Hard to Resist - By Kara Lennox Page 0,53
Faced with skeptical hoots and out-and-out accusations that she was lying, she admitted that she was the one who ended the relationship.
“Why for?” asked Gwen, who was seventeen and the oldest member of this group. She’d really blossomed over the past few months, having gone from academic probation—almost dropping out—to decent grades. She’d even begun to talk about college.
“The relationship was too one-sided,” Kat answered. “He was doing all the giving and I was doing all the taking, and it didn’t feel right.”
“So why didn’t you start giving more back?”
“Well, I gave as much as I could. You all know about the fire, and what a difficult position I was in. But even when I tried to give him something simple, like making him a sandwich or cleaning up his kitchen, he didn’t want to accept anything from me.”
“Sounds like the opposite of my guy,” Tati said. “My ex-guy. He just wanted to take, take, take.”
“Extremes in any direction aren’t good,” Kat said.
“What about love?” Tati asked softly. “If you really love each other, can’t that fix everything?”
“Sometimes love can’t fix everything.”
“But it can sure motivate you to try to fix some things,” Gwen said, her eyes dreamy. She’d recently met a new guy. He was twenty-two, but he owned a car wash and seemed, at least on the surface, to be a huge step up from her previous drug dealer.
“Ms. Kat?” said Stephie, and Kat braced herself for another love question. But instead Stephie said, “That man is watching us again.”
Kat turned, and sure enough the same silver-haired man was leaning against the cafeteria wall, arms folded, watching them. Not even pretending to be doing something else.
This was too much. She was going to find out, once and for all, why this guy was so interested in the StrongGirls. She got up and marched toward him, full of purpose, with a bit of verbal encouragement from the girls.
Kat stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, trying not to sound confrontational.
He introduced himself as James Canfield and handed her a card. “I was just observing. I’d heard about the StrongGirls program and I wanted to see for myself what you were up to.”
“I appreciate your interest,” Kat said carefully. “And if you’d like to make an appointment and come to my office, I’d be happy to tell you anything you want to know about the program. But these coaching sessions are private.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean to intrude. And I apologize for being rather…clandestine. But I was afraid if you knew you were being observed, you might act differently.”
She studied his card. “You’re an attorney?”
“I represent a client who might be a very good match for your program.”
“And are you the one who’s been talking to some of my girls?”
“Yes, I am. But I needed to see for myself what kind of effect your program was having. They were eager to talk about StrongGirls. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
“And we’ve only just begun,” Kat said, with pride. “If you have someone you’d like to refer, please call me at the office. I can get you a brochure.” She turned, intending to fetch a whole stack of brochures from her tote bag. If he dealt in family law or juvenile criminal defense, he might be a source for lots of referrals.
“No, wait,” he said, “I have a brochure, thank you. I’ll let you get back to your work now.” And he strolled out of the cafeteria, leaving Kat baffled.
Later, as Kat was driving home, the girls’ questions and opinions about love echoed in her head. Could love fix everything?
She didn’t love Ethan. She hadn’t allowed herself to fall, because she’d told herself it wasn’t time yet. But how could she be sure? Maybe she needed to be more flexible and take a risk.
She was going to think long and hard about her priorities and what was really important. Standing strong and being independent were all well and good, but how high a price was she willing to pay for the privilege?
* * *
“BASQUE!”
“What? Oh, sorry, Captain.” Ethan had pulled KP duty and was chopping up potatoes for hash browns. If the fire department was teaching him one thing, it was how to cook.
“In my office. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” He quickly wiped off his hands on a dishcloth, his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. What did Campeon want with him? What had he done wrong this time? His current