Same Time, Next Year

  “But, James, you have a terrible black eye. What will people say?” She hated to think about the speculation he’d face when he returned to Seattle, and it was all on account of her. Perhaps she should’ve told him that Brett was bothering her, but she hadn’t wanted to burden him with her troubles.

  “Everyone will figure I was in a major fistfight,” James teased. “It’ll probably be the best thing to happen to my reputation in years. People will see me in an entirely new light.”

  “Everyone will wonder….”

  “Of course they will, and I’ll tell them they should see the other guy.”

  Summer made an effort to laugh but found she couldn’t. She twisted her head a bit so she could look at him. The bruise on his jaw was a vivid purple. She raised tentative fingers to it and bit her lip when he winced.

  “Oh, James.” Gently she pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw.

  “That helps.” He laughed and groaned at the same time.

  She kissed him again, easing her mouth toward his. He moaned and before long, they were exchanging deep, hungry kisses.

  “I refuse,” James said, unbuttoning her blouse but having difficulty with his swollen hands, “to allow Brett to ruin our last few hours together.”

  She smiled and slid her arms around his shoulders. “Want to have a shower?” she breathed.

  “Yes, but do you have a large enough hot-water tank?”

  Summer giggled, recalling their last experience in her compact shower stall and how the water had gone cold at precisely the wrong moment.

  The sound of the key turning in the lock told Summer her roommate was home. She sat back abruptly and fastened her blouse.

  “Hi, everyone.” Julie stepped into the living room and set her suitcase on the floor. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Her gaze narrowed. “James? What on earth happened to you?”

  * * *

  James didn’t expect his black eye to go unnoticed, but he wasn’t prepared for the amount of open curiosity it aroused.

  “Morning, Judge Wilkens.” Louise Jamison, the assistant he shared with two other judges, greeted him when he entered the office Monday morning. Then she dropped her pencil. “Judge Wilkens!” she said. “My goodness, what happened?”

  He mumbled something about meeting the wrong end of a fist and hurried into his office. It was clear he’d need to come up with an explanation that would satisfy the curious.

  Brad Williams knocked on his door five minutes later. His fellow judge let himself into James’s office and stared. “So it’s true?”

  “What’s true?”

  “You tell me. Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”

  “It was a minor scuffle, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.” James stood and reached for his robe, eager to escape a series of prying questions he didn’t want to answer. He had the distinct feeling the rest of the day was going to be like this.

  And he was right.

  By the time he pulled out of the parking garage that evening, he regretted that he hadn’t called in sick. He might’ve done it if a black eye would disappear in a couple of days, but that wasn’t likely, so there was no point in not going in. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. The eye looked worse than it had the previous day. He pressed his index finger against the swelling and was surprised by the pain it caused. Still, he could live with the discomfort; it was the unsightliness of the bruises and the questions and curious glances he could do without.

  Irritated and not knowing exactly whom to blame, James drove to his father’s house. He hadn’t been to see Walter in a couple of weeks and wanted to discuss something with him.

  His father was doing a New York Times crossword puzzle when James let himself into the house. He looked up from the folded newspaper and did a double take, but to his credit, Walter didn’t mention the black eye. “Hello, James.”

  “Dad.”

  James walked over to the snifter of Scotch Walter kept on hand and poured himself a liberal quantity. He wasn’t fond of hard liquor and rarely indulged, but he felt he needed something potent. And fast.

  “It’s been one of those days, has it?”

  James’s back was to his father. “You might say that.” He took his first sip and the Scotch burned its way down his throat. “This stuff could rot a man’s stomach.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Taking his glass, James sat in the leather chair next to his father. “I suppose you’re wondering about the eye.”

  “I’ll admit to being curious.”

  “You and everyone else I’ve seen today.”

  “I can imagine you’ve been the object of more than one inquisitive stare.”

  “I was in a fistfight.”

  “You?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. You’re the one who told me there’d be times in a man’s life when he couldn’t walk away from a fight. This happened to be one of those.”

  “Want to talk about it?” His father set aside the paper.

  “Not particularly, but if you must know, it was over Summer.”

  “Ah, yes, Summer. How is she? I’m telling you, son, I like her. Couldn’t have chosen a better mate for you if I’d gone looking myself.”

  James smiled for the first time that day. “She’s doing well. I was with her this weekend.” James raised the Scotch to his lips and grimaced. “We had brunch with her parents.”

  “Helen and Hank. Good people,” Walter commented.

  “There’s a problem with the April wedding date—on their end and mine. Helen suggested we wait until September. I said November, because of the election.”

  “Do you want that?” Walter asked.

  “No. Neither does Summer.”

  “Then the hell with it. Let her finish out her contract with Disneyland and join you after that. You’ve already had a wedding. I never could understand why you wanted two ceremonies, but then I’m an old man with little appreciation for fancy weddings. What I would appreciate is a couple of grandkids. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and neither are you.”

  “Do away with the second ceremony?”

