Isn't it Romantic?

by Ronda Thompson

  “What else would please your readers and ours, but a fairy-tale ending? He wasn’t too happy about pretending to fall under the spell of romance, but I’m sure he’ll play out the role to perfection. Trey enjoys a good challenge.”

  “Yes, he does,” she agreed softly.

  There was a slight pause on the other end, then Jerry said, “I shouldn’t have expressed my doubts that he could possibly compete with your well-loved heroes,” he admitted. “Trey’s the sort who’d take the challenge simply because I goaded him with it. I told him not to bother. That, after all, would call for creativity, plotting beyond the scope of a journalist’s imagination. I doubt Trey could grasp the concept.”

  Katrine didn’t doubt it one bit.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your cooperation. Our readers will find satisfaction in a fairy-tale wrap up. You leave the public eye smelling like a rose, and we get our female following back. End of story.”

  “End of story,” she whispered, clutching a pencil in her fingers so tightly it snapped.

  “Well, I guess I should let you get back to your writing,” Jerry said politely. “Trey indicated this last one should be a piece of cake. He said something about living up to all your expectations. I assume he gave you the standard ingredients to write a romantic feature—roses and candlelight?”

  Katrine didn’t answer. She felt her old fears gathering around her like a pack of hungry wolves, waiting to pounce the moment they smelled insecurity. A dose of reassurance would keep them at bay. “Is Trey in his office?”

  “Ah, no, he isn’t. He’s already at work on another feature. Busy boy, our Trey. I imagine he’s out gathering research material. You know how he is, such a perfectionist. Of course, that’s what makes him a great journalist. Sometimes, however, he goes too far out on a limb and I end up taking the fall. You sound strange. He hasn’t done anything to cause us more trouble, has he?”

  Katrine’s whole body began to shake. “He did everything perfectly. Everything.” Without another word, she gently replaced the receiver. She sat in stunned denial for a moment. Trey wouldn’t do this to her, she tried to assure herself. The capture of her heart hadn’t been a carefully-plotted scheme. The feature had ceased to be a war game the night they made love, the night she bared her soul to him.

  Besides, she reasoned, if he’d been trying to seduce her from the start, he’d gone about it strangely. Trey had been a total jerk, arrogant, annoying … as were all heroes in the beginning. Gradually, she’d seen another side to him, the vulnerable side, the side she couldn’t resist.

  Conflict, sexual tension, bonding with a family member, jealousy, seduction—what elements smacked more of romance than those? None, she reluctantly answered herself. In his review three years prior, he’d suggested it didn’t take a high degree of intelligence to plot a romance novel, any grandmother could do it—any columnist could do it if he dissected the formula spelled out so clearly in her own novels.

  “But why?” she whispered. “Why would he bother?” Revenge seemed the only answer. How better to get back at her for the trouble she caused him three years ago? Imagine, making a romance writer believe in her own romance? The gushy article she’d been working on was all the proof he needed of success. Then what? He’d reap his sweet rewards by burying a knife in her heart. He’d tell her it was all a game—a game he’d won. Katrine fought the horrible accusations her mind created, but her childhood scars went deep.

  “Damn him,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Damn him.” The curse came out a sob as the nightmares of past loss settled like a dark cloak around her once more.

  ———

  Finally, Sunday arrived. Trey, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, sat at his desk with the morning edition folded before him. True, he could have read today’s feature from the comfort of his new home, but somehow it felt right to be at the office, reading a happy ending to what started as a very rocky beginning.

  His separation from Katrine had been hell. There wasn’t a room in his new home he walked into without thinking of her, smelling her scent, wanting her. He knew what the huge house he bought for the sole purpose of accommodating his family was missing; a family of his own. Children to run screaming through the halls on a day-to-day basis, instead of only when his relatives came to visit. He’d resigned himself to never having what he wanted most in life; now, the future seemed too bleak without them.

  Katrine, Shelly, one or two dark haired, blue-eyed Westmorelands to call him Dad instead of Uncle—that was his dream. Putting his heart on the line, telling Katrine he loved her, needed her with him always, that was his nimbus.

