She went red in the face. Not a single one of those women had on anything comparable to Kate's ensemble. Just my luck, she thought, to overdress again, and in black, again. She should have remembered her last social evening at Jason's house, and the disastrous results, but she hadn't been thinking clearly.
"Mrs. Donavan, isn't it?" one of the women asked, and
nearby, Kate saw that horrid blonde woman who'd been at Jason's dinner party.
"Mrs. Donavan indeed," Kate said with a resigned sigh. "Overdressed as usual and as out of
place as a pumpkin. I'm pregnant, you see. I guess my mind stopped working at the moment of
conception."
That casual remark, thrown out with panache and an impish smile, took the cool edge off the
social set. They crowded around her, and she found herself caught up in conversation about the
wedding and her own gown, that someone had said she sewed herself.
"This is Edna St. John, our bride-elect," her hostess introduced a shy little dark-haired girl in a
rich beige suit that did nothing at all for her petite figure with its ankle-length straight skirt. "She's
being married to Barnett Coleman in March."
"Congratulations," Kate said with a smile as she tried to balance her coffee cup and saucer.
' 'Thank you'' Edna replied. "You were just married last week, weren't you?"
"That's right." She bent closer. "It was a shotgun wedding," she said in a stage whisper. "I got
Jason pregnant, too."
Edna giggled and so did their hostess. The blonde came ambling up and lifted a lazy eyebrow. "That would be one for the books, from what I've seen of Jason Donavan," Daphne drawled. "He isn't the world's most notorious playboy."
"Still waters run deep," Kate told her, hiding her nervousness as she remembered her last confrontation with the woman. "And here we are again."
"You were right in what you said to me that night," she said levelly. "So I did something about it. I'm divorcing my husband, who loves my money more than he loves me, and I'm going to Libya to become a harem girl or some
such thing. I expect to be involved in a juicy international scandal in no time," she mused, tongue in cheek. Kate burst out laughing. "How delightful." She grinned. "I'll look forward to reading all about it."
"It will be your fault," Daphne drawled. Then she smiled, and turned away to another guest, and Kate realized then how much of a disguise the woman's bored expression and sharp tongue were. Like Jason's bland poker face, this woman had her own mask, but it wasn't an obvious one.
"How could you advertise something like pregnancy when you've barely been married for a week?" a hatchet-nosed matron demanded shortly, offense in every line of her flushed face.
Kate noticed her hostess's sudden pallor, and turned back to the matron without letting her own nervousness show. "Because it's something that everyone will see soon enough," she replied. "I made a mistake, but at least I'm not trying to hide it. I want this baby. So does my husband. If that makes me a scarlet woman, then I suppose I am. Oddly enough, I have very old-fashioned ideas about babies. I think people should be married before they make them, and that a baby's life is precious, not something easily disposed of just because it interferes with a woman's pleasure."
"I'll bet the pro-abortion people love you," Daphne murmured in a stage whisper.
"Oh, they're perfectly entitled to their own opinion," Kate replied. "I can even see their point of view, under certain circumstances. I simply don't share it, that's all." She leaned forward. "I'm a prude!"
The matron flushed even more, and stormed off to whisper something to another ruffled-looking older woman. Kate just smiled and lifted her coffee to her lips. Not bad, kid, she told herself. At least, not for her first coffee, even if she didn't know quite what to wear or how to act. Society ladies were just like the ladies at the plant, except for the size of their bankrolls. There were nice ones and nasty ones, caring ones and uncaring ones. Kate didn't have another worry about fitting in. This had been a piece of cake. However, when she turned to thank her hostess for inviting her, she tripped, and poured coffee down the back of the ruffled matron's expensive suit and knocked her into the coffeepot.
