by Susan Meier
Trisha giggled, but as she turned to go into the house, Kate scrambled to the edge of the pool. “Get a towel!” She grabbed the ladder and began climbing out. “Get two towels! Trisha, you know better than to go into the house wet!”
Trisha scooted down, took a towel from the chaise, swiped it over her wet limbs, wrapped it around her waist and headed for the French doors into the family room.
Max called out to her, “The maid’s name is Mrs. Gentry. Tell her you want a snack.”
Trisha nodded and darted inside.
He reached over to the chaise where he’d laid his big white towel. “I’d forgotten what a stickler you were for the rules.”
She gaped at him. “Stickler for rules? Wet people drying off isn’t stickling. It’s common sense.”
She started after Trisha, but he looped his arm around her shoulders. Telling herself he was only being friendly and she didn’t want to inadvertently yell at him again, she stopped herself from stiffening.
“I don’t see your towel.”
With a gurgle of disgust, she ducked out from under his hold, caught her towel, dried off and wrapped it around her waist as she walked back over to him.
He put his arm across her shoulders again. And again she told herself to stop being persnickety. But this time warmth flooded her, along with a barrage of memories. She longed to close her eyes and steep herself in them. Not just the images of the good times in their marriage, but also the feelings.
“Better. Now we’re all in towels.”
She laughed, glad he’d brought her back to reality as they walked to the French door, but when he paused in front of it—in that split second when he turned slightly to reach for the doorknob—their gazes collided.
And suddenly it was twelve years ago. When they were young and in love and happy.
She told herself to move out from under his arm. Mentally willed him to step away from her. Instead, they stayed where they were. Quiet. Waiting. Watching each other.
Which was not good.
“So are you going to open the door?”
He tilted his head as he continued to study her. “In a minute.”
Fear and unwanted excitement hit her simultaneously. It was so wrong to be this close, and yet it felt so damned good. “And we’re waiting for what?”
“I—” His breath heaved out on a heavy sigh. “In the past eight years, I haven’t been in love.”
That surprised her so much she laughed. “What?”
“I haven’t been able to fall in love and I blame you.”
“Me?”
“I was so in love with you, Kate, that when I lost you I sobered up. But I also knew you were gone for good, so I had to move on. But as hard as I tried to fall for someone else, I couldn’t. To make myself feel better, I told myself that you and I had something legendary. A love beyond what other people feel.”
It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her, but it was also dangerous. “Max—”
He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “I need to know there was a reason for the long years I spent alone, yearning for something I wasn’t even sure existed.”
His hands fell from her shoulders to her wrists, then slid back up again. The feeling was so exquisite, she shuddered and her eyes drifted shut.
“Ah. There it is.”
What? Her eyes popped open and she gaped at him. “What are you doing!”
Painfully honest, he said, “I just wanted to see it again.”
She jumped away from him. “You wanted a reaction?”
When he didn’t answer she pointed her finger at him. “That was stupid. Wrong! Don’t ever try anything like that again.”
She opened the door and headed inside. But her hands trembled and her legs were rubber, making her angry with herself.
Why couldn’t she just not be attracted to this guy?
CHAPTER SEVEN
KATE SPENT EXACTLY fifteen more minutes at Max’s house. Just long enough for Trisha to eat a Fudgsicle. Then she wrapped her daughter in a dry towel and raced home.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her body tingled. She would never, ever be alone with him again! The idiot!
In her bathtub that night, she finally calmed down. Odd as her conclusion seemed, she believed she’d figured out what he’d been doing. Testing what she’d known all along. Before he’d started drinking, they’d had something special. She didn’t know why he thought he had to test it. She’d always known. But she also knew he’d ruined their marriage, destroyed their relationship, obliterated her feelings. There was no going back. If he tried anything on his next visit with Trisha, she would tell him that. She would not make a big deal out of this. She would be logical. But she would set him straight.
Because if she couldn’t get him to behave, there’d be no more visitation. She would not risk him charming her into a relationship again.
But the next two days, Max couldn’t clear his schedule to spend afternoons with Trisha. Which negated the possibility that he’d been trying to charm her. If he wanted to charm her, he’d do what he’d done when she was at university. He’d always be around.
Relieved of the burden of that possibility, she felt much better when he came to the door for his next visit.
“Come in, Max.”
“Thanks.” He glanced around, obviously edgy. When he saw they were alone, he caught her gaze. “Look. I know you said you didn’t want any more apologies, but I need to say I’m sorry for what I did the other day…so I’m saying it.”
The sincere expression on his handsome face squeezed her heart. Which was fine. Honest emotional response to their situation was not uncontrollable chemistry—
She frowned. When had that switched? A few days ago chemistry was fine, but emotion wasn’t. Now, she was allowing herself to feel things?
“Apology accepted, as long as you don’t try anything like that again.”
“I won’t.”
She turned away. Needing Trisha to run interference before he said anything else, she called upstairs, “Honey, your dad is here.”
