The Burning Point Page 8

  And if Donovan balked--well, she liked the idea that he'd have to make a hard decision, just as she did. "If I'm to put my life on hold for a year, there has to be something in it for me personally."

  "That's only fair." His expression was wary.

  Her hands clenched involuntarily as she prepared to go through the door that had opened in front of her. "I'll stay on one condition."

  "Which is?"

  "That I work for PDI in the field, handling explosives. Just like you."

  Chapter 9

  "Hell, no!" Donovan exclaimed.

  "Do you think I'm incapable of doing the work?"

  Recognizing that he was on the verge of falling into very hot water, he said, "It's not a matter of capability, Kate. You're smart enough to do anything you set your mind to. But Sam was right--demolition is no job for a woman. Field work is filthy and exhausting and potentially dangerous."

  "Do you think I've forgotten that the business just killed my father? But everything has risks--teaching high school can be more hazardous than working with explosives. You know how much I've always wanted to work at PDI. Now is my chance. I certainly can't move here and spend the next year doing lunch and twiddling my thumbs."

  "True. But honestly, you'd be more help in the office than in the field. A large part of being a foreman or project manager is very routine. Drilling holes and ordering around crews of highly politically incorrect construction workers."

  Beginning to enjoy herself, she crossed her arms and leaned against the fireplace. "What do you think architects do, Donovan? I've stared down two hundred pound laborers and worn out as many hard hats as you have. Who would know better how to bring down buildings than someone trained to put them up?"

  He imagined her giving orders to a hulking laborer, and didn't doubt that she could hold her own. But that was construction, not destruction! "Call me a Neanderthal, but the thought of you working with dynamite gives me chills."

  "Is it just me, or would you feel that way about any female with a yen for dynamite?"

  He almost blurted out that Kate was the one who made him feel so chauvinist, that he couldn't bear to think of her being hurt, but managed to restrain himself. "It would be easier to hire a total stranger for this work than anyone I know. Remember my little cousin Lissie? Connie and Frank's granddaughter?"

  "Of course. How is she? I haven't seen her since her first communion. What a sweetheart she was."

  "She is now two inches taller than you, tops in her class at Western High, and won't answer unless called Melissa. Her current ambition is to go through the same Loyola College engineering program I took, then come to work for PDI so she can blow things up."

  Kate laughed. "You'll have to come to terms with your wimpiness sooner or later, so it might as well be now. You've always had a reactionary streak, but you're a generation younger than Sam. You're not incapable of accepting females as equals."

  "Easier in theory than practice." Donovan remembered a casual coed softball game the first summer of their marriage. He had been pitching while Kate, a darned good infielder, was playing second base. She'd just caught the ball to make an out when the runner, a big guy called Denny, got so carried away by the excitement of the game that he slid into her hard, trying to knock the ball from her glove. Kate was thrown a half dozen feet and knocked breathless.

  When Donovan saw her lying motionless on the ground, he went crazy. He raced off the pitcher's mound, shouting, "Kate! Kate!"

  Gasping for breath, she managed to sit up and assure everyone that she wasn't seriously damaged. Fear allayed, Donovan spun around and slugged Denny with a force that nearly broke the other man's jaw. "You bastard, you know damned well there's no sliding in this kind of game!" He was swinging again when Kate and two other players pulled him away from the cowering, apologetic Denny.

  He calmed down quickly, mostly because he hated to see the alarm in Kate's face, but he was left shaken by the intensity of his reaction. That day he had recognized how primitive and powerful was the desire to protect one's mate. The compulsion to defend his loved ones was as volatile and dangerous as nitroglycerin--and now Kate wanted to implode buildings. He supposed it was karmic justice coming home to roost.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Kate saying, "It's your decision, Donovan. If you and I have to be under the same roof every night, that means business trips together, so I might as well make myself useful. Agree, and the firm will be yours. Refuse, and you'll have to choose between starting your own business, or becoming a hired hand for Bud Marchetti."

