Читать книгу A convenient proposal - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 11

“HEY, KIDS! Here’s a new cereal you’ll really like. It’s got marshmallows and chocolate and…”

Billy Mizzoni’s stomach growled. He turned away from the cheerful TV commercial and looked at his sister on the couch beside him. “Hungry, Mandy?”

His sister nodded. She had her thumb in her mouth and was holding the flannel blanket that was supposed to be for her doll.

It was weird. His sister hadn’t sucked her thumb when she was a baby, but now she did. She’d also stopped talking, and had started peeing her pants at night.

He didn’t mind the stopped-talking part, but the accidents at night were getting to him, since they shared the same bed.

“Come on.” Billy led the way to the kitchen. It was all tidy again, like it usually was after Uncle Mick came to visit. He opened the bottom cupboard and surveyed boxes of cereal and crackers. Most he didn’t recognize. That made him suspicious. They might have vegetables or something in them. He reached for the golden box that had once been his favorite, the type they’d just seen advertised on TV.

Amanda made a face when he poured some into a bowl for her. Maybe she was getting sick of it, just like he was. But he didn’t know what else to give her.

In the old days, before his daddy went to heaven, his mom usually made them toast and gave them juice in the mornings. But she was still sleeping now. He kind of hoped she’d keep sleeping a long time. She’d been sick a lot since Daddy died.

Billy went to the fridge but couldn’t find the leftover pop from last night. A carton of milk had been pushed into its place, and it even had the spout opened.

Oh, well. He picked it up and poured some into each of their bowls. Mandy looked surprised. They usually ate their cereal dry.

“There isn’t any pop,” he explained.

She shrugged and picked up her spoon.

Billy gobbled down his cereal in a flash. Boy, he was really hungry. But the cereal didn’t taste as yummy as usual. He’d almost prefer toast and peanut butter, the way Mommy used to make it.

He supposed she’d make it again, once Daddy got back from this “forever” place that Uncle Mick kept talking about. Hopefully soon. Billy missed him, although he didn’t miss the lickings that were supposed to make him “grow up right.”

“Want to play outside?” he asked his sister.

Again, Mandy just nodded. No matter what he asked her, she always agreed.

“We could make a fort. It snowed again last night.” He thought that might get her excited, but she just moved her head up and down and waited calmly for him to lead the way.

At the side door, Billy saw boots and mittens propped right in his path. Next to them lay the snowsuits Uncle Mick had bought them a few weeks ago. They were complicated things with legs attached to the coat part. It was easier to put on lighter jackets and runners. It wasn’t that cold outside.

Unlatching the screen, he had to shield his eyes from the sun. Gosh, the snow was deep. They’d be able to make a great fort. He grabbed Mandy’s little hand and half dragged her to the front yard. Once there, he glanced automatically to the street. Would that lady be sitting in her car watching them again?

Sure enough, there she was. Just about every day since his dad had died, he’d seen her. Watching him and Mandy, as if she was an angel or something, sent by his dad. He’d seen a movie like that, once on TV.

He wondered if she had any magical powers. But so far he hadn’t seen signs of any.

ALMOST TWO WEEKS LATER, Mick had made important strides in finding himself a wife. He shut down his computer for the night and was grabbing his coat from the rack by the window, when the door to his office swung open. Expecting that Abby had decided to meet him here, rather than at the restaurant, he turned with a smile.

Which quickly disappeared when the mayor of Canmore, Max Strongman, entered the room. Tall and still handsome in his fifties, the mayor appeared to feel he had every right to be showing up well past office hours.

“Taking off, were you?” Max made it sound as though it were slothful for Mick to be leaving the office at seven in the evening. With all the assurance of someone used to calling the shots, he settled into the chair opposite Mick’s desk.

Reluctantly, Mick returned to his own seat. “I’ve got a date in ten minutes so I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He glanced at his watch and thought of the reservation he’d made at Sinclair’s, and Abby’s proclivity to be on time.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t a social call. I’m worried about those grandchildren of mine. Word is, their mother’s been doing a lot of drinking. Making a bit of a scene at the local bars.”

