Ready-Made Bride

CHAPTER EIGHT

KANE arrived home from work the following Thursday afternoon expecting Joyce’s car to be parked out front as it normally was. It wasn’t. He was surprised she’d left without her weekly pay, which he gave to her after he cashed his check on Thursdays. Maybe Megan had paid Joyce after her tutoring session with Andy, he thought, climbing out of his truck.

Megan. They’d been married less than a week, but already they’d settled into a comfortable pattern shared by married couples. He looked forward to coming home and seeing her, sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner and talking about everyone’s day. Just like a real family. Andy had asked Megan if he could call her mom, and the delight and love shining in her eyes had warmed Kane. Despite his personal reservations about marrying Megan, he knew he’d done the right thing for his son.

He entered the kitchen, set his lunch box on the counter, then followed the voices drifting from the living room. Megan and Andy sat on the couch together with Andy reading from a textbook while Megan followed along and helped him pronounce the more complicated words.

“Where’s Joyce?”

Megan glanced up, startled.

Andy stopped reading and put a bookmark between the pages before closing it. “Hi, Dad. Joyce isn’t here.”

“She didn’t show up for your lesson?” It wasn’t like Joyce to be so irresponsible.

“She was right on time,” Megan said, straightening the school papers scattered on the coffee table. “I paid her for the week and sent her home.”

He stopped in the middle of the room, frowning. “Is she sick?”

“No.” Finally, Megan looked up, meeting his gaze. A hint of defiance shimmered in the depths. “I let her go.”

“You what?” His voice rose an octave.

Megan didn’t flinch. “I said I let her go.”

“As in she won’t be back?”

“Yes.”

He gaped at her, unable to believe she’d be so bold. He could feel his world shifting, throwing him off balance. He struggled to find even ground. “You let her go without asking me?”

“I thought we’d discuss it tonight,” she replied reasonably.

He wasn’t feeling reasonable. “I’d like to discuss it now.” He turned and strode into the kitchen.

He heard his son’s plea. “Mom, please make him understand.”

He heard Megan’s soft response. “I’ll try my best.”

He paced the floor, a jumbled mass of emotions twisting inside him. Needing a release, he vented his anger on Megan as soon as she entered the room.

“You had no right to get rid of Joyce.” He jammed his hands on his hips and pinned her with an incensed look. He knew he was acting irrational but he couldn’t help himself. “I hired a tutor for Andy for a reason!”

She crossed her arms over her chest, not backing down at his ferocious glare. “Which is?”

Kane froze. Too late, he realized his mistake. Only one reason managed to filter through his muddled mind. I want him to have all the advantages I never had as a kid I want him to be able to go to college and be successful one day. But he couldn’t voice his explanation because his reasons intertwined with his insecurities and childhood memories of forgetting school lessons. Of wanting to learn but being so overwhelmed by other responsibilities that he’d had to forfeit an education.

And now, as an adult, he paid for that sacrifice every day of his life. He’d vowed long ago that Andrew would never know the degradation and humiliation of not being academically inclined.

Of not knowing how to read.

But Megan seemed to understand even without knowing the truth. Her expression softened, and she approached him. “I know you want the best for Andrew, but I talked to Mrs. Graham today and found out he’s well above most of his classmates.”

“A tutor keeps him there,” he replied tightly.

“Andrew is a smart kid. He told me only the kids with learning disabilities have tutors.”

He released a harsh breath that whistled between his teeth. Turning away, he pushed his fingers through his hair, wondering if he’d inadvertently damaged his son’s self-confidence. He’d never intended to make Andy feel inferior, had only meant to give him every benefit possible. It pained him that he’d hurt his son that way, yet a part of him didn’t regret his decision.

“Dad?”

Kane looked at Andrew, who stood in the kitchen doorway, an uncertain expression on his face. “Yes?”

He fidgeted on his sneakered feet. “I don’t want Joyce to tutor me anymore.”

Kane couldn’t quite let go of his convictions. “Son, sometimes we have to do things we don’t like-”

Megan placed a firm hand on Kane’s arm, halting his lecture. “Kane, you need to listen to Andrew.”

He clenched his jaw, but he looked at his son.

“I like Joyce,” Andrew went on, “but it’s not like she teaches me things I don’t already know.”

“She helps you with your homework,” Kane pointed out. And that was something he couldn’t do.

