What She Wants. Sheila Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ guess. The call ended and the bedroom window slammed shut.

      He called her again. “I don’t get it.”

      “Does the number seven mean anything to you?”

      Seven, seven. Crap! Their anniversary. Their anniversary was this weekend and he’d forgotten. “Shit,” he muttered.

      “Yeah, that’s what you’re in,” she said. “It was bad enough you just had to stay up in Alaska and fish, but not to send flowers, not even call...”

      “I called.” That was feeble. He’d left a message on voice mail telling her what time he’d be in. No mention of their anniversary.

      Because he’d forgotten. Forgotten! What was wrong with his brain? A twenty-pound salmon, that was what. He felt sick.

      “And then I found the package and thought you’d left it as a surprise.” Her voice was wobbly now, a sure sign that she was crying. “And what was it? Your mother’s birthday present. And her birthday isn’t until next week. And I already bought something because you never remember!”

      He wouldn’t have remembered this year, either, except he’d been talking to his mom on his cell a few days ago and she’d dropped a hint when he happened to be downtown, walking past a shop. More than a hint. She’d come right out and said, “Your wife is not your personal secretary, Adam, and you should be able to remember your own mother’s birthday.”

      Yeah, and he should’ve been able to remember his own anniversary, but he hadn’t. He’d stuck his mom’s present in the closet and forgotten about it. Just like he’d forgotten another important date. “I knew it was coming up,” he said. No lie. He’d planned to remember. Lame.

      “This is the last straw. I’m tired of you taking me for granted. You do it all the time.”

      “I do not,” he insisted, both to her and himself.

      “Oh, yes, you do. And this isn’t the first time you’ve messed up.”

      All right, so he’d accidentally gotten tickets to a Mariners game on the day of their anniversary the year before last. And she’d never have known he’d screwed up if his brother Greg hadn’t called from Seattle asking what time they were meeting at the stadium. He’d done penance and gotten her diamond earrings. A whole carat, for God’s sake. He’d even taken her to the game and they’d ended up having a great evening.

      And last year he’d remembered. She hadn’t needed to remind him the week before. Why did women keep score like that? They kept track of every screw-up and then threw it in your face. In the middle of the night.

      “Oh, come on, babe. Cut me some slack. Let’s talk about this.” She always wanted to talk.

      Not tonight. She ended the call and the bedroom light switched off.

      Of course he tried to call her once more, but it immediately went to voice mail.

      Great. Just great. Where would he go at eleven-thirty at night? He supposed he could go to one of the town’s B and Bs, but if he did that, everyone would know his wife had kicked him out.

      Since this was only temporary, he saw no point in going that route. Tomorrow he’d take her out to dinner. They’d kiss and make up and everything would be fine.

      Meanwhile, though, he couldn’t sleep on the porch. He hauled his carry-on back to the car. If that was the way she wanted it, he could sleep there. Except while an SUV would be okay for sleeping, it made for a poor place to shave in the morning.

      He started the engine and drove slowly away from his house. His house! He had no idea where he was going. He sure knew where he was, though. In the doghouse.

      * * *

      Jonathan was having an incredible dream. He’d just killed a man in a sword fight, and now the woman he’d rescued—Lissa, in an old-fashioned pink gown—had thrown herself into his arms.

      “How can I thank you?” she breathed.

      “Well,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

      “Oh, wait. What’s that I hear?” she said, turning her head just before he could reach her lips. “The church bells.”

      “That’s the bells, all right,” he agreed, and tried for her lips again.

      “They’re summoning you. You must go.”

      “Who’s summoning me?”

      He never found out. Between the insistent ringing of his doorbell, coupled with pounding on the door and Chica’s barking, he was now hopelessly awake.

      He checked the time. Midnight! He swore and threw off the covers, marched out of the bedroom and flicked on the hall light, Chica running ahead of him. Whoever it was, Jonathan was going to kill him.

      But then he realized that anyone summoning him at this hour must be in trouble. Juliet! She’d had a fight with Neil?

      He picked up his pace. By the time he got to the living room, his visitor was not only ringing the bell and banging on the door, but calling his name, as well. Definitely not Juliet.

      Jonathan opened the door and there stood Adam. “I need a place to sleep.”

      “Huh?”

      “Can I crash on your couch?”

      “Uh, yeah,” Jonathan said, and stepped aside.

      In walked Mr. Success, dragging his carry-on luggage behind him. “Chelsea kicked me out.”

      “’Cause you went salmon-fishing?” That seemed a little extreme.

      “No, because I forgot our anniversary.”

      Jonathan, no expert on women, still knew this was a cardinal sin. “How’d you manage that?” If he was with Lissa he’d never forget their anniversary. Heck, he’d make everything an anniversary—first date, first kiss, first time they slept together. At the rate he was going, that wasn’t even happening in his dreams.

      Adam paced into the living room and parked his carry-on next to Jonathan’s couch. He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to forget.” He fell onto the couch. “She says I take her for granted.”

      “Do you?”

      “No. Well, maybe. Once in a while. I don’t know.”

      Like hell he didn’t. “Right.”

      “Okay, so I’m not perfect like those men on the covers of her dumb romance novels.”

      Jonathan caught sight of his Vanessa Valentine paperback on the kitchen counter and subtly dragged his copy of PC World over it.

      Adam never noticed. He was too involved in his own drama. “But cut a man some slack, you know?”

      Jonathan didn’t know.

      “She changed the locks.”

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