Mr. Wrong (A Homespun Romance) (2 page)

"It’s no problem really,” Brady assured her. 

It didn’t even matter that it was for Harold.  All that mattered was that he should remove that look in the green eyes that evoked a corresponding ache in his gut. 

"After all, you have to have it today don’t you?”

And how, thought Kate, retracing her footsteps, her nod confirming the fact.  Explanations would sound so lame and the truth would put her beyond the pale of desirability.  And she had to marry Harold.  She just had to. 

"I can’t let you do that,” she repeated slowly giving voice to the idea recently born in her head, “but if you’ll take an I.O. U. I’ll come back Friday and pay you the rest.  I get paid then.”

Did he think it strange she didn’t have credit cards or a check book?  The narrow, carefully maintained margin between the amount of money she earned and her expenses didn’t merit either.  A simple savings account with the minimum of fifty dollars was all Kate could lay claim to.  All the things she’s heard about rainy days and saving money, she’d ignored.  She’d had to.  If she could afford an umbrella for those days it would suffice.  All the money she earned was invested in the present with the hope that it would yield the more than ample dividends she wanted in the near future.

Kate held Brady’s gaze, hoping he would agree to her plan, silly though it sounded.  I.O.U’s indeed!

"Sure,” Brady forced himself to say, turning back to the register.  Her pride endeared her to him even more.  He didn’t need an I.O.U. from her but something warned him to keep his own counsel on the matter.

From her bag, Kate extracted a small notebook and a pen.  Even white teeth highlighted by that small gap, bit down on her lower lip while she scribbled something and handed it to him.

"Kathryn McArthur, 12 Goldrush Hill, Jacaranda Meadows,” Brady skimmed the words quickly, making mental notes.  Kathryn.  He liked that, but she would always be Katie to him.  His Katie.  "I promise to pay the balance of fifty dollars and thirty cents to Bernie’s Gifts and Luggage.”  She had signed her name underneath and added today’s date.

"Here’s my driver’s license.”  Kate offered him the laminated card, `You could take down the number.”  She watched anxiously as he scanned it momentarily and then returned it to her. 

"I don’t need  that,” he said quietly folding the note and slipping it into his hip pocket instead of the cash drawer.  "This is more than enough.”

Tears surged in Kate’s throat as she struggled with the urge to reach over and give the man a hug and a kiss.  He really was special.  She couldn’t remember anyone being so kind to her before.  He trusted her though he had never seen her before, might never see her again.  That too, in California, where a con a day was common.  Warmth originated in her toes and spread through her body toasting her lightly till she was a golden glow of happiness.

"May I know your name please?”

At his raised eyebrows she said quickly, "In case you’re not here when I come back.  Just so I can tell them who let me have the wallet in the first place.”

"It’s Brady.”

He watched her carefully, wondering if she was a regular customer, if she had stopped by before, been drawn into a conversation with his mother who, as usual, had talked about her children.  Mentioned their names.  What they did for a living.  For some inexplicable reason, Brady just didn’t want to be anything other than the store employee she had taken him for.  No trace of recognition showed on her face and he relaxed.  Only her lips moved as she said the name to herself.  He wanted to reach out, cup that wonderful face, and hear her say his name against his mouth.

"Just Brady?”  Kate liked the name.  Very much.

"Just Brady,” he said firmly. "Do you have everything you need?  Wrapping paper? A card?  Ribbon?” 

Kate nodded weakly.  The store stocked none of these items.  Why was he going out of his way to be helpful?  She couldn’t remember a time when someone had actually looked out for her.  Harold, bless his soul, was the perfect chivalrous gentleman.  He did everything by the book.  Like holding the door for her or standing up when she came into the room, but he always spoiled it by looking around to see if he had an audience.  But this man, Brady, looked as if he pleased no one but himself. 

Each action of his, each word, seemed to be a wave, eroding the fortress she had erected around herself with such painstaking care, and guarded so zealously.  The impulse to curl up against the comfort of that solid chest, lose herself in the warmth of his arms, was becoming harder to resist by the second.

She picked up her package hurriedly.  She had to get herself out of here fast.

"I’ll be back on Friday, around seven with the rest of the money.  Thank you.  Goodbye.”  Turning she fled.

"Not goodbye,” Brady said softly to her retreating back, "Never that.  It’s hello.  Hello, darling.”

Kate pirouetted in front of the mirror, wishing her breasts had never grown out of the thirty four C cup she had worn when she was eighteen.  It wasn’t fashionable to have big ones these days, and Harold’s mother, rake thin and impossibly beautiful, had suggested that a little dieting wouldn’t be amiss.

"Well,” said Kate defiantly to herself, imitating Popeye, "I am what I am.” 

Staring at her face, she reviewed her features.  Her eyes and her dimples were her best bets.  Her nose and mouth were tolerable and the gap between her two front teeth she positively hated. 

Smoothing the black skirt over hips that suddenly felt too big, as seen through Marcia Jensen’s eyes, Kate sucked in her breath and turned for a sideways look at herself. 

Suddenly reminded of eyes the color of slate and filled with blatant appreciation as they looked at her, Kate was flooded with confidence. 

The loose top, in a rose patterned crepe de chine she had made herself, looked very nice.  Hopefully Mrs. J, wouldn’t ask her where she had got it.  When Kate had mentioned once she enjoyed making a few things for herself, especially when they cost about a third of regular store prices, a distinct cold front had moved into the older woman’s eyes, making Kate feel she had committed a serious social gaffe.  No wonder some people were driven into sewing designer labels into their homemade clothes.

But that wasn’t what was important now.  What was important was that Harold should like her.  Enough to propose marriage. 

