Her Secret Rival

by Abby Gaines

  “What do you mean?”

  “People have no objectivity when it comes to their children,” he said. “If you’re kind to the rug rats, they assume you’re a wise and wonderful person all-around.”

  “Is that why you’re so charming to Marcus and Chelsea?” she demanded, outraged.

  “Could be.” He tapped his nose. “If you don’t want to lose points with Theo, I suggest you get your skates on.”

  She stomped over to the kiosk and asked for some skates, then tugged off her black fur-trimmed woolen gloves, freeing her fingers for the laborious process of lacing up.

  “Cute socks,” Travis said, when she removed her ankle boots to reveal the lime-green-and-water-melon-striped socks Sabrina had given her. She ignored him.

  When she was done, she forced her chilled fingers back into her gloves and stood up gingerly, adjusting to the change in balance.

  “Last one on the ice is a sleazy lawyer,” Travis taunted, and stepped confidently onto the white-gray rink.

  Megan pounded and scratched her way across the ice with her first, clumsy steps. She would have liked to hug the edge for a while, but she got the hang of the push-slide motion and made it, with some wobbling, to the center of the rink. At first, all that was required of her and Travis was to applaud enthusiastically as Marcus and Chelsea performed tricks.

  After ten minutes, during which Megan found her balance and made a few practice turns, Travis set Marcus a challenge of skating ten lengths without falling over. “Six lengths for you, Chelsea, with one of your super-duper twirls at each end.” The children whooped as they raced away.

  “How do you know so much about kids?” Megan said. “Can’t just be from having nephews.” Some parents never got a handle on their own children, never realized that one size didn’t fit all.

  Travis shrugged. “My family’s close, I see a lot of the boys—or the little terrors, as we call them. Whenever I take Luke camping, Davey insists I owe him a sleepover at my place here in town. Mom says it’s fitting punishment for running rings around her when I was that age.”

  The love in his voice as he talked about his family was a nice quality in a guy, Megan realized.

  She skated in the children’s wake, her blades now making the smooth sound they should. Travis easily kept pace.

  “You’re pretty good,” he said. “I ought to sue you for skating under false pretences—I’d hoped to be massaging your butt by now.”

  “You’ve just guaranteed I’ll stay on my feet.”

  “Too bad.”

  She bit back a smile. “I like skating, although I did have a bad fall five years ago. It’s the anticipation that’s nerve-racking, I’m fine once I get going.”

  “Kind of like sex,” he mused.

  Megan stumbled, almost fell. Travis grasped her elbow. “Steady, or you’ll be up for that massage.”

  She was tempted, for one moment, to lean into his strength. “Quit it,” she said, tugging free. “The children will hear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The kids were a good thirty yards away. As they watched, Chelsea slipped and fell, but with Marcus’s help she got up laughing.

  “They’re lucky to have each other,” Megan said. “It’ll help them keep faith in their family.”

  “You’re speaking from experience,” Travis guessed.

  They were gaining on the youngsters; Megan slowed down. She focused on the glide of her right skate, then her left. “I was too young to remember the specifics of my parents’ arguments, but you don’t forget the anger, the bitterness. That stuff seeps right into the walls and floorboards.”

  “No wonder you’re cynical about marriage.”

  She shot him a long-suffering look. “Better cynical than deluded. Where do you plan to find your homemaker wife?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NOW THERE WAS a question he hadn’t anticipated. Travis glanced around, as if the love of his life might be knitting a sweater nearby. “I’ve been wondering that myself.” With a greater sense of urgency over the past few months, ever since his life in Atlanta had run smack into his parents’ lives in Jackson Creek, precipitating his quest for respectability. It was like hanging one of those black velvet clown paintings next to a Rembrandt portrait.

  “You could marry a twenty-year-old,” Megan suggested. “One who hasn’t chosen a career yet and will think dropping out of college to do your laundry isn’t too horrible.”

