A Heart Revealed (18 page)

With a stroke of his stubbled jaw, she gave him a shy smile. “Oh, I think I do,” she whispered. Her brows dipped. “Wait—are you hungry? ’Cause I can warm up that meat loaf . . .”

His gaze strayed to her lips. “Oh, I’m hungry all right, Sass, but not for meat loaf.” Kissing the tip of her nose, he tugged her to the table and prodded her into a chair. “But first things first—how’s Kit? Then tell me about your day while I finish off the last of the chocolate cream pie.” Zeroing in on the icebox, he shot a grin over his shoulder. “That is, if there’s any left.”

“Hey, McGee, I’ll have you know I saved the last piece for you, despite the fact it’s my favorite.” Katie popped up from her chair and butted him aside with a smirk. “Which wasn’t easy, considering I’ve been alone the last few nights with nothing to do but stare at it after Kit goes to bed. Go on and sit—you look exhausted.” She dished the last piece onto a saucer while he plopped into a chair, then placed it before him with a fork in the middle. “Kit’s better today—the fever’s gone, but the runny nose definitely kicked in, along with her appetite.” She poured milk and handed it to him before sliding into her chair, chin in hand. “She actually tried to eat everything that wasn’t nailed down today,” she said with a wry smile. “Including the pie.”

Luke grinned and shoveled a forkful into his mouth, practically gulping it whole. “Thanks, Katie.” He swallowed another few bites, then took a quick swig of milk. “I’m relieved Kit’s on the mend—she had me worried.” He polished off the dessert, then pushed the plate away while he upended the milk. “Of course, some of my worry stems from the fact that Bobbie Sue and Gladys threatened to quit if you don’t come back soon.”

“Oh, so you need a buffer, do you, Mr. Priss?”

A wayward smile eased across his lips as he tugged her onto his lap. “I think that’s fair to say, Mrs. McGee,” he said, his breath warm in her ear. He dipped her back to explore her throat with his mouth, then pulled her upright again with a groan. Cuddling her to his chest, he planted a kiss on her head. “So help me, Katie, I’m so crazy in love with you, you’ve got me sidetracked.” He sighed and kneaded her shoulders. “Tell me what you’ve been doing the last three days.”

———

Never would there be a better time and Katie knew it. She sucked in a deep swallow of air as if it contained the courage she desperately needed. The beat of his heart pulsed in her ear as she lay against his chest, its rapid throb in rhythm with her own as she thought about what she had to do. Law school loomed a mere three weeks away, and her husband needed to know. She swallowed hard, knowing full well that what she had to say would jolt Luke McGee’s world.
And mine
, she thought with a shiver. He buffed her arms, and she pressed in closer, breathing in the clean scent of his starched shirt, a hint of Bay Rum, and the faint trace of a man too long in a suit.

She forged on, expelling tentative words along with shaky air. “Well, Kit mostly napped the first day while I caught up on mending. We listened to
Little Orphan Annie
on the radio and read lots of books. Then we made cookies yesterday and picked up the laundry from Mr. Chu’s, and Kit fell asleep on the couch while I cleaned house and ironed. Today she was feeling a lot better, so it was our busiest day.” She twisted a lock of her hair, which correlated nicely with the knot in her stomach. “We shopped at Dennehy’s and Woolworth’s, bought stamps at the post office, splurged on a soda at Robinson’s, went to the bank—” the air hitched in her lungs—“bought groceries at Miller’s, fixed dinner, put Kit to bed, did the dishes, and now I’m putting groceries away.” She finished in a rush, unable to ignore the sudden stiffness in his chest.

He shifted to study her face, thick blond brows raised in question. “The bank? But I left money for groceries in the drawer. Did you run out?”

“No, there was plenty for groceries,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Katie?” He tucked a finger to her chin. “Then why did you go to the bank?”

She wriggled off his lap and stood to her feet, her breathing compromised considerably. “Because . . . I . . . well, I needed the money.”

He blinked. “Money? For what?”