Trisha came bouncing down the steps. “Hey, Dad!”
He scooped her up. “Hey, kid. We gonna have a tea party?”
He headed for the family room and Kate followed, but at the juncture that would have taken her to the family room or the kitchen, she hesitated. The purpose of her being around when he visited was to keep Trisha safe. But since they were in her parents’ house and he’d been very, very good with their daughter on all his other visits, there was no reason for her to be in the room with them anymore. She still wanted to be in the same house, but there was no reason to be in the same room.
She turned toward the kitchen. “You go ahead and take Trisha into the family room. I’m trying out a new recipe. Something the therapist suggested to help keep Dad’s cholesterol down. If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”
“You’re not coming with us?”
“No.” She almost faced him again, but realized she didn’t need to give an explanation. Talking too much, getting to know each other again, fed those old feelings. It was time for that to stop.
He said, “Okay,” and she walked into the kitchen.
She took her time preparing the casserole. When it was ready, she set it on top of the stove because it was actually too early to put it in the oven. Bored, she drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. She could go check on them—
Just the thought filled her with trepidation. She knew what it was like to be involved with him, to have more than chemistry, to have real feelings. And she didn’t want to go there again. He was perfectly capable with Trisha. She didn’t need to watch over him like an overbearing boss—like his dad.
That thought made her even more uncomfortable. Nobody could do overbearing the way Brandon Montgomery could, and she absolutely didn’t want to think of herself treating Max that way. She sat at the table again and began going through the recipes the therapist had given her mom.
Choosing three that looked practical and promising, she prepared a shopping list. That took twenty minutes.
A happy squeal from Trisha told her that they were still in the family room. There was no reason to worry. And staying away was the right thing to do. He deserved time alone with his daughter. And she didn’t want to be confused anymore. Technically, she was setting things right with this situation. Ex-wives and ex-husbands weren’t supposed to mix and mingle.
In fact, she could look at the time he spent entertaining Trisha as personal time. Time she could do something she wanted to do. Like read. How long had it been since she’d had even ten minutes to read? Weeks. Since she’d gotten here she hadn’t even opened a book.
She shoved off her chair and headed for the foyer stairway. She had two books on her nightstand. Either one of them would do.
But when she passed her father’s makeshift bedroom in the living room and saw it was empty, she stopped. That was odd. With her mom still having a bit of a problem with hovering, her parents rarely left the living room.
It piqued her curiosity enough that she checked the front porch to see if they were sitting on the swing. They weren’t.
She frowned. Maybe they were on the back porch?
She ambled back to the kitchen and peered out at the lawn furniture on the back porch. No one.
Just then another squeal erupted from the family room. Trisha shouted, “Grandpa, you can’t do that!”
Kate spun around. Her parents were in the family room? Maybe Max had gone?
Surprised, she headed out of the kitchen, but stopped dead in the doorway to the family room. There on the little plastic chairs were her parents, Max and Trisha, playing the junior version of Scrabble.
Her dad saw her first, “Hey, Kate.”
She took a step inside. “Hey.”
“Trisha’s whipping the tar out of us.”
“I see.” She did see. Not only did Max instinctively know to let their daughter win, but also her parents were very comfortable with him. Like family.
She swallowed. She enjoyed playing Scrabble too. And she liked playing games with a group. The temptation rose up in her to fish some tiles out of the letter bag and join them, but she tamped it down. She didn’t want to be involved with Max. She was setting their situation right by not being involved in his visits.
She motioned to the door. “I’ll just be getting back to the kitchen.”
Her mom didn’t even look up as she said, “Okay, honey. That’s great.”
Max rummaged through the little black bag for new tiles and the clack of it followed her to the door. She paused. Damn it. She loved Scrabble. She wanted to stay.
But she couldn’t.
* * *
As Max watched her go, an odd tingling took up residence in his stomach. He knew why she was staying away. He’d touched her. Actually he’d forced her to have a reaction to him. Now she didn’t feel right being in the same room with him, even though she clearly wanted to play. Her misery was once again his fault.
He hoisted himself from the little plastic chair. “I think I’ll go in the kitchen for a glass of water. Can I get anybody anything?”
Various mumbled versions of “No,” and “No thanks,” sent him on his way out the door.
At the entry to the kitchen, he hesitated. The table was littered with index cards of recipes, but she stood by the window, staring out, looking lost and alone. He stepped in, walked to the refrigerator.
“Just getting a glass of juice.”
She spun to face him. “Great. Fine.”
He’d already said he was sorry. And pointing out to her that she could join them in the family room sort of felt like pointing out that she was miserable.
He got a glass, poured some juice and hovered, not sure what to say or do. Then he remembered the following Tuesday was Trisha’s birthday. Kate had said something about a party, which he assumed meant a gaggle of little girls trying to fit into this small house. And he finally saw a way to make things up to her. A way she could accept. A way that wouldn’t look as though he was currying favor.
