“When, then?” Jack grabbed a waffle box off the counter, upended it and shook it. Nothing happened. With a muttered curse, he stuffed the box into the trash.
Why’s he getting all stressed? Mel wondered. Afraid I’ll disrupt his secret life of leisure if I’m around for a few hours?
“I don’t kn—”
“What would you like to do?” The question came out muffled: Jack had his head deep in the freezer while he rooted around for something.
“Well, I don’t kn—”
“Aha!” He waved a box of pancakes around like an athlete hoisting some big trophy. Tearing it open and plating a couple, he programmed the microwave, then poured a glass of juice and directed her to sit.
“Plenty to do in the Metroplex,” he continued, leaning on one hand near the nuker. “I know!” he exclaimed. “Six Flags just opened—we’ll go there. Then do dinner and a movie.”
Mel’s blood froze. “But, but that would be—” Like a date, she finished silently. Appalled. Mostly at how much she wanted to—when she knew how much of a disaster it would be. She hadn’t been on a real date in years. Talk about a fish out of water! More like completely off the planet.
“We’re married, Melinda,” Jack pointed out gently. “Married people can go places together. It’s in the fine print,” he added with a teasing purr.
But this wasn’t a teasing matter. As limited as their contact might be, it meant a lot to Mel. Too much to risk screwing up by enhanced exposure.
Better he think she’s a workaholic than a pathetic loser. “No. We…we can’t, that’s all.”
Jack got a strange look on his face. His jaw jutted.
Mel braced herself for some domineering macho pronouncement, but “Your pancakes are ready” was all he said.
So she ate the round breakfast products—stuffing down her disappointment at his easy capitulation with every bite. Trying to ignore the male heat coming off his body as he sat watching her. Scowling faintly.
It occurred to her as she swallowed juice that he could be taking her refusal to go out with him personally. Misinterpretation seemed to be a male hobby. It was certainly easier than paying attention and thinking.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to,” Mel said, trying to make the truth sound like a lie trying to sound like the truth.
Aargh! This male-female interacting got convoluted faster than Bowen found fault. “I thought about what you said last night….” Only between reliving that stellar cafeteria kiss over and over! “And you’re right—I could use a little time off, but you’re busy.”
“So?”
“So I don’t expect you to keep me company.”
She could grab a bite and go to a movie by herself and enjoy it, couldn’t she?
Mel scooped pancake onto her fork and delivered it to her esophagus. Normally, she’d noticed, food tasted better with Jack’s company, but this morning the cooked batter tasted like packing pellets. “You’ve got better things to do.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know—sleep? Study? Take a bubble bath? Wait for Godot the repairman.”
He twinkled those sapphire eyes at her and instantly she lost her train of thought, dammit. Oh. Yeah. Better things to do.
Oh, yeah, she could think of a few! None of which were solitary pursuits.
Downing the last of the juice, Mel pushed back her chair. “Thanks for breakfast. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you do for me. I’ll call when I know how late I’ll—”
“Mel.”
Oh, God! The way he was looking at her—heat simmering in his sapphire eyes. She wanted to crawl up in his lap, nuzzle his neck, open her mouth for one of his hypersensual kisses and return the favor to the best of her ability.
“You remember my sister?”
She didn’t remember anybody’s sister at the moment. Oh. “T-Tess?”
Jack nodded, the little strand of cowlick hair wiggled—and Mel felt swoonier than ever. “She’s become a hermit since Pete…well, it’s not healthy.” For some reason, he was speaking to either the napkin holder or the salt shaker in the center of the table. “I’m worried about her.”
Now he lowered his gaze to his lap. A destination Mel’s optic nerve centers would enjoy perusing, too. “I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to coax her out of that apartment, but…”
He shared a sly look with one of the kitchen machines whose purpose Mel had never grasped. “If she thought it was for somebody else’s benefit…”
Good thing the guy liked financial planning; he’d starve as a double agent. “You mean, we invite her somewhere and tell her I won’t go unless she comes along?”
Mel bit her lip when Jack nodded, obviously pleased with his clumsy manipulation.
