The Man She Married

Oh, sheesh! He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was tall, but at 6’4” he still had a couple of inches on her.

“Maizie, sweetheart. I can’t. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than spend a weekend with you, preferably somewhere far away from telephones and e-mail and nasty clients. But right now it’s impossible. I’m up to my ass in alligators on this project.”

Clay was tempted to tell her about the precarious nature of their finances, but decided against it. He didn’t want to worry her. Why should they both get ulcers? But even he knew that was a crock. The truth was he was embarrassed.

It was several seconds before Maizie pulled away, giving him a glance he couldn’t quite decipher. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be planning something nutty. But lately Lady Luck hadn’t been smiling on him.

Chapter Seven

Maizie prided herself on excelling in almost every social situation. She could pull off a dinner party for twenty at the drop of a hat. Give her a couple of weeks and she could organize a formal ball. But being at home on a tennis court? Nope, that wasn’t even vaguely in her repertoire.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so glad you decided to join us.”

Mrs. Walker? Was Clay’s mother behind her? “Call me Maizie, please.”

“Sure,” Trip agreed before turning to the rest of the class. “Ladies, this is Maizie. Please make her feel at home.”

She already knew many of the women—for the most part young matrons who lived in the new gated community. They were skinny, they were toned and she wasn’t, not by a long shot.

She felt like a klutz. It’d been a long time since she’d played tennis in high school, so Maizie had started off with a beginner class, and it was a darned good thing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the stupid ball over the net.

To make matters worse, Maizie had long since passed the glowing stage. Even though it was a gorgeous autumn day, and not all that hot, she was sweating like a pig. Now that was a real turn-on.

Maizie hit an errant ball that pinged off the net before bouncing out of the court. This game was obviously not her bag, and she’d better improve—PDQ—or there would be a whole bunch of new tennis stuff for the next garage sale. Of all the schemes she’d concocted this one had to be the most ridiculous. And to be truthful, the chances of it working were almost nonexistent.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get better,” Trip assured her.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Maizie said with a chuckle. Everyone else had wandered off to the clubhouse in search of a cold drink.

“You’re doing fine. Just keep trying.”

That was easy for him to say. He could keep the ball inside the lines.

“Would you like some help gathering up the balls?” Maizie asked, wondering why the nubile young things hadn’t stuck around. This was clearly a prime flirting opportunity.

“That would be great.” Trip picked up one of the handled ball baskets that allowed for ball retrieval without bending over.

Maizie grabbed a ball sweeper that resembled a toy pop-up vacuum cleaner and went about corralling the tennis balls that littered the court. The pros made the game look easy, but the same could be said for gymnastics and ice skating. So even if her flirting idea was a bust, it might be fun to actually learn to play.

CLAY REALIZED HE WAS FRESH out of ideas about Maizie, so he decided to call in the cavalry—aka Liza and Kenni. He’d had to resort to cajoling and a smidgen of begging before they agreed to meet him at the Coffee Cup, a café at the opposite end of town from Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir.

Clay’s stomach was flip-flopping like a D.C. politician, so coffee was out of the question. What was the name of that tea Eleanor loved? Earl Grey—that was it. He ordered a cup and was about to take his first sip when his wife’s sister and cousin strolled in.

“Over here,” Clay said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. The rumor mill in Magnolia Bluffs was remarkably efficient, and Maizie would have a fit if she heard they were meeting behind her back.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“A small latté for me,” Kenni said.

“Make that two,” Liza agreed.

To an uninvolved observer this would be nothing more than a coffee date with friends, but appearances could sometimes be deceiving. It didn’t escape Clay’s notice that as soon as he walked off, Liza and Kenni put their heads together for a private conversation.

“Here you go,” Clay said when he returned with the drinks. The ladies were obviously not discussing the church social or even the price of tea in Timbuktu.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Liza took a deep breath. “We really can’t tell you anything. I would if I could, honestly. But I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“A little of both.” She glanced at Kenni who nodded in agreement.

Clay rested his head on his fist. “Look, I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. I simply need some help. She seems angry with me all the time and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong.” He held his hands up in supplication. “I’m desperate.”

Liza rubbed the back of her neck. “Why don’t you tell us what you think the problem is. Maybe we can help you without really helping you, if you see what I mean.” Wink, wink.

Clay nodded. “Fair enough. I suspect there are a couple of things going on. First off, I think when Hannah moved out she started feeling unfulfilled. But she doesn’t want to admit it. You know Maizie, she’s always pooh-poohed the empty-nest idea.”

Kenni spoke up. “That’s a start, and for what it’s worth I agree with you. So we have an empty nest, what else?”

Clay couldn’t meet their eyes. “She wants me to spend more time with her.”

“What’s so hard about that?” Liza asked.

He sighed. “Maizie doesn’t know this, so you can’t tell a soul. Do I have your word?”

Although Kenni grimaced, she nodded. Liza followed suit.

“Our firm is in financial trouble. We won a contract that’s now in the middle of a huge crisis. We’re working on that new overpass on the interstate and the moron we’re dealing with at the Department of Transportation has required more change orders than we can deliver. Alter this, move that, do that—nope, that’s not right, try again. It’s been one thing after another. Frankly, I think he’s trying to tube the project. Consequently, the construction company has gone into a penalty phase and is about to go belly-up. If that happens, we don’t get paid. And we’ve spent well over six months on the project.” Clay massaged his temples. “After I’ve spent all day putting out fires, I’m too beat to do anything but fall into bed.”

“There goes my advice.” Liza huffed out a breath. “How about you?” she asked Kenni.

“Uh, me, too.”

Liza took Clay’s hand. “You need to tell Maizie what’s happening. She really, really needs to know.”

“I’ve waited too long. She’s going to be so pissed that I didn’t come to her right away. And to be completely honest, I’m humiliated that I let things get this out of hand.”