Andrew’s gaze went from Kane to Megan. The two exchanged a look before he glanced at his dad again. “Mom can help me with my homework.”

Kane rubbed the taut muscles at the back of his neck, debating the merits of such an arrangement.

Megan’s fingers tightened around the corded muscles in his forearm. “Since I’m here when he gets home from school, I’ll be able to spend time reviewing his homework with him.”

“Please, Dad,” Andrew begged. “I don’t need Joyce. I got straight As on my last report card.”

“What if your grades start slipping?”

“If that happens, which I doubt,” Megan said wryly, letting Kane know with a pointed look that she wouldn’t allow it to happen, “then we’ll rehire Joyce.”

Kane could feel his arguments crumbling. He couldn’t protect Andrew forever, and he knew he needed to extend his son some trust or Andrew would grow to resent him and the tutoring. The only thing that eased his mind was that Megan would be able to monitor his progress.

“Deal?” Andrew asked enthusiastically, thrusting a hand toward Kane before he could formulate any more questions or change his mind.

Kane knew when he was beaten and accepted defeat gracefully. “Deal,” he muttered, and shook the hand Andrew offered.

“Andy, get dressed for church,” Kane called as he followed the delicious aroma of coffee down the hallway. “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

“Okay, Dad!” Andy darted around him to the bathroom, Sunday clothes in hand.

Kane entered the kitchen. Megan glanced from the tablet of paper in front of her, pen poised for jotting down items in a neat row.

“Good morning,” Kane greeted her cheerfully. He opened the refrigerator and peered at the meager contents.

She tapped the end of her pen against her paper, lifting a brow. “You’re in an awfully good mood this morning.”

He looked over his shoulder, smiling lazily. “Is there any reason not to be?”

“I suppose not.” Amusement and soft desire sparkled in her blue eyes. “All you have time for is a quick bowl of cereal.”

“I’ll pass.” He closed the refrigerator door and approached the table. “We’ll grab some lunch after church.”

She laced her fingers beneath her chin and gave him a chastising look. “I would have made you a big breakfast if you hadn’t kept pressing the snooze button.”

He flicked the tail end of her braid over her shoulder, letting his fingers linger on the satiny skin of her neck. “Handy little thing to have on an alarm clock, isn’t it?”

“We didn’t sleep.” The shiver rippling down the length of her spine contradicted her prim tone.

He propped his hip against the edge of the table in front of her. His calf pressed into her thigh, and her gaze flew to his. “I don’t remember hearing you complain, sweetheart,” he said in a low, husky voice. Lightly pressing his thumb to her bottom lip, he dragged it across the full swell. “But then again, that mouth of yours was busy doin’ other things.”

Her breath quickened, and she pulled back out of his reach. “Kane, stop.”

She didn’t want him to stop, not really. He recognized the want in her gaze and the flush spreading from the neckline of her pretty pink floral dress. But they had Andrew to consider, and that was the only reason he kept his hands to himself.

So, instead, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her parted lips, murmuring, “I like it when you blush.” Straightening, he grabbed her empty coffee mug. “Want a refill?”

Waking from her sensual fog, she glanced at the delicate gold watch on her wrist, noting the time. “Please. With cream and a spoonful of sugar.”

He went to the coffeemaker, and she picked up her pen and jotted a few more items on her growing list. He filled both mugs and added a splash of cream to hers. He opened the cupboard and searched the contents for the pink and white bag of sugar he kept on the second shelf.

It was gone, and it had been a full two-pound bag. Assuming Megan must have used it for her baking, he said, “Add sugar to your grocery list. We’re out.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I put the sugar, salt, flour and coffee in the canisters.”

Frowning, he closed the cupboard door and turned. “What canisters?” His tone sounded as cautious as he felt, like he’d been suddenly thrust into a mine field and had to watch every step or be blown to smithereens.

She continued scribbling on her notepad. “The ones on the counter.”

His gaze scanned the counter, spotting not one, but four ceramic containers with a flower design and bold letters on the front of each. His body tensed. They hadn’t been there yesterday morning.

“Where did the canisters come from?” He forced a neutral tone.

“They’re mine. I unpacked them from the stuff Judi sent. I thought they perked up the kitchen. Do you like them?”

“Yeah, they’re great,” he muttered.