Kate let herself into the house, smeared with finger sandwiches and canapes and stained with coffee. While she was afraid that her face was going to be permanently red, her most immediate concern was keeping Jason from finding out about what she'd done. She barely remembered how she'd managed to get out of her hostess's home, blurting apologies and promising to make good the expense of replacing everything. The expensive silver coffeepot had an equally expensive dent in it. The china was in shards. Two crystal lazy Susans were also gone. Kate imagined it would take at least thirty or forty dollars to replace the things, and thank God she had an account of her own and a good deal of money in it from her designing.
"What in heaven's name happened to you?" Sheila explained when she saw her. "What are you wearing? Kate, you didn't go to the coffee dressed like that?!"
Kate swallowed.
'
'Yes, I went to the coffee like this. And I was congratulating myself on how well I was doing when I bumped into a plump lady and knocked her into the canapes and fell on her." She burst into tears. "Oh, Sheila, I'm sure God never meant for me to be a society butterfly!"
Sheila drew the sobbing woman into her arms and rocked her against her huge bosom. "There, there, my pet, there, there. Sheila will teach you everything you need to know, don't you fret.' "I broke the china," she wailed. "I dented the silver coffeepot. I broke two..." She hiccuped,
"...two crystal platters on pedestals. I promised to replace them." Sheila froze. "You were at Mrs. Warden's house?" "Yes." "Oops." Kate lifted her tearstained face. "Oops?" Sheila let out a long breath. "Kate, honey, that silver coffeepot dates to the time of the Alamo.
It came over from England with one of Mrs. Warden's ancestors. The china is Wedgwood.
Expensive stuff, Wedgwood. And the crystal, I'm sorry to say, is Waterford." She realized that
she might as well be speaking Greek. "I bought a salt and pepper set for our service two years
ago—I paid almost a hundred dollars just for those small items. Or, rather, Jason did." Kate was going pale. "You're telling me that I did more than thirty or forty dollars' worth of damage." Sheila pursed her lips and nodded. "You might say that. I'd estimate it at about six hundred, by the time she has that coffeepot repaired by a master silversmith." "I need to sit down." Kate dropped into a chair in the hall, pale and sick and terrified. "Jason will have to know. He'll kill me." "He would never kill a pregnant woman," Sheila assured her. "And six hundred dollars isn't so much. Jason will hardly miss it."
"I knew I shouldn't have gone."
"Nonsense. After all, honey, mingling with society people is something you'll have to get used to. But it won't always be so agonizing, honest it won't." She helped Kate off with her stained jacket. "Now you go upstairs and change clothes, and I'll make you some nice decaffeinated coffee." "Yuck," Kate muttered. "I hate decaf." "Well, baby won't. Go on, now." Kate got up, wobbling a little. She started for the staircase, but she turned back before she went up and smiled. "I love you." Sheila smiled. "I love you, too, pumpkin. Go on." After Kate bathed and changed into oversize blue knit pants and a worn, stained white top that she'd embroidered herself, she felt worlds better. If only she could be sure that Jason wasn't going to find out what a fool she'd made of herself at the Warden coffee. He'd be disappointed, at the very least. She went back downstairs and had coffee, barefoot and relaxed at last. And as luck would have it, all bad, Jason chose that minute to walk in with two very distinguished businessmen. "Hello, Jason," Kate said shyly, getting to her feet. He looked at her with obvious irritation, from the stained old shirt to the pulled places in the knit pants, to her bare feet. "Gentlemen, my wife," he introduced her to two Stetson-decked cattlemen who took off their Stetsons and smiled politely. "I'm Kate," she introduced herself with an equally polite smile and no trace of self-consciousness. "Are you in the cattle business, too?" "Afraid so," the oldest man said. "I'm Ed Blaine. This is Harry Sanders. We're from Montana. Got a feedlot up there, raise purebred Beefmasters." "My dad had a few head of those," Kate said proudly. "Mom and I still own them, although Jason keeps track of them for us. They're bred from yours, too, if you're S&B Beefmasters, that is." "We sure are." Harry, the smaller man came forward. "Well, those heifers threw the prettiest little calves you ever saw," Kate