Читать книгу A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart - Lois Richer - Страница 9

“Have a nice day, folks. Enjoy that sun.”

Mitchel Edward Stewart was not having a nice day, despite the radio announcer’s bland wish. He had risen with a splitting headache on his first day off in weeks. The coffeemaker had refused to cooperate, and his doughnut supply was tapped out.

It should have been simple. Everything was so carefully planned. He would pick up some supplies from downtown and then he was heading out for a day at the beach. Sun, sand and surf, that’s what he needed. Maybe even a cold root beer.

Sighing, he stared balefully at his bright red sports car once more. Apparently, some things were not to be. The expensive engine refused to respond to his orders, and since anything under the hood of an automobile gave him hives, Mitch had called the shop.

“Nope, can’t touch it today.” The youngster’s voice was less than helpful. At least he thought it was. You could barely hear over the crashing of some heavy metal band in the background.

“Pardon?”

“No can do, dude.”

“And why is that?” Mitchel had forced a tight rein of control on his temper and prayed for strength. Impudent little brat!

“Mechanic’s out sick. Have a good one!” With a click, the kid had hung up on him, leaving Mitchel to bite out a particularly choice epithet that divulged his irritation with the world in general.

“Something I said?”

He groaned, recognizing her voice immediately. Why now, why today? He turned to face Miss Melanie Stewart, a flush of red hinting at his turmoil.

“Hi.” There. Let her make something of that.

“Car problems?”

His reply was curt and succinct. “Yeah.”

“Can I look?”

He stared at her. “Why?”

Green eyes glared at him as she slapped her hands on her hips. “Gee, I don’t know. I thought I could steal a few spark plugs or maybe even the air filter.”

Whew, talk about cranky! Without a word Mitch popped the hood and watched Melanie lean over to peer inside. His stomach dropped as his gaze followed her long legs to the white cuffed shorts that covered her shapely bottom. A tiny bit of skin peeked out between her waistline and the cropped red T-shirt she wore. He couldn’t stop staring.

“Hmm, distributor cap’s shot.” She turned her head to glance at him. “You need a mechanic.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Stewart,” he said sarcastically. “I have already phoned one. He’s out sick.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, he thought grumpily.

She shrugged and slammed the hood shut. Fortunately, she missed his knuckles by at least a millimeter.

“Okay, looks like you’ve got it covered.”

He frowned. Was that supposed to mean something?

“Want a lift?” she offered, bending to pick up a large woven bag and a small cooler. “I’m going to the beach, but I could drop you somewhere.”

Like in the river, he mused, well aware of her quick temper. Mitch decided he should not look a gift horse, or a gorgeous woman, in the mouth. Enough things had gone wrong today. Here was opportunity. Opportunity didn’t knock that often. He shouldn’t turn it down. Besides, she might invite him to share whatever was in that cooler, and he didn’t want to miss out on a decent meal.

Mitch assembled his features into his best hangdog look and muttered, “Well, I was going there, too, but now, with no wheels…” He asked deferentially, “Are you sure it would be okay?”

To his delight, she burst out laughing, her green eyes glinting in the sunshine. Seconds later they were hidden behind huge round sunglasses.

“You don’t do humble really well.” She giggled. “In fact, it’s downright pathetic.” She waved. “But I’ll take pity on you anyway. Come on. You can hitch with me for today.”

Mitch watched the animation flood her features as she laughed at him and thought how pretty she was when she wasn’t arguing with him. Of course, even then, with the light of battle turning her eyes that mossy color, Melanie still looked fantastic.

When she motioned to her old beater, his face dropped. Unfortunately, she noticed. Never missing a chance, Melanie poked fun at him.

“I know. It’s a step down for you.” She smirked. “But if you want to get to the beach today, this might be your only chance.”

Embarrassed, Mitch got in while trying to come up with an appropriate apology. When nothing remotely suitable surfaced, he glued his lips shut and studied the dilapidated vehicle.

She read his silence correctly.

“Don’t worry.” She laughed. “Everybody thinks Bessie is gonna give up the ghost, but she always keeps going.” Lovingly, Melanie patted the worn dashboard. “She’s got the innards of a true champion.”

“Champion what?” It wasn’t nice, but she didn’t take offence.

“She may not be pretty but at least she’s running,” she reminded him gently.

Mitchel tried not to stare as her shorts displayed those lovely long legs. He turned and stared straight ahead, trying not to ogle her. Sort of.

“Do you always go to the beach on Saturday?”

Good, Stewart, he congratulated himself. What a stimulating conversation!

“No, only in the summer, when I have time and it isn’t raining.” She laughed. “Other than that, I don’t bother much.”

