A Little Bit of Déjà Vu

by Laurie Kellogg

  She kept one ear tuned to him supervising dinner in the kitchen while Maggie quietly made suggestions and put the finishing touches on the meal—all the while allowing him to think he was managing things.

  Roxanne couldn’t help but admire the other woman’s ability to institute her own ideas while still pandering to Jake’s all-male ego. Unlike Maggie, Roxanne had never mastered the art of claiming her independence without coming across as a shrew or a spoiled brat. It still amazed her that Chris seemed to love her exactly the way she was.

  She’d asked him to come with her that night, but he’d prudently rejected her invitation, insisting her reconciliation with her son was hardly the time to let Alex in on the fact his mother was having an affair with his father’s best friend.

  Not that Alex’s abrupt, monosyllabic responses to her questions were much better than a ceasefire.

  Despite how much gratitude Roxanne owed Helen for helping to raise her little boy to be such a nice young man, she couldn’t help feeling jealous. She ached to have him treat her with the same love and affection he showed Helen—or even his future mother-in-law, for that matter.

  When Maggie announced dinner was ready, Jake seated her in the hostess’s position at the foot of the table near the kitchen. He took Roxanne’s hand and pulled out the chair for her on his right. “Sit next to me so we can catch up.”

  Alex seated Emma next to her mom and took the chair between his fiancée and Roxanne, opposite his three grandparents.

  Once everyone was settled, Roxanne’s father rose and held up his wineglass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my grandson and Emma. May you have a lifetime of happiness together.”

  Standing, Alex dug an envelope from his back pocket and ripped it several times before tossing the shredded pieces on the table. “We fully intend to, Gramps.”

  Alexander’s mouth tightened. “Don’t be a damned fool.”

  “I will not ask Emma to sign that!” Alex snapped, pointing at the torn envelope.

  Roxanne rolled her eyes, unable to believe the bastard’s audacity.

  The old fool scowled at her. “Would you please talk to your son and make him understand how much he’ll be worth someday and what he’s risk—”

  “I know exactly how much is at stake,” Alex cut him off. “Your secretary has been forwarding Warrington’s quarterly financial reports to me since I was twelve. I’m probably the only high school senior who understands the concept of leverage ratio. Emma will be entitled to half of all I have in life. If you don’t like that, find yourself another heir.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you, Dad?” Roxanne smiled at Jake. “Alex feels the same way I did when I got married. Unlike me, however, my son has the strength of character to stand up to you and refuse to ask his fiancée to sign a prenup.”

  Alexander stared into his grandson’s unflinching gaze for a moment, then turned to Roxanne as he picked up the contract’s torn pieces and stuffed them in his pocket. “And that’s precisely why I’ll be naming Alex as my successor when I retire.”

  As if she’d ever expected anything else. She had no doubt her father loved her and her sister Jessica. All her life he’d given them whatever they’d asked for—everything except his approval. All because they’d had the unmitigated nerve to be born minus a penis by which to measure their worth. In fact, the only thing she’d ever done right in her father’s eyes was to give birth to a male heir to inherit his corporate empire.

  “And exactly when will you be retiring, Alexander?” Nick asked and served himself some salad Margie had passed to him. “If I recall correctly, you’re already sixty-seven.”

  “Not until I decide our grandson is ready to assume control of Warrington. The company needs someone with a set of balls at its helm.”

  Roxanne’s heart swelled as her son squeezed her hand under the table.

  “I think Alex might have something to say about that.” Jake interjected and winked at her. “Especially if the NFL drafts him.”

  “Over my dead body!” Alexander thundered.

  “Don’t worry, Gramps. If it comes to that, we’ll have a taxidermist stuff you.” Alex smirked. “Then you can preside over the board for eternity and let my mother do the job she’s better qualified for than I’ll ever be. Have you looked at her division’s fiscal report, lately?”

