Chapter Twelve

 

Alex couldn’t remember ever fussing over guest accommodations at the farm before. His mother was a supremely capable woman, she loved to have visitors, and she never, ever allowed the least little attention to go wanting where her guests were concerned. He fussed anyway.

“Are you sure the tea will stay hot until they get downstairs? I don’t want to serve tepid tea to Mrs. Finney.” Frowning, Alex gazed at the table in front of the comfortable, slightly worn parlor sofa. Mrs. Gossett had set out gingerbread, frosted fairy cakes—she said the recipe had come from some Irish ancestor or other, and she thought Mrs. Finney might enjoy them—little tea sandwiches, and a flowery teapot accompanied by flowery cups and saucers. He hoped to heaven the Finney ladies wouldn’t be intimidated by all the finery; he was sure they’d consider matching cups, saucers, and plates finery.

“Mrs. Gossett covered the pot with a cozy, Alex.” Mrs. English smiled as she arranged teacups on the table. Alex got the feeling her smile wasn’t for him, but for something private that she found amusing and didn’t intend to share.

Alex gave up on his mother’s smile and frowned down on the covered teapot. “Is that what that thing is? What did you call it? A cozy?” Ridiculous name for a piece of quilted fabric.

“Yes, dear.” Mrs. English began rolling napkins and fitting them in some brass holders Alex’s father had brought to her from a trip to New York. “Everything will be lovely, dear. You’ll see.”

“I hope so.” No longer was Alex able to disparage Kate for her upbringing; not since he’d met her mother and father and had come to understand exactly what her circumstances had been. Now his only aspiration was to make Kate and Mrs. Finney’s lives more comfortable, however he could. In the attempt, he especially didn’t want to make them feel inferior.

He jumped slightly when Mrs. English patted him on the arm. “Sit down, Alex. Everything will be fine.”

When he turned around and saw her watching him, catlike, as if she suspected him of caring more about Kate and her mother than he actually did, he frowned again. “Of course. I just don’t want to serve them cold tea. Mrs. Finney’s health makes her movements rather slow.”

“Of course.” Mrs. English’s scrutiny didn’t fade appreciably.

“I like them,” Mary Jo said, snatching a frosted cake before her brother could stop her and popping it into her mouth. “I can’t wait to talk to Miss Finney about the Exposition.”

Alex turned on his sister, his glower feeling more comfortable than it had felt when he’d directed it at his mother. “I won’t have you pestering the Finneys, Mary Jo. Mrs. Finney is deathly ill, and Kate has enough to worry about without you annoying them.”

Mary Jo spoke with her mouth full, she was so indignant. “I’d never! I would never pester them!”

“See that you don’t.”

“I think,” said Mrs. English with a hint of a laugh in her voice, “that your brother is worried about making an impression, Mary Jo.”

“Nonsense,” Alex barked, self-conscious and with his ire climbing. “I only want to make sure this weekend is pleasant for them both. The two of them haven’t had much pleasure in their lives.”

“Really?” Mary Jo’s eyes went huge, and Alex wished he’d kept silent on the subject of the Finneys’ relative absence of pleasure.

“Their circumstances have been unfortunate, Mary Jo,” her mother explained. “Alex doesn’t want anyone to embarrass them by bringing them up.”

“Really?” Mary Jo repeated. She had to swallow twice in order to get the cake down. “What kind of circumstances do they have?”

“Straitened circumstances, dear. They have very little money and no family support, evidently. I was poor when I was a child, too, so I know how uncomfortable it can be.”

“Oh.” Mary Jo pondered the nature of impoverished childhoods. “I guess we’re lucky, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Alex firmly. “We’re very lucky.” It occurred to him that before Kate Finney and her atrocious father had been thrust into his face by Gil MacIntosh, he’d pooh-poohed the notion of luck having anything to do with his own position in life. What an ass he’d been.

“And here they are!” cried Mrs. English loudly.

Alex presumed she wanted to make sure her children didn’t continue the conversation regarding the Finneys and luck, thereby causing the newcomers social discomfort. He walked to the door, smiling up a storm. “Come in, come in, ladies. I hope you found your rooms adequate.”

“Adequate?” Kate stared at him as if she suspected him of irony. Alex could get lost in those heavenly blue eyes if he didn’t watch himself. “Both rooms are exquisite. Thank you very much.”

