Solomon's Decision (15 page)

Ginger and Abby both giggled.

Madeline wished she found it so funny. She was almost dreading the coming
week. Even with Erik and Amelia, even with committees who did everything they were
supposed to, on schedule and correctly the first time, it was going to be sheer hell. She just
knew it was.

She kissed both girls again, with a special, nose-rubbing, raspberry-blowing
smooch for her daughter. How she missed having the twins with her, but it wouldn't be fair
to make them stay in town and spend their days at Wanda's Childcare, when they could be
here on the ranch with their cousins.

Kyle was waiting on the trundle bed in the boys' room. "Mama, are you gonna get
married?"

Quickly she knelt by his side. "Of course not, honey. Where on earth did you get
that idea?" She slipped an arm under his head and pulled him to her, noticing that Jace and
Denny were propped on their elbows and listening.

"I heard Aunt J'nine sayin' you oughta marry that wet guy." He looked worried. "Is
he wet
all
the time, like a fish?"

She chuckled. "No, honey. He's just a man." So was Superman.

"Well, then, I think you should marry him. He could go to soccer with me."

In a town where everyone was related to everyone else, Kyle was often the only
child on his soccer team who didn't have a masculine voice cheering him. Jon simply
couldn't get into town at the early hour the peanut teams played and there wasn't anyone
else she felt comfortable asking. Perhaps she should work to conquer her discomfort. Steve
Lindholm would probably be willing to come to an occasional game, if she asked him.

But did she want to leave herself open to the obvious conclusion on Steve's part?
She'd known him as long as she'd lived in Garnet Falls, and she'd never found him
anything but a nice man. Sort of like vanilla pudding, when chocolate mousse was the
industry standard.

"He's not going to be in Garnet Falls very long, Kyle, but I'll bet he'd come to a
game, if you'd like that." Erik wouldn't misunderstand her invitation. If anything, he'd turn
her down. Her children were the last thing about her he was interested in.

More's the pity,
a tiny voice said in the back of her mind. He'd never
asked about her children, had seemed uncomfortable whenever she mentioned them.

"Okay, but if you're not gonna marry him, it wouldn't be the same." Kyle snuggled
down into his covers, his eyes closing. "G'night, mom," he said.

She leaned over and kissed him. "Good night, honey. Sweet dreams."

Marry Erik Solomon? What a wonderful, impossible idea.

* * * *

"Do you like children?" Madeline asked the question in the middle of a
comfortable silence as she and Erik finished their sandwiches Monday noon.

Ever since she'd arrived in town, they'd been going over the revised plans and
schedule for the Social, hoping they'd forgotten nothing. Amelia was due back from
Cambridge soon, hopefully with a commitment from the Sheriff's Posse for a food booth
like the one they were famous for at the Washington County Fair. Over the weekend, she'd
contacted the Obon Festival Committee in Ontario and gotten their enthusiastic agreement
to set up a Japanese food booth. Both the high school principal and the football coach had
agreed to work in the dunking booth and a contingent of women from New Meadows was
coming down to help out at the carnival and the ice cream pavilion.

"I don't know anything about them," Erik said, after a moment's thought. "They're
hard to talk to, though. I do know that."

"Why do you say that? I've always found children much easier to talk to than
adults. They take everything so literally." Sometimes too much so, but she wasn't going to
admit that.

"That's exactly what I mean." He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his
chair. "I have this buddy back in New Jersey. Five kids. The oldest one's maybe twelve or
so. The night I was there, they were helping him fix dinner--he and his wife trade off on
household chores and it was his week to cook. He told one of the middles to put out the
rabbit food while he dished up the pot roast." His mouth twitched. "When we sat down to
dinner, there was a little dish beside each plate, full of rabbit pellets."

Madeline fought to control her laughter. "Oh, my!" she gasped.

"The worst part of it was," Erik said, his own voice sounding suspiciously like he
was trying not to laugh either, "was that for a minute I thought we'd have them with
Thousand Island dressing. Wils didn't want to hurt the kid's feelings."

