The Manning Grooms (22 page)

“Why is everything suddenly so complicated?” Summer asked despondently. “It seemed so simple when James and I first decided to do things this way. Now I feel as if we’re trapped.”

James had the same reaction. “We’ll talk about it and get back to you,” he told his in-laws. Both were content to leave it at that.

After brunch he and Summer took a walk around her old neighborhood. Their pace was leisurely, and she didn’t say anything for a couple of blocks. She clasped her hands behind her back as if she didn’t want to be close to him just then. He gave her the space she needed, but longed to put his arm around her.

“I know you’re disappointed, sweetheart. So am I,” he began. “I—”

“This is what you meant about problems with the April date, isn’t it? The election.”

“Yes, but…”

“I feel like excess baggage in your life.”

“Summer, you
are
my life.”

“Oh, James, how did everything get so messed up?”

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, ramming his fingers through his hair. “I was the one who suggested we go ahead with the wedding right away.”

“Thank heaven. I’d hate to think how long we’d have to wait if you hadn’t.”

“I was being purely selfish and only a little practical. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from making love to you much longer.”

“And you’re traditional enough—
gentleman
enough—to prefer to marry me first,” she suggested softly.

“Something like that.” She made him sound nobler than he was. He’d married her because he wanted to. Because he couldn’t imagine
not
marrying her.

“As you said, the problem is the election. I had no business marrying you when I did. Not when I knew very well what this year would be like.”

“The campaign?”

He nodded. “I’ve never been a political person, but it’s a real factor in this kind of situation.”

“I thought judges were nonpartisan.”

“They are, but trust me, sweetheart, there’s plenty of politics involved. I want to be elected, Summer, but not enough to put you through this.”

She was silent again for a long moment. “One question.”

“Anything.”

She lowered her head and increased her pace. “Why didn’t you tell anyone we’re married?”

“I told my campaign manager you and I were engaged.” James hesitated, selecting his words carefully.

“And?”

“And he asked me to wait until after the election to go through with the wedding. He had a number of reasons, some valid, others not, but he did say one thing that made sense.”

“What?”

“He reminded me that I’m paying him good money for his advice.”

“I see.” She gave a short laugh that revealed little amusement. “I don’t even know your campaign manager and already I dislike him.”

“Ralph. Ralph Southworth. He isn’t so bad.”

“What will we do, James?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to wait until after the election to move to Seattle?”

“No,” he said vehemently.

“But you have to consider Ralph’s advice.”

“Something like that.” They walked past a school yard with a battered chain-link fence. It looked as if every third-grade class for the past twenty years had made it his or her personal goal to climb that fence.

“I’ve been thinking about this constantly,” James told her. It had weighed down his heart for nearly two weeks, ever since his talk with Ralph. “There are no easy solutions.”

“We don’t need to decide right now, do we?”

“No.” Actually James was relieved. At the moment he was more than willing to say the heck with it and move Summer to Seattle in April.

“Then let’s both give it some thought in the next few weeks.”

“Good idea.” He placed one arm around her shoulders. “I’ve worked hard for this opportunity to sit on the bench, Summer, but it’s not worth losing you.”

“Losing me?” She smiled up at him. “You’d have a very hard time getting rid of me, James Wilkens, and don’t you forget it.”

James chuckled and kissed her lightly. It was a bittersweet kiss, reminding him that in a matter of hours he’d be leaving her again. Only this time he didn’t know exactly when he could be with her again.

Summer rubbed her face against the side of his.
“Not so long ago, I had to practically beg you to kiss me in public.”

“That was before you had me completely twisted around your little finger.” The changes she’d already wrought in his life astonished him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was I’m grateful.”

“Your flight leaves in less than five hours.”

“I know.”

“I suppose we should go back to the apartment.” She looked up at him and raised her delicate eyebrows. “That’s plenty of time for what I have in mind.”

“Summer…”

“Yes, James?” She batted her eyelashes at him. He grinned. She managed to be sexy and funny simultaneously, and he found that completely endearing.

They made their farewells to her family and were soon on their way back to the apartment. There was time to make love, he decided, shower and pack. Then he’d be gone again.

Summer must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “We always seem to be leaving each other.”

James couldn’t even tell her it wouldn’t be for long. They parked in the lot outside her apartment, but as soon as they were out of the car James knew something wasn’t right. Summer tensed, her gaze on the man climbing out of the car next to theirs.

“Summer?” James asked.

“It’s Brett,” she said in a low voice.

“Brett?” It took James a moment to make the connection. “
The
Brett?”

Her nod was almost imperceptible.

“What’s he want?”

“I don’t know.”

Apparently they were about to find out. He was big—football-player size—and tanned. He wore faded cutoff jeans, a tank top and several gold chains around his neck.