Harold had walked into the preschool where Kate worked, to discuss leasing technicalities with Mrs. Wright the director, in December.  Kate had been using the office copier at that very moment and explained that Mrs. Wright would be back in a few minutes.  By the time the director had come in fifteen minutes later, Harold had found out she was single, taught the three year old class, and lived in Jacaranda Meadows.

They had seen each other once a week since then and Kate knew he was going to ask her to marry him tonight, just as she knew Harold hated colored shirts and cut offs.  Getting to know Harold had been easy.  He told her about himself at every possible opportunity.  Irritated at times by his tendency to center the conversation around himself, other factors had inclined Kate to overlook this propensity. 

Harold was a very wealthy person.  As a real estate broker who owned his own realty firm, his future was assured.  The man did have justification for dwelling on his successes.  It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t realize how he came across.  After all no one was perfect. 

By March, Kate knew he was giving serious thought to offering her the honor of being Mrs. Harold Jensen.  But everything with Harold took a certain circumspect path. 

For a moment, Katie frowned at her reflection, thinking of years with Mrs. J. as a mother in law, years of herself listening to Harold every evening, surrounded by little Harolds with suitably rapt expressions on their innocent faces, growing up thinking it was only right and natural to hold forth ad nauseum about oneself. 

Out of context, a face flashed across her mental screen.  Devil may care bitumen eyes asking if she had wrapping paper.

Kate gave herself a light slap on the face, "Snap out of it Kathryn McArthur.  Fantasies aren’t going to help you realize you dreams.  Harold is.”

She reached for a summer stole and picked up her keys.  It was a good thing the habit of keeping both feet firmly planted on the ground was so firmly ingrained.  

CHAPTER
2

Kate’s eyes wandered around her apartment, appreciating its airy brightness.  Light and space were very important to her and there was no shortage of that here.  She had been lucky to see the notice in the Pennysaver asking for a house sitter, two years ago. 

The Guthries, the couple that owned the home, co-authored travel books that naturally necessitated frequent absences from home.  They had wanted someone responsible to live in permanently.  They had liked Kate right from the start and offered her the position immediately. 

All that was required was her presence on the premises at night and an eye kept on the gardener and the cleaning service to see they put in regular appearances.

The beautiful, two-story, custom built house set on a hill was part of an exclusive tract in Jacaranda Meadows known as Goldrush Hill.  The whole was little more than one road on the crest of the hill, lined with huge custom lots on either side, with breathtaking views. 

Though part of Los Angeles County, Jacaranda Meadows, a master planned development of single family homes, spread from a low lying area in the middle to encompass small hills and a total area of five thousand acres.  Hemmed in on one side by green hills, two major freeways formed a natural boundary on the other two sides.  To the far north, the imposing, still
snowcapped San Gabriel mountains, provided a majestic backdrop.  Forty-five minutes away from downtown Los Angeles, Jacaranda Meadows gave one the impression of being shut away in a tiny world of one’s own, a page torn out of a book on English villages.

The little apartment above the Guthrie's three car garage was perfect for Kate. The scaled down rent in return for her house sitting services enabled her to resign her job as cashier in the large grocery store downtown. She had moved out of the stuffy bedsit she had rented in Los Angeles and had gladly moved to Jacaranda Meadows. 

California Polytechnic, the college she’d transferred her credits to, was just fifteen minutes away.  It would take her another two years of part-time schooling to get her degree, but Kate was happy with the way things were.  The preschool where she worked now, had hired her immediately, delighted with the courses she had completed in child development. With everything taken care of, her exhausted fairy godmother had retired for a much needed rest, letting Kate get on with her new life. 

Since her teens, she had contemplated every move in her life like a master chess player, engaging in weighty thought before every step.  No one knew better than Kate how hard she had struggled to get to where she was now.  In her position, a girl had to watch out for herself.  So far she deserved an A for achievement.

Kate  steered clear of any dealings with men with a determination that had bordered on fanaticism.  Even after she had discovered her original suspicion that one couldn’t get pregnant just by kissing a man was totally false she hadn’t allowed anyone to distract her from her real purpose. Not many had been interested in the scrawny redhead at first anyway and later her cool disinterest had quenched any sparks of interest that had flared. 

It was not love that Kate was looking for.  It was financial security.  It had taken her twenty-three years to get to the right side of the tracks and she intended to live there for the rest of her life.

Now that she and Harold were going steady Kate knew it was only natural they become lovers.  Why then, was she so reluctant for the final consummation of their acquaintance? 

Everyone did it these days and at work Kate had given the impression that she had sufficient experience in the field to be classed above the rank of amateur, just to avoid being singled out as an oddity.  No one knew better than she did, the cost of being an oddity.

Privately, she thought she was just one of those persons with a naturally low sex drive.  It probably had to do with one’s hormones or something.  She didn’t want to go to bed with Harold.  Marriage ought to cure her of her natural reluctance for it.  According to everything she’d heard on the subject, sex was definitely not a chore.  No doubt, in time, she would get used to it.

After the dinner with Harold and his mother, she couldn’t fall asleep. Kate tossed and turned in bed till the covers resembled a rat’s nest.  Finally abandoning temporarily the thought of sleep she got herself a soda and sat down on the single armchair in the room to stare out at the midnight blue sky and take stock of the reasons for her insomnia.

The dinner had been excellent and Harold satisfyingly attentive.  As they had washed up for his mother, he had told her he wished they were alone, that he would pick her up at seven for dinner on Wednesday, that they had to talk.  Later, walking her out to her car he had kissed her with a great deal of passion.  Which ought to add up to exactly what Kate wanted.  The third finger of her left hand wouldn’t be unadorned much longer.  This was it.  Success did come to those who worked and planned for it.