The Manning Brides (6 page)

“I couldn’t eat another bite if I tried.”

Rich had made reservations for their wedding dinner at the restaurant on top of the world-famous Space Needle. He’d planned every aspect of their wedding-day celebration, from the matinee tickets he’d purchased for a musical at the Fifth Avenue Theater, to a special dinner.

“What did Jason mean when he said you kidnapped him?” she asked. Not that it really mattered, she thought, basking in the pleasures of the most memorable day of her life.

Rich reached for the wine bottle and replenished both their glasses. “To be honest, I did kidnap him. Why…is another story. I’m not sure myself, especially when I knew he’d try to talk me out of this.”

“He did try, didn’t he?” That went without saying.

“Not at first.” Rich arched a brow as though he was still a bit surprised by that. “He actually seemed excited—until he heard the full details.”

Jamie groaned. “You told him…everything?”

“He’s my brother.” Rich picked up his wineglass and sipped. “When I first told him about you and me, he was thrilled. He said he’s always admired you and felt I couldn’t have made a better choice.”

“He said that?” Jamie couldn’t help feeling a little incredulous. She barely knew Rich’s older brother. Oh, they’d met on several occasions, but the longest conversation they’d ever had was at Christy’s engagement party, and that couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. Jason had been miserable in a suit and tie, and kept edging his finger along the inside of his collar. Actually, Jamie had spent more time that night talking to Jason than she had to Rich. Her now-husband had escorted some blonde to the elegant affair, and the woman had stayed glued to his side all evening.

A surge of irritation flashed through her. She’d never been keen on Rich’s choice of girlfriends. She swore he could spot a bimbo a mile away.

He attracted them—and he attracted
her.

That was a brand-new perception, a brand-new awareness.

Until he’d kissed her in the judge’s office, Jamie had never thought of Rich in a physical way. He’d always been attractive, too handsome for his own good. But what she’d experienced earlier that afternoon had nothing to do with his looks. Instead, it had a whole lot to do with sensuality.

Rich made her feel vulnerable. Exposed. Powerless. And yet…powerful, too. Everything, all the emotion, all the sensations, had come rushing toward her at once.

Afterward, he’d been so concerned. So understanding. Allaying her fears, answering her doubts. He’d dried her tears and made her laugh. He’d turned this into the most special day of her life.

What he’d said about how they’d each searched for someone to love was true. Jamie had wanted to be married for so many years. She’d hungered for that special relationship and all that went with it, only to be disappointed time after time.

Their dinner check arrived, and while Rich dealt with that, Jamie finished her wine. As she raised the glass to her lips, her gaze fell on the diamond ring on her left hand. It was a simple design, a small diamond set in the center of an antique gold rose. When Rich had first mentioned it, she hadn’t felt right about wearing it, but the fit was perfect, and now that it was on her finger she wished she didn’t have to take it off.

“I suppose I should drive you home.”

Jamie’s heart soared at the reluctance she heard in his voice. She wasn’t any more eager for this day to end than he was.

“I suppose,” she said with an equal lack of enthusiasm.

“You have to work tomorrow?”

Jamie nodded. “You?”

He nodded, too.

They stood, and Rich helped her on with her coat. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and he drew her back against him and breathed in deeply. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jamie twisted around, and the restaurant noises that surrounded them—the laughter and conversation, the clinking of silverware on china—seemed to fade away.

“For marrying me,” he whispered. “For agreeing to bear my child.”

Jamie pulled the straight skirt over her hips and clipped it to the hanger. She hung it in her closet along with the jacket, then wandered into the kitchen as the the teakettle whistled.

Sitting at the table in her full-length slip, she propped her nylon-covered feet on the opposite chair and cradled the mug of hot tea in both hands.

“I’m married,” she said aloud, testing the words.

They came back sounding hollow, as hollow as she felt. She hadn’t wanted Rich to leave—not so soon. It was barely ten. But when she’d offered him an excuse to stay, he’d turned her down.

So this was her wedding night. In her dreams she’d created a magical fantasy of champagne and romance. See-through nighties and wild, abandoned passion. If this was a traditional marriage, she’d have all that. Instead, she’d chosen something else. Something far less.

She should be happy. Excited. In love.

She
was
all those things—in a manner of speaking. Then why, she asked herself, did the aching loneliness weigh so heavily on her heart?

