“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Pendleton cupped one hand over Kit’s forehead, the other behind her nape, but she barely acknowledged either gesture. Instead, she only lay in bed looking pale and fragile, little changed from how she appeared the night before. She didn’t feel feverish, he noted, taking some heart in that, but she did look like ten miles of bad road. The Jersey Turnpike, as a matter of fact. Right around Exit 7, if he wasn’t mistaken. Trenton.

She became ill just as they were leaving her father’s house the night before, and the closer they got to home, the sicker she felt. By the time they walked in the back door, she barely had the strength to walk across the kitchen. He ended up scooping her into his arms to carry her up to bed, and then being caught completely off-guard when she suddenly—and with surprising strength for one so sick—fought hard enough to make him put her back down again. He only watched in mystification as she feebly made her way up the stairs and into the bathroom, unaided in spite of her obvious need for help.

She didn’t come out again until after he turned in himself. Certainly, he’d had no intention of trying to make love with her, but when he scooted his body next to hers, just to be close to her, draping an arm carefully over her waist, she asked him to move away. She told him the feel of his skin against hers was painful. Although he’d heard high fevers could do that—make a person’s skin hurt—Kit hadn’t felt feverish then, either. Still, she was clearly sick with something.

“I’m not going in to work today,” he said, removing his hands from her face.

“Of course you’re going to work,” she said, her voice lacking all the sparkle it normally held.

“Not with you sick like this, I’m not.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s nothing I haven’t had before. I’ll get over it.”

“You look terrible.”

She closed her eyes, then folded her forearm across them. “Oooh, Pendleton, you sweet-talker, you. You sure know all the right things to say to a woman when she’s feeling down.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him again. “Go to work. I need some rest, and you’ll just be in the way if you stay home. I’ll feel obligated to spend time with you.”

He smiled. “Now who’s sweet-talking?”

She inhaled feebly, but kept her arm over her eyes. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Although he didn’t believe that for a minute, he figured he probably ought to do as she said. She did need to rest, and he probably would just be a hindrance if he stayed with her.

“I’ll come home on my lunch hour to check on you,” he told her.

She nodded. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment. Got to keep an eye on those investments, after all.”

Great. Now she was becoming delirious. What next? Hallucinations? “What investments?”

She shook her head and repeated, “Go.”

He bent forward to press a kiss to her forehead and was surprised when she turned away before he had the chance to complete it. He reminded himself she was sick, that he shouldn’t take her withdrawal personally. But it stung that she wouldn’t even allow him that small gesture of affection.

He lifted a hand to stroke it over her hair, thought better of the action, and dropped it back down to his lap. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

She nodded.

“And I’ll be home in a few hours for lunch.”

Another nod, then she rolled over to her side, effectively turning her back on him.

Hoo-kay, he thought. Message received loud and clear. He pushed himself off the bed, strode across the room, and closed the door behind himself as quietly as he could. Somehow, he had a bad feeling that whatever was ailing Kit went beyond the physical. He just wished he knew what to do.

Lunch, he reminded himself. They could talk more about it then. By then, she’d have gotten a few more hours rest, and maybe she’d be up for a little conversation. Making a mental note to stop by Heitzman’s for one of those butter kuchens she liked so much, Pendleton headed off for work.

Unfortunately, he never made it home for lunch. In fact, he didn’t make it home for dinner, either. An accident at the distillery in Bardstown had the entire executive staff on the road by ten A.M., and they didn’t make it back to Louisville until nearly six-thirty. By then, Pendleton was exhausted, overwrought, and dispirited. Not because anything had gone wrong at the distillery that couldn’t be fixed with minimal expense and trouble, but because he’d called home a half-dozen times that day, only to have the answering machine kick on every time. And although he left a brief message each one of those times, asking Kit to call his cell, she never did.

Now it was after seven, and as he passed through the back door, stepping aside to let a very anxious Maury out for his evening uproar, he saw the little light on the answering machine flashing six times in quick succession, an indication that Kit never even replayed any of his messages.

