Keeping Kennedy (4 page)

“Hey, kiddos, what’s happening?” Kennedy’s
father strolled up and sidestepped the mother she didn’t recognize.
He pulled Kennedy into a big bear hug, then kissed her soundly on
the forehead. “How’s daddy’s little girl?”

“Fine, Dad,” she croaked, dismayed by his
outward display of affection. “Just fine.” Her eyes suddenly
widened in shock when she took a good look at the man who’d raised
her. “What happened to your hair?”

“You like?” He turned around slowly, then
smoothed a hand over the grey mane he’d secured with a leather
strap at the nape of his neck. “It took me nine months to grow it
this long.” He waggled his eyebrows at Kennedy. “Cool, huh?”

Her head spinning, her stomach churning,
Kennedy turned helplessly to Drake who looked every bit as
bewildered as she. This couldn’t be real. Stress. That had to be
the answer. Too many hours at the office. She had to be
hallucinating. Maybe she had a brain tumor! She spent entirely too
much time on that damned cell phone. She blinked.

What had happened to her parents? She turned
back to the strangers in front of her. Who were these
imposters?

“This must be the man,” Kennedy’s father
elated, slapping Drake heartily on the back.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Malone.” Drake smiled
and offered his hand.

“Call me Chuck, D.D.,” Kennedy’s father
insisted, pumping Drake’s hand vigorously and giving him another
enthusiastic whop between his shoulder blades.

D.D.?
Douglas Drake? Kennedy shook her
head. Her father never pulled nicknames out of thin air. This man
couldn’t be her father. She knew her father. He wore Brooks
Brothers suits—not tattered jeans and muscle shirts. And her father
certainly didn’t have a tattoo…

Tattoo?

Kennedy’s gaze riveted to the emblem on her
father’s left bicep. Harley-Davidson. When had he gotten that? God,
she didn’t even know he knew what a Harley was.

Kennedy felt weak-kneed. She stumbled back a
step. This just couldn’t be real. Xanax. She needed a Xanax …or a
Valium…

“Somebody just me what’s going on,” she
demanded. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Why not?
Everything else was damned strange.

“Sweetpea, what’s wrong?” Her mother checked
Kennedy’s cheek, then her forehead. “You feel a little warm. Are
you all right, dear?”

“I have to sit down,” Kennedy muttered,
barely stumbling to the chair next to the hall table. Kennedy
recognized the soft hands caressing her hair and the tender voice
soothing her now; she just didn’t recognize the woman.

Her father shot Drake a look, then settled
his assessing gaze on Kennedy. “Sweetpea, is there something we
should know? Something you’re afraid to tell us?”

Feeling the blood drain from her face,
Kennedy met her father’s worried gaze. He couldn’t be
insinuating—

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, Kennedy.” Her
Father smiled widely and swung one arm around Drake’s shoulders.
“Love is a wonderful thing, and if a new life springs forth a
little earlier than planned, then that’s okay.” He nodded
reassuringly, looking first at Kennedy, then at Drake.

“Dad, I’m—”

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he
interrupted. “Your mother was expecting you before we were married.
It was a little daunting at first, but we managed. We were both
heavily invested in our careers. Kids weren’t on the agenda.”

“That’s right, sweetpea,” her mother cooed.
“Everything will be fine. Your father and I handled the change. We
got married, bought this house and I became a stay-at-home mom.
You’ll get used to it. If you and Douglas are in love, then that’s
all that matters.”

“Amen,” Chuck Malone agreed.

Her mother pregnant before—? Oh, God. Had
she, Kennedy Malone, been an unplanned pregnancy? Her whole life
flashed before her eyes. How could she have lived with these people
all those years and not have known that significant fact?

“No one else has to know,” her mother
assured.

Kennedy shot to her feet, annoyance absorbing
all other emotion. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is
going on here?” she demanded. She looked from her mother to her
father. Both wore the same confused expression.

“Kennedy, your hormones will level out in the
last trimester. Mood swings are typical early on,” her mother
offered, an indulgent smile on her face.

“I am not pregnant,” Kennedy snapped. She
didn’t miss Drake’s look of quiet amusement. The man was no doubt
enjoying the show.

