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Mitchel Stewart had never seen anyone move that fast. In microseconds she was standing over him, hands on her hips as she glared at him.
“You…you fibber! You cheat! You liar!” Then she stopped. Her huge green eyes blinked twice before crinkling in puzzlement. “Why?”
“It seems that my contest entry has no apartment number on it. My name, however, is on the lease for apartment 108.”
“And?” Melanie was completely puzzled by his strange attitude.
“Well, your name does not appear on any lease. Just Shawna’s.” He met her glittering gaze squarely. “And there is no phone number listed in your name.”
“I know that. I only moved in after another of her roommates was married. We share the phone bill.” It was clear to Mitch that Melanie didn’t understand what he was telling her.
“But your entry says you live in my apartment. If you are not in fact living in apartment 108, your entry is null and void because you have misrepresented yourself.”
He watched her absorb the information. Her small hands rested idly on his shoulders as she thought.
“How do you know this?” she demanded.
“I’m a lawyer, remember? Corporate law. Well,” he said smugly, “I asked this rep guy for a copy of their contest rules.”
He waited for her approval. In vain. Melanie merely glared at him. “And?”
“They must award the prize if we can both be shown to be living in apartment 108.” As dismay flooded her beautiful face, Mitch quickly changed his wording. “That is, if you and I are both living in apartment 108.”
He was triumphantly pleased with himself. Mitchel had made it his business to find out about Melanie Stewart in the past few days, and he could understand how badly she needed that money. Sunset Retirement Home was an under-funded, overworked nursing home that was following the patterns of business all over the world by cutting back.
Several of his golfing buddies had relayed horror stories about the place before Melanie had taken over, and Mitchel found out she was well respected in her field. The simple, humanitarian changes she had wrought in her tenure as director of care had resulted in Sunset becoming one of the choice locations for those requiring the services they provided.
At the same time, he had watched her surreptitiously with a number of her clients. Melanie was unfailingly polite and courteous with everyone, but her seniors seemed her closest friends. Even Mrs. Strange had spoken glowingly of Melanie’s special interest in each resident’s needs.
“Don’t you see?” he demanded, anxious for her to understand his contribution in all this. “If you move some of your stuff to my spare room and stay there for a few nights, they’ll know you’re living there, and you’ll get your share of the money.”
She looked as if he had hit her with a Mack truck, Mitch decided. The color was coming back to her face, but he didn’t think that was a good sign. Mostly due to the sharp fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.
He lifted her hands away, careful to keep the lethal pink nails far from his eyes. She looked steamed, and with her temper, she would probably scratch his eyes out.
“Let go of me, you lecherous, manipulating, overbearing…” As the stream of vitriolic descriptives flowed from her soft peach lips, Mitch twisted her arms behind her back.
He disliked using force, but he wanted to preserve the skin on his face, as well. He let her blow off steam, but when she had not stopped a few moments later, his temper peaked.
Using the method he most favored, Mitch pulled her stiff, unyielding body close and pressed his lips against hers, stemming the tide of outrage. And he kept kissing her even when she stopped fighting him. Only when she finally started kissing him back did he pull away.
Women! Why didn’t he smarten up? Surely after Sam’s dirty tricks, he should be prepared for the way they operated.
“Listen, Ms. Stewart. I don’t need a roommate so badly that I would go to these extremes. I’ve told you before, I don’t intend to get married. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Mitch let go of her arms and stood back, furious that he had allowed himself to become so involved in someone else’s affairs. That’s what he got for trying to help!
“You know,” he added, upset with himself for the stupid idea that had streaked into his head an hour ago, “I can use twenty-five grand for a few little schemes of my own. You’re not the only person who has things to do, people you want to help out. And if you back out now, they will redraw the names.” Mitch’s dark eyes glared at her accusingly. “I’ll lose out altogether because of your mistake.” He told himself to calm down. Useless.
“I know how much you want that money. So do I. And this is the only way I could think of for you to share in it.” Turning, he strode away, stopping only to add, “Sorry I interfered in your life,” before yanking the door open and walking through it.
Melanie sank into the deck chair, her knees rubbery. Shocked, confused, dazed. Life was a perplexing whirl, and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He had been trying to help, in a strange, rather unusual way. He wanted her to have the money, or at least some of it. But there was no way she was moving in with the guy. Get real!
“You’re still there, directing me, aren’t You, Lord?” she murmured brokenly. “Please give a sign. You know how much we need that money.”
Glancing at her watch, Melanie decided that nothing made sense anymore and got up to return to work. As she gathered the cups and thermos, she permitted a tiny smile to tilt the corners of her mouth. Actually, Mitchel Stewart was kind of sweet. In a bossy, rude sort of way.
“He invited her to move in with him?” Hope fumed. Her eyes were wide open. “What a horrible young man!”
“He’s not horrible at all,” Charity murmured, threading the wool through her knitting machine. “Dear Mitchel was just trying to help. In a bizarre, unorthodox sort of way.” She slid the carriage back and forth a few times experimentally and then began an even, steady rhythm that soon produced a width of white lacy fabric.
