Welcome To My Family

“WHAT IN BLAZES do you think you’re doing now?” a deep voice bellowed.

Kat went rigid at a sound that had plagued her all week. Her perch at the top of a twelve-foot ladder was precarious enough without her nuisance of a boss shaking the metal frame. “Don’t come up,” she warned. “I only have one bolt connected so far. Do you want this backboard to fall?”

“To hell with the backboard! I don’t want you to fall. I’ll ask once more—what are you doing? I pay maintenance men to handle chores like this.”

Kat ignored him, drilled a second hole and inserted a long screw that would help hold the board steady.

“Well?” he demanded.

“They’re backlogged,” she said patiently. “By the time I submitted a request in triplicate and it went through the process, I’d have my teams practicing already.”

“If you don’t kill yourself first. Get down here.” His tone did not invite refusal.

The drill squealed again. Leaning away from the ladder, Kat shoved a Molly screw through the last hole, then wrenched it tight.

“Now!” Slater roared. “I want to see your feet on this floor.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Brother,” she muttered under her breath, although she did move down a couple of steps. “Shouldn’t you be bugging a team of combustion engineers or something, instead of me?” she asked, carefully drilling two holes in succession along the bottom edge, effectively blocking out his retort.

“What’s that?” she called as she set the last two screws. “You say they’ve solved the fuel-injection problem on the Special? Wonderful!”

“I said get your carcass down here ASAP or I’m coming after you.” He placed one foot on the lowest rung.

Kat gave the board a final shake and determined it was solid. She glanced down, then deliberately dropped the small drill, guiding the cord through her hands until it dangled about six inches from the floor. “Oops,” she said as Slater dodged off the ladder. “Sorr-ee,” she called, tongue in cheek. She knew exactly how far it came to striking him. Not even close.

“Give me that thing, and be careful.” He snatched the drill at the same time, bending to unplug the cord. “You’re dangerous, Ms. O’Halloran.”

Kat pocketed the last screws and started down.

Slater began wrapping the cord around the handle, never taking his eyes from the faded denim stretched tight across her nicely rounded derriere. He held his breath, fearing the fabric might split from the rhythmic sway of her descent. As she drew closer he observed a small hole under her right back pocket. At eye level, it offered him a tantalizing glimpse of red. Silk, he thought. A shiver ricocheted through Slater’s body and slammed into his abdomen with the force of jet propulsion. It didn’t help his overloaded circuits that she took the last two steps in a single leap and landed, grinning at him over her shoulder through impish eyes.

Slater grappled with his self-control. “Did you know you have a hole in those jeans?”

“Hey, don’t break the drill cord, Kowalski.” She ripped the drill out of his hands and loosened the cord, missing the way his jaw tightened.

“The boards look great, don’t they?” She tilted her head back and surveyed her handiwork. “You play basketball?”

Having forced himself to concentrate on the short, feathery haircut, which he had the worst urge to touch, Slater was slower to track her gaze to the boards. “Which brings up another point,” he said. “I don’t recall having authorized the purchase of any equipment.”

Kat laughed, a pleasant ripple echoing from the rafters in the big empty warehouse. “You didn’t. They were donated.”

“Donated? By whom?”

Bending, Kat returned the drill to its case. “Actually, if you must know, I midnight-requisitioned one from my folks’ courtyard. No one uses it since my brothers moved out. Spud Mallory came by while I was dismantling it and said I could have the one attached to his garage. His boys are grown, too.”

“Are we talking Spud Mallory as in the cigar-smoking gambler who fleeces my father weekly in those ridiculous poker games?”

“My Pop and Spud played poker for years,” she said angrily, “and never bet a dime until Louie came on the scene and upped the ante.”

Slater loosely bracketed his hips with his hands. “I told you not to call my father Louie. And how did you come by the preposterous notion that it was his idea to play for money? Especially as he’s so incredibly inept that he always loses.”

“A lot you know.” Kat matched his stance. “Spud told me Louie always wins.”

Slater digested this tidbit. Stepping back, he massaged his neck and worried his upper lip with his bottom teeth. “I’m getting my information from our housekeeper. Helen’s like family. Why would she lie?”

“Why would Spud? He’s known me since I was in diapers.”

“Maybe he’s protecting your dad. How did the subject come up?”

