Judy Christenberry - Daddy On The Doorstep

Most painful of all, when she’d asked about starting a family, he’d flatly refused.

“You’re not eating,” he reminded her, dragging her from her distasteful memories.

She abruptly stood. “I’ve finished.” Crossing to the sink, she dumped what was left of her sandwich in the trash and began rinsing the dishes. The kitchen was completely up-to-date, thanks to Nick. He couldn’t persuade Aunt Bess to move to Chicago, or to let him build her a new house. But she was terribly proud of her new kitchen.

“So, where are you living now?” Nick asked as he sat slouched at the table.

Andrea eyed his casual air, but she wasn’t fooled. “You already know.”

He didn’t move, but his gaze intensified. “What makes you think that?”

“Who else would deposit ten thousand dollars into my checking account?” When she’d gotten the deposit slip in the mail, she’d first thought the bank had made a mistake. But when she’d called, the bank officer had kindly explained that her husband had thought she might need additional funds in her separate account. He even assured her that if she needed more, any check she wrote would be covered by her husband’s bank in Chicago.

“I thought you might be strapped for cash. You didn’t take much with you.” He didn’t meet her gaze.

“I’m fine. I can return the money to you whenever you want it.” She might not be living in the lap of luxury, but she was managing.

“I don’t want the damn money,” he replied, straightening, his shoulders stiff.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she crossed to the table and reached for his dishes. In a flash he had seized her wrists, forcing her to stand still.

“Andy, why did you leave?”

Her heart beat faster as she debated her response. They’d had an argument, but she hadn’t decided to leave until after he’d left their penthouse, bound for the airport for another business trip. Like most runaways, she’d left a note.

“I—I told you in the note.”

“‘Our marriage isn’t working’? You think that’s an explanation for walking out? Hell, we were only married for six months!” His brows furrowed across his forehead and those devilish blue eyes glinted with fury.

She pulled from his grasp. “What do you care? You didn’t come after me or call me. You just went on about your business, leader of free enterprise, billionaire extraordinaire.”

He rose and Andrea took a step back. “Is that what your leaving was all about? You wanted me to come after you? To prove that I love you? Didn’t I tell you I love you? Can’t you accept my word? Do I have to—”

“No!” she replied sharply, interrupting his tirade. “No, that wasn’t what I wanted. I want a divorce. That’s all I want. You can keep your money.”

She turned her back to him and took a deep breath, hoping to steady her racing pulse. She needed to stay calm.

When he spoke again, his voice was even, as if he, too, recognized the need for control. “At the moment, you’re still my wife, Andy. I’m supposed to provide for you.”

“We’re separated, Nick. Just because I haven’t filed for divorce, yet…” She stopped because she didn’t want to discuss why she hadn’t filed for divorce.

“And you think by taking an apartment in Kansas City, getting a job with Robbins Interiors, buying a beat-up old car that can’t safely take you a block—”

“How do you know all that?” she demanded, surprised before she stopped to think. When she did use her head, the answer was appallingly clear. “You had me followed?” she asked, her eyes wide with dismay, her voice rising several octaves. How else would he know so much about her life?

“No, of course not!” When she continued to glare at him, not giving an inch, he muttered, “Just checked up on. You’re my wife, Andy. It’s my duty to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she assured him. Turning, she set his dishes on the cabinet and then walked to the door. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To watch the news on television.”

Bess had refused all Nick’s attempts to buy her a television, but he’d finally surprised her with one for her birthday two years ago. Though she complained about it a lot, she’d finally confessed to Andrea that she “occasionally” watched a soap opera. And then proceeded to relate every plot twist for the past two years.

Andrea switched on the set and checked her watch. She had at least an hour to kill before the ten o’clock news came on. Hopefully, there’d be some program worth watching.

As she flicked through the channels, she heard a step behind her.

“Mind if I join you?”

“You? I didn’t think you watched television.” She didn’t turn around, thinking that he might go away if she didn’t look at him.

“I don’t think I can make any deals tonight without a telephone or a fax, so I might as well relax.”

Unable to bear being close to him, afraid he might question her more, she swung around and tossed the channel changer to him. “Here. I think I’ll go to bed.”

He caught her arm as she rushed past him. “Come on, Andy. Sit down and watch television. I promise I’ll be quiet.”

And would he also promise not to touch her? Even as briefly as he held her arm, she could feel her blood racing, heating up. He had no interest in her, but she responded to his presence like a hound after a fox.

“I really don’t—”

“Andy.”

That one word, softly spoken, halted her protests. With a shrug, she tugged her arm away and walked back toward the television. But she didn’t sit on the sofa where she’d taken her earlier nap. No, she sat in the big chair, which was Bess’s favorite spot.

Nick settled on the sofa, his long legs stretched out across the coffee table. Reading the program guide, he gave her the choices for the next hour. One of the popular hospital shows was just starting, and Andy chose it.

The problems of a modern hospital were absorbing and entertaining until halfway through the show when a guest character came through the emergency door pregnant and in labor. Nick, who’d been relaxed and absorbed, shifted his position on the couch, and Andrea noted a frown on his brow.

Almost unconsciously she covered her stomach with her hands and turned back to the television. She watched the doctors reassure the woman and then confer in private about her chances of survival.

“This is crap,” Nick muttered. “How about a snack?”

“A snack?” she asked, distracted by the drama in front of her.

“Yeah. You don’t want to watch this stuff. It’s depressing.” He stood and took her hand to tug her to her feet.

“I want to see what happens,” she protested.

When she didn’t respond to his pull, he dropped her hand. “Fine. I’m going to the kitchen. Shall I bring you anything?”

“I’d like an apple and a glass of milk,” she said, turning her attention back to the TV.

He made a disgusted sound and left the room.

Following the plotline of the story, Andrea breathed a sigh of relief when the doctors were able to deliver a healthy baby with a promise of the mother’s recovery.

“Here. What happened?” Nick asked, returning from the kitchen.

She looked up in surprise to find Nick holding the apple and a glass of milk out to her. “She had her baby and everything’s fine. A little boy. See, there he is,” she said, pointing toward the television set.

Nick harumphed and sat back down on the sofa. “They shouldn’t use real babies. What’s wrong with those parents? Babies should be home, safe in their nurseries.”

“I think they have strict laws to protect the baby. And the money can provide for college later on.” She bit into her apple, enjoying the juicy crunch of it. “That’s not all bad. Besides, the show wouldn’t be as good if you didn’t get to see the pretty baby.”