His Wife for a While (3 page)

She backed through the door, its hinges creaking. He doubted there was room on his shoulders for another problem, but as sole owner and operator of Reed's Orchard, even if it was only until next week, solving problems was his responsibility.

As he slid off the counter, he cast a questioning glance at May, hoping she could shed some light on what
Chelsea
's concern might be. May disclaimed any knowledge with a silent shrug and reached under the counter for her tabloid.

Pushing through the door, he paused in the tiny hallway outside
Chelsea
's office. Ever since he'd returned from college years ago, Ben had been in charge of the actual orchard, the planting, pruning, harvesting, storing and a million and one other tasks. John Reed had handled both the accounting and the retail-sales end of the business. Now, Ben was liable for the whole shebang. He'd have to get used to the fact that he'd have more dealings with
Chelsea
now that his grandfather was no longer around to handle the office matters.

She'd always succeeded in conducting herself with complete professionalism. And if she could do it, then so could he. At that moment, Ben realized he would have to look beyond the bad memory of his past behavior toward her… it had only been one incident, for Pete's sake. Why couldn't he just let it go? He had to try to form some type of working relationship with the woman.

~  ~  ~

Chelsea
paced the small confines of her office and fought the panic that welled up like a ready-to-erupt geyser.

"Please,
Chelsea
," she whispered to herself. "Please show a little courage. Just this once."

She sat in her chair, took a deep breath, picked up a pencil, tapped it once, twice, three times, then dropped it on the desk top, stood and resumed her pacing.

"I can do this. I
will
do this. I will."

The sharp rap on her office door made her jump. Two more followed in quick succession before she could call out, "Come in."

Ben stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.

"Hey," he said. "What's up?"

Chelsea
hated the awkwardness that never failed to plant itself right in the middle of the room like a three foot wide, spotted toadstool whenever she encountered Ben. It was there and everyone knew it, but no one had the guts to point it out. Right now, the toadstool was growing by the second.

She swallowed and averted her eyes to the chair sitting near her desk. Back when she'd accepted the official title as bookkeeper for John Reed's business, he'd vacated the office so she'd have a place to work. She'd found the chair in a store room, had cleaned it up and dragged it in here in the hopes of making the room a little more cozy. The leather was worn on a couple of the corners, but the springs were just fine. The only person who'd ever used it had been John and that had been only for the few minutes it had taken her to give him a weekly financial report. Now John Reed was gone.  

"Sit down, Ben," she told him.

Nerves clamped down on her voice like a vise. The very air in the room was taut. But then, why wouldn't it be? She sat behind her desk, balanced on the very edge of the chair, her back rod-straight, every muscle in her body tense. Ben looked as if he was sitting on tenterhooks himself. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to make a conscious effort to slide fully onto the chair and relax against the chair back.

"So, Chelsea," he gently said. "What's wrong? I can clearly see there's a problem. Whatever it is, we can work it out."

Chelsea
inhaled a shaky breath. She wished she had only a modicum of Ben's self-assuredness. She had promised herself she would do this. It was now or never.

"Ben," she began cautiously, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with May just now. And I do have to admit it's not the first discussion between the two of you that I've overheard lately." She quickly explained, "It's not that I meant to get in your business, mind you, it's just that the shop is so close to my office and... well…"

He nodded and the look in his eyes told her he wasn't offended. She exhaled with relief and took a quick moment to form the words in her head for the next sentence she wanted to say.

"I know you're in trouble... with the… you know, the stipulations in John's will… and all." Her words were jerky and stilted. Terribly uneven. "I know you might lose the orchard... and I…" Her voice trailed off as she swallowed and then took yet another deep, fortifying breath.

Ben raised his hand, palm out to stop her, and touched his fingertips to his temple. "Where has my mind been?"

It was plain to
Chelsea
that his question was self-reprimanding.

He stood, took two steps toward the door and then turned back to face her.

"I was so caught up in my own troubles, it never occurred to me that I should have been talking to my employees." Ben moved closer to her desk. "You must be wondering if your job is in jeopardy."

"Well, actually…"

"With everything that's going on," he continued before she could correct him, "I can't tell you that your job is safe. In fact, it probably isn't. But I'm working on it. Everything is still so uncertain..." He shook his head. "I can't guarantee anyone's job right now. I'm sorry."

Chelsea
frowned, her brow creasing deeply, he looked so remorseful, as though he truly felt he'd somehow let down the people in his employ. Suddenly, some soft, unfamiliar emotion crept through the anxiety that was knotted in her chest. It was almost akin to the pity she felt for the wounded animals she cared for at the wildlife reserve where she volunteered her time. But, no, it went deeper than that, it was more like...