Kat stared at him for several seconds before she turned and gave her attention to collapsing the ladder. It wouldn’t do to let him know her family was worried.

He stepped up to help. “There’s a possibility I’m right, isn’t there? You’re not sure of your facts, are you? Furthermore, I don’t think you’re any happier about the situation than I am.”

Kat’s fingers curled around the cool metal of the ladder. “You’ve got that right. My pop didn’t do any wacky things before he met yours. I intend to find out exactly what’s going on.” She grabbed the drill case, shouldered the ladder and started for the door.

“How do you plan to get at the truth?” Hurrying to catch up, Slater relieved her of both items. Outside, he fell into step beside her.

“Spud’s garage has an attic, which is accessible from a huge hawthorn tree. My brothers and the Mallory boys used to sneak up there to drink beer. I’ll just check out their next poker party myself.”

“Tell me when and where.”

“I prefer to go alone,” Kat informed him primly. “I’ll let you know what I discover.”

“What makes you think I’d believe your version any more than I believe Mallory’s?”

Kat yanked the ladder from his hands, and the drill. Her eyes glittered. “Would it surprise you to hear that I don’t give a tinker’s damn what you think? Why don’t you go play with your cars, and take Louie with you?” Having vented the frustration he caused simply by hanging around, Kat stalked off toward Maintenance.

Three young men dashed from the maintenance building. They vied good-naturedly for the right to help Kat. The minute they spied Slater, all three stopped dead.

Conscious of his position, Slater clamped down the urge to order them back to work. He should be the one to help her, dammit. Then again, she probably wouldn’t welcome his help. She barely tolerated him in her vicinity. Resigned to this circumstance, Slater gave his men curt nods and strode with purpose into an adjacent lab—as if his intent had been to visit his engineers all along.

Kathleen O’Halloran annoyed him. What did he care that she had big eyes and wore red silk beneath those tomboy clothes? And just what the hell made her think he needed her permission to check out that poker party? He was perfectly capable of finding Spud Mallory’s house on his own.

THE WEEK WAS EXHAUSTING for Kat. All day Friday, she dreamed of doing nothing more strenuous than going home to soak in a hot bathtub. Tuesday, she’d set up teams and started basketball practice, calling on dormant muscles in the process. Then, because the weather hadn’t improved and the rain kept them inside, she also borrowed her brothers’ old boxing gloves and set up a ring at one end of the warehouse.

Kat had no doubt the men were testing her when they demanded instruction in using the gloves. She had little choice but to comply. It was one of the few times Kowalski hadn’t shown up to bug her from the sidelines. Too bad. She was a fair boxer and wouldn’t have minded going a few rounds with him. Especially after Wednesday, when a group of women apparently complained to him that she was doing more for the men. He jumped right on that accusation with both feet, insisting she provide something for the women pronto.

A volleyball net was the one piece of equipment he’d authorized her to buy. But there wasn’t one to be found in Flintridge. Kat had scrounged the neighborhood for another donation. After finding one, she spent late nights mending it, installing it and working out schedules fair to everyone.

By the time the five o’clock whistle blew signaling the end of her week, Kat’s entire body hurt from physical exertion and her neck ached from the stress of dealing with Slater Kowalski. Oh, he was clever, Kat would give him that. He popped into the warehouse at odd hours, smiling that crooked little smile, asking the employees in his sneaky, subtle way if they thought she was doing a good job. Or at least that was the way it sounded to Kat.

The single women out in the ranks soon discovered that complaining about her was a surefire way to get a few minutes alone with their handsome boss. Each time one of them cried on his shoulder, Slater made a point of suggesting Kat put forth more effort to get along. She wanted to scream, or hit him.

She should make the effort! Really! On the drive home Friday, Kat entertained visions of subjecting him to all manner of medieval tortures.

At dinner Pop mentioned that he’d be leaving soon for his poker party at Spud’s; until then, it had completely slipped Kat’s mind that she’d planned to spy on the group. “Why don’t you cancel?” she implored. “We haven’t had a moment to discuss my new job. Maybe later we could rent a video and make popcorn like old times.”

Her father paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I can’t do that, kitten. Friday night is poker night.”

Mrs. O’Halloran rose abruptly and started banging dishes around near the sink.

