Florida Knight (31 page)

Kate turned eyes of perfect innocence on her boss. “Fine. We try not to get in each other’s way.”

“Is he reconciled to your fighting?”

Kate shrugged. “He’s not thrilled. It doesn’t matter.”

Attorney Falk fisted her hands on her well-padded hips and glared at her sole employee. “Katherine Knight, the man’s about as eligible as it gets! And lonely. His mother told me so. You’ve been alone with him in a tent, for heaven’s sake. More than once. Isn’t there anything there at all?”

What could she say? She didn’t want to lie. Barbara was too good a friend, Kate’s personal salvation since starting her new life in
Florida
.

“I’m sorry,” Barbara apologized, “I shouldn’t pry. “I
–
it’s just that I’m genuinely interested. I care about you, Kate. I’ve known Michael’s family for years. He’s good man. I’d hoped . . . I guess I hoped you’d fill a need in each other.”

“I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Kate said. “You’re right, Michael’s a good man. And, yes, there’s something there. But I have a lot of personal history that’s getting in the way. I’m not sure where we’re going with this. Right now . . . it’s about as much of a dead end as the investigation.” Stalling for time, Kate flipped the switch on the surge protector, beginning the start-up process on her computer.

Barbara, refusing to take the hint, sneaked in one more question. “Have you seen Michael outside of business?” she asked.

“Once.” Kate picked up a pencil, stuck it in the electric sharpener, inspected the fine point with care. “And we’re having dinner at his parent’s house on Sunday. A late Easter since we were at an Event last weekend.”

Well, glory be!
Barbara Falk turned her head to hide a grin. Obviously, Kate was concealing a good deal behind that poker face. Barbara couldn’t help but wonder just how much. The girl deserved far more in her life than she’d had these last few years. But was a meddling boss going to help? Or provide more heartache? Unfortunately, it seemed the jury was still out on Matchmaking by B. Falk..

“You’ll like Buck and Carrie,” Barbara said. “He built at least half the early developments around town. Doesn’t have to lift a finger these days—”

“
Twin
Lakes
Village
?” Kate interjected.

“Yes . . . and several of the high-rise condos along the gulf. Golden Acres, the single-family homes with all the lakes;
Bay Village
, the condos with all the trees and the mini golf course. If it was built in the seventies and eighties, Buck Turco was both developer and construction boss.”

“But his sons didn’t follow in his footsteps.”

“Michael took after another ancestor. His grandfather, Tate Turco, was chief of police for at least a quarter century. And his great-grandfather Pete Turco kept order when
Golden
Beach
was a wild west boom town back in the twenties. Lots of law enforcement in the family. But Gayle, Michael’s sister, married a construction man, who works for Buck’s business. His name’s Dean, and Mark is destined to take over one of these days, if he ever settles down.” Reacting to the flash of anxiety in Kate’s eyes, Barbara added, “Yes, I know Mark’s got a long recovery, but he’ll make it, Kate. He’s got too many good genes not to be a fighter. He’ll be up and following in his father’s footstep before you know it.”

“Michael seems to think there’s some doubt about it.”

“Michael,” Barbara declared, “sees too much stark reality on a daily basis. It’s harder for him to be optimistic, to have faith. You could use a little more optimism yourself, Kate. Maybe you two should work on it together.”

The only response Attorney Falk got from her paralegal was a reproachful glare.

“Have a good time on Sunday,” Barbara intoned. Give my regards to Buck and Carrie.” With an airy insouciance belied by her plump frame, Attorney Falk walked on toward her office.

When Sunday came, Kate’s inclination was to lock the door, draw the drapes and play “Nobody Home.” She heard the slam of the SUV’s door, footsteps, Michael’s knock on her door. But she was still seething with rage from Michael’s phone call the day before. Imagine the nerve! Asking if she had a dress. Of course she had a dress. Somewhere.

She had a great many clingy medieval gowns, he knew that, the miserable man. Why did he think she might not have a dress?

Because she hadn’t worn a dress since she couldn’t remember when. And any dress she might find in the wardrobe of extra clothes in her storage shed would be limp and probably mildewed, not to mention hopelessly out of fashion. If he’d mentioned
dress
a day earlier, she’d have had time to make one. She could have run through the pattern books at the fabric store . . . discovered the latest twenty-first century styles.

It was possible to buy a dress. People actually did that. Kate grimaced as she looked at the balance in her checkbook.

It wasn’t, she told herself sternly, as if she didn’t have enough money for a dress. There was always emergency money, the cushion from her grandfather that made her alternative independent life style possible. And, surely, Easter dinner with the Turco family constituted an emergency. Her face reflecting the conflict in her soul, Kate fished into a special file and hauled out the checkbook for her money market account. The last time she’d used it was when she’d bought the van.

And now it was Sunday. The dress, which made her look like the darling daughter her mother had always wanted, burned against her skin, was turning her legs to water. The elegant stranger in the mirror on the back of her narrow bedroom door was a person she’d spent all too many of her early years wanting to be. The same person she had rejected as a hopeless aspiration when she left for college, putting everything that was
Manhattan
behind her.

Someone backstage—her mother’s dresser, Kate recalled—had once told her she would grow into her bone structure and become a true beauty. She hadn’t believed it. But now, today, if she didn’t turn on too many lights . . .

No! It was all wrong.
The dress, a subtle rose and mauve flower print with touches of white lace, was far too dressy for Sunday dinner in
Golden
Beach
.

It was Easter dinner.
A week late.

She didn’t have anything else to wear.

She wasn’t home.
Michael would have to go without her.

“Kate, open this door!” Michael, adding his voice to the pounding of his fists.

Kate continued to sit in the lavender chair, head bowed, the graceful folds of her rosy silk dress spread out around her.

