Marriage by Mistake (37 page)

He'd even told her he loved her.

Memories of their recent interactions swirled
dizzily through her mind: his anger and tenderness, spite and
humanity. She couldn't make heads or tails of this man. And,
suddenly, she didn't want to make heads or tails of him. Even
putting the best light on things, he was mercurial,
erratic...unreliable. Not for her.

With a heavy churn of clashing emotions --
anger and injury, confusion and yearning, she put on the cool
smiling mask she'd perfected over the years. "Yes, Troy," she told
him. "And you, too. Have a nice evening."

Then, having accomplished her mission, a
mission that never had to be repeated, she turned and, all serene
elegance, strolled out of the room.

###

Troy watched Felicia imitate a vengeful
goddess as she swept from the Club lounge. She looked absolutely
magnificent. He felt like an idiot coward.

Why couldn't he have accepted her thanks? It
would have been the gracious thing to do.

But he'd been too terrified to act gracious.
What if she imagined he'd gotten those checks through some kind of
talent? Or, worse yet, through hard work? It had only been dumb
luck. He'd come across Joe Esterley when he was still reeling from
April 15 and had been looking for write-offs for the coming year.
As for Emery Hunsington, oh, he was just a soft touch. It didn't
mean a thing that everywhere Troy went lately he'd found himself
mentioning the shelter, dropping seeds into the minds of people
with fat checkbooks. He hadn't taken on a responsibility. He'd
simply become...weirdly obsessed.

With a flicker of green, Felicia's skirt
disappeared around the edge of the lounge door. She was gone. Troy
let out a deep breath and sank back into his chair. Instead of
putting his feet up again, he perched on the edge of the chair, his
forearms on his knees.

No, Troy certainly didn't want Felicia
thinking he'd started any kind of career here. He didn't want her
thinking he was taking that fundraising job, for heaven's sake. He
could not afford to have people rely on him. Unh unh.

Least of all could Troy afford for Felicia to
think
she
could rely on him. Coaxing a few checks out of
some friends did not constitute Troy's transformation into a
trustworthy man of integrity. No, siree. He wasn't the solid,
dependable man Felicia should have in her life, the fellow who
could heal the scars that her clay-footed father had laid on
her.

Troy put a hand over his suddenly unhappy
stomach. Surely he didn't want to be such a man. No, not even
considering that with each check he'd obtained he'd felt a rush of
pride. It couldn't be true that he had such ridiculous
aspirations.

Perhaps he was a coward, but he'd been right
to push Felicia away. He was still just a lazy goof-off. Troy
grimaced and rubbed his stomach. He was certain he'd done the right
thing.

###

Dean did not go into work the day after his
epiphany of pain. Oh, why should he? He was tired. He certainly
didn't feel up to being efficient, controlled, or brave. In his
bathrobe, he puttered around the house.

While idling in the family room, he ran into
Robby's cache of video games. Dean fingered the colorful boxes and
decided to put in a disc. Why not? The computer whirred and a
variety of fearsome dinosaurs popped onto the screen. Dean quickly
figured out his character was the one armed with a submachine gun.
He laughed out loud when he shot down his first T. Rex. My, but
that was gratifying.

He got to the fifth level in the dinosaur
game before he finally quit at two in the morning.

The next day Dean played through to the
highest level in the dinosaur game. Fortunately, Robby had other
discs. Dean pawed through them. Some lifted his eyebrows. If he'd
known Robby owned this stuff he would have tossed it. As it
was...Dean tried them all.

A little over a week later Troy appeared.
He'd kept himself scarce since Kirk's visit, but now stood in the
hall behind Dean. "What are you
doing
?" Troy asked.

Dean was sitting on Robby's wheeled office
chair, faced away from the hall. He didn't stop punching the button
on his joystick. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I know what it looks like, I'm just having
trouble believing my eyes. Is that 'Babes in Uniform' you've got on
there?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and hit a key.
Instantly a colored floating ball replaced the field of
overly-endowed women warriors. He adjusted the collar of his
bathrobe and rolled his chair around to face his cousin. "What do
you want?"

Troy shook his head. "Nothing."

"Why are you smiling?"

"Who, me? I'm not smiling." But Troy was
definitely smiling.

