Читать книгу A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart - Lois Richer - Страница 10

“Junk-food junkie,” Melanie muttered through tightly clenched teeth. Her heart sank as she spied Hope standing on the corner, waving madly. “Just what I need to make a lousy morning really complete,” she muttered, staring at the woman’s smiling face.

“Hi, Hope. Boy, you’re up early.”

She tried to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice while swallowing the little prick of conscience that reminded her that Hope had risen at precisely four fifty-eight, a full half hour before her own alarm went off.

“Yes, I had some thinking to do,” Hope murmured, buckling herself in carefully after arching one eyebrow, then daintily removing a chocolate-bar wrapper from the seat with two perfectly shaped oval nails. “Could you give me a lift to the home, Melanie? It’s my day to volunteer and I thought I’d get an early start.”

“Yes, of course.” Melanie steered into what passed for rush hour traffic in Mossbank and drove furiously through town.

“What did you say, dear?”

“Oh, nothing, Hope,” Melanie lied, knowing perfectly well what she had said and hoping against all the odds that her former Sunday school teacher wouldn’t call her on it.

“You said, ‘The man is a neat freak,’” Hope repeated, her voice serious. “I take it you’re talking about Mitchel?”

“Oh, yeah.” Melanie breathed, trying to stall all the unlovely things that begged release. “He was nattering at me again this morning. I accidentally bumped his arm and spilled his coffee. He’s so rude!”

There was no point in holding back and getting ulcers, Melanie decided finally. Might as well lay it on the line.

“If I so much as put my feet up on the edge of the coffee table, he’s there with a cloth, cleaning up.” Melanie flicked the signal with more power than necessary and winced at Bessie’s protest.

“If I have a glass of water, he waits, suspended at my side, ready to pounce the moment I set it down. Then he marches into the kitchen to put the glass in the dishwasher. As if I have some contagious disease!”

“Yes, he’s become quite particular about things lately.” Hope nodded, smiling happily. “And you could take a lesson from that, dear.”

“I’m not messy,” Melanie protested, her face flushed and angry. “I just like to relax for a while after work. It’s not my fault he stepped on my keys last night. I didn’t deliberately put them on the floor.”

“He didn’t say you had! He just asked you to be more careful. With the three of us, it is rather crowded, and you do tend toward accidents, my dear.”

“I do not!” Melanie refused to back down when Hope’s raised eyebrows begged her to reconsider. “Like what?”

“You left the lid off the blender two days ago, dear. When you started it, that tomato sauce flew everywhere. It took a long time to clean up.” Hope’s face was pensive. “I’m not sure it will ever come off the ceiling. Stipple is so dreadfully hard to clean, isn’t it?”

“All right! One little accident. You’re making it sound like a whole string of problems.”

“Well, there was that business with the can of whipped cream, dear.”

“I was trying to fix it! I didn’t know he’d try to use it before I’d got the top back on properly.” Melanie giggled in remembrance. “At least now we know what he’ll look like when he gets old.”

“And the barbecue? I don’t think he’ll be able to use the balcony without having some repairs done, Melanie. He also fell on your wet floor after the soap bottle broke. I’m glad he didn’t break anything.” Hope ticked an item off on her fingers. “You washed that white silk shirt of his with your red vest and put his watch down the garbage disposal.” Hope looked sad. “There have been several problems, Melanie.”

“And not all of them are my fault,” Melanie complained, pulling into a parking spot. “That pizza last night, for instance. I’m allergic to shrimp, and yet he got it loaded.”

“He didn’t know, dear.” Hope gathered her purse and sweater before brushing one hand over her hair. “You two always seem to be at loggerheads, and yet, really, I think if you’d admit it, you like each other.”

“He hangs around in clothes a bag lady would reject and eats those horrible doughnuts nonstop,” Melanie seethed. “And if I had a dollar for every file he’s left strewn on the coffee table, or a quarter for the number of times he left his half-full coffee cup on the dishwasher instead of inside it, I could retire quite happily.”

