Holding the Dream Page 0,128

tailor your feelings to suit him."

"Are you kidding?" Margo reached for the coffeepot. "She's been cross-eyed over him for months."

"So what? Emotions aren't any guarantee when it comes to something as big as marriage. They weren't enough for Laura." Kate sighed, shrugged. "I'm sorry, but they weren't."

"No, they weren't. If you want guarantees, send in your warranty card when you buy a toaster."

"Okay, you're right, but that's not the whole point. Can't you see he was playing me? He's been handling me all through this relationship."

Margo made a low feline sound. "Being handled by a strong, gorgeous man. Poor you."

"You know very well what I mean. You'd never let Josh push all the buttons, make all the moves. I'm telling you that Byron has a way of undermining things so that I'm sliding along in the direction he's chosen before I realize it."

"So change directions if you don't like the destination," Margo suggested.

"He called me a detour once." Remembering, Kate scowled. "He said he liked taking long, interesting detours. I actually thought it was sort of charming."

"Why don't you go back and talk this out with him instead of arguing?" Laura tilted her head, well able to imagine the scene that had taken place in Byron's kitchen. "He's probably feeling just as unhappy and frustrated as you are."

"I can't" Kate shook her head. "He told me to pick up my things at my convenience."

"Ouch." Margo looked at Kate with genuine sympathy now. "In that polite, mannerly tone of his?"

"Exactly. It's the worst. Besides, I don't know what I'd say to him. I don't know what I want." At a loss, she buried her face in her hands. "I keep thinking I know what I want, then it shifts on me. I'm tired. It's too hard to think rationally when I'm tired."

"Then talk to him tomorrow. You'll stay here tonight." Laura rose. "I have to put the girls to bed."

"She's made me so ashamed," Kate murmured when she was alone with Margo.

"I know." Margo slid closer. "At least all she made me feel was like killing Peter Ridgeway if he ever shows his sorry face around here."

"I didn't realize she was still so hurt, so unhappy."

"She'll be all right." Margo patted Kate's knee. "We'll see to it."

"I'm, ah, not going to go into another accounting firm."

"Of course you're not."

"Everybody seems to know what I'm going to do before I do" Kate griped. "Bittle offered me a partnership."

"Congratulations."

"I turned him down this afternoon."

"My, my." Margo's million-dollar smile flashed. "Haven't we had a busy day!"

"And Roger Thornhill is the embezzler."

"What?" Margo's cup clinked into its saucer. "That slimy weasel who two-timed you with your own client?''

"The very same." It pleased Kate to see that she could say something that got a rise out of Margo. "It was the way he acted when I ran into him at Bittle today. He's smart enough to have figured out how to siphon funds, and I was his main competition for the partner slot. He gets a little playing money and screws me at the same time."

"You've been to Kusack with this?"

"No, apparently Byron, the cop, and your husband, whom I will deal with shortly, already knew."

"And left you in the dark." Understanding perfectly, Margo pulled Kate to her feet. "Occasionally men have to be reminded that they are no longer hunting out of caves, fighting dragons, or blazing trails west while we huddle around the fire. I'll help you remind Josh."

At nine forty-five the next morning, Kate opened the till at Pretenses. She would run the shop alone that morning. She took some pride in her competence. Laura was at her office at the hotel, and Margo remained on maternity leave. She decided to relish these last few minutes before she unlocked the door, turned the sign to Open.

She'd brought her own CD's. Margo preferred classical. Kate preferred the classics. The Beatles, the Stones, Cream. After putting the music on, she went into the powder room, filled the copper watering can. She was going to enjoy the pleasant little duties of nurturing an elegant business, she told herself.

She was not going to think about Byron De Witt.

He was in the penthouse suite by now. Probably in some meeting or on a conference call. He might be glancing over an itinerary for a trip to San Francisco. Didn't he say he had to fly up?

Didn't matter, she reminded herself, and stepped out on the veranda to water the tubs of pansies and impatiens. He could fly anywhere