A Family Circle 1 - A Very Convenient Marriage (12 page)

"I... Yes, I guess I am." This was getting more complicated by the minute, Nikki thought. Now she was lying to small children. "I'm Nikki."

"I had everything organized," Rachel said. Her eyes drifted from the feathers dusted over the sofa to the spots on the rug to the doorway through which the cat had disappeared. "It was the phone," she announced, fixing NikM with a sudden look. "Everything was going fine until the wretched phone rang."

"I'm sure it was," Nikki agreed hesitantly, wondering if Sam had forgotten to tell her that his mother's mind was starting to go.

"I've never liked phones." Rachel bent down and picked up the damp rag, looked at it a moment and then stuffed it in the pocket of the pink gingham apron she wore over a pair of lavender slacks and a white blouse. "They always ring at the most awkward moments, like when your hands are covered in mud."

"Or when you're basting a turkey," Cole added helpfully.

"I only turned my back for a moment."

"If you didn't insist on keeping that wolf in the house, you'd be able to leave a turkey sit on the counter without posting guard over it," Keefe said. He was dabbing droplets of blood off the series of scratches that decorated the back of his hand.

"It's not poor Hippo's fault." Rachel immediately leapt to the dog's defense. "How was he supposed to know the turkey wasn't for him?"

"Do you normally feed him half-roasted turkeys that happen to be sitting on the counter?" Keefe asked, not troubling to conceal his annoyance.

"Of course not. But I didn't explain that it wasn't for him, either."

"Most dogs understand that the counters are off-limits without needing to have each specific item of food pointed out to them."

"If you hadn't yelled at the poor thing, he wouldn't have run off with the bird. You scared him."

"Excuse me, but when I see a dog absconding with the Thanksgiving turkey, that seems reason enough to yell."

Nikki felt like a spectator at a tennis match as her eyes followed the conversation back and forth between mother and son. None of her worried imaginings had included a scene quite like this one.

"Welcome to the Walker family, Nikki." Sam's tone was dry and laced with amusement.

"Oh goodness!" Rachel turned a stricken gaze in their direction. "I didn't even say hello, did I?"

"Not exactly," Sam said.

"I'm so sorry, Nikki. You must think you've married into a family of savages." Rachel crossed the room to where they stood and reached out to take Nikki's hands. Her grip was firm and strong, surprisingly so for such a small woman. "I did so want everything to be nice when you arrived." She gestured to the chaos behind her. "This isn't the first impression I'd planned, but welcome to the family, my dear."

Nikki stepped awkwardly into the embrace Rachel offered, her thoughts spinning at the realization that Rachel had been nervous about meeting her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Walker." Up close, Nikki found it hard to believe that this woman could be the mother of four strapping sons. She didn't look old enough, for one thing. Her soft dark hair was cut stylishly short and framed a face of remarkable sweetness. Any impression Nikki might have had that Sam's mother was a few bricks short of a full load was dispelled by the quick intelligence in her dark eyes.

"Call me Rachel, please. 'Mrs. Walker' always makes me think of my mother-in-law, whom I never liked. And since the feeling was mutual, I don't consider that speaking ill of the dead. I swore I'd never be a mother-in-law of the sort she was, so you don't have to worry about me poking my nose in things that are none of my business."

As if on cue, Mary, who'd been watching and listening from her position in Sam's arms, piped up. "Are you going to have a baby?" she asked, fixing Nikki with a bright, curious gaze.

Instant silence greeted her question. Nikki could feel her smile freezing solid. Her voice came out a little wheezy. "What?"

"Daddy told Uncle Gage that was prob'ly why you and Uncle Sam got married so quick," Mary explained. "'Cause you were going to have a baby."

"My brother, Ann Landers," Sam muttered, shooting Cole a fierce look. "No, Nikki is not going to have a baby."

"Talk about little pitchers," Cole said on a groan. He crossed the room to take his daughter from Sam. "Your ears are entirely too big, you little pest."

"If you don't want me to hear things, then you shouldn't talk so loud," she pointed out, with unarguable, five-year-old logic.

"When you're right, you're right," Sam said, giving his brother a pointed look, which Cole ignored. He smiled at Nikki.

"Hi, I'm Cole. The one with the overactive imagination. Welcome to the madhouse.''

Nikki took the hand he offered. There was a rueful apology in his eyes. The resemblance between him and the little girl he held was marked. Both were fair haired with chocolate brown eyes. But Cole's smile was reminiscent of his brother's, tailor-made for breaking female hearts.

"The one nursing the scratched hand is Keefe," Sam said, completing the introductions as Keefe came to join them.

"I think I'll live," Keefe said dryly. "Glad to meet you, Nikki. It's not always this bad."

"Sometimes it's worse," Cole offered.

"Ignore him," Keefe suggested as he shook her hand. "Aside from a few neurotic pets, we're a fairly normal bunch."

