Considering Kate Read online

  “Kate.” He leaned on a shelf, angled his body toward her. Funny, how the moves came back, how the system could pick up the dance as if it had never sat one out. “Why don’t we—”

  “Katie. I didn’t know you’d come in.” Natasha Kimball hurried across the shop, carting an enormous toy cement mixer.

  “I brought you a surprise.”

  “I love surprises. But first here you are, Brody, as promised. Just came in Monday, and I put it aside for you.”

  “It’s great.” The cool-eyed, flirtatious expression had vanished into a delighted grin. “It’s perfect. Jack’ll flip.”

  “The manufacturer makes its toys to last. This is something he’ll enjoy for years, not just for a week after Christmas. Have you met my daughter?” Natasha asked, sliding an arm around Kate’s waist.

  Brody’s eyes flicked up from the truck in its open-fronted box. “Daughter?”

  So this is the ballerina, he thought. Doesn’t it just figure?

  “We just met—over a slight vehicular accident.” Kate kept the smile on her face. Surely she had imagined the sudden chill. “Is Jack your nephew?”

  “Jack’s my son.”

  “Oh.” She took a long step back in her mind. The nerve of the man! The nerve of the married man flirting with her. It hardly mattered who had flirted first, after all. She wasn’t married. “I’m sure he’ll love it,” she said, coolly now and turned to her mother.

  “Mama—”

  “Kate, I was just telling Brody about your plans. I thought you might like him to look at your building.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Brody’s a contractor. And a wonderful carpenter. He remodeled your father’s studio last year. And has promised to take a look at my kitchen. My daughter insists on the best,” Natasha added, her dark gold eyes laughing. “So naturally, I thought of you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “No, I do, because I know you do quality work at a fair price.” She gave his arm a little squeeze. “Spence and I would be grateful if you looked the building over.”

  “I don’t even settle for two days, Mama. Let’s not rush things. But I did run into something annoying in the building just a bit ago. It’s up in the front charming Annie.”

  “What…Brandon? Oh, why didn’t you say so!” As Natasha rushed off, Kate turned to Brody. “Nice to have met you.”

  “Likewise. Give me a call if you want me to look at your place.”

  “Of course.” She placed the little car he’d handed her neatly back on the shelf. “I’m sure your son will love his truck. Is he your only child?”

  “Yes. There’s just Jack.”

  “I’m sure he keeps you and your wife busy. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Jack’s mother died four years ago. But he keeps me plenty busy. Watch those intersections, Kate,” he suggested, and tucking the truck under his arm, walked away.

  “Nice going.” She hissed under her breath. “Really nice going.”

  Now maybe she could run out and see if there were any puppies she could kick, just to finish off the afternoon.

  One of the best things about running your own business, in Brody’s opinion, was being able to prioritize your time. There were plenty of headaches—responsibilities, paperwork, juggling jobs—not to mention making damn sure there were jobs to juggle. But that one element made up for any and all of the downside.

  For the last six years he’d had one priority.

  His name was Jack.

  After he’d hidden the cement truck under a tarp in the back of his pickup, had run by a job site to check on progress, called on a supplier to put a bug in their ear about a special order and stopped at yet another site to give a potential client an estimate on a bathroom rehab, he headed home.

  Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, he made a point to be home before the school bus grumbled to the end of the lane. The other two school days—and in the case of any unavoidable delay—Jack was delivered to the Skully house, where he could spend an hour or two with his best pal Rod under the watchful eye of Beth Skully.

  He owed Beth and Jerry Skully a great deal, and most of it was for giving Jack a safe and happy place to be when he couldn’t be home. In the ten months Brody had been back in Shepherdstown he was reminded, on an almost daily basis, just how comforting small towns could be.

  Now, at thirty, he was amazed at the young man who had shaken that town off his shoes as fast as he could manage a little more than ten years before.

  All for the best, he decided as he rounded the curve toward home. If he hadn’t left home, hadn’t been so hardheadedly determined to make his mark elsewhere, he wouldn’t have lived and learned. He wouldn’t have met Connie.

  He wouldn’t have Jack.

  He’d come nearly full circle. If he hadn’t completely closed the rift with his parents, he was making progress. Or Jack was, Brody corrected. His father might still hold a grudge against his son, but he couldn’t resist his grandson.

  He’d been right to come home. Brody looked at the woods, growing thick on either side of the road. A few thin flakes of snow were beginning to drift out of the leaden sky. Hills, rocky and rough, rose and fell as they pleased.

  It was a good place to raise a boy. Better for them both to be out of the city, to start fresh together in a place Jack had family.

  Family who could and would accept him for what he was, instead of seeing him as a reminder of what was lost.

  He turned into the lane, stopped and turned off the truck. The bus would be along in minutes, and Jack would leap out, race over and climb in, filling the cab of the truck with the thrills and spills of the day.

  It was too bad, Brody mused, he couldn’t share the spills and thrills of his own with a six-year-old.

  He could hardly tell his son that he’d felt his blood move for a woman again. Not just a mild stir, but a full leap. He couldn’t share that for a moment, a bit longer than a moment, he’d contemplated acting on that leap of blood.

