A Bridge to Love (7 page)

Kate
called the boys when the news was back to the aerial view of the fire. All
three Chiltons were glued to the television as the camera cut back to the
reporter standing on the ground. “Just moments ago, a team of firefighters
returned from a rescue expedition carrying the two missing employees. The
unconscious men were whisked away in the RJ Enterprises helicopter, presumably
to a nearby hospital. Sources report that the tank feeds have been closed and
that the fires will soon be under control. Right now it's still a spectacular
sight as these flames leap hundreds of feet into the sky.”

Kate
had stopped listening as she searched the group of rescuers milling around
behind the reporter. She watched two of them sit down on the side step of a
fire truck with their elbows resting on their knees and their heads dropped
forward. A medical worker rushed up to them but one lifted his head and waved
him off. Kate let out her breath. “That's Mr. Johnson sitting on the fire
truck,” she said to the boys.

“He
looks tired,” Patrick said.

“I'm
sure he's not used to rescuing people from burning oil tanks. It probably takes
a lot out of you. Now upstairs and to bed.”

Once
they were settled, she pulled open the cutlery drawer.

The
paper with Randall Johnson's private number on it lay just where she had put it
earlier.

“Damn!
How can I not call a man who just risked his life on television? He won't be
there now so... so I won't have to talk to him. I'll just leave a polite
message. That's the decent thing to do,” she rationalized out loud, as she
picked up the paper and punched the number into her telephone. She heard two
rings and then the Texas drawl: “I can't take your call now. Leave a message
after the beep.” It was so typical of him not to identify himself on his
answering service.

The
phone beep sounded. “Hello, Randall. It's Kate Chilton. I saw your oil tanks
burning on television. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right after
your dash into the flames. I hope that everything is under control now. Good
night.”

The
telephone rang. Kate propped herself up on her elbows and peered at the
illuminated numbers on her clock: 3:45 A.M. Still half asleep, she picked up
the receiver quickly before it could wake the boys. “Hello,” she rasped,
wondering if this was a wrong number or a crank call.

“Thanks
for the message, Kate.”

Her
eyes flew open as she recognized Randall Johnson's voice. In the darkness, it
seemed as though it was coming from the pillow beside her, and she found
herself suddenly aware of every place where the sheets touched her skin. She
clicked on the bedside lamp. “Are you all right? I saw you sitting on the fire
engine, looking totally exhausted.”

“I'm
exhausted, I'm filthy and I smell like burning petroleum, but I'm fine.”

Kate
could hear the fatigue in his voice. “You sound hoarse.”

“I
breathed in more smoke than I should have, but all I really need is a shower
and some sleep. Will you come scrub my back for me? I'm too tired to do it
myself.”

Kate
chuckled. “Now I know you're fine.” Then she said seriously, “I'm so sorry
about the damage. Is your loss very severe?”

His
voice changed. “We'll do an assessment tomorrow but the facility is insured.
I'm more interested in what caused the fire.”

“I
assume that it was an accident?”

“It
takes a hell of an accident for two tanks to burst into flames at the same
time.”

“So
you think that someone set the fires?” Kate was appalled.

She
could almost hear Randall's shrug. “We'll find out tomorrow.”

Kate
felt that she had to mention the rescue effort, no matter how unnecessarily
dangerous she thought that it had been. “Randall, the boys and I saw you go
with the firefighters to rescue your men. That was pretty impressive. Are the
men all right?”

“They're
in the hospital now but the doctors say that they'll be okay. All I did was show
the firemen where to find them.”

“Well,
it looked as though you were running straight into the flames. You scared the
heck out of us.”

A
low chuckle rumbled through the telephone and vibrated against Kate's ear. “You
sound more annoyed than impressed.”

Kate
suppressed the impulse to tell him how stupid she thought he was to endanger
his life and get in the way of professional firefighters. Instead she softened
her tone and said, “You should go take that shower now and get some sleep. It
sounds like you have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“You're
right. I appreciate the late night conversation. I needed to unwind. Oh, and I
got your other message. Good night.”

He
hung up, leaving Kate literally open-mouthed as she began to explain why she
had cancelled their date.

