“Does Summer know this?”
“Not yet. Couldn’t see upsetting her. The girl’s been miserable ever since she got back from Vegas. You want my opinion?” He didn’t wait for a response. “You should take her to Seattle with you now and be done with it. It’s clear to me the two of you belong together.”
James wished it was that easy.
“I know, I know,” Hank said, scooting forward to the edge of his chair as some football players ran back onto a muddy field. “She has to fulfill her contract. Never understood where the girl got her singing talent.”
“She’s fabulous.” Summer’s performance had shocked James. Her singing had moved him deeply and her acting impressed him.
Hank beamed proudly. “She’s good, isn’t she? I’ll never forget the night I first went to see her perform at Disneyland. It was all I could do not to stand up and yell out, ‘Hey, that’s my little girl up there.’”
“There’s such power in her voice.”
“Enough to crack crystal, isn’t it? You’d never suspect it hearing her speak, but the minute she opens her mouth to sing, watch out. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
James had come away awed by her talent. That she’d willingly walk away from her career to be his wife, willingly take her chances in a new city, humbled him.
“She could go all the way to the top.”
Hank nodded. “I think so, too, if she wanted, but that’s the thing. She loves singing, don’t get me wrong, but Summer will be just as happy humming lullabies to her babies as she would be performing in some hit Broadway show.”
James’s heart clutched at the thought of Summer singing to their children.
“Helen’s mother used to sing,” Hank said, but his eyes didn’t leave the television screen. He frowned when the sports highlights moved on to tennis. “Ruth didn’t sing professionally, but she was a member of the church choir for years. Talent’s a funny business. Summer was singing from the time she was two. Now, Adam, he sounds like a squeaky door.”
“Me, too.” All James could hope was that their children inherited their mother’s singing ability.
“Don’t worry about it. She loves you anyway.”
James wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but fortunately he didn’t have to, because Helen poked her head in at that moment.
“Brunch is ready,” she said. “Hank, turn off that blasted TV.”
“But, Helen—”
“Hank!”
“All right, all right.” Reluctantly Hank reached for the TV controller and muted the television. His wife didn’t seem to notice, and Hank sent James a conspiratorial wink. “Compromise,” he whispered. “She won’t even know.”
James sat next to Summer at the table. “This looks delicious,” he said to Helen. His mother-in-law had obviously gone to a lot of trouble with this brunch. She’d prepared sausages and ham slices and bacon, along with some kind of egg casserole, fresh-baked sweet rolls, coffee and juice.
Helen waited until they’d all filled their plates before she mentioned the April wedding date. “The reason I wanted to talk to the two of you has to do with the wedding date.” She paused, apparently unsure how to proceed. “I wasn’t too involved with Adam’s wedding when he married Denise. I had no idea we’d need to book the reception hall so far in advance.”
“But I thought you already had the place,” Summer wailed.
“Didn’t happen, sweetheart,” Hank said. “Trust me, your mother’s done her best. I can’t tell you how many phone calls she’s made.”
“If we’re going to have the wedding you deserve,” her mother said pointedly, “it’ll need to be later than April. My goodness, it takes time just to get the invitations printed, and we can’t order them until we have someplace nice for the reception.”
“How much later?” was James’s question.
Helen and Hank exchanged looks. “June might work, but September would be best.”
“September,” Summer cried.
“September’s out of the question.” With the primary in September, James couldn’t manage time away for a wedding. “If we’re going to wait that long, anyway, then let’s do it after the election in November.” The minute he made the suggestion, James realized he’d said the wrong thing.
“November.” Summer’s voice sagged with defeat. “So what am I supposed to do between April and November?”
“Move up to Seattle with James, of course,” Hank said without a qualm.
“Absolutely not,” Helen protested. “We can’t have our daughter living with James before they’re married.”
“Helen, for the love of heaven, they’re already married. Remember?”
“Yes, but no one knows that.”
“James?”
Everyone turned to him. “Other than my dad, no one knows I’m married, either.”
Summer seemed to wilt. “It sounds like what you’re saying is that you don’t want me with you.”
“No!” James could hear the hurt and disappointment in her voice and wished he knew some way to solve the problem, but he didn’t. “You know that isn’t true.”
“Why is everything suddenly so complicated?” Summer asked despondently. “It seemed so simple when James and I first decided to do things this way. Now I feel as if we’re trapped.”
James had the same reaction. “We’ll talk about it and get back to you,” he told his in-laws. Both were content to leave it at that.
After brunch he and Summer took a walk around her old neighborhood. Their pace was leisurely, and she didn’t say anything for a couple of blocks. She clasped her hands behind her back as if she didn’t want to be close to him just then. He gave her the space she needed, but longed to put his arm around her.
