Her Secret Affair

by Arlene James

  Brodie pinched his nose with thumb and forefinger and nodded. “You’re right. I should speak with him immediately and proceed from there.” Heaving a great sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face.

  “I should go,” Chey said softly.

  “We should all go,” Marcel said in his deep, quiet voice.

  Brodie didn’t argue, just dropped his hands and said resignedly to Chey, “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No,” she refused, holding up a hand. “You’re needed here.”

  “We’ll walk down together,” Georges said, taking her arm and turning her toward the door.

  Chey looked back over her shoulder just as Janey leaned forward and snaked a possessive arm through Brodie’s, as loving a wife as Chey had ever seen. She’s the mother of his child, Chey thought, and soon she’ll be his wife again. The pain that thought caused was as deep as it was amazing, and telling herself that it was all for the best did nothing whatever to lessen it.

  Chapter Ten

  Chey was avoiding him again, and he didn’t doubt why. Before Brown had interrupted them with the astounding news of Janey’s reawakening, he’d felt certain that he was making important headway, and Janey’s inconveniently timed recovery could not be allowed to interfere with that, no matter what Chey was thinking. But first he had to find Chey and tell her the truth.

  He’d have done it that very same night if Harp and Dude hadn’t shown up on his doorstep within the hour of Janey’s awakening. Brown’s doing, no doubt. Every time he turned around now, he was falling over Shellys, damn them. Not that he begrudged Janey her recovery.

  God knew that the moment he had seen the woman sitting up there on the side of the bed, awake and brushing her hair, had been one of the happiest of his life. He just hadn’t realized in that moment that she was going to complicate things so badly. But he should have. Oh, yes, indeed, he should have. Experience, after all, was a hell of a teacher, and experience had taught him that things were never as simple as they seemed when a Shelly was involved.

  The timing of Janey’s recovery was just entirely too coincidental for his satisfaction. More suspicious still was Janey’s supposed amnesia. It was one thing to forget a divorce had taken place, it was another entirely to remember a marriage which had never existed.

  Janey seemed determined to convince even him that a happy, loving marriage had been their norm, when no such thing could be further from the truth. He should have told Chey how it had been. He should have explained it all, but he’d stubbornly clung to his own fiction, and if he allowed it, Chey would embellish that with understandable but erroneous assumptions, and he would lose the only woman with whom he’d ever found a snowball’s chance in hell of making a happy life.

  The first forty-eight hours following Janey’s recovery had been filled with trips back and forth to the doctors for tests and consultations, all necessary, he knew. He was about out of patience, however, with Janey, who seemed as determined as ever to crawl into his bed, with Chey who seemed determined to avoid him, with Janey’s irritating family and with Brown, who was suddenly present in his household in a way she never had been before. His impatience extended to the doctors, as well. They simply wouldn’t give him a straight answer about Janey’s condition and the advisability of just enforcing the truth. The one situation he was determined not to allow to continue much longer, though, was Chey’s avoidance. And yet it did continue for nearly a week.

  He called. He called the shop at least twice a day and her apartment repeatedly at night, but she neither returned his calls nor acknowledged his messages. Georges at least sounded sympathetic and apologetic these days, rather than merely unctuous and prissy, but Chey remained elusive.

  Finally, Brodie reached his limit. He held a trump card, and he was not above playing it; so, when she failed to respond to a strict summons on Monday morning, on Monday afternoon he simply closed the bank account he’d set up for her. He was frankly surprised by how much cash remained at her disposal. A good portion of it rightly belonged to her, though several bills were outstanding and the house was not truly finished. Nevertheless, he withdrew every cent and dared her to ignore him again.

  Because his office was situated on the front of the house, he saw her small coupe turn onto his drive that next day, a Tuesday, just after lunch, but he was so frustrated that he didn’t even go down to let her in himself, choosing instead to take a little extra time to tamp down his nerves. Kate had standing instructions to bring Chey straight to him whenever she arrived. So he watched, his pulse pounding in his temples, as she got out of the car and walked to the porch, buttoned up in a designer suit, her glorious hair wrapped tight against her head. Then he waited.

