Kate was busy kissing the Russian when Brody came to her dressing room door after the evening performance. She was wearing a robe—short and red—and full stage makeup. Her hair was still pinned up in some sleek and sophisticated knot, the way it had been during her second dance—the Spanish one, in the sexy little tutu.
The audience had gone wild for her, and so, Brody thought, had he.
Now, he’d come back to tell her only to find her wrapped around the Russian she’d cursed only that afternoon.
He wondered which one of them he should kill first.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Kate merely turned her head, eyes brilliant, and beamed at him. “Brody.”
She held out a hand, but Davidov merely shifted his arm around her shoulders and eyed the intruder coolly.
“This is the carpenter? The one who wants to shoot me? Now, I think, he wants to shoot me more. He doesn’t like that I kiss you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.”
Brody cut his eyes back to hers. “I don’t like that he kisses you.”
“That’s absurd. This is Davidov.”
“I know who it is.” Brody shut the door behind him. He preferred spilling blood in relative privacy. “I met your wife today.”
“Yes, she likes you, and your little boy. I have a son, and two daughters.” Because he rarely resisted impulses, and it was delightful to watch the man’s fury heat, Davidov kissed Kate’s hair. “She knows, my wife, that I’ve come back to kiss this one. Who was,” he continued drawing back, his hands sliding down her arms to link with hers, “magnificent. Who was perfect. Who I don’t forgive for leaving me.”
“I felt magnificent. I felt perfect.” Still so perfect none of the aches could push through. “And I’m happy.”
“Happy.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “As your director, what do I care if you’re happy as long as you dance? As your friend.” He heaved a sigh and kissed her hands. “I’m glad you have what you want.”
“We’ll all end up a lot happier if you step back,” Brody commented.
Kate frowned. “Jealousy isn’t attractive—and in this case certainly misplaced.”
“Murder isn’t attractive. But it really seems to fit.”
“One minute,” Davidov said, dismissively, to both of them. “You want to snarl at each other, wait until I finish. I wrote The Red Rose for my Ruth,” he said to Kate. “My heart. There’s no one but you who has been Carlotta as she was Carlotta.”
“Oh.” Tears swirled into her eyes, spilled out. “Damn it.”
“You are missed. So I insist you be very, very happy, or I will come to your West Virginia and drag you back.” Now he cupped her face, spoke quietly in Russian. “You want this man?”
She nodded. “Da.”
“Well, then.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, then turned to study Brody. “Me, I’m a man who loves his wife. You met her, so you should see that she is all I treasure. I kiss this one because she is also a treasure. If you had eyes in your head to watch her tonight, this you should also know.”
His eyes gleamed now in amused challenge. “Still, if I find another man kissing what’s mine, I break his legs. But I’m Russian.”
“I usually start with the arms. I’m Irish.”
Davidov’s laugh was rich, and his face went brilliant. “I like him. Good.” Satisfied, he slapped Brody on the shoulder on his way out the door.
“Isn’t he wonderful?”
“A few hours ago, you hated him.”
“Oh.” She waved a hand and sat down to cream off her makeup. “That was rehearsal. I always hate him during rehearsals.”
“Do you always kiss him after a performance?”
“If it goes particularly well. He’s a bully, a genius. He’s Davidov,” she said simply. “I wouldn’t be the dancer I am, maybe not even the woman I am without having worked with him. We’re intimate, Brody, but not sexually. Not ever. He adores his wife. All right?”
“You’re saying it’s an art thing.”
“In a nutshell. Not that removed from ballplayers hugging each other and patting each other’s butts after a really good game.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing your brother kiss his shortstop after a double play, but okay. I get it.”
“Good. It went beautifully, didn’t it?” She spun around on her stool. “Did you like it?”
“You were incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Never seen anything like you.”
“Oh.” She leaped off the stool, threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad! Oh.” She laughed and rubbed at the smear she’d transferred to his cheek. “Sorry. I wanted it to be incredible. I got so nervous when I realized the family was here. Mama and Dad sneaking up from home, and Grandma and Grandpa. All the aunts and uncles and cousins. And Brandon sent flowers.”
She grabbed more tissue, sniffling as she sat again. “I thought I might be sick, my stomach was churning so.” She pressed a hand to it now. “But then all I felt was the music. When that happens you know. You just know.”
He glanced around the room. It was crowded with flowers, literally hundreds of roses. Bottles of champagne, her exotic costumes. All of those glamorous things filled it, and were pale next to her excitement.
How could she leave all this? he wondered. Why should she?
He started to ask, then her door burst open. Her family poured in and the moment was lost.
