This Matter Of Marriage (2 page)

“Not yet.” But there were visions of entwined wedding rings dancing around in her head. She had a prospect, too. A man she'd just met yesterday, as a matter of fact.

“Well, gotta go have lunch. See you next weekend,” Meagan said, rushing for the front door.

As Hallie started to put the groceries away, she saw that the message light on her answering machine was blinking. Probably her mother again, or her sister, Julie, calling to report on baby Ellen's latest adorable exploit. But what if it was
him? Him
being the new loans officer at Keystone Bank. Hallie had gone in on Friday afternoon to make her deposits and been introduced to John Franklin.

The minute she'd laid eyes on him she realized he was everything she sought in a husband. Tall, dark and handsome. Friendly, polite and clearly intelligent. He met all the basic criteria, including availability; she'd noticed the absence of a wedding ring. He was close to forty, she estimated, but that didn't disturb her. An eleven-year gap didn't make much difference, not at her age. She'd be thirty in April, three months from now. Surely she'd be engaged by then.

Unfortunately the message wasn't from John. It was from Donnalee, who sounded excited and asked Hallie to phone the minute she walked in the door.

Hallie rang her back. “You called?”

“I've found the answer,” Donnalee blurted.

“What's the question?” Hallie grumbled in response; she hadn't had lunch and was never at her best on an empty stomach.

“Where do we meet the men of our dreams?”

“Hmm.” Her friend certainly had her attention now. “Wher?”

“The answer's a bit complicated, so stay with me.”

“Donnalee…”

“All I ask is that you hear me out. All right?”

Hallie muttered a reply. This dating thing had been much easier in high school and college. Apparently she'd lost the knack. Oh, there'd been a few romances in the years since, most of them what you'd call short-term. One had lasted the better part of six months, until it, too, fizzled out. The fault, Hallie admitted, had been her own. Gregg had complained about her long hours and her total commitment to Artistic License, and she'd told him that wasn't likely to change.

“I found an ad in the
Seattle Weekly
for a dating service,” Donnalee announced.

Hallie groaned. As far as she was concerned, only people who were desperate resorted to dating services. She didn't even want to
think
about the kind of men who applied to meet women that way. “You're joking, right?”

“You promised you'd hear me out.”

Hallie closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Okay, okay. Tell me all about it and
then
I'll tell you I'm not interested.”

“This is different.”

“They use videos, right?”

“No,” Donnalee said indignantly. “Would you kindly listen?”

“Sorry.”

“You and I are successful businesswomen. Most men are intimidated by women like us.”

Hallie wasn't convinced
that
was true, but didn't say so.

“In my case, I've been married once and it was a disaster.”

“That was over thirteen years ago.”

“Soon it'll be fifteen and then twenty, and my whole life will have passed me by. All because I made a stupid mistake when I was barely out of my teens. Hallie, I want a man in my life.”

“The whole nine yards,” Hallie added.

“Children, the house in the suburbs with a white picket fence. Cat, dog, family vacations. I can't believe I've put it off this long! I'd probably still be putting it off if you hadn't come up with your plan.”

“You're saying you want me to contact a dating service, too?”

“Would you
listen,
darn it? First you have to apply and if you're accepted, you pay a hefty fee and they'll arrange for you to meet a suitable match. One on the same financial level as you, whose personality fits yours. The woman I talked to claims they're very selective and only take on a certain number of clients. If you're accepted, the company is committed to finding you a match.”

“How hefty is the fee?” Hallie had recently forked over fifteen hundred bucks on exercise equipment. So much for paying off her credit cards.

Donnalee hesitated a moment. “Two grand.”

“Two thousand dollars!”

“Yup.”

“I damn well better get a date with Brad Pitt for that.”

Donnalee laughed. “Brad wouldn't date someone as old as either of us.”

Her friend's words were of little comfort. “You aren't serious, are you?” For that kind of money Hallie figured she could have liposuction and forget the treadmill and the dieting.

“Yup,” Donnalee said with a hint of defiance. “I'm thirty-three. I don't have as much time as you. If this agency can help me find a decent man, then I'd consider the money well spent.”

“You
are
serious.”

“Just think of it as a shortcut.”

Hallie still wasn't sold. “I haven't actually started looking yet.” Using a dating service felt like waving a white flag before she'd even stepped onto the battlefield. Surrendering without so much as a token effort.