“I’ve been thinking.”
She didn’t look at him. Pretending a sudden interest in the recipe cards, she sat at the table and said, “Oh?”
“Yeah. Trisha’s birthday is in a few days and I have that big house and pool…and a housekeeper. I thought it might save you and your mom some work if we had the party at my house.”
Her gaze ambled over to his. “That would save us some work.”
“And the kids would have a pool to swim in.”
“Yeah.”
“And a housekeeper to straighten up after.”
Her smile turned wistful. “Yeah.”
“So why don’t we just change the party to Sunday afternoon and invite everyone to my house?”
“Invitations are already out.”
“Give me a list and I’ll have Annette call everyone.”
She licked her lips. His heart stalled. Not from attraction. From hope. He might be attracted to her, but that was pointless. Being her friend, getting along, wasn’t. He just wanted to get along. He didn’t want to hurt her anymore. And he certainly didn’t want to be the cause of her misery.
“Okay.”
Her response relieved him so much he almost dropped his juice. “Okay. Great. I’ll have Annette set that up.” He started for the door, but paused and faced her again. “Why don’t you come in and play Scrabble with us?”
Her eyes rose from the recipes until they met his gaze.
“I know I did a stupid thing the other day and I’m sorry. But it almost seems like you’re punishing yourself by staying in here.”
“Max, we’re not supposed to become—whatever it is we’re close to becoming.”
“You mean friends?”
“Yeah. That’s as good a word as any.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t like each other.”
“We still have to deal with each other.”
“Yeah.”
“And for that we should get along.”
“I guess.”
He smiled, ambled over. “So, let’s try the friend route. I swear. No more passes. No more touching.” He softened his voice. “We can do this.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Come on, Kate. You’re in a catch-22. You don’t want me alone with Trisha. And in this small house it’s harder than hell for us to avoid each other. The only other option is to try to get along.”
She hesitated a second, but eventually she said, “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He left the room without another word, but Kate didn’t care. She was having trouble dealing with him because her overwhelming physical attraction had unexpectedly turned emotional on her. She wasn’t in love. No. She was yearning to be in love.
Yearning. Not wishing. Not hoping. Yearning.
It made getting along a scary proposition.
But what choice did she have?
* * *
Because Trisha only knew eight little girls, the children of her grandparents’ neighbors, changing the party to Sunday afternoon at Max’s house was an easy fix.
On the day of the party, Max stood in his kitchen, listening to Kate give orders like a general marshalling her troops. After assigning Mrs. Gentry to the fruit, vegetable and cheese tray and her mom to patio decorations, she turned to him.
Wearing a lacy bathing suit cover-up over a green bathing suit the same color as the one she’d worn the day they’d met, she pointed at him. “You are the lifeguard.”
Though he was already dressed for it in his navy blue trunks, the thought of eight screaming elementary school girls yanking on his arms caused him to gape at her. “Me?”
“Your house. Your pool. Your idea.”
“Okay. But I haven’t been to a kids’ party in a while, so I might need a few minutes to adjust.”
She turned and smiled at him, and it felt as if his chest exploded. It was only
a friendly smile, but it propelled him back in time to the beginning of their marriage when they did things for each other. Loved each other.
“You’ll be fine.” She glanced down at her list again. After checking off another item, she pivoted away from the kitchen island and walked through the family room, heading for the patio. “Mom? How are those decorations coming?”
He tried not to make too much of that smile. Kate was only abiding by their decision to get along. He’d asked her to do that, but it still amazed him.
Mrs. Gentry, his fifty-something housekeeper who dyed her gray hair red and still liked to wear denim miniskirts, sidled up to him. “Interesting.”
He glanced down at her. “What?”
“The way you two get along. It’s hard not to be impressed.” She peered up at him. “You must have already had the blowout about your past.”
They had. Though it hadn’t been as much of a blowout as he deserved, Kate had said her piece. And he’d felt awful. Theoretically that was all that needed to be done. “We did. And the other day we talked about becoming friends. That’s all that’s going on here. Nothing ‘interesting.’ She wants to make things work for Trisha.”
Mrs. Gentry looked up at him, over the rim of her glasses. “You think she’s doing this for Trisha?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
He glared down at her. “Will you stop saying that?”
She moved back to the counter by the sink where she’d been arranging the cheese, fruit and veggie tray. “Why?”
“Because…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Because I don’t know what the hell you mean and it makes me nervous because I know you have good intuition about people.”
“It means that her behavior is interesting.”
“No, it’s not. You’re seeing things that aren’t there because you don’t know the whole story. The new Kate doesn’t want me. She’s too smart.”
“New Kate?”
He shrugged. “She’s very different from the woman I married.”
“Hum.”
He groaned. “Now what?”
“You’re very different from the man she married, too. Maybe the two of you should stop thinking about the past, and just look to the future?”
