Читать книгу Only Bachelors Need Apply - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 8

“He had the nerve, the absolute gall, to tell me I need a husband!” With a sense of utter frustration, Joanna Greer tossed her purse onto the kitchen table.

Turning from her task of watering the jungle of plants on the windowsill, Agnes Greer asked her daughter, “Who told you that, dear?” She smiled benignly as the water continued to pour out of the copper watering can…onto the floor.

Joanna lifted the spout. “The bank manager when he turned down my loan request, that’s who.”

“Oh, my, that is too bad.”

Tearing off a string of paper towels, Joanna knelt to mop up the spilled water. Given her mother’s tendency to be easily distracted, this was a minor accident. “Too bad? It’s disastrous. It’s already the middle of September. The rains will start in November, and the rental property I thought would turn Dad’s insurance money into a decent income for us has got roof rot. The first good storm and it’s likely to fall in.” Leaving her with a huge mortgage on a small office building that she wouldn’t be able to rent.

“Maybe if you talk with the bank again, they’ll change their mind. Wally Petersen has always seemed like such a nice man.”

“The bank manager you’re so fond of is a leftover from the eighteenth century. They can’t make marriage a criteria for getting a bank loan. It’s got to be against the law.”

Agnes brightened considerably. “But marriage would be a lovely idea, don’t you think?”

“Mother, I don’t need a husband. And certainly not a husband for the sole reason of qualifying for a loan.”

“Husbands are nice for other reasons, dear. You really should find yourself a good man who could be a father to Tyler—”

“It seems to me we’ve had this conversation before, Mother. Tyler is getting along just fine, thank you. And so am I.” Joanna certainly didn’t want to saddle any man with the responsibility for her admittedly eccentric mother, or with the burden of raising a ten-year-old son he hadn’t fathered.

Not that there were many eligible men in the small Sierra-foothills town of Twain Harte. And most of those who were unmarried wore big belt buckles, hadn’t read a book or newspaper since they dropped out of high school and drove pickups with gun racks across the back window. Hardly Joanna’s idea of the perfect companion. She’d worked too hard getting her teaching credentials to ignore the importance of an education.

She dropped the soggy paper towels into a plastic wastebasket under the sink. “I was going to run an ad for the rental space this weekend but I’ve got to go to a teachers-training session in Sacramento on Monday and Tuesday. I’d hate not being here if we get any calls.”

“I could take care of them, dear.”

Joanna gauged her mother’s lucidity. Today was one of her purple days—she wore a purple blouse, purple flowered skirt and a matching purple turban. The gray hair peeking out from beneath the turban had a distinctly purple tinge. Joanna sighed. Her mother seemed quite within her normal range.

“If you’re sure,” Joanna agreed hesitantly. In order to have any bargaining power at all with the bank, she needed to get the three empty offices and oversize garage rented and producing income. Then she would have another talk with Wally Petersen in the hope of getting the loan she so desperately needed.

Placing the watering can on the counter, Agnes said reassuringly, “Leave it to me, dear. Of course I’ll let you handle the final negotiations when the time comes. Meanwhile, I can answer their questions over the phone and tell them what a fine building it is. Right on the highway. A prime business location.”

Handy to the landlord, too, since it was only a half block from Joanna’s house.

She glanced at her watch. As usual, she was running late to pick up Tyler from Pop Warner football practice. “Okay, if you’re sure.” From her purse she retrieved a piece of paper. “Here’s the ad I want to run. Could you call the paper for me?”

“I’d be happy to, dear. I may even add a few words of my own—a little something to encourage more interest in the property.”

“No, Mother. Please don’t. Just the way I’ve written it will be fine.”

Joanna didn’t at all care for the Cheshire-cat grin that stole over her mother’s face. But Tyler was waiting. The husband and wife co-coaching her son’s team got very upset with parents who weren’t prompt, and they took their irritation out on the boys. Or maybe it was just another excuse for the couple to argue. Too bad no other parents had volunteered to help out the team.

Wrapping the ornate pen-and-pencil set he’d never used in a sheet of the Sunday-morning paper, Kris. topher Slavik placed it in a cardboard box. If the set hadn’t been personally engraved, he wouldn’t have bothered taking it with him. There was little in the office he was vacating that he would need.