  It had been so damn long.

  And what harm would it have done, really? An attractive woman, and one who obviously had no problem making the first move. A little mating dance, a couple of civilized dates, then some not-so-civilized sex. Everybody got what they wanted, and nobody got hurt.

  He cursed under his breath, rubbed at the tension that had settled into the back of his neck.

  Someone always got hurt.

  Still, it might have been worth the risk…if she hadn’t been Natasha and Spencer Kimball’s pampered and perfect daughter.

  He’d gone that route once before, and had no intention of navigating those pitfalls a second time.

  He knew plenty about Kate Kimball. Prima ballerina, society darling and toast of the arty set. Over and above the fact that he’d rather have his teeth pulled—one at a time—than sit through a ballet, he’d had his fill of the cultured class during his all-too-brief marriage.

  Connie had been one in a million. A natural in a sea of pretense and pomp. And even then, it had been a hard road. He’d never know if they’d have continued to bump their way over it together, but he liked to believe they would have.

  As much as he’d loved her, his marriage to Connie had taught him life was easier if you stuck with your own. And easier yet if a man just avoided any serious entanglements with a woman.

  It was a good thing he’d been interrupted before he’d followed impulse and asked Kate Kimball out. A good thing he’d learned who she was before that flirtation had shifted into high gear.

  A very good thing he’d had the time to remember his priority. Fatherhood had kicked the stuffing out of the arrogant, careless and often reckless boy. And had made a man out of him.

  He heard the rumble of the bus, and sat up grinning. There was no place in the world Brody O’Connell would rather be than right here, right now.

  The big yellow bus groaned to a stop, its safety lights flashing. The driver waved, a cheerful little salute. Brody waved back and watched
his lightning bolt shoot out the door.

  Jack was a compact boy, except for his feet. It would take some years for him to grow into them. At the end of the lane, he tipped back his head and tried to catch one of those thin snowflakes on his tongue. His face was round and cheerful, his eyes green like his father’s, his mouth still the innocent bow of youth.

  Brody knew when Jack stripped off his red ski cap—as he would at the first opportunity—his pale blond hair would shoot up in sunflower spikes.

  Watching his son, Brody felt love swarm him, fill him so fast it was a flood of the heart.

  Then the door of the truck opened, and the little boy clambered in, an eager puppy with oversize paws.

  “Hey, Dad! It’s snowing. Maybe it’ll snow eight feet and there won’t be any school and we can build a million snowmen in the yard and go sledding.” He bounced on the seat. “Can we?”

  “The minute it snows eight feet, we start the first of a million snowmen.”

  “Promise?”

  Promises, Brody knew, were always a solemn business. “Absolutely promise.”

  “Okay! Guess what?”

  Brody started the engine and drove up the lane. “What?”

  “It’s only fifteen days till Christmas, and Miss Hawkins says tomorrow it’ll be fourteen and that’s just two weeks.”

  “I guess that means one from fifteen is fourteen.”

  “Yeah?” Jack’s eyes went wide. “Okay. So it’s Christmas in two weeks, and Grandma says that time flies, so it’s practically Christmas now.”

  “Practically.” Brody stopped the truck in front of the old three-story farmhouse. Eventually he’d have the whole thing rehabbed. Maybe by the time he was eligible for social security.

  “So okay, if it’s almost practically Christmas, can I have a present?”

  “Hmm.” Brody pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and appeared to give this due consideration. “You know, Jacks, that was good. That was a really good one. No.”

  “Aw.”

  “Aw,” Brody echoed in the same sorrowful tone. Then he laughed and snatched his son off the seat. “But if you give me a hug, I’ll make O’Connell’s Amazing Magic Pizza for dinner.”

  “Okay!” Jack wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

  And Brody was home.

  Chapter Two

  “Nervous?” Spencer Kimball watched his daughter pour a cup of coffee. She looked flawless, he thought. Her mass of curling hair was tied neatly into a tail that streamed down her back. Her stone-gray jacket and trousers were trim and tailored in an understated chic he sometimes thought she’d been born with. Her face—Lord, she looked like her mother—was composed.

  Yes, she looked flawless, and lovely. And grown up. Why was it so hard to see his babies grown?

  “Why should I be nervous? More coffee?”

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s D-Day,” he added when she topped off his cup. “Deed Day. In a couple hours, you’ll be a property owner, with all the joys and frustrations that entails.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” She sat to nibble on the half bagel she’d toasted for breakfast. “I’ve thought it all through very carefully.”

  “You always do.”

  “Mmm. I know it’s a risk using so much of my savings, and a good portion of my trust fund in this investment. But I’m financially sound and I know I can handle the projected expenses over the next five years.”

  He nodded, watching her face. “You have your mother’s business sense.”

  “I like to think so. I also like to think I’ll have your skill for teaching. After all, I’m an artist, who comes from two people who are artists. And the little bit of teaching I did in New York gave me a taste for it.” She picked up the cream, added a little more to her coffee. “I’m establishing my business in my hometown, where I have solid contacts with the community.”

  “Absolutely true.”