“Kit?” he called out as he headed for the dining room.

Funny, how quiet the house was, he thought as he strode through the dining room and into the living room. There was no eardrum-crushing singing of rural Kentucky folk songs, no equally abrasive a-pickin’ and a-grinnin’ banjo music shaking the stereo speakers. Nor was there an indistinguishable, alleged foodstuff on the stove spitting and crackling in its deep fat pit. The house was utterly, unhappily, deadly silent.

Actually funny wasn’t the right word at all to describe the complete lack of life in the house, Pendleton thought as he topped the last stair. Scary was more like it. Real scary. “Kit?” he tried again.

But again, all he received in reply was a stone-cold silence that made his flesh crawl.

The bedroom door was ajar, he noted, a faint light spilling from within. Carefully, he pushed it open and peeked inside, and saw much to his relief that the bedclothes were rumpled and piled in the middle of the mattress, not covering the lifeless body of a late, lamented, madcap heiress. But as soon as that relief shot through him, it was replaced once again by fear. Because if Kit’s lifeless body wasn’t lying on the bed, then it must be living somewhere else.

Don’t panic, he told himself. A quick survey of the room told him she wasn’t completely gone. Her discarded clothes of the night before were still slung across a chair, and her underwear and stockings were still on the floor, where she had an annoying habit of leaving them. For some reason now, though, Pendleton wasn’t annoyed at all, and he found himself wishing she’d hurry home so she could toss as much underwear on the floor as she wanted.

Too, the nightstand on her side of the bed was still accessorized by a crossword book and a romance novel she just finished reading, and the photograph of herself and her brothers that had been taken at her high school graduation still sat on the dresser. Nevertheless, a sick sensation settled in Pendleton’s gut as he crossed to the closet. Immediately after opening the door, he realized something was missing. Most of Kit’s clothes, to be exact, along with two of the suitcases she brought with her the day she invaded his house.

Yeah, she was sick that morning when he left for work, all right. But evidently not sick enough to keep from bailing on him.

“Dammit,” he hissed under his breath.

What the hell went wrong? he wondered. What could he have done or said that would make her take a powder this way? Granted, men tended to be a little more clueless than women did when it came to the whole relationship thing—and, hey, throw a woman like Kit into the mix, and that cluelessness was magnified a good five-, six-hundred percent—but still…

“Dammit,” he muttered again, louder this time.

Where could she have gone? He tried to tell himself she must have just packed up a few things and returned to her father’s house. That she would be coming back to his place to gather the rest of her stuff—like every stick of furniture and every pot and pan—later, when she had more time, not to mention a moving van at her disposal. Maybe, he thought, her recent visits to Cherrywood stirred up her need for luxurious surroundings and finer things, and now his fixer-upper in Old Louisville—even if it was coming along nicely, thanks, if he did say so himself—just wasn’t good enough for her anymore.

Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to believe Cherrywood was where she would hole up. She’d seemed far happier in Pendleton’s house than she ever had in her father’s. Something—namely a cold, dark feeling in the pit of his stomach—told him Kit was a whole lot farther away than Glenview. Somehow he was certain she took off for parts unknown, more than likely some destination south. Way south. Somewhere amid thousands of miles of ocean, and thousands of acres of islands.

“Dammit,” he repeated. Then he punctuated the sentiment by kicking the baseboard. Hard.

The sound of Maury’s mad yipping at the kitchen door stirred Pendleton enough to make him find his way back downstairs to let the puppy inside. On his way through the dining room, his gaze inadvertently fell to the table, where the scattered mail from the day before still lay unopened. Except for one piece that was open, he noted. The invitation to Sherry’s wedding.

Oh, man.

Pendleton gave his forehead a good, mental smack, because he deserved it. Then he opened his hand and gave his forehead a good, physical smack, as well. Two days ago, Kit accused him of still being in love with his ex-wife. And two days ago, he wasn’t able to contradict her. But now, two days—and two nights—later, he knew better.

He wasn’t in love with Sherry.

