Now and Always (7 page)

Katie and Warren meandered away from the barn, and Katie thought of Meg, pouring her heart out to the horse. It made her sick to think the animals wouldn't be a permanent fixture at the shelter. They could be so helpful for future women who arrived here, broken and in need of comfort.

Warren turned to look back at the barn. “What was going on in there?”

“That's Meg. She's one of the women staying here.” Katie proceeded to fill him in on the circumstances. “She's afraid of her boyfriend, Nate, and I don't blame her. He's unpredictable, quick to anger, and he uses his fists to solve his problems.”

“Sounds like a real winner.”

“Yeah, but it's a problem I hear over and over. Men who treat women like possessions instead of helpmeets. But Nate seems to be a little more out of control than most. I think Meg feels like he will eventually find her. She's afraid to go hiking or wander off by herself. Always stays close to the house and usually around other people. I have to admit, I'm a little concerned about him too.”

“How so?”

“Well, I never know when one of the husbands or boyfriends might come around and decide to cause trouble. One did several years back and scared the whey out of me.”

They walked on in silence. Finally, he remarked, “I don't understand why you continue to put your safety at risk.”

“Because the women need help. Most have nowhere to turn — ”

“Hide,” he interrupted. “Isn't that what you mean? They have nowhere to hide.”

“Yes, I suppose they're hiding.”

“Ever stop to think that maybe they were the ones who drove their husbands over the edge?” An edge entered his tone, and Katie turned to look.

“What a horrible thing to say. No, I don't think they did a thing to deserve the punishment they got. Some might have made bad choices, but no one person has the right to strike another.”

“You haven't met the women I've met.”

Ah yes, the bitterness rumors spoke of. Some woman had really done a job on Warren Tate.

“
No one
deserves to be hit or hurt. Unfortunately, it seems to be a fact of life these days. Lots of women live with emotional, mental, or physical abuse. Not all relationships are made in heaven.”

He shot her a cynical glance. “Very few if any are.”

By the angry set of his lips and the way his eyes narrowed, Katie realized he was thoroughly ticked. Well, she couldn't judge his lack of sensitivity, but she'd seen her share of abusers. She'd had one run-in with an angry husband, and once was more than enough. Ed Mathis was behind bars, and she hoped he never got out. The day he was sentenced, she'd been in the courtroom, and he had erupted in an out-of-control frenzy, screaming that he'd make her pay for coming between him and Jana, the wife he'd driven away with his abusive behavior.

Enough gloom and doom. Katie changed the subject. “Have you thought about a shelter budget?”

She saw the set of his jaw
relax. He was so uptight with the world. What had changed this man from a nerd to a vibrant, smart, yet scornful man? She wanted to reach out and touch him, assure him that life was stressful, but oh-so-worth living. Ask any woman in the shelter, and she would tell you life is tenuous, so take advantage of the years God allows you.

“Yes, I've worked up a few ideas.”

They stopped by his pickup long enough for him to get a file and then walked down to the arbor swing. The clematis vines overhead had lost their blooms now and were tufted with feathery seed pods. The sun warmed her shoulders, and she caught a faint whiff of Warren's cologne. He opened a notebook and took a pen out of the cardboard file.

“All right, we're going to start with evaluating your current situation. What do you own and what do you owe?”

Katie blanched. “Why do you need that?” This was going to be embarrassing.

“It's a starting point. I've got to know what you have to work with. Now what do you own?”

“This place, my car, furniture, personal things. Is that what you mean?”

“That's it, but also stocks, bonds, and things like that. Did Paul leave you a trust fund?”

“No. He invested in the stock market and lost it all. Well, that's not completely true; he left me some money, just not very much.”

“Okay. How much do you owe on loans?”

Katie did some quick calculations and gave up. “I'll have to do some research on that.”

Warren frowned. “You don't know how much you owe?”

“Not right offhand. Is that bad?”

He looked like he'd swallowed a meadow bug. “Well, it's not good.”

“All right, I'll total it up and call you, okay?”

“I guess it will have to be. Credit cards?”

“Two.”

“How much credit left on them?”

“None.” The word came out as crisp as fresh lettuce. She didn't like the direction this was going.

“None?” His eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean none?”

“They're maxed out.” She met him stare for stare, mentally daring him to comment. If she knew how to manage money, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

“Both of them?”

She nodded.

Warren sighed. “Okay. How much do you bring in each month, and how much of that do you save?”

“Save? You have to be kidding.” Katie sounded as exasperated as she felt. “If I had anything saved, I wouldn't be getting all those phone calls you overheard.”

He shook his head. “This might be harder than I expected.” He scribbled some figures in a notebook. “You do have income, I suppose.”

“Yes, I have income.” Not all that much, but still it helped. “I run an in-home typing business. I type medical transcripts, among other things. It isn't regular work, and I can't pinpoint a certain monthly amount. But it helps pay the bills. I give private riding lessons to one client, but I could add one more. And Tottie shares some of her Social Security with us.”

“Fine. Still, you need to give me an estimated income and a fairly accurate figure of what you owe. How much do you pay for car insurance?”

Now that she did know because she had just mailed in a check. He jotted down the amount without comment. “I'll need an estimate on groceries and utilities.”

Katie rolled her lower lip, thinking. “I'll have to talk to Tottie about that. What's next?”

“Looks like I will have to leave you a list of things to look up. When we get through the necessities listed, we'll start on your luxuries.”

