Holding the Dream Page 0,28

they came crawling on their hands and knees through broken glass."

"That's not what I meant. I meant someone's embezzling and pointing the finger at you. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't care."

"You don't care?" He shook his head. "I find that hard to believe. The Katherine Powell I've seen is a scrapper."

"I said I don't care." And her voice hitched again. If she fought, looked too close, demanded too much, they might uncover what her father had done. Then it would be worse. "There's nothing I can do."

"You've got a brain," he corrected.

"It doesn't feel like it at the moment." She put a hand to her head. Everything inside was mushy and aching. "They can't do anything else to me because I don't have the money, and they'd never be able to prove I do. As far as I'm concerned right now, finding who's skimming is Bittle's problem. I just want to be left alone."

Surprised at her, he stood up. "I'd want their ass."

"Right now, I just want to be able to get through the next few hours. I have to tell my family." She closed her eyes. "Earlier today, I actually thought, hoped, that I was going to be called in and offered a partnership. Signs indicated," she said bitterly. "I couldn't wait to tell them."

"Brag?" But he said it gently, with hardly any sting.

"I suppose. 'Look at what I did. Be proud of me because...' Well, that's done. Now I have to tell them that I lost it all, that the prospects of getting another position or finessing any clients are nil for the foreseeable future."

"They're family." He stepped toward her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "Families stand by each other."

"I know that." For a moment, she wanted to take his hand. He had such big, competent hands. She wanted to take it and press it to her cheek. Instead she stepped back, turned away. "That makes it worse. I can't begin to tell you how much worse. Now, I'm feeling sorry for myself all over again."

"It comes and goes, Kate." Well aware that they were doing a little dance and dodge of physical contact, he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Do you want me to go up with you?"

"No." She was appalled, because for an instant she'd wanted to say yes. To lean her head against that broad shoulder, close her eyes, and let him lead. "No, I have to do it." She slipped away from him again, but faced him. "This was awfully nice of you. Really. Nice."

He smiled, his dimples deepening. "That wouldn't have been insulting if you hadn't sounded quite so surprised."

"I didn't mean to be insulting." She managed a smile of her own. "I meant to be grateful. I am grateful... Father De Witt."

Testing, he lifted a hand, skimmed his fingers through her short cap of hair. "I decided I don't want you to think of me as a priest after all." His hand slid down the back of her neck. "It's that sex thing again."

She felt it herself - inconvenient little hormonal tugs. "Hmm." It seemed as good a response as any. And certainly safe. "I'd better go get this done." Eyes warily on his, she backed up. "I'll see you around."

"Apparently you will." He stepped forward, she backed up again.

"What are you doing?"

Amused at both of them, he raised his eyebrows. "Going to my car. I'm parked behind you."

"Oh. Well." As casually as possible, she turned and walked to the car as he fell into step beside her. "I, ah, have you seen the house yet, the one on Seventeen Mile?"

"I have an appointment to view it tonight, as it happens."

"Good. That's good." She jangled her keys in her pocket before pulling them out. "Well, I hope you like it."

"I'll let you know." He closed a hand over hers on the door handle. When her gaze flew suspiciously to his, he smiled. "My daddy taught me to open doors for ladies. Consider it a southern thing."

She shrugged, slid into the car. "Well, 'bye."

"I'll be in touch."

She wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but he was already walking toward his own car. Besides, she had a pretty good idea.

Chapter Five

"It's outrageous. It's insulting."

In a rare show of temper, Laura stormed around the solarium. Thirty minutes before, Kate had interrupted homework time, and Laura had shifted from solving the mysteries of punctuation and multiplication tables with her daughters to the shock of hearing