“What are you going to do, wear a sandwich board that says AVAILABLE in big black letters?” Donnalee asked.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“You've had your entire life to find a husband, and you haven't. What makes you think it's going to be different now?”

“Because I'm ready.” This probably wasn't the time to remind her friend that she'd had relationships over the years, the most promising one with Gregg. While it was true that those relationships had grown fewer and fewer, and her social life had become rather dull, she'd barely noticed, working the hours she did. However, since the first of the year, she'd taken measures to correct that, delegating more responsibility to Bonnie Ellis, her assistant.

“And your being ready for marriage changes everything?” Donnalee sounded skeptical. She sounded skeptical a little too often, in Hallie's opinion.

“There's a man I'm interested in right now,” Hallie confessed, thinking of John Franklin.

“Really? Who?”

She should've guessed Donnalee would demand details.

“A banker,” she answered with some reluctance. “He's the new loans officer at the Kent branch of Keystone Bank. He transferred this week from the downtown Seattle branch. We met Friday, if you must know. I liked him immediately and he liked me. He's really good-looking. Sensitive, too.”

“Good-looking and sensitive,” Donnalee repeated.

“Single good-looking men are hard to find,” Hallie insisted, wondering at her friend's slightly sarcastic tone.

“That's because the majority of them have boyfriends.”

Hallie paused. John? Was it possible? “Do you know John Franklin?” Since Donnalee managed a mortgage company, she was familiar with many bankers in the area.

“I know
of
him.”

Hallie's suspicions mounted. “What do you mean?”

“John Franklin's the perfect reason you need the services of Dateline.”

“Oh?” Her confidence was shaken.

“You're right,” Donnalee continued. “John's sensitive, friendly, personable and handsome as sin. He also happens to be gay.”

Hallie's spirits sank to the level of bedrock. John Franklin. Hmm. With some men it was obvious and with others…well, with others, it wasn't.

“So, are you going to join Dateline?” Donnalee asked.

“Two thousand dollars?”

“Consider it cheap since the men are screened.”

“If Brad Pitt's out, then for that kind of money they'd better come up with royalty.”

“If they do, kid, I've got first dibs,” Donnalee said with a laugh.

“I'll look into Dateline, but I'm not making any promises.”

“Just call and they'll mail you a brochure. Phone me once you've read it over. Promise?”

“Okay, okay,” Hallie mumbled, and wrote down the number. She replaced the telephone receiver and shook her head. Who'd ever have thought this matter of marriage could be so complicated?

S
teve Marris's day wasn't going well. A parts shipment was lost somewhere in the Midwest, his secretary had quit without notice, and he suspected his ex-wife was dating again. The parts shipment would eventually be found and he could hire another secretary, but the news about Mary Lynn was harder to take.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and noted that it'd been at least a month since anyone had bothered to clean the glass pot. He'd make damn sure his next secretary didn't come with an attitude. This last one had refused to make coffee, claiming she'd been hired for her secretarial skills—not that they'd been so impressive. And she'd never understood that in
his
shop, everybody pitched in. No, he was well rid of her.

He sipped the hot liquid and grimaced. Todd Stafford must have put on this pot. His production manager made the world's worst coffee. Steve dumped it and rinsed his mug, then sat down at his desk, sorting through the papers amassed there until he found the invoice he needed.

Todd opened the door. “You going to sit in here all day and fume about Danielle quitting?”

Todd was talking about their recently departed secretary. “Naw, we're better off without her.”

Todd came into the office, reached for a coffee mug and filled it. He pulled out Danielle's chair and plopped himself down, propping his feet on the desk. “If it isn't Danielle walking out, then my guess is you're sulking about Mary Lynn.”

His friend knew him too well. “I heard she's dating again.”

“Heard? Who from?”

“Kenny,” Steve admitted reluctantly.

“You're grilling your kids for information about your ex-wife?”

“I know better than that.” Steve experienced a twinge of guilt. He hadn't
intentionally
asked his nine-year-old if his mother was dating. Kenny had been talking about joining a softball team in the spring, all excited about playing shortstop. He'd wanted his mother to toss him a few balls, he'd told Steve, but she couldn't because she was getting ready for a date. The kid had Steve's full attention at that point. It hadn't taken much to get Kenny to tell him Mary Lynn was seeing Kip somebody or other.

What the hell kind of name was Kip, anyway? Sounded like a guy who traipsed around in ballet slippers.

