Wednesday's Child

by Leigh Michaels

  “So buy some new clothes. Charge them to me.” He didn’t sound interested.

  “I am deeply appreciative, Kyle.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “But no, thank you. I’ll wear what I have.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you want to be an uncomfortable little dumpling, go right ahead.”

  “Speaking of being uncomfortable — this is making me very nervous. What are you doing

  here?”

  Kyle raised an eyebrow. “I live here,” he pointed out.

  “Would you stop being purposely obtuse?” Layne asked, her teeth gritted. “What are you doing in this room?”

  “I already told you. I live here.” He pulled open one of the long row of closet doors and took out a dark blue bathrobe.

  “Oh.” Layne’s head was swimming and her voice was small and shocked. “But your father

  said this was my... My clothes are in...”

  “Of course he did. And of course they are. It is still customary for a husband and wife to share a room, Layne.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

  Not this husband and wife, Layne thought. And as soon as he comes out of that bathroom I’ll tell him so.

  Robbie was sitting on the corner of the bed watching her with unbounded interest. “Why don’t you go visit Beast?” she suggested. “He must be lonely.”

  “I want to talk to Dad about him.”

  “Later, Robbie. Your father has things on his mind.” Or he will have as soon as I get through with him, she told herself.

  “Oh, Mom ...” But he dragged himself towards the door.

  Layne was waiting for Kyle when he got out of the shower. She was sitting at the dressing table with a lipstick brush in her hand. “I assumed you still used the corner room,” she said stiffly.

  He seemed surprised to see her there. He pulled the belt of his bathrobe tighter and briskly toweled his hair while he considered her comment. Then he shrugged. “Lots of things change in nine years, Layne.”

  “Are you moving your things out, or shall I move mine?” she asked.

  “Nobody is moving anything. Just how long do you think it would take for my father to

  hear that we aren’t sharing a room?”

  “Why don’t we try it and find out?”

  “Look, Layne, nothing is going to happen.”

  “You’re darned right nothing will — because one of us is moving out.”

  Kyle came across the room and stood behind her, holding her gaze in the big mirror above the dressing table. “Layne, if you attempt to move into another bedroom, you’ll find your possessions on the front lawn.”

  “Sleeping on the grass would be better than sharing that bed with you.”

  He tossed the towel down on the foot of the bed, and his hands rested gently on her

  shoulders. Though he was putting no pressure on her, she could feel the raw strength in his fingers. He could bruise her without effort, she knew, though he had never touched her in anger.

  The only bruises he had left on her were those unintended ones of passion...

  “Funny,” he mused. “You didn’t think that way before. You were always eager to make

  love with me.” His hands slid gently down over her bare shoulders and cupped her breasts. His hands were warm through the thin fabric of the halter top.

  “Would you take your hands off me?” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

  “No, I don’t believe I will,” Kyle said thoughtfully. “You never used to flinch away from me when I touched you. Now if I take your arm or hold your chair or even brush past you, you pull away from me.”

  “You’re not exactly holding my chair right now,” she said. Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

  “Has someone taken over your lessons where I left off, Layne? Is that why you don’t want me to touch you? I can’t believe that you aren’t still as passionate as you ever were. Who is he, Layne? Gary?”

  She shook her head, but Kyle didn’t seem to notice. “He hardly seems the type. But then you didn’t either, at first. A tomboy from head to toe. Who would have expected you to be capable of melting a man’s bones?”

  A curious shiver ran through her, like an electric current, and she knew that whatever else had happened to her in the last nine years, the fatal attraction that Kyle Emerson had always held for her was still there.

  His hands wandered over her body, and he said, “It was so much fun to teach you about

  yourself, Layne — to hear you pleading in my arms and in my bed—”

  If he wanted her now, she could not stop him. Her own body was betraying her, she knew, but she couldn’t prevent herself from leaning against him, from turning her head to brush her cheek against the soft hair on his arm, from wanting to throw her arms around him and beg him to make love to her as he used to do. Jessica was forgotten, and the nine years past might have never been.