  She set the bagel aside and picked up her coffee. “The Kimball name is respected here, and my name is respected in dance circles. I’ve studied dance for twenty years, sweated and ached my way through thousands of hours of instructions. I should have learned more than how to execute a clean tour jeté.”

  “Without question.”

  She sighed. There was no fooling her father. He knew her inside and out. He was all that was solid, she thought, all that was steady. “Okay. You know how you get butterflies in your stomach?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mine are frogs. Big, fat, hopping frogs. I wasn’t this nervous before my first professional solo.”

  “Because you never doubted your talent. This is new ground, honey.” He laid a hand over hers. “You’re entitled to the frogs. Fact is, I’d worry about you if you didn’t have the jumps.”

  “You’re also worried I’m making a big mistake.”

  “No, not a mistake.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ve got some concerns—and a father’s entitled to the jumps, too—that in a few months you might miss performing. Miss the company and the life you built. Part of me wishes you’d waited a bit longer before making such a big commitment. And the other part’s just happy to have you home again.”

  “Well, tell your frogs to settle down. Once I make a commitment, I keep it.”

  “I know.”

  That was one of the things that concerned him, but he wasn’t going to say that.

  She picked up her bagel again, grinning a little. She knew just how to distract him. “So, tell me about the plans to remodel the kitchen.”

  He winced, his handsome face looking pained. “I’m not getting into it.” As he glanced around the room he raked a hand through his hair so the gold and silver of it tangled. “Your mother’s got this bug over a full redo here. New this, new that, and Brody O’Connell’s aiding and abetting. What’s wrong with the kitchen?”

  “Maybe it has something to do with the fact it hasn’t been remodeled in twenty-odd years?”

  “So what’s your point?” Spencer gestured with his coffee cup. “It’s great. It’s perfectly comfortable. But then he had to go and show her sample books.”

  Her lips twitched at the betrayal in her father’s voice, but she spoke with sober sympathy. “The dog.”

  “And they’re talking about bow and bay windows. We’ve got a window.” He gestured to the one over the sink. “It’s fine. You can look through it all you want. I tell you, that boy has seduced my wife with promises of solid surface countertops and oak trim.”

  “Oak trim, hmm. Very sexy.” Laughing, she propped an elbow on the table. “Tell me about O’Connell.”

  “He does good work. But that doesn’t mean he should come tear up my kitchen.”

  “Has he lived in the area long?”

  “Grew up not far from here. His father’s Ace Plumbing. Brody left when he was about twenty. Went down to D.C. Worked construction.”

  All right, Kate thought. She’d have to pry if that was all she could shake loose. “I heard he has a little boy.”

  “Yeah, Jack. A real pistol. Brody’s wife died several years ago. Cancer of some kind, I think. My impression is he wanted to raise his son closer to family. Been back about a year, I guess. He’s established a nice business, with a reputation for quality work. He’ll do a good job for you.”

  “If I decide to hire him.”

  She wondered what he looked like in a tool belt, then reminded herself that was not only not the kind of question a woman should ask her doting father, but also one that had nothing to do with establishing a business relationship.

  But she bet he looked just fine.

  It was done. The frogs in her stomach were still pretty lively, but she was now the owner of a big, beautiful, dilapidated building in the pretty college town of Shepherdstown, West Virginia.

  A building that was a short walk from the house where she’d grown up, from her mother’s toy shop, from the university where her father taught.

  She was surrounded by family, friends and neighbors.

&nbs
p; Oh God.

  Everyone knew her—and everyone would be watching to see if she pulled it off, stuck it out, or fell flat on her face. Why hadn’t she opened her school in Utah or New Mexico or someplace she was anonymous, somewhere with no expectations hovering over her?

  And that, she reminded herself, was just stupid. She was establishing her school here because it was home. Home, Kate thought, was exactly where she wanted to be.

  There would be no falling, flat or otherwise, Kate promised herself as she parked her car. She would succeed because she would personally oversee every detail. She would take each upcoming step the way she’d taken all the others that had led here. Carefully, meticulously. And she would work like a Trojan to see it through.

  She wouldn’t disappoint her parents.

  The important thing was that the property was now hers—and the bank’s—and that those next steps could be taken.

  She walked up the steps—her steps—crossed the short, slightly sagging porch and unlocked the door to her future.

  It smelled of dust and cobwebs.

  That would change. Oh, yes, she told herself as she set her bag and keys aside. That would begin to change very soon. In short order, the air would smell of sawdust and fresh paint and the sweat of a working crew.

  She just had to hire the crew.

  She started to cross the floor, just to hear her footsteps echo, and saw the little portable stereo in the center of the room. Baffled, she hurried to it, picked up the card set on top of the machine and grinned at her mother’s handwriting.

  She ripped open the envelope and took out the card fronted with a lovely painting of a ballerina at the barre.

  Congratulations, Katie!

  Here’s a small housewarming gift so you’ll always have music.

  Love, Mom, Dad and Brandon

  “Oh, you guys. You just never let me down.” A little teary-eyed, she crouched and turned the stereo on.

  It was one of her father’s compositions, and one of her favorites. She remembered how thrilled, and how proud she had been, when she had danced to it the first time on stage in New York.