A Bridge to Love Read online

  A BRIDGE TO LOVE

  by Nancy Herkness

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2003, 2011 by Nancy Herkness

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Cover design © 2011 Nancy Herkness

  Cover design by StoryWonk

  For information, contact Nancy Herkness at

  [email protected]

  Published by Red Car Press

  Also by Nancy Herkness:

  Music of the Night

  Shower of Stars

  “Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”

  —Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey

  One

  If Clifton Walker called her a “gal” one more time, Kate Chilton was going to pour her ice cold beer over his patronizing blond head.

  “What does a gal like you want with an engineering degree from M.I.T.?”

  Kate gritted her teeth and kept her beer under control. So Cliff hadn't been staring at her chest for the usual reasons. He had been reading her name tag. And since this was a college alumni picnic, her friend Georgia had printed not only Kate's name but her alma mater on it.

  She decided that it was time to end this particular conversation.

  She smiled sweetly and said, “Well, before I got married, I did structural work on some skyscrapers in New York City. I had to calculate stress loads and determine how to best distribute them over the materials available to us at the time. And of course, there were multiple agencies in the city whose regulations I had to take into consideration. You would not believe the amount of paperwork involved, especially since we always needed zoning variances—”

  “Excuse me,” Cliff said, his expression glazed over with boredom. “I see an old friend by the bar.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Kate said cheerfully to his back.

  Moving to the edge of the crowd, she walked up the steps of an elevated terrace to look for Georgia and wished that she had never let her friend talk her into coming. She took another sip of beer. The familiar longing for David swept over her with painful intensity. She closed her eyes to ride it out. Her husband had died more than a year ago, and most of the time she functioned just fine. Then a situation like this reminded her that she used to be part of a couple, and she felt as if half of her soul were missing.

  When she opened her eyes again, she found herself looking straight through the throng at a man's forearm. A solid curve of muscle drew her gaze down to the plain gold watch shining against his tan wrist. Kate swallowed hard as her imagination conjured up a picture of that big square hand—now wrapped around a beer bottle—splayed across her bare skin.

  “You always did have good taste. That's Randall Johnson you're staring at.”

  Kate jumped as Georgia's voice shattered her unwanted daydream.

  “I wasn't staring,” Kate said, quickly averting her gaze. She was shaken by the intensity of her physical reaction to a total stranger. “I was looking for you.”

  “Sure you were,” Georgia said, rolling her eyes. “There's nothing wrong with admiring a good-looking man. It shows you're human.” She glanced toward Randall Johnson and smiled. “I think that he's admiring you, too, lucky girl.”

  Kate flushed faintly as she deliberately turned her back on the subject of their conversation.

  “Listen, can we get out of here now? If I have to talk to another Clifton Walker, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

  Georgia looked slightly guilty. “Sorry about that one. I'll make it up to you. I'll introduce you to Randall Johnson.”

  Kate shook her head emphatically. “No, thank you. I'll stay another half an hour if you swear to keep me away from Clifton Walker and Randall Johnson.”

  Randall Johnson had noticed Kate's attention. He stopped in midsentence to say, “Cliff, is my fly unzipped?” Clifton Walker did not look down.

  “I'm sure it isn't.”

  “Good,” he said with a slight smile and a Texas drawl. “Do you know who that is, standing beside Georgia Jenson?”

  Clifton's lip curled. “We've met. Her name's Kate Chilton and she went to M.I.T. Let me warn you that asking her about her chosen field will unleash a torrent of deadly detail.”

  “She seems to admire my watch. I think I'll let her get a closer look.”

  Clifton did look down this time. “Why would she admire that piece of junk?” he said to thin air.

  Randall Johnson was already strolling in Kate's direction.

  She wasn't tall or blond, his usual preferences. He would have said that her smooth, chin-length hair was brown until the sun hit it and it glowed red. Auburn, he'd call it. When he had caught her staring at him, he'd noticed that she had fine features: a straight nose, elegant brows and Hepburn cheekbones. Her eyes were a silvery gray. She reminded him of a duchess he had met in London on a business trip: she had the look of fine china reinforced by a backbone of steel.

  “Hey, Randall, good to see you!” Kate heard one of Georgia's friends say. She shot a dagger glance at Georgia, who held up her hands in a silent protestation of innocence. She was forced to turn around as introductions were made. He nodded to her slightly and held out his hand as someone said, “This is Kate Chilton, an infiltrator from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.”

  Kate shook hands, assuring herself that he couldn't have noticed her staring at him amid all the noise and commotion of the picnic. “Nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure,” he drawled with a quick flash of a smile.

  He joined the general conversation, and Kate got a good look at him. He had strongly defined cheekbones and heavy black eyebrows. His hair was brushed back, and the slight silvering in it softened the harsh planes of his face. She guessed that he was five or six years older than her thirty-seven. He was dressed simply in a white, button-down shirt and faded blue jeans, yet he radiated power. His voice was a combination of dry, flat Texas twang and deep, dark velvet. She wondered what he did for a living. Georgia would know since she kept tabs on every eligible bachelor in the tristate area…

  “It's a Timex.”