Kat sighed, kissing her dream of a soothing bath goodbye. “I haven’t played poker since I left here. Maybe I’ll tag along. How much money does a person need to crash this game?” She sent her dad a smile. The kind of smile that had always worked with him before.

He looked uncomfortable. Kat knew perfectly well he wasn’t in the habit of refusing her anything. She’d begun to taste triumph when he muttered, “Stay home and keep your mother company, kitten. The game is just for regulars. Besides, you should spend your money on pretty dresses that’ll attract a husband. Not on cards.”

His wife snorted. “Shouldn’t we all.”

“Since when haven’t you been able to go out and buy clothing anytime you wanted, Maureen?” Timothy clambered to his feet and threw down his napkin. Digging a wallet out of his back pocket, he peeled off several bills and dropped them on the table. “You ladies go shopping. Be my guest. Don’t wait up, I’ll be late tonight.”

The moment the door closed on his heels, Kat’s mother burst into tears. Kat was so mad at Pop, she wanted to shake him. “Mom, call Dodie Moran. Take Pop up on his offer. Buy yourself a new dress. It’ll make you feel better.”

The sniffles slowed. “And just where would I be wearin’ a new dress, Katie? When Timothy only goes out with the men?”

“To church, Mama. You and Pop still go to church together.”

That seemed to give her mother pause for thought. “Will you come shopping, Katie? He left enough money for two dresses.”

Kat glanced away. She hated lying. “I’m really bushed, Mama. First week on a new job and all. Call Dodie. Frankly, I need an evening alone to unwind.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Maureen O’Halloran reached for the telephone. Soon, she was preparing to meet her friend at the mall.

Kat escorted her to the door. “Shop till you drop, Mama. Then you and Dodie treat yourselves to a relaxing glass of wine at O’Toole’s.”

“Oh, we couldn’t. It wouldn’t be seemly.”

Kat delivered a swift hug. “Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose. This is a new millennium, Mama. Live a little. I don’t want to see you home until eleven. Do you hear?”

A small frown etched her mother’s forehead, but she nodded. Kat shut the door and slumped against it. She figured that gave her until ten, at least, to check out this poker game. Kat knew her mother well. She’d never sit in a bar, not even a high-class place like O’Toole’s, for more than one glass of wine. Two, max, if Dodie was persuasive.

Kat hurried to load the dishwasher, then went upstairs to dress in black jeans and a black turtleneck. She didn’t want any neighbors to see her climbing that tree and call the cops. On her way past the bathroom, she gave the tub a last, longing look.

She parked her Trooper in the lot at the corner grocery store and walked the few blocks to Spud’s. Her vehicle still had Washington plates and was pretty distinctive. Typical of her recent luck, halfway to his house it started to rain. Cursing men in general, she hunched her shoulders and jogged the last few blocks. Kat huddled beneath a dripping tree across from the Mallory home and checked out the cars lining the drive. Bridie Mallory’s new little Motorhill compact was gone. Kat knew Mrs. Mallory’s car because when she’d come by the other day to pick up the backboard, Spud had bragged about the engine he’d help design.

Buzz Moran still had the same car he’d driven three years ago, and Kat recognized Luke Sheehan’s sports car. He’d picked her father up for the races on Sunday. Kat had listened to her mother expound for twenty minutes on how those men were all going to hell for patronizing the track on Sundays. That left only the black sedan parked parallel to the house unaccounted for. It didn’t take a detective to figure out the luxury car belonged to Louie Kowalski.

As Kat slipped around back and gazed up at the spreading branches of Mallory’s old hawthorn tree, she felt more like a small-time hood than a righteous daughter. She considered canceling her plans—until she recalled her mother’s tears. Before her courage gave way, Kat jumped to catch the lowest branch. She stifled a groan at the effort it cost her already-aching arms to swing herself aloft and straddle the branch as her brothers had done when they were kids.

“Ouch,” she yelped without thinking as a thorny branch snagged her arm. “Damn and blast.” It felt as if she’d drawn blood. Kat scrambled to a thicker limb and stopped to check. There was a gaping hole in the sleeve of her favorite sweater. She shouldn’t have yelled so loudly, but it had hurt as well as surprised her.

Josh had never mentioned the tree had three-inch thorns. Obviously one reason it served so effectively as a smuggling route. What parent would figure a kid was dumb enough to risk getting stabbed for a snitched beer or two?

