Wednesday's Child

by Leigh Michaels

  She turned her head sharply so he couldn’t see her face. But Kyle merely changed his

  tactics slightly, bending his head to kiss the nape of her neck under the glossy brown hair. The path his mouth followed seemed to burn.

  “Do you miss that, Layne? Are you happy sleeping on your lonely couch? Or would you

  rather be here with me?” The question was husky.

  “Going to bed together was the only thing we had in common, Kyle. It wasn’t much of a

  foundation for marriage then, and it certainly isn’t anything I need now.”

  But her voice sounded desperate, and he obviously knew it. “Are you certain you don’t

  need me? How long has it been, Layne? It seems—too long. Far too long.”

  He picked her up; the small bench fell over with a crash as her foot caught in the rung.

  The bed was already turned down; his touch was gentle as he put her in the center of it.

  “Layne ...” he groaned as he pulled her into his arms.

  She tried to turn her head to avoid his kiss. “I’m surprised you even remember my name.”

  “Layne, I need you. I need to make love to you tonight.”

  “The key word is tonight,” Layne agreed, “and I’m not having any.”

  In the sudden silence his hold loosened, and she pulled free and stalked across the room.

  Once in the sitting room, she leaned against the doorframe, eyes closed in relief. It might be false security with only a door between them, but she had escaped from the trap he had tried to snare her in. She was safe again, at least for tonight.

  The door opened behind her and she whirled around, eyes wide in shock.

  Kyle laughed grimly at her fright. “I didn’t come to drag you back into bed, Layne,” he growled. “I like my companions to be willing.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because you forgot your pillow. That was what you came for, wasn’t it?” He thrust it into her arms. “Here — enjoy your cold, lonely couch. And remember, when you can’t sleep, that you are the one who chose to live this way.”

  *****

  She didn’t sleep, of course. Kyle’s angry face kept popping up in front of her, and she

  tossed on the narrow couch, trying to escape from him. When she finally tumbled into exhausted slumber, though, it was to dream of a Kyle who was not angry, but who was still every bit as frightening.

  She had never denied his attractiveness, but why was he stalking her dreams? She came

  awake abruptly as her blanket was pulled away.

  Kyle was standing over her, trim and well-groomed in gray slacks and a black silk shirt.

  “You’ve got five minutes to get dressed, Layne,” he told her firmly. “We’re going out.”

  She was too sleepy to argue, and his tone of voice told her that she would have little success if she tried. So she put on the first clothes that she could reach — a low necked knit shirt and cut-off jeans — and ran a comb through her hair.

  His jaw tightened when he saw her costume, but he didn’t comment.

  “Can I at least have a cup of coffee?” Layne asked plaintively.

  “Later.” He hurried her out to the Mercedes.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Over to North Winds, where you are going to buy some clothes.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Kyle’s face convinced her it would be safer if she capitulated. “All right, but you’re paying. You owe me one for tearing up my sun dress.”

  Her tone was combative.

  He didn’t bother to answer, didn’t even speak again until they were inside the mall. At the door of the boutique, Layne stopped.

  “What is the matter with you now?” Kyle asked impatiently. “If you’re planning to throw a public tantrum, Layne, I warn you that I’ll treat you the same way I would treat Robbie.”

  She waved a hand towards the racks of clothes. “If this is Jessica’s shop, I am not going in,” she said quietly. “And I don’t care what you do to me.”

  “It isn’t.” He took her arm in a firm grip, and Layne let herself be pulled into the shop.

  He had obviously talked to the saleswoman in advance, because she came up with a smile.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Emerson,” she gushed. “Something for a garden party, I believe? I think we have just the thing for you.” She swept Layne into a fitting room where a half-dozen dresses were waiting.

  She tried them all, liked two, and stood biting her lip as she tried to decide between them.

  In the old days, she’d have compared the prices, but there were no tags on these dresses. It was the kind of place where if you had to ask how much it cost, you couldn’t afford it. Unless, of course, Kyle had asked that the tags be removed so she couldn’t use price as a guideline.

  “Why don’t we let Mr. Emerson look at them?” the saleswoman asked helpfully, and

  before Layne could protest, the two dresses were being displayed to Kyle.

  He glanced from one to the other. “That one,” he said, pointing to a severely plain

  pumpkin-colored dress with a halter top. “It’s more suited for a party.”

  Her eyes rested lovingly on the other dress, an oyster white shirtdress with chocolate-brown piping on the sleeves and matching buttons and belt. But she nodded at his choice; he was right.

  “She’ll take both of them,” Kyle told the saleswoman.

  “No, I won’t. You owe me one dress, not two.”

  Kyle ignored the interruption. “And now a dress for a very formal dinner party.”

  Layne opened her mouth to protest. “You’re wasting your money, Kyle,” she warned him.

  But he was looking over her shoulder and he didn’t seem to hear.

  Layne turned to see what had drawn his attention, and saw a mannequin wearing a lacy

  long dinner dress the exact shade of ripe apricots. Kyle looked from it to her with a long assessing gaze.

  The saleswoman, who was no fool, was already checking the tags. “It’s a one-of-a-kind

  item, Mrs. Emerson,” she announced. “And it’s your size.”

