Her Foreign Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “Down boy. Once the game is over, we’ll usher the other two out the door. Until then, I have to play nice. If you want to plead jet lag and go lie down in your room, you’re allowed.”

  “Only if you come with me.”

  If only she could. “No can do.”

  “Then I’ll kick Drew to the floor. He’s a good pup.”

  Aghast, she glanced over her shoulder. “He is not a pup.”

  “Oh, yes, he is. He’s like one of those retrievers you Yanks are so attached to. Golden Retrievers? He’s exactly like one. Makes friends with everyone, smiles all the time, happy to be wherever he is at the moment as long as he has someone to talk to.”

  Randi held back her chuckle, but smiled. That pretty much described Birdie as well if one were to try to compare her to a dog. No, a little chickadee or a canary fit better with her. She’d been well nicknamed.

  “Anyhow, toss him a pillow and he’ll make happy on the floor.”

  The look she gave Court over her shoulder this time should have made him wither away, but no, the devil she remembered grinned back at her.

  “Fine.” She reached for the coffee pot. “Anyone need a refill?” she called out to the room in general. Groans of denial came back.

  “What’s the special brew you wanted to make me?” Court asked.

  “Take your seat and I’ll bring it to you. Pillows are behind the sofa.”

  Randi watched from the corner of her eye as Court disrupted the lazy folks nearly comatose on the couch. From her secret stash, hidden at the very back of the liquor cabinet, she pulled out a dark brown bottle of hazelnut liqueur. She’d once overheard a man refer to it as panty-melter. Talk about setting herself up for trouble with a capital T. Right, as if she could have more trouble on her hands than she already had?

  On a wave of recklessness, in went the liqueur followed by a healthy dose of cream. The good stuff, real, heavy whipping cream. Two extra miles on the treadmill this week. Mentally, she crossed her heart, then revised her vow. Next week.

  Now she needed a good plan. Step one, get Dad and Jordan sent on their merry ways.

  Step two. Shit, what was the best step two? Get Court aside and talk strategy or sit the kids down and go for broke? Because before this night ended, it would all have to come out. A glance into the family room solidified her conviction. Drew settled himself on the floor, pillow at Birdie’s feet and his head on the pillow, feet aimed toward the TV. They looked a little too comfortable. How had they grown to be this comfortable with each other in only a week? Were they instinctively reacting to their close relationship, as in blood relationship, but mistaking it for attraction?

  Shit. Step two, jump in with both feet. No time for strategy or finesse. It would be so much easier if she didn’t like Drew. But she did. He was a nice kid. Reminded her a lot of Court way back when.

  Lord, what would this do to his image of his father? What would this do to Birdie’s image of her? Wyatt? Court and Drew? So many variations, this could go awry in so many ways it wasn’t close to funny. It all depended on how Birdie received and processed the news.

  Which led to step three, which depended entirely upon the kids and their reactions. Surprise certainly. Horror? Disgust? Feelings of betrayal almost a guarantee. She could only pray for forgiveness and understanding. How many chances over the last two years had there been to tell Birdie the story of her life? One day the kid would actually read her paperwork in detail. Not that Randi had ever handed either of the certificates to her and said, “Hey, here look at this. This is who you really are.”

  Hmm. A thought to consider. She knew right where to find the certified copies of Birdie’s birth and adoption certificates. For years they’d lived in Randi’s purse alongside Birdie’s shot records. Once she went off to college, Randi had filed them with the marriage certificate and vehicle titles. Right beside Wyatt’s death certificate. All things that should be in a safe deposit box at the bank.

  “With the vehicle titles?” Wyatt had asked her with a raised brow when he’d asked about the marriage certificate.

  “They’re all certificates of ownership, right?”

  “But do I own you or do you own me?”

  “Yes.”

  Wyatt had at least laughed and never questioned her logic again. As long as he could find what he needed when he needed it, he never complained. Then again, his method of finding things had been to ask her to find it for him. Great system. For him.

  Randi leaned her head against the cabinet and said a silent prayer for strength and courage.

  So. Step one. Get the extras off the stage.

  She lifted the two mugs and waited until the play finished before walking in front of the viewers. She stopped long enough to hand one mug to Court, then stepped right over Drew and glided smoothly into her rocking chair.

  With an audible sigh, she slid off her shoes and flexed her feet. A deep red line cut into her feet where the straps across her toes had been. Should have worn the black velvet slippers she’d picked up last week. So much for vanity and trying to impress two blind dates.

  Set up by her daughter and her father. The pair of them looked mighty cozy on the sofa. A photo right now would portray almost the perfect family. Kick Jordan out of the picture and you’d have a girl sitting like a princess, surrounded by her father, grandfather and brother. Not a bad picture come to think of it. Getting up to find her camera would ruin the entire tableau. Nothing more than illusion anyway. No such thing as a perfect family existed anywhere.

  From the first gulp of her laced coffee, she felt its magic slide into her blood, warming secret spaces in her body now protesting they’d been ignored too long. It seemed more than two years since Wyatt’s passing. Love had grown between them, softly at first. Slow and steady, directly opposite the instant explosion she’d experienced with Court. Enough love that she truly missed Wyatt’s comforting, solid, steady presence and his ability to shelter her from any storm. She’d been well loved and her mourning deep and sincere.