"Glad to see me down?" Dean cocked his
head.

Troy beamed. "Well, yeah. It's not unpleasant
to see you looking miserable."

"Great. You've seen it, now go."

But Troy didn't budge. "Oh, the pleasure
doesn't stop after only one glance." With his hands in his trouser
pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "Yes, I'm definitely enjoying
this, a kind of misery-loves-company thing, I suppose."

"Excuse me?" Dean said.

"The funny thing is, I can see the solution
to your problem crystal clear," Troy told Dean. "While I have no
idea what to do about my own."

"
Excuse
me?" Dean said.

Troy laughed and waved a hand. "Come on,
Dean. Don't you think you could be doing something a little more
constructive with your feelings than play video games?"

Dean glared at him. "What feelings?"

"Hm," Troy said.

He sounded so superior, so smug. Dean felt
his hands clenching into fists. With surprise, he realized his dark
depression was lifting. It was transforming into anger. What
business had Troy to make fun of him? This whole thing was Troy's
fault to begin with! He'd been the one to give that idiotic
hypnotic suggestion. He'd started the whole boondoggle mess.

Dean showed his teeth at his cousin. "Fine.
You think I ought to be doing something more constructive?"

"Uh    "

"More    physically healthy,
perhaps?"

"Uh, Dean    " Troy took a step
back.

Dean rose from the padded office chair. He
tightened his silk belt. "How about we go a few rounds?"

Troy's eyes widened. "Fight? Right here?"

"No." Though Dean wouldn't have minded. But
he could see he'd have to convince Troy. "In the gym, with
gloves."

Troy swallowed. "No way."

"I'll pay you," Dean said.

"What?"

"I'll pay you. You're always up for an
addition to your allowance."

Troy held up his hands. "I don't think some
extra pocket change would be worth this."

"Ten grand," Dean said, knowing precisely how
much Troy received from his trust fund every month.

Troy's lower jaw dropped.

"Twenty," Dean said, not wanting to fiddle
around. He wanted his hands in the gloves, hitting something.

Troy shook his head. But his mouth said,
"You're on."

###

Fifteen minutes later they were on a mat in
the gym, circling each other. Troy had insisted on helmets,
otherwise they were down to their gym shorts.

Dean admitted he was a little stiff. He
hadn't worked out since he'd discovered Robby's video games. That
had been over a week ago. And Troy would be more supple, being
younger. But he'd have no discipline. He never used the downstairs
gym. Dean doubted his lazy cousin did any sort of exercise, besides
a game of tennis now and then.

Dean made an experimental jab toward Troy's
jaw. He was surprised when Troy parried expertly.

"Might not be as easy as you thought, eh?"
Troy kept circling.

Dean shrugged. He'd known Troy would be
faster, but he wouldn't be stronger. Dean tried another jab, this
one down low. He missed contact again.

"Face it," Troy said. "You're not as
all-powerful as you think."

"Huh," Dean said. Troy sounded way too
pleased about the fact. "All I have to be is powerful enough to
knock your block off."

"You think that'll make you feel better?"
Troy grimaced as they circled each other. "Fact is, I had the same
thought, but I don't believe it's going to work."

"I believe it will." Dean made another jab.
Troy blocked it again and then added a shot of his own, one that
connected. Dean grunted. His cousin had more juice than he'd
expected.

"Ready to call off this stupid idea?"

Dean drew in a steadying breath. "I haven't
got my twenty grand worth yet."

"No." Troy sighed. "That'll only come after I
knock you out, I suppose."

Dean smiled. "Right. Come and get me, girlfr
   "

Troy's arm flashed toward him. Dean's head
snapped back. His feet slipped out from under him, and then
everything went black.

###

Dean opened his eyes to see Troy in his
helmet, looking worriedly down at him.

Helmet still on. He hadn't been out that
long, then.

Troy's worried look eased. It turned annoyed.
"Idiot," he said.

Dean shrugged. Or at least he tried to.

"Come on, let's get you on your feet." Troy
lifted Dean's shoulders. Dean groaned as the pain in his head
surged. "You know, this really wasn't productive," Troy
grumbled.

"You can say that again." Dean winced as he
struggled to sit up.

