Loe raamatut: «Welcome To My Family»

CHAPTER ONE

THUNDER RUMBLED OVERHEAD. In the distance, lightning cut a jagged swath across the Michigan night sky. Kathleen O’Halloran smoothed a hand over the soft coat of the dog beside her—a young black Labrador retriever who’d just begun to whine. The continual downpour made it difficult to see the road, especially through the waterfall cascading from the tips of two kayaks she had lashed to the top of her aging Isuzu Trooper.

“We picked a beaut of a night to come home, didn’t we, Poseidon?” Kat murmured, kicking her lights up to high beam. She slowed to a crawl. Storms worried the dog. Made him restless. Not surprising. Kat had rescued him from a half-submerged log during a bad squall six months back. Hard to say how long he’d been riding the waves. She’d run advertisements in her San Juan Island newspaper and posted numerous handbills around the resort where she’d worked as recreational director. No one had come forward to claim the beautiful dog. He and she had become fast friends. Kat’s long trek home from Washington State through the March wind and rain would have been far less tolerable without him.

Certainly she’d enjoyed her freedom out West—who in her place wouldn’t if they’d had her bad luck of being the youngest and only girl in a long progression of know-it-all engineers? She often threatened to call herself a recreational engineer just to get recognition in the family. But, the truth was, this past year Kat had grown increasingly more homesick in spite of Poseidon’s company.

Her fingers tightened in the animal’s fur. Perhaps her sister-in-law Mary was right when she’d argued last month that blood took precedence over independence. Pop had the whole family in such a tizzy, at least maybe now Kat’s brothers wouldn’t have time to mess with her love life—assuming any love interest popped out of the woodwork. Kat’s family had made sure to keep her apprised of her classmates’ weddings. She disliked thinking of herself shelved at twenty-six. But her mother and brothers sure seemed to believe it.

“Uh-oh. Looks like a stranded motorist up ahead.” Kat touched her brakes and held her breath against the slight shiver of the precariously balanced kayaks. “Take it easy, Horatio.” Her pet name for the vehicle slipped out as she concentrated on her driving. She hadn’t seen another car since entering this shortcut. Three years ago, when she’d left Flintridge, only locals used this road. Had that changed?

The car parked on the right shoulder was big and dark. Its hood was raised. As Kat cruised past, her headlights outlined a man wearing light gray slacks and a white shirt plastered to his body by the driving rain. The wind whipped a narrow tie over his left shoulder.

She pulled over a hundred yards down the road and stopped, chewing her lower lip. All the dire warnings aimed at women travelers flashed through her mind. Mama, especially, was big on passing along such dangers whenever she phoned. Of course, the rapes and murders Maureen O’Halloran recounted weren’t even close to Flintridge. Nevertheless, there was always a first, and it might be awaiting Kat this very minute.

She backed up slowly, trying to gain a better look at the motorist in her rearview mirror. After all, she wasn’t stupid. Few rapists looked the part.

About then, the man straightened and braced himself against the wind. Kat noted that the deluge had flattened blond hair in what was probably a fifty-dollar haircut across his forehead. From what she could see, he was moderately good-looking. Not a pretty-boy with that stubborn jaw. But clean-cut enough to pass her mother’s inspection. Kat set her brake and slid the gearshift into park.

That was when she noticed the car’s dealer license plates. Automobile salesman, no doubt. She knew the type. Dandies who worked out in health clubs and dressed for success to give themselves an edge with the ladies. By the time Kat decided to offer help, she had the driver of the stalled car pegged right down to his Cole-Haan loafers and the snowy handkerchief he used to scrub grease off his fingers.

“This one seems harmless enough, Poseidon,” she murmured, reassuring herself more than the dog. Flipping on her four-way flashers, Kat shrugged into a bright yellow rain slicker she kept in the car. “Stay, boy,” she commanded, opening the door. But for an animal who cowered from storms, this one exhibited uncharacteristic behavior and suddenly bolted into the midst of it. Barking wildly, he splashed through a series of dirty puddles, then took a flying leap at the stranger.