"It does take practice," she admitted. "And I still get caught sometimes, even
though I'm really careful how I say things to mine."

"I guess some kids are okay," he said, sounding contemplative, "but I don't see
how anyone could want as many as Wils has. Five! How do you suppose he keeps them all
straight?"

"Each child is unique," she said, thinking of how different her own were. "And
wonderful."

"You've got a boy and a girl, right?"

Madeline began to gather the dirty dishes. This was the first time she'd invited him
to eat at her house instead of at the Bon Ton. It hadn't been so bad. He'd been a perfect
gentleman. "Uh-huh. Kyle and Ginger."

"How are you going to manage the boy as he gets older? I mean, how can you
possibly understand...."

Before he could finish his question, Amelia was at the back door, calling out her
arrival. Darn! She still didn't know whether he liked children.

That night, while she was courting sleep, she wondered about his question. Of
course she would understand Kyle as he grew up. As much as any parent could understand
a child.

* * * *

Tuesday the paper products didn't come. Erik went to Ontario to pick them
up.

Wednesday was the phone call from Trace Pickett. His converted bus had broken
down in Wyoming. Could Erik locate housing and transportation for the band if they flew
into Boise? Erik could, and Madeline thanked her lucky stars that she had an assistant who
got things done first, then worried about her approval.

On Thursday Sheriff Blanchett came into her temporary office at Lindholm
Motors. "Mornin', Linnie."

"Good morning, Wally." She wondered what his arrival meant. Wally was a good
sheriff, but he could be the gloomiest, most pessimistic person she'd ever met. "What can I
do for you today?"

"Money." He lowered himself into the folding chair across from her desk. "For the
rent-a-cops." His tone made it clear he wasn't too happy about his request. "They want a
retainer before they'll sign the contract."

"Oh lord!" Madeline sighed. "How much?"

The sheriff looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon. Or something stronger and more
bitter. "Fifteen hundred."

She gasped. "Dollars?"

Wally nodded.

"But that's more than we have in the treasury."

"Figured as much. What d'you want me to tell 'em?"

What indeed? They had to have extra security, if no other reason than for traffic
management. Wally and his five deputies, even with the help of the volunteer Mounted
Sheriff's Posse, simply couldn't do it all. Not with the volume of people and cars they were
expecting.

"Will they take a check?" She had a little more than eighteen hundred in her
savings. The Wednesday Club could pay her back next week.

"Certified. And somebody'll have to deliver it. They want it before the bank closes
tomorrow."

Madeline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why hadn't this happened
Tuesday, when Erik was in Ontario? Another sixty miles wouldn't have mattered. Well,
she could take the check up to New Meadows right away, so it could catch the FedEx
pickup tomorrow.

There were times when living in a small town, back of beyond, was definitely a
pain in the...the posterior.

Friday dawned clear and hot. Madeline almost looked forward to the day, since
they'd gone home last night with every problem solved, every loose end tied into a tidy
little knot.

Erik was down at the park, where she would be as soon as she processed the last
few bills and dropped them off, so the club treasurer could write the checks during her
lunch hour. Amelia would join them as soon as she came in with her pickup full of beef
contributed by ranchers throughout the county. Their usual sources of beef for the
barbecue had been inadequate, but Mike Peters had called around and gotten pledges for
enough to feed twice ten thousand.

She hoped.

At nine that night, she was beginning to believe it was all going to come together.
No one had let her down. All the supplies were here. The volunteers from New Meadows,
Ontario, and Cambridge had their booths set up and were ready to go. Even the ice cream
had all been made and was filling every freezer in town, including those at the Bon Ton,
the Conestoga Hotel, and Coleman's General Store.

She was exhausted.

It was too early for bed and she was too keyed up anyway.

Madeline found one lone bottle of wine cooler in the back of her cupboard, a
leftover from a party she'd had last Halloween. Filling a glass with ice, she poured the deep
pink, fizzy liquid over it. She was going to sit out on the back porch and listen to the
crickets until she felt like she could sleep.

