Ready-Made Bride

by Janelle Denison

  He flicked the tail end of her braid over her shoulder, letting his fingers linger on the satiny skin of her neck. “Handy little thing to have on an alarm clock, isn’t it?”

  “We didn’t sleep.” The shiver rippling down the length of her spine contradicted her prim tone.

  He propped his hip against the edge of the table in front of her. His calf pressed into her thigh, and her gaze flew to his. “I don’t remember hearing you complain, sweetheart,” he said in a low, husky voice. Lightly pressing his thumb to her bottom lip, he dragged it across the full swell. “But then again, that mouth of yours was busy doin’ other things.”

  Her breath quickened, and she pulled back out of his reach. “Kane, stop.”

  She didn’t want him to stop, not really. He recognized the want in her gaze and the flush spreading from the neckline of her pretty pink floral dress. But they had Andrew to consider, and that was the only reason he kept his hands to himself.

  So, instead, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her parted lips, murmuring, “I like it when you blush.” Straightening, he grabbed her empty coffee mug. “Want a refill?”

  Waking from her sensual fog, she glanced at the delicate gold watch on her wrist, noting the time. “Please. With cream and a spoonful of sugar.”

  He went to the coffeemaker, and she picked up her pen and jotted a few more items on her growing list. He filled both mugs and added a splash of cream to hers. He opened the cupboard and searched the contents for the pink and white bag of sugar he kept on the second shelf.

  It was gone, and it had been a full two-pound bag. Assuming Megan must have used it for her baking, he said, “Add sugar to your grocery list. We’re out.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I put the sugar, salt, flour and coffee in the canisters.”

  Frowning, he closed the cupboard door and turned. “What canisters?” His tone sounded as cautious as he felt, like he’d been suddenly thrust into a mine field and had to watch every step or be blown to smithereens.

  She continued scribbling on her notepad. “The ones on the counter.”

  His gaze scanned the counter, spotting not one, but four ceramic containers with a flower design and bold letters on the front of each. His body tensed. They hadn’t been there yesterday morning.

  “Where did the canisters come from?” He forced a neutral tone.

  “They’re mine. I unpacked them from the stuff Judi sent. I thought they perked up the kitchen. Do you like them?”

  “Yeah, they’re great,” he muttered.

  He hated them. He hated change of any kind even more. He liked the kitchen the way it was, had arranged the cupboards so he knew where everything was located and could find it blindfolded if he needed to. But he couldn’t tell her that without her getting upset or suspicious.

  “Which one’s the sugar?” he asked casually.

  “It’s right on the label.” She stopped her writing long enough to give him a peculiar look over her shoulder. “I’m sure you can figure it out for yourself.”

  Sure he could He always did. He knew from experience there would be plenty of these situations, but it had been over five years since he’d had to scramble for excuses and responses. If he wasn’t careful, the truth wouldn’t remain a secret for long.

  Carrying her coffee, he approached the canisters, eyeing them warily. The letters emblazoned across them mocked him. The land mine beneath his feet rumbled with every step. He was determined to get through this without letting the situation blow up in his face.

  Get used to bluffing, Kane. You’ve got a hell of a lot of years ahead of you. Besides, deception has been a part of your life for so long it should be second nature. So why was Megan different? Why did she make him feel like a fumbling kid trying to stay two steps ahead of the game?

  He opened the lid on the first canister and found white granules. Bingo. He rounded off a teaspoon and hesitated, remembering that she’d mentioned salt, too. Giving Megan a surreptitious glance to be certain she was otherwise occupied, he licked his pinky finger, brushed it over the granules and tasted it. And winced. Salt. Wouldn’t that have been an eye opener for Megan, in more ways than one?

  The second canister held dark brown coffee grounds, and the contents of the third container looked like the same substance as was in the first. Not taking any chances, he sampled the sweet granules, then dumped a spoonful into Megan’s coffee.

  Megan glanced at Kane as he placed the steaming mug in front of her. She took a sip, savoring the creamy taste. “Mm, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  He slid into the chair next to her. “Anytime.”

  “I’ll be going grocery shopping tomorrow after Andy goes to school. Can you think of anything other than what’s on my list that you might want or need?” She pushed her list in front of him for his review. “It’s going to take me a few tries to figure out what you and Andrew like and dislike, but I’d appreciate your input.”

  He picked up the tablet and looked at the list. After a few moments he handed it back without comment. “We like just about everything except lima beans and liver.”

  “You’re easy to please. Any favorites?”

  He grinned, looking like a young boy. “Twinkies and home-made spaghetti.”

  “That’s quite a combination.” She added a few items to her list. “So, do you want to add anything to the list?”

  “Nope. Buy whatever you need.” Withdrawing his wallet from his pants pocket, he counted off some twenty-dollar bills and tossed them her way. “Will that cover it?”

  “Uh, sure,” she said, feeling funny about taking his cash so freely, despite them being husband and wife. “If not, I have some extra money on me.”

