The Man She Married

by Ann DeFee

  When she finished, Kenni didn’t say a word. It was hard to speak when your mouth was hanging open.

  “Are you serious?” she finally choked out.

  “Absolutely.” Maizie placed her half-full cup on the low table in front of her. “I’ve tried sexy lingerie and romantic dinners.” She threw up her hands. “I’ve even done a striptease and you know what he did? He said he was dead tired and could we do it later. Later!” Maizie’s voice got louder with each word.

  “Shh! Mrs. Hightower might be under the dryer, but I’m fairly sure people in the next county can hear you.”

  “Oh, okay.” Maizie fell back in her chair.

  “Let’s look at this logically. Is there something going on at work that he hasn’t told you? Maybe he’s stressed—or he could really be tired. He loves you like crazy. Everyone can see that.”

  Clay hadn’t said much about work lately and that was unusual.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Kenni continued. “Go home, get dolled up, pull out all the stops on a romantic setting and ask him to take you away for the weekend. If that doesn’t work, I’ll reluctantly help you with this stupid scheme. What did Liza say?”

  Maizie sighed. “She’s on the same page you are. But all right. I’ll give it my best shot.”

  CLAY WALKER HAD HAD a hell of a day. In point of fact, it had been a hellacious six months. The engineering contract his company had with a public/private partnership road project had gone south in too many ways to count.

  The private development corporation had insisted on changes the department of transportation bureaucrats had vetoed, and vice versa. Consequently, construction was so far behind schedule it was impossible to catch up, and everyone was blaming his engineering firm. During this debacle, Clay had put out so many fires he felt like a wildfire jumper.

  He should have listened to his gut. He’d been hesitant to bid on the project, but the temptation was too hard to resist. It was their way to the big time. Uh-huh. If things didn’t improve soon their only option would be bankruptcy.

  And then he had to add in the fact Maizie was making him nuts. They’d always gotten along so well, but lately it seemed she was constantly mad at him. He realized she wanted more attention, but he just didn’t have it to give. There were only so many hours in the day, and his had been maxed to the hilt for months. God, what he wouldn’t give for a week in the sun without emergencies and contentious situations.

  Clay’s current schedule had been a nightmare of meeting after meeting. Tonight all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet evening of TV. But when he walked through the front door, Maizie met him in the living room. There were candles on the dining room table and soft music playing on the stereo.

  Please, please, please—not tonight. Any other time—at least any time other than the last six months—Clay would have been randy and ready, but not now. Please God, not now. He was so tired he wouldn’t be able to get it up even for the love of his wife.

  Maizie was oblivious to his turmoil. But who could blame her? He hadn’t been willing to share. Not only had she gone to a ton of trouble, she was absolutely gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder pale blue silk blouse. Normally he’d have that blouse off in thirty seconds. And a heartbeat later he’d have her in bed, but not tonight.

  Clay could tell she was getting ready to say something important. He hoped that in his addled state he could come up with the right answer.

  “Clay.” Maizie put her arms around his neck. “I think we should go away for the weekend.” She emphasized the suggestion with a sexy shimmer up and down his body.

  Oh, sheesh! He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was tall, but at 6’4” he still had a couple of inches on her.

  “Maizie, sweetheart. I can’t. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than spend a weekend with you, preferably somewhere far away from telephones and e-mail and nasty clients. But right now it’s impossible. I’m up to my ass in alligators on this project.”

  Clay was tempted to tell her about the precarious nature of their finances, but decided against it. He didn’t want to worry her. Why should they both get ulcers? But even he knew that was a crock. The truth was he was embarrassed.

  It was several seconds before Maizie pulled away, giving him a glance he couldn’t quite decipher. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be planning something nutty. But lately Lady Luck hadn’t been smiling on him.

  Chapter Seven

  Maizie prided herself on excelling in almost every social situation. She could pull off a dinner party for twenty at the drop of a hat. Give her a couple of weeks and she could organize a formal ball. But being at home on a tennis court? Nope, that wasn’t even vaguely in her repertoire.

