Penthouse Suite by Sandra Chastain Page B

himself motionless as the boat caught a quick, even breeze.
    Kate jerked away. She slid down the bench, took a hurried sip from the cup she held in her left hand, and dropped her gaze to her feet.
    That was a big mistake. When she looked down at her feet, she also could see Max’s muscular legs. She imagined they were the kind of legs that could fit intimately around a woman’s body. She blushed. How did a man and a woman ever spend normal time together? She was confused.
    “Thank heaven you’re not one of those women who thinks she’d explode if she ate a big fat greasy doughnut rolled in sugar. Though I must admit that from your Braves T-shirt, I’d guess you were more the hot dogs and mustard type.”
    Grateful to Max for the interruption, Kate glanced down at her shirt, then back at him. The hair on his chest looked as though it were frosted, andKate’s shirt had a patch of white sugar on Chief Noc-A-Homa’s headdress.
    “I am a hot dog and mustard person. You know that wild story Dorothea told you about me was pure fabrication.”
    “Oh, I know. At least I know you’re not some writer for a men’s magazine. Dorothea confessed this morning. I already knew that you were a whiz with a pipe wrench. Helen told me you’d fixed the dryer. But are you really a baseball fan?”
    “I am.” She relaxed, adapting quickly to the lightness of the conversation. “Watched almost every game the Braves played.”
    “Went to a lot of them, did you?”
    “In person? No, I didn’t,” she admitted sheepishly. “I watched on television, and only when I wasn’t watching old movies and soap operas.”
    “Of course. Cesar and Lorenzo.”
    “You don’t forget a thing, do you?” Kate said. “You must wonder about me. My mother was ill for quite a while, and we spent a lot of time watching television together. I guess it was emotional escapism, like your sailing. I know when I’m watching that the characters and the stories aren’t true. I don’t have to solve their problems, or assume the responsibility for their actions. And when the show is over, my troubles seem unimportant.”
    “That doesn’t explain Cesar and Lorenzo.”
    “Well, mother and I worked out a kind of shorthand. I mean, it was hard for her to talk, to explain her feelings. So, if somebody put on airs, pretended to be someone he wasn’t, he became Rich Little.”
    “I see.”
    “If somebody was really hokey, he or she was Ma or Pa Kettle. If my mother had a bad day itbecame a
Dark Victory
day. I’m afraid that I got into the habit of identifying concepts with characters.”
    “And Lorenzo and Cesar?” Max smiled his wicked smile and waited. He wasn’t going to let go.
    “All right, I called you that partly because you’re wealthy, and partly because you’re a …”
    “Hunk?”
    “I can’t believe I said that. Of course, I also can’t believe you’ve never watched that television program.”
    “Oh, from now on I intend to,” Max said with a wink, as he remembered the new television already installed in his bedroom. “Popcorn, soft drinks, the works. Next Friday night. Want to join me?”
    “Popcorn,” she said softly. “My mother liked popcorn with lots of butter and salt.”
    Max sensed the change in her, the return of the tension that had vanished in the sun. And he knew that she had her private demons too. Only she hid them behind a bright approach to life. He wanted to throw the anchor overboard and comfort her in his arms.
    “That must have been hard for you, caring for someone who was ill.”
    “Hard?” Kate was saying. “Caring for someone you love? Never. My mother was a wonderful person. She was never a hardship. She spent her life caring for me. It was only fair that I give back that kind of love. I had help from friends and neighbors. I went to school, had a job working for a florist for a few years until … Oh, what’s that?”
    Kate could suddenly see the brightly colored resort area in the distance. The