A Bridge to Love (26 page)

More
important, what sort of father would he be for Clay and Patrick? He was great
at handing out treats like helicopter rides and indoor swimming, but how would
he handle throwing up and undone homework assignments? Kate pushed aside
memories of Randall coaching the soccer team to victory and showing up at the
hospital to smooth the way for Clay. She didn't trust him to continue in that
vein when the novelty wore off.

When
it came right down to it, other than the physical attraction, she had no sense
of how he felt about her at all. He teased her, he bullied her, he seduced her,
and he came to her for comfort. What did all of that mean? Could she trust him
with her own life and that of her children?

Randall
interrupted her thoughts by saying hoarsely, “That gets better every time.”

She
laughed at the contrast in their thoughts.

“After
an orgasm like that, you laugh at me?” he asked in mock horror, as he propped
himself up on his elbow to look down at her face.

Kate
rolled onto her back. “After an orgasm like that, I'm lucky that I can draw
enough breath to laugh.”

“That's
better.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. He hesitated a moment before
saying, “May I sleep here tonight? I'll leave early, before the boys wake up.”

Her
throat tightened around the tears she wouldn't allow in her eyes. How could she
say no to the plea in his normally confident voice? “Of course you can sleep
here. I'll set the alarm.”

“That's
not necessary. I've been getting up early all my life. I'll be gone long before
anyone stirs.”

“Let's
get under the covers this time,” Kate said, pulling back the blanket and
sheets. After they had arranged their pillows and snuggled in against each
other, she felt compelled to confess, “I haven't slept beside a man since David
died. I'm glad you wanted to stay.”

The
man she was sleeping beside pulled her closer. “I want to stay forever,
darlin', at least till death do us part. But we won't talk about that now. Go
to sleep.”

TwentyTwo

Kate was in the midst of a
strange dream that involved Randall Johnson kneeling in front of her on the
dirty floor of a run-down bar while a fight raged in the background. She was
trying to grab him and pull him outside, but other people kept getting in the
way. Then someone caught her hand in a clasp too solid and warm to be a dream, and
Kate slowly pried her eyes open.

Looking
better than any vision, even with his black eye, Randall was sitting on the
side of the bed holding her hand. His damp hair was neatly combed back and his
white shirt looked crisply pressed. The memory of the previous night came
rushing vividly back into her brain and she started to sit up.

Then
she realized that she was completely naked under the covers.

“Go
right ahead and get up.” Randall kissed the back of her hand with a wicked
smile. “I've been resisting the temptation to peel those covers off of you ever
since I woke up.”

“I
didn't know you ever resisted temptation.” Kate adjusted the covers a bit
higher.

“Darlin',
if you didn't have two impressionable boys in the house, I'd keep you naked and
tied to the bedposts all day long.”

She
held the sheet firmly across her chest as she scooted upright. It was a severe
enough disadvantage to be nude when he was clothed. At least, she could be
vertical instead of sprawled flat on her back.

“Well,
I'm glad Clay and Patrick are here,” she managed to say.

“Are
you really?” he asked as he kissed the spot where her neck flowed into her
shoulder.

Hanging
on to the sheet for dear life, she used her other hand to push him away. He
moved back, but only a few inches. His eyes held her.

“Are
you really glad, Kate?” he repeated as his hand trailed down her shoulder and
over the swell of her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, and she jumped. He
smiled smugly and stood up.

“You're
being deliberately provocative,” she accused him.

“No,
lady, that's you. You're sitting in a bed that smells like sex. Your hair looks
like a man ran his hands through it over and over again.”

She
started to sputter but he kept going.

“Then
there's the fact that you're wearing absolutely nothing over that gorgeous body
but a blanket. And your eyes go wide every time I touch you. That's being
provocative. And if I don't get out of here soon, those impressionable boys are
going to get an education.”

The
corners of Kate's mouth twitched. “I don't know whether to be flattered or
outraged.”

“Maybe
you should be both.” Randall glanced at the clock. “I'm going to indulge in a
little blackmail now. I won't leave until you promise you'll have dinner with
me this Saturday. And I want a solemn promise, no crossed fingers, no
conditions.”

Kate
shook her head. “I don't want to leave Clay that soon.”

Randall
stretched out on the chaise longue, crossed his long legs at the ankles and
pillowed his head on his hands. He looked very comfortable.