Rich bent the thick goose-down pillow in half and bunched it beneath his head. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock radio and sighed. Nearly one. The alarm was set for five-thirty and he had yet to fall asleep.

It wasn’t every day a man got married, he reminded himself. It wasn’t every man who spent his wedding night alone, either.

Rich had dropped Jamie off at her condo, and although she’d suggested he come in for coffee, he’d refused. He didn’t even know why he’d turned her down. Coffee had sounded good.

“Be honest,” Rich said aloud. It wasn’t the coffee that had enticed him, it was Jamie. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But she was lovely. It seemed impossible to him that he’d missed it all these years. Was he blind?

He’d had beautiful. Pamela was beauty-queen gorgeous—and so empty inside, so lacking in values and morals, that he had to wonder what had attracted him in the first place. She’d appealed to his vanity, no doubt.

Rich rolled onto his back, tucked his hands beneath his head and stared up at the dark ceiling. It hadn’t felt right to leave Jamie. With real disappointment, he’d turned around and walked to his parked car. He’d paused halfway down the steps, resisting the urge to rush back and tell her he’d changed his mind, he’d take that coffee, after all.

Instead he’d returned to an apartment that had never seemed emptier and a bed that had never felt so cold.

The phone on Rich’s desk rang, and he automatically reached for it. “Engineering.” He didn’t take his eyes from the drawings he was reviewing.

“Hi,” came the soft feminine reply.

Rich straightened. “Jamie? You’re back from the doctor’s already?” He checked his watch and was surprised to discover it was nearly four.

“I just got back.”

“And?” He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. They’d already had one appointment to see Dr. Fullerton. Rich had gone in with Jamie for the initial visit. They’d sat next to each other in Dr. Fullerton’s private office and held hands while the gynecologist explained the procedure in detail.

“And,” Jamie said quietly, confidently, “we’re going to try for this month.”

“This month,” Rich repeated. “In case you didn’t know, I’ve always been fond of March. March is one of my favorite months.”

“Don’t get too excited. It…it might not take, it generally doesn’t with the first try.”

“April, then. April’s a good month. Another one of my all-time favorites.”

“It could easily be three or four months,” Jamie said with a laugh.

“June, July, August. Who can argue with summer?” Rich found himself smiling, too. He was calculating what month the baby would be due if Jamie got pregnant in March.

“December,” she said, apparently interpreting his silence. “How would you feel about a December baby?”

“Jubilant. How about you?”

“It could be January or February.” She sounded hesitant, as though she was afraid to put too much stock in everything going so smoothly.

“It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That was profound!” she said. “The doctor gave me a chart. Every morning, I’m supposed to take my temperature. It’ll be slightly elevated when I ovulate. As soon as that happens, I’m to contact his office.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Rich, that really isn’t necessary. It’s very sweet of you, but—”

“I thought you knew better than to argue with me.”

“I should,” she said with mock exasperation. “We’ve been married nearly a month and I don’t think I’ve won a single argument.”

“No wonder married life agrees with me.” He kept his voice low, wanting to be sure no one in the vicinity could overhear him. Only Jason knew he was married and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. “Call me in the morning,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I want to keep my own chart.”

The following morning, Rich was in the shower when his phone rang. He turned off the faucet, grabbed a towel and raced across the bedroom.

“Hello!” he yelled into the receiver.

“Ninety-eight point six.”

He pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and searched blindly for a pen. Water was raining down from his hair, dripping onto the bed. “Got it.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Great.”

Wednesday morning, Rich waited in bed until he heard from her.

“Nine-eight point six.” She sounded discouraged.

“Hey, nothing says it has to happen right away.”

“I keep trying to visualize it.”

“What is this? Think yourself pregnant?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

“Call me tomorrow.” He reached for his chart and made the notation.

“I will.”

Thursday showed no difference, but Friday, Rich knew from the tone of her voice that something was up, and he hoped it was her temperature.

“Ninety-eight point seven…I think. Darn, these thermometers are hard to read. But it’s definitely higher.”

Rich could envision her sitting on the edge of her bed, squinting, trying to read the tiny lines that marked the thermometer. He made a mental note to buy her a digital one.

“Call Dr. Fullerton.”

“Rich, I’m not even sure it’s elevated. It could be wishful thinking on my part.”