Her curls were bound up in a ribbon on the top of her head. Mitch decided he’d like to undo that ribbon and run his fingers through the glowing silky mop.

“You are a smart aleck, you know that?” he muttered. His eyes opened wide as he caught sight of her feet. Her toenails were bright pink. Mitch suddenly realized they had an effect on his already racing pulse.

Gosh, he was in a bad way. It was just her toes, for goodness’ sake. He forced himself to look out the window.

“Mitch?”

“Melanie?”

They spoke at the same time, each turning to stare at the other.

“You go first,” he offered gallantly. The words he had wanted to say were stuck in his throat anyway.

“Well, as you know, I have sort of a temper.” Mitch snorted at the obvious understatement, and Melanie had the grace to blush.

“Okay, I have a temper,” she admitted.

“A terrible temper,” Mitchel revised, tongue in cheek.

“Anyway…” She glared at him over her sunglasses. “I wanted to apologize for jumping to conclusions the other day. I know you were trying to help me, and I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Mitchel Stewart’s mind had wandered to considering whether she would wear that swimsuit again. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, lost in his daydream.

“If you are still offering, I would like to take you up on your offer of a residence. Just for a few weeks,” she added quickly. And then, for his information, “No strings attached.”

Privately grinning with glee, Mitch calmly asked, “What changed your mind?”

Her sea-colored eyes studied him suspiciously before she answered. “Well, I think I’m being evicted.”

His head shot up in surprise. “For what?”

Melanie grinned. He could see that half-hidden little twitch that seemed to say “Gotcha!”

“Shawna eloped with her boyfriend last weekend, and now she wants her husband to move in with her.” She grinned. “Not unreasonable, I suppose, but I think it’s going to be just a little crowded with the three of us.” Melanie shrugged nonchalantly. “Who am I to stand in the way of young love?”

He was getting to know her, and he recognized a put-on when he heard it from her pink glossy lips.

“Come on, Melanie!” Her big green eyes stared at him innocently. Mitch smirked. “What’s the real reason? I know enough about that nurse to know she plans everything ahead. She’d no more elope than you would. And you would no more move in with a man than fly to the moon. I never expected that you’d go for my suggestion.” He stared at her. “What’s changed?”

Melanie sighed in defeat, and he knew she didn’t really want to agree to his plan, at all.

“We got a notice that the owners want the top floor for their children, who will be going to school in the fall. They will pay us two months’rent if we vacate immediately so they can do some renovations before fall.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders before continuing.

“I’ve been praying and praying that God would lead me in this contest thing. Then this came up. Right after you offered to let me stay there.” Her sigh was not encouraging. “I guess God is trying to tell me something.”

Mitch stared. “You think He wants you to have this money so badly He’d force you to move in with me? Wow!” He was teasing, but the laugh stopped in his throat as she turned those expressive eyes on him.

“I think He must be trying to tell me something,” she said quietly. “I’ve been praying for ages and nothing happened. Now suddenly there’s the contest and the opportunity to get some money for Sunset. I get evicted, and there you are offering to share your place.” Her eyes were wide with amazement. “It’s like a small miracle.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Besides, there’s nothing between us. Everyone knows that. And I work all kinds of hours. I just need somewhere as a base until I can find another apartment.” Her head tilted toward him as she careened around a convertible full of rowdy teenagers. “So I gratefully accept your offer.”

“You must know what it’s like to find accommodation in this town.” Mitch added that just to let her know how lucky she was and how magnanimous he was.

They talked terms and conditions all the way to the beach. Melanie could move in immediately. It would be every man for himself. No cooking, no cleaning, she told him. No garbage, no lewd propositions, he promised.

Eyebrows raised, Melanie asked what that meant.

“I only make proper propositions,” he joked, eyeing her heightened color with interest.

Privately, Melanie wondered what the future would hold for them. Especially after an afternoon of Mitch’s company. Her body hummed from the massaging action of his large hands as he obligingly applied sunscreen to her bare back. His big, strong fingers worked the oil into her skin, and she felt supple and exotic as the fragrance of coconuts wafted around them. Mitch had been insistent that she wear sunscreen.

“I’ve seen sun damage,” was all he would say. “It’s not pretty.” She was aware of his appreciation of her swimsuit.

Melanie was flattered that he found her outfit every bit as interesting as before, but she regretted those extra ten pounds she had never shed. Not that they seemed to matter to Mitch. Shortly after rubbing in the oil, he had rushed away for a quick dip in the cold lake.

“Come on in,” he had teased, dripping frigid drops of water on her toasty skin. He laughed when she shrieked, then razed her unmercifully about her squeamishness until Melanie could stand his teasing no longer.