“You
wouldn't really stay if I didn't agree,” Kate said.

“Try
me.”

She
made a sound of frustration. She desperately wanted to get out of bed so that
she could confront him, but her robe was somewhere on the floor where she
couldn't see it. And her closet was across the room. She checked the clock. It
was 6:00 a.m. The boys wouldn't wake up for another hour. Still... She decided
to beg.

“Please,
Randall, for Clay and Patrick's sake.”

“Sorry,
that won't work.”

“I
guess that appealing to your better nature would be useless, as you don't have
one,” she said in a haughty tone.

Randall
closed his eyes.

“Oh
all right! But I'm doing this under protest. You're forcing me to be a bad
mother.”

His
only movement was to open his eyes. “I want your promise because I know you
won't break it.”

“Yes,
yes, I promise.”

Immediately,
he was off the chair and standing at the door. “I have to get to the office but
I'll call you later.” His voice dropped. “Thank you, darlin', for everything.”

The
door clicked closed behind him.

Kate
slid back down into the bed and listened to the front door open and shut, and
the sound of his car purring down the street. She lay with her eyes open,
trying to make sense of last night's roller-coaster ride. All she could
conclude with certainty was that he was a terrific lover and that he seemed
like his old self again this morning. In fact, it was difficult to reconcile
this morning's Randall with yesterday's Randall. She almost regretted his
return to steely CEO. She had liked the glimpse of the person inside.

As
for his now-withdrawn proposal of marriage, she couldn't begin to comprehend
that in the light of dawn. He had clearly been temporarily overwhelmed with
loneliness and then had come to his senses.

Kate
threw back the covers. She needed to shower and straighten up the bed before
anyone else stirred. Routine was a good thing. It had gotten her through
David's death, and it would get her through whatever Randall decided to throw
at her.

Randall
strode into RJ Enterprises as though he hadn't pulled a disappearing act for
the last two days. “Good morning, Gail.”

“Good
morning, sir. I'm glad that you're back safely,” she said. He turned, and her
eyebrows shot up at the sight of his black eye, but she refrained from
commenting.

He
acknowledged her forbearance with a half-smile. “I need to talk with Julian
Howard at Tower Design. And find out who the best real estate agency would be
for selling my house.”

“Eagle's
Nest?” Gail gasped.

“That's
the one. It's time to come down off the mountaintop,” Randall said, heading for
his office.

“Have
you seen the
Wall Street Journal
today?” she called after him.

Randall
stopped and turned. “No.”

“I
didn't think so. I put it on your desk, just in case. There's an article on the
front page that you're not going to like,” she warned him.

He
went over to his desk and dropped into his chair. Picking up the newspaper, he
found the article Gail had referred to. As he read, his eyebrows lowered until
they almost met.

“Well,
you're front page news.”

Randall
looked up to see Tom Rogan lounging against the door frame. “Why do they print
this crap, Tom?” he asked.

“Maybe
because you won't tell people the truth.” Tom looked at him for a long moment.

Randall
looked back in silence.

When
Randall didn't speak, Tom strolled the rest of the way into the office and sat
down. He read out loud from the copy of the paper he had carried in with him.
“Let's see…. Your word can't be trusted...you backed out of a deal with Mason
Bank for no reason –”

“I
did the man a favor. He's too stupid to figure it out.”

“The
companies you own have terrible safety records.” He looked up at his boss.
“They must mean the fire at TexOil.” He continued, “And your judgment has
become questionable as demonstrated by grossly overpaying for a share in a
small architectural firm.”

Randall
shrugged. “I've decided to become a patron of the arts.”

“Well,
according to Gill Gillespie, president of Mason Bank, you're losing it. And
frankly, I'm not sure I disagree with him.”

For
a moment the two men's gazes locked and held. Then Randall shifted in his chair.
“I deserved that. And you deserve an apology.”

“You're
damned right I do – and an explanation,” Tom said.

“I
don't think I can do both.”

“All
right, you stiff-necked pain in the ass,” Tom laughed. “I'll take the
explanation.”

“It's
all ancient history.” Randall leaned back in his chair. “I slept with Gill
Gillespie's wife.”

Tom
sat bolt upright. “No wonder he's pissed.”

Randall
leveled a hard look at his second-in-command. “Before she was his wife. And he
doesn't know that. At least, he didn't when I left his house.”

