Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  “Well…if I can break dance and play tennis, why not?” Jeanette murmured dryly.

  “I’ll buy you a racket. I promise.”

  “You’re a good girl,” Jeanette said, patting the slender hand beside her on the bed.

  Amelia could have laughed at that. Yes, she’d been a good girl. What was she now? Worth’s cast-off lover. He’d tired of her very quickly, she thought bitterly. After all, he didn’t want any complications in his private life. The last thing he needed was a little country girl from Georgia who drove a battered old Ford. It didn’t help to remember that she’d practically thrown herself at him.

  She’d left the keys to the Mercedes on his desk and was driving that old car again, silently challenging him to forbid her. But he hadn’t seemed to notice or care. Why should he, she thought bitterly. He’d had what he wanted from her. She’d wanted to comfort him, but he’d needed a woman, just as he’d said. And she’d mistaken what they’d shared for caring on his part. But men didn’t have to care about women to make love to them. She should have remembered that. She should never have let it happen. It was all her fault. But her soft heart had overruled her mind. The regrets were piling up on her, and with them a vague fear of consequences. Of all the gross stupidity, not to have taken precautions. What in the world would she do if she were pregnant?

  Her heart leaped. But it didn’t always happen, she told herself. Only during that fertile period. She remembered then, with cold horror, that that had been her fertile period. Her eyes closed on a silent prayer. Please, she thought, please forgive me and don’t let my stupidity foul up so many lives.

  Her parents would never get over it if she were pregnant. They lived in a small town, where everyone would know, and the shame would never leave them. If she stayed in Chicago, on the other hand, how could she support a child when she couldn’t even support herself? She wouldn’t be able to go on working for Jeanette, not carrying Worth’s child.

  She bit her lip almost through. No, she told herself firmly, there was no sense in this self-torment. Lots of women had affairs. Lots of them didn’t get pregnant. Perhaps she was even barren; some women were. And why worry herself over something that would probably never happen? She tossed back her hair and asked Jeanette if she wanted a soft drink, and when the older woman nodded, she went out to get it. Everything would be all right, she told herself. And at least Jeanette was going to get well. That was one good thing to come out of all the torment.

  Nine

  Amelia stayed with Mrs. Carson every day, almost all day. Worth came and went as his time allowed, but he was committed now to two projects, and they saw little of him during the day. He teased Jeanette and did what he could to make her comfortable. But he spoke to Amelia only when it was unavoidable, and he seemed brooding and reserved with her.

  On Friday, he came to take his grandmother home, in her own Rolls, and the nurses stood and stared lovingly at its sleek lines. Jeanette, flattered by the interest, wouldn’t rest until they’d all taken turns sitting in the front seat, sighing over the luxurious interior with its built-in stereo, TV, bar and phone.

  Worth settled his grandmother in her room, in a hospital bed he’d rented for her recuperation. Baskets of flowers were everywhere, and Jeanette went into ecstasies examining them.

  Amelia left her long enough to walk out to the porch with Worth. It was just barely autumn, warm and lazy days with a soft breeze and birdsongs. Amelia stood in the sunlight, bareheaded, thinking back a week to happier times, to companionship and soft loving at night. She didn’t dare look at Worth, because he might not want to see that wistful sadness in her eyes.

  He stuck a big hand in the pocket of his beige slacks, looking big and much darker in the suit and vest that emphasized his powerful build. His black hair had fallen onto his broad forehead, over dark eyes that grew darker as he stared down at Amelia, with her own dark hair loose and blowing in the wind around her shoulders. She wore a soft gray sleeveless dress and sandals.

  “I’ll be out of the country for a couple of months, Amy,” he said, eyes narrowed as they searched her face. “I have to go down to Colombia, to oversee our project. It’s too important to entrust to any of my executives.”

  Her heart fell. She lived for the sight of him. But it would be easier. She folded her hands. “When will you leave?”

  “Monday morning. You can have your old room back. She’ll need you at night, you understand.”

  “Yes.”

  He tilted her chin up, searching her sad eyes with his own. “It’s still haunting you, isn’t it? You with your strict upbringing and your puritan conscience. I should have sent you to bed alone that night. But I was half out of my mind with worry, and full of whiskey.” He studied her closely. “Do you still hate me?”