“I knew you were a beach baby,” he muttered. One dark blue eye had opened as he lazed on his towel. It traveled the course of her body, following the lines of her swimsuit. “I doubt if that thing even withstands more than a dip in the hot tub,” he added, disgusted. “Afraid of a little natural water, probably.”

When Melanie refused to answer, he continued the goading.

“You can’t swim, can you? That bit at the apartment pool was all just a ruse to get my attention, wasn’t it?”

Melanie had sat up at that, fury wrinkling her forehead as she glared at him.

“For your information, I don’t need to attract anyone’s attention.” She straightened her spine in haughty disregard. “I would have you know I am an excellent swimmer. I simply refuse to subject myself to that frigid water in order to prove something to you.” She arranged her beach chair more comfortably and leaned back, soaking up the sun’s rays. “I merely wanted some free time away from the office. I would appreciate it if you could let me enjoy the day.”

Melanie thought she had won their war of words until she heard him mutter something under his breath.

“Pardon?” she inquired superciliously.

“I said, you’re chicken, just as I thought.”

“You know,” Melanie said, eyeing him severely, sunglasses pushed to the end of her nose, “if you ever win in court, it must be because of your bulldog tendencies.”

She stretched out on her stomach, letting the warming heat of the sun penetrate her skin. There was blissful silence for about sixty seconds.

“What do you mean, bulldog tendencies?” His voice was strident. “Admit it, you are a chicken.” Big blue eyes glimmered with excitement. “Bok, bok!” He flapped his arms.

Melanie was getting tired of his ridiculous juvenile games. She looked around the beach and found several pairs of interested eyes trained on them.

“Stop that,” she ordered angrily. “Everyone is staring at you.”

Mitch continued to chant louder and louder.

There was nothing else to do. He would not leave her alone, and she wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until she put an end to this stupidity.

Melanie stood gracefully and walked to the water’s edge, dipping the end of one big toe into the water.

“Agh!” She sucked in her breath. It was freezing!

But when she turned around, Mitch was looming behind her. His eyes met hers, and he mouthed the word chicken.

Melanie sighed, resigned to her fate and fully aware that he would keep it up until she got wet. She strolled slowly into the water, getting a bit more of her heated skin wet with each step. She turned carefully, trying not to splash, and found Mitch directly behind her.

“I hope you’re happy.” She glared at him. “I have no feeling below my waist, and my hands are getting numb.”

He grinned and dived into the smooth water beside her, splashing her hugely. When he stood up, streaming rivulets of chilly lake water running down his face, Melanie let him have it.

“You did that on purpose, you sadist. I’m soaked and I’m freezing. I do hope you feel better now.”

She turned to go back to shore and found him blocking her way.

“I’m sorry, Melanie.” His voice was deceptively soft as his chilly hand closed around her arm. Wide and innocent, his baby blues stared at her soulfully. “I really didn’t know you couldn’t swim.”

“Of course I can swim, silly,” Melanie told him, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, hugging herself for warmth.

Unfortunately the motion pushed her full breasts upward, accentuating the cleavage her suit displayed. She watched Mitch’s blue eyes grow rounder in appreciation before she realized the reason. Her hands dropped to her sides in embarrassment.

His laughing gaze met hers. One black lock of hair dangled boyishly over his forehead. A wide smile slashed across his rugged, tanned face.

“You are just going to have to get in there and swim a few strokes to prove it,” he whispered in her ear as his hands brushed up and down her arms to warm her.

Melanie glared at him even as her body recognized the heat flowing from his body. She moved closer. Just to get warm, she told herself. When his arms wrapped around her and she was pressed against the heat of his chest, she groaned at the warmth that was beginning to penetrate her skin.

“Come on, Melanie, let’s swim.”

It was the last thing she heard before Mitch’s arms tightened like steel bands and he pulled her under the water.

Icy cold waves slapped against her and left her with two options: move or freeze to death. Melanie moved.

Breaking his tight hold on her, Melanie surprised Mitch with a move she had learned long ago in lifesaving class. In a few seconds he was flat on his back and going under. With one last shove, Melanie pushed him to the sandy bottom before swimming furiously away in a speedy crawl that had won her numerous competitions in high school.

Of course, Mitch demanded retribution. She just had not expected it to be a kiss. And when his cold lips pressed against hers, Melanie found that the fire building between them could not be doused, even by the freezing lake water. She kissed him back, returning his warm embraces until her blood was singing in response.

Mitch was the first to pull away.

