The Man She Married (5 page)

That night, Clay couldn’t sleep. Sometime after midnight he decided to lay his cards on the table and take his knocks. Things couldn’t get much worse. Could they?

He’d been up for hours trying to formulate a plan that would minimize the damage, but so far he had zilch. The sun was about to make an appearance before he settled on pampering.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Clay said, sitting down on the side of the bed and waving a cup of coffee under Maizie’s nose. “I have bear claws and apple fritters.” Clay shook the pastry sack.

Maizie cracked an eye. “Is that for me?” she asked. “Please say it’s mine.”

“It certainly is.” Clay set the cup on the bedside table and leaned over to give her a kiss. “Cute hair.” He tugged on a curl and let it spring back into place. “We need to talk.”

Maizie pulled herself up to a sitting position. “Do you mind if I have a shot of caffeine and a bite of sugar first?”

The question was obviously rhetorical, but it gave
him some breathing room. When had he become such a coward?

“This is so yummy,” Maizie said as she took her first bite of apple fritter. “Considering you made a predawn trip to the bakery, and you made coffee, I have to wonder what you’ve been up to.”

“Me?” He wished she didn’t know him so well. “Uh…”

Clay was working up the courage to spill his guts when the phone rang. His first reaction was relief; his second was panic. Who would be calling at six a.m.?

Maizie grabbed the phone to check the Caller ID. “It’s Hannah,” she said before answering the call.

“What’s wrong, baby?” The tension in Maizie’s voice was almost palpable. Then she smiled and gave Clay a reassuring nod. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she said before settling back against the pillows.

Clay took the interruption as a sign. Cluck, cluck, cluck, Chicken that he was, he decided to head to the office. “I’m going to work,” he whispered.

“Hannah, hold on a second. Your daddy’s leaving and I want to speak to him.” Maizie held the phone against her chest and mouthed. “It’s about her boyfriend. What did you want to talk about?”

“We can do it later. Let’s go out to dinner tonight. We’ll have a nice long chat then. What do you have going today?”

“I don’t think I told you this but I’ve started taking tennis lessons at the club.”

“Tennis?”

“I figured I needed the exercise and that sounded like a good way to get it. Bambi doesn’t have school, so she can work and I’m going to play.”

Clay shrugged. Maizie sweating? It was hard to imagine.

“Have a good time.” He gave her a kiss and a wave before strolling out the door.

“I’m back.” Maizie got comfortable for a long talk with her daughter. “So what did he say?”

T
HE BEGINNER CLASSES AT
the club were available for drop-ins. At times there were too many students for the pro to handle. But on occasion there were so few students it was almost like having a private lesson. That was the situation Maizie encountered when she arrived at the club later that morning.

“Hi, Maizie. I didn’t know you were available on weekdays.” As usual, Trip Fitzgerald was drop-dead handsome in his crisp white shorts and dazzling polo.

“Normally I’m working but my assistant manager is covering for me. You remember PJ, don’t you?”

“I do indeed. She’s quite the saleswoman.” Trip laughed. “Mom appreciated my shopping spree.”

“PJ’s one of a kind. I couldn’t run the shop without her,” Maizie said, then changed topic. “I realize I’m a terrible tennis player, but do you think there’s any hope for me?”

Trip patted her shoulder. “Of course there is. You’re a good athlete. You’re just a little rusty.”

Who was he kidding? Rusty didn’t begin to describe her—totally oxidized would be more appropriate. But now that she’d started on this tennis venture, she was eager to learn.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get ready to run,” Trip announced with a maniacal gleam in his eye.

The two other ladies in the class were both well under thirty. Why couldn’t she be content to “sweat to the oldies”?

Trip set up a serving machine and had them hitting ball after ball—forehands, backhands, overheads and volleys.

“Turn, step into the shot, watch the ball, follow through.” If Trip said that once, he said it a dozen times. “Ladies, it’s a backhand. That means it’s coming from the other side. Turn, step into it. Watch the ball!”

His tirade was usually followed by her favorite. “Get your butt in gear! This ain’t no sewing circle. I want to see some per-
spi
-ration. Ya hear me. Run. Get it going.”

She had to wonder whether teaching a bunch of klutzes had driven him around the bend.

“Mrs. Walker, don’t swat at the ball. Bring your racket back and get prepared as soon as it comes toward you. Once it bounces it’s too late.”

Maizie took a deep breath before she put her hands on her hips. Sweat was dripping from every pore. Glowing—get real. Even her socks were soaking. “I told you before. Call me Maizie. You’re making me feel ancient.”

