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Authors: Sandra Marton

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BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
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“Yes. And it's going to be leaving in a couple of minutes, so—”
“Sure.” Dawn came forward and gave them each a hug. “I think it's wonderful,” she said, smiling at her parents. “You two, doing this.”
“Dawn,” Annie said, “baby...”
“Annie,” Chase said carefully.
She looked at him. He was right. This was hardly the time to tell their daughter about their subterfuge.
“What, Mom?”
“Just—just keep an open mind, okay? About—about your father and me.”
Dawn nodded and settled into the curve of her husband's arm.
“I will.”
“Good. That's good. Because—”
“I just want you both to know how much this means to me, seeing that you're so serious about giving yourselves another try.”
Chase frowned. “Well, we are, of course. But—”
“I'll accept whatever decision you reach, especially now that I see you're putting so much effort into this.”
Annie and Chase stared at their daughter.
“Going off together, to Seattle. That's wonderful.”
“Oh,” Annie said, “but Dawn—”
“I had my doubts, you know? Whether you were really trying to work things out or if, well, if you were just trying to make me feel better.” Dawn smiled. “Now I know, whatever happens, it's for real.”
The loudspeaker crackled. “Last call for West Coast Air, Flight 606 to Seattle.”
Dawn looped her arms through those of her parents.
“Come on,” she said, “Nick and I will see you off.”
“No,” Annie said, rushing her words together, “really, kids, it isn't necessary.”
But they were already marching across the lounge in lockstep, Annie on one side of Dawn, Chase on the other. When they reached the boarding gate, Dawn kissed them goodbye.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered as she pressed her cheek to Annie's.
“Dawn. Baby, you don't understand...”
“I do. And I know, in my heart, this is right.”
“Folks?” Everyone looked up. The attendant at the gate was managing to smile and look stern at the same time. “Hurry, please, if you wish to make this flight.”
“Chase?” Annie said desperately, as his hand closed over her elbow.
“Just walk,” he muttered through his teeth, and steered her forward.
“No. This is impossible!”
“So is turning back. Walk, smile—and when we get on that plane, behave yourself.”
“In your dreams, Cooper. Have you forgotten? I don't have a ticket.”
Beside her, Chase made a sound that might have been a laugh.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I'm afraid you do.”
“Don't be silly! I have
your
ticket. I tried to tell you that.”
Annie waved the envelope in his face, then went white as her ex-husband plucked an identical envelope from his jacket pocket.
“And I bought another one,” he said. “I tried to tell
you
that.”
“No,” Annie whimpered.
“Yes.”
Annie's feet felt as if they'd been nailed to the floor. Chase's hand tightened on her elbow.
“The clerk will notice the names! She'll see that I can't possibly be—”
Chase plucked the envelope from Annie's limp hand and yanked out the contents.
“Hurry,” the attendant said, and the next thing Annie knew, she was seated beside him in the first-class cabin of a 747 as it lifted off into a bright, early-morning sky.
CHAPTER SIX
“I
CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!”
Chase sighed, tilted back his seat and closed his eyes. Little men with hammers were dancing around inside his head, trying to beat their way out.
“I absolutely, positively cannot believe this!”
“So you've said, a hundred times this morning. Or maybe it was last night. I can't imagine why, but I seem to have lost track of time.”
“To think I let you get me into this incredible mess—”
“Annie. Do us both a favor, will you? Lay off.”
“—this
impossible
mess! And there you are, lying back with your eyes closed, relaxing, taking it easy, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening!”
Chase's fingers tightened around the arms of his seat. Okay, she was upset. Upset enough so he could damn near feel her quivering with anger and indignation beside him but hell, he was upset, too.
He'd made a monumental screwup, lying to his daughter in the first place and now, as with most lies, he was getting in deeper and deeper. It didn't thrill him to know that, probably sooner than later, he was going to have to let his little girl down.
“Do you care? No. Uh-uh. You do not. No, sir, not Mr. Chase Cooper. He's as cool as a cucumber. He just sits there, as calm as he pleases!”
But first he was going to have to listen to Annie telling him what he already knew, that he was an idiot for having gotten them into this mess in the first place.
“—just drives me crazy! I'm sitting here, wound up like a spring, thinking about what a hideous mess we're in, but do you worry about it?”
“Annie, trust me. I'm worrying.”
“You are not,” Annie said coldly. “If you were worrying, you couldn't eat a mouthful. But you tore into your meal like a starving man at a banquet table.”
“You're damned right I did. I was hungry. I haven't eaten a thing since the caterer fed me that tenderized shoe leather and slippery toadstool concoction at the wedding.”