“Well, yes, it does seem to be the perfect case of a bachelor in a rut,” Hope murmured. “Are you sure this money really means that much to you, dear? I mean, sometimes we ask the Lord for a sign and then we misinterpret things to our own benefit.”

“But Hope,” Melanie protested. “I’ve prayed and prayed about Sunset’s needs, and every time I turn around, the answer is right there. Get that prize money and you can fill some of those needs.” She stared at her friend. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I think you have to be very sure that this is God directing Melanie and not you misconstruing what might just be chance.”

Melanie shook her head vehemently.

“I don’t think that’s what I’m doing, Hope. I’ve prayed so hard, and everything just seems to have fallen into place.”

“Not quite,” Hope murmured dryly. “I mean you two are only sharing the apartment to get the prize money, right?” She opened the door and got out, straightening her skirt carefully. “But I daresay all of that could all be corrected. In time.”

Melanie wasn’t sure whether to agree or not but was forestalled from answering by the simple expedient of Hope’s departure. She strode toward the nursing home in long, determined steps. Sighing, Melanie gathered her briefcase and purse from the back seat, her mind replaying the scene in the apartment.

So he wanted to be alone, did he? Well, tough. He had asked her to stay and, nasty as he was, she wasn’t moving until that check came. As she stared at her white fingers clenching the handle of her briefcase, Melanie just wished the money would come today. She released each finger, one by one.

Breathing deeply, she tried to view their situation from a distance. What was it about Mitch that made her so nervous? she asked herself.

Well, for one thing, his hands were constantly touching her, under her elbow, on her hand, brushing her waist. He made the blood flow hot and sweet through her body and then left her wanting more.

“But I detest him,” she muttered, and knew that she lied. No man had ever made her feel so vulnerable. It scared her. In her world of old people, she was in control. Even her dates allowed her to set the tone of the evening. But when Mitch touched her, control moved out the window.

Control, she decided. That’s what she really needed. An abundance of control. Unfortunately, it had never been her forte. She grimaced as the morning scene flashed through her mind.

No, she considered ruefully, there hadn’t been much control there. She resolved to think happy thoughts. Mitch Stewart was not going to get under her skin again.

She hoped.

“I could use a little help with this decision, Lord,” she murmured.

Once she entered the nursing home, Melanie tried to focus entirely on her clients. The shock came when she opened her office door after morning rounds with the doctors. Immediately her eyes began to water. She blew her nose several times before her senses cleared enough to spy the frail little woman seated on her sofa, cuddling a pure white angora kitten.

“Look, Melanie, a wonderful present arrived for you.” Mrs. Rivers’s soft voice was perfectly clear, and Melanie marveled at the sudden change in the woman.

The dim gray eyes were bright with excitement as Nettie stroked the cat’s fur, cooing gently. Melanie wiped her eyes again, trying to stifle a sneeze.

“Just waid dere, Bissus Ribers. A’ll be ride…achoo—bagk.” Melanie hurried out the door to find Bridget. “Youb god to ged id oud ob here, Bwidget. I can’d bweade.”

Melanie left her secretary to deal with the problem and strode quickly down the hall to the patio. Once in the fresh air, she sank into a chair, breathing deeply. Eventually, her nose began to drain and her eyes stopped watering.

It was there that Mitch found her ten minutes later.

“Taking a break?” he asked, eyeing her red eyes with curiosity. “What’s the matter, Melanie? I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His voice was concerned, and Melanie was touched. After his angry diatribe earlier, she didn’t expect him to be so solicitous. It made her feel even more guilty. He bent on his haunches, peering into her face, his long fingers brushing over her hand.

“You didn’t,” she muttered, trying to find that elusive control she had ordered herself to exert. “I’m fine, actually. It’s just that somebody foolishly brought a cat into my office. I’m allergic to cats,” she enlightened him, curious about the red stain that was flooding his face.

“It’s too bad, too, because Mrs. Rivers is talking a mile a minute. That’s something she’s never done the whole time I’ve been here. Now I’ll have to have the dratted thing taken away.” She grimaced. “That’ll set her back but good!”

Melanie was less than thrilled with having to handle such a touchy situation. The extra time and patience it would take to convince Mrs. Rivers of the unsuitability of the cat in a nursing home would probably not erase the loss she would feel when the animal went.

