by Patricia Kay
He stood up and did some stretching exercises to relieve the tension. God, that felt good. Now he'd take a shower and put on fresh clothes; then he'd rummage through the freezer and see what he could fix for dinner. Or should he take Ronnie out? When you were planning to tell a woman you loved her and wanted to marry her, wasn't it appropriate to take her out to a romantic restaurant?
No. He'd pick flowers and light candles here. He wanted them to be alone so they could make love after they talked ... make love without waiting to drive home and all that nonsense. He smiled. Veronica Valentine. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. The woman he loved.
Humming to himself, Alex walked back to the bedroom. Just as he put his foot into the tub, the phone shrilled. Swearing softly, he padded out to the living room, picked up the phone and said, "Yes?"
"Alex?"
It was Bernie. Alex grinned. Wouldn't old Bernie be surprised when he found out? "Hello, Bernie."
"So how's the rewrite comin'? Just about done?"
"I am done."
"No kiddin'! That's great, kid."
Alex frowned. Bernie didn't sound as happy or excited as Alex had imagined he would. "Something wrong, Bernie?" he asked.
"Depends on how you look at it," Bernie said.
"How I look at what?"
"You sittin' down?" Bernie barked.
"No. As a matter of fact, I was just about to get into the shower. I'm standing in the middle of the living room, bare bones naked, with all the windows wide open."
"Tryin' to give the town a thrill, eh, kid?"
"Come on, Bernie. Don't hedge. Something's wrong. What is it?"
He heard Bernie sigh. "Hell, I might as well just give it to you straight. Margo's back."
Alex's breath caught painfully. A vision of her glittering golden-brown eyes and perfect cameo face flashed in his mind. A knot twisted in his gut. Then a second image superseded the first. This time he saw dark curly hair framing a small face and brilliant blue eyes filled with love. He took a deep breath. Margo's memory no longer had the power to hurt him. Ronnie loved him. He was sure of it. And he loved her. He was finally finished with the past.
"Say somethin'," Bernie said gruffly.
Alex knew Bernie was worried. "I'm okay, Bernie. I don't give a damn whether she's back or not."
"Well..."
"Well, what?"
"Well ... that's not all."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean she's not alone."
Why was Bernie talking in riddles? "So? I'm sure she hasn't been alone since the moment she left me." Knowing Margo, she'd been surrounded by men eager to take his place.
"She has a little boy with her, and she says he's your son."
Alex stopped breathing. His blood pounded in his ears. His son! He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Alex?"
The voice seemed to come from far away. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"Alex!"
This time Bernie shouted, and Alex took a ragged breath. "I ... I don't understand," he said.
"It's simple. She had a kid after she left you, and she says it's yours."
"I ... I don't believe it." Could it be true? Alex had always wanted children of his own. It was a wish never articulated but deeply felt. "Have you seen the boy? How old is he?"
"Nah. I haven't seen him yet, but she seemed like she was tellin' the truth. I believed her."
Alex knew Bernie disliked Margo, so if he felt she were telling the truth, she must have been very convincing. "What do you think I should do?" he said.
"I think you should pack up and come home right now. Take care of this. See what she wants."
"I ... I'll have to think about it, Bernie. It's not the best time for me to leave."
"Why not? You said you were finished with the rewrite."
"I know, but something else has come up." How could he leave Ronnie now? Nothing was settled between them. But how could he ask her to marry him until he saw Margo and this child she claimed was his? "Listen, Bernie," he said. "I'll call you back later. Let me think about it for a while."
"Okay, kid, but I think you better decide to come. This won't wait."
* * *
Ronnie wanted to look as pretty as she possibly could. Something told her this night would be the most important night of her life. Happiness and anticipation danced within her, and the excitement had flooded her face with color and her eyes with stars. She fingered her white cotton sundress edged with white lace. It was a dress she saved for special occasions. After carefully applying makeup and dabbing Joy everywhere, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were shining, and she looked almost beautiful. She blew herself a kiss for luck. Then she raced down the back steps.
