Читать книгу The Million-Dollar Marriage - Eva Rutland - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

FROM her bedroom window, Melody Sands looked down at the man working in the rose bed. He moved with a quick energy that intrigued her. Clipping, digging, planting and transplanting like mad. As if he actually enjoyed it. In this weather! It was early March, but the winter winds were still going strong.

At least he’s busy, she thought with a twinge of envy. Not rambling around in a big house that nobody lives in but Mrs. Cook, who, with a little outside help, keeps it in apple-pie order for Dad and me. In case either of us drop in, she thought, chuckling. She was only here now because she was bored with Dad’s business ventures in Japan, bored with Adrian’s relentless pursuit, and because there was no other place she particularly wanted to be. Nothing particular she wanted to do.

Oh, well...too rough for sailing, too windy for golf. Maybe something doing at the club.

She pulled on suede pants and a cashmere sweater, and went down to the kitchen.

“Hi, honey.” Mrs. Cook, the cherubic housekeeper, looked up from the oversize thermos into which she was pouring hot coffee. “Ready for your coffee?”

Mel smiled as she nodded toward the thermos. “Not that much.”

“Oh, I’m taking this to the man in the yard. I thought he could use a hot drink.”

“New gardener?”

“No. Someone Pete hired to do whatever you do to roses this time of year. Pete’s arthritis don’t take to this weather. You want the usual juice and toast? I’ll fix it as soon as I take this.”

“I’ll take it for you,” Mel said, reaching for the thermos. She wanted to see that man close-up. “And don’t bother about me. I’ll get whatever I want. Okay if I borrow your jacket.” Cook nodded, and she slipped on the well-worn oversize jacket, grabbed the thermos, and went out the back door.

He didn’t see her approaching. He rested on his heels, intent upon what he was doing. She watched as he placed a rosebush in the ground, and with his bare hands arranged the soil around it, gently, with a kind of loving care.

“Hello,” she said.

He looked up and she caught her breath. He was that handsome. Thick, unruly, very black hair, eyes almost as dark with thick, long lashes, features so perfect they might have been sculptured.

One quick graceful movement, and he was on his feet, dusting his hands on his jeans, laughing dark eyes looking down at her. “Hello. Something I can do for you?”

“No. Something for you,” she said, still looking at him, holding on to the thermos with one hand while the other slapped at the hair whipping across her face. “Cook thought you might like a hot drink. It’s so windy.”

“Don’t knock it. I like what it blew my way.”

“Could be an ill wind,” she quipped, trying to read the message in his eyes.

“Not when it blows in an angel,” he said, as he caught a few flying strands of red hair, and inspected it. “Is this for real?”

“Take three guesses.” She forced herself to break the spell and thrust the thermos at him. “Here,” she said as she turned away.

“Hey, wait!” he called, almost dropping the thermos. “Don’t blow away. Why don’t you join me? You can have the cup. I’ll drink out of the bottle.”

She didn’t want to leave. She turned back and accepted the hot drink he handed her. She sipped from the cup, feeling a little awkward.

He smiled at her. “I’m glad you stayed. Let’s get acquainted. I’m Tony—”

“But I didn’t come out here to get acquainted. Cook just asked me to...” She stopped. Cook hadn’t asked her. She had volunteered. And now... The nerve of this guy!

“Tell Cook I’m mighty grateful, both for the coffee and the pretty angel who brought it.”

“You’re quite welcome, but I’m afraid you’ll find I’m no angel.”

His eyes brightened, his brows lifted. “You mean you’ve got a bit of devil in you? Interesting!”

This had gone far enough. She handed him the cup. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away.

“Wait. I just want to get to know you. Anything wrong with that?”

“Yes. Not a mutual desire, since I’ve no wish to get to—”

“How would you know, if you never give me a chance? I’m not a bad guy.”

“Look, I don’t have time to dawdle here with you.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. But, later... Couldn’t we go somewhere? What time do you get off?”

“Off?” She was puzzled by the question.

“From that fancy joint.” He gestured toward the house. “What time are you off work?”