Nikki wondered if it was her imagination that put something watchful in the look he gave her, something more than curiosity. As if he knew something the rest of his family didn't.

Before she could follow that line of thinking any farther, she suddenly remembered Jason, who'd been standing quietly behind her. She turned immediately, slipping her hand under his elbow and drawing him forward to introduce him to her in-laws, relieved to have an excuse to direct attention away from herself.

She'd made it through the initial meeting without anyone pointing a finger and denouncing her as a fake, but there was plenty of time for disaster to strike.

❧

"A Norman Rockwell kind of family" was how Max had described the Walkers. Until now, Nikki hadn't been willing to admit, even to herself, just how much that description had influenced her decision to marry Sam. Her own family had borne little resemblance to the sort of cozy images for which Rockwell was famous.

From the time she was small, the two stable figures in her life had been her grandfather and Lena, and, while she'd never doubted their love for her, she'd always had a wistful longing to be part of a big, close-knit family, the kind common on television and all too rare in real life.

And now, by virtue of a business deal cum marriage, she was part of such a family, at least for the next year. The Walkers bore little resemblance to the Brady Bunch, but there was no mistaking the affection between them.

Rachel, in particular, fascinated her. Her initial impression that her mother-in-law was a little on the vague side turned out to be far from accurate. Though she was barely five feet tall and looked as if a strong breeze might carry her away, it seemed as if Rachel had only to express a wish and one or more of her sons moved to fulfill it.

It was obvious that they adored her. Equally obvious that the feeling was mutual. Nikki tried to remember if Max had said anything about Sam's father, but could come up with nothing beyond the fact that he was dead. She wondered if Rachel had raised her sons alone.

Despite her certainty that disaster lurked around every corner, it was turning out to be the best Thanksgiving she could ever remember having. It took some time for her to dare to relax, even a little. She was vividly aware she was there under false pretenses and afraid of making a verbal slip that would expose the truth about her marriage to Sam. But as no one demanded an explanation for their hasty marriage or asked any questions she couldn't answer, she started to believe that Sam had been right about his family accepting their marriage at face value.

It had probably been ridiculous to worry so much. After all, what sane person would expect to find a genuine marriage of convenience in their own family?

❧

Gage returned in about an hour. He brought a huge turkey, which happened to be frozen solid, two chickens and ten pounds of hamburger. Since it would be days before the turkey could thaw, there was a hasty reshuffling of the dinner menu.

The turkey went in the freezer, the two chickens went in the oven, and Sam and Cole threw coals in the barbecue to cook the hamburger. Within a couple of hours, they sat down to roast chicken and grilled hamburgers with all the traditional Thanksgiving trimmings. Nikki couldn't ever remember enjoying a meal more.

T
he remainder of the day passed in a kind of pleasant lethargy. After dinner, everyone helped clear the table. With so many bodies in such a relatively small area, it might have been more efficient if the task had been left to one or two, but no one seemed concerned with efficiency.

Once the table was cleared and the first load of dishes was in the dishwasher, there was a general retreat to the living room. Nikki was amused by the way Jason rose when Rachel entered the room, offering her his chair with an old-fashioned gallantry that brought a delicate flush of color to the older woman's cheeks.

The television was turned to one of the many football games being played. With the score at thirty-five to three, there wasn't much suspense in the competition, but that suited the low-key mood just fine.

Nikki, whose interest in football was about on par with her interest in the sex life of tree frogs, wandered over to the baby grand piano that dominated one corner of the living room. She brushed her fingers soundlessly across the keys.

"Do you play?" Rachel's question startled her, since she hadn't been aware of the other woman's approach.

Nikki shook her head. "I had lessons when I was a child, but I was terrible at it. I could hear the music in my bead, but I could never seem to get it from there to my fingers.''

"I can't play a note and my singing is so bad that the boys used to cry when I'd sing lullabies to them." Rachel smiled at Nikki's chuckle, but shook her head. "It's true. I can't carry a tune in a bucket. But David, Sam's father, he had a voice like an angel and could play just about any instrument you'd care to name. The boys got what musical talent they have from him."

Nikki's mind boggled at hearing the four large men, currently sprawled on various pieces of furniture, called boys, but she supposed it was a mother's privilege to call them that.

"Does Sam play piano?" she asked.

"No. He played guitar when he was in college, but I don't think he kept up with it. I think he just used it to attract girls."

Nikki couldn't imagine that Sam Walker had ever needed any kind of accessory to attract the opposite sex. He came equipped with everything necessary for that, she thought, shooting a quick look at his long body, which was settled comfortably in a big, overstuffed chair. With an effort, she dragged her attention back to what Rachel was saying.

