Her Secret Affair

by Arlene James

  Shaking his head, he dropped down behind the wheel and started the engine. Soon they were back at the mansion, the car parked in its assigned bay in the redesigned carriage house. Avoiding the covered passage to the house, they walked, instead, into the garden. The inside of the pool had been painted a deep cerulean blue, and the water sparkled invitingly. A large carafe of lemonade sat inside a big glass bowl of ice on a low, iron lace table between two chaise lounges. Chey had rubbed waterproof sunscreen onto her arms, neck and face while they drove across the city, but she knew that wasn’t enough to protect her fair skin, so she laid aside her towel, shed the cover-up and uncapped the tube. She was just about to squirt white cream into her hand when the tube was plucked from her grasp.

  “I can get the places you can’t,” he said, turning her away from him.

  She couldn’t argue with that. Her hair was already pinned up, and she left it that way while he rubbed cream over her back and shoulders, slipping his fingers beneath the straps and low back edge of her suit to be sure she was completely covered. He went down on his haunches and began to slather the backs of her legs. Chey had to close her eyes and concentrate on blocking the shivers brought on by his touch. When he reached round her to get at the fronts of her legs, she stepped away, saying, “I can do that.”

  He rose to his feet and handed her the tube before walking into the bathhouse. She quickly finished with the sunscreen and unpinned her hair, combing it out with her fingers, then kicked off her shoes and moved to the shallow end of the pool. The cool, silky water lapped around her as she descended the broad steps. Sighing with pleasure, she pushed into the deep end with long, smooth strokes before arching her back and slipping beneath the water. She rose back to the surface, her face turned up to the sun, cool water sluicing off her head and shoulders, to find Brodie standing at the edge of the pool in black, boxer-type trunks. Lifting his hands over his head, he bent his knees and dove cleanly into the deep end. She waved her arms and kicked her legs to stay in place until he reached her, cleaving the water with his head and shoulders.

  He was a gorgeous hunk of man, and she flashed on that night in her bed with him, those broad shoulders above her, that sleek, muscled chest with the line of dark hair down its center, his lean, handsome face, pale eyes staring down at her so intently. For an instant she was there again, lost in a fog of exquisite sensation, the hard length of him filling her to perfection. The sense of connection in that moment before he had begun to move had been staggering, and it had grown as he’d continued kissing her and driving her with him to the edge of something she could barely acknowledge even now. What he had made her feel that night had seemed almost unnatural in its intensity and richness, and yet, her body had yearned toward it with a desperation that still frightened her.

  “You swim well,” he said, wiping the water from his face with one hand.

  “All the Simmonses swim well,” she said, beginning to stroke back toward the shallow end of the pool.

  “Oh? Why’s that?” he asked, easily keeping up with her with a strong kick and lazy sidestroke.

  “We have an aunt and several uncles who live down the bayou,” she explained after finding her feet in the shallow end. “For a poor kid, a trip down the bayou was as good as it got for summer vacation.”

  “Bayou waters can be deep,” he said, standing beside her. “My brother and I spent lots of time boating out in the bayous. He always loved it.” He looked away. “That’s how he died, a boating accident during a fishing trip to the bayou.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “No reason you should’ve.”

  “You must miss him a great deal.”

  He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes, and said softly, “Imagine losing one of your brothers. Then imagine that he was your only brother.”

  Everything in her rebelled at such a thing. “How long has it been?”

  The look he dropped on her face was decidedly odd and a little unsettling. “It’ll be four years in September.”

  “That’s next month.” Something clicked into place. “He never saw Seth.”

  “No. He never saw his own namesake.”

  When Brodie turned and started wading toward the steps, she hurried to catch up, worried that she had somehow offended him. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all. Ready for some lemonade?” he asked. The subject of his brother’s death was clearly closed.

  She blinked. “Sure.”

  “Don’t get out. I’ll bring it down to the steps.”

  She sat on the third step, wondering why he couldn’t talk about his loss even after all this time. He came back with two plastic tumblers full of ice and pale yellow liquid, one of which he handed down to her before sitting next to her on the step, the water flowing and shifting around them. She took a long drink of the cold, sweet lemonade and felt the temperature sliding lower.

  “Now what do you think of Grandmama’s pool?” he asked after a moment.

  “It’s beautiful. Everything about this place is beautiful.”

  “Maybe that’s why you seem to belong here,” he said softly.

  She looked down at her glass, both thrilled and dismayed, but before she could say anything, a familiar little voice cried out, “Daddy!” Brodie sighed and sent her an apologetic look, but the smile he turned up to his son was genuine.

  “What is it, son?”

  “Wook,” Seth instructed. Chey looked, too, and saw Viola coming toward them through the open gate in the pool fence, a grim expression on her face, two men in baggy jeans and sweat-stained shirts following along behind her. Brodie muttered a curse beneath his breath, set his tumbler on the edge of the pool and got up off the step, standing in the water with his hands on his hips.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded the instant the group was within hearing.