He hated them. He hated change of any kind even more. He liked the kitchen the way it was, had arranged the cupboards so he knew where everything was located and could find it blindfolded if he needed to. But he couldn’t tell her that without her getting upset or suspicious.

“Which one’s the sugar?” he asked casually.

“It’s right on the label.” She stopped her writing long enough to give him a peculiar look over her shoulder. “I’m sure you can figure it out for yourself.”

Sure he could He always did. He knew from experience there would be plenty of these situations, but it had been over five years since he’d had to scramble for excuses and responses. If he wasn’t careful, the truth wouldn’t remain a secret for long.

Carrying her coffee, he approached the canisters, eyeing them warily. The letters emblazoned across them mocked him. The land mine beneath his feet rumbled with every step. He was determined to get through this without letting the situation blow up in his face.

Get used to bluffing, Kane. You’ve got a hell of a lot of years ahead of you. Besides, deception has been a part of your life for so long it should be second nature. So why was Megan different? Why did she make him feel like a fumbling kid trying to stay two steps ahead of the game?

He opened the lid on the first canister and found white granules. Bingo. He rounded off a teaspoon and hesitated, remembering that she’d mentioned salt, too. Giving Megan a surreptitious glance to be certain she was otherwise occupied, he licked his pinky finger, brushed it over the granules and tasted it. And winced. Salt. Wouldn’t that have been an eye opener for Megan, in more ways than one?

The second canister held dark brown coffee grounds, and the contents of the third container looked like the same substance as was in the first. Not taking any chances, he sampled the sweet granules, then dumped a spoonful into Megan’s coffee.

Megan glanced at Kane as he placed the steaming mug in front of her. She took a sip, savoring the creamy taste. “Mm, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

He slid into the chair next to her. “Anytime.”

“I’ll be going grocery shopping tomorrow after Andy goes to school. Can you think of anything other than what’s on my list that you might want or need?” She pushed her list in front of him for his review. “It’s going to take me a few tries to figure out what you and Andrew like and dislike, but I’d appreciate your input.”

He picked up the tablet and looked at the list. After a few moments he handed it back without comment. “We like just about everything except lima beans and liver.”

“You’re easy to please. Any favorites?”

He grinned, looking like a young boy. “Twinkies and home-made spaghetti.”

“That’s quite a combination.” She added a few items to her list. “So, do you want to add anything to the list?”

“Nope. Buy whatever you need.” Withdrawing his wallet from his pants pocket, he counted off some twenty-dollar bills and tossed them her way. “Will that cover it?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, feeling funny about taking his cash so freely, despite them being husband and wife. “If not, I have some extra money on me.”

“I’ll pay for anything you might need.”

Kane’s pride was showing, she thought, understanding his insistence. Especially since she knew the money problems he’d had in his marriage to Cathy and his need to support his family. But couldn’t two contribute to the burden?

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. They hadn’t had a normal courtship, time to talk about the little matters involved in a marriage and how they’d settle them or the different compromises they’d make. In so many ways they knew so little about one another, but they needed to learn to communicate openly. And she’d always believed financial obligations should be a shared venture.

She asked her question before she lost the nerve. “How do you feel about opening a joint checking account?”

“Not interested.” His tone was firm and final.

“I’ll contribute my share of funds,” she automatically said, wanting him to know theirs was an equal partnership, the royalties she made on her books included in on the deal. “And you can still keep your own personal checking account if you’d like-”

“I don’t have a checking account, nor do I want one. My savings account is all I need.”

She gaped at him. A checking account was essential to everyday life. She couldn’t imagine not having one. “You’re serious?”

He stared at her steadily, silently answering her question.

“Then how do you pay for things?”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but the dark shadows clouding his gaze overrode the glimpse of dry humor. “Cash seems to work just fine.”

She shook her head incredulously. “You pay all your bills with cash?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”

She frowned at his sharp, defensive tone. “It’s just that you’d save so much time if you just wrote a check and dropped the bill into the mail instead of running all over town settling up with everyone.”

Slowly, he stood, towering over her. He held her gaze with challenge and the simmering heat of anger. Very quietly, he said, “If you don’t like my method, then you pay the bills.”

Two days later Megan pulled into the parking lot of the town’s only bank, the Linden Trust and Loan, still pondering Kane’s angry reaction to her suggestion of a joint checking account. She had no intention of taking over his finances, and had told him as much. Her reassurance had been met with a scowl before Andrew had interrupted the heated moment.