“Poseidon, no!” Kat shouted. “Oh, my Lord.” She dashed after her pet and caught him moments after he’d muddied the man’s white shirt. It took considerable muscle to force the dog down. Amid garbled apologies, she dragged him back to her vehicle and stuffed him inside. “Shame on you. Bad dog.”

The dog nearly escaped again as Kat leaned in to straighten the blanket that covered her seats. Following another stern reminder to behave, he flopped down, looking guilty. His tail drooped. Kat heaved a sigh, rubbed his ears, then closed the door firmly.

“Hey, I’m really sorry,” she said, returning to the motorist. “Did he bite you?”

The man settled unfocused blue eyes on her, frowning as if she were an apparition, and definitely an unwelcome one.

Kat winced at his expression—and the muddy paw prints. “I’ll pay to have your shirt laundered. My dog isn’t…fond of men.”

“Not fond of them? Damned animal almost licked me to death. I hope you don’t think he’s a guard dog.”

Partly in deference to her mother’s advice, and partly because of his attitude, Kat bristled. “No telling what that animal would do if I was in danger. Kill, maybe. So you’d better not try any funny business. Are you out of gas or something?” she asked, nodding at his car.

Slater Kowalski gaped at the dark-haired, dark-eyed pixie, who, for all he knew, could be telling the truth about her dog’s potential to kill on command. But why was she acting snippy? He was the victim here. He hadn’t flagged her down.

Then, because the woman and her ill-mannered mutt were the last straw at the end of a rotten week, Slater turned and kicked his car’s front tire. Not feeling any better, he smacked a hand on the sleek, wet fender. A fender representing the aerodynamic pinnacle of the future. On a car of his own design. So why couldn’t his team of engineers make the damn thing run?

His anger drained as it occurred to Slater that the woman was probably questioning his sanity. “I’m not out of gas,” he said wearily. “She doesn’t even use conventional gas.”

“Ah.” Kat wiped the rain from her eyes. “I see. Diesel,” she stated flatly. “They can be cantankerous if you get water in the fuel lines. All this rain.” She shrugged expansively. “I suppose I can give you a lift into town. Poseidon won’t bite…unless I’m threatened,” she added for good measure.

Was she kidding? Leave his million-dollar baby? Walk away from his precious prototype on which the future of Flintridge Motors rested? “Uh…no thanks.” Slater knew his refusal sounded stiff. “It’s not diesel, either. But I really can’t leave her out here.”

Kat couldn’t believe anyone in his predicament would be so stubborn. “I’m sure she represents a hunk of cash to your employer,” she said, using the feminine pronoun as he had—the way her dad and brothers all did when discussing automobiles.

“Be reasonable,” Kat continued, glancing pointedly up and down the road. “This isn’t exactly a thoroughfare. She’ll be safe here until you can round up a tow truck.”

The man continued to shake his head, and Kat watched his transparent shirt move like a second skin against lean muscles. Quite suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. Darn, she’d always been a sucker for the well-toned look of a runner. And this guy had it all—except brains, obviously. Exasperated, Kat deliberately stuck her head beneath the black car’s hood. “I’ve got a pretty decent toolbox with me. What are her symptoms? If you’re not using gas or diesel, then what? Methanol? She looks too heavy for meth. Are you getting spark from the ignition? Have you tried starting her again? Could be vapor lock, you know.”

The thirty-one-year-old CEO of Flintridge Motors almost smiled at that. “So, what? Are you a mechanic?” Slater found the possibility intrigued him as he dipped his head and joined her under the hood, out of the rain for a moment.

Kat laughed. “Not by trade. But I’m fair with a socket set. Actually, I grew up near here in a family that eats, sleeps and breathes automobiles. Most are engineers. Combustion, electronic, structural. You name it. One of my brothers builds headers for dragsters in his spare time. If I do say so myself, I’m pretty savvy when it comes to cars.”