  The man who answered him was older, perhaps fifty, with short, silver-streaked blond hair. A small man with abnormally long arms and body, he looked stunted, his gray eyes cold and calculating. “Well, now,” he said, “where else would I be when this is where you’ve taken my girl and my grandson?”

  A muscle flexed in the hollow of Brodie’s jaw. “You could have called first, made sure the visit was convenient before coming all this way.”

  “Not so far,” said the other man. He was a younger, somewhat blunter version of the elder, except for the bright, strawberry blond of his hair. Chey realized with a shock who these men must be. She saw a hint of it in Seth’s face, but it was the hair, confirmed by the old man’s words, that brought it home to her. These two men were father and brother to Janey Todd, grandfather and uncle to Seth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brodie asked, folding his arms.

  The older man smiled, and something about it chilled Chey. “No reason for us to stay on in Dallas when the girl and the boy are here, is there?” he asked.

  Brodie’s face darkened even as the younger man brayed, “That’s right. We’re living here now.”

  “Not so high as you, o’ course,” the older man said, his gaze drifting around the place and coming to rest on Chey. “Don’t waste no time, neither, do you? But then women always have flocked to you. Must be all that money.”

  Chey could see that Brodie’s hands were fisted. “You call before you come into my home again,” he ordered flatly, ignoring the insult.

  “Oh, sure,” the older man conceded easily. Then suddenly he went down on one knee at the edge of the pool and stuck out a hand to Chey. “How do, ma’am? Name’s Harp, Harp Shelly, and this here’s my boy, Dude.” He jerked his head toward Brodie, adding, “I’m his father-in-law, don’t you know.”

  “Ex-father-in-law,” Brodie corrected smartly.

  Chey didn’t look at Brodie before she slipped her hand in and out of Harp Shelly’s, blunt, thick one and gave him her name. “Chey Simmons.”

  “You know about my girl?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for the trag
edy that has befallen your family.”

  Harp nodded, studying her. Then he abruptly rose and said to Brodie. “I’m thinking Dude and me’ll take the boy for the day tomorrow.”

  “No,” Brodie said, and the older man instantly bristled.

  Viola jumped in. “We, um, have plans tomorrow.” She threw a desperate look at Chey, her hands twisting together.

  Chey took the hint and surprised herself by quickly lying. “Yes, we’re taking Seth to the zoo.” It was the first place she’d thought of. That she had included herself in the outing didn’t even occur to her.

  Seth jumped up in the air and clapped his hands together, crying, “Yeah! Zoo!” At the same time, Brodie flashed a surprised look in her direction.

  “We have a wonderful zoo in New Orleans,” she went on brightly, careful to keep her gaze locked on Harp Shelly. “We plan to spend the whole day.”

  “In any event,” Brodie put in firmly, neither confirming nor denying the plans, “Seth is too young to spend the day away from the house with strangers.”

  For a second, Harp Shelly’s face registered intense anger, but then he seemed to push the emotion away as he bent and addressed his grandson. “We’re not strangers, are we, boy? You remember your old granddad?”

  Seth looked uncertain and moved closer to his great-grandmother.

  “You remember Uncle Dude!” the younger man insisted and made a funny face, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes. Seth giggled but stayed glued to Viola.

  “You can come and see him here,” Brodie said, “but be sure to call first.”

  Harp Shelly just looked at him and announced, “I’ll see my girl now.”

  Chey began to wonder if Brodie would deny him this, too, but then Brodie turned to Viola and instructed, “Ask Kate to take them up. Keep Seth with you.” To Harp he said, “Too much company at one time isn’t good for Janey.”

  “Glad to see you’re taking good care of her,” Harp sneered before abruptly turning away and starting back to the house.

  Viola gave Brodie a sympathetic, worried look, then took Seth by the hand and followed Harp. Dude stood staring at Chey, as he’d been doing for some time, then turned at the last minute and went after them.

  “Lousy son of a bitch,” Brodie said, watching the men go. He glanced at Chey unapologetically and added bluntly, “I despise that man.”

  Chey smiled sympathetically. “I take it you don’t trust him with Seth.”

  “Harp Shelly is an ex-con who lives one step away from jail. I wouldn’t trust him with a dog. Frankly, I’d ban him entirely from Seth’s life, if I could.”

  “Why can’t you?” she asked, but his gaze slid away from hers.

  “He is Janey’s father, whether I like it or not, but I don’t want Seth in that man’s care, so I have to thank you for jumping in when you did. The zoo, though? You know you’re stuck with it, don’t you? Seth’s already counting the minutes, and he’s too young to fob off even with the most carefully reasoned excuses.”

  She hadn’t even considered that. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “None,” he confirmed, grinning apologetically.

  She sighed. “Well, it’s been quite a while since I last visited the zoo, and I don’t suppose a day off will hurt.”

  “I’ll see to it that you don’t regret it,” he promised, and she very much feared that he would do just that.

