A Bridge to Love (13 page)

“Mom,
he dunked you,” Patrick said in amazement.

Kate
pushed strands of wet hair out of her eyes and looked speculatively at
Randall's shoulders and chest. Then she turned away and said, “I'm going to
start counting.”

Randall
chuckled. “A wise decision. Retaliation is not a viable option.”

Retaliation
was definitely an option but Kate knew better than to launch a frontal attack.

They
played a few more rounds of Marco Polo, and then Randall got out a water
basketball set. He was standing on the edge of the pool adjusting the height of
the hoop when Kate came up quietly behind him. As an engineer, she understood
balance and leverage. So first she applied pressure with her knee behind his
kneecap which started a good forward motion. Then she kept his momentum going
with a firm push in the small of the back. Quick, neat and effective, she
thought with satisfaction as she watched him sail through the air and into the
water.

Clay
and Patrick watched open-mouthed and then waited in tense silence for Randall
to surface. Kate stood a safe distance away from the edge of the pool with her
arms crossed. All of them jumped when he rocketed up from the bottom, laughing.

“A
surprise attack! I should have learned my lesson. Never drop your guard near a
woman with revenge on her mind, boys.”

He
vaulted out of the pool in front of Kate, causing her to step back several
paces even as she glared at him. “I will deal with you later,” he said in a low
voice, flicking water at her from his fingers. Then he spoke louder. “Is anyone
hungry? I'll get Rosa to bring down some sandwiches.” The boys cheered and he
walked over to an intercom and spoke into it briefly.

Clay
swam to the side of the pool and said in a low voice, “Mom, you've got guts.
He's twice your size and you
nailed
him.”

Kate
smiled. It was something to see the look of awed respect in his eyes. His mom
had
guts
.

Just
then a door swung open and Rosa appeared with a rolling cart filled with food.
Randall introduced them all to his housekeeper, and Rosa asked Clay and Patrick
their ages, grades, favorite subjects and sports. As they set out the food,
Kate tried to decide if Rosa knew anything about her trysts with Randall and
then concluded that she had probably seen so many women come and go here that
she no longer paid attention to any of them.

Randall
brought drinks over from the poolside bar and they all dug into the feast with
gusto. Kate was very pleased when Clay politely asked Randall about his work.
Randall explained that RJ Enterprises made its money from buying
under-performing companies and making them profitable. “Sometimes we sell them
again and sometimes we keep them,” he concluded.

“Have
you ever bought a company that you couldn't fix?” Clay asked.

“A
few.” Randall was silent a moment and then leaned back in his chair. “One time,
my partner Tom Rogan and I had an oil field offered to us. Well, we got all
excited because we always wanted to be oil barons. We were pretty new to the
game then. We decide to go see the field for ourselves so we buy some work
boots and hard hats and drive to Oilton, Texas, to take a look.

“We
tramp around, getting more and more wound up. There were more wells than we'd
expected and the equipment was in great condition. So we go back to our motel
and call the oil company's headquarters in Houston. After haggling awhile over
the price, we agree to buy the field. Tom and I slap each other on the back
over the great bargain we got. We go back to our office and read the contracts
they've sent us. Suddenly, Tom turns white and points to something in the
paperwork. The oil field we'd just agreed to buy was in Oilton,
Oklahoma
.”

“So
you didn't buy it,” Clay said.

Randall
shook his head. “No, we bought it. Sight unseen. We were too embarrassed to
admit that we'd gotten not just the wrong oil field but the wrong
state
.” He leaned forward to rest his
forearms on the table. “In my business, your reputation precedes you. So if you
make a mistake, you swallow it, and hope that you don't choke. If you do well,
you thank your lucky stars and alert the press.”

“So
did you turn the oil field around?”

“No,
I sold it as fast as I could – at a loss.”

“Wow,”
Patrick said, awed at the high finance being discussed. But he wanted to
discuss another of Randall's assets. “You have a helicopter.”

Randall
smiled. “That just sort of came with another company I bought. I thought that
it might be useful so I kept it.”