  For a moment, she didn't grasp the meaning of his comment. Then it hit her that he had, in fact, caught her staring and heat blazed up into her cheeks. She decided to brazen it out. “I'm sorry,” she said with a smile. “You looked familiar and I was just trying to think where I might have met you.”

  Randall was smiling in anticipation of her discomfiture, but at her comment his expression became decidedly cynical. Kate blushed even harder when she realized she had blurted out a classic pick-up line.

  Randall's glance flicked down to her name tag. “We didn't meet at Princeton since you didn't go there. And I never took a road trip to M.I.T.”

  Kate was sure of that. From the look of him, he had probably headed straight for the southern women's colleges when he went hunting. Suddenly, she was tired of being polite. “Wait a minute,” she said, pretending to search her memory. “Were you sitting in first class on the midnight flight to Paris last Tuesday?”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him frown in thought. “No, I was in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh,” Kate said, doing her best imitation o
f a social butterfly. “Then we must have met at the after party at the Academy Awards.”

  Comprehension flashed across Randall's face. “Definitely not. I have nothing to say to a bunch of actors,” he said without missing a beat.

  “Did you run the Boston Marathon last year?” Kate asked.

  “I skipped it to go cliff diving in Acapulco.”

  Kate was starting to enjoy herself. “We must have been on the same expedition climbing Mount Everest.”

  The corners of his lips twitched. “I hate being cold.” He snapped his fingers. “You sat across the conference table from me at the Microsoft board meeting.”

  Kate gave an exaggerated shudder. “Only in my worst nightmares. I'm on the board at Apple.”

  “The last cabinet meeting at the White House?”

  “You must be thinking of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  “I have it.” Randall looked up suddenly. “You were the engineer on the last space shuttle flight I piloted.”

  Kate opened her mouth and then started to laugh. “I can't top that one.”

  Randall's dark eyes focused on her face, as a slow smile curved his lips. “Have dinner with me Friday,” he said with the unmistakable confidence of a man who never hears the word no.

  “What?”

  “I'll pick you up at eight. Here's my card.”

  Kate stared at him, realizing with a shock that this man thought she was flirting with him. Even worse, he was right. Five minutes ago, she had been mourning David and now here she was, flirting with a total stranger. She was aghast at her own disloyalty.

  With an air of deliberate insolence, she took his card and slid it into his breast pocket. “I appreciate the in-vitation, but no, thank you.”

  His smile never wavered. He took the rejected card out of his pocket and returned it to his wallet. “That's fine,” he said. “It would have been an interesting dinner.” He lifted his beer bottle in a salute and turned back into the group they had been ignoring.

  Kate sucked in a deep breath and tried to quell the riot in her body. Even as her rational side was appalled at her own behavior, every nerve ending yearned toward the large, warm, male body standing not two feet away from her. She decided to blame it on a year of total celibacy.

  She pulled Georgia aside and said in a low voice, “I think I've had enough of remembering college days. Can we go home?”

  Once the car was in motion, Georgia pounced. “Okay, I want to know what Randall Johnson said word for word.”

  Kate sighed. “He said, 'It's a Timex.'”

  “Yeah, right,” Georgia said, as she turned onto the street.

  “The conversation didn't go well. I was in a bad mood because of Clifton Walker, because I was missing David, and because I was embarrassed to be caught staring at a strange man.”

  “I'm sorry,” Georgia said. “I thought this picnic might help distract you from the memories of David.”

  “When you're married for fourteen years, everything reminds you of each other.”

  Georgia reached over to squeeze Kate's hand.

  “He asked me to have dinner with him,” Kate said, looking out the window.

  Georgia whooped. “You're having dinner with Randall Johnson! I knew dragging you along was a good idea!”

  “I turned down his invitation.”

  Georgia practically hit the car in front of them. “You turned down dinner with Randall Johnson! Are you out of your mind?”

  “Georgia, I don't date total strangers. In fact, I don't date, period.”

  Georgia banged her head on the steering wheel. “He's not a total stranger; he's the founder and CEO of RJ Enterprises! He buys companies like you and I buy shoes! He's gorgeous, unmarried and generally has a very tall blonde glued to his side. And he asked you out!”

  Kate shrugged. “I guess there's a shortage of blondes in his life right now.”

  Georgia groaned as she pulled into Kate's driveway and stopped. “You are truly crazy.”

  Kate got out of the car, then leaned back in and faced Georgia. “Georgia, any man with that kind of money, power and blondes is way out of my league. He's probably got mirrors on his ceiling and cocaine on his night table and I would faint from shock if I saw either one.”

  “It would have been a hell of a date.”

  “More like a date from hell.”