  He was sitting at his desk, his fingers templed over the blotter when she finally tapped on the door, opened it and slipped inside. His first impulse was to jump up from his chair, grab her and drag her off to his bedroom in order to convince her, in the surest way he knew how, that she must absolutely never evade him again, but he’d seen cheerier expressions on political prisoners, so he restrained the impulse. Consequently, the first words that came out of his mouth, a pure product of rejection and frustration, surprised even him.

  “Well, thank you for this effusive show of support.”

  Her mouth dropped open, indignation sparked in her eyes, and the fight was on. “Now I like that, coming from the man who has just robbed me blind after weeks and weeks of work!”

  “Nobody’s robbed you of anything,” he snapped, already regretting the tack he’d taken. “But what did you expect? One minute I’m pouring my heart out to you, and the next thing I know you won’t take my damned phone calls!”

  She compressed her mouth into a straight line and dropped down into the chair in front of his desk, arms folding protectively. “You’re leaving out one very important fact,” she said tartly. “Your wife is no longer in a coma.”

  “She’s my ex-wife!” he all but roared, shoving a hand through his hair. “And that’s exactly how she’s going to stay.”

  Chey looked down at her lap. “It’s obvious that Janey still loves you.” The tiny quaver in her voice gave him immense hope.

  “Janey has never loved me,” he retorted. “She doesn’t know how.”

  “Maybe so,” Chey replied doubtfully, “but it’s clear that she wants to be married to you.”

  “Nothing’s clear with Janey,” he scoffed, “and it doesn’t make a tinker’s damn, anyway.” He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t playing around out there, Chey. I’m in love with you. You. Not Janey.”

  A soft, wistful look came over her, but she shook her head stubbornly. “Brodie, you need time to explore your emotions more fully. She’s the mother of your son, and you owe it to Seth and yourself to take the time to get to know her again.”

  “I need time to make sure she’s healthy,” he said firmly, “and that’s all I need time for. Believe me, mine and Janey’s marriage was never what she’s making it out to be now. Never. And it never could be.”

  The door opened, ratcheting his gaze upward from her face to the grizzled, sly and unwelcome countenance of Harp Shelly.

  “Oops. Sorry,” Harp said, entirely too smoothly and not at all repentantly, to Brodie’s mind. “Didn’t know you had company.”

  Brodie clamped down on his jaw, barely restraining the urge to hurl a paperweight at the skunk’s head. “I’m busy here,” he said bluntly, but Chey was already getting to her feet.

  “We can finish our discussion later.”

  “We haven’t settled anything,” he insisted.

  “It can wait, especially if you take care of that banking problem.”

  “I don’t want to wait,” he said, knowing he sounded like a spoiled child. “Let’s discuss this over dinner.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she demurred.

  “Ya’ll can settle this later,” Harp interjected petulantly. “I think my girl’s problems are a little more important than your decorating scheme.” He narr
owed his eyes at Brodie and added, “I’m bettin’ my grandson would feel the same way if he was old enough to hear some true things.”

  Brodie almost came out of his chair at that unsubtle threat. Seth would know everything there was to know, but he, Brodie, would be the one to do the telling.

  “You want to tell some truth, Harp?” Brodie asked angrily. “Tell yourself that you’re wearing out your welcome fast and ought to be on your best behavior from here on out.”

  “I’ll let you two talk,” Chey said quickly, slipping past Harp toward the door.

  “Chey, we haven’t settled anything,” he said as she went out the door.

  “Later,” was the only reply. Brodie murdered Harp Shelly with his eyes, but that demon just grinned and sat down.

  “Now then,” he said. “I found me the right doctor for my girl, and he’s going to be the one to tell us what’s what.”