  “I’ll pay for anything you might need.”

  Kane’s pride was showing, she thought, understanding his insistence. Especially since she knew the money problems he’d had in his marriage to Cathy and his need to support his family. But couldn’t two contribute to the burden?

  Wrapping her hands around her mug, she leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. They hadn’t had a normal courtship, time to talk about the little matters involved in a marriage and how they’d settle them or the different compromises they’d make. In so many ways they knew so little about one another, but they needed to learn to communicate openly. And she’d always believed financial obligations should be a shared venture.

  She asked her question before she lost the nerve. “How do you feel about opening a joint checking account?”

  “Not interested.” His tone was firm and final.

  “I’ll contribute my share of funds,” she automatically said, wanting him to know theirs was an equal partnership, the royalties she made on her books included in on the deal. “And you can still keep your own personal checking account if you’d like-”

  “I don’t have a checking account, nor do I want one. My savings account is all I need.”

  She gaped at him. A checking account was essential to everyday life. She couldn’t imagine not having one. “You’re serious?”

  He stared at her steadily, silently answering her question.

  “Then how do you pay for things?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked, but the dark shadows clouding his gaze overrode the glimpse of dry humor. “Cash seems to work just fine.”

  She shook her head incredulously. “You pay all your bills with cash?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”

  She frowned at his sharp, defensive tone. “It’s just that you’d save so much time if you just wrote a check and dropped the bill into the mail instead of running all over town settling up with everyone.”

  Slowly, he stood, towering over her. He held her gaze with challenge and the simmering heat of anger. Very quietly, he said, “If you don’t like my me
thod, then you pay the bills.”

  Two days later Megan pulled into the parking lot of the town’s only bank, the Linden Trust and Loan, still pondering Kane’s angry reaction to her suggestion of a joint checking account. She had no intention of taking over his finances, and had told him as much. Her reassurance had been met with a scowl before Andrew had interrupted the heated moment.

  Sighing heavily, she parked the car in an empty stall and turned off the ignition. Her husband’s erratic behavior bewildered and intrigued her. Tender and teasing one moment, cool and distant the next, all because of a stupid checking account.

  It wasn’t as though she planned to spend his money frivolously, she thought, exiting the car and starting toward the red brick building. She was a saver by nature and thought a joint checking account might simplify their finances.

  Yet he’d never had a checking account and only dealt with cash, which she thought as odd in today’s high-tech world of bank machines and credit-card checking. But when she’d questioned him on his uncommon practice, he’d been defensive and unwilling to compromise, acting as though her suggestion threatened his entire way of life. Not wanting to allow something that trivial to drive a wedge between them, she’d let it drop.

  When they’d arrived home from church that afternoon, alone since Andrew was at the Lindens, he’d pulled her into his arms and had kissed her with a passionate urgency that melted the tension between them. He was a proud man, and she supposed that had been his way of silently apologizing, which she’d accepted with her own acquiescence.

  He was good at that, she mused, making her forget everything but what he did to her. Although she admitted it was a pleasant way to make up, nothing was resolved afterward.

  Shaking off her thoughts, she entered the bank. The financial institution was small, with three teller windows-two currently in use-a section for loans and new accounts and a sitting area for customers. The place was decorated in warm rust tones with greenery for accents.

  She headed toward the pretty brunette sitting behind the new accounts desk. A gold name tag on her dress proclaimed her Debbie Davis, Accounts Manager.

  The young woman smiled congenially. “Welcome to Linden Trust and Loan,” she recited. “How may I help your?”

  Before Megan could respond, the phone on the desk buzzed and a female voice said, “Debbie, Ms. Peterson is on line one about her trust account.”

  Debbie gave Megan an apologetic look. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be just a minute,” she said, picking up the line.

  Megan nodded her understanding and stepped away from the desk to give the accounts manager some privacy with her customer. Her gaze glanced by the only two offices in the bank and skittered back. She read the gold nameplates beside the doors. Jack Hamilton, Vice President His office light was off. Moving on to the next office, she smiled. Harold Linden, President. His light was on.

  While Debbie argued with the woman on the phone about the eligibility requirements of her trust account, Megan strolled a few feet away until she could verify that. Harold was in his office. He was. She caught a profile of him as he leaned back in a leather executive chair, a pair of glasses perched on his nose as he read a document in his hand. She moved toward Debbie’s desk, an idea taking shape.

  The woman hung up the phone and clasped her hands on the desk, giving Megan her undivided attention. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were asking how you could help me.” Megan kept her face expressionless. “I’m here to see Mr. Linden.”

  Debbie looked momentarily confused. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I’m sure he’ll see me.” Megan wished she felt as confident as she sounded. What if he refused to see her? Worse, what if he ordered her out of the bank? No, she’d expect that kind of behavior from Patricia, but Harold seemed more reasonable.

  The young woman frowned, the first stirring of skepticism entering her gaze. “And you are?”

  “Megan. Megan Fielding.”