That Max Strongman had been Danny’s father was something Mick had only discovered after his brother’s death. Somehow he’d never drawn the connection to Billy and Amanda, but of course Strongman was right. He was their grandfather.

“I’m worried, too,” Mick confessed.

“Then, why don’t you do something about it? I can’t have my own grandkids turned into street urchins. Can you imagine how that would look to all my bleeding-heart voters?”

Mick had never liked Max Strongman, but in that instant, he hated him. The man didn’t care about Billy’s and Amanda’s welfare. He was concerned about his public image.

A public image that Mick, in his weekly editorial, did his best to challenge whenever the facts would allow—which wasn’t often, because Max was wily and smart and not prone to making mistakes.

For a time, Mick had wondered if he wasn’t wrong about the mayor. But then Rose Strongman had been murdered, and his suspicions were renewed.

He had a soft spot for Strongman’s deceased wife. Years ago, when she’d still been married to her first husband, she’d been at the elementary school as a volunteer helper and had noticed Mick languishing out in the school yard.

He could still remember how cool her palm had felt when she placed it to his forehead, and how sweet she’d smelled when she’d bent low to take his hand.

“You’re sick, aren’t you? What’s your name, son?”

He’d told her, and immediately seen by her reaction that she’d connected him to his mother. He was used to people pulling away when they realized who he really was.

But Rose McLean—as she was then—had asked the principal for permission to take him home. She put him in her own son’s bed, served him broth and gave him medicine. Never in his life had he received so much attention.

Then she’d phoned his mother and asked for permission to keep him overnight. She’d said he was good company for her own son, Dylan, although in truth the older boy had barely deigned to notice him. The next day, unfortunately, his fever had broken, and after lunch she’d driven him back to school. He’d had a bath and was wearing a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. His mother never asked him about the clothes, and he’d never forgotten Rose Strongman’s wonderful act of charity.

So watching the changes in her character during her long marriage to Strongman had torn at his gut. Several times over the years he’d gone to her, offering to help if she’d let him. Every time she’d pretended that she was ill, that Max was a caring husband, that he shouldn’t worry.

And then suddenly it was too late. She was dead, murdered in her own living room. After weeks of investigation—focused primarily on her son, Dylan—the evidence had begun to point to Max Strongman’s son, James. Before the police could question him, James disappeared following a one-way flight to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Not only was Mick convinced that Max was behind his son’s disappearance, he also suspected he may have had a hand in the crime itself.

Of course, he dared not print a word of his suspicions in the paper without evidence. Evidence that probably didn’t exist.

Now Mick glared at the man in front of him, and wished he had the nerve to tell him to go to hell. But Max’s biological ties to the children made him nervous. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

Strongman seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Mick’s hostility. He smiled, satisfied and confident, as he leaned back in his chair. “I expect you to take custody of those kids and see to it they’re raised right.”

“What about their mother?”

“She’s trash. Forget about her.”

Mick doubted it would be that easy for Billy and Amanda. “The situation’s a bit more complicated, don’t you think?”

“Tell you what.” Strongman leaned over his legs, shortening the distance between their faces. “Either you take control of those kids or I will.”

Mick went silent in his shock. Was Strongman serious? Would he apply to the courts for custody of his grandchildren? One thing Mick knew for sure—he couldn’t stand to see Billy and Amanda raised by this man.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“Good.” Strongman got to his feet and dusted off his pants as if he’d been sitting in something soiled. “I expect you to live up to that, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE DESSERT, ABBY?”

Mick glanced at his watch as he took a sip of water. Nine-thirty. He hoped the kids were in bed and that Sharon was sticking to her promise not to drink. He’d taken her to an AA meeting yesterday, after her doctor’s appointment, but she’d attended reluctantly and that wasn’t a good sign.

“I’m not sure.” His date surveyed the choices on the menu. “Are you in a hurry?” Her gaze shifted to his watch, and he realized she’d noticed him checking the time.

“No. Absolutely not. I was thinking I might like the mixed berry crisp.”

