- -
- 100%
- +
Booker arched an eyebrow. “Laid up?”
“He was…um…hit by a cable car,” she said with a grin to let him know she was joking.
She’d hoped to elicit a smile, but the line of Booker’s lips remained as grim as ever. Slowly he slid the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “You mean life in San Francisco wasn’t the nirvana you expected.”
She resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. “We all make mistakes,” she muttered as he parked in front of her parents’ white-brick rambler.
He easily yanked the suitcases that she could barely lift out of his truck, carried them to the door and punched the doorbell. Then he pivoted and headed back, leaving her on the doorstep without so much as a “goodbye” or a “good luck.”
“Haven’t you ever done anything you regret?” she called after him. She knew he’d done plenty; she just didn’t know if he regretted any of it. He certainly had never acted as though he felt any remorse.
But she didn’t listen for a reply. The door to her parents’ home opened almost immediately, and her stomach knotted as she saw her mother’s face for the first time in two years.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, praying that Tami Rogers would be more forgiving than Booker.
Her mother’s expression didn’t look promising. And when Tami glanced at Booker and his truck, her features became even more pinched. “What are you doing here?”
Katie peered over her shoulder at Booker, too, wishing him gone, well out of earshot. “I…” The pain inside her suddenly swelled. She couldn’t even remember, let alone recite, the eloquent apology she’d prepared on the way from San Francisco. All she wanted was for her mother to reach out and hug her. Please…
Her mouth like cotton, she searched for the right words. “I…I need to come home, Mom…just for a little bit,” she added because she thought it might make a difference if her mother understood she didn’t expect any long-term help. Just a place to stay and some kind of welcome until she could find a job that wouldn’t require her to be on her feet.
“Oh, now you want to come home,” her mother replied.
“I know you’re angry—”
“Andy called here looking for you,” she interrupted.
“He did?”
“He told us you never got married.” She folded her arms and leaned against the lintel. “Is that true?”
“Yes, but only because—”
“He also said you’re five months pregnant.”
Instinctively Katie’s hand went to her abdomen. She hadn’t gained any weight yet, so the pregnancy wasn’t apparent, especially in Andy’s baggy sweatshirt. “It—it wasn’t something I planned. But once it happened, I thought maybe Andy would—”
Her mother put up a hand to stop her. “I don’t want to hear it. I raised you better than this, Katie Lynne Rogers. You used to be a good girl, the sweetest there was.”
Katie tried not to blanch as her mother’s rejection lashed a part of her that was already terribly raw. “I’m still the same person, Mom.”
“No, you’re not the girl I knew.”
Katie didn’t know how to combat such a statement, so she switched topics. “Andy had no right to tell you anything. He’s the one who—”
“He’s a bum, just like we said. Right?”
Andy was handsome and debonair. He certainly looked like a stand-up guy. But he was full of empty promises and false apologies. She couldn’t refute that, either, so she nodded.
“We tried to tell you,” Tami went on. “But you wouldn’t listen. Now you’ve made your bed, I guess you can sleep in it.”
The door closed with a decisive click.
Katie blinked at the solid wood panel, feeling numb, incredulous. Home was the place that had to take you in, right? She’d hung on to that thought for miles and miles. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She’d spent nearly every dime she possessed reaching Dundee.
She considered the last twenty bucks in her wallet and knew it wouldn’t be enough to get a room. She couldn’t even walk back to town, where there was a motel, without risking the baby.
Slowly it dawned on her that Booker hadn’t pulled away from the curb. Which meant he’d probably heard the whole thing.
Embarrassment so powerful it hurt swept through her as she turned. Sure enough, he was standing at the end of the walk, leaning against his truck with the rain dripping off him, staring at her with those shiny black eyes of his.
His learning about the baby this way, seeing what Andy had reduced her to—it was more humiliating than Katie could’ve imagined. She’d broken off her relationship with Booker because she’d wanted more than he could give her. And here she was….
A lump formed in her throat and her eyes began to burn. But she had a few shreds of pride left.