Oh! He thinks I’m the maid. “I don’t...” Whatever she intended to say was checked by his grin. An open, wholesome, boyish grin that lit up his whole face, and touched something deep inside her. Something that had lain dormant for a long time.

“I could pick you up. We could go for a burger or something, and...well, like I said, get acquainted. How about it?”

She said nothing. Just kept watching him. Feeling a funny coming-alive feeling.

“Look, I’m an all-right guy. Really. Give me a chance.”

That crazy lopsided grin. Full lips curving around white, even... No. One tooth was crooked, lapping over another...

“Well, say something! Wouldn’t you like to get to know me?”

“Not really.” she lied. She liked that crooked tooth. He wasn’t so darn perfect.

“Aw, come on. Why not?”

Why not? she echoed, wondering... Liking the laughter in his dark eyes.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a burger. You like pizza? Or there’s this little Italian place down the valley. We could—”

“Six,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Six o’clock. I’ll be...ready then. Okay?”

“Okay!” Jubilant, but wary, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “Shall I pick you up there?” He nodded toward the back door.

“Sure.” She turned to go. Couldn’t stand there looking at him all day, could she!

“Okay! See you,” he called after her. “Oh, and tell the cook thanks. I’ll bring the thermos back before I leave.”

She rushed in, not daring to look back. What the hell had come over her? She didn’t know this man from zilch. A gardener. Part-time gardener at that. Cheeky. And too good-looking. Probably had women falling all over him. For all she knew he could be some awful creep. He came on strong.

She laughed. Nothing creepy about that boyish grin, that open, honest... “Hey, give me a chance...I’m not a bad guy.”

The crisp air must have whetted her appetite, for she shared an unusually hearty breakfast with Cook, absentmindedly responding to the housekeeper’s cheerful chatter. Not once did she glance outside.

But his image stayed with her. The laughing, appraising dark eyes. That smile. The crooked tooth. His quick graceful movements.

When she was back in her room, she did look out. And was disappointed. He was gone.

Never mind. She would see him tonight, she thought, and was surprised by the jolt of anticipation.

Stupid. She didn’t even know him. Had seen him for about...five minutes?

But the feeling of excited expectancy remained. She hadn’t felt this way since... She swallowed, hating to admit it. Since Dirk...

She curled up on the window seat, and looked out into the yard again. It was raining now. A funny in-between-winter-and-spring rain. It had been winter when she met Dirk.

Dirk Johanson. Blond, blue-eyed Dirk Johanson, tall and... well, not movie-star handsome like... What was his name? Tom? No. Tony. But Dirk was striking, tall and muscular, so blond. He looked like a Viking or a Greek god, invulnerable against the high snow-covered cliffs. All the girls at the ski resort were wild about him. Me, too. And he chose me.

My head spun like crazy. I was all his. I would have gone to the end of the world with him... without one damn penny! I knew I would be safe in the loving and protective arms of this strong man. Hadn’t I skied with him over Nevada’s highest and most treacherous mountain slopes? A man who could conquer such mountains could...turn into a sneaking, conniving, self-serving, scurrying weasel when faced with the real world!

She didn’t believe it. Even after he had deserted like the swine he was, she had waited. She had sat in that crummy motel room for three days... waiting. And, when her father came for her, she had vented her rage against him, not Dirk. How could Dad, who had never denied her anything, send Dirk away, threatening disinheritance if they carried out their plans to marry?

“He dumped you for a measly fifty thousand dollars,” her father said. “He didn’t care about you. It was your money.”

She didn’t believe him. It hurt too much. Even now.

She pressed her face against the window, and looked out. The fresh green leaves of early spring trembled and danced under the battering of the late winter wind and rain, but clung tenaciously to the tree boughs.

As she had clung to her faith in Dirk. She had slipped from the motel and evaded her father’s detectives for three whole months. Even now she could smell the grease and cooking food in the Reno kitchens where she had washed dishes. Waitresses were too visible. She had called the Colorado ski resort and learned that Dirk had moved to a resort in Switzerland. Her letters to Switzerland were not answered, and she convinced herself that he never received them.

