A Bridge to Love

by Nancy Herkness

  They played a few more rounds of Marco Polo, and then Randall got out a water basketball set. He was standing on the edge of the pool adjusting the height of the hoop when Kate came up quietly behind him. As an engineer, she understood balance and leverage. So first she applied pressure with her knee behind his kneecap which started a good forward motion. Then she kept his momentum going with a firm push in the small of the back. Quick, neat and effective, she thought with satisfaction as she watched him sail through the air and into the water.

  Clay and Patrick watched open-mouthed and then waited in tense silence for Randall to surface. Kate stood a safe distance away from the edge of the pool with her arms crossed. All of them jumped when he rocketed up from the bottom, laughing.

  “A surprise attack! I should have learned my lesson. Never drop your guard near a woman with revenge on her mind, boys.”

  He vaulted out of the pool in front of Kate, causing her to step back several paces even as she glared at him. “I will deal with you later,” he said in a low voice, flicking water at her from his fingers. Then he spoke louder. “Is anyone hungry? I'll get Rosa to bring down some sandwiches.” The boys cheered and he walked over to an intercom and spoke into it briefly.

  Clay swam to the side of the pool and said in a low voice, “Mom, you've got guts. He's twice your size and you nailed him.”

  Kate smiled. It was something to see the look of awed respect in his eyes. His mom had guts.

  Just then a door swung open and Rosa appeared with a rolling cart filled with food. Randall introduced them all to his housekeeper, and Rosa asked Clay and Patrick their ages, grades, favorite subjects and sports. As they set out the food, Kate tried to decide if Rosa knew anything about her trysts with Randall and then concluded that she had probably seen so many women come and go here that she no longer paid attention to any of them.

  Randall brought drinks over from the poolside bar and they all dug into the feast with gusto. Kate was very pleased when Clay politely asked Randall about his work. Randall explained that RJ Enterprises made its money from buying under-performing companies and making them profitable. “Sometimes we sell them again and sometimes we keep them,” he concluded.

  “Have you ever bought a company that you couldn't fix?” Clay asked.

  “A few.” Randall was silent a moment and then leaned back in his chair. “One time, my partner Tom Rogan and I had an oil field offered to us. Well, we got all excited because we always wanted to be oil barons. We were pretty new to the game then. We decide to go see the field for ourselves so we buy some work boots and hard hats and drive to Oilton, Texas, to take a look.

  “We tramp around, getting more and more wound up. There were more wells than we'd expected and the equipment was in great condition. So we go back to our motel and call the oil company's headquarters in Houston. After haggling awhile over the price, we agree to buy the field. Tom and I slap each other on the back over the great bargain we got. We go back to our office and read the contracts they've sent us. Suddenly, Tom turns white and points to something in the paperwork. The oil field we'd just agreed to buy was in Oilton, Oklahoma.”

  “So you didn't buy it,” Clay said.

  Randall shook his head. “No, we bought it. Sight unseen. We were too embarrassed to admit that we'd gotten not just the wrong oil field but the wrong state.” He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “In my business, your reputation precedes you. So if you make a mistake, you swallow it, and hope that you don't choke. If you do well, you thank your lucky stars and alert the press.”

  “So did you turn the oil field around?”

  “No, I sold it as fast as I could – at a loss.”

  “Wow,” Patrick said, awed at the high finance being discussed. But he wanted to discuss another of Randall's assets. “You have a helicopter.”

  Randall smiled. “That just sort of came with another company I bought. I thought that it might be useful so I kept it.”

  Patrick and Clay bombarded him with questions about engines, range and air speed, most of which he could answer. Finally, Kate took pity on him and suggested that the boys go swimming again. But before they left the table, Randall said, “Maybe you boys would like to take a ride in the chopper.”

  Two sets of pleading eyes turned toward Kate. She shifted in her seat and said, “One of these days.”

  “Mom, it won't crash,” Patrick said.

