He'd left her shaking and alone, with nowhere to turn, nowhere to live when her lease was up at the
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end of the month. By the time Tom called, after midnight that same night, she'd been so frightened, so desperate, she'd talked to him.
She'd cried with relief when he'd told her he still wanted to help her. Gradually she'd understood what he meant, but by then she was too needy not to listen. He'd told her he had friends, professional classy men, who'd be willing to pay her well for just a little of her time, men who traveled often, who usually came to town for only a day or two. Powerful men who took care of their own.
It was too late to be anything other than what she was, so when the powerful businessmen called her, Jamie accepted the money they offered. But the one constant that allowed her to do so was the affection each man, without fail, lavished on her. God help her, she was starved for affection, for approval, and being with men who were kind to her, who appreciated her, who wanted her, went a long way toward mending the emotional damage her stepfather had caused.
Her clients were all referrals from Tom. And if she received a phone call from one she didn't immediately like, she was too busy to see him. She played games with herself. She told herself that as long as she didn't enjoy the physical ministrations of the men she was with, as long as she never shared a climax with them, she wasn't selling anything that mattered. She had her rules. She always, always, insisted that the man she was with be sober and that he use protection. She abided nothing rough, nothing kinky, and never, ever consorted with more than one
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man at a time. She'd take a repeat client only if she wasn't currently seeing another.
And before she knew it, she was in her junior year at the university, an honor student, a favorite with all her teachers, popular with other students. And no one there knew that for a few hours a couple of evenings a week, she was a very expensive, high-class prostitute.
Wrapping her arms around herself on the cold living-room floor, Jamie stared at the dead embers in her fireplace and cried. She'd had one goal back then: to finish school, get a decent job and never have to be dependent on anyone for the rest of her life. The only thing she'd lived for was the day she could own her life, her body, for the first time since she was four years old.
And then she'd met Kyle Radcliff.
Shuddering, trapped, Jamie didn't know where to go from there. Kyle was a time bomb slowly ticking. If she didn't get rid of him, her life was going to explode right before her eyes.
But as she contemplated lying to the man, or better yet, running again, something frightening held her back. Her conscience. She'd worked so hard to become the respectable, honorable woman she'd always known she could be. The woman she really was. And now her respectable, honorable conscience wouldn't let her just take Ashley and vanish.
Because with Kyle Radcliff in town, with her discovery that he might, after all, be an honest decent man, she had one powerful reason to stay. Ashley.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Miss Karen's mad at me." Ashley moved the queen's boat across the ocean, 'cept the queen wasn't in the boat; the king was.
"No, she isn't, honey," Mommy said. "Why would you think she's mad at you?"
"When I sleeped there, she didn't talk to me."
"But she talked to you this afternoon when she came over to pick up Kayla."
Ashley pondered that for a minute. She dumped the king from the queen's ship and put the queen in. And then ran the ship through a big cloud that was really a big pile of bubbles. But that was okay because the ocean was really just in the bathtub with Ashley.
"Miss Karen's got a lot on her mind right now," Mommy said. She was the lighthouse, even though she was just a person sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and didn't have a light at all.
And Mommy always said that about people having things on their minds when she wanted Ashley to stop asking questions.
Somehow, Ashley knew she'd made Miss Karen sad with her and she didn't know how, but she didn't want Mommy sad with her, too, so she'd quit
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asking questions just like Mommy wanted. Just like she wasn't asking questions about her daddy, either.
They'd made Mommy really sad with her, those questions. Ashley thought she knew why, and she didn't want Mommy to tell her, so she didn't ask about her daddy anymore for that reason, too. Mommy was sad about Ashley's daddy because of Ashley. Because he'd made Mommy have Ashley. Maybe Mommy didn't want that. Which was something Ashley couldn't stand to think about.
She just wished her daddy didn't keep jumping into her stories and her school time, and even when she was playing with Kayla.
"You ready to get out, punkin?" Mommy stood up and held up a big, big towel for her. One that would make Ashley feel all warm and happy inside. "Tomorrow's Monday and you have school."
"Okay." Letting the queen sail away, Ashley stood up, really careful 'bout not slipping, like Mommy always told her.
"I love you, baby," Mommy said, snuggling Ashley up against her as she rubbed her hands along the outside of the huge towel.
And Ashley felt all warm inside, exactly like she was's'posed to. "I love you more than you love me," she said, and giggled.
"No, you don't, buster." Mommy picked Ashley up and carried her to her bedroom. "I'm bigger so I get to love more."
Ashley was counting on that.
A party. Kyle had to plan a party. Yeah, right. In the first place, the only thing he knew about food
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was how to order it—or nuke it. And that occasionally he needed some. But his stomach wasn't finicky, didn't demand things in a certain sequence or combination. Like when he had cereal and a cucumber for breakfast, there were no complaints.