  “Mrs. Walker, I’m so glad you decided to join us.”

  Mrs. Walker? Was Clay’s mother behind her? “Call me Maizie, please.”

  “Sure,” Trip agreed before turning to the rest of the class. “Ladies, this is Maizie. Please make her feel at home.”

  She already knew many of the women—for the most part young matrons who lived in the new gated community. They were skinny, they were toned and she wasn’t, not by a long shot.

  She felt like a klutz. It’d been a long time since she’d played tennis in high school, so Maizie had started off with a beginner class, and it was a darned good thing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the stupid ball over the net.

  To make matters worse, Maizie had long since passed the glowing stage. Even though it was a gorgeous autumn day, and not all that hot, she was sweating like a pig. Now that was a real turn-on.

  Maizie hit an errant ball that pinged off the net before bouncing out of the court. This game was obviously not her bag, and she’d better improve—PDQ—or there would be a whole bunch of new tennis stuff for the next garage sale. Of all the schemes she’d concocted this one had to be the most ridiculous. And to be truthful, the chances of it working were almost nonexistent.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get better,” Trip assured her.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Maizie said with a chuckle. Everyone else had wandered off to the clubhouse in search of a cold drink.

  “You’re doing fine. Just keep trying.”

  That was easy for him to say. He could keep the ball inside the lines.

  “Would you like some help gathering up the balls?” Maizie asked, wondering why the nubile young things hadn’t stuck around. This was clearly a prime flirting opportunity.

  “That would be great.” Trip picked up one of the handled ball baskets that allowed for ball retrieval without bending over.

  Maizie grabbed a ball sweeper that resembled a toy pop-up vacuum cleaner and went about corralling the tennis balls that littered the court. The pros made the game look easy, but the same could be said for gymnastics and ice skating. So even if her flirting idea was a bust, it might be fun to actually learn to play.

  CLAY REALIZED HE WAS FRESH out of ideas about Maizie, so he decided to call in the cavalry—aka Liza and Kenni. He’d had to resort to cajoling and a smidgen of begging before they agreed to meet him at the Coffee Cup, a café at the opposite end of town from Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir.

  Clay’s stomach was flip-flopping like a D.C. politician, so coffee was out of the question. What was the name of that tea Eleanor loved? Earl Grey—that was it. He ordered a cup and was about to take his first sip when his wife’s sister and cousin strolled in.

  “Over here,” Clay said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. The rumor mill in Magnolia Bluffs was remarkably efficient, and Maizie would have a fit if she heard they were meeting behind her back.

  “What can I get you ladies?”

  “A small latté for me,” Kenni said.

  “Make that two,” Liza agreed.

  To an uninvolved observer this would be nothing more than a coffee date with friends, but appearances could sometimes be deceiving. It didn’t escape Clay’s notice that as soon as he walked off, Liza an
d Kenni put their heads together for a private conversation.

  “Here you go,” Clay said when he returned with the drinks. The ladies were obviously not discussing the church social or even the price of tea in Timbuktu.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  Liza took a deep breath. “We really can’t tell you anything. I would if I could, honestly. But I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “A little of both.” She glanced at Kenni who nodded in agreement.

  Clay rested his head on his fist. “Look, I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. I simply need some help. She seems angry with me all the time and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong.” He held his hands up in supplication. “I’m desperate.”

  Liza rubbed the back of her neck. “Why don’t you tell us what you think the problem is. Maybe we can help you without really helping you, if you see what I mean.” Wink, wink.

  Clay nodded. “Fair enough. I suspect there are a couple of things going on. First off, I think when Hannah moved out she started feeling unfulfilled. But she doesn’t want to admit it. You know Maizie, she’s always pooh-poohed the empty-nest idea.”

  Kenni spoke up. “That’s a start, and for what it’s worth I agree with you. So we have an empty nest, what else?”

