My Man Pendleton(57)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“There are some things in life that are more important than money,” Holt said, surprised at how easily the words rolled off his tongue.

Kit burst into laughter. “Oh, right. Listen to you. You’d shrivel up and die without Mama’s millions.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

She sobered, but dropped her gaze instead of meeting his. “I couldn’t care less about Mama’s money. Ninety-nine-point-four million bucks could go a long way in the right hands. And Mama picked out some fine charities.”

Holt nodded. “Have you really thought about what your life would be like if all our money were taken away from us? Even with Abernathy handling the funds for the last two years, your life hasn’t changed one bit since Mama’s death. You still get your more than generous allowance. You’re still free to do whatever you want. But if all that money were jerked out of your hands, what do you think your life would be like?”

“It would probably be ninety-nine-point-four million times better,” she told him.

He shook his head. “You’re used to living this way, Kit. Deny its importance all you want, but if you suddenly couldn’t walk into Cherrywood whenever it suited you, if you couldn’t use your charge card on whatever struck your fancy, if you had to go out and get a job—”

“A job?” she interrupted him, her expression troubled, as if she hadn’t considered that aspect of the real world.

He chuckled. “Well, honey, ain’t nobody else out there who’s gonna support you. You’d have to support yourself. What kind of salary do you think you’ll draw with your résumé?”

She fidgeted. “Well. I do have a college degree. Two college degrees, as a matter of fact.”

“A BA in liberal arts and an MA in philosophy,” Holt reminded her. “Oh, yeah. Those and all that professional experience you have—your most recent position was as a bartender, I believe, and lasted all of twenty-four hours—well, hey, your résumé ought to catch anyone’s eye.”

She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “So I’ll work as a bartender to support myself.”

This time Holt was the one to laugh. “It would almost be worth sacrificing a hundred million dollars to see that. But maybe you should stop thinking about yourself for a minute, and start thinking about everyone else you’re going to affect with this adolescent attitude you have.”

She gaped at him. “Adolescent? Excuse me?”

Holt dropped his gaze down into his glass, watching as the tiny, crystalline bubbles snapped and fizzed. “Do you remember what you did the day after Mama’s will was read?”

Kit kept silent, but he knew she was remembering that day as well as he did.

“You came into my bedroom when the sun was at its peak,” he continued, “and you threw open all the curtains so that I was blinded by the light.”

“I remember,” she said softly.

“Then you dragged me out of bed and poured me a cup of coffee. And as I sat there sipping it, you pulled out a notebook and enumerated for me, in stark, colorful detail, each and every incident, going back decades, in which I embarrassed myself or my family or my friends or my coworkers with my drinking.”

“It had gone on long enough, Holt. I just wish I did it while Mama was still alive.”

He nodded. “Do you remember how long it took for you to list all of those incidents that you so thoughtfully recorded for so many years?”

“All day,” she said. “And all night.”

He nodded, too. “All damned day. And all damned night.”

“But you haven’t had a drink since then,” she reminded him.

He dipped his head forward in acknowledgment. “No. I haven’t. And I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, you did. You haven’t had a drink since then.”

Holt considered her for a moment in silence, then he roped his arm around her neck, pulled her close and placed a loud, smacking kiss at the crown of her head. Kit laughed, but shoved him away, then rose and went to retrieve a club soda for herself. That was the McClellan way, he thought. Reach out impulsively, touch briefly, pull back quickly. No harm done. Mama was the only one who had ever been able to hug for any length of time.

Holt sighed. “Now, I have the chance to pay you back, Kit.”

She had remained on the other side of the room, clearly needing some space after that overwhelming display of emotion they just shared. Now she strode slowly back toward him, but dropped into a chair opposite the loveseat.

“No payback necessary,” she assured him.

“You’re going to get it anyway.” He made himself comfortable and watched her closely as he spoke. “These days, it’s you who’s trying to self-destruct,” he said. Immediately, she opened her mouth to object, so he sliced his hand through the air to cut her off. “Your behavior over the last two years has been selfish, juvenile, and unfeeling.”

“Must be in the genes,” she managed to fire off while he was taking a breath.

“I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing,” he conceded. “I know what Dad did to you the night before your wedding was unforgivable, and I know Mick and Dirk and Bart and I had no right to be so overprotective. For my part, at least, I apologize. But I think you’ve made your point. And I think it’s about time you did something to rectify the situation.”

“Rectify the situation,” she echoed. “And by that you would mean…”

“Get married,” he stated bluntly. “Even if it’s only some phony arrangement that lasts a few months, just do it. Save the family fortune. Return our lives to all of us, so we can get on with our lives.”

She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully for a full minute before responding, and for a moment, Holt honestly thought she was going to agree to his suggestion. But when she replied, all she said was, “I’ll think about it.”

That, he supposed, was as good as he was going to get.

“You know, it was snowing pretty hard when I came in,” he said, recalling the fat, furious flakes that pelted him as he crossed the backyard. “And it’s probably full dark by now. You’re going to have trouble getting home tonight.”

She sighed as she gazed wistfully toward the library entrance. “Yeah, I guess I should just spend the night here. It’ll give Pendleton a break. He can have the bed for a change.”