Patrick
and Clay bombarded him with questions about engines, range and air speed, most
of which he could answer. Finally, Kate took pity on him and suggested that the
boys go swimming again. But before they left the table, Randall said, “Maybe
you boys would like to take a ride in the chopper.”

Two
sets of pleading eyes turned toward Kate. She shifted in her seat and said,
“One of these days.”

“Mom,
it won't crash,” Patrick said.

“I
know but it's expensive to fly a helicopter and we don't want to impose on Mr.
Johnson,” Kate said.

“I'll
discuss it with your mother,” Randall said, waving them toward the pool before
turning back to her. “I guarantee that the helicopter won't crash.”

“No
one can guarantee that. I'd just rather that we didn't go flying. I hate to
fly.”

“I'm
sorry I suggested it.”

“No,
no. It was a very nice thing to offer.” Kate suddenly realized that Randall had
taken her wrist and was softly stroking her skin with his thumb. He looked startled
when she gently pulled away from him and stood up.

“I
think that we've trespassed on your hospitality long enough. Clay, Patrick!
Let's get changed.”

“Aw,
Mom,” Patrick started to complain but Clay elbowed him and he swam over to the
steps.

“Aw,
Kate,” Randall said, mimicking Patrick's tone perfectly. “Don't run away.”

“I'm
not running away. I'm just not overstaying our welcome.”

“You're
still welcome,” Randall said, tilting his head back to look up at her.

“Thank
you but we have plans for this evening.”

The
two boys were watching in fascination. They weren't accustomed to seeing an
adult persist in the face of their mother's refusal.

“Mom's
fixing us a nutritious, well-balanced dinner to make up for all the take-out
during the week,” Patrick said earnestly.

Randall
laughed and stood up, lifting an eyebrow at her expectantly. The silence
lengthened. Finally Kate said through clenched teeth, “Would you like to join
us for dinner?”

“There's
nothing that I'd like better...”

“But
you need to make some business calls, I'm sure,” Kate finished for him as she
started toward the dressing room.

“No,
I'm free all evening. I was going to say that I owe your sons a lesson in the
venerable art of nutmegging. Go get changed, young men.”

“Yeah!”
Patrick said, racing toward the other dressing room with Clay not far behind
him.

Kate
gave Randall one freezing look over her shoulder but she never broke her stride
as she walked away from him. Randall called after her, “You don't keep any
arsenic in the spice drawer, do you?”

“I
prefer strychnine. It's much more painful,” she said before she closed the
door.

As
Kate changed in her private dressing room, she wondered what Randall and the
boys were chatting about in the “Men's Locker Room.” She found out when they
erupted out of the front door. “Mr. Johnson asked us if we'd like to ride in
his Ferrari,” Clay said. “Would you mind, Mom?”

Kate
rolled her eyes. After turning down a helicopter ride, her sons were now asking
to be driven home in a ridiculously expensive sports car. She knew that she
should be annoyed with Randall's manipulation of her children, but his bribery
was so blatant and so outrageous that her sense of humor was getting the better
of her moral principles.

“That's
fine. Maybe tomorrow he'll get you a seat on the space shuttle.”

Clay
and Patrick looked at each other, eyes wide, but Randall threw back his head
and let out a shout of laughter. “Your mother's on to me, guys.” He grabbed
Kate's hand and said, “Come with me and see the over-powered chariot.”

After
inspecting the spotless five-car garage and pronouncing the Jeep “cool,” the
boys carefully and respectfully climbed into the black Ferrari. Randall was
still holding Kate's hand, the warmth of his skin against hers radiating a
pleasant but disconcerting sense of comfort. He walked Kate back to her dusty
minivan, and before opening her door, lifted the back of her hand to his lips.
Kate was mesmerized by his dark gaze, and by the heat of his breath and the
movement of his mouth against her skin as he said, “We could try out the ad
campaign on the Ferrari.”

Kate
had to swallow twice before she could say, “I think that Jaguar could sue for
copyright infringement.”