“Kate, I’m going to break down the damn door!”

Fury triumphed over fear. Kate sprang to her feet, charged down the narrow hallway. When she put her lips to the crack, the aluminum seemed cold, even though the temperature outside was pushing eighty. “Just let the whole neighborhood hear you, why don’t you?” she hissed.

Michael dropped his tone to match hers. “Kate, I thought a LALOC knight had more courage. Come on, the family’s waiting. Mom just hates to have dinner get cold. Kate? They’re good people, Kate. And Mark is looking forward to seeing you again. Kate?”

She stepped back, eyeing the door as if it were covered with hunter spiders. With the heavy step of the condemned, Kate picked up the small stylish purse she had purchased to go with the dress, checked her shoes, also brand new. As were the pantyhose. Michael, bless him, was momentarily quiet, as if he sensed he had to give her time to adjust.

Was she so terrified because meeting Michael’s parents seemed too much like commitment? Or was she simply afraid of seeing a family—a real family—acting like a normal family should? Michael’s sister Gayle and her husband would be there. With their children. A big family gathering, herself the only stranger. Kate Knight on the outside, looking in. As always.

Not really. Truthfully, she didn’t know what a big family gathering was like. Tag had avoided his family like the plague. And her own? Her parents had frequently been on separate parts of the planet for holidays. Moments of family togetherness—even for just the three of them—were as rare as hen’s teeth.

Kate unlocked the door, pushed it open. Michael, in suit and tie, stood there, his glower gradually transforming into open admiration. His lips puckered, he actually whistled. She should be furious, running to grab her LALOC sword and . . .

His eyes filled with admiration, Michael held out his hand. And stupid, weak,
girlish
tears threatened as the warmth of his fingers closed over hers. Here was comfort, strength, friendship. How could she be afraid when Michael was with her? Kate stuck her chin in the air, allowed him to seat her in the 4Runner as if she were the fragile flower her mother had always wanted her to be. After all . . . the girl who had been Katherine Harmon
was
remarkably fragile. She’d thought herself entitled to an easier road in life. And when she didn’t get it, she’d folded. Run away. Shut herself off. Even Kate Knight, physically tough and agile as an eel, was a wimp, afraid to face the world. It took a Michael Turco to dig her out of her tunnel, make her look at the mess she’d made of her life.

Idly, Kate glanced at the row on row of orange trees outside the SUV’s windows. Painful longing stabbed through her. The glorious scent of orange blossoms, now faded and gone, seemed to linger over the grove, joyfully shouting of love, weddings, and happily ever after. All right, she’d have to admit it
, h
er biological clock wasn’t just ticking; it had exploded. And on top of everything else, Kate was afraid it was coloring her thinking. Could she trust her emotions any more than she could trust her head to find her way through the Gordian knot she’d made of her life? Was Michael just a port in a storm? A false haven who would turn on her?

By the time the 4Runner pulled into a broad circular driveway before a sprawling two-story home, Kate’s stomach was as knotted as the turmoil in her mind.. “We can’t be here already!” she exclaimed. They couldn’t be more than a mile or two from her mobile home.

“When dad built out here beyond the orange grove, it was all country. Not another house in sight, let alone any developments. They’ve got ten acres, two horses, two dogs, three cats. And I think there’s a litter of kittens at the moment.”

“Kittens?” Kate’s pale face actually took on some animation. Michael was relieved. If the family was too much for her, they could always slip away on the excuse of showing her the kittens. Give her some breathing space. He’d warned everyone not to overwhelm Kate, not to pounce on her, drag her into the midst of the family, willy nilly. Kate needed to absorb new situations at her own pace. Being plunged into a world with four new adults and two boisterous children would be enough of a shock without being treated as if she were the Prodigal Daughter. Which wasn’t easy when his bringing a girl to Easter dinner was screaming
serious intentions
to the entire family.

And seeing Mark wasn’t going to be a picnic for her either.

Michael stretched out a hand to Kate. Her brief animation faded
.
S
he was clinging to the her seat as if it were the last zone of safety in a world exploding around her. “Kate, you meet new people every day at the office.”

“This is different.”

“Why?” He wanted to sympathize, but somehow challenging her seemed the best move.

“When was the last time you brought a girl to your parent’s house for dinner?”

Whew! Michael put his hand back on the steering wheel, gripped it hard. “It’s been a while,” he conceded.

Kate groaned. “You set me up! They’re going to think—”

“They’re not going to think anything except we’re working together on a case. You already know Mark—you wanted to see how he’s doing, etcetera, etcetera. That’s it. Perfectly logical. No strings.”

“Just business.”

“Just business.” Michael confirmed.

Dammit!
Kate slammed open the 4Runner’s door, slid down to the concrete driveway. She’d gone from friend to business in the space of a heartbeat, and it was all her fault. Kate Knight, prickly pear.

No! She was Kate Knight, LALOC warrior. She could handle anything.

Buck Turco was an older version of Mark rather than Michael. Big, handsome, and hearty, his silver gray hair added an air of distinction to a frame that could probably still lift a hundred-pound cement block without breathing hard. His handshake was firm, his smile broad. Having already been charmed by both his sons, there was
no way Kate could not like him.

After greeting them at the door, Buck introduced his daughter Gayle, her husband Dean, and their two offspring who, Kate guessed, were about five and three years old. The all-American family, she reflected sourly. Gayle, as dark-haired and dark-eyed as her brothers, displayed Mark Turco’s swift smile and warm charm. Her husband, built like a rangy linebacker, offered a firm handshake and a grin so openly approving, Kate blushed. Dean
Roberson
was the odd man out in the Turco family, she noted. A round boyish face, sandy hair, blue eyes—there seemed to be nothing of him in his two children. The Turco genes ran strong and dark.