The Man She Married

by Muriel Jensen

  “Please.” Claudia twisted her fingers. “I need to explain what happened.”

  Prue nodded and made herself listen, feeling a hole grow at the heart of her where just this morning there’d been so much enthusiasm for the future.

  “When your husband and I were stuck alone in your home in Maine,” Claudia continued, “we started talking about our lives…you know, like people do. Only no one ever wanted to hear what I had to say before. They just wanted to look at me. But when he said I should go back to school, if he could fix it because of what I was doing for the attorney general’s office, I thought…” Her eyes filled and she looked suddenly ashamed. “I was so stupid. I thought I had to say thank-you the way I was…the way I was taught. Only he got mad at me. He pushed me away. He told me I had to have more respect for myself than to think I had to buy my dreams with my body.” A tear fell down her cheek.

  “But I still didn’t get it. I tried one more time to show him how grateful I was and…that’s when you walked in. I was sure he was playing some kind of teasing game, but he was trying to push me away.”

  Prue put both hands to her face as the corridor began to spin, and her stomach began to spin with it.

  Georgette put a firm arm around her and Claudia took hold of her other arm. “Come inside,” Georgette said as they supported her weight between them.

  “I’ll get a glass of water.” Justine hurried on ahead.

  The words screamed in Prue’s head. What have I done?

  GIDEON DROVE HOME by the quiet back streets, afraid his anger had so much of his focus that he wouldn’t be safe on the highway. He ground to a halt at the house, slapped the truck into Park, removed the key with a yank, then hit the steering wheel for good measure. Then he jumped out of the truck and slammed the door.

  He walked around the porch to the front, looking at the lake and trying to mellow out. He felt something slam against his ankle and looked down to find Drifter rubbing on him. He picked up the cat and scratched the back of his head, the resulting purr sounding like a motorboat on the water.

  The lake was turbulent this evening, wind scudding along the surface and causing little eddies to run like whitecaps from shore to shore. And the same thing was happening inside him. Reason was overtaken by emotion as he realized the Maine Incident was happening all over again.

  He couldn’t believe it. As he remembered the tableau Prue saw when she opened the door, he could understand a momentary confusion. But after their lengthy discussion of how she’d misunderstood what had happened the first time, after all their discoveries about each other and their admissions of mistakes, after all their promises of love and trust—she’d walked away again without even letting him explain.

  Drifter protested as Gideon apparently scratched too hard, and jumped out of his arms.

  This time Gideon decided he wasn’t stopping to agonize over what he might have done differently, he was just moving on. He took his overnight bag out of the bottom of the closet and packed up the few things he’d brought with him. What the women had bought for him here, he was leaving behind. He didn’t want anything to remind him that he’d risked his dignity and his peace of mind to create a situation that would bring Prue close to him so that he could try to win her back.

  Well. He’d certainly piled up the mistakes, he thought as he threw the few things in the medicine cabinet that belonged to him into his shaving kit. His plan had been a stupid move. He should have left well enough alone, but no. He’d gotten one good look at Prue, remembered all they’d shared and how good the sex had been and forgotten that she’d also spent a lot of time driving him crazy and making him miserable. He’d been an idiot.

  That wasn’t going to happen again.

  He picked up Drifter, who’d settled in the corner of his bag, and put him on the bed. He dropped in the small alarm clock from his bedside table and made room for his shaving kit.

  He wished he could just take off for Alaska tonight, but he had to finish the project for Whitcomb’s Wonders’ new security arm. He snapped his bag closed and thought about what an exciting project that could be. Hank had big plans and the intelligence and the manpower to back them up.

  “I’m going to have to leave you with her,” he said to the cat, stroking him as he bumped his head against Gideon’s thigh. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m going to the Yankee Inn for a couple of days and cats aren’t allowed. But then, Prue likes you, so you won’t have the same problems with her that I’ve had.”

  He took one last look at the painting of the beautiful children that should have been his, remembered the one he’d never even known about and lost, and stood rooted to the floor for one really bad moment.

  Then he picked up his bag and started for the door. Prue stood there, however, a hand to the doorframe as though she needed its support. She looked pale and desperate, the neat coil her hair had been in that morning when she left now coming apart. Her eyes held misery and uncertainty when they met his.

  They went from his face to his bag. “Where are you going?” she asked softly.

  He wasn’t sure why that question annoyed him so much, but it did. Had she really thought he could stay after that reprise of the Maine Incident?

  “To the inn,” he said, moving toward her, certain she’d step out of his way. He wouldn’t want to be in his way with the mood he was in. “I have to finish the project for Hank and I obviously can’t do it here.”

  She didn’t move, but held her ground, looking up at him and speaking quietly as though she was the most reasonable woman in the world. “But you live here.”

  “We lived here,” he corrected sharply, not ready to feel at all reasonable about it. “And I don’t want to be anywhere that’s going to remind me that I was stupid enough to want you back. Now, if you’ll move out of my way…”

  She flinched but she didn’t move. “Gideon,” she said, putting a hand out to him. He blocked her touch with a raised arm, as though she’d tried to strike him.