Abby smiled. “Sounds good.”

Mick held in a sigh and signaled the waiter. “Two crisps, please. And a coffee for me.”

“And you, miss?” the waiter asked. “More wine, perhaps?”

“Oh, no. I’ll have coffee, too. Only make mine decaf.”

Mentally, Mick ticked off a point in her favor. This was their fifth date and so far he hadn’t seen her drink more than one glass of wine in an evening.

Really, on all counts she was perfect. He credited his screening process for that. He’d asked her out because she was a kindergarten teacher. That had to mean she liked small kids, he’d figured. And sure enough, every time she discussed her work, her face took on a warm glow. He’d noticed she also had a soft spot for animals. They couldn’t pass a dog on the street without her stopping.

As far as Mick was concerned, he was ready to propose right this minute. The visit from Max Strongman had increased the pressure on his need to marry—and quickly. If it came to a custody showdown between him and Strongman, surely the fact that he had a wife and could offer a two-parent home would stand in his favor.

But although he sensed Abby liked him a lot, he did think she’d consider that moving a bit too quickly.

“Are you worried about something, Mick?”

Her hand felt warm and gentle on his arm, reminding him of the one minor problem with this courtship. He wasn’t really attracted to her, had never felt the urge to go beyond their tender but brief good-night kisses.

That would change with time, he was sure. Abby was cute and blond, with generous curves in all the right places.

“A little, I guess.” He smiled and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry I’m not being very good company.”

He watched as rosy color filled her cheeks. “That’s okay. I just hope I haven’t been boring you with my stories.”

“Not at all,” he said, meaning it. More than anything, he enjoyed her vignettes about the children in her class. It was so obvious how much she cared for all of them.

“It’s just that some of my past boyfriends haven’t been that interested. But I guess you must like kids.”

“I do.” Two in particular.

Abby must have read his mind. “How old are your niece and nephew?”

“Amanda’s the baby. She’s only three. Billy just turned five.”

“Does he go to kindergarten?”

Mick frowned. “Not that I know of.”

Abby shook her head. “He should have registered this fall. I suppose his father’s death…”

Mick wondered if that was why Sharon hadn’t enrolled him. But Danny had died mid-September, several weeks into the school year.

“I’ll look into it, Abby. Is it too late for him to start this year?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” As coffee and dessert were delivered, Mick took stock of the evening. It might be too early to ask Abby to be his wife, but maybe the time was right for her to meet the kids.

“How would you feel about going out for pizza on Friday?” he asked.

“Really?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah. I thought I might bring Billy and Amanda along. Give Sharon a bit of a break.”

“Well, that’s a nice idea, but, Mick, I’m not really sure if we should continue to see each other.”

Whoa! Mick froze. Had he been reading the signals wrong, then? He’d been so sure she was interested in him. “Don’t like pizza?” he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

Abby’s smile appeared sad. “Don’t get me wrong, Mick. I’ve enjoyed going out with you. But the feeling isn’t mutual, is it?”

“I like you, Abby. Very much, in fact.”

“You don’t kiss me as if you like me,” she said frankly. “And you don’t… Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“I realize I’m kind of reserved. People are always telling me that.”

Her eyes brightened a little.

“Give us a bit more time, Abby. To get comfortable with each other.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Absolutely.” He squeezed her hand and hoped that every warm feeling he had for her was reflected in his eyes.

The color in her face grew deeper. “Mick, if you had any idea…” Her voice trailed away, then she sighed. “Why don’t you call me Thursday. We should both spend a few days thinking about where we’re heading.”

Straight to a justice of the peace. Of course, he couldn’t say that. “Okay, Abby. If that’s the way you want it.”

She just sighed again, and he wondered what the hell had happened. They’d been off to such a promising start.

Maybe someone had filled her in on the Mizzoni family history, and that was where her doubts were springing from. Abby hadn’t lived in Canmore all her life as he had. She’d moved here after graduation from the University of Calgary.

