The weathered, slight man ambled across the patio and entered the kitchen. Andrew settled into the background. Mrs. Fitzwillie clearly itched to handle the introductions. She dragged the wizened man across the kitchen.
“Anton, the dear boy got himself married this weekend, and this is Kat, his wife,” Mrs. Fitzwillie boomed. “Kat, meet Anton Brock, master gardener and grounds-keeper.”
Age-opaqued eyes studied her. “You are the one in my shed this weekend? You are responsible for this?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the mass of color gracing the patio. Though Andrew had known him for years, Anton’s harsh voice still sounded at odds with his kind face.
Kat fidgeted with the ice pack on his eye. Andrew winced and stilled her hands. “Yes. I’m sorry if I-” she began.
A broad grin split the lines of Anton’s face. “Finally! For years, I try to talk him into a little color here, a little color there, and always ‘No, Anton. Color goes away. Always count on the green.’ Now, after all this time, you bring color.”
Andrew didn’t need his landscaping preference discussed with his wife, especially as if he weren’t present. He tried to quell Anton with a scowl. The man ignored him.
“You don’t mind if I use the potting shed?” Kat smiled with charm.
“No, no! Everything you bring in a pot.” He cast her a sly glance. “Maybe we will put some color in the ground, yes?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Kat glanced at Andrew. “Let’s talk about it later.”
Once again, Andrew felt the odd man out in his own home. He hadn’t planned on Kat turning things upside down this way.
The old man grinned. “I begin the plans now.” He waved a hand at Andrew’s frown. “Simple. A bed here. A bed there.” He turned and hurried toward the potting shed with a bowlegged gait.
Andrew grimaced. “Something simple? I doubt it. Anton’s probably off to plan south Florida’s botanical extravaganza.”
Mrs. Fitzwillie began unloading the dishwasher. “He may indeed. And he’ll have a grand time designing it. Even if a plant never goes in the ground.” She sighed. “Oh, Missus Kat. You’re just what the dear boy needed. You’ll bring this place to life.”
Andrew pulled away from the ice pack and Kat’s touch, scraping his chair back. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”
He’d had all he could take of hearing how much he needed Kat in his life. All he needed from her was a means to his partnership. It would still be integral to his life ages after the dust had settled from Kat leaving. Andrew had long ago learned what you could count on.
He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.
“Have a good day.” Kat sounded subdued.
Before he managed to leave, Mrs. Fitzwillie stopped him. “Now dear boy, I know you want to kiss your bride goodbye before you leave. Don’t mind me. Go right ahead.” She planted herself against the sink and waited expectantly.
Kat didn’t budge from beside the table. Andrew stood at the door.
Mrs. Fitzwillie waved a pudgy hand. “Go ahead, go ahead. I won’t mind a bit.”
Andrew had the odd feeling, intensified by the glint of suspicion in Mrs. Fitzwillie’s eyes, that he and Kat were facing a test. He knew a peck on the cheek wouldn’t pacify Mrs. Fitzwillie. He leaned his briefcase against the wall at the same time Kat took a step and they met halfway.
He slid his hands around Kat’s waist to rest in the small of her back. His fingers brushed the soft satin of her skin where her shirt gaped from her shorts. He knew the taste of that very spot and his body tensed at the memory.
Standing on tiptoe, Kat linked her arms around his neck and murmured against his mouth. “Relax. It’s a kiss. Not an execution.”
Easy for her to say. He died a slow death of want every time they touched. Lowering his head, he captured her mouth with his and sampled her full lower lip. She trembled as she leaned into him.
He raised his head to break the kiss. For a fraction of a second, her lips clung to his. Drawing on every vestige of willpower, he pulled away. Kat slid her hands from his neck to frame his face, and pulled him back down to her. Bypassing his mouth, she gently touched her lips to his swollen, discolored eye. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” Her tender caress threatened his composure.
Kat lightly traced his jawline with her fingers before she dropped her hands to her side.
She’d given a heck of a performance on Mrs. Fitzwillie’s behalf. Passion tempered with tender concern. He couldn’t get to the office fast enough.
Mrs. Fitzwillie clutched her hands to her breast. “Now that was a kiss!” She sighed, beaming at the two of them. “Isn’t love grand?”
KAT SCRAMBLED ACROSS THE SOFA toward the ringing phone, wondering for one heart-racing moment if Andrew might be calling from his office. Not that he should and not that it mattered.
“Hello?” She attributed her breathlessness to her aerobic contortions to reach the phone before the answering machine snatched the call.
“And how is the blushing bride?” Bitsy chortled in her ear.
Kat’s heart slowed to a normal pace as she silently called herself all kinds of a fool.
“Hi, Bits, how are ya?” She slumped onto a needle-point pillow.
“I’m fine. The question is, how are you after a day of wedded bliss with my brother? And what’d you think of my wedding gift?”
Kat considered the havoc Andrew’s baby making had wrought and opted for flippancy. “Blissed beyond belief. And your gift was unusual. We have them on display with the china.”
“Sweetums, that is not where they belong, but this is my brother, so please, no details.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Kat grinned up at the whirring ceiling fan. “Especially not the part about-”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear this. I’m just glad you’re no longer single-handedly supporting the battery market. No pun intended.”
“Very funny. Just for that I won’t mention the black eye or new car.”
“Tell all,” Bitsy demanded. “Tell all now.”
Kat recounted an abbreviated version of both stories.
Although Bitsy howled at Andrew’s black eye, the new car caught and held her attention. “So he bought a new car to keep you and the kidlet safe. That’s an interesting slant.”
“Humph! That was just his selling point. I’m sure he’s much more concerned with making the right impression for his clients.”
“Oh, come on, Kat. A convertible Mercedes would’ve made the right impression. Give him credit.”
That was just the problem, she silently mused. He was gaining too much credit. Way too much credit. She’d already listened to two moderation tapes today.
Mrs. Fitzwillie’s mention of a lonely Andrew had nagged at Kat all morning. Ignoring Bitsy’s reprimand, she changed the subject.
“Bitsy, do you think Andrew’s lonely?”
A sigh drifted over the line. “Andrew cut himself off from almost everyone a long time ago. Growing up, he was more of a parent to me than A.W. and Mother. He’s six years older than I am and he took care of me. But only a string of nannies took care of Andrew.”
The lock on Kat’s heart struggled to hold tight against the picture of a vulnerable little boy, a solitary man.
“Speaking of your parents, I guess I’ll meet them soon. We’re holding a reception this weekend at Andrew’s club. Mark your calendar.”
“Now that I wouldn’t miss for the world. The Montagues meet the Capulets at cocktail hour. Kids allowed, or do I need a baby-sitter?”
“Forget Romeo and Juliet. It’s more like the Hatfields and McCoys armed with law degrees. And of course you’ll bring Juliana.”
“A neighbor of mine runs a catering service, if you don’t already have someone in mind,” Bitsy offered.
“Andrew’s secretary, Gloria, is handling all the details.” She paused, and then tacked on casually, “Do you know Gloria?”