  She was oddly unsurprised when the intercom buzzed, though the hour was late, almost eleven, and she was not, technically, expecting anyone. She didn’t have to think about who might be standing down on the sidewalk next to her gate buzzing for admittance, however. The only question was whether or not to answer him. In the end, he gave her no choice, his voice coming through the speaker, strong and implacable. “I know you’re there, Chey. I’m coming up.”

  Thinking to stall him, she hit the button on the wall speaker and said quickly, “It’s late, Brodie. I’m getting ready for bed.”

  He didn’t answer, but not two minutes later, he knocked on her door. She yanked it open, irritated now.

  “How did you get back here? The gate is locked for the night.”

  “Your gate is not tall enough,” he told her impatiently. “A determined man can get over the top, and I’m very determined, so you might as well let me in.”

  His face, though set in rigid lines, showed signs of exhaustion. She didn’t have the heart to turn him away, despite deep misgivings. With a sigh, she stepped back. He swept inside, movements agitated. She closed the door behind him, saying, “Brodie, we don’t really have anything to talk about. It’s not just Janey, you know.”

  “Will you be quiet and listen to me?” he snapped. But then he dropped down onto the divan and put his head into his hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t quite know what to do.” He looked up at her then, pleading in his eyes. “I should have told you this before,” he said. “It doesn’t matter now why I didn’t, but you have to hear me out. Please.”

  She couldn’t imagine what he might say that could make a difference in their situation. He should be with Janey, the mother of his child, and she should be concentrating on her work. And yet, he seemed so desperate that she couldn’t refuse. “All right.”

  He closed his eyes and began. “Janey was my secretary. I didn’t have much use for one, really, but since I don’t get into my headquarters office very regularly, I needed someone to answer the phone and relay the occasional message. My chief of operations back in Dallas hired her. The first time I saw her, I was struck by her appearance, that sexy innocence. But she made a big play for me right away, and it turned me off. It smacked of calculation, frankly. When she saw that she wasn’t getting anywhere with me, she turned her attention to my brother.”

  Brodie sat back and pressed a hand to his temple. “Seth was nobody’s fool,” he said consideringly. “He knew what she was almost as soon as I did. Only he figured that he had nothing to lose. We both assumed that it was money she wanted, and Seth didn’t have any. He went for the romp, the play time, and he was quite sure that was all it was to her, too.” Brodie sat forward again, elbows against his knees, hands clasped together, and she could tell that the next part was difficult for him. He cleared his throat. “The very day he left on that last fishing trip, he told me that he was going to marry her.”

  “He was going to marry her?” Chey echoed in surprise.

  Brodie nodded. “I was helping him get his boat ready, when he popped us each a beer and said abruptly, ‘I’m going to be a father.’ I almost choked.”

  Brodie just looked at her, waiting for her to understand. When she did, it took her breath away. “You’re not little Seth’s father!”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, “now. Now I am.”

  She slumped back against the cushions, stunned. “Oh, my God.”

  “You have to understand how it was with my brother and me,” he told her. “I fell into the travel business by just following my passion and planning my own trips. People began asking for my help and before I knew it I was in business. Seth didn’t have anything like that—until he found out that he was going to be a father. I’ve often thought since that he fell into his passion the same way I fell into mine, completely by accident. He didn’t love Janey. He never loved Janey, but he loved the very idea of being someone’s dad, and he absolutely would not, could not, leave his child to be raised by Janey and the Shellys.”

  “But to marry without love,” Chey exclaimed.

  “He had no choice,” Brodie told her. “He knew them by then, you see. He knew all about Harp’s prison record, about Dude’s propensity for petty crime. He said Dude wasn’t smart enough to be a real criminal like his father and that Janey wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the old man’s manipulative bullying. Seth was dead-set on marrying her for the sake of his child, and he would’ve been the best dad who ever lived. Only he didn’t live. He went on that fishing trip, and he died, leaving the child he loved and wanted so much unprotected.”

  “So you stepped in,” she said, knowing it was true.

