Isn't it Romantic? Read online

  “Janie’s afraid she won’t ever come back.” Shelly said. “Janie must not be enough to make her happy. I’m afraid for you. What if I’m not always enough? You won’t go away will you, Mom?”

  Katrine felt a pang of guilt her own fear of abandonment had spread to her daughter. She tried to overcome the insecurities planted inside her from an early age, but knew they held her prisoner, grew stronger as time passed, put down roots.

  “Shelly, you’re the most important person in the world to me. And you’re too young to worry over these serious matters or to make comments like the ones you made to Mr. Westmoreland last night. You’re growing up too fast as it is. Stay my little girl a while longer. I’m not going anywhere. and the love I write about is only fantasy. Like a fairy tale.”

  Obviously skeptical, Shelly settled deeper into the leather sofa and drew the sleeve of her robe across her nose. “I’m never growing up,” she decided bravely. “I’ll stay here with you forever so you won’t be alone. Unless, of course, you marry Trev, then I’ll be free to have a life of my own.”

  Slanting her gaze toward Shelly, Katrine tried to decipher if her daughter offered honest self-sacrifice or attempted childish manipulation. “I’ll remind you of that promise when you turn sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and as I hear the wedding march being played. As for Mr. Westmoreland, it’s pretty safe to assume he won’t be responsible for your future flight for independence. I can’t stand … I didn’t like him very much,” she amended.

  “I saw the paper Cynthia was reading, and in the picture, you seemed to like him a lot.”

  “The paper?” Katrine puzzled.

  “She has a regular newspaper, and one of those you see in the cheek-out line at the grocery store stuck inside. I saw her staring at it, but don’t get mad. She tried to hide it real fast.”

  A sinking feeling started in the pit of Katrine’s stomach. Texas Trash, put out by an independent Dallas producer, prided itself on featuring gossip about its own first-and-foremost. The ‘rag’ only stooped to three-headed babies or alien sightings if the Dallas area proved too discreet in its offer of tidbits. Elise Pennington had obviously managed to get a snapshot of her and Trey. She rubbed her forehead. “How bad is it?”

  “I couldn’t see the picture very well, but the title was printed in big, black letters. It said, Best-Selling Author and Well-Known Columnist Delve Deep For Research.”

  “Oh my word!” Katrine jumped up from the sofa and started to pace. “This could damage my reputation. I’m sure my readers remember the slam T. West did on me three years ago. They’ll think I’m consorting with the enemy.”

  “He’s not the enemy,” Shelly argued. “He’s the one.”

  “The one?”

  “Mr. Right. Marriage. Remember?”

  “Honey, I’m not even attracted to that arrogant, close-minded columnist. Marriage with him is the last thing on my mind.”

  Uncurling her body from the sofa, Shelly marched to her mother’s side. “It’s just like in your books. Lust comes first, then love. Give it time, Mom.” She comforted Katrine with a pat before turning toward the stairs. “I’m going to my room where you’re getting ready to send me anyway. Don’t yell at Cynthia. She knows you like him, too. I’m not convinced you’ll be all right once I’ve grown up. You might not believe in romance, but I do.”

  “Shelly,” Katrine warned, then threw her hands up in frustration. The child had not only grown too worldly for her years, but she was evidently a hopeless romantic, as well. At least Shelly didn’t have a warped expectation of what a woman should be looking for in a man as Trey suggested, Katrine soothed herself. Or did she?

  “Why him?” She halted her mature daughter’s progress. “Why should Trey Westmoreland be the one?”

  Glancing heavenward, as if her mother lacked the intellect of an eleven year old, Shelly said, “Because he’s perfect. You know, tall, dark and handsome? I knew the moment I opened the door he was right for the part.”

  A groan left Katrine’s lips. “Shelly, beauty is only skin deep. I don’t want you believing a handsome face, or a beautiful one for that matter, reflects a person’s character. It’s discriminatory and shallow. The important part of a person develops from the inside out. Remember that.”

  Her advice drew Shelly’s brows together. “Gosh, I hope Trey’s insides are as nice as his outsides. I’ll be awfully disappointed if they aren’t.”