“Hello, Brett,” Summer said stiffly.

“Summer.” He turned to James. “Who’s this? A friend of your father’s?”

“This is my husband. Kindly leave. We don’t have anything to say to each other.”

“Your husband?” Brett laughed mockingly. “You don’t expect me to believe
that,
do you?”

“It’s true,” James answered. “Now I suggest you make yourself scarce like the lady asked.”

Brett planted his muscular hands on lean hips. “Says you and what army? No way am I leaving Summer.”

“As I recall, you already left her,” James said smoothly, placing himself between Summer and the other man. “I also remember that you got married shortly afterward. And didn’t I hear, just recently, that you and your wife are expecting a baby?”

“We’re separated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately Summer and I are now married and she’s not interested in starting anything with you.”

“I don’t believe that,” he muttered stubbornly.

“Oh, honestly, Brett,” Summer said, not concealing her impatience. “Are you such an egotist you actually think I’d want you back?”

“You love me.”

“Loved,” she said. “Past tense.”

“Don’t give me any bull about you and granddaddy here.”

“Granddaddy?” she snapped. “James is ten times the man you’ll ever be.” She pushed in front of James and glared at her former fiancé. “You know what? Every day of my life I thank God we ended our engagement—otherwise I’d never have met James. He’s taught me what loving someone really means. Which is something
you
don’t have a clue about.”

James had Summer by the shoulders. “It won’t do any good to argue with him,” he told her. He looked at Brett, who was red-faced and angry. “I think it would be best if you left.”

“Stay out of this,” Brett growled.

“We’re married,” James said, trying to add reason to a situation that was fast getting out of hand. “Nothing you say is going to change that.”

Brett spit on the ground. “She’s nothing but a whore anyway.”

James would’ve walked away for almost anything. But he refused to allow anyone to speak in a derogatory way about Summer. He stepped toward Brett until they were face-to-face. “I suggest you apologize to the lady.”

“Gonna make me?”

“Yes,” James said. He’d been a schoolboy the last time he was in a fistfight, but he wasn’t going to let this jaded, ugly man insult his wife.

Brett’s hands went up first. He swung at James, who was quick enough to step aside. The second time James wasn’t so fortunate. The punch hit him square in the eye, but he didn’t pay attention to the pain since he was more intent on delivering his own.

“James!” Summer repeatedly screamed his name. James could vaguely hear her in the background, pleading with him to stop, that Brett wasn’t worth the trouble.

The two men wrestled to the ground, and James was able to level another couple of punches. “You’ll apologize,” he demanded from between clenched teeth when Brett showed signs of wanting to quit.

Blood drooled from Brett’s mouth, and one eye was swollen. He nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered.

James released him just as the police arrived.

S
ummer wouldn’t have believed James was capable of such anger or such violence. Part of her wanted to call him a fool, but another part wanted to tell him how grateful she was for his love and protection.

His left eye was badly swollen, even with the bag of ice she’d given him. James had refused to hold it to his face while he talked to the police.

His black eye wasn’t the only damage. His mouth was cut, and an ugly bruise was beginning to form along his jaw. Brett was in much worse shape, with what looked to be a broken nose.

After talking to both Brett and James and a couple of witnesses, the police asked James if he wanted to press charges. James eyed Brett.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I doubt this…gentleman will bother my wife again. Isn’t that right?” he asked, turning to Brett.

Brett wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. “I didn’t come here looking for trouble.”

“Looks like that’s what you got, though,” the police officer told him. “I’d count my blessings and stay away.” He studied him for a moment, then asked, “Want to go to the hospital?”

“Forget it. I’m out of here,” Brett said with disgust. He climbed inside his car and slammed the door, then drove off as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“He won’t be back,” Summer said confidently. She knew Brett’s ego was fragile and he wouldn’t return after being humiliated.

“You’re right, he won’t,” James insisted darkly, “because you’re filing a restraining order first thing tomorrow morning.”

Summer nodded, wishing she’d thought of doing it earlier.

“This isn’t the first time he’s pestered you, is it?”

Summer lowered her gaze.

“He’s the reason you had your phone number changed, isn’t he?”

She gave a small nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What could you have done from Seattle?”

“You should have told me. I could at least have offered you some advice. For that matter, why didn’t you tell your father?”

James was furious and she suspected she was about to receive the lecture of her life. When nothing more came, she raised her eyes to her husband—and wanted to weep.

His face was a mess. His eye was completely swol
len now. It might have been better if she could’ve convinced him to apply the ice pack. Anyone looking at him would know instantly that her husband the judge had been involved in an altercation—and all because of her.

The police left soon afterward.

“Can I get you anything?” Summer asked guiltily as they entered the apartment.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly.

