Blackfoot Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Nobody will ever love you as much as I do,” he said softly, touching her shoulder.

  “I know that,” she whispered.

  “Nobody will ever be as good for you as I am,” he added.

  She nodded.

  “Then why not give me another chance?” he said.

  She turned blindly into his arms.

  “You hurt me so badly,” she sobbed.

  “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll try to be better in the future.” He held her tightly, his lips moving in her hair.

  “I thought you would never come around. I thought I had lost you forever,” she went on.

  “I felt like a prize jerk once I got the truth out of Block. I came here as quickly as I could,” he murmured.

  “Just hold me. I missed you so.”

  They stood together for a long moment, and then he led her by the hand back to the sofa.

  “I have something for you,” he said, sitting next to her again, closer this time.

  “Something else?” she said.

  He withdrew a small square box from his pants pocket and placed it in her hand.

  Marisa looked up at him.

  “Open it.”

  Marisa sprung the catch. An emerald cut diamond set in gleaming white gold sparkled against a bed of deep blue velvet.

  “Where did you get this?” she gasped.

  “Faber’s Jewelers, corner of Main and Grand.”

  “Not from Mr. Faber!”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Old guy about seventy, on the short side, thinning white hair, eastern European accent?”

  “You didn’t tell him it was for me,” Marisa groaned.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Mr. Faber was my grandfather’s poker buddy, not to mention that they grew up together, practically slept in the same bassinet. He’s the worst gossip in the town, in the world. Everybody will know by tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Then you’ll have to marry me.”

  “Jack...”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll marry you.”

  He pulled her into his arms almost roughly, knocking the ring box to the floor.

  “I have to ask you a question,” he said in her ear.

  “What?”

  “Have you got any money?”

  She drew back to look at him.

  “I exhausted my credit card limit buying that ring,” he said, laughing helplessly.

  “I have twenty-three dollars in my purse,” she said.

  “That will have to last until day after tomorrow.”

  The scent of burning food wafted down the hall.

  “There goes dinner,” Jack said.

  “I have some tuna in the pantry.” She disentangled herself from his arms and stood, straightening her clothes. “Let me go turn off the oven and I’ll see if I can put together a casserole...”

  “Turn off the oven and then come to the bedroom,” he said quietly. “Where is it?”

  “Right at the end of the hall,” Marisa said. She went to the kitchen and fumbled with the knob on the stove, her fingers trembling. Then she made a feeble pass at straightening her hair as she followed Jack into the bedroom.

  He was waiting and handed her a glass of champagne.

  “To us,” he said, toasting her.

  “To us,” she repeated.

  They touched glasses and drank. Then he put his down and took her glass from her hand.

  “Now come here,” he said.

  She was only too happy to obey.

  Epilogue

  “So now I have to start planning a baby shower?” Tracy said. “I haven’t recovered from the wedding yet.”

  “It’s not definite,” Marisa replied, pouring coffee into Tracy’s cup. “I haven’t seen a doctor.”

  They were sitting in Marisa’s kitchen on a Saturday morning in late March, with the first spring thaw melting the icicles on the roofline outside the window.

  “Didn’t you take one of those home tests?”

  “Yes, but they’re not always accurate.”

  “Come on. Was it positive?”

  Marisa grinned.

  “You didn’t have to say it,” Tracy said, smiling conspiratorially. “You’ve got the glow.”

  “I’ve got the nausea, I can tell you that. I can’t contemplate food until about three in the afternoon.”

  “You must be so excited.”

  “I think I’m just in a daze. If anyone had told me when I left Florida that three months later I would be married to Jack, and pregnant, I would have laughed. Derisively.”

  “Have you told Jack?”

  Marisa shook her head. “I just found out this morning, and I didn’t want to tell him over the phone.”

  “When is he due back from his trip?”

  “About eight.”

  “Big doings tonight, then. What will you say? How are you going to tell him?”

  “Well, once he starts seeing me turn green at the sight of his breakfast, he’ll know. He’s been in Japan for two weeks promoting Renegade.”

  “Is that his new book?”

  Marisa nodded, taking a sip of her milk. “A thinly disguised account of our romance, I’m afraid. He was already writing it during the trial in Florida. Do you believe that?”

  Tracy giggled. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. His hero falls for a lady lawyer, a New Englander who goes up against him in a complicated legal case. Sound familiar?”

  “Am I in it?” Tracy asked eagerly.

  “Well, the lady lawyer has a pal named Cindy who works as her researcher .”

  “A beautiful, seductive, brilliant pal named Cindy,” Tracy corrected archly.

  “Of course.”

  “Who is responsible for bringing the lovers together in an act of friendship and generosity unparalleled in human history.”

  “Right.”

  “I still can’t get used to having Jack here all the time. Has he sold his condo in Oklahoma yet?”

  “The real estate agent thinks she has a buyer but she isn’t sure if he’ll qualify for the mortgage,” Marisa said.

  “I don’t think this town has recovered yet from the idea of Jack as a full time resident. Did you see the ad Mr. Faber ran in the newspaper, describing the ring Jack bought for you in his store?”