  “That’s what I said,” Walter muttered.

  James closed his eyes in relief. Of course. It made perfect sense. He’d suggested a second wedding because he thought that was what Summer wanted, but if he asked her, James suspected he’d learn otherwise. The wedding was for her parents’ sake.

  “How’d you get so smart?” James asked his father.

  “Don’t know, but I must be very wise,” Walter said, and chuckled. “I’ve got a superior court judge for a son.”

  James laughed, feeling comfortable for the first time all day.

  “Stay for dinner,” his father insisted. “It’s been a while since we spent any real time together. Afterward you can let me beat you in a game of chess, and I’ll go to bed a happy man.”

  “All right.” It was an invitation too good to refuse.

  * * *

  When James got home after ten, the light on his phone was blinking. He was tempted to ignore his messages.

  He felt tired but relaxed and not particularly interested in returning a long list of phone calls. Especially when he suspected most of his callers were trying to learn what they could about his mysterious black eye.

  The only person he wanted to talk to was Summer. He reached for the phone, and she answered on the second ring.

  “I just got in,” he explained. “Dad and I had dinner.”

  “Did you give him my love?”

  “I did better than that—I let him beat me at chess.”

  She laughed, and James closed his eyes, savouring the melodic sound. It was like a balm after the day he’d endured.

  “How’s the eye?” she asked next.

  “Good.” So he lied. “How was the show today?”

  “I didn’t go in. I seem to have come down with the flu, so my understudy played Belle. I felt crummy all day. When I woke up this morning, I ju
st felt so nauseous. At first I thought it was nerves over what happened with Brett, but it didn’t go away, so I had to call in sick.”

  “Have you been to a doctor?”

  “No. Have you?”

  She had him there. “No.”

  “I’ll be fine. I just want to be sure I didn’t give you my flu bug while you were here.”

  “There’s no sign of it,” he assured her.

  They must have talked for another fifteen minutes, saying nothing outwardly significant yet sharing the most important details of their lives. Their conversation would have gone on a lot longer, had someone not rung his doorbell.

  It was Ralph Southworth. His campaign manager took one look at James and threw his arms dramatically in the air. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Good evening to you, too,” James said evenly.

  Ralph rammed all ten fingers through his hair. “Don’t you listen to your messages? I’ve left no fewer than five, and you haven’t bothered to return one.”

  “Sit down,” James said calmly. “Do you want a drink?”

  Ralph’s eyes narrowed as he studied James’s face. “Am I going to need it?”

  “That depends.” James pointed to the recliner by the large brick fireplace. He’d tell Ralph the truth because it was necessary and, knowing his campaign manager’s feelings about Summer, he suspected Ralph would need a stiff drink. “Make yourself at home.”

  Instead, Ralph followed him into the kitchen. “I got no less than ten phone calls this afternoon asking about your black eye. You can’t show up and then say nothing about it.”

  “I can’t?” This was news to James, since he’d done exactly that. “I thought you were here to discuss business.”

  “I am.” Ralph frowned when James brought an unopened bottle of top-shelf bourbon out of a cabinet. “So I’m going to need that.”

  “Yes.”

  “I met with the League of Women Voters and I’ve arranged for you to speak at their luncheon in July. It’s a real coup, James, and I hope you appreciate my efforts.”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Thanks.”

  “Now tell me about the eye. And the bruises.”

  “All right,” James said, adding two ice cubes to the glass. He half filled it with bourbon and handed it to his friend. “I got hit in the face with a fist more than once.”

  “Whose fist?”

  “Some beach bum by the name of Brett. I don’t remember his last name if I ever heard it.”

  Ralph swallowed his first sip of liquor. “Does the beach bum have anything to do with the woman you mentioned?”

  “Yeah.”

  The two men stared across the kitchen at each other.

  “Were the police called?” Ralph demanded.

  It took James a moment to own up to the truth. “Yes.”

  Ralph slammed his hand against the counter. “I should’ve known! James, what did I tell you? A woman’s nothing but trouble. Mark my words, if you get involved any further with Spring…”

  “Summer!”

  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter, because her name spells just one thing. Trouble. You’ve worked all your life for this opportunity. This is your one shot at the bench. We both know it. You asked me to manage your campaign and I agreed, but I thought it would be a team effort. The two of us.”

  “It is.” James wanted to hold on to his seat on the bench more than he’d ever wanted anything—other than to marry Summer. He also felt he was the best man for the position. To get this close and lose it all would be agonizing.

  “Then why,” Ralph asked, palms out, “are you sabotaging your own campaign?”

  “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

  “Stay away from this woman!”

  “Ralph, I can’t. I won’t.”

  Ralph rubbed his face with both hands, clearly frustrated.

  “Summer’s in California, but I plan on bringing her to Seattle as soon as I can arrange it. Probably April.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not.” James figured he should admit the truth now and be done with it. “We’re married.”

  “What?” Ralph pulled out a chair and sank into it. “When?”

  “Over New Year’s.”