Bending, she picked up her small suitcase. She couldn’t lift the large one. It was too heavy to carry with any dignity, and she wouldn’t get far trying to drag it. So she sucked in a quick, ragged breath in an effort to hold herself together a little longer, threw back her shoulders and started down the street.
She didn’t know where she was going. But at the moment, anywhere was better than here.
CHAPTER TWO
BOOKER COULDN’T BELIEVE what he’d just heard. Katie wasn’t only down on her luck, she was pregnant. Andy Bray, that sorry son of a bitch who’d come through town bragging about everything he was and everything he was going to be, when he wasn’t anything at all, had gotten her pregnant and left her to cope on her own.
Booker longed to make Andy pay for what he’d done. Then he reminded himself that he had no stake in Katie’s life. He might have loved her once, but she’d chosen someone else. Someone with all the trappings of respectability—the preppy clothes, the supportive family, the college degree. That removed Booker from the picture completely. He should head over to the Honky Tonk, he told himself, and forget he’d ever seen her.
Climbing into his truck, he decided to do exactly that. But that damn suitcase sitting alone on the front porch nagged at him. Surely Tami Rogers would change her mind and take her daughter in. Any moment now, the door would open and some member of the family, Katie’s little brother perhaps, would go after her.
Booker waited, but the door didn’t open. Lightning darted across the sky, thunder boomed in the distance, and the wind rose before Tami so much as peeked out a window. Booker felt a moment of hope when he saw her glance furtively into the street. But when she realized he was still there, she jerked the curtains shut.
“She’s not my problem,” he finally muttered, punching the gas pedal. But he didn’t get farther than half a block before Katie’s parting words came back to him: Haven’t you ever done anything you regret?
He’d done plenty of things. He’d been so angry as a kid that he’d been kicked out of more schools than he could remember. He’d put a guy in the hospital simply for looking at him the wrong way. He’d spent two years in a jail cell for stealing a car he didn’t want in the first place. When he reflected on everything he’d felt and done before the age of twenty-five, he knew it was a miracle he’d ever reached thirty. If not for his grandmother, he might never have turned his life around.
In his rearview mirror, he watched Katie round the corner at the end of the street. With her wet clothing and sandals, she had to be freezing. And she was pregnant.
Slamming on his brakes, he spun around and pulled into the driveway of the Rogers house. He retrieved Katie’s suitcase, then rocketed down the street.
KATIE HEARD BOOKER’S truck coming up from behind and instantly improved her posture. She hadn’t managed to hold back her tears for long, but with the rain she doubted he’d notice.
He slowed as he drew parallel, and shoved open the passenger door. “Get in!”
She refused to look at him. She had to live with what she’d made of her life, but she didn’t have to show Booker her pain. “Go away.”
“I’ll put you up for a few nights until you can work things out with your folks,” he hollered. “Just get in before you catch pneumonia.”
“I’ll be fine,” she replied. But she didn’t feel fine. She felt sick at heart and angry and ashamed….
“Where are you planning to go?” he asked. “It’s after eleven o’clock.”
She didn’t answer because she didn’t know. She had friends in town, people she’d grown up with, gone to school with, worked with at the Hair and Now. She was sure someone would take her in for a night or two. But asking wouldn’t be easy when she hadn’t been in touch with anyone since she’d left—except her best friend Wanda, who’d married and moved to Wyoming.
“It’s going to start snowing soon,” Booker added.
“I realize that.”
“You’ll ruin your sandals.”
“They’re already ruined.” Everything was ruined and had been for a long time. The sandals were just the last to go.
Booker gunned the engine. The truck lurched forward but came to a squealing stop right in front of her. Leaving his door open despite the rain, he got out and walked over to confront her. “Give me your suitcase.”
She held her suitcase away from him, but he caught her hand and relieved her of it. Then they stood facing each other in the pouring rain and, as Katie gazed up at him, she was suddenly so hungry for one of his rare smiles she could have cried for that alone.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
The harshness in his face eased. “We’ve all done things we regret,” he said, and loaded her suitcase into the truck.
