by Joan Hohl
Micki’s second week in the shop sped by as quickly as the first. Georgine’s absence was felt in more ways than one. Not only did they miss her droll sense of humor but her help in the shop as well. A sudden spurt of business kept them all on the run, and by the end of the week had nearly wiped out their stock of marked-down merchandise.
Saturday morning, half asleep and yawning, Micki walked into the kitchen to find her father and Regina talking over their after-breakfast coffee.
“Good morning, princess,” Bruce smiled gently, studying her sleepy-eyed face. “You look tired, rough week?”
Returning the greeting, Micki nodded in answer. She had seen little of them all week, as staying late after the store closed to help Jennell straighten and restock the shop she had shared a quick meal with her before driving home. She had found the house empty every night but Monday and had been asleep before they had returned.
Now Micki smiled her thanks as Regina placed a glass of juice and a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and murmured, “How was your week?”
“Oh, not bad,” Bruce replied casually, too casually. That and the bright sheen of excitement in his eyes alerted her. “As a matter of fact we concluded that deal I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Micki emphasized with a nod. “It’s a very big deal?”
“Involving millions eventually,” Bruce grinned. “And it’s all signed and sealed and tonight we celebrate.”
“I remember that also,” Micki laughed before jumping up. Then she went over to her father and hugged him. “Congratulations. You’ve been working on this some time, haven’t you?”
“A good long time,” Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “With all the maneuvering and negotiating and people involved—several gears.” He exhaled harshly. “For a while there, when I was hospitalized, I was afraid I was out of it. But this one,” he nodded at Regina, “was fantastic. She became my legs, did all the running around for me, eased the pressure. And she shares equally in the rewards. So you may extend your congratulations in her direction as well.”
Stunned, Micki stared at Regina for a moment. Regina’s expression, a mixture of hesitancy and hope, loosened her tongue.
“Congratulations, fantastic lady.” Micki’s tone, though light, held real sincerity.
“Thank you.”
The two simply spoken words conveyed an equally simple message to Micki. The hostilities between them were over. Micki nodded her head sharply once, sniffed, cleared her throat, then asked over-brightly, “What time does the celebration begin and where?”
“It began right here a moment ago,” Bruce answered huskily. “It will continue at another realtor’s place with a cold buffet lunch between one and two thirty and a clambake supper at seven. We’d like to leave here around twelve thirty, as the place is some miles inland. Can you be ready by then?”
“Yes, of course.” Micki smiled, swallowing around the tightness in her throat caused by the suspicious brightness in his eyes. “How many people will be there?”
‘Thirty or forty I expect.” He grinned at the look of dismay that crossed her face. “Don’t worry, honey, you’ll know quite a few of them.”
On arrival at the large country house Micki judged her father’s estimate to be short by at least ten. But he had been right about one thing, she did know quite a few of the people.
Micki stayed with her father and Regina until after they had finished lunch, then she wandered off on her own to explore the extensive and beautiful grounds.
The place looked like a picture out of a magazine, and content with her own company, Micki strolled across the putting green, around the tennis courts, and onto the fringes of the pool area. Shading her eyes against the fierce glare of the sun’s rays striking off the water, Micki watched a group of teenagers playing Follow the Leader off the diving board.
Continuing on, she completed her wide circling of the grounds, ending up on the other side of the house. It was another hot, humid day in a long summer that had grown monotonous with hot, humid days. As she threaded her way through the cars parked in front of the three-car garage, Micki brushed her hand over her perspiration-slick face, shivering as sweat trickled between her breasts and down her back.
Walking around the front of the house, she headed for the patio from where she’d begun her exploration. There were few people there, as most of the younger ones were either in the pool or engaged in other outdoor games and the older ones had retreated into the air-conditioned house where several bridge games were in session. After unwisely gulping down two gin and tonics at the small bar that had been set up at the end of the patio, she found a lounge chair in the shade, sank onto it, and was asleep within ten minutes.
As the sun trekked its way west, it inched up Micki’s body, waking her when it touched her face. Bathed in sweat, her clothes plastered to her, feeling headachy and half sick, she went to the ground floor powder room. The cool interior of the house was a shock to her overheated body, and after rinsing her face and neck, she stood long minutes resting her forehead on the cool tiles. The rattle of the doorknob jerked her upright, and leaving the room she smiled wanly at the woman waiting to enter.
“They’re about ready to serve the clambake,” the woman informed her as she stepped into the powder room.
The thought of food made Micki’s stomach lurch. She made her way slowly back to the patio and was about to step outside when she stopped cold, her breath suddenly constricted in her chest.
Wolf, looking cool and relaxed in chinos and a pale blue shirt, stood at the bar talking to two men. About to retreat and find another way to the area where the tables had been set up for supper, Micki heard the one man say, “Since you’re alone today, Wolf, what do you say we do a disappearing act after supper and hunt up some action?”
“No, thanks.” Wolf’s soft laughter sent a shiver through Micki. “When this Wolf goes on the prowl, he prowls alone.”
The sickness increasing inside, Micki turned away sharply. His own words seemed to confirm Darrel’s opinion of him. How could she be in love with a man like that? And what was he doing here anyway?