But he wasn’t fine. His hands were swollen, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. All at once he started to blur, and the room spun. Everything seemed to be closing in on her. Panic-stricken, Summer groped for the kitchen counter and held on until the waves of dizziness passed.

“Summer? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I got a little light-headed, that’s all.” She didn’t mention how close she’d come to passing out. Even now, she felt the force of her will was the only thing keeping her conscious.

James came to her and placed his arm around her waist, gently guiding her into the living room. They sat on the sofa, and Summer rested her head against his shoulder, wondering what was wrong with her.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears.

“For what?”

“The fight.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“But, James, you have a terrible black eye. What will people say?” She hated to think about the speculation he’d face when he returned to Seattle, and it was all on
account of her. Perhaps she should’ve told him that Brett was bothering her, but she hadn’t wanted to burden him with her troubles.

“Everyone will figure I was in a major fistfight,” James teased. “It’ll probably be the best thing to happen to my reputation in years. People will see me in an entirely new light.”

“Everyone will wonder….”

“Of course they will, and I’ll tell them they should see the other guy.”

Summer made an effort to laugh but found she couldn’t. She twisted her head a bit so she could look at him. The bruise on his jaw was a vivid purple. She raised tentative fingers to it and bit her lip when he winced.

“Oh, James.” Gently she pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw.

“That helps.” He laughed and groaned at the same time.

She kissed him again, easing her mouth toward his. He moaned and before long, they were exchanging deep, hungry kisses.

“I refuse,” James said, unbuttoning her blouse but having difficulty with his swollen hands, “to allow Brett to ruin our last few hours together.”

She smiled and slid her arms around his shoulders. “Want to have a shower?” she breathed.

“Yes, but do you have a large enough hot-water tank?”

Summer giggled, recalling their last experience in
her compact shower stall and how the water had gone cold at precisely the wrong moment.

The sound of the key turning in the lock told Summer her roommate was home. She sat back abruptly and fastened her blouse.

“Hi, everyone.” Julie stepped into the living room and set her suitcase on the floor. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Her gaze narrowed. “James? What on earth happened to you?”

James didn’t expect his black eye to go unnoticed, but he wasn’t prepared for the amount of open curiosity it aroused.

“Morning, Judge Wilkens.” Louise Jamison, the assistant he shared with two other judges, greeted him when he entered the office Monday morning. Then she dropped her pencil. “Judge Wilkens!” she said. “My goodness, what happened?”

He mumbled something about meeting the wrong end of a fist and hurried into his office. It was clear he’d need to come up with an explanation that would satisfy the curious.

Brad Williams knocked on his door five minutes later. His fellow judge let himself into James’s office and stared. “So it’s true?”

“What’s true?”

“You tell me. Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”

“It was a minor scuffle, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.” James stood and reached for his robe, eager to escape a series of prying questions he didn’t
want to answer. He had the distinct feeling the rest of the day was going to be like this.

And he was right.

By the time he pulled out of the parking garage that evening, he regretted that he hadn’t called in sick. He might’ve done it if a black eye would disappear in a couple of days, but that wasn’t likely, so there was no point in not going in. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. The eye looked worse than it had the previous day. He pressed his index finger against the swelling and was surprised by the pain it caused. Still, he could live with the discomfort; it was the unsightliness of the bruises and the questions and curious glances he could do without.

Irritated and not knowing exactly whom to blame, James drove to his father’s house. He hadn’t been to see Walter in a couple of weeks and wanted to discuss something with him.

His father was doing a
New York Times
crossword puzzle when James let himself into the house. He looked up from the folded newspaper and did a double take, but to his credit, Walter didn’t mention the black eye. “Hello, James.”

“Dad.”

James walked over to the snifter of Scotch Walter kept on hand and poured himself a liberal quantity. He wasn’t fond of hard liquor and rarely indulged, but he felt he needed something potent. And fast.

“It’s been one of those days, has it?”

James’s back was to his father. “You might say that.”
He took his first sip and the Scotch burned its way down his throat. “This stuff could rot a man’s stomach.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Taking his glass, James sat in the leather chair next to his father. “I suppose you’re wondering about the eye.”

“I’ll admit to being curious.”

“You and everyone else I’ve seen today.”

“I can imagine you’ve been the object of more than one inquisitive stare.”

“I was in a fistfight.”

“You?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re the one who told me there’d be times in a man’s life when he couldn’t walk away from a fight. This happened to be one of those.”

“Want to talk about it?” His father set aside the paper.

“Not particularly, but if you must know, it was over Summer.”

“Ah, yes, Summer. How is she? I’m telling you, son, I like her. Couldn’t have chosen a better mate for you if I’d gone looking myself.”