Picking up his empty coffee mug from the desk, he smiled. The product of the complicated mathematical formula decorating the cup, when laboriously computed, equaled zero. It was an in-house joke among the hackers at NCC—Nanosoft Computerware Corporation.

Chad Harris, his business partner and friend, stormed into the office and marched across the plush carpeting. Though he was normally impeccably dressed, his silk paisley tie was now askew and the collar of his button-down shirt was open.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this farcem,” he complained.

“I’ve been putting all the plans together for a year so the transition would go smoothly. I don’t know why it’s such a surprise to everyone now.”

“I swear, Kris, I think you’ve developed a brain virus. You’re too young to retire.”

“Thirty-one strikes me as the perfect age.” Though it was a year later than he had wanted. On his thirtieth birthday, Kris had realized he’d missed a lot of things in his life. It had been a startling revelation, so shocking it was only because of loyalty to his partner and their employees that he hadn’t simply walked away from the business.

“But look at the future of NCC,” Chad argued, as he had for the last several months. “Our stock has nearly doubled in the last five years, and with this new operating system we just introduced, it’s going to skyrocket.”

Kris smiled smugly. “All the more reason why I feel free to leave. I have complete confidence my shares of stock are doubly secure with you managing the company. Besides, we’ve both got more money than we’ll ever be able to spend.”

“That’s not the point. We’ve got software concepts on the drawing board that will turn the whole industry on its ear in the next fifteen years. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

Kris considered his partner’s question for a moment. The possibility was tempting. But no, that effort wouldn’t fill the void he’d sensed was troubling him. “I think there are some other things I’d like to try.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure.”

Chad threw up his arms in frustration. “You’re crazy, man, but I guess it’s your life. Just try nót to forget your going-away lunch this afternoon.”

“I won’t.”

Eyeing him critically, Chad said, “It might have been nice if you’d managed to wear something respectable today.”

Kris checked his old jeans and T-shirt. They were both clean, which struck him as respectable enough. “Look at it this way, Muddy. If I’d dressed up, the staff wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”

Chad grimaced, fully aware his dark hair and naturally bronzed skin were in stark contrast to Kris’s fairer complexion. Muttering something about ignorant white eyes, he retreated from the office.

Chuckling to himself, Kris resumed his packing.

As he wrapped the mug he’d been holding in a sheet of newspaper, a want ad in the Office Space for Rent section caught his eye. Studying the advertisement, he sat down in his leather chair and tipped back until the springs creaked. He placed his feet on top of the desk, his old running shoes looking markedly decrepit against the dark, rich mahogany. The ad certainly posed an interesting marketing concept, with an unusual opportunity.

He had been wondering what an unemployed thirty-one-year-old should do with all of his spare time. The ad had provided him with an intriguing answer, one he was surprisingly eager to pursue.

In spite of heavy traffic, Joanna made it back to Twain Harte late Tuesday afternoon before dinnertime.

She found Tyler sprawled on the couch in the living room and gave him a big hug. His face was streaked with dirt, his blond hair—a shade lighter than her own—was matted to his head and he smelled of little-boy sweat.

“I missed you, tiger,” she said, her heart swelling with so much love for her son she could barely contain it as she kissed him.

“Gee, Mom, you don’t have to get so mushy about it,” he complained, even as a smile dimpled his boyish cheeks.

“It’s okay, none of your friends saw me kiss you,” she said in a stage whisper. She snatched the omnipresent football from his hands, twirled it around and handed it back to him with a loving smile. “Where’s your grandma?”

“Here I am, dear.” Agnes appeared from the kitchen and kissed her daughter. It was an apricot day—lightweight summer slacks, blouse and turban. Her hair remained an unsettling shade of purple. “I have good news for you.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve already rented one of the offices to a charming gentleman, and he’s taken the garage, too.”

“Mother, I thought you were going to wait—”

Tyler straddled the arm of the couch. “Grandma’s been going crazy. The phone’s been totally ringing off the hook about the ad in the paper.”

“It has?” Joanna had assumed it would take some weeks to rent the offices, and she hadn’t been entirely confident the oversize garage and storage shed would rent at all. If only the Forest Service hadn’t decided to vacate the property in an effort to consolidate their facilities and save money, she wouldn’t be in such a difficult financial bind.

