if I live to be a hundred,” she declared, prompting a chuckle from Dylan.
“God, Katydid, you do make me laugh,” he said, settling back in his chair.
Kate sighed. Dylan didn’t laugh enough, not since his father’s death. He was so serious about everything, he needed someone to shake up his life…and she was just the one to do the shaking. And if he’d only realized it before now, she wouldn’t have to go to such ridiculous lengths to get his attention.
The O’Rourkes had been part of her world since before she could remember. She’d adored them from the beginning, and Dylan in particular. Keenan O’Rourke had worked seven days a week—five days for a forestry company, and two days as a handyman for her parents, but he’d always seemed to have time for his kids. Quite a contrast to her father, who’d been born wealthy, didn’t work, and rarely noticed her at all.
Dylan began looking through some papers on his desk, giving every indication that he’d forgotten she was in the room. Kate’s stomach clenched. Was she totally nuts, wanting him to decide she was Miss Right and fall desperately in love with her? Or would she just be getting one more inattentive man in her life even if he did decide he was in love?
“Dylan,” Kate said insistently.
He looked up. “Goodness, where did you come from, Katydid?” He grinned, then winked.
“You…rat,” she growled, but she wasn’t really angry. So Dylan had been playing a joke on her, she should have known he wouldn’t forget she was around. If nothing else, he’d been taught too much courtesy by his parents.
He put the papers back on his desk and crossed his arms over his flat stomach. “All right, kiddo, no more fooling around. What do you want? We’ve already ruled out one of your fund-raisers, but that leaves plenty of territory.”
Kate bit the inside of her lip and tried to look innocent. “Do I need a reason to visit my best friend?”
“Hah,” he scoffed. “I’m only your best friend when you want something. So stop stalling and let me have it.”
“So you can say no, right?”
“Yes.” Dylan scowled. “That is, no, I don’t always refuse. In fact, I say yes way too often when it comes to you. You’re a spoiled brat. Do you know that?”
“Whatever you say.” Kate wrinkled her nose. She might be spoiled by having too much money, but she’d trade every penny to be part of Dylan’s family. They were real and loving and took care of each other, no matter what. And Dylan was her best friend, even if he didn’t realize it.
“Katydid?”
Taking a deep breath, she tossed her head back.
“The name is Kate or Katrina. I stopped being Katydid a long time ago.” Actually, Dylan was the only one who’d ever called her Katydid, and she didn’t really mind except that it meant he still saw her as a child.
“You’re stalling.”
Of course she was stalling. He wasn’t going to like what she had in mind, but if she was careful about how she suggested it, he might agree. “You remember that my grandmother died several months ago?” she asked.
Dylan nodded. In his opinion Jane Elmira Douglas had been the Wicked Witch of the West’s less likable sister, but Katydid was softhearted enough to have loved the old bat, regardless. He’d gone over to see Kate the night of the funeral and even though she’d smiled and pretended it was all right, her eyes had been sad and bruised looking.
“Yes, it’s been about six months,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“And…?” Dylan prodded, as gently as possible.
“Uh, well, it’s my birthday next month.”
“I know.” A small frown gathered on his forehead. He was surprised she’d brought it up; ever since Kate’s parents had forgotten her sweet-sixteenth, she’d been a little touchy about the day.
She stirred restlessly, tugging at her white dress and smoothing the skirt. He waited, knowing that sooner or later she’d tell him what was going on—there was always a plan behind Kate’s verbal detours. As a kid he’d spent a lot of time bemused by the way she flitted around, the bright, elegant butterfly to his ordinary caterpillar. Now he mostly crossed his arms and sat back until she lighted on something.
“My birthday was mentioned in Grandmamma’s will. And that’s sort of the problem.”
“I see,” he said, though he didn’t see at all.
“She left me the Douglas Hill House, but only if I get married by my twenty-seventh birthday. I’m twenty-six now, so I don’t have much time.”
Dylan blinked. The Douglas Hill House was a mansion that overlooked the city of Seattle like a brooding raven and had to be the ugliest place ever built. He’d been inside it once when Kate had dragged him to an interminable party to raise money for disabled children. The only bright spot had been watching her play with the kids. She was great with youngsters; someday she ought to have a big family of her own.
“You’re going to be twenty-seven?” he asked.
Kate rolled her eyes. Dylan was an intelligent man, surely he had an inkling of what she wanted.
“Yes, I’m going to be twenty-seven. And Grandmamma was worried that I’d never marry, so that’s why she put the provision in the will. I get the final deed after a year of marriage.” Kate crossed her fingers because the next part was sort of a lie. “She knew I’d do anything to keep the house in the family.”
“Yeah, of course. You love the old place.”
She loved it, all right.
She’d love to see it dynamited.
Her grandmother had never had a clue about what her granddaughter wanted. The hardest part about losing Nanna Jane was knowing she’d been a disappointing afterthought to her own grandmother—never quite refined or proper enough to fulfill the Douglas legacy.
You’re just like your great-grandfather. You have no respect for our position, Nanna Jane would say, her lips pursed with disapproval.
Kate couldn’t remember the first time she’d heard the accusation, and it had taken years of digging and putting facts together before she learned what her grandmother meant. After his wife had died and his children were grown, Rycroft Douglas had gone to Alaska to dig for gold. The fact that her great-grandfather had added considerably to the family fortune hadn’t mitigated the outrageous scandal of a Douglas becoming a flamboyant adventurer.
Jiminy, Kate envied him.
She’d found Rycroft’s letters to his son, written from the Alaskan gold fields. The old man had been having the time of his life—much to the disapproval of his straitlaced daughter-in-law, who couldn’t quite embrace the idea that Seattle was basically a frontier town turned shipping capital. Kate didn’t know. Maybe certain owners of Seattle’s old money needed to be more uptight than their counterparts in places like Boston because their money wasn’t quite as old as they’d like it to be. Or maybe
