The Bachelor Takes a Wife

by Jackie Merritt

  “And the soccer team, and the tennis team, and… Oh, what difference does it make now? Yes, in middle school we weren’t constant companions. We couldn’t be…except during summer breaks.”

  “So in truth,” Keith said, “we began growing apart in middle school, not high school. Andy, you’re right about one thing. What in hell difference does it make now?”

  “Then you believe me? About my letting you win most of the time?”

  “No, I don’t believe you. I was always twice your size. I could always outrun and outswim you. I still could.”

  “You most certainly could not! Do you run almost every day, as I do? I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “Or one foot?”

  “Don’t make fun of me!”

  “Then change the subject. I couldn’t care less which of us is the fastest runner.”

  “Well, you cared when we were kids!”

  “We were both competitive, Andy.” Keith wasn’t grinning now. In fact he was getting more upset by the moment. In his opinion this was a stupid, adolescent conversation, and he wished he could get Andrea on another track. Still, he couldn’t lie and tell her he believed that she’d let him win when they were kids. His good nature could be stretched only so far, even if it was the woman he loved doing the needling.

  He sucked in a startled breath, not because his being in love with Andrea was a brand-new thought but because it seemed so permanently embedded now, so much a part of who and what he was, of who and what he wanted to be in the future.

  A clap of thunder so loud that it seemed to rock the house took them both by surprise. In mere seconds the sky opened up and began spilling rain, sheets of rain.

  Keith jumped up. “I think I left a window open.”

  He ran from the den and Andrea heard an outside door open and close. It occurred to her to get up and arm the security system so he couldn’t get back in, but she merely contemplated the idea for a few enjoyable moments. Then, sighing, she got up and walked through the house to look out various windows at the severity of the sudden storm. It was while frowning at the sight of flowers bent to the ground from the heavy rainfall that she realized the headway she and Keith were making, regardless of the childish bent of their conversation. The childishness was her fault, she’d searched for a safe subject to discuss to keep his mind out of the bedroom, and she’d come up with that ludicrous tale of letting him win all the time. Small wonder he’d gotten miffed.

  But if they kept talking…they’d covered childhood, middle school and some of high school…wouldn’t they eventually get to the topic of their college relationship, at which time she could let him know how cruel he’d been? Wasn’t that what she’d been wanting to say to him all along, certainly since the ball but also during all of those years after their breakup? This was her chance; she should take it.

  Returning to the chair in the den she’d used before, Andrea wearily laid the back of her hand on her forehead. She wasn’t physically tired, but the thought of fighting, arguing or debating the past with Keith again was emotionally exhausting. Should she really put herself through that to finally say to his face, “You were a wretched, cruel person that night.” Would he care if she did say it?

  Ask yourself this, Andrea O’Rourke, do you really want to run Keith off? Do you truly want to succeed in causing a division so permanent and irreversible that the two of you would go out of your way to avoid each other for the rest of your lives, just as you did the last eighteen years?

  Andrea sighed. She didn’t know what she wanted, except for one utterly impossible thing: to turn back the clock to the day she’d been told about the Cattleman’s Club donation. If she could go back to that day she would tell the other New Hope volunteers that she could not attend the ball as the charity’s representative and someone else would have to do it.

  Everything that had happened concerning Keith since the night of the ball would be erased with that one small change of history. He wouldn’t be here tonight; he would never have been here. Nor would they have met in the park, or ever made love. Her life would be serene again, the placid stillness of her daily existence would never have been disrupted.

  But you wouldn’t be pregnant. She wanted this baby. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  “Andrea!”

  “What?”

  “I’m dripping water all over your laundry room. Bring me something to wrap up in and I’ll toss my clothes in the dryer.”

  She got to her feet and called, “I’ll get some towels.”

  “Thanks,” Keith called back. He’d started undressing the minute he came in, so by the time Andrea appeared with an armful of clean towels, he was stark naked.

  “Well, honestly,” she drawled with deliberate sarcasm “You drop your drawers faster than anyone I ever knew.” She set the stack of towels on the folding counter.

  Keith grinned. “You just don’t know the right people, sweetheart.” Helping himself to what looked like the largest towel in the stack, he wrapped it around his hips and tucked it together at his waist. “There, all covered up again. How do you get this dryer going?”

  “Probably the same way you get your dryer going.”

  “That’s not something I do, Handy Andy.”

  “So we’ll let Handy Andy do it, right?”

  Keith shrugged. “I know it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

  “Who wipes your nose and washes your back when Handy Andy’s not around?” Andrea turned the dryer dials and pushed the Start button.

  “Believe it or not, I can manage to wipe my own nose. But back-washing’s a whole other ball game.” He moved closer to her—she was still facing the dryer—and put his arms around her. “I’ll bet you’re a hell of a back-washer,” he said, burrowing his face into her hair. “Damn, you smell good. You always smell good. What kind of perfume do you use?”

  “I rarely use perfume. All you’re smelling is body lotion and…and shampoo. Keith, please, don’t do this.”

