The Manning Grooms

  James had Summer by the shoulders. “It won’t do any good to argue with him,” he told her. He looked at Brett, who was red-faced and angry. “I think it would be best if you left.”

  “Stay out of this,” Brett growled.

  “We’re married,” James said, trying to add reason to a situation that was fast getting out of hand. “Nothing you say is going to change that.”

  Brett spit on the ground. “She’s nothing but a whore anyway.”

  James would’ve walked away for almost anything. But he refused to allow anyone to speak in a derogatory way about Summer. He stepped toward Brett until they were face-to-face. “I suggest you apologize to the lady.”

  “Gonna make me?”

  “Yes,” James said. He’d been a schoolboy the last time he was in a fistfight, but he wasn’t going to let this jaded, ugly man insult his wife.

  Brett’s hands went up first. He swung at James, who was quick enough to step aside. The second time James wasn’t so fortunate. The punch hit him square in the eye, but he didn’t pay attention to the pain since he was more intent on delivering his own.

  “James!” Summer repeatedly screamed his name. James could vaguely hear her in the background, pleading with him to stop, that Brett wasn’t worth the trouble.

  The two men wrestled to the ground, and James was able to level another couple of punches. “You’ll apologize,” he demanded from between clenched teeth when Brett showed signs of wanting to quit.

  Blood drooled from Brett’s mouth, and one eye was swollen. He nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  James released him just as the police arrived.

  Eight

  Summer wouldn’t have believed James was capable of such anger or such violence. Part of her wanted to call him a fool, but another part wanted to tell him how grateful she was for his love and protection.

  His left eye was badly swollen, even with the bag of ice she’d given him. James had refused to hold it to his face while he talked to the police.

  His black eye wasn’t the only damage. His mouth was cut, and an ugly bruise was beginning to form along his jaw. Brett was in much worse shape, with what looked to be a broken nose.

  After talking to both Brett and James and a couple of witnesses, the police asked James if he wanted to press charges. James eyed Brett.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I doubt this…gentleman will bother my wife again. Isn’t that right?” he asked, turning to Brett.

  Brett wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. “I didn’t come here looking for trouble.”

  “Looks like that’s what you got, though,” the police officer told him. “I’d count my blessings and stay away.” He studied him for a moment, then asked, “Want to go to the hospital?”

  “Forget it. I’m out of here,” Brett said with disgust. He climbed inside his car and slammed the door, then drove off as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “He won’t be back,” Summer said confidently. She knew Brett’s ego was fragile and he wouldn’t return after being humiliated.

  “You’re right, he won’t,” James insisted darkly, “because you’re filing a restraining order first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Summer nodded, wishing she’d thought of doing it earlier.

  “This isn’t the first time he’s pestered you, is it?”

  Summer lowered her gaze.

  “He’s the reason you had your phone number changed, isn’t he?”

  She gave a small nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What could you have done from Seattle?”

  “You should have told me. I could at least have offered you some advice. For that matter, why didn’t you tell your father?”

  James was furious and she suspected she was about to receive the lecture of her life. When nothing more came, she raised her eyes to her husband—and wanted to weep.

  His face was a mess. His eye was completely swollen now. It might have been better if she could’ve convinced him to apply the ice pack. Anyone looking at him would know instantly that her husband the judge had been involved in an altercation—and all because of her.

  The police left soon afterward.

  “Can I get you anything?” Summer asked guiltily as they entered the apartment.

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

  But he wasn’t fine. His hands were swollen, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. All at once he started to blur, and the room spun. Everything seemed to be closing in on her. Panic-stricken, Summer groped for the kitchen counter and held on until the waves of dizziness passed.

  “Summer? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I got a little light-headed, that’s all.” She didn’t mention how close she’d come to passing out. Even now, she felt the force of her will was the only thing keeping her conscious.

  James came to her and placed his arm around her waist, gently guiding her into the living room. They sat on the sofa, and Summer rested her head against his shoulder, wondering what was wrong with her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears.

  “For what?”

  “The fight.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “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 just 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. “Ye
s.”

  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.”