  He almost welcomed her implication that his dream of a traditional family was preposterous. “That sounds kinda creepy, given I’m thirty-five. Besides, I like a woman with an education.”

  “So, you’re looking for a woman who has a college degree but doesn’t want to use it?”

  She was right; it was absurd. He laughed.

  “It really bugs you, doesn’t it, that I want to marry a homemaker?” He couldn’t begin to imagine her reaction to the news that having the life he’d imagined required him to chase after the same job she wanted.

  “I find it fascinating.” Megan executed a fancy little two-step on her blades, sending up a fine spray of water from the ice.

  “Show-off,” he said. He skated ahead, then turned to face her. Which meant skating backward. Two could play at the show-off game. “Here’s a thought,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “How about I find a woman who has a college degree and a few years under her belt in a job she enjoys. Then I ask her to give up her career.”

  Megan gaped. Not, he guessed, at his backward skating prowess.

  “She won’t have to stop working right away,” Travis said. “Not until we have kids.”

  “How about you give up your career?” she suggested. “You could look after the kids while your wife works.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Interesting concept, but ultimately unsatisfying for my primal male need to be the family provider.” That was only half a joke.

  From the gleam of anticipation in her eyes, he gathered he was about to collide with someone. He turned just in time to dodge a teenage boy who was skating in a T-shirt.

  “Thanks for the warning,” he murmured to Megan. She grinned, so unguarded that he had the urge to grab her hands and dance with her on the ice.

  “Good luck with finding someone to take you up on your highly resistible marriage offer,” she said.

  She had a point. Travis tended to date career women, because those were the women he met. He had yet to find one he wanted to ask to give up her job to raise their kids, but when he did, he supposed she might think it an unreasonable request. On the other hand, maybe, when he met the right woman, it wouldn’t seem unreasonable at all. He had a fleeting image of Megan standing in his kitchen, wearing an apron, a toddler at her feet.

  “What are you smirking at?” she asked.

  “I hope to marry a woman who wants more from life than work,” he said.

  “Let me guess, she’ll want the privilege of raising your children?” she mocked.

  They were near the corner of the rink; Travis skated to the fence. Megan came to a stop beside him. “I do believe raising children is a privilege,” he said. “For both parents, whether they’re working or not.”

  He’d managed to silence her. After a moment, she jerked her head in a nod. “You’re right.”

  “Always,” he said, lifting the mood again. “It’s not all one-sided, you know, my resistible offer. There will be compensations for my wife giving up her career. Such as a husband who knows she and the kids are more important than any career ambition, who’s loyal and faithful.” He paused. “And of course, we’ll have incredible sex.”

  She slithered against the fence, caught herself, and said calmly, “Incredible is a subjective term, Counselor. One learns not to trust subjectivity.”

  “You’d rather I produce an expert witness?” He enjoyed the roll of her eyes more than he would have any flirtatious rejoinder. It occurred to him he’d enjoy proving the veracity of his claim to her even more.

  Whoa. He edged away
from her along the fence. Contemplating kissing her was one thing, thinking bed was something else entirely.

  “How can you have such faith in your ideal marriage when you see couples like the Hoskinses?” Megan followed him, and from the purposeful thrust of her skates she sensed she had him on the run. Travis hoped she hadn’t figured out exactly what was making him uncomfortable. “Theo and Barbara probably started off just as starry-eyed.”

  Travis kept up his slow, backward skating along the fence line as he checked on the kids: they’d teamed up with a boy about Chelsea’s age and were playing tag on the ice. “I’m not sure everyone enters marriage with the idea that family will always come first. But you see a lot more divorces than I do, you’re the expert.”

  “I struggle with the idea of a divorce lawyer who believes in the fairy tale,” she admitted, gliding along at the same snail’s pace he was.

  “I’m not suggesting the wave of a wand will get me what I want,” he said. “It’ll take hard work, and there are no guarantees. One of my brothers is divorced.”

  She gasped in mock horror.

