Promises, Promises (Class of '85)

by James, Silver

  She glanced over at Michael and realized he was staring at her. She took another bite of her pizza, praying her expression hadn’t given away her thoughts. She chewed without tasting, swallowed and reached for her beer to wash it down. She cut her eyes in his direction. He was still watching.

  “What?” She stared at him as he flushed. Oh, goodness. Had his thoughts strayed, too? She choked back a giggle. Of course they had. He was a man. She took another bite and watched him watch her, a hungry light gleaming in his eyes. Instinctively, she knew that look wasn’t because he craved another slice of pizza. She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “What?” she asked again, only this time her voice was low and husky.

  “Ready for another piece?” He used another paper towel to gather up a second slice, only this time he held it out for her to take a bite. His eyes dared her to play along even as his mouth teased her with full lips and a little smirk.

  She raised her chin in challenge. “You lookin’ for a piece of me, hot stuff?”

  “Oh, I want more than a piece, sweetheart. I want all of you.”

  Other Wild Rose Press Titles by Silver James

  FAIRY TALES CAN COME TRUE

  “A hit with anyone looking for a fast-paced love story. It provides just the right touch of romance to make it a pleasure to read. I would definitely recommend this story to any contemporary romance fan looking for their next reading selection. If you are in the mood for a quick love story with a happy ending, FAIRY TALES CAN COME TRUE is for you.”

  ~Two Lips Review (4 Lips)

  FAERIE FATE

  “This is a wonderful mix of adventure and humor, with an unforgettable heroine who follows the voices in her head and travels back to a time of handfasting, dreamy Irish men and clan wars. Although Ciaran and his Irish ways are not new to romance novels, Becca is extremely humorous and fun, and makes the reader laugh out loud as she waltzes into yesteryear.”

  ~Romantic Times Magazine (4 Stars)

  FAERIE FIRE

  “This wonderful, magical story has plenty of action, political and international intrigue, FBI interference, loyalty and betrayal popping up in unexpected places, and I loved every word of FAERIE FIRE!”

  ~Bitten By Books (5 Tombstones)

  Promises, Promises

  a Class of ’85 Reunion story

  by

  Silver James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Promises, Promises: Class of ’85 Reunion Series

  COPYRIGHT © 2011 by Silver James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Last Rose of Summer Edition, 2011

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To all the wonderful authors

  who have contributed to the Class of ’85

  and our fabulous editor, Kathy Cottrell,

  thank you for such wonderful stories

  and casts of characters.

  I would have nothing to dedicate

  if not for family and friends supporting me

  in my writing endeavors

  so sincere thanks, always.

  Chapter One

  Kelly Kincaid.

  Summerville golden girl, her life a fairy tale.

  Sure it was.

  Complete with a Prince Charming who turned into an ogre, then the whole kingdom calling for his head. On a platter. Right after he was drawn and quartered.

  After Prince Geoff absconded to Brazil with the kingdom’s treasury, and therefore became untouchable—and un-extraditable—the angry mob stormed her castle.

  Spinning slowly on one heel, Kelly surveyed what was left of that castle, which in her case consisted of an Upper West Side apartment in Manhattan. A bag from a fast food place, bloated from the trash stuffed inside, squatted in one corner of the empty room. A crumpled paper cup languished on the Venetian marble counter in the gourmet kitchen. She sympathized with that cup.

  That’s exactly how she felt—drained and folded, spindled and mutilated. Left for someone else to clean up the mess. In this case, she’d gone from princess to drudge with one knock on the door. Federal marshals. SEC lawyers. Geoff’s angry clients. They all lined up to take shots at her.

  Everything was gone. The designer clothes and shoes. Her jewelry—even her wedding rings. Every piece of art, stitch of antique rug, stick of furniture. Cars, Geoff’s BMI motorcycle, her beloved thoroughbred hunter-jumper. The house in the Hamptons. The cabin in Aspen. The sailboat. Selling everything she had, even emptying her childhood trust fund, wasn’t enough. Geoff still owed millions.

  Kelly scrubbed at her face with the heels of her palms. She’d done what she could. Her parents had kicked and screamed about the trust fund. That money belonged to her, premarital assets they reminded her. Her dad didn’t understand her reasoning, scoffing when she mentioned the word “honor.” She winced as that conversation echoed in her memory. Her father’s golf buddies, her mother’s bridge club—none of their friends and neighbors would understand why she would give up her lifestyle when she didn’t have to. Her need to make things right resonated inside her—but sang a sour note in her parents’ expectations.

  Her mother cried, her father called her foolish then hung up on her.

  At least she could go home to Summerville.

  Sort of.

  The tiny one-room apartment over the detached garage was as close as her parents would allow her to come. Her mother agreed to the arrangement only because their social circle frowned on tossing one’s only child out into the streets. She’d done her best to find a job in the City, even reverted to using her maiden name. No luck. She had no car to sleep in, no clothes but those on her back and what fit into the backpack next to the front door. With no other options, slinking home, destitute, tail tucked between her legs became the last straw.