“Indeed, yes,” said Mrs. Finney. She held onto Kate’s arm and walked slowly.

Both ladies had on the same gowns they’d worn for traveling, an indication, had Alex needed one, that they were both of limited means and scant wardrobes. They both looked neat and trim, and Kate had tidied her hair. Poor they undoubtedly were, but neither Finney lady allowed her poverty to interfere with cleanliness or resourcefulness.

That being the case, Alex wondered if Kate had sewn her mother’s outfit, as well as her own. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out she had, necessity being the mother of invention and all that. Or poverty being a prod to personal industry. Alex knew poverty didn’t always breed industry; some folks floundered and sank under the weight of it. The Kate Finneys of the world overleaped their circumstances, or tried to. He knew it was presumptuous of him, but he was proud of Kate.

His heart hurt as he accompanied the pair over to the parlor sofa. Kate looked so damnably exhausted, and her mother looked so damnably sick. If he knew a magic spell that would cure both of them, he’d use it in a minute. Unfortunately, unlike Madame Esmeralda, Alex didn’t know any charms or curses. Which reminded him of something he’d been meaning to ask Kate.

After he’d deposited her on a comfortable chair and her mother on the sofa, and his mother had started pouring out cups of tea—which still steamed, verifying his mother’s prediction on the subject—he said, “Say, Kate, does Madame really believe in fortune-telling? I’ve wondered about that for the longest time.”

After shooting him a suspicious glance, which he deflected with a raise of his eyebrows and an I’m-not-being-condescending-dash-it shrug of his shoulders, she said, “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. She said she—” Kate stopped speaking abruptly. “Thank you,” she said when Mrs. English handed her a cup of tea.

“She said what?” Alex asked, holding the plate of sandwiches and cakes out to her so that she could take her pick. “I’m only curious,” he added, knowing how defensive Kate could get without half trying. “I won’t hold anything Madame Esmeralda said to you against you.” He laughed to let her know he meant it and that he considered this all in fun.

Kate shrugged and took a small sandwich. “She said she’d put a curse on my father.”

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Finney stared at her daughter, her cup halfway to her lips. “Did she really?”

“I’m afraid so. Sorry, Ma.” Kate took a bite of her sandwich, looking uncomfortable.

But Mrs. Finney, replacing her cup in her saucer before she’d taken any tea, leaned back against the sofa and laughed so hard, she started coughing. After taking a swig from her flask, she gasped for air and apologized. “Oh, my, I’m so sorry. But, Katie, darling, that’s the nicest thing Madame could ever do for any of us.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief snatched from a pocket. “Oh, my. I must be a terrible person to find such a thing amusing.”

“Nuts,” said Kate. “You’re right. I hope the curse works. And soon.”

“I have to agree with your daughter, Mrs. Finney. If you still have feelings for the man, I’m sorry, but I think he deserves a good curse, at least.”

“Alex,” murmured his mother, “I’m sure I don’t know what to think of you.” She smiled, though. “I tried to teach my children manners, Mrs. Finney, but you can see how much they learned.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. English,” Mrs. Finney protested. “Your children are wonderful. You must be so proud of Alex.”

“I am.”

Alex turned his eyes up and gazed at the ceiling, praying this part of the conversation would end soon.

Mary Jo said, “I didn’t say anything about any old curse. I have manners.” She grinned. “But I’d love to know how she did it.”

The tea break progressed smoothly and with much good humor. Alex was proud of his mother and even of his little sister, who could sometimes be a trifle difficult due to her age. He dreaded the notion of Mary Jo getting Kate off by herself, because he didn’t trust either one of them. Mary Jo could be offensive without even knowing it, and Kate could become offended even when no offense was meant.

When it became clear that Mrs. Finney’s strength was waning, Alex signaled to his mother to do something to end the tea party. As ever, his mother rose to the occasion. “Hazel—” They were all on a first-name basis by this time. “—Let me show you around the house a little, and then I think you ought to rest for as long as you need to. It’s been a long, tiring trip for you, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Finney’s pinched features appeared more relaxed than Alex had heretofore seen them. “I do need to rest a good deal. But the trip wasn’t difficult at all, thanks to your son and his generous attentions.” She smiled at Alex. “You have a such a kind and generous son, Marguerite.”