James smiled for the first time that day. “She’s doing well. I was with her this weekend.” James raised the Scotch to his lips and grimaced. “We had brunch with her parents.”

“Helen and Hank. Good people,” Walter commented.

“There’s a problem with the April wedding date—
on their end and mine. Helen suggested we wait until September. I said November, because of the election.”

“Do you want that?” Walter asked.

“No. Neither does Summer.”

“Then the hell with it. Let her finish out her contract with Disneyland and join you after that. You’ve already had a wedding. I never could understand why you wanted two ceremonies, but then I’m an old man with little appreciation for fancy weddings. What I
would
appreciate is a couple of grandkids. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and neither are you.”

“Do away with the second ceremony?”

“That’s what I said,” Walter muttered.

James closed his eyes in relief. Of course. It made perfect sense. He’d suggested a second wedding because he thought that was what Summer wanted, but if he asked her, James suspected he’d learn otherwise. The wedding was for her parents’ sake.

“How’d you get so smart?” James asked his father.

“Don’t know, but I must be very wise,” Walter said, and chuckled. “I’ve got a superior court judge for a son.”

James laughed, feeling comfortable for the first time all day.

“Stay for dinner,” his father insisted. “It’s been a while since we spent any real time together. Afterward you can let me beat you in a game of chess, and I’ll go to bed a happy man.”

“All right.” It was an invitation too good to refuse.

When James got home after ten, the light on his phone was blinking. He was tempted to ignore his messages.

He felt tired but relaxed and not particularly interested in returning a long list of phone calls. Especially when he suspected most of his callers were trying to learn what they could about his mysterious black eye.

The only person he wanted to talk to was Summer. He reached for the phone, and she answered on the second ring.

“I just got in,” he explained. “Dad and I had dinner.”

“Did you give him my love?”

“I did better than that—I let him beat me at chess.”

She laughed, and James closed his eyes, savouring the melodic sound. It was like a balm after the day he’d endured.

“How’s the eye?” she asked next.

“Good.” So he lied. “How was the show today?”

“I didn’t go in. I seem to have come down with the flu, so my understudy played Belle. I felt crummy all day. When I woke up this morning, I just felt so nauseous. At first I thought it was nerves over what happened with Brett, but it didn’t go away, so I had to call in sick.”

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“No. Have you?”

She had him there. “No.”

“I’ll be fine. I just want to be sure I didn’t give you my flu bug while you were here.”

“There’s no sign of it,” he assured her.

They must have talked for another fifteen minutes, saying nothing outwardly significant yet sharing the most important details of their lives. Their conversation would have gone on a lot longer, had someone not rung his doorbell.

It was Ralph Southworth. His campaign manager took one look at James and threw his arms dramatically in the air. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Good evening to you, too,” James said evenly.

Ralph rammed all ten fingers through his hair. “Don’t you listen to your messages? I’ve left no fewer than five, and you haven’t bothered to return one.”

“Sit down,” James said calmly. “Do you want a drink?”

Ralph’s eyes narrowed as he studied James’s face. “Am I going to need it?”

“That depends.” James pointed to the recliner by the large brick fireplace. He’d tell Ralph the truth because it was necessary and, knowing his campaign manager’s feelings about Summer, he suspected Ralph
would
need a stiff drink. “Make yourself at home.”

Instead, Ralph followed him into the kitchen. “I got no less than ten phone calls this afternoon asking about your black eye. You can’t show up and then say nothing about it.”

“I can’t?” This was news to James, since he’d done exactly that. “I thought you were here to discuss business.”

“I am.” Ralph frowned when James brought an
unopened bottle of top-shelf bourbon out of a cabinet. “So I’m going to need that.”

“Yes.”

“I met with the League of Women Voters and I’ve arranged for you to speak at their luncheon in July. It’s a real coup, James, and I hope you appreciate my efforts.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Thanks.”

“Now tell me about the eye. And the bruises.”

“All right,” James said, adding two ice cubes to the glass. He half filled it with bourbon and handed it to his friend. “I got hit in the face with a fist more than once.”

“Whose fist?”

“Some beach bum by the name of Brett. I don’t remember his last name if I ever heard it.”

Ralph swallowed his first sip of liquor. “Does the beach bum have anything to do with the woman you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

The two men stared across the kitchen at each other.

“Were the police called?” Ralph demanded.

It took James a moment to own up to the truth. “Yes.”

Ralph slammed his hand against the counter. “I should’ve known! James, what did I tell you? A woman’s nothing but trouble. Mark my words, if you get involved any further with Spring…”

“Summer!”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter, because her name spells just one thing. Trouble. You’ve worked all your life for this opportunity. This is your one shot at the bench. We both know it. You asked me to manage your
campaign and I agreed, but I thought it would be a team effort. The two of us.”