Perhaps she’d told one of her colleagues who she was dating, and they’d relayed the story about his mother, her drinking and her “boyfriends,” then the trouble he and Danny had both courted in their youth. He’d straightened out in his teens, thanks to a wonderful man who’d volunteered for the Boy Scouts. Harvey Tomchuk had helped Mick see possibilities for a way of life Mick had always felt was out of reach.

An accountant in his day job, Harvey had soon discovered Mick’s love of writing and convinced him to pursue a career in journalism. Now Mick was editor of the Canmore Leader, he owned a nice home, and he was, by most accounts, a respectable citizen.

But maybe Abby had heard some of the old stories and been turned off.

She didn’t look turned off, though. Especially now as she caressed his wrist with her thumb. A gesture that was undoubtedly meant to be slightly erotic, but that he, instead, found slightly annoying.

“Mick?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What would you like to do now?”

Her voice invited him to think of activities in the bedroom. No way could he confess that what he really wanted was to drop her at home, then go to the house off Bow Valley Trail and check on the kids. He’d already come perilously close to blowing his chances with Abby.

“It’s snowing outside. How about we take a walk, down to the river,” he suggested.

“Oh, that sounds so romantic!”

Reprieve.

Mick signed the check for their meal with relief. Evidently, he’d finally said the right thing. Maybe this was going to work after all.

IT WAS ELEVEN by the time Mick made it to the little bungalow. Lights were still on, and he could hear loud music. What concerned him more was the string of vehicles parked on the street—including one newly familiar four-by-four truck.

Kelly Shannon spotted him before he reached the door to pound on her window again. She drew her long body out of the car—God, but she was thin. Her face appeared white and gaunt in the overhead glare from a streetlight.

For a long moment they stared at each other. His anger, justifiable though it was, sort of fizzled as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes and the grim, unhappy set of her mouth.

“What the hell is going on in there?” He turned toward the house. Through the front window, he could see almost a dozen people milling about in the small living room. The pounding of the bass from an overworked sound system marred the peaceful beauty of the winter night.

“The neighbors complained,” Kelly said, “and the police were here about ten minutes ago. The party is finally breaking up.”

As she spoke, the volume of the music dropped. A group of six appeared at the side door.

“’Night!” Sharon, barely able to stand, hung on to the iron railing on the landing as she saw her visitors out.

“Hey, baby.”

“Keep in touch.”

“My house next time.”

A couple more guests spilled from the door. Few appeared as sloshed as Sharon did, which was fortunate, since they were getting into cars now. Mick watched, fighting rage.

How could she do this? It was as if she didn’t care about the baby growing inside her. Or the two still-almost-babies who lived in that house with her.

He sensed Kelly slipping back into the shadow of a tree trunk. That was good. If Sharon saw her, she’d throw a fit. In her condition, the prospect was scary.

As the last car drove away, Sharon began to withdraw into the house. Mick took a few steps forward, catching her attention. Sharon held a hand to her forehead and scrunched up her eyes.

“Mick? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are the kids?”

“In bed. Sleeping.”

With all that racket? He doubted it. “Let me see them.”

Sharon shook her head. “Come back tomorrow. The party’s over.”

“I’m not interested in any bloody party. It’s the kids I care about. Did you feed them any dinner, Sharon? Are they wearing clean pajamas?”

“Of course.” Sharon spoke slowly, enunciating with the precision of someone who couldn’t be sure just what would come out of her mouth.

“Let me see.” He started for the door again, but she backed up, shaking her head.

“Tomorrow. My head hurts.”

Of course your head hurts, you moron. He felt like shaking her. How much had she drunk tonight? He loped up the sidewalk, but by the time he reached the landing, Sharon had shut the door against him. The sound of the dead bolt closing was conspicuous in the now-quiet night.

Mick cursed and slammed his hand on the railing.

From behind him, he heard a rustling. Before he had time to turn, Kelly was speaking. “We’ve got to do something, Mick.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” Her tone was placating. “But you haven’t been over much lately.”

Of course he hadn’t. Because he was too damn busy courting the woman he wanted to take care of Amanda and Billy. The mother figure that Sharon appeared neither willing to be nor capable of being.