In many ways, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever really been in love with her. Cared for Sherry? Yes, much as he cared for all the friends he made in childhood. Lusted after Sherry? Oh, most definitely. He absolutely lusted after her. Much as he lusted after Jessica Alba, Anais Nin, and Miss January 1989.

But the thing about all those women was…they weren’t Kit. And what he felt for Kit—the caring, the affection, the lust—went waaay beyond the tepid reactions he’d had to other women. Kit commanded more from him than other women had. Admiration, for one thing. Respect, for another. And fear. And worry. Exasperation. Confusion. And, of course, love.

His gaze fell once again to the wedding invitation addressed to R. Pendleton and guest. He smiled as he picked it up and read the words engraved so elegantly upon the creamy card. Then, without one whit of emotion, he tore the card in two, casting one half to the left, the other to the right. Wow, that was easy. Would that all things in life were dealt with as effortlessly. Of course, Pendleton was in love now. That meant ease and effortlessness went right out the window.

The first thing on his agenda was finding the woman who kidnapped his heart and was holding it for ransom. He’d pay whatever price Kit demanded, as long as he got her back. Safe and sound, and in one piece. Oh, and in love with him, too, something he was fairly certain wasn’t going to be a problem at all. No one could make love the way he and Kit did without being utterly, irrevocably in love. So the only problem he could see for the short term was that he had absolutely no idea where to look for her.

Only one thing to do now. Wait for a postcard. And hope like hell one came soon.

Kit stood outside the offices of the Louisville Temperance League, thinking them surprisingly inoffensive. She would have thought a temperance group would house itself in something a little more dramatic. Say a bleak, impenetrable castle, sitting atop a craggy, impassable mountain, beneath angry skies rent open by the wrath of God. But when she reached the office of Faith Ivory, all she saw was your basic working woman’s environment. Wall-to-wall beige carpeting, icky eggshell paint, old, metal Venetian blinds on the windows, a handful of framed degrees and awards on the walls. And behind a scarred, battered desk, one slight, impassive woman in a simple, gray flannel suit. A woman who looked very, very tired and very, very unhappy.

Goodness, but Kit was glad she came.

“What can I do for you, Miss McClellan?” Faith Ivory asked, clearly uncomfortable with her unannounced visitor. “You’ll excuse me if I say it’s something of a surprise to see you here.”

“I don’t know why that would be surprising,” Kit said mildly as she brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from her brown tweed trousers and smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her cream-colored shirt. “I’m a social person by nature. And I thought it was about time you and I got to know each other a little better. We didn’t have much of a chance to chat that night at Cherrywood.” She punctuated the observation with a bland smile.

Faith responded with an equally tepid smile of her own. “Yes, well, although that’s certainly true, I didn’t expect to see any of the McClellans again, since I told Holt—”

“Now, now,” Kit interrupted her, still smiling benignly. “Don’t be coy with me. Holt may fall for that kind of thing—he’s unbelievably soft-hearted, the big sap—but you’re talking to a seasoned professional now, li’l sugar dumplin’. You say you don’t want to see Holt again—or any of the rest of us, for that matter—but I ain’t buyin’ it. So let’s chat.”

Faith Ivory’s expression probably would have been the same if Kit just hit her in the face with, well, a li’l sugar dumplin’. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” Kit cajoled. “I’d recognize that wounded martyr role anywhere. I perfected it myself a long time ago. You’re wasting your time playing it with me.”

Two bright spots of red colored Faith’s cheeks. This was going to be sooo easy. “In the first place, Miss McClellan—”

“Please. Call me Kit,” she interrupted. “And I’ll call you Faith. Since we’re going to be speaking so frankly, I think we might as well put ourselves on a first name basis, ’kay?”

Faith inhaled deeply, held the breath for what Kit could only assume was a count of ten, and then began to speak again. Her voice was low, calm, and monotonous, a clear indication she was starting to get steamed. Perfect.

“Miss McClellan—”

“Kit.”

“Whatever,” the other woman bit off crisply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I think I want to know. Perhaps it would just be best if you left right now.”