“Okay, you win,” he teased. “You can swim, and kiss.” He grinned that devilish grin at her. “And you do both very well, I might add.” Turning, he ducked under the water, surfacing twenty yards away to call out his challenge.

“I’ll race you to the buoys,” he dared her. His strong arms made a swath through the water. “Loser supplies supper,” he told her when she caught up.

And so it had gone for the rest of the day. Teasing, talking, touching each other, but never getting too serious.

The long, lazy afternoon on the crowded beach presented a perfect opportunity for getting to know each other, but regardless of the many ploys she tried, Melanie gained very little personal information about Mitchel. It was frustrating and she was finally forced to admit defeat.

He lost their swimming contest and she left him to arrange their late supper, especially since he’d long ago finished off the sandwiches and pop she’d packed.

Ever resourceful, he’d come up with the very ingenious and inventive idea of hot dogs and chips, with chilled cans of iced tea to drink. As they sat around a campfire, replete with their feast, Melanie sensed he was deliberately shutting her out, refusing to answer her innocent questions. She turned a marshmallow, letting the coals toast it golden brown before popping it into her mouth.

Oh, he hadn’t been rude about it. His answers had been polite enough, but, somehow, the subject of family was a closed book with Mitchel Stewart. And although he freely discussed his work, Mitch only let her see bits and pieces of the real man.

Melanie knew that he hailed from the East, that he had gone to school there and come to Mossbank a few weeks ago. She had learned a little about his schoolboy antics and that he loved to swim but wasn’t very good at it.

But that was it. Mitch had told her nothing of his family or his past. And she wanted to know.

She gazed into the fire. Maybe a direct approach was the best. Plunge in and take the consequences. Somehow, the enveloping darkness gave her courage.

“Mitch?”

He sat on a log, staring vacantly into the flickering flames. The huge fire he had built had died down to an orange-red bed of coals. Wind danced across it, licking up a flame here or there.

“Hmm,” he asked, staring languidly.

“Please, don’t think I’m being nosy,” she began, knowing darn well that nosy was exactly what she was being. “It’s just that I would like to know a little more about you if we are going to be rooming together.”

When his dark head jerked, Melanie held up a defensive hand.

“I know your reputation from my friends at the hospital, but…” Melanie hesitated, searching. “I don’t know you.” Her voice was soft, plaintive, a call for understanding.

Mitch had pulled a pair of tattered blue jean shorts over his swimsuit. Below the frayed cuffs, his long, muscular legs crossed and uncrossed as he fidgeted on the huge log. Finally he stood, towering over her in the gloom. Melanie could feel his blue eyes studying her. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.

“Look. I’ve offered half of the prize money and a place to stay to make sure you can collect your half. Can we leave the personal histories out of it?”

He squatted in front of her and stared directly into her face. His voice was half-laughing, half-serious, but there was an underlying tenseness that Melanie couldn’t ignore.

“I give you my word I’m not an ax murderer, or a psychotic, or any of those other terrible things you’ve been imagining.” His white teeth glittered in the dark. Melanie thought immediately of a wolf and then remonstrated with her overactive imagination, sitting quietly when he continued.

“You are welcome to stay at my place for as long as you need to. But that’s it. You go your way and I go mine.”

His fingers closed around the soft flesh of her upper arms, drawing her upward. And Melanie allowed herself to be coaxed to his heat. He was like fire, and she a moth, drawn irresistibly to his flame. He attracted her with his hidden secrets and mysterious smile. His past was another facet of a man who occasionally let her see his generosity. And she would probably get burned, but right now Melanie could only concentrate on his touch.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he muttered as his eyes brushed her body, admiring her figure. “You’re a very beautiful woman and I enjoy the view as much as the next red-blooded male.” His hands slid down her back to the indentation of her waist, and he urged her closer.

“But I don’t play games, and I have no intention of getting married just because I allow you to stay in my apartment.”

“I never said I wanted to get married! Mitchel Stewart, you are the most egotistical, pushy, rude, overbearing—”

“You have said all this before,” he reminded her. His hands were stuck carelessly into his back pockets as he studied her. “Get to the point.”

With every atom of control she possessed, Melanie forced herself to refrain from violence. Curling her fingers into her palms, she sucked in a lungful of air.

“Look, buddy,” she told him, poking a finger into his very broad, very bare chest. It confused her, that tingling sensation, so Melanie put her hand down and concentrated on the words.

“I will move into your apartment because I do need that money for my friends.”

“We’ve already agreed on that.” He chuckled, then bent to stuff the remains of their meal into the tiny cooler before dousing the fire.

“Right.” Melanie tried to focus on her speech. “So I will stay there. But that’s it. Not for anything else.”