“Melanie was so hurt when her mother abandoned her. It took ages, remember, to get her to open up. That terrible childhood should have toughened her up, but instead she became more withdrawn.” Charity smiled in remembrance. “My Melanie was the child who always needed an extra hug or a few extra words of praise.”
“I remember,” Hope murmured. “She’d work so hard in school, doing far more than was necessary for any project I assigned.” Her eyes stared into the past. “She was always the one who lent a helping hand, stuck up for the little kid being bullied.”
Charity nodded. “It was almost as if she was too insecure and afraid to believe in the love that Peter and I offered. When he died, I think she felt it was her fault for leaning on him so much.”
“Well, I want her to be happy,” Hope added stoutly. “But I don’t want her to be hurt. And Mitchel will do that. He’s had a terrible childhood, you know. Harry told me some of it.” She filled them in on the few details she knew. “Melanie needs someone strong with a solid background. Someone she can lean on. Not somebody with problems of his own!”
“I don’t know why you’re so concerned, Hope.” Charity smiled as she started another color. “Melanie is a good girl. She wouldn’t allow anything untoward to happen. And they would only be sharing the kitchen.”
Hopes eyes were huge with disbelief.
“You mean you condone this crazy idea?” She gasped. “But you’re her mother.”
“I know that, dear. And I’m not saying I condone anything. I have only her good at heart. But Melanie is too self-contained. She’s always pushing everyone but her seniors away. She’s missing out on the best parts of life, and I want her to find happiness with someone her own age.” She shrugged. “Maybe if she and Mitch do share an apartment, she’ll realize the world is full of more than grumpy old men. It does have two bedrooms, you know.” Charity’s warm brown eyes twinkled. She delighted in her friend’s shocked look.
“Oh, my,” Faith breathed, her emerald green eyes glowing with excitement. “And wouldn’t it be romantic. Why, they could have a candlelight dinner without the whole town knowing about it.” She stared into space, lost in a daydream.
“Well,” Hope said, “I’m ashamed of you, Charity Flowerday. And there’s no way I’m going to allow Melanie’s good reputation to be soiled by such a tawdry situation. I’m going to do my duty by the girl.” She picked up her purse and swept regally through the front door, the light of battle gleaming in the depths of her blue eyes. “We’ll just see about this…arrangement,” she muttered furiously.
When Judge Harry Conroy showed up promptly at six o’clock, Hope was ready for him. She wore a pair of navy slacks and a white blouse with a navy and white cardigan over her shoulders. She could barely control her temper as she waited for Harry to open her car door and her greeting wasn’t as welcoming as it could have been.
“Is something the matter, Hope?” he asked at last. He started the car and pulled away from her house, then glanced at her curiously. “I mean, have you heard more about Jean or something?”
“Good heavenly days, no,” she snapped irritably. “I hadn’t even thought about that. Don’t have time.” She turned to face him angrily. “Charity is set on sending her daughter traveling down the path of destruction, and I intend to see that she doesn’t do it.”
“Charity is?” the judge murmured, puzzled. “But I thought…well, never mind that. What’s Charity done now?”
“It’s all because of that awful grandson of yours,” Hope complained. “He flies into town, all handsome and debonair, and sweeps the girl off her feet.”
“So you think he’s handsome, do you?” Judge Conroy’s eyes twinkled.
“Of course he’s handsome,” Hope spluttered. “You know very well he takes after you, Harry, and you were a heartbreaker at that age. You still are.”
“Do tell,” Harry murmured with a smile of appreciation, allowing himself to preen.
“But you had some scruples. You would never have up and asked a woman to live with you so cold-bloodedly.”
Judge Conroy absently turned down the dirt road that led to the park beside the river where he’d courted his wife years ago. It wasn’t much of a river now, of course. And he wasn’t as young as he once was. But oh, my, things did sound promising!
“Mitch has asked someone to live with him?” he repeated softly. “That’s strange. I didn’t think the boy had any intention of getting married.”
“He doesn’t,” Hope shrieked in exasperation. “He wants her to live in sin with him.”
The judge stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles, sending Hope’s blood pressure soaring.
“I hardly think Mitch would suggest—”
“Oh, yes, he would,” she contradicted him. “I was visiting Nettie Rivers. We were sitting in her room, right by the window, and I distinctly heard him ask Melanie to move in with him.” She slammed the door of the car and stomped to a clearing beside a tiny waterfall. “Well, I’m not having it,” she spluttered, sinking down onto the blanket Harry spread. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, dear,” he murmured, trying to understand. It didn’t sound at all like Mitch, but then the boy did have a mind of his own. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, patting her hand commiseratingly.
“It won’t do any good,” Hope murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “But thank you. No, Charity’s determined to go along with it all. She thinks Melanie needs to see what she’s missing, working with old people all the time.”