Sighing heavily, she parked the car in an empty stall and turned off the ignition. Her husband’s erratic behavior bewildered and intrigued her. Tender and teasing one moment, cool and distant the next, all because of a stupid checking account.

It wasn’t as though she planned to spend his money frivolously, she thought, exiting the car and starting toward the red brick building. She was a saver by nature and thought a joint checking account might simplify their finances.

Yet he’d never had a checking account and only dealt with cash, which she thought as odd in today’s high-tech world of bank machines and credit-card checking. But when she’d questioned him on his uncommon practice, he’d been defensive and unwilling to compromise, acting as though her suggestion threatened his entire way of life. Not wanting to allow something that trivial to drive a wedge between them, she’d let it drop.

When they’d arrived home from church that afternoon, alone since Andrew was at the Lindens, he’d pulled her into his arms and had kissed her with a passionate urgency that melted the tension between them. He was a proud man, and she supposed that had been his way of silently apologizing, which she’d accepted with her own acquiescence.

He was good at that, she mused, making her forget everything but what he did to her. Although she admitted it was a pleasant way to make up, nothing was resolved afterward.

Shaking off her thoughts, she entered the bank. The financial institution was small, with three teller windows-two currently in use-a section for loans and new accounts and a sitting area for customers. The place was decorated in warm rust tones with greenery for accents.

She headed toward the pretty brunette sitting behind the new accounts desk. A gold name tag on her dress proclaimed her Debbie Davis, Accounts Manager.

The young woman smiled congenially. “Welcome to Linden Trust and Loan,” she recited. “How may I help your?”

Before Megan could respond, the phone on the desk buzzed and a female voice said, “Debbie, Ms. Peterson is on line one about her trust account.”

Debbie gave Megan an apologetic look. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be just a minute,” she said, picking up the line.

Megan nodded her understanding and stepped away from the desk to give the accounts manager some privacy with her customer. Her gaze glanced by the only two offices in the bank and skittered back. She read the gold nameplates beside the doors. Jack Hamilton, Vice President His office light was off. Moving on to the next office, she smiled. Harold Linden, President. His light was on.

While Debbie argued with the woman on the phone about the eligibility requirements of her trust account, Megan strolled a few feet away until she could verify that. Harold was in his office. He was. She caught a profile of him as he leaned back in a leather executive chair, a pair of glasses perched on his nose as he read a document in his hand. She moved toward Debbie’s desk, an idea taking shape.

The woman hung up the phone and clasped her hands on the desk, giving Megan her undivided attention. “Now, where were we?”

“You were asking how you could help me.” Megan kept her face expressionless. “I’m here to see Mr. Linden.”

Debbie looked momentarily confused. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I’m sure he’ll see me.” Megan wished she felt as confident as she sounded. What if he refused to see her? Worse, what if he ordered her out of the bank? No, she’d expect that kind of behavior from Patricia, but Harold seemed more reasonable.

The young woman frowned, the first stirring of skepticism entering her gaze. “And you are?”

“Megan. Megan Fielding.”

Debbie’s hazel eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed, as if to say, So, you’re the one everyone’s been talking about. “I, uh, I’m not sure if he’s in right now.”

Megan understood the employee’s protectiveness toward her boss, but she only wanted to talk to Harold without the ominous presence of his wife to influence him. If he would see her. She could barge into his office, but she didn’t want to make a scene. Besides, that wasn’t her style. Whatever the rift between the Lindens and Kane, she wanted to try to settle it civilly.

It didn’t matter that Kane would be furious with her for interfering.

Megan smiled patiently and adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Unless that’s his twin I saw sitting at his desk, I’d say he’s in.”

Debbie looked decidedly frazzled. She picked up the phone and pressed three digits. “Mr. Linden, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a Megan Fielding here to see you.”

Megan heard the echo of Harold’s voice drifting from his office but couldn’t decipher what he’d said. She found out as soon as Debbie hung up the receiver.

The accounts manager pointed beyond Megan. “He said he’ll see you. His office is that way.”

Harold met her at the door to his office, subdued interest playing over his features. He wore a stylish gray pin-striped suit and a paisley print tie. Despite his age and thinning gray hair, Megan thought he was a very handsome man.

“Mrs. Fielding,” he acknowledged politely, looking as though the name brought memories that pained him.

“Megan, please,” she said, wanting to dispense with formalities.

