The Bachelor Takes a Wife

by Jackie Merritt

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have implied anything.”

  “No, you should not have!” Andrea turned away. In a second she sent him another resentful look. “And I am not a snob. You’re incredibly rude, which, when I recall the past, you always were.”

  “Rude, vexing Keith,” he whispered with a dramatic sigh. He had to get over it, he knew, and forced himself to lighten up and ask, “How did you ever put up with me for so many years?”

  Andrea decided they were both going too far. If it hadn’t been for the din of so many conversations plus background music, their dinner companions would already easily have overheard them. She didn’t want to cause more gossip, since she was positive it was already occurring all around their table. It was better just to ignore Keith as much as she could.

  Dishes were cleared away for the next course and Andrea looked up to see Laura Edwards, a waitress from the Royal Diner, working at another table. Laura wasn’t a friend, but Andrea knew her from stopping into the diner occasionally to indulge in one of Manny, the cook’s, fabulous hamburgers. The diner itself was an assault on one’s senses with its red vinyl décor and smoke-stained walls and ceiling, but there was no question about Manny’s burgers being the best in town.

  Something about Laura tonight gave Andrea pause. The woman looked pale, pinched and—was haunted the right word for that wary, frightened expression on Laura’s face? Or perhaps hunted was more appropriate. After a few moments of watching the waitress at work, and pondering her unusual demeanor, it occurred to Andrea that Laura looked exactly like the terrified women who came to New Hope’s shelter to escape abuse!

  Andrea pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me,” she murmured to the table in general. Keith leaped up and the other men started to rise, also. Andrea smiled her thanks at them and walked toward the Ladies’ Lounge sign. As planned, she intercepted Laura on her way to the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes.

  “Laura, hello,” she said. “I’d like to speak to you. Can you take a minute?”

  “Oh, Mrs. O’Rourke,” Laura said in recognition. “It would have to be only a minute…we’re all real busy…but let me get rid of this tray first.”

  “Of course. Can you meet me in the ladies’ lounge?”

  “Employees aren’t supposed to use that facility, but I’ll tell the boss that you asked to see me about something. That should clear it.”

  “Good. See you shortly.” Andrea continued on to the lounge and Laura disappeared into the kitchen. Andrea was touching up her lipstick in front of a long beveled mirror over a pink marble counter—pink marble was the last thing she might have expected to see anywhere within the confines of this otherwise blatantly male retreat—when the door opened and Laura slipped silently into the room.

  Andrea turned from the mirror. “Thanks. Laura, I can see from the look in your eyes and on your face that something is seriously wrong. I’m sure you’re aware of my connection to New Hope and of the good the organization does for battered and abused women. You can talk to me, Laura. Nothing you say would ever be repeated, except perhaps to a counselor at the center, and only with your permission.”

  Laura was visibly squirming, obviously taken by surprise. “It…it’s not that, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

  “Call me Andrea. I know how hard it is to talk about certain troubles, Laura, but if you’re in an abusive relationship you really must get out of it. I can help. New Hope can help.”

  Laura wouldn’t quite meet her eyes and something sighed within Andrea. It happened so often. Too many abused women simply couldn’t speak of their torment and suffering until it got too horrible to bear. Andrea couldn’t spot any bruises on Laura, but some men beat their women in places that were ordinarily covered by clothing. And then, too, emotional bruising wasn’t visible.

  Andrea reached into her small handbag for a business card, which she put in Laura’s hand. “Please call me if you ever need to talk, Laura,” she said gently. “Along with New Hope’s number, my home number is on this card. Call anytime, day or night.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said hoarsely, slipping the card into a pocket of her uniform. “I…I really have to get back to work.”

  “I understand.” Andrea smiled. “I wish I knew what to say to put a smile on your face.”

  “You’re a kind person.” Laura smiled a little before hurrying out.