  As her daughter climbed the stairs, Katrine worried that Shelly was setting herself up for a future fall. She seemed to believe Trey Westmoreland would resurface in their lives. “He won’t,” Katrine vowed, then suddenly remembered her guest. Cynthia. This was her fault!

  “Start talking,” Katrine pushed the doors leading to the kitchen wide.

  Cynthia Lane glanced up from her paper and lifted a dark brow. “Do I have ten minutes to get the hell out of Dodge before you draw down on me?”

  Ignoring the reminder Cynthia thought the swinging doors leading to Katrine’s kitchen resembled a saloon entrance, she crossed the mosaic tile to pour a cup of coffee.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you answer some questions. Why did you fix me up with Trey Westmoreland? I’ve told you countless times I had no desire to meet him. I don’t care if he is one of Harold’s friends; I thought I made it clear unless a date with him included a cauldron of boiling water, a Colt 45, or the right to castrate him, I wasn’t interested.”

  “The three c’s,” Cynthia countered slyly. “Instead, you got a cab, a camera and from what appearances suggest, an attempt at copul—”

  “Let me see that picture.” Katrine splashed coffee over the floor when she stormed to the table. “It couldn’t be that bad.”

  “No.” Cynthia shoved the ‘rag’ toward her. “I’d say it looks pretty good from where I’m sitting. All right, level-headed Katrine Summerville, pull an excuse from that creative mind of yours to explain this picture. Make it a good one, especially since you can’t stand … didn’t like him very much.”

  Katrine stilled her inclination to scold Cynthia for eavesdropping and glanced down at Trey’s annoyed features. A dry sensation settled in her throat. She tried to swallow, then gasped with relief. Although the picture identified the columnist clearly, only a thick mass of blonde hair could be seen beneath him.

  “Well?” Cynthia questioned.

  “You can’t tell it’s me.” Katrine seated herself because her knees were weak. “This cheap rag wouldn’t dare mention my name without a clear shot of my face.”

  Her friend’s gaze lowered to the newspaper. “They didn’t actually name you, but—”

  “But what?” Katrine demanded.

  “They mentioned T. West.”

  “Oh.” She understood. “You’re right, I suppose it was obvious to everyone at the banquet we were together. Well, that isn’t as bad as my readers catching wind of it. They’d feel betrayed.”

  “Your local readers are going to put two and two together and arrive at the correct conclusion over breakfast this morning.”

  “I’m not the only romance writer who attended the awards ceremony last night.”

  Cynthia tapped the newspaper as if it held a clue. “You’re the only romance writer T. West reviewed in his column this morning.”

  A blonde brow lifted. “I didn’t think he had the nerve,” Katrine said, oddly pleased by the prospect of appearing in his column. Surely, he’d learned his lesson about slandering her talents.

  “He’s got courage all right,” Cynthia agreed uncomfortably. “Trey isn’t short on that, or I imagine anything else, except maybe tact. After his review caused so much trouble three years ago, his editor told him to steer clear of you and the genre. Since all hell is getting ready to break loose anyway, I’d like to know what happened in that cab Trey thought was worth risking his job over?”

  The sinking feeling started again. “What did he say?”

  Cynthia gathered the newspaper to her ample chest. “First things first. W
hat happened between you two in that cab?”

  “Temporary insanity,” Katrine muttered darkly. She sighed. “All right, Trey thought I was hooker, and, well, I suspected he might be a gigolo.”

  A burst of raunchy laughter filled the room. “Oh, I see,” Cynthia managed between chuckles. “Because of me, you both naturally assumed—”

  “It had nothing to do with you,” Katrine assured her. “Your past didn’t even enter my mind. There was just something about him … something that made me think of sex.”

  Another giggle spilled from Cynthia’s lips. “I think that’s called chemistry, Katrine. It’s perfectly natural.”

  “Not for me, it isn’t,” she muttered. “I’m so ashamed of myself. I acted like a floozy. No wonder he thought my name was Bambi!”

  Again, the brunette burst into laughter. She glanced down at the paper and sobered. “His is going to be Mud.”

  “Let me see that.” Katrine held out her hand.