“I know you’re disappointed, sweetheart. So am I,” he began. “I—”
“This is what you meant about problems with the April date, isn’t it? The election.”
“Yes, but…”
“I feel like excess baggage in your life.”
“Summer, you are my life.”
“Oh, James, how did everything get so messed up?”
“It’s my fault,” he muttered, ramming his fingers through his hair. “I was the one who suggested we go ahead with the wedding right away.”
“Thank heaven. I’d hate to think how long we’d have to wait if you hadn’t.”
“I was being purely selfish and only a little practical. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from making love to you much longer.”
“And you’re traditional enough—gentleman enough—to prefer to marry me first,” she suggested softly.
“Something like that.” She made him sound nobler than he was. He’d married her because he wanted to. Because he couldn’t imagine not marrying her.
“As you said, the problem is the election. I had no business marrying you when I did. Not when I knew very well what this year would be like.”
“The campaign?”
He nodded. “I’ve never been a political person, but it’s a real factor in this kind of situation.”
“I thought judges were nonpartisan.”
“They are, but trust me, sweetheart, there’s plenty of politics involved. I want to be elected, Summer, but not enough to put you through this.”
She was silent again for a long moment. “One question.”
“Anything.”
She lowered her head and increased her pace. “Why didn’t you tell anyone we’re married?”
“I told my campaign manager you and I were engaged.” James hesitated, selecting his words carefully.
“And?”
“And he asked me to wait until after the election to go through with the wedding. He had a number of reasons, some valid, others not, but he did say one thing that made sense.”
“What?”
“He reminded me that I’m paying him good money for his advice.”
“I see.” She gave a short laugh that revealed little amusement. “I don’t even kno
w your campaign manager and already I dislike him.”
“Ralph. Ralph Southworth. He isn’t so bad.”
“What will we do, James?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to wait until after the election to move to Seattle?”
“No,” he said vehemently.
“But you have to consider Ralph’s advice.”
“Something like that.” They walked past a school yard with a battered chain-link fence. It looked as if every third-grade class for the past twenty years had made it his or her personal goal to climb that fence.
“I’ve been thinking about this constantly,” James told her. It had weighed down his heart for nearly two weeks, ever since his talk with Ralph. “There are no easy solutions.”
“We don’t need to decide right now, do we?”
“No.” Actually James was relieved. At the moment he was more than willing to say the heck with it and move Summer to Seattle in April.
“Then let’s both give it some thought in the next few weeks.”
“Good idea.” He placed one arm around her shoulders. “I’ve worked hard for this opportunity to sit on the bench, Summer, but it’s not worth losing you.”
“Losing me?” She smiled up at him. “You’d have a very hard time getting rid of me, James Wilkens, and don’t you forget it.”
James chuckled and kissed her lightly. It was a bittersweet kiss, reminding him that in a matter of hours he’d be leaving her again. Only this time he didn’t know exactly when he could be with her again.
Summer rubbed her face against the side of his. “Not so long ago, I had to practically beg you to kiss me in public.”
“That was before you had me completely twisted around your little finger.” The changes she’d already wrought in his life astonished him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was I’m grateful.”
“Your flight leaves in less than five hours.”
“I know.”
“I suppose we should go back to the apartment.” She looked up at him and raised her delicate eyebrows. “That’s plenty of time for what I have in mind.”
“Summer…”
“Yes, James?” She batted her eyelashes at him. He grinned. She managed to be sexy and funny simultaneously, and he found that completely endearing.
They made their farewells to her family and were soon on their way back to the apartment. There was time to make love, he decided, shower and pack. Then he’d be gone again.
Summer must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “We always seem to be leaving each other.”
James couldn’t even tell her it wouldn’t be for long. They parked in the lot outside her apartment, but as soon as they were out of the car James knew something wasn’t right. Summer tensed, her gaze on the man climbing out of the car next to theirs.
“Summer?” James asked.
“It’s Brett,” she said in a low voice.
“Brett?” It took James a moment to make the connection. “The Brett?”
Her nod was almost imperceptible.
“What’s he want?”
“I don’t know.”
Apparently they were about to find out. He was big—football-player size—and tanned. He wore faded cutoff jeans, a tank top and several gold chains around his neck.
“Hello, Brett,” Summer said stiffly.
“Summer.” He turned to James. “Who’s this? A friend of your father’s?”
“This is my husband. Kindly leave. We don’t have anything to say to each other.”
“Your husband?” Brett laughed mockingly. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
“It’s true,” James answered. “Now I suggest you make yourself scarce like the lady asked.”
Brett planted his muscular hands on lean hips. “Says you and what army? No way am I leaving Summer.”
“As I recall, you already left her,” James said smoothly, placing himself between Summer and the other man. “I also remember that you got married shortly afterward. And didn’t I hear, just recently, that you and your wife are expecting a baby?”