  “I know but it's expensive to fly a helicopter and we don't want to impose on Mr. Johnson,” Kate said.

  “I'll discuss it with your mother,” Randall said, waving them toward the pool before turning back to her. “I guarantee that the helicopter won't crash.”

  “No one can guarantee that. I'd just rather that we didn't go flying. I hate to fly.”

  “I'm sorry I suggested it.”

  “No, no. It was a very nice thing to offer.” Kate suddenly realized that Randall had taken her wrist and was softly stroking her skin with his thumb. He looked startled when she gently pulled away from him and stood up.

  “I think that we've trespassed on your hospitality long enough. Clay, Patrick! Let's get changed.”

  “Aw, Mom,” Patrick started to complain but Clay elbowed him and he swam over to the steps.

  “Aw, Kate,” Randall said, mimicking Patrick's tone perfectly. “Don't run away.”

  “I'm not running away. I'm just not overstaying our welcome.”

  “You're still welcome,” Randall said, tilting his head back to look up at her.

  “Thank you but we have plans for this evening.”

  The two boys were watching in fascination. They weren't accustomed to seeing an adult persist in the face of their mother's refusal.

  “Mom's fixing us a nutritious, well-balanced dinner to make up for all the take-out during the week,” Patrick said earnestly.

  Randall laughed and stood up, lifting an eyebrow at her expectantly. The silence lengthened. Finally Kate said through clenched teeth, “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

  “There's nothing that I'd like better...”

  “But you need to make some business calls, I'm sure,” Kate finished for him as she started toward the dressing room.

  “No, I'm free all evening. I was going to say that I owe your sons a lesson in the venerable art of nutmegging. Go get changed, young men.”

  “Yeah!” Patrick said, racing toward the other dressing room with Clay not far behind him.

  Kate gave Randall one freezing look over her shoulder but she never broke her stride as she walked away from him. Randall called after her, “You don't keep any arsenic in the spice drawer, do you?”

  “I prefer strychnine. It's much more painful,” she said before she closed the door.

  As Kate changed in her private dressing room, she wondered what Randall and the boys were chatting about in the “Men's Locker Room.” She found out when they erupted out of the front door. “Mr. Johnson asked us if we'd like to ride in his Ferrari,” Clay said. “Would you mind, Mom?”

  Kate rolled her eyes. After turning down a helicopter ride, her sons were now asking to be driven home in a ridiculously expensive sports car. She knew that she should be annoyed with Randall's manipulation of her children, but his bribery was so blatant and so outrageous that her sense of humor was getting the better of her moral principles.

  “That's fine. Maybe tomorrow he'll get you a seat on the space shuttle.”

  Clay and Patrick looked at each other, eyes wide, but Randall threw back his head and let out a shout of laughter. “Your mother's on to me, guys.” He grabbed Kate's hand and said, “Come with me and see the over-powered chariot.”

  After inspecting the spotless five-car garage and pronouncing the Jeep “cool,” the boys carefully and respectfully climbed into the black Ferrari. Randall was still holding Kate's hand, the warmth of his skin against hers radiating a pleasant but disconcerting sense of comfort. He walked Kate back to her dusty minivan, and before opening her door, lifted the back of
her hand to his lips. Kate was mesmerized by his dark gaze, and by the heat of his breath and the movement of his mouth against her skin as he said, “We could try out the ad campaign on the Ferrari.”

  Kate had to swallow twice before she could say, “I think that Jaguar could sue for copyright infringement.”

  “I have a whole stable of lawyers who can deal with that.” Randall dropped her hand to swing open the van's door. “I'll follow you down. It'll keep my speed under control.”

  Pretending that she was completely unaffected by his provocative comments, Kate turned the key in the ignition as Randall walked toward the garage. Once he was a safe distance away, she laid her arms on the steering wheel and dropped her forehead onto them as she took deep breaths to slow down her racing heartbeat.

  She had to admire his strategy. He made her feel safe by inviting her children along, and then when her guard was down he launched his attack. He had left her feeling as though his warm, male lips had touched more private parts of her body.