THE OLD HATFIELD PLACE hadn’t changed much. Booker went for a towel as Katie stood dripping in the mudroom off the back, remembering the woman who’d lived here, alone for the most part, for so many years. Hatty had been a fixture in Dundee for Katie’s entire life. She might have had blue-gray hair and looked as fragile as a bird, but she was more headstrong than anyone Katie had ever met. Hatty generally wore bright-red lipstick and a red suit to match, drove a giant Buick—if one could call what she did behind the wheel driving—and had a no-nonsense approach to everyone and everything.
But Hatty was gone now. She’d died just before Katie left. Katie had been so intent on getting away that she hadn’t given Hatty’s passing much thought. But she knew Hatty’s death must have hit Booker hard.
“Here,” Booker said, returning with a plush burgundy towel and a pair of sweats. He’d peeled off his own wet shirt and was wearing another simple T-shirt that stretched taut across his wide chest and showed the bottoms of the tattoos on his arms. He hadn’t bothered changing his jeans.
“I’ve got some sweats of my own,” Katie said when she realized the pair he’d handed her were probably his.
“I didn’t want to dig through your suitcase. You can give them back to me in the morning.”
He left her to dry off and went into the kitchen. Katie could hear him moving around, opening cupboards and drawers while she changed. She was still freezing and knew it would take some time to warm up, but she was glad to be out of the storm.
She entered the kitchen with her hair up in the towel and Booker’s sweats hanging loose on her body, trying to ignore his scent, which lingered on his clothes, and all the pleasant associations attached to it.
“You hungry?” Booker asked.
“Not really,” she said because she felt she had no right to impose on him any more than she already was.
He considered his sweats on her. “Looks as though you could stand to gain a few pounds.”
“I’m sure I’ll be gaining plenty over the next few months.”
When he frowned, she knew he’d made the connection to her pregnancy. “Eggs and toast okay?” he asked.
Secretly grateful for the promise of a meal, Katie nodded. She’d been so afraid she wouldn’t have money for gas that she’d skimped on food. “It’s really nice, you helping me out like this. I appreciate it.”
She took a seat at the kitchen table, recalling the day Hatty had made Booker varnish it. “The varnish seems to be holding up.”
Booker looked at her. “The what?”
“The varnish. We tried to tell Hatty that this set was mostly plastic. But she wouldn’t listen, remember? She wanted you to varnish it, anyway.”
A ghost of a smile curved Booker’s lips. “I remember. She had me wash the walls before I could paint them, too, and she made me restarch her doilies. I must be the only guy my age who’s ever starched a doily.”
Katie couldn’t help chuckling. Toward the end of Hatty’s life, Booker did almost anything she asked of him. Some people thought she’d bullied him like everyone else. Others claimed he was afraid of losing his inheritance. Katie had seen Booker and Hatty together often enough to know Booker indulged Hatty for only one reason—he loved her. “The place looks great,” she said.
“Gran had it in top shape before she died.”
But she’d been gone more than two years, and while the house hardly seemed different, Booker did. He’d always been a survivor, a man who could take care of himself. But he suddenly seemed so much more…domestic. Maybe it came with owning his own home. “I’ll bet you miss her.”
He dug through a drawer until he found a spatula. “What’s Andy doing these days?” he asked, changing the subject.
Andy was partying. But she wasn’t about to tell Booker that. “I’m not sure.”
He studied her in that way he had of looking right through people. “How long ago did you leave him?”
“It’s been three days.”
“And you’ve lost track of him already?”
Most of the time she hadn’t known what he was doing even when he was in the next room. Because she hadn’t wanted to know. It was rarely something of which she could approve. “I don’t want to talk about Andy.”
He went to the fridge. “One egg or two?”
“Two.”
“When did you eat last?” he asked, setting the egg carton on the counter next to the stove.
“Today.”
He paused. “Today?”
“Yeah, you know, earlier.” She tried to avoid a more specific answer by drawing his attention back to the food. “Anyway, it smells good.”
He broke the eggs into a frying pan, and Katie listened to them sizzle. As awkward as it was between her and Booker, she was beginning to get warm—and to appreciate the fact that she hadn’t been forced to knock on someone else’s door in the middle of the night.
When the silence grew to the point of discomfort, however, she asked, “What have you been doing since I left?”
“Working,” he said simply.
“Doing what?”