Slater found himself backing away. After all, his engine was still in the test phase. “You don’t say?” He glanced toward her vehicle. “If you’re so savvy…why are you driving foreign-built in this town?”

Kat straightened and cracked her head on the hood. Her Trooper—and before that, her Toyota—had been a bone of contention with her brothers, too. “Look, bud, which one of us is stranded by the side of the road? Not me, thank you very much. Ask yourself who built this hunk of junk.” She tapped the front grill. “Nobody willing to put their name on it, that I can see.”

Nudging her out from under the Special’s hood, Slater slammed it closed. “Who’d you say your family works for?” he queried coolly, thinking this woman might be just a little too savvy to suit him.

“I didn’t.”

“What’s under those tarps? Hijacked car parts?”

Kat couldn’t believe she was standing in raindrops as big as hippos, talking to this insensitive lout who didn’t have sense enough to get out of the weather. “Do you want help,” she asked tersely, “or do you intend to stand around all night kicking your tires?”

Slater felt a flush creep up his cheeks. He’d been keeping this design under wraps for two years. He had a federal government General Services Administration contract to replace ten thousand agency cars, to be shipped in the not-too-distant future—which meant nothing unless he rolled them off the line on schedule. If not, the company founded by his family might well go belly-up, throwing hundreds of local men and women out of work. The last thing he needed to top off a bad week was some tomboy grease monkey psychoanalyzing him.

Except…that wasn’t entirely true; he did need her to deliver a message.

“Look, sorry to sound ungrateful,” he said contritely, flashing her a smile calculated to bring her around. “If I give you the name and phone number of my mechanic, would you mind calling him when you hit town?”

Unimpressed, Kat raised a brow. “You have a mechanic on tap at ten o’clock at night? My, my. Yet you don’t carry a cell phone? Aren’t you lucky I stopped?”

Slater yanked open his car door and dug around in the center console until he found a notepad and a pen. If he answered her sass the way he’d like to, he’d be stuck here forever. He’d been so anxious to test the latest attempt to correct the car’s fuel-line problem, he’d dashed out without a jacket, never mind a cell phone. Slater ignored the water dripping from his hair, even though it slid off the hand-stitched leather bucket seats and soaked into the Special’s plush gray carpet.

At a glance Kat took in the car’s rich interior and the man’s obviously expensive gold pen. She scooted in for a closer look and whistled softly between her teeth. Test driver, maybe? They tended to be arrogant, and possessive of their new toys.

Silently Kat accepted the note he ripped out and handed her as he rudely backed her away and shut the car’s door in her face. Local phone number, she saw. She hitched up her yellow slicker and stuffed the paper into her back pants pocket. “Who shall I say is demanding this mechanic’s lowly presence way out here on such a ghastly night?”

Slater let his gaze travel up a slender denim-covered leg that peeked out from beneath her oilskin slicker. Damned well-shaped for such a small woman, he thought, taking an unexpected jolt to the stomach. Tearing his gaze away, Slater reminded himself she was too smart-mouthed for his taste, even supposing he liked women with boyish haircuts—which he didn’t. “Name’s Slater. Tell Dempsey I’m stalled south of the twelve-mile marker out on the proving grounds with the Flintridge Special.”

Kat felt a sudden flicker of interest. He worked for Flintridge Motors? Come Monday, she’d be starting there as recreation specialist. It was a new position, and the personnel director had hired her from a resume and phone interview. The job had given her a legitimate reason for coming home. Kat was grateful to her sister-in-law for sending her the newspaper ad. Pop was no dummy. Without this job, he’d have known right away that she’d been called home to deal with what the family referred to as his childish post-retirement behavior.

“Was there something else?” Slater asked with a faint air of exasperation as he clicked his ballpoint pen.