“So, what'd you find out?”

Steve ignored the question. He didn't like
thinking
about Mary Lynn dating another man, let alone talking about it. What had happened between them was painful even now, a full year after their divorce. An idea struck him suddenly, and he marveled at the genius of it. “I wonder if Mary Lynn might consider filling in here at the office until I can hire another secretary.”

“She hates it here,” Todd muttered. He sipped his coffee, seeming to savor every drop. “You know that.”

What his friend said was true, but Steve welcomed the opportunity to spend time with her. She might even tell him about Kip. “It couldn't hurt to ask,” he returned, sorry now that he'd said anything to Todd.

“You're divorced.”

“Thanks, I guess I must've forgotten.” Steve glared at him, hoping his sarcasm hit its mark.

“It's time to move on, old buddy. Mary Lynn has.”

Steve rose abruptly from his chair. “Shouldn't you get to work?”

“All right, so I touched a raw nerve. No reason to bite my head off.” Todd hurried back to the shop, and Steve swallowed his irritation. Damn it, he still loved Mary Lynn. No one had told him how painful this divorce business would be.

They'd been married twelve years and fool that he was, Steve had assumed they were happy. Then, one day out of the blue, Mary Lynn had started crying. When he'd tried to find out what was wrong, she couldn't say—except that she was unhappy. They'd married too young, she'd missed out on all the fun, all the carefree years, and now here she was, stuck with a husband, kids, responsibilities. Steve tried to understand her concerns, but everything he said and did only made matters worse. The thing that really got him was her claim that she'd never had her own bedroom. As it turned out, that was more important than he'd realized, because she asked him to move out of theirs shortly afterward.

Steve had called her bluff, firmly believing it
was
a bluff. He'd voluntarily moved out of the house, thinking that would help her “find herself,” something she apparently couldn't do with him there. She needed to make contact with her “inner child,” become “empowered” or some other such garbage. Okay, maybe he wasn't the most sensitive man in the world. She became incensed when he suggested she was watching too many of those daytime talk shows. Then, a month or so after he'd left, Mary Lynn shocked him by asking for a divorce. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, they'd each hired lawyers and were soon standing in front of a judge.

By that time, with attorneys involved, things had gotten heated, and he and Mary Lynn were more at odds than ever. It'd taken over a year to even start repairing the damage the attorneys and courts had done. He was sick of living apart from his family. He wanted his wife back.

Never mind what Todd had said—he
would
ask Mary Lynn to fill in for Danielle. Just until he could hire another secretary. Just until he could convince her that being apart was pure insanity.

Feeling pleased with himself, he reached for the phone. Mary Lynn answered on the third ring. “Hello,” she murmured groggily.

She never had been much of a morning person. “Hi. It's Steve.”

“Steve. Good grief, what time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Already?”

He could hear her rustling the sheets in an effort to sit up. During their marriage, he'd loved waking her, having her cuddle against him all soft and warm and feminine, smelling of some exotic flower. Their best loving had been in the mornings.

“What's wrong?” she asked, and yawned loudly.

“Nothing. Well, my secretary quit.”

She went very quiet, and he could almost hear her resentment over the telephone line. “I don't type, Steve, you know that.”

After all those years together, Mary Lynn could read him like a book. He took a certain perverse pride in that. “I need someone to fill in for a few days until I can hire a new secretary.”

“What about getting a temporary?”

“Sure, I could call an agency and they'd send someone out, but I'd rather give you the money.”

“I've got school. It isn't easy for me attending classes all afternoon plus keeping up with the kids and the house, you know.”

“I realize that, but it'd help me out considerably if you came in for a couple of days, just in the mornings. That's all I'm asking.” Since paying for her education had been part of the settlement, he was well aware of her schedule.

“You always say that!” she snapped.

“What?” This conversation was quickly taking on the same tone as their arguments before the divorce. He'd say or do something that irritated her, and for the life of him, he wouldn't understand what he'd done.

“You
say
you realize how difficult my schedule is. You don't.”

“I do, honest.”

“If you did, you'd never ask me to pitch in while you take your own sweet time finding a new secretary. I know you, Steve Marris. Two days'll become two weeks and I won't be able to keep up with my classes. That's what you really want, whether you know it or not. You're trying to sabotage my schoolwork.”

