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“Yes. Exactly! I thought.. it’s just...Willow Run is so big. You and Chelsea could live there until you get matters settled with your insurance company. And if you wanted to, you could convert the old carriage house into a temporary garage, so you could get back to work. You’d be able to save money because you wouldn’t have any overhead—”
He shook his head. “It’s nice of you to think of me, but I really don’t think—”
“Please, Eli!” Desperation gave her the courage she needed to continue. “I.. I realize now that Chelsea must have misunderstood and you don’t need any assistance, but I do. I don’t want to lose Willow Run. Surely after losing your own home, you can understand. Besides, this would be a temporary arrangement. Lasting only a few months, or even less, depending on how long it takes the probate judge to sign off on Grandfather’s estate once he has a copy of our marriage certificate. And Willow Run would be a wonderful place for Chelsea to spend the summer. She’d have her own room, and there’s a tree house and a pond and lots of space to play and explore. She could have friends over to spend the night, and you and I, well, we wouldn’t even have to see each other if we didn’t want to.” She looked at him beseechingly as she ran out of breath.
He stared back, his expression impossible to read. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said finally.
“Oh, yes.”
He tapped his fingers against the counter. “But it’s crazy. Damn, it’s worse than crazy, it’s probably illegal.”
Swallowing her surprise that he cared, she shook her head. “No. It was Grandfather’s attorney who suggested it. He was against the provision in the will in the first place. He...he says it’s archaic.”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, maybe you should many him then.”
Her heart sank. Clearly he’d already come to a decision, and it wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. “I believe that would be considered a conflict of interest,” she said in a small voice. “Plus, he already has a wife.”
“Bummer. But that doesn’t mean I’m the next logical choice. Think what marrying me would do to your reputation. The entire town would go into shock. We both know I’m not exactly a role model. There’s got to be somebody more suitable.” He thought for a moment. “I know. How about Ken McDonald?”
“He got married last week.”
“Ian Koontz.”
“He moved to Portland in April.”
“Joey Carmicheal.”
“He’s living with someone.”
“Then how about Matt Winfrey?”
Norah plucked listlessly at her skirt. “That’s who Joey’s living with.” She told herself she shouldn’t feel so devastated. She’d known Eli was a long shot. At least he hadn’t thrown back his golden head and laughed at her. It wasn’t his fault she was out of options.
Swallowing her misery, she climbed to her feet. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
“No problem.” Eli hesitated, then said slowly, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” She started toward the door. Some sixth sense warned her that he was right behind her, but for once she didn’t care. “I guess I could speak to Nick Carpetti....”
“Nick Carpetti? I thought he was in jail.”
“He’s out on parole,” she said absently.
“Yeah, but still...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Boo.”
She shrugged dispiritedly. “There isn’t anyone else. Unless—” She stopped and turned to look up at him. “Will you just think about it? Please, Eh?”
He was silent, his perfect mouth pursed as he considered her plea. Finally he blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it. But that’s all I’ll do. Don’t get your hopes up. You need to consider some alternatives.”
“Oh, I will I promise.” He was going to think about it! She couldn’t contain a tremulous smile. “I’ll call you, okay? Or you can call me. Or...or come by the house or whatever you choose.” Filled with renewed hope, she reached for the doorknob, anxious to escape before he changed his mind. She tugged, only to give a little squeak as he caught her by the arm and gently spun her around.
“There’s just one more thing,” he said.
She stared up at him, her heart thumping as she saw the glint lighting his eyes. She wet her lips. “What’s that?”
“I just want to say that I appreciate the proposal.” He planted his hand against the door frame only inches from her head. “I always suspected you had the hots for me. Now I know.”
“Oh, no.” She tried to lean back, but there was nowhere to go. “I don’t! I mean—” Her eyes widened in horror as she realized she’d just unintentionally insulted him. “I mean, I like you, but not that way....” Her assurance died a quick death as his mouth slowly curved in a wicked smile.
“You one hundred percent sure about that, Boo, honey? Maybe we should find out.”
“Oh, no. I don’t...that is—”
He dipped his head, so close that she could smell the clean, slightly musky scent of his skin.
With a frantic squeak, Norah did what she’d always done in the past where Eli was concerned. She pushed him away, yanked open the door and fled.
Eli stood on the stoop and watched Norah’s panicky escape. Since she was on foot, as usual, he had a few minutes to reflect on their encounter before she finally turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared from sight.
He shook his head. Good old Bunny-Boo, with her wide gray eyes and her stick-straight, mud-colored hair in that oversize bun. Not only did she look the way she had in high school, small, earnest and pale, with her body swaddled in one of her trademark lace-collared granny dresses, but she was just as easy to rattle. A little provocative innuendo and whammy! Faster than you could say Peter Rabbit, she’d regressed into her adolescent run-for-cover routine.