“I have several more gentlemen coming to see the property later this week, and one is coming up from the valley this evening after work. They all wanted to wait until you were home. But this gentleman— Kristopher Slavik is his name—was anxious to move right in.”

“I hope you got his references?”

“I didn’t think that was necessary, dear. He and I hit it off right away. I’m sure he’ll be a fine tenant.”

Joanna mentally groaned. Relying on her mother’s judgment, particularly since Joanna’s father had died nearly two years ago, was like walking through a heavy fog. It was easy to lose your sense of direction.

“Maybe I’d better meet him,” Joanna said. “Did he sign a lease?”

“Yes, and he paid cash, too. First and last month, just like you said they should.”

Tyler added, “Man, he pulled out a wad of money so fat I nearly choked. He’s got to be loaded, Mom! Totally fat city!”

“A roll of one-dollar bills can look like a lot of money and not amount to a great deal,” Joanna re minded her son. Some smart operators also tried to con elderly women with scams that made them appear wealthy when they were nothing more than bums set on separating innocent victims from their money. “Do you think this Mr. Slavik would still be there now?” And if so, would he be easily evicted if he turned out to be a con artist?

“Oh, yes, dear. In fact, he said he’d be camping out in the office until he can find a house to buy nearby. I’m sure he’s anxious to meet you.”

He might not be so thrilled when Joanna called his bluff. She wasn’t about to have an aging Lothario trying to take advantage of her mother. From now on Mr. Slavik would have to deal with her.

After leaving her suitcase in the middle of the living room, Joanna headed out the front door. The heat of summer still hung in the air and dust coated the pines and oaks that formed a canopy above the street It would be another month before cool weather arrived and the leaves on the black oaks began to turn a bright yellow. The change of season would also bring the possibility of rain, she recalled grimly.

She reached the end of the block and checked traffic on the two-lane blacktop road that led into Twain Harte, then hurried across the street. Her sensible low-heel shoes clicked on the asphalt.

A single vehicle was parked beside the one-story building, an aging Oldsmobile Cutlass with one crumpled fender and a trunk so full the lid wouldn’t close. A mountain bike was tied precariously to a bike rack on the roof.

Protruding from beneath the car was a very masculine pair of denim-clad legs, the man’s running shoes as old and worn as the vehicle. Apparently the “charming” gentleman had only found one sock to wear that morning, a white athletic sock that lacked any remaining elasticity and drooped accordingly.

Joanna cleared her throat. “Mr. Slavik?”

“Be right with you. I’m checking a bearing seal that’s leaking.”

Her mother had been right about one thing. The clear baritone voice of the stranger had a warm, mellow charm to it. Or maybe all men naturally projected a certain added sense of masculinity when they worked under a car.

Slowly, Mr. Slavik edged toward her, revealing his long legs an inch or two at a time. There was a tear in one knee of his faded jeans, the denim fabric pulled tautly across his pelvis and the material covering his zipper looked worn from many uses. When a flat belly appeared, washboard muscles visible where his white T-shirt hiked up, Joanna concluded that Kristopher Slavik, Lothario or not, was in great shape. And maybe considerably younger than she had thought.

She stepped back a foot or two to give him room.

Completing his exit from under the car in an agile movement, he stood and smiled at her. A streak of grease marked the exact spot where his cheek creased into a dimple.

Definitely too young for her mother, Joanna thought, her heart suddenly doing a staccato beat. The guy was about thirty, closer to her age than her mother’s.

“Hi. You must be Joanna.” Intelligent gray eyes swept over her in an interested perusal that left her slightly breathless.

“Yes, ah…”

“Your mother told me all about you.”

Rarely speechless, Joanna tried to gather her wits. “She omitted a few details about you.” Important ones, such as that his height topped out at about six foot two and his rumpled sandy-blond hair made a woman instinctively want to smooth it.

“Really? Like what?” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. His fingers were long and tapered, lean like the rest of his body.

Setting her wayward thoughts aside, she said, “Mother didn’t happen to mention what business you’re in.” His examination of her grew more intense, and Joanna suddenly wished she was wearing a gunnysack instead of a low-cut, summery blouse and a formfitting skirt—professional attire appropriate for a teachers’ meeting but somehow more revealing given the way he looked at her.