She was beginning to think men weren’t some strange species after all, just simple-minded women with optional equipment below the belt.
“Okay,” she said, putting her dishes in the sink before heading upstairs to dress for work. Tess knew her brother even better than Mel did; let her see through him and say no. Or say yes, thus giving Mel an opportunity to relax, enjoy Jack’s company and attempt the art of casual conversation—with the help of a nice woman who might become a friend. “I’ll try to get half a day off next week.”
What would she rather do with some free hours? Mel wondered as she donned black pants. Sleep or be with Jack and his sister?
Pulling on a lavender tee she thought used to be long sleeved and hip length but now sported three-quarter sleeves and barely covered her waist, she told her raging-hormonal self to chill on the alternate leisure activity it championed: sleeping with Jack.
A foolish idea. A tantalizing fantasy.
About as likely as Leo Bowen praising her surgical technique.
“DAMMIT, TESS!” Jack yelled—er, pleaded. “I’m begging you.” A basket holding four gallons of milk and two screaming toddlers zoomed past him.
He raised an eyebrow at the speeding mom, but continued scanning the shelves of snack crackers and cookies.
Aha. Jack snagged a box of graham crackers. He’d discovered that Mel liked them with peanut butter, so now he put a little sack of peanut butter on grahams and an apple in her purse every morning. Otherwise, she’d drop in at a Stop & Shop on the way to or from work, buy a Moon Pie and claim she’d eaten.
He’d caught on to that when he’d taken her car in to get the oil changed the day after she’d agreed to try to take some time off, which so far—three days later—she hadn’t “remembered” to schedule. The kid changing the oil had joked about all the wrappers he’d found when he’d cleaned the car’s interior.
Another little known aspect of the housewife’s job description: must be part detective, part psychologist and part saint. “Come on, Tess. Help me out here.”
“Help you out?” his sister squawked.
Jack dropped the crackers into his basket and passed a lady who ducked her head as he rolled by. Ha. Cookie junkie! He gave her an Elvis lip twitch and she scurried away. But she’d be back. He knew it, she knew it.
“Forget it! I’m not falling for another of your pathetic ploys to trick me into a blind date!”
Holding the phone away from his face, Jack shot it a look of disbelief. Here he was, just trying to be helpful, caring, considerate, and this was the grief he caught?
“It’s not a ploy, Tess.” Well, yes, it was. But it was diabolically clever, not pathetic! “And I promise, no dates—blind or otherwise. Just you and me dragging Melinda off and giving her something to look at, do and think about besides the messed-up insides of little kids.”
“Why?”
“Because she works too—”
“No, idiot-boy. Why drag me into it?”
Negotiations had reached a delicate phase. Seeking privacy, Jack turned down the first deserted aisle he came to. Good—just him, lightbulbs and motor oil.
“Because she won’t go unless she thinks we’re doing it for you.” He sighed. It shouldn’t be so hard
to get people to do what was good for them, even if it was the last thing they felt like doing.
“Why? Is the honeymoon over?” Tess asked.
Never got started. But Jack was too smart to spill that tidbit, especially to his sister.
“You two aren’t having problems, are you?”
Dammit. He sensed some leverage there, but all this subtle intrigue made his head spin worse than single-premium variable annuities did.
Calling on every particle of noble character and self-control he possessed, Jack growled, “None of your beeswax, Sis! But I figure it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time together on neutral ground. So are you gonna help me or not?”
“Oh, okay,” Tess said. Grudgingly! After all he’d done for her. “I’ll be your co-conspirator—but only to protect poor Melinda from your steamrolling.”
Wounded by the unfounded accusation—he never steamrolled!—Jack shook his head as he resumed shopping. There was something he needed from sundries…toothpaste, that was it.
“…your plan?”
Huh? Oh. “Well, I want her out in the fresh air, out of pager range and thoroughly distracted. I’m open to suggestions, but a neighbor’s wife mentioned a giant flea market, east of Dallas somewhere.”
“A flea market?”