Kit pretended to think about her suggestion, then shook her head. “Nah. Not until we’ve cleared the air about something.”

Faith didn’t even blink. “And that would be?”

Kit leaned forward in her chair, cupped her hands daintily over her knees, smiled sweetly and said, “About how much it pisses me off when someone hurts somebody I care about.”

For one long moment, Faith only gazed at Kit as if she’d lost her mind. Then her expression softened just the tiniest bit, and she dropped her gaze to the hands she folded stiffly on her desk. “Miss McClellan—”

“Kit.”

“Kit,” Faith conceded. She glanced back up and said, more evenly this time, “I appreciate your motives, but whatever happened between your brother and me is really none of your business.”

Kit eyed her thoughtfully for a moment in return before requesting, “Just tell me one thing.”

Faith dipped her head forward in consideration. “All right. If I can.”

“Do you like my brother?”

Faith hesitated before responding. At first, Kit thought she was going to try to lie about it, but surprisingly, the other woman nodded once, almost imperceptibly and said, “Yes. I like him very much.”

“Then why do you refuse to see him?”

This time Faith hesitated not at all. “You couldn’t begin to understand the reasons I can’t see your brother again.”

“Try me.”

Faith shook her head adamantly. “Unless you’ve lived with an alcoholic yourself you can’t possibly imagine—”

“I have lived with an alcoholic,” Kit interrupted again. “Holt started drinking when he was in high school, and it went on until just a couple of years ago. I saw the way he acted, heard the things he said. I understand completely what living with an alcoholic is like. It’s hell.”

Faith shook her head. “You didn’t fall in love with one. You weren’t married to one. You didn’t go one-on-one with him. You weren’t in a situation where you had no one but yourself to rely on, no one but yourself to find comfort in. You had your family there to help you cope.”

This time Kit was the one to answer crisply. “You obviously don’t know my family.” When Faith arched her eyebrows in surprise, Kit chuckled humorlessly. “I told you you’re not the only one who can play the wounded martyr.”

“You don’t know what went on in my marriage,” Faith pointed out, her voice softer now. “You can’t know what it was like. Stephen was…” She inhaled a shaky breath, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, she said, “There was a time in my life when I was a strong woman. I thought I could handle Stephen. I thought I could help him. I thought I could change him.” She met Kit’s gaze levelly. “I was wrong. And I paid for that. With my soul. He took it away from me, piece by piece, a little more every day, until there was just nothing of me left.”

Kit didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t say there’s nothing left. You seem pretty hardy to me.”

Faith smiled sadly. “That’s because you don’t know me. You don’t know what I was like before.”

“I know enough to see you’re a woman who’s trying to come to terms with what happened to her. Who’s trying to put her life back together. You haven’t just given up on everything.”

“Haven’t I?”

Kit shook her head. “No. You haven’t. If you’d given up, you wouldn’t be working here now, trying to change something you see as wrong. You’re fighting, Faith. Can’t you see that? That’s what this organization does. It fights. And you’re a part of that.”

The look in Faith’s eyes became positively bleak, so dark, so cold, that Kit found herself wanting to physically reach out to her. “But there was a time in my life when I was so much more,” she said. “When I was—”

“That time is gone,” Kit interjected. “Whatever went on in your marriage, it affected you. It changed you. Accept that and know it’s over. Now it’s time to put that behind you and start new. To do that, you have to take chances. You have to have trust.” She smiled. “You have to have faith, Faith.”

When Faith said nothing to counter her assertion, Kit continued hopefully, “Look, Holt doesn’t make excuses for what he was when he was drinking. He knows what he did to his family, to his wife, to everyone he came into contact with. But he’s done his best to make amends. He got help, stopped drinking. He takes chances, has trust, has faith, every single day of his life. That’s how he’s getting through life. And sober, he’s a good man. He deserves a chance to prove that to someone he cares very much about.”

“I don’t dispute the fact that he’s a good man,” Faith said. But before Kit could pounce on her concession, she added quickly, adamantly, “When he’s sober. That’s the point. I don’t know what he’s like when he’s drunk. And I don’t want to find out.”

