Kat Attalla Special Edition (65 page)

* * * *

Kate peeked into the barn. She missed her daily feeding of the animals, but she wasn't sure Mr. Mom would let her back in so soon after her illness.

"The coast is clear," Chloe called out. "They're up in the pasture bringing back two strays."

Kate hopped up to the platform and crossed the barn to the stall that housed the calves. "You warn me when they're coming so I can clear out."

"Sure." Chloe pulled the feed wagon along, dumping scoops of oats and grain in front of each of the cows. "What time are we leaving for church tonight?"

"Eleven-thirty. Make sure you take a nap."

"Yes, Daddy," Chloe returned in a baby voice.

Kate wrinkled her nose distastefully at the comparison. "How did the shopping go?"

Chloe sat on the edge of the wagon and beamed. "Wait until you see what I got."

"After you finish your chores. Where are the milk bottles for the calves?"

"On the steps to the loft. You're a little late, but I knew you'd be here."

She left Chloe to finish her chores and took the first bottle to begin feeding. "Take it easy, Lollipop," she scolded the impatient calf as he nuzzled his head against her side and pushed at her. She settled her feet into the fresh straw and used the wall to brace herself.

* * * *

Jake walked silently up the center isle. He covered Chloe's mouth before she could alert Kate to his presence. His stern expression and warning glare silenced any protest she might make. He gestured for her to go out and help Trevor while he spoke to Kate alone.

He continued silently on his way, being careful not to make a sound until he cut off any exit. Now that Kate had her strength back, he wouldn't be surprised if she sprinted out the nearest exit to avoid him.

Kate laughed. "Are you sure you're not a pig?"

Jake froze. When Kate put down the empty bottle, he realized that she spoke to the calf, not him. "I might be a jackass, but I'm not a pig."

She sprang to her feet and whirled around. Her eyes scanned the barn for his traitorous daughter. When she didn't find Chloe, she twisted her fingers together and slid herself along the wall. "I'm going."

"Please don't."

She hesitated, somewhat bewildered. She must have thought he didn't want her in the barn.  "Where's Benedict Arnoldette?"

"Don't blame Chloe. I sent her out to help Trevor. I want to talk to you."

She slumped her shoulders and kicked at a piece of straw on the floor. "What did I do this time?"

"Nothing." He moved closer but stopped when she flinched. "I wanted to know if you'd like to have dinner with us before church tonight."

"I don't think so, Jake."

He exhaled slowly and managed a weak smile. "Why?"

"I've had enough chicken soup and dried toast to last me a lifetime."

"What?" he asked, unsure he understood. Had she made a joke?

"I want real food. Caesar salad. A little veal scaloppini. Maybe some pesto."

"What's that?"

She shrugged. "If you want to know, show up at six."

He squinted his eyes against the sun filtering in from the window. "Did you just invite me for dinner?"

"I guess I did."

Relief ran through his body like a fevered chill. He'd prepared himself to beg if necessary and she asked him instead. Maybe his luck had taken a turn for the better. He smiled and reached for her.

She backed away. "Don't push it, Jake. We have a lot of talking to do before I'll be ready for anything more." He started to say something but clamped his mouth shut again when she sent him a scowl. "Don't you dare use anything I did when I was sick against me."

"I wouldn't. I was only going to ask if I stood a better chance if I walk into your house ass first."

Her jaw dropped open and her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. "Excuse me, I have to take care of something."

He held back his laughter until she cleared the outer gate.

"Trevor Callahan, you loudmouthed squealer." Her raised voice carried on the wind. Jake could afford to chuckle since his brother was now on the receiving end of her temper. "You better run, you coward. If I catch you, you're gonna be chicken feed."

* * * *

Jake knocked on the kitchen door at precisely six o'clock. He waited for Kate to answer, instead of walking right in as he usually did. When he saw her, he did a double take.  She had changed into a black, form-fitting dress that hugged every curve of her body.  His gaze continued along the long length of her smooth legs and ended at the stiletto shoes on her feet.

"Did you think my battery needed a jump-start?" he commented.

She ignored his taunt and glanced over his shoulder. "Where's Chloe?"

"Taking a nap so that she can stay awake through mass tonight. She said it was your orders."

"Oh," she mumbled.  More likely the girl was matchmaking again.

He leaned forward, and she turned her head at the same time to receive his kiss on his cheek.  "Not even a kiss, Kate?'

"No. And no hands either. You're dangerous."

She wouldn’t make much of a point if she fell into his arms the second he walked through the door.  Unfortunately her normally reasonable mind ceased to function in his presence.

He shrugged and walked into the living room.

She burst out laughing. "You jerk." She reached out and pulled off the sign he’d taped to the back of his corduroy slacks. "I'm sorry," written in bold black letters on a white piece of paper, covered the expanse of her favorite part of his anatomy. "Damn it, Jake. That's so unfair."

"What is?"

"I'm trying to make you suffer with my cool, indifferent airs."

"I know," he said simply. "But you couldn't punish me any more than I've punished myself the last few days." He broke rule number one and slipped his hands around her waist. She gave him only a token resistance before resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kate. If it's any consolation, I don't make the same mistake twice."

"You'd better not," she warned him.