“I think so,” said Alex’s fond mother.

Alex hoped to heaven the heat he felt creeping up his neck wouldn’t be noticeable in his cheeks. He was too dashed old to blush.

“I can see Ma upstairs,” Kate said.

Everyone turned to look at her, and she dropped her gaze. “Unless you don’t want me to,” she muttered.

“Why don’t I show you the grounds, Kate,” Alex suggested, feeling both protective and appreciative. Her defensiveness had spared him embarrassment in case he had been blushing, since nobody was looking at him any longer.

“Oh, yes!” Mary Jo cried. “I’ll go with you!”

Bother, thought Mary Jo’s affectionate brother. He didn’t want her along; he wanted to be alone with Kate. Yet he couldn’t think of an appropriate way to rid himself of his pesky sister without making an embarrassing scene. “Fine.”

Kate glanced from him to Mary Jo to her mother. “Is that all right with you, Ma? Do you need me?”

“I’ll always need you, Katie, but I think I can make it back upstairs with Marguerite’s help.” The smiling glance she gave her daughter was as full of love as any Alex had ever seen. “You go along with Alex and Mary Jo and enjoy yourself.”

Thus it was that Kate, Alex, and Mary Jo, leaving the tea things behind on the table for Mrs. Gossett and Louise to dispense with even though Kate had offered to help and then seemed self-conscious that she had, left the house that afternoon. Alex discovered himself eager to introduce Kate to his world. He also discovered himself hoping she’d love it as much as he did, which didn’t make sense to him. What did it matter to him if she liked his farm or not? Fearing he knew the answer and that he didn’t want it to be true, he dropped the subject before it could cause him discomfort.

Mary Jo skipped along merrily, sometimes at Kate’s side, sometimes at Alex’s, and sometimes ahead of them both. “This is the prettiest time of year,” she informed Kate. “Except for the fall, because the leaves are so pretty then. Although winter’s kind of nice, too, because the snow is so pretty and white. And I like summer, too, except when it gets too hot.”

Laughing, Alex said, “Sounds like you can’t make up your mind.”

“I guess I can’t.”

“I think it’s good that you can enjoy it all,” Kate said, sounding as if she meant it.

Alex glanced down at her and wondered when was the last time she’d been able to relax and enjoy anything.

He was becoming perfectly maudlin about this woman. He gave himself a hard mental shake and told himself to snap out of it.

“I’m so glad you came to visit! I really want to know all about fortune telling. How do you do it? Do you read people’s palms or something?”

“Mary Jo, don’t pester Kate.”

But Kate shook her head. “It’s all right, Alex. I don’t mind.” She smiled at Mary Jo. “It’s all hogwash, of course.”

“Is it?” Mary Jo sounded disappointed. Looked it, too.

“Well,” said Kate thoughtfully, “I don’t know about Madame. I think she really believes in some of the things she does, but I don’t. I only tell fortunes for a living.”

“You can’t really read palms?” Mary Jo’s disappointment intensified.

“Oh, sure, I can read palms, but I don’t know how much a person can really read in another person’s palm. And Madame taught me to read the Tarot cards, too. I know she believes in what they say, because she casts a fortune for herself every day. I don’t know if any of it is true or not, but it’s a better living than clerking in Wanamaker’s.”

“Oh, did you do that?” Mary Jo’s face took on an expression of keen interest. “I’d like to get a job someday.”

“Yeah?” Kate looked as if she were trying to fight a sardonic expression. “Well, you can take it from me that telling fortunes pays more than Wanamaker’s, although I don’t know if it would if I weren’t doing it at the Exposition. People tend to get their fortunes told for fun while they’re enjoying the fair. And I guess I do have to admit that reading palms is kind of fun.”

Mary Jo brightened. “Can you read my palm?”

“Mary Jo.” Alex would have liked to paddle his exasperating sister. His tone was severe.

“Oh, no,” said Kate quickly. “It’s all right. Sure, I’d be happy to read your palm.”

“Goodie!” Shooting Kate a penetrating glance, Mary Jo then said, “Do you just make it all up as you go along?”

“Mary Jo.” This time Alex glowered at her. She didn’t seem to notice.