“Call him anyway.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He hung up the phone and headed toward the shower, whistling.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that the idea of taking her out to dinner occurred to him. Although they’d been married a month, they didn’t see each other often. It had been a conscious decision on Rich’s part following their wedding day. In light of how he’d felt when he kissed her, it seemed the safest thing to do. He’d taken her to a movie the weekend after their wedding, and they’d both been ill at ease. Foolish as it seemed, it was almost as if they were afraid of each other. Not once during the entire movie had they touched. Jamie didn’t invite him in for coffee afterward. Even now he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had she offered.

Still, they talked every day. Only last weekend he’d changed the oil in her car while she sewed a couple of loose buttons on his shirts. It was a fair exchange and afterward they’d gone out for hamburgers. Nothing fancy. The tension between them didn’t seem to be as great as when they’d gone to the movie.

It was time to try again. There could well be a reason to celebrate, and a night on the town appealed to him. Someplace special. It wasn’t every day his wife’s temperature was elevated by one tenth of one percent.

Jamie was on her lunch break, and Rich didn’t leave a message. He’d call her later.

When he did, she was tied up with a customer. The next time he tried, the bank was closed, so he left a message for her at home.

“This is Prince Charming requesting your presence for dinner. Don’t eat until you talk to me. I’m on my way home now. Call me there.”

Rich expected a message from Jamie to be waiting for him when he arrived at his apartment. There wasn’t.

He tried her again at six, six-fifteen, six-thirty and six-forty-five, leaving a message all four times.

By seven o’clock, he was worried. A thousand possibilities crowded his mind, none of them pleasant. He paced the living room in an effort to convince himself he was overreacting, then dialed her number one last time. He listened to her recording yet again, and seethed anxiously during the long beep.

“Jamie, where the hell are you?” he demanded.

J
amie checked her watch, keeping her wrist below the table, hoping she wasn’t being obvious. Eight-thirty! She’d been trapped listening to the endless details of Floyd Bacon’s divorce for three solid hours.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked, looking over at her.

She nodded, although she had no idea what she was agreeing to. A yawn came and she attempted to swallow it, didn’t succeed and tactfully pressed her fingers to her lips. Floyd was such a nice man and she was trying hard to disguise her boredom.

“My goodness, look at the time,” Floyd said.

It had all started so innocently.

Jamie had dated Floyd about five years ago. He was a regular customer at the bank and they’d seen each other off and on for a six-month period. Nothing serious, nothing even close to serious. Then he’d met Carolyn and the two of them had fallen in love and married. Jamie had attended their wedding. She remembered what she bought them for a wedding gift—a set of stainless-steel flatware with rosebuds on the handles. He and Carolyn had bought a house a few months later. Jamie had handled the loan application for them, but when they’d moved, they’d switched their account to a branch closer to where they lived. In the past three years, Carolyn had quit work to stay home with their two young children.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am the marriage didn’t work out,” Jamie said, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong between two people who so obviously loved each other. She would never have suspected this would happen to Floyd and Carolyn, of all people. Of all
couples.

“I’m sorry, too,” Floyd said. His dark eyes touched her with their sadness. He’d moved into an apartment and had stopped at the bank to open a checking account. But a new account was only a pretext, Jamie soon learned; for airing his frustration with Carolyn, his marriage, his two preschool children and life in general.

Floyd had arrived just before closing time, lingered until he was the last customer in the bank and then asked Jamie to join him for a drink. She’d hesitated, but he’d looked so downtrodden and miserable that she’d gone against her better judgment. A drink soon turned into two and then Floyd suggested they have something to eat. At the time, it had seemed reasonable, but that was an hour and a half ago.

“I really should be going home,” she said, reaching for her purse. It was Friday night and the work week had seemed extra-long and she was tired. Keeping track of her temperature and charting it was draining her emotional energy.

No, she decided, talking to Rich every morning was responsible for that. Speaking to him first thing, discussing the intimate details of her reproductive system, hearing his enthusiasm…talking about their child. Nothing had prepared her for the effect all this was having. She lived for those brief two-minute calls. It was almost as if he were in bed beside her…almost as if he were holding her in his arms. This closeness she felt toward him frightened her. The magnitude of what they’d done, of what they were planning, the child they’d conceive together, had brought subtle and not-so-subtle changes to their relationship.

