Words of Silk

by Sandra Brown

  “It’s not fair. I didn’t get to touch the baby,” another complained as Laney organized them into two reasonably straight lines.

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” she said absently, counting heads.

  “I want to touch the baby too.”

  Laney froze. How she recognized the voice, she didn’t know. It had been over six months since that night in New York. But she knew instantly who had come up behind her, taking her completely unaware.

  When she turned around, he was smiling, standing only a foot away, looking hilariously out of place in the schoolyard. He was wearing an expensive overcoat of a gray-green wool that did marvelous things for his coloring. The collar was turned up to perfectly frame a rawly appealing masculine face and wind-tossed gray hair.

  “You look beautiful, darling,” he said.

  And while Laney stood as immobile as a mannequin, he stepped forward, cupped her cold cheeks between his warm palms and kissed her.

  CHAPTER 3

  The kiss was warm, chaste and infinitely tender. When he pulled away, his eyes were twinkling with mischief and delight over her mute surprise. The children had gone wild, giggling and whooping because their Miss McLeod had been kissed.

  When he finally dropped his hands from her cheeks, Laney took a step back and said, “What do you think—”

  “Well, I see you found her.” Mr. Harper was huffing toward them, his face wreathed in smiles and relief. “She was right where I said she’d be, wasn’t she, Mr. Sargent?”

  Sargent. Deke Sargent.

  “Yes, she was.”

  Though he answered the principal, Deke continued to stare at Laney hungrily. She tore her eyes away from that ravenous gaze and addressed Mr. Harper. “And just why was Mr. Sargent looking for me?”

  Could she brazen this out? Could she act as though she didn’t recognize or remember him? It was worth a try.

  “Easy, Laney,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Well . . . well, of course he was looking for you,” Mr. Harper stammered. “Your husband came to the office and told me that you two had reconciled. We’re all very glad to hear that. And just in time for Christmas!” He chuckled and folded his hands across his stomach, beaming at them.

  “That’s Miss McLeod’s husband,” one of the children piped up.

  “She’s not married or she would be Mrs. not Miss.”

  “She’s Ms., stupid, don’t you know anything? And of course she’s married ’cause she’s gonna have a baby.”

  “Yeah, my mom said you have to be married before you can have a baby.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do too.”

  “Husband?” Laney squeaked, turning away from the children.

  Mr. Harper laughed. “I see you haven’t gotten used to having him around again.”

  “She’ll get used to it,” Deke said silkily. “Darling, I think the children are getting cold. By the way, did someone mention lunch? What’s on the menu today?”

  “Pizza,” said one of the children.

  “And salad.”

  “But no free ice cream.”

  Deke smiled down into thirty openly curious faces. “Wha’d’ya say I buy ice cream for everyone today?”

  That was the proverbial straw. The children went crazy. They fractured the haphazard lines Laney had urged them to form, and eddied around her en masse. She stood rooted to the playground, feeling the foundations of her life slowly crumbling and knowing she was helpless to stop the erosion.

  “Children, children, remember not to run,” Mr. Harper said, chasing after them as they swarmed toward the door. “Walk, please.”

  “Let’s get in out of this wind, Laney. I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

  She stared, dumbfounded, as Deke took her elbow and began escorting her back toward the building. If she hadn’t been so livid, she probably would have laughed at the farce that was being played out. She yanked her arm free.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but—”

  “But you’d better go along with it, because Mr. Harper is thrilled that we’re back together.” His dazzling smile belied the tense undercurrents in his voice.

  She glanced toward the door. The children had filed through. The principal was holding the heavy door for them and grinning stupidly. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to stamp and scream and tear at her hair. But she had learned early on to keep every emotion well under control. One didn’t make a fool of oneself by displaying what one was feeling, so she only glowered at Deke Sargent.

  “You won’t get away with this,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  He took her hand and linked their fingers. “I already have.” Short of causing a big scene with Mr. Harper looking on, she had no choice but to go with him through the door and rejoin the class.

  The rest of the day was like a bad script. A parody. A comedy in which everyone but she knew their lines. She groped and grappled for rational things to say when nothing made any sense.

  Sitting across from her at lunch in a cafeteria full of squirming, noisy children was the man who stocked expensive brandy and owned a signed and numbered artwork by Leroy Neiman. It made her distinctly uncomfortable that she could remember the lithograph in such detail. It had hung over the marble fireplace.

  He ate the rubbery slice of pizza and the soggy salad as if it were haute cuisine at 21. He smiled at her across the stained Formica table lined with plastic trays and water-spotted stainless. Standing like sad sentinels down the center of the table were bottles of artificial sweetener, stopped-up salt shakers and broken paper-napkin dispensers. Yet, he seemed perfectly at home.

  He touched her, frequently. He fetched and carried and anticipated her every need until she thought she would scream. Only the presence of the other teachers, observing like dreamy-eyed sorority girls, prevented her from dumping his tray in his lap just to see how much he would smile then.

  “My God,” someone hissed in her ear, “have you lost your mind?”