"Cole inherited his father's voice, even sang in the church choir when he was a boy. Gage is the one who plays piano. There was a time when we thought he might make a career of it, but...things changed." Something in her tone suggested that whatever it was that had changed, the memories weren't pleasant. Nikki sought to distract her.

"What about Keefe? Does he sing or play an instrument?"

"Only if you're in the mood for torture," Cole put in. He was sitting on the sofa. Mary had crawled onto his lap after dinner and was now fast asleep, her tiny body curled against his chest. It was a sweet picture.

"Torture?" Nikki asked, glancing at Rachel for an explanation. But it was Keefe who answered.

"What Cole is trying to say is that there isn't a musical bone in my body."

"Actually, dogs have been known to howl in pain when Keefe sings," Gage clarified. He grinned as he fended off the pillow Keefe threw in his direction.

"Please, don't anybody mention dogs," Cole said.

There was a general mutter of agreement as everyone remembered Hippo's impact on the holiday dinner. But Nikki noticed there didn't seem to be any real rancor behind the complaints. She had yet to meet the canine in question, since he'd been banished to the backyard for his transgressions. She wanted to get at least a glimpse of the fabled creature before they left.

There were half a dozen pictures in a motley assortment of frames sitting on top of the piano. Nikki picked up one to look at it more closely. It was a family portrait, taken when the brothers were in their teens. They were seated on a dark sofa and the four of them stared at the camera with varying degrees of tolerance. Sam couldn't have been more than seventeen Or eighteen, but he'd had a look of maturity beyond his years.

It took a conscious effort to drag her gaze to the rest of the family. She glanced at the three other boys, but her attention settled on the little girl standing in front of them. Four or five years old, with hair that was a rich, deep auburn and thickly lashed, blue eyes, she wore a ruffled pink dress and had a pink ribbon threaded through her curls.

"Who is that?" Nikki asked, thinking it might be a niece or cousin.

There was an almost imperceptible pause before Rachel answered. "That's Shannon. My little girl."

There was old grief in her voice and in her eyes as she reached out to take the picture from Nikki. Her forefinger settled gently on the glass that covered the picture, almost as if she were touching the child's face.

Nikki became aware of the silence around them and realized that Rachel wasn't the only one who'd heard her question. She glanced at Sam, wondering if she should have known who Shannon was, if a real wife would have known. He shook his head slightly, giving her a look that she took as reassurance.

"I'm going to take a walk." It was Gage who broke the tense little silence. Nikki caught a glimpse of his face as he stood up. He looked older than he had moments before, his features hard, his eyes a wintry blue.

"It's raining," Rachel said.

"I won't melt." He gave his mother a quick, tight smile. If it was intended as reassurance, it fell short of the mark, because the worry stayed in Rachel's eyes as she watched him walk out the door.

He left behind him a strained silence. Cole's attention was on his sleeping daughter, his hand stroking over her golden hair. Keefe stared at the television screen as if riveted by the ridiculously unbalanced competition being played out there. Sam looked after his brother, and for a moment Nikki thought he might follow Gage, but if that was his intention, he changed his mind after a glance at his mother's face.

"He'll be all right, Mom."

"I know." Rachel turned to set the picture back down on the piano, her hand not quite steady.

Utterly bewildered by the undercurrents of the past few minutes, Nikki looked at Jason, forgetting for the moment that he might think it odd that she was so completely in the dark. He spoke up immediately.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I think I'm about ready for another slice of pumpkin pie."

"I'll get it for you," Rachel said, obviously grateful to have something to do.

"Coffee would be good right about now," Cole suggested.

"Coffee and pie coming up.''

"Perhaps I can help," Jason offered. He rose and followed his hostess into the kitchen.

Nikki looked at Sam, her eyes full of questions. Later, he mouthed, shaking his head to indicate that this wasn't the time to discuss the odd little scene that had just passed.

Her shoulders lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. It was really none of her business. Not the way it would have been if she were truly a member of the family. She started to turn away, but her eyes met Keefe's. There was something in his look that made her feel as if he had read her mind, somehow sensing the distance between herself and Sam.

What would a real wife do after the tense little scene just past? The answer seemed obvious.

Looking as casual as she could, Nikki walked over to Sam's chair and settled herself on the arm of it. Sam shot her a startled look, which she answered with a sweet smile, a fierce glare and a subtle twitch of her head in Keefe's direction.

He glanced past her at his brother. Nikki assumed Keefe was looking at them, which explained Sam's sudden smile as he realized the necessity for keeping up their charade. But it didn't explain the wicked amusement in his eyes when he looked back up at her.

"You don't look comfortable there, sweetheart," he said lovingly.

"I'm fine, honey."

"Well, I'm not. I'll get a crick in my neck looking at you." Before she could guess his intention, he slid his arm around her waist and dragged her off the arm of the chair and into his lap.