She was halfway across the room when her steps faltered, then stopped, her hand reaching out for something to hang on to. The room seemed to be moving around her and she felt funny, almost floaty. Reaching for something to steady herself her fingers were caught by a hard male hand and a sharp voice demanded, “Micki, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I—I feel funny.” Was that watery voice hers?
“Sit down.” As he spoke, Wolf guided her into a chair, lowered her head gently to her knees, muttering, “Damn, no one’s around, they’re all at supper.”
The light-headedness passed and Micki urged, “I’m all right now. Please go back to your friends.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wolf snapped. “I’m taking you home.”
“But—”
That’s as far as she got, for scooping her into his arms, Wolf ordered, “Be quiet,” and carried her out of the house. He deposited her in his car and had turned to walk around to the driver’s side when she exclaimed, “Dad and Regina! They’ll wonder what happened to me.”
“Relax,” Wolf soothed. “I’ll tell them.”
Within minutes he was back sliding behind the wheel. Her head resting against the seat, eyes closed, Micki heard the engine roar to life, felt the car move slowly as he drove onto the road, then with a sudden surge, the Ferrari seemed to literally fly along the highway. Afraid to open her eyes, Micki listened for the siren’s wail from a patrol car all the way home.
When Wolf brought the car to a stop in front of her home, Micki stirred lethargically and murmured, Thank you.”
He didn’t bother answering. He picked up her handbag and dug through it until he found her keys. Holding them up, he asked, “Which one?”
Ignoring her protests that it wasn’t necessary, he helped her from the car and into the house. Once again t
he air-conditioned coolness went through her like a shock, and dropping into the first chair she came to, Micki closed her eyes against the renewed dizziness. She heard Wolf moving away and had to bite back a plea for him to stay.
Tears were slipping out from under her tightly closed lids when she felt something cool and wet touch her face. Wiping gently, Wolf bathed her face and neck.
“That’s good,” Micki sighed. Nearly unconscious, unaware that she spoke aloud, she murmured, “I haven’t felt this bad since the abortion.”
The damp cloth stopped moving and stirring restlessly she pleaded, “Don’t stop.”
“What abortion?” There was an odd, breathless quality to Wolf’s husky tone that confused her already fuzzy mind. “When?”
She’d forgotten the question, and moving her head from side to side, she frowned and murmured, “What?”
“Your abortion, Micki,” Wolf urged, his voice sounding strange. “When did you have it?”
The mistiness was clearing now, and opening her eyes, Micki stared in confusion into Wolf’s pale face. He looked strained, with white shadowy lines around his mouth.
“When, Micki?” The tone of his voice flicked at her like a lash.
“While I was still in college,” she answered honestly, actually afraid to lie to him. “Six years ago.”
* * *
Chapter 9
“Six years ago?”
The question emerged softly through lips that barely moved. Wolf was absolutely still for long, frightening moments then, his hands grasping her arms painfully, he pulled her to her feet to face him.
“You got rid of my baby?” he whispered hoarsely. When she didn’t answer at once, he began to shake her hard. Fear closed her throat, making it almost impossible for her to answer. Feeling the faintness closing in on her again, she forced two words past the fear.
“Wolf, please.”
He didn’t even hear her. His face a terrifying mask of rage, he shook her harder and shouted, “You killed my baby?”
With a low moan Micki welcomed the blackness that covered her mind, blanking out the harsh sound of Wolf’s voice.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on her bed. Wolf was sitting on its edge bending over her, his silvery eyes cold and blank. The expression of contempt on his face sent a shudder rippling through her and she began to shake. When he moved, her heart thumped wildly, and when his hands again grasped her arms, she brought her palms up against his chest, pleaded, “Wolf, please.”
Before he could speak or even move, there was a loud exclamation from the doorway.
“Micki, Wolf!” Bruce said sharply. “What in the hell’s going on here?”
Micki froze, her mind, her whole body seemingly turned to stone. His face becoming amazingly calm, Wolf released her and stood up with an easiness that was contradicted by the tenseness she could feel in him.
“Not what you apparently think,” he replied smoothly. “Micki fainted.”
Bruce obviously didn’t believe Wolf, for he snapped, “You have no right in Micki’s room.”
“Not yet,” Wolf returned. “But I will have very soon. Micki and I are going to be married.”
“No!”
“Married!”
Micki’s choked whisper went unheard, covered as it was by her father’s loud exclamation.
“Yes.” Wolf’s flat tone held a ring of finality and the icy silver glance he threw at her told her he’d listen to nothing from her.
Panic-stricken, Micki moved to get up to run to her father for protection, but the look of delight on his face stopped her.
“Wolf, that’s great news.” Smiling broadly, hand extended, Bruce walked to Wolf and clasped his hand warmly. “I couldn’t be more pleased.” Losing its brightness, his smile turned rueful. “I must admit that, for a minute there, I thought you—”
“We have been lovers, Bruce.” Wolf’s cool tone sliced across Bruce’s words.