Earlier in the day she’d hoped and planned to have a relaxing Friday night—to soak in a hot bath and cuddle up in bed with a good book. She might have given Rich a call and invited him over for dinner. There was a new recipe she wanted to try and he seemed to enjoy her home-cooked meals. She’d only seen him twice in the past month, and it didn’t seem enough.

“I’ll follow you home,” Floyd said, breaking into her thoughts. He tossed some money on the table for the waitress.

It would be too late to call Rich now. Tomorrow was her Saturday morning to work, but she could call him then and ask him over for dinner on either Saturday or Sunday. Friday nights were probably busy for him, so it wasn’t likely he would’ve been home anyway.

“Jamie?”

“I’m sorry. My mind was a million miles away. There’s no need for you to see me home, Floyd.”

“I know, but I’d feel better if I knew you got there safely.”

She nodded. Floyd really was a nice man, and she did feel sorry for him. If lending an ear had helped him, she shouldn’t complain. The time would come soon enough when she’d need a shoulder to cry on herself. Once the baby was born, she’d be filing for divorce. The thought was a cheerless one.

Jamie lived less than fifteen minutes from the bank and it was on Floyd’s way to his new apartment, so she didn’t object strongly when he insisted on following her.

When she pulled into her assigned parking space, he waited until she was out of her car. She waved to let him know she was safe and sound.

Floyd lowered his car window and said, “I appreciate being able to talk to you, Jamie. You’re a good friend to both Carolyn and me.”

“I’m happy if I was any help.”

The sadness returned to Floyd’s eyes. “I really love her, you know.”

Jamie nodded. She believed him. Divorce was usually so ugly and there was so much pain involved. Jamie had seen several of her friends traumatized by the breakup of their marriages.

“Are you sure you really want this divorce?” she asked impulsively. Surely if two people deeply loved each other, they could work something out, couldn’t they?

He shook his head. “I never did want a divorce. Carolyn’s the one who…well, you know.” His shoulders rose in a deep sigh.

“You’re sure about that?”

Floyd hesitated. “I’m pretty sure. When I told her I was moving out, she didn’t say a word to stop me. The way I figure it, if she really loved me, she would’ve asked me to stay.”

“What if she assumed that if you really loved her, you’d never
want
to move?”

Floyd stared at her. “You think that’s what she might’ve thought?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth asking, don’t you think?”

“Yeah…I do,” Floyd said, his voice revealing the first enthusiasm she’d heard all evening. He raised his car window, then quickly lowered it again. “Jamie?”

“Yes?” She was halfway toward the outside stairs that led to her second-floor condominium.

“Would you mind if I used your phone? My cell’s dead, and I’d like to give Carolyn a call to see if she wants to talk.”

“Sure.” Smiling, she opened her purse and took out her key. If she’d mentioned this earlier she thought wryly, she might’ve been home two hours ago.

Floyd parked his car, then hurried up the stairs with her. He resembled a young boy, he was so eager. She unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. Floyd immediately headed for her phone.

Jamie made herself scarce for a couple of minutes, going into her bedroom to remove her shoes. She hung up her jacket and eased her gray blouse from her waistband. Before leaving her bedroom, she slipped her feet into her fuzzy open-toed slippers. Then she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the burner. As soon as Floyd was gone, she planned to relax with a cup of herbal tea.

“Carolyn agrees we should talk,” Floyd announced triumphantly as he replaced the telephone receiver. “She sounded pleased to hear from me. Do you think she’s lonely? I doubt it,” he answered his own question before Jamie had a chance. “Carolyn always did have lots of friends, and she isn’t one to sit home and cry in her soup, if you know what I mean.”

Jamie nodded. “I hope this works out for you.”

“Me, too. I’ll be heading out now,” Floyd said. “She’s getting a sitter for the kids and she’s going to meet me for a cup of coffee.”

The doorbell chimed then, in long impatient bursts. Floyd’s gaze swung to Jamie. She couldn’t imagine who’d be arriving this late.

She walked past Floyd and opened her door. No sooner had she turned the lock than Rich raced in as though he was there to put out a fire.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been half out of my—” He stopped midstep and midsentence when he caught sight of Floyd and the color drained from his face. His eyes widened with shock, disbelief and…could it be pain? Slowly he turned toward Jamie.

“Floyd, this is Rich Manning,” she said, gesturing from one to the other. “Rich, Floyd Bacon.”

Floyd held out his hand, and for a moment, Jamie feared Rich wasn’t going to take it. He did so, but with ill grace. “I take it Jamie didn’t mention me,” he said sarcastically.

