by Maren Smith
Travis firmly clasped Dale’s hand in his. His amber eyes locked on the blonde man’s blue ones and never left them, even as Travis neatly stole Megan from his one-armed grasp and handed her back to her unhappy mother. Megan quieted down almost immediately. “Jamie, darling, why don’t you bring Mister…”
“Evans,” Dale said, pulling his hand from Travis’s and flexing his fingers once
“Mister Evans and I a beer.”
Jamie stood up, turned toward the kitchen, but paused. She looked back at him a little confused. “I don’t think there is any beer. We have wine…”
“Use the car, sweetheart, and take Megan along. Ben will drive you.”
Sticking his thumbs in his jeans’ pockets, Dale looked down at his feet and chuckled, though there was very little amusement in the sound.
Jamie looked from him to Travis, then back again uncertainly. “What are you going to do?”
“Get the beer, Jamie,” Travis said firmly, his steady gaze still locked on Dale.
Jamie shifted Megan to her hip, collected her purse from the closet and slowly walked to the door.
“Something light, please,” he called after her. “I don’t want to ruin my appetite for supper.”
Despite one worried backwards glance, Jamie left without further argument, and Travis waited without speaking until he heard the sound of car doors closing. He walked to the living room window, parting the white drapes with the backs of two fingers to watch as his limo crept out of the driveway and headed back towards Seattle. Letting the curtain fall, Travis took off his coat and began to loosen his tie.
Scoffing, Dale held up his hands and took a cautionary step back. “What are you doing? You want to take a swing at me?”
“I want to get comfortable,” Travis said, draping his coat and tie over the back of the white leather easy chair. “I just got off work.”
“Oh. Right.”
Gesturing to the matching couch, Travis said, “Sit down. We’ll talk.”
Dale looked at the white leather sofa, then arched a brow and half shook his head. As he sat, he said, “I wasn’t expecting a friendly chat.”
“This must be your lucky night. As circumstances would have it, we aren’t about to have one.” Travis took the chair across from the couch. He crossed his legs, braced his elbows on the cushioned armrests and folded his hands before him. Then he glared at Dale. “For the man who hurt my wife, for the thief who stole every last thing that might provide her some measure of comfort or security, for the coward who abandoned her to the bleak fate he engineered… I feel many things towards that man. Friendship is not among them. I am, however, prepared to be civil. At least until I find out what you want.”
Dale offered a half shrug. “I’m just here to see my little girl.”
“You had six months to visit Megan,” Travis said. “Strange how your fatherly interest waited to blossom until after the Seattle Times announced our marriage.”
“Maybe my timing’s a bit off.”
“Or maybe you think it’s just right. Stop treating me like an idiot. Come out and say it: How much?”
Jamie’s ex rolled his head back on his shoulders, casting his strange twist of a smile towards the ceiling. Then he looked at Travis again. “Twenty grand.”
Travis didn’t blink. “Fine. I will have the papers drawn up tonight. Be available tomorrow to sign them.”
“What papers?”
“I am not a lending bank, Mister Evans,” Travis said stonily. “This is a one-time payment. In exchange for my check—”
“I don’t do checks,” the blonde man interrupted.
“Cash, then. The fiduciary means are not the issue. If you want money from me, you will relinquish your paternal rights and never attempt to contact Megan or Jamie again.”
Drawing a deep breath, Dale leaned back on the couch and put his feet up on the glass table, crossing them at the ankles. “I don’t think you—”
“Get your feet off my coffee table,” Travis said coldly.
In the heavy silence that followed, both men studied the other. Finally, Dale lowered his feet to the floor. “I don’t have to sign anything.”
“And I don’t have to give you twenty cents, much less twenty thousand dollars.”
“Fine.” Dale shrugged. “All I have to do is call my lawyer—”
“By all means. Here.” Travis reached into his pocket for his cell phone and set it on the coffee table between them. “Use mine. You call your lawyer, I’ll call my firm, and I guarantee you’ll never set one foot in front of a judge. I will smother you in appeals and delays, and sink you so far into debt that you’ll have to win the lottery to dig your way out. I understand the odds to be a two-hundred-and-fifty-billion-to-one. Good luck.”
“You can’t do that,” Dale said, no longer smiling. “She’s my kid. I’ve got rights.”
“And I’ve got money. So, don’t think for one second that I will allow you to hurt Megan the way you’ve hurt her mother. It’s not going to happen.”
They glared at each other, and neither man moved.
“Fine,” Dale growled. “Let’s play hardball. I’ll sign those papers, but not for twenty grand. If you want Megan, you’ll pay fifty.”
Again, Travis didn’t flinch. Coldly, calmly, he said, “I repeat, Mister Evans, this is a one-time arrangement. After tomorrow, were I you, I’d take very good care never to let me see you again.”
Far from smiling now, Dale said, “Suits me.”
Travis called his law firm, the appointment was made for two o’clock the following afternoon, and he handed Dale the address. He then escorted Jamie’s ex to the door and stood on the porch until the oil-leaking car pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t until his jaw began to ache that he realized he was clenching his teeth. When he stalked back inside to call his lawyers again, he slammed the front door behind him.