  Debbie’s hazel eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed, as if to say, So, you’re the one everyone’s been talking about. “I, uh, I’m not sure if he’s in right now.”

  Megan understood the employee’s protectiveness toward her boss, but she only wanted to talk to Harold without the ominous presence of his wife to influence him. If he would see her. She could barge into his office, but she didn’t want to make a scene. Besides, that wasn’t her style. Whatever the rift between the Lindens and Kane, she wanted to try to settle it civilly.

  It didn’t matter that Kane would be furious with her for interfering.

  Megan smiled patiently and adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Unless that’s his twin I saw sitting at his desk, I’d say he’s in.”

  Debbie looked decidedly frazzled. She picked up the phone and pressed three digits. “Mr. Linden, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a Megan Fielding here to see you.”

  Megan heard the echo of Harold’s voice drifting from his office but couldn’t decipher what he’d said. She found out as soon as Debbie hung up the receiver.

  The accounts manager pointed beyond Megan. “He said he’ll see you. His office is that way.”

  Harold met her at the door to his office, subdued interest playing over his features. He wore a stylish gray pin-striped suit and a paisley print tie. Despite his age and thinning gray hair, Megan thought he was a very handsome man.

  “Mrs. Fielding,” he acknowledged politely, looking as though the name brought memories that pained him.

  “Megan, please,” she said, wanting to dispense with formalities.

  He smiled gratefully, and she could see kindness in his eyes. “Megan, what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to open a checking account.”

  He lifted a gray brow. “Debbie would be happy to help you.”

  Megan wasn’t about to be deterred. All she needed was a few moments alone with Harold, to see if there was any chance of a reconciliation between him and his wife and Kane. “I have a substantial amount of money to transfer, and I’d feel more secure dealing with you.” She nearly cringed at her pathetic excuse.

  A faint smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “I know having the title of president sounds impressive, but in reality I depend on my employees to run my bank smoothly and efficiently. I could fumble, my way through all the paperwork for your new checking account and transfers, but the fact is, Debbie is far more adept at the procedure than I am.”

  Megan blew out an exasperated breath. “All right, I’ll save the accounts for Debbie, but I’d like to talk to you about Kane and Andrew.”

  He didn’t seem surprised, and more important, he didn’t turn her away. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”

  “Thank you.” She entered his office, and he closed the door on the gawking patrons and employees.

  Sitting in one of the wing chairs in front of his desk, she inhaled the scent of leather and pipe tobacco. Harold settled into his chair behind his mahogany desk, the smooth surface cluttered with files and reports. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.

  Harold broke the ice. “Belated congratulations on your marriage to Kane.”

  His genuine sentiment surprised her. “Doesn’t my marrying Kane bother you?”

  He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll admit I was shocked by the news, as most of us were, but Andrew thinks very highly of you, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. His welfare is my first concern.”

  Megan settled her purse beside her on the chair, feeling more at ease with Harold than she thought she would. And comfortable enough to pursue her goal. “Is that how Patricia feels?”

  He frowned, making the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent. “Of course she does.”

  “Then why does she insist on playing tug-of-war with Andrew’s emotions?”

  “We do no such thing,” he replied indignantly. “We love Andrew very much and would never hurt him that way
.”

  “But you are, intentionally or not.” She sat forward, not wanting to insult him but needing him to understand why an affable agreement between families was so important. “By alienating yourselves from Kane you’re putting Andrew right in the middle of your feud. The tension between the three of you is awful, and although Andrew may accept your behavior because he’s so young, he doesn’t know any better, and he may come to resent all three of you later for making him choose between you and his father.”

  Regret filled Harold’s brown eyes. “I know,” he said softly.

  Confusion rippled through Megan. “Then why do you allow this dissension to continue when it can all end with a few simple words?”

  Harold stood, a weary sadness passing over his features. For a fleeting moment Megan thought he was going to ask her to leave, but he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the slow pace of Linden. He faced her and said, “Because my wife has never forgiven Kane for what he did to our daughter.”

  Unable to believe the Lindens could be so shallow as to hold Kane responsible for what happened to Cathy, Megan’s stomach sank like a lead weight. She joined Harold at the window, ready to defend her husband. “What Kane did was own up to his responsibilities and marry the woman he got pregnant.”

  He looked at her, obviously surprised by her knowledge of Kane’s relationship with Cathy. “He told you?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “He also told me he loved Cathy very much.”

  “And you must love Kane to go to this extreme.”

  She smiled, unable to hide her feelings for her new family. “I love Kane and Andrew very much, and I don’t want either of them to be hurt by something that can be easily fixed.”

  He sighed, suddenly looking much older than she believed him to be. “Megan, I know Kane isn’t a bad person-”

  “Than how can you let everyone believe he killed your daughter?”

  He cringed and flushed in embarrassment. “No one really believes he killed her.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s even worse. He feels responsible for her emotional state when she died. The rumors about him killing her only compound his guilt.”