  Reluctantly, Cynthia handed over the newspaper.

  A few sentences later, Katrine’s cheeks started to burn. A little farther, and she began to tremble. Finally, she slammed the paper down on the table.

  “That … that,” she struggled for a worthy description, but couldn’t find one dirty enough. “He’s going to pay for this,” she promised, beginning to pace. “T. West only thought I caused him grief the last time he messed with me. I’m going to—to—”

  ———

  “Serve your family jewels to you in a paper cup, Westmoreland!” Jerry Caldwell shouted. “That’s what she’s going to do.” He snapped open the newspaper clutched in his trembling hands. “’If steamy sex appeals to you, Kat Summers takes a back seat to no one. She’s hot, and this columnist means that literally. Thanks for the ride, Kat. For me, PASSION’S PRICE was worth the hundred bucks I spent for a night with you.’” Jerry Caldwell slammed the paper down on Trey’s desk. “You’ve really put your neck on the chop ping block this time.”

  Rubbing his temples where a headache persisted Trey wished Jerry would go ahead and lower the ax. He felt like hell and looked ridiculous sitting, behind his desk in a wrinkled tux. After he settled the fare with Charlie in front of the newspaper Trey had gone to work on his review. He sighed then glanced up into Jerry’s red face. “I don’t know what you’re so upset over, Caldwell. I thought my review was very complimentary.”

  “Complimentary my ass,” Jerry grumbled. “Any person old enough to put sentences together will read that, then look at this,” he held up a copy of Texas Trash, “and realize it isn’t her writing skill you were referring to! The phones have been ringing all morning. Everyone wants to know what’s going on between T. West and Kat Summers. Including me!” The wind left Jerry’s sails as he crumpled into a leather wing-back chair. He lifted the front page of Texas Trash and eyed Trey expectantly.

  “It began as a case of mistaken identity,” Trey offered. “We didn’t know each other’s pen names until we arrived at the award ceremony. Cynthia Lane set us up.”

  His editor lowered the gossip rag. “Cynthia Lane? The restaurant-owner-down-the-street’s wife?”

  Trey nodded. “Harold’s restaurant does a good business so he decided to invest in a new venture. Cynthia’s running the escort service.”

  “Yeah, right.” Jerry snorted. “Probably lining up some of her old running buddies so they can operate legit. I can’t believe a man would marry a woman who used to hook for a living.”

  “Harold knew what he was getting,” Trey countered coolly. “If it doesn’t bother him, I don’t see why it should bother anyone else. Fact is, I consider Cynthia a true friend. She judges a man by what he is, not by what she’d like him to be.”

  “I wonder,” Jerry speculated, “what the sweet-faced Katrine Summerville and an exprostitute have to talk about when they get together. I heard Katrine used Cynthia for research a few years ago. Seems she was working on a novel where one of her secondary characters worked in a brothel. They met at Harold’s for coffee. Guess that’s how they became friends, and how Cynthia and Harold met.”

  ‘Used her’ echoed around Trey’s head. Maybe the gossip rag hit the nail right on the head. “Just how far would a writer go to expand her horizons?” he asked himself aloud.

  “How far did she go?” Jerry questioned, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  Jerry’s leer brought Trey from his personal musings. He cast a dark look the editor’s direction. “I didn’t kiss and tell at the age of sixteen. I don’t see any reason to start doing it now. It’s none of your business.”

  Color suffused Jerry’s face. His grin did a reversal. “You’ve made it everyone’s business Your suggestive remarks concerning back seats along with the cover on this excuse for a paper, planted a seed of speculation in the minds of her readers and ours. I told you to steer clear of Kat Summers.”

  Leather creaked as Trey rose, moving to stand beside a window. “Avoiding her would have been easier if I knew what she looked like. Why doesn’t she put her picture on the back of her books the same as most authors?”

  “She values her privacy, that’s why. Most columnists place a picture of themselves in the corner of their column, too, but not T. West. You wanted to squeeze the melons in the grocery store without being recognized, remember?”

  “This wouldn’t have happened had you allowed me to attend the private proceedings with her and the lawyers three years ago. I should have been there.”