“What? Oh, no.” Blushing, Kat turned and trotted off. “I’ll phone this guy the minute I hit town,” she promised over her shoulder. Then, because she thought it might be nice to know by name at least one person from work, she paused with her hand on her vehicle’s door and called out, “O’Halloran. My name is Kathleen O’Halloran. It’s such a small world, I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Before Slater could recover from the shock of hearing a name that stuck in his craw, she’d climbed in her Trooper and tootled off.

Coincidence or fate? Not that it mattered, Slater decided, sliding into the Special to strip off his soggy tie as the truck’s taillights disappeared in the sluicing rain. He wouldn’t go out of his way to see anyone with that last name. He had enough trouble these days. A revolutionary natural gas engine—great in theory but less so in practice. Employees hounding him to provide recreation opportunities because his competitor across town did. And now his dad’s sudden passion for playing the ponies. Ponies and poker. He had an Irish rabble-rouser to blame for that particular problem. One O’Halloran. Timothy O’Halloran.

Disgusted, Slater tried wringing water out of his shirt, then gave up and settled back to wait. The most he could hope now was that Miss Fix-it had more integrity than Tim of the same last name.

AS GOOD AS HER WORD, Kat stopped at the first convenience store on the outskirts of Flintridge and delivered Mr. Slater’s message to Gordon Dempsey. The mechanic swore, then apologized and offered a simple thank-you. He disconnected so fast, Kat couldn’t decide if it was the news itself or the name of the person needing his services that had made Dempsey swear. However, she gave only cursory thought to the man she’d left out on the highway. Everything soon took second place to the excitement of coming home.

The big old house with the full front porch where Toby Flanigan had given Kat her first kiss looked exactly as she remembered. And Kat knew before she went inside that in spite of the late hour, her mother’s kitchen would smell of coffee and her own favorite raisin-oatmeal cookies. Pop was the only one in the family not expecting her. Kat wondered what excuse they’d made for this evening’s gathering of the clan.

Heart filled with joy in anticipation of seeing everyone again, she hauled Poseidon out of the Trooper and burst through the front door.

Her brothers Matt, Mark and Josh—good biblical names as solid as the men themselves—hoisted her off the floor and tossed her from one to the other. She’d always loved this when she was a kid. She hugged each man in turn.

Her poor dog barked and jumped at them until Kat’s mother demanded order.

Mary, Kat’s most thoughtful sister-in-law, Joshua’s wife, relieved her of the wet slicker and thrust a mug of hot coffee into Kat’s chilly hands. The other two women, Erin and Shannon, were married to Mark and Matt respectively. All talking at once, the women exclaimed over Kat’s new, shorter haircut and how trim she looked. Preliminaries over, the family settled down to ask about her trip.

“Long and boring,” Kat replied. “Uneventful outside of a flat tire in Montana. Where’s Pop? Did he go to bed?” Kat knew how much flak she’d take if she mentioned her attempted roadside rescue. So she didn’t bring it up.

Still, her mom acted uneasy, and Mark scowled as he turned away to pick up the coffeepot.

“It’s poker night at Spud Mallory’s,” Josh explained.

“Ah.” Kat nodded. “Well, that’s okay, isn’t it? Pop and Spud go back a long way. I can remember begging them to teach me how to play poker.”

“They never played for money before,” Mrs. O’Halloran said, digging for a tissue to hide a sniffle. “I tell you, Katie, your father has taken leave of his senses.”

“How much money’s involved?” Kat asked warily. “Not high stakes.” She looked to her brothers for answers.

Matt squeezed her shoulder as he led her to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Mom can’t get a handle on how much. Pop’s gotten secretive about money since he retired. Before, she took care of all the finances. Now he races her to the mailbox for his retirement check and does the banking. Claims he finally has the time to deal with it…”

Kat studied the grain in the old oak table. It had been in the O’Halloran family for generations and had a feeling of permanence. “So, have any of you asked Pop outright what all this means?”

“You know Pop,” Josh answered. “He’s closemouthed as a clam, unless he wants you to know something. No one in the family had an inkling he planned to retire early. We had to read it in the Motorman’s News, for crying out loud.”