  She made a little gasping sound of dismay and barred his way with her hands on the doorway molding.

  “You’re not leaving here until you listen to me!” she shouted at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! But you keep—”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” he shouted over her. Then he lowered his voice and paraphrased her own words back to her. “You may have thought you had an excuse for your behavior once, but not twice. I’m out of here, Prue, and I’m filing for divorce.”

  “No!” she shouted, bracing her position. “I won’t let you leave until you listen to me.”

  “You never listen to me!”

  “Because I was an idiot! But Georgette and Claudia and Justine explained…”

  He caught one of her wrists and yanked it away from the doorway. “I don’t care what they explained to you. There was one minute there when you could have proved that you trust me, that you have faith in me, but you blew it!”

  She clung to the doorway with her other hand. “Well, too bad! I’m sure it’s not the last mistake I’ll ever make! Especially if you keep finding yourself in situations involving naked women! You want blind trust, then maybe you should find a woman who’d let you be unfaithful because she doesn’t care enough to question you!”

  “Bull!” he roared back at her. “I don’t think you care whether I’m faithful or not as long as you get to act like the injured, martyred party. That allows you to hold center stage like the princess that you are.”

  He yanked a little harder and she flew out of the doorway. Since he had the momentum going, he used that hand to fling her onto the bed. “You have the stage, Prudie,” he said, his voice curiously flat as his anger morphed into despair. “I’m just not going to be your audience anymore. Goodbye.”

  PRUE WEPT until her eyes stung and her throat ached and the grief of her own stupidity was too much to bear. Georgette made her tea and Justine used the portrait studio’s lab to print the pictures in an attempt to show her how well
they’d come out.

  But the happiness that was visible between them in the photos only served to deepen her pain. She sat for an entire day in the big chair by the fireplace, going over and over them thinking she could gain some absolution for her idiocy by inflicting more pain upon herself.

  But it didn’t work. She still felt guilty, and her agony was multiplied by the fact that she couldn’t make herself believe that it was over. And just to add more grief to her burden, Drifter hadn’t been home all day. She wondered if he also no longer felt welcome.

  She called Gideon from the privacy of the upstairs bedroom that evening, hoping that he’d have calmed down in twenty-four hours and be more willing to listen to another abject apology.

  Jackie told her he was out.

  “Where did he go?” Prue asked. He’d left the rented van parked in the back and she was ready to take off after him.

  “He asked me not to say,” Jackie replied regretfully.

  Prue felt the words like a stab to the heart. He hadn’t calmed down at all.

  “Is he all right?” Prue asked, her voice tight.

  Jackie was quiet for a moment, then she answered Prue’s question with another. “What do you think, Prue?”

  “He won’t listen!” Prue said desperately.

  “I know,” Jackie replied. “Apparently that’s a problem the two of you have in common. I’ll tell him you called.”

  Prue hung up the phone feeling even more hopeless than she had after the last time. Then, she’d been filled with righteous indignation, certain she was the wronged party. This time, she knew better.

  She cried for another hour, then finally deciding that was getting her nowhere—and she was determined to get somewhere—she stepped under a hot shower and tried hard to think. There had to be a way to convince him to forgive her. If he wouldn’t cooperate in a civilized way…

  She uttered a small scream under the rush of water as an idea occurred to her. It wasn’t a guaranteed solution, but it was an idea.

  She stepped out of the shower and without even stopping to wrap a towel around herself, ran to the phone and left Hank a message to call her when he came in.

  Then she winked at the painting of the four children.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GIDEON FINISHED the security model two days later. Hank approved it with gratitude and enthusiasm, then pleaded with him to reconsider the move to Alaska.

  Gideon shook his head. “Thanks, Hank. I think we’d have enjoyed working together, but I can’t stay if Prue’s here.”

  “What if she moves to New York?” Hank asked practically. “Would you consider coming back?”

  “No.” They sat at a small table in the Breakfast Barn, and he took one last, sad look around. “Too many memories here. I can’t look at the lake or the common or even sit in here without remembering how good it was for a while. But it’s not ever going to be good again and I have to deal with it. So I’m going to Alaska.”

  Hank eyed him grimly. “You’re sure there’s no way to work it out? That you’re not just being too proud?”

  Gideon groaned. “I told you what happened. I thought we’d restored our relationship after the last time, and she reacted in the very same way. I love her! I wish it could be different, but she’s always ready to believe the worst. I’d rather live in misery without her than have to wonder everyday if she’s wondering if I’m being faithful.”

  Hank seemed to understand. “It’s a shame. Personally and professionally, I hate to lose you.”

  “Yeah.” Gideon put money down for the bill, then pushed his chair away. “I’d better go. My flight to Boston is early in the morning. You’ll pick up my truck at the airport and give it to Prue?”

  “Right. Any message to go with the truck?”

  Gideon considered a minute but couldn’t think of anything significant. And it was no time to be smart. “No,” he replied. “I’ve already said goodbye.”

  Hank climbed out of his van in the inn’s parking lot and shook hands with Gideon. He gave him his card. “If you need anything, or something changes and you want to come back, call me.”