“No,” said Kate. “There are supposed to be meanings in the configuration of the palm and the fingers and in the lines crossing the palms. Madame had to teach me.” Another shrug. “Maybe it’s true. I don’t know. But Madame taught me what all the lines and the mounds and so forth are.”

“Oh, this is such fun!”

“Do you really think so? Shoot, I’d rather live on a farm like this. It’s so beautiful here. And peaceful. It’s so peaceful.” Kate spoke as if she really meant it, and Alex was pleased.

“It gets real boring.” A pout marred Mary Jo’s pretty mouth.

Deciding to interfere before Mary Jo spoiled Kate’s enjoyment of his particular life’s love, his farm, Alex spoke up. “It’s only boring because you’re used to it and you haven’t been out much. Kate knows what city life is like. It’s not all fun, Mary Jo.”

“You can say that again. Where I live, it’s no fun at all.”

“Really?” Mary Jo’s pout faded.

“Really.” Kate shot Alex a quick smile. “It’s so serene here. And green. There are days when I go a mile out of my way to pass the park because I need to see something growing. I’d love to see some of your cows and horses and pigs and other animals.”

“Cows and pigs? Really?” It didn’t look to Alex as if Mary Jo quite believed in Kate’s interest in cattle.

“Sure. The only time I ever see a cow is when we use the bones in soup. I think it would be fun to see the soup bones on the hoof, if you know what I mean.”

“All right, then, come this way.” Alex took Kate’s arm. He didn’t want her wandering off with Mary Jo, although he wouldn’t have minded if Mary Jo had wandered off by herself. Guiding her down a path between some rhododendron bushes, he aimed for the closest pasture. His father had removed the cattle part of his farming enterprise to a location farther from the house than it had originally been, since cows tended to produce smelly residual products.

“Golly,” said Mary Jo, apparently aiming to stick to Alex and Kate like glue, “I didn’t know anybody actually liked cows.”

“I think they’re darling. Pigs, too,” said Kate stoutly, although Alex got the feeling she was putting on an act for Mary Jo’s sake. He admired her for it.

“Darling? Pigs?” Alex pretended to be offended. “Good Lord.”

“Sure.” Kate gave a little skip. “I think cows and pigs are adorable.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of both of them, so you can feast your eyes on their adorability until you get sick of them.”

“It probably won’t take long,” added Alex’s sister. “Cows and pigs stink like anything. Then you can read my palm.”

Kate laughed. Alex said, “Mary Jo,” again, sternly. Mary Jo pasted on an innocent expression that Alex didn’t believe for a second. He was pretty sure Kate didn’t, either, but she only laughed some more.

# # #

The fresh country air caressed Kate’s skin like a healing balm, and she breathed it in as if it could cure all her psychic wounds. That was probably silly thinking, but she couldn’t help it. She loved this place. The notion of actually living on a farm like this, with all this green loveliness growing all around her, was akin to an impossible dream. It was all so beautiful. She was afraid she was going to make herself look ridiculous by showing how much she loved it here.

Therefore, she attempted to appear dignified as they passed by the hedge of huge bushes loaded with gorgeous flowers. Kate had no idea what they were. She paused before a bush covered with bright red flowers. “Would it be all right to pick some of these? For my mother?” Darn it, she was blushing; she could feel it.

“What?” Alex stopped walking and turned, looking bemused. He saw the bush to which Kate referred. “Oh, of course. Pick as many flowers as you want, Kate. These are rhododendrons. They have a lovely flower, don’t they?”

“They sure do.”

“Why don’t you wait until we’re walking back towards home,” Mary Jo suggested brightly. “That way they won’t wilt. And I’ll help you pick some roses and peonies, too. My favorites are the peonies.”

“My goodness. You know what they all are?”

“Sure.” Mary Jo appeared surprised. “My mother taught me all about flowers. Don’t you have flowers where you live?”

“Uh, no. I don’t have a place to grow flowers where I live. I go to the park when I have time. There are flowers there.”

“Kate lives in a flat, Mary Jo,” Alex said, hoping his repressive tone would curb her chattiness. He knew how Kate could get, and didn’t want her to blow up at his sister, who was curious out of innocence, not unkindness.

“What’s a flat?”

“It’s a room over a shop,” Kate told her. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

“I wish I could have a flat,” Mary Jo said wistfully.