Pressing
her lips back together, Kate dropped the phone onto the cradle.

She
turned off the light and slid down onto her pillow. Every nerve ending in her
body had started to hum the moment she had heard his voice. It wasn't really
fair; he had awakened her from a sound sleep and all her defenses were down.

Randall
Johnson's head fell back against the couch as he closed his eyes. He let his
cell phone drop onto the cushion beside him. When he had heard Kate's slightly
stiff but concerned voice among the messages waiting for him, he had felt a
moment's ignoble triumph that she had used his private phone number, even after
her attempt to ditch their date. Then the need to actually talk to her had hit
him with the force of a sledgehammer. He knew that he had no business calling
her in the middle of the night, but he had found himself dialing her number
anyway. Her seductively sleepy voice distracted him from worries about arson
and insurance claims and drew a response from his body that he thought would be
impossible in his exhausted state.

He
fell asleep while imagining what he would do with Kate Chilton in the giant
Jacuzzi in his bathroom.

And
he was smiling.

Seven

Kate
paced up and down the sidelines of the soccer field. She couldn't figure out
what they were doing wrong: the Claremont Comets were scoring fine, but the Oak
Grove Asteroids were running rings around her defense.

“You
look like a lady with a problem.”

Kate
froze. How could
Randall Johnson
be
at her children's Saturday soccer game?

But
here he was, all six-feet-plus of him, with his hands in the pockets of a black
leather jacket he wore open over a black polo shirt and a pair of faded blue
jeans. Certain parts of Kate's body began to tingle with the unwelcome memory
of those hands.

“What
on earth are you doing here?” she hissed.

Randall's
quizzical smile widened into a grin.

“Hello,
Kate,” he drawled, all velvet and seduction. “I'm watching some fine soccer
players. I could help you out with your defense. Why don't we make it a wager:
your team wins the game and you have dinner with me tonight. You lose and I eat
alone.”

Kate
recalled that Georgia's summary of Randall Johnson's assets had included: “He
was some kind of a soccer star at Princeton.” She debated as she watched the
Asteroids drive down the field again. When Patrick had to dive headfirst across
the net to stop the shot on goal, she turned to Randall, held out her hand, and
said, “It's a deal.”

He
gave her a firm but brief handshake. “How long until the halftime break?”

Kate
checked her watch. “About two minutes.”

“Okay.
I'll talk to your players then,” he said and focused his attention entirely on
the game. Kate saw his eyes narrow as he scanned back and forth across the
players, and she couldn't help smiling. He was bringing all the force of his
brilliant business mind to bear on the problem of a boys' soccer game, of all
things.

The
referee whistled halftime and the Comets walked dispiritedly off the field to
grab their water bottles and orange slices. Kate saw her sons look at Randall
and then at each other, but she didn't have time to offer an explanation. She
gathered her team around her and said, “Guys, this is Mr. Johnson. He was a
soccer player at Princeton University, and he's going to give us some
suggestions on defense.”

Kate
watched Randall squat down in front of her players. In three quick sentences he
explained what the opposing team was doing. As he outlined a strategy to combat
their opponents, Kate could see the light of comprehension dawning on all her
boys' faces.

The
whistle blew again and Kate sent her team out with words of encouragement and a
renewed sense of hope. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, her boys were
stopping Oak Grove cold. She turned to Randall with a smile of genuine
gratitude. “Thank you so much. You explained the strategy so clearly that I
feel like an idiot for not figuring it out myself.”

“You're
not an idiot. It's a very unusual offense—and much too complicated for kids
this age. You can see how easy it is to derail it, though,” he said, gesturing
to the field. “Their coach is obviously counting on playing against
inexperienced coaches.”

“Well,
he certainly wasn't counting on having you around,” Kate said. “Neither was I,
obviously. I'm sorry for being rude.”

“No
apology necessary. I like a strong reaction. It means that you're paying
attention.”

“I
wouldn't think you'd have to worry about that much,” Kate said and smiled
warmly again, before she turned back to the game. “Way to go, Ricky!” she
yelled as the Comets scored a goal.