"I know you would never do anything to hurt Chloe, and I'm not going to interfere in your relationship with her again."

"Good. Then you won't mind that I bought her an Easter present."

He tensed, but he managed a smile. "As long as it cost less than the national debt."

"Are you qualifying your promise already, or do you think I have more money than God?"

"I heard you playing the guitar today, Kate. If you're that good on the piano, then you probably do make more money than Him."

"I have to check dinner." She wiggled out of his arms and turned away.

"So when you said we have to talk, you meant about me only?"

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. He had an uncanny knack for twisting her words. "No. But I'm no better at what I do than you are at what you do. The only difference between us is a twisted set of values that places more worth on entertainment than the basic necessity of eating. In hard times, we'll see who still can make a living, Jake."

"Why do you belittle what you do?"

"I don't. I love it. But it's not real. I get on a stage and I cease to be a person. Those people in the audience don't know me. They don't care what I think or what I believe in. They only care how they feel when they hear the music. I'm an instrument, no more important than the piano itself."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I care. I know what I sacrificed to get there. I could ramble on for hours about my work, but it has nothing to do with who I am. If you can't separate it, what's the point of continuing our relationship?"

She turned off the flame under the boiling pot of linguini and poured it into the colander. As the stark white noodles began to stick together, she swore under her breath.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked.

"If I don't learn how to concentrate on cooking when you're around, there won't be much point in continuing this relationship either. We'll starve to death."

He peeked into the sink at her coagulating pile of trash. "It looks fine to me."

"It's an insult to my Italian heritage." She flipped the colander over into the garbage, and moaned. "I can't make you suffer. I can't make you understand me. I can't even make you dinner."

He folded his arms around her and patted her back. "It's all right, Kate. Throw a piece of that veal on a roll and we'll call it dinner."

"You don't throw veal scaloppini on a roll."

"Okay. Put some of that green sauce on it and we'll call it Irish veal."

She sighed.

"Work with me, Kate. I'm trying to salvage the evening here. I don't care about the food. I just want to be with you."

She looked over pesto sauce and veal. "It might work."

"The food or us?"

"Both." She could be wrong, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Her decision to give him another chance had been made when she invited him to dinner.

The food turned out to taste better than it looked, and she wanted to be with Jake more than she had expected. The holidays were a difficult time for her. Being with him made the loneliness easier to bear.

Jake settled himself into the corner of the sofa and put a pillow on his lap. "Why don't you stretch out for a while? We're in for a late night."

"Are you going, too?"

"Of course. You don't think I'd leave the two prettiest women in Tannersville to go out at midnight unescorted, do you?"

"Jake Callahan at Easter mass. I hope the church doesn't get struck by lightning."

Kate smoothed her dress and carefully lowered herself on the sofa to minimize the wrinkles. Jake slid her closer and settled her into his lap. He cradled her neck with one arm and rested his other arm across her stomach to keep her from sliding to the floor.

"Let's talk, Kate."

"About what?"

Jake's expression turned serious, and Kate instinctively knew she was in for a longer night than she'd planned. "Kelly."

Chapter Twelve

Kate felt as if the wind had been knocked right out of her. How did Jake know Kelly's name? What else did he know?

She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. The haunting memory of Kelly's face pressed against the car window, and her small hands pounding on the glass, still racked Kate with guilt after all this time. She didn't know if she could talk about Kelly yet, not even with him.

Jake raised his legs to the coffee table. He brushed away a tear with his thumb and left his hand resting on her cheek. "Tell me about her, Kate."

"It hurts too much."

"I know," he whispered. "But it's hurting you more by holding it inside. Start with the good things."

"The good things," she repeated, searching deep in her heart to recall the happier times. She had forgotten those days. Like the first time she saw Kelly's tiny, freckled face checking her out from behind the skirt of the social worker.

"I volunteered to become a foster parent, over my mother's many objections. Kelly was the first child they sent to me. She'd been severely neglected by her mother, who was a drug addict. She didn't trust anyone and she barely spoke. I had no idea what to do, and I began to wonder if I might have gotten in over my head. I didn't stop trying, but it was the music that first got Kelly to open up. She'd hide in the corner and listen to me practice.

"Nikki was in college at the time, so whenever I had to go on a road trip, she stayed home with Kelly or, when school wasn't in session, I took her with me."

Jake smiled. "I'll bet she enjoyed that."

Kate returned his smile. "Yeah, she did. The airplanes mostly. She was the only person I knew who liked airline food. She was so curious about everything. A lot like Chloe is, but a few years younger." She paused and glanced around the room for something neutral to focus on.

"Take your time."

"I got more and more attached, even though they warned me not to. Foster care is often only temporary. Kelly's natural mother entered drug rehabilitation rather than face a jail sentence. For close to a year after she was discharged, she didn't show any signs of wanting her daughter back, so I petitioned the court for adoption."

"They turned you down?"

"Not in the beginning. The social worker told me that everything looked good. They had to do a deeper investigation into my background, but I had no skeletons lurking in my closets, so I didn't worry." She should have worried, she bitterly remembered.

* * * *

Jake noticed the change in her immediately. Her color paled and she clenched her hands into fists. At that point something must have gone wrong. "What happened?"