  Layne shook her head, but somehow she found herself in the fitting room wearing the dress anyway.

  It was far too revealing, she thought, despite the deceptively demure high neckline. Her shoulders were covered by a brief lacy cape, but her back was bare except for a T-strap of lace that pretended to conceal her spine. The skirt fell softly from a shirred waistline. The whisper-fine fabric breathed elegance against her skin.

  And it did marvelous things for her figure. Layne felt like a fashion model in the dress. But an exclusive dress, from an exclusive collection...

  “Let’s show it to Mr. Emerson,” the woman urged, and Layne found herself face to face

  with Kyle.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  “It’s too revealing, Kyle.”

  He looked her over from head to toe, and Layne felt a slow blush spread over her as the inspection continued. Then he shook his head. “I think it shows off a good figure. And I imagine you know that, too. So what is your real objection, Layne?”

  “It’s too expensive,” she admitted.

  Kyle started to look dangerous. “Wrap it up,” he told the saleswoman. “And have it

  delivered, along with anything else you think she’ll need.”

  “You don’t even know what it costs,” Layne protested.

  “I don’t give a damn. It looks better on you than any single other thing I’ve ever seen you wear.”

  “I won’t wear it.” But her hand was traitorously stroking the silky fabric.

  “Yes, you will. You’ll wear it for that party next week if I have to put it on you myself.

  Understand?” His tone allowed no argument.

  She believed him. If her appearance didn’t reflect on him, he wouldn’t care what she wore, she thought. But Kyle would go to any length so that his wife would look the part when she
played hostess to the governor. She told herself that she didn’t care what his reasons were, but she felt as if there was a hole in her heart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Wheatlands seemed to sparkle, Layne thought as she slowly descended the massive

  staircase. Every window pane, every crystal chandelier, every piece of furniture had been polished till the shine almost hurt her eyes. The great house was ready for the honor it would receive tomorrow, when the governor came to town.

  The house would be ready for the party, but Layne wasn’t so certain about herself. Her whole body was tense.

  I can’t get by with this, she told herself. I’m just not good at this sort of thing. It isn’t fair of Kyle to expect me to do this, anyway. I’ll only be here another few weeks. And if he isn’t back in time for the party tomorrow, I’ll kill him.

  But her second thoughts were more charitable. It wasn’t Kyle’s fault that the shopping mall under construction out in western Kansas had gone sour two days ago. He had no choice about the rush trip out there to salvage it. It was one of those things that always conspired to happen just when they were least convenient.

  But if he didn’t get home, and left her to entertain the governor by herself...

  Layne reached the foot of the stairs and consulted her mental list. She had visited the florist; he’d be delivering the flowers first thing in the morning. She had stopped to talk to the caterer and tried out the food, which was delicious.

  It ought to be, at the price, Layne’s puritan soul remarked.

  She still had to check with Mrs. Kirk about the progress of the dinner party menu. And she still had a couple of hours of work this evening on the telephone, trying to reach all of the people who hadn’t yet responded to their invitations...

  “If I make it through this,” Layne muttered to herself, “I deserve a year’s vacation.”

  Her stomach tightened as if in agreement, just as she caught a glimpse of herself in the long hall mirror. She stopped for a moment to take an inventory. “Yes,” she told herself firmly. “A full year’s vacation. Somewhere far away from Kyle.”

  Mrs. Kirk was kneading the dough to make rolls for the dinner party. She looked up with a flushed face as Layne came in. “The tea is steeping,” she said.

  Layne poured herself a cup and sat down on a tall stool. “What kind of rolls are you

  making?”

  “The butterflake ones. They’re Mr. Kyle’s favorite.”

  “How can you tell? Between Kyle and Robbie, they’ve never let a single roll or muffin or doughnut come back to the kitchen.”

  “I do like to see healthy appetites.” The cook flipped the dough over and set it back in the bowl to rise. “But I know these are his favorite because the last time I made them he came out to the kitchen after dinner and asked if there were any more.” She gave Layne a quick,

  conspiratorial smile. “When will he be home?”

  “I don’t know. When he called last night he promised to leave there early tomorrow

  morning, no matter what was going on. It’s a six-hour drive, so he’ll probably come in with just enough time to change his clothes and meet Governor Howard.”

  “And then go back after the parties?”

  “I suppose so, if he hasn’t been able to straighten it all out.”

  “He’ll be exhausted.” Mrs. Kirk shook her head.

  Layne sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Promise or no promise, I doubt that he’ll come home at all. He said last night that he trusted my ability to carry off the party if I had to — so I suspect tomorrow morning he’ll call to say he can’t possibly come home.”

  “That would probably be the smart thing to do. After all, his business is more important than any party. He just wears himself out,” Mrs. Kirk sighed. “He doesn’t eat properly.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t eat? He eats all the time.”

  “Unless he’s here, he doesn’t bother. He looks so worried, Mrs. Emerson.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be touched by your concern,” Layne said lightly.

  “Which is a polite way to tell me to mind my business.” Mrs. Kirk was unruffled. “Well, my business is to feed him, and in case he is here for dinner tomorrow, he’s going to have what he likes.”

