Читать книгу A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart - Lois Richer - Страница 11

“Please, God, just this once, don’t let him be there.”

Melanie prayed fervently but without much faith. Since that fateful day two weeks ago when her sane, orderly life had been traumatized by a back rub that had massaged away the aches but replaced them with desires that couldn’t be fulfilled, Mitch Stewart had dominated her thoughts.

Lately, Mitch managed to be at their apartment whenever she was. Casually waiting, smiling that mysterious smile. As if he knew about the flicker of desire that curled in her stomach whenever she caught sight of his dark head.

And Melanie was more aware of him than any man she had known before. Regardless of what he thought, she did remember offering him a kiss as thanks for his help. She was pretty sure she’d seen desire in his eyes at that moment. And Melanie knew Mitch had wanted her as much as she had him.

She wanted permanence, someone to depend on, someone to build a future with. She had a sneaking suspicion Mitch might fill that bill very well, Melanie admitted. But Mitch had made it very clear that theirs was only a temporary arrangement. It would end, and they would go their separate ways.

When she left for work, his dark blue eyes stroked over her uniform, noting every detail. When she left on a date, his glance followed every curve and line of her outfit, mentally chiding her for leaving him alone with Hope. Oh, he never said a word, of course. But she was a master at reading that poor-little-me expression.

Of course, it’s only for the money she was staying. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Ruthlessly ignoring the tingle of electricity that jolted through her whenever his twinkling baby blues met hers, Melanie focused on work. She came in way too early and left later than ever and was still far behind in her work. She accepted every date she was offered, even though she spent most of the time sitting thinking about who Mitch was with while she listened to someone else’s love life and their problems.

That’s why Papa John’s visit last night had been so unexpected. And so infuriating. Hope had gone out with Harry, leaving Melanie to tolerate the friendly arm Mitch placed around her shoulders just long enough to avert suspicion before she moved across the room, far away from his big hands. And when he sat right beside her on a sofa that could have easily held six, Melanie made an excuse to refill the tea, even though the pot was still more than half full.

“Oh, yes, we’re great friends, Mel and I,” he assured the old man, flashing that sexy smile guaranteed to weaken any woman’s knees. “We share everything from breakfast cereals to our taste in music.”

Mel had gaped at that. Mitch liked jazz while she preferred rock music from the past. And as far as she knew, he never ate breakfast. Unless you counted doughnuts.

The one thing they did share was their obvious lack of use of the old man’s product. Melanie sincerely hoped he wouldn’t ask for some, because she was positive there wasn’t a jar of the stuff anywhere in the apartment. But then, as usual, Mitch was miles ahead. He proudly showed their half-empty jar of nutty peanut butter to a benignly smiling Papa John.

“This is great stuff, sir. I’ve enjoyed it every morning.” Grinning ear to ear, Mitch proceeded to wax rhapsodic about peanut butter!

Melanie thought she would be sick.

“Did your children eat a lot of peanut butter when they were growing up?” Mitch had asked curiously.

When the elderly gentleman lost all his color, Melanie helped him sit down and offered him a cookie.

“I’m afraid my only son died,” he whispered, his face chalk white with strain. “I have no other children.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melanie murmured, patting the blue-veined hand as she glared at Mitch. “It must be terrible to lose a child.” To her disgust, Mitch continued on quite easily, as if nothing untoward had happened.

“Yes, I imagine it must be just like losing a parent,” he said thoughtfully. “I used to know some people who lost a father in Vietnam. It was very sad.”

Melanie didn’t think it was possible, but the old man’s color receded even further, leaving him pale and wan.

“I, er, I was in Vietnam, too,” he murmured, his hand shaking as he sipped his tea. “I had an accident there.”

“I’m so sorry.” Melanie rushed to reassure him, wondering why Mitch kept probing at a subject that was obviously painful. She directed a glare in his general direction, but it did absolutely no good. Mitch kept right on asking questions that were none of his business.

“What kind of an accident?” he asked curiously. “Anything you can talk about?”

“I, er, that is, well, you see, I lost my memory.” His eyes were distant, staring into the past. “I was hit with some flying debris when a comrade in the army stepped on a land mine.” He peered at Mitch. “I still don’t remember it all,” he murmured. “But a friend of mine has been helping me understand that what’s in the past isn’t important.”

“But what if there was someone, some family member maybe, that had been waiting for you to return all these years?” Mitch’s eyes were deeply intense as they studied their visitor. “Wouldn’t you want them to know you’re alive and okay?”

“Of course,” Papa John murmured. He rubbed his chin and tried to explain himself. “But I just can’t piece it all together. Not yet. Sometimes I get these pictures of someone, a woman…” He shook his head tiredly. “It’s no good. I can never remember the dreams.”

“Perhaps a hypnotist, or some specialist,” Mitch offered quietly but Papa John shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t sit around waiting anymore. I made my wife wait too long before we were married, hoping I’d remember something from the past, some clue to who I was.” His eyes filled with tears. “Because of that, we had so little time together.”

“I’m sorry, Papa John,” Melanie murmured. “We have no right pressing you like this.” She frowned at Mitch. “This is obviously a painful subject and absolutely none of our business. I apologize for my friend.” She laid special emphasis on the last word, warning Mitch silently that she wasn’t finished with him.