“I think that’s what she said.” Flea market, flea circus. Who cared? As long as he got to be with Mel and she got to see him taking care of her.
He could practically hear Tess drumming her fingers as she considered the idea. No, that was somebody tapping the store mike. Alerting shoppers to an impending announcement about the usual special on fried chicken from the deli. Which Jack dared anyone to reheat without turning it into rubber chew toys.
“Do you mean the Canton First Monday Trade Days?”
How did women know these things? Jack wondered as he picked up a carton of orange juice, then exchanged it for one with calcium. Mel needed all the nutritional assistance he could give her. “That’s it. So you’re on-board?”
“Sounds like fun. When are we going?”
“Depends on Mel. It’s held the four-day weekend before the first Monday of every month. I’ll call you if she takes off one of those days. And when I do, just play along, okay?”
Jack thought Tess muttered something about an imbecile and his double-helix twisted plot, but it was probably a glitch in the cell reception.
“Play along?” Tess barked, her tone threatening renewed resistance. “How?”
“Back up my story.” Jack double-parked at the bread. “Pretend you don’t really want to come.”
“Well, I don’t!”
Selecting a loaf loaded with healthy nuts and twigs, Jack grinned as he rolled it off his fingertips into the basket. “So see? You won’t even have to lie.”
ONCE SHE’D DECIDED to do it, fortune smiled on Mel. Bowen announced a three-day absence the following week for a conference in Belize. Simmons’s wife had just informed him she was pregnant again, so he volunteered to take Mel’s shift in the Pediatric Screening Clinic on the Bowen-less Thursday.
“Don’t rush into motherhood, Burke,” he advised glumly. “Having kids is unbelievably expensive.”
She wouldn’t know. Too busy feeling like one herself.
Like a kid at Christmas. Forget an afternoon—she had a whole day off! The evening, too, if she wanted. With Jack.
And his sister.
Which was okay. Safer. Mel wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be alone with her spouse. Just me, Jack and my feminine side—locked and loaded? A recipe for disaster. Especially if she was the only partner wanting to get closer than cloth allowed.
“SORRY TO BOTHER YOU again, Mrs. P.” Jack cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder, squinting at the recipe card he held. “But now it says ‘knead until smooth and elastic.”’
A minute later, Jack thanked the woman for her clarification and hung up, pretending not to hear her laughing at his expense.
Thanks to Joe Donaldson, he now had a functioning stove capable of producing home-cooked meals. Tonight, he’d be wowing Mel with meat loaf, smashed potatoes from a box and—ta-da!—homemade bread.
The phone rang just as his hands sank into the dough. He let the machine get it while he squished more flour into the sticky mixture.
“Hey, Halloran, it’s Sher. Call me. I want a status report on the joys of married life.” Sardonic snicker. “Oh! You don’t happen to know anything about ceiling fans, do you? Mine’s weirding out on me and Maintenance can’t get to it for weeks. Later.”
When he finished kneading the dough—at least, he thought he was finished, although what elastic flour paste looked like, who knew?—Jack consulted the recipe again, then put the blob in a greasy bowl, covered it with foil and “put it in a warm place to rise.” The warmest place he could find was the cement apron ringing the pool.
Which Preston had back in pristine condition. That clear blue water looked inviting.
While he waited for the dough to double in size, he called ol’ Bob and set up a time for him to fix Sherry’s fan.
Heading back into the den to pick up where he’d left off with bond ratings bases, Jack considered the significance of that exchange.
He stood at the nexus of a cheap, reliable supply of help and an endless demand for it. It didn’t take Financial Planner Certification to figure out that somebody should take advantage of the situation. But how, exactly?
The phone rang again. Jack snatched it up. “What?” he snarled at whatever telemarketer was disturbing his peace this time.
“J-Jack?”
“Melinda! Sorry. I thought you were calling about siding or had a truck on my street.” Through sheer force of will, he made himself shut up. “How are you?” he asked, trying to sound sane, when just hearing her breathe made him nuts. He couldn’t remember even his first crush hitting him as hard as she did.
