My Man Pendleton(41)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’d be talking out of turn here if I said that I really don’t think much your father.”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be talking alone, either. Not many people do think much of my father.”

Pendleton studied her for a long time, noting the slump of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her head, and the way she seemed to be holding herself up—as if no one else would do it for her. And little by little, the cool feelings he’d harbored for her began to warm.

“Kit, what you do about your family fortune is between you and your family,” he said. “I really wish you wouldn’t involve me.”

She met his gaze levelly, beseechingly, for a long time without speaking. Then finally, timidly, she said, “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. It’s something special. I know you’re going to like it.”

Kit held her breath as she waited to see what Pendleton would say about her continued presence in his home. Any other man would have been dialing the police—or Our Lady of Peace Hospital—by now.

But Pendleton was looking at her as if he might honestly allow her to stay. She moved a hand behind her back and crossed her fingers hopefully. Please, she thought, oh, pretty please…

For a long moment, he said nothing, and with every passing moment of his prolonged silence, her heart sank, her limbs grew heavy, and she resolved herself to being dumped. Oh, well, she thought. It wasn’t like such a thing came as any surprise. What man in his right mind would allow his house, his very life, to be overrun by some crazy—or rather, eccentric—woman, just because she asked pretty please?

She was about to open her mouth and concede defeat, to return Pendleton’s house—and his life—to his own capable hands, when he opened his own mouth and cut her off.

“All right, you can stay,” he said, hurrying on before she could comment, “and I’m probably going to be sorry I asked, but…define ‘special’ with regard to dinner.”

Kit smiled as a bubble of relief burst in her belly, even allowed herself to surrender to a ripple of laughter as she crossed the room to link her arm with his. “Fried catfish,” she told him. “Two words, Pendleton. Yum-mee.”

She sensed immediately by the look on his face that he wasn’t nearly as excited about the menu as she was. “Oh, boy,” he said blandly. “Bottom-feeders soaked in fat and served up for dinner. I don’t guess life gets any better than that.”

“Well, there’s no reason to be sarcastic.”

“No?”

She enjoyed another sip from the martini she had taken from him, then extended it toward him again. Some Stepford Wife she was turning out to be. She wasn’t even making sure her man had his nightly cocktail refill after a long, hard day at work. Surprisingly, Pendleton took the drink from her, but instead of tasting it, he continued to study her face. And damn him for that. It was just too friggin’ cold in this house to wear skimpy little outfits orchestrated to keep his eyes elsewhere on her body. But he’d only given her June Cleaver get-up a perfunctory glance before settling his attention back on her face. Now she was going to have to try something else. Maybe if she dressed up as a nun. Or a dominatrix. Or both at the same time. Hmmm…

“What else are we having?” he asked suddenly, dragging her mind back to the matters at hand. “For dinner, I mean.”

She lifted her nose indignantly into the air. “Well, after your joyous outburst over the catfish, I think maybe I shouldn’t tell you about the side dishes. Or dessert, either, for that matter.”

“Oh, I think maybe you should.”

She shook her head. “Nah. It’ll be more fun to watch your expression when you sample genuine Kentucky cuisine for the first time. Especially the—”

She halted when she saw his eyebrows shoot up expectantly. “Well, you’ll find out,” she concluded easily.

Pendleton nodded slowly, fatalistically. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Kit had little trouble keeping herself busy in Pendleton’s house during the week that followed. She furnished his home from top to bottom with furniture that she, at least, adored—how fortunate that his arrival in Louisville coincided perfectly with a sale at Bittners (and that twelve-months-no-interest plan was just too irresistible to pass up). She cleared his fridge and cupboards of all that trendy bachelor fare and replaced it with the basic four of her home state—cholesterol, cholesterol, cholesterol, and greens. She played her Earl Scruggs CDs over and over and over again, only to learn that Pendleton—go figure—did not like bluegrass music. Oh, yes. And she named their new golden retriever puppy Maury.

All in all, it was time well spent. Not just because she was so successful in organizing her new life with Pendleton, but because while she was redoing his home, hearth, and life, she also learned some very interesting things about him. Like the fact that he had every book ever written by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. Like the fact that he owned not one, not two, but three pairs of Levi’s 501s that had definitely seen better days. Like the fact that he preferred boxers over briefs. And like the fact that R&B and blues ruled in his CD collection. Funny, but he wasn’t turning out to be anything at all like she expected.

Now her second Saturday with him was upon them, a full day with just her and Pendleton, and she was looking forward to learning even more. Especially since he’d steadfastly avoided her last weekend by driving to Paducah, claiming that visiting Paducah, Kentucky had been a lifelong goal, and no, if Kit didn’t mind, he’d just as soon go alone. So it was obvious why she intended to take advantage of his presence at home for a change to try and figure the man out.

Not surprisingly, upon opening her eyes that morning, Kit found herself alone in the bed. She’d awakened alone every morning since that first one, now that Pendleton was sleeping downstairs on their new sofa every night. At any rate, a metallic rapping from the backyard was what woke her. She moved to the bedroom window to find the door open on the shed-thing outside, and Pendleton’s Porsche—its roof now mended—parked in the alley. Even after she made her way downstairs to pour herself a cup of coffee and let Maury out for his morning uproar, the pounding continued.

Gazing out the kitchen window, Kit saw Maury yapping happily about the backyard, but Pendleton was nowhere to be seen. Heard, certainly, but not seen. Much as he’d been for the entire length of her invasion. She heard him come in from work every night, heard him shaving and showering every morning. But she hadn’t seen much of him at all. Nor had he spoken to her. Although, all things reconsidered, she couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, the only reason he tolerated her occupation of his home was that it meant he kept his job. As reasons went, Kit supposed his was as good as any that men had used over the years to hang around with her. She sighed as the clink-clink-clink started up again, and she wondered what on earth he was up to out there.