  She had just enough money for a train ticket. She would spend the night in Penn Station, and head home first thing in the morning. With any luck, her father might send a car for her so she didn’t have to hitch a ride home. And if the universe finally took pity on her, she’d find a job in Rochester, one that paid enough to get her out of the garage apartment and into her own place.

  Away from Summerville and her family.

  The pounding on the door echoed her pounding headache. “It’s not locked,” she yelled.

  The door opened on well-oiled hinges. The uniformed doorman, hesitant and unsure, stood just over the threshold. He looked as uncomfortable as Kelly felt as he stood there stroking his cap with nervous fingers as he held it front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Miz Kincaid. Management says I gotta escort you out now.”

  “It’s okay, Sergei. You’re just doing your job. I’m ready.” She gathered up the trash and snagged her backpack. As she brushed passed the uncomfortable man, she held out a set of keys. “That’s all the copies I have. Geoff took his set with him. The locks should be changed before the new owners take possession.”

  The ride down in the elevator would have been silent but f
or the Muzak song drifting through the hidden speakers in the ceiling. Burt Bacharach’s “Promises, Promises.” Really? Could the gods be any more obvious? Her one regret was that she hadn’t found the nerve to walk out sooner. She was proud that she was trying to pay off Geoff’s debts. Not through any loyalty to the jerk—but to the people who’d trusted him with their life savings. She sighed again. Her life had been reduced to a pop song. She was all through with promises now.

  The elevator dinged, its doors slithered open, and she hesitated a moment. Sergei stepped out, holding the door. Kelly squared her shoulders and marched into the lobby. A few people stopped and stared, twittering behind their hands as they watched her cross the open space. She kept her head high, eyes on the front door and her escape. The doorman beat her there by a few steps and held the door, as if she was still someone important. Flashing Sergei a smile of gratitude, she wished she had even a small tip for him. She stepped outside into what she hoped would be a new life. Halfway to the subway stop, she paused long enough to stuff the trash she carried into a curbside container. Her heart lightened as if that sack contained all the garbage in her life.

  She’d disposed of the past. Time now to face the future.

  Kelly skipped down the steps to the subway, digging in the front pocket of her jeans for a token. She waited on the platform for the train to Penn Station. She could hang out there until tomorrow morning and the early train to Rochester. People crowded around her, the wash of their conversations familiar and oddly comforting, as was the whoosh and clatter of the incoming train. The doors opened in front of her and she stepped inside the full car. She grabbed a pole and hung on, her body naturally swaying with the train’s motion. People exited and more got on at each stop. At Penn Station, she joined the crush for the door and stumbled out as they slithered open. The rush carried her along and she let it. She was no salmon swimming upstream—never had been.

  After purchasing her ticket and watching her meager funds further dwindle, she found an empty bench and settled on its hard surface. She stuffed her backpack against the arm and leaned into it. She had a long wait ahead of her. Ignoring the grumbling in her stomach, she pulled a battered paperback out of her jacket pocket, opened it to the bookmarked page, and read.

  ****

  Mike Doogan opted to take a cab from his hotel to Penn Station. He hated flying. Crammed in a too-small seat with his knees jammed against his chin, was not the former junior college football player’s idea of a good time. The few times a year he had to come down to the City, he always opted for the train. Considering travel time to the airport and the security waits once he was there, the time spent on the train all but worked out to the same. And the price was definitely right. If he was honest, he’d also admit that he enjoyed watching the countryside trundle by as he watched out the window.

  Hollow echoes reverberated around the cavernous waiting room. At six in the morning, most travelers had yet to arrive. A woman dozed on a bench, her arms and knees curled to her chest in a loose fetal position. He wondered if she was cold or if something else was going on. An inveterate people watcher, Mike had lots of practice at the family pub in Summerville. He settled on the bench facing the lady and sipped the coffee he’d snagged from one of the snack bars.

  More people arrived for the early train and with the bustle, the woman awoke. She stretched, looking around as if confused, and as he watched, she appeared to remember where she was. She grabbed her backpack and headed toward the restrooms.

  A short time later, the loudspeaker announced boarding for The Maple Leaf, the Amtrak train headed to Albany, Rochester and finally Toronto. Mike grabbed his leather duffel and joined the line. He cleared the gate and headed toward the train, where he joined another line to board. He recognized the woman standing in front of him. Her waif look was oddly compelling. Maybe they’d be seated close enough so he could continue to ponder her situation.

  The man in front of her either stumbled or stopped short, then fell back against the woman. Hard. She teetered and scrambled to regain her balance. Mike steadied her with a palm flattened against the small of her back, a firm but gentle pressure. Once she found her balance, she turned, a smile hovering around her lips—her full, pink lips. He pulled his gaze from her mouth and it collided with her chocolate brown eyes. Her pupils dilated and she sucked in a surprised breath, almost as if she recognized him.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, whirling to give him her back. She tugged her hood up over her head and hunkered into her jacket.

