My Man Pendleton(73)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to believe Cherrywood was where she would hole up. She’d seemed far happier in Pendleton’s house than she ever had in her father’s. Something—namely a cold, dark feeling in the pit of his stomach—told him Kit was a whole lot farther away than Glenview. Somehow he was certain she took off for parts unknown, more than likely some destination south. Way south. Somewhere amid thousands of miles of ocean, and thousands of acres of islands.

“Dammit,” he repeated. Then he punctuated the sentiment by kicking the baseboard. Hard.

The sound of Maury’s mad yipping at the kitchen door stirred Pendleton enough to make him find his way back downstairs to let the puppy inside. On his way through the dining room, his gaze inadvertently fell to the table, where the scattered mail from the day before still lay unopened. Except for one piece that was open, he noted. The invitation to Sherry’s wedding.

Oh, man.

Pendleton gave his forehead a good, mental smack, because he deserved it. Then he opened his hand and gave his forehead a good, physical smack, as well. Two days ago, Kit accused him of still being in love with his ex-wife. And two days ago, he wasn’t able to contradict her. But now, two days—and two nights—later, he knew better.

He wasn’t in love with Sherry.

In many ways, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever really been in love with her. Cared for Sherry? Yes, much as he cared for all the friends he made in childhood. Lusted after Sherry? Oh, most definitely. He absolutely lusted after her. Much as he lusted after Jessica Alba, Anais Nin, and Miss January 1989.

But the thing about all those women was…they weren’t Kit. And what he felt for Kit—the caring, the affection, the lust—went waaay beyond the tepid reactions he’d had to other women. Kit commanded more from him than other women had. Admiration, for one thing. Respect, for another. And fear. And worry. Exasperation. Confusion. And, of course, love.

His gaze fell once again to the wedding invitation addressed to R. Pendleton and guest. He smiled as he picked it up and read the words engraved so elegantly upon the creamy card. Then, without one whit of emotion, he tore the card in two, casting one half to the left, the other to the right. Wow, that was easy. Would that all things in life were dealt with as effortlessly. Of course, Pendleton was in love now. That meant ease and effortlessness went right out the window.

The first thing on his agenda was finding the woman who kidnapped his heart and was holding it for ransom. He’d pay whatever price Kit demanded, as long as he got her back. Safe and sound, and in one piece. Oh, and in love with him, too, something he was fairly certain wasn’t going to be a problem at all. No one could make love the way he and Kit did without being utterly, irrevocably in love. So the only problem he could see for the short term was that he had absolutely no idea where to look for her.

Only one thing to do now. Wait for a postcard. And hope like hell one came soon.

Kit stood outside the offices of the Louisville Temperance League, thinking them surprisingly inoffensive. She would have thought a temperance group would house itself in something a little more dramatic. Say a bleak, impenetrable castle, sitting atop a craggy, impassable mountain, beneath angry skies rent open by the wrath of God. But when she reached the office of Faith Ivory, all she saw was your basic working woman’s environment. Wall-to-wall beige carpeting, icky eggshell paint, old, metal Venetian blinds on the windows, a handful of framed degrees and awards on the walls. And behind a scarred, battered desk, one slight, impassive woman in a simple, gray flannel suit. A woman who looked very, very tired and very, very unhappy.

Goodness, but Kit was glad she came.

“What can I do for you, Miss McClellan?” Faith Ivory asked, clearly uncomfortable with her unannounced visitor. “You’ll excuse me if I say it’s something of a surprise to see you here.”

“I don’t know why that would be surprising,” Kit said mildly as she brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from her brown tweed trousers and smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her cream-colored shirt. “I’m a social person by nature. And I thought it was about time you and I got to know each other a little better. We didn’t have much of a chance to chat that night at Cherrywood.” She punctuated the observation with a bland smile.

Faith responded with an equally tepid smile of her own. “Yes, well, although that’s certainly true, I didn’t expect to see any of the McClellans again, since I told Holt—”

“Now, now,” Kit interrupted her, still smiling benignly. “Don’t be coy with me. Holt may fall for that kind of thing—he’s unbelievably soft-hearted, the big sap—but you’re talking to a seasoned professional now, li’l sugar dumplin’. You say you don’t want to see Holt again—or any of the rest of us, for that matter—but I ain’t buyin’ it. So let’s chat.”

Faith Ivory’s expression probably would have been the same if Kit just hit her in the face with, well, a li’l sugar dumplin’. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” Kit cajoled. “I’d recognize that wounded martyr role anywhere. I perfected it myself a long time ago. You’re wasting your time playing it with me.”

Two bright spots of red colored Faith’s cheeks. This was going to be sooo easy. “In the first place, Miss McClellan—”

“Please. Call me Kit,” she interrupted. “And I’ll call you Faith. Since we’re going to be speaking so frankly, I think we might as well put ourselves on a first name basis, ’kay?”

Faith inhaled deeply, held the breath for what Kit could only assume was a count of ten, and then began to speak again. Her voice was low, calm, and monotonous, a clear indication she was starting to get steamed. Perfect.

“Miss McClellan—”

“Kit.”

“Whatever,” the other woman bit off crisply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I think I want to know. Perhaps it would just be best if you left right now.”

Kit pretended to think about her suggestion, then shook her head. “Nah. Not until we’ve cleared the air about something.”

Faith didn’t even blink. “And that would be?”

Kit leaned forward in her chair, cupped her hands daintily over her knees, smiled sweetly and said, “About how much it pisses me off when someone hurts somebody I care about.”