He had a good half hour to calm down before Jamie came home. Still sitting in the living room, he looked up when she opened the door. As though sensing the remnants of his sour mood, with Megan in one arm and a grocery bag in the other, she crept into the house like a puppy under the threat of a rolled-up newspaper.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked from the doorway.
“For what?” Travis replied. “You’ve done nothing to deserve my anger.”
“I let him into your house.” Jamie bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t tell him to hit the road before you got home. I married him in the first place.”
“Should I tar and feather you right away, or can it wait until after dinner? Tar takes at least forty-five minutes to heat thoroughly, and I am rather hungry.”
Her mouth twitched into an uncertain half-smile. “After dinner will be fine… I guess.” As if suddenly remembering the beer, she looked down at the plastic grocery bag she held. “Oh, I didn’t know what you wanted to drink, so I got you something French and hard to pronounce. And a lime.”
“Ah.” He stood up and came to take the bag from her. As he lifted the perspiring bottle from its individually wrapped paper sack, he did his best to keep a neutral tone. “I didn’t know the French brewed beer.”
“Neither did I, but they make good wine, right? So, they probably make good beer, too. Right?”
“I’m sure it will be delicious,” Travis said. Note to self: For important occasions, don’t let Jamie select the champagne. He read the label. “‘Brewed in the traditional and authentic Corsican manner, with selective malts, slightly hopped, and chestnuts.’”
Jamie pointed to another spot half covered by his thumb. “No additives and preservatives.”
“‘The perfect complement to hearty spicy foods, roasted games, and barbecues.’ Barbecue. You know, I had an uncle who tried that once. He bought one of those patio units with which to master the manly art and proceeded to transform an unnaturally raw steak into the medium rare choice cut of meat that I am accustomed to. I watched him fill the bottom with charcoal, squirt it down with fluid, light a match,
and the charcoal retaliated to being set on fire by burning his eyebrows off.” Travis shook his head once. “Poor man was never quite right after that. Every time someone struck a match, he had flashbacks.”
“Are you sure you don’t have a sense of humor?”
“Positive. Any to the contrary are purely accidental, I assure you.” He rotated the bottle in his hand to look at the back side of the label.
Jamie switched Megan from one hip to the other and watched him quietly for a moment. “Did I get the wrong kind? Should I take it back?”
He instantly hugged the bottle to his chest. “Interfere not between a man and his beer. I am simply savoring the moment and preparing my taste buds to—” he looked down at the label again, “—enjoy this delectable and, I’m sure, flavorful import.”
“Oh.”
She looked only marginally convinced, and Travis took a deep breath. He supposed he was as prepared as he’d ever be. Oh Lord. It had a twist top.
He smiled at Jamie as he removed the cap, then held the bottle up in a kind of toast. “Here’s to French beer.”
He took a long, deep pull. Straight from the bottle, no less. Two to one, his parents were spinning in their graves.
“Is it good?” Jamie asked hopefully.
“Mm.” He made himself swallow. “Just as I expected. Very hoppy.” He patted her shoulder. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Addendum to previous note: Get Tums.
But it was worth it when she smiled, even though it didn’t last very long. Jamie was as easy to read as a poem by Shel Silverstein. Travis knew the exact moment when Dale crossed her mind.
“How much does he want?” she asked.
“What makes you think he wants money?” Travis countered, forcing himself to take another swig from the bottle.
“Four months married to the son of a—”
His hard look stopped her mid-sentence. “Use that language in front of me, and I’ll spank you. Use that language in front of Megan, and I will paddle your backside until even the thought of sitting down brings you to tears.”
Though she dropped her eyes to the floor, he was beginning to recognize her mutinous expressions for what they were.
“Jamie,” he warned.
“I won’t say it,” she said, and even managed to slip a note of repentance into her voice. Until she added, “But I’m thinking it real hard.”
Travis struggled to maintain his stern look, though a smile lurked precariously beneath the stony surface. “You know, I did make reservations for us at the Canlis tonight, but if you’d rather have rump roast, we could stay home.”
She didn’t mistake the reference. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, extremely solicitous. “It does require a bit of extra effort on my part, but I find the end result very appealing and well worth the trouble. Although for the same rump to suffer roasting three times in four days, instead of pink and tender, tonight it’s likely to become extremely well done.”
Jamie bowed her head and, with a bit more contrition, said, “I don’t want any more rump roast. I’d much rather have carrots or potatoes or—I have no idea what I’m saying. I just don’t want to spend the night sitting on pillows.”
He kissed her forehead. “Good girl.”
“Is it okay if I don’t want to go out, either? I’m just not in the mood.”
“We can stay home,” Travis conceded.
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not, but you are not to worry any more about it. Trust me, everything will work out fine.”
“Nothing involving Dale is ever fine.” She shook her head. “Too bad I couldn’t have figured that out before I married the—” her blue eyes flicked to Travis, who gave her a dark and meaningful stare. She cleared her throat. “—man.”
“Do me a favor.” Travis set the beer down on the nearest table. “I want you to go through your things and bring me every bill you have from the beginning of your pregnancy until the moment your ex-husband walked through our front door this evening.”