When Alex opened the door, she smiled. He looked so handsome and so solemn. He took her hand and led her into the living room. Ronnie stood transfixed as her eyes took in the welter of packed suitcases and boxes, but her brain refused to process the information.
She stared at him. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest. Her knees felt weak. She clutched the arm of the nearest chair. I won't cry, she told herself. I won't.
"Ronnie, darling, sit down. Don't look like that," Alex said.
The "darling" barely registered. But his next words did. Stunning in their impact, they demolished her dreams and sent them crashing down in ruins at her feet.
As Alex slowly explained about Bernie's phone call, Ronnie began to feel numb inside. "A ... a son," she stammered. A son. Her child. Their child. The words pummeled Ronnie's brain like hailstones on a tin roof. She felt lightheaded, and she turned and sank down on the chair.
Alex sat on the arm of the chair and touched her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.
"Oh, Ronnie, I'm sorry," he said. "I'd give anything if this hadn't happened, but it doesn't make any difference, really. All it means is I have to go back to the city early and take care of this ... get things straightened out."
"I understand," she said. Her heart felt frozen in her chest. She couldn't look up at him. She twisted her hands in her lap. I must stay calm. I mustn't let him see how upset I am.
"Ronnie, please look at me," he begged.
She heard the pleading in his voice, but she couldn't allow herself to accept any comfort from him. If he were to put his arms around her or kiss her, she knew she'd break down. And once she started crying, she might never stop. "It's quite all right, Alex. Of course, you must go. I wouldn't think much of you if you didn't."
"This doesn't change anything between us, Ronnie," he said. "Please believe that. I'll just go down there and get this mess straightened out—see where I stand and what Margo wants—then I'll be back. We still have things to discuss—to settle."
Ronnie jumped up. She forced herself to look him straight in the eye. She saw the uncertainty. She had to make it easy for him. This was inevitable. For just awhile there, she'd allowed herself to dream, but dreams were just that. Dreams weren't reality. This was reality. Alex ... going back to his world ... his son ... the woman he'd never forgotten. Ronnie knew once Alex saw Margo again, saw her with their son, all would be lost. This had been a magical interlude, something to remember the rest of her life ... but it wasn't real life. Real life was Juliette, her job, her friends, her family, ordinary things in an ordinary world. Eventually, she'd forget Alex. She'd have to forget him. She had no choice.
"I always knew you'd go back to your world," she said. "I just wasn't prepared for it tonight. It ... it was a shock at first, but I'm fine now." She smiled to show how fine she was.
"Ronnie..." He reached, touched her shoulders.
She shrank back. "Please, Alex. Please, don't. I really think it would be best if I go home, and you can finish up and get out of here."
"I wasn't planning to leave until morning," he said. "Can't we have tonight together?"
Ronnie shook her head. "I don't think so." She had to get out of there. "It was different before. I ... I just c
an't..." She extended her hand. "Goodbye, Alex. I'll never forget you."
"Goddamnit, Ronnie. Quit talking to me in that frozen voice, like I'm a stranger or something! Try to understand. I have to go back right now, but I don't love Margo, and I'm not going back to her. I... I..." He stopped and ran his hands through his hair.
Ronnie's heart galloped. For a moment she thought he was going to say, "I love you."
"Ronnie, trust me," he said. "I've never lied to you, have I?"
"No." Not knowingly, she thought.
"Well, I'm not lying to you now. You must believe me. I will be back. As soon as I get this problem sorted out and put behind me."
"You'll never put this completely behind you, Alex. You have a son." A son that will bind him to Margo forever, she thought.
"I'm not even sure the child is mine," he said. "That's another reason I have to go now and get it over with." His warm hands enveloped hers. "A few months ago, I might have been afraid to face Margo again—afraid of my feelings, afraid to confront the old hurts. But knowing you has changed me in so many ways. You're so brave, you have so much courage. You look life straight in the eye. You're not afraid of anything. You've helped me regain my strength by your example."