Nikki's first impulse was to scramble up and away from him. Her second was to plant her fist in his nose and then scramble away. She might—just might—have done it and left Sam to try to explain her actions to his brothers. But her entire inheritance was at stake. Reluctantly, she stayed where she was, shooting Sam a look that promised future retribution.

"Comfortable, sweetheart?" Sam asked.

"Perfectly," she said through clenched teeth. She shifted position and managed to plant her elbow firmly in his midriff. "How about you, honey?"

Sam's response was muffled. Acting in self-defense, he slid his arm around her waist and dragged her close against his chest, leaving her no room to maneuver. Nearly nose to nose with her husband, Nikki glared at him.

"Isn't this cozy?" Sam asked cheerfully.

"Terribly," she agreed without opening her teeth.

This close to him, she was vividly aware of the width of his chest, of the muscled strength of the arms holding her. His thighs were hard beneath hers. She could smell the faint woodsy scent of his cologne and see the narrow line of dark gray that rimmed the blue of his eyes. She felt surrounded by him, overwhelmed by his sheer masculinity. His mouth was only inches from hers. If she leaned forward just a little...

She jerked her thoughts back from that dangerous path, stiffening her spine as she looked away. Her gaze collided with Keefe's and she was surprised to read something that looked suspiciously like sympathy in his eyes. Again, she had the impression that he knew a great deal more than she might have expected.

Before she had a chance to pursue that thought, Rachel and Jason came back into the room. Keefe got up to clear a small end table so that Jason could set down the tray he was carrying.

"You two look cozy," Rachel said with a glance at the newlyweds.

Nikki forced a smile and murmured something noncommittal. She tried to angle her elbow into Sam's midriff again, but he was holding her too tightly. She felt the amusement in him and promised herself a suitable revenge. Something along the lines of a dip in boiling oil, perhaps.

The doorbell rang just then. Rachel went to answer it, returning with a tall, elderly woman. In the ensuing rush of greetings, Nikki twisted away from Sam's hold and stood, taking care to plant her foot firmly oh his as she did so. His grunt of pain put a genuine smile on her face.

Though the newcomer was probably nearing eighty, her spine was ramrod straight and the cane she carried seemed to be more for effect than necessity. Her lined face showed traces of real beauty in the elegant arch of her cheekbones and the still bright blue of her eyes. She was wearing a pair of black wool trousers and a silk blouse of peacock blue. She wore her snow-white hair in a plain chignon and carried herself like a woman accustomed to having the world fall in line with her wishes. But there was a sparkle of humor in her eyes to soften the arrogance. She sat down with the grace of a much younger woman.

"Nikki, this is Molly Thorpe. She's a friend of the family. Molly, this is Sam's new wife, Nikki Walker." She hesitated. "I didn't even think to ask you if you were keeping your maiden name, dear."

"Are you kidding? The only reason I married Sam was so I wouldn't have to keep spelling Beauvisage for the rest of my life."

"Beauvisage?" Molly Thorpe looked at Nikki sharply. "You're too young to be Lyman's daughter. Must be the granddaughter."

"Did you know my grandfather?"

"We'd met a time or two. Heard he died a while back."

"Yes, he did," Nikki confirmed. "I miss him a great deal."

"Then he was a lucky man," Molly said. "Can't ask more out of life than someone to care enough to miss you when you're gone." She looked past Nikki. "Good bloodlines here, Samuel. You'll have fine children. No sense blushing," she added when Nikki's face flamed with color. "I'm too old to mince my words. Don't have enough time left to spend it finding polite phrases to spare people's sensibilities. Ain't pregnant yet, are you?"

"No." Nikki's denial was strangled.

She heard Sam laugh. "Mary already asked her that, Molly. I'm starting to think there's something you're not telling me, sweetheart."

Nikki shot him a look that would have slain a lesser man where he stood. Sam just grinned. She was grateful to Keefe for stepping forward to greet Molly, drawing attention away from her.

"You're incorrigible, Molly."

"I hope so. There's not much else to be at my age." She held out her hand to him, her eyes warm with affection. "Keefe. How are you?"

"Fine." He took her hand and bent to brush a kiss over her cheek. "I won't ask how you are. I can see the answer for myself."

"You could have seen it anytime these past three years if you'd taken the trouble to visit," she told him sharply. She didn't give him time to answer, but continued in a slightly softer tone. "Have you seen my great-niece lately?"

There was an instant of tense silence that told Nikki there was more to the question than what it seemed on the surface. She was aware of several quick glances being shot in Keefe's direction.

"I haven't seen Dana since the divorce," he answered calmly.

The old woman's ebony cane tapped the floor in a gesture of impatience.

"I expected better of you,, Keefe Walker. Thought you were smarter than my great-niece," Molly said bluntly. "I was pleased as punch when you two got married. Thought you'd manage to hang on to her, keep her away from that silly goose of a mother and that mental midget of a father of hers."