  “You didn’t force me,” she replied. “You were worried about Jeanette. I knew that.”

  “And took pity on me.” He laughed coolly. “Your soft heart is going to be your undoing some day.”

  As if she’d martyred herself to comfort him, she thought miserably. But how could she deny it? The only way would be to admit that she was in love with him. And that would finish her employment here. He’d have to get rid of her then, if she showed signs of wanting to cling.

  “It wasn’t completely unselfish,” she said.

  He searched her eyes slowly, deeply, and his breath seemed to catch. “You can’t know how much I wish…” He broke off and tore his eyes away to check his watch, avoiding looking straight at her. “I’m late again. Take care of her. I’ll try to get home in time for supper.”

  She didn’t answer him. Apparently he didn’t expect her to. He got into the Mercedes and drove off.

  Later, she told Jeanette she was going over to her apartment to get her clothes and went out to the garage to uncover her pitiful means of transport. And found it gone.

  In its place was a little blue Japanese car, brand-new, with a big bow on top. There was a note as well.

  “Amy, don’t argue. Just get in and drive it. Your Ford is now a compact. I had it towed away for scrap. Consider this a thank-you, for all you’ve done. Worth.”

  She sputtered and fumed at his high-handedness, thought about rushing to rescue her faithful old car. And then realized that no amount of raving was going to bring it back. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door and slid in. The key was in the ignition. Forgetting the bow on top, she drove away.

  But that night she tackled Worth the minute he came into the dining room. Mrs. Carson had been given her supper and was sleeping comfortably with a buzzer at her side to summon help if it was needed. Amelia was nibbling halfheartedly at a salad.

  “That isn’t eating,” he grumbled, glaring at her bowl of lettuce and tomato. He tossed his jacket into a chair and sat down. Baxter peeked out and went back into the kitchen to bring the food.

  “It is so. I want my car back,” she said shortly.

  His heavy eyebrows rose. “What for? It’s about six inches thick by now. They run them through the crusher, you know.”

  “I will not accept expensive presents from you,” she told him, her blue eyes spitting at him across the table. “I don’t need to be paid for one night!”

  The look on his face was indescribable. His eyelid flinched, as if the angry remark had cut him to the heart.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said curtly, staring at her intently, broodingly. “I swear to God I didn’t, Amy.”

  She lowered her gaze to her lettuce. She felt sick. “I appreciate your good intentions,” she said after a minute. “But I don’t want your help, Worth.”

  “You could have been killed in that damned piece of junk,” he shot at her. “It was twenty years old if it was a day. Any mechanic would have told you it wasn’t safe to drive. You’re no good to my grandmother dead!”

  So that was it. It wasn’t concern for her welfare, it was concern about an employee who was useful. She might have realized that in the beginning.

  She smiled
at her own naiveté. “Okay. I’ll drive it while I work for your grandmother. But that’s all,” she added. “I won’t accept ownership of it.”

  “You’re so damned stubborn,” he grumbled as Baxter came in with a huge steak and a side salad and baked potato, placing them neatly before him.

  “Will you have coffee, sir?” Baxter asked.

  “Yes, please. Have you fed Grandmother?”

  Baxter beamed. “Yes, sir. She ate a good supper and went to sleep.”

  “She’s resting very well,” Amelia added. “I’ve checked on her, to make sure.”

  Baxter went to fetch the coffeepot and Amelia held out her own cup for a refill.

  She and Worth finished the meal in silence. “You won’t change your mind about the car?” he asked quietly.

  “I will not.”

  “I owe you something, for all you’ve done,” he began.

  “You gave me a car,” she said. “What do you usually give your one-night stands?” she asked with innocent mockery.

  The reaction she got was astonishing. He slammed down his empty cup, breaking it in the process, and she jumped. He scowled at her, his face harder than flint. He got up and left the room without another word.

  Baxter came in to see what the noise was, gasping when he saw the broken china. Amelia couldn’t speak. Tears had made her throat sore. They spilled over as she tried to calm down, sipping coffee that burned her mouth. Baxter was too polite to ask questions, but he gave her a sympathetic glance as he carried the remnants of the expensive old china out to the kitchen. She couldn’t look up. She was crying too hard.