“Perhaps she’s right about that, Hope. She is the girl’s mother, after all. Charity wants to see Melanie happily married with her own children. So do I, for that matter.” He stared at her. “Let’s pray about it, dear. God can do anything. He can certainly handle this.”
They bowed their heads, and Judge Conroy murmured a short petition, asking for guidance and help for their friends and relatives.
“Do you feel better now, dear?” he asked, after they’d finished the low-fat potato salad, cold sliced chicken sandwiches with tomato, lettuce and spicy mustard. For dessert, there was fruit salad and hot, fragrant herbal tea.
“A little,” Hope conceded. She stared into the woods. “I think I shall keep my eye on that situation. Perhaps I can be of help.”
“But won’t you be busy contacting the authorities about Jean?” he asked softly, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her to discuss her past love. To the judge’s immense surprise, Hope shook her head.
“No,” she told him firmly. “I’ve decided to turn that over to the Lord. Jean has been gone for a long time. It’s very doubtful that he’s survived at all, but if, for some strange reason, he turns up alive, I’ll be happy and I’ll learn to deal with it. Somehow.”
“What are you going to do?” Harry asked with a frown.
“Exactly what I’ve been doing for the past twenty-five years,” Hope told him with a smile. “Take each day as it comes and plan on making it the best yet.”
“Good,” he agreed after a moment. “And I’ll be here to share them with you.”
“You have been for a long time now,” she murmured, staring at his bald head as if she hadn’t noticed it before. “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we, Harry? You and Anna and I. She was my very best friend, you know. I always felt as if she was my sister.”
Harry frowned.
“Well, I don’t feel like your brother,” he muttered. To his delight she giggled, leaning nearer to kiss him on one cheek.
“You don’t look like him, either,” she assured him, laughing. She jumped to her feet and tugged his arm. “Come on, lazybones. I let you feed me all that delicious food. The least you can do is help me walk it off.”
“All right,” he agreed meekly. “But I carefully planned a low-fat meal, just as you prefer. You know that. As long as we just walk. I’m too old for anything else.”
Hope’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Really?” she asked. “That’s too bad.”
Harry let her lead him down the path, resisting an urge to kiss her then and there. But no, he decided. He’d bide his time. They were just beginning to get closer, and she was only starting to come to terms with the possibility of Jean’s reappearance. Everything looked positive, but he’d keep mentioning things to the Lord, just the same. A little heavenly guidance couldn’t hurt, he decided, hearing Hope’s sudden burst of laughter.
Chapter Four
“Have a nice day, folks. Enjoy that sun.”
Mitchel Edward Stewart was not having a nice day, despite the radio announcer’s bland wish. He had risen with a splitting headache on his first day off in weeks. The coffeemaker had refused to cooperate, and his doughnut supply was tapped out.
It should have been simple. Everything was so carefully planned. He would pick up some supplies from downtown and then he was heading out for a day at the beach. Sun, sand and surf, that’s what he needed. Maybe even a cold root beer.
Sighing, he stared balefully at his bright red sports car once more. Apparently, some things were not to be. The expensive engine refused to respond to his orders, and since anything under the hood of an automobile gave him hives, Mitch had called the shop.
“Nope, can’t touch it today.” The youngster’s voice was less than helpful. At least he thought it was. You could barely hear over the crashing of some heavy metal band in the background.
“Pardon?”
“No can do, dude.”
“And why is that?” Mitchel had forced a tight rein of control on his temper and prayed for strength. Impudent little brat!
“Mechanic’s out sick. Have a good one!” With a click, the kid had hung up on him, leaving Mitchel to bite out a particularly choice epithet that divulged his irritation with the world in general.
“Something I said?”
He groaned, recognizing her voice immediately. Why now, why today? He turned to face Miss Melanie Stewart, a flush of red hinting at his turmoil.
“Hi.” There. Let her make something of that.
“Car problems?”
His reply was curt and succinct. “Yeah.”
“Can I look?”
He stared at her. “Why?”
Green eyes glared at him as she slapped her hands on her hips. “Gee, I don’t know. I thought I could steal a few spark plugs or maybe even the air filter.”
Whew, talk about cranky! Without a word Mitch popped the hood and watched Melanie lean over to peer inside. His stomach dropped as his gaze followed her long legs to the white cuffed shorts that covered her shapely bottom. A tiny bit of skin peeked out between her waistline and the cropped red T-shirt she wore. He couldn’t stop staring.
“Hmm, distributor cap’s shot.” She turned her head to glance at him. “You need a mechanic.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Stewart,” he said sarcastically. “I have already phoned one. He’s out sick.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, he thought grumpily.
She shrugged and slammed the hood shut. Fortunately, she missed his knuckles by at least a millimeter.
“Okay, looks like you’ve got it covered.”
He frowned. Was that supposed to mean something?
“Want a lift?” she offered, bending to pick up a large woven bag and a small cooler. “I’m going to the beach, but I could drop you somewhere.”