He had the temerity to laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Uh, Maizie. You’re not ancient, believe me.” He tapped her on the bum with his tennis racket.

What was that about?

The lesson had lasted only an hour, but it was the longest sixty minutes in history. Maizie felt as if she’d been through the wringer. She used her arm to wipe the per-
spi
-ration off her face. Mama would absolutely die if she saw her. Maizie was so busy burrowing through her bag for a towel she didn’t hear Trip walk up.

“Have you considered taking some semiprivate lessons, or perhaps even a private? I think you have potential.”

She wasn’t sure if this was Trip’s version of marketing or whether he was telling the truth. But either way, she’d played along. It worked just fine for her own purposes, too.

“Is there someone who could do a private lesson with me tomorrow?” It wouldn’t hurt to have PJ run the shop again. She’d appreciate the bonus and Maizie would love one more day without dealing with people like Jeannine Crabtree. And if Trip could teach her, so much the better.

“I’m available. Do you prefer morning or afternoon?”

“Any time is good.”

“Why don’t we go back to the office? I’ll check the appointment book.”

Maizie tossed the racket into her sports duffel and followed him across the court to the sports complex.

“I’m dying of thirst. How about you?” Trip asked as they passed an outdoor snack kiosk.

She’d glowed so much she probably didn’t have a drop of moisture left in her system. “I’m pretty sure I’m dehydrated.”

“I’ll buy you a Coke.”

“Thanks.”

Thirty minutes later, Trip glanced at his watch. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this, we need to scoot on over to the office to set up your lesson.”

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you.” During their conversation Maizie had discovered they were close to the same age and amazingly they enjoyed many of the same things
and even had some mutual acquaintances. Making a new friend was like scoring a great bargain—it was a ton of fun. And then there was always the jealousy angle.

That was the start of Maizie’s obsession with tennis. If she wasn’t at the boutique, she was on the court. Maizie took group lessons, semiprivate lessons and even a couple of privates. She was fixated on serves, volleys, approach shots and lobs, and she did them over and over again.

Following almost every lesson she’d head over to the club for a soft drink. It was a great way to meet some of the newcomers to Magnolia Bluffs, and Trip almost always joined the party. He was funny, charming and delightful to be around.

Clay didn’t understand any of it, Liza said she was being obsessive and PJ was getting irritated. She didn’t appreciate the fact her boss was AWOL more often than not.

Maizie couldn’t explain her new passion, other than it made her feel young and competitive. She was toning up, getting a killer tan and had made a great new friend in Trip.

Occasionally she wondered what Clay had wanted to talk to her about. For some reason that escaped her
memory, they hadn’t been able to make it to dinner. And after that one incident he’d withdrawn so much that now she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

In this case, however, ignorance
wasn’t
bliss. If they were going to save their marriage, they both had to come clean. By gosh, if he was having an affair she’d make him rue the day he was born. But truthfully she couldn’t imagine Clay philandering.

For her part, Maizie realized the jealousy scheme would never have worked anyway. Clay wasn’t around enough to know if someone was flirting with her. Looking back on it, Maizie now acknowledged it had been a
really
bad idea.

E
VERYTHING—AT LEAST THE
professional side of her life—came to a head almost two weeks into her intense lessons. Maizie had just arrived at the boutique when PJ confronted her about the tennis absences. That’s when Maizie decided she had to focus on her business and her marriage. She’d been a selfish twit, but no more. The fun was over. It was time to grow up, and to prove it she canceled all her upcoming lessons.

Maizie was busy patting herself on the back when the phone rang.

“You’re one hard chick to track down.” Liza didn’t mince words.

“And hello to you, too.”

“Kenni and I will be there in ten minutes. We wanted to take you to lunch but with your tennis lessons, and work and whatever, we haven’t had any luck getting hold of you.”

Maizie hated to spoil Liza’s tirade so she didn’t bother to beg off. “I’m here, so come on over.”

T
EN MINUTES LATER
L
IZA
and Kenni marched into Miss Scarlett’s like a couple of avenging angels. PJ took one look at them and skedaddled off for a break. “I’m going to lunch.” She grabbed her purse and was out the door in a flash.

“I think we need chocolate,” Liza announced. “Are you using the same hiding place for the good stuff?”

Oh, this was going to be fun. “Yep, third cabinet from the left, top shelf.”

Kenni made herself at home on the fainting couch.

Maizie sat down with her cousin. “So, what’s the emergency?”

“We, uh, we wanted to—”

“We’re here for an intervention.” Liza tossed a bag of Lindt truffles on the table.

Maizie hadn’t seen that one coming. “An intervention? What are you nitwits talking about? I’m not an alcoholic.”

