Mad About You (24 page)

"Absolutely." Kat disconnected the call, then stared morosely at the Woman package. With a sigh, she slit open the box and lifted the heavily wrapped figurine. She carefully removed the layers until she uncovered the jade female, translucent, resplendent...and alone. She felt a brief pang for Woman, who might never be reunited with her true partner. Then she smiled sadly—she was commiserating with a statue. "Want some ice cream?" she asked Woman.

What hurt the most was that she had so misjudged James’s affection for her. All along it had been a convenient, physical relationship, and nothing more. She glanced at the clock—he was already in the sky, winging his way toward New York and the rest of his life… without her.

Kat poured herself a glass of wine, with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on the side, then turned on the stereo and wrapped another cabinet of dishes in a stack of newspapers. She'd polished off the ice cream and started on a second cabinet when a knock sounded at the door. Kat smiled—how would she make it in L.A. without Denise?

Wiping her newsprint-stained hands on a paper towel, she padded to the door and swung it open, grinning. Then her grin dissolved.

"Hallo, Pussy-Kat." James's voice was low and his smile seemed a bit strained. His suitcase and Man squatted on the floor next to his feet.

Her throat constricted, and the first thing that went through her mind was that she couldn't handle another good-bye. "Did you miss your flight?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Traffic?"

"No. I love you."

Kat blinked, and her heart vaulted. "Excuse me?" she whispered.

His brow crumpled. "Didn't I say it properly? I practiced all the way back from the airport. The cabbie said I had it down rather nicely.
I love you.
"

She checked her impulse to rush into his arms, remembering all the reasons a relationship between them wouldn't work. "It's not that simple, James."

His shoulders fell. "You don't love me?" He looked down at Man and scoffed. "I've made a bloody fool of myself, haven't I?"

"James," she said hurriedly, trying not to smile and water down this very tense moment, "the fact of the matter is, I do love you."

His expression was anxious. "Is this where you say you’re not
in
love with me, because the cabbie told me to watch out for that one."

She pressed her lips together, then tried again. "No, James, I'm not giving you the brush-off, I really do love you."

He smiled and held up his hands. "Kat, help me out. This is the first time in my life I've ever told a woman I love her, and I don't know where to go from here. What do you mean 'it's not that simple'? I love you, you love me—"

"James, I want marriage—"

"We'll have one—"

"And a home—"

"We'll have two—"

"And children—"

"We'll have three!" He picked her up and spun her around.

Her body thrummed and her mind raced. This couldn’t be happening… and yet it was. He let her slide down his body, coming to rest face to face with him.

He leaned his forehead on hers. "I love your horrid slippers too."

She laughed. "What?"

"You said it yourself: 'Love me, love my slippers.' They can come too."

"Come where?"

"Wherever you want to live," he said excitedly. "We'll go to L.A. and open your business
there...or
there are many fine antiques in Surrey and London and—"

"James… this is so sudden." Her heart was beating so hard, she was afraid it was going to break a rib.

His dark eyes glowed with emotion. "You're wrong, Pussy-Kat, it's just that I've suddenly opened my eyes. I want to be with you. Marry me."

Kat searched his face, daring to hope. "James, is this a permanent role?"

His eyes shone with sincerity. "Most definitely."

She smiled. "Then… yes."

His breath whooshed out and his grin revealed both dimples as he lowered his mouth to hers. "Brilliant—I've always wanted to get the girl."

The End

Book 2: Almost a Family

by

Stephanie Bond

Life gave them a second chance at love...

Dedication

In memory of my beloved, aunt,

Fonda Sue Bond,

a warm and funny lady who fostered

my love for books.

Chapter One

"SEVEN BALL IN THE SIDE POCKET," Bailey Kallihan said quietly. He squinted down the length of his cue, sliding the smooth stick back and forth through spread fingers. The stares of several dozen patrons of the Sage Saloon bored into his skin. George Jones wailed mournfully in the background. A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. Rather than think about the three hundred dollars he stood to lose on this game, Bailey focused on the three hundred he intended to win.

He drew back a final time and drove the stick toward the ball.

"Bailey!"

Startled, he jerked forward and struck the ball with a dull
thwack
, sending it spiraling toward the hole. Several inches from the target, the seven ball veered and struck the eight ball in its newfound path. Bailey winced and swore as the black ball disappeared unceremoniously into the pocket. The crowd groaned in dismay.

"Scratch!" his opponent yelled above the erupting mayhem, then scooped Bailey's money off the rail with a grin.

Straightening, Bailey scowled, turned to the crowd, and demanded, "Who the hell did that?"

The spectators shrugged and parted, heads pivoting. Bailey tossed his cue stick onto the table and scanned the gathering of cowboy wannabes and their groupies. The voice had sounded female. He would never hit a woman, but if Lisa had yelled for him, she might warrant a good shaking.

A small commotion near the back seemed to be moving forward. When a couple of catcalls caught Bailey's ear, he angled himself for a better look at the emerging woman. He heard murmured apologies before she pushed her way clear and stopped to stand ten feet from him.

Recognition slammed into Bailey. He blinked hard while his heart plummeted below sea level. His skin tingled and his throat closed. The suit and hairstyle were foreign to him, but those eyes... he'd seen those caramel-colored eyes swimming with tears so many times, there was no mistaking them now, shimmering once again.

"Virginia?" he whispered.

She clutched her purse in a white-knuckled grip. "Bailey," she said simply, her beautiful face passive, her voice an uneven croak.

Years dissolved... she could have been the same girl of eight years ago who'd told him through worried tears about the baby they'd
made...
or the girl who'd later repeated through happy tears her wedding
vows...
or the girl who'd announced through inconsolable tears their two-month-old son had been kid
napped... or
the girl who'd declared through angry tears she wanted a divorce.