“You won’t ever see that side of him,” Kit vowed. “He’s not that man anymore, and he never will be again.”

“Can you guarantee he’ll never take another drink again, for the rest of his life?”

“Yes,” Kit assured her. “I can.”

Faith didn’t look convinced. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“No, I won’t forgive you.”

The other woman gaped at her. “Pardon me?”

“I said I won’t forgive you,” Kit repeated. “You could have someone in your life right now who genuinely cares for you, who could potentially love you, if you’d allow him to. Don’t you understand how important, how rare, that is? To be loved? Genuinely, truly loved?”

Faith shook her head. “No. I don’t know how important that is. It’s never happened to me.”

Kit nodded, fully understanding. “But it could happen to you, don’t you see? The possibility is there for you, if you’ll just open yourself up to it and let it happen. Not everyone has that opportunity, to be loved for the simple fact of who they are. But you do. And right now you’re just throwing it away without even giving it a chance. How dare you?”

Faith studied Kit for a long time in silence before she finally looked away. “Giving it a chance,” she said quietly, “could cost me everything I’ve gained since Stephen’s death. It’s not much, but it’s all I have to hold on to right now.”

“Not giving it a chance could cost you even more,” Kit said softly, sincerely. “You could have so much more to hold onto, and you wouldn’t be holding it by yourself. You don’t have to do it alone anymore. I don’t know what to say to make you understand how very precious that is—to have someone there to help you. Someone there to cling to. To love. To love you back. Forever.”

Kit realized then that she wasn’t just talking about Faith’s situation with Holt anymore. The advice she found so easy to offer someone else, the solution that seemed so clear to her, was suddenly far more personal, and therefore far more impossible.

“Look,” she said, standing, “maybe you’re right. Maybe this is none of my business. I didn’t mean to intrude. I apologize. I just know that my brother cares for you very much. And I wanted to try to talk you into giving him a chance. Into giving yourself a chance. So both of you might find happiness.”

“Your brother has already tried to talk me into giving him a chance,” Faith said. “What makes you think anything you say will change my mind?”

“I don’t know,” Kit replied honestly. “Maybe because I’ve been where you are. I know how it feels to have someone you cared for, someone you trusted, turn on you. But I know my brother, too. Holt may have his faults, even in sobriety, but betrayal isn’t one of them. You can trust him. Truly you can. There aren’t many people I can say that about.”

Faith said nothing in response right away, conceding neither victory nor defeat. For several long moments, the two women only stared at each other in silence, the late evening sun spilling through the blinds in shafts of pale yellow, gilding into fairy light the dust dancing in the air around them. When it seemed their impasse would remain just that, Kit turned away and covered the distance to the door in a few slow strides. Just as she settled her fingers over the knob, Faith’s voice came softly from behind and halted her.

“And you, Kit,” she said. “You say you’ve been where I am. If someone offered you a second chance, would you take it? Could you take it? Would you be able to trust that you wouldn’t be betrayed again?”

Kit swallowed hard as she turned to meet the other woman’s gaze. But she simply did not know how to answer. In a way, she had taken a second chance. And, just as before, the person she cared for betrayed her. But it was Pendleton this time, she reminded herself. Unlike Michael Derringer, she loved Pendleton. And that changed everything. Didn’t it?

“If you want to talk for some reason,” she told Faith, “I’ll be staying at the Seelbach for a few days.” The other woman looked puzzled. “Why are you staying in a hotel?”

Kit shrugged halfheartedly. “I’m in the middle of some traveling right now. It’s just easier this way. But I’ll be in town for another week.” She smiled as she tugged the door open and took a step through it. Over her shoulder, she tossed out, “After that, I’m heading up to New Jersey for a few days. I’ve been invited to a wedding.”