But a party. Now, there people expected particular kinds of food. Not only did they want those foods, they wanted them to go together somehow. Of course, nobody at the grocery store bothered to put signs on things to tell a guy what went with what. No color coding there. Nope, people just seemed to be born knowing that green beans didn't go on hamburgers. That lettuce was for salads. That pancakes weren't for making turkey sandwiches. Or maybe their mothers taught them.
Which would explain Kyle's ignorance.
Tossing his glasses down on the piles of folders hiding his desk, Kyle read again the memo he'd just received. He was in charge of the reception for the local chapter of the National English Honor Society. He'd been given a budget to provide a generous spread of hors d'oeuvres, decorations, a program. Faculty heads and dignitaries had been invited to attend, not only to welcome new and current honor society members, but also to be introduced to Kyle, the new head of the English department.
And how impressed they'd be when the food showed up a week early. And the decorations a day late.
And what about decorations? Had the dean seen Kyle's house? Other than his bed and desk, he used
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cardboard boxes for furniture. Okay, maybe only until his shipment of chairs, sofas and tables arrived. But still, he knew less about decor than he knew about food. He didn't need decor to live.
And he was virtually color-blind.
Unburying his phone from beneath a stack of essays, Kyle dialed a number without looking it up.
"Hello?"
Just hearing her voice made him smile. "Jamie?" He had the perfect plan. If it worked, and he'd somehow make sure it did, he'd get his party and an excuse to see Jamie.
"Kyle?"
"See, you know my voice already."
"Don't flatter yourself," she said dryly, but he heard a hint of laughter. "I just can't think of any other man who'd be calling me at seven o'clock on a Monday morning."
"Oops." He grimaced as he verified the accuracy of her words. Yup, his office clock said three minutes past seven. "I was out running at four," he explained, "and I've been at my desk since five— kind of seems like midmorning to
me."
"You're at work already?"
"I had some things to get through. Like last week's mail, for one."
"I sure hope there wasn't anything too pressing in it."
Not unless you counted the honor society reception that was due to happen in less than a month.
"I put my bills on automatic payment as soon as the technology was invented."
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She did laugh then. "So I suppose there was a reason for your call? You didn't just dial the wrong number."
This was going almost too well. He'd known, after Friday night, that Jamie wouldn't be able to deny there was something special between them. But dared he hope that he wouldn't have to spend months undoing the damage he'd done by making love to her so prematurely five years before?
"I have a favor to ask."
"You need more accounting done?"
"I need a party."
"What?"
Picking up the memo he'd found that morning, Kyle read it aloud. Every word.
"So what's the problem?"
"Wait until you've known me longer. You won't have to ask."
Her laugh was a little less natural, and Kyle's guard went back up. So she could handle a friendly phone conversation. She wasn't yet ready to talk about a relationship or even, apparently, getting to know each other.
Fine. They wouldn't talk about it. They'd just do it. And maybe his prickly angel of mercy wouldn't notice.
"Please, will you plan my party for me, Jamie?" he asked, injecting just enough little-boy earnestness to make her laugh. If she had any idea how badly he really needed her help—or how determined he was to spend time with her for any reason—she'd probably hang up on him.
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"It's three weeks from this Friday?" she inquired.
Kyle nodded. And then realized she couldn't see him. "Yes."
"Where?"
"My house."
"You'll have furniture by then?"
He would've had it already if he hadn't told the company February 1 instead of January 1. Somehow, he'd thought the interim furnished apartment he'd rented was for sixteen weeks instead of twelve. "Yes."
' 'Do you have any idea what kind of theme you want?"
He opened his mouth to say no. To tell her he'd leave it completely up to her.
But… "I figured we could come up with something together." Where did one shop for themes?
"If I do this, there can't be any, um, funny business."
"I'm wounded," Kyle said, allowing himself a victorious grin since she wasn't there to see. "What kind of man do you take me for?''
"I mean it, Kyle." There was no laughter in her tone now. "If I help you, it has to be on strictly a friendship basis."
"Fine." If she needed time, he'd give it to her. He was too damn relieved that she was willing to see him at all to worry about the small stuff.
"Okay, then."
"Okay."
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' 'Well, maybe we should meet one day this week to decide on a theme?"
"How about dinner?" he asked, both his planners in front of him. "Tonight?"
"I can't."
"Lunch tomorrow?"
"Ashley's only at preschool in the morning."
"A late breakfast on Wednesday?"
"Do you ever think about anything but eating?"
Yeah. He thought about her. A lot. Way more than he thought about food. All the time. "Nope. That's about it."
"Okay." She was laughing again. "I'll see you Wednesday morning."
Kyle set a time, writing it down in both his personal and school planners, just to be sure he didn't miss it, and rang off.
But not before he'd heard the sleepy little voice in the background calling for Mommy. The jolt that shot through him just before he put the phone back in its cradle shocked him. Until that second, Jamie's daughter had been little more than a picture, a fact from her past. Suddenly the child was real—a living, breathing part of Jamie. Kyle felt a strong desire to meet her. And to know what had happened to her father.
"So, how'd Dennis take the news of his impending fatherhood?'' Jamie asked her friend later that morning. Dennis had just left for Lake Tahoe, where he'd be making calls for the next couple of days.
