Page 69 of Naturally Naughty


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Pausing with a jean skirt and a red peasant blouse in her hand, Kate said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

When Cassie explained she was making a quick weekend trip to New York for her agent’s birthday, Kate tried to talk her out of it. Cassie was not to be dissuaded. She was sick of hiding out like a victim. She was going. Period.

“All right, Cass, but please promise me you’ll be careful. And call me when you’re leaving Sunday afternoon so I can drive up to the airport to get you.”

Kate cut the connection before she remembered to tell Cassie about tomorrow night’s cocktail party. Just as well. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go, and wasn’t sure she could make Cassie understand why.

Hell, she barely understood why herself. She only knew something had changed within her. Somehow, from the time she’d seen Mrs. McIntyre outside the Tea Room the day before, Kate had been unable to stop thinking about everything that had happened.

She’d been angry for years because Mrs. McIntyre hated her without reason. Now she wondered—was she any different? Darren’s mother hated the Tremaine family because her husband had taken up with Flo. Kate had hated the Winfields because John Winfield had strung her mother along for two decades.

Yes, she had reason to resent Angela because of Darren, and prom night. But, really, who the hell cared what had happened in high school, ten years ago? No, she and Angela would never be friends, but there wasn’t any reason they should be enemies, either. John Winfield was dead. His family wasn’t responsible for his sins…they didn’t even know about them! So what kind of hypocrite would she be to keep blaming them?

The thought rankled.

“And Jack.” She had no reason to dislike Jack. Yes, she’d been hurt when he hadn’t called her, but she sensed he was being truthful when he’d said he thought he had good reason.

She didn’t want to put herself at the same level as Mrs. McIntyre—an angry, bitter person who blamed the wrong people for hurting her. Had she become so focused on self-protection, on not letting herself be hurt or abused, that she’d also denied herself the chance to build genuine emotion with a man?

Maybe it was time to rethink a lot of things.

Kate was still mulling over the whole revenge plan when she arrived at Eileen Saginaw’s house that night. The older woman, who’d raised five kids and now had ten grandkids, gave Kate a hug and immediately asked her a bunch of questions about Edie.

“Last time we talked, she was determined to learn how to play golf so she could join a club in the retirement village,” Kate said, pleased at the fondness in the other woman’s voice.

Every woman at the party sounded just as regretful that Edie had left. There were no whispers here. No one acted as though some deep, dark scandal had forced Edie out. Not one person made Kate feel—in the three hours she stayed—the way the biddies in the Tea Room had made her feel in three minutes during her first visit back to town.

These were the real women of Pleasantville. And she was shockingly grateful she’d found them.

“Kate, I’m telling you, stop shaking the dice so much. That’s why you keep getting snake eyes,” Diane informed her as Kate prepared to take another turn late in the evening.

Kate blew an impatient, frustrated breath as she reached for her drink. Not bourbon—she didn’t do bourbon. But thankfully someone had brought beer. “How can it be called snake eyes when there are three dice?” she muttered as she lost yet again, with all ones. “Snakes have two eyes, not three.”

“Well, don’t forget, there are snakes with one,” Josie said with a suggestive wagging of her eyebrows.

When Kate gave her a confused look, Josie explained, using a bad Australian crocodile hunter accent. “I’m face-to-face with the deadly, one-eyed trouser snake, known to lead men into dark, dangerous places, and to enslave women with its potent power.”

After a five-second pause all twelve women seated at the three card tables in Eileen’s living room whooped with laughter.

It was, of course, inevitable that with each roll of the dice, the conversation degenerated into some outrageous sex talk. Kate figured it was standard operating procedure, given how freely the women spoke to one another, though, she had a really hard time picturing her mother here as part of it.

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