Well, Virginia Catron wasn't a girl anymore, but from the look in her eyes, life was still batting her around. He took no pride in the fact that he'd caused most of her early heartache. But what now? A death? One of her parents perhaps?

He walked toward her on somewhat shaky legs. She inhaled sharply, her chest rising, as if gathering her strength. As he approached her, the crowd receded but remained rapt, as if sensing some climax. Two feet away he stopped, reached his hand toward her awkwardly, then shoved it in his jeans pocket at the last second. "Virginia, what's wro—"

"They found our son."

The words echoed in his beer-fuzzed mind.
They found our son.
Four words he'd prayed to hear in the beginning.
They found our son.
Then, after months passed, words he'd dreaded to hear.
They found our son.
Finally, words he'd resigned himself to never hearing.
They found our son.

"Did you hear me, Bailey?" Her voice trembled. She stood rigid and made tight little fists with her hands. A crumpled white tissue trailed out of one. Her face had been cried free of makeup, and her lips were pinched.

It was too much, seeing Virginia again and picturing the remains of their infant son, Bailey, Jr. He'd lost years of sleep wondering what kind of tortures his child had been subjected to. Flashes of himself walking alongside volunteers canvassing the area where their baby's blanket had been found came back to him. Had he walked right by the tiny body? Now had hunters found the miniature skeleton? Pain burned in his belly and incinerated his chest.

He stared at Virginia, his tongue thick and unwieldy. She was expecting him to say something profound, but he could manage only to nod. "I heard you." To himself he sounded like a wounded animal, and he saw her flinch in response.

For the first time, he remembered their audience. Old friends, mere acquaintances, and complete strangers gawked at them, unable to hear their conversation, but looking intensely curious nonetheless. The dank smell of beer and the thick cigarette smoke suddenly suffocated him. He reached forward and clasped her elbow, turning her around gently. "Let's go someplace to talk," he said near her ear. She nodded curtly, pulling away from him a few inches.

Bailey frowned, but his brief disappointment at her reflex passed as he anticipated the somber conversation that awaited them. As he weaved them through the crowd and toward the front doors, the music and laughter grew even louder. A wet-T-shirt contest was in high progress, with men lining up to throw buckets of icy water onto the willing contestants. Virginia averted her gaze, and he conceded a pang of embarrassment that she'd had to hunt him down in one of his tacky old haunts to tell him her sobering news.

She couldn't have looked more out of place in her tailored slate-gray jacket and fitted skirt, sheer hose and leather pumps. She'd wound her honey-colored hair into a tight crown knot, with only a fringe of bangs to soften the look. His outrageous, fun-loving coed had matured into an elegant, classy executive. They garnered more than a few looks as they wound their way toward the door.

Bailey bit back a bitter laugh. The lady and the tramp. Their divorce had ended on a sour note, but it appeared she'd fared better without him.

Virginia stared straight ahead with her mouth set in a firm line. Her back remained rigid, and Bailey felt the sudden urge to fold her into his arms, to feel her soften into him and cry against his chest. She'd done just that many times before their baby had been born, and he'd been glad to offer her his strength, trying desperately to
hide
his own fears of becoming a sudden husband and father. But in his grief after the kidnapping, he'd lashed out, saying unforgivable things. She hadn't been in
his
arms since that horrific day. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on her arm through the soft fabric, and she tensed even more.

He didn't blame her for hating him. How could he when he hated himself?

"Bailey?" came a drawling female voice behind him.

Bailey winced. He'd forgotten about Lisa. At first he wasn't going to stop, but Virginia slowed and said, "I think someone needs to talk to you."

Bailey released Virginia's arm and wheeled toward Lisa's voice. The blonde's eyes were wide and questioning as she scanned Virginia head to toe. Hands on hips, her position accentuated her ample chest, covered by a transparent, wet tank top that left nothing to the imagination. She smirked. "Going somewhere, Bailey Boy?"

Bailey's face suffused with heat. He avoided Virginia's eyes. Withdrawing his wallet, he removed a twenty and thrust it into the young woman's hand. "Change of plans, here's money for a cab." Then he reclaimed Virginia's elbow and steered her out onto the sidewalk into the balmy midsummer air.

Nightlife in Columbus, Ohio, normally didn't get rolling until midnight, so the worst crowds and traffic were still a couple of hours away. But the street vendors and sidewalk entertainers were still busy from late shoppers who had not yet departed for home.

"My car's just around the corner," Bailey explained. "There's a coffee shop on the next block."

"Let's walk," Virginia suggested, still staring ahead.

He nodded and fell in step beside her, adjusting his stride to hers. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, "Do you want to wait to talk about it?"

She shook her head and sniffed. "No." Her voice sounded stronger, but forced. "I worked late today and had a message waiting from Detective Lance when I got home. Do you remember him?"

Bailey nodded—the man had been the lead local investigator on their son’s kidnapping, had persisted even after the FBI had given up.

"Anyway, the message said he had news and needed to talk to us as soon as possible. He left you a message, too, but since he hadn't heard from you by the time I called him back, I assumed you hadn't been home yet."

A nice way of saying he'd gone straight to the saloon from work, Bailey noted.

She sought his eyes this time, and he saw her tears brimming again. Swiping at them with her tattered tissue, she said, "I'm sorry, Bailey. I should have waited for you, but I just couldn't—" Her voice faltered. "I just couldn't bear to wait another minute to hear the truth."

He wished he had been there, but he understood her anxiety. His throat ached as he tensed to keep his emotion at bay.