The week following Kit’s disappearance passed like a slow boat to China as far as Pendleton was concerned. No, wait—that wasn’t exactly right. That metaphor had far too romantic a connotation, not to mention an appropriateness and possible reality he just didn’t want to consider. He could visualize too clearly Kit all wrapped up in a blanket, wearing big sunglasses and a floppy straw hat, lounging in an Adirondack chair on the deck of a tramp steamer, while crew members with names like Sven and Bjorn and Helmut, dressed in little white shorts and knee socks, waited on her hand and foot.

Nuh-uh. No way would he let her get away with that.

So the week following her disappearance actually passed more like… more like… like a…hmmm… More like a kidney stone. Yeah, that was it. The week passed like a kidney stone. Painfully. Uncomfortably. Slowly. Always on his mind. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it but wait. And wait. And wait.

But the postcard he was hoping for never materialized. Nor was there a letter. Nor a brief note, a phone call, a fax. No telegram. No Hallmark card. No e-mail. No jungle drums. Nary a smoke signal to be had. Not even a flare. Wherever Kit had gone, she clearly intended to stay gone this time, and for a lot longer than a few days. All he could do was—

“Pendleton!”

Dammit. Why did McClellan, Sr. always interrupt him right when he got to the depressing, self-pitying part?

Pendleton had yet to tell his employer that his daughter was gone. Not only was he not sure it was any of the CEO’s business, but he was fairly certain his boss was somehow to blame for it. Even with the evidence of Sherry’s wedding invitation staring him in the face, thereby making himself a key player in Kit’s motivation for bolting, Pendleton decided that since the McClellans were the ones who put the fun in dysfunctional, they must be the ones who were really to blame. Even if Pendleton could have prevented this whole idiotic mess just by telling Kit how much he loved her.

“Sir?” he responded halfheartedly to his boss’s summons.

McClellan, Sr. eyed him warily. “Novak just made an excellent point about diversifying and upgrading proactive criteria. What do you think?”

What Pendleton thought, McClellan, Sr. didn’t want to know. Frankly, he was getting awfully tired of all the corporate double-speak that once rolled so fluidly off his tongue. He had some damned important things on his mind right now, for God’s sake, and diversifying and upgrading proactive criteria sure the hell wasn’t one of them.

So he met his boss’s gaze levelly and said, “Sir, I have just one word to say to you.”

McClellan, Sr. arched his eyebrows in expectation. “And that word would be?”

Pendleton narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was a convincing show of je ne sais quois.And he announced in a bold, where-no-man-has-gone-before voice, “Incentivizing.”

His employer gazed back at him without expression for a moment, then began to nod slowly. “I like it. I like it very much. Incentivizing. Yes. That shows real insight.”

Pendleton swallowed the gag reflex before it could make itself public. “Thank you, sir.”

“Why don’t you and Kit come round to the house tonight?”

Oh, great. “Sir?” he asked, stalling.

“You. Kit. My daughter. Come over for dinner tonight. Bart’s home on leave, and Mick is supposed to be calling from Yemen.”

Pendleton brightened. “Oh, so he’s already made it to the countries beginning with a Y, has he?” he asked in an effort to stall some more. “That’s got to feel good. Very manly, and all that.”

“Pendleton.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you and Kit coming or not?”

“Uh, no sir, I don’t guess we will.”

“Why not?”

“Because, sir, Kit’s sort of, um… Well, she’s… Actually, sir…”

“Spit it out, Pendleton.”

Okay. If he insisted. “Kit’s run off again.”

“WHAT?!”

Atomic wind couldn’t be more powerful than that one word was as it erupted from McClellan, Sr.’s mouth. Pendleton imagined himself in an anti-nuke suit and repeated, “Kit’s gone, sir.”

His employer shot to his feet with his son not far behind. “Gone?” he demanded as he thrust his fists onto the table. “Where the hell did she go?”

Pendleton shrugged, and with that simple gesture, he felt an enormous weight just tumble right off his shoulders. Wow. That felt really, really good. “I don’t know,” he said with a smile.

McClellan, Sr. glared at him. “You don’t know?”