  Andrea sighed again. That wan, mirthless smile that Laura had attempted spoke volumes, but the subject matter could only be guessed at. Obviously the woman was miserably unhappy over something, but was that something a man? An abusive man?

  Leaving the ladies’ lounge, Andrea returned to her table.

  Three hours later Keith walked her to the waiting limousine. The check made out to New Hope Charity in Andrea’s purse was such a generous sum that she had let its many zeroes influence her normal good judgment and had stayed at the ball much longer than she’d intended. Yes, she had even danced, with Keith and with several other men, and she regretted playing the social butterfly now because Keith was insistent about seeing her home.

  “I’ll just ride along, walk you to your door to make sure you get home safe and sound, and then leave.”

  Keith had been honestly concerned about Dorian forcing that introduction to Andrea, although Dorian must have left immediately after. Keith had watched all evening for him and had also alerted his friends to Dorian’s presence and intrusion, so they’d been watching, as well. But just because he’d vanished from the ball didn’t lessen Keith’s concern about Andrea going home alone.

  She, of course, only saw Keith’s insistence as more attention than she wanted from him. “Please,” she said. “I’m exhausted and I don’t need anyone walking me to my door. I’ve lived alone for five years. I go home by myself after dark all the time.”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “Nonsense.” Andrea extended her hand for a handshake. “Let’s say good-night here, and thank you again for a most generous donation.”

  His dark eyes bored into her. “I’d rather kiss you than shake your hand.”

  She sucked in a sudden sharp breath. “Don’t, Keith! You and I are not going to take up where we left off twenty years ago.”

  “Eighteen years, and why aren’t we? Give me ten good reasons.”

  “I’ll give you one. I don’t want to. Good night.” Andrea got into the limousine, the chauffeur closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s door, and they drove off. Andrea looked out the back window and saw Keith standing there, watching, just watching. He looked disappointed and…worried? Why on earth would he be worrying about her?

  Turning around to face front, she put her head back and told herself that she didn’t care what was going on with him. They weren’t friends or lovers, merely very old acquaintances, and she had absolutely no desire to change the status quo. He had his world, she had hers, and it was best that they each stay within the boundaries they had been living within for many years. Why he would suddenly want to cross over into her world, or coax her into his after so long was beyond her.

  She only knew she couldn’t let it happen.

  Keith stood there until the limousine’s taillights were out of sight, then avoided the clubhouse and the valet, and walked to the parking lot to get his car for himself. It was much cooler at midnight than it had been earlier and the fresh night air felt good to him. Even so, he walked with his head down.

  The night had not gone as well as he’d hoped. Dorian’s appearance had put everyone that knew the score on edge, of course, but even without that, Keith wasn’t satisfied with the evening—all due to Andrea’s adamant refusal to let down her guard with him. There was a wall around her that he hadn’t been able to breach with teasing good humor, open and admitted admiration or a pass he probably shouldn’t have made. It was odd how differently each of them saw the past. Possibly they’d been in love in college, but he couldn’t be sure. His head had been so full of ambitious dreams and he’d honestly believed And
rea had felt the same way. Even now Keith was positive they hadn’t been ready for the responsibilities of marriage back then; there were too many things to be done before taking that particular step.

  Still, there had always been a serious connection between them, from their toddler sandbox days to that first experimental kiss and on through the rigors of high school. It was during the summer following high-school graduation, Keith recalled, that they had begun seeing each other as adults. And then in college they had gotten closer still. If it had been up to him they would have spent most of their free time in bed. Damn, he’d wanted her! Andrea was the one who’d kept things cool between them, but hadn’t her attitude been rather childish? After all, they had ended up in a horrific fight that had completely destroyed what they’d had, and, thinking about it now, Keith couldn’t help blaming Andrea’s stubborn insistence on chastity as the cause of their breakup.

