Wife for Hire (3 page)

“Help? What kind of help?” Maggie's stomach fluttered at the thought of all the possibilities.

He recognized the brief flash of panic that passed over her face. Great going, Mallone, he thought, you've succeeded in scaring her again. Nothing to be proud of, he admitted. He stuffed his hands into wet pockets and tried to make amends. “Extra towels, shampoo.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks.” Lord, what was wrong with her. She was far from naive, but she also wasn't the sort of woman who ordinarily saw innuendo everywhere. She preferred to take life at face value. It was much less complicated that way. Today she seemed to be reading sexual overtures into every move Hank Mallone made. It was because he excited her, she decided. Virility fairly spilled out of him. Even in his wet, bedraggled state he was sex incarnate.

He backed out of her room, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, knowing he had a silly, embarrassed smile plastered across his mouth. “I'll get your suitcases from the back of the truck,” he said. “I'll put them in your room.”

Elsie's voice carried up from the foyer. “Well, what the devil is this? For goodness sakes, it's a cat. What are you doing locked up in this cage? Looks to me like somebody forgot to let you out.”

Hank wheeled around at the sound of the latch being released. “Elsie, don't let the cat out while Horatio's in the house!”

“Don't Horatio like cats?” Elsie called up the stairs.

“I don't know!”

“Too late,” Elsie said. “The cat's already out, and it don't look too happy about things.”

There was a loud woof, followed by the sound of dog toenails looking for traction on the kitchen floor.

“Fluffy!” Maggie shouted, pushing past Hank to get to the stairs. “Poor Fluffy!”

The cat raced through the living room, into the dining room, and up the summer sheers on the bay window. It clung there with eyes as big as saucers, its tail bristled out like a bottle brush.

Hank, Maggie, and Horatio all reached the cat at the same time. Horatio took a snap at the tail. The cat hissed at the dog, catapulted itself onto Hank's chest and dug in.

“
Yeow!
Damn,” Hank yelled. “Somebody do something!”

“It's the dog,” Maggie said, trying to get between Hank and Horatio. “Fluffy's afraid of your dog.”

Elsie snatched a piece of fried chicken from the refrigerator and threw it at Horatio. The dog thought about it for half a second and abandoned the cat for the chicken leg.

“Just look at this kitchen floor,” Elsie said. “I just waxed it, and now it's full of scratch marks. I swear sometimes it doesn't pay to put yourself out.”

Maggie was whispering soothing words to Fluffy, as one by one she pried the cat's claws out of Hank's chest. “I'm really sorry,” she said to Hank. “Fluffy's never done anything like this before.”

“It's had rabies shots, right?”

“Of course.
She's
had all her shots. I take good care of Fluffy.” She removed the last claw and cuddled the cat. “I thought you said Horatio doesn't chase cats.”

“I said I didn't know about him chasing any cats. Besides, Fluffy probably provoked him.” Hank unbuttoned his shirt to examine the claw marks in his chest. “You ever check that cat's
lineage? You ever find the name Cujo on the family tree?”

“Cujo was a dog.”

“Technicality.”

Maggie looked at the red welts rising over his hard, smooth muscles and felt a wave of nausea pass through her. His beautiful chest looked like a dart board, and it was her fault. She'd forgotten all about Fluffy, sitting not so patiently in the cat carrier. If she'd remembered to take Fluffy upstairs with her, this never would have happened. “Does it hurt?”

“Terribly. It's a good thing I'm so big and strong and brave.”

“I'll keep Fluffy in my room for a couple days until she acclimates.”

An hour later Maggie was sitting in the kitchen making her way through a mound of potato salad when Hank sauntered in fresh from his shower.

“How's your chest?”

“Good as new.”

“I don't believe you.”

He grinned at her. “Would you believe almost as good as new?” He took a plate of chicken from the refrigerator and dropped into a chair. “The rain is letting up.”

“I hope it doesn't stop entirely. I love to fall asleep to the sound of rain on the roof.”