She tried to emphasize the words, but somehow they had little effect on Mitch. He smiled that lazy, sexy smile and agreed with her quietly as he tugged her arm.

“Right, darlin’,” he drawled as he pulled her along beside him through the warm sand. When they reached the car, he dropped everything on the pavement beside it and wrapped one lean brown hand around her neck.

“And nothin’ anybody can say will change it,” he drawled right before his grinning lips closed on hers.

Melanie knew his effusive charm was just a cover. Something that would draw her off course so Mitch would not have to answer any questions. And she would tell him that he couldn’t just get away with this.

Soon.

With a sigh, Melanie decided she would tell him so right after she’d kissed him back. For a few delicious minutes she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his lips tasting hers before she pulled away from his strong embrace and climbed dazedly into the car.

She knew there was something she wanted to say. But right now she couldn’t remember what it was. Not on the long drive home, not when Mitch kissed her a very thorough good-night outside her apartment and not when she was lying in her soft bed much later.

“Thanks for the sign, Lord,” she whispered. “I’m taking this to mean that I should proceed full steam ahead. Now, if You could just work on his attitude a little.”

A smile curved her soft, full lips as she drifted off. Yes, he had a bad attitude, all right. Tomorrow, she decided. She would remember to tell him off tomorrow.

“Oh. Uh, hello. Miss Langford, isn’t it?” Mitch stared at the older blond woman in the doorway of his apartment. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Hope pressed past him without a word, her face drawn tight, lips pursed as she motioned to the items scattered at her feet.

“Actually there’s quite a lot. But for right now, would you mind bringing in my suitcases? I’ll be sharing Melanie’s room. You’re not going to destroy my best friend’s daughter’s reputation as long as I can stop it!”

Mitch stared at her, his mind whirling. Was this what Gramps had meant this morning on the phone? What had he said? “Hope has her feathers ruffled.” Was that it? Apparently she was angry with him. Mitch groaned at the thought of this straitlaced busybody and her obviously mistaken impression of his and Melanie’s unusual arrangement.

“Miss Langford, I assure you that there’s nothing like that going on. Melanie and I—”

“Will have a chaperone,” she interrupted smartly, straightening the cushions thrown haphazardly on his sofa. Her eyebrows lifted disdainfully at the coffee rings covering the glass surface of the coffee table. “Melanie should be staying with her mother. And if it weren’t for the missionaries Charity had already invited, I’m sure that’s where she would be.”

Mitch watched transfixed as Miss Langford picked up a half-eaten box of doughnuts and dumped the whole lot in the trash.

“Hey! That was my breakfast,” he told her, frowning resentfully. He decided to make a show of bravado, even though his knees were shaking. There was something about this woman that brooked no nonsense.

“Now, look here, Miss Langford. I’m letting Melanie use the spare room so she can get her half of the money for that nursing home she’s so wrapped up in. That’s all there is to it.”

“Fine.” Hope Langford stared at the carpet, grimacing at the bits of lint and fluff. “And while she’s here, I’m here,” she told him firmly. “Please bring my things through to Melanie’s room. I’d like to get settled in.”

Mitch found himself obeying even though the last thing he wanted was this neatness freak in his apartment. Fortunately his spare room had two single beds. He watched transfixed as Hope removed perfectly pressed clothes from the satchels and hung them in the minuscule closet that already housed a few of Melanie’s uniforms.

His original houseguest had planned on moving the rest of her stuff tonight. It was going to be a tight squeeze in this dinky apartment, he decided, leaving Hope to pour himself another cup of coffee and contemplate the doughnuts in their box in the garbage can.

A really tight squeeze, if she was going to insist on chucking out his food supply. But how did you throw out an older woman determined to save the reputation of someone who didn’t need it?

“Coffee is very hard on your stomach lining,” Hope said in a stern voice. “I make a wonderful protein drink with raw eggs and yogurt that would give you lasting energy.”

Mitch set down his cup hastily and grabbed his briefcase. He had to get out of here. Quickly.

“Er, uh, no, thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing the doorknob like a lifeline. “I have to get to work. Early appointment.” At the convenience store across the street, he thought. He almost had the door safely closed behind him.

“Young man?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, debating the propriety of a salute.

“I will need a key to this residence. There are several matters to be taken care of today and I will need to let myself in and out.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He thought. “I made a spare for Melanie yesterday. I think it’s in the kitchen. In the drawer beside the sink. I’ll get another cut this afternoon.” He watched her carefully to see if that was all right with her, and when she nodded, he turned to escape.

“Have a nice day,” she told him cheerfully.