  What if she didn’t want the same things he wanted? What if she didn’t love him?

  It was the twentieth century, after all. Just because a woman slept with a man, gave herself totally to him in passion, didn’t mean she expected more. But deep down, Trey knew Katrine wasn’t the type to want sex without commitment. When they made love, it seemed right, more so than he’d felt with another woman before her. Trey wasn’t sure he’d ever truly loved Linda. He knew one thing for certain, had it been Katrine who left him, he would have gone after her, fought for her love, begged, whatever it took to get her back.

  Linda had hurt him six years ago, but it was a selfish emotion, pain that dealt a blow to his pride, rather than to his heart. His feelings for her hadn’t compared to what he felt for Katrine. He’d found that one special person, that once-in-a-lifetime love everyone, male or female, dreamed of finding.

  His hands shook when he poured himself a cup of coffee. Maybe he expected too much from her half of the feature today. He didn’t believe Katrine would feel any more comfortable revealing her true emotions for the nation than he had. Later, when they were alone, Shelly and Beauregard romping around outside on actual grass, he’d talk with her seriously, tell her he loved her and wanted to spend what time they had left in life together. Still, he needed a sign, an admission, at least one sentence that reflected what she felt for him. Assurances to strengthen his newfound faith in everlasting love, his faith in her. His hands shook with anticipation as Trey spread the paper in front of him. He turned to the article. The headline read The Truth About Romance. First, Trey scanned his own entry.

  A good journalist will admit to being wrong when he is, or in my case, assuming there is anything rational, or logical about love. Within the hustle and grind of our everyday lives, there are unforeseen forces at work. One of which is called attraction. The unconscious pull of one mass toward the other. A shifting of two separate entities, merging until they become one, yet able to separate themselves again and again, only to return.

  Who can explain how it happens or what it really is? This force that brings male and female together? A talented author once called this compulsion to connect, ‘a state of mind’, or to go a step further and add my own opinion, ‘a state of being’, being in love.

  A hero lives in every man, a heroine in every woman, and when the two meet, when they defy logic and redefine rationality, the phenomenon is called romance. I owe Kat Summers an apology. What she gives us with the gift of words is a commodity precious in its rarity. The hope to believe love still exists in the twentieth century and the courage to dream we, too, will fall under its spell and find happily-ever-after.

  Well, there it was, his assignment, a lesson in reality Kat Summers had taught him. Trey took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to Katrine’s feature.

  Into every romance writer’s life, a little reality must fall. These past few weeks have taught this author the differences between fiction and fact are indeed far apart. More than ever, I understand the lure that first led me to dream of dashing heroes and brave heroines, of adventures in a bygone era where in the end, love conquers all. Our modern times are not only lacking in heroes and heroines, but in creativity, as well.

  Put simply, romance in the twentieth century plots itself with all the ingenuity of a badly written novel. The characters are
most times immature and one dimensional, the relationship between them, about as warm as a business arrangement. The greatest conflict seems to be which character is best at the age-old game of deceit, or who delivered the last jab when the battle between them ends. The only gratification derived from the conclusion is relief that the story is finally over.

  When the disappointment of reality pits itself against the fulfillment of imagination, Kat Summers will take fantasy every time, despite how entertaining I found a date with reality; regardless of the valuable research I gained from my experiences.

  And with those findings, I renew my efforts at providing women with an escape into fantasy when Prince charming turns into a frog. A safe harbor against the ravages of modern-day love, and a few hours of romance in a day and age where little can be found. Happy reading.

  Numbness stole over Trey. For a moment, he felt no pain, no knife plunging into his heart, cutting away his dreams, his expectations, only shock. Sluggishly, a business arrangement filtered through his consciousness. The age-old game of deceit? Relief that the story is finally over?

  Katrine had delivered the last jab. Had she seduced him for the sole purpose of getting revenge for the review he wrote on her three years ago? Had she used the unfortunate circumstances of her past to lower his defenses, to gain access to his heart?