She seemed to be just as much in her element the next day in the house in Brooklyn where her grandparents lived. The exotic siren who’d flamed across the stage the night before had been replaced by a lovely woman comfortable in jeans and bare feet.
It was a puzzle, Brody decided, trying to fit the two of them together into a whole. He intended to take the time to do so.
But for now, the best he could do was experience. The house was crammed with people—so many of them, he wondered if there was enough oxygen to go around. The noise level was a wonder.
A piano stood against one wall and was played by various fingers at various times. Everything from rock to Bach. The scents of cooking wafted through the air. Wine was poured with generous hands, and nobody seemed to stay still for more than five minutes.
His son was wallowing in it. He could see him, if he angled his head through other bodies, sprawled on the worn rug with Max, bashing cars together. The last time he’d been able to spot Jack he’d been sitting on Yuri’s lap having what appeared to have been a serious conversation that had involved a number of gumdrops.
And before that, he’d raced down the stairs in the wake of a couple of young teenagers. Since Brody hadn’t seen him go up the stairs in the first place, he was trying to keep a closer eye on his son.
“He’s fine.” A woman with the trademark Stanislaski looks—wild, bold, beautiful—dropped onto the couch beside him. “Rachel,” she said with a quick grin. “Kate’s aunt. Hard to keep us straight, isn’t it?”
“There are a lot of you.” Rachel, he thought, trying desperately to remember the details. Kate’s mother’s sister. A judge. That’s right. Married to…the guy who owned the bar. And the guy who owned the bar was Nick’s half brother.
Was it any wonder a man couldn’t keep them lined up?
“You’ll get the hang of it. That’s my guy there.” She gestured toward a tall man who had his arm hooked around the throat of a gangly boy with dark hair. “Currently choking our son Gideon while he talks to Sydney—the exceptional redhead who’s married to my brother Mik—and Laurel, Mik and Sydney’s youngest. Mik’s over there, arguing with my other brother Alex, while Alex’s wife Bess—the other exceptional redhead—appears to be discussing something of great importance with her daughter, Carmen, and Nick and Freddie’s Kelsey. The tall, handsome young man just coming out of the kitchen is Mik’s oldest, Griff, who seems to have charmed some food out of my mother, Nadia. Got that?”
“Ah…”
“You absorb that awhile.” She laughed and patted his knee. “Because there are so many more of us. Meanwhile, your son’s fine—and you don’t have a drink. Wine?”
“Sure, why not?”
“No, I’ll get it.” She patted him again and dashed off. Almost immediately, Griff plopped down and began to talk carpentry.
That, at least, Brody had a handle on.
Kate wound her way through the bodies, sat on the arm of the couch and offered him one of two glasses of wine. “Okay over here?”
“Yeah, fine. I figure it’s kind of like the Boy Scout rule—when you’re lost sit down in one spot, and they’ll find you. People drop down here, talk for a couple minutes, then move off. I’m starting to be able to keep them straight working it that way.”
Even as he spoke, Alex settled on the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table. “So, Bess and I are thinking about adding a couple of rooms onto our weekend place.”
“See,” Brody said to Kate, then shifted. “What did you have in mind?”
Kate left him to it and wandered into the kitchen. Her mother was at the table, putting the finishing touches on an enormous salad. Nadia was at the stove, supervising as Mik’s youngest son Adam stirred something in a pot. “Need some more hands?”
“Always too many hands in my kitchen,” Nadia said. Her hair was snow-white now—a soft wave around a strong face lined with years. But her eyes danced with amusement as she patted Adam. “There, you have done well. Go.”
“But we’re going to eat soon, right? We’re starving.”
“Very soon. Tell your brothers and sisters, your cousins, my table must be set.”
“All right!” He shot out of the room, shouting orders.
“He wants to be in charge, that one.”
Natasha laughed. “Mama, they all want to be in charge. How’s Brody holding up, Katie?”
“He’s talking with Uncle Alex.” Kate snitched a crouton then wandered to the stove to sniff at pots. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“He has good eyes,” Nadia said. “Strong, kind. And he raises his son well. You show good taste.”
“I learned from the best.” She leaned over to kiss Nadia’s cheek. “Thank you for welcoming him.”
Nadia felt her heart sigh. “Go, help set the table. Your young man and his little boy will think no one eats in this house.”
“They’ll soon find out differently.” She snatched another crouton and kissed the top of her mother’s head on the way out.
“Well.” Nadia stared hard into a pot. “We’ll be dancing at her wedding. You’re pleased with him.”
“Of course.” Natasha could barely see as she prepared to dress the salad. “He’s a good man. He makes her happy. And to be honest, I think if I could have chosen for her myself, it would have been Brody. Oh, Mama.” Eyes drenched, Natasha looked over at the stove. “She’s my baby.”
