My Man Pendleton (6 page)

To his credit, Pendleton offered no discernible reaction whatever. "Do you? I have a cousin who has a reputation like that."

Kit returned to her regular voice as she asked sweetly, "And is she an embarrassment to her family, too?"

Pendleton shook his head. "Not at all. We just love her to pieces on the weekends they let her out of the home."

Kit drummed her fingers more restlessly on the table. This wasn't going at all the way she had planned. "So where are you from?" she asked.

He hesitated only a moment, but it was long enough for her to see that he was stalling. "Before coming to Hensley's, I worked in
Philadelphia
," he told her.

"Doing what?"

He shrugged, but she got the impression the gesture was anything but negligent. "Pretty much the same thing I'm doing now."

"Oh. You were making some rich, greedy corporation richer and greedier?"

He smiled as he nodded, obviously proud of his accomplishments. "Something like that, yes."

"So are you from
Philadelphia
originally?"

"No."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he showed no sign that he would do so. She had opened her mouth to ask for more details when, for some reason, she turned her gaze to the head of the table. Her father was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his attention utterly fixed on the byplay between her and Pendleton. He was watching her reaction to his new VP with great interest, a smug little smile playing about his lips. He looked to Kit very much like a man who was about to get exactly what he wanted. Like maybe ninety-nine-point-four million bucks in his name, and his daughter living under someone else's roof.

Ah, ah, ah, Daddy,
she thought.
Not
…
so
…
fast.

But as she thought further, a truly masterful idea began to take seed in the darkest corner of her brain. No, she told herself quickly, even as the idea took root. She couldn't do
that.
Not to her family. Even if her family
had
bushwhacked every opportunity she'd had to put a little romance into her life. Even if they
had
chased off—or paid off—every guy who had ever taken an interest in her. Even if they
had
messed up any and every chance she'd ever had to find happiness with a man
…

She still couldn't do
that
to them.

Could she?

But bit by bit, as she considered her father's satisfaction with the way his little tableau was proceeding, the idea in Kit's head began to blossom. And slowly, she began to think that yes, maybe she
could
do that to them. Maybe…

This situation with her father's new VP could work very well to her advantage. But she was going to have to make sure she played her role
juuuuust riiiiight.

She smiled, the first genuine smile she'd felt in some time. And she asked, "So, Daddy
…
what's for dessert?"

* * *

"What's this all about?"

Pendleton's question diverted Kit's attention from the plotting that had kept her busy throughout dinner. When she turned, she found him gazing at the photograph that hung above the fireplace in the living room. The dinner party had retired here with the three C's—coffee, cognac, and cigars—to wind up the evening. Except that in the McClellans' case, the cognac was really Bourbon, because they didn't keep any other hard liquor in the house.

Like every other room in Cherrywood, the main living room was filled with old things—old furniture, old rugs, old smells, old memories. And an old black-and-white photograph blown up to poster size, which hung where most people would post a portrait of the family patriarch. Though, in essence, she supposed that was exactly what the photograph was.

"That's my great-great-grandfather, Noble Hensley," Kit told Pendleton.

"What's that big, um, machine he's standing next to?"

She smiled proudly. "That would be his still."

"Ah."

"He was a moonshiner."

Pendleton nodded. "How fortunate for him to have had the opportunity to make his living working out in the sunshine and fresh air like that."

"I
assume you've never been within smelling distance of a still, have you, Pendleton?"

"No, I can't say that I have been."

"I could tell."

Before she could elaborate, he gestured again toward the photograph and asked further, "And who are all those men surrounding your great-great-grandfather?"

"The ones with the guns?" she asked benignly.

"Yes, those."

"Those would be his VPs."

"Ah."

"They were always on the lookout for revenuers. Back then, Hensley's Distilleries, Inc. was known as Old Noble's still up in Hoot Owl Hollow." She pronounced "Hollow" as "Holler," as the locals would, giving her Appalachian heritage, of which she was extremely proud, its due. "Instead of things like research and development and public relations, Noble's boys handled things like corn acquisition and
midnight
distribution."

"Ah."

"The distilling business was much more romantic back then."

"And more dangerous, I'll wager."

Kit eyed him blandly. "Is there a difference?"

Pendleton eyed her back. "Between romantic and dangerous?"

She nodded.

"Don't you think there is?"

Now she shook her head.

"Ah."

He was driving Kit crazy with his total lack of reaction, especially when she'd been doing her best all evening to be annoying. And the complete absence of animosity on his part was starting to get her really steamed.

"It was your great-grandfather, Amon Hensley, who legitimized the Bourbon-making process, though, wasn't it?"

Pendleton's question roused Kit from her thoughts. "I don't know that I'd say he
legitimized
it," she replied.

"He wasn't the one who made it legal?"

"Oh,
that.
Yes. He did, eventually. Except during Prohibition, when they went back to the old-fashioned way of doing things. But a lot of people said the Bourbon tasted better when Noble was stirring it up out in the woods. God only knows what kind of woodland creatures found their way into it."

That, if nothing else, seemed to get a reaction from Pendleton. Not a big one. Just a funny little kind of squinting. But it was a reaction nonetheless, and Kit gave herself a point for it.

"You mean wild animals drinking from the mixture allegedly made it taste better?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I mean little critters falling into the mixture, drowning and dying in it made it taste better."

He hesitated only a moment this time before remarking, "Ah."

"After Amon, came my grandfather, Beaumont Hensley," she continued, "who was really the one to turn the company into a big success."

"Excuse me," her father cut in from his position on the sofa. "I think you could include me in that equation."

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her father. "Well it
is
called Hensley's Bourbon, and not McClellan's, isn't it, Daddy?"

"That's beside the point. The product was established under the name Hensley's. It would have been foolish to change it to McClellan's, just because the power shifted on
Beaumont
's retirement."

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.

But 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 1959 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. And then Kit was left 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 that 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. And she tried not to notice how easily 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 comfortably. 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 gotten 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.

And 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.