  Layne shrugged. “Just don’t count on him being here. I’m not.” She set the cup down. “I’ll be in my office trying to call people. Why don’t they respond to invitations?”

  She was halfway down her list and having little luck when Robbie came in, Beast trailing behind him. Layne put the phone down with a sharp little bang — it was the fifth number in a row which had not been answered — and said, “Isn’t it almost your bedtime?”

  “Not for another hour.” He pulled his baseball cap tight down over his head, tipping his head back so he could look at her through narrowed eyes.

  “I see that we’re playing major-league pitcher again,” Layne remarked. “And if you plan to be in bed in another hour, I would suggest that you start your bath now. There are so many layers of dirt on you that you’ll have to soak at least that long.”

  “I just had a bath this morning,” Robbie protested.

  “I know. That’s why baths don’t come with guarantees.”

  “And I can’t soak with the cast on.”

  “Then you’ll have to scrub each layer off, which will take even longer.”

  The telephone at her elbow rang sharply. Layne tried to ignore it, but after four rings she gave in. Obviously everyone else was busy. “Wheatlands,” she said, and hoped that it was one of her stray invitations coming home with an answer. Or perhaps it was Kyle to tell her for certain whether he’d make it for the party.

  “Layne?” It was Jessica’s sharp, peevish voice. “When were you demoted to answering the phone?” Exactly the correct place for her, Jessica’s tone seemed to imply.

  Layne refused to get upset. “Kyle is still in Garden City.”

  “I know. I just wanted to make it plain, dear, that if he doesn’t get back tomorrow, I’ll take care of entertaining Cam. You won’t need to disturb yourself about the governor.”

  “Are you suggesting I hide in my room to get out of your way?”

  “No, of course not. You’ll have to stick around for the garden party, I suppose. But for brunch — well, you know three makes such an awkward table. You do understand, don’t you, Layne?”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Jessica.” She banged the receiver down and went

  back to her list. Jessica had all of the instincts of a hyena.

  She glanced at her watch. Surely Kyle should be calling soon.

  Robbie had sat up straight when the phone rang, obviously hoping it was his father. Now he slumped back in the chair. “Her again?” he groaned and chomped noisily on his wad of bubble gum.

  “Cut it out with the gum, Robbie.”

  “Why don’t you get rid of her, Mom? Now that you and Dad are back together, you sure

  don’t need Jessica. Or Gary, either. Dad hates him.”

  “Enough, Robert.” She pulled the phone book across the desk. She’d promised to call Gary, and two days had gone by. Now was as good a time as any to get it over with.

  Robbie pulled himself out of his chair. “I suppose you’re calling him,” he said with great dignity. “I’m going to take my bath.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be up to tuck you in as soon as I finish talking to Gary.”

  He grinned suddenly. “In that case, I don’t care how long you talk, Mom. Come on, Beast.”

  She sat with the telephone in her hand for a long time. She had thought about Gary a lot in the past two days, and she had concluded she could never marry him. It had nothing to do with Robbie’s opposition; Robbie would object to anyone she married, if she and Kyle split up...

  She caught herself and smiled. As if there was any doubt about that.

  How glad she would be when all this pretending was over and she could just be herself

  again, indepen
dent and without responsibilities. That was why she didn’t want to jump into another marriage. It would have to be a very special man who could tempt Layne to walk down the aisle again, and Gary Spencer wasn’t it.

  Gary didn’t answer his phone. “And that’s another sign, Layne,” she told herself. If she really cared about the man, she’d wonder if he was out with someone else. But it really didn’t matter to her who Gary was spending his evenings with. Or his summer, for that matter. If he had gone back to his ex-wife for the summer, Layne would have merely shrugged her shoulders.

  She felt a flush of relief spread over her. She might have slid without thought into a marriage with Gary, a marriage that would have been a disaster from the outset. Now she knew better. And whatever else resulted from this awful summer, she owed Kyle thanks for that.

  Robbie was in his pajamas, his makeshift bath over. Layne thought she would never be as glad about anything as she would be the first time she could put that child in a tub of bubbles and leave him for about a week, till every iota of dirt was gone. But until the cast was off, they would just have to make do.

  “Am I clean?” Robbie asked as she inspected his ear.

  “Approximately. But you’ll have to work on it again in the morning, because you are not going to meet the governor with a dirty neck.”

  “He won’t care.”

  “Perhaps not, but I will.” She ushered him into the bed and tucked the sheet up around his shoulders. And, as she did every night now, she made a quick mental calculation of the number of times left to her to perform that simple chore. Less than a month now till Labor Day. The cast would be off, Robbie would be back in school, and she would be gone. “Good night, darling,”

  she murmured, and her voice caught.

  Robbie hugged her. “You miss Dad, too, don’t you? Will he be home tomorrow?”

  “He’s going to try. The job he’s doing is important and it’s all tangled up, so he may not be able to come home for a while.”

  “I miss him.” Robbie’s voice was low. “It doesn’t feel right to be here when he’s gone.”

  “You’ll get used to that. Wheatlands is your home now, honey.”

  “Will you stay in your room now, Mom?”