Kate's Vow (Vows) (2 page)

“It was a percentage of the settlement. We can make the same arrangement, if you like.”

“You mean my dad would have to give you money when I get the divorce?”

“Something like that.”

“He won’t like that.”

“They never do,” Kate said dryly. “But the court will see to it.”

In this case there would be no court and no settlement, if she had anything to say about it. In fact, she figured one stern lecture and some healthy outrage ought to fix things right up. Surely the boy’s father wasn’t being intentionally cruel. He was probably just a little misguided. Misguided could be straightened out in no time. It usually required no more than a determined logical assault.

“I’m very proud that you chose me to represent you,” Kate said. “I will be in touch. I promise.” She picked up one of her cards and scribbled on the back. “Take this. If you need me, call. I’ve given you my home number and my car phone.”

He tucked the card carefully in his pocket. His already grave expression grew even more worried. “Will it take long? School starts soon, and if I’m going to have to go to a different one, I’d like to start with everyone else.”

“I’m hoping it won’t take long at all. You give Zelda your dad’s address at work and your phone number at home. I’ll get started today.”

He hesitated at the door. “What if he gets mad and kicks me out before you can find anybody to adopt me?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she promised.

“But he might,” he said, as if this man he obviously adored was likely to turn out to be a tyrant.

Kate didn’t believe that for an instant, but she could see that he was genuinely worried about the prospect. With a rare impulsiveness she told him, “If he tries, you can stay with me until this is resolved.”

His eyes brightened for the first time. “Do you have any kids?” he asked hopefully.

“No.” It was something she’d never really regretted until now. At this moment she wished with all her heart that she could wave a magic wand and provide this kid with a ready-made family.

“Don’t you have to ask your husband?”

The ingenuous question made Kate’s hackles rise, but she merely shook her head. “No.”

“Then that’d be okay, I guess.”

In the last few minutes Kate had discovered that her dream child, one that skipped over all the messy stages, wasn’t nearly as appealing as she’d thought. David Winthrop personified such a miniature adult. Yet she found that she wanted badly to reach out and muss his hair and tug that tie loose until he looked more like a carefree kid. She wanted to see him smile and to hear him laugh. She wanted to hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Even so, she held back. She had a feeling David Allen Winthrop, for all his self-possession, was holding himself together by a thread. She would do nothing that might offend the pride and dignity he wore like a protective cloak.

One thing was for certain—she’d never felt such a gut-deep need to make a case turn out right.

* * *

“Go home,” Dorothy Paul told David Winthrop, scowling ferociously. Her plump, naturally cheerful face softened the impact of the scowl.

“It is Friday night,” she reminded him. “The weekend is just beginning. Enjoy it. Go to the beach. Take your son to Disneyland. Go to a ball game.”

“Are you through?” David asked, frowning back in annoyance. Obviously he’d given his assistant too much latitude. She thought she had the right to pry like some self-assigned mother hen.

“No, I am not through,” she said, ignoring his exasperation. “You’re working too hard. You have been ever since Alicia died.”

“That’s enough!” he snapped. The mere mention of Alicia’s name brought back too many painful memories of those last days and weeks before her death. He couldn’t relive that time. That was one of the reasons he slept fitfully, usually on the couch in his office. If he allowed himself to crawl back into the bed they had once shared so joyfully, he had unbearable nightmares about her suffering.

His longtime assistant regarded him patiently. “See what I mean? You would never use that tone with me if you weren’t exhausted.”

“I am using that tone with you because I am rapidly losing my temper.”

To his regret, the look she shot him was full of pity, not fear. “David,” she began in that gentle, mothering tone that was always a prelude to a lecture.

“Not tonight, Dorothy. Please. I’m beat.”

“So, go home.”

“I can’t. I want to finish this one last sketch for the set for
Future Rock.
”

“What makes you think you know what Mars actually looks like?” she said, coming close to peer over his shoulder.

