The Man She Married by Ann DeFee

her.
    “I’m Maizie’s husband, Clay Walker. And you are?” The question was more of a demand than a request. Clay knew he was being rude, but after spying his wife in a têteà-tête with a handsome stranger, he simply didn’t care.
    “Harv, sit down. We’re going to join my wife and her friend.” Although his partner looked as if he’d rather dine with terrorists, he reluctantly complied.
    “Clay!” Maizie jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Be nice. This is my tennis coach, Trip Fitzgerald. And, Trip, this jerk is my husband.”
    “Glad to meet you,” Trip said with a smile.
    “Yeah, you, too.”
    What else could Clay say? He was so jealous he couldn’t see straight. That was the reason he’d messed up royally. God, he was afraid he was losing his wife.

Chapter Eleven

    Ever since the fiasco in the brew pub the atmosphere in the Walker household had been so tense you could cut it with a knife. Yes, Clay was jealous, but the reality wasn’t as thrilling as Maizie had imagined when she started her stupid scheme. And thanks to Mama they were now unwilling participants in a country club fund-raiser.
    “When can we go home?” Clay whispered.
    “We can leave after the auction. I donated a makeover and I want to see who wins it.”
    Clay pulled on his collar as if it was choking him. “Okay,” he reluctantly agreed.
    “Stop that.” Maizie swatted her husband’s hand. The man cleaned up quite nicely. In fact, he was absolutely gorgeous in his charcoal suit with the crisp white shirt and silk tie. Actually in his normal attire of faded jeans and chambray shirt he was mighty fine, too. It was a shame she was still to mad at him to tell him so.
    “You know how I hate these dress-up things,” he groused.
    Maizie opened her mouth for a rebuke when someone ran a finger down her bare back.
    “What—” It took a couple of seconds to process what was happening and another heartbeat to think, “Oh, crap.”
    Maizie turned so fast she smacked Clay with her purse. “Trip, what are you doing here?”
    “I work—”
    “Get your hands off my wife, pretty boy.” Clay pushed Maizie aside to confront Trip.
    “Stop it!” The last thing Maizie needed was a brawl at the country club. Mama would have a fit.
    Though Trip briefly looked taken aback he quickly recovered. “Mr. Walker, it’s nice seeing you again.” The words were appropriate though the tone was definitely sarcastic.
    “Maizie, I hope to see you back in class soon.” He flashed her a toothpaste-white smile before strolling off.
    “What was that all about?” Clay demanded. “He had his hands all over you. Do you have something going on with him?”
    “What do you mean, ‘Going on with him’? Are you accusing me of cheating?” Maizie jabbed a finger at Clay’s chest. Smoke was about ready to spew from her ears.
    “He teaches tennis. Nothing more. I like taking lessons. That’s why I bought all those new outfits.” Maizie slammed her hands on her hips and gave him the “don’t mess with me” look that meant he was in major trouble.
    Clay knew he was skating on thin ice, but jealousy had obliterated all common sense.
    “What outfits? We’re not discussing clothes, we’re talking about some smarmy twit touching you.” Assoon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d made a huge mistake.
    “What outfits? What outfits! The ones with the short skirts and halter tops. The ones where my boobies hang out for everyone to see.” Maizie gestured graphically toward her breasts. “You remember these, don’t you?”
    The pitch of her voice went up with every sentence until she was doing a great Betty Boop imitation.
    Clay grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit. “People are listening,” he hissed. If Maizie wanted to have a knock-down, drag-out fight, fine. But there was no way in hell he’d do it in front of half the town. The rose garden was probably deserted so that would have to do.
    “Would you mind telling me