  Torn between exasperation and reluctant admiration, he said, "You're Sam's daughter to the core. Pig-headed and hell-bent on getting your own way."

  "Which means I should be darned good at demolition."

  Kate was right, unfortunately. With proper precautions, working with explosives wasn't unduly hazardous. Hard to remember that when Sam had just died in a freak accident. "You've got yourself a deal, Kate. Just remember that I'm the boss, and I expect you to obey orders like everyone else in the firm. This business is too dangerous for you to go off half-cocked on the basis of your childhood memories."

  "I'll be a model employee."

  "I doubt it." But though his words were dry, inside he wanted to turn cartwheels. She was going to stay! Through the grace of God and Sam Corsi, he had the chance to redeem past sins--and sweat blood as Kate learned the fine points of explosives.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  On the drive back to the Corsi house, Donovan and Kate discussed practical details. She estimated that it would take her two weeks or so to sort out her affairs in California. Then she would return to Maryland. To his house. Their house.

  In the meantime, he could work on his will-power. Prepare himself to see a sexy, sleepy-eyed Kate over the coffee grinder every morning, and to hear that warm, seductive voice in the office and on job-sites.

  His mind continued to churn after he dropped her and Oscar off. He remembered all too clearly her expression when she'd learned that Sam had offered his future son-in-law a summer job at PDI--exactly what Kate had yearned for. She reacted as if she'd been slapped. Unable to bear her wounded eyes, he quickly said he'd turn Sam down.

  Kate had swallowed hard, and said that wasn't necessary. Her father's refusal to hire her had nothing to do with Donovan. He wanted to work for PDI as much as she did, and the generous salary would be very welcome. Since they were getting married, they had to be practical.

  He'd been delighted, and selfishly relieved, to have her permission to take the job that he desperately wanted. Not only had he been fascinated by explosive demolition, but he was panting to adopt Sam as a surrogate father. Kate, never a sulker, had buried her disappointment and found herself a summer internship at an architectural firm. On the surface, his work at PDI had never been an issue. But he'd always been uncomfortably aware of how much he'd benefited from Sam's chauvinism.

  Trying not to think of all the accidents and near disasters he'd experienced at PDI, and which Kate would now face, he turned the Jeep toward the Homeland neighborhood in the northern part of the city. It was Saturday, so with luck he'd be able to do what had to be done right away. It wouldn't get any easier.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up on front of a handsome Tudor style house on a quiet side street. The owner's car was parked in front.

  He let himself into the house with his key. The air was heavy with mouthwatering scents. As two cats materialized and began stropping his ankles, a light feminine voice called from the kitchen, "Is that you, Donovan?"

  "Nope. It's your friendly neighborhood ax-murderer."

  Chuckling, Val Covington emerged from the kitchen, her red hair curling wildly and a bulky sweater falling to mid-thigh as a concession to the January freeze. "Perfect timing. A pot of fifteen-bean soup has been simmering all morning, and the honey wheatberry loaf is about to come out of the bread machine."

  She stood on her toes and gave him a hug. "It seems like forever since we've seen each other
. The funeral doesn't count. How are you doing? Losing Sam must be like losing your own father."

  "Worse. Much, much worse." He hugged her back, thinking how easy it was to be with Val. She always reminded him of a wickedly intelligent leprechaun.

  "How are Kate and Mrs. C. doing?" she asked. "They looked numb yesterday."

  "They're coping. I suppose that's the best that can be expected."

  Val frowned. "I'll have to call Kate before she goes home. Maybe we can get together." Curls bouncing, she led him toward the kitchen.

  "I'm afraid there have been some...unexpected developments." In the past he would have gone straight to the soup pot for a sample. Instead, he halted in the doorway. "I've come to return my key."

  Val paled until her freckles stood out like copper haze. "Oh?"

  Feeling like a heel, he said, "I'm sorry, I should have been more tactful."

  "There is no tactful way to say good-bye. Why?"