“Guess you could call me an inventor,” he drawled.

“Oh? What is it you invent?”

“Whatever comes to mind.”

“That doesn’t sound very lucrative.”

“It can be if you invent the right thing.”

“Yes, well…Mr. Slavik—”

“Please call me Kris.”

She ignored his request. “You’ve signed a lease that says you’ll pay the rent the fifteenth of every month. My mother neglected to get your bank ref erence, names of former landlords, that sort of thing. If you don’t mind—”

“I think I’ll invent a dual mountain bike.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know, a bike two people can ride at the same time.”

“Hasn’t someone already invented that? It’s called a tandem bike.”

“This will be different. A two seater to ride on mountain trails—side by side.” His lips slid into another grin. “Maybe you’ll come for a test ride with me. After I get it invented, of course.”

She struggled with the unsettling feeling he was flirting with her, a rare occurrence in her rather humdrum life. “Is there a big market for that sort of bike?”

He gave an unconcerned shrug. “Guess I won’t know until I invent it.”

That struck Joanna as a dicey way to run a business. But as long as the man could pay his rent, she supposed it was none of her concern.

“Perhaps if you’d give me the name of your bank,” she suggested. “Wherever you have your checking account?”

Two nicely arched brows lowered into a frown. “I’m sort of in between accounts right now.”

Suspiciously, she wondered if that was because he was overdrawn. Given his appearance, that was a likely possibility. Waves of sun-striped hair curled at his nape, looking less like a cultural statement than a result of simply forgetting to show up at the barber shop. Or not having the money to spend on personal grooming.

“Then the name of your most recent landlord would be helpful,” she persisted.

He gave that request more thought than it should warrant under normal circumstances. “Actually, I don’t recall I’ve ever had a landlord. Until now. I think I’m going to like it.”

“Look, Mr. Slavik—”

“Kris, with a K.”

“I have a substantial mortgage on this property and I depend on the rents to make my payments. I really must insist—”

“How about I give you a year’s worth of rent? Then you won’t have to worry about all that paperwork.” He dug into his pocket, retrieving the roll of bills Tyler had seen.

“You’re going to pay me in cash?”

“Sure. It’s not counterfeit.”

Maybe not, but the only people she had heard about who dealt in that much cash were drug dealers. Or bank robbers.

Joanna’s eyes widened as he flipped open the roll and began counting out hundred-dollar bills. Good grief, Tyler had been right. The man was totally loaded!

He handed the money to her. “How’s that?” he asked pleasantly.

“Ah, fine, I guess.” It didn’t make any sense to turn down a bird-in-hand worth several thousand dollars in the hope of finding some other tenant with more traditional banking arrangements.

“Good. I’m glad that’s all settled. So how would you like to go out to dinner tonight?”

Joanna did a double take. That was the fastest move any man had ever made on her. “I think not, Mr. Slavik. We’ll just keep our relationship a business one, if you don’t mind.”

“Funny, that’s not the idea I got from your ad.”

“What ad?”

“The one you ran to rent this place.”

An odd feeling of uneasiness prickled along her spine. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It was a real interesting ad. One hundred percent accurate, too.” Sliding two fingers into his pocket, he pulled out a bit of paper torn from a newspaper. “I really appreciate truth in advertising.”

Curiosity warred with apprehension as he handed her the scrap of paper, still warm from the heat of his body. With dawning understanding, she read the advertisement, which listed her telephone number as the contact:

Attractive, intelligent, marriageable woman with adorable 10-year-old son has office and garage space available to rent. Reasonable rates. Only bachelors need apply.

Her head snapped up; color heated her cheeks. “I didn’t do this. I mean, that’s not the ad…” Joanna lost all sense of composure. Her professional persona crumbled and she babbled, “My mother—she must have…Sometimes she’s—I told her…”

Kristopher Slavik simply grinned at her, that soft, seductive smile that creased his cheek and brought a devilish sparkle to his eyes, doing something wild and impossible to her insides. “So what do you say? How about dinner?”

“No!” In lieu of eating anything, Joanna Greer was going to string up her mother by her conniving, matchmaking thumbs.