The Kept Woman (24 page)

"We found each other."

"We did."

"It was just an unorthodox way of meeting."

"Highly unorthodox." Jack kissed the top of her head. "You've just got to tell me—what perfume do you wear? I swear I've never smelled anything like it. I have dreams about the way you smell."

She chuckled softly. "It's not perfume. It's a combination of essential oils I mix myself—jasmine, rose, and a little ylang-ylang."

"Isn't that a rap group?"

Samantha squeezed him tight. "I'm glad you like it. All those oils together are called 'fire nature.'"

"It fits you, my little fiery one."

She kissed his cheek. "Am I really what you've been looking for?"

"Absolutely. And I wonder sometimes if I even knew what I wanted before I met you. All I know is I saw you, and I started to buzz all over, and a very loud voice in my head said,
This one
. I guess some things in life are just a mystery."

"The best things usually are."

"So when did you know about me? Was it at our first meeting?"

"Hmm." Sam adjusted her position so that she was lying directly on top of him, stretched out from head to toe. God, he loved that arrangement. He stroked the firm globes of her butt and breathed her in.

"As you may recall, you fell on the floor at our first meeting."

"Ah, yes."

"I thought you were kind of goofy. Then I just planned to use you for sex."

He laughed so hard that he nearly knocked Sam off her perch. "Oh, how the tables turn, baby."

She kissed him sweetly and laughed with him. "But you know, that didn't last long, and I found myself falling a little bit every day. By Christmas, it was a done deal."

"Or just starting."

"True."

"Sam? What have you been looking for?"

Her body stilled and her breathing slowed, and Jack knew she was weighing her answer. He wasn't sure if he liked that idea—he wanted her to be free to say what was on her mind, no matter what it was. He expected candor from his advisers, and if Sam was going to be his woman, for real, he'd want the same from her. He'd need it. "Please tell me, Sam."

She sat up, straddled his body, and placed her hands on his chest. He wasn't sure he could carry on a conversation with her like this, displayed in all her glory in front of him, his very own little fiery vixen of love.

"I've always wanted to be part of a real couple, Jack. A man and a woman who are passionate about each other, but treat each other with respect and kindness. I've never had that. Mitch was. . .well, he wasn't passionate about me, for one, and I guess we all found out why that was." Sam tried to smile and it broke Jack's heart.

"It wasn't your fault that he was gay, sweetheart."

"I know that." When she nodded, her curls spilled into her face. He reached up and brushed them away from her cheek.

"He was pretending," Jack said. "It was never real for him, and frankly, I am very glad he figured that out. What I can't understand is that he left his children. That was despicable."

Sam tilted her head and looked at him seriously. "Mitch basically used me, Jack. Once I got pregnant and we decided to get married, I supported him—he never turned a profit with his glass. It wasn't a partnership and it sure wasn't kind, and that's what was missing in our marriage—passion, respect, and kindness—and that's what I want now, with you."

"Let me give that to you."

"Let's give that to each other."

"I would do anything in the world for you, Samantha."

"Then love me. Just love me and let me love you back and everything else will find its place."

Jack sat up and grabbed Sam tight, rolled with her again and again, and after some intense kissing, some laughing, and after she rubbed all over him in a way that made him glad he was alive, he found his place. His place was inside her, loving her, for real.

"You sure you're OK, Sammy? You look a little thin."

"Ha! I'm thin? Look at you! You look absolutely stunning!" Sam glanced up from the stack of mail she was sorting and smiled at Monte. A couple months at the gym had done wonders for her friend.

"Yeah, I got no complaints. I'm still managing to lose me some and get me some all in the same place."

The two women laughed while the kids swam. It was a pleasure to hear Greg giving Lily hell so flawlessly.

"Maybe your suit wouldn't keep falling down if you grew some boobs," he was saying to his sister, in between splashes. "We sure don't want to see anything you got, so don't blame us."

Sam smiled. No, her kids' manners hadn't improved much, but Greg's speech therapy was going gangbusters.

She continued to sort through the mail, feeling a solid peace at her core. She was in love with Jack. The campaign was going extremely well. They would find a way to break it to everyone after the primary that they really were a couple and planned to stay that way. For the first time in many years, Sam felt real joy when she imagined her future.

Sam's gaze fell to the plain white envelope in her hand, and she began to tremble. Her heart nearly stopped. She studied the return address, written in handwriting familiar and alien at the same time. Her head began to spin. This couldn't be.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered.

"What's that?" Monte asked. "The bank telling you they've run out of storage room for your money?"

Sam slowly raised her eyes from the envelope and tried to focus on Monte's face, which was now quite concerned.

"Sammy? What the hell—?"

"It's a letter from Mitchell."

Monte blinked and wobbled her head on her neck a few times. "Say what?"

"I. . .I. . .can't open this. Here." She shoved the letter in Monte's hand and leaned back in the lounge chair, hugging herself.