Kate gawped at her. Alex chuckled. “You might not like it as much as you think you would.”

“Bet I would.”

Kate could have given her one or two pertinent facts of life that might disabuse her of that notion, but she held her tongue. She considered it a flaw in her nature that she found Mary Jo’s innocence irksome. By rights, all children Mary Jo’s age should be innocent. It was poverty’s fault, and her father’s, that Kate’s own innocence hadn’t lasted past babyhood. Because she suspected her irritation grew out of some kind of jealousy of Mary Jo and her family and her circumstances, she suppressed it ruthlessly. Herbert Finney wasn’t Mary Jo’s fault any more than he was Kate’s.

“I’d rather live here. It’s so . . . I don’t know. It’s alive and growing. Where I live seems to be more . . . Oh, I don’t know; dead and dying, I guess. Or something.” Kate felt silly after her artless confession, and braced herself for scorn or, worse, pity.

“Golly, I don’t think so. I think it’s boring here.” Mary Jo’s own sweeping gaze didn’t indicate pleasure in her surroundings.

“I could stand a little boredom from time to time,” Kate said dryly. “Anyhow, I think it would be exciting to have my own home, and to be able to sew curtains and cook meals and that sort of thing. I don’t really like having to work away from home in order to make enough money to survive. Not that my flat’s much of a home, but . . .” Her words petered out again. She wished she’d stop blurting out these personal confessions. They made her life sound so shabby. Which it was. Kate heaved a huge, grass-scented sigh.

“I think it would be fun to have a job and earn my own money.”

“Hmmm.” Kate didn’t want to get into that one. Since pretty, spoiled little Mary Jo English didn’t know what the heck she was talking about, there didn’t seem much point to arguing.

“You only think so because you don’t have to.”

Kate glanced up at Alex, who had made the comment, and rather sharply, too. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe that’s it. I guess if your very life didn’t depend on it, working at a paying job might not be so wearisome.”

“Maybe,” said Mary Jo, clearly unconvinced, but unwilling or unable to argue.

Kate suspected she’d been threatened with all sorts of punishments if she didn’t behave herself during the Finneys’ visit.

“The trouble with you, little sister, is that you have no responsibilities whatsoever, and Kate has too many.”

“Um—” Kate said, but Mary Jo interrupted, which was all right with her, because she didn’t want to go into her own miserable life situation any more than she had to.

“That’s not fair! I do, so, have responsibilities! I have to feed the chickens and gather the eggs and slop the pigs and do all sorts of other chores!” Mary Jo’s cheeks bloomed with indignant color as she flounced along in her made-over dress.

“You don’t have the sorts of responsibilities Kate has,” Alex intoned haughtily. “No young woman should have to shoulder such burdens.”

“Humph.” Still rebellious, Mary Jo picked up a stick and threw it as hard as she could.

“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Kate said, trying for a placating tone, although she agreed with Alex regarding the disparity of the burdens meted out by a Maker Kate had been told was benevolent. She hadn’t believed that one since she was around three or four. A benevolent God wouldn’t have burdened the world and its inhabitants with people like Kate’s father.

From out of nowhere, a black-and-white dog bounded up to them, Mary Jo’s stick in its mouth. Kate jumped back and uttered a small shriek. She wasn’t really afraid of the dog—exactly—but she was certainly startled. She hadn’t met many dogs in her life, except a few that were kept by merchants in her neighborhood as guard dogs. Those dogs were worth being afraid of. This specimen, with his vacuous brown eyes, wagging fluff of a tail, and floppy ears, didn’t appear to be terrifying. In point of fact, he seemed sort of bouncy and happy and pleased with the world, himself, and the three humans in his vicinity.

“Well, there you are, Conk!” Alex sounded delighted. “I wondered where you’d got yourself off to.”

Kate’s assumption that the dog—Conk? What a peculiar name—belonged to the English family was confirmed by Alex’s next action. He reached down, grabbed an end of the stick, and began a growling tug-of-war with the dog for possession of the stick. Kate couldn’t distinguish one growl from the other. Her astonishment that Alex English, refined gentleman farmer, could play with a dog warred with her left-over alarm at the dog’s abrupt appearance in her life.

Mary Jo laughed with delight.