  Oh, well, he thought with a heavy sigh as he reached his car and got into it. Tearing apart the past was useless. He needed to concentrate on the present, on his campaign to prove Dorian’s guilt and on what he was going to do about Andrea now. They were completely separate issues, but each was seriously crucial to Keith’s peace of mind.

  He simply was not going to accept Andrea’s avoidance any longer, that was all there was to it. Andy Vance O’Rourke was going to learn that he could be every bit as stubborn as she was, and what’s more, he was going to have fun in the process.

  And so was she. Seeing her tonight, watching her so closely, sensing her withdrawal from anything that didn’t measure up to whatever high-handed rules she lived by had told him that she needed some fun in her life. Some real fun.

  He was the guy to provide it, the guy to make her laugh and love and enjoy herself.

  He knew it in his soul.

  Andrea had an awful time sleeping that night, or what was left of it. She came wide awake at six the next morning, lay in her bed tired and resentful for an hour, then got up and stood under the shower until her head felt clearer.

  Usually she ran in the morning. Rarely did a morning pass, in fact, that she didn’t run at least three miles. Her route took her from Pine Valley, Royal’s upscale community in which she and nearly everyone who could afford it had their home, to Royal Park, which had a well-used hiking trail completely surrounding it. A couple of turns around that trail and then the return trip to Pine Valley added up to three miles, a good workout.

  It bothered Andrea that Keith lived in Pine Valley, too, although his mansion was on Millionaire’s Row, as that one particular area of Pine Valley was called by those in the know, and her house was quite some distance away. But she’d always known where he lived, even when she’d purchased her home, so she had eventually taken his presence—albeit mostly invisible—in stride.

  Her house was lovely, small by Pine Valley standards, but very cozy and homey. It was a typical rancher but with lots of bells and whistles. After Jerry’s death she had sold the house they’d lived in during their marriage and bought this one. It would never do for a family, but it was perfect for one or two people. She had decorated it exactly to her liking, the very first time she’d been able to do that, and the interior colors were soft and conducive to peaceful relaxation.

  This Sunday morning Andrea felt neither peaceful nor relaxed. She didn’t want to run, either. She was restless, barely able to sit still for more than a minute, but running held no appeal today, and these were very uncommon feelings for her to have. She knew who to blame for her unusual edginess.

  How dared Keith kiss her last night? Memories of the entire evening seemed to bombard her from every direction.

  It was noon before she felt halfway normal again, before she was calm enough to phone the officers of New Hope and relate the amount of the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s donation. They were, of course, overjoyed.

  After that Andrea went back to bed, ignored several telephone calls that she let her voice mail pick up and spent a perfectly miserable afternoon switching channels on the large-screen television set in her bedroom.

  It appeared that Keith Owens was succeeding in ruining her life, just as she’d feared would be the case if she were ever nice to him even one time.

  Keith’s Sunday was almost as unproductive as Andrea’s, the main difference being the time he spent in searching the files in Eric Chambers’s computer. Keith had brought the computer home rather than to his company office, as he wanted the club members’ interest in this whole sad affair to remain as low-key as possible. That was the way the men of the club that were involved in saving lives and/or bringing criminals to justice worked—discreetly, strategically, invisibly.

  The computer’s hard disk was laden with accounting files, understandable since Eric had been vice president of accounting at Wescott Oil. But there were numerous sub-files with far more information about clients of Wescott Oil than Keith thought necessary, indicating to him that Eric had been obsessive about detail. Nowhere, however, were there any notations or entries regarding the missing money. Considering Eric’s penchant for detail, Keith thought that strange.

  After hours of searching, he opened Eric’s personal journal file and looked for hidden attachments. He could find nothing more than Rob had, but that didn’t satisfy Keith. He was positive that he had to be missing something, and he wasn’t giving up on finding it after only one session. Still, he turned off the computer, got to his feet and stretched his back.

  For the rest of the evening he thought about the ball and Andrea. Just as he couldn’t give up on cracking Eric’s computer secrets, neither could he give up on Andrea just because she hadn’t encouraged his interest last night.