You're wrong, Alex, she cried inside. I'm desperately afraid of life without you. But she lifted her chin, smiled, and said, "I'm proud to be the one to have helped you realize your own strength, Alex. But you've always had it. You'd have found it on your own. It just might have taken longer." She tugged her hands from his. "Now I really must go home. And you must leave."
She stood up, and he rose with her. His hands clasped her shoulders. "I wanted this night to be so special," he said. Then he bent to kiss her, and Ronnie didn't have the strength to pull away.
Just one more time, she thought. She lost herself in the bittersweet magic of the kiss, knowing the memory of it would have to last her a lifetime.
* * *
After Ronnie left, Alex felt like throwing things. Why, why did this have to happen now? He knew he'd never be able to sleep, so he decided to load his car and leave that night. He wrote a check and a short note to Sam, put them both in an envelope and sealed it, then went out front to pull the car up to the door.
After loading his bags and boxes in the trunk and back seat, he walked up to the front of the house and knocked on Sam's screen door. As he waited for Sam to answer, he looked around.
The lowering sun slanted through the green porch awnings, and on the far railing sat Hector like a king on his throne, his golden-green eyes glowing in a riveting stare.
As Alex's eyes met his, Hector hissed, and his coppery fur stood at attention.
Alex smiled wryly. Like master, like cat, he thought. Neither one liked him much.
"Hello, Alex." Sam's pudgy body was visible through the screen. There was no warmth in his voice.
"Hello, Sam," Alex said. "I brought you this." He held out the envelope.
Sam pushed the screen door open, and the hinges squeaked. "You leavin'?"
"Yes, I've been called away rather suddenly. I wrote the check out to cover the utilities and telephone. You have the deposit to cover any damage you might find. I also put my address and telephone number in New York inside so that you can call me if you need to."
Alex turned to leave, then stopped. He turned around slowly. Sam stood there, unmoving and unblinking, disdain written on his face. Alex hesitated, then said, "You'll look after Ronnie while I'm gone?"
"I've been lookin' after Ronnie for a long time ... long before you came on the scene, and I'll be lookin' after her long after you're gone," he said coldly.
Alex wished he could tell Sam he was wrong. I love her even more than you do, he wanted to say. But he didn't. Instead he said, "Thank you. I've enjoyed living in the carriage house. It's been an unforgettable summer."
Sam didn't answer. Alex could feel his eyes staring at him as he walked away.
Later, as the powerful car devoured the miles between Juliette and New York City effortlessly, Alex replayed the scene with Ronnie over and over in his mind. He hoped she believed him. He hoped he was right not to have said anything about their future together. He had to be free of all encumbrances before he could make a life with Ronnie. He knew he was right. After he saw Margo, he could call Ronnie, and he could go back to Juliette. Then everything would be the way it should be.
All I have to do, he told himself, is get through the next few days. See the boy, try to determine if Margo's telling the truth about him. See her. Exorcize the demons. His plan sounded simple. So why was his stomach knotted with fear?
Chapter 10
Two days later, the same knot of fear twisted his insides as Alex rang the doorbell of Apartment #32E in the luxurious Park Avenue building. He heard the melodious chimes echo on the other side of the door.
Smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from his immaculate beige slacks, he wet his lips and took a deep breath. There's no reason to feel afraid or nervous, he told himself for the dozenth time.
The door whispered open. A young Spanish maid dressed in a blue uniform and white apron smiled shyly.
"Alex Summerfield to see Miss McKenna," Alex said. He attempted to smile but knew the effort fell far short.
"Si, senor. Please to come in. Meez Mahkenna, she expects you." The maid turned and walked briskly across the parquet foyer, through a set of double walnut doors and into an enormous living room. Alex could see the windows afforded a spectacular view of New York's skyline.
"Alex!"