Kate slammed a hand over her thundering heart and watched man and dog wrestle over the stick. Nuts. She hated being startled like that. Since Alex was occupied, she turned to Mary Jo. “I presume that’s your dog?”

“Alex’s.” Mary Jo shouted when Alex, capturing the prize, reached back and flung the stick about twice as far as Mary Jo had. “His name’s Conky. He was one of Romeo and Juliet’s puppies, but he was scared of gunfire, so he couldn’t be used as a hunting dog.”

“Ah . . . Romeo and Juliet?” Kate was beginning to wonder if she’d stepped out of her own personal world and into an alternate one where everything was exactly opposed to anything she’d ever known. Conky the dog, after sprinting heroically after the stick, leaping low brush and bushes growing in his way, made a flying jump and caught the stick right before it landed. It was a spectacular catch, and Kate was impressed.

Mary Jo clapped and hollered, “Good catch, Conk!” She turned to Kate. “Romeo and Juliet are Mr. Howell’s hunters. Alex bought Conky from him because Mr. Howell’s dogs are supposed to be the best pointers around, but Conky isn’t. He’s a dunce when it comes to hunting.”

“Why did Alex name him Conky?”

Mary Jo’s smile widened. “It was because Alex was trying to teach him to catch. You know, when you throw a dog a scrap of food, and he catches it in mid-air?”

Kate didn’t know, but she was willing to accept this tidbit of dog lore on faith. “Ah,” she said. “Yes, but . . .”

“It’s because Conky didn’t understand. He’d wait until the bone or the bit of biscuit conked him on the head before he’d realize it was meant for him.”

“I see.” She eyed the dog, who was racing back to his master as if the trip was the most important of his life.

“He learned eventually, but, Alex still claims Conky’s as dumb as dirt. And he still doesn’t have a good hunter, either.”

Mary Jo’s laughter rippled out on the spring air, reminding Kate of tiny white flowers, from which fanciful imagery, she presumed she was losing her mind, if she hadn’t already lost it. Kate Finney couldn’t afford to get fanciful. “I see. Um, and Alex goes hunting often?”

“Oh, sure.” Conky arrived at Alex’s feet with a slide and a shower of dirt, and Mary Jo leaped back to avoid getting her skirt spattered with flying pebbles and dust. “He hunts ducks and geese and deer and other game. You know, keeps meat on the table and all that.”

“Ah. I didn’t know that.” She hadn’t known that rich men had to shoot their meals, for that matter. She observed Alex and his no-good hunting dog for a few minutes, and came up with another assumption. He probably didn’t have to shoot his meals. He probably did it because he liked hunting. Or he was miserly and didn’t want to pay more for food than he had to.

Scratch that one. Alex English might annoy the life out of Kate on a regular basis, but he definitely wasn’t a tightwad. He was more generous than any other person she’d ever met, if it came to that.

Alex held the stick up so that Conky couldn’t get it. The dog jumped on him, smearing Alex’s trousers with dirty doggy prints, and Alex laughed ruefully. “Down, Conky! Behave yourself. You need to meet someone.” He turned to Kate. “Kate Finney, meet Conky English, the low-down, no-good, non-hunter of a hunting dog. But he’s a good boy in spite of his defects and shortcomings, and even if he isn’t the brightest candle in the box.”

To Kate’s astonishment, the dog obeyed its master and got down. He even sat on his black-and-white-spotted rump and looked up at Kate, his tongue lolling. She’d never seen a dog do that, either. Because the dog was gazing at her with huge, pleading eyes, and because his feathery tail was whipping up a dust storm behind him, Kate said, “Er, hello, Conky. Good doggie.”

“Shake, Conk,” Alex commanded.

The dog lifted a paw for Kate to shake. She did it, thoroughly charmed. “Did you teach him to do that, Alex?”

“Sure did. It’s about the only trick he knows. He’s a total failure at what he’s supposed to be, which is a hunting dog, but he’s friendly and shakes hands like a champ.”

“He’s an expert at fetching,” Kate said, feeling defensive on Conky’s behalf.

“He is now.” Alex laughed. “We had some awful battles at first. He didn’t mind fetching, but bringing things back again was another matter. It took me forever to teach him to return the items he fetched.”