  “Can’t help it, sweetheart,” he said huskily. “You’re all I think about anymore.”

  “Which, of course, is the reason you fled to Mexico after our…uh, first time together.”

  Keith cooled down in the space of two seconds. He could lure her into bed again, of that he was positive, but there was still something huge and forbidding between them. It felt like a locked door, and even when they made love that door remained securely bolted. If their relationship was going to make it to the finish line—which seemed to be what he wanted, at least, it was what he wanted tonight—then he had to unearth the key to that lock.

  Even as kids it hadn’t been easy to get Andrea to talk about something she would rather not discuss. She’d been mule-headed stubborn as a child and it appeared to Keith that she hadn’t changed much. Which made him wonder why she was willing to have sex with him when she’d made it so plain on numerous occasions that she’d wished he would disappear from the face of the earth.

  He dipped his head and kissed the side of her neck and said softly, “Let’s light the fireplace in the den and listen to the rain together.” He let go of her.

  “Uh, fine. Good idea.” Andrea hurried from the laundry room.

  Keith stayed right behind her, watched the delightfully feminine way she walked and wished that she were wrapped in a towel, too. Not that her robe was much of an obstacle, should they both get in the mood again. Maybe they would. What better way could a man pass a stormy night than to spend it with a woman who made him feel young and glad to be alive? Andrea did that for him. Yes, on second thought he was certain about their relationship reaching the finish line. All he had to do now was convince her.

  “Since you’re so helpless around a house, I’ll light the fireplace,” Andrea said as they walked into the den.

  Keith smiled. “Yes, dear.”

  “How do you survive on your own?” Shooting him a rather disgusted look she turned on the gas and pushed the striker butt
on. The flames leapt to life at once.

  “Oh, I have plenty of help.”

  “You must.”

  “Paid help, Andy.”

  “Yes, well, one can buy anything with enough money.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Name one thing.” She sat in the same chair again and Keith returned to the sofa.

  “Love. Sex can be bought, even companionship can be bought, but not love, Andy.”

  “I’m sure you could buy a pretty good facsimile, considering how many single women would give their eyeteeth to nail a man like you.”

  “I’m special because of my bank account?”

  “Uh, well, you’re not unattractive, you have to know.” Especially with that dark tan and those incredible eyes. Damn it, do you have to be so good-looking?

  “So you think I’m attractive?” Keith asked innocently.

  “Not nearly as devoutly as you think it, but yes, I see you as an attractive man.”

  “Devoutly?” Keith laughed. “You do have a way with words…or should I say subtle insults?”

  “If you consider what I said an insult, how do you deal with the real thing?”

  “Honey, one thing you are is the real thing.”

  Andrea bristled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that you’re the genuine article. Andy, it was a compliment.”

  “Well, since you don’t know me well enough to judge me as genuine or phony, I really had no clue as to what it was.”

  “You really think I don’t know you?”

  “That’s right. You don’t know me any more than I know you. Everything between us is strictly superficial.”

  “Superficial? You’re calling each of us depthless and our feelings trivial.” He leaned forward. “Is what you feel in bed with me trivial?”

  She cast her eyes downward, for his seemed too full of feverish emotions to comfortably look at. “What…would you call those kinds of feelings?”

  “Not trivial!”

  “Okay, fine. Answer me this. Why did you run off to Mexico after we made love in the park?”

  “You actually said it without hemming and hawing.”

  “You’re trying to turn the tables on me, and I’m not going to let you do that. Give me an answer.”

  Keith finally sat back, and he turned his face from her to the fireplace. “I wish I hadn’t gone.”

  “Now you’re going to play on my sympathy? No way, Keith. Why did you go?”

  “I needed to think.”

  “About?”

  He looked at her again. “About us. About you, about me, about what was happening between us. For all the answers I came up with I might as well have stayed here.”

  Andrea felt suddenly weak. “You…you must have found some sort of answer. You came back and…and…”

  “And we made love again,” he said softly. “Maybe we should get married.”

  She gaped, she gasped and she nearly stopped breathing. Rising, she went to the window and looked out, mostly at the rain running down the glass.

  “I know you don’t mean that, so why did you say it?” she said.

  “Maybe I do mean it.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “Oh, Andy, are you? Are you sure you want me out of your life, or would you rather I hung around and we got it on every so often?”

  She whirled around. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

  “Why in hell not? That’s what we’ve been doing, isn’t it?”

  “Twice does not an affair make!” Turning around again she found herself looking at her empty driveway. “What did you do with your car?”

  “I put it in your garage.”

  “Next to mine?”

  “Your car’s not in the garage. Someone obviously drove you home today. It was probably your new boyfriend, the guy you cook fancy little suppers for at midnight.”

  “You’re jealous!”

  “Am not.”

  “You sound exactly like a sullen child, so don’t try to con me, Keith. I don’t care anyway. I do not have a boyfriend, and what you heard over the phone the night you called was precisely what I wanted you to hear. I lied, Keith. I wanted to get back at you. When you called I was in bed…alone…with the CD player on. I fabricated everything else.”