  “In Clay’s defense,” he said, “the reason they divorced is because his wife’s career required her to spend three nights a week in the city. She found someone else.”

  “Her career killed the marriage,” Megan intoned.

  “Pretty much. Now Clay has full custody of the boys, and Laura barely sees them.”

  She swatted his arm, and despite her glove, Travis felt the contact as a flash of heat through the late afternoon chill.

  “Careers don’t kill marriages,” she said. “People do.”

  “No need to make it harder than it has to be.” He glanced over his shoulder to check he wasn’t on a collision course. The skaters were thinning out as dusk fell.

  “That’s why people should think twice before they have children,” she muttered.

  “Or work twice as hard at getting it right when they do.”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to get married one day, but I don’t plan on having kids.”

  “What, never?” Travis stopped abruptly, and Megan’s blades clashed with his, toe-to-toe. “You just haven’t met the right guy to father them. Or your biological clock hasn’t started ticking.” Megan didn’t strike him as being like Laura, his ex-sister-in-law. Then again, Clay had never dreamed his wife would consider kids a hindrance.

  Megan disentangled their skates. “My job requires a huge commitment, one I want to give. It would be hard enough making room for a husband—I don’t think I should have kids if I can’t spare the effort to be the best parent possible.”

  “Good argument,” he admitted. “You should be a lawyer.” Their skates were no longer touching, but she was still very close to him. He eyed the curve of her mouth. The contrast between the no-nonsense top lip and the tempting fullness of her lower lip struck him as inordinately sensual. Which either meant he hadn’t dated in too long, or his brain had frozen over. Because Megan was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Next time he came skating, he’d wear a hat.

  “What does your boyfriend think about your lack of interest in having kids?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Megan rolled her eyes again. She seemed to have trouble believing in her own attractions; Travis had the urge to educate her. Thoroughly. Probably the onset of hypothermia, he told himself halfheartedly.

  She pushed away from the fence, headed for the center of the ice. Over her shoulder, she said, “The way I’m going, the kids question won’t even come up. I haven’t yet found a man who’s more exciting than my career.”

  Some perverse instinct had him skating after her, faster than she was going. He passed her, and spun quickly, forcing her to stop. “Then you’re dating the wrong guys.”

  “Dating advice from a divorce lawyer—why didn’t I think of that earlier?” She skated around him.

  Drop it, he ordered himself. You’re not here to talk about your love life, or hers. He fell in beside her and they skated toward the children. “Why do you want to run your dad’s firm? Your family law division is growing fast, I hear. Why do you want the headache of looking after criminal and corporate as well?”

  Megan’s sidelong squint suggested she wished she could deny she’d ever wanted the top job at Merritt, Merritt & Finch. “It’s a logical next step.”

  “I’m sensing more emotion than logic.”

  “It’s about family, you should understand that. The whole firm’s important to Dad, especially the corporate practice, so it’s important to me.” She folded her arms across her chest. A risky pose when ice skating, but she seemed in full control.

  “Too bad he won’t give you the job.”

  She skated ahead. “I have a plan that ought to change his mind.”

  Travis hoped not. Right now, he was an even less credible candidate than she was in Jonah Merritt’s eyes. But he intended to upgrade his status. Fast.

  So, it seemed, did she.

  He wasn’t worried about proving himself against the likes of Robert Grayson. But if Megan worked her way onto that list…she would be formidable competition. He felt his way with his next question. “Why doesn’t your father think you can run the firm?” So far, Travis had no clue what it would take to impress the man.

  She wove through a group of teenagers. Travis followed. “Dad says I don’t command the respect of the partners…though I’m sure I could if I had to.”

  That would count against Travis, too. “Is that all?”

  “He’s not convinced I can bring in new clients across the other divisions,” she added. “For all that he’s a traditional lawyer, Dad has a mile-wide sales streak. He’s responsible for more new business than anyone else.”