In shocked disbelief Micki’s eyes darted from Wolf to her father, who looked, for a moment, like a time bomb ready to go off. A muscle in his jaw twitched from the pressure of his clenched teeth. Was Wolf crazy? What had possessed him to say such a thing? Trying to ward off the fight she felt sure was coming, Micki rushed into speech.
“Dad, let me explain.” Micki scrambled off the bed and ran to her father, placing a detaining hand on the bunched-up muscle in his arm. “It happened—” That was as far as she got.
“It happened,” Wolf repeated her words with cold finality, “because we both wanted it to happen.” Ignoring her gasp, he stared coolly into Bruce’s furious eyes. “Cool off, Bruce. So, okay, we didn’t wait for the words, the ring, the document” He paused, then underlined, “Did you?”
The question caught Micki by surprise and in unwilling curiosity she glanced at her father’s face.
“No.”
Even though the light of battle had gone out of Bruce’s eyes and Micki could feel the tension easing in his arm, Bruce had not given the answer. The softly spoken word had come from Regina who stood, until now unnoticed, in the doorway. Bruce turned his head to gaze for several seconds into his wife’s composed face then, turning back to Wolf, Bruce echoed honestly, “No, we didn’t wait.”
“I am going to marry her, Bruce.”
Wolf’s statement, delivered with what Micki thought was overbearing confidence, vanquished what was left of her father’s anger while at the same time igniting her own. Before she could voice her protest however, her father again clasped Wolf’s hand.
“You’ve made your point, Wolf. I’m sorry if I came on a little heavily as the outraged father, but Micki’s my only child and very important to me.”
“I understand.” Wolf accepted his surrender gracefully. “I’ll take very good care of her, Bruce.”
Feeling invisible, anger seethed inside Micki. Wasn’t she going to be allowed to speak at all? Apparently not, for before she could open her mouth, Regina suggested from the doorway, “We still have that bottle of champagne we were saving for a special occasion, Bruce. Don’t you think this is the time to open it?”
“The perfect time,” Bruce agreed, grinning broadly. “What are we standing here for? Let’s go crack it open.” He turned, began walking to the doorway, then, as if in afterthought, glanced back at Micki. “You feel all right now, honey?”
She wasn’t even allowed to hand out her own health reports, for Wolf answered for her.
“She’s fine now. I think the excitement got to her.”
Excitement! You fatuous jerk, Micki thought furiously, I’ll excitement you. Frustrated anger searing her throat, Micki watched her father drape his arm around Regina’s shoulders as he left the room. The moment they were out of hearing she turned on Wolf.
“Have you gone mad?” Incensed, she spat the words at him. “I wouldn’t marry you if I was ugly as sin and desperate. And, as you got yourself into this, you can damned well get yourself out of it. I’m going down there and stop them before they open that stupid bottle.”
She spun away from him only to be spun right back again forcefully. Wolfs hand grasping her upper arm held her still. His voice, cold as ice, sent a chill skipping down her spine.
“No, you’re not.” His eyes bored into hers like steel drill bits. “You are going down there with me and accept their toast, and, as soon as they are back from the coast, you are going to marry me. You owe me.”
“I owe you!” In her astonishment at his charge Micki missed the menace in his tone. “I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me,” he repeated coldly. “One child. When you produce that child, you may have your freedom.”
Eyes widening in disbelief, Micki stared at him. He isn’t mad, she thought wildly, he’s a raving maniac. Fighting to control the renewed panic in her voice, she sneered, “You have got to be kidding. There is no way I’d share a child with you.”
“I didn’t say share it,” Wolf sneered back. “I said produce it. You got rid of my baby,” he added
crudely, “and you’re going to damn well replace it.”
“But that was six years ago!” Micki cried, not even attempting to correct him about how the child was lost.
“I don’t give a damn if it was a hundred and six years ago. You’re going to give me my child, my legitimate child. So stop arguing and let’s go down and join the celebration.” He started toward the door, dragging her with him. Before stepping through the doorway he paused, cocking one eyebrow at her. “Unless, of course, you want me to give your father—in minute detail—a blow-by-blow description of the weekend we spent together?” Again he paused before adding silkily, “And exactly how old you were at the time? You have”—he glanced at his watch unconcernedly—”fifteen seconds to decide.”
A picture of her father’s outraged expression of a few minutes ago followed by the fury he’d displayed about her being in Tony’s apartment flashed through Micki’s mind. Decide? What was to decide? She knew positively that should Wolf tell her father about that weekend their relationship would be irreparably damaged. Oh, he would not stop loving her, but he would never trust her again. The taste of defeat burning bitterly in her throat, she lashed out at him unthinkingly, “You rotten son-of-a—”
“Watch it.” Wolfs warning, though soft, silenced her. Releasing her, he strode out of the room and along the hall. For one rebellious second Micki hesitated, then, hating herself, she hurried after him.
Wolf stayed long after the last drops of wine had been drained from the bottle. Stretched out lazily on a chair in the living room as if he belonged there, he smilingly lied through his teeth to her father and Regina.
“Yes, he had been seeing Micki for some time, he assured them. And yes, they were both sure they did not want a large wedding. And no, unfortunately, they would not be able to get away on a honeymoon trip at this time, as, he was sure, Bruce and Regina could fully understand.