“I don’t, at least not from personal experience,” he countered. “But neither do you, so my guess is as good as anyone’s.”

“How many movie set designs have you worked on in the last six months?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “I’ll tell you. Four. That’s more than you did in the past two years.”

“I’m building a reputation. I’m in demand. You should be grateful. It allows me to pay you an exorbitant salary to keep this office running smoothly.”

“You’re hiding.”

“Dorothy!”

To his deep regret, she ignored the warning note in his voice. “I will not shut up. I have watched you hiding out in this office long enough. It’s time to start living again. If not for your sake, then think of Davey.”

David ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know you mean well, but I have to handle this the best way I know how.”

“By working yourself into a state of exhaustion? By ignoring your son?” she said.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

The unfamiliar feminine voice, filled with derision, cut into their conversation.

Startled, David turned to stare at the slender, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. Her wide-set eyes were flashing fire. Her mouth, which no doubt would be described as lush by advertising standards, had taken a disapproving downturn. She was wearing one of those power suits, dark and businesslike. A flash of hot pink silk at the neckline teased suggestively. He doubted she realized the provocative effect. She struck him as the type who would have disapproved of it.

He completed his survey and decided there wasn’t a hint of vulnerability to soften all those hard edges. All in all, she was the kind of woman he genuinely disliked on sight. The exact opposite of Alicia, who’d been warm and gentle and compassionate, all soft curves and femininity.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded ungraciously. “We’re closed.”

“Then you should have locked the door,” she shot right back, clearly unintimidated by his lack of welcome.

He headed for the door to the workroom. “Dorothy, take care of this. I’ll be in back,” he said, retreating from the woman and from the unsettling effect she was having on him.

The woman looked ready to leap into his path. Dorothy, damn her, was practically racing for the opposite door.

“See you,” his assistant said. “Like you said, we’re closed. It’s the weekend and I’m out of here.”

“You’re fired.”

She beamed at him. “In that case, don’t forget to clean the coffeepot before you go. You know how you hate it when it gets all cruddy after sitting all weekend.”

Poised in midflight, David stared after his traitorous assistant. Then he regarded the unexpected visitor suspiciously.

“Are you a reporter?” There had been a lot of them lately, trying to sneak an advance look at the designs for
Future Rock,
which was being touted as the most ambitious futuristic drama since the advent of all the
Star Wars
films.

“No.”

“If you’re looking for a job, I don’t have any available. Dorothy handles everything around here.”

“Then I don’t envy her,” the woman retorted sympathetically.

David dealt with snippy, feminist women like this all the time, women who’d had to claw their way to the top of a sexist entertainment industry. Normally he gave as good as he got. Today he was simply too worn-out to try.

“Lady, obviously you have some sort of ax to grind,” he said wearily. “Get it off your chest and leave me alone. I have work to do.”

“Don’t we all,” she countered. “I’ll bet mine is less pleasant than yours.”

“Then I suggest you get it over with and leave us both in peace.”

An odd expression, mostly anger, but touched by sadness, flashed across her face then. David suddenly began to wonder if it was going to be so easy to find peace again, once she’d said whatever was on her mind. He was bothered by a nagging memory of what she’d said when she walked into his office. It had been something that suggested she knew more about him than a stranger should. A reference to Davey?

“I’m here representing your son,” she said.

The statement confirmed his recollection but added a startling twist. “My son,” he repeated weakly. Then in a rush, he demanded, “Is Davey okay? What the hell do you mean you’re representing him?”

She ignored his tone and slowly withdrew a piece of paper that for all the world looked like a legal document. She held it out. Heart thumping, he snatched it from her grasp. When he’d read it through, he regarded her in astonishment. As indignation washed through him, he waved the paper in her face.

“This says that my son has retained you as his legal counsel.”

“Good. You can read. That will make things easier.”

The cutting remark sailed right past him as he tried to focus on the meaning of the legal document in his hand. He finally met her gaze again, indignation suddenly tempered by genuine bewilderment. “He’s a ten-year-old boy, for God’s sake. What does he need a lawyer for?”