Erin tugged the lid off the cookie canister and passed it around. “It’s that Louie Kowalski. He’s to blame for everything.”

“I know that’s what you said when you phoned,” Kat acknowledged around a big bite of cookie, “but who is he? Where did he come from? That’s an important name on the ridge. Is he a car man?”

Mrs. O’Halloran patted Kat’s hand. “Apparently. We didn’t want to worry you, Katie. About a year ago, Dr. Shelby told Tim his cholesterol and blood pressure were up—in the danger range for another heart attack—and that he needed to lose weight. Doc suggested an exercise program over at the health club. That’s where he met Louie, who was apparently recovering from a recent heart attack.”

Matt broke in. “For weeks we heard Louie quotes. You know, Louie this, Louie that—then next thing we know, Pop and Louie both up and retire. Before the ‘good life’ passed them by was what Pop claimed.”

Shannon patted Kat’s hand. “It was like a whole male club followed suit. Buzz Moran, Luke Sheehan, Spud Mallory. They’ve all lost their marbles, if you ask me.”

“Well, maybe it’s a phase,” Kat said, glancing around at the worried faces of her family. “Have any of you run it by the psychologist at work? Maybe it’s a syndrome or something. I mean if they all worked at Motorhill…” She stopped as they exchanged sharp glances. “What now?”

Mark, the eldest son, a Rhodes scholar—a man Kat was convinced knew all there was to know about chemical combustion but often let the real world pass by without notice—tilted back his chair and frowned. “Louie worked at Flintridge Motors. Frankly, sis, that’s something else that worries us, Pop’s fraternizing with the competition.”

“Great. So, tell me why Mary sent me a Flintridge job ad and an application. I thought the old animosity between the two companies had died.”

Josh leaned forward. “We got to talking one night. Pop’s a whale of an electrical engineer. Retirement doesn’t change what he carries in his head, if you know what I mean. Rumor has it Flintridge is having problems with a new prototype. Big problems.”

“Come on, Josh. You think Flintridge is trying to appropriate some of Motorhill’s technical data? Before I left town, Motorhill tooled down to make only compact cars. Flintridge does luxury stuff, right?” An image of the sleek car she’d seen out on the road flashed briefly through Kat’s mind. That car definitely had problems.

“Electronics is electronics,” Matt said, polishing off the last cookie. “We’ve been working on some futuristic stuff at Motorhill. Dad was involved.”

“Well, Matt, you moonlight out in the community building headers for the race car set. Do you actually think Flintridge would resort to stealing Motorhill’s information?”

“Dragsters tend not to know what day it is, sis.”

Mark turned serious eyes toward Kat. “We may be shooting in the dark, kitten. I hope so. But Pop’s behavior’s shaken us. With you working at Flintridge, keeping your eyes and ears open, you might be able to assess them. We spend so much time cooped up in laboratories, we’re like three blind mice.”

Mrs. O’Halloran wagged a finger. “Grandbabies. That would keep Pop home. But no. You’re all too busy building better mousetraps or whatever to have babies.”

All the younger family members grimaced. It was an old, ongoing argument and one that went unheeded as usual.

Kat laughed. “Everything sounds exactly the same around here. Did you ever stop to think you’re reading too much into Pop’s actions? Flintridge and Motorhill have coexisted for generations. Why steal each other’s ideas at this late date?”

Matt laced his hands behind his head. “As Mark said, we stay in our cocoons on the hill. For the record, I wasn’t in favor of sending you that job application. But Josh and Mark convinced me that the way Louie’s hanging out with Pop is more than a coincidence. And about the time they met, according to the newspaper, there was a change in management at Flintridge. Transfer of power from rich daddy to privileged son. Truth is, we don’t know much about folks from the Ridge.”