  Roxanne pursed her lips in a suppressed smile. Okay, so she might still have to earn her son’s love and forgiveness, but at least she had his respect for her business acumen. For now, that was enough.

  ~~~

  Margie had never spent such a strained evening in her life. Throughout the meal, she chatted with Helen and Emma about the wedding and listened with half an ear to Alex debate the wisdom of a recent Warrington acquisition with his two grandfathers and mother at the other end of the table. The depth of the kid’s understanding of the business world amazed Margie.

  She glanced up from her plate several times to discover Roxanne openly studying her. Jake’s beautiful, sophisticated ex-wife probably wondered what he’d ever seen in a little nobody like Margie.

  The loving looks passing between Jake and Roxanne twisted Margie’s insides. By the time she served the creamy cheesecake Jake had ordered from Sally’s Sweet & Savories, Redemption’s bakery and deli, her nerves were tighter than a rubber band stretched to its limit. If the evening didn’t end soon, she would snap. She had no idea how to get through the next twenty-four hours with her sanity intact.

  As soon as everyone finished their coffee, Margie jumped up as if a stick of dynamite had exploded under her seat. “I’m sorry to leave the dessert dishes to clear, but I’ve had a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer.”

  “It’s okay.” Jake smiled. “You’ve already done too much. Dinner was great. Thanks.”

  She said her good-byes to everyone and reminded Alex to make sure Emma got home at a reasonable hour. Jake escorted her to the front door and stepped out on the porch with her.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Thanks again for all your help tonight.” He speared his fingers into Margie’s hair and claimed her lips in a tender kiss, holding her mouth prisoner under his.

  Every fiber of her screamed at her to pull away, but the seductive teasing of his tongue paralyzed her. He slid his arms around her and held her snug against his hard unyielding body. Shivers rippled through her as he nibbled a path down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat and murmured, “Rosebud, do you ever wonder?”

  “About what?” she rasped, shoving herself away from him.

  “What our lives would’ve been like if we’d—”

  “No,” she lied.

  The first few years after she’d married Dan, she’d fantasized constantly about the different path her life would’ve taken if Jake had still wanted her. She wasn’t about to start torturing herself like that again.

  She turned and scurried to her car, calling back over her shoulder, “I don’t care to reminisce with you. Dwelling on the past will only breed remorse and bitterness.”

  ~~~

  Maggie’s parting words continued to echo through Jake’s head even after he closed his eyes for the night. He’d never once regretted making love to her. That was her gig. He was too busy dealing with his resentment over the aftermath.

  Even now, he couldn’t summon up a speck of remorse for himself—only for what he’d mistakenly done to her life. To regret those incredible hours in her arms would be like feeling sorry he’d taken a trip to the moon simply because he couldn’t make a second journey.

  He’d fallen asleep that fateful night with every intention of simply holding Maggie. Except shortly before dawn, her fanny wiggling against his groin stirred the granddaddy of all hard-ons. In his semi-conscious state, it didn’t take much rationalization to decide to enjoy the gift his pals had generously given him. Especially after he plucked open her tiny pearl buttons and parted the front of her dress. She had the most perf
ect breasts he’d ever laid eyes on—just round enough to be sweetly feminine with nipples that literally begged to be kissed.

  Her eager response strained his self-control to the limit. After feeling how excited she was, all it took was an encore of her innocent virgin performance to convince his Johnson he’d be doing her a favor to assuage her so-called squirmy feeling.

  He hadn’t worn a condom in ages since Roxanne used a diaphragm, so he yanked open the night table drawer to raid Chris’s stash and found the carton empty.

  Shit! He threw the box across the room. There was no way he was running through the halls with a woody, trying to scrounge up a condom at four in the morning. Instead, he searched through his billfold and blessedly found a worn packet squashed into the corner. It would have to do.

  The look of wonder in Maggie’s eyes almost convinced him her desire really was out of control. When she came only seconds after he slid his fingers between her legs, he nearly lost it.

  His heart hammered in his chest as her hand glided down his body and tentatively explored him. The look of utter fascination in her eyes nearly made him come. Her inexperience might all be an award-winning act, but it turned him on something fierce.