Not that he’d been much better, he admitted ruefully, knowing he ought to be ashamed of his less-than-gentlemanly behavior.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from his face. The instant he’d realized who was. on his doorstep he’d felt sixteen again, consumed by the old need to see what it would take to shock Norah—to set off her stammer or make her eyes widen or turn her cheeks pink.
Eli raked a hand through his hair. Okay, so he’d behaved badly Hell, what else was new? It was a natural talent, one he’d had thirty-four years to practice. He was good at it. It wasn’t his fault there was something about Norah that had always gotten to him.
In any event, it was his first real transgression in a three-week stretch that could best be described as hellacious. Things had started to go downhill the night he’d awakened to the smell of smoke and found his house and adjoining auto repair shop on fire. Although he and Chelsea had gotten out unscathed, the house and most of their belongings had been destroyed. So was the business he’d spent three long years building up. And thanks to an insurance company that was dragging its feet about paying out, his savings were quickly diminishing. Despite what he’d told Norah, he was going to be flat broke by the end of the month at the rate things were going.
So that makes it all right to give her a bad time? What are you going to do for an encore? Steal candy from babies? Roll little old ladies for their Social Security money?
Well, hell. It wasn’t as if he’d meant any harm. He’d just been having a little fun. He was only human, after all. And though women of all ages, shapes and sizes had been tossing propositions his way for most of his life, none of their offers had a thing to do with marriage. He was entitled to be a tad off balance when someone he hadn’t seen in sixteen years proposed to him. Particularly when that someone was Bunny-Boo Brown, voted by their high school classmates as the girl most likely to enter a convent—even though she wasn’t Catholic.
His mouth quirked. He still found it hard to believe she’d actually found the courage to ask him to marry her. He supposed it was rather flattering...in a weird sort of way. Not that he was actually considering the scheme. Like he’d said, he didn’t take charity. He’d been on his own for most of his life and he’d done all right. One way or another, he’d get through this, too.
More to the point, he had a daughter to consider. Unlike Norah, who’d grown up in a big house with her wealthy, ultrarespectable, ultraresponsible grandfather, Chelsea had been through a lot in her short span of years. While he couldn’t do a thing to change the past, he sure as hell intended to provide his daughter with a steady, secure, stable future. As far as he could see, that ruled out a temporary marriage—no matter how sorry he might be that Bunny-Boo was probably going to lose the family mansion.
So why had he waffled there at the end?
He pondered the question as he walked back into the kitchen, surveyed the dirty dishes in the sink, then swung into action. First, he poured out what was left of his beer, unable to suppress a brief smile as he recalled Norah’s horrified expression. Then he put the stopper in place, squirted in some soap, turned on the faucet, picked up a dishrag and dug in.
Maybe his behavior had been a temporary aberration due to sleep deprivation. God knew, he was tired enough to qualify. thanks to his new habit of lying awake nights worrying.
Then again, maybe it had simply been a knee-jerk reaction to his general frustration. Lately, all he seemed to do was collect job rejections, fight with the insurance adjustor and play Susie Homemaker. As hard as it was to believe—and, God knew, he was as shocked as anybody—he actually missed having a business to run and a job to go to every day.
Which just went to show how bizarre the world had become. First Bunny-Boo Brown proposed, then the next thing he knew, he was hankering for his lost responsibilities. Shaking his head at the irony, he placed the last spoon in the drainer and dried his hands. He’d just finished folding the towel when he heard the familiar slap of rubber sneakers on the cement stoop. He turned and a second later the door flew open and the small bundle of pure energy that was Chelsea launched herself into the room.
“Hey, Eli, guess what?” The nine-year-old tossed a battered backpack on the floor, tucked an unruly golden curl behind one shell-like ear and snatched a cookie out of a package on the counter, talking the entire time. “Sarah’s cat, Ma Barker, had babies! She had ‘em in Sarah’s closet and there’s six in all and Sarah got to watch and she said it was gross ’cuz they came out all slimy, but then Ma licked it off and she wanted to barf—Sarah, not Ma.” She waved one delicate hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter, though, ’cuz now the kittens are all clean and fluffy and soft, only, did you know they can’t see anything? But Sarah’s mom said that pretty soon they’ll be able to, and when they’re old enough I can have one if it’s okay with you, so can I? Please? I really, really want one.” She took a long-overdue breath, wolfed a large bite of the cookie and regarded him hopefully with her big blue eyes.