“Ah…no,” Floyd said, rubbing his palms together. He eyed the front door. “Listen, I was just leaving.”

“No need to rush,” Rich said, sitting down on the sofa and crossing his long legs. He stretched his arm against the back of the cushions, giving the impression that he had plenty of time to sit and chat. “I’m interested in hearing how the two of you spent the evening.” His smile lacked warmth or welcome.

“Rich,” Jamie said, stepping forward. She’d never seen him like this, so sarcastic and ill-mannered.

One look from him cut her to the quick. Rarely had anyone looked at her with such…disdain. He studied her, from her slippers to the blouse she’d pulled free from her skirt, and his eyes narrowed, damning her.

“Jamie’s an old friend,” Floyd explained. “I was in the bank this afternoon and…well, you see, my wife and I have separated, and Jamie—”

“So you’re married,
too.
”

“Too?” Frowning, Floyd turned to Jamie for an explanation.

“Yes,” Rich said in a deceptively calm voice. “Jamie and I’ve been married…what is it now, darling, a month?”

“Rich,” she warned him under her breath. He might be her legal husband, a man she’d known and respected for more than a decade, but seeing him behave like this, talk like this, he seemed like a total stranger.

“Jamie. My goodness,” Floyd said, sounding astonished. “You didn’t say a word about being married. Congratulations! I wish you’d said something earlier.”

“So do I,” Rich added caustically.

Once again Floyd glanced at the door. “I’d like to stay and chat, but I really should leave. My wife and I are going to meet and talk…Jamie was the one who suggested it. Well, actually, I came up with the idea of calling Carolyn, but Jamie helped me see that it was the right thing to do.” He spoke rapidly, the words coming out so fast they tumbled over one another. “I’ll see you later.”

Jamie held the door for him. “Thanks for dinner,” she said as graciously as the circumstances allowed.

“Thanks for dinner,” Rich mimicked derisively as Floyd went out the door.

Jamie felt a storm threatening. One of anger and frustration. The thundercloud was sitting directly behind her, and she did her best to restrain her indignation. After taking a moment to compose herself, she turned around. “Is something bothering you, Rich?” she asked in a level voice.

He leapt off the sofa as though he’d been sitting on a giant spring. “Is something
bothering
me?” he repeated coldly. “What do you think you’re doing, dating that joker?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“I heard you thank him for dinner.” He spat out the words as though to have to say them was a detestable task. “At least you could’ve returned my phone calls.”

“I…haven’t checked my messages. Good grief, I didn’t get home until five minutes ago.” Moving across the room, she went to her phone to listen. Six messages, all from Rich, played back, each sounding progressively less patient and increasingly anxious. The last one had been to demand to know “where the hell” she was.

“When I couldn’t stand waiting for you to call, I drove over here to wait for you. Lo and behold, your car was in your parking space and you were here—with
Floyd
.”

“I can understand your concern,” Jamie said calmly, willing to grant him that much.

“You’re my wife, dammit! How am I supposed to feel when you turn up missing?” He raked his fingers through his hair and stalked to the opposite side of the room.

Jamie drew in a long, soothing breath, determined not to let this escalate into a full-fledged argument. “I was never missing. I’m sorry I worried you, Rich, but you’re overreacting, and frankly, it’s beginning to annoy me.”

“Annoy
you?
I’ve been pacing the floor for the past three hours….”

“I would have phoned.”

“You brought a man home with you!” He made it sound as though that was grounds for divorce.

“Floyd’s an old friend.”

The kettle whistled, and Jamie hurried into the kitchen and turned off the burner, all thought of tea forgotten. The boiling water bubbled from the spout, nearly scalding her. Rich had followed, stalking into the room behind her.

“Apparently you don’t have a problem letting
old friends
take you out to dinner,” he accused her, his words inflamed with impatience.

Jamie gritted her teeth, biting back an angry retort. “He needed someone to talk to, someone who’d listen to his problems. You’re making it sound as though I did something underhanded. I was just being a friend.”

“You’re a married woman,” Rich bellowed. He slammed his fist on the counter. “
My
wife. How do you think it makes me feel, knowing you chose to go out to dinner with another man instead of your own husband?”

“I didn’t choose Floyd over you! Good heavens, how was I supposed to know you wanted to take me to dinner? I’m not a mind reader.”