  Brodie shrugged his shoulders. “What else could I do? I didn’t doubt that they’d sell me the child, and believe me, I was willing to pay, but the attorneys said the best way was not even to adopt the child but to get my name on the birth certificate. In most states, the father of record is the father, period, unless he himself decides to contest the parentage of the child or give up his rights.”

  “So you married her to get your name on the birth certificate,” Chey said, amazed. “It never even occurred to you to let her raise Seth on her own, did it?”

  He scoffed at the very notion. “If he even exists for her, I haven’t seen it. Turning him over to her would be the same as turning him over to the Shellys and Brown. Would you have given him over to the likes of Harp Shelly?”

  Even she, who had determined long ago that she wasn’t cut out for parenthood, couldn’t have done that. “No, not if Harp’s all that you say he is, and I don’t doubt that he is. But you must have felt something for Janey, over time.”

  He shook his head. “I made a deal with Janey. We signed a prenuptial agreement. In the event of divorce, she got a cool million, and the divorce was a done deal from the beginning, Chey. We didn’t put it on paper, of course, but that was the deal. I married her. I was listed as the baby’s father on the birth certificate. After one year, we split, she took the money, I kept the child. She agreed to it happily and even told me that if I hadn’t offered her a deal, she’d have aborted the baby. The pregnancy was her toehold on BMT, you see. That’s all Seth’s ever been to her, a finger in my pocket.”

  Chey was speechless for a long moment. She did not quite understand the need of some women, perhaps most women, to bear a child, but neither could she understand how a woman could use a child as Janey evidently had. All was not yet clear, however. “I don’t understand what’s happening now, then.”

  “I think I do,” he said. “I made a mistake with Janey. Even after she cold-bloodedly agreed essentially to sell me her child via marriage and divorce, I felt sorry for her. I was sure that she was being manipulated by Harp, and I still think she was. I just didn’t realize how greedy she is. About six months into the marriage, I allowed her to buy a house in an exclusive part of Dallas and spend a bloody fortune decorating it. She spent a half-million dollars, Chey, and I was ashamed of the place. It was hideous—hot-pink stucco and fire-red tile, tacky plaster statues, gold leaf. The woman has no taste, except for spen
ding money. She has a taste for that, and she quickly realized that the million bucks she had coming wasn’t going to last her as long as she’d thought. That’s when she decided that she wanted to stay married.”

  “But you didn’t?” Chey mused.

  “I definitely did not,” he told her, looking straight into her eyes. “She tried to make me believe that she was in love with me, but once she realized that it simply made no difference because I wasn’t in love with her, it got ugly. Some of the scenes I endured were unrepeatable. She fought the divorce and tried to renegotiate the prenup. When that didn’t work, she threatened to sue me for custody of Seth. I was preparing to offer her another million despite my attorney’s advice against it. Then, the night of Seth’s first birthday, she showed up drunk, and I had to drive her home. She made such a scene that all the neighbors came out to see what was happening. I left her screaming in the front yard. A couple hours later, Harp found her in the back at the bottom of the pool. It was being drained for resurfacing. She had apparently pitched a fit, tossing around a bunch of pot plants and some patio chairs. Somehow she fell and literally cracked open her skull.”

  “And after all that, you took care of her,” Chey said with pure wonder.

  “Someone had to,” he remarked. “Harp and Dude couldn’t even if they would have, which they wouldn’t. Harp kept saying, ‘She’s no use to anyone now, no use to anyone.’ Made me wonder if maybe he hadn’t been masterminding the whole setup. No matter what he says now, he had no interest in her once it became obvious that the coma might be permanent. Only Brown seemed to want to help her. So I saw to it that she could. It was the least I could do,” he said, “for the woman who gave me Seth. I named him that because in some ways it was as if she had given me back my brother. I don’t wish her ill, but I will not let her come between me and those I love.” He reached for her hand, ran his thumb across the backs of her knuckles and added softly, “In case you somehow don’t know, I’m talking about you and my son.”