“Don’t keep on being a fool!” Jake, her cousin, never bothered to cushion his words. Knowing her habits better than her father’s detectives, he had traced her to that rooming house in Reno. “He got your letters, all right, just like he got that bundle from your dad! And he doesn’t want you tailing him? Why do you think he hotfooted it to Switzerland?”

She stared at him, her mind fumbling for an excuse.

Jake bent toward her. “And why do you think he took that little hatcheck gal with him?”

“He didn’t!”

“Oh, but he did.”

She didn’t want to believe that, either. But Jake had never lied to her. For that matter, neither had her father.

“Face it, Mel. Your dad did you a favor. You may as well swallow your stupid pride and come home.”

She had gone home. How could she hold on to something that wasn’t there!

“Forget him,” Jake had said. And she vowed that she would.

But she had lost more than Dirk.

She had lost trust. The wonderful, exhilarating, fulfilling love found on the snow-covered slopes was a lie. Sold for fifty thousand dollars. Buried forever in the drab kitchens and cheap motel rooms in Reno.

Tony Costello slammed the door of his battered pickup truck, and ran up the steps of the modest bungalow on Lotus Street. The door was opened by Jerry, his seven-year-old nephew.

“Tony!” The little boy looked up in gleeful anticipation. “You come to help me with that model?”

“Not tonight. Got a date,” Tony said, rumpling Jerry’s hair as he followed him into a steamy, noisy kitchen.

“Hi, Tony. You’re just in time. Sit over there by Patsy.” His sister-in-law pointed with the spoon she was using to ladle out heavy servings of savory spaghetti. She was pretty, but heavy in the last stages of pregnancy, and her face and hair were wet with perspiration.

Tony bent over her bulging belly to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Rosalie, but not tonight. I have a date, and I want to—”

“No!” his brother bellowed, almost choking on a mouthful of food.

“Aw, come on, Pedro!”

“Is it Joan?” Rosalie, who had filled her own plate, took her place at the table and smiled at Tony. “I like her. She’s so—”

“Not Joan. Someone I just met. Well...” Almost met, he corrected to himself. He didn’t even know her name. “Can’t expect me to pick her up in my truck, can you?”

“Can if that’s all you’ve got,” Pedro said, moving just in time to prevent the kid in the high chair from dumping his dinner. “Watch it, buddy! It goes in your mouth, like this!”

“Aw, come on, Pedro,” Tony said again, glancing at his watch. Almost five. And he still had to shower and shave. “Tell you what. I’ll come over and break up the ground when you’re ready to put in your vegetables.” Pedro hated gardening more than he loved his ’67 Mustang. That should do it.

Pedro was not about to give in easily. “If you’d get yourself a decent job, instead of monkeying around with flowers, you could buy your own ride. What kind of a living do you expect to make out of posies, for Pete’s sake!”

“At least it’s my own business. Which, I again remind you, has great potential. I’ll be sitting back giving orders and collecting dividends, and you’ll still be holding on to a jackhammer for fifteen bucks an hour.”

“Twenty bucks. Which is why I’ve got a house and two cars, while you—”

“Did you bring me a present, Tony?” Patsy interrupted. She had heard this argument many times before.

“As a matter of fact, I did, honey.” Tony tossed a bag of chocolates on the table. “Be sure to share it with your brothers.”

“Not till after dinner,” Rosalie said, confiscating the candy. “Who is this girl, Tony? Where did you meet her?”

“Around,” was Tony’s vague answer. “Come on, Pedro. I don’t have time to argue. Where are the keys?”

Mel searched through her closet, trying to find something to wear. Armani suits and Calvin Klein dresses didn’t exactly go with a burger stop or a pizza parlor. Maybe a simple wool dress. No. Pants, to climb into that beat-up truck he’d been driving. She pulled out a pair of brown wool pants and a matching sweater.

She had told Cook she did not want dinner, and had been glad to see her retire to her room before five. She wouldn’t see her leave.

She was waiting in the kitchen when a vintage, shiny black Mustang motored down the drive. Not the truck she had expected.

It was him.

She slipped on her jacket and hurried out.