Double Identity

Jude laughed. “That’s good to know.”

“The thing is, if Al or Ben thought you were leading Carina on, there’d be hell to pay.”

“Duly noted. Now would you introduce me to them?”

“Sure.” As they walked across the room, Clint added, “I can see that you don’t scare off very easily.”

“I don’t scare off at all.”

Several people stopped them along the way, thanking Jude for his generous contribution to the symphony. He smiled, shook hands with them and thanked them for coming. When they finally reached the Patterson table, Jude saw that Carina’s brothers and their wives had joined the group.

Clint said, “Good evening, Chris,” and offered his hand to the older man. “I’m so pleased to see you here.”

Patterson lifted his left hand and clasped Clint’s hand. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said gruffly.

“I’d like you to meet Jude Crenshaw. I understand he twisted a few arms for donations to the silent auction in order to make certain tonight was a success.” He turned to Jude. “Jude, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Christopher Patterson, his lovely wife, Connie, his daughter, Carina, his son, Alfred, and Al’s wife, Marisa, and his son, Ben, and Ben’s wife, Sara.”

Here was a stroke of luck Jude hadn’t expected. Meeting the entire family was well worth the money and time he’d spent on tonight’s benefit. In addition, his contribution was truly for a good cause.

“I’m pleased to meet each one of you,” he said, shaking hands.

Carina looked up at him. “Thank you for tonight,” she said in a husky voice.

“You’re quite welcome, Ms. Patterson.” Their eyes met and he winked at her. She looked a little startled at first and then grinned at him.

So far, so good.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Al watching them closely. Without appearing to notice, Jude turned away. He and Clint returned to the bar, refreshed their drinks, and went to the head table.

Dinner was first-class and the speeches were mercifully short, for which Jude was thankful.

The orchestra changed from playing quiet dinner music to show tunes to encourage dancing. Jude excused himself from his table and crossed the room to the Pattersons. The only ones there were Mr. and Mrs. Patterson.

“Mr. Patterson, may I have your permission to ask your wife to dance? I promise not to run off with her afterwards, although I’ll admit the idea is tempting.”

Patterson chuckled. “Of course you can. Just remember that I saw her first.”

Jude turned to Connie Patterson and saw that she was blushing. “May I have this dance?”

She nodded, and Jude held out his hand. She took it and gracefully rose from the table. Once on the dance floor she said, “You helped make tonight a success, Mr. Crenshaw. We all are quite grateful.” He heard a slight accent in her voice.

He smiled in acknowledgement and said, “Please, call me Jude.”

“If you’ll call me Connie.”

“Thank you. You’re a very good dancer, by the way.”

Her smile held a hint of sadness. “Chris and I used to dance a great deal before his stroke. I know he misses dancing as much as I do. You were kind to offer.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” The orchestra segued into another song with a similar beat. “Will your husband be all right on his own a little longer?”

She glanced toward the table and smiled. “He’s not alone. Carina has returned to the table.”

They finished the dance and walked back to where Carina and her father sat watching them.

Patterson was the first to speak. “You look wonderful out there, dear,” he said to Connie. “Please enjoy this opportunity and don’t worry about me.”

She sank into the chair beside him. “I’m too out of breath to dance any more at the moment.” She smiled at Jude. “Thank you again.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He turned his gaze to Carina. “Ms. Patterson, may I have this dance with you?”

She glanced at her mother’s radiant face and said, “Yes.”

Once she stood he took her hand, led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms. She was smaller than her mother. Her head barely came to his shoulder. She was delicately boned and she reminded him of a Dresden figurine—fragile and exquisite.

“It was kind of you to ask my mother to dance. She doesn’t get out very much.”

“She mentioned that she and your father used to love to dance.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening. “Yes. They were something to watch—so graceful and talented. They moved as one. I know they both must miss it terribly.”

After a moment, he asked, “When did he have his stroke?”

“Two years ago. He’d always been so active and healthy that none of us were prepared for his sudden illness. There were a few days when we weren’t certain he would pull through, but he has a very strong will. He’s done everything he could to keep his body as toned as possible.”

In his most casual tone, Jude said, “I understand he has a thriving business in imports.”

“My brothers are in charge now. They keep him informed about the business, which has actually grown under their management.”

“He must be relieved to be able to depend on them.”

“He never talks about his infirmity. He’s very matter of fact about being in his motorized wheelchair.” She glanced over at her table. “We’re all very proud of him.”

“How about you? Do you get out very often?”

She smiled ruefully. “Not really, no.”

“Would you make an exception for me?”

She looked at him in surprise. “You’re asking me out?”

“Yes, I am. Like every man here, I noticed you as soon as you walked in tonight. I’ll admit I coaxed Clint into introducing you and your family to me. I’d really like to see you again.”

The song ended and another one began. He continued to dance and she made no comment about wanting to return to her table.

“What did you have in mind?” she finally asked.

He burst into laughter. “Now there’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. My intentions are quite innocent, I assure you. I thought we could have dinner some evening, perhaps next Saturday, if you’re available.”