She hefted her chin, steeling her nerve, but a lump still caught in her throat. She swallowed it and met his gaze head-on, her body as tense as the sudden tic in his temple. “For law school,” she whispered. “First-semester payment was due today.”

He stared, mouth slacking open. The deep tan in his face faded several shades, highlighting the spray of freckles across his sculpted nose. “Law school?” he repeated, his voice as raspy and thick as if chocolate pie were lodged in his throat. He rose to his feet while a muscle twittered in a rock-hard jaw. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Katie took a step back, one hand braced to the chair for support as her eyes pleaded with his. “You knew from the very beginning that law school was my dream.”

He slammed his chair in, his voice hard. “That was before I made you my wife, Katie, the mother to my child. Not once since I put that ring on your finger have you mentioned anything about law school.”

“Luke, I know this is a shock—”

“A shock?” He jerked his plate and fork from the table and practically hurled them into the dishwater, sloshing water all over the sink. He turned and ripped the tie from his neck, singeing her with a glare. “No, Katie, this is more like getting slammed with a blunt object.”

His temper ignited hers. “You’re being ridiculous—this is not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?”
His brows lifted to a dangerous level. “You take money we don’t have, then lie to me about law school—”

“I didn’t lie!”

He fisted the tie and took a step closer. “You deceived me, Katie—it’s the same thing. You’re my wife, for pity’s sake—we’re supposed to make these decisions together.”

“Would you have said yes?” Her chin jerked up.

“Are you crazy? No, I wouldn’t have said yes. You have no business in law school. You have a daughter to care for, a part-time job at the BCAS, and we
don’t
have the money.”

She sucked in a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. “Lizzie’s agreed to watch Kit five days a week, and you know yourself Carmichael plans to trim the payroll.”

“And the money?” he asked, his voice as cool as the chicken bleeding on the counter. He braced hands on his hips, forearms strained with muscles.

The words on her tongue thickened, hesitant to part from her lips. “It’s Parker’s,” she whispered, feeling the heat swarm in her cheeks at the mention of Luke’s best friend whom she almost married. “From the account he set up for me when he broke our engagement.”

His eyes flickered in hurt, as if she’d just swung that blunt object he mentioned right at his head. And then in a slow blink of his lids, his gaze hardened to ice and his jaw went rigid, shadowed with bristle that made him all the more ominous. “I see. Well, you sure know how to kill a mood, Katie Rose.”

“Luke, this can work, I promise.”

“No, it can’t . . . because I won’t allow it.”

A harsh breath heaved still in her throat. “Excuse me? You won’t
allow
it?” She slapped hands on her hips and leaned in. “In case you forgot, this isn’t the BCAS and you’re
not
my boss.”

He moved close, hovering over her like impending doom. “I’m your husband, Katie Rose,” he said in a tone as tight as the muscles in his face. “What I say goes.”

“Over-my-dead-body,” she enunciated, incensed at the crick in her neck as she seared him with a look.

“
If
. . . necessary.” He ground out the words between clenched teeth.

She spun on her heel and stomped to the counter, snatching a knife and cutting board from the drawer to hack at the chicken.
Heaven help me, I married a Neanderthal.
She stabbed the poultry with the blade, sawing it into pieces with her husband in mind. Down the hall she heard the bathroom door slam and the shower turn on, and she was sorely tempted to steal his water pressure by turning on the kitchen spigot full force.

He’s just tired.
Guilt slithered in, as slick as the chicken grease now coating her hand. She sagged over the sink with a weary sigh. Of course he was. The poor man worked sixteen hours a day for the last week—who wouldn’t be testy? After all, Luke McGee was a reasonable man. Her lips shifted to the side.
Most of the time.
Her gaze fell to the bouquet on the counter. And he
had
brought her flowers and cuddled her with that lovesick gleam in his eye. She thought of his lips on her neck, and a warm shiver tingled through her. And she’d certainly missed him as well—probably more than he’d missed her.