“Honestly! If people would only ask before they do something silly like this.”

Mitch turned away to stare at the nearby flower bed. He seemed utterly absorbed in it, and Melanie wondered if he had heard a thing she had said. She was surprised when his low voice rumbled quietly.

“Maybe she could keep it in her room. You wouldn’t have to go in there, and she would still have her companion.”

Melanie stared at him.

“A cat in a nursing home?” she scoffed. “We’re trying to keep a sterile atmosphere so our residents don’t catch every bug that’s going around. Do you know the diseases a cat carries?”

It was clearly not an option, Melanie decided, but Mitch pressed on, trying to convince her that he had a feasible solution to the problem.

“Maybe it’s too sterile. Maybe those people would enjoy having someone else to be concerned about and care for.” His dark eyes dared her to deny it.

It was a convincing argument, and Melanie knew it. The trade journals were full of articles about experiments involving pets in nursing homes that had been tried with excellent results. In fact, Sunset Home already had a parrot, exotic fish and a gerbil. But a cat?

“If it makes such a difference in her life, maybe it would help some of the other residents too,” he coaxed, anxiously watching her face.

“I suppose it might work,” Melanie conceded, considering options. “The litter box will have to stay in her room, though.” She sneezed once more, shaking her head.

“There must still be some of those fibers on my clothes.” She wiped her red nose and then leaned over to pluck one from Mitch’s dark jacket. “Look, I’ve even spread them to you,” she muttered in disgust.

Melanie sneezed one last time. “I only hope it doesn’t cross my path again,” she added grimly. Her wide green eyes perused Mitch’s formally suited figure with a frown.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she demanded, suddenly suspicious. Mitch held out a long white envelope.

“This came just after you left. By messenger. It’s from Papa John,” he told her, smiling sympathetically as she blew her nose in the fresh handkerchief he handed her.

“Well, what do they want now?” Melanie asked, tired of all the delays.

Her fingers tore open the envelope and she pulled out the single sheet of paper. Her face lit up with pleasure, eyes sparkling and pink lips grinning.

“Finally. They’re going to award the prizes within two weeks,” she told Mitch. “We’ll be given the final decision within two weeks.” She couldn’t believe it.

Melanie jumped to her feet and, grabbing Mitch’s hands, whirled around him like a top, spinning crazily out of control.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars! It’s more than I ever dreamed of.” Melanie hugged him happily before dancing off.

“Melanie.” Mitch’s low voice broke into her fanciful musings. Wide and green, her hazel eyes turned to study him curiously. “Things might not turn out the way you hoped.”

Mitch kept his voice lightly cautious, hoping she would see the possibilities the company had left open in their letter. In fact, his legal brain had been perturbed at the gaps in the information Papa John had conveyed, but he didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble of joy.

Her arched brows quirked upward as her eyes opened wide to stare at him. He could see the awareness in her eyes and knew she was feeling the current snapping between them. Her pupils were dilated, but still she focused on him, allowing him to see into her soul.

“But it says right here,” she said, reading the letter once more. Her eyes flew upward. “Don’t you believe them?”

“Yes, of course.” He felt constrained to agree. “It’s just that I’ll feel better when it’s all settled.” A lot better, he thought.

“So will I,” Melanie burst out excitedly. Her eyes were glowing.

Mitch felt his heart drop to his highly polished loafers. She was too trusting, he decided. Melanie counted on that prize money to help her friends. She couldn’t imagine not receiving it after all this time.

He, on the other hand, was well aware of just how swiftly her fortune could be rescinded in light of the errors that appeared on her application. Mitch made his decision. He wasn’t going to be the one to erase the joy from her glowing face. His heart began its thudding beat as he stared into her rapt gaze. She was so beautiful. And so far beyond his reach.

The paging system disturbed their self-analysis, jolting each back to reality.

“I have got to get moving,” Melanie told him. Her voice seemed breathy. She slipped around him to edge inside the building but his long legs caught up to her immediately.