  “Why?”

  “It was just…one of those things. We fell in love and got married. We were hoping for a more elaborate ceremony later, but I can see that’s going to be a problem.”

  “You want to know what’s the real problem, James? It’s the marriage. Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “I should have,” James said, sorry now that he hadn’t. “But when you told me you’d never been in love, I didn’t think there was much of a chance you’d understand.”

  “What you’ve done is jeopardize your entire campaign.”

  Somehow he doubted that. “Aren’t you overreacting?”

  “Time will tell, won’t it?” Ralph asked smugly.

  James decided to ignore that. “If anything, Summer will be an asset. She’s lovely and she’s good at connecting with people. Unfortunately her contract with Disney doesn’t expire until April.”

  “That’s right,” Ralph said sarcastically. “I forgot, she’s a showgirl.”

  “A singer and an actress and a very talented one at that,” James boasted.

  “An actress, a showgirl, it’s all the same.”

  “Once she’s finished with her contract, I want her to move in with me.”

  “Here in Seattle?” Ralph made it sound like a world-class disaster.

  “A wife belongs with her husband.”

  “What about the beach bum?”

  James frowned. “We don’t have to worry about him. He’s gone for good.”

  “I certainly hope so. And while we’re making out a wish list, let’s add a couple of other things. Let’s wish that your worthy opponent doesn’t find out about this little skirmish between you and Summer’s previous lover-boy. And let’s make a great big wish that he doesn’t learn that the police were called and a report filed.”

  “He won’t,” James said confidently, far more confidently than he felt.

  “I hope you’re right,” Ralph said, and downed what was left of his bourbon in one gulp. The glass hit the counter when he put it down. “Now tell me, what kind of damage did you do to the beach bum?”

  * * *

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?” Julie said when Summer set the telephone receiver back in place.

  “No.” She sighed reluctantly. She rested her hand protectively on her stomach.

  “A man has the right to know he’s going to be a father,” Julie said righteously. She bit into an apple as she tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa.

  Summer closed her eyes. Even the smell of food or the sound of someone eating made her sick to her stomach. In the past two months she’d seen parts of toilets that weren’t meant to be examined at such close range. She hadn’t kept down a single breakfast in weeks. The day before, she’d wondered why she even bothered to eat. Dumping it directly into the toilet would save time and trouble.

  “How long do you think James is going to fall for this lie about having the flu?”

  It had been more than a month since she’d last seen him, and in that time Summer had lost ten pounds. Her clothes hung on her, and she was as pale as death. She seemed to spend more time at the doctor’s office than she did at her own apartment. Her biggest fear was that being so ill meant there was something wrong with the baby, although the doctor had attempted to reassure her on that score.

  “Why haven’t you told him?” Julie wanted to know.

  “I just can’t do it over the phone.” Besides, she remembered James mentioning that a pregnancy now would be a mistake. Well, she hadn’t gotten this way by herself!

  She knew exactly when it had happened, too. There was only the one time they hadn’t used protection.

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  Summer shook her head. “I
don’t know.”

  “You talk on the phone every night. He sends you gifts. I can’t think of anyone else who got six dozen red roses for Valentine’s Day.”

  “He’s extravagant….”

  “Extravagant with everything but his time.”

  “He’s so busy, Julie. I never realized how much there was to being a judge, and he really cares about the people he works with. Not only the people who stand before him, but the attorneys and his staff, too. Then there’s the election….”

  “So, go to him. He’s just as unhappy without you.”

  “I’ve got three weeks left on my contract, and—”

  “Do you really suppose no one’s figured out that you’re pregnant? Think about it, Summer. You came back from Vegas all happy and in love, and two weeks later you’re heaving your guts out after every meal. No one expects you to perform when you feel this crummy.”

  “But…”

  “Do everyone a favor and—” Julie stopped when there was a knock at the door. “Is anyone coming over tonight?”

  “No.” Summer laid her head back against the sofa and drew in several deep breaths, hoping that would ease her nausea.

  “It’s for you,” Julie said, looking over her shoulder as soon as she’d opened the door. “It’s Walter Wilkens.”

  Summer threw aside the blanket and scurried off the sofa, anxious to see her father-in-law. “Walter?” What could he possibly be doing here? “Come inside, please.”

  The refined, older gentleman stepped into the apartment. “Summer?” He gazed at her, his expression concerned. “James said you’d been ill with the flu, but my dear…”

  “She looks dreadful,” Julie finished for him. Her roommate took another noisy bite of her apple. “I’m Julie. We met at the wedding. Summer’s roommate and best friend.”

  Walter bowed slightly. “Hello, Julie. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Sit down, please,” Summer said, motioning toward the only chair in the house without blankets or clean laundry stacked on it.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Julie asked.

  “No…no, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Summer, my dear.” He frowned. “Have you been to a doctor?”

  “Yup,” Julie answered, chewing on her apple. “Three times this week, right, Summer?”

  “Julie,” she snapped.