Mr. Wrong (A Homespun Romance) (3 page)

And Kate had.  For years, she had worked on herself, exercising regularly, following a beauty regime that made the best of her natural assets, buying clothes as if they were Merrill Lynch investments and reading Emily Post till she could quote passages by heart as if it were high school Shakespeare.  Now all that effort was beginning to pay off.

As Mrs. Harold Jensen she would never have to fear the resurrection of her private nightmare.  Once and for all she would be on the right side of the tracks.  Forever.

Then why out of the blue did she want to stop time and delay the moment Harold would propose?  Were pre- engagement jitters common? 

Momentarily, another picture flashed across her mental screen.  A man with gray eyes that caressed where they touched, asking, `Do you have a card?  Wrapping paper?'  A man, who for the space of a little while, had made her aware of herself like she had never been in all her life. 

The scene swirled before her eyes and then was lost, pushed aside by another more powerful.

A house sporting blistered dirty paint, it’s flimsy front door leading into barren rooms, sparsely furnished with donated goods.  Now there were figures cavorting onto her mental stage.  A man, unkempt, unwashed, drunk, yelling, whining, raging about Fate, lack of work, the Government, making promises he had never remembered, let alone kept.  A woman struggling to scrimp a little money here and there, keeping it carefully hidden, handing over welfare checks without a word of protest, trying desperately to keep up some semblance of a normal life.  A scrawny girl, crouched shivering in a ramshackle cot, covers drawn over her head, fingers stuffed into her ears as far as they would go, to shut out the sounds of rage, the blows, the abject misery, the incessant whining.

Through the revival, a single theme sounded in her ears, `You’ve got to get away from here, Katie love.  You’ve got to.'

Trying to build a good life on the ashes of her childhood wasn’t easy.  Embers still lurked in those ashes, ready to burst into flame and burn her seriously if she let them.

Kate raised her hands to her cheeks, knuckling the tears she had been unaware she was shedding aside impatiently. 
Self-pity was no use.  Life dealt the cards and one played the game to the best of one’s ability.  Kate intended using every advantage she could to end up a winner.

Her mother’s litany echoed in Kate’s ears again, reminding her of the small woman whose burning eyes had seemed the only living thing about her, and she said, "I’ll be fine Mama, you’ll see.”

The words spoken aloud crystallized her determination.  Kate knew exactly what she was going to do.  She had to deal with fact, not fancy.  When Harold proposed, she would tell him it would be an honor to marry him.

The following week passed uneventfully with her usual routine at work and at home.  Harold called to tell her his mother had a particularly virulent type of influenza and would Kate mind if they postponed their date? 

Kate made all the expected sympathetic remarks and assured Harold she didn’t mind at all, hanging up to find herself almost light headed with relief like a prisoner granted a reprieve. 

Which was ridiculous really.  It must have something to do with having been on her own for so long and wondering how much freedom an engagement would curtail.  Harold and his mother both had strong ideas about the path his wife should tread and so far Kate hadn’t dreamt of contradicting them.

The second Monday in April dawned bright and clear.  White clouds scudding across the blue sky, the green hills surrounding Jacaranda Meadows looking velvety smooth, the intoxicating headiness of the spring breeze that ruffled through her curls, all combined to reach deep within Kate and find an answering gladness there, as she drove to work.

She was convinced that Jacaranda Meadows was the prettiest spot in the world.  It had an air of being completely isolated that she loved, though it was only a stone’s throw from the major freeways linking it with Los Angeles.  It was so far removed from the squalor she had grown up in, that just being there seemed like such a miracle that Kate never failed to give thanks for.

There was a note for her in the communication journal in the Director’s scrawl, `Katie, new boy in your class.  Starts today.  Cody Webb.  Nine to twelve only.'

