A Woman With Secrets. Inglath Cooper
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certainly try to remember that,” he said, backing away.
“Sure you don’t want me to fry those up for you?” she asked, confident now.
“We’ve got it covered for tonight. I’ll tell Harry to count on you in the morning.”
“Great,” she said and headed up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Between the wish and the thing, life lies waiting.
—Proverb
WHAT WAS SHE thinking?
Standing on deck with the breeze brushing her cheeks, Kate had a sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. Here she was with her feathers ruffled because Cole Hunter had assumed she couldn’t cook. Unfortunately, he was right. And she really hoped the other people on this boat were big fans of cereal.
She found a chair, deciding to take in the sunset getting ready to drop into the ocean. A stiff breeze blew across the open water, and the boat swayed gently from left to right like a child’s cradle.
Her stomach tipped slightly, but the sensation was fleeting. She was probably just tired from the trip. She’d driven straight through from Virginia to Florida with little more than stops for the ladies’ room and a gallon of coffee to keep her awake. That and the thought that Karl might be somewhere behind her kept her foot on the gas pedal.
Margo Sheldon came over and offered Kate a bottle of mineral water, her smile less than certain.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” she said.
“Thanks.” Kate waved a hand at the chair beside her. “Sit down, please.”
Margo sat on the edge, smoothing a hand across the Bermuda shorts that had replaced the dark skirt and stockings she’d had on earlier. The tweed jacket was also gone, but she still wore the white cotton blouse buttoned all the way to her neck. She pushed her thick-lens glasses up on her nose. Two seconds later, they slid back to their original position, forcing her to look over them more than through them.
“It’ll be interesting to see what comes of that,” Margo said, nodding in the direction of the grill and the string of fish now waiting to be cooked.
Her voice was at odds with her looks. It had a nice husky quality to it. Kate twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip. “Yes, it will.”
Margo sent a covert glance at the two men huddled over the grill like two cowpokes over a campfire. “Interesting duo, don’t you think?”
Kate rubbed her thumb across the side of her water bottle. “That word would apply, yes.”
“My father arranged this trip, so I really had no idea what to expect, but—”
“It’s not exactly what you thought it would be?” Kate finished for her. “Me, either.”
They were silent for a minute or so, neither of them elaborating on what it was they had expected.
Margo’s gaze rested on Harry’s shoulders, and Kate wondered at the hint of longing on the woman’s face. There was no ring on her left hand, so Kate assumed she wasn’t married. She was on vacation with her father, who from all appearances, might fail to be the life of the party in most social settings. She had smooth, pretty skin, and her eyes, now and then visible above her glasses, were a soft blue. Her clothes and hairstyle made her look older than she probably was. Kate sensed a loneliness in her that made her want to reach out to her, even though she didn’t know her. “Tell me about your work,” she said.
Margo looked up in surprise, as if it wasn’t often that anyone wanted to hear her talk about herself. But she began to speak. And Kate listened.
IT WAS AN unusual turn of events. Margo was much more accustomed to being the listener than the one listened to.
She could not recall the last time she’d felt comfortable enough with a stranger to pass along personal information more relevant than “Yes, the bus stop is a quarter block away.” She once overheard one of her physics students say that she would have made a perfect Jane Austen character, buttoned-up as she was. She was fairly certain there was no compliment to be found in the assessment, although she didn’t mind the reference. She loved Pride and Prejudice and would have switched places with Elizabeth Bennet in a heartbeat.
But her life was in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth, and therein lay the difficulty. She was an odd fit.
This was something that could not be said of Kate Winthrop.
She fit. In this century. This Caribbean movie set backdrop. The cover of InStyle magazine would not be a stretch.
It was this that made her wonder then why they’d spent the past forty-five minutes talking as if they had a bevy of shared interests to unearth. Most amazing was the fact that she really listened. Margo was far more used to the glazed-eye response she normally got from strangers. Admittedly, the finer points of quantum physics didn’t exactly make for mainstream conversation. But it was what she knew.
When she began to get a little too detailed about the specifics of what she did every day, Kate—unlike most people who simply looked at their watches, announced they had some to that point forgotten emergency and flew off to take care of it—steered her toward the personal. What was it like to be a woman in a field once monopolized by men? Did she ever want to do something different? Were there any cute guys who taught at Harvard?
This was the question that tripped her up, caused her to sputter her last sip of iced tea.
“Are you all right?” Kate asked, sitting up and patting her on the back with several resounding thwacks.
“I—yes,” she said, coughing again and clearing her throat.
“Was it something I said?”
“Ah, no. It’s just not a question I’ve been asked before.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” she said, stalling. “I’m not exactly an expert on the subject.”
“Because?” Kate posed, raising an eyebrow as if Margo had just thrown her an impossible to process piece of information.
“That’s just not my area of expertise,” she managed, wiping the spattered tea from her white shorts.
“Is there anyone who can claim to be an expert on the subject?” she asked. “Men are shape-shifters. No sooner do you think you have one variety nailed, than they morph to something different altogether.”
Margo laughed, surprising herself. “I wouldn’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not much for dating.”
“The pickings are slim in Cambridge then?”
“For someone like me, I guess so,” she said, adjusting her tone toward unconcerned and falling a notch or two short.
Kate studied her for a long moment. “So tell me. Who are you, Margo Sheldon?”
She’d been asked this question before. By teachers. Career counselors. But never in this situation. Never with what would make her interesting to a man as the subtext. “I have no idea,” she said in a moment of brutal honesty.
“Well,” Kate said. “Doesn’t this trip just seem like a perfect opportunity to find out?”
“HEY, SORRY I was late this afternoon,” Harry said, pulling a spatula from beneath the grill on deck.
Cole turned on the gas, then backed up a step as it poofed to life. “Didn’t have anything to do with that blonde who walked you to the boat, did it?”
“Maybe a little something,” Harry said, somehow managing not to gloat.
“And what’d you promise her?”
“There’s the beauty of it. I didn’t promise her anything. And she was okay with that.”