Since no one roared out of the garage to investigate the noise, Kat edged up several levels toward a bough that scraped the house. The windowsill was within her grasp when a second thorn gouged her cheek. This time she swore roundly, trusting her voice would be muffled.

No one was more shocked than Kat when an arm snaked out of the attic window, grasped her by the belt of her jeans and jerked her into a black hole. Her assailant immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, cutting off not only Kat’s muffled cry but her breath, as well.

She flailed her arms and kicked backward, twice connecting with solid flesh.

“Oof. Stop it, you little spitfire,” a low voice hissed in her ear.

Kat went stiff as a board. She knew that voice. Slater Kowalski. How humiliating. Identifiable now in the faint light seeping in around a trapdoor that led to the garage, he dangled her a foot off a rough plank floor.

Kat jammed an elbow sharply in Slater’s ribs, doing her level best to bite his fingers.

“Ugh!” His breath exploded in a hiss, causing him to release her so fast she hit the floor like a sack of flour. “Shh,” he muttered, dropping down on his knees beside her. “Do you want them to hear you?”

“Me? What are you doing here, Kowalski?” she demanded with as much force as she could convey in a whisper, considering that they were both trying to be quiet. “Where do you get off manhandling me?”

He silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips, then he nodded his head toward the square door that sat propped ajar.

Only then did Kat register how loud the music and male laughter was that drifted up from the converted garage.

Abruptly, Slater moved his fingers to her chin and angled her face into the flicker of light. “You’re bleeding. What happened?” His voice was rough. His fingers gentle.

Kat jerked her head aside to keep him from seeing. There he sat in his Polo coordinates—bone-dry and not a mark on him—while she was wet and looked, no doubt, like she’d come out last in a cat fight.

Slater tried again to see her face.

“Mind your own business,” she said, dodging his fingers.

He would have insisted, but all at once there was a lull in the Sinatra song and he heard his father say, “Timothy, you’re unusually quiet tonight.”

Kat’s father answered in a lower tone that sent the two eavesdroppers crawling close to the trapdoor. “I had a hard time getting out of the house,” Timothy said. “It took a chunk of my stash to throw Maureen offtrack. I sent her shopping.”

Buzz Moran snorted. “Since this whole scheme was your bright idea, Timmy, ’tis a fine thing, you shelling out our profits in an attack of conscience.”

Lying side-by-side on the floor above the poker players, Slater felt Kat pull away. He started to nudge her, to claim victory…before he saw the quiver in her lower lip.

A huge tear slipped to the curve of her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.

Slater didn’t know which affected him more, witnessing the demise of the fierce faith she held in her old man, or the realization that he was the last person she’d want to see her crumble.

For some reason, he was moved by her attempt to keep a stiff upper lip. Without a word, he cupped a palm around the back of her head and gently guided her face into the protective curve of his shoulder. For one strained heartbeat, he waited for her backlash. When it didn’t come, Slater began to massage the nape of her neck. Her skin felt soft and cool. Her perfume wafted up and tickled his nose.

Instinct told Kat to resist overtures from a man who belonged to the enemy camp. But darn it all, this had been such a miserable day. So had the whole week, for that matter. She’d give him this much; he had tranquilizing hands. Warm hands…She hadn’t thought anything could chase away her bone-deep chill.

Perhaps her suddenly rapid heartbeat was just a belated reaction to being yanked into Mallory’s attic, Kat told herself. Perhaps it had nothing to with the man…or with her father. She’d embrace any excuse to keep from admitting that the father she’d placed on a pedestal for twenty-six years had just tumbled.

It made her shudder to think about the number of people counting on her to put the pieces back together. Her brothers. Their wives. Most of all, her mother.

Slater felt her tremble. His fingers flexed in her soft curls. Why had he ever thought her hair lacked feminine qualities? Damp, those charcoal locks clung to his palm, reminding him of satin. He murmured something unintelligible near her ear and trailed soothing kisses along the curve of her cheek. “It’ll be all right, kitten.”

Kat pushed him away. Eyes wide, she crawled out of his reach. “Who gave you permission to call me that?” She shook her head and scraped back clinging strands of hair still warm from his touch. Closing her eyes, Kat regretted showing him any chink in her armor.

