CHAPTER
Seven

What now? Jericho looked down from the top of the ladder when the doorbell pealed for the umpteenth time.

Kitty’s voice drifted down from upstairs. “Can you get that? I’m giving Sweetums a bath.”

“For the love of—” Jericho came down the ladder and headed for the door. “I’m a repairman”—he grabbed the door and jerked it open—“not a butler—”

The word froze on his lips. He stared, then went to the bottom of the stairs and called up. “Kitty, there’s some clown at the door for you.”

She appeared at the top, a soggy, suds-covered Sweetums cradled in her hands. “There’s no need to be rude, Jericho.”

“No, really,” he said as she came down the stairs. “There’s a clown there.”

She jerked to a halt when she saw the man at her door. A fully decked-out circus clown—complete with red nose, big shoes, and a bouquet of balloons.

Jericho shrugged. Only at Kitty’s house.

He walked back to the living room and the relative safety of his ladder when sudden chaos in the form of barking and growling and a frantic bellow spun him around.

The clown was now inside, waving his arms like a crazed conductor, which made the balloons attached to one wrist dance and bounce against the ceiling. He held one leg out and shook it.

At the end of that leg, attached to the clown’s big, floppy shoe, was a snarling Sweetums. The usually docile animal was coming unglued.

The clown was not happy. “Get this oversized rat off my shoe!”

Jericho closed his eyes. Oh, boy. The guy insulted the dog. Not a good idea.

“Rat?” Kitty’s outrage poured out of her. “Sweetums is nothing of the kind! I’ll have you know she’s from the purest line of—”

“Lady, do I look like I care?” The clown’s eyes bulged and his face was turning redder by the minute.

Yeah. Welcome to my world, pal.

Jericho started toward the melee, but Kitty, who’d calmed down surprisingly fast, put up a hand to stop him.

“Get the stuffed sock.”

He stared at her, as amazed at her calm as her request. “The what?”

“The stuffed sock. Sweetums’s chew toy. On the couch.”

Okaaay. He headed for the couch. Sure enough, a stuffed sock lay there. He scooped it up and felt something hard in the toe. A rubber ball, unless he missed his guess. He tossed the sock to Kitty.

She caught it, then turned to the clown. “Sir, stop trying to pull away.”

“Are you nuts? He’ll eat me alive! Lady, you’re crazier than—”

Jericho had heard enough. He went to stand beside Kitty. “The lady asked you to stop.” He straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes. “Now.”

Sometimes it paid to be tall and broad shouldered. The clown took in Jericho’s size, and stopped, his leg in the air, mid-shake.

Kitty nodded. “That’s good, sir. Now please set your foot on the floor.”

The clown obeyed. Jericho grinned. This was actually kind of fun.

As soon as the clown’s foot hit the floor, Kitty waved the sock in front of the little dog’s nose. “Hey, Sweetums! Get the sock!”

The dog launched at the toy, clamping onto it with the same ferocity it had chomped on the clown’s shoe. Kitty lifted the sock, Sweetums and all, into her arms. The little dog chewed and shook the sock, seemingly content.

Jericho stared at Kitty, a new respect growing inside him. She’d handled that like a pro.

For her part, she was all smiles. “Jericho, why don’t you see if our guest here was hurt while I put Sweetums in his room?”

She headed up the stairs. Jericho turned to the clown, who was standing there, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You hurt?”

The clown waggled his foot, then shook his head. “I guess not.”

“So”—they both turned to find Kitty coming down the stairs—“everything all right?”

Jericho nodded. “I’m good.” He turned to the clown. “You?”

The clown’s head bobbed. “Yup. Good here.”

“Well, then, Mr. Clown,” from Kitty. “What may I do for you?”

The clown drew a deep breath, as though to compose himself, then said in a voice that would have done Sylvester the cat proud: “Thay there! Would you be the famouth Kitty Hawk?”

Jericho rolled his eyes.

Kitty just laughed as the clown danced around and honked his horn, singing off-key, “Let me call you Thweetheart, I’ve a gift for yooooouuu. . . .”

At the end of the song, he whipped out the balloons and handed them to her. “Happy April Fool’s, one day early. From Brendan and Kylie.”

“Um, thanks.” Kitty’s lips twitched. “You were . . . uh . . . great.”

The clown didn’t reply. But as he turned to leave, Jericho heard him mutter on the way to the door, “Be a clown, they said. Make people laugh. You’ll have fun.” He snorted. “Who were they kidding?”

Jericho angled a look at Kitty. “Do you want to tell him, or shall I?”

She tipped her head. “What?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to be a clown for fun and laughter. Just hang around with Kitty Hawk.”

