Kentucky Rain (8 page)

Kate leaned against the sink, facing her father, and clutched the countertop behind her. She relived her frustration years ago when she was dating both men. It was true. Scott never spoke of marriage. They’d been high school sweethearts. Maybe he took her for granted. But the atmosphere at a big-time college was different from home—charged with sex, drugs and drink. She had joined a sorority, relishing her new popularity. She hardly studied.

Scott was too busy studying. Too busy being serious. He hadn’t shown her he’d cared about her like Jerry had. Hadn’t sent flowers or taken her out on expensive dates or told her she was beautiful, just the type of girl he desired to marry.

Had she married Jerry out of guilt because she'd slept with him? Or had she married him because he'd stroked her ego and made her feel wanted and complete? Or both? Had she really loved him? She’d thought she did.

In the end, she hadn’t been enough for Jerry. She had been an awkward entertainer of his clients, not polished or sophisticated enough. He’d accused her of being cold in bed and begged her for an intimacy she didn’t feel. She’d failed him and Reagan. And now she was divorced, and Reagan was forced to switch households on a schedule like a mechanical doll.

Anger at herself rolled through her stomach. She swallowed, tamping down the self-loathing. If only she’d done what it took to make Jerry happy. God knew, she’d tried.

“I’m worried about Reagan, Dad,” she said in a raw voice. “I thought this kitten might help ease her through the divorce. Give her something to love.”

Ben put the finishing touches on the tree house, placing it in front of the kitchen window so the cat could look outside. There were three carpeted perches, one being a tunnel perfect for hiding. He snatched up the kitten and deposited him on the top perch so that they were eye-to-eye.

“He
is
a cute little thing,” Ben conceded looking the cat. “What’s his name?”

“Spike.” Kate’s voice choked with emotion.

Ben turned and surveyed her. “Now it’s nothin’ to cry about, honey.”

He knew her so well. He’d raised her, after all. “I’m not crying.” Kate lifted her chin. “It’s just that I try so hard, and it’s so unfair that Reagan and I have to go through all this.”

“Nobody ever said life was fair.”

How often had she heard her father say that? Why couldn’t she get it through her hard head?

“I know. It’s just that I want so much for my daughter.”

“I did, too, honey,” he said in agreement. “Life didn’t deal me no favors when your mother left us.”

“I know, Dad.” She shouldn’t have brought this up. She shouldn’t have made him remember his own disappointments and heartaches.

“But all you can do is your best. Children are forgiving, especially if they know they are loved. Believe me, Reagan is well-loved, and she knows it.”

“Oh, Dad.” Kate crumpled into his arms as she had done so many times growing up. He hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head, ruffling her hair.

“It’s okay, Katy,” he whispered. “It will all be okay. Trust me.”

* * * *

Reagan came home that afternoon excited because she’d trotted and posted in the aisle between the stalls, and tomorrow she would ride in the arena.

“Georgia says I’m good for a beginner,” Reagan told her mother as she put the silverware on the table for supper.

“That’s terrific!” Kate had pulled herself together from her earlier meltdown. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“There’s a barbeque picnic Saturday night after camp is over, but I guess I can’t go.”

Kate placed a tuna casserole on a hot plate in the middle of the table. “Why not?”

“I have to go to Daddy’s house.”

Her daughter’s words sounded strange. Daddy’s house used to be their house. She turned her back on Reagan and ground her teeth. Hurt cut deep.

Cut it out! Don’t cave again!

“Hey, wait a minute.” Kate whirled around, suddenly remembering. “You’re not going to Louisville this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s right. Daddy’s getting married.”

The finality of the whole damn divorce hit Kate at that moment. Coming from Reagan’s lips, her daughter’s words held a stark truth that Kate couldn’t ignore.

She straightened her shoulders and made the tone of her voice light. “We can go to the picnic.”

“Hey, yeah! I can show you Buster, the horse I ride.”

“Great.” Kate enjoyed the return of happiness to Rea’s face. “I’d love to meet Buster.”

They sat down to eat just as the doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it!” Reagan sprang from her chair and ran into the living room. She came back with another girl in tow, the long-legged teenager Kate had seen at horse camp.