Because she jumped up from the kitchen table to
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take the coffee grounds from the filter of her automatic coffeemaker and throw them away, Karen's reply was muffled. "I didn't tell him."
"You didn't?" Jamie frowned. She'd been envisioning the scene all weekend. Had played it out in a variety of different ways—all ending with an ecstatic Dennis taking Karen in his arms. "Why not?"
Karen shrugged, wiping off not only the coffee-maker but the kitchen counters. "I lost a baby before Kay la—did I tell you that?"
"No!"
"Well, I did." Karen topped their cups of coffee. "It was hard."
"I can imagine." Jamie bit her lip. "What happened?"
"Doctor said it was just one of those things."
Jamie couldn't even imagine how she would've felt if she'd lost Ashley. In spite of the circumstances surrounding Ashley's conception, she'd been elated the second she'd known she was pregnant. She'd been completely in love with her baby.
"Did you have problems with Kayla?"
Shaking her head, Karen stood by the table, sipping her coffee.
"Should you be having that?" Suddenly Jamie was afraid for Karen, for the baby she carried.
"It's decaf," Karen said. "Anyway, I just want to be a little further along before I tell Dennis about this new baby."
Jamie didn't agree with her friend. In her view, it made sense for Karen to share her burden, her fears, with the man who had as much at stake as she did;
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that was what love, marriage and family were all about. But she was the last person who could call herself an expert on any of those subjects.
As Karen busied herself with early lunch preparations, Jamie couldn't help wondering if there was more on her friend's mind than a miscarriage that had happened five or six years ago. If maybe there was some other reason Karen wasn't telling Dennis about the baby. Could there be trouble in paradise? Were her friends having problems with their marriage?
The thought discomfited her. Karen and Dennis were perfect together; they complemented each other. When one was discouraged, the other was uplifting; when one had a thought, the other completed it. Jamie lived every dream she'd ever had of love and marriage vicariously through her friends. She couldn't bear it if they weren't happy together.
"You know that new client from the university I was working for last week?"
"The great-looking guy who came by your house?" Karen turned around and grinned, more her old self.
Flushed, Jamie looked away. "His name's Kyle Radcliff. He's the new head of the English department."
"Yeah. So, do I detect interest here?"
"No!" Jamie made sure Karen got that picture loud and clear. It was precisely because she hated the idea of her friend jumping to conclusions that she was saying anything at all. "But he's new in
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town and has to host some honor society gathering. I said I'd help him."
Karen stared at her. "You are interested in him."
Shaking her head, Jamie joined her at the counter, took up a knife and started chopping vegetables for the soup Karen had started. "Not in the way you mean, I'm not," she said. Absolutely certain on that count. Even if she were interested, there was no point. "But he's kind of endearing, in a friends sort of way, and seems to be completely hopeless when it comes to ordinary, everyday things." Jamie smiled, thinking of his cardboard-box furniture. "He asked if I'd help, since I'm about the only person he knows except for his students and Dean Patterson. I didn't have the heart to refuse."
In actuality, Jamie had seen the party as just the opportunity she needed to get to know Kyle, to determine he
r next course of action. The right course of action. Whatever that might be.
"Is he interested in you?" Karen dumped a bowl of sliced potatoes into a dutch oven.
"It doesn't matter if he is. I'm not going out with him." Jamie was adamant.
Karen stopped, a cup of diced onions suspended over the pan. "I don't see why not," she said, her tone exasperated. "In all the years I've known you, you've never had a date." She continued to pin Jamie with her gaze. "You're young, beautiful, a great person. It's not natural for you to be alone."
The knife in Jamie's hand slipped, slicing the tip of her finger instead of the carrot she'd been aiming
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for. "I'm not alone," she said, her injured finger in her mouth. "I have Ash."
With an inelegant snort, Karen let Jamie know what she thought of that. "Have you been out on a date, even once, since you had her?"
"Not…really." Last Friday didn't count.
"Don't you think five years is long enough to grieve?"
If she only knew. "I'm not grieving." Had Karen forgotten she wasn't a widow?
"Aren't you?" Potatoes and onions in the pan, Karen started scooping up the carrots Jamie had managed to cut. ' 'Seems to me you got burned and you're grieving for the dreams you lost."
Jamie was so busy convincing herself that she knew exactly what she wanted—or didn't want— that it took a minute for Karen's words to sink in. For the truth to hit her.
Maybe she was grieving. Not for lost dreams; she'd given up on them the day she'd met Tom Webber's chic and "out of her league" wife. But the more time she spent with Kyle, the more she suspected that the night they'd shared all those years ago had been as special as she'd first thought—and the harder it was for her to forget, to be happy only with what she had.
It seemed there were some dreams that didn't die. No matter how hopeless they might be.
Kyle was on his third cup of coffee by the time Jamie arrived at the campus deli they'd decided on for their breakfast Wednesday morning. And be-
Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret Page 9