He would have known that lilting, musical voice anywhere. Margo stood up and waited for him to approach her. Against the black and white color scheme of the modern apartment, her vivid coloring looked even more striking than usual. The golden-brown eyes, which once had the power to mesmerize him, sparkled with the brilliance of topaz. The fiery hair, a shade of copper found in newly minted pennies, shot dazzling prisms of color in the sun's rays. The oval face with its translucent skin and creamy perfection glowed with health and loving care. The magnificent body he'd known so well didn't look as if she could ever have borne a child. Dressed today in pale yellow linen, she looked as if she'd just stepped out of the pages of Vogue.
"Hello, Margo," he said.
She smiled—the same fetchingly beautiful smile that had always had the power to melt his resolve, to win anything she'd ever wanted from him ... or anyone else. Then she held out her arms, thin gold bracelets jingling, and Alex hesitated an almost imperceptible moment.
Like a sleepwalker, he opened his arms, and she moved into them, lifting her face for his kiss. The same scent of jasmine she'd always favored filled his senses. The knot tightened as he met her lips.
At the first touch of her cool lips, relief flooded Alex's body. The knot loosened, and with a heady feeling of freedom, Alex gave her a sound, friendly kiss—the kind he might give any dear friend he hadn't seen in years. Confidence returned as he gently held her at arm's length.
"You look ... gorgeous ... as usual," he said with a smile. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are." He could say it without torment, as if he were admiring an exquisite painting, nothing more. She no longer had the power to devastate him. Only a small, dark-haired, blue-eyed vixen could make him feel helplessly enslaved now. The thought of Ronnie warmed Alex, and his smile widened.
"And you, my handsome ex-husband, still have that knock-'em-dead, make-their-knees-turn-to-jelly appeal," she said with a merry chuckle.
"How have you been?" he asked.
"I'm terrific ... really terrific," she said. "Why don't we sit down?" She gestured to the long white couch. "Would you like a drink?"
Alex shook his head. He wanted to see the boy.
As if reading his mind, her eyes glittered knowingly, and she said, "You're anxious to meet your son, aren't you?"
Alex wasn't ready to concede his acceptance of parentage, so he chose his words carefully. "I'd like to see the boy, yes. It ... it's hard for me to believe I have a son. I don't unde
rstand why you never wrote to tell me about him."
She ran the tip of her pink tongue over her bottom lip and gave him a thoughtful look. "It's a long story. We'll talk about all that later. Let me go and get Christopher."
Christopher. Christopher had been Margo's father's name.
It seemed like hours before she returned with a chubby toddler in her arms. Alex stiffened as she moved from the shadows into the sunlight; then his heart seemed to stop. For a long moment he couldn't speak.
There could be no denial of this child. He felt as if he were looking at his own baby pictures. The same inky black hair and the identical cleft chin hammered the message home. This is your son. Your son. The only difference in the face Alex stared at now and the face he stared at in the mirror each morning was the color of their eyes. Christopher's eyes were the same golden-flecked brown as his mother's, and right now they stared at Alex with bright curiosity, although he kept his sturdy arms wrapped tightly around Margo's neck.
"May I?" Alex asked, a husky catch in his voice. He held out his arms.
"Certainly. Christopher, darling, this is your father." Margo loosened the child's arms and held him out to Alex.
Christopher's eyes widened with momentary alarm, and he whimpered.
"It's okay, son," Alex said softly. He enfolded the child in his arms. The feel of the warm, strong body, and the smell of boy, an odor Alex had forgotten, permeated his senses. Pride and love expanded his chest. "I'm your father."
"Fodder," Christopher said. Then, as Alex's heart twisted, Christopher twined his chubby arms around Alex's neck and burrowed his head under Alex's chin. Alex blinked against the sudden tears that misted his eyes. His arms tightened.
"H ... how old is he?" Alex asked.
"Eighteen months," she said and smiled. She had the look of satisfaction Alex associated with a well-fed cat. "He's the spitting image of you, Alex."
She knew I was doubting her story. Alex lowered himself to the couch but still held Christopher tightly.
"So, what do you think?" she asked as she crossed one perfectly shaped leg over the other.
There were undercurrents Alex didn't understand. What did she want? "About what?" he hedged.