told them, "and we've bred them just this past spring to a champion Santa Gertrudis sire. We're expecting some fine results in the way of improved stamina and other good heritability factors." "My God, she speaks cattle," Ed Blaine exclaimed, his huge jowls tugged up in a delighted smile. "Little lady, Jason's a lucky man if he's got himself a woman who can understand the cattle business. My wife doesn't know an Angus from a Hereford." "All mine thinks about is diamonds," the other man agreed with a weary sigh. "She's allergic to cattle, you see." Jason's irritation was gone by now, and he was frankly astounded at the way Kate was charming his business associates. He'd been just slightly embarrassed at her lack of decorum and her ragged clothes, but nobody seemed to be noticing how she was dressed. "Jason taught me about cattle," Kate confessed, and she smiled at her husband with real warmth. He found himself lost in her soft green eyes, and for one long moment he actually forgot what he was going to say. He jerked his eyes away finally. "Her father was the Spur's foreman for a number of years," he told the other men. "And Frank Whittman knew cattle. Kat learned as much from him as she's learned from me." "Sit," Sheila said to Kate as she joined the small group, coaxing the younger woman down into
a chair. "She's in the family way," she told the older men. "And she's had kind of a rough morning."
The cattlemen grinned. "Style and personality, and a baby to boot. Damn, you lucky son of a..." He cleared his throat. "You're a lucky man, Jason."
"Thanks, Ed," he mused, but he was watching Kate. She looked pale under that forced good cheer, and there were lines of strain in her face. "Why don't you gents go into the study and I'll organize us some coffee and sandwiches. We can eat and talk business at the same time."
"Suits me. No need to show us the way, I know it," Ed said. He and Harry lingered for a minute to say good-bye to Kate with obvious reluctance, and then they wandered off down the hall, murmuring to each other.
"What happened?" Jason asked Kate.
"Do you want the whole horrible thing, or will you settle for an abbreviated version?" Kate asked miserably. His chin lifted. "Abbreviate it." "We owe Mrs. Warden six hundred dollars." He cocked an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?" "Broken china and crystal and a dented silver pot," Kate sighed. "We also owe a Mrs. Gills
twenty-five dollars to have her suit cleaned. It's got some kind of paste with little tiny fish and mayonnaise and coffee stains all over it."
"Is that all?" Jason asked politely.
Kate grimaced. "Well, I stained my cocktail dress and some of the sequins got knocked off, so I'll have to have a new one. I got it for ten dollars at the San Frio thrift shop..." "God almighty!" Kate grimaced and Sheila shushed him, but he was going right up through the ceiling anyway. "You wore a cocktail dress with sequins to a coffee and got anchovy paste on Mrs. Gills and
broke the Wardens' china?" He seemed lost for words. "How?"
"I backed into Mrs. Gills. Sort of. With my coffee cup. It was full. I'm sorry," she moaned.
"You backed into Mrs. Gills."
"That's right"
"What was she doing at the time?" he asked.
Kate hesitated. The woman might be a friend of his. But in the long run, the truth was the only chance she had against that cold, challenging stare. "Well, up until then she'd been telling everybody what a slut I was for getting pregnant before I got married."
He studied her wan little face. And then he bent unexpectedly and softly moved his lips against hers, smiling as he nibbled them and then lifted his dark head. "Good for you, honey," he said so tenderly that she almost cried. 'I'll settle the bills, don't worry about it." He stood up. "Sheila, how about some sandwiches and coffee for some hungry cattlemen?"
Sheila was wiping away an unexpected tear. "You can have a fried horse if you want one, after being so sweet to my Kate. I'll bring it in." She turned and went to work.
Kate got up and slid her arms around Jason's hard waist under his jacket. "I think you're a nice man," she said softly, trying not to notice the way he stiffened at just her touch. He'd been physically distant since that afternoon in Jamaica. They shared a room, but not a bed, and he was careful not to come in before she was asleep. He left before she woke. It was even getting to be a rare thing to see him at breakfast, lunch, or supper. But she wouldn't give up. She couldn't. They were married, and as long as they were, there was still hope.