“No, but you’re making a huge mistake and we refuse to sit back and let you ruin your marriage,” Kenni said.

Liza popped a chocolate in her mouth. “Hence, the intervention.”

“Why do you think I’m ruining my marriage?”

Kenni glanced at Liza before speaking. “We think your idea to make Clay jealous is dangerous. You have to stop it.”

At first Maizie was flabbergasted, then she found it funny. “Have I told you guys that I love you?”

“Not lately,” Liza said. “And I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I already ditched my idea to make Clay jealous. It was dumb.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Liza agreed. “So if you’re not trying to get Clay’s attention, what’s with all the tennis?”

Maizie shot her twin her best “duh” look. “I’m playing tennis because it makes me feel good. They’re called exercise-induced endorphins.”

Kenni snorted. “Exercise-induced endorphins? Holy smoke. Who are you and what did you do with my cousin?”

“Yeah, where’s my sister?”

“Stuff it, both of you. Hand over the chocolate,” Maizie said, grabbing the bag of Swiss candy. “Besides, I’ve already decided to cut back on my tennis time. I’ll admit it, I’ve become obsessed, and I’ve been neglecting my other obligations, but no more.”

Several hours later Maizie was straightening the racks when the bell over the door jangled. She was expecting PJ to return from an errand so she didn’t bother to look up.

“Would you watch the front while I go unpack our new inventory?” she asked.

“Are you going to pay me?” The voice was male and very familiar. It should be—she’d spent almost every day for the past two weeks with him.

“Hey, Trip. What can I do for you?”

The tennis pro leaned against the counter. “I thought I’d drop by to see if the rumor was true. Have you really cancelled all your lessons?”

“Sorry, it’s true.” Maizie shrugged. “I decided I needed to spend more time on my real job, especially since I probably won’t make the pro tour.”

“Yeah, there is that,” he agreed, not bothering to hide his grin. “Think of it this way, you’re getting a lot of vitamin D. What’s more important than that?”

“Sometimes you have to make priorities, and unfortunately this is one of those occasions.”

“Do you think you might come back in the future?”

“Maybe later,” Maizie said with a laugh. “PJ wasn’t happy about my being gone so much. And I can’t afford to irritate her—she’s indispensible. So there went the tennis, at least for now.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, it is. I really enjoyed the lessons, even if you did make me sweat.” And even if she was a middle-aged woman with melting makeup in a bevy of hot young things half her age.

“Did you come in to see me or are you on another shopping expedition?” Maizie realized that sounded flirtatious, which she was supposed to be avoiding, but it didn’t mean a thing. Flirting was in her blood.

Trip made a show of smacking his forehead. “Oh, right. I need a present for, uh, my mother.”

“What’s the occasion?” Maizie asked. “The last time you were here you were buying her a birthday present.”

“What can I say? I’m a good son. She’s going on a cruise and I thought I’d send her a bon voyage gift.”

Although Maizie didn’t quite believe him, she never turned away a paying customer. “Is there anything she needs?”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you just show me some things, and then let me take you to lunch?”

“Sure, why not?” She went out to eat with friends all the time. “PJ will be back shortly. In the meantime we can give that credit card of yours a workout.”

C
LAY WASN’T PARTICULARLY HUNGRY
but his partner Harvey Tucker was craving deep-fried onion rings. That’s how they ended up in the dimly lit dining room of the Dixie Draught, Magnolia Bluffs’ only brew pub.

“Is that Maizie back there?” Harvey asked, peering into the gloomy recesses of the bar. “And who’s she with?”

“Where?”

“That way.” He indicated a booth at the rear of the restaurant. When Clay’s eyes adjusted, he realized Harv was right. That was Maizie, but who was the dude? No time like the present to find out. He walked purposefully toward them, Harv trailing in his wake.

“You don’t mind if we join you, do you?” Clay asked his wife, not giving her a chance to answer before he squeezed into the booth next to her.

“I’m Maizie’s husband, Clay Walker. And you are?” The question was more of a demand than a request. Clay knew he was being rude, but after spying his wife in a têteà-tête with a handsome stranger, he simply didn’t care.

“Harv, sit down. We’re going to join my wife and her friend.” Although his partner looked as if he’d rather dine with terrorists, he reluctantly complied.

“Clay!” Maizie jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Be nice. This is my tennis coach, Trip Fitzgerald. And, Trip, this jerk is my husband.”

“Glad to meet you,” Trip said with a smile.

“Yeah, you, too.”

What else could Clay say? He was so jealous he couldn’t see straight. That was the reason he’d messed up royally. God, he was afraid he was losing his wife.