  He concentrated on removing Val's key from his ring. "Sam's will specified that Kate and Tom get most of his money and I get PDI, but only if Kate and I will live in my house for a year. She's decided to give it a try."

  "I see." Val dropped onto a chair, her voice brittle. "Well, it isn't as if our relationship was going anywhere, Donovan. It's basically been a mutual convenience. A healthy sleeping partner with no strings attached."

  That hurt. "Don't cheapen what has been between us, Val. We've been good friends. I hope we still are."

  "If we hadn't been sharing a bed, we'd never have seen each other. That's not my definition of friendship."

  She was probably right. He'd first met Val as one of Kate's bridesmaids. They'd always liked each other, but since she was one of Kate's closest friends, they'd lost touch after the divorce.

  Then they ran into each other one Saturday in a local bookstore, had a cup of coffee together, and drifted into a relationship. "There's no question that sex always adds interest, but we wouldn't have been sharing a bed if there wasn't more than sex."

  "I suppose not." She toyed with a dangling bead earring. "But you're certainly right that we can't see each other when you're living with Kate. Too much like adultery."

  "Kate and I are going to have a strictly platonic relationship."

  "If you say so." Her hazel eyes were troubled. "Does Kate know that you and I have been...involved?"

  "I just said that I'd been seeing someone. Not who."

  "Good. Kate and I have been friends for a long time. I don't think she'd be thrilled to find out that I've been sleeping with her ex-husband. It's against the Good Girlfriends Code."

  "Isn't there some kind of statute of limitations on that? After all, until this week Kate and I hadn't seen each other in almost ten years."

  "It was okay while she was in California. Not when we're all in the same city."

  He reached out and stroked her hair. It was red and springy and crackled with vitality, like Val. There had been no passionate highs and lows, but they'd been good company for each other. Especially in bed. "You'll have to wait to get together with Kate. She's returning to California tomorrow, and won't be back for at least a couple of weeks."

  Val swiveled away from his caressing hand. "Don't tell me--the subliminal message here is one of those guy things. 'Let's have sex one last time.' No dice. I'm not into maudlin partings."

  He winced. "Did it seem like that's what I was doing? Sorry."

  He'd never made any attempt to learn what made Val tick, and he'd certainly never considered sharing his darkest secrets with her. Might there have been a deeper relationship possible between them? Maybe, maybe not.

  But he would never know. It had been easier to stay on the surface. Safer. "I'm going to miss you, Val. More than I realized."

  "Yeah. I'm going to miss you, too, big guy."

  "You'll probably find someone better long before I'm free to date again."

  "You say that like a joke, but it's not." Her voice was serious. "You're a catch, Donovan. Smart, funny, a hunk, pleasantly prosperous, and a nice guy. Yet you always act as if you can't believe anyone could care for you. Is that why you and Kate split up?"

  Abruptly he remembered why he preferred staying on the surface. "If you want to know the whole story, ask Kate. Maybe she'll tell you."

  "Not her. Kate has never said word one about why she left you. She's a poster child for ladylike discretion. Most females would have poured out the whole story so I could have made soothing noises, but not Kate."

  The breadmaker dinged. Val slid off the stool and went to the stove. "The sex shop is closed, but the offer of soup is still open."

  "Great. I'm going to miss your soups, too."

  "I'll e-mail you some recipes," she said, voice cool.

  As she went to a cupboard and took out two bowls, he wondered how many more ways his life was going to be disrupted by Kate's return.

  Chapter 10

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  A week had passed since Kate returned to San Francisco to organize her affairs, and Donovan had been missing her the whole time. As he ripped lettuce for a dinner salad, he speculated on how much longer it would be until she came back to Maryland.

  Another week, by her own estimate. Though given her comments about the cold weather, he might not see her before March.

  The door from the garage opened, and Kate erupted into the kitchen. Purse in one hand and flight bag in the other, she wore an elegant coat that was way too light for the fifteen degree temperature, and an expression that reminded him of a ticking grenade. Obviously she'd used the garage door opener he'd given her before she left, but why on earth hadn't she called to say she'd be arriving earlier than expected?