Eli noted the imploring expression on her face, which was a smaller, feminized version of his own, and knew he was sunk. Since she so rarely asked for anything, there was no way he could turn her down. Still, he didn’t want to spoil her. At least, not too much. He wanted to be the sort of steady, responsible parent that he’d never had. “You’d have to take care of it. Feed it. Brush it. Probably change a litter box—”
“Oh, I will! I will. I promise!” She flung herself at him, gave him a quick hug, then sprinted to the phone. “Wait till I tell Sarah!”
“Chelse, hold on.”
“But I’ve got to tell Sarah it’s okay right away, so they don’t give the one I want to somebody else. He’s orange with stripes and he’s got a kink in his tail. I’m gonna call him Oliver Twist!”
“You can call Sarah in a little while.”
“But Eli—”
“Trust me. There isn’t going to be a crowd lining up to claim those kittens,” he said dryly. “And right now, I want to discuss something else.”
She reluctantly set down the receiver. “Like what?”
“Like you telling people we’re having a hard time.”
Her expression went from puzzled to indignant in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t!”
“Not even to Miss Brown at the library?”
She flushed. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah. That.”
“But it doesn’t count,” she protested. “Not really.”
“How do you figure?”
She rolled her eyes. “‘Cuz Miss Brown’s different. She’s really nice. And she really listens when you tell her stuff, but she never gossips. And she likes me for me—not so she can be friends with you. Besides, the only reason I said anything—at least at first—was ’cuz I needed to know how to spell something. You can’t look it up if you don’t know how to spell it,” she finished earnestly.
“I suppose that’s true,” he said, more than a little taken aback by her obvious regard for Norah. “Just out of curiosity, what was the word?”
For the first time, she looked uneasy. “Bankruptcy,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
“Bankruptcy? Where the hell did you hear about that?”
“Oooh. You swore.” She stuck out her hand. “Pay up.”
“Chelsea,” he warned.
She pouted. “Pay up or I’m not saying another word.”
Silently cursing the weak moment when he’d agreed to her scheme to cure him of using profanity by charging him twenty-five cents for every expletive, he stalked across the room, snatched up the jeans he’d worn the night before and tossed her two quarters. “Okay. Now answer the damn question.”
She sent him a reproachful look but complied. “I heard it from you. You were on the phone talking to Uncle Joe. Usually I don’t pay attention ’cuz it’s just about cars and engines and sports and stuff, but this time you sounded so worried...” Her voice trailed off. “I never heard you sound like that.”
And here he’d thought he was doing such a good job shielding her from the gravity of their situation. “Ah, Chelse. You should have said something.”
“I couldn’t! I didn’t want you to think I was ease... eades—”
“Eavesdropping?”
“Yeah. Plus I know you think I’m only a kid and you don’t want me to worry. But then Sarah’s mom told Sarah we might have to move, and Sarah told me, and I don’t want to. I like it here. I don’t want it to be the way it was...before. So I thought...maybe, if I told Miss Brown about it, she might help.” She cocked her head consideringly. “How come you know I talked to her, anyway?”
“Miss Brown—” he felt strange referring to Bunny-Boo so formally “—came to see me.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Does she want to give us some money? She said she’d try to think of a way to help, and everybody knows she’s got lots.”
Eli stared at her, at a loss for words. “No,” he managed finally.
Chelsea’s thin shoulders slumped. She glanced dejectedly at the toe of one small sneaker. “Oh.”
“And even if she did offer money, I wouldn’t take it, baby. Things are a little tough right now, but we’re going to be all right. I promise.”
She didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “Okay.” Her brow creased. “But...what did she want?”
He hesitated, not quite certain how Chelsea would take the news. “Believe it or not, she wanted us to get married.”
Her head snapped up. “Really? Wow! That’s awesome! So are you going to do it?”
He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“But why not?”
For a split second he was tempted to blurt out the truth. Because I’m not the marrying type. And even if I was, the last person on earth I’d pick for a wife would be Bunny-Boo Brown, whose idea of a good time is probably rearranging a card catalog.
Yet one look at Chelsea’s trusting blue eyes made him realize the need for a little diplomacy. He cleared his throat. “Because,” he explained, “Miss...Brown and I don’t love each other. Heck, we barely even know each other. And it’s not like it would be a real marriage. It would only be a temporary one, for the summer—”
“That’s okay.” Chelsea gestured expressively. “Lots of my friends’ parents are divorced. And this way I wouldn’t feel bad when things were over ’cuz I’d know what was going on. And we’d have a really neat place to live this summer, with a yard and trees for Oliver and—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No. And that’s all there is to it.”
She gave him her offended look and fell silent—for all of ten seconds. “Eh?”
“What?”
“How come Miss Brown asked you? I mean...I know why we should marry her.” The look she flashed him was eloquent. “But why does she want to marry us?”
He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing.”
“What kind of legal thing?”
“It has to do with her grandfather’s will.”