  Business development was a particular strength of Travis’s. He’d mentioned that in his one-sided correspondence with Jonah, but even that hadn’t been enough to secure an interview. The stigma of working for PPA outweighed all other considerations. On the plus side, at PPA you learned how to find creative routes to what you wanted.

  “I’ve always admired your father,” Travis said. It was true, so why should his conscience prick? “There aren’t many firms where the founding partner exerts so much influence over such a long time.”

  “No mortal could oust my dad,” she said wryly. “Sadly for him, a heart attack is no respecter of men.”

  “I’ve never actually met him,” Travis said. “Is he as impressive in real life as his reputation suggests?” The question sounded stilted to his own ears, but Megan didn’t bat an eyelid.

  “More so,” she said fondly. “I’ll introduce you one day.”

  Exactly what he’d been angling for. Before Travis could pin her down to a time and date, Marcus and Chelsea skated over.

  “Did you see me do a jump?” Marcus asked.

  “Like a pro,” Travis said. Tomorrow. He ran through his schedule. It would take some maneuvering, but tomorrow he would pin Megan down to that introduction to her dad.

  “PRETTY.” Chelsea pointed to the trees, where the fairy lights twinkled in the deepening dusk. Her teeth chattered through her smile.

  Megan chafed the girl’s arms through her fleece jacket. “They’re lovely, like Christmas trees.”

  Chelsea began a complicated monologue about Christmas and Santa Claus that involved naming at least a dozen reindeer. Megan uh-huhed politely, but her mind wandered to Merritt, Merritt & Finch, to her father and his assumption she couldn’t bring in new clients for the other divisions. If she could just convince Theo to hand over a chunk of his legal business…Frustrated, she tipped her head back to look at the sky. The rising moon sat low still, a pale sliver of its full self. About as substantial as Megan’s hopes of getting that job.

  “Looks like Barbara and Theo are done.” Travis pointed at the couple making their way toward the ice rink. “It’s getting late, kids, let’s call it a day.”

  Megan’s cell phone rang a
s the children were putting on their shoes. Robert Grayson.

  “Robert, how are you?”

  Beside her, Travis stiffened. “Tell him to get lost,” he ordered. As if she was one of his spineless homemaker girlfriends with no mind of her own.

  “Great to hear from you.” She spoke a lot more warmly to Robert than she had the other night.

  “I enjoyed our chat at the game.” The man had clearly picked up on her friendly vibe. “I meant what I said about dinner—how about Monday?”

  Why would she want to have dinner with him, when in all likelihood he wanted to butter her up to support his application for her job? On the verge of refusing, it occurred to Megan it might be interesting to know what her dad had said to Robert.

  “Dinner Monday?” she repeated. “Excellent idea.” Travis’s darkening expression as he snapped Chelsea’s hood back onto her jacket where it had come loose was an added bonus. What made him think he was an expert on her personal life?

  “I thought we could go to Chez Martine.” A luxurious, overly formal restaurant in Buckhead. “Or maybe Salt.”

  “I love Salt,” Megan said, to rub salt in Travis’s hopefully wounded ego. “Let’s go there.”

  That was a hiss from Travis, if she wasn’t mistaken. To remind him whose life this was, she accepted Robert’s offer to pick her up at her apartment. Unfortunately, the greedy note in his voice as he said goodbye suggested he’d jumped to the same conclusion Travis was intended to—that this was a date. She would call him later and arrange to meet him at the restaurant.

  “You’re going on a date with Grayson?” Done with Chelsea’s hood, Travis loomed over Megan, brows drawn together, mouth set in a scowl.

  “For all you know, that was my elderly uncle Robert,” she said coolly.

  “It was Grayson,” he snapped.

  Hmm, so the laid-back Travis Jamieson was capable of getting riled. She filed that away as potentially useful in the courtroom. “If you say so.”

  “He’s not the right guy for you.”

  “Butt out, Travis,” she ordered…and realized Marcus and Chelsea were staring at them, their faces drawn and tense. She forced a smile. “Sorry, kids, I always get grouchy when I’m hungry.”