“Because, Mr. Winthrop, your son would like to file for a divorce.” She waited just long enough for that incredible piece of news to sink in, then added, “From you.”

Chapter Two

D
avid couldn’t have been more stunned if someone had told him that his futuristic sets, all products of a vivid imagination, were accurate depictions of far-off planets down to the last alien being and barren detail. He also felt a powerful surge of helplessness and anger that a total stranger knew more about what was going on in his son’s head than he did. Why in God’s name hadn’t he seen this coming?

Of course, he consoled himself, it was entirely possible that this woman was making the whole charade up. He clung to that premise because it allowed him to retort with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“You know, lady, I’ve heard of ambulance chasers in your business, but taking advantage of a ten-year-old boy is outrageous. I could have you brought up on charges.”

She didn’t bat an eye. He had to admit that impressed him. And worried him.

“What charges?” she inquired with disconcerting calm. “I’m looking after my client’s interests. Last I heard, that was what lawyers get paid to do.”

“Paid? Now we’re getting down to it, aren’t we?” he said, almost sorry that this woman was the low-down vulture he’d first predicted her to be. “What’s it going to take to get you off your high horse and out of my life? Name your price.”

The derisive question brought a furious spark to those incredible, vivid eyes that were the shade of whisky shot through with fire. He couldn’t seem to look away, fascinated despite himself by the immediate, passionate response that was evident before she said a word.

“How dare you!” she said, stepping up until they were toe to toe. In her high-heeled pumps, with her chin tilted up defiantly, their eyes were almost level.

“This isn’t about money,” she said slowly and emphatically, as if she wasn’t entirely sure he could grasp plain English. “It isn’t about me taking advantage of anyone. It’s about a little boy’s relationship with his father and, frankly, Mr. Winthrop, I’m beginning to see why he wants out.”

Noble words, spoken with conviction. Hurled smack in his face, in fact. David recognized the technique. She was invading his space, trying to intimidate him. She was probably a real hellion in a courtroom, he thought with surprising admiration. Perhaps elsewhere, as well. A little shiver of awareness cut through his own outrage. Analyzing that unexpected reaction kept him from listening too closely to the accusations she was leveling at him, until one snagged his attention.

“…and neglect.”

Neglect?
He simply stared at her. “I do not neglect my son,” he said in a low, furious tone that matched hers for righteous indignation. “He is fed and clothed. He has every toy, every opportunity a boy his age could possibly dream about. He’s got more computer games than FAO Schwartz. He plays baseball, football and soccer. He has an Olympic-size pool in the backyard. If he expresses an interest in anything, he’s signed up for lessons. Our housekeeper spends more time driving him around town than she does taking care of the house. He goes to the best private school in all of Los Angeles.”

“I’m delighted your housekeeper is so dutiful. But frankly, for all the attention you’ve been paying him yourself, I’m surprised you don’t have him in boarding school,” she snapped back, clearly unimpressed by everything that had come before.

He cringed at that. He actually had considered boarding school at one point during Alicia’s illness, but she had protested vehemently, had made him promise that Davey would never be sent away from home. He regarded this woman—Kate Newton, according to the paper she’d handed him—as if she were some sort of witch for having zeroed in on his single biggest weakness as a parent, his desire to deal with his anguish in his own time, in his own way…alone. And his ardent wish to spare his son from having to cope with one single instant of his own dark depression.

“I think you’d better go now,” he said with quiet resolve, refusing to give in to his desire to shout at the top of his lungs. There was a tremendous temptation to take out months of pent-up frustration and grief on a woman he’d just met, because she was tearing open all of the raw wounds that time had not yet healed. He gestured toward the door. “You can show yourself out, I’m sure.” He started for the workroom in back.

“We’re not through,” she retorted, staying right where she was. The low, natural command in her voice halted him in his tracks.