"Getting beat up is not going to make you
feel better about Kelly."

Dean closed his eyes. The terrible pain swept
back again, and this time it wasn't from Troy's fist. "Then what
is?"

Troy didn't say anything. When Dean opened
his eyes, he saw his cousin's lips were pressed tightly
together.

"What?" Dean demanded.

Troy shook his head, as if he refused to say,
but then blurted, "Maybe I should try to hypnotize you again."

Dean stared at him.

"Give you the same suggestion." Troy looked
steadily into Dean's eyes. "Do what you want instead of what you
should."

Dean just kept staring. But a shiver passed
through him. He knew what he wanted to do...and it was crazy,
illogical. What would it accomplish? Feelings didn't last
   and hers were over. She was done with him.

But there was something in Troy's eyes,
a...fellowship that made it hard for Dean to disguise his thoughts.
Slowly, just slightly, Troy smiled. "Ah, but I don't need to
hypnotize you. You already know what you want to do."

"But    it wouldn't make any sense
to see Kelly."

Troy's brows lifted. "You think?"

Yes, yes of course Dean thought so. Kelly was
done with him. She'd gone so far as to leave him, just as he'd
always thought she would. She didn't want to see him.

Or was that true? Dean put a hand up to his
temple. That blow to his head must have been worse than he'd
thought because suddenly he was remembering his last conversation
with Kelly.

He'd been trying his best to forget it, but
now one moment of that horrible conversation stood out clear in his
mind. Kelly had stood there, waiting. She'd looked at Dean with
such...expectation. Yes, she'd looked at him as if there'd been
something Dean could have said or done that would have kept her
with him...

Slumped on the gym mat, Dean frowned. No,
that was ridiculous. There was nothing he could do to keep a woman
with him if she wanted to leave. And Kelly had wanted to leave.

Hadn't she?

He felt an abrupt wrenching of the gut. What
had that strange moment of her looking at him been about? Had there
been something he could have done to keep her? Had she wanted to
stay?

Dean rubbed his forehead. Hope wrestled with
pain, but neither was stronger than a new and burning set of
questions. For the first time in two weeks Dean wondered what Kelly
was thinking, what she was feeling. Had he hurt her that day?

Was that why she'd left?

Was she miserable, too?

Dean felt another wrench in his gut. Oh, God,
had he made Kelly unhappy? If that were true    His gaze
shot up to Troy. "I have to go see her."

"Well, yeah." Troy sat back on his heels. "I
was wondering when you'd figure that out."

"Now," Dean said.

"Almost now," Troy countered, smiling
strangely. "First you gotta pay me that twenty grand."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It had been a hectic day for Felicia, one
board meeting after another. She'd been juggling budgets that were
too small, and smoothing feathers that were constantly getting
ruffled. By nine p.m. she was ready for a long soak in the tub and
the rest of the evening spent curled in her bedroom armchair with a
good book.

Her mother was out at her bridge night, which
was a mixed blessing because when the doorbell rang it was up to
Felicia to deal with it. Giving a longing look toward her armchair
   she hadn't had time to open her book    she
started down the stairs.

She soon saw she'd interrupted her pleasure
for nothing. Murchison, the butler, was still up. He was opening
the front door just as Felicia, in a pink sweat suit, was
descending the staircase. But she halted, dumbstruck, when she saw
the face beyond Murchison's heavy-set shoulder.

Troy? Troy, grinning from ear to ear? Troy,
who, with his sparkling eyes and flashing teeth couldn't be looking
more wildly different than the mocking, distant man she'd last seen
a week ago at the Club? Indeed, he was mercurial, unpredictable,
and erratic.

"Troy," she said, in as dampening a tone as
possible.

Troy ignored her tone. His reply was as warm
and engaging as hers had been distant. "Felicia," he said. "You
look...great. Say, can we talk?"

Good God. Felicia didn't want to talk to
Troy. But Murchison had apparently decided Felicia's greeting of
the man constituted acceptance of his presence in the house. "Miss
Thurgood," he mumbled, and marched off. Felicia was left to contend
with Troy who, still grinning, had waltzed into the front foyer. He
stood there, his hands dug into his trouser pockets, gazing at
Felicia with all the bonhomie in the world.