“I like it best when it snows,” he said. “The master bedroom is in the northeast corner and takes the brunt of the winter storms. When there's a blizzard, the wind drives the snow against the window with a tick, tick, tick sound. I always lie there and feel like a kid again, knowing the snow is piling up, school will be closed, and I'll be able to go out sledding all the next day.”

“And do you still go out sledding?”

He laughed. “Of course.”

It occurred to Maggie that she'd never sat across a kitchen table and shared small talk with a man whose hair was still damp. It was nice, she thought. It was one of those little rituals that was woven into the fabric of married life and gave comfort…like a good cup of coffee first thing in the morning or the fifteen-minute break to read the newspaper and sort through the day's mail.

Maggie watched the man sitting across from her, and a pleasurable emotion curled in her stomach. It would be easy to believe the marriage was real, easy to become used to this simple intimacy.

“I like your house,” she said. “Has it always been in your family?”

“My Great-grandfather Mallone built it. He ran this place as a dairy farm. When my grandfather took over, he bought all the surrounding land he could and dedicated some of it to a pumpkin patch. He died ten years ago. My dad didn't want any part of farming, and Grandma couldn't manage the business by herself, so she stopped tending the pumpkins and kept only one cow. When I came back after college, I started planting trees where the pumpkins had once been.”

“Do your parents live in Skogen?”

“My parents are the reason you're here. My father's president of Skogen National Bank and Trust.”

“Your own father won't give you a loan?”

He slouched in his chair. “I was a problem child.”

Maggie didn't know if she was amused or horrified. “Haven't your parents noticed you're all grown-up?”

“My mother thinks if I were all grown-up I'd be married. My father thinks if I were all grown-up I wouldn't have delusions of grandeur about growing organic apples.”

His family and hers shared some disturbingly similar traits.

“This isn't fair,” Maggie said. “It's one thing for you to be facing possible bankruptcy and ruin, it's quite another for you to be having the exact same problems that made me leave Riverside. I just spent half a day on the road to get away from my mother and Aunt Marvina, and now I find out your mother is blackmailing you to get married, and your father thinks your choice of lifework is ridiculous. I'm not going to have to get involved in any of this, am I?”

“Maybe a little. Mom and Dad are coming over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Maggie stood so quickly, her chair tipped over and crashed to the floor. “What? No way. Uh-uh. Forget it. I barely know you. How am I going to convince them we're married?”

“No problem. I'm known for being impulsive and obstinate, and indulging in harebrained schemes. My parents will believe any thing about me.”

“What will I wear?” Even as she said it, she cringed at her classic female reply.

“Surely there must be something in all those boxes we packed in the back of the truck.”

“Boring teacher's clothes.”

“Good,” he said. “That's great. Be a typical teacher. My mother will love it.”

Maggie grimaced and wondered how to break the news to him. She'd been a good teacher, but she'd never been typical. She'd had a hard time sticking to the syllabus, sometimes her classes got a tad chaotic, and she didn't always have the patience to be diplomatic with parents. In the past two years she'd spent more time in the principal's office than Leo Kulesza, the only kid in the history of Riverside High School to repeat tenth grade four times. “What about food? I'm not the world's greatest cook.”

“Elsie will take care of the food.”

“Does Elsie know your father is the president of the bank?”

“Elsie arrived the day I left on my wife hunt. There wasn't much time for nonessential conversation.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe we should wait until after the dinner party to tell her. Tact doesn't seem to be her strong suit.”

“This isn't going to work.”

“It has to work. I need that loan. I need it fast.”

“Why don't you go to another bank to get a loan?”

“The banking community up here is very
small. I doubt if anyone would want to step on my dad's toes. And the truth is, I'm not all that solvent. I've already taken a mortgage on the farm to expand the orchards. Giving me another loan is going to be an act of faith. In all honesty, I can see my father's point of view. If I were in his position, I'm not sure I would loan me the money either. He has no way of knowing I'm capable of making a long-term commitment to a project. He told me to prove I could commit to something long-term; he told me to settle down and get married.”