Slater frowned. Had he called her kitten? Maybe he had. Come to think of it, this was the first time he’d seen those tiger claws sheathed. “Obviously a gross mistake on my part, O’Halloran,” he muttered. “It won’t happen again.” His words were barely audible. He felt restless, ready to leave. He had the answer he’d sought. The smoke from Spud Mallory’s cigars was starting to make him sick. “I’m outta here,” he said, heading for the window.

Kat pulled her knees to her chest and hunched her shoulders, massaging her upper arms. “Go. I’m waiting out the rain.”

He couldn’t just leave her like this. Sighing, Slater leaned toward her and extended a hand. “Come on,” he said, “it’s over.”

Again the music ended. Nat King Cole’s “Black Magic” this time. In the lull, Buzz Moran’s voice rose above the others. “I swear, Louie, you win every pot. With your luck, we should ship you off to Atlantic City with all our remaining cash.”

Slater’s dad laughed. “Good idea. But why don’t we all go? I’m free anytime. It’s you guys who need permission.” Much male posturing followed his statement, with all the others also claiming freedom.

“I can go anytime,” bragged Tim O’Halloran. “I’ll tell Maureen I’m working on the church carnival. In fact, there it is, if anyone needs an excuse.”

“When shall we go?” Louie badgered.

Several dates were bandied about before the music blared again, blocking whatever date they’d selected from the two listening upstairs.

Kat uncoiled from her position near the door. She tendered Slater an I-told-you-so look.

He avoided her eyes. Damn, why hadn’t he left sooner? Before L.J. made a fool of himself. Slater would rather not have known about those wins, to say nothing of the proposed gambling trip. Because it meant he had to find time to deal with that issue now. Time better spent solving the car’s fuel-injection problems. He crossed to stand beneath the peaked roof and tucked both hands in his back pockets. Well, now they were even. But so help him, if she rubbed it in, if she smirked or laughed he’d—

Far from rubbing salt in his wounds, Kat’s gaze suddenly became understanding.

It wasn’t pity. That would have allowed Slater to simply walk away. Damn. He felt again as he had when he was a teenager and his boat had been cut adrift in a storm-tossed river. Hurriedly burying that particular bad memory, he extended his hand to Kat again. “Come on, tiger, I’ll buy you a drink. I think we both need one.”

She shut the trapdoor fully, forgetting it was their only source of light. Kat gasped as the attic was plunged into darkness.

Slater materialized out of nowhere to grip her arm. He intended to lead the way to the window. It wasn’t his fault he picked the arm lacerated by the thorn.

Cringing, Kat cried out involuntarily.

“What’s wrong?” he hissed. But by then Slater’s probing fingers had found the rent in her sleeve. Skimming lightly, he explored the torn flesh beneath.

“Stop it,” Kat breathed, fighting a stab of need that sprang from his touch. “I got in a fight with the tree, okay? Score is hawthorn two, O’Halloran zero.”

Slater chuckled.

“Go ahead, laugh.” She backed away. “And then let’s go before we’re caught.”

Not normally prone to wild mood swings, he took pride in keeping a cool head. Therefore, he couldn’t imagine what craziness provoked him to fracture his own rule about never romantically involving himself with an employee. Shocking them both, he slid his hands through Kathleen’s short curls, tipped her head back and kissed her.

Kat could almost feel the steam rising from her still-damp clothes. A kiss from Kowalski was the last thing she’d expected. Furthermore, she never would have imagined he’d be so good at it.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, flashes of light filled the interior of the room. Thunder boomed and shook the rafters. Kat’s heart leaped and pounded in tempo. It was as if her knees refused to support her, and several seconds went by before she realized Slater had pulled away and said something fairly benign about the ferocity of the storm.

Kat heard him open the window. A sudden gust of wind cooled her hot face. It was precisely what she needed to plunge her back into reality. The return of sanity enabled her to shake off his mind-numbing kiss. Climbing out on the window ledge unaided, she leaped onto a rain-slicked branch.

Kat told herself that she’d known all along it was the storm and not his kiss setting off all those fireworks in the room. But when her knees gave way and she slipped and would have fallen had he not been there, she revised her thinking and gave credit where credit was due. Kowalski kissed like he did everything else—with complete control, but with purpose.