  “I'd hate to be on the other side of the negotiating table from you,” she said aloud as his sports car growled out of the garage.

  Twelve

  Kate spent her solitary ride home mentally upgrading her menu and trying to remember how big a mess they had left in the house. As the boys spilled out of the Ferrari into their yard, Patrick said, “Mom, did you know that Mr. Johnson has a transmitter in all of his cars in case he gets hijacked? The police can track every turn his car makes!”

  “Amazing!” Kate said, wondering despairingly what a man whose life was so valuable that the police would follow his car's every move would think of her modest home and dinner.

  But Randall showed a tact she hadn't anticipated. He sent the boys off to find a soccer ball while he waited outside in the yard. “You go on inside while I make good on my promise.”

  A ball sailed toward him, and Kate admired his footwork as he controlled it and neatly sent it back to Clay. She gave him an approving smile and walked calmly in the back door.

  Once inside, she became a whirling dervish of activity: slicing, dicing, sautéing and straightening up. Occasionally she couldn't resist glancing out into the backyard to see how the soccer players were getting along. Watching Randall dodging and weaving toward the goal was a guilty pleasure; he moved with a speed and grace surprising for his size. She wished that he had on shorts so that she could watch the muscles of his legs flexing.

  By the time three sweaty, panting males spilled into the kitchen, Kate had the dinner and the house well in-hand. The dining room table was set for four with the good china and silver, the lamps in the living room glowed warmly and the delicious scent of roasting lamb wafted out of the oven.

  “Something smells good,” Randall said after swallowing his first gulp of beer.

  “It's a nutritious, well-balanced meal,” Kate said. “Liver, brussels sprouts, spinach cooked in cod liver oil and wheat germ muffins.”

  Clay and Patrick made gagging noises while Randall laughed. “You forgot the prune wine.”

  “So I did. I'll have to go get it out of the cellar.”

  “What is it really, Mom?” Patrick wanted to know.

  “Lamb, green beans, carrots and croissants,” Kate reassured him. “Finish your drinks and go wash.”

  “Don't I get a tour of your house?” Randall said as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

  “The downstairs only. I can't vouch for the condition of the second floor,” Kate said, picking up her glass of wine.

  Randall followed Kate slowly through the living room, dining room, den and onto the big open porch. He looked carefully at her home because he always learned a lot from observing a person's home turf. The furniture looked comfortable but each piece had also been chosen for its proportion and line. Old, intricately patterned Oriental rugs covered the polished oak floors. The walls were decorated with architectural drawings of structures both new and antique, interspersed with colorful abstract landscapes. Antique brass-trimmed wooden tools lay among framed family photos.

  Randall wondered if the prints and tools were Kate's or David's and concluded that the convergence of their professional interests would make that question irrelevant; the collection would please both of them. He briefly wondered what it would be like to have a lover whose tastes meshed so perfectly with your own.

  He scanned the family photographs until he found a picture of a handsome blond man with a younger Clay and Patrick. Clearly this was David. His sons looked like him, and the trio radiated familial affection. Randall studied the man who had chosen to risk screwing up this life for another woman. What had he been looking for that he couldn't find right here? Randall shook his head in disgusted bafflement.

  He followed Kate into the next room, still lost in thought. He had always explained away his unmarried state by saying that he simply didn't have time for a wife or family. But there was also a deep reluctance on his part to make promises that he might regret yet feel obliged to honor. He felt no sympathy for a man who broke his vows and betrayed the trust of the woman – the very desirable woman – who was also the mother of his two young sons. Randall was suddenly angry on Kate's behalf.

  “This completes the tour of the historic Chilton residence,” Kate said as she led him onto the porch. “Although the name of its architect is lost in the mists of Victorian time, we like it.”

  “I like it, too. It feels like a home.”

  Kate laughed. “Between the soccer cleats and the dog hair, it always looks well lived-in.” She patted Gretchen who had followed them through the tour and was now sitting at her feet.

