Tate scowled as he used hot pads to carry the lasagna to the table. She followed with the dishes. “Of course his father is interested. They’re very close.”
“But…?”
“But nothing. They get along just fine. Why don’t you take notes?”
The abrupt change of subject threw her, as he’d intended. She blinked, then gave a shake of her head. “I will when it’s necessary. Right now we’re just getting acquainted.”
“So that’s what you call it,” he said dryly, then raised his voice. “Jordan, come on and eat.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Their voices sounded alike, Natalie thought as she slid into the same seat where she’d had lunch. They also looked a lot alike. She wondered about Tate, and if his son resembled him half as much as his uncle.
Carrying the bread and his own pop, J.T. sat across from her, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Jordan.
“Is there any work around here that doesn’t require a horse?” she asked while they waited for the boy to join them.
“Plenty. Why?”
“I’d like to follow you around for a few days, to get a feel for what you do.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “But I’ll be using Rusty all week. And you probably don’t know how to ride, do you? Too bad.”
“You’re not funny, Mr. Rawlins,” she said primly as she tried to suppress a smile.
“I wasn’t trying to be. How did you manage to reach the age of— How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“—without learning to ride?”
“Gee, I don’t know. I guess horses were just too cumbersome for the high-rise apartments where we mostly lived.”
“Around here kids learn to ride as soon as they can sit up by themselves.”
Natalie studied him skeptically. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Not by much. Hold your ears for a minute.” Pursing his lips, he let out a shrill whistle that could vibrate loose the fillings in her back teeth.
From down the hall came a grumbled, “All right, I’m coming.” A moment later, Jordan joined them. “I was just talking to some girls in California.”
“Here’s a novel idea—why don’t you pick up the phone and have a real conversation?” J.T. countered. “Better yet, after you do the dishes, why don’t you saddle up Cougar and ride over to see Mike in person?”
“Nah.” Then the boy’s eyes lit up. “But if you want to give me the keys, I can go into town and see a bunch of people. Then you two can talk all evening.”
“If you’re back by ten. Why don’t you invite Mike?”
“Aw, Da—Uncle J.T. If I show up with Mike, Shelley’s gonna spend the whole evening ignoring me. She doesn’t like Mike.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan mumbled.
I do, Natalie thought to herself. The Barbie clone wanted everyone’s attention all for herself, especially Jordan’s. She wanted to be the only girl he cared about, even if she was stringing him along while going out with other guys. As for Mike’s dislike…she was tall, flat-chested, lacking in curves, bespectacled and plain. How could she not dislike the gorgeous little cheerleader doll?
Then, of course, there was Jordan. Mike wanted him. Shelley had him.
After a moment J.T. gave in. Jordan scarfed down two large helpings of lasagna and half a loaf of bread, then left. Both the door and the screen door slammed behind him.
In the silence that followed, Natalie finished her first and only helping of the dish while J.T. worked on his second. “You’re not really going to hide behind your horses to avoid me, are you?”
“It’s a thought.”
“You know, the more you restrict my access to you, the longer my visit will have to last.”
“You’ll have to go home eventually.”
She grinned. “I have plenty of clothes, my notes on the senator, my cell phone and my computer. I could survive indefinitely with nothing else.”
“What about your life back in Alabama? Your friends, your boyfriend, your other work?”
“I don’t have a life in Alabama.” No friends. Just people who’d once pretended to be. No boyfriend. No other work. This book had become her life.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if she was a little lonely. Really, she wouldn’t.
“No life?” J.T. repeated skeptically. “No boyfriend?”
She was flattered that he found it so difficult to believe that there wasn’t at least one man in the state of Alabama who wanted her, and was amused by her own feeling of flattery. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Well, at the moment I’ve got much more important things in my life. Men come pretty low on my list.”
“Why?”
With a shake of her head, she gave a low laugh. “You really have trouble grasping this question-and-answer process, don’t you? It’s really very simple. I ask. You answer. I can write it down for you to look at from time to time if you’d like.”
Between bites he said, “You said we were getting acquainted. That implies an exchange of information. You can’t get acquainted with me and remain a stranger to me. So why don’t you like men?”
“I like men. They have their uses.” Under different circumstances, she could like him a lot. She could find plenty of uses for him. “I just don’t want one in my life.”
“Why not?”
For a time Natalie considered various answers and lies, as well as simply refusing any answer at all. She thought about pointing out to him that his getting to know her wasn’t part of the deal, that he should be grateful she was trying to learn everything about him, that she could write the book as easily without his cooperation as with. The only difference was in the degree of accuracy—getting the chance to put his spin on things.
In the end, though, she answered. Maybe not completely, but truthfully, as far as it went. “My father is one of the greatest journalists who ever lived. I’ve known since I was a little kid that I wanted to be just like him. I know I’ll never be as good, but I’m trying.” She thought of the headlines fifteen months ago and inwardly cringed. She really was trying. Too bad she was failing. “One of the things he taught me was that this job requires dedication. Commitment. Doing it right—doing it Thaddeus Grant’s way—isn’t conducive to maintaining relationships or raising a family. I see no point in getting involved with a man who can’t compete with the job for my attention, and I certainly see no sense in bringing kids into the picture.”
“So your father didn’t love you, and you’re following in his footsteps by refusing to love anyone, in the same way.”
“My father loved me!” she protested.
“Not as much as he loved the job. Hey, my old man never gave a damn about me, either. But shutting yourself off from everyone else isn’t the way to deal with it.”
“I’m not shut off from anyone. I have plenty of contact with people. In fact, I spend so much time with people that most evenings it’s a pleasure to go home to an empty apartment. By the end of most days, I crave peace and quiet and solitude.” Usually that was true. Some days, though, she wanted what J.T. had—a close-knit family