  “I will,” Gideon promised. “Thanks for everything.”

  He tried to make his mind a blank as he loped into the lobby where a cheery fire burned in the fireplace. But he remembered playing with Hank’s and Cam’s kids here, demonstrating a few techniques to the guys in the empty banquet room, Jackie’s story about the young girl, the British soldier she’d nursed back to health and the eight children that had resulted from their union.

  Apparently, ideological differences had been easier to surmount in those days than the personal differences that stood between him and Prue today.

  In his room, he showered, then packed his bag and put it by the door.

  Then he went to the window, held the curtain back and looked out on Maple Hill, remembering that he’d done this very thing the day he’d arrived. He saw the lights of town, several smaller house lights scattered between the inn and there. He remembered how comfortable and inviting Maple Hill had seemed to him then.

  He dropped the curtain and climbed into bed.

  He was staring at the darkness when he heard the subtle sound just before midnight. It sounded like the scrape of a key in the lock. He propped up on an elbow, his eyes well adjusted to the dark, and wondered if Jackie had some kind of problem that required him, or if she’d accidentally double-booked a room.

  When the door opened and he saw four men in commando gear and night-vision goggles, he was almost too astonished for his old training to take over. Until a deep male voice said quietly, “You’re coming with us, Mr. Hale. Please get dressed.”

  He didn’t bother to argue or ask questions. He kicked at the nearest man, doubling him over, then leaped at the man behind him before he went down under the other two. There was a great commotion in the darkness. He kicked and struck out with his hands and heard satisfying grunts and curses. But the confines of the bedroom narrowed his moves and he was finally pinned to the floor between the bed and the dresser. It felt as though all four men held him there.

  “Now.” The same voice that had spoken originally was breathless with exertion. That gave Gideon some satisfaction. “We’re leaving here quietly. This is a respectable establishment and we don’t want to cause them any problems.”

  Everyone scrambled up and Gideon was yanked to his feet.

  The clothes he’d discarded and left on a chair by the bed were thrust into his hands.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as he pulled on his jeans. Adrenaline was pumping through him, yet his brain was having difficulty taking this seriously.

  “Hurry up!” somebody snapped at him.

  He pulled on the sweater, then his shoes.

  Someone else put his hands together and snapped plastic cuffs on him. Then a hood was yanked over his head.

  Gideon was beginning to lose his sense of humor about this. If Hank was behind it, testing him, he was going to pay big-time.

  The door squeaked on its hinges, then someone whispered, “Get the jacket on the chair!”

  There was something familiar about that voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  Interesting, he thought as he was led away, probably out into the corridor, that his kidnappers were concerned that he was warm. That was good. There was a pocketknife in that jacket.

  They walked quickly toward another door, the stairway probably, and he was held firmly by either arm as he negotiated them blindly. There was the whoosh of another door opening, another brief walk, then they were out in the night air.

  “Hold on.” He was pulled to a stop, then someone called quietly, “All clear.”

  He heard the unmistakable sound of a van door sliding open.

  “Tall step,” the man holding his right arm cautioned. That familiar voice again. Someone else pushed his head down.

  He half fell and was half dragged inside the vehicle, then hauled into a seat as the van took off.

&nb
sp; But now he wasn’t worried about the pocketknife any longer because he thought he recognized these guys. That voice belonged to Phillips, Hank’s candidate for his security team who’d once been a hostage negotiator. These were the men he’d interviewed the other day.

  And judging by the faint smell of chlorine in his nostrils, suggesting a towel left over from the pool, this was Hank’s van.

  So. It was a test.

  “Whitcomb,” Gideon said. “You’re so going to pay for this.”

  Quiet laughter ran through the van.

  “I’m glad you’re all enjoying yourselves,” he added. “But unless we’re on our way to the Barn for pie and coffee, you’re all going to pay, too.”

  They laughed again. But, apparently, they weren’t talking.

  Okay. He understood the need to work a plan to its conclusion. He relaxed and began to consider methods of revenge.

  He’d been giving considerable thought to siccing Rita on them, when they made a turn then pulled to a stop.

  The van door opened and he was guided out. Then someone patted his shoulder.

  “Come with me.” It was Hank’s voice. “About five yards forward, then a few steps up.”

  “About five yards,” Gideon complained. “A few steps up. Are we forgetting I’m wearing a hood? And what is this anyway? If you wanted to test me, you should done it before you hi—”

  “Watch it!” Hank interrupted. “Steps. And I think the important thing to note here is that our elite commando group’s first time out was a great success.”

  “Okay. And I’d be excited about that if Maple Hill needed a commando group, and if I still had anything to do with Whitcomb’s Wonders!”

  They’d reached the top of the steps, went forward several feet, then Hank pulled him to a stop. He turned him around and ripped the hood off him. He smiled at him in a fraternal way that seemed to make little sense under the circumstances.

  “I’m hoping the day will come,” Hank said, dropping the jacket on Gideon’s shoulders, “when you’ll be glad we took this job.”