"I think you're a nice girl," he replied. He bent and kissed her gently, but he drew back almost once. He couldn't take much of that. His body reacted too suddenly to Kate, so he was careful to keep his distance most of the time. He wasn't risking the baby twice.
"Oh, come back," she whispered, and she moved closer.
But he took her by the thickened waist and lifted her gently away. "None of that, Mrs. Donavan," he said gently. "I'm a busy man. Are you taking the day off?" he added curiously.
"The whole day," she said. "I can't really spare the time, but I was too tired to go in."
"Good girl. The job will still be there when you're gone. And Kate, get yourself some clothes, will you?" he asked gently. "Some maternity outfits and some evening things. And a suit. To wear to coffees," he added firmly. "Ask a saleslady. She'll tell you what to buy."
"All right." It was hard not to take offense, but she knew he meant well. She smiled up at him. "I'll try not to disgrace you." He bent and kissed her forehead. "You won't disgrace me. Still doing okay?" he asked, and his lean hand touched her waist gently. "Doing fine," she assured him. Why worry him with things that might never happen. She forced a smile to her lips. "Just fine."
"Okay. I'll get back to work then."
"You do that." She watched him go, her eyes brimming over with love. He was her whole world. If only she could tell him what he meant to her, how much she cared. But while he might like her, his feelings didn't go that deep. She had to remember that she was only here on sufferance, not for any other reason. The thought kept her depressed for the rest of the day.
So she dove into her work. Her coworkers were puzzled. They expected her to slacken up a little because of her marriage and her pregnancy, but if anything, she did more and worked later.
That finally captured not only Jason's attention, but his anger as well. And when she
announced one evening two weeks later that she was flying to New York the following day for the
showing of her collection, and two days later to Atlanta for another one, he hit the ceiling.
"Like bloody green hell you're going," he said coldly. They were in his study, with the door
closed. He'd been
doing paperwork, but now he rose from his desk like a dark-haired volcano, bristling with
fury.
"I have to be there," she repeated. "Jason, I've worked for months on this collection. They've gone to a lot of trouble and they've invested a lot of money in my talent. I can't let them down. The media will be there...."
"And hot to write about a nobody from rural Texas who can sew a skirt?" he asked with ill-concealed bad temper. "Set me right, Kate, is that how it goes?" The mocking tone hurt. So did his lack of faith in her ability. "I'm a good seamstress, if nothing else," she said, struggling not to lose her temper. "You used to think so yourself."
"Sure, when it meant sewing things for your own use," he agreed.
"Why does it bother you so much that I want to do something that you can't control, Jason?" she asked bluntly. He turned away to light a cigarette, staring blankly at the painting of his prize Santa Gertrudis bull on the wall behind him. The bull had been a grand champion, a huge moneymaker. "It isn't that," he said finally. He turned back. "You're pregnant. The last thing you need is to be jetting around the country."
"You took me to Jamaica on a plane, just three weeks ago," she pointed out.
"I was with you," he replied curtly. "If anything had gone wrong, I'd have been right there." "Nothing went wrong," she said. "And nothing will. I'm not having any problems, not even any more nausea." She crossed her fingers behind her back. "There's no reason I can't go."
"I don't want you traveling alone," he shot back, his eyes intimidating.
"Then go with me," she said daringly.
He hesitated. It was a temptation. But he had roundup staring him in the face, and business was keeping him jumping. One big deal had fallen through already, what with fluctuating cattle prices and low sales figures. They were headed for financial difficulties no matter what he did, but he couldn't tell Kate that, or how important it was that he personally stay on top of things.
"I can't go," he said. "I'm selling off calves and up to my neck in ranch work."
"You and your cattle and me and my designs," she said. "Tit for tat."
He blew out a cloud of smoke in an angry breath. "Damn it, Kate, you don't need to work!"