“I
have a whole stable of lawyers who can deal with that.” Randall dropped her
hand to swing open the van's door. “I'll follow you down. It'll keep my speed
under control.”

Pretending
that she was completely unaffected by his provocative comments, Kate turned the
key in the ignition as Randall walked toward the garage. Once he was a safe
distance away, she laid her arms on the steering wheel and dropped her forehead
onto them as she took deep breaths to slow down her racing heartbeat.

She
had to admire his strategy. He made her feel safe by inviting her children
along, and then when her guard was down he launched his attack. He had left her
feeling as though his warm, male lips had touched more private parts of her
body.

“I'd
hate to be on the other side of the negotiating table from you,” she said aloud
as his sports car growled out of the garage.

Twelve

Kate spent her solitary ride
home mentally upgrading her menu and trying to remember how big a mess they had
left in the house. As the boys spilled out of the Ferrari into their yard,
Patrick said, “Mom, did you know that Mr. Johnson has a
transmitter
in all of his cars in case he gets
hijacked
? The police can track every turn his car makes!”

“Amazing!”
Kate said, wondering despairingly what a man whose life was so valuable that
the police would follow his car's every move would think of her modest home and
dinner.

But
Randall showed a tact she hadn't anticipated. He sent the boys off to find a
soccer ball while he waited outside in the yard. “You go on inside while I make
good on my promise.”

A
ball sailed toward him, and Kate admired his footwork as he controlled it and
neatly sent it back to Clay. She gave him an approving smile and walked calmly
in the back door.

Once
inside, she became a whirling dervish of activity: slicing, dicing, sautéing
and straightening up. Occasionally she couldn't resist glancing out into the
backyard to see how the soccer players were getting along. Watching Randall
dodging and weaving toward the goal was a guilty pleasure; he moved with a
speed and grace surprising for his size. She wished that he had on shorts so
that she could watch the muscles of his legs flexing.

By
the time three sweaty, panting males spilled into the kitchen, Kate had the
dinner and the house well in-hand. The dining room table was set for four with
the good china and silver, the lamps in the living room glowed warmly and the
delicious scent of roasting lamb wafted out of the oven.

“Something
smells good,” Randall said after swallowing his first gulp of beer.

“It's
a nutritious, well-balanced meal,” Kate said. “Liver, brussels sprouts, spinach
cooked in cod liver oil and wheat germ muffins.”

Clay
and Patrick made gagging noises while Randall laughed. “You forgot the prune
wine.”

“So
I did. I'll have to go get it out of the cellar.”

“What
is it really, Mom?” Patrick wanted to know.

“Lamb,
green beans, carrots and croissants,” Kate reassured him. “Finish your drinks
and go wash.”

“Don't
I get a tour of
your
house?” Randall
said as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

“The
downstairs only. I can't vouch for the condition of the second floor,” Kate
said, picking up her glass of wine.

Randall
followed Kate slowly through the living room, dining room, den and onto the big
open porch. He looked carefully at her home because he always learned a lot
from observing a person's home turf. The furniture looked comfortable but each
piece had also been chosen for its proportion and line. Old, intricately
patterned Oriental rugs covered the polished oak floors. The walls were
decorated with architectural drawings of structures both new and antique,
interspersed with colorful abstract landscapes. Antique brass-trimmed wooden
tools lay among framed family photos.

Randall
wondered if the prints and tools were Kate's or David's and concluded that the
convergence of their professional interests would make that question irrelevant;
the collection would please both of them. He briefly wondered what it would be
like to have a lover whose tastes meshed so perfectly with your own.

He
scanned the family photographs until he found a picture of a handsome blond man
with a younger Clay and Patrick. Clearly this was David. His sons looked like
him, and the trio radiated familial affection. Randall studied the man who had
chosen to risk screwing up this life for another woman. What had he been
looking for that he couldn't find right here? Randall shook his head in
disgusted bafflement.