The room she taught in was divided into two by a bright yellow picket fence.  Mrs. Kettle, the other three year old teacher, had seven children as well.  In the beginning, Kate had been conscious of being watched, as if Nancy Kettle had been handpicked by the KGB for the job.  After two days, judgment had been passed, "You’re a natural with children.”

The remark had been a prelude to a friendship that meant more to her than being accepted by the younger girls on the staff as one of them.  From experience, Kate knew she would never fit in with them.  Mentally, she was a million light years too old to enjoy their giggling discussions about their boyfriend’s prowess, clothes, make-up.

A few days into knowing her, Nan had decided that Kate needed a friend and that she could do with some spoiling.  Most days, she brought in a piece of pie, some freshly baked cookies, an extra roast beef sandwich for her, pooh poohed her remarks about calories and lectured her on sensible eating.  Often they visited each other’s homes, sometimes going out for a movie or dinner together and for the first time in her life Kate knew what it was to have a friend.

This last weekend, Kate had spent watching a two year old boy and his eight year old sister in their home, while their parents enjoyed a getaway mini vacation.  The Guthries were home so Kate didn’t have to worry about being away from Goldrush Hill. 

It had been Nan who had suggested to Kate that this might be an easy way of making extra money.  Once word had got around, Kate had done a great deal of moonlighting.  Parents enjoyed the brief respites even more when they knew there was a responsible, caring adult in charge of their children. 

This last weekend meant that the extra money she’d had to pay for Harold’s present wouldn’t deplete some other part of her carefully balanced budget.  She would even have enough left over for the silk blouse she’d seen on sale at an upscale department store.  The fact that she could afford clothes from there ought definitely to make Mrs. J., happy.

The two youngsters she’d watched were well behaved and the weekend had gone smoothly.  Kate had enjoyed the children’s company and the change from her normal routine. 

A sound made Kate look down from the chair she was standing on to pin her animal poster to the wall, straight into eyes the gray of bitumen.  Surprise almost toppled her off the chair.

“Careful,” he was by it in an instant, his hand on her waist, steadying her, charging her body with his touch.

Kate got off the small chair and moved out of Brady’s reach.  A quick survey of the room showed Nan’s head in her cupboard.  What was Brady doing here?  It was ten days since she had seen him. 

Last Friday she had stopped by the store to pay the balance of her bill but there had been no sign of him and she hadn’t liked to ask.  The proprietor had apologized for the salesgirl’s mistake and told Kate she really didn’t need to pay the difference but Kate had insisted, wondering why the lady seemed so familiar.

`Hi!  What are you doing here?” 

He was looking very suave in grey pants, a white shirt and a silk tie.  Clean shaven, the strength of him came across in his face, the firm lips, the line of his jaw.  Kate’s heart warmed and the feeling overflowed into her smile.

A movement drew Kate’s attention to the little boy who claimed his hand.  It took a minute for her to guess this might be Cody Webb.  The face of a cherub highlighted by a pair of roguish eyes, temporarily portraying anxiety.  Eyes the color of bitumen.  Black hair that curled instead of being merely wavy.  The muscled walls of her heart went into a spasm as the truth hit her right between the eyes.  Cody Webb was Brady’s son. 

The next minute, she told herself the jolt she’d felt had been pure relief.  He was a married man.  Out of bounds.  That made everything so much easier.

“Hello Katie.  I brought Cody to school today,” The way he said her name, accenting its syllables with a caress making it sound like an endearment, made the marrow in her bones liquefy. 

Darn the man.  She focused on the little boy.

“Hi, Cody.  I’m Miss Kate, your teacher.” 

Hadn’t his wife told Brady that it was illegal for a husband and father to look at anyone else the way he was looking at her now?  As if he would devour her with his eyes?  The hummingbird seemed to have lodged itself in her throat again, it’s wings stirring up a miniature typhoon there. 