  To put him off balance, he realized. To score a point in the conflict that thrummed just under the surface. Trust was a long, long way off.

  Well, he couldn't blame her for being uneasy; he was nervous as a cat himself. But glad--very glad--to see her, even though her fair hair was pulled starkly back and she looked as slick and glittery as a glass angel. "So the official residency has begun. I didn't expect you for another week or so."

  "Things fell into place quickly." She set her purse and flight bag down, then wrapped her arms around herself to control her shivering. "Unnervingly so, but at least that has the advantage that the sooner I start, the sooner it's over."

  He wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot piece of rebar. "How was the flight?"

  "Long. Tiring. I was insane to leave California in mid-winter." As she hung up her coat in the closet, he wondered if she would be willing to borrow something of his until she could go shopping. At least her navy slacks and sweater looked warm.

  He wiped his hands on a towel. "I'll bring up the rest of your luggage."

  "I can do it," she said brusquely.

  He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "I know you can, Wonder Woman. But do you really want to?"

  "Cut the gentlemanly stuff. We are not a couple. We are not friends. We are merely sharing the same house."

  Identifying the source of her snappishness, he said tactfully, "You must be hungry. Take a seat and I'll find something to feed you."

  She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped, realizing the truth in his statement. "You're right. A pity that airlines have practically stopped serving food these days."

  As she circled the U-shaped counter and perched on a padded stool, Donovan poured olive oil onto a plate. After he sprinkled on Parmesan cheese and a grating of pepper, he unwrapped a flat loaf of fresh focaccia and sliced off several pieces.

  Bread and olive oil, just like his Italian grandmother used to give him when he was little. He pushed the bread toward her on the carving board. "Wine?"

  "Please." She pulled off the band that held her hair back and shook her head. Blond waves fell forward around her face, making her look softer and more approachable.

  He'd bought and refrigerated several bottles of the chardonnay she'd always liked. Taking one out, he filled a stemmed glass and
set it by her hand, then returned to his salad, more than doubling the quantity. Kate had always been able to tear through a bowl of greens with a zest that would shame a rabbit.

  She ripped off a piece of focaccia and dipped it into the oil and cheese mixture. After swallowing the first bite, she gave a small sigh, the tension lines in her face easing. "Thanks, Donovan. One day you're going to make someone a fine wife."

  Glad to see that her mood was improving, he took a bottle of ginger beer from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. "Have some more focaccia. I figure another two pieces and you'll be civil."

  "Civility is going to require a year of time, not olive oil," she said, the bite gone from her voice. "We shouldn't share food, Donovan. It's too...too intimate."

  Keeping the width of the counter between them, he dunked a piece of bread in the olive oil. "Kate, living together isn't going to be easy, but I can't believe that artificially ignoring each other is the answer. There's lasagna baking in the oven. Wouldn't it be easier just to set two places at the table and eat together?"

  "Sure it's easier in the short term, but we have three years of habit patterns waiting to reactivate. How long does it take to go from lasagna to feeling like we're a couple again? And if that happens, then what?"

  "We're not kids anymore, Kate. We don't have to be ruled by the past. Wasn't that the point of this exercise?"

  She tore a piece of the dense bread into minuscule crumbs. "I'm just...not handling this very well. In the abstract, trying to fulfill the will seemed like a reasonable idea, but in the last week, I've lost my business, my house, my cat, and maybe my moorings as well."

  "You could have brought the cat."

  "Ginger Bear is old, and will be much happier in familiar surroundings. My friend Jenny will take good care of him. Just like she'll take good care of my house and my business." Kate closed her eyes, emphasizing the dark shadows under her eyes.

  Deciding she needed time to pull herself together, he went to the garage to collect her luggage. After dropping off her bags in the bedroom wing, he returned to the kitchen and remarked, "You're driving Sam's Cadillac?"