The Texan's Suite Romance. Judy Christenberry
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course. What can I get you?”
“I’d like a diet cola. Dr. Myerson, would you care for something to drink?”
“Yes, thank you. I’d like an orange juice,” he said.
They sat silently for several minutes, then his companion reminded him, “I only agreed to go yesterday afternoon, Dr. Myerson. Certainly I’ll read your book as soon as possible. I asked about your book because I’m not sure why these questions are unacceptable.”
“Those are personal questions. I don’t talk about my personal life!” He wanted to be sure she understood where he was drawing the line.
“And why does your book draw these kinds of questions?”
“It’s—it’s about my marriage.”
“And you think your wife will object?”
He hesitated. Then he said firmly, “Yes.”
Bending over, he took a book out of his laptop bag. “Here. You can read on the plane.”
“Thank you. While I’m reading, you need to think of alternative questions that you think will best sell your book. We can’t leave an interviewer with nothing to say.”
He glowered at her, but her statement made sense. Reluctantly, he pulled out pen and paper and put down his tray. “Fine. I’ll write some questions.”
Tabitha feared Dr. Myerson’s book would be as difficult to read as he was to talk to. How Mona had thought it would do him good to be interviewed, Tabitha didn’t know.
She settled back in her seat and opened Making the Most of Life. Based on what she’d seen of him, she didn’t think the title was appropriate for this man.
Before she started reading, she checked the dust jacket for his bio. There was no picture and only a short blurb, saying Dr. Alex Myerson had been educated in the east, where he was awarded a Ph.D. He’d had a successful New York City practice before moving to Texas. A few words, Tabitha thought, just like the man himself.
Opening to page one, she began to read. It was hours later when she finally closed the book, her emotions stirred. The book was a personal exploration of the marital relationship between Dr. Myerson and his wife, Jenny.
“You’re a fast reader,” he said, snapping her from her thoughts.
“Yes, I enjoy reading.” She paused, trying to think how to pose the next question she had to ask. “Your book is wonderful. It’s also very personal. Don’t you understand why the interviewer might want to ask personal questions?”
His jaw squared and he stared straight ahead. “No personal questions.”
“May I see the questions you’ve devised?”
He handed over a piece of paper. Tabitha slowly read what he’d written. They demonstrated the man’s intelligence, if the book hadn’t already done so. What fascinated her was the difference between the man beside her and the man who’d written the book. The author had had such warmth, such caring. He and his wife shared such a beautiful existence, all because his wife had taught him to enjoy life.
Though wealthy, Alex was the product of a miserable marriage, which had provided him with a miserable childhood. He had studied psychology to learn to deal with his own problems in life. And because of his parents’ debacle, he’d determined never to marry.
Until he met Jenny.
“Your wife sounds like a wonderful person, Dr. Myerson. Are you sure she would object to all the questions about your marriage?”
“Yes, all of them.”
Tabitha sighed. Mona hadn’t warned her how difficult the man could be. She looked at his questions again. Taking out a pen, she made some changes that would personalize the questions a little more, but would not totally focus on the man’s own life.
Then she handed the paper back to him. “Can you live with these?”
He took the paper back and reread the questions with her changes.
Tabitha was patient, relaxing in her seat and sipping what was left of her soda.
“You’re not a dumb blonde, are you?”
“Shall I take that as a compliment, Dr. Myerson?” She was working awfully hard to satisfy this man. Mona really owed her!
“Yes. I misjudged you, Miss Tyler. Yes, I can accept these questions, as long as you explain to the interviewer that I do not want to talk about my personal life.”
“I’ll do the best I can, Dr. Myerson, but I can’t control these people.”
“Did you have that problem when you did your tour?”
“Absolutely. All the men wanted to discuss my sex life. All the women wanted to know what I ate, implying that I lived on watercress sandwiches.”
His chuckle seemed to surprise both of them, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time. “I can see their point,” he finally said.
Gently, she said, “After reading your book, I can understand why they would want to ask you about your marriage.”
He stared out the window, saying nothing.
Suddenly, a horrible thought struck her. “Oh, no! You haven’t just gone through a divorce, have you? Because someone will find out and it will destroy the tour. Tell me now if that’s the case.”
Glaring at her, he shook his head. “That’s not the case!”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Then we’ll be all right, as long as you don’t lose your cool. If they ask you something personal, just steer it toward generalizations. I’m sure your wife won’t mind that.”
At that moment the flight attendant interrupted to serve them lunch. Tabitha abandoned any pretense of conversation. It was hard enough when she was concentrating on it, but she wanted to enjoy her meal.
Not surprisingly, Myerson remained silent too. She took the opportunity to sneak a glance at her companion and study him surreptitiously. His jawline looked as if it was chiseled from granite, hard and sharp-edged, and the firm set of his mouth added to his imposing look.
Still, she knew he had a sensitive side, though it had yet to show itself. Jenny, his wife, no doubt had brought it out in him. Was that it? she wondered suddenly. His moodiness was a result of missing her? She could help that.
“Dr. Myerson, if you want your wife to join you for part of the trip, I can arrange flights for her. Just let me know.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Really, Mona wants you to be happy, and after reading your book, it’s easy to see how close you are to Jenny, so I’d be glad to—”
“No, she can’t join me!” His voice was harsh again.
“Why not?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer her question. But he finally did. “Because she’s dead, Miss Tyler. Now will you leave it alone?”
Mona certainly hadn’t told her that. “I’m sorry. When—”
“A year ago today.”
Alex hadn’t intended to tell anyone of Jenny’s death. He had kept his mourning to himself. Jenny hadn’t had family, and his didn’t care, so he’d tried to appear as if nothing had happened.
He’d begun the book a couple of months before Jenny had failed to return from the store one evening. That night several police officers had knocked on his door, telling him a truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and killed three people. Jenny was one of the victims. He’d finished the book as a posthumous tribute to his wonderful wife.
He was sure, however, that he couldn’t talk about Jenny during