“Busy.” Icicles hung from both syllables. “I just…I’ve got next Thursday off.”
Mel had no idea what response she expected. Not the “Fantastic!” she got. It made her feel so warm and giddy, she smiled at a passing administrator, who of course looked shocked and scurried away.
“What time can you get home tonight?” Jack asked eagerly. Mel got warmer, giddier. “I want to call Tess when you’re here,” he explained, dashing her silly adolescent hopes to microscopic shards. “In case I need you to substantiate my li—er, story. She’s a suspicious broad,” he added peevishly.
Summoning her professional persona, Mel answered coolly, “I’ll try to be home before ten.”
Another “Fantastic!” followed by a purring promise, “There’ll be a surprise waiting for you.”
With a muttered curse word, Mel crashed the receiver onto its cradle. She had an appendix to remove in ten minutes; she couldn’t be mooning around, imagining, in a profoundly erotic manner, the nature of Jack’s surprise.
Next Thursday’s expedition—not date—was becoming increasingly necessary. She had to get over her obsession with her husband!
“HEY, TESS, how’s it going?” Jack smiled at Mel as he played out his side of the phone call.
“So, are we on?”
“Good, good. Work okay?”
“Skip the BS,” Tess snapped. “I’m in the middle of a show.”
“That’s great. Say…I was wondering if I could interest you in a proposition.”
“Absolutely not! First Monday, you and Mel. That was the deal.”
“Well, you see, I’ve finally browbeaten Mel into going to Canton on Thursday. But she’d like you to go with us.”
“What time?”
Jack covered the mouthpiece to address his audience. “She’s hesitating,” he whispered. “What should I say?” Without waiting for Mel’s answer, he withdrew his hand and spoke coaxingly into the phone. “She’s really looking forward to getting to know her sister-in-law. Please don’t disappoint her.”
“This is ridiculous,” Tess said. “When should I be ready?”
>
“Pretty please?”
His sister used a word forbidden in the Halloran childhood home.
“Great, great,” Jack said, pretending he’d persuaded his sister at last. “How about if we pick you up about nine?”
He turned his back on Mel, to block the dial tone, and kept talking. “Oh, just wear something comfortable…. Yes, she’s looking forward to spending time with you, too. Okay, Tess. Bye-bye.”
Turning around again in time to see his spouse dispose of her bread into the trash can, he faked oblivion. The dough hadn’t doubled in the hot sun. It hadn’t risen a bit. He’d baked it anyway—and ended up with a brick. He’d only served it as proof he did things around here.
“She fell for it?” Mel asked.
Jack nodded. Dammit, he did work hard. Unfortunately, most of what he did got undone immediately or was otherwise unnoticeable. No wonder women jumped into the corporate trenches seeking power and recognition. Didn’t appeal to him anymore—been there, done that—but he could see the attraction of tangible, external rewards.
“Good. Well…thanks for dinner, Jack. The meat loaf’s wonderful!” Mel disrupted—and disproved—his thoughts with her velvet-voiced praise.
Face it, Mel in any format disrupted his thinking. He couldn’t concentrate on squat when she was around. And when she wasn’t, her clothes were. Her childhood pictures. All the symbols of her dreams and drives—the drives that threatened to overwhelm her. The dreams that had brought them together. Except they weren’t. Which was why he spun so many fantasies about her.
This flea market trip couldn’t happen soon enough for Jack. He needed to get to know the real, true, actual Melinda Burke. Then she wouldn’t bother him anymore. Hot-and-bother him, that is. Like he’d never been hot and bothered before.
THURSDAY ARRIVED about as quickly as campaign-financing reform.
Jack let Mel sleep until seven. Just as he was about to take her coffee upstairs, she showed up at the breakfast table in a pair of long legs—er, shorts and a barely sleeved shirt he must have overdried because it clung like skin to…well, her skin, clearly outlining her world-class luscious curves in the process.
Jack poured her some OJ; he missed the glass by a good five inches. After wiping up the mess, he mumbled something about neighbor assignments and disappeared.
Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife Page 27