“It’s just that I’d like to help. If I could,” Mitch added, his cheeks flushed. “I mean, could I conduct a search or something?”

Papa John smiled as he stood, towering over them.

“That’s very kind,” he said. “But you see there’s almost nothing to go on. I don’t remember any names from that time except John. I think that’s mine. And a date,” he added. “June twenty-first. I have no idea of the significance of that. And you young things don’t want to be fussing about an old man like me. You’ve got too much living to do. I’d better get going.”

Melanie ushered him to the door, murmuring a few polite words of farewell. The door flew open just as she grasped the handle, and an unusually flustered Hope came surging into the room, her hair wild and disorderly, her normally immaculate clothes rumpled and dirty.

“The nerve of that man,” she sputtered, her voice full of dismay. “He actually asked me to marry him. At my age! Can you imagine it?”

Papa John observed Hope with a curious look, his eyes wide and questioning, obviously amazed that she found a marriage proposal so distasteful.

“He wants to get married right away! As if I would even countenance such a thing.”

“But why not?” Mitch demanded. “Gramps and you make a fine couple, and I think you enjoy each other’s company. Don’t you?” His stare was speculative, his eyes narrowing as the older woman brushed aside a bright lock of hair.

“Of course I enjoy Harry’s company,” she burst out. “But I can’t just suddenly decide to marry him. Not now, not with everything so up in the air.”

“You know,” Mitch told her seriously, his eyes fixed on the white-haired man in the doorway. “We were talking about that very thing and how a person shouldn’t wait for something that might never happen. Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Well, now, I’m not advising any rash decisions,” the old man mumbled, staring at Hope’s blond beauty, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “But there comes a time when you have to grasp opportunity with both hands and get on with your life. Before it’s over.”

Melanie suddenly noticed that Hope was staring at Papa John, her cheeks pale.

“Do I know you?” she whispered, peering into his eyes. “I feel somehow that I…”

“I’m sorry, Hope. I should have introduced you.” Mitch was beaming at the two of them. “This is Papa John. You know, from the company awarding us the prize money.” He turned to the man at the door. “This is our friend, Hope Langford.”

They nodded at each other, but Hope had not lost that odd look of speculation, and Melanie wondered for the hundredth time what was going on.

“Papa John Lexington,” he told her succinctly, offering a quick little bow. “Most folks call me Big John.” He turned to Melanie, who was standing dumbfounded as Mitch’s muscular arm wound itself around her shoulders, pressing her against his side in a pose reminiscent of two young lovers.

“Any word on that prize money?” Mitch asked, snuggling Melanie’s firm, unyielding form against his.

“It should be released any day now,” Papa John murmured, still staring at Hope. “Strange, though, the entry forms having only the one initial. We don’t think they were signed in either of your handwritings, either. We checked against the disclaimer we had you fill out.” He was almost to the elevator before Hope’s shrill tone stopped him.

“Wait a minute! Did you used to live near here? In a place called Sherman Oaks? You remind me…”

But Papa John was stepping into the elevator, shaking his white head.

“No, I’m afraid the name doesn’t sound familiar,” he told her. His gaze lighted on Mitch and Melanie still standing entwined. “Thank you for the tea. You’ll be hearing from my company soon, very soon.”

When the elevator doors finally closed on their guest, Melanie ducked out from Mitch’s snug embrace to chastise him roundly.

“How could you?” she gasped. “He thinks we are in love with each other. He thinks we eat peanut butter. He thinks we actually like each other!” Her voice was squeaking, and Melanie fought for control.

“We could be, I do eat it, and we do like each other,” he answered quietly before moving to clear away the dishes they’d used.

“But…but—” Melanie spluttered, unable to believe what she had just heard. She floundered, searching for words. “I never—that is, if we…I mean, darn it, will you stand still for a minute?”

She was frustrated at Mitch’s calm acceptance of the situation. What did he mean, they could be in love? She had never given him any reason to think such a thing! Had she?

He did stop. Putting the tray on the ceramic kitchen counter, he placed his hands behind him as he leaned back to study her flushed face and wringing hands. His knowing grin made her palms itch to slap it away. This was no laughing matter!

“You know that you’re as interested in me as I am in you,” he told her. “We think alike. But if you want to keep pretending that there’s nothing there…” He shrugged. “Fine. That’s life. But you’re only fooling yourself.”

“I have no clue as to where you got this information,” she told him spitefully. “But let me assure you that it is false. I am not attracted to you. You’re too pushy and too bossy and—”

His big smile beamed teasingly at her.

“It’s okay, Melanie. I don’t expect you to own up to it. You never do.” His blue eyes licked fire at her as he followed her figure to the cinched waist of her silky slacks.

“You’re weird,” she muttered angrily. “I don’t understand where you get the wild idea that we think alike. I couldn’t possibly think in nearly such a convoluted form as you.” She glared at him. “Besides, I always own up to everything.”

“Like this need you have to create big happy families wherever you go? Even if it means burning yourself out in overtime at Sunset with the residents?” His voice was low and intimate. “You know as well as I that you want your own family, and this is your way of creating one.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She bristled, angry at him for bringing the subject up. “I have family. I have Charity, remember?” She gasped when he shook his dark head.