“What happens when I leave?”

He shrugged. “They'll have to deal with that.” Just as he would, he thought grimly. “They're going to have to accept my failures as well as my successes. In the long run it's my opinion of myself that really counts anyway.”

Maggie righted her chair. She took a chunk of potato salad and chewed it thoughtfully. He was no dummy. He had his ducks all in a row. He could be faulted for finding weird solutions to his problems, but he had strength of character. And that was a good thing for a husband to have.

Maggie sat at her desk and stared, dreamy eyed, out the open window. There was a broad expanse of lawn, and after that there were rows of green-leaved apple trees stretching out over the low hills. The air was fragrant with smells of grass and earth, the sky was a brilliant, cloudless azure, the computer screen in front of her was blank, except for one phrase—“Once upon a time…”

Elsie knocked on the door and poked her head in. “You been up here for hours. What are you doing?”

“Watching apple trees grow.”

“Aren't you supposed to be writing?”

“I'm getting inspired.”

“Are you going to spend much more time at this inspired stuff? Hank's parents will be here in half an hour.”

Maggie clapped a hand over her mouth. “I forgot!”

“Yeah, watching apple trees grow is pretty absorbing.”

“It is, when you've spent your entire life in a town that makes bricks.” She shut down the computer. “How's the dinner coming?”

“I'm not a fancy cooker, but my food won't kill anyone either.”

“Good enough for me,” Maggie said.

Twenty minutes later she swiped at her eyelashes with the mascara wand and decided she was as good as she was going to get. She wore a black-and-white zebra-striped silk shirt with a wide black leather belt and a little white linen skirt that rose an inch above her knees. She slipped her feet into black flats, posed once in front of the mirror and went flying from her room when she heard a car coming down the driveway. She almost collided with Hank in the hall.

“Whoa,” he said. “Not so fast.” He held her at arm's length and took a fast appraisal. “So, this is your boring teacher's clothes, huh?” A grin spread across his face. His mother was going to have a heart attack when she saw the zebra shirt and short skirt. He might have a heart
attack, too, but for different reasons. “You look sensational.”

“Do you really think this is okay? I can change…”

His hands were gripping her just above the elbows, burning brands into her arms, and suddenly she wanted very badly for him to approve.

“You're perfect. Except for one thing.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a slim, gold wedding band. He held it between thumb and forefinger and studied it for a moment, feeling uncomfortable. He remembered his first real kiss with Joanie Karwatt. And some other more embarrassing moments. This ranked right up there with the most awkward pseudoromantic episodes, he decided.

He took her hand, sucked in some air, and slid the ring onto her finger. He realized he was holding his breath and released it with a loud whoosh, relieved that the deed was done. “How does it feel?”

Maggie looked at the ring and swallowed. No amount of warning would have prepared her for that moment. Only seconds ago she'd been filled with bravado, and now she was overwhelmed with strange emotions. Emotions
she never even knew existed within her. It was with a sense of dismay that she stared at the band and realized it was only a front.

“It feels a little strange.”

He heard the catch in her voice and hated himself. This scam had seemed so simple and harmless when he'd conceived of it a month ago, but now he was deceiving his parents. Worse than that, he was cheating Maggie. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but she'd never believe him. Hell, it seemed hard for him to believe. He'd known her such a short time.

He took hold of her shoulders, backed her against the wall, and kissed her. The kiss deepened, his hands moved to her throat and slid down her arms to settle at her waist. He liked the way he could feel the woman beneath the silk, liked the way she stiffened in surprise, then turned warm and pliant in his arms. He kissed the pulse point in her neck and knew he'd made her heart trip. The knowledge excited him, encouraged him. He knew he should stop, and he knew he wouldn't. Not just yet. He'd given her a ring. Now he was giving her a warning.

His hands took possession of the small of her back, crushing her closer, and his mouth moved over hers with a hard restlessness. He had a
flash of self-directed censure. How would he ever step back from this? The answer was clear. He had no intention of stepping back.

