I had finished the last of my coffee and was setting aside the mug when he spoke. I glanced up at him, frowning. “Why? I’m fine.”
“I’m really proud of you, that you moved back home, bought this house, and seem bound and determined to have this baby alone,” he said. “But I know you need more than money and a house.” His brushed my hair back with his hand. “You need Kade.”
I looked away, unsure what to say.
“I was so pissed at him,” Blane continued. “When he came by the house, told me he was leaving. I was still reeling and wasn’t thinking straight, or I’d have known right away he was full of shit, the things he said.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
But Blane shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Robert has played me for a fool before and I should’ve realized he’d have found another way, through Kade.”
“Kade said Keaston’s worried I’m going to come out of the woodwork in ten years with your love child or something,” I said. “And even when I asked him why he didn’t just tell him the baby’s not yours, he said it had been a mistake, me and him.” Repeating Kade’s words made my stomach twist.
Blane sighed. “He needs you, whether he wants to admit it or not.” He lifted my chin in his hand and our eyes met. “If you don’t fight for him, if you just let him go, then he won’t survive. I saw it in his eyes. He came back to Indy to say goodbye to me, to you, and I’m sure whatever job he took next, it would have been his last.”
I stared at Blane in shock. “I—I . . . he told me he wanted to say goodbye,” I stammered, “but I didn’t think he meant . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I think Kade is hanging by a very thin thread,” Blane continued. “We’ll go to DC. I’ll have it out with my uncle. And you have to convince Kade you need him more than he hates himself.”
I swallowed. This had to be hard for Blane. “I’m sorry,” I said, “about you and me—”
“This isn’t about me or the past,” he interrupted gently. “This is about you, Kade, and the baby. I’ll be fine.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I want my brother alive, Kat. And you’re the only one who can convince him he’s worth saving. Not even I can do that.”
Tears swam in my eyes. I didn’t deserve how nice Blane was being to me, didn’t deserve him still caring about me after all we’d been through. But I was grateful for it.
I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist in a hug. He hugged me back and I felt his lips brush the top of my head.
Kade suddenly stepped outside. When he saw me in Blane’s arms, his eyes turned cold and hard. “So sorry to interrupt a tender moment, but we need to get going.”
“You’re right,” Blane said, releasing me and getting to his feet. “Kathleen’s been sick and hasn’t eaten, but we can just grab her something on the road, right?”
I frowned. That didn’t sound like Blane, but he was already heading inside.
Kade’s head swiveled back, his gaze pinning me. “You were sick again today?”
“I’m sick every day,” I corrected him. “The nausea wears off after a while, then I can eat.”
Kade frowned. “But you can drink coffee?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense.”
“I don’t want to leave until you get something to eat,” he said. “What sounds good? I’ll go get it.”
I was taken aback by Kade’s concern, then abruptly realized what Blane had done. Kade had always taken care of me when I’d needed someone to, so Blane was playing off that now.
“Gosh, I don’t know,” I said. I stood, then faked a little stumble. Kade was there instantly, an arm around my waist. “Wow, I guess I didn’t realize my blood sugar was so low,” I said. Good gravy, I really sucked at this, but Kade seemed to buy it. I leaned on him, wrapping an arm around his neck. He’d showered and smelled really good.
“You didn’t eat anything but fries and pickles last night—no wonder you’re weak,” he groused, but concern laced his words. “Come on. Sit inside where it’s warm and I’ll make you some eggs.”
“Eggs sound good. And bacon,” I said, smiling a little to myself. I let him help me inside and he sat me at the kitchen table. I watched while he scrambled some eggs and cooked them, openly admiring the way his body moved. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his gun stuffed in the small of his back, it was an incongruous sight to see—an admitted assassin making me breakfast in my country kitchen filled with rooster decor and homespun appliance cozies.
“Here you go,” he said, sliding some eggs and bacon onto a plate in front of me. Just then, Branna walked in.
“I thought we were going,” she said.
“We are,” Kade said. “Getting something to eat first.”
Branna frowned. “But we already ate.”
Oh, they had, had they? The eggs suddenly didn’t taste as good.
“Kathleen hasn’t,” Kade said, a note of warning in his voice.
“Well, she might want to skip a meal or two,” Branna said breezily. “These jeans I borrowed are about to fall off me, they’re so big.”
And that’s when I noticed she was wearing my clothes. My fork clattered to the plate and I shoved back my chair as I stood, the legs scraping against the wooden floor.
“Why are you wearing my clothes?” I asked, my supposed low blood sugar forgotten as my temper began to heat up.
“I needed something to wear,” she said, sending me a you’re-an-idiot look.
“And who said you could steal my clothes?” I bit out.
“Borrow,” she corrected me. “Trust me, I’d rather burn them than keep them.”
“Branna, dial back the bitchy,” Kade interrupted, his brows furrowed in irritation.
“I don’t think she can,” I sneered. “It just comes too natural.” I spun around and hurried down the hall. I could feel tears threatening and the last thing I wanted was for Branna to see me cry.
Damn! These stupid hormones! I slammed my bedroom door behind me and blinked back the tears, taking deep breaths. I was so sick of crying at the drop of a hat.
Okay, I had to pack. I pulled my little suitcase out of my closet and started throwing things in, Branna’s words echoing in my head. I had no idea what we’d be doing in DC, but I wasn’t going to look like a country bumpkin next to her.
I tossed in the flimsiest underwear and bras I had, then added the evening gown I’d bought in Vegas but never worn. After a moment’s hesitation, I tucked my peacock-blue stilettos in as well, then added more sensible things like jeans and shorts. A couple of summer dresses, my Vegas bikini, makeup, and I was set.
I was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, mainly because the pants were nice and stretchy and felt good on my slightly expanded tummy. Branna’s bitchy comment about my jeans being too big for her had me digging through my closet for my skinny jeans. I shucked the yoga pants, then thought twice and tossed them into the suitcase before pulling on the jeans.
Oh. Wow. Okay, this was going to be difficult. I jumped several times, finally managing to hoist them up over my hips and ass, but then I couldn’t zip them.
I muttered curses as I tried to get the zipper up but couldn’t. Finally, I lay down flat on the bed, sucked in my tummy, and held my breath. When I did that, I could get them zipped and buttoned, but only just.
Standing up, I winced. Yeah, this should be okay, so long as I didn’t sit. Or breathe. No problem.
I grabbed a different shirt from my closet, yanking off the T-shirt I was wearing and putting on the new top. Made of a thin, pale pink material, it was sleeveless and buttoned up the front. I left three buttons undone. My ass might be too big, but my boobs weren’t, even though they’d gotten a little fuller in the past couple of weeks. Hopefully the ample cleavage on display would distract someone from noticing that my jeans were too tight. And by someone I meant Kade.