lie,” he said sharply. She glimpsed the steel beneath the polish. “Yes, I went to him. Sometimes it takes someone outside the family to put things on the table. And your family is torn up about what happened to you, Kate. More worried about the way you're behaving.”

“My behavior isn't—”

“Any of my business,” he finished for her. “Odd that something as harmless as my speaking with Josh sends you into a tailspin of revenge and retribution, but being questioned about embezzlement makes you curl up in the fetal position and suck your thumb.”

“You don't know what I'm doing, what I'm feeling. And you have no right to pass judgment.”