“I’ll walk you there,” he offered, still dumbfounded by the depth of emotion he had seen in those deep eyes.

In her office, Melanie turned to call Bridget, allowing Mitch just enough time to scoop up the card he had included with the cat. It would not do to let her know the truth, he decided. Stuffing it into his pocket, he turned and came face to face with a grinning Bridget. She flicked her bright red nail at his lapel.

“Not such a good idea,” she teased, laughing. “Next time try flowers.”

Mitch tried to look nonchalant when Melanie called his name.

“Yes?” he answered, his blue eyes thoughtfully studying her.

“Aren’t you going to work?” Melanie’s impatient voice was like a douse of cold water. Glancing at his watch, Mitch strode to the door.

“Lord, yes. I’ve got to be in court in ten minutes. Gramps will probably cite me for contempt,” he admitted. “See you later.” With a wave he was gone, leaving Melanie to stare curiously after him.

She wasn’t sure what it was all about, or even why he’d come. But, somehow, she felt as if Mitch had seen into her soul. Which probably was not good, given that Melanie seemed constantly attracted to his lean good looks.

Sighing, she turned to smile at a hovering Bridget, who stood inside the door with a box of tissues and a small vacuum. Now, for the cat.

Eight hours later, Melanie wished the cat was the sum total of her problems. She forced herself to sit and listen to the angry man deriding her and her staff for their inconsiderate lack of attention to the plight of families who came to visit the residents.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I realize that everyone works nowadays, but our clients need to eat their meals at a regularly scheduled time each day. We encourage them to come to the dining rooms on time, to eat with the others and to limit their snack foods.” She waited for the next onslaught.

The blustering man’s whining voice grew louder.

“But surely when we have made the effort to get here to see our mother, you could adjust the dinner hour somewhat?” His soulful brown eyes drooped with sadness.

Melanie’s temper was wearing thin after forty minutes of his griping. There was still so much to be done before her daily to-do list was even halfway complete. She decided to set him straight and make her point without any pussyfooting around.

“Mr. Johnson,” she said, her soft voice firm. “You have been to see your mother, what?” She consulted the open book in front of her. “Two times in the past month.”

The man had the grace to turn red, but Melanie was relentless.

“Your mother is here every day of every week, all year long. She is hypoglycemic, which means that she has to eat regularly to maintain her blood sugar levels.” She gave him her most severe nurse look. “Please don’t ask me to adjust the routine of your mother and the other eighty-six residents, thirty-odd staff and an entire kitchen just so you can drop in for a visit once in a blue moon.” She closed the big binder with a thud and stood in dismissal.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to wait until Mrs. Johnson is finished her meal or return at another time.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care which.

Grumbling and complaining, the man took his leave. Melanie sank into her chair with a groan.

“I didn’t know we kept track of the residents’ visitors.” Bridget smirked from the doorway.

Grinning, Melanie held up the accounts ledger for housekeeping. “We don’t, but it worked, so don’t knock it.” They giggled together for a few moments before Bridget spoke.

“You still need to call Mr. Richards’s family about his clothes,” she chided, glancing at her watch. “Or should I say lack of!” Bridget’s round face beamed with mirth. “And then get out of here. It’s after seven.” She clucked at Melanie like a mother hen guarding her chick.

Two and a half hours later, at the end of a killer fourteen-hour day, Melanie reluctantly dragged her aching body into the apartment she shared with Mitch and Hope. Tossing her purse and sweater on the sofa, Melanie sprawled on the soft, cool comfort of Mitch’s leather sofa, dreaming of a bubble bath.

“That’s all I want,” she mumbled wearily. “That and someone to cook me a wonderful dinner,” she elaborated, closing her eyes for just a moment.

“Melanie.” A big hand was shaking her and Melanie wished it would go away. She pulled one eye open with the maximum effort and saw a pair of huge blue eyes peering into hers.

Not now, she prayed. She couldn’t deal with a sexily rumpled corporate type right now. She shut her eye and resumed her fantasy.

“Oh, boy, you look bad.” Mitch’s deep voice rumbled beside her right ear, bringing her awake.