No doubt all that happiness came from her power drink. He shuddered and climbed into his red Camaro with relief. Thank goodness it was running properly, at last. At work, Mitch could hardly wait to dial Melanie’s work number. When she answered, he almost bellowed at her over the phone.

“Thanks a lot,” he shouted angrily.

“Mitch? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.” He tried, really tried to control his temper. “I’m just calling to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered politely. A few seconds later her puzzled voice came on the line. “For what?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. She arrived this morning, bag and baggage. All prepared to settle in for the duration.”

He waited for her excuse; her plea for understanding for her aunt. He was all ready to shoot her excuses down, one by one.

Instead he heard:

“Have another cup of coffee, Mitchel, and call me back when you’re awake and in your right mind. Okay, okay. I’ll settle for awake.” The telephone line went dead.

“Of all the overbearing, pushy women,” he began, stuffing another chocolate-covered doughnut into his mouth.

“Mitch, your nine-thirty is here. Shall I show him in?” His secretary’s eyebrows rose as she watched him nod and shove the doughnuts out of view. Amanda chuckled appreciatively. “Pigging out, are we?”

“Just show him in, will you, Amanda?” he muttered in frustration, trying to hide the sticky evidence.

Clarence Palmer had been a private investigator for thirty-five years. If there was a secret to be unearthed, Clarence knew exactly how to go about it. Mitch had known him for years and used his services several times, once for himself, to find the father he’d hated for so long.

He grabbed the older man’s hand and slapped the thin back with pleasure.

“Clarence! Gee, it’s good to see you again. Come on, sit down. Want a doughnut?”

“Mitch.” Clarence nodded, peering at the doughnuts as he carefully wiped his hand on his handkerchief. “You still addicted to these things?” His observant gaze scanned the package. “Must be a bad day.” He chuckled.

“Why do you say that?”

“Chocolate ones are all gone.” Clarence grinned. He helped himself to a sugared doughnut and settled back in the leather chair. “This a good time?” he asked quietly.

“Yep, perfect.” Mitch poured them both a cup of coffee and then leaned back, pen and paper at the ready. “What have you got for me?”

With a swift economy of movement, Clarence whipped open his notepad and began.

“I got a lot of this stuff from your grandfather’s contacts. Jean LeClerc. You want age, birthplace, all that?” He waited for Mitch’s negative reply, then continued. “Okay. Vietnam vet, killed in action, or so they said. Actually, the other guy was pretty sure this Jean was wounded and kept in an enemy camp for years. The Viet Cong deliberately left some of his stuff to be found so he’d be presumed dead. You know the routine.”

Mitch nodded grimly. He did know. Very well, as it happened. He’d worked on a few cases involving fathers who had died in Vietnam. It wasn’t pretty.

“Okay. Good old Jean came back but minus a few facts—like who he was. Met a volunteer at the vet hospital and they married. She had money and he put it to good use building an empire. Ever heard of Papa John?” Clarence looked at him through his wire-rimmed glasses and saw Mitch’s astonishment.

“This means something to you?”

“Yeah, it does.” He stared at Clarence, seeing not him but the elderly white-haired man he’d met at the Bismarck television station. “Let me get this straight. The Papa John’s Peanut Butter magnate is Hope Langford’s Jean LeClerc?”

“One and the same, we think. Only I’m not sure if he knows it. Legally his name is John Lexington. A nurse at the hospital said they called him that when he couldn’t remember his name. He apparently responded to John, and they adlibbed his last name.” Clarence left half his doughnut on a napkin as he dug through his notes.

“Nurse Mary said he had lots of nightmares and kept mentioning the same words over and over. One of those words was hope. They didn’t realize it could be a name until I offered it as an explanation. Apparently this guy was worried that someone would think he’d reneged on their deal. But whenever he woke up, he remembered nothing and couldn’t tell them any more about what he was hoping for.”

“And she waited,” Mitch muttered to himself. “She held on until she was sure he was dead. All this time she’s been mourning his loss, and he’s alive and well and married to someone else.” He thought. “Have he and his wife any children?”

“Clarence shook his head. The wife’s dead. Six years ago. Cancer. Long, drawn out and very painful.”

“And children?”

“One. A boy.”

“Can we talk to him?” Mitch snatched his pen, prepared to write down the name and address.

“No. He’s dead, too. Drive-by shooting. And it almost did the old man in last year. Some of my contacts in his company say he found solace in his loss with some woman. Don’t have her name yet.”

“Wow!” Mitch sighed, turning it all around and around in his mind, wondering what this new information would do to the prim and proper woman ensconced in his apartment.

“Want me to keep on digging?” Clarence asked diffidently, as if it was none of his business either way.