  “Huh?” Laney turned around to see two of the most dedicated men-chasers on the staff gazing at Deke as he passed out the ice-cream bars he had bought for her classroom.

  “You let him get away? Even for a little while?”

  “Honey, I’d put up with wife-beating to keep him in my bed.”

  “He’s a hunk. An absolute hunk.”

  “Why in the world would you have ever left him? I’d have gone crawling back.”

  Laney had passed the boiling point a long time ago. Would they believe the truth? “The first time I met him I was stuck in an elevator and hysterical. He took me to his apartment, plied me with brandy, got me drunk and took full advantage by stripping us both naked, getting into bed with me and making love to me all night.”

  They looked at her as though she were mentally deranged. “That’s bad?” they chorused.

  Her students were unruly all afternoon, excited by the holiday season and the appearance of a man who, in their estimation, rivaled the most dashing heroes of their favorite television shows. By the time the final bell rang, Laney was physically exhausted, mentally drained and emotionally shredded.

  Why was he there? Why had he come looking for her?

  “Ready, darling?”

  “I am not your darling!” She had been needlessly straightening papers on her desk until the last child left the room. Now she whirled around to face him and unleashed the fury that had been building all day. “Stop calling me that. Stop calling me anything. And why are you here? How did you find me and what do you want? I want an explanation, dammit!”

  “So do I!” he shot back.

  His flare of temper startled her and she retreated into hostile silence as she tossed things into her book bag. He was holding her coat. There was nothing to do but to let him help her with it. He buttoned it to the top button, daring her to protest as he fixed her eyes with his. She picked up her purse and together they left the room and walked down the vacant hallway, which smelled of paste, crayons,
Christmas peppermint and sweaty wool.

  Once outside she headed for the parking lot. Parked beside her battered compact was a sleek brown Cadillac. No puzzle whom it belonged to.

  “I owe you nothing, Mr. Sargent. Not an explanation. Nothing. You wasted your time in coming here and I’ll thank you not to bother me again.” While she had been delivering that brilliant exit line, she had been unlocking her car door. Now she faced him with cool condescension.

  He was smiling. “I’ll see you at home.” He pecked her lightly on her cold, stiff cheek and circled her car to get into his. He hauled the door open, but before stepping inside, he said, “By the way, Laney, don’t bother trying to lose me. I know where the house is.”

  She cursed as she slammed the car door, cursed the cold motor—which took an inordinate amount of time to start, while the Cadillac’s engine growled powerfully—cursed the school bus she got caught behind in traffic, cursed the man who was going to ruin her life, such as it was.

  He turned his car in behind hers and somehow beat her to the front porch. She watched with horror as he extracted a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the door. “Where did you get that?” she demanded from the lowest step on the porch.

  “Come inside, Laney, it’s cold.”

  “Answer me! Where did you get a key to my house? And I’ll be damned if I’m going into that house alone with you.”

  He sighed in exasperation and took the steps down to reach her. “I feel a scene coming on. Would you rather have it out here on the front lawn? KINDERGARTEN TEACHER HUSTLED ON FRONT LAWN BY RABID NEW YORKER. Is that how you want tomorrow’s headlines to read? Or do you want to be reasonable and get your sweet tush through that damn door before I bodily carry you in?”

  He had made his point. She stalked past him but came to an abrupt halt just inside the door. Two suitcases stood in the middle of the living-room floor. There was an all-weather coat hanging on her brass coat tree. A racquetball racket was leaning against the leg of the sofa. A briefcase was lying on the coffee table.

  Shaking with fury, she slowly turned on him. “Collect your things and get out of my house.”

  “My house.” He fished in his pocket and took out a receipt, which he waved in front of her eyes. “Your lease was only for six months. Remind me to advise you on such matters, Laney. Anyway, it was going to expire next month. I paid this month’s rent, signed a new lease—for six months, because by that time the baby will be here and we’ll need more room—and paid the full amount of rent in advance. Now, legally you could kick me out for the next month, until you’ve fulfilled your lease, but I checked with the utility company and your bill was two months old, so I paid it. Also water, telephone and sanitation. I think that entitles me to one month’s lodging.”

  She watched his mouth and was stunned by the words she heard spilling out of it. “You’re crazy and I’m calling the police.” She spun away from him and barreled toward the telephone, but he merely shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the coat tree.

  “And tell them what? That your husband is now living in your house with you?”

  “You’re not my husband!”

  He held up his index finger. “But everyone thinks I am. You spun the lie about being legally separated from your husband, Laney. I’m only covering for you.”

  “How did you know about that?” She gripped the back of a chair for support.

  His smile would have melted an iceberg. “I’ve spent six months looking for you. There’s little I don’t know.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about you except that your gall is unbelievable and that you’re insane if you think you can barge in on me like this and get away with it.” She drew a deep breath and said with what she hoped was level firmness, “I want you out of here. Now.”

  A hint of temper lit the green eyes again. “You have something that belongs to me. Something that I want very much.” His eyes dropped significantly to her stomach.