“I know, don’t even say it,” Melanie ordered halfheartedly. “I’ve been doing CPR on a resident.” She glanced into his dark eyes. Tiredness caused the tears to course down her wan cheeks. “We lost him.”

To his credit, Mitch never said a word. He just tugged her gently into his arms and let her bawl on his new blue shirt. When she was finished, he wiped her eyes gently and then sat on the sofa behind her, propping her up.

“Come on, lady.” He urged her forward a little, his hands moving to her shoulders. “I’ll give you a massage.” His long, lean fingers kneaded the tensely knotted muscles in her shoulders. “You’re dead on your feet.”

Melanie was too tired to do anything but relax against him and let him do all the work.

“Mmm,” she moaned, unable to move an inch. “I guess dreams really do come true.” She tipped her head and peered at him from beneath lowered lids. “Did you bring dinner? Something yummy like chicken chop suey or moo goo gai pan?”

“You don’t want much, do you?” he chuckled, squeezing the knots in her shoulder a little harder. “A masseuse, a meal. Can I get milady anything else?” His voice had assumed a butlerish English accent.

“That fifty thousand dollars would be nice,” she muttered drowsily, arching as his strong thumbs found a particularly sensitive spot by her neck.

“I’m working on that,” he told her, grinning. “But we need to talk first.” He grunted as he probed the aching muscles of her upper arms.

“You are as strung out as a cat on a thin wire,” Mitch muttered, kneading the tight knots of tension from her shoulders. “This is some stressful reaction coming from a nursing home.”

Melanie wished he wouldn’t mention cats, but she was too tired to lecture him so she eased into the sofa and sighed deeply.

“Melanie, what happened today to cause all this?” Mitch’s quiet voice demanded a reply.

“The list is endless,” she muttered. “One of the residents shed his clothes and took a stroll out-of-doors.” Melanie could feel his knuckles manipulating the vertebrae in her back, and she curled her spine accommodatingly. “Unfortunately, several old dears had just completed a tea party with some of their friends, and the friends, members of the board, actually, were leaving the premises at the time. He flashed them.”

The calm, sensible way she told the tale had Mitch nodding in agreement until he absorbed what she had said.

“Flashed them? You mean…” She didn’t know why, but he sounded shocked.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, stretching a little. “Could you move a bit to the right? Yes, that’s it. Oh.”

Mitch, to his credit, kept on working the muscles in her back as he appreciated the view. It wasn’t every day he got this close to Melanie and he was pretty sure she wasn’t about to stop him now. Not when her eyes were closed like that and she was breathing so deeply.

He had been dreaming about her for weeks, and he had no desire to end this contact with her, even if she was half-asleep. He was enjoying bringing her relief, he decided, as his fingers kneaded and manipulated the knotted muscles in her shoulders. She didn’t seem to be protesting. He leaned forward for a better look and grinned.

Melanie lay asleep on the sofa, hair sprawled across her shoulders and over her face. Carefully, hoping not to wake her, Mitch slipped the silky strands off her cheek. A slow, satisfied smile tipped the corners of her wide mouth as she breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“Thanks for the massage,” she murmured. “I feel so much better.”

Her mouth touched a tiny caress to the side of his neck in appreciation before her slim arms fell to her side. Curling like a sensuous kitten, Melanie nudged her foot against the end of the sofa, finding a more comfortable spot, before her huge eyes blinked shut. Seconds later she was blissfully snoring.

Mitch decided he could spend the evening just sitting there and watching her. She looked so peaceful, and there were none of those biting little witticisms coming out of her full pink lips. She looked adorable with her hair all mussed and her makeup completely gone.

He was in the process of easing a blanket over her, when he heard the key in the door. With a groan Mitch recalled Hope and her ridiculous assumptions about this arrangement. He knew he was going to have to move fast.

Mitch pushed Melanie up and propped her against the end of the sofa while he rearranged the cushions and smoothed the blanket over her. He had just straightened when Hope breezed through the door, a casserole in her arms and his grandfather following close behind.

“Hello,” she greeted him happily. “I made my special tofu surprise this afternoon and I thought perhaps we could all share it.” She trundled to the kitchen with the bowl held high.