  Randall was gazing out at the street where young bicyclists, middle-aged runners and mothers pushing strollers passed by at frequent intervals. Kate wondered what he had really been thinking as he walked through her home. Showing him her house had seemed almost more intimate than being sprawled half-naked across the hood of his car. She felt as though his eyes had missed nothing. When he had stopped in front of David's photograph and then shaken his head, she longed to know what was going on behind his unreadable expression. “Oh, there's the timer,” she said, dashing back into the house.

  Once dinner was on the table, Kate relaxed a bit and enjoyed watching Clay and Patrick with their new friend. Obviously, they had decided that Mr. Johnson was “okay,” and while they were respectful, they felt no hesitation about peppering him with questions about his life, his past, his soccer skills and whatever else intrigued them. Randall was far more forthcoming than Kate would have expected; he had succumbed to the flattery of being the object of two boys' admiration.

  “That's an awesome watch,” Patrick said, admiring the stainless steel multidialed gadget on their guest's wrist. “Is it one of those diving watches?”

  “It's a Timex,” Kate couldn't resist saying.

  “Your mother's making fun of me,” Randall said, unclasping the watch and handing it to Patrick. “This one's a Tag Heuer. That dial measures depth. This one tells you how long until you run out of oxygen.”

  “Do you have a Rolex or two at home?” Kate asked sweetly.

  Randall shook his head. “All I need is a watch that keeps good time. There are better ways to impress people.”

  “Like helicopters and Ferraris,” Kate muttered under her breath.

  “We've started a business,” Patrick said proudly, as he gave the watch back to Randall. “Clay and I are professional dog walkers. We're earning enough money to pay for lunch at school and saving the rest.”

  “I admire your entrepreneurial spirit,” Randall said as he leaned back contentedly with a wineglass cradled in his big hand.

  “We wanted to help Mom out with the finances,” Patrick continued and then stopped abruptly. Clay had kicked his ankle under the table and his mother was frowning at him. “And we're really good with animals,” he finished after a pause.

  Clay jumped in. “I wanted to buy a special CAD-CAM program and decided to earn it myself. It's more satisfying that wa
y.”

  Randall raised an eyebrow at that. “Very true.” But Kate had seen the sudden sharpening of his gaze when Patrick mentioned the family finances. When Patrick got started on a subject, he forgot all instructions about what was private information and what wasn't.

  “You know, Clay, we've got a different program at work,” Kate said to steer the conversation away from dog-walking. “I'll bring home the disk for you to take a look at.” She saw Randall's attention shift as she mentioned work and was relieved when he continued to address Clay.

  “Are you thinking about engineering as a career?” Randall asked.

  Clay flushed slightly. “I'd really like to be a sculptor, like Alexander Calder. You know, make big metal sculptures for outdoors. The computer programs are good for designing those so they're stable.”

  Randall leaned forward. “That's an unusual ambition for a young man. Do you know how to weld already?”

  “Yes, Dad taught me how. We used to work on an old car together.”

  “Do you have any sculptures to show me?”

  Clay's face lit up. “They're not big but I've done a few. The one on the table in the living room is mine. And I have a couple of bigger ones in the garage.” He looked at Kate.

  She waved a hand in permission. “Go right ahead. I'll get dessert ready.”

  To Kate's surprise, Randall rose and gathered up his plate and silverware. “First, we clear the table.” The boys followed suit, racing into the kitchen with their glasses balanced precariously on their plates.

  “No, no, I'll take care of that,” Kate said, standing up and trying to take his dirty dishes from him.

  “You have a very unflattering opinion of my manners,” Randall said in a low voice as he moved his plate decisively away from her grasp.

  “It's not that. I just know that you're accustomed to having Rosa around...”

  His brows lowered in irritation. “I clear the table when Rosa's around, too.”

  Kate just looked at him.

  “Most of the time,” he amended.

  Kate folded her arms.