Ignoring the sensation, Kate concentrated on the little boy in front of her, “Let me show you where to keep your lunch pail.  It’s so nice and new.  Who have you got on it?  Big Bird?  I love Sesame Street. The lunch pails go here on top of this shelf.  See these baskets in the shelf?  We call them cubbies.  This red cubby’s yours.  Your change of clothing and your book go in there.  Along this wall we have hooks.  This one is for your jacket but you don’t have to take it off now if you don’t want to.”

Over the last few days, Brady had rejected all the reasons that had swept into his mind for seeing Katie.  Away from her he had forced himself to face the fact that what he felt might just be a passing thing, something to do with the conjunction of the moon and the stars at that particular moment.  It just wasn’t possible to feel that way about a complete stranger.  He had wanted a breathing space just to test himself, to see if he still felt the same when he saw her again.  So, he had kept away forcing himself to be patient while Karen and Ben visited Wee Folks’, compared it with other preschools in a ten mile radius and then decided to try it out and completed enrollment formalities. 

But when Katie had looked down at him just then, Brady had known he’d never test himself again where she was concerned.  His heart seemed to double its size threatening to bound out of his body and roll under her feet.  The feeling that they were parts of the same whole was uncannily there again, escalating with each second in her company and the usual musical accompaniment.

The silvery voice was working it’s special magic on Cody as well.  Brady could feel a loosening on the grip that held his hand already.  She was more beautiful than ever this morning in that peach cotton jumpsuit she was wearing.  The tiny brass buttons down the front seemed to be winking at Brady, issuing a sensational invitation, all their own.  A quick scan had shown no sign of a ring on her left hand.  So, Harold was still only a semi-finalist.  Brady intended to eliminate the man’s chances altogether as soon as possible.

What a stroke of luck that Ben and Karen had agreed preschool might be what Cody needed and liked what they’d seen of this one enough to start Cody here.  Karen had brought Cody in last Tuesday for a couple of hours and had mentioned his teacher, a Miss Kate, hadn’t been there.  His sister added, that twice a week she left early as she was taking classes at Cal Poly.  Actually having Cody in Katie’s class was an unexpected stroke of luck.

The little chap was staring at a huge plastic cube in the center of the room watching another child climb it and sit on top.

“Your son?”  the silvery voice sounded oddly husky.

“No, my sister’s.”

“I see.”  Was it only his overheated imagination or was there a note of relief in the words?

Cody had let go off his hand and taken a few steps forward.

“Have you signed Cody in?”  Kate asked, wondering why she was feeling out of her depth again.  There was no mistaking the invitation in the gray eyes, this morning.

Come.  Drown in me.

“Yes.  Someone by the door showed me what to do.”  His eyes tangled with hers and Kate couldn’t look away.

“Good,” she said weakly giving in to the urge to babble, “There’s another book there for medicines in case he ever has to bring some medication to school.”

Brady looked at her.  Her nervousness, the slightly trembling hand that raked the tightly clustered curls, the eyes that flickered in her face trying to avoid the message in his, all told its own story, fanning the spark in the pit of his stomach to an all consuming flame.

“Where are his parents?”

Brady looked at her surprised at the question and then realized it was natural for her to wonder why they weren’t here on Cody’s first day.

“Ben, my brother in law, is away on business.  Karen, my sister, is expecting another baby and she’s having an awful time with morning sickness.  She’ll pick him up at twelve.”

Cody was climbing the cube.

Kate watched the boy, leaving Brady free to watch her.  Each auburn curl had a red highlight that seemed to emit a spark this morning.  Her face was like a rose petal, soft and creamy, not clogged with make-up.  That floral talc of hers drifted to him again, making him yearn for her.

Yearn!  He didn’t even know his vocabulary held that word until this minute.

“Cody’ll be fine,” Kate said softly. “This is a good time for you to leave.” 

Before I throw myself into your arms and beg you to take me with you.

Brady nodded reluctantly.  Walking over to his nephew he said, “See you later, buddy.  Mummy’s going to pick you up at twelve.”