“Heavens, yes.” Mitch exhaled heavily. “The more we know, the better. I’d like to know who he’s interested in and where she lives. I’d also like to know if he’s remembered everything and is just too much of a coward to come and explain it all or if everything is still a blur.”

“Do what I can,” Clarence assured him, snapping his notebook closed and rising to his feet in one practiced motion. “I’ll check in when I’ve got something. See you, Mitch.” And with those words, Clarence disappeared as silently as he’d shown up.

Mitch snatched his phone and stabbed out his grandfather’s number.

“This is Mitch,” he told the guardian secretary. “Is he there?” He listened, frowning. “As soon as he gets out of court, have him call me. It’s important, Dora.” He slammed the phone down in irritation and stood up to pace around his tiny office.

“Oh, Lord, oh, Lord,” he groaned. “I know You’re omnipotent and in control of everything. And You can make good things happen from bad.” This was all so new to him. Mitch tried desperately to remember how the minister had told him to talk to God.

“Like a son talking to his father,” Pastor Dave had told him.

Well, he hadn’t had the typical father-son relationship, and he wasn’t too sure just what that included, but Mitch decided to give it a try anyway.

“Father, I think a lot of people could be hurt by this. Please show me what to do. And help all those involved. Amen.” Satisfied that he’d laid it all before the One who could deal with it, he returned to his desk and sat down.

A moment later, his head was bowed once more.

“And help me in this situation with Melanie so that neither of us get hurt. Just friends, that’s all I want. Thank You,” he murmured quietly.

It had finally happened, Mitch decided three weeks later.

He had begun to lose his sanity.

Thing was, he wasn’t surprised. Not really. In fact, he’d half suspected she would be trouble. It had taken her just one week to move in and throw everything out of whack. Melanie Stewart had thoroughly upset his placid life, and now he was going nuts fantasizing about a woman he barely knew.

He tugged the pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds of Melanie in the shower. It was impossible. Jumping Jehoshaphat, those two women got up before dawn every blinking morning! And they didn’t care who knew it, either.

Resigned, he placed the pillow behind his head and lay back, calmly accepting his fate. The way he figured it, he’d once done something really terrible and now it was payback time. Fine, he would take his punishment, but why did this torture have to begin so early?

It wasn’t the panty hose hanging in the laundry room, slapping him in the face every night, that got to him. It wasn’t that light but lingering scent she always wore that clung to everything in the apartment and refused to be doused by the strongest room deodorizer.

It wasn’t even that she brought some of her residents to his apartment for a meal, a game of cards or just a night out—and more often than not, they conned him into playing crazy eights, too.

He could deal with all that, Mitch told himself firmly. He’d even managed to tolerate Hope’s insistence on chaperoning every second of time they spent in the apartment.

But this daily trauma of pretending he wasn’t aware when she showered, wasn’t waiting for the faint hint of her lemony shampoo to carry to him, wasn’t visualizing her rosy cheeks and that fresh-scrubbed look she wore so well—that’s what was really getting to him.

“Blast it,” he bellowed, without thinking, and then wished he had zipped his lip.

“Mitch?” she called quietly. “Are you okay?”

“I will be if I can ever get into the bathroom,” he hollered, stubbing his toe on the nightstand as he reached for his shirt.

“I’m getting darned tired of taking cold showers,” Mitch grumbled sourly twenty minutes later. Hope’s short, economical showers after her early—emphasis on the early—walks would probably have left enough hot water for him.

But Melanie’s extended steam baths left little but the most frigid of showers which were, of necessity, very short. He’d taken to shaving in his room because the mirrors in the bathroom were too steamed up to let him shave properly even if there had been room for his razor among the multicolored little bottles, vials and tubes. He couldn’t figure it out. As far as he could tell, neither woman wore much makeup.

When at last Mitch sauntered into the kitchen, he was in no mood for pleasant conversation. He was desperately searching for a cup of coffee. Melanie did make good coffee, he’d give her that. That is, if he got any. More often than not, Hope would pour the “vile black drug” down the drain as soon as her niece was finished.

Today Melanie sat alone at the breakfast bar, staring vacantly out the window. In front of her was an empty cereal bowl testifying that she had already eaten. Bran flakes, no doubt. A shudder tickled Mitch’s back.

“How can you eat that stuff?” he demanded.

Melanie stared at him for a moment before answering.

“It’s very healthy,” she murmured as she strolled with that long-legged grace to the counter to rinse her bowl before bending to place it in the dishwasher.

Her slim, efficient body was immaculately clothed in blush-pink nylon, and she exuded freshness. By contrast, Mitch felt drained, lifeless. And he was beginning to hate the color pink.