  And he had an idea of what to do next to get her attention, too. He only hoped it would work.

  Three

  The following morning, a Monday, Andrea was back to normal except for one thing. She was thoroughly disgusted with herself for having wasted a beautiful day in June in maudlin self-denouncement and angry resentment of Keith. Ignoring church services and friends’ telephone calls were things she just didn’t do, and there were messages on her voice mail to remind her of yesterday’s outlandishly childish behavior.

  She did her running with a determined, almost grim expression on that sunny Monday morning, even while enjoying the diamond-like sparkle of dew on grass and flowers, and the fresh air. Running was one of her greatest pleasures and she was not going to allow Keith Owens to destroy the contentment of her daily routines. There was no reason ever to see him again, except by the whims of chance. Should another occasion such as the charity ball arise she would simply refuse to participate.

  Andrea loved Royal Park with its little lake, botanical garden and striking gazebo that had been the center of many Fourth of July celebrations. This was a park that was actually used, and even at this early hour she could see people walking, jogging or sitting on benches near the lake, some of them feeding the resident ducks.

  After several turns around the park, Andrea headed for home. Sweaty, but feeling more at peace with herself, she entered her house and went straight to her shower. Twenty minutes later, she scanned the morning paper while eating fresh fruit and cold cereal for her breakfast. She tidied the kitchen, her bedroom and bathroom, then got dressed, choosing a simply styled blue-and-white cotton dress and flat shoes. Her hair was almost dry and she fluffed it slightly, applied makeup very sparingly, ignored perfume and cologne and decided she would do.

  Taking up her workday purse, she located her car keys and used the connecting door between laundry and garage. Because she drove slowly with the windows down—very soon it would be much too hot to drive anywhere without the vehicle’s air conditioner going full blast—and enjoyed the activity of the town, it took her a good fifteen minutes to reach Kiddie Kingdom, the nursery school at which she taught. Like New Hope Charity, the nursery school was situated in a very old house that had once been quite charming. Now its high-ceilinged rooms were used as classrooms for preschool children, and its onc
e elegant backyard was a playground with swing sets, a sturdy slide and a merry-go-round. Huge ancient oaks shaded the play area, so even on the hottest days youngsters could spend some time outdoors.

  Andrea’s charges were three-and four-year-olds, wee boys and girls that she absolutely adored. Following college Andrea had taught fifth-and sixth-graders, and after her marriage she’d taken on some high-school classes, which had been quite an experience. Most teenage students, she had discovered, were bright, intelligent, witty and sweet, but some were so difficult and rude that Andrea had been forced to change her idealistic belief that no child was unteachable. She’d changed her tune after that and gone back to teaching youngsters. Now she couldn’t be happier with her position. She wasn’t working for the modest paycheck but because she loved children, and there was nothing more satisfying for her than watching them learn and knowing she was part of their expanding knowledge.

  She and Jerry had both wanted children of their own, but none came along and they went in for testing. The tests revealed Jerry’s sterility, along with a list of other medical conditions, including a weakened heart. Jerry had always avoided doctors so diligently that he honestly hadn’t known that his aches and pains—everyone had ’em, so why stress over it? he’d always said with an infectious laugh—were signs of severe physical breakdown. But Jerry hadn’t changed his stubborn ways just because of a serious diagnosis. He had worked as hard as ever, played tennis like a wild man and done anything else he’d pleased regardless of doctors’ recommendations that he slow down and conduct both work and play at a less hectic pace.

  Andrea had been more furious than grief-stricken when he had simply keeled over one day. He could have lived a much longer life—possibly into old age—had he listened to his doctors. But Jerry had been Jerry, and she’d loved him for his Irish wit, strength and temperament. No one had ever gotten away with telling him what to do, not his family, not the medical community, not her, even though Andrea knew he’d loved her with all his heart.