Chewing on her bottom lip, she quietly but firmly closed the door on the emotion, severed it as cleanly as if she'd snipped it with a sharp pair of scissors.
Don't let yourself become too involved
, a voice in her head silently warned. That was her number one rule of life. For if she did, invariably she would be hurt.

She was simply going to offer him the deal she'd concocted. She would help him, if he would help her. That's all there was to it. Plain and simple.

"Well, actually," she began, "what I wanted to talk to you about has nothing to do with the security of my job."

"Oh?"

Ben's sandy colored eyebrows raised with his question, and she noticed how they were a shade darker than his hair, which had been bleached by the sun to the color of ripe wheat. Would his hair feel as silky under her fingertips as it looked?

She refused to give the physical awareness a moment's thought. She simply shook her head to clear her mind and then continued with the task at hand.

"Well, actually," she said, immediately realizing she'd said the phrase a number of times already, "it has to do with your problem. You know, the trouble you're in. I think I might have an answer for you... I might have a plan that could help you... I mean, I think that…"

Chelsea
stopped abruptly. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Why wouldn't the words come?

Because the plan is ridiculous? Outrageous? Beyond-belief bizarre?

The expression on Ben's face took on a mixture of quiet uncertainty and acute interest, but it was the interest that made his green eyes glitter brightly. She watched him slowly lower himself back down onto the chair opposite her desk.

"I'm listening. Go on," he urged. When she didn't immediately explain herself, he added, "I don't know what you have in mind, but at this point I'll consider anything." He settled back in the chair, his hands resting on the leather arms, and silently waited.

"Well…" She pressed her lips together, refusing to repeat the word
actually
again. Her gaze dropped to the pencil resting on her desk and she picked it up. "I know about the clause in your grandfather's will."

She absently fingered the pencil. "I know that if you don't get married, you'll lose the orchard."

The pencil spun between her index finger and thumb. "I know the man from the auction house is anxious to sell. I know the charities are just as anxious to receive their bequests. And I know the lawyers are chomping at the bit to file the paperwork with the court to force you to sell."

"Feels like the whole damn world is closing in on me."

Chelsea
took a moment to offer a silent, consoling nod. At this point the pencil was twirling so quickly that it flew from her fingers, rolled across the desktop and clattered to the floor. Neither she nor Ben moved to touch it.

"Between overhearing your conversations with May," she said, "and hearing odd bits of gossip from some of the field hands, I think I know enough about your situation to realize that... you need some help."

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

"I think…" she swallowed "…I might be able to help you."

There, she thought, it's out. Finally.

Her gaze locked onto Ben as she waited for his response. None came.

She blinked and moistened her lips, deciding to try again. "What I mean is," she explained further, "I'm... willing to help. If you want my help, I mean."

Ben didn't bat an eye. Finally, he shook his head and said, "Help?
Chelsea
, what exactly is it you're trying to say?"

What was
wrong
with him? Hadn't he heard her? How could he not understand what she was saying?

As though reading her thoughts, he remarked, "Why don't you tell me the idea you have in mind?"

Heat flooded her face. Was he really going to force her to spell it out? Apparently so.

"Well, actually," she began. She looked off over his shoulder. "You're in need of a wife, right?" Lowering her gaze to a spot directly in front of her on the desk, she saw that she was wringing her hands. "I'm... single... and female. And, um, willing." She rushed to add, "To
help
, I mean."

His green eyes darkened with revelation. Then he looked surprised. "Let me get this straight," he said, his face scrunching in total disbelief. "Are you offering to marry me?"

"Well… actually... yes."

There was a clatter outside the office door.

"Why don't you come on in, Aunt May," Ben called. "You'll be able to hear much better if you're inside the room rather than standing out in the hallway."

The older lady pushed her way into the office and then promptly plunked her fists on her broad hips. "Ben Danvers, are you insinuating that I was eavesdropping?" The question held more than a fair measure of indignation.

Ben grinned. "Well, isn't that exactly what you were doing?"

"I was not," May pronounced emphatically. "I was just passin' by the door on my way…" she looked at a momentary loss, blinking as her brain whirred "…to somewhere important." May changed the subject completely by focusing her boisterous attention on
Chelsea
. "This is just wonderful! Ben found a wife." She snickered. "Or rather one found him. But is there still time? I'm afraid the registering and blood tests will take too long."

"Now, just slow down, Aunt May." Ben lifted his hands, palms outward. "Chelsea and I haven't even had a chance to talk about this."

May ignored Ben completely. "I know what you could do!" She nearly got her plump body off the ground as she jumped with excitement. "You two can drive into
Maryland
. The
Cecil
County
courthouse is just over the state line, in Elkton. That little town used to be called the wedding capital of the world 'cause a couple could get married in two hours." She took a breath and rushed on. "Of course, all that has changed now, but I think it only takes two days after registering and you two could be saying 'I do' before the week's out."