  He didn’t want to believe her capable, couldn’t let go of his faith easily, but why else would she have written those cruel words? “Damn her.” The curse left his throat in a hoarse whisper.

  Trey waited for the rage to come, the angry feelings that accompanied being made a fool of. Neither did. Instead, his eyes began to burn. Up until that moment, he didn’t realize how desperately he wanted to believe in Katrine Summerville and the purity of true love. She had extracted the best revenge, turning a hardened realist into a love-besotted idiot, and still, he couldn’t quite resign himself to her deceit.

  “Trey?”

  His heart lurched traitorously at the sound of his name. He glanced up. Linda stood framed inside his doorway—not Katrine come to explain, but Linda.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Undaunted by Trey’s lack of enthusiasm to see her, his ex-wife stepped into the office. “Glad to see you, too,” she said sarcastically. “Jerry and I were down the hall in his office. I went to the ladies’ room to check my lipstick and saw you in here.” Her gaze lowered to the paper spread out on his desk. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” He shrugged, wishing she’d get out of his office. “Why are you and Jerry here?”

  She moved closer. “He wanted to read this morning’s edition in his office. I think he’s getting a power rush. Most all of Dallas is sitting down to breakfast this morning with a cup of coffee in one hand, and his newspaper in the other. Jerry is wonderfully corrupt. He reminds me of Daddy.”

  “Sounds like love,” he said as dryly as he could manage.

  Linda lifted a brow. “I thought you believed in love and happily-ever-after. Once I read your feature this morning. I realized something about you I never knew. You’re a hopeless romantic.”

  “Yeah, hopeless,” Trey muttered darkly. “Look, I’d like to be alone.”

  The brunette seemed undaunted by his blunt declaration. “I don’t think so,” she argued. “I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you this, but Kat Summers didn’t mean what she wrote in her feature. She’s in love with you, Trey. She loves you with a depth I’m not capable of feeling. I see it in her eyes when she looks at you. Jerry suspects she’s fallen for you, too, and vice versa. He’s been acting smug for two days. He likes being number one. He needs you to keep him there. Think about it.”

  Trey reluctantly met her gaze. “Are you suggesting Jerry somehow influenced her article?”

  “Did he try to influence yours?”

  He hated the sudden pounding of his heart. “Yeah, he did, but I wouldn’t let him. I had faith in Katrine. If she let him influence her, it doesn’t say much for her depth.”

  The brunette shrugged. “Maybe not.” She turned toward the door. “Don’t you imagine believing comes harder for some people than it does for others? Maybe her faith has been battered around more than yours. I was impressed by your article, but you didn’t really confess. You never said you found true love in the twentieth century.”

  “What? For all the world to read?” he defended at her back. “Katrine wouldn’t have expected me to do that!”

  His ex-wife paused at the door. “Do you know what I think is romantic? When a man gives a woman more than she expects. You told me love is unpredictable. Jerry is living proof. He’s ruthless, greedy, and he’s perfect for me. I think I might have just found my Prince Charming.”

  “In Jerry Caldwell?” Trey asked incredulously.

  She turned her head to look at him and smiled. “Go figure. Good-bye, Trey. Really, good-bye.” Her soft velvet eyes held sincerity. “You told me you don’t make the same mistakes twice. Fight for her. Don’t disappoint your readers … and me, by leaving this feature unfinished. Give her the unexpected.”

  As Trey watched Linda leave his life, he felt a measure of comfort at her words. She had redeemed herself in a moment of weakness, proving that everyone wanted to believe in romance, and happy endings. He and Linda’s love hadn’t been strong enough to last forever, but what he felt for Katrine could withstand the ravages of time. A lifetime. He was still angry she hadn’t confronted him with her doubts, but like Linda said, believing came harder to some people than it did to others.

  He snatched up the phone, then set the receiver back in its cradle. Calling seemed too easy, and heaven knew, nothing about their relationship had gone smoothly. Linda was right. He wanted to give Katrine something she wouldn’t expect. He refolded the newspaper spread across his desk, reached over and turned on his computer.