“We’re separated.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately Summer and I are now married and she’s not interested in starting anything with you.”
“I don’t believe that,” he muttered stubbornly.
“Oh, honestly, Brett,” Summer said, not concealing her impatience. “Are you such an egotist you actually think I’d want you back?”
“You love me.”
“Loved,” she said. “Past tense.”
“Don’t give me any bull about you and granddaddy here.”
“Granddaddy?” she snapped. “James is ten times the man you’ll ever be.” She pushed in front of James and glared at her former fiancé. “You know what? Every day of my life I thank God we ended our engagement—otherwise I’d never have met James. He’s taught me what loving someone really means. Which is something you don’t have a clue about.”
James had Summer by the shoulders. “It won’t do any good to argue with him,” he told her. He looked at Brett, who was red-faced and angry. “I think it would be best if you left.”
“Stay out of this,” Brett growled.
“We’re married,” James said, trying to add reason to a situation that was fast getting out of hand. “Nothing you say is going to change that.”
Brett spit on the ground. “She’s nothing but a whore anyway.”
James would’ve walked away for almost anything. But he refused to allow anyone to speak in a derogatory way about Summer. He stepped toward Brett until they were face-to-face. “I suggest you apologize to the lady.”
“Gonna make me?”
“Yes,” James said. He’d been a schoolboy the last time he was in a fistfight, but he wasn’t going to let this jaded, ugly man insult his wife.
Brett’s hands went up first. He swung at James, who was quick enough to step aside. The second time James wasn’t so fortunate. The punch hit him square in the eye, but he didn’t pay attention to the pain since he was more intent on delivering his own.
“James!” Summer repeatedly screamed his name. James could vaguely hear her in the background, pleading with him to stop, that Brett wasn’t worth the trouble.
The two men wrestled to the ground, and James was able to level another couple of punches. “You’ll apologize,” he demanded from between clenched teeth when Brett showed signs of wanting to quit.
Blood drooled from Brett’s mouth, and one eye was swollen. He nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered.
James released him just as the police arrived.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Summer wouldn’t have believed James was capable of such anger or such violence. Part of her wanted to call him a fool, but another part wanted to tell him how grateful she was for his love and protection.
His left eye was badly swollen, even with the bag of ice she’d given him. James had refused to hold it to his face while he talked to the police.
His black eye wasn’t the only damage. His mouth was cut, and an ugly bruise was beginning to form along his jaw. Brett was in much worse shape, with what looked to be a broken nose.
After talking to both Brett and James and a couple of witnesses, the police asked James if he wanted to press charges. James eyed Brett.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I doubt this…gentleman will bother my wife again. Isn’t that right?” he asked, turning to Brett.
Brett wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. “I didn’t come here looking for trouble.”
“Looks like that’s what you got, though,” the police officer told him. “I’d count my blessings and stay away.” He studied him for a moment, then asked, “Want to go to the hospital?”
“Forget it. I’m out of here,” Brett said with disgust. He climbed inside his car and slammed the door, then drove off as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.
“He won’t be back,” Summer
said confidently. She knew Brett’s ego was fragile and he wouldn’t return after being humiliated.
“You’re right, he won’t,” James insisted darkly, “because you’re filing a restraining order first thing tomorrow morning.”
Summer nodded, wishing she’d thought of doing it earlier.
“This isn’t the first time he’s pestered you, is it?”
Summer lowered her gaze.
“He’s the reason you had your phone number changed, isn’t he?”
She gave a small nod.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What could you have done from Seattle?”
“You should have told me. I could at least have offered you some advice. For that matter, why didn’t you tell your father?”
James was furious and she suspected she was about to receive the lecture of her life. When nothing more came, she raised her eyes to her husband—and wanted to weep.
His face was a mess. His eye was completely swollen now. It might have been better if she could’ve convinced him to apply the ice pack. Anyone looking at him would know instantly that her husband the judge had been involved in an altercation—and all because of her.
The police left soon afterward.
“Can I get you anything?” Summer asked guiltily as they entered the apartment.
“I’m fine,” he said curtly.
But he wasn’t fine. His hands were swollen, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. All at once he started to blur, and the room spun. Everything seemed to be closing in on her. Panic-stricken, Summer groped for the kitchen counter and held on until the waves of dizziness passed.
“Summer? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I got a little light-headed, that’s all.” She didn’t mention how close she’d come to passing out. Even now, she felt the force of her will was the only thing keeping her conscious.
James came to her and placed his arm around her waist, gently guiding her into the living room. They sat on the sofa, and Summer rested her head against his shoulder, wondering what was wrong with her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears.
“For what?”
“The fight.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
Same Time, Next Year Page 10