Jackie Merritt - The Bachelor Takes A Wife

“Sure you are. You think you’re superior to everyone here, especially me. You didn’t feel that way in college.”

“That was twenty years ago! I don’t know who or what I was in college, other than stupid!” She was referring, of course, to her relationship with him and hoping he got the message.

He did, but not precisely as she’d meant it. “It wasn’t twenty years ago, it was eighteen years ago, and we were both a little stupid in those days. But neither of us was a snob, Andy Pandy.”

“Please stop calling me those ridiculous names!”

“I like those names. Be honest. Didn’t you enjoy that kiss just a little?”

They had reached the patio, which was completely vacant. Everyone had gone into the ballroom for dinner. Andrea stopped at the door to send him a very poisonous look.

“You are my age, thirty-eight years old, and still you behave like an adolescent. No, Keith, I did not enjoy that kiss. Perhaps I liked being pawed in my youth, but my youth has long been spent. Apparently yours hasn’t.”

Swinging away, she opened the door for herself and went in. Shaking his head, Keith followed. “You act as though we’re ready for the rocking chairs. You sure don’t look like your nights should be spent a-rocking and a-reading. Hey, that’s good. You used to rock and roll, and now you rock and read.” He ducked his head to peer at her face. “Am I right or wrong?”

“What you are is incredibly vexing.”

“Vexing? I’m vexing? You know, I’ve seen that word in novels but I’ve never heard anyone actually use it before. Vexing Keith.” He chuckled. “Guess I’m a vexin’ Texan.”

“You’re also not nearly as clever as you think you are.”

“But I’m cute.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. “Puppies, kittens and small children are cute. You’re a middle-aged man, for pity’s sake. Get over yourself.”

“Middle-aged! Boy, you go right for the jugular, don’t you? Now, that hurt, Dandy Andy.”

“I hope so,” she said sweetly and then said no more; they had reached the entrance to the ballroom. She could see that it had been festively decorated and set up for dinner with numerous tables, which were filled with chatting, excited, laughing people. Later, after dinner and the ceremony of presenting her with the club’s donation, most of the tables would be removed to make room for dancing. Andrea planned to leave shortly thereafter, as soon as she could do so without appearing rude or ungrateful. She was, after all, representing New Hope, and she couldn’t act solely on her own behalf. Of course, if she had only herself to consider, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Keith offered his arm and said quietly, “Our table is across the room.”

Gritting her teeth, Andrea forced herself to take his arm and to smile. Crossing that large room on Keith Owens’s arm, with nearly every eye in the place on the two of them, was pure torture. She knew she shouldn’t let it bother her. After all, she was there for the charity presentation, but how people did love to talk! To whisper and speculate and imagine. Andrea could see them doing it as she and her self-appointed escort moved among the tables. Escort indeed. What nerve!

“Here we are,” Keith announced, stopping at a circular table with four couples and two vacant places. “I think you already know some of these people, but let’s make this easy. Starting on the left we have Will and Diana Bradford, then Rob and Rebecca Cole, Sebastian and Susan Wescott and finally Jason and Merry Windover. Everyone, this lovely lady is Andrea O’Rourke.”

Hellos were said, Andrea’s chair was pulled out and then she and Keith sat down. Conversations began, and Andrea participated graciously. In mere minutes the first course of the meal was served, and Andrea found herself relaxing with these friendly people. From bits and pieces of the table talk she overheard while eating, she gathered that all of the men were members of the Cattleman’s Club, which forced her to alter the hard-drinking, crude-talking, cigar-puffing image of the typical member of this club with which she’d arrived. These were intelligent, attractive people, every one of them, ranging in age from mid-twenties to early forties, and it occurred to Andrea that she could like them—some more than others, of course—if they weren’t such bosom buddies with Keith.

She fell silent, while enjoying a delicious salad made with tender greens, warm mushrooms and crunchy pecans, and thought about the kiss he’d ambushed her with in the limousine. She was glad, of course, that she hadn’t embarrassed herself by kissing him back. With his massive ego Keith would have taken even the slightest response from her as a green light and no telling what would have happened next.

Andrea suffered a sinking sensation over the scenario that idea conjured up. She knew exactly what would have happened if she had given Keith the encouragement he’d obviously hoped for. The problem with that relatively certain theory was the sensual ache it created in the pit of her stomach.

No! She would not ache for Keith Owens! For heaven’s sake, had she lost her mind tonight? She never thought about sex. She wasn’t looking for a man now, nor had she even considered another man since Jerry’s death! Lord love a duck, if you have to suddenly rediscover your libido, why pick Keith?

Right in the middle of that horrifying question she felt Keith’s leg press hers under the table. She moved her leg away from his and furtively reached under the tablecloth and pinched him on his nervy thigh, at the same time giving him a phony smile and saying in a low, for-his-ears-only voice, “Try that again and I’ll sue you for sexual harassment. There are eight witnesses around this table, and friends of yours or not, if I suddenly stood up and told you to keep your hands to yourself, they would testify on my behalf in court.”

“All I did was accidentally touch your leg with mine. You’re the one with the wandering hands. Who pinched whose thigh, you sneaky Pete?”

“Who kissed whom in the limousine, you Don Juan degenerate?”

“Oh, oh, the club photographer just snapped your picture. Could be one for the books, what with that accusing, vengeful expression on your pretty face.”

“You’re lying through your teeth. I know how to maintain a normal expression however furious my thoughts.”

“Learn that trick during your marriage?”

Andrea gasped. “How dare you? My marriage was…was wonderful!”

“Yeah,” Keith drawled. “So was mine. That’s why I’m divorced.”

“You know perfectly well my husband passed away. We never would have gotten divorced!”

Keith regretted his comment at once. He never should have wisecracked about Andrea’s marriage, not when he really knew nothing about it except that her husband had died. He just seemed to be more nervous around Andrea than he’d anticipated.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have implied anything.”

“No, you should not have!” Andrea turned away. In a second she sent him another resentful look. “And I am not a snob. You’re incredibly rude, which, when I recall the past, you always were.”

“Rude, vexing Keith,” he whispered with a dramatic sigh. He had to get over it, he knew, and forced himself to lighten up and ask, “How did you ever put up with me for so many years?”

Andrea decided they were both going too far. If it hadn’t been for the din of so many conversations plus background music, their dinner companions would already easily have overheard them. She didn’t want to cause more gossip, since she was positive it was already occurring all around their table. It was better just to ignore Keith as much as she could.

Dishes were cleared away for the next course and Andrea looked up to see Laura Edwards, a waitress from the Royal Diner, working at another table. Laura wasn’t a friend, but Andrea knew her from stopping into the diner occasionally to indulge in one of Manny, the cook’s, fabulous hamburgers. The diner itself was an assault on one’s senses with its red vinyl décor and smoke-stained walls and ceiling, but there was no question about Manny’s burgers being the best in town.