Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1) Read online

  Kisses and Kids

  Andrea Edwards

  To all those who give our kids a home away from home, thanks.

  Dear Readers,

  Congratulations. Due to your persistence, dedication and pure optimism, the torch of love is burning brightly in a world that sometimes seems to be unraveling.

  You have kept alive the belief that love does conquer all, for you know that it alone gentles anger, bridges chasms of misunderstanding and allows us to reach the full potential of our humanity. Love costs us nothing to give, yet it is so precious to receive.

  This book bridges a range of congratulatory themes, but the real congratulations should be at the end, when love is found and hearts are healed. A reason for us all to celebrate.

  Andrea Edwards

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “August 22”

  Fifteen years ago

  “I’m going now, Gran,” Patrick called as he went on into the kitchen.

  Even over the old refrigerator’s hum, he could hear the rain coming down—the constant rustle as drops hit the leaves, mixed with the splatter on the back steps from the water pouring through the crack in the gutter. It was going to be a miserable night at the station. Nobody would want to use the self-service pumps and he’d be outside all night, pumping gas.

  But it didn’t make any difference. Working nights paid good, and the more money he earned now, the farther he’d be from working crummy jobs like this the rest of his life.

  “Patrick?” His grandmother had followed him into the kitchen, then stopped with a frown. She looked at him from top to bottom and back again. “You’re going to work.”

  He opened the refrigerator and took out a can of soda. The August night was so hot that he could see the cold air tumble off the shelves. It billowed out around him and fell to the floor in tiny swirls. “I told you I was going out.” He closed the refrigerator with reluctance. “And work is going out.”

  “I thought you were going out with some friends. Land sakes, boy, it’s your birthday.”

  “It’s the night shift and I get a bonus.”

  “There’s more to life than money,” she said. “You’re eighteen. You should go out and have fun once in a while. Maybe take some nice girl to a movie.”

  He took out the bread and peanut butter. “Fun’s not going to pay my tuition next year.”

  “Neither is one night of work, even with a bonus.” She snatched the peanut butter jar from him. “And that’s no kind of dinner for a growing boy. We’ve got ham left from Sunday. I’ll make you a real sandwich.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Gran,” he said. “It all tastes the same anyway. I don’t care what I eat.”

  “What do you care about?” She took a covered platter from the refrigerator and put it on the counter with a force that added emphasis to her words. “Nothing, that’s what. Nothing but running farther and farther from yourself.”

  She pulled the foil off the platter and began stacking thick slabs of ham onto his bread. “You did the right thing leaving your father and brother. You’ve got to accept that. You didn’t start your pa drinking and you weren’t going to stop him. And Angel’s got to want to leave because it’s good for him and only him. So stop feeling you could’ve changed things.”

  Pat sure wished she’d stop looking for hidden reasons in everything he did. He’d put that part of his life behind him and refused to look back. “I don’t feel that way.” He wrapped the two sandwiches she had made and slipped them into a bag.

  “You’re not wanting to feel any way at all, that’s the trouble.” She put a bunch of grapes and an orange into the bag also, then wrapped a double handful of cherry-topped cookies and put them in, too. “You think by working and studying all the time, you can keep from feeling, but you can’t. You’re too much like your mother, God rest her soul. She had a heart stuffed chock-full of love, needing to be shared, just like you do.”

  “No way.” He got his nylon rain jacket from the hook by the door and slipped it on. He’d had his fill of sharing and caring. It had done nothing but suck him dry. “Living with Dad was a good education. It taught me that love is just a weight around your ankles, pulling you down.”

  “Lordy, if your mother could hear you talking such nonsense, she’d be spinning in her grave. Love is what makes life worthwhile.”

  He picked up the soda and the bag of food. “That’s about as much of a crock as your story about a treasure hidden in this old house. Money’s what makes everything worthwhile, not love,” he said. “In a few years, I’m gonna be checking the time on my Rolex while the Romeos around here will still be using the bank clock.”

  “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” she muttered as she followed him to the door. “You mark my words. There’ll come a birthday when folks will be singing your praises and pretty girls will be wanting to have their picture taken with you. But it won’t mean a thing because you’ll have nobody to share it with.”

  “I’ll share it with you,” he said as he leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Ha! You think I’m going to live forever?” She pushed him away. “You need someone. A special someone. Your soul’s twin. But to win her heart, you’re going to have to throw away all your pride.”

  He pulled the door open. “Don’t wait up for me. I’m working a double shift.”

  “Double shift.” She snorted in derision. “Fancy gold watches won’t warm your bed.”

  Patrick just put his head down and hurried through the downpour. Her words echoed around him but he didn’t look back.

  Chapter One

  “August 22”

  Fifteen years later

  The stale air in the taxicab smelled like the remains of a bad party—cheap wine, greasy french fries and cigarette smoke—but Patrick Stuart was too beat to even roll down a window. Besides, after a week of Los Angeles smog followed by six hours in an airplane, he wasn’t sure his system would accept clean air.