Her front screen rattled. "Help!" a pitiable voice called. Or at least it sounded as if
it were trying to be pitiable. Erik would probably sound warm and sexy after a month of
sleep deprivation, starvation, and dehydration.

She carried her glass with her. He was leaning against her house, one hand holding
a six pack of beer, the other propping him up. "How's your hospitality?" he said, as she
peered through the screen.

"Not very warm," she said. She'd had about all she could take of people this week,
and tomorrow would be infinitely worse. Tonight she just wanted to be left in peace and
quiet.

"Shucks. I thought maybe I could play on your sympathy." He turned to go, his
shoulders slumping slightly. He sounded as tired as she was.

"Erik," she called, just as he started down the front steps. "Come in." She
unhooked the screen and held it open. After his Herculean efforts on behalf of the Social
this past ten days, she hadn't the heart to turn him away. "Sympathy I can spare, as long as
I get some back." She led him through her house and out the back door. "Make yourself at
home. Do you need a glass?"

"I'll take it straight," he said, twisting off a cap. "Ahhh!" Half the bottle was gone
before he lowered it. "I needed that."

Madeline settled in the chaise longue next to the one he'd taken, conscious as she
did so that all she had on was her short summer nightgown, sleeveless white cotton with
lace trimming. At least it wasn't sheer.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Comfortable silence, as far as she was
concerned. With Erik, Madeline never felt the need to entertain, as she usually did on her
rare dates. It felt good not to have to talk.

"Can you spare a room?" Erik asked.

As the silence lengthened, Erik gave an inward sigh. Perhaps he'd misunderstood,
this past week. Madeline had seemed comfortable with him. Tonight she did not.

He finished his beer. Trace and his wife were using his apartment, the band
occupied spare rooms all over town, and the Conestoga House was bursting its seams.
Amelia had said he could come out to her place, sleep on the sofa. Her single guestroom
was occupied by an in-law or something. It seemed like every house in Garnet Falls
contained at least one relative from somewhere, all here to see the legendary Trace Pickett
perform.

He sighed again, involuntarily and aloud. Time to go. Picking up the six-pack, he
stood. It wasn't so much that he dreaded the sofa at Amelia's, but that he wanted Madeline
to trust him.

"I'll have to change the sheets," she said.

He sat down again, aware that he'd been holding himself tightly and had suddenly
relaxed. "No. Don't do that. I'll be fine."

"Erik, I don't think you know what you might find in a six-year-old's bed. I'll
change the sheets." She went indoors.

Erik let his head fall back against the wall behind him. When he'd decided to come
here instead of going to Amelia's place, he'd told himself it was because he was too tired to
drive the seven roundabout miles to get there. Now he had to admit it was because he
simply wanted to be with her.

He wanted to be with her in every sense. This week had taught him how much he
wanted her in his life. No longer based on a memory of one delicious night, his need for
her went far beyond the merely physical.

Then he remembered whose bed he'd be sleeping in tonight. Her son's.

Kids. She had two, he reminded himself. That was two more than any of the
women in his life had ever had, for he'd always shied away from dating women with
children. He didn't know how to relate kids, wasn't comfortable talking to them. Never had
been, even when he'd been a kid himself. Except for Gail. She'd been far more than a
sister; she'd been his best friend.

Madeline's kids were certainly a complication to anything beyond mild friendship.
But then maybe that's all Madeline wanted from him, anyway. Erik admitted he was
confused as hell. Sometimes he'd swear she wanted him as much as he did her. Then again,
she seemed to be wholly self-contained and without any sort of sexual needs at all.
Especially for him.

Well, he wouldn't worry about it tonight. Once his head hit that pillow, he'd be
dead to the world. Planning a hometown festival was more work than any of the project
management he'd done, even when he'd had to integrate several firms' personnel into a
functioning environmental assessment team.

He didn't miss the consulting business. The last six years had been enough to teach
him that it wasn't his particular can of worms. Of course, an occasional project, where he
could work with other dedicated wetlands preservation professionals, kept his skills honed
and his contacts current.