  It was only after he nudged her legs further apart and then pushed himself inside her, he knew something was wrong. He froze on top of her. Granted, she was a fairly small girl, but she was still way too tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

  Myriad emotions flooded through him. His body sang its pleasure, reveling in being surrounded by her tight innocence while his heart swelled with satisfaction, knowing her urgent desire had been genuine.

  He felt honored she’d given herself to him. The knowledge he was her first lover squeezed his chest and sheer unadulterated rage built in him. He wouldn’t have even considered sleeping with Maggie if he’d known she’d never been with a guy. Fury engulfed him like a violent storm, swamping him with a deep sorrow that she could never regain her innocence.

  He wanted to stop right then, but she begged him to finish making love to her. His ego swelled as her whimpers and moans aroused him further. Her sweet responsiveness sent him hurtling through space, spilling his hot seed in the longest, most mind-boggling orgasm that seemed to go on and on....and on.

  He eventually collapsed and rolled to his back, bringing her with him to rest on his chest. Holding her close, he gently stroked her back, marveling at the intensity of the experience. Sex had never been this spectacular.

  Something sticky dripped from between her legs onto his thigh.

  He shoved her off and muttered a string of four letter words as he sat up and inspected the broken condom. What the hell had he expected?

  Only a complete idiot would trust an expired rubber he’d been grinding his ass on for over a year.

  Chapter 12

  Margie’s and Emma’s trip to the Snip ‘n Style took up most of Saturday morning. Miz. Sherry, the owner of the beauty salon was Doc Foster’s sister, who had grown up in Pennsylvania but lived most of her adult life in Texas. After her second husband died a few years ago, she’d moved to Redemption to be closer to family and opened her shop.

  After spending forty some-odd years in the Hill Country of the Lone Star State, the friendly, silver-haired woman was bound and determined to force Redemption’s female clientele to adopt the slower pace she’d grown accustomed to living in Texas.

  “So my sister-in-law, Abby, tells me you and your daughter are from Houston,” Miz Sherry drawled as she styled Margie’s hair into a feathery pageboy with the blow dryer.”

  “Actually, I’m originally from San Francisco. We just lived in Texas for a few years right before moving here.”

  “She says Emma’s dress is absolutely gorgeous.”

  “It is. But I’m thinking all the seed pearls and crystal beading on the satin bodice might be a tad glitzy for an afternoon garden wedding.” Brand new, the gown had cost nearly two-thousand dollars, and they’d gotten it at a steal of only six hundred bucks.

  “Nonsense. A bride can never be too dressed up.”

  “Sherry, these ladies have a wedding this afternoon.” Abby Foster tapped her watch as she strolled into the salon, which was right next door to her dress shop. She glanced at Emma having a pedicure on the opposite side of the salon and gasped. “Oh, my word. What on earth did you do to that sweet girl’s hair?”

  Margie heaved a breath of relief. She’d tried several times to tell the garrulous stylist that Emma’s bone structure was too delicate for such a big hairstyle, but Ms. Sherry had been too busy flapping her gums to listen.

  “She looks beautiful with all those ringlets,” Miz Sherry insisted.

  “I don’t deny that. But she also looks like a dark-haired Dolly Parton. Doesn’t she?” Abby looked to the other women in the salon to back her up.

  “A little bit.” Margie smiled. She’d been thinking more along the lines of a streetwalker than a country western singer.

  “The girl is only eighteen, for crying out loud. As soon as you get done with Margie. You need to redo Emma’s hair, pronto.”

  “Fine. There’s no need to get ugly about it.” Sherry smiled at Margie in the mirror. “I do love my sister-in-law, dearly, but sometimes Abby can be downright bossy, bless her heart.”

  “Well someone needs to make sure Emma walks down the aisle looking like the sweet, young, innocent bride she is,” Abby countered.

  Margie smiled askance at her. “Sweet and young, yes. Innocent might be stretching it a little.”