Her cheeks shifted into pink mode, but she pulled the balloons down to form a floating fan and batted her eyes at him. “Lan’ sakes, Mistah Katz”—her Southern Belle was spot on—“you just gon’ make my head spin with such fine praise.”

She turned and sauntered, balloons in tow, toward the kitchen. Jericho stood there, watching her.

Frankly, my dear, I do give a darn. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Far more than I should.

“Thanks for the balloons, kids. They were great.”

Kitty reached for her offsprings’ hands around the table. They were out at one of their favorite restaurants together. The first time in a long time.

“Glad you liked them, Mom.” Kylie squeezed her hand. “They reminded us of you.”

“And of Dad.”

Her son’s quiet words made her throat catch, but only for a moment. She could think about Dan now without so much pain. “Me, too.”

“So, Mom.”

Uh-oh. She could tell from Brendan’s tone that he was up to something.

“How’s old Mr. Katz?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Not so old, but I think you know that. And he’s fine.”

“Just . . . fine?”

Kitty eyed her son, but he wasn’t going to give up. He leaned his elbows on the table.

“Really, Mom. I want to know how you two are getting along.”

Kylie jabbed him at that, but Kitty just laughed. She couldn’t help it. She felt so . . . good. “We’re getting along pretty well. In fact”—she watched her children’s faces for any sign of dismay—“I’d say we’re getting along very well.”

There was no denying Kylie’s delight, nor the pleasure on Brendan’s features. Kitty released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “So, you don’t mind? That I like this man?”

“Mind?” Brendan took a drink of his coffee. “Why do you think I chose him?”

Kitty arched her brows at that. “Oh, really?”

Her daughter’s hand came to settle over hers. “Mom, we’re glad. Really. We miss Daddy, but we all know he wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone. And we want you . . .”

Kitty entwined her fingers with her daughter’s. “What?”

“We wanted you to be happy again.”

Kylie nodded her agreement to her brother’s words, and Kitty knew she was the most blessed of mothers with these two.

“Although . . .”

Kitty looked at her son. “What? Is something wrong?” No, Lord. Don’t let him tell me something awful about Jericho. Please—

“No, Mom.” Brendan rested his elbows on the table, cupping his coffee mug. “But there is something you need to keep in mind.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“Well, if you two end up being serious about each other . . .”

Kylie started to giggle. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

Kitty regarded them both. “What are you two talking about?”

Kylie leaned forward. “Mom, his name.”

“Jericho?”

Kylie’s brows lifted. “Jericho . . . ?”

“Katz.” The moment she said Jericho’s last name, she knew.

“That’s right, Mom.” Brendan was laughing now. “You need to be sure you love the guy enough to not mind going from Kitty Hawk—”

“—to Kitty Katz!” Kylie’s peal of laughter had other diners looking their way. “Oh, Mom. What more proof could you want? This is a match made in heaven!”

Is it, Lord? Is this a match? Kitty knew her feelings for Jericho grew and deepened every day, but how did he feel about it? About her? There were times when she thought he cared too, but other times . . .

She just wasn’t sure. He was so well protected. So encamped behind protective barriers.

“Mom, what is it?”

She met Kylie’s worried eyes. “Nothing. Just . . . a few walls that need to come down.”

Brendan set his cup down. “I thought all the walls were down.”

“Not all.” Kitty pulled herself from her thoughts and smiled at her children. “But there’s no need to worry. God and I are working on it.”

“Well, then, you’re set.” Brendan gave a solid nod. “Because if you’ve put your mind to something, it will happen.”

She smiled at him over her coffee cup. From your mouth to God’s ear, Son.

Jericho dropped his bag of groceries on the table in his kitchen and flipped on the light.

He stood still for a moment, savoring the silence. No animals grunting or barking or meowing. No phones ringing off the hook. No people coming to pick up their furry or feathered babies. No Kitty hollering for him when the next disaster strikes.

No Kitty . . .

Before the melancholy of that thought settled in, he started unloading groceries.

That’s right. No Kitty. Just peace and quiet. Pure heaven. Just the way he liked it. Quiet. Silent. Really. Really.

Quiet.

He glanced around.

Too quiet.

Why hadn’t he ever noticed before? This place was quiet as a tomb. Where was the life? The laughter? It was positively depressing here!

“Yeah, well”—he tossed his gloomy thoughts into the silence—“you’d better get used to it, bud. You don’t want to get attached, so no complaining now that it’s over.”

And over it was. He had one more day of work left at Kitty’s house. That was it.

He plopped in a chair and stared at the calendar on the wall.

Good grief. How fitting. Tomorrow, his last day with Kitty . . .

It was April Fool’s Day.