  “You mean ‘Come to Faber’s, Jeweler to the Rich and Famous?’” Marisa asked, closing her eyes.

  “That’s the one,” Tracy responded, cackling.

  “Mr. Faber has never been known to pass up a lucrative business opportunity.”

  “I think everybody in this town is secretly disappointed that you haven’t razed this tired old place and erected some sort of palace in its stead.”

  “Jack really isn’t the palace type and neither am I. We did buy the house in Florida, though. For sentimental reasons. And I’ve ordered vinyl siding to be put on here in May.”

  “My, you are getting frivolous. What next? A new fence? Painting the shutters? The neighbors will be talking.”

  “What were they expecting, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Well, you know how it is. A bestselling author moving into a seventy-year-old Cape Cod is not their idea of a luxurious lifestyle. At the very least, Jack should be driving some expensive Italian sports car. That 4 x 4 of his just doesn’t cut it.”

  “But he’s from out West. There are mountains and foothills and the terrain is rough. A vehicle like that is practical.”

  Tracy stared at her.

  “I’m sorry we’re so dull,” Marisa said, sighing.

  “But not in the bedroom. I’m sure you’re not dull in the bedroom,” Tracy observed wickedly.

  Marisa threw a napkin at her.

  “I suppose Jack could do a rain dance on the front lawn,” Tracy suggested. “At least that would satisfy their curiosity about his Indian background.”

  “I’ll mention it to him.”

  “And now I have to go,” Tracy said, rising. “I have a paper due next
week that’s still in the notecard stage.”

  “Okay. Good luck with the work.”

  “Give my best to Jack. And to junior in there.” She patted Marisa’s tummy.

  “I will.”

  “I’ll see you at the office on Monday morning.” Tracy sailed out the back door.

  Marisa put their dishes in the sink, feeling once more the secret elation that had become part of her inner life ever since she realized that she was pregnant. Jack would be so thrilled. She was preparing a special dinner, all of his favorites, but if she knew her man they would be in bed before they had a chance to eat it. She was getting very good at wrapping leftovers.

  Marisa went to get her doctor’s office number to make an appointment.

  * * *

  Jack swept through the door at eight-ten, carrying a stack of parcels and drenched with a cold rain. Marisa was waiting for him in the living room, sitting next to the roaring fire and holding a glass of his special Napoleon brandy.

  “Woman!” he shouted and threw the boxes on a chair.

  Marisa put down the drink and ran into his arms.

  “Oh, God, you feel so warm and good,” he murmured, his mouth moving in her hair. “I missed you terribly. Why the hell didn’t you come with me anyway?”

  “Jack, we discussed it before you left. I had that ease going before the Superior Court and...”

  “Never mind,” he said, holding her off to look at her. “I’m back now. Is it possible that you got more gorgeous while I was gone?”

  “Jack, you were gone two weeks,” she said, laughing and smoothing his wet hair.

  “Two weeks prettier, no doubt about it,” he said and kissed her lingeringly, his face wet with rain.

  “Jack...” Marisa whispered.

  “What?” he replied distractedly, steering her firmly toward the bedroom.

  “Don’t you want your drink?”

  “Not as much as I want you.”

  “Wait a minute” she said, as he started to unbutton her blouse.

  “Yes?” he said innocently.

  “Jack,” she said, more urgently.

  He slid his hand up her back to unhook her bra.

  “Jack!” she protested.

  “Yes?” he said again, grinning.

  “What did you bring me?”

  He burst out laughing. “You really don’t want me to answer that question.”

  “I meant, what’s all that stuff in the boxes?” Marisa amended, blushing.

  “Later,” he said, pushing her blouse off her shoulders impatiently, his fingers chilly against her skin.

  Marisa closed her eyes.

  Jack trailed his tongue across her collarbone and down into the valley between her breasts.

  Marisa sighed. “Later,” she agreed.

  They hit the bed hard and did not resume the conversation until some time had passed. Marisa was propped against Jack’s shoulder, thinking how perfectly and utterly happy she was, when she said drowsily, “So how was Japan?”

  Jack chuckled softly. “Lonely.”

  “I’ll bet. Did you meet any geishas?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Counselor, it’s clear you’ve never been on a book junket.”

  “True.”

  “Even if I’d had any desire to expand my horizons in that direction I was too busy to do it.”

  “Hmmpf,” she said disbelievingly.

  “It’s true. Publishing houses do not sponsor these trips for authors to visit the tourist attractions. They expect you to flog the book twenty-four hours a day.”

  “And did you? Flog the book?”

  “Relentlessly.”

  “Good. You had quite a few messages from the NFN while you were gone. They want you to appear at a rally to raise money for Jeff Rivertree’s legal defense.”

  “Okay. I’ll get to them in the morning.” He tightened his arm around her. “Tonight is for us.”

  “May I see my presents now?”

  He sighed. “You’ re like a six-year-old.”

  “Come on, I’m curious.” She slipped out of the bed and into a robe, padding barefoot into the living room. Jack followed, pushing back his still damp hair.