“This is my friend, Georgia,” Reagan announced. She wore a look of pride—the kind younger girls often wear when older girls pay attention to them.

This was Dr. Sullivan’s adopted daughter. “Hello, Georgia.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lawrence, I brought Reagan some of my old jodhpurs.” Georgia held up a large canvas bag as proof.

Supper was immediately forgotten while Reagan tried on the riding pants. Georgia had even brought several pair of short, black riding boots—well-worn, but if they saved money, what did Kate care?

“What are these elastic straps?” Kate asked, pulling out a handful from the bottom of the bag.

“They’re keepers, Mom,” Reagan said with disgust as if Kate should know.

“Okay,” Kate said slowly, perplexed.

Georgia filled in the puzzle pieces. “Keepers are buttoned to your jodhpurs and go under your boots. They ‘keep’ your pants down when you ride.”

The light went on, and Kate nodded. “Oh, ‘keepers’. Of course!”

Fifteen minutes later, they settled on a pair of boots that fit Reagan and two pair of jodhpurs—one navy polyester that Georgia said Reagan could wear at competitions, and the other made from blue jean material which would be perfect for practice.

Dressed in the jodhpurs and boots, her daughter looked like a real equestrian. Warmth flooding her heart, Kate smiled at her little girl. “Well, I think you look terrific,” she said then turned to Georgia. “Thank you for letting us borrow the riding gear.”

“Oh, you can have them. Mandy says we don’t need them anymore.”

“Well, thank Mandy for us, will you?”

“Sure will!”

Reagan saw Georgia to the door, returning to take her place at the table. They ate in silence a few minutes, and finally Kate tried to start a conversation.

“Do you think you’ll be able to ride better tomorrow wearing boots and real riding pants?”

Reagan rolled her eyes as if to say her mother was a real dummy. “Jodhpurs,” she corrected. “Mom, they’re called Kentucky jodhpurs, not riding pants.”

“Okay,” Kate mumbled, properly chastised and secretly glad Sarah Scott’s remedy was working. Horse camp was just the right thing to initiate Reagan into small town life and ease the hardship of living with divorced parents.

It wasn’t until after she crawled into bed that Kate remembered her morning appointment with Scott. The bedside clock read one o’clock before she finally fell asleep.

Chapter Nine

“This is my bedroom.” Scott let her enter the room first.

Kate paused on the threshold. “I couldn’t guess.” She released a hollow laugh. What was she doing here anyway? Glancing quickly at the unmade mattress on a metal frame and stark white sheets, she fought the urge to run. “And you’re right. It’s pathetic.”

Aware of his presence behind her, his big body clad once again in his oh-too-sexy jogging shorts, Kate suppressed her jitters and strode into the room with a confidence she didn’t feel. His room was, once again, a mirror of hers on the other side of the duplex, but unlike hers, it was a bare slate.

“I suppose it is bad,” he said with a luscious, self-assured laugh.

“Do you call that a bed? Are you sure you actually sleep on this mess?”

Sorry she sounded gruff, Kate turned to face him as scalding heat rushed to her cheeks. Damn! He was cute. With his rumpled hair and proud tilt of his head, he was a guy every honest, red-blooded woman could drool over. Kate desired him at that moment, hating herself for her weakness.

She shouldn’t be here with Scott. Not in his bedroom, for God’s sakes.

Over. Done with.
She’d had her chance years ago. But now that she’d gotten herself into this decorating mess, she had to make the best of it.

“What do you want done?” she asked, trying to regain control.

“If I knew, you wouldn’t be here.”

She drank in the sight of Scott’s bewildered face. “Well, do you want new furniture? A proper bedframe and headboard?”

He rubbed his chin. “That would be a good start.”

“What colors do you want? Do you want drapes or shades? Do you have any paintings that you’d like to use?”

“Hold up!” He held up a hand and took a step toward her, laughing. “Enough! How about surprising me?”

Kate inhaled raggedly. He was too close. Too tantalizingly near. She could smell him. And he smelled deliciously like the outdoors. What would it be like to taste him? Kiss him? Tumble into that rumpled, messy bed with him?