Randall
couldn't take his eyes off Kate for a moment. That smile of hers... it had been
warm and open, without wariness or calculation, and he felt like she had
punched him in the gut. He briefly wondered if he needed to rethink his plans
for the evening. Then a quick survey of Kate's snug blue jeans put his mind
back on track. There was no need to make this complicated. He indulged himself
by imagining snaking his hands up under her “coach” sweatshirt and feeling her
nipples harden under the lace of her bra as he brushed his thumbs over them. He
was mentally running his hands back down and under her jeans to cup those
smooth curves when Kate yelled, “Subs, ref!” and turned to him.

His
expression must have revealed the direction of his thoughts. He saw Kate's eyes
widen.

“I
was going to ask for your advice, but I don't think that you've been
concentrating on the game,” she said dryly.

Randall
chuckled, “Just keep up the good work.”

Kate
forced herself to focus on rotating her players. Having Randall's
leather-and-denim-clad body only an arm's length away was disturbing enough,
but turning around to find him looking at her with focused lust was enough to
drive her right over the edge. She had already noticed the curious glances and
whispered comments among the soccer moms and dads standing on the sidelines.

She
looked at Randall again. He lifted one eyebrow at her and turned to watch the
game. Kate caught the smug smile on his lips. “We haven't won yet,” she
muttered under her breath.

The
Comets tied up the game, and it was almost over. Kate put all her energy into
cheering the boys on, and when the final whistle blew, the Comets were
victorious by a goal. She went out to supervise the team handshake. Her boys
gave a cheer for Oak Grove and waited a decent interval before erupting into
exuberant leaps and high fives to celebrate their unexpected win. As they filed
off the field, Kate saw Clay and Patrick head toward Randall.

Clay
offered his hand and said, “Thanks for your help, Mr. Johnson.”

Randall
shook it and responded, “Nice work at midfield, young man.”

Patrick
came next and the rest of the team followed suit. Kate decided that he'd been
paying more attention than she gave him credit for because he had an
appropriate comment for each boy.

“Who's
your new assistant coach?” Denise Costanza, a long-time friend and the mother
of Clay's best buddy, Robert, asked in Kate's ear.

Kate
sighed. “Randall Johnson. I'll introduce you.”

“You
sure will. If I wasn't a happily married woman, I'd be doing my best to cut you
out right now.”

“He's
just an acquaintance.”

“Honey,
I saw him looking at you and he's got more than acquaintance intentions, even
if you don't. If I were you, I'd take him up on them.”

Kate
made a rude noise to cover her blush, and then steered Denise over to Randall.
She found herself introducing several more parents who thanked Randall for the
victory. To add to her discomfort, one father greeted him without introduction,
referring to some business dealings that they had had. Now she was positive
that the gossip would fly. Randall walked with the team to the parking lot.

“Would
you like to join us at Marzullo's for pizza?” Kate asked stiffly.

“I
would, but I've got a conference call coming in this afternoon.”

“On
a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Well...
thank you again for wresting victory from the jaws of defeat. The boys and I
really appreciate it.” She mentally heaved a sigh of relief that he couldn't
join them.

Randall
leaned down to whisper by her ear, “I'm counting on your appreciation lasting
until tonight. I always collect on wagers.” He straightened and said in a
normal tone, “I'll pick you up at seven.”

His
whisper had sent tiny ripples of sensation brushing across the surface of her
skin. She frantically racked her brain to find some valid reason to back out of
their agreement. He forestalled her by taking her chin in his hand and locking
his gaze on hers. “I'm sure you're a woman of your word.”

“You're
a calculating, manipulative...” Kate sputtered to a stop.

“Son
of a bitch?” Randall offered with a laugh. He flicked her cheek with his finger
and walked away. As he opened the door of his car, he called, “See you
tonight.”

Kate
stood with her hands on her hips as he roared off in his black Jeep.
Insufferable! … Obnoxious! …
Her
thoughts were racing.

“Toad!”
she spit out.

The
Comets were the first team in the league to beat Oak Grove, and the team lunch
was a jubilant affair. The boys verbally replayed the entire second half of the
game over and over again. Randall Johnson's name came up repeatedly in the
rehash. Kate managed to avoid discussing him with the other parents by keeping
busy serving pizza and refilling Cokes. However, when she got home, she told
the boys and Brigid that she needed to take a nap and fled to her room.

