My Man Pendleton by Elizabeth Bevarly

did."
    " Lena changed her will because of what we all did. You can't hold me alone responsible. I seem to recall you and your brothers chasing off more than your fair share of Kit's boyfriends over the years."
    "Yeah, at your insistence," he pointed out. "And because they were all creeps who couldn't care less about her. Kit deserves somebody who loves her. Not some jerk who's only after her money."
    Only problem was, Holt thought now, that kind of somebody had never materialized in Kit's life. Or if he had, he'd never been given a chance by any of the McClellan men. And now, thanks to that, the McClellan women were having the last word.
    "Do you think Mama really thought this was the best way to get us to leave Kit alone so her daughter could get married?" Holt asked his father. "Or do you think she just wanted to get even?"
    That seemed to surprise the elder McClellan. "Get even? For the Michael Derringer thing you mean?"
    Holt shrugged. "Or something else."
    "What else could Lena have wanted to get even for?"
    For starters, how about the fact that you never loved her? Holt thought. And then, of course, there was the fact that, where his father was concerned, family had always come second to wealth. And on those rare occasions when he had taken notice of the family, the old, man had always had an obvious pecking order of preference. Even as the clear favorite, Holt had never felt quite comfortable with that. He could only imagine how his mother and Kit—at the opposite end of the spectrum—must have felt.
    Not too great, obviously.
    "Kit's not going to go for it," Holt said. "And I sure as hell hope you have someone else waiting in the wings. Because in two months—"
    "Don't worry about it," his father interrupted him. "Pendleton is the man for Kit. Bank on it."
    * * *
    As was invariably the case whenever her father and oldest brother segregated themselves to talk, Kit overheard every word they said. Not by accident, of course. But because she deliberately sought them out to eavesdrop on the conversation. It was a habit she had acquired as an eight-year-old, when she'd overheard—by accident, that time—her father discussing her performance at Louisville Collegiate Elementary compared to Holt's performance at Louisville Collegiate High.
    Holt had been a senior that year, and his grades had begun to fall drastically, in direct relation to the rise in his drinking. Kit, on the other hand, was, as always, making straight A's. And on that day nineteen years ago, her father had held her up as an example for her brother to follow, had expressed his pride in her as a student.
    It was the first time she had ever heard her father praise her or her accomplishments in any way. And because of that, she had sought out every opportunity to hear him do it again, whenever he and Holt separated themselves to talk.
    Unfortunately, that was also the last time she ever heard her father's praise. Because as hard as she'd worked to overhear even the smallest tidbit of approval, he'd never spoken of her again. Instead, his conversations with Holt had always centered first around Holt's work at Hensley's, then about Holt's excessive behavior, then about Holt's failing marriage, then about Holt's return to the fold.
    Holt, Holt, Holt. It had always been about Holt.
    Until tonight. Tonight, Kit's father had talked about her again. But nothing he'd said was good. Nothing he'd said was exactly a surprise, she conceded, but none of it was good, either.
    She pushed herself away from the wall outside the library and headed slowly for the stairs. There had been one thing her father had said, however, that Kit couldn't deny. Pendleton was definitely different from the other men he'd thrown at her over the last two years. Where the others had blithered and fawned over her in an effort to curry her favor—and her mother's fortune—Pendleton had had the nerve to be forthright and honest. Kit had been totally unprepared for that. Forthrightness and