  “I should warn you, they’re not all for you,” he said, dropping onto the sofa and taking a deep swallow of the drink Marisa had gotten for him earlier.

  “What!” she said, feigning disappointment.

  “I got something for my mother and for Ana,” he said, leaning forward to remove those boxes from the pile.

  “That’s permitted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marisa tore into the first package, discarding the wrapping and lifting the lid.

  “Sorry about the makeshift packaging. I had to have them wrapped after customs and...”

  “Jack!” Marisa cried in delight, lifting a royal blue robe of heavy fuji silk from the box and holding it aloft. Emblazoned across the back of it was a golden imperial dragon, and it was encrusted with sapphire bugle beads at the collar and cuffs. The dragon’s head swirled down one arm and the tail trailed down the other, the gilt embroidery contrasting sharply with the smooth silk.

  “This is gorgeous,” she breathed.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “It’s really for me.”

  Marisa looked at him.

  “Just kidding,” he said.

  Marisa stood, dropping her tired chenille robe to the floor and then wrapping herself in the satiny folds.

  “How do I look?” she said, striking a pose.

  “Like the first blonde empress of Japan,” he said, saluting her with his glass.

  “Too bad I can only wear this at home,” Marisa said sadly, fingering the lapels.

  “I don’t recommend wearing it to the office. Charlie Wellman will have a stroke.”

  Marisa grinned.

  Jack took another sip of his drink and added, “Open that small one next.”

  Marisa tore into the wrappings greedily and came up with a jeweler’s box.

  “You’re spoiling me,” she said, opening it.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Pearls,” she said, lifting a string of perfectly matched lustrous gems from the bed of cotton wool.

  “I thought that necklace would match your earrings pretty well,” he said.

  “Oh, it does, thank you, thank you so much,” she said, running to embrace him.

  “Hey, hey, you’re not finished yet,” he protested, disentangling her arms from his neck. “There’s another one.”

  Marisa glanced over her shoulder at the last package, forgotten on the floor.

  “Dinner’s been warming in the oven. I should take it out before it ossifies,” Marisa protested.

  “It can wait a minute. Open that.”

  Marisa knelt obediently and opened the last package. Marisa lifted it, puzzled at first.

  “What?” she said.

  “Look at it closely,” Jack advised.

  Comprehension dawned.

  “This is an Indian baby board,” she said, examining the flat back and front bundling used to hold a papoose.

  “Right.”

  “You didn’t get this in Japan.”

  “Right again. It’s Blackfoot, my mother sent it. I picked it up on the porch on the way in. It must have been left by the parcel service earlier today.”

  “You knew it was coming.”

  “I had an idea.”

  “Is this a family heirloom?”

  He nodded.

  “Am I jumping to wild conclusions, or is this a hint?”

  “That’s my mother, world famous for her subtlety.”

  Marisa put the carrier on the floor and walked over to sit next to Jack, slipping her arms around his neck.

  “Jack?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  – THE END –

  Doreen Owens Malek is the author of over forty books and lifelong fan of romantic fiction. She lives in Southeastern Pennsylva
nia with with her husband and college student daughter, a mini dachshund and a sun conyer parrot. Her home is situated just a few miles from the spot where General Washington crossed the Delaware River during the Revolution, Doreen would like to tell you a little about herself in her own words in the hope that it will enhance your pleasure in reading her work.

  “I came to writing by a circuitous route, starting out as an avid reader of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and Gone With the Wind and Rebecca and any other similarly themed books I could find. I first worked as a teacher and then attended law school when I desired a more lucrative and independent career. Just after I got my JD my mother died, and the impact of her mortality, and by inference my own, drove me to take a chance. I had always been discouraged from pursuing a writing career by the volatile nature of the business and the relatively poor chance for success. But the realization that I did not have an unlimited supply of time encouraged me to do what I had always wanted to do the most—get published. I sold my fledgling novel to the first editor who read it, and I have been writing ever since. I have written short stories and books, nonfiction and fiction for juveniles and adults, contemporaries and historicals and paranormals, but my favorite literary pursuit is and always has been romance. I’ve won many awards and have millions of books in print. But nothing is as rewarding as hearing from my readers, so please use this website to communicate your thoughts and criticisms, as I am always eager to learn from you.

  I started writing romances because I so loved reading them, hoping that I could duplicate for others the enjoyment and satisfaction I felt as a fan of such stories. A romance novel rarely disappoints me: in an uncertain world filled with tragedy and sadness, reading about an appealing woman finding a strong man to love her and share her life is the perfect escape. I never tire of imagining adventurous scenarios for my characters and detailing their path to fulfillment. I like to read and write stories in which the main characters overcome obstacles to get together, and then stay together because their mutual devotion cannot be denied no matter what else is happening around them. They always HELP each other and reinforce the quaint but enduring notion that love conquers all – at least in the fictional universe of my imagination. So pull up a chair and take down a book – or pick up a Kindle – and join me in a world where the heroes are tough and headstrong but never boorish and the heroines are feminine and sympathetic but never helpless.”