My Man Pendleton(11)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Kit feigned surprise. “Did the power shift then? Really?”

“You know it did.”

Instead of acknowledging her father’s remark, Kit turned back to Pendleton. “Did you know Granddaddy asked Daddy to change his name when he married Mama?”

“Katherine,” her father growled in warning.

She could see Pendleton hiding a smile. “No, I didn’t know that,” he said.

“It’s true,” she assured him.

“Katherine,” her father tried again.

She hurried on, “Granddaddy didn’t have any sons, just my mother, and he wanted Daddy to be Holt Hensley, so that when he became the figurehead, there would still be a Hensley cutting through the surf, instead of a McClellan. Can you imagine? Asking a man back in 1969 to change his last name to his wife’s?”

“Katherine.”

“Anyway,” she continued blithely. “I suppose calling it ‘McClellan’s’ would make it sound like Scotch, and it might potentially confuse the consumer. Not to mention make Noble spin in the ol’ grave, if you know what I mean.”

She was just starting to warm to the subject of the more colorful aspects of the Hensley’s history when her father rose from the sofa and stubbed out his cigar.

“The show’s over for tonight,” he announced resolutely, his voice still tinted with his irritation. “Maybe this weekend we can hold a matinee for Pendleton, but I think you’ve exhausted your repertoire for now, Katherine. See Pendleton out, will you?”

Without awaiting her reply, he bid farewell to his newest executive, then waved his sons out of the room behind him. That left Kit alone in the living room with Pendleton and a cold sensation of empty accomplishment.

Her gaze lingered on the vacant doorway as she asked quietly, “You can find your own way out, can’t you, Pendleton?”

A moment passed in silence before she realized he hadn’t answered her. When she turned to face him, she found him standing as if he hadn’t heard her, a snifter of Bourbon cradled in one hand, a smoldering cigar in the other. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he looked like he felt sorry for her. But hey, why would anyone feel sorry for her? She was a member of one of the wealthiest, most prominent families in the state. Obviously, it was just a trick of the light.

“Pendleton, can you find your own way out?” she asked again, a bit more softly this time.

He hesitated before answering, and she wondered for a moment if he had a problem with his hearing. And his eyesight, too, for that matter. He seemed to be spending an extraordinary amount of time staring at her, as if he couldn’t quite bring her into focus.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s a big house. I’m not quite sure how I got here.”

Join the club, she thought. “It’s this way,” she said halfheartedly, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

She watched with veiled interest as he swallowed the last of his Bourbon and stubbed out his cigar. She tried not to notice how comfortably he completed the gestures. For some reason, it bothered her that the good life seemed to suit him so well, and that he wore the mantle of wealth and luxury so easily. Why couldn’t he be just an ordinary guy?

And why, suddenly, did she wish that he was?

She knew he didn’t deserve the reception he’d received from her all night. Really, none of her father’s executives did. Well, except maybe Novak. But Pendleton, like those other men, was a symbol of something she would just as soon forget. And even though she tried to keep a rein on her feelings, there were times when she just couldn’t quite keep herself from striking out, in spite of the fact that nothing she did would ever completely erase the wrong. Or the memories. Or the hurt.

Restlessly, Kit shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching as Pendleton rebuttoned his suit jacket. Then she hastily straightened when he swept his hand forward in a silent indication that she should precede him. When they came to the front door, she opened the foyer closet to retrieve his coat. She started to hold it up for him, but he deftly claimed it himself and shrugged into it, unfolding the collar around his neck before reaching for the buttons.

He really was very handsome, she had to admit. And there was something about him that was different from most men. If the situation were different, she might possibly be able to like him. But he was working for her father, and that meant money mattered to him more than anything else in the world. It was a shame. But then, she supposed, nobody was perfect.

“Good night, Pendleton,” she said as she opened the door. “It’s been real.”

“Thank you for dinner,” he said as he took a step forward.

She shook her head slightly. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Thank your father then. For dinner, at least.”

She crossed her bare arms over her midsection as the wintry wind whipped into the house, and she wondered at the merriment that danced in his dark eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Just that there was more to like tonight than the ratatouille, that’s all.”

Oh, right, she thought. Like she was supposed to believe that.”Good night, Pendleton,” she said again, more vigorously this time.

He smiled at her, what appeared to be an honest-to-goodness smile of pleasure. But all he said was, “Good night, Miss McClellan.” Then he passed through the door and out into the chilly night.

As Kit watched him go, all she could do was stand there with the cold wind swirling around her, and puzzle over why she suddenly felt so warm inside.

In the library, Holt McClellan, Jr. sipped his third cup of post-dinner coffee and resigned himself to working through the night at his laptop. Again. He knew there was no way his system was going to be shutting down anytime soon. Not because of the caffeine that was currently rampaging through his bloodstream—that was a nice, however inaccurate, excuse—but because sleep had been eluding him for a while now. To be exact, for twenty-one months, fourteen days, six hours and… He glanced at his watch. And forty-two minutes.

Ah, well. He was finally starting to get used to it. He’d been learning all kinds of things about the nighttime hours that he never knew before. Problem was, he was learning all kinds of things about himself, too. And that could only lead to trouble. As could his father’s latest assignment for him, he thought, recalling the elder McClellan’s insistence that morning that Holt be the one to handle the temperance people.