  If she could have Kyle’s passion, she thought, she didn’t care if she didn’t have his love.

  He pulled away from her suddenly, and Layne swayed on the bench. She held on to the

  edge of the dressing table with both hands, fighting the dizziness, not knowing why he had let her go, but grateful that he had.

  How can you do this, Layne? she asked herself. How can you let yourself get so far out of control? And what was it she had told Gary? She’d assured him that she wasn’t about to go to bed with Kyle, that was sure. And here she was, within inches of doing exactly that.

  It’s only a physical attraction, nothing more. Just a physical desire for a man you once cared about.

  “Don’t try your tricks, Layne,” he said, picking up his towel. “You can’t pull it off any more. It’s a single-edged sword now, and you’ll only hurt yourself and tempt me to punish you.

  How unfortunate for you that we had nothing more than an unusual compatibility in bed.”

  She stood up suddenly. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “What’s the matter? Angry that the old methods don’t work any more?” And as she

  stepped across the threshold to the hallway, he added, “There’s a couch in the sitting room next door. Use it. But don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re any safer there than in this bed.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clare was weeding the flowerbeds by her front door when Layne parked the compact car in the driveway. She looked up, startled, and then got to her feet with what must have been the expression she turned on door-to-door salesmen.

  Layne gathered up her handbag and Robbie’s letter to Tony and got out of the car.

  Clare looked stunned. “Darling! I certainly didn’t expect it to be you in the new car. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

  “It’s only been three weeks. And I’ve called you a dozen times, Clare.”

  “It feels like forever.” On the lawn next door — Layne’s old lawn — two little girls

  squealed as they splashed each other with a hose. From the front door, a sharp-voiced woman shrieked at them to quit it.

  Clare rolled her eyes and said, “That’s part of why it feels like forever since you left. Let’s go in — the coffee’s hot. How’s Robbie?”

  “He’s fine. He didn’t come because he and Kyle are building a tree house today, but he sent Tony a letter.”

  Clare dropped her gardening hat and gloves on the counter and handed Layne a mug. “And I’ll bet it’s going to be the best tree house west of the Mississippi.”

  “You’re probably right. They’ve been through the whole process — blueprints and all.

  Kyle isn’t wasting the opportunity to show Robbie how exciting it is to build things.”

  “Are you still bitter?” Clare asked quietly.

  Layne sipped the coffee. “No. I’ve hauled Robbie out of that tree three times in the last week. At least this way he’ll have a ladder so he’s less likely to break the cast.”

  “I was talking about Kyle.”

  Layne sighed. “I think I’m
over the worst of the bitterness. He will always be Kyle, and no one is going to change that. He doesn’t plan to be a bulldozer. He just can’t help it.”

  “I see you’re driving a new car.” Clare hunted for her pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter. “Is it Kyle’s?”

  “No, I won the Irish sweepstakes,” Layne said tartly. “Of course it’s Kyle’s. He says The Tank has unsafe brakes and needs a muffler and must have the rust removed and who knows what else. Every time I ask him when it will be finished, he tells me something else that’s wrong with it.”

  “Well, The Tank was a rolling disaster area, Layne.”

  “Oh, all of it is probably true, of course. But I think the real truth is that it would injure Kyle’s image to have me driving around Mission Hills in The Tank. And it was confirmed when I searched the glove compartment of this car today.”

  Clare lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “So what did you find, Layne?”

  “He told me it had been sitting in the garage for months — that he bought it to use at the construction sites but ended up using the Mercedes instead because it was always handy.” She raised her cup and said over the rim of it, “But the sales slip was in the glove compartment. It says he bought the car two weeks ago.”

  Clare shrugged. “Sounds like a pretty thoughtful guy to me.”

  Layne’s eyes got even bigger. “If you’d like to have him, I’d be delighted to put him under your Christmas tree.”