  “She’s innocent. Don’t you worry about her and Alex.” Miz. Abby patted Margie’s arm. “I wasn’t any older than Emma when I got pregnant with my Tom and married Matt. Doc and I will be celebrating our forty-sixth anniversary next week.”

  By the time Miz Sherry restyled Emma’s hair into a chignon with a riot of wispy tendrils framing her face and they arrived back at their condo, they had barely ninety minutes to get ready for the ceremony.

  As Margie helped her daughter into her strapless empire-waisted wedding gown, she studied Emma’s rounded abdomen. Her short torso made her pregnancy show a lot more at eighteen weeks than it would on a taller woman. The significance of her swollen tummy hit Margie like the blast of a cold shower.

  Her baby would very soon be a mother.

  “Any day now, you’ll need those maternity clothes Alex bought you.”

  “I know.” Emma’s gaze lowered in the mirror as she tugged up the embellished satin bodice. “I haven’t been able to button my jeans for three weeks now.”

  “Well, Mrs. Foster did a wonderful job altering the dress for you. I can hardly tell you’re pregnant under the chiffon skirt. You look absolutely beautiful, Sweetie.”

  Miz Sherry had woven a few sprigs of baby’s breath into Emma’s hair, which made her look especially sweet. She looked back up at Margie, doubt flickering in her eyes. “Mommy, will Alex still want me when I look like Shamu and all the other girls are wearing bikinis?”

  Margie wished she could tell Emma she was worrying needlessly, but considering Alex’s age, she had good reason for concern. He was the sort of guy every girl dreamed of catching—athletic, good-looking, smart, not to mention heir to a corporate empire. In the next four years, he would be spending his days in classes surrounded by nubile coeds more than eager to help him enjoy his sexual prime, as Jake had put it.

  Hugging Emma close, Margie pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “Of course, he will. I think most men are fascinated by the changes their wives’ bodies go through while they’re carrying their baby. Your daddy loved to lay his head on my belly and talk to you.”

  Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “Why didn’t you have any more children after me?”

  “We tried, Em.” Margie sucked in a long breath as her eyes misted over, remembering all their disappointments. “But with your dad flying all over the place, more often than not we weren’t in the same bed at the right time.”

  After havi
ng Emma, they’d decided to wait until Margie finished college before having another child. By then, Dan had been close to forty and it had taken them two more years to finally conceive again.

  “I had my first miscarriage when you were seven and three more by the time you were ten. The doctor told us we were probably lucky to have had you. She suspected there might’ve been a genetic problem.”

  Every time Margie lost a child, she’d mourned her first baby all over again and wondered if she were being punished.

  “Did you ever get tested?”

  Dan had been as resistant to doing that as he had been about seeing a doctor for his impotence. He would never discuss it with her, but she suspected he’d been afraid the doctors would discover something that would have affected his certification as a commercial pilot.

  “No. Your dad insisted if God wanted us to have another child, we would. He felt we should just keep trying and eventually we’d get a lucky combination of our genes again.”

  “And you never got pregnant again after that?”

  “No.” The doctor had told Margie she couldn’t find a thing wrong with her. Dan had been in his late forties by then, so she’d speculated his sperm count might have dropped too low to impregnate her or they had some sort of incompatibility. Margie knew if she’d suggested artificial insemination or even adopting it would have added to Dan’s feelings of inadequacy, and by that point, he'd considered it unfair to burden a child with a dad nearly old enough to be his grandfather. In the end, she’d swallowed her deep disappointment and let the issue of having more children drop.

  Emma slumped on the bed and stared at the floor. “Do you think I might have inherited the same problem?”

  “No, Sweetie. You’re eighteen weeks into your pregnancy. I never got past the ninth.” With as quickly as Margie’s body expelled her unborn babies, she figured she’d probably conceived many more times during her marriage without ever realizing it.

  She glanced at the clock. “Come on, we’d better hurry and touch up your make-up, or we’ll be late. You don’t want Alex to think you’ve stood him up.”