  She went straight to her room after she finished her coffee, and stayed there. Since Worth was home, he could go if his grandmother needed someone, she thought miserably. She stretched out on the coverlet and let the tears come. She cried for the tension of the past week, for a love she’d only discovered as she was losing it. She cried for her own folly and the possibility of consequences that could ruin her entire life. Most of all, she cried because she was hurt. Worth had looked at her as if he hated her.

  That opinion seemed justified in the days that followed. Saturday and Sunday were an ordeal, because Worth was home all day, both days. Trying to keep his grandmother from seeing the tension was as hard as trying to avoid Worth. But Amelia managed it, just. It was for the best, she kept telling herself. Worth didn’t want her anymore. She was nothing more than an embarrassment to him now, a regret that walked and talked, a visible thorn in his conscience.

  When he announced early Monday morning that he was on his way to Colombia at last, Amelia could have cried with mingled regret and relief.

  He said goodbye to his grandmother, and Amelia stayed glued to the chair by the elderly woman’s bed, refusing to budge as he stood there in his neat cream-colored suit and glared down at her.

  “I can be reached at the Sheraton in Bogota, in an emergency,” he told the women. “I’ll always leave word where I’m going to be.”

  Amelia nodded, her voice nonexistent. Please, don’t let me cry, she prayed. Don’t let him see how much he’s hurt me. She clasped her hands on the lap of her green dress to keep them from trembling and giving her away. She forced herself to smile, when she felt like wailing.

  “Have a good trip,” she told him.

  He searched her eyes, and there was something new in his, something quiet and faintly stunned. His bold gaze covered all of her, from toes to hair, and stopped briefly on her mouth.

  “Take care of Grandmother,” he told her. “And yourself,” he added in a different tone.

  “You, too,” she said. She threw him a careless smile. “There are snakes in the jungle, two-legged as well as the usual kind. Watch yourself.”

  “Do look out for drug smugglers, dear,” Jeanette cautioned, and her eyes were watchful. “It goes on everywhere, but especially there. Don’t put yourself at risk.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, chuckling. He bent and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Don’t do this again,” he instructed.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” She threw his own words back at him. “Amelia will take good care of me, don’t worry. Call us once a week or so, to let us know how you are.”

  “I will.” His quiet, near-black eyes went to Amelia’s creamy complexion and traced every line of her face. “Walk out with me, Amy.”

  “I’d rather say goodbye here, if you don’t mind,” she said with uncharacteristic hesitation. She smiled wanly.

  “I do mind,” he returned. “Come on.”

  With a helpless look at Jeanette, who was watching the byplay suspiciously, Amelia got up and passed by him into the hall. Worth said something to Jeanette and closed the door.

  Amelia walked beside him to the front porch, pausing on the top step. “Well?” she asked coldly.

  He had his attaché case in one hand. The other tilted her chin up to make her look at him. He seemed bigger than ever this close. She smelled the Oriental cologne he wore and felt his breath on her face. And hated him for the sensations that rippled in the body, in her mind.

  “I can’t leave with you hating me,” he said, choosing his words. “I didn’t mean to blow up at you over the damned car.”

  She kept her voice steady, although it wasn’t easy. “It’s okay. I’ve already forgotten.”

  His thumb smoothed over her chin and reached up to trace her bottom lip. “It wasn’t what you said,” he growled. “I don’t think of you as a one-night stand. I never did. You made it sound cheap, when that’s the last thing it was.”

  She wanted to ask why that bothered him, but she didn’t. She shrugged carelessly. “No harm done. Anyway, it’s all over now.”

  “Is it, really?” He searched her eyes. His kindled, darkened, his breath caught in his chest. “Come here and tell me goodbye properly.”

  He caught her waist and pulled her in to his body. He bent and started to kiss her, but her instincts for survival were sharp. She jerked away from him, frightened of what she might give away if those firm, warm lips came down on her own.

  The look on his face shocked her. She saw surprise and sudden torment mingle in his eyes before he dropped his hand. He stared at her levelly, his eyes accusing, as if she’d hurt him.