She
fell backward onto her bed and flung her arm over her eyes. It was only human
to be flattered that Randall Johnson had tracked down her sons' soccer game.
She had to admit that. And she was impressed at how clearly he had explained
the defense strategy to all of them. But he had made it clear that his motives
were of the basest kind. And she wasn't at all sure that hers were much better.
Why had she agreed to his ridiculous wager? Reluctantly, she got up and started
to rifle through her closet.

Since
she had no idea where he was taking her, she settled on classics: a short black
skirt and a salt-and-pepper tweed blazer over a moss green turtleneck. She laid
the outfit on the bed and then stepped back and faced the final question: she
knew his intentions for the evening. What were hers?

She
went to her dresser to pull out the lace teddy and some black stockings to
attach to the garters.

She
was dressed when the doorbell rang.

“I'll
get it, Mom,” the boys called in unison, racing to the front hall.

Kate
followed at a more sedate pace. Clay and Patrick were bombarding Randall with
questions about his soccer career at Princeton. She stood back and gave him an
appreciative once-over, admiring the understated quality of his charcoal slacks
and silver-gray shirt under a black blazer that she suspected was cashmere. The
muted colors were the perfect foil for his strong features and she was sure he
was aware of it.

As
she moved forward to say hello, she knew he was comparing her rather
conservative attire with last week's ensemble. She gave him a cool look.

“Hello,
Randall. Sorry about the cross-examination,” she said, draping her arms lightly
around Clay and Patrick's shoulders. She gave them a quick hug and dropped a
kiss on the tops of their heads. “I'll see you two in the morning.”

Patrick
spoke up. “We still want you to show us how to nutmeg.”

“
Nutmeg
?” Kate asked.

“You
kick the ball between the defender's legs and pick it up behind him,” Randall
explained.

“Interesting
name for it.”

“Sometimes
you kick too high.”

“Those
are two nice boys you have,” Randall said, closing the front door for her.

Kate
glowed at the compliment to her children. “Thank you. They seem to be turning
out all right.”

“It
must be hard to be a single parent, particularly a mother of boys.”

Amazed
that he gave any thought at all to raising children, Kate hesitated a moment
before answering honestly, “It is. I always worry about them needing a role
model and having someone to talk with who can empathize rather than just
sympathize. Fortunately, I have some good friends who are willing to help out.”

“Well,
you're doing a fine job.”

Randall
opened the door of the Jaguar that crouched gleaming in her driveway. Kate
settled into the soft leather seat with a sigh of contentment, then ran an
admiring fingertip over the burled wood of the dashboard. As he pulled out of
the driveway, she took a deep breath and said, “I've been wondering how you
knew about the soccer game.”

He
kept his eyes on the road. “Patrick told me.”

Kate
waited for more and when she realized that he was done, prodded him with,
“When? Where?”

“On
Friday. On the telephone.”

“I
keep telling him to write down messages if he's going to answer the phone!”

“I
didn't leave a message.”

“Oh.”
Kate wasn't through yet. “And why did you come to the game?”

Randall
didn't answer immediately. He glanced sideways at her and poured the drawl on
thick, “I'll let you figure that out, pretty lady.” He reached one hand across
the space between them and laced his fingers into her hair. The warm pad of his
thumb circled slowly around the whorls of Kate's ear, exploring and declaring
his intent as clearly as if he had spoken.

Torn
between the desire to jerk away and the desire to lean into his hand, Kate sat
stiffly even as her breathing quickened. Randall dropped his hand to navigate a
sharp turn, and Kate's wandering attention focused on the fact that they were
sweeping up the twisting road to Eagle's Nest. Her pulse jumped but she kept
her voice calm. “I forgot to ask where we're having dinner.”

“At
my house. Don't worry, my housekeeper cooks like Julia Child.”

Randall
stopped the car in the enclosed courtyard and slid out of the driver's seat.
Opening her door, he offered his hand and, as his fingers closed around hers,
she felt the contact through her whole being. He pulled her upright and closed
the door behind her.