Steve choked back an argument. “I understand how important your classes are,” he said. And he did. What he failed to understand was why her getting an education precluded being married to him. Not only that, he wondered what she intended to do with a major in art history. Get a job in some museum, he supposed—if there were any jobs to be had. But he certainly couldn't say that to her.

“Do you really, Steve?”

“Yes,” he said, still struggling to show his respect for her efforts. “It's just that I thought since your classes don't start until one, you might be willing to help out, but if you can't, you can't.”

She hesitated and he closed in for the kill.

“All I need is a couple of hours in the morning. And like I said, if you can't do it, that's fine. No hard feelings.”

“Do you realize how much reading I have, how many assignments?”

“You're right, I never should have asked. I guess that's been the problem all along, hasn't it?”

“Yes,” she agreed sharply. Then there was a pause. And a sigh. “I guess I could fill in for a couple of days, but no longer. I want to make that perfectly clear. Two days and not a minute longer, understand?”

“Perfectly.” Steve wanted to leap up and click his heels in the air. Calling Mary Lynn had been one of his better ideas. He was confident it wouldn't take long to make her forget all about this other guy.

“I hope you don't want me there before eight?”

He let the question slide. “You're wearing the pink nightie, aren't you?”

“Steve!”

“Aren't you?” His voice grew husky despite his attempts to keep it even. Some of their best sex had come after the divorce. It was so crazy. Mary Lynn wanted him out of the house but continued to welcome him in her bed. Not that he was complaining.

“Yes, I'm wearing your favorite nightie,” she whispered, her voice low and sexy.

Slowly his eyes drifted shut. “I'm coming over.”

“Steve, no. I can't. We can't.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because we shouldn't.”

Steve was instantly suspicious, convinced her decision had something to do with what Kenny had told him. “Why?”

“We're divorced, remember?”

“It hasn't stopped us before. I could be at the house in fifteen minutes. You want me there, otherwise you'd never have told me about the pink nightie.”

Mary Lynn giggled, then altered her tone. “Steve, no, I mean it,” she said solemnly. “We've been divorced for a year now. We shouldn't be sleeping together anymore.”

His jaw tightened. “When did you make that decision?”

“Since the last time.”

He exhaled, his patience fading fast. He did a quick review of their last rendezvous. It'd been late morning, before her classes and while the kids were in school. He'd invented some excuse to stop over. Mary Lynn knew what he wanted, and from the gleam in her eye and the eager way she'd led him into the bedroom, she'd wanted the same thing.

He couldn't imagine what had changed, other than her dating this Kip character. Unfortunately he couldn't ask her about it or let on that he knew. The last thing he wanted was to put his children in the middle, between two squabbling parents, something he'd seen other divorced couples do all too often. The divorce had been hard enough on Meagan and Kenny without complicating the situation. So their private lives, his and Mary Lynn's, would stay that way—private. At least as far as the kids were concerned.

“What happened to change your mind about us sleeping together?” he asked, instead.

Mary Lynn sighed. “Nothing. Everything. We have to break this off. It's over for us, Steve.”

Steve didn't say anything. He knew his wife—ex-wife—well enough not to argue. Something else he knew about Mary Lynn—she possessed a healthy sexual appetite. As strong as his own.

“You'll be here in the morning, then?” he said, just to be sure.

“I suppose. But remember I agreed to two days, and two days only.”

“Bring along the pink nightie.”

“Steve!”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but he wasn't.

He hung up the phone a few moments later, his mood greatly improved.

The rest of his day was relatively smooth. The transport company located the lost shipment in Albuquerque. The parts were guaranteed to be delivered within the next forty-eight hours. The majority of his orders came from a major aircraft builder in the area, for whom he supplied engine mounts, but he also did lathe work, blanchard grinding and other steel-fabrication work for a number of customers. His company was growing, taking on larger and larger orders, and he employed almost a dozen people now.

On the drive home that afternoon, Steve's gaze fell on his hands—clean hands—gripping the steering wheel. He used to have grease under his fingernails, and that had always bothered Mary Lynn. The irony didn't escape him. The last year and a half, he'd spent the majority of his time in the office and rarely dirtied his hands. She'd always wanted him to have a white-collar job; when he was finally able to grant her wish, she wanted him out of her life. Damn it all, the machine shop had been good to them—it had bought her house, supported the kids, paid for her education. A little grime around his fingernails seemed a small inconvenience.