  Yet, she was a woman not quite ready for the nursing home. She still had desires. Desires that had ignited by a momentary connection with Court’s darkening eyes. A sluicing of liquid heat traveled straight to her core. Heaven help her, she wanted him. Now. Right here.

  At the sound of a throat clearing, she switched her gaze to her father and found him staring at her. She glared back, pointedly nodded toward Jordan, who dozed with his chin on his chest, and then the front of the house where his car was parked at the curb. Dad merely smiled and shook his head. At the two-minute warning, she gulped down the rest of her coffee and used sign language to inform him she wanted to see him in the kitchen.

  “All right,” he grumbled and heaved to his feet. “The Raiders are losing anyway. Sad day when Dallas stomps them into the mud this way.”

  “What mud?” Randi gave him a narrow-eyed glare as she chased him into the kitchen. The warm carpet gave way to cool vinyl under her bare feet, reminding her she wanted to get off them for the night very soon.

  “All right, you dragged me in here.” Dad put his cup in the sink. The pose he took, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, clearly signified he didn’t want to budge.

  “It’s time you gather up your leftovers, and your guest, and go home. I’m sure Jordan would appreciate a nice, quiet hotel room about now. Or the ability to go trolling for companionship for the night. Either way, you’ve worn out your welcome for today.”

  Scowling for effect, he stood firm, looking immoveable. “I want to be here when you tell her.”

  “No.” Randi crossed her arms and stood firm. Even if she did get a crick in her neck looking up at him. As he’d often told her, a person’s size didn’t matter. It was her determination, and Dad had run into her brand of it more than once. “This is my problem and I don’t want to tell my daughter her whole life is not what it seems in front of a stranger. Jordan has no part in this, and I won’t do that to her or Drew.”<
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  “I want my chance to grill the smooth-talking son of a bitch who sent my daughter home pregnant. Besides, I’m her grandfather,” he pointed out.

  “But you’re not related to the other two. I’ll call you tomorrow, unless she decides to disown me tonight, then she may very well end up on your doorstep. If the situation warrants your presence, then you can come back. Otherwise, we have things to work out around here before you play your role of outraged father.” At his stubborn look, she threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re making this extra hard on me. It’s already a difficult situation, and you butting in like this is distracting me and taking away the energy I need to deal with this in a reasonable manner.”

  Anxious to drive her point absolutely home, she poked her finger against his breastbone. “Do NOT do this to me. I’m trying to do the right thing by my daughter, and a little support from you would be appreciated right now. I need to focus on her first, not your sense of injured chivalry.”

  At last he nodded, rubbing his chest where she’d poked him, and asked quietly, “How are you going to do it?”

  “I don’t know yet. I wanted to talk to Court first, but I think I’m out of time.” Valuable time he’d used up by being pigheaded.

  They looked into the family room where Birdie tried to rest a bare foot on Drew’s head. He kept pushing it off, but they could see the sly smile on his face. The boy was going to strike and give Birdie what she had coming. Hopefully, it would be limited to tickles. She hoped Jordan had a strong heart as momentarily he’d be awakened by a screech loud enough to scare the dead.

  Randi backed away from her father and stepped into Birdie’s line of sight. Drew’s as well. She gave them both a mother glare, and they settled down. She ignored Court’s pout. Troublemaker. For a moment, the anger returned, and she bent the heat of her scowl on him. That innocent look so did not work on her anymore.

  His eyes twinkled at her and he smiled, the special private smile, no less.

  Damn him.

  So the look still worked on her.

  She rolled her eyes and turned away. “Your leftovers are all ready to go, Dad.” This agitator wouldn’t walk all over her this time.

  Ten minutes later, she stood on the entry patio and waved as Dad drove off with Jordan. A minor skirmish out of the way. One which had been tougher than it should have been. This was not the right time, physically or emotionally, to go down this path, but she had no choice morally. Any minute now those kids could sneak off and do something that would scar them for life.

  Court stood behind her, and when she turned, their eyes met.

  “What are the kids doing?” she asked him.

  “I believe they’re thinking of hot-tubbing. Not a bad idea, actually. I could give you a foot rub.” The accompanying lifted brow added he could rub other things as well.

  “Not until we speak to them.” She joined him on the top step and looked up. “I don’t want to do this, but I think we need to do it now. Don’t you?”

  Court lifted a hand and used one finger to twirl a strand of her hair. “I think you’re right. This discussion is going to be painful.”

  “True. Divide and conquer or sit them down together?”

  “I don’t want to do it alone, but it might be easier.”

  “I’m not sure there’s an easy way to do it at all.”

  “I wish we could work out things between us first. Present them with a unified front.”

  Randi shrugged, turning away from his gaze. She couldn’t deal with both situations at the same time. She wanted to be selfish and deal with the hurt and anger she’d held all these years. The aching loneliness that had struck her from time to time and had grown even stronger with Wyatt’s death. She and Court should have been together. Instead, they’d lived with people they didn’t love well enough to be married to and raised children they loved completely.