“He owns Lionel & Sons Auto Repair,” a third voice proudly announced.
Katie looked up to see Delbert Dibbs standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A rottweiler the size of a small horse sat at his heels.
“You’re back,” he said, recognizing her immediately. Delbert was wearing a pair of Buzz Lightyear pajamas that weren’t buttoned quite right. Where he’d found such a large size, Katie couldn’t even guess. He was her age. At least five foot eleven, he had to weigh a good hundred and seventy pounds—only about thirty pounds shy of what Booker probably weighed. “I’m so glad,” he added. “I missed you, Katie. I missed you cutting my hair.”
Katie didn’t have a chance to stand up before Delbert hurried across the kitchen and gathered her tightly in his arms. They’d never been close, but she’d cut his hair every once in a while. They’d also gone to the same elementary school for kindergarten and first grade. By second grade, it had become apparent that he wasn’t developing normally, and he was put in a special school. But she’d still seen him around town. Especially after he dropped out of school altogether and took to rambling up and down Main Street, hanging out at the Arctic Flyer or loitering near the auto repair shop.
Katie frowned at Booker while Delbert squeezed her with all the exuberance of a child and the dog sniffed her curiously. But Booker neither came to her rescue nor offered any explanation.
“What—what are you doing here?” Katie asked Delbert when he finally released her and she could draw enough breath.
“I live here now,” he said, showing crooked teeth in a wide smile. “I live with Bruiser and Booker.”
Bruiser was obviously the dog, but Katie didn’t get the connection between Booker and Delbert. How did such an unlikely pair wind up as roommates?
“Since when?” she asked.
His face clouded as he slumped into the chair next to her. Bruiser went over to Booker and wagged his tail in greeting. “My dad died. Did you know that, Katie? I came home one day, and he was just staring at me. Wouldn’t say a thing.”
“How awful,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”
His sadness lifted as quickly as it had descended. “Want me to show you what I made?”
“Uh…okay.”
He got up and raced from the kitchen, and Katie slanted a questioning glance at Booker. “Delbert lives with you? How did that come about?”
“I met him at the shop once I took over.”
“And?”
“You heard him. His dad died.”
“So you took him in?”
“He works for me,” he said. “I’ve actually been able to teach him quite a bit about cars.”
Teaching Delbert anything had to be a slow, frustrating process. That Booker would have the patience and go to the trouble when almost everyone else in town—including the local minister—barely acknowledged Delbert impressed Katie. “There must be more to the story than that.”
“Not really,” he said. “Delbert’s dad was all he had. Once he died, there wasn’t anyone left to care for him.”
Katie shook her head as she toyed with the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table. Somehow Booker never failed to surprise her. “That’s really nice,” she said. “What would’ve happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in?”
“He would’ve gone to a special home in Boise.”
“Most people would’ve let him go,” she said.
He set her eggs on the table and went to the counter to butter the toast that had just popped up. “Maybe, but it didn’t make any sense to me. He grew up around here. Dundee is comfortable and familiar to him. And they wouldn’t let him have a dog or work on cars. Delbert lives for those two things.”
As if to confirm his words, Delbert returned with a model of an antique Ford. “See?” he said. “This is a Model-T, one of the first cars ever made. It came in pieces. Booker helped me put it together.”
“He did, huh?” Katie watched Booker clean up the mess he’d just made.
“Yeah.” Delbert gazed lovingly at his model. “Booker can do anything.”
Katie lifted her eyes to meet Booker’s and found him wearing a wry grin. “Some people are easier to please than others,” he said.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” Rebecca demanded as soon as the bartender at the Honky Tonk brought her to the phone. “Josh and I have been waiting here for over an hour.”
Booker returned the frying pan he’d dried to its place beneath the stove. “I ran into a slight complication.”
“What kind of complication?”
He looked toward the kitchen door to make sure he was still alone. “Katie.”
“What?” Rebecca nearly screamed the word. The fact that she could scarcely hear above the music pounding in the background probably had something to do with it. But he knew hearing Katie’s name on his lips had more impact than anything.
“Katie Rogers is back in town,” he explained.
“No way!”
