Rough Around the Edges

by Marie Ferrarella

  O’Rourke nodded. He’d expected nothing less.

  “And if we discover somewhere down the line in the next year that this is a bogus marriage—”

  O’Rourke picked up Kitt’s hand, noting that it felt icy, and laced his fingers through it. He brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles while keeping his eyes on the agent. He never noticed the slight change in Kitt’s expression. “It’s not.”

  “For your sakes, I hope that’s true, because quite frankly, you do look rather good together. I’ve been in this department a long time and I have rarely met a couple who looks as if they belong together as much as you two do. I suppose the baby helped create that image.” He smiled benevolently at Shawna. And then he leaned back in his chair and eyed the two of them one last time. “All right, I’ve decided to grant your petition to remain in this country, Mr. O’Rourke. Normally, if you’d come to this country with the sole intent of marrying Mrs. O’Rourke, there’d be a three-year waiting period before you could become a citizen. However, since you’ve already been in this country close to four years, that will be waived. There’s naturally some paperwork to put through, but for all intents and purposes, you may consider yourself a citizen of the United States.

  “However,” he added ominously, “should you decide sometime within the next year that you are not suited for each other and petition for a divorce, you will be deported, Mr. O’Rourke. And quickly. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely.” O’Rourke had no doubt that the man meant exactly what he said.

  Rutherford waved them on their way, reaching for the next folder in his stack. “All right, then go and take this pretty little girl home.”

  On his feet already, O’Rourke slipped his arm around Kitt’s waist. “I intend to.”

  Rutherford raised his eyes to the couple. “I was referring to the baby.” But there was a hint of a smile again on the agent’s lips as he said it.

  They left the room quickly.

  Chapter Nine

  Barely able to contain his exuberance, O’Rourke still managed to wait until he and Kitt had left not only the INS office but the federal building as well and were at his van in the parking lot before he threw his arms around Kitt. Embracing her, baby and all, he picked them both up and spun them around in a jubilant circle.

  “You did it,” he cried. “You did it.” God, but he was relieved. A couple of times back there, as Rutherford had sat frowning at him, he’d been certain that the jig was up.

  Setting her down again, incredibly high on triumph, O’Rourke took Kitt’s face in his hands and, with the baby still between them, kissed her soundly on the mouth.

  Kissed her soundly while blotting out all the other surrounding sounds of the world around her, including her own baby’s gurgling.

  Including the hammering of her own heart and the racing of her pulse. Blotting it out not as a result of any small, airborne experience, but because he was kissing her.

  Her head was spinning around something fierce and her bearings were down to nonexistent.

  Careful, you’ve been down this trail before, she tried to upbraid herself.

  But she hadn’t. Not like this. Not with this degree of disorientation and confusion. And certainly not with a man who had no real need of her in any manner except on paper.

  Jeffrey had wooed her and wanted things from her. Her understanding when his acting jobs dried up, one after another. Her loyalty when he wasn’t up to taking any job but what he deemed was his true calling, something that seemed to have few to no openings as time went on. And her money when things became progressively tighter for him. Full of promise at the outset, Jeffrey had only taken things from her.

  All this man wanted from her was a lie. There was no reason to give him anything else. Certainly not any of her feelings.

  But Kitt wasn’t all that sure if she had a say in the matter, even though she wanted to. Something within her melted every time he kissed her. “Melted” was a very difficult position from which to take any sort of concrete stand.

  O’Rourke realized belatedly that he’d let himself get carried away, but what was the harm of it? He was supposed to be her husband, and husbands and wives kissed in parking lots sometimes. He didn’t think she could hold it against him.

  As long as he didn’t hold on to it himself.

  Releasing her, smiling down at the baby who looked up at him, a bubble forming on her lips, O’Rourke asked, “What do you say we celebrate, love? I can come home early tonight.”

  She wished he’d stop calling her that. Love. She could get used to hearing the word. And familiarity bred belief, something that was dangerous to a woman in as vulnerable a position as she was right now. Vulnerable because she had been hurt by a man she had believed loved her. Vulnerable because she was beginning to have feelings for a man she knew she shouldn’t.

  “A night on the town?” she suggested half teasingly.

  A look of concern entered his eyes as he looked at Shawna. “What about the baby?”

  Now, there was something Jeffrey would have never allowed to give him a second’s pause. Children weren’t obstacles to reckon with for him, they were obstacles to be ignored. “Sylvia can watch her. Sylvia’s been dying to watch her.”

  Why not? What was the harm in it? The woman had certainly earned a reprieve from cooking him dinner, though he’d never once asked her to.

  Still, the bottom line was that she did it and it was time she had a break.

  “A night out it is, then.” He unlocked the passenger side for her, holding the rear door open while she placed Shawna in her infant seat. “Provided we’re home by midnight.”

  Straightening, Kitt looked at him. He didn’t seem like a man who’d be in by midnight. More like mid-morning of the following day. “Conference call, Cinderella?”

  He rounded the hood, then got in on his own side. “I was thinking more like a baby feeding.”

