Considering Kate. Nora Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ big yellow bus groaned to a stop, its safety lights flashing. The driver waved, a cheerful little salute. Brody waved back and watched his lightning bolt shoot out the door.

      Jack was a compact boy, except for his feet. It would take some years for him to grow into them. At the end of the lane, he tipped back his head and tried to catch one of those thin snowflakes on his tongue. His face was round and cheerful, his eyes green like his father’s, his mouth still the innocent bow of youth.

      Brody knew when Jack stripped off his red ski cap—as he would at the first opportunity—his pale blond hair would shoot up in sunflower spikes.

      Watching his son, Brody felt love swarm him, fill him so fast it was a flood of the heart.

      Then the door of the truck opened, and the little boy clambered in, an eager puppy with oversize paws.

      “Hey, Dad! It’s snowing. Maybe it’ll snow eight feet and there won’t be any school and we can build a million snowmen in the yard and go sledding.” He bounced on the seat. “Can we?”

      “The minute it snows eight feet, we start the first of a million snowmen.”

      “Promise?”

      Promises, Brody knew, were always a solemn business. “Absolutely promise.”

      “Okay! Guess what?”

      Brody started the engine and drove up the lane. “What?”

      “It’s only fifteen days till Christmas, and Miss Hawkins says tomorrow it’ll be fourteen and that’s just two weeks.”

      “I guess that means one from fifteen is fourteen.”

      “Yeah?” Jack’s eyes went wide. “Okay. So it’s Christmas in two weeks, and Grandma says that time flies, so it’s practically Christmas now.”

      “Practically.” Brody stopped the truck in front of the old three-story farmhouse. Eventually he’d have the whole thing rehabbed. Maybe by the time he was eligible for social security.

      “So okay, if it’s almost practically Christmas, can I have a present?”

      “Hmm.” Brody pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and appeared to give this due consideration. “You know, Jacks, that was good. That was a really good one. No.”

      “Aw.”

      “Aw,” Brody echoed in the same sorrowful tone. Then he laughed and snatched his son off the seat. “But if you give me a hug, I’ll make O’Connell’s Amazing Magic Pizza for dinner.”

      “Okay!” Jack wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

      And Brody was home.

      Chapter Two

      “Nervous?” Spencer Kimball watched his daughter pour a cup of coffee. She looked flawless, he thought. Her mass of curling hair was tied neatly into a tail that streamed down her back. Her stone-gray jacket and trousers were trim and tailored in an understated chic he sometimes thought she’d been born with. Her face—Lord, she looked like her mother—was composed.

      Yes, she looked flawless, and lovely. And grown up. Why was it so hard to see his babies grown?

      “Why should I be nervous? More coffee?”

      “Yeah, thanks. It’s D-Day,” he added when she topped off his cup. “Deed Day. In a couple hours, you’ll be a property owner, with all the joys and frustrations that entails.”

      “I’m looking forward to it.” She sat to nibble on the half bagel she’d toasted for breakfast. “I’ve thought it all through very carefully.”

      “You always do.”

      “Mmm. I know it’s a risk using so much of my savings, and a good portion of my trust fund in this investment. But I’m financially sound and I know I can handle the projected expenses over the next five years.”

      He nodded, watching her face. “You have your mother’s business sense.”

      “I like to think so. I also like to think I’ll have your skill for teaching. After all, I’m an artist, who comes from two people who are artists. And the little bit of teaching I did in New York gave me a taste for it.” She picked up the cream, added a little more to her coffee. “I’m establishing my business in my hometown, where I have solid contacts with the community.”

      “Absolutely true.”

      She set the bagel aside and picked up her coffee. “The Kimball name is respected here, and my name is respected in dance circles. I’ve studied dance for twenty years, sweated and ached my way through thousands of hours of instructions. I should have learned more than how to execute a clean tour jeté.”

      “Without question.”

      She sighed. There was no fooling her father. He knew her inside and out. He was all that was solid, she thought, all that was steady. “Okay. You know how you get butterflies in your stomach?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Mine are frogs. Big, fat, hopping frogs. I wasn’t this nervous before my first professional solo.”

      “Because you never doubted your talent. This is new ground, honey.” He laid a hand over hers. “You’re entitled to the frogs. Fact is, I’d worry about you if you didn’t have the jumps.”

      “You’re also worried I’m making a big mistake.”

      “No, not a mistake.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ve got some concerns—and a father’s entitled to the jumps, too—that in a few months you might miss performing. Miss the company and the life you built. Part of me wishes you’d waited a bit longer before making such a big commitment. And the other part’s just happy to have you home again.”

      “Well, tell your frogs to settle down. Once I make a commitment, I keep it.”

      “I know.”

      That was one of the things that concerned him, but he wasn’t going to say that.

      She picked up her bagel again, grinning a little. She knew just how to distract him. “So, tell me about the plans to remodel the kitchen.”

      He winced, his handsome face looking pained. “I’m not getting into it.” As he glanced around the room he raked a hand through his hair so the gold and silver of it tangled. “Your mother’s got this bug over a full redo here. New this, new that, and Brody O’Connell’s aiding and abetting. What’s wrong with the kitchen?”

      “Maybe it has something to do with the fact it hasn’t been remodeled in twenty-odd years?”

      “So what’s your point?” Spencer gestured with his coffee cup. “It’s great. It’s perfectly comfortable. But then he had to go and show her sample books.”

      Her lips twitched at the betrayal in her father’s voice, but she spoke with sober sympathy. “The dog.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