"You want me to open this? What if it has anthrax in it?"

"I'm sure the only thing in there is a load of bullshit," Sam said.

Monte stared at the envelope, frowning. "This is an Indianapolis address. Now how in the world is that possible? I feel the need to load up my razor and go for a drive."

"Just read it to me, please."

Monte shook her head slowly several times as she ripped open the flap and pulled out a piece of lined paper torn from a spiral notebook. "Well, let's see now. . .." Monte checked to make sure all the kids were busy in the pool and then she began to read in a quiet voice:

"'
Dear Sam:

"'
I know you must be shocked to get this letter from me. Believe me, I'm shocked to be mailing it. First, please let me apologize to you for leaving the way I did and not living up to my responsibilities to the children. I have done a lot of soul-searching lately, and I know I was wrong. I won't ask you to forgive me. I think that would be asking too much
.'"

"You know that's right," Monte said.

"Keep going."

"'
I've finally gotten my life together after a long, unhappy time. I've made a lot of poor decisions and I got myself into trouble, financially and in my personal life. But things are looking up
.

"'
I've attached a copy of a cashier's check that was delivered to the county on Thursday. I have paid all the child support I owe and hope to fulfill my obligations from here on out. All you have to do is go to the prosecutor's office and pick up the check or make arrangements for automatic deposit. I have a hearing in court in a couple months, where I will probably receive probation for skipping out, but I am willing to face up to my mistakes
.'"

Monte glanced up at Sam with her eyes wide. Then she held up the letter and showed Sam the copy of the check, to the amount of fifty-seven thousand dollars. "When it rains, it pours, I guess."

Sam was having trouble breathing. "Is there anything else?"

Monte cleared her throat and finished reading.

"'
The only thing I would ask of you is that you meet me sometime soon so that I can talk to you in person, apologize to you in person, and discuss with you how I might go about seeing the kids
.'"

Monte pursed her lips and took a long moment to mull that over. "The man must be on crack," she said.

"Don't joke. He just might be."

"'
So please call me at the number below and let me know where and when it would be convenient to meet. I look forward to seeing you, and I thank you for taking such good care of the kids while I was away
.'"

Monte folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, handing it to Sam without further comment. Sam doubled the envelope and shoved it in her pants pocket, realizing her fingers were numb.

"I can't believe this." Sam covered her face in her hands and tried to stop breathing so hard. Eventually, she looked up and stared at Monte, who stared back at her. "I never imagined he'd pay up and ask to see the kids. It will kill them. Dakota doesn't know that man from Adam!"

Monte reached over and held her hand. "Sam, you need to talk to Denny about this, ask her what you are legally obligated to do here. Mitch may not even have a right to see them. I don't know."

Sam nodded, feeling a little bit better, but it occurred to her that her sense of hard-won peace had just been shattered, all because of Mitch. The irony was that Sam would have killed to have that check six months before, but now it was meaningless. She didn't even want the money if it meant she had to deal with him—she'd just give it to some kind of victims' fund or a children's charity.

Why had Mitch chosen to play nice right
now
?

"I've got a very bad feeling about this," Sam said to Monte.

"You, too, huh? Well, just promise me one thing—you will not go see that man without me."

"That's a promise. Don't forget to bring your razor."

This was a monumental waste of time, and Christy was going to be late for her hair appointment with Marcia, which would then make her late for her lunch date with Brandon. But her dentist had practically begged her to go see this oral surgeon fellow, so there she was, sitting in a waiting room as the precious minutes ticked by, alternating her glances between the latest
Cosmo
magazine and her watch. It struck Christy as proof that the apocalypse was indeed near when a mainstream woman's magazine devoted a trio of articles to how to perform oral sex on a man. Where had the charm gone? Where was the genteel romance? What had become of basic human decency?

Besides, her jaw had been so sore lately that giving anyone a blow job was the last thing on her to-do list.

"Ms. Schoen?"

Finally! Christy followed the nurse back to the examination room and waited. It was a pleasant shock to see a very attractive young doctor enter the room and smile down at her. He had dark hair and smoky gray eyes that reminded her a little of Jack Tolliver. That was unfortunate. She'd never be able to have a relationship with him, then.

"I don't think you can wait much longer on the extraction, Ms. Schoen," he said, examining her chart and X-rays. "I know you've been putting this off for almost a year, and my concern is that you'll develop a systemic infection." He smiled down at her. "I've always said that an impacted wisdom tooth is like infidelity—it's got to come out sooner or later—and you have four of those little gems."

Christy wasn't sure if he was joking, but she knew she didn't want a jokester slicing open her gums.

"I understand that you are quite skittish about this procedure. Many patients are, but most everyone is pleasantly surprised that the discomfort is less than they feared. You will receive general anesthesia and a prescription for pain relief. We recommend that you take off a couple days to recuperate and heal. Speaking and chewing will not be comfortable activities for at least twenty-four hours."