  Keith slowly got to his feet. “I never would have guessed it.” He tried to smile but it came off as feeble. “You didn’t let me win that night, did you?”

  “We’re not in a contest, Keith.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out, and so, apparently, have you.” She glanced back at the window again. “Harry Vartan drove me home because I wasn’t feeling well. He and his wife are good friends of mine and the party was at their house.”

  “You weren’t feeling well?” Keith frowned. “How come?”

  Probably because I’m pregnant! “Too much sun, I think.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it was? How are you feeling now?”

  “Obviously I recovered or I never would have let you in!” she replied waspishly. This whole thing was really getting her down. Tell him…don’t tell him. Ask him to leave…let him stay as long as he wants.

  They looked at each other for a very long moment, and then Andrea’s eyes filled. Wiping away leaking tears, she returned to her chair and sat down.

  Keith sighed, shook his head then headed for the laundry room. His clothes were probably dry by now.

  Twelve

  Fully dressed again, Keith stood at a window in the den and watched the storm, visible through the many yard lights on Andrea’s property. What he couldn’t get past was Andrea’s surprising deceit the night he’d called from Mexico. She’d been mad as hell or she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to make him think she was entertaining a man. Had his leaving town caused so much anger? Or was it—and this supposition was much more serious than his first—the aftermath of their making love in the back of his SUV?

  Keith’s frown intensified. He seemed to be suddenly bombarded by guilt and it was coming at him from all directions. He had pushed Andrea too hard. He’d kept after her and kept after her, completely ignoring her protests, and he could claim success, if luring a woman into bed was the yardstick with which he measured victory in a personal relationship.

  But he hadn’t only wanted sex from Andrea. In fact, he was annoyed by the mess he’d made of something that had started with the very best of intentions. Uneasy and troubled, Keith wondered if there was any chance of setting them on the right track. He loved her. But for some reason he hadn’t been honest with her.

  “Damn,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  Glancing back at Andrea, Keith saw the distress on her face. His heart sank. Neither of them was happy with the way things stood between them, and if they didn’t come to some sort of understanding, nothing was apt to change. Maybe tonight was do-or-die, he thought grimly. Maybe this was it—the real beginning or the bitter end.

  He noticed the stack of photo albums on the sofa—they had piqued his interest when he’d first come into the den. Seating himself next to them, he transferred the top album to his lap and asked, “Is it okay if I look at this?” It was really just something to do until he thought of an opening line to get them communicating with no-holds-barred. Nothing else would alter the status quo, he now believed, nothing but complete and sincere honesty from each of them.

  “Sure, go ahead,” she said listlessly. She honestly had no fight left in her. Massive amounts of emotion, but not enough strength to put on a defense against anything Keith might do or say.

  “Thanks.” He began turning pages and his speed slowed to a snail’s pace when he realized the snapshots he was looking at were all of Andrea, from when she was about five to—he took a quick peek at the album’s last page—her early teens. And he was in almost every one of them!

  Looking at those old photos brought back so many mem
ories—most of which he’d long forgotten.

  His interest surprised Andrea, and she watched him. Seeing Keith while he was so immersed, she could see both the boy he’d been and the man he was now, and for the very first time she began to grasp that they were one and the same. It seemed like a revelation of sorts, although of course he was the same person. Why wouldn’t he be? It was just that she hadn’t been thinking of him in that way. If she’d loved him so much before, she should love him still.

  Did she?

  Her heart began pounding, and she tried desperately to think of something else, something trivial, something that wouldn’t rip her from stem to stern. He’d always been the best-looking male in her life, always! Andrea’s breath caught. She’d loved and adored Keith the boy and, she had discovered, she loved and adored Keith the man, now.

  Keith chuckled, startling Andrea out of her reverie. “What so funny?” she asked, relieved to have a distraction. Rising from her chair, she went to the sofa to see for herself which picture had made him laugh.

  “Look at this,” Keith said.

  Andrea sat next to him to peer at the photo he was indicating. It was a snapshot of her draped in pink chiffon—she recalled that playtime outfit as some old curtains, although where on earth she’d gotten them was a mystery—and Keith in his pirate hat and brandishing a cardboard sword. They were about six or seven years old, she figured.

  “Do you remember the day this was taken?” he asked.

  “Well…no. Should I? Do you?”

  “Yes, I remember it. We both got hell for playing doctor.”

  “We were playing doctor with you in your pirate hat and me in pink curtains? I don’t remember that.”

  “We weren’t in them for long.” Again Keith chuckled. “After Ducky took this picture…”

  Andrea broke in. “I was wondering who had taken all these snaps. Was it Mrs. Dorsett?”

  “Mostly, yes. Anyhow, after she snapped us in our favorite getups that day, she went in the house and we returned to our fort. I’m not sure exactly how we evolved from pirate and harem girl to doctor and nurse…or maybe it was doctor and patient…but we got totally naked and were busily examining each other when Ducky appeared to announce that lunch was ready. The poor woman nearly had a stroke when she saw us.”