“I know. I know.” Nadia hurried over for the hug, then offered Natasha one corner of her apron while she used the other to dry her eyes.
By midweek, Kate was hard at work and anxious to open her doors for the first students. The studio itself was complete. The floors were smooth and gleaming, the walls glistening with mirrors. Her office was organized, the dressing areas outfitted.
And now the front window was finished.
Kimball School Of Dance
She stood out on the sidewalk, her palms together and pressed to her lips, reading it over and over again.
Dreams, she thought, came true. All you had to do was believe hard enough, and work long enough.
“Oh, miss?”
“Hmm?” Lost in her own joy, she turned, then blinked at the woman crossing the street. The woman, Kate remembered with a sinking stomach, who’d seen Brody cart her outside over his shoulder. “Oh. Yes. Hello.”
“Hello. We didn’t really meet before.” The woman looked as uneasy as Kate and fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag. “I’m Marjorie Rowan.”
“Kate Kimball.”
“Yes, I know. Actually, I sort of know your boyfriend, too. The landlord’s hired him a couple of times to see to things in my building.”
“Ah,” Kate said. “Hmm.”
“Anyway, I picked up one of your brochures the other day, from your mother’s store. My little girl, she’s eight, she’s just been nagging me half to death about taking ballet classes.”
Relief came first. It was not to be a conversation about creating public scenes on quiet streets. Then came the pleasure at the possibility of another student.
“I’d be happy to talk to you about it, and to her if you’d like. First classes start next week. Would you like to come in, see the school?”
“Truth is, we’ve peeked in the window a few times. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ve been telling Audrey—that’s my girl—that I’d think about it. I guess I have. I’d like her to be able to try it.”
“Why don’t you come inside, and tell me about Audrey.”
“Thanks. She’ll be home from school soon. This’ll be a nice surprise.” She started up the stairs, relaxing now. “You know I always wanted ballet lessons when I was a girl. We couldn’t swing it.”
“Why don’t you take them now?”
“Now?” Marjorie laughed and stepped inside. “Oh, I’m too old for ballet lessons.”
“They’re wonderful exercise. It increases flexibility. And they’re fun. No one’s too old for that. You look to be in very good shape.”
“I do what I can.” Marjorie looked around, smiling a little dreamily at the barres, the mirrors, the framed posters. “I guess it would be fun. But I couldn’t afford classes for both of us.”
“We’ll talk about that, too. Come on back to my office.”
An hour later, Kate rushed upstairs. She wanted to share with someone, and Brody was elected. She had two new students—her first mother and daughter team. And the accomplishment had given her yet one more angle for her school.
Family plans.
She started to dash across the little living room and stopped in her tracks. Slowly she turned a circle. It was done. She hadn’t been paying enough attention, she decided, and the progress had zipped right by her.
The floors and walls were finished. The woodwork glowed like silk.
Dazzled, she walked into her kitchen where everything gleamed. Cabinets waited only to be filled. The windowsill cried out for flowerpots.
She ran a fingertip along the countertop. Brody had been right about the breakfast bar, she thought. He had been right—no, they had been right, she corrected, about everything.
The apartment, just like the rest of the building, had been a team effort. And it was perfect.
She hurried into the bedroom where Brody was kneeling on the floor installing the lock sets on her closet doors. Jack sat crossed-legged, tongue caught in his teeth as he carefully tightened a screw in a brass plate on a wall plug.
Mike snored contentedly between them.
“There’s nothing quite like watching men at work.” They glanced up, and made her heart sing. “Hello, Handsome Jack.”
“We’re punching out,” he told her. “I got to come help because Rod and Carrie had to go to the dentist. I went already and no cavities.”
“Good for you. Brody, I’ve been so involved downstairs that I haven’t taken in what you’ve done up here. It looks wonderful. It’s exactly right.”
“Still got a few details. Some outside work, too. But you’re pretty much good to go.” But he didn’t have that lift of satisfaction he usually experienced toward the end of a job. He’d been depressed for days.
“I love it.” She crouched down as Mike woke and gamboled over to greet her. “And I just signed two more students. Now, if I could just find a couple of handsome men who’d like to go out and celebrate, it would really round things off.”
“We’ll go!”
“Jack. It’s a school night.”
“I was thinking about an early dinner,” Kate improvised as Jack’s face fell. “Burgers and fries at Chez McDee.”
“She means McDonald’s,” Jack explained, then fell on his father’s back, hugging fiercely. “Please, can we?”