“Shoe leather? Toadstool?” Annie quivered with indignation. “That just shows what you know.”
Chase looked at Annie. He thought of replying, then thought better of it. Hell, he thought wearily, she was right. What
did
he know?
Enough to have built Cooper Construction into what it was today—but not enough to have saved his own marriage. And now he, of all people, was trying to save his daughter's. There was a joke in there someplace, if only he could manage to see it.
He put his head back and let Annie's angry tirade wash over him. He was too tired to argue, or even to answer. He hadn't felt this exhausted since the early years of their marriage, when he'd spent his days working and his evenings taking courses in finance and administration and whatever else he'd figured might help him grow his business into something he and Annie could be proud of.
He could still remember coming home late at night, too tired to see straight—but not too tired to go into Annie's arms, or to sit across the kitchen table from her and talk about everything under the sun, from some problem at a job site to politics to Annie's day flipping burgers at the King.
When had it all started to go wrong? He'd tried and tried to figure it out, but there hadn't been any one day or any one event. Things had changed, that was all, little by little, and so subtly that even now, after all this time, he couldn't put his finger on it. He only knew that at some point, Annie had stopped waiting up for him.
Not while he was still in school. No, it was after that. When he was scrambling for jobs, taking on work two, three hours from home; he'd drive back at night, so worn-out he could barely make it, because he didn't want to be away from Annie...until he'd figured out that there wasn't any point because the only thing she'd say when she heard his key in the lock was “Don't track mud on the floor, Chase,” and then she'd tell him his meal was in the microwave and she'd go off to bed.
Hours later, after he'd eaten his dried-out dinner and pored over plans and specs for the next day, he'd trudge upstairs and find her asleep or pretending to be, lying far over on her side of the mattress, her back to him, her spine so rigid he couldn't bring himself to touch her.
He'd thought things might improve when the money finally started coming in. He bought Annie extravagant gifts, things he'd always longed to give her, and sent her chocolates and huge bouquets of roses.
“Thank you,” she'd say politely, and he'd feel as if he'd somehow failed her.
He'd still spent long hours on job sites—he was a hands-on kind of man, not the sort to sit behind a desk and anyway, if you wanted to stay on top of things, you had to be there, in the flesh. He knew he'd arrived when he began getting invited to all kinds of functions. Chamber of Commerce dinners. Charity affairs. Things he couldn't afford to turn down, because if you didn't network, some other guy would and then you'd lose the jobs you'd worked so hard to get—the jobs that bought the things he wanted Annie and Dawn to have. The things Annie had done without, for so long.
So he started accepting invitations. He didn't know how it would be, mingling with the doers and shakers; he was nervous, at first, and excited, but Annie was neither.
“Am I expected to go with you?” she asked, the first time he tossed a cream-colored charity ball announcement on the kitchen table.
Her response hurt. He'd still been foolish enough, in those days, to have hoped she'd get some pleasure at how he'd moved them up in the world.
“Yes,” he'd said, speaking coldly to hide his disappointment “You're my wife, aren't you?”
“Certainly,” Annie had answered, and she'd gone out, bought a gown and all the stuff to go with it, had her hair done and sailed into the gilded hotel ballrooms and wood-paneled meeting rooms of their new life as if she'd never flipped hamburgers or burped a crying baby.
Lord, he'd been so proud of her. He'd been as nervous as a cat inside, wondering if he'd fit in, but not Annie. She'd brimmed with self-confidence. And she'd been so beautiful, so bright. He'd ached to keep her stapled to his side but he hadn't done it, not once he'd realized she didn't need him to shore her up. He knew how hard she'd worked in the background, all those years. It was little enough to do, to back off and let her shine on her own. Just as long as he was the guy who took her to the party and brought her home, he was happy.
What an idiot he'd been! It had turned out she'd hated spending those evenings with him. His first clue had come when she'd started saying no, she couldn't attend this function or that dinner because she'd signed up for some artsy-fartsy course that had no practical use except to make the very clear point that what she really wanted was a life apart from his.
He found himself devoting more time to business, spending days at a clip away from home. What did it matter? Dawn was slipping into her teenage years. Her life centered around her friends. As for Annie...Annie was never there. She was neck-deep in courses that only emphasized the growing differences between them.
How To Appreciate Haiku. Understanding Jasper Johns, whoever in hell Jasper Johns was. Batik-Making. And then, finally, what had seemed like a trillion courses in flower arranging and design and the next thing he'd known, he had a suitcase in his hand and it was goodbye, twenty years of marriage—well, there'd been that mess at the end that had finished things off, when his secretary had thrown herself into his arms, but he hadn't done a thing to encourage it, no matter what Annie thought.