  The caffeine from endless cups of coffee had drained away, leaving him feeling disconnected. All he wanted was to jump into bed and sleep until the cows came home. Or until tomorrow morning, whichever came the latest. Unfortunately, he had a big appointment this afternoon.

  “Hey, you hear about that new plant coming to South Bend?” the cabbie said, tossing a newspaper over the seatback along with his words.

  “Uh-huh.” Pat blinked to clear his bleariness before picking up the paper. The article about the new plant shared the front page with a photo of a young blonde surrounded by kids from the West Side Boys and Girls Club. Typical small-town newspaper stuff—hard news mixed in with neighborhood filler.

  “Four hundred new jobs,” the cabbie went on.

  Pat just grunted a reply.

  “They ought to take this Stuart guy and make him emperor. Or at least mayor.”

  Oh, yeah, he’d be perfect for the job. He’d love being in the limelight twenty-four hours a day. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be mayor.”

  “Hey, the guy’s doing a great job,” the cabbie said, ignoring Pat. “Town should show its appreciation. A parade would be nice.”

  Closing his eyes, Pat slumped back in the seat. A parade? T
hat would be great. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thrown up.

  Sure, he wanted to be appreciated as well as the next guy, but a quick handshake was enough. Stopping to pat yourself on the back would lose you the game; playing high school football had taught him that.

  “Here we are, 20 East Colfax.” The cab slowed down. “Hey, you somebody famous?”

  Pat opened his eyes to find trucks from the local TV stations parked in front of his office. Guys with cameras balanced on their shoulders were crowded around the entrance to his office.

  “I was a rock star in another life,” Pat said as cameramen converged on the cab. “But I’m just an ordinary kind of guy now.” What the hell was going on?

  He barely noticed that someone was paying the cabdriver as his door was opened and hands reached in to yank him out.

  “Yea, Pat.” The crowd cheered and clapped their hands as they parted, leaving him a path to his door.

  For a moment, he was back in high school, an eighteen-year-old jock, running the gauntlet of fans onto the football field. Filled with dreams and certain that success was his for the taking.

  Then he shook his head sharply. He wasn’t eighteen anymore; he was thirty-two. And he wasn’t a Friday-night hero; he was the executive director of the county’s committee for industrial development, responsible for bringing new industry into the community.

  Pat went into his office. And stopped. It was filled with banners and bouquets of balloons as if he really were a rock star. Pat shook his head. What was going on? This wasn’t his first contract, or even his largest.

  “Folks,” he said. “I appreciate your intentions but—”

  “Congratulations, Pat,” a tall, shapely brunette said just before she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips.

  Flashes exploded all around him, filling the bleary shadows in his eyes with multicolored pinwheels. As he struggled to disentangle himself, Pat recognized the woman as the current Miss Indiana, who did promotional work around the state.

  For some odd reason, his grandmother’s words from years ago came floating out of the mists of his past. Something about folks singing his praises and pretty girls wanting him. And how it would mean nothing.

  But Gran had been wrong. Even though he hated the attention, this meant a whole lot. It meant he was a success.

  “What’s the matter, Pat? Does she bite?” someone called out.

  “She can bite me anytime she wants,” someone else answered.

  A roar of laughter filled the packed reception area of his office. His office staff was there, along with a lot of other people. Business owners from down the street, the mayor and his entourage and bigwigs from the chamber of commerce.

  Everyone was filled with good cheer, except for Pat. He needed to cut this hoopla short and get back to work. In a few hours, he had a meeting with a group looking to locate a warehouse in the Midwest.

  “Don’t you folks have business of your own to do?” Pat asked.

  That remark brought on more laughter.

  “He’s a grumpy sort, ain’t he?” the mayor said.

  “Yeah,” Ben Mackley, the president of the chamber of commerce, replied. “But he sure knows how to get the job done.”

  The mayor stepped forward, a broad smile on his face as he grabbed Pat’s hand in a hearty handshake. The strobe lights started flickering again, the television cameras rolled.

  “Terrific job, Pat,” the mayor said as he pumped his hand. “Fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” Pat replied. “Things just worked out for us. I was lucky.”

  “Well, you know what they say,” the mayor said, his booming voice bouncing the words off the walls. “It’s better to be lucky than smart.”

  “Lucky? Smart? Who cares?” Ben Mackley took a turn at wringing Pat’s hand. “All that matters is you brought home the bacon.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said. “Which, if the rest of you don’t get the hell out of here and soon, I won’t be able to do anymore.”

  The crowd just filled his office with loud, jovial laughter. Pat hated these political games, and they were even more of a burden today. It was as if his grandmother were standing behind the crowd, shaking her head in warning not to take this all too seriously. As if he did.

