Ready-Made Bride

by Janelle Denison

  “I never knew.”

  How could he have known when Kane wouldn’t let anyone close enough to learn the truth? The only reason she’d been privy to such information was that she’d practically pried it from him. “If a person hears something about themselves enough times they tend to believe it. How can you let a horrible lie like that keep circulating?”

  “I didn’t, not intentionally.” Shaking his head, he moved away from the window to the credenza behind his desk. “As shameful as this might sound, I think it was easier for Patricia to cope with Cathy’s death if she could blame Kane rather than believe the truth.”

  Megan crossed her arms over her chest and remained where she stood, not wanting to shatter this fragile moment of revelations. “Which is?”

  Picking up a brass-framed photograph, he gazed at the picture of his young, beautiful daughter. When he finally looked at Megan, grief and loss shone in his eyes. “That we spoiled Cathy, and she married Kane with too many expectations.”

  Megan had learned as much talking to Kane, but hearing Harold confirm it gave her an unexpected rush of relief. “Kane did the best he could to support his family.”

  “I know that, but I never could refuse Cathy anything. She was our only child and knew just how to wrap me around her finger.” Harold rubbed his thumb over the glossy photo, a sad smile on his face. “When she asked me to give Kane a job here at the bank, I thought of it as a good employment opportunity for Kane and a way of keeping the business in the family. But most men do have their pride.”

  “Kane has plenty of that,” Megan murmured wryly.

  Harold set the frame on the credenza and lowered himself into his chair. “His father, Tom, was the same way. Very stubborn, but a hard worker. I respect that about Kane, but I also hoped he’d accept the job so he could take over the reins of the banking business after I retired”

  “I don’t think Kane was cut out to wear a suit and tie,” she said lightly, remembering what Kane told her the night they’d discussed this topic.

  “I think I always knew that.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, his expression thoughtful. “Kane had such a hard life. He lost his parents at an early age and raised his sister on his own. He never seemed to want anything beyond the ordinary and was quite satisfied working at the sawmill. Cathy wanted to mold Kane into something he wasn’t. I know their marriage was strained after he refused my job offer, and Cathy…well, she was unhappy because she wanted more than what Kane was capable of giving her.”

  Megan dragged a hand through her hair, seeing the situation from two very different perspectives. She crossed to her chair and sat down.

  “Patricia and I argued about Cathy’s situation,” he went on. “She thought Cathy should leave Kane, and I told her we needed to stay out of their business and let them work out their problems on their own. I thought it was a good dose of reality for Cathy, who’d had everything handed to her her entire life. She had a family of her own and needed to learn that sometimes there were sacrifices to make in a marriage. But Cathy was young and spoiled and made sure that everyone knew how miserable she was once Kane made it clear he wouldn’t take the job I offered.” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “And when she died, Patricia fell apart. The easiest thing for her to do was blame Kane.”

  There was so much hurt on both sides, Megan realized. She ached for the Lindens’ loss, but they couldn’t continue blaming Kane for something he had no control over. Forgetting the past was impossible, but together they had to work on forgiving and building a new future. “This rift has got to stop.”

  Harold discreetly wiped away a bit of moisture gathering on his bottom lashes. “It’s gone on for so long, I don’t think any of us know how to end it.”

  But he wanted to. She could see it in his eyes. And that was a start. “You have to, for Andrew.” She wasn’t above using his grandson for leverage, not if that’s what it took to bring these two broken families together.

  Harold nodded in understanding. “What can I do?”

  “Well, for starters, we need to get Patricia and Kane together, to make them realize what we already know. Unfortunately, Kane is too proud to come forward on his own.”

  “And Patty is too stubborn.”

  “Then it’ll have to be up to us.” She leaned toward him, renewed enthusiasm lacing her voice. “How about if you bring her over for dinner, let’s say two weeks from this Friday? That should be enough time to convince her to talk to Kane.”

  A crooked smile creased his mouth. “I think I’d have more luck bringing her over without any warning.”

  He had a point, she thought, considering how much these two would resist a reconciliation. “Yes, that might be the best thing for Kane, too, no time to contemplate or get angry.”

  “Megan,” Harold said hesitantly, “don’t expect too much. So many years have passed that it might take some time to get Patricia to accept Kane and you as part of the family.”

  Picking up her purse, she stood. “I know, but it’s worth a try, for Andrew’s benefit.” Beneath all Patricia’s heartache and resentment there had to be enough compassion to give Andrew the family he deserved.

  He smiled warmly. “Yes, you’re right. We’ll give it our best shot.” He came around the big desk that separated them, hand extended, his gaze expressing his gratitude. She slipped her slender fingers into his. “Thank you for stopping by. Andrew is very lucky to have you as a stepmother.”

  “I’m even luckier to have him. He’s a wonderful little boy, and I only want the best for him.” She withdrew her hand and started for the door. “I’ll be in touch, Harold.”

  “I hope you enjoyed the champagne.”

  One hand on the doorknob, Megan stilled. She glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head curiously. Had he been the friend who sent them their bottle of champagne? “Pardon?”