  Instinctively her hands covered it. “No,” she whispered. Then she repeated fiercely, “No!”

  He took a step toward her and she cringed. His anger erupted. “Get out from behind that goddamn chair, Laney. Don’t ever cower from me like that. My God, the last thing I would do is hurt you.”

  She didn’t move, and he went toward her and gently but firmly took her arm. “Come sit in the kitchen while I fix you something hot to drink. You look exhausted.” He eased off her coat and flung it negligently on the sofa. “Those kids of yours are terrific, but how you stand that pandemonium every day, I’ll never know.”

  Obediently, mindlessly, Laney let herself be led into the kitchen. She didn’t object because she was too exhausted to voice a complaint, and because she was too confused to think, and because his hand felt strong and warm and solid and supportive against the aching small of her back.

  “What have we got?” he said, checking out the contents of the pantry. “I think I’ll have to make a run for groceries. How about hot chocolate?” He had found two packages of hot chocolate mix and was now filling her kettle and turning on the burner of the range as though he did that every afternoon at three thirty when she came in from school.

  “Why are you doing this?” She sounded like a parrot, tiredly repeating the same question.

  He set two mugs on the countertop and turned around, looking at her for a long, silent moment. Finally he said, “That should be obvious, Laney. I want you and I want my baby.” She paled and swayed slightly. He lunged toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please sit down before you drop.”

  He gently pushed her into the chair, and when her head fell forward to rest on the backs of her hands on the table, he massaged the top of her head. “Your hair has grown longer.”

  “I haven’t found anyone here to cut it.” She couldn’t believe she was carrying on this ordinary conversation when there were so many holes she needed to fill with information.

  “It’s very pretty. I like it longer. More to run my fingers through.” His fingers threaded through her hair caressingly. “I guess you couldn’t bring your hairstylist with you when you moved from Tulsa.”

  Her head came up then and she stared at him. He answered her unspoken question. “Yes, I know that you moved here shortly after your vacation to New York.”

  “How did you find me?”

  He went to the stove to pour the now boiling water into the mugs and stirred the hot chocolate until it foamed on the top. He placed one mug in front of her; then, taking up his own, he propped his hips against the counter and crossed his ankles in front of him. His trim, long legs were clothed by camel-colored designer slacks. He was wearing a V-necked navy cashmere sweater over a discreetly plaid cotton shirt. Hand-stitched brown Italian loafers were on his feet. His hair was attractively windblown. He was lean and hard and fearsomely male, yet the caress from his eyes was pure velvet.

  “I’m an attorney. A criminal-defense attorney. Once I located Sally and Jeff James after they returned from their trip to England . . .”

  He paused and she filled in the gaps. “They were going to leave the day after . . . after I saw them. Jeff is a teacher. He was going to Oxford for two months of research.”

  “After you left that morning, I nearly tore the building up looking for the friends you had told me you spent the evening with. I must have just missed them. No one I grilled had had a guest named Laney visiting the night before. I checked with the doorman about all the people living in the building who were out of town. He gave me their name after I told him why I needed the information. He remembered your leaving that morning. He didn’t blame me for wanting to find you.”

  She took another drink of chocolate and stared out the window, hoping she looked unimpressed by all he was telling her. Actually her heart was thumping as much as the baby, who seemed to recognize the low, resonant voice of his father and was bouncingly celebrating his arrival.

  “It took weeks for me to make connections with them. I was involved in a case a
nd they were touring the English countryside.” He ran a hand through his hair and sipped at his mug of chocolate. “Anyway, we finally made contact.”

  “You didn’t tell them—”

  “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I told them I had found a credit card belonging to you in the elevator and asked them for your mailing address. They gave me the one in Tulsa.”

  “But by that time I had already moved.”

  “Yes,” he said grimly. “You had closed up the house and arranged to have your mail held in Tulsa until you provided the post office with a forwarding address.”

  “When I eventually sent for my mail, you found me.”

  “No. I found you before that.”

  “How?”

  He grinned devilishly. “In all modesty I have a well-known practice in New York,” he said with a sweeping bow. “I have access to records, files, law enforcement agencies. You were . . . located.” He came to the small round table and pulled a chair close to hers until their knees were touching.

  “I was in the middle of a trial and couldn’t leave, but I had people reporting in—”

  “You had me spied on!” She was furious and tried to bolt out of the chair, but he grabbed her hands and held her down.

  “Don’t think of it that way.”

  “That’s the only way to think of it. God! Wasn’t violating my body enough for you? Did you have to violate my privacy too?”

  It took an act of will for him to curb his temper. “Will you please calm down, Laney? High blood pressure can’t be good for the baby.”

  “I’ll worry about the baby. And you can go to hell.” She thrust his hands aside and stood, but he sprang up beside her and caught her shoulders—not painfully, but with enough authority to keep her from moving.

  “Sit down,” he said. When she didn’t comply, but only shifted her shoulders beneath his hands, he said with more force, “Laney, sit down.”