Her father nodded solemnly. “I can dig that,
babe. We just want you to know that we’re cool with the
situation.”

Kennedy flung her arms up in exasperation.
“Why are you talking like that? Why are you dressed like that?
What’s going on?” She’d lost it—this went way beyond Xanax or even
Valium. She needed a straightjacket. A shrink. A frigging mental
hospital!

Realization dawned in her father’s brown
eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

Kennedy frowned. “Don’t know what?”

“Sweetpea, didn’t you get Cassandra’s letter
with your reunion invitation? Why, she told me just yesterday that
she couldn’t wait to see you.”

“What letter?” She met her mother’s concerned
gaze.

“The one explaining reunion week.”

Kennedy shook her head. “I received an
invitation to the reunion and a sketchy agenda for other
activities, like the parade and homecoming masquerade ball that’s
planned later in the week.”

“Oh my,” Brenda said, just the way Kennedy
had heard her say it thousands of times during her life. Maybe her
real mother
was
in there somewhere behind all that tie-dye
and faded denim.

“You see, sweetpea, Friendly Corners is
having its 200
^th
birthday this week,” her father
explained. “The Alumni Committee got together and decided that each
generation of graduates would have a big, weeklong bash in
celebration of the town’s birth, homecoming and reunion. And we’re
supposed to dress and act the part. Your mother and I have been
practicing for weeks.” He struck a pose. “1969. Am I far-out or
what?”

Kennedy sagged with relief. “I see.”
Cassandra, the witch, had conveniently forgotten to inform Kennedy
of that small detail. It would be just like her high school nemesis
to try and ruin Kennedy’s week.

“No problem,” Brenda piped up. “There’s still
some of your old clothes in your closet, dear.” She smiled
affectionately. “I could never bring myself to throw them out or
give them away. I’m sure there will be something you can wear.”

Kennedy held her palms out to call a stop.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly. Cassandra had merely
given Kennedy the means by which to excuse her millennium era
attire. “I don’t do retro.”

Drake rubbed his chin, then grinned
mischievously. “Don’t be so hasty, sweetpea. Retro could be
fun.”

“That’s the spirit,” her father chimed in.
“Heck, man, we’re even having a mini Woodstock.”

Kennedy bared her teeth in a parody of a
smile. “Speaking of clothes, maybe you should bring our luggage
inside,” she suggested to Drake, effectively changing the
subject.

“You chicks just chill, the guys have the
situation under control.” Her father turned to Drake. “Come on,
dude, let’s get your threads.”

Kennedy closed her eyes and pleaded with
whatever gods would listen to deliver her from this insanity.

“You look tired. How about a nice nap?”

Kennedy moistened her lips and essayed a
smile. “Sure, Mom.”

Her mother’s arm still draped around her
waist, the two slowly made their way up the stairs. No matter how
weirdly her parents were behaving, it felt good to be home. Kennedy
sighed as she strode down the familiar hall. She’d stayed away
entirely too long. She had to make sure that didn’t happen again.
Her parents and her uncle were all she had. She gazed lovingly at
the very grown-up flower child next to her. Strange as she looked
at the moment, Brenda Malone was the best mother anyone could ever
ask for.

Charles—Chuck—Malone’s booming baritone
flowed up the stairs a beat before Kennedy heard the two men’s
heavy footfalls. Drake’s huskier, smoky tone sounded rich and
exotic next to her father’s. She shivered, then reminded herself of
the way things were. Friends. She and Drake were only friends. This
wasn’t real. It was all make-believe. A spin.

Kennedy’s father paused before taking her
luggage into her old room. “Your mother and I want you to know that
we remember what a bummer it was to be in love and stuck in the
house with your parents. Don’t sweat it,” he declared. “We’re hip
to your needs. So, we’re putting you both in Kennedy’s old
room.”

“What?” Kennedy gawked at her father.

“We understand, sweetpea,” her mother put in
quickly. “You’re engaged. Of course we know you’re sleeping
together. You’re adults. We respect that. When I was your age, your
father and I had already been living together for years.”

Kennedy opened her mouth to protest but her
father halted her with a knowing look. “We’re cool with this,
sweetpea.” He gave his only daughter a wink. “Relax and enjoy.”