  Chapter Nine

  She was walking on dangerous ground. She knew it for certain that next day at the zoo, where a plump, grandmotherly woman looked at her and Brodie with Seth and said wistfully, “What a lovely family.” She knew it again a few days later as she and Brodie hurried along the street in the rain, shopping for decorative accessories. They huddled beneath the same umbrella, gazing into shops packed with damp tourists and surreptitiously enjoying the proximity, their warm bodies bumping and sliding together. She knew it once more soon after, when, to mark the day of his brother’s death, Brodie coaxed her onto a rented boat for a leisurely tour of the bayou where the accident had occurred and he shared with her his pain over the loss.

  No doubt about it, she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She should never have toured the art museum with him, looking for “ideas,” should never have let him talk her into those lunches out, “for perspective’s sake.” It was beyond foolish, those trips to the library where they sat whispering with their heads together over reference books that she knew by heart. She had become greedy for every moment of his company that she could justify, and it had come to the point where she could no longer hide from herself the fact that she was falling in love with him. But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was Seth.

  No matter how hard she tried, she could not hold herself aloof from that little boy. He simply wouldn’t allow it. Adoration was his birthright, and he claimed it with all the confidence of those truly loved. What does one do with a child who climbs into one’s lap uninvited to bestow smiles and hugs? How does one immure oneself from sweet giggles and infectious belly laughs? How does one refuse to become a favorite when it is impossible to turn away from effusive welcomes and reluctant farewells, when firm corrections are accepted with regretful sincerity and coolness is instantly forgiven with the slightest thaw?

  Somehow, the determination, the conviction, the principle that she could not, should not, would not even wish to become his mother became too slippery to hold. She truly did not wish to bear a child, and she could still dispassionately and honestly conclude that she did not wish to be a mother, but somehow she could be Seth’s mother. Not that she expected it to happen or even felt that it should.

  For one thing, she could never give up her career. That much she knew without question, and despite the assertions of the popular culture, she was not certain that this motherhood business could be conducted properly in combination with any other. Just as troubling, however, was a certain brick wall into which she kept stumbling as she wandered through the life and mind of Brodie Todd. Quite without meaning to, she found herself attempting to breach it one afternoon.

  “Why don’t you talk about Janey?”

  He immediately went stiff but did not put down the product material he had come into her office to read. “Do you talk about the most unpleasant things in your life?” he asked, an edge of defensiveness in his tone.

  “Not often, but I’ve done more of that with you than anyone.”

  Finally, he put down the papers and carefully poured himself a glass of ice-water. “What do you want to know?”

  She decided it was best to start at the beginning. “How did you meet?”

  “She was my secretary, in an office I didn’t go to very often.”

  He no longer had a secretary. Why? Because he couldn’t bear to see some other woman in that capacity? “What made you want to marry her?” she asked cautiously, pleased that it came out in such a casual manner.

  “She was pregnant,” he said bluntly.

  That was a shock, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about it. So he had married Janey because he’d had to; yet, he was taking care of her when no obligation to do so existed. “Why did you divorce her?”

  “The marriage was over.” It was obvious he was saying no more on that subject.

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  He looked down at his glass. His jaw flexed, and he answered flatly, “No.”

  It was what she’d wanted to hear, but something about his voice bothered her so much that she dared not continue. After a moment, he picked up the papers again, leaving her with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The brick wall stood as firm as ever, despite the peek she’d managed over its top.

  Brodie watched the small coupe disappear as Chey turned the car onto the street. He wondered if he should tell her the truth, then immediately dismissed the idea. No reason she should know. Perhaps someday, if she actually came to love him—and Seth. She was not immune to either. He had hope, but it was too soon t
o trust her with the most significant secret of his life. He yearned to share it with her, yearned to share everything with her. How ironic was it that he should fall in love with the one woman who did not want all that he had to offer?

  He went back into the house and started up the stairs. It had been days since he’d visited Janey’s rooms, and Chey’s questions had started him thinking again about their odd relationship. Whatever their personal dealings had been, Brodie was well aware that he owed her greatly for Seth, and for that reason he had promised himself that he would never allow her to become a burdensome responsibility. She was a person, and he would treat her as such.

  Surprisingly, as he drew near her door, he heard voices. Words were indistinct, but the sounds had the cadence of casual conversation, when voices overlap as one person talks over another. Startled, he opened the door rather abruptly and went straight in. Brown was standing over the bed, and she jumped when the door opened at her back, whirling, one hand pressed to her chest.

  “Oh, Mr. Brodie! You scared me half to death.”

  “I’m sorry, Brown. I thought I heard voices.”

  She glanced at Janey and said, “It was just the radio. I play it for her ’cause the doctors say stimulation’s good for her, but sometimes they talk more’n they play music. Why they think a body wants to hear all that jabbering I don’t know, and I wonder if it doesn’t confuse her sometimes, hearing strange voices, so I turn it off when they get to gabbing.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, and yet it felt strange in some way. Perhaps it was that Brown usually spoke no more than necessary, and now she seemed positively chatty. He dismissed it. “I just want to sit with her a minute.”

  Brown nodded uncertainly, but then she turned and trudged around the end of the bed. Why did he have the feeling that something was off-kilter?