  Clay couldn’t meet their eyes. “She wants me to spend more time with her.”

  “What’s so hard about that?” Liza asked.

  He sighed. “Maizie doesn’t know this, so you can’t tell a soul. Do I have your word?”

  Although Kenni grimaced, she nodded. Liza followed suit.

  “Our firm is in financial trouble. We won a contract that’s now in the middle of a huge crisis. We’re working on that new overpass on the interstate and the moron we’re dealing with at the Department of Transportation has required more change orders than we can deliver. Alter this, move that, do that—nope, that’s not right, try again. It’s been one thing after another. Frankly, I think he’s trying to tube the project. Consequently, the construction company has gone into a penalty phase and is about to go belly-up. If that happens, we don’t get paid. And we’ve spent well over six months on the project.” Clay massaged his temples. “After I’ve spent all day putting out fires, I’m too beat to do anything but fall into bed.”

  “There goes my advice.” Liza huffed out a breath. “How about you?” she asked Kenni.

  “Uh, me, too.”

  Liza took Clay’s hand. “You need to tell Maizie what’s happening. She really, really needs to know.”

  “I’ve waited too long. She’s going to be so pissed that I didn’t come to her right away. And to be completely honest, I’m humiliated that I let things get this out of hand.”

  “Oh, boy.” Kenni took a deep breath. “You are in such trouble, and you’re going to get in even deeper if you don’t do something.”

  “I know. So how do we fix it?”

  “We?” Liza asked.

  “Please, please, please. I need your help.” Clay wasn’t above begging.

  “How about this—Kenni and I’ll discuss the situation and get back to you later.”

  “It’s not perfect but I can work with it.”

  LIZA WALKED KENNI TO her car. “What do you suggest we do?”

  Kenni hit the button on her remote but didn’t open the door. “I’m afraid they’re on a slippery slope. Considering how much they love each other, we have to help them straighten out this mess.”

  “As much as I hate to say it, I agree,” Liza twirled her keys. “Personally, I’d like to smack them both.”

  “I’m with you on that one.” Kenni hopped in her car, gave a saucy wave and backed out.

  Liza watched as her cousin drove away. Things were going so well in her own life it made her feel guilty to see Maizie so unhappy. And if there was anything she could do to help, she was game.

  Unfortunately, Liza was fresh out of ideas.

  Chapter Eight

  That night, Clay couldn’t sleep. Sometime after midnight he decided to lay his cards on the table and take his knocks. Things couldn’t get much worse. Could they?

  He’d been up for hours trying to formulate a plan that would minimize the damage, but so far he had zilch. The sun was about to make an appearance before he settled on pampering.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” Clay said, sitting down on the side of the bed and waving a cup of coffee under Maizie’s nose. “I have bear claws and apple fritters.” Clay shook the pastry sack.

  Maizie cracked an eye. “Is that for me?” she asked. “Please say it’s mine.”

  “It certainly is.” Clay set the cup on the bedside table and leaned over to give her a kiss. “Cute hair.” He tugged on a curl and let it spring back into place. “We need to talk.”

  Maizie pulled herself up to a sitting position. “Do you mind if I have a shot of caffeine and a bite of sugar first?”

  The question was obviously rhetorical, but it gave him some breathing room. When had he become such a coward?

  “This is so yummy,” Maizie said as she took her first bite of apple fritter. “Considering you made a predawn trip to the bakery, and you made coffee, I have to wonder what you’ve been up to.”

  “Me?” He wished she didn’t know him so well. “Uh…”

  Clay was working up the courage to spill his guts when the phone rang. His first reaction was relief; his second was panic. Who would be calling at six a.m.?

  Maizie grabbed the phone to check the Caller ID. “It’s Hannah,” she said before answering the call.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” The tension in Maizie’s voice was almost palpable. Then she smiled and gave Clay a reassuring nod. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she said before settling back against the pillows.