  Court’s hands slipped into her hair, his big hands forming to the shape of her skull.

  Worn down from fighting the attraction all day, following instinct, she leaned against him, forehead tilted to his chest, and soaked in the comfort he offered. The feel of his strong body, solid where she leaned into him, his scent, the pulse of his blood and breath; it all came back to her, filling her, completing her as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Ah, sweet,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I’ve missed you, dreamed of you, mourned the loss of this, the simplest of comforts, just holding you.”

  “I’m so confused!” All those feelings and more welled up from deep inside, overwhelming her, making her heart pound and throat tighten. The need to lash out, to hit something, or in this case someone, swamped her, almost taking her to her knees. By nature, she didn’t resort to violence, but the feelings were too deep, held back too long, and so strong she shook with the effort to contain them.

  Hands fisted, she clung to him as much as she wanted to escape. “I hate you, I need you, I can’t bear your touch, and yet, I feel as if I’ve been slowly dying without it. I never want to see you again, but I’ll kill you if you leave me. You’ve got me all torn up inside, and I don’t know what I want right now, or five minutes from now, much less tonight or tomorrow.”

  Restless from the churning emotions, she tried to push away, but he held her tight and tilted her head to stare into her eyes.

  “I didn’t know.” The whispered words were urgent, as if wrenched from his heart, the agony she felt mirrored in his eyes. “I swear to God, any god you want, any major or minor deity, faerie, or sprite you name. I swear on my father’s grave. I. Didn’t. Know.”

  The truth in his eyes didn’t help the hurt in her heart. Possibly it facilitated her understanding a little, but it didn’t erase the years of secrecy and guilt. So much guilt. Guilt for not loving Wyatt as well as he’d loved her. Guilt for not coming clean with Birdie much sooner. Guilt for hating Court, his wife, and their child. So much to regret.

  The time had come to let it all go. Her time for running away was over as of right now. She had to face her feelings for Court and tell Birdie of her heritage.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, turning Court watery and wavy.

  “Ah, love, don’t cry, please don’t cry. Anything but tears. Yell at me, beat me with those tiny fists, curse me to the ends of the earth, just, please, no tears. I can’t bear your tears.”

  A late-blooming pot of gardenias sheltered on the steps lent a sweetness to the air as Court kissed the wet streaks from her cheeks. The tenderness with which he touched her, held her, did her in and the trickle became a waterfall.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered and touched his lips to hers.

  The sizzle that had been on simmer all day, rekindled into a blazing conflagration. Her hands slid up his back to cling to his shoulders as he held her head and devoured her mouth, the sweetness balanced by the saltiness of her tears.

  The day caught up with her then. Lack of sleep, hours on her feet in the kitchen, the emotions and shock of seeing Court again, the tension created by her father’s pestering, and the worry of unraveling Birdie’s life without all the facts in place… God, could there be more? It all coalesced there in Court’s embrace, and she dug her fingers into his flesh in a last attempt to hang on as what little sanity she had left slipped away, falling willing victim to his touch. Their breaths mingled, tongues tangled, legs entwined, and hands groped until they both pressed their hips toward each other. Nothing felt better than his kiss, his touch, his strong hands holding her so intimately.

  The world faded away, wrapping them in the sweet scent of flowers. The troubles, worries, and aches all compressed down into one need. The need to fuse with this man. There was only one way to get closer, and she wanted it. Wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. She needed to connect with his strength, needed the affirmation he offered.

  “Mom?”

  Mom didn’t belong here, just Randi, a woman, and Court, a man. Mom was
a dream person who didn’t live in this moment. Didn’t exist or belong to this world of only two people.

  A choked giggle preceded Birdie’s next, half-scandalized exclamation. “Mom? Mr. Robinson?”

  “Bloody hell, Dad. In front of the neighbors?”

  Drew’s voice broke through the fog, shattering the moment.

  Like a hot potato, Randi released Court and stepped back, heart pounding and chest heaving in a far too clichéd manner. Court resisted a moment longer, then released his hold. Unable to look at him or the kids, she closed her eyes and took in deep breaths, hoping to clear her mind and get control of her thundering pulse.

  A car door slammed from across the street, and her neighbor called out, “Hey Randi, there’re young kids here. Save the biology lessons for later!” Tuck’s laugh echoed between the homes in the failing light of day.

  Face hot, she glanced his way and waved. Like Brad Tucker had room to talk. The man had four children! Each and every last one of them had varying shades of their mother’s red hair. It had been something of a not-so-funny neighborhood joke that maybe he had five since Birdie looked more like him than Wyatt. Of course everyone knew it wasn’t true, but they didn’t know the other side of the coin.

  Someone’s car roared to life, and it took all she had to raise her chin and face the children.

  Right. At twenty-one and twenty-two, the tall, beautiful people in front of her could no longer be called children. They were adults who deserved to know the truth about their lives. Birdie especially.

  “Hey, Randi.”

  Tuck’s voice coming from close behind made her jump what felt like a foot. He chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Kelly made me bring this over.”

  She turned, hand over her racing heart, to find a covered dish in his hands, but his eyes moved rapidly from Court to Birdie to Drew and back around again.