  “Don’t,” she whispered huskily, her big eyes wide and quiet.

  “For God’s sake, why not?” he asked shortly.

  “I don’t need pity,” she said miserably. “And you don’t have to feel guilty about what happened, either. We both know that you’ve had all of me you wanted. I’m just another castoff, like the car you got rid of.” Her eyes lifted. “If it weren’t for your grandmother, I imagine you’d have shot me out the door days ago.”

  He stiffened, his eyes grew cold. “You can’t credit me with a single unselfish motive, can you? All right, Amy, you’re entitled to your own opinion, regardless of how far off the mark it is. While I’m gone, you’ll have plenty of time to think about it. Maybe absence will accomplish what I can’t.”

  His eyes searched hers quietly, so intently that she felt her heart leap, and then he turned away. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t look back. He put his attaché case in the car, got in under the steering wheel and drove off. He didn’t even wave. And Amelia stood on the steps and cried as she watched him leave, tears rolling down her cheeks, made silvery in the sunlight.

  “Goodbye, Worth,” she whispered.

  She took her time about going back to Jeanette’s room. But when she walked in, the elderly lady appraised her and smiled slowly.

  “Now,” she murmured. “Come and sit down and tell me why you’re fighting with Worth.”

  Amelia bluffed it out. “He gave me a car. Tried to give me a car,” she corrected.

  Jeanette’s face fell. “Oh. So that was it.”

  “I won’t be treated like a charity case. I like you. I stay here because I care, not because I want to be pampered.”

  “You’re independent and proud, Amy,” Jeanette said gently. “And I adore y
ou, because I’m independent and proud, too. I hate being waited on and looked after.”

  “I don’t mind looking after you,” Amelia said gently, and smiled. “So stop making me feel like a jailer. You just get well, boss lady, and I’ll help you escape from the big dark jailer. Okay?”

  Jeanette laughed delightedly. “Okay!” She yawned and blinked. “I’m so tired. Worth looked worse than I do, you know. Was he very upset?”

  “Terribly,” Amelia replied. She sat down by the bed. “He loves you very much.”

  “Yes, I love him, too. I’m sorry it was so hard on him. I do worry about him, Amy. What is he going to do when I die?” she asked softly. “I can’t live forever. And just lately, I have trouble finding reasons to stay alive myself. There’s nothing to look forward to. He’ll never marry. There’ll never be great-grandchildren.” Her wrinkled face seemed to age with sorrow. “The end of the line. It stops with him. All my dreams, gone.” Her sigh was bitter. “Oh, Amy, he’ll be so alone.”

  Amelia bit her lower lip and looked down. “I know.”

  She felt the old, wrinkled hand sliding into hers. “It hurts me to think of him going on the way he is.” The pale eyes lanced into hers. “Amy, do you ever think of him…as a man?”

  It took all Amelia’s willpower not to let that remark get to her. She faked a smile. “Once in a while,” she confessed with just the right amount of interest. “He’s very attractive.”

  “He watches you, Amy,” she said unexpectedly. “All the time. I hoped you might feel something for him, because I think he feels a great deal for you.”

  Amelia had to fight down a blush. Yes, of course he did, he’d slept with her and he remembered how good it had been, but he wasn’t interested in a lifetime of her. He just felt guilty.

  “Do you think so?” she asked Jeanette, but she couldn’t meet the older woman’s eyes.

  “Worth’s spent most of his life alone,” the older woman told her. She moved her silvery head on the pillow. “Even as a boy. He was never a joiner. Then, he went into the Marines and served in Vietnam. When he came home, he’d changed drastically. He drank for a year, and was frankly in danger of becoming addicted, until I persuaded him to get some counseling. He quit, and he’s never gone back, except for an occasional drink now and then. Then it was women, a different one every night. Until Connie.” She tugged at the sheet. “He’s never had much love. His parents died, and he knew that Jackie was my favorite. It was only after Jackie died that I turned to Worth. He’s so used to secondhand love, Amy. When Connie betrayed him, I suppose it was just the last straw. He’s drawn into himself this past year. He talks about growing old, but always alone. And so much of it is my fault. I’ve had a long time to live with my regrets.”