  Randall Johnson accelerated up the highway's access ramp.

  What kind of game had Kate Chilton been playing? First, she gave him a look he could feel across a crowded party. Then she blushed when he took her up on it. Just when he decided that she was too prim for him, she made wicked fun of the pretentious conversations that went on at Princeton alumni gatherings. He had been sure that she was flirting with him, but the next thing he knew, she had turned him down flat!

  He was still amazed at her refusal; he couldn't remember the last time a woman had said no to him. She hadn't even looked pleased or suggested another time. Suddenly, he started to laugh out loud. “You are one conceited son of a bitch,” he told himself. “Kate Chilton just didn't like you. Live with it.”

  Sparring with her had put him in the mood for female companionship. He punched a button on his car phone to call one of his usual dates, but disconnected before she answered.

  Damn, he really wished that Kate Chilton had said yes.

  Two

  Kate walked into an uncharacteristically silent house to find a note in her oldest son's handwriting: “Gone to park to play soccer. Took Gretchen. Brigid will make sure we get home in time for dinner.”

  She smiled. Clay and Patrick felt that at ages twelve and ten they no longer needed a baby-sitter. However, they always had fun with Brigid. She checked her watch; they should be home soon.

  She sat down and let the peace and quiet of her much-loved house wrap around her. She and David had bought it two months after they had gotten married. It was a Victorian, very dilapidated, and they had loved it on sight. She smiled at her memories of choosing wallpaper, curtains and furniture together. David had been as involved as she was. With his architect's spatial perception, he was a wizard at arranging furniture. She had been the one who got the tiles to line up and mitered the corners for the ceiling moldings. David's presence was so vivid in this house, their home, that the whole encounter with Randall Johnson began to fade into unreality.

  The telephone interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hello, Kate.” It was Oliver Russell, one of David's two partners in his architectural firm. Actually, Oliver was far more than a business associate; he was a trusted friend. Since David's death, he had come by regularly on weekends to play soccer and chess with the boys. He often stayed for dinner, keeping her company in the lonely evening hours.

  “Oliver! We missed seeing you this weekend. Georgia dragged me to a wretched Princeton alumni picnic...”

  “Kate, I'd like to stop by the house tomorrow. I have some business to discuss.”

  “It sounds like bad news.”

  “No, not really. Just inevitable, I suppose. Would one o'clock suit you?” Oliver sounded more cheerful as he continued, “I'll come visit the boys next weekend. Tell Clay I have a new opening gambit for him. And, Kate, don't worry; everything will be fine.”

  Now she was worried, but she had no time to speculate. As she hung up the phone, she heard voices coming around the side of the house, so she simply pushed Oliver's visit to the back of her mind as she unlocked the door. The sight of her two handsome young sons always lifted her spirits.

  Patrick spilled through the door first, his streaked blond hair dark with sweat. He allowed her a brief kiss and then pulled away, saying, “There was the coolest radio-controlled plane at the park!”

  Clay followed, looking so tall and grown-up that Kate had to give him a hug. He bore it with a charming grin. “It's only been three hours since you saw us, Mom.”

  Kate laughed. “I know. But I just love hugging sweaty boys.”

  Clay ran his hand through his own thick blon
d hair in a gesture so like David's that Kate's heart lurched. Although both boys had her gray eyes, they looked more and more like David as they grew. “We sure are sweaty. A bunch of guys were there already so we got into a good scrimmage.”

  Brigid came in with their black Labrador, Gretchen, and closed the door behind her. “You should have seen your lads kicking that football. It was a joy to behold.”

  “Soccer ball,” Patrick corrected.

  “Och, I'm too old to be changin' my vocabulary to American,” Brigid said.

  “Kate, you get more gorgeous every time I see you.”

  Kate laughed. Since David had died, Oliver had been paying her ridiculous compliments to boost her spirits. His flattery sounded particularly absurd because he said it in the same calm, composed tone with which he asked you to pass the salt. She ushered him into the living room, where she had a tray of tea and sandwiches ready. He was early.

  “Would you like some tea?” she asked, as they sat down.

  “Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup she poured him but then putting it down without tasting it. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “I'm here because we need to talk about the future at C/R/G. David was terrific with the clients, you know, and brought in a lot of business for us. We're suffering without him.”

  He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and stared at his hands for a moment. Then he seemed to brace himself. “Ted and I feel that we have to bring in a new partner to fill that gap. A classmate of Ted's from Cornell is ready to leave Polshek and Partners, and he's a good man for the job. The problem is that we can't support four partnerships right now. He would have to buy out David's share of the company.”

  Kate froze. The company had been a part of her life since before Clay and Patrick were born. She had taken as much pride in its success as David had. Creating C/R/G had been his dream. To have to sell it... And the income from the partnership paid the household's basic living expenses. She had accepted a reduced share of the firm's profits after David died, but the amount she got, she counted on.