  “I mean it, folks,” Pat said. “I have another hot prospect coming in this afternoon. And if I don’t land that one, I’ll be as popular as your neighbor’s dog—the one that barks all night. So go mess up your own operations for a while.”

  The majority of people filed out, shaking Pat’s hand as they came by and offering final words of congratulations. Their good-natured grumbling followed them out the door. Ben stayed behind, which didn’t surprise Pat. He probably wanted to talk about something or other. But it did surprise Pat to see the media people still hanging on.

  “Show’s over,” Pat said, but the media people didn’t move. He’d try another tactic. “I saw Elvis going south on Main. He was riding a white horse and playing a mandolin.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Ben said. “They just want to take some pictures of your office staff. You know, the people-behind-the-scenes kind of thing.”

  Pat thought the photographers looked a little bewildered, but he just nodded. Why not have pictures taken of his staff? They worked hard and rarely got the recognition they deserved.

  “That’s fine with me,” Pat said.

  “Let’s go in your office,” Ben said.

  Pat would have preferred going home to shower and change, but Ben was one of his bigger bosses. So they walked into his office with Danielle, Pat’s secretary, following close behind with two cups of black coffee. Just what he needed, Pat thought—more caffeine.

  “That really was a good job that you did, bringing that outfit to the city,” Ben said as he sat down.

  Pat shrugged. “They want to start servicing the midwestern market. All I had to do was steer them to us.”

  Instead of replying, Ben looked at his watch, out the office windows and then at his watch again. Pat sank farther down in his chair. Their coffees remained untouched.

  “And I understand they’re real clean,” Ben said, turning his attention back to Pat. “Shouldn’t be any problem to get EPA approval for their operation.”

  Pat could feel himself frowning. They’d already gone over all this. What the hell was going on? Ben was normally so straightforward.

  As he watched Ben check the time and the street in front again, it suddenly dawned on Pat that the photographers and reporters were still out there. They’d had plenty of time to take pictures of his staff.

  “Why are the media people still around?” he asked.

  Ben made a face. “Can I use your phone?”

  “Once you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I had a surprise planned for you,” Ben replied.

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “Well, it’s not a gold watch. I know by now how superstitious you are about them.”

  Pat glared at his mentor. “It’s not superstition. I just prefer my sports digital.”

  “Whatever,” Ben growled. “We were getting you a new van. Something snazzy to haul visiting dignitaries around town in. And the damn thing should have been here by now.”

  * * *

  Patricia Stewart stepped out of the old brick building that housed the West Side Boys and Girls Club of South Bend. It was going to be a standard August day in Indiana—hot, sticky and mellow.

  Too bad she wasn’t equally mellow. She could feel the acid starting to eat at her stomach lining as she walked over toward the broken-down van parked at the back of the lot.

  “How is it going, Rusty?” The mechanic was leaning against the sick vehicle, parts strewn about his feet. It was obvious how things were going, but she was the director of the club and had to stay on top of things whether she liked it or not. “Gonna be able to put Old Bertha back together again?”

  “Yeah, I can.” He spat out the matchstick he was
chewing on and shifted his position slightly. “But she still won’t run.”

  “But she has to.” Trisha heard the pleading tone in her voice and hated it. Management didn’t plead, they issued orders. Unfortunately, when you worked in a not-for-profit agency devoted to children, pleading was sometimes your only weapon. “I have eight kids to take to camp this weekend.”

  “Old Bertha ain’t gonna be no Lazarus raised from the dead,” Rusty said, shaking his head.

  “Maybe we can have someone else look at it.” Trisha swallowed hard. Rusty was a proud man and she hated intruding on his turf, but she really needed the van for this weekend. “I know you’re a good mechanic, but there are times when everyone could use a little help.”

  “Way ahead of you, ma’am.” He tapped the side of the van with his middle knuckle. “Already got me an expert.”

  A man rolled out from under the van and stood up. The emblem on his shirt said that he worked for an automobile dealership in the area and that his name was Wayne. Rusty introduced her anyway. The man nodded as he wiped his greasy hands.

  “I don’t know how you kept it running this long, Rusty,” the man said.

  “Spit, bailing wire and prayer.”

  “Can you guys patch it together for one more trip?” Trisha asked.

  “No way, Miss Stewart.” The young mechanic shook his head. “This old heap should’ve been buried years ago.”

  “But the children have worked hard all summer.” The camping trip was a reward for the kids who had read the most books over the summer and helped out with the club’s community activities. “They’ve earned this outing.”

  “Gonna have to find some other way to get them to the camp.” Wayne scratched his chin for a moment. “Maybe you can rent a van.”

  Trisha just shook her head. After a new furnace this winter and a new roof in the spring, her budget was stone dry. Things were so bad that she was paying for this month’s arts-and-crafts supplies out of her own pocket.

  “Well, I gotta be going,” Wayne said, shaking hands with Rusty. “Give my boss a call. Maybe he can give you a deal on renting a van.”