“I’m not blaming you, Mick.”

“I would say not. If anyone was to be blamed…”

“I know—I know.”

Kelly’s quick acceptance of her culpability sapped the satisfaction out of lashing at her.

“If only Sharon could get a grip on herself. I took her to see a doctor and to an AA meeting.” But she’d only gone because he’d made a fuss. He realized that she wouldn’t make any progress in controlling her drinking unless it was something she wanted to do.

“To the doctor?”

“Sharon’s pregnant.”

Kelly gave a small gasp.

“Exactly.” He dug his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Just the complication Sharon needs right now, especially with—Kelly?”

The tall brunette put her hand to her mouth. Then she rushed to a hedge across the street. At the unmistakable sound of retching, Mick realized that Sharon’s unborn baby added yet another layer to the former cop’s guilt. He supposed he ought to have been more tactful.

He waited a minute, shuffling snow around with his feet. In his pocket, he had a paper napkin left over from lunch at the Bagel Bites Café. When Kelly was standing again, he went to her and offered it.

“Thanks.” She turned away from him as she cleaned herself up.

“Don’t take it so hard,” he said, quelling an impulse to put a hand to her shoulder. “I’ve got a plan. I’m hoping to get married soon. Then I’m going to offer to take Sharon’s children for a while, to give her a chance to settle down.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s eyes were huge in her pale face. “Who are you marrying?”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet. But I’m hoping it’ll be Abby Stevens.”

“The kindergarten teacher?”

“Yeah. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Oh,” she said again.

Somehow they both started walking along the road. The snow had stopped, but enough had fallen to turn the narrow street into a sparkling wonderland. Their boots crunched in the fresh drifts, and clouds of ice crystals formed with each exhaled breath.

“I know Abby,” Kelly said at last. “She invites me to her class every fall to speak to the kids about Halloween safety.” After a pause, she added, “She’s cute.”

“Yeah.” He was beginning to think Abby was too cute, and that that was the problem. After their walk, he’d taken Abby home. At the door, he suspected, she had hoped for more than one short kiss good-night. But again, he’d felt no urge to carry things further.

“She’ll be great with the kids,” he said.

Kelly stopped walking, so he did, too. “You’re in love with her, right?”

He bristled. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

She took hold of his arm and forced him to face her. Those eyes of hers were so probing. And no wonder. She was a cop, after all.

“You’re just marrying her because of the kids.”

“Not real—” The denial jammed in his throat. That was the truth, so why not admit it? “Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Raising kids. What does it matter if they aren’t ours?”

“Of course it doesn’t matter, Mick. But marriage is about more than kids.”

“Not in my book. Too many of the stories I cover for the paper are about tragedies that happen because parents don’t put their children’s interests first.” Messy divorces, youngsters raised in poverty, family violence. God, he’d seen so many messed-up families. Not the least, his own brother’s.

“Does Abby know how you feel about marriage? About her? She’s always struck me as the romantic type.”

Mick freed the air trapped in his lungs. He didn’t like the direction of Kelly’s conversation. He had to marry Abby. If he didn’t, he’d lose precious weeks of courting time; he didn’t want to start from scratch with another woman.

“Why don’t you hire a nanny instead of getting married?”

He’d thought about that option a lot. It had much to recommend it, but most of the benefits were to him, not the kids. “After all Billy and Mandy have been through, a nanny just isn’t good enough.”

“I see.”

“Don’t give me that look. If Abby agrees to marry me, I intend to be a good husband.”

“I’m sure that you do.”

Abruptly, Mick started back toward his vehicle. Kelly stuck right beside him, her long stride easily matching his purposeful pace. At the door to his truck he paused to fish out his keys. The next thing he knew, Kelly had her hand over the lock.

“What are you doing?”

“Mick, I don’t think you should marry Abby.”

He swore for the second time that night. “And what about Billy and Amanda?” he asked. “I suppose you have a better idea how I can look after them?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, her voice oddly calm.

“You can marry me.”