Maggie sagged against the wall when he finally released her. Her fingers were tightly curled around his shirt material, her mouth ready to be kissed again, her eyes were heavy lidded.

She and Hank stared at each other for a long moment, trying to tidy up their emotions. She realized her fingers were still gripping his shirt and made an effort to straighten them. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why?” Because it was all he'd been able to think about since the first moment he saw her. Unfortunately he couldn't tell her that. She'd think he'd hired her for all the wrong reasons—and she'd be right.

“Because I wanted you to feel married.” At least it wasn't a total lie.

“Oh.”

“Do you feel married?”

“Not exactly.”

His hand curled around her neck. “Maybe we should take this a step farther.”

She pushed him away. “No! No more kisses.

We're getting wrinkled.”

“Later?”

“No. Not later. Not ever. This is a business arrangement. Kissing and fondling aren't part of the deal.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “We could renegotiate the contract. I could pick up your medical coverage, contribute to your retirement fund—”

“No!”

“Okay, I'll throw in all the apples you can eat, and I'll increase your salary by ten bucks a week. That's my last offer.”

“Ten dollars? You think my kissing is only worth ten dollars a week?”

He grinned down at her. “What do you usually get?”

She had a brief desire to kick him in the shins, but restrained herself.

“Very funny. We'll see how hard you're laughing when your parents get here.”

Ten minutes later they were all settled in the living room and no one was laughing, especially not Hank.

“We've already been married,” he said. “I don't want another wedding.”

“It would be a reaffirmation of your vows,” his mother said.

She was a large-boned woman with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her makeup was tasteful, her clothes tailored and impeccable, her shoes were sensible. Maggie instantly liked her. She was a no-nonsense, upfront person. If she had been a weaker woman, she probably would have been driven to drink by her maverick son. As it was, she looked like she had survived nicely. She was clearly relieved to have Hank married, but obviously disappointed that he hadn't had a more formal ceremony.

“And afterward we could have a party for you at the house. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Hank slouched in the rose wing chair. “I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to reaffirm my vows. They're still fresh in my mind. And Maggie here isn't much for parties. She's just a little homebody, aren't you, cupcake?”

Maggie felt her mouth drop open. Cupcake? “That's me. Just a little homebody,” she said.

Harry Mallone looked at his new daughter-in-law. “Hank tells me you're a writer.”

Harry Mallone was about as different from his son as any two men could be, Maggie thought. The elder Mallone was a solid man,
thickening with age. His shirt was starched and freshly ironed, his striped tie perfectly knotted, his wing tips were polished. His posture was straight, clearly that of a man used to exercising authority. He was precise. He was consistent. He was cautious.

On the other hand, Maggie doubted Hank owned a tie. And caution wasn't exactly Hank's middle name. Clearly there was affection between the two men, but it was also just as obvious that they drove each other crazy.

Maggie nodded. “Two years ago my great-aunt Kitty Toone died and left me her diary. She wanted someone to use it as the basis for a book, and I suppose she thought I was the logical person, since I was an English teacher.”

“How lovely,” Helen Mallone said.

Maggie moved forward in her seat. “It's a wonderful story. My Aunt Kitty was a fascinating woman. I've been doing some additional research, and I have a detailed outline drawn up. Now all I have to do is write the book.”

The very thought of it sent a thrill of excitement racing through her. It was accompanied by sheer terror. She hadn't any idea if she could pull it off.

“What sort of book will this be?” Helen wanted to know. “Will it be a romance? Will it be a sort of cookbook? I once knew a woman who wrote recipes in her diary.”

Maggie thought about it for a moment. “I don't recall any recipes. My Aunt Kitty was a working woman. This will be primarily a chronology of her life and her business.”

“A business woman,” Harry Mallone said, “that sounds interesting. What kind of business?”

Maggie smiled and looked Harry straight in the eye. “Aunt Kitty was a madam.”

Silence.

“Anyone want a cheeseball?” Elsie said, entering the room. “What's everyone so quiet about? You look like you just swallowed your tongue. What's the matter, don't you like cheeseballs? I made them myself. Got the recipe from one of them gourmet magazines.”