He
followed Kate into the next room, still lost in thought. He had always
explained away his unmarried state by saying that he simply didn't have time
for a wife or family. But there was also a deep reluctance on his part to make
promises that he might regret yet feel obliged to honor. He felt no sympathy
for a man who broke his vows and betrayed the trust of the woman – the very
desirable woman – who was also the mother of his two young sons. Randall was suddenly
angry on Kate's behalf.

“This
completes the tour of the historic Chilton residence,” Kate said as she led him
onto the porch. “Although the name of its architect is lost in the mists of
Victorian time, we like it.”

“I
like it, too. It feels like a home.”

Kate
laughed. “Between the soccer cleats and the dog hair, it always looks well
lived-in.” She patted Gretchen who had followed them through the tour and was
now sitting at her feet.

Randall
was gazing out at the street where young bicyclists, middle-aged runners and
mothers pushing strollers passed by at frequent intervals. Kate wondered what
he had really been thinking as he walked through her home. Showing him her
house had seemed almost more intimate than being sprawled half-naked across the
hood of his car. She felt as though his eyes had missed nothing. When he had
stopped in front of David's photograph and then shaken his head, she longed to
know what was going on behind his unreadable expression. “Oh, there's the
timer,” she said, dashing back into the house.

Once
dinner was on the table, Kate relaxed a bit and enjoyed watching Clay and
Patrick with their new friend. Obviously, they had decided that Mr. Johnson was
“okay,” and while they were respectful, they felt no hesitation about peppering
him with questions about his life, his past, his soccer skills and whatever
else intrigued them. Randall was far more forthcoming than Kate would have
expected; he had succumbed to the flattery of being the object of two boys'
admiration.

“That's
an awesome watch,” Patrick said, admiring the stainless steel multidialed
gadget on their guest's wrist. “Is it one of those diving watches?”

“It's
a Timex,” Kate couldn't resist saying.

“Your
mother's making fun of me,” Randall said, unclasping the watch and handing it
to Patrick. “This one's a Tag Heuer. That dial measures depth. This one tells
you how long until you run out of oxygen.”

“Do
you have a Rolex or two at home?” Kate asked sweetly.

Randall
shook his head. “All I need is a watch that keeps good time. There are better
ways to impress people.”

“Like
helicopters and Ferraris,” Kate muttered under her breath.

“We've
started a business,” Patrick said proudly, as he gave the watch back to
Randall. “Clay and I are professional dog walkers. We're earning enough money
to pay for lunch at school and saving the rest.”

“I
admire your entrepreneurial spirit,” Randall said as he leaned back contentedly
with a wineglass cradled in his big hand.

“We
wanted to help Mom out with the finances,” Patrick continued and then stopped
abruptly. Clay had kicked his ankle under the table and his mother was frowning
at him. “And we're really good with animals,” he finished after a pause.

Clay
jumped in. “I wanted to buy a special CAD-CAM program and decided to earn it
myself. It's more satisfying that way.”

Randall
raised an eyebrow at that. “Very true.” But Kate had seen the sudden sharpening
of his gaze when Patrick mentioned the family finances. When Patrick got
started on a subject, he forgot all instructions about what was private
information and what wasn't.

“You
know, Clay, we've got a different program at work,” Kate said to steer the
conversation away from dog-walking. “I'll bring home the disk for you to take a
look at.” She saw Randall's attention shift as she mentioned work and was
relieved when he continued to address Clay.

“Are
you thinking about engineering as a career?” Randall asked.

Clay
flushed slightly. “I'd really like to be a sculptor, like Alexander Calder. You
know, make big metal sculptures for outdoors. The computer programs are good
for designing those so they're stable.”

Randall
leaned forward. “That's an unusual ambition for a young man. Do you know how to
weld already?”

“Yes,
Dad taught me how. We used to work on an old car together.”

“Do
you have any sculptures to show me?”

Clay's
face lit up. “They're not big but I've done a few. The one on the table in the
living room is mine. And I have a couple of bigger ones in the garage.” He
looked at Kate.

She
waved a hand in permission. “Go right ahead. I'll get dessert ready.”