“Well,
it sounds as though he knows it now,” Tom said, leaning back again. “And?”

Randall
took a deep breath and launched into a flatly factual version of the story of
Lucinda and Gill. Tom knew him well enough to fill in the emotional blanks.
When he stopped talking, Tom let out a long whistle.

“You
do such a fine job of holding a grudge that I may have to make you an honorary
Irishman. That explains all those times when you took risks that boggled my
mind. I used to wonder what devil was driving you.” He smiled reminiscently.
“It made for one wild ride.”

Randall
gave a short laugh. “I scared the hell out of myself sometimes.”

“I'm
thinking that maybe you need to take some of those risks in your life right
now,” Tom said. “Maybe you need to work on a different deal.”

“And
which deal would that be?” Randall asked in a dangerous voice.

“You're
a smart man. You figure it out.” Tom waited for the explosion.

He
almost got it as Randall half-rose out of his chair. Then the anger drained
from his face, and all that was left was bleakness as he sat down and turned
his gaze back to the window.

“Yeah,
I'm real smart.” He stared out at the panorama spread before him for a minute,
then turned wearily back to Tom. “I need to get out of this Tower Design deal
gracefully. Do you have any good ideas?”

Tom
hadn't expected the change of topic. “I'll see what I can come up with,” he
promised, wishing that Randall had asked him to do almost anything else.

Patrick
was at school, and Clay was settled with several videotaped episodes of
Star Trek,
so Kate was free to check in
with the office and catch up on emails and voice mails. Almost all of the
construction companies bidding on the bridge had questions about building one
structure over another. Some were too complicated to email an answer, so she
spent an hour on the phone with various skeptical men. After checking on Clay,
she played her personal voice mails.

“Kate,
a promise made under duress isn't binding. So you can say no. But I'm asking
you to have dinner with me Saturday because it's very important to me. I hope
you'll come.”

She
smiled as he almost choked on the last sentence.

Randall
wasn't used to requesting rather than commanding. She considered turning him
down, but given what he had just been through, she couldn't do it. And he had
asked
this time. Of course, she also
wanted to see him. Desperately, foolishly, and passionately. So after checking
with Clay and Brigid, she called him back, only to be told that he was in a
meeting. She left a brief message accepting and went on to her emails.

Friday
she took Clay to the local doctor recommended by Dr. Lane. He changed the
bandage and said that the hand was healing beautifully. Clay was given
permission to return to school on Monday if he wasn't in pain and that elicited
a whoop of gratitude. Even
Star Trek
began to pall when one was an active, healthy boy with merely a hand injury.
Kate took him out for a celebratory lunch at their favorite diner. They had
just returned to the house when the telephone rang.

“Hello,
Kate. It's Oliver.”

Kate
felt every muscle in her body tense. “Hello, Oliver,” she said in a neutral
tone. “How are you?”

“I
know that you don't want to talk with me,” he said, brushing aside her polite
question, “but I'm very concerned about a business matter.”

“Really?”
Kate said.

“I
want to fax you a document. When you get it, will you please call me back?”

“Can't
you just tell me what this is about?”

“After
you have the fax.”

“All
right,” she agreed reluctantly. She was relieved to hang up, even temporarily.
Oliver's voice brought back unpleasant memories.

The
fax machine rang and beeped upstairs in the office, and she headed up to read
it. As far as she could tell, it was nothing more than a copy of an electronic
transfer of funds, from a company called Avanta Capital Corporation to Tower
Design Corporation. It was dated about three weeks before, and the amount was
several hundred thousand dollars.

Kate
dialed Oliver at C/R/G. “I have the fax.”

“I
noticed the name under 'Instructions.' Kate, what does this mean to C/R/G? Are
we going to be sold off or become a subsidiary? What are your plans?”

She
was no longer listening. In tiny print under “Instructions,” she read “cc: T.
Rogan.”

She
sat down suddenly, her mind racing to put together the chronology of her
relationship with Randall. She couldn't remember what she had told him when.

“Kate?”

“What?
I'm sorry; my mind was elsewhere:”

Oliver's
voice was suddenly gentle. “Why didn't you come to me if you were so worried
about money? I would have helped. I wanted to help in any way that I could. You
didn't have to sleep with Randall Johnson to solve your financial problems.”