Hank sent Maggie a tightlipped smile. “Could I see you in the kitchen for a minute, Muffin.”

“I thought I was Cupcake.”

He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the kitchen and made a vague sound in the back of his throat. When they were behind
closed doors, he smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

“Why me? What did I do to deserve this? All those women in New Jersey and I have to get one that's writing a porno story!”

Maggie stuffed her hands onto her hips and glared at him. “It's not a porno story.”

“Honey, you're writing a book about a flesh peddler!”

“I'm writing a book about a woman who played a role in an immigrant community. She raised a child, bought one of the first refrigerators, turned her carriage house into a garage, and lived to see the Beatles on television.”

“Are you telling me there's no sex in this book?”

“Of course there's going to be sex in it, but it's going to be of a historical nature. It's going to be high-quality sex.”

“That's it. That's the ball game. That's the whole ball of wax. I'll never get the loan. The bank won't care how good the harvest is. I knew you were trouble from the minute I laid eyes on you.”

“Oh yeah, well if I was so much trouble, why did you hire me?”

“It was you or nothing. You were the only one to apply.”

They were standing toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, hands on hips, shouting at each other.

“Fine. I'll un-apply. How do you like that? You can go find yourself a new wife.”

“The hell I will. You made a deal and you're going to keep it.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her hard against him and kissed her.

Elsie barged through the swinging kitchen door. “What the devil's going on in here? You can hear the two of you shouting all the way to the living room.”

She pulled up short and shook her head. “First you're yelling at each other like it's the end of the world, and now you're steaming up the kitchen. This arrangement isn't going to get weird, is it? I'm an old lady. I've got standards.”

She went to the stove and lifted the lid on the cast-iron kettle. “This pot roast is going to be on the table in fifteen minutes, so you better hurry up and eat your fill of cheeseballs. And if you ask me, it wouldn't hurt to give those people in there something to drink. They look like they've been left in the starch too long.”

Elsie was true to her word. In fifteen minutes
the pot roast was on the table, along with homemade buttermilk biscuits, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots, homemade applesauce, and steamed broccoli. She set a bowl of gravy on the table and took her apron off.

“There's a TV show coming on that I've got to watch,” she said. “There's more potatoes in the kitchen and there's apple pie for dessert.”

“Thanks, Elsie,” Maggie said, “I can handle it from here.”

Elsie looked the table over one last time, obviously reluctant to leave her food in Maggie's hands. “There's vanilla ice cream to go with the pie, and don't forget the coffee. It's all made.”

“You sure you don't want to eat with us. There's room…”

“Nope. Thanks anyway. I'm not much for socializing. I got things to do. Just make sure everybody gets enough to eat, and watch the piece of pie you give to Harry. He's starting to spread.”

There was a knock at the door and Elsie went to answer it. “It's Linda Sue Newcombe,” she called from the foyer. “She says she got stood up for a date last night, and wants to know why.”

Hank looked surprised. “I don't remember making a date.”

Linda Sue stomped into the dining room. She was short and blond and steaming mad.

“You promised to take me to the dance at the grange. We made that date two months ago.” She smiled a polite hello to Hank's parents. “Excuse me,” she said to them, “but I bought a new dress for that dance.”

Hank hated dances and doubted he'd agreed to go to this one. Linda Sue had a tendency to ramble, and he had a tendency to tune her out. He suspected he'd missed an important part of a conversation with her. It was a good thing he was married, he thought. His social life had become too complicated.

Linda Sue pouted a little and looked at Hank under lowered eyelashes. “Maybe you can make it up to me.”

“I don't think so,” Hank told her. “I got married last week.”

Linda Sue's eyes snapped wide open. “Married?”

He gestured with a half-eaten biscuit. “This is my wife, Maggie….”

Linda Sue had her hands on her hips. “You were going to marry me!”

Hank pressed his lips together. “I never said I was going to marry you.
You
said I was going to marry you.”