  He wondered why…or from whom she was hiding, and then tossed the thought away. She might be shy and that was just as viable an explanation as any conspiracy he might dream up. The line shuffled forward and the woman stepped up with the help of a conductor. Mike followed a moment later, but by the time he entered the car, she’d found a seat, sunk low into it and seemed to curl up around her backpack. He read body language better than most and hers disturbed him. He continued to watch her off and on, wondering at each stop if she would get off. She didn’t. Not until his stop. Rochester.

  She slunk off the train like a whipped dog, eyes furtively darting around but not quite looking anyone else in the eye. This woman had him totally intrigued.

  “Little Mike!”

  He rolled his eyes before turning to greet his father. He was half a head taller but his dad had about thirty pounds on him. As much as Mike hated the nickname, he figured it was better than “Junior.”

  When Big Mike wrapped his arms around him, he grinned. “Hi, Dad. You didn’t need to pick me up.”

  “Of course I did!”

  “So who’s looking after the bar?” His dad hadn’t taken a vacation in twenty years, not since his mother died. Every day but Sunday, he could be found somewhere on the premises of Doogan’s Pub.

  “Maggie’s got it covered until we get back.”

  Mike hid his grin. That his dad admired Maggie Carpenter was an ill-hidden secret. He’d watched his dad dance around his feelings for her for years. Maggie had been a waitress at Doogan’s about as long as Mike could remember. Her son, Deke, was one of his best friends.

  “Well then, I guess we’d better get going, huh?”

  His dad laughed and clapped him on the back. Together, they stepped toward the exit, but he felt compelled to look around for the mysterious woman from the train. The station wasn’t that big but she’d disappeared. Big Mike pushed through the double exit doors. As Mike sidled through behind his father, he saw her standing on the front sidewalk, peering up and down the line of cars waiting to pick up passengers.

  His dad thumped him on the arm. “Hey, don’t you know her?”

  “I don’t think so, Dad. We were on the train up from New York City but…” He looked at her again, this time at her profile. “Wait…maybe?”

  His dad sighed. “You went to school with her. Oh…what’s her name. Kelly? Kelly something or other. I can’t remember who she married.”

  As Mike stared, and did his best to ignore the huge lump forming in his throat, a light bulb went off inside his head. “She used to be Kelly Burke. Kincaid is her married name.”

  He’d had a huge crush on her in high school. As a jock, he probably could have asked her out but her family had wealth and standing in the community and his dad owned a pub. Guilt washed over him. He’d never been embarrassed by his father or their livelihood, but back then the gap between their social standings seemed insurmountable.

  Big Mike scratched his head. “She’s been in the news lately.”

  “Her husband…ex-husband, anyway, stole a bunch of money from some investors. When it looked like he was about to be arrested, he skipped the country. Left Kelly holding the bag.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s she doing back here?”

  “Probably come home to lick her wounds. Though I heard her folks aren’t very happy about it.”

  His dad snorted, the sound both astonished and derogatory. “Her folks don’t
know what happy means. And they sure don’t know about taking care of family.”

  Realization hit. “You knew all along who she was, and what’s going on in her life.”

  Big Mike didn’t have the good grace to blush. “Just making sure you’re paying attention, Junior.”

  “Don’t call me that.” He ignored his dad’s chuckle and turned a speculative eye back to Kelly. “Looks like she’s waiting for someone.”

  “Probably her ride.” Big Mike punched him on the upper arm. “Go ask her. We can give her a lift.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Mike put on what he hoped was a friendly smile before approaching her. “Kelly?” She jumped a foot off the ground and whirled, her expression both startled and hunted. “You might not remember me—”

  “Mike Doogan.”

  She remembered him. His pulse tripped a little faster. “Yeah. You recognized me.” His chuckle sounded forced and nervous. “Uhm…Dad…well… Dad and I were wondering if you needed a ride.”

  The panicked look on her face almost pissed him off and then he realized that she’d probably figured out no one was coming to pick her up. He wondered what was going on. She and the loser husband lived on the Upper West Side and every time he’d seen her picture on the society page, she’d been dressed to the nines in designer duds. Old jeans and hoodie, the back pack instead of a suitcase…he wondered at the incognito bit.

  Kelly looked up and down the drive in front of the station and peered anxiously at the parking lot. Her shoulders slumped as her right hand burrowed into the front pocket of her jeans. Before he could comment or ask her again, his dad strode up.

  “Kelly, m’girl.” Big Mike enveloped her in a hug she couldn’t squirm out of. “You look frazzled and starved. C’mon. We’ll give you a ride to Summerville and stop off at the pub for a bite to eat and a pint. You’ll feel much better after.” He held up a hand as she started to protest. “My treat, girl.”