To
Kate's surprise, Randall rose and gathered up his plate and silverware. “First,
we clear the table.” The boys followed suit, racing into the kitchen with their
glasses balanced precariously on their plates.

“No,
no, I'll take care of that,” Kate said, standing up and trying to take his
dirty dishes from him.

“You
have a very unflattering opinion of my manners,” Randall said in a low voice as
he moved his plate decisively away from her grasp.

“It's
not that. I just know that you're accustomed to having Rosa around...”

His
brows lowered in irritation. “I clear the table when Rosa's around, too.”

Kate
just looked at him.

“Most
of the time,” he amended.

Kate
folded her arms.

“Some
of the time. Oh, just get out of my way and let me put the damn dishes in the
sink,” he said, shouldering her aside.

Kate's
lips curved into a satisfied smile as she picked up her own dishes. Randall
pointedly made several more trips between the table and the kitchen. Finally,
Kate said, “You've clearly demonstrated that I've grossly misjudged you. Go
look at Clay's sculptures. And thank you for showing an interest,” she added
softly. “He's quite passionate about his art and quite sensitive, too.”

“I'm
no critic but the sculpture I saw earlier in the living room looked very
interesting.”

Kate
sighed in relief as he left the kitchen.

When
he was in a room with her, her nerves never stopped thrumming. She needed a
break from his presence, although even his voice drifting in from the living
room made her edgy with awareness. She wished that Clay would hurry up and take
him out to the garage.

She
concentrated on putting out the dessert.

Of
course, the first recipe that had come to mind when she was revamping her menu
on the way home had been the Chocolate Orgasm Cake. She had laughed aloud and
instantly eliminated it. Instead, they were having apple crumble – which was
slightly nutritious – served warm from the oven with vanilla ice cream melting
over it. That particular combination of hot and cold is pretty orgasmic itself,
she reflected, but at least Patrick couldn't embarrass her by blurting out the
name.

Soon
enough her respite was over. Randall's shoulders filled the kitchen doorway as
he sniffed appreciatively. “I've always said that there are two ways to a man's
heart, and you're real good at both of them,” he drawled in his thickest Texas
accent.

“I
see that you've abandoned your attempt at civilized manners.”

“I'm
just complimenting the lady of the house on her skill in the kitchen,” he said
and then lowered his voice as he came toward her, “and in the bedroom.”

“Quiet!
There are minors in the next room.” Kate shoved the ice cream scoop into his
hand to distract him. Without missing a beat, he slid it into his back trouser
pocket, ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and pulled her against him.
“I like Clay's art a lot. He seems to have a real talent.”

Kate's
face lit up. “So does his art teacher. But it's an unusual talent for a young
boy. It's a little hard to know how much to encourage him in it.”

She
suddenly realized that Randall had trapped her between the counter and his body
and that his hands were roaming over her back. She braced her palms on his
chest and said, “You are the most underhanded person I've ever met. Let go of
me.”

She
might as well not have spoken. Randall leaned into her so that her body was
locked against his from the knees up to the waist. He lowered his head and ran
his lips up the side of her neck to her earlobe, which he nipped gently.

Kate
barely controlled the instinctive urge to arch her body even closer against
his. “Stop it right now,” she whispered, as she pushed hard against his warm
chest.

For
a moment he didn't move even a centimeter. Then he stepped away, saying, “What
else is for dessert?”

“I
should send you home without dessert.”

Randall
laughed and pulled out the ice cream scoop. “Hand over the ice cream or I'll be
forced to use this as a weapon.”

Kate
retreated to the freezer, yanked open the door and stiff-armed the carton of
vanilla ice cream to him.

“You're
beautiful when you're angry... and aroused,” he said in a stage whisper.

She
glared at him and turned on her heel to march into the dining room. His
taunting chuckle ruined her exit.

When
the boys had gone upstairs and Randall showed no sign of leaving, Kate picked
up a sweater and reluctantly led him out to the porch. Now that the sun had
gone down, it was getting chilly. If the temperature didn't bother him, she
would allow him to finish his glass of wine and then make it clear that it was
time for him to go.