Well, that certainly sealed the deal. "I can't possibly do this until after the primary election, which is May 9."

The doctor scowled and looked over at a wall calendar. "That's five weeks from now."

"I realize that."

"I'm not sure you can hang on that long."

"I have no choice."

"Are you involved in the mayoral campaign or something?"

Christy gasped. "There is no mayoral campaign this year. I am the political reporter for Channel Ten News and the host of
Capitol Update with Christy Schoen
. It's aired Sundays at two
P.M.
and in three time slots later in the week."

The doctor shrugged, jotting down some notes in Christy's chart. "I'm sorry. I don't watch much television."

Christy left the office with an appointment card for May 11 at 8:00
A.M.
, wondering if she could trust a man who didn't watch TV. She was sure she could find some other competent oral surgeon between now and then.

Her appointment with Marcia whizzed by without much to show for it except that her hair was up to snuff. Marcia had seemed hesitant to discuss anything having to do with Samantha Monroe, and that Monte woman dished out looks that would have scared the crap out of a weaker individual, so Christy just played it cool. The last thing she wanted was to tip anyone off that she was overly interested in Samantha Monroe.

Only Brandon knew. And sitting across from him at Michael Pi's Chinese restaurant, Christy had to say she had been wise to enlist his help. He'd carried out everything flawlessly to this point. He'd convinced Mitch Bergen to come on board and dragged him back to town; he'd managed to remain anonymous while paying Mitch's child support debt with a cashier's check; he'd found a cheap place for Mitch to live and a cheap secondhand car for him to drive; he'd even gotten Mitch a job in the mail room at an insurance company. Brandon was turning out to be a brilliant assistant.

Sure, there were times when Christy cringed at how much this was costing her. But the way she figured it, it was an investment in her future. She had cashed out some of the Microsoft stock her daddy gave her as a high school graduation present (something that pissed her off back then) to meet Mitch's expenses. When this story broke and when the network offers started pouring in, she knew she could recoup her loss in a matter of months.

"So, when do you think you'll have time to let me make you that quiet dinner for two?"

Christy realized she would have to be quite careful with this part of the arrangement. She was leading Brandon on until the story broke, and she needed to keep him an ally forever afterward. She had to admit that his savvy had impressed her. And sometimes she liked his smile. But she wasn't ready for any quiet dinner for two at his place.

"Let's plan on celebrating after the story breaks."

"I can't wait that long. I love you, Christy. I've always loved you."

She reached out and stroked Brandon's soft hand. "We're going to be having so much fun in the next few weeks that the time will fly by."

A few moments later, Brandon asked Christy why she'd barely touched her General Tso's chicken.

"My wisdom teeth have been bothering me. I need to have them removed after the primary."

Brandon stopped chewing and shook his head, quickly wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You better plan on taking a week off. I'll come to your place to take care of you."

Christy felt a shock course through her. "A week?"

"Oh God, yes. Three of my four were impacted, and I was a wreck for a week. I really pissed off my roommate at the time because the anesthesia made me nutso. Apparently, I just rambled on about everything and I told him what an asshole I thought he was. He moved out three days later and stuck me with the utilities."

This was very disturbing news. Christy took a sip of ice water and cursed herself for not taking care of this a year ago, when it first became a problem. She swore to herself right then that she'd never again put off for tomorrow what she could do today.

"We need to get Mitch Bergen wired and send him in."

"Sam Monroe hasn't even indicated she got his letter."

"That's not good."

"She hasn't picked up the check, either. I looked into it."

"Damn. This has got to work."

Brandon smiled at her. "It will. Give it a little time. You really are a genius, you know."

Christy smiled at him and allowed him to hold her hand across the table. "I know," she said.

Marguerite Tolliver was thoroughly displeased. She'd been back in Naples since mid-January and couldn't seem to shake the sense of impending doom she'd brought with her from Indianapolis. Jack wouldn't listen to her. He was acting like a hormonal college boy. He was absolutely smitten with that middle-aged lingerie model he had squirreled away at Sunset Lane. He'd even given that woman his Great-grandmother Tolliver's wedding ring to wear around town as a lark! It was despicable, but no matter how Marguerite tried to approach Jack, he shut her down. Just recalling the specifics of their last conversation made her feel unwell.

"I thought you wanted me to be a U.S. Senator," Jack had said, sitting next to her on Gordon's old office sofa. It had disturbed her that her son's voice seemed devoid of emotion.

"Of course I do! You will do splendidly on Capitol Hill!"

"Then let me handle my personal life and my campaign. I know what I'm doing."

"But Jack—I don't think you do. This was a misguided idea from the start. If anyone finds out what you've been up to, your political fortunes will be ruined forever. I don't want to see you hurt like that."

"You mean you don't want to see the Tolliver name hurt like that."

"It's more than that."

"I don't know that it's ever been more than that for you, Marguerite. I don't know if you've ever seen me as more than someone to carry on the name."