  The feature wasn’t complete. He had one last matter of unfinished business to clear up, then Jerry Caldwell would be receiving a punch in the nose and his resignation. Trey Westmoreland intended to write murder mysteries, and the victims would always be long-legged blondes.

  Chapter 20

  For a solid week Shelly tiptoed around the house, allowing her mother the privacy she wanted, listening to her sobs late into the night. Her mom refused to talk about Trey.

  Shelly didn’t understand what had happened. Trey didn’t do anything wrong as far as she could tell. Her only hope was that he’d fix whatever mistake he’d made. She consoled herself with assurances Trey would save her mother from retreating into her computer. A fear that had not yet come to pass. Her mom didn’t seem interested in writing, in anything, until this morning.

  Emerging from the shrine of her bedroom with red-rimmed eyes, her mom had come downstairs, fixed a perfectly awful breakfast and said she was going to organize her closet. Obviously, she’d gone insane.

  “Where’d all this stuff come from?” Shelly perched herself on the edge of her mother’s bed, surveying the clutter.

  “I have trouble parting with things,” Katrine answered from the closet’s interior. “Shelly, hand me that shoe rack and a hammer—no wait, you might get hurt.”

  She appeared at the doorway, scanned the messy room and spotted the hammer on her dresser top. “Make yourself useful, Honey.” Katrine carefully stepped over a pile of twisted belts in her path. “See if you can match up all those shoes lying in the middle of my bed.”

  “There must be twenty pairs here,” Shelly grumbled.

  “Look for a tan flat in particular.” Her mother glanced down at her feet. She wore only one tan shoe. “I couldn’t find it earlier. Maybe it’s under the bed.”

  Dutifully, Shelly slid down, got on her knees and lifted the comforter. She came face to face with Beauregard. “There you are.”

  “Did you find it?” Katrine asked hopefully, hammer in hand.

  “Afraid so.” Her daughter held up the missing flat covered in slobber.

  “That dog is nothing but trouble,” Katrine scold
ed softly, then smiled. “But, for better or worse, he’s our problem.”

  “What about Trey?” Shelly blurted. “If you can still love Beau when he screws up, why can’t you forgive Trey, too?”

  Katrine sighed. “I don’t want to discuss this—” she cut herself off. Shelly couldn’t be kept in the dark forever. “Honey, you’ve asked about your father, and about your grandparents. The time has come to tell you.”

  “But, what do they have to do with Trey?” Shelly asked in confusion.

  “Nothing,” her mother answered. “And everything. You see, I learned very early in life that sometimes the people who are supposed to love you the most, hurt you the worst. Do you know what abandonment is?”

  “I think so.” The little blonde’s brows crinkled. “Isn’t that what Janie Reardon’s mother did? She just left.”

  “Sort of,” Katrine answered, distractedly brushing Shelly’s bangs from her eyes. “Janie’s mom didn’t run off without telling anyone where she was going. She went to a place to get help, and Janie knows her mother will come home when she feels better. Abandonment is when a person leaves a child alone by herself, or often in the care of people she doesn’t know, for an extended period of time, or in my case, for many years. “

  “My grandma did that?” Shelly whispered. “She just left you somewhere without ever coming back?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want you to be angry with her. I’ve been angry for a long time, and it didn’t change anything, well, not anything but me. Deep down, I thought I was somehow to blame. I believed there must be something wrong with me, either that, or maybe I didn’t deserve to be loved.”

  Shelly’s brown eyes filled with tears. “You’re wrong, Mom. I love you more than anyone in the whole world.”

  “I know you do,” Katrine quickly assured, pulling Shelly into her arms. “But once those fears took root inside of me, they kept growing. Your father understood how it felt to be suddenly left alone. People can be drawn to each other out of mutual pain. When he died, I began to feel the anger again. It took me until this week to realize I can’t hold a grudge against your father for leaving me, leaving us,” she corrected.