  Clay took the interruption as a sign. Cluck, cluck, cluck, Chicken that he was, he decided to head to the office. “I’m going to work,” he whispered.

  “Hannah, hold on a second. Your daddy’s leaving and I want to speak to him.” Maizie held the phone against her chest and mouthed. “It’s about her boyfriend. What did you want to talk about?”

  “We can do it later. Let’s go out to dinner tonight. We’ll have a nice long chat then. What do you have going today?”

  “I don’t think I told you this but I’ve started taking tennis lessons at the club.”

  “Tennis?”

  “I figured I needed the exercise and that sounded like a good way to get it. Bambi doesn’t have school, so she can work and I’m going to play.”

  Clay shrugged. Maizie sweating? It was hard to imagine.

  “Have a good time.” He gave her a kiss and a wave before strolling out the door.

  “I’m back.” Maizie got comfortable for a long talk with her daughter. “So what did he say?”

  THE BEGINNER CLASSES AT the club were available for drop-ins. At times there were too many students for the pro to handle. But on occasion there were so few students it was almost like having a private lesson. That was the situation Maizie encountered when she arrived at the club later that morning.

  “Hi, Maizie. I didn’t know you were available on weekdays.” As usual, Trip Fitzgerald was drop-dead handsome in his crisp white shorts and dazzling polo.

  “Normally I’m working but my assistant manager is covering for me. You remember PJ, don’t you?”

  “I do indeed. She’s quite the saleswoman.” Trip laughed. “Mom appreciated my shopping spree.”

  “PJ’s one of a kind. I couldn’t run the shop without her,” Maizie said, then changed topic. “I realize I’m a terrible tennis player, but do you think there’s any hope for me?”

  Trip patted her shoulder. “Of course there is. You’re a good athlete. You’re just a little rusty.”

  Who was he kidding? Rusty didn’t begin to describe her—totally oxidized would be more appropriate. But now that she’d started on this tennis venture, she was eager to learn.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s get ready
to run,” Trip announced with a maniacal gleam in his eye.

  The two other ladies in the class were both well under thirty. Why couldn’t she be content to “sweat to the oldies”?

  Trip set up a serving machine and had them hitting ball after ball—forehands, backhands, overheads and volleys.

  “Turn, step into the shot, watch the ball, follow through.” If Trip said that once, he said it a dozen times. “Ladies, it’s a backhand. That means it’s coming from the other side. Turn, step into it. Watch the ball!”

  His tirade was usually followed by her favorite. “Get your butt in gear! This ain’t no sewing circle. I want to see some per-spi-ration. Ya hear me. Run. Get it going.”

  She had to wonder whether teaching a bunch of klutzes had driven him around the bend.

  “Mrs. Walker, don’t swat at the ball. Bring your racket back and get prepared as soon as it comes toward you. Once it bounces it’s too late.”

  Maizie took a deep breath before she put her hands on her hips. Sweat was dripping from every pore. Glowing—get real. Even her socks were soaking. “I told you before. Call me Maizie. You’re making me feel ancient.”

  He had the temerity to laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Uh, Maizie. You’re not ancient, believe me.” He tapped her on the bum with his tennis racket.

  What was that about?

  The lesson had lasted only an hour, but it was the longest sixty minutes in history. Maizie felt as if she’d been through the wringer. She used her arm to wipe the per-spi-ration off her face. Mama would absolutely die if she saw her. Maizie was so busy burrowing through her bag for a towel she didn’t hear Trip walk up.

  “Have you considered taking some semiprivate lessons, or perhaps even a private? I think you have potential.”

  She wasn’t sure if this was Trip’s version of marketing or whether he was telling the truth. But either way, she’d played along. It worked just fine for her own purposes, too.

  “Is there someone who could do a private lesson with me tomorrow?” It wouldn’t hurt to have PJ run the shop again. She’d appreciate the bonus and Maizie would love one more day without dealing with people like Jeannine Crabtree. And if Trip could teach her, so much the better.