  “I don’t think I could get by with it.” Clare got up to refill her coffee cup. “So how is life at Wheatlands?”

  “Jessica Tate is underfoot constantly, the cook has a bad case of impudence, Beast has been banished to the back yard, Robbie is threatening to break into Kyle’s workshop and saw off his cast, Kyle is his usual warm and charming self, and I’m going nuts. Would you like me to elaborate?”

  “You can start with the last one. You look as if you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in two weeks.”

  “I haven’t.” The couch in the sitting room was hard and narrow, and frequently she arose in the morning feeling no more rested than she had been the night before. But as long as the alternative was the room next door, she’d stay on the couch if it killed her, she vowed.

  “Well, you look awful.”

  “Thanks.” Layne looked longingly at Clare’s cigarette, and then caught herself. She didn’t even smoke, and that thing looked good.

  “Are you going to last the whole summer like this, Layne?”

  “Only five weeks left now. And of course I’ll last. If for no other reason, I’ll do it just to prove to Kyle that he can’t drive me out. He’s the one who put the Labor Day limit on this thing.”

  Clare sighed. “I hate it when you sound so cynical.”

  “I don’t much like myself these days, either. I needed to talk to someone who would tell me it isn’t all my fault. I feel so out of place at Wheatlands, Clare. The cook is planning to retire on what she’s stolen from the household money, and even if I could prove it, I can’t do anything.

  It’s not my place to fire the help.”

  “Can’t you tell Kyle?”

  “Kyle isn’t speaking to me. On the whole, it makes things easier.”

  “What are you arguing about now?”

  “It may have something to do with the fact that I’m still refusing to take an allowance.”

  Layne refilled her coffee cup.

  “Oh, Layne, you’re hopeless sometimes. Why not let him give you something? It’s no

  more than paying you for the job you’re doing.”

  “Kyle said that, too. But I’m not paid to be Robbie’s mother.”

  “No, but if you weren’t there he’d have to hire a nanny. Just what are you gaining by

  arguing with him?”

  “A lot of satisfaction.”

  Clare just folded her arms and looked at her friend. “Heaven knows you need a new

  wardrobe. That sun dress you’re wearing looks worse on you every time I see it.”

  “Clare, I just don’t want to owe him anything. Not one cent.”

  “Are you still going to get a divorce?”

  Layne was speechless for an instant. Then she gestured with her cup. “Look, Clare, this is not a fairy tale we’re talking about. It’s more like a soap opera.”

  “Isn’t all this squabbling making it hard on Robbie?”

  “Oh, we don’t squabble. We are all three very pleasant to each other at breakfast. Then Kyle goes to work, and Robbie and I do as we like. We have lunch with his grandfather, nap in the afternoon, and get everything cleared up by six so Kyle doesn’t have to know what we’ve been up to. Then Robbie has dinner with Grandpa, and Kyle and I conduct a cool, civilized conversation through cocktail hour and dinner and up until time to put Robbie to bed. Then, after he’s tucked in, we’re free to fight. Lately we haven’t even done that. Kyle goes to his study to catch up on all of his work and I shut myself in my little corner with Mr. Hamburg’s fascinating life story.”

  “Are you still typing that?”

  “In spurts. It gives me a little pocket money, when he pays me. And it may be the biggest epic of all time; he’s only up to the Normandy invasion.”

  Clare shook her head. “Robbie must know what’s going on.”

  “He knows that he’s better off than he was, if that’s what you mean. There’s nothing Kyle wouldn’t do for that child. Robbie’s been to every Royals home game. And since he missed the Fourth of July because he was in the hospital, Kyle declared a special celebration a week late. He bought rockets and flares and whatever all those fancy explosives are called. They went miles out into the country and had their own holiday.”

  Clare didn’t argue. “Did you say Beast is banished?”