Her face went strangely blank of emotion. “Are we going to sue him?”
“Nothing so crass, darling. We’re simply going to help him fulfill his fatherly obligations.”
“I don’t want him back in my life,” she said.
“He won’t be,” Travis assured her. “Trust me.” He lifted Megan from her arms, turned her towards the stairs and gave her a pat to get her going. “Go get your bills.”
He watched her climb to the second floor, waiting at the bottom of the staircase until she disappeared around the corner towards her bedroom. Grabbing the beer, he ducked into the kitchen with both it and Megan.
“No tattling,” he told the bright-eyed baby as he poured the liquor down the sink.
Megan grinned as she covered her eyes with her hands for peek-a-boo.
***
By nine o’clock, Megan was tucked into bed, Travis was savoring sips of a nineteen-forty-six vintage cognac from a French beer bottle, and the frightening poverty of Jamie’s old life was spread out across every inch of the kitchen table. It must have been a very grim experience.
Jamie had lost two of her five prenatal care bills, but the hospital invoice for Megan’s delivery told a very sad story all its own. Thirty-four hours of induced labor had ended with a cesarean section, a two-day hospital stay for Jamie, four days for Megan, and expenses that had exceeded fourteen thousand dollars. When matched to her personnel records so he could tally missed wages, Travis discovered Jamie had stubbornly gone back to work three days after her surgery.
Or had it been desperation?
Just when he thought it wasn’t possible for his opinion of Dale to sink any lower, Travis thought, shaking his head. He’d done more than abandon his wife and child, he’d callously walked away with Jamie’s entire personal savings—three thousand dollars—and cashed out a five thousand dollar Visa limit and a two thousand dollar MasterCard.
A case of croup had caused a three hundred dollar midnight emergency room visit for Megan at three weeks old. Thrush and dehydration sent her back for an overnight stay four months later, costing another fourteen thousand. There were orange repossession warnings, yellow eviction threats, overdue slips, collection attempts and a frightening mountain of overdraft notices from her bank; the stark realities of a young mother suddenly facing life very much alone and ill-prepared.
As Travis sorted each of the bills into stacks, Jamie sat across the table from him and said, “I don’t want to look at this anymore.”
He could hardly blame her. “After tonight, you won’t have to.”
“Why? Are you going to have him killed? Damn, you’re good to me.”
“Language, my blood thirsty little minx,” Travis said, and gave her a knowing look. “Besides, I get my thrills evicting single mothers from their homes. I draw the line at murder. At the very least, I don’t discuss it in front of witnesses.”
“Some loving, doting husband you turned out to be.”
He smiled and separated a thirty-days-late electric bill from two bank overdraft slips.
“Travis?” When he glanced up, she said, “Would it make you uncomfortable if I asked you to hold me?”
He discarded the bills and scooted his chair back from the table. Without hesitation, he beckoned to her. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She was gnawing at her bottom lip as she came around the end of the table. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?” He held out his hand and she took it, hers seeming very small in comparison. When he pulled her down, she curled up in his lap and laid her head on his shoulder.
She sighed softly when his arms enveloped her, mumbling against his lapel, “Why is it always the worst mistakes of your life that seem to haunt you forever and never go away?”
“I promise,” Travis murmured close to her ear. “This is one mistake that will go away.”
“Maybe for a year or two. Then he’ll show up again.”
&n
bsp; “I seriously doubt he’ll ever come here again,” he assured her.
“No, he’ll wait until I have a place of my own. Just as I’m getting my feet back under me, he’ll suddenly show up and, like a vampire, suck me dry.”
“If he tries, he’ll wind up with a face full of garlic and holy water. Trust me to catch you, Jamie. I won’t ever let you fall.”
Jamie stared into space. “Travis?”
He stroked her long hair. “What?”
“I want to sleep in your bed tonight.”
His hand froze at the small of her back.
“Make me forget he ever touched me,” she said softly.
Which was how, on day six, their marriage of convenience became consummated. The difference between making love and having sex was indescribable. Perhaps Jamie only used him to help banish bad memories, but her touch set his soul on fire and her ardent responses as their bodies came together left him completely shaken. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much in a woman’s arms.
“Stay with me,” he heard himself tell her. And though he meant forever, she probably thought he only meant the night, because afterwards she spooned up against him and fell right to sleep without a word.
He got out of bed, needing to leave before he woke her up and said something stupid, like ‘I love you,’ or ‘I can’t bear the thought of existing without you’ or ‘Marry me for real and stay with me for the rest of our lives.’
What would he do if she said ‘no’?
It was entirely too possible. They barely knew one another. Theirs was a marriage based on convenience, and other than turning to him for comfort, Jamie hadn’t given any indication that she felt anything close to what he was feeling for her.
He pulled the sheet and blankets up to her shoulders so she wouldn’t get cold. Wrapping himself in a bathrobe, Travis went back downstairs to finish sorting and tallying the mountain of debts that, until recently, Jamie had been forced to face alone. Maybe he wouldn’t get to keep her, but neither would a man like Dale.