He smiled gratefully, and she could see kindness in his eyes. “Megan, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to open a checking account.”

He lifted a gray brow. “Debbie would be happy to help you.”

Megan wasn’t about to be deterred. All she needed was a few moments alone with Harold, to see if there was any chance of a reconciliation between him and his wife and Kane. “I have a substantial amount of money to transfer, and I’d feel more secure dealing with you.” She nearly cringed at her pathetic excuse.

A faint smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “I know having the title of president sounds impressive, but in reality I depend on my employees to run my bank smoothly and efficiently. I could fumble, my way through all the paperwork for your new checking account and transfers, but the fact is, Debbie is far more adept at the procedure than I am.”

Megan blew out an exasperated breath. “All right, I’ll save the accounts for Debbie, but I’d like to talk to you about Kane and Andrew.”

He didn’t seem surprised, and more important, he didn’t turn her away. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”

“Thank you.” She entered his office, and he closed the door on the gawking patrons and employees.

Sitting in one of the wing chairs in front of his desk, she inhaled the scent of leather and pipe tobacco. Harold settled into his chair behind his mahogany desk, the smooth surface cluttered with files and reports. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.

Harold broke the ice. “Belated congratulations on your marriage to Kane.”

His genuine sentiment surprised her. “Doesn’t my marrying Kane bother you?”

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll admit I was shocked by the news, as most of us were, but Andrew thinks very highly of you, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. His welfare is my first concern.”

Megan settled her purse beside her on the chair, feeling more at ease with Harold than she thought she would. And comfortable enough to pursue her goal. “Is that how Patricia feels?”

He frowned, making the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent. “Of course she does.”

“Then why does she insist on playing tug-of-war with Andrew’s emotions?”

“We do no such thing,” he replied indignantly. “We love Andrew very much and would never hurt him that way.”

“But you are, intentionally or not.” She sat forward, not wanting to insult him but needing him to understand why an affable agreement between families was so important. “By alienating yourselves from Kane you’re putting Andrew right in the middle of your feud. The tension between the three of you is awful, and although Andrew may accept your behavior because he’s so young, he doesn’t know any better, and he may come to resent all three of you later for making him choose between you and his father.”

Regret filled Harold’s brown eyes. “I know,” he said softly.

Confusion rippled through Megan. “Then why do you allow this dissension to continue when it can all end with a few simple words?”

Harold stood, a weary sadness passing over his features. For a fleeting moment Megan thought he was going to ask her to leave, but he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the slow pace of Linden. He faced her and said, “Because my wife has never forgiven Kane for what he did to our daughter.”

Unable to believe the Lindens could be so shallow as to hold Kane responsible for what happened to Cathy, Megan’s stomach sank like a lead weight. She joined Harold at the window, ready to defend her husband. “What Kane did was own up to his responsibilities and marry the woman he got pregnant.”

He looked at her, obviously surprised by her knowledge of Kane’s relationship with Cathy. “He told you?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He also told me he loved Cathy very much.”

“And you must love Kane to go to this extreme.”

She smiled, unable to hide her feelings for her new family. “I love Kane and Andrew very much, and I don’t want either of them to be hurt by something that can be easily fixed.”

He sighed, suddenly looking much older than she believed him to be. “Megan, I know Kane isn’t a bad person-”

“Than how can you let everyone believe he killed your daughter?”

He cringed and flushed in embarrassment. “No one really believes he killed her.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s even worse. He feels responsible for her emotional state when she died. The rumors about him killing her only compound his guilt.”

“I never knew.”

How could he have known when Kane wouldn’t let anyone close enough to learn the truth? The only reason she’d been privy to such information was that she’d practically pried it from him. “If a person hears something about themselves enough times they tend to believe it. How can you let a horrible lie like that keep circulating?”

“I didn’t, not intentionally.” Shaking his head, he moved away from the window to the credenza behind his desk. “As shameful as this might sound, I think it was easier for Patricia to cope with Cathy’s death if she could blame Kane rather than believe the truth.”

Megan crossed her arms over her chest and remained where she stood, not wanting to shatter this fragile moment of revelations. “Which is?”

Picking up a brass-framed photograph, he gazed at the picture of his young, beautiful daughter. When he finally looked at Megan, grief and loss shone in his eyes. “That we spoiled Cathy, and she married Kane with too many expectations.”