Peggy had been lonely. As lonely as he was. Some quiet talk, a couple of suppers after they'd been poring over figures for hours in the office, followed by his seeing her into a taxi, never anything more personal than that. That was why nobody had been more surprised than he when Peggy had suddenly launched herself into his arms one night. And wouldn't you know that would be the one night in who knew how many years Annie had picked to come waltzing into the office?
Chase sighed. Not that it mattered anymore. He and Annie were long divorced. He'd made a new life for himself. A pleasant one and yes, he supposed—okay, he knew—that Janet would be delighted to be part of that life, if he asked her..
He'd been happy. Content.
Until today.
Until he'd taken Annie into his arms on that dance floor and felt things, remembered things, he didn't want to feel or remember. Until he'd opened his mouth and jammed his own big foot right into it. And now here he was, heading for Seattle, listening to Annie go on and on about what he'd done, and he had another couple of hours of listening ahead of him before their plane landed and he got her on a flight headed in the other direction.
“...could at least show some concern!”
Chase looked at his ex. Annie was staring straight ahead, her face flushed, her arms crossed over her middle.
“Listen,” he said, “what would you like me to do? Get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”
She made a humphing sound and lifted her chin a notch.
“Maybe you want me to stand up and tell all these people what a chump I am.”
Annie humphed again.
“Just tell me, all right? Say, ‘Chase, here's what you've got to do if you want me to shut up.' And I'll do it, Annie, so help me, I'll do it, because I am tired unto death of listening to you bitch and moan!”
That got her attention. She swung toward him, her blue eyes flashing.
“Bitch and moan? Me?”
“Yes, you. Complain and nag, complain and nag, and all because I made one mistake.”
“I am not complaining or nagging. I am merely stat ing the obvious. Yes, you made one mistake. A biggie. And now here we are, off on a trip to Portland—” “Seattle.”
“Dammit, what's the difference?”
“Portland's in Oregon. Seattle's in Washington. There's a big difference.”
“Well, excuse me. I suppose I'd know the difference, if I had a college degree, but forgive me, I don't.”
“Are you going completely nuts? What's a college degree got to do with this?”
What, indeed? Annie bit her lip. “Nothing.”
“You're damn right,” Chase said. “Now why don't you do us both a favor? Put back your seat, shut your eyes and try to get some rest.”
“Oh, yes, that's easy for you to say but then, everything's easy for you to say! Otherwise, you'd never have gotten us into such a mess in the first place. How could you? How could you have told Dawn—”
“That's it,” Chase said grimly, and he hauled Annie into his arms and kissed her. She was too surprised to fight him, and he took advantage of it, making the kiss long and deep. “Now,” he said, drawing back just far enough so he could look straight into her eyes, “are you going to keep quiet? Because if you start babbling again, so help me, I'll kiss you until you shut up.”
Annie's cheeks flooded with color.
“I hate you, Chase Cooper,” she hissed.
Chase let her go. “What else is new,” he said tiredly, and then he shut his eyes, told himself not to think about how good it had felt to kiss her because then he'd start remembering what making love had been like, before they'd turned away from each other, how it had been powerful and tender, wild and serene, and so much more than he'd ever imagined a basically simple physical act could be.
Stop it, he told himself angrily, and he tumbled into a deep, troubled sleep.
* * *
Annie watched with disgust as Chase slept beside her.
He was snoring softly, and from the look on his face she could tell that he was sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Well, why be surprised? That was how he'd dealt with any kind of problem, before their divorce.
“By sleeping,” she muttered, and scrunched down lower in her seat.
There'd been times, as soon as she'd realized their marriage was in trouble, when she'd spent half the day just thinking about what was going wrong, trying to put a name to it, to come up with an explanation and maybe a solution. Then she'd wait for Chase to come home, so they could talk.
What a slow learner she'd been!
How could you talk to a man who came dragging through the door hours late? Who pretended he'd been trudging around job sites or driving back from one when the simple truth was that he didn't come home because he had nothing to say to you anymore?
Was it her fault that she'd married him so young, before she'd had a chance to go to college, the way he had?
There'd been a brief time, after Cooper Construction had begun to grow, when she'd dared let herself dream that things were getting better.
But they hadn't. Things had gotten worse, instead, starting the night Chase had come home and told her, with a smug smile, that he'd been invited to a big-deal dinner. He wanted to go. It was, he'd said, a terrific opportunity.
BOOK: The Millionaire Claims His Wife
9.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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