  Kitt buckled her seat belt. “They have things called breast pumps now, they—”

  Wincing, O’Rourke left the car key dangling in the ignition as he pretended to cover his ears with his hands. “Spare me.”

  Kitt closed her mouth, turning to face front in her seat as he started the car. The idea that he could actually be squeamish tickled her.

  “A date with your husband, what a novel idea.” Sylvia thrust a dress toward her.

  Sylvia had arrived half an hour earlier than Kitt had asked her to, haunting her every step and taking it upon herself to first veto the dress she’d selected, then pick out one she felt was more appropriate for the evening ahead.

  She held the dress up against Kitt, then turned her toward the wardrobe mirror. “If more couples did that, think of the marriages that could be saved.”

  Kitt sighed. She didn’t need this. It was hard enough trying not to let her thoughts get the better of her and lead her astray. “None of your sarcasm, Syl.”

  Sylvia dramatically placed a hand to her indignant breast.

  “Who’s being sarcastic?” And then she smiled, taking the dress from Kitt and placing it on the bed so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. “I think it’s great. A woman should get out with her husband once in a while.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t be going. Maybe it would give off the wrong vibrations or start a precedent. She didn’t want him thinking that she thought…what Sylvia seemed to be thinking.

  “Syl, he’s not my husband. I mean, he is but he’s—” Exasperated, she threw up her hands. “Why are you making this difficult?”

  “I’m not making anything difficult,” Sylvia said innocently. “I’m just trying to make the best of it.” Pausing, she ceased her search along the closet floor for Kitt’s shoes and rose to her feet. “You know, the man has a head on his shoulders—and as for those shoulders, not to mention that butt—”

  Kitt’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been checking out his butt?”

  Sylvia’s grin was positively wicked by any standards. Her eyes glinted as she looke
d at Kitt. “Butt, nothing, I’ve been checking out all of him and I don’t know what’s wrong with the women where he comes from, but where I come from, you throw a net over a guy like that and stake your claim before he gets away.”

  She knew where Sylvia was heading with this. They’d already had this discussion, or a theme and variation of it, before. “This is an arrangement, Syl—”

  Sylvia went back to her search for the black high heels. “The nice thing about the English language is that so many of its words can have such a broad meaning. ‘Arrange’ something tonight.” Triumphant, she rose again, shoes in hand. She held them up for Kitt’s perusal before setting them on the floor before the bed. “Make yourself irresistible to the guy. He’s got a future, why can’t it be your future, too?” She stopped fussing and looked at Kitt squarely. “A hundred years ago, a lot of marriages were arranged. What the people doing the arranging hoped was that love would bloom afterward. You told me that you’ve always liked historicals,” she reminded Kitt.

  Sylvia would bring that up. Served her right for sharing too much. “To read, not to live.” She caught Sylvia’s arm as the other woman made a beeline for her makeup case. Enough was enough. “Look, Syl, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I have a horrible track record when it comes to men and I’d rather just sit this dance out.”

  Sylvia appeared unconvinced and undeterred. “One mistake doesn’t make a record.”

  But Kitt knew better. She’d lived it. Was living it. “One really bad mistake makes you gun-shy.”

  Sylvia caught her by the shoulders, forcing Kitt to look at her. “I don’t want you to shoot him, I want you to get to know him. You deserve to be happy. So does Shawna.”

  Very gently, Kitt drew Sylvia’s hands away from her. “Just watch her for me and I’ll be happy.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “You are a very stubborn woman.”

  Kitt merely smiled at her, relieved at the reprieve. “So they tell me.”

  He didn’t remember until an hour after the fact that he was supposed to have gone home by five if not before. He’d been jammed up on a conference call that had gone over, and then Alfred, the part-time computer wizard he’d hired straight out of the eleventh grade had come to inform him of a major glitch that had just cropped up. Thoughts of dinner and Kitt had temporarily been moved to the rear of his brain.

  But they were back now, back with a vengeance. And with guilt.

  Picking up the receiver and jabbing out the numbers of his home phone on the keyboard, O’Rourke listened to the telephone on the other end ring three times before Kitt finally answered it.

  “Hello?”

  She sounded sad, he thought, and wondered if there was anything wrong with the baby. Not bothering with a greeting, he launched into his excuse immediately. “Look, love, this is O’Rourke. I’m sorry, we’ve come up with another bug and I just didn’t notice the time.”

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her stifling a sigh.

  “That’s all right, I already sent Sylvia home.” She didn’t add that it was over Sylvia’s very vocal protest. There seemed no point in saying that. “The baby’s fussing, anyway. Colic, most likely.” She was trying very hard to remain on top of things in this brand-new world of motherhood she found herself in. “I would have been poor company, anyway. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my mind on dinner. I’ll see you later.”

  They were disconnected. O’Rourke looked at the receiver before hanging up, thinking. She was disappointed, he decided, replacing the receiver. And, in an odd way, so was he. He had to admit, when he’d thought of it, the idea of dinner with her was not without its appeal.