“No sir,” he confirmed, his smile growing broader. “I have absolutely no idea. She just took off while I was at work one day, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

McClellan, Jr. stared at him, his expression, like his father’s, one of stark, raving terror. “Well, when did she leave? How much of a head start does she have?”

Pendleton pretended to think about that. “I guess it’s been a little over a week ago. You know, she could be anywhere by now.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell us about this?” McClellan, Jr. demanded.

Pendleton shrugged again, and any little pebbles of obligation and responsibility that might have been left just rolled right off. “Well, considering Kit’s history of running away, I didn’t think you guys would be too concerned about her.”

“Not concerned about her?” This time the question came from McClellan, Sr. “Well, of course we’re concerned about her! We have less than a month left to get her married!”

“Oh, that,” Pendleton said mildly, leaning back in his chair. He cupped both hands behind his head in a gesture that indicated very clearly just how worried he was about the McClellans’ financial state. Specifically, not one iota.

“Oh, that?” both McClellans echoed in one thunderous voice.

“Her mother’s will thing, I mean,” Pendleton clarified, though he was quite confident that no clarification was necessary. “You’re worried about losing all that money, aren’t you? Ninety-nine-point-four million dollars, right?” As blandly as he could, he added, “Wow. Golly. Gee. I completely forgot about that. You’re right. I should have called you guys the minute I realized she was gone. Imagine my chagrin.”

Out of nowhere, a bubble of something warm and wonderful fizzed up in Pendleton’s midsection, effervescing in a tickle of pleasure he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Freedom. That was what it was. He felt utterly and completely free, for the first time he could recall since childhood.

He suddenly realized that he didn’t have to work for Hensley’s anymore if he didn’t want to. He no longer cared about whether his ex-wife was impressed by his earning power. He no longer had a point to prove. He didn’t have to wheel and deal with the big boys and wear eight-hundred-dollar suits to be of value to anyone. He didn’t have to make six figures and drive a bitchin’ car to be important. Though, mind you, he really did like his bitchin’ car.

What was far more important than that, however, was the fact that he’d found infinitely more meaning elsewhere in his life. He had Kit. He loved Kit. And Kit loved him. Nothing else in his life mattered except that.

Nothing.

Once he found her—and naturally, he would find her…eventually—they could settle down in their house in Old Louisville with Maury, and he could get a job doing…well, something. Something he would enjoy. Something where he could feel productive, could feel good about what he was doing. Where he could just be himself. Be appreciated for himself. Be loved for himself.

Yeah. That’s the ticket.

“Sir?” he said as he stood and collected his things.

His boss still looked ready to explode. “Yes, Pendleton?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Pendleton smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something very important I need to do right now.”

McClellan, Sr. fumed, and Pendleton paused for a moment to see if smoke would come out of his ears. Unfortunately, none did. “And that would be?” his boss demanded.

Pendleton buttoned up his suit jacket and tucked his portfolio under his arm. “I need to find Kit and make her my wife.”

Immediately, the storm cloud above the CEO evaporated, to be replaced by a chorus of glorious sunlight. “That’s the spirit, Pendleton,” McClellan, Sr. said with a victorious smile. “I should have realized you were only joking in that strange way of yours. I knew you were our man all along.”

This time Pendleton was the one to glare. At his employer. “I’m not your man. The reason I’m going to marry your daughter is because I love her, not to keep you two…” Somehow, he managed to not say the word assholes. “To keep you two rolling in dough. But whether the wedding takes place in six days, or six months, that’s entirely up to Kit.”

“Pendleton…”McClellan, Sr.’s voice trailed off before he completed his sentence, but his warning was unmistakable.

Pendleton ignored it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said again as he made his way around the table full of gaping, incredulous executive vice presidents, “I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit here and bullshit with you guys all day. Oh, and one more thing, sir.”

“Yes, Pendleton?”

He hesitated just before opening the door to the conference room, no longer caring whether he insulted the man who employed him. “I quit. If you sorry sons of bitches want to make more money, you’ll have to do it without me.”

That said, Pendleton touched a finger to his forehead in salute, then exited gracefully and went to look for his wife.