“Is that true, Conky?” Kate knelt beside the dog, who indicated his appreciation by licking her face. Laughter bubbled up in her, spontaneous and unexpected. “Ew!”

“Hey, Conk, lay off the lady.” Alex spoke sternly, but Kate heard the laugh in his voice.

“He’s a good, good doggie,” crooned Kate. “And he fetches beautifully now, no matter how long it took him to learn how.”

“Huh,” said Alex.

When Kate arose, she saw that he was watching her like a hawk, a sharp, assessing look in his eyes. What did that mean? Had she done something wrong? Mary Jo spoke, and she couldn’t dwell on her actions and Alex’s reactions.

“And he chases Mrs. Howell’s cats off, too,” said Mary Jo, adding, “I like cats, but Mrs. Howell’s cats always try to fight with Minnie.”

“Who is Minnie?” Kate felt as though she were swimming in a confusion of names and wanted to sort them out before her brain exploded.

“She’s our barn cat. She’s real nice.”

“Yeah? I don’t know any cats. Or dogs, either.” Kate wondered how she could have lived to be this old without encountering more cats and dogs. Oh, sure, she saw the same mangy street animals all the time, and the Schneiders let a couple of cats sleep on old towels in the back of their shop. Those felines were tolerated because they kept the rodents out of the butcher shop. Still, Kate didn’t think of those working-class cats as anybody’s pets. They were only scrambling to survive like everyone else in Kate’s neighborhood.

“We’ve always got lots of barn cats. They kill the mice and rats and gophers and stuff like that.” Mary Jo shuddered delicately.

Kate didn’t think that a cat doing its duty and killing vermin was anything to shudder about. “That’s their job, I guess.”

“I guess so. And Minnie just had four kittens.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe you’d like to have one.” Mary Jo looked as if she considered this a brilliant suggestion and a kindhearted offer on her part.

“Don’t burden Kate with any more problems,” Alex advised, smiling, but meaning it. “She’s got her hands full already.”

“Little kittens aren’t any trouble,” Mary Jo protested.

They would be trouble in Kate’s life. Sometimes Kate thought that if she had to handle one more little thing, even something so little as a kitten, she’d crumple up under the weight of her responsibilities. She glanced quickly at Alex, her gaze got stuck on his, and all at once she perceived something that left her breathless.

He understood.

It was impossible—and wonderful. He understood. Alex English, of all unlikely people in the universe, understood Kate and her life and her problems and her need to have no pets.

“Drop it, little sister,” he said, tugging on one of Mary Jo’s braids. “Kate doesn’t want a kitten, and that’s that.”

“Well, I think kittens are more adorable than any nasty old cows or pigs,” Mary Jo said with a sniff.

“I’m sure they are, but I don’t have room for pets in my flat.” Kate spoke gently, hoping to convey gratitude along with a firm rejection of the girl’s offer. She wasn’t sure she achieved her aim, but Mary Jo skipped off in front of them, so she guessed it didn’t matter.

“Don’t mind my pesky sister,” Alex said, slowing down even as Mary Jo sped up, followed by the dog, who wanted to play.

“I don’t. I think she’s nice.”

“She’s been very sheltered.”

“Yeah?” Kate glanced up at him again, hoping she wouldn’t get trapped by his beautiful eyes this time. “I wish . . .” But she decided not to finish the sentence, because it might sound as if she were whining. It was true, though. She wished somebody’d bothered to shelter her a little once or twice.

She felt Alex’s hand on her arm, and her heart sped up and her skin got warm. “I wish you’d been more sheltered, too, Kate.” His voice was deep and soft, and it made Kate’s insides puddle up and steam. “Life hasn’t been fair to you or your mother.”

Kate swallowed. “Yeah, well, we’re doing okay.”

His chuckle did its usual damage to her composure. “Don’t get all defensive on me, Kate. You’re doing better than okay. You’re doing wonderfully, all things considered.”

She didn’t believe him. Worse, she didn’t believe he meant it.

“I mean it, Kate,” he said, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Which he had.

This was a serious problem. Kate feared it was destined to grow larger, too, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes, she thought that meeting Alex English had been the best thing ever to happen to her. At other times, she thought it had been the worst. Most of the time, she feared both statements were the truth, which was absolutely, dreadfully, drastically, miserably awful.