  Maybe it was just as well that he had gotten caught up in things and forgotten about dinner. There was no sense, he told himself, in opening up doors to rooms he wasn’t allowed to enter.

  An hour later, with a bouquet of carnations like the ones in her wedding bouquet in one hand, a bottle of champagne to toast their success in the other, O’Rourke arrived home.

  Feeling a little sheepish without the slightest idea why, he closed the door behind him and called Kitt’s name, taking care not to be too loud just in case the baby was asleep.

  Kitt came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron that had seen better times. He made a mental note to replace it for her.

  And not to envision her wearing only that.

  Kitt looked at the flowers. Remembering them, he thrust the bouquet toward her.

  “What’s that for?”

  O’Rourke cleared his throat, deliberately focusing his attention on the bottle of champagne he still held. “To celebrate…” His eyes met hers. He’d been raised to face up to things he’d done. “And to say I’m sorry.”

  Funny how an apology could soften her. Jeffrey used to apologize all the time, she reminded herself, desperately trying to harden a heart she feared had already been breached.

  She took the flowers from him. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. We can reschedule.”

  As if it was a business meeting, he thought. Good, that was how they were supposed to view it. If they kept it unmuddled, then there would be no problems, no hurt feelings. No misunderstandings at the end.

  Leading the way to the kitchen and the glasses, he slanted a glance at Kitt over his shoulder. There was something about the way she looked at him… No, this wasn’t absolutely cut and dried, or was it?

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel guilty.”

  A soft, teasing grin appeared on her lips that he found utterly irresistible. He’d guessed right. “How am I doing?”

  Taking out a corkscrew, O’Rourke paused and laughed. “Damn. How does someone with the face of an angel get to be so devious?”

  She tried not to allow the compliment to get to her. That way lay danger. She couldn’t start believing him, believing in things. It would lead to her downfall again.

  “Self-preservation. And practice.” Turning toward the oven as he occupied himself with the corkscrew, she took two pot holders in her hand. “I’ve got to get your dinner out of the oven before it decides to turn stone cold on you.”

  “You made dinner?” The cork popped, punctuating his query. He set the cork and corkscrew on the counter. “I thought we were supposed to go out.”

  “We were, but when you didn’t show up, I decided to get creative with what we had in the refrigerator.” She placed the casserole on the counter, next to the glasses he was filling. “My mother taught me how to make do with almost anything.”

  “Stone soup,” he commented, remembering a story his mother had once read to him.

  She was acquainted with the story, vaguely recalling a children’s show-hostess reading it to her pint-size audience.

  “No, that’s being clever and conning people out of things in order to make a good soup. I just work with what’s there.” She didn’t know exactly what prompted her to look at him that instant, but she did.

  Was he being put on notice? Was he what she was planning on working with next? Or was he just reading things into her words?

  Probably the latter.

  He finished pouring the champagne into the glasses. “I could use some dinner,” he agreed.

  “Good, because I waited to eat with you.”

  Kitt carried over the casserole dish and placed it in the middle of the dining room table. For the first time, he noticed that there were candles in the candlestick holders. And they were lit. Atmosphere? Or was she just being frugal?

  “You waited?” Picking up the two glasses, he followed her into the room on her second pass. “With dinner canceled, I might not have been home for hours.”

  She shrugged away the observation. Nothing she hadn’t thought of herself. “I took a chance. I figured I’d give you until ten before I started without you.” Sitting down, she shook out the napkin before putting it on her lap. “It’s nice to have company for a meal.”

  Yes, he thought, taking the chair opposite her, it was.

&nb
sp; It was going smoothly.

  Maybe, if he were the superstitious type like his mother before him, he might have said things were going too smoothly. For perhaps the first time in his life, both his work and his home life were on an even keel. The alarm due to the discovered glitch was over, things at the office were progressing at an ever-increasing pace, and it looked as if Emerald Computers might actually become a success sooner than he’d expected. The bugs in his program for the new line of computer were dropping…well, like flies, and things were looking good. Awfully good.

  And at home, well, he knew that was an artificial situation in reality, but it certainly did feel real. At times he literally forgot it wasn’t supposed to be. No matter what time of the night he came home, the smell of food was waiting to greet him when he walked in.

  He didn’t have to scrounge around, looking for something to throw together in order to create something that passed for a meal. He didn’t have to scrounge at all, not for food, or clothes or even the notes to his program that he brought home to work on on occasion. Somehow, things were always being straightened for him. Available when he needed them. Always within reach.

  He wasn’t accustomed to that.

  A man could get accustomed to that.

  But if he did, what then? he questioned himself silently as he drove along the thoroughfare, heading home. When the agreement was over, when Kitt could finally safely leave him and get on with her life and he with his, what then? Getting accustomed to life the way it was now would make the future that much harder for him to bear, that much harder to function in.

  He wasn’t a marrying man, certainly, but there was no disputing that he was a family man, and as much as he claimed to enjoy unobstructed freedom, the truth of it was that he did miss having a family around him. Having Kitt and her daughter around for the last month had filled a void he hadn’t been aware of having.