  “Why, so you could insult her again and up the settlement?”

  Trey wheeled on him, past the limits of his patience. “I gave an opinion. Freedom of the press, freedom of speech. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, she couldn’t have done a damn thing to us had you let her take us to court.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Jerry argued. “Kat Summers is a local girl who’s done well for herself. She has thousands of adoring fans right here in the city. When you wrote that review on her three years ago, we lost a large portion of our female readership. Taking her to court would have only made matters worse. I want you to write a retraction in this Sunday’s edition.”

  “No way.” Trey moved toward his superior. “She publicly humiliated me last night. I’m not eating any more crow for Katrine Summerville and that’s that.”

  “Mark my words, that isn’t the end of it.” Jerry had the sense to step backwards, but he fixed Trey with an unwavering stare. “You might have gotten away with this had Texas Trash not printed the picture. Now, I’m afraid if you don’t print a retraction, she’ll go for our throats.”

  “Let her.” Trey shrugged as if unconcerned. “I’ve given authors with more clout than her a bad review, and they didn’t try to sue us. Do you know why? Because a good author is secure in his or her talent. Deep down, Kat Summers must know all she does is prey on lonely women. She puts ideas in their heads—sends them out looking for something that doesn’t exist. I’m damn sure not going to applaud her efforts, and from what I have read, she’s truly talented at writing sabotage.”

  Jerry eyed him suspiciously. “Is this personal, Westmoreland? Have you got it in for Katrine Summerville because some babe from your past dealt your masculinity a blow? Maybe this babe said you weren’t hero material, or maybe she didn’t find you romantic. Is that what all this is about?”

  A soft rap on the door saved Trey from providing an answer: Steve Boston, assistant editor, stuck his head inside the office.

  “We’ve got trouble, Boss. Craig Martin’s on the horn. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Her editor?” Jerry frowned. “I expected a call from her lawyer. This could be worse. Stay put, Westmoreland. We’ll finish this conversation after I see just how much trouble Kat Summers isn’t going to cause us.”

  After the door closed, Trey returned to the window. He glanced down at the busy streets, a brooding expression settling over his features. “It wasn’t some babe, Caldwell. It was the woman who promised me forever and went back on the deal.”
<
br />   ———

  Katrine stared at the phone, willing it to ring. It had been four hours since she’d called her editor and demanded he insist on a retraction. Cynthia had slithered away while shock still claimed Katrine, but the shock of Trey’s blatant review would not soon fade. She was seething.

  On a personal level, she’d found his suggestive remarks only embarrassing. Texas Trash saw to it that their relationship was no longer private. Katrine didn’t want her readers believing she would have anything to do with T. West. Perhaps she’d been somewhat frantic when she called Craig. She could have sworn he covered the phone and laughed.

  “This isn’t funny,” she grumbled, turning her gaze toward the computer screen. Trying to write had proven impossible. Katrine couldn’t think of anything but Trey’s review, his face plastered on the cover of the local gossip rag, and the circumstances that brought it all to pass. The feel of his hands on her, his lips…

  “Mom? Are you okay in there? I brought lunch. You forgot again.” Shelly entered, a tray balanced in one hand as she fumbled to close the door with the other. “I have a hot bowl of Thelma’s homemade soup, a roll, and a tall glass of milk. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”

  Katrine curled her lip. “I hate milk.”

  “It’s good for you.” Shelly settled the tray on her mother’s desk. She frowned while gathering a total of five coffee mugs. “You shouldn’t drink so much caffeine. It keeps you awake at night and makes you edgy during the day.”

  “I’m not edgy!” Katrine snapped. “I … have writer’s block,” she explained in a gentler tone “Thanks for bringing me lunch.”

  “You haven’t heard from him, huh?”

  The question confused Katrine. Shelly didn’t know about her frantic call to Craig Martin. “How did you know I contacted my editor?” “Editor?” Shelly asked. “I meant Trey. He hasn’t called, has he? That’s why you’re bummed.”

  “No, Mr. Westmoreland hasn’t called and I’m not in the least bummed about that.” Katrine thought to end the conversation by ladling a steaming spoonful into her mouth.