  If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she would have missed his quick wink and the twinkle in his eyes. “I said, have a good day.”

  She grinned. “Thank you, we did…” Enjoy the champagne, she thought. “I mean, I will. Have a good day, that is.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  KANE sat on the living room couch, the light from the lamp reflecting off the glossy color pages of the hardbound book Megan had given him as a wedding gift.

  He couldn’t sleep, despite it being past two in the morning. His body was satiated from making love with Megan, but emotionally, he experienced a restlessness he couldn’t shake. And while prowling around the house, he’d been inexplicably drawn to the woodworking book he’d avoided since the day he’d been given the gift. Alone, without someone watching his every reaction, without fearing some question that would be related to the text in the book, he was free to absorb and analyze the illustrations. He was determined to create one of the designs without a pattern, just to prove to himself that he could. Another challenge in a lifetime of frustrating obstacles.

  After a while the pictures in front of him blurred as his mind drifted to the woman he’d left in his bed. A woman who was getting under his skin and making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. A woman who had the ability to infuriate him and provoke him. With just a simple look or touch she chased away the loneliness that had been his constant companion for so long. How could that be when he’d vowed never to open himself to another woman that way?

  Nearly a week had passed since the joint checking account debacle. He’d been a jerk about the situation, but fortunately for him, Megan was easy to distract with kisses and caresses, and she was quick to forgive. He liked that about her. He liked her smiles and teasing and his name on her lips when he slid deep inside her. He only wished he could be more for her.

  What he didn’t like were the changes she was making to his home, no matter how subtle the transformations. Finding his clothes in different drawers and discovering bathroom supplies reorganized was enough to give him an anxiety attack. So far, the worst that had happened was she’d cleaned out his medicine cabinet in
the bathroom, rearranged his toiletries on one shelf and added her feminine products, most of which he didn’t recognize by box or container.

  The variety of stuff she used had overwhelmed him. His needs in that department were simple-shaving cream, deodorant and toothpaste. He found himself snooping when he was alone, opening bottles that looked like perfume and sniffing the contents, spraying cans of stuff that smelled like hair spray and deodorant, testing jars and tubes of creams for future reference.

  As if his thoughts had conjured her, she padded toward him, sleep-tousled and wearing the shirt he’d worn that evening. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Not a sexual charge, but something infinitely more intimate. An emotion so intense and deep it tugged on his soul. And scared the hell out of him, because whatever the emotion was, he wanted to experience it with her.

  Closing the book, he straightened. “What are you doing up?”

  She smiled sleepily. “I could ask you the same thing, but I think the answer is obvious.”

  “It is?” Could she detect his innermost thoughts, feelings and fears?

  “Neither of us can sleep,” she said, stating the obvious. Sinking onto the cushion beside him, she curled her bare legs beneath her and snuggled up to his side. “I’m glad to see you like your book. I wasn’t sure if you did or not.”

  He gently brushed unruly strands of hair from her cheek. “Didn’t I thank you properly?”

  “Yes, very thoroughly, but you just seemed so…” She shrugged, as if the right word eluded her.

  He didn’t want her to finish that, knowing he’d made love to her that morning as much to distract her as to forget the confusing, conflicting emotions raging inside him. “It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever received.” That much was the truth. No one had ever given him something with so much thought and care behind the gesture.

  She smiled radiantly. “I’m glad, because you deserve it.”

  He set the book on the coffee table, wanting to tell her he didn’t deserve something he couldn’t fully enjoy, and he didn’t deserve her caring and kindness. Coward that he was, the words remained anchored.

  She moved closer until her legs pressed against his jeans-clad thigh and her head rested on his bare chest, her warm breath fanning his skin. Closing his eyes, he drew in her scent, cherishing the feel of her. A shiver passed through her, and she cuddled more fully into him.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Umm.”

  “Would you like to go back to bed, or would you like me to make a fire?”

  She tipped her head, giving him a sultry, upswept glance. “That’s a difficult choice, but considering we can always go to bed after a fire, having one would be nice.”

  “Who says we have to go back to bed at all when we have a perfectly good couch out here?” he said, leaving her to build a fire.

  “Did you make this china hutch?”

  Kane glanced over his shoulder to the far side of the room where Megan stood. He hadn’t heard her get up from the couch, and he had no idea why she’d care if he’d made that hutch, unless… “Does it look handmade?”

  “Not especially.” She examined the top piece, made of pine and beveled glass doors, then bent, tracing her fingers along the scrolled grooves he’d carved into the bottom casing. “It’s beautifully crafted, not something that looks like it’s been manufactured in an assembly line at some furniture factory.”

  Her compliment stroked his ego just enough to make him admit the truth. “I made that for mine and Cathy’s first wedding anniversary.”

  She straightened, her gaze curious. “How come it’s empty?”

  He dropped another log on the licking flames. “Cathy wanted a matching dinette set, which I never got around to making.” I don’t want mismatched furniture that doesn’t have a brand name, Kane. It makes it look like we buy our furniture from garage sales. After Cathy’s comment, he’d lost the inspiration to complete the set.