His gaze carefully averted from her, Drake
followed Kennedy’s father into her childhood room. The big canopy
bed stood in the center of the room, still adorned with virginal
white lace and pink ribbons. What a travesty.

This couldn’t be happening.

She couldn’t do this.

No way could she sleep in the same bed with
Drake for one night, much less the next six.

Her gaze suddenly collided with the object of
her discomfort. Instantly and to Kennedy’s supreme annoyance, heat
suffused her.

No way.

Chapter Three

Kennedy glanced first at the shimmering
lights surrounding the Friendly Corners Country Club, then back at
her faux fiancé. She took a long, deep breath. This reception was
the first of several social hurdles on the week’s agenda. All she
had to do was change the subject when anyone pried too deeply into
her love life, and never let Drake out of her sight.

Sidney T. Booker was a master of public
relations and Kennedy had learned well under his tutelage. Never
deny anything, keep changing the lead, and always—always—have a
diversion.

“Okay,” Kennedy began, “remember—stick with
me and play along with whatever I say.” She pulled a serious face.
“I mean it, no improvising. This is my show.” She gave his tall
frame a quick appraisal. When she’d told him tonight was casual,
he’d definitely kept that in mind when making his wardrobe choices.
Criminally faded jeans and a ribbed cotton shirt the color of a
sandy beach. Kennedy frowned. The V neck plunged a little lower
than was necessary, the jeans molded to him a little more tightly
than she would have preferred, but all in all she supposed he would
do. She, on the other hand, had opted for a simple black dress with
a lady-like neckline and a hem that hit just above her knees.

“Anything else?”

“Take those sunglasses off,” Kennedy shot
back, annoyed. It was already dark—why did he need sunglasses? This
day had been the pits so far and she didn’t want it to get any
worse. “And try to…to look intellectual.”

Drake’s brows shot up as he peered at her
over the rims of his confounding eyewear. “Intellectual?”

Kennedy huffed. “You know, more brain than
brawn.”

Drake pulled off the sunglasses and tossed
them into the car through the open window. “Gotcha,” he said with
an unmistakably smug expression. “In other words, be my usual
charming and irresistible self.”

Kennedy opened her mouth to take him down a
notch or two, but a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Oh, wait!”
She jerked the car door open and reached into the glove box. She
shoved aside her cell, resisting the urge to turn it back on, and
retrieved her borrowed ring. She’d forgotten to put it on before
arriving at her parents’ house, but they’d been so excited to see
her that they hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing one.

Details. Kennedy never forgot details. This
was not a good sign.

She pulled the one-carat solitaire from its
black velvet case and closed the glove box. As she shoved the car
door shut with one hip and she admired the diamond beneath the full
moon’s glow.

“Nice rock.”

Kennedy smiled up at him, oddly pleased by
the unexpected compliment. “Thanks.” It was a nice ring. She really
loved it. Too bad she’d be giving it back next week. With a shrug,
she started to slide the ring onto her left ring finger.

“Allow me.” Taking her left hand in his,
Drake accepted the ring between his right thumb and forefinger.

Mesmerized by the intent expression on his
incredibly handsome face, she held her breath as he slipped the
ring into place. She shivered when he lifted her hand to his lips
and kissed the spot right next to the ring.

“A beautiful ring for a beautiful lady,” he
said softly, that whiskey-smooth voice sending another shiver
skittering down her spine. Still holding her hand, he lifted his
right and brushed a stray wisp of hair away from her cheek with
warm knuckles and smiled. “I like your hair up like this. It’s very
sexy.”

Startled, Kennedy jerked back an awkward step
and pulled her hand free of his. “It’s…it’s serviceable,” she
explained. She’d only twisted it up out of the way because she
hadn’t had time to do anything else. She’d never knowingly looked
sexy in her life. Maybe Drake was only getting into character. He
was supposed to say things like that, wasn’t he? “Save the
compliments for an audience.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Not bothering to respond, Kennedy strode
toward the entrance to the country club. He followed silently. What
had she ever done to deserve such a fate? Her parents had turned
into strangers and her life was a sham—well, her social life
anyway.