“It’s true.”
She fell silent for a moment. “I thought you were over Katie. Just last week, you told me to quit bugging you about her. You said she was never going to contact you, and it didn’t matter anyway because you didn’t—”
“I remember what I said,” he interrupted.
“And now she’s back? Out of the blue? How do you know?”
“I found her stranded on the side of the road a few miles outside town.” He didn’t add that she’d been driving a hunk of junk, had dark circles under her eyes, looked as thin as a rail and was five months pregnant.
“Was Andy with her?”
“What do you think?”
“I think they lasted longer than I ever dreamed they would.”
They’d lasted longer than Booker had thought possible, too. For a while, he’d held out hope that Katie would reconsider his proposal and come back to tell him she’d made a mistake. But as month marched on to month, he’d finally realized he was stupid for continuing to hope and had forced himself to get on with his life.
Only now she was back. She just hadn’t come back to him.
“She should never have let you get away,” Rebecca said.
“Let me get away? Hell, she practically ran in the other direction.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t give many people a chance.”
“She had more than a chance.”
Rebecca wasn’t listening. “You’re not unsociable, exactly. Just a little rough around the edges, stubborn—definitely stubborn—and a bit of a cynic.”
“That’s pretty funny, coming from you,” he pointed out, but Rebecca’s mind had already shifted gears.
“Hey, do you think she’ll want to work at the salon again?”
“Aren’t you ready to give up managing that place? It’s not as though you need the money.”
“I’m not managing the salon anymore, I’m buying it. I like having something that’s all my own. It helps me hold on to Rebecca so she doesn’t get lost in being Mrs. Joshua Hill.”
“You expect me to understand that psychobabble bullshit?”
She laughed. “You understand, and you know it.”
He only understood that Rebecca was one of the few people he could trust, and he valued her friendship. “So you want me to have Katie call you in a day or two if she’s interested in coming back to work?”
“Wait a second.” Suspicion entered Rebecca’s voice. “She’s staying at her folks’ house, right?”
Booker blew out a sigh. “Wrong.”
“Don’t tell me she’s staying with you!”
“I had to bring her home,” he said. “Her parents refused to take her in.”
“Why?”
If he’d been talking to anyone else, he might have said, “Because she’s pregnant and not married.” But he wasn’t talking to just anyone. He was talking to Rebecca, and she was very sensitive these days about who was having a baby and who wasn’t. Mostly because she wasn’t. She and Josh had been married a couple of years and they’d been trying to have a baby the whole of that time, but nothing they did seemed to work. Booker knew Josh had gone in for testing because Rebecca had shown up on his doorstep, when the doctors determined that she was the one facing fertility problems, and ranted about the unfairness of life. Of course it would be her, she’d said; Josh was never to blame for anything. Then she’d done something he’d never seen her do before—she broke down in tears.
“I guess they’re still upset about her leaving on such bad terms,” he said, glossing over the facts.
Rebecca snorted. “Give me a break. I didn’t like Andy any more than you did, but Katie’s got a right to make her own choices.”
“Tell her parents that.” He thought she just might, which was a happy possibility. Maybe Rebecca would get through to Tami Rogers. Maybe then Katie could move home….
“So you’re not going to make it out to see us tonight, is that it?” Rebecca asked.
“It’s pretty late.”
“That’s okay. Delaney and Conner decided to join us.”
Delaney had been Rebecca’s best friend while they were growing up. She’d married Conner Armstrong nearly three years ago. They had a kid right away and built a huge resort out of the Running Y Ranch. Booker knew Delaney and Rebecca would always be close. They weren’t much alike—but then, Rebecca wasn’t much like anybody.
“I beat Josh at pool,” she told him.
“Freak luck, that’s all,” Josh said in the background.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s a sore loser.”
“Play me again, and I’ll show you a sore loser.”
“I have to go,” she said. “Josh needs me to humble him.”
Booker figured she wouldn’t have any trouble bringing poor Josh to his knees. Josh loved his wife more than Booker had ever seen a man love a woman. But there were days when Booker thought this baby thing would tear them apart. He was glad they seemed to be getting along so well tonight. “Good luck,” he said.