  “This piece is beautiful all by itself.”

  Only an extraordinary woman like Megan would think so, he thought, prodding a burning log with the steel poker. He wondered if she’d be so impressed with his talent if he told her he was illiterate, that he was self-taught and most likely put things together backward and somehow managed to get it right.

  “I have some china and crystal that I haven’t unpacked yet. Would you mind if I put them in here?”

  He shrugged and placed the poker on its hook, then adjusted the screen. “If you really want to.”

  “Of course I want to.” She crossed the room and sat on her knees next to him. “Quit being so modest, Kane.”

  He settled his back against the couch, thinking modesty had nothing to do with it. ‘I’m sure you’d prefer something better and fancier.”

  She crawled over to him, looking like a sleek cat The firelight spun gold into her hair and made her eyes sparkle like sapphires. “The hutch is perfect. Elegant and understated,” she said, kneeling between his legs, her face inches from his. “I don’t like fancy.”

  Her sass made him grin. The hands she placed on his thighs caused his body to respond accordingly. He held his desire in check. “All women like nice things.”

  “Hmm. Depends on your definition of nice.” Her eyes drifted closed, and she skimmed her hands over his hips and his belly, blazing her own brand of fire all the way up his chest and around his neck. “This,” she whispered, her lips nuzzling his, “is nice.”

  Groaning, he tumbled her across his lap and into his arms. He plunged his fingers into her hair, his pulse picking up its beat, matching the rhythm of hers. “Yeah, this is real nice.”

  He kissed her, long and slow, in no hurry to end the lazy, playful intimacy they shared. Finally, he lifted his mouth, satisfied with the dreamy quality of Megan’s expression.

  She sighed contentedly and settled herself so her bottom nestled into the crux of his thighs. He wrapped his arms around her waist, propped his chin on her shoulder and stared at the bright, crackling fire.

  She slid her hands over his and twined their fingers together over her belly. “Have you ever thought about selling your work?”

  Too many times to count, but selling required paperwork, which isn’t something I have a knack for. “Who would buy it?”

  “I would.”

  Her unconditional confidence in him made him almost believe in himself. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the softness of her neck, absorbing her warmth and gentleness in its purest sense. “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to feel that way.”

  She turned in his arms until she could look at him. “I’m not biased.” She feigned an indignant look, the laughter dancing in her gaze a dead giveaway. Then she grew serious. “I’d bet, if you tried, you could find a place in the city where you could sell your furniture and toys on consignment.”

  He gave his head a firm shake. Consignment equaled paperwork and filling out invoices. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” she persisted. “You have the ability to make a living doing what you love. Your workmanship is proof that you have an incredible talent and knack for creating beautiful things.”

  The trust and certainty in her expression twisted Kane’s stomach into a knot. She was so completely open and honest with him, and he’d never given her anything but a tangled mess of lies and deceit, even if they were unspoken ones. Deception and bluffing had never bothered him much before, so why was he having an attack of conscience now? Because she put so much faith in him, and he didn’t deserve even a sliver of it. When it came down to stripping off the facade, he didn’t have the guts to do it and risk the painful repercussions.

  Reflexively, he tightened his arms around her. “It’s just a hobby, Megan. Nothing more.”

  “You know, writing was once my hobby.”

  He welcomed the change in subject. “You didn’t always write?”

  “Well, yes…kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  “I didn’t start out as a profess
ional writer, but I always wrote in a journal, if that counts for anything. I’m a legal secretary by trade. I started writing after my divorce. Being a published writer was always a distant dream, but I wanted to be a children’s writer so badly that I made the dream come true. It took a lot of hard work and rejections from many publishers, but I finally got an offer and a series of my own. And I couldn’t be happier with my choice.” She smiled softly, encouragingly. “I believe in you, Kane. But you have to believe in yourself before you can believe in your work.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” He wanted it to be that easy.

  “It is. I believe in your talent and ability.”

  He wished that was enough. “Yeah, well, I’m not one to take chances.” The odds were against him.

  She lifted her fingers to the stubble covering his jaw, her touch light and reverent. “You took a chance with me.”

  His throat jammed with a hundred different emotions he couldn’t define. Stealing an opportunity to end their conversation and make him forget, for a little while, what he’d never have, he slid a hand down her back and maneuvered her gently to the floor, easing his body over the length of hers.

  “You, if I recall correctly, Mrs. Fielding,” he murmured, dipping his head to plant teasing kisses on her lips, “were a sure thing.”

  “Kane, could I see you in my office, please?”

  Jeff’s request put Kane instantly on guard, especially since Jeff had never summoned him to his office in the year and a half he’d been in charge of the mill. He wondered what was wrong.

  Kane picked up a freshly cut board and placed it on the pile behind him. “Be right there, boss.”

  Five minutes later Kane walked into Jeff’s office. He removed his leather gloves, tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans and approached the steel desk where his boss sat.

  Jeff looked up from a file spread open in front of him. “Have a seat, Kane.”

  Lowering himself to one of the Naugahyde chairs, he tried to relax his suddenly tense body. “Is there a problem?” he asked gruffly.