Kat sipped her coffee. She thought back to high school—to the fierce competition between the Ridgers and the Hillites. The Ridge was largely Polish in origin, and the Hill mostly Irish. The city’s business center and a river divided the two communities. Both sides were predominately Catholic, but they maintained separate churches, schools and social activities. Kat wondered why that had never made an impression on her before. In essence they were like two towns in one. Their estrangement was aided and abetted in large part by the two major employers, Motorhill and Flintridge Motors.

Monday, she would cross the bridge and start a new job in foreign territory. The way things sounded, she didn’t know whether to consider herself a pioneer or a sacrificial lamb.

“Kathleen looks tired,” Shannon said, rising. “Perhaps we shouldn’t burden her with everything tonight.”

“There’s more?” Kat stood as the others began to collect jackets in preparation for leaving. Poseidon perked up his ears. Kat told him to stay. He did, but kept everyone in sight all the same.

Mary pulled Kat aside. “Something I didn’t tell you, Kat. It’s rumored that there’s worker unrest at Flintridge. The job you’re taking is a direct result of pressure put on the new CEO. We hear he’s opposed to an on-site recreation program.”

“G-r-r-reat!”

Josh kissed his mother’s still-smooth cheek, then turned and enfolded his little sister in a bear hug. “If anyone gives you a hard time, kid…quit. We’ll put our heads together and figure out some other way to get our questions answered. I hope you know we’re damn glad to have you home.”

Tears sprang to Kat’s eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her brothers until now. Especially as they were also the reason she’d left home. Largely the reason, anyway. “This job sounds like a piece of cake compared to the mess you almost got me into with the infamous Daniel O’Brien,” she said, punching her brother lightly on the arm.

The exodus toward the door stopped. Erin snapped her fingers. “I told you birdbrains to quit shoving Danny down Kat’s throat. He was too slick to suit me.”

Mark dropped a kiss on his wife’s nose. “Lord, but she’s impossible to live with when she’s right.” He cleared his throat. “We, uh…do owe you an apology, kitten. Danny-boy is doing hard time now. I think it’s safe to say…when you bag a husband, you’re on your own.”

Kat grinned. “Hallelujah! You know, this family can be…well…intense is a good word. I forgive you for the Danny fiasco. Just remember it, though, before any of you go overboard with this thing regarding Pop. I know you mean well, but—”

Everyone chimed in with opinions at once, the way they always did. Mark caught her chin and shushed the others. “Believe me Kat, not even the people who worked with Danny knew he had light fingers. And as far as Pop’s concerned…he’s acting funny. You’ll see.”

“All I’m saying,” she urged, “is let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Her mother stiffened. “Whose side are you on, Katie?”

“I’m not on any side.” She opened the door for her brothers and their wives. After another round of goodbyes, Kat was left alone with her mother. Reluctant to continue the subject they’d been discussing, Kat fed Poseidon, then busied herself fixing another pot of coffee. When her mother’s silence seemed too overpowering, Kat finally said, “I love you, Mama, and I love Pop. I can’t believe the man I remember, pillar of the family, church and community, would jeopardize everything he’s worked his whole life for. I’d like some time to make my own assessments.”

Maureen O’Halloran dabbed at her watery eyes. “Tim and I began dating in eighth grade. We married the day after he received his engineering degree. I don’t know where the years have gone. But lately, I’m not sure I even know him.”

“How’s that?” Kat asked.

“I thought we were growing old together. All this sudden youthful energy of his…well, Sheila Murphy suggested he may be seeing a younger woman.” Her tears spilled over and followed the faint lines that bracketed her mouth.

Kat bristled. “Sheila Murphy is a busybody who loves to stir up trouble. Pop’s not like that. And you’re not old. You’re still beautiful, Mama.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home, Katie. I love your brothers’ wives, but I couldn’t have confided in them. They’re so…so…organized. They don’t seem to believe that women should be allowed human weaknesses.”

“Thanks, I think.” Kat chuckled.

Suddenly there was a rattle at the back door. Poseidon raced to the screened porch and started barking.