Megan had learned as much talking to Kane, but hearing Harold confirm it gave her an unexpected rush of relief. “Kane did the best he could to support his family.”

“I know that, but I never could refuse Cathy anything. She was our only child and knew just how to wrap me around her finger.” Harold rubbed his thumb over the glossy photo, a sad smile on his face. “When she asked me to give Kane a job here at the bank, I thought of it as a good employment opportunity for Kane and a way of keeping the business in the family. But most men do have their pride.”

“Kane has plenty of that,” Megan murmured wryly.

Harold set the frame on the credenza and lowered himself into his chair. “His father, Tom, was the same way. Very stubborn, but a hard worker. I respect that about Kane, but I also hoped he’d accept the job so he could take over the reins of the banking business after I retired”

“I don’t think Kane was cut out to wear a suit and tie,” she said lightly, remembering what Kane told her the night they’d discussed this topic.

“I think I always knew that.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, his expression thoughtful. “Kane had such a hard life. He lost his parents at an early age and raised his sister on his own. He never seemed to want anything beyond the ordinary and was quite satisfied working at the sawmill. Cathy wanted to mold Kane into something he wasn’t. I know their marriage was strained after he refused my job offer, and Cathy…well, she was unhappy because she wanted more than what Kane was capable of giving her.”

Megan dragged a hand through her hair, seeing the situation from two very different perspectives. She crossed to her chair and sat down.

“Patricia and I argued about Cathy’s situation,” he went on. “She thought Cathy should leave Kane, and I told her we needed to stay out of their business and let them work out their problems on their own. I thought it was a good dose of reality for Cathy, who’d had everything handed to her her entire life. She had a family of her own and needed to learn that sometimes there were sacrifices to make in a marriage. But Cathy was young and spoiled and made sure that everyone knew how miserable she was once Kane made it clear he wouldn’t take the job I offered.” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “And when she died, Patricia fell apart. The easiest thing for her to do was blame Kane.”

There was so much hurt on both sides, Megan realized. She ached for the Lindens’ loss, but they couldn’t continue blaming Kane for something he had no control over. Forgetting the past was impossible, but together they had to work on forgiving and building a new future. “This rift has got to stop.”

Harold discreetly wiped away a bit of moisture gathering on his bottom lashes. “It’s gone on for so long, I don’t think any of us know how to end it.”

But he wanted to. She could see it in his eyes. And that was a start. “You have to, for Andrew.” She wasn’t above using his grandson for leverage, not if that’s what it took to bring these two broken families together.

Harold nodded in understanding. “What can I do?”

“Well, for starters, we need to get Patricia and Kane together, to make them realize what we already know. Unfortunately, Kane is too proud to come forward on his own.”

“And Patty is too stubborn.”

“Then it’ll have to be up to us.” She leaned toward him, renewed enthusiasm lacing her voice. “How about if you bring her over for dinner, let’s say two weeks from this Friday? That should be enough time to convince her to talk to Kane.”

A crooked smile creased his mouth. “I think I’d have more luck bringing her over without any warning.”

He had a point, she thought, considering how much these two would resist a reconciliation. “Yes, that might be the best thing for Kane, too, no time to contemplate or get angry.”

“Megan,” Harold said hesitantly, “don’t expect too much. So many years have passed that it might take some time to get Patricia to accept Kane and you as part of the family.”

Picking up her purse, she stood. “I know, but it’s worth a try, for Andrew’s benefit.” Beneath all Patricia’s heartache and resentment there had to be enough compassion to give Andrew the family he deserved.

He smiled warmly. “Yes, you’re right. We’ll give it our best shot.” He came around the big desk that separated them, hand extended, his gaze expressing his gratitude. She slipped her slender fingers into his. “Thank you for stopping by. Andrew is very lucky to have you as a stepmother.”

“I’m even luckier to have him. He’s a wonderful little boy, and I only want the best for him.” She withdrew her hand and started for the door. “I’ll be in touch, Harold.”

“I hope you enjoyed the champagne.”

One hand on the doorknob, Megan stilled. She glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head curiously. Had he been the friend who sent them their bottle of champagne? “Pardon?”

If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she would have missed his quick wink and the twinkle in his eyes. “I said, have a good day.”

She grinned. “Thank you, we did…” Enjoy the champagne, she thought. “I mean, I will. Have a good day, that is.”