She shot him an exasperated glance. “Does the place look like I indulge in luxuries?”

“You have more than you think. How often do you eat out? Take in a movie? How about those lattes you drink?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Now you've started meddling. Leave my lattes alone.”

“Do you have any idea what you spend on say, outside workers?”

“Not really. We do all the work ourselves here, although we pay Bobbi Weller occasionally to run errands for us. But she works for peanuts.”

“Sit down and figure out how much, and then we'll allot you a realistic figure to spend on your extras.”

Katie stuck out her tongue. “You know what? You're no fun.”

He grinned. “What's your desk like, clean or cluttered?”

Katie envisioned the mess of unpaid bills, unopened mail, and sales catalogs. “What you'd imagine.”

“Cluttered.” Warren made a few notes. “Keep things cleared away. Set up files for your correspondence, and I'll find you a computer program to keep track of your income and expenses. You'll save time, and you won't be as apt to lose or forget bills under all that mess. How often do you buy groceries?”

“Whenever we run out of something.” She had no intention of telling him she made two trips to town a day to get a latte. It wasn't a luxury if she was there to pick up something for Tottie.

“You're what? Three or four miles from town? How many trips do you make a week?”

She shrugged. “I don't keep count.”

“Burning all that gas, and I'd guess that every time you go to the store, you buy more than you need.”

Katie felt a jab of guilt as she thought of the trip she'd made yesterday for a gallon of milk and ended up with two brown paper grocery sacks full of things she hadn't planned to buy. “You could say that, I suppose.”

“Buy in bulk whenever you can. It's more expensive at first, but it will be cheaper in the long run. Always make a list. Now, what about emotional spending?”

“I do plenty of that,” she confessed. “Every time I'm late paying a bill and someone calls about it I get very emotional.”

“That's not what I mean. Do you go shopping when you're angry? Depressed? Bored?”

“I go for a walk.” She indicated the hiking trail. “I've worn out several pair of shoes working out my frustration.”

He nodded, smiling. “Okay. I'll see what I can work out, but I can't do much until you get me these figures.”

“I'll start to work on them right away.”

He got to his feet, eyes skimming the pasture. “You're doing a good thing here, Katie, but someday, someone is going to take advantage of you big time. You're too trusting, and you could get hurt.”

She stood, meeting his eyes. “It's better to be too trusting than not able to trust at all. Most people are trustworthy. It's just the few renegades who aren't.”

He shrugged. “I've learned the renegades outnumber the other kind.”

She watched him walk back to his pickup. Someone had broken the man's heart. He drove away, and she walked back to the house feeling pumped about the prospect of a budget. Sure she'd have to make some personal changes, starting with those lattes. She drank two lattes a day at three dollars and thirty-nine cents a cup. It would be hard to give up something she enjoyed so much, but if it helped keep the shelter going, it would be worth the sacrifice.

Warren pulled onto the highway, his mind on their earlier conversation. Talk about your innocents. Katie had no idea the kind of trouble she could incur with her trust.

She couldn't stay on a budget if her life depended on it. She wouldn't last on a strict regime longer than two days, or he'd eat his hat. Paul Addison had been a good friend to his father, so it was his responsibility to take care of Katie and make her see the truth for what it was.

He pulled out to pass a slow-moving car. He'd had an experience with a woman who maxed out credit cards. His. She had run up thousands of dollars of debt charging clothing, jewelry, and makeup before she took off with his best friend. Well, Joe was welcome to her. Chances were that as soon as he ran out of money, she'd have another sucker lined up.

After Susan left, Warren turned his back on New York, mentally leaving people in general and the business world in particular, and came back home to Wyoming. Katie had a more honorable excuse, but she was just another woman looking for a man to pull her out of a financial pit. Warren was a good enough business man to know that Katie's venture would fail. He would work with her. But she'd still be forced to close the shelter, and he'd no longer be obligated, knowing he'd done all he could do to help Paul's grandaughter.

A smile crooked the corners of his mouth. Oh, he'd make her a budget all right.

And sit back and laugh when she fell flat on her face.

Seven

Katie tipped the venti cup and finger tapped the bottom to drain the last delectable drop. Twenty-four hours would pass before the budget allowed for a second one. She and Warren had organized all her financial information, and he had laid out a strict budget for her to follow. Staying with Warren's recommended financial course wasn't easy, but for the sake of the shelter, she could do anything.

She fished Tottie's grocery list out of her jeans and skimmed the items. Parson's Market was close, but pricey. While they had an adequate selection, they couldn't begin to compare on price or variety with the larger wholesale houses. She could drive ten miles on the other side of town and shop at the Warehouse Blowout, where industrial-sized products lined every shelf. She didn't usually shop there, preferring to buy in smaller amounts, but one of the suggestions Warren made was to buy in bulk.

Thinking is first cousin to doing, and soon she was tooling down the highway congratulating herself on how proud Warren would be of her. She was taking his admonitions to heart. When he delivered the budget, she had sensed certain skepticism on his part about her ability to stick to a plan. Well, she'd show him that Katie Addison was a woman of her word.

Ben honked and passed her on the highway. She waved back, noting the sign he carried in the front seat and now held up as he pulled even with the jeep: “Dinner Saturday night?”

She reached for the sign on the passenger seat and slapped it on her window. “Have to wash my hair. Thanks.”

She needed to change the refusal; she'd used the same one for two weeks. He'd think she either had bad, overly dirty, or overly clean hair.