  “Um-hum. He’s got a doghouse straight out of Architectural Digest — probably the only one Emco will ever build. But he’s not allowed inside Wheatlands. Kyle has a point, too, Beast may be housetrained, but he’s not exactly mansion-broken.”

  “And that has Robbie upset.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “How is his ankle?”

  “It’s healing nicely. In another few days we can get rid of the crutches — they’ll put him in a walking cast. Dr. Morgan is putting it off because Robbie organized the entire junior population of Mission Hills into a crutches race.”

  “I don’t quite understand.”

  “It was an obstacle course. And Robbie won the race. That was what disillusioned Dr.

  Morgan.” Layne drained her cup. “And then there’s Jessica. Kyle may not be sleeping with her

  — that would certainly account for the evil looks she’s been giving me lately — but she’s spending hours and hours at Wheatlands. I think she’s conspiring with the cook. And if that sounds paranoid, let me tell you this. If I wasn’t a little paranoid by now, I’d be crazy.”

  “Who am I to argue with that kind of logic?” Clare murmured.

  “Then there’s Kyle’s father, who tells me — or Kyle, or both of us — at least once a day that he’d be delighted to babysit so we can have a second honeymoon. Yesterday he suggested Acapulco. I fully expect that by next week he’ll be bribing us with Hong Kong.”

  “Perhaps he’s only trying to heal things, Layne.”

  “Why can’t everyone just let me bleed in peace? How’s Gary?”

  “Haven’t you heard from him? He’s over here all the time mourning for you.”

  “I thought perhaps he’d written me off forever.”

  “Is that what you want him to do?”

  “Of course not. Gary is a good friend, and I’m not always going to be at Wheatlands.”

  Layne looked at her watch. “I must go. I have to stop and talk to the caterer and the florist. The governor is coming to town next week, and the Emersons are entertaining him at Wheatlands.”

  “But that’s an honor, Layne!”

  “I could live without it. Especially since it was Jessica’s idea
in the first place. She planned for it to be Mr. Emerson and Miss Tate who threw the party, you see.”

  “And you feel that Kyle is using you.”

  “How’d you guess?” Then Layne’s cynicism softened. “I’ve put off doing anything until it isn’t possible to put it off any longer. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I can still get a caterer. I may end up assembling cucumber sandwiches myself. At least I wouldn’t have to be charming to the guests, that way,” she added thoughtfully.

  “If you need help...”

  “Oh, I’m sure someone will take us. After all, Wheatlands and Governor Howard thrown in together is any caterer’s dream come true.”

  “I wish I could do more for you. You look so unhappy, Layne,”

  “Keep trying to straighten me out. Why don’t you come out to Wheatlands in the next

  couple of days? Kyle’s going to be gone – he has a shopping center site up in Minneapolis to check into. As a matter of fact, I’m taking him to the airport tonight, so I know we’ll be safe.

  Bring Tony. I guarantee he’ll like the tree house.”

  “We’ll try, Layne.” Clare waved goodbye as Layne backed the car out of the drive.

  It did feel good to be driving the new car, she admitted as she cut through Kansas City traffic. The scent of a new car was unlike any other aroma, and this little beauty was a pleasure to drive. It had been in the garage for a week while she struggled with her conscience. If she refused to take Kyle’s money, how could she justify driving a car he provided? But necessity had prevailed. Obviously he wasn’t going to allow The Tank to come out of the repair garage before Labor Day, and she could hardly spend the entire summer inside Wheatlands. So she had given in quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t comment.

  She detoured to sneak a look at one of Kyle’s new projects, a forty-story office building in the heart of the downtown area. Robbie had been out to all of the construction sites with his father, but Layne had not been invited to join them. It had hurt when she first realized that Kyle wanted her to have nothing to do with his business. But at least he couldn’t stop her from driving by.

  The walls were going up quickly, and twenty stories of bronze-colored glass already hung from the steel skeleton, reflecting the buildings of another age that surrounded it. The slender tower arched proudly skyward. The beauty of the glossy exterior brought tightness to her throat.