Whipping around, she hugged her arms to her chest.
Stop it! Stop it!
You have no business going there!

With her back to him, Kate could sense his hesitation. She heard him take a step toward her. She bit back a curse and battled the ever-ready tears of insecurity. “I need a budget,” she managed to say in a weak voice.

He cleared his throat. “No problem. I have it in my office.”

She trailed him into the third upstairs bedroom. At least it wasn’t his
real
bedroom. Danger lurked there. At least in her mind.

Naming a price, Scott handed her his Visa card and a business card. “That’s the painter I’ve used,” he said, “if you want to have the room painted.”

She nodded, staring down at the credit card in her hand. “You trust me with this?”

“Of course, I trust you.”

Memories flooded through her. It dawned on Kate that she’d heard Scott say those words years ago. But back then, he couldn’t trust her. Not really. She was already sleeping with Jerry during freshman year. She had betrayed Scott, and he didn’t know it. Was she worthy of his trust now?

Her heart shuddered. She lifted her gaze to find him staring at her. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” he said softly. “You can do whatever you put your mind to.”

“But why me?”

“Because I need it done,” he replied. “And because I think you need to do it.”

She blinked, her heart beating out of rhythm. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay.” Head tilted, a slight smile on his lips, Scott gave her the key to his apartment. “Take this. You’ll need it, too.”

They exchanged long looks as she accepted the key. She trembled inside. Could he guess? Why was he being so kind after what she’d done to him?

She ducked her head. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” His voice was deep and confident.

When she raised her gaze, she wondered if he was going to kiss her.

He didn’t, of course.

Instead, he told her he had to get to work, eyeing the pile of papers on his desk. Kate got the message and left him alone, letting herself out the front door.

Back home in her own study, she did a Google search on the Internet, looking for ways to decorate a bachelor pad. She called and engaged the painter for Monday morning. Scott’s pale apartment walls needed color, but Kate had no clue what color to use. That would depend upon the focal point she found for the room.

But she couldn’t find anything on the Internet. So she spent the rest of her morning and early afternoon scrubbing her bathrooms and vacuuming her floors. Housecleaning was always a good outlet for pent-up energy. Then she picked up Reagan early from camp, bringing along a pair of shorts and sandals for her daughter to wear.

Reagan’s eyes lit with anticipation. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going on a hunting expedition,” Kate explained. “We’re going shopping.”

They ended up in Midway, a small college town right smack dab in the middle of thoroughbred country. Legendary horse farms flanked the town, where famous studs bred the next Kentucky Derby winners and well-known race mares spent leisurely days grazing and caring for their prize foals.

“What are we looking for?” Reagan asked as they entered the first antique store.

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope I know it when I see it.”

They strolled through three stores before entering the last one on the block. It was filled with equine art. Horses, mainly thoroughbreds, were depicted in prints, watercolors, oils and modern photos. Most were framed. All were expensive.

“Look, Mommy!” Reagan said with excitement. “That’s a pretty horse!”

“They’re all gorgeous.” Kate acknowledged as her mind raced with inspiration. Scott liked to ride. Why not pick out a painting of a horse and make it the focal-point of his room? Then the colors would fall into order, and she could select window treatments and bedding from there.

But which one should she choose? She didn’t know anything about paintings, let alone about ones with horses.

“May I help you?”

Kate turned to the young clerk who came up beside her. “I’ve been asked to decorate a man’s room.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “bedroom.”

“Are you thinking about buying a painting?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t know what to select,” Kate said. “And I don’t want to blow my budget on it.”

What if Scott hated her idea? The fear of failure was her ever-present phantom.

“Have you thought about using ‘sporting art’? We have quite a collection of prints over here.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Kate followed the clerk to another corner of the shop.

“You said it’s for a man. Well, there’s nothing that speaks more of country gentlemen than a nice piece of sporting art.”

Kate received a quick education. Sporting art had its roots in the early eighteenth century when British noblemen wanted to commemorate their favorite horses, dogs or other sporting scenes and commissioned the top artists of the day to paint these subjects. In America, the immigrant, Edward Troye, became known as the greatest American painter of horses in the nineteenth century.