Cornered again, Brody thought. “Pretty tough for a guy to turn down a fancy meal like that.”
“He means yes.” Jack swung over to Kate and hugged her legs. “Can we go now?”
“I got some things to finish up here.” Brody pushed his hair back. And just looked at her.
He’d been doing that quite a bit, Kate thought, since they’d come back from New York. Looking at her—and looking at her differently somehow.
Differently enough to have frogs leaping in her belly again.
“An hour okay with you?” he asked.
“Perfect. Do you mind if I steal your helper here? I want to go tell my mother. We can give Mike a little exercise on the way.”
“Yeah, sure. Jack? No wheedling.”
“He means I can’t ask for toys. I’ll get Mike’s leash. Dad, can I—” He broke off then ran over to whisper in Brody’s ear.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“We’ll be back in an hour.”
“Great.” Brody waited until they’d chased Mike downstairs, then sat back on his heels.
He was going to have to make some decisions. And soon. It was bad enough he was stuck on Kate, but Jack was crazy about her.
A man could risk a few bumps and bruises on his own heart, but he couldn’t risk his child’s. The only thing to do was to sit down and have a talk with Kate. It was time they spelled out what was going on between them.
More, he was going to have to have a talk with Jack. He had to know what the boy was thinking, what he was feeling.
Jack first, Brody decided. Could be, could very well be, his son looked at Kate as nothing more than a friend and would be upset at the idea of her being a more permanent, more important part of their lives. It had been the two of them as long as Jack could remember.
He looked over with a little jolt as a movement caught the corner of his eye.
“You turn that noise down,” Bob O’Connell said, “you wouldn’t get taken by surprise.”
“I like music on the job.” But Brody rose, shut off the radio. “Something you need?”
They hadn’t spoken since the scene in the Kimball kitchen. Both men eyed each other warily.
“I got something to say,” Bob stated.
“Then say it.”
“I did my best by you. It ain’t right for you to say different, when I did my best by you. Maybe I was hard on you, but you had a wild streak and you needed hard. I had a family to support, and I did it the only way I knew how. Maybe you think I didn’t spend enough time with you—” Bob broke off, jammed his hands into his pockets. “Maybe I didn’t. I don’t have the knack for it, not the way you do with your boy. Fact is, you weren’t the same pleasure to be around Jack is. He’s a credit to you. Maybe I should’ve said so before, but I’m saying so now.”
Brody said nothing for a long moment, adjusting to the shock even as his father glared at him. “You know, I’m pretty sure that’s about the longest speech you ever aimed in my direction.”
Bob’s face hardened. “I’m done with it,” he said and turned.
“Dad.” Brody set his drill aside. “I appreciate it.”
Bob let out a breath, the way a man might as the trapdoor opened under his feet. “Well.” He turned back, fought with the words in his head. “Might as well finish it off then. Probably I shouldn’t have jumped on you the other day, not in front of your boy and your…the Kimball girl. Your mother lit into me over it.”
Brody could only stare. “Mom?”
“Yeah.” With a look of frustrated disgust, Bob kicked lightly at the doorjamb. “She don’t do it often, but when she does, she can peel the skin off your ass. Hardly speaking to me yet. Says I embarrassed her.”
“I got the same line from Kate—she did some peeling of her own.”
“Didn’t much care having her claw at me the way she did. But I gotta say, she’s got spine. Keep you straight.”
“It’s my job to keep myself straight.”
Bob nodded. The weight that had been pressing on his chest for days eased. “Guess I figure you’ve been doing your job there. You do good work. For a carpenter.”
For the first time in a long while, Brody was able to smile at his father and mean it. “You do good work. For a plumber.”
“Didn’t have any problem firing me.”
“You pissed me off.”
“Hell, boy, you fire every man who pisses you off, how are you going to put a crew together? How’s the hand?”
Brody lifted it, flexed his fingers. “Good enough.”
“Since you’ve got no permanent damage, maybe you can use that hand to dial the phone. Call your ma and let her know we cleared the air some. She might not take my word on it, given her current state of mind.”
“I’ll do that. I know I was a disappointment to you.”
“Now, hold on—”
“I was,” Brody continued. “Maybe I was a disappointment to myself, too. But I think I made up for it. I did it for Connie, and for Jack. For myself, too. And I did it, partly anyway, for you. So I could show you I was worth something.”
“You showed me.” Bob wasn’t good at taking first steps, but he took this one. He crossed the room, held out his hand. “I guess I’m proud of how you turned out.”
“Thanks.” He took his father’s hand in a firm grip. “I’ve a kitchen remodel coming up. Needs some plumbing work. Interested?”
Bob’s lips twitched. “Could be.”