A thought flitted through her mind, and her knife stilled on the chicken, embedded deep in a thigh while a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course! I’ll tease him out of it like I do when he’s a grump.” She glanced down the hall at the sliver of light beneath the bathroom door and grinned. Yes, a cool shower would calm him down, but hopefully not enough to cool the passion she’d seen in his eyes.

Rinsing her hands, she quickly dried them off and reached for the tube of Barbasol shaving cream she’d bought him from Woolworth’s. A grin tipped her lips as she placed it in the middle of the hall floor rather than waiting to put it away in the bathroom, almost giddy at the prospect of his response over her little “tease.” He would see it and smile, she was certain, then tickle her until she picked it up, no doubt, calling her Miss Sass and sealing it with a kiss.

As always.

Humming to herself, she finished cutting the chicken and sealed it into two butcher-wrapped packets. She paused, noting the shower had stopped, then smiled and hefted a package of chicken into the icebox. Singing her favorite song, she reached for the second packet. “Five foot two, eyes of blue, but oh, what those five foot could do. Has anybody seen my—”

A massive hand clamped on her wrist, and she gasped. The chicken in her hand plummeted to the floor in a dull splat as she broke free and spun around. He stood barefoot, striped pajama bottoms with muscled chest bare, blond hair dark and spiked from his shower.

“Pick it up,” he breathed. A spasm twittered in the hard line of his jaw. “Now, please.” With a heated gaze fused to hers, he jabbed a stiff finger toward the Barbasol in the middle of the hall floor. The deadly voice held a note of pleading, although his features could have been solid rock. “Pick it up, Katie.”

“No, you pick it up,” she quipped, her smile suddenly fading at the fury in his eyes. “Luke, I was just teas—”

“I
said
, pick it up—
now
,” he repeated, his face as white as the paper-wrapped chicken lying on the floor.

Body quivering, she did as he asked, and when she rose, he snatched the tube from her hand. Without another word, he stormed down the hall and entered their room, then left once again with pillow and sheet in hand.

She followed him to the parlor, her heart in her throat. “Luke, it was just a joke, the shaving cream in the hall, I promise. Can’t we talk this out, please?”

He hurled the bedding on the sofa before striding to the window to jerk up the sash, muscled arms bulging with the motion. “The time for talking is long past, Katie,” he said in a harsh tone. “Go to bed.”

“But, Luke—”

“I said . . . go to bed.”
He stilled her with a look.

She blinked, fighting the sting of tears in her eyes. She’d only seen him like this one other time—the night Parker had walked out on them both. Hard, cold, angry . . . and hurt. She shivered and backed away, well aware that nothing she could say would soften him tonight. “I love you, Luke,” she whispered. “Good night.”

He ignored her and rolled on his side, his broad back stiff and knotted with muscles.

Katie returned to the kitchen, the heave of a sob in her chest as she put the groceries away. Her lips quivered as she spied the package of chicken on the floor, and she closed her eyes, hand to her mouth.
What have I done?
She sagged against the counter and began to pray, not sure when Luke would forgive her or even when he would speak to her again. And at the moment, she had no earthly idea if she would even see law school in the fall.

But . . . there was one thing of which she was absolutely certain. She swiped the tears from her eyes and bent to put the chicken away, a cold realization shaking her to the core.

The honeymoon was definitely over.

“You know, Bert, I do believe we’ve worn the boy out.” Emma peeked in the supply room, now Sean’s makeshift office, a smile squirming on her lips at the sight of her new assistant manager sprawled in his chair with eyes closed, sleeves rolled, and arms propped behind his neck.

One of Sean’s eyelids slitted up while he rested at his battered desk during one of the rare moments he’d been able to slow down all week.

Bertolina Adriani cocked a hip to the door and folded thick arms across an ample chest. Legs crossed at the ankle, she eyed him through piercing hazel eyes, a perfect match for the tailored brown suit jacket and skirt that pulled tightly across generous hips. “You did tell him he has to do his sleeping at home, didn’t you?” Dark brows scrunched in question, but the twinkle in her eye betrayed the gruff edge of her tone.