“I suppose she wants us to eat our Wheaties and will serve spinach with it, too?” Mitch complained, glaring at his grandfather. “I’m not eating that stuff.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry murmured. “Just pretend you’re enjoying it and smile. I need some time to explain about Jean, and I was hoping it would be tonight.” He stared at Melanie’s slumped figure speculatively. “Will she wake up anytime soon?”

“I don’t know.” Mitch grinned. “She was pretty out of it after I gave her that mass—she was pretty tired,” he amended. But his grandfather’s eyes were glowing, and Mitch knew the old man had caught the slip.

“A massage? How kind of you. Never knew you to be so concerned about someone before,” Harry murmured slyly.

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Faith and Charity, who immediately began fussing over a groggy Melanie.

“My goodness, Melanie, you do look tired,” Faith chirped cheerfully. “You should try some of that new tonic Arthur just got in. Liver tonic, I think it is.” She shuddered. “Tastes vile but really restores your energy.”

“Baloney!” Charity’s brisk, no-nonsense tones were neither hushed nor quiet. “She doesn’t need a tonic. Just some fresh air and a decent meal. Wake up, dear.” She shook her daughter’s shoulder briskly.

“Oh, is Melanie awake now?” Hope asked brightly from the kitchen doorway. Her spotless white apron was just as immaculate as the dress she wore beneath it. “My casserole will be ready in about fifteen minutes. We can all enjoy it together.”

“Piffle! I hate—”

Charity’s firm voice cut off Faith’s protests.

“Mitch is taking Melanie out for dinner, Hope. Then they’re going for a walk in the park or something. And Faith and I have already eaten.” Mitch grinned at the frown Melanie’s mother gave Faith. “But you and Harry go ahead. We’ll just sit with you and visit.”

Mitch was sure only he heard the whispered complaints between the two old ladies.

“You lied, Charity! I didn’t have dinner yet.”

“I didn’t say you had.” Charity’s voice was cool. “I merely said we’d already eaten. Didn’t you have breakfast and lunch today?” She waited while Faith nodded. “Then you’ve already eaten.”

“But, Charity, I’m hungry,” Faith wailed. “I’ve been weeding in your garden all afternoon, and I want my dinner.”

“Badly enough to swallow her tofu casserole?” Charity muttered grimly. As enlightenment spread across Faith’s countenance, Charity patted her hand. “We’ll stop at Burger Heaven on the way home.”

“Can I have fries?” Faith asked slyly, her nose curling as a strange odor wafted through the apartment.

Mitch wheeled and whispered in Faith’s ear. When she nodded, he pressed a twenty into her hand.

Surprisingly, it took Melanie about five minutes to shower and change into a pair of white slacks and a cool blue top. Her hair was wreathed around her head in a coronet style that left the air free to caress her long, slim neck. Mitch decided he liked that style almost as much as he liked it when she left it loose and long.

“What did you give Faith twenty dollars for?” she demanded as soon as they left the apartment, the good wishes of the three ladies ringing behind them.

“To get rid of any of that stuff that’s left,” he told her. “You may be some kind of health nut, but I am not, repeat not, eating tofu casserole.”

Quick as a wink, Melanie whipped open her tan leather bag and pulled out a ten, which she handed to him with a grin.

“Good thinking.” She laughed. “I can’t stand tofu myself. Particularly not after wading through those awful poached chicken breasts last night. They had no taste.”

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “Well, what’s it to be? Artery-clogging fried chicken? Thirty fat grams of pizza? Or Faith’s favorite—Burger Heaven?”

When Melanie beamed at him like that, Mitch wondered if it wasn’t just about time to renounce his long-held beliefs on marriage and his aversion to it. Just about.

“None of the above. Let’s try some lean, healthful Chinese food.”

“Good idea! Like sweet and sour ribs and deep-fried chicken balls. Health food! Now that’s my style.” He pulled away from the curb with a roar and steered off down the street.

He couldn’t help but join in her hoot of laughter. Nor could he avoid the sense of camaraderie that being with her brought. It was almost as if he belonged.