“Maybe, but it tastes like dog food,” he said grumpily, stuffing one of the doughnuts he’d bought the night before into his mouth. He glanced around to make sure Hope hadn’t seen his secret stash.

“I wouldn’t know.” Her clear gaze surveyed his tired face. “I have never tasted dog food.” She smirked at him. “It’s a treat I’ll leave you to savor.”

Mitch wanted to stick his tongue out, but he managed to control the urge. Barely.

“Boy, are you cranky. Something bothering you, Mitch?”

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He scowled. Miss Perfect Stewart was no doubt well refreshed after her night on the town with pretty-boy Jeff, the blond doctor. No doubt they had gone out for a healthy meal of sushi, Mitch told himself jealously.

He was getting fed up with the parade of men who frequented his apartment. “Friends,” she said, but Mitch wondered. Most of them phoned to ask her out for coffee, to take her for pizza or to a movie. A few even ended up in his living room getting advice about a birthday gift for their newest love. Young and old, they came to ask her advice about a new girlfriend. The kids took her to dinner, baseball games and all the church socials in town while they plied her with questions about the best way to handle their totally uncool parents. He never got a moment alone with her.

Mostly Mitch was really sick of the tall, ever-charming fellow from the television studio. Neal Landt was becoming a frequent visitor on the weekends. Charming and personable, he had openly admitted his interest in Melanie. The man had even asked Mitch for advice about her favorite meal!

“I want to make a good impression. You know how it is, old son. She’s one very foxy lady.”

Old son, indeed! Could the woman not see that Neal must have bleached his hair and his teeth to get them that white? Mitch forced his mind back to reality. That same woman was now sitting in his kitchen. Alone. Waiting.

“I was going to tell you—”

He turned toward the counter just as Melanie’s elbow connected with his cup. The hot, sweet coffee splashed down the pristine white of his shirt. It was just enough to ignite his already red-hot temper.

“Blast it, woman, can’t you be careful? It’s not enough that you take over my apartment, use up all the hot water, constantly invite your seniors over and expect me to entertain them and run your Dear Melanie Advice Service from my telephone, now you’ve ruined my best white shirt.”

Mitch’s dark eyes flew to her face in time to catch the cascade of red suffusing it. Her jade eyes glittered sparks at him. He watched, mesmerized, as her temper flared and then he waited for the explosion.

Melanie jabbed her pink-tipped fingernail into the air, her voice betraying a tiny wobble, which she quickly corrected.

“What, exactly, is your problem?” she demanded. Her foot moved as if to whack him in the shin. He jumped back. “You are the biggest dolt I’ve ever known. And the grumpiest. I’m terribly sorry I woke you, bear face. And I didn’t intentionally ruin your shirt.”

Mitch was pretty sure she wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but she didn’t.

“Crawl back into your den till spring and sleep it off,” she advised him angrily. “By then I’ll be gone, thank goodness!” She rushed out the door.

Berating himself for his rotten attitude, Mitch moved after her. He hadn’t really meant to say it. It was just…

“No, wait, Melanie.” His voice was loud and strident, but she was gone. Only Mrs. Green from 106 stood in the hallway, frowning at him darkly.

“A den of iniquity, that’s what it is,” the elderly woman groused. “People coming and going at all hours. It’s a good thing Hope Langford is watching out for that girl. Otherwise…” She shook her head doubtfully at Mitch’s coffee-stained shirt and red face before returning to her apartment.

Slowly Mitch walked inside, pushing Melanie’s strappy black heels out of his way. He remembered how great she had looked last night. Black stockings, black leather jacket and skirt, and these bits of leather on her feet. It had been a fifties car thing downtown, he remembered. She’d ridden with some punks in a convertible.

Mitchel kicked the heels away viciously. Didn’t the woman pick anything up?

“Forget it, will you?” he ordered himself. “You’re an idiot. A stupid, blithering idiot!”

His fist connected with the door frame in frustration as he realized he was thinking about her again and wishing he hadn’t been so rude. When the throbbing pain finally translated itself to his brain, Mitchel Stewart decided it was time to do some serious regrouping. He stuffed another doughnut into his mouth and poured a fresh cup of coffee as he pondered his situation.

Okay, he admitted to his niggling conscience. He liked her brash attitude and quick comebacks. A lot. And he wanted to get to know her. But after this morning’s little fiasco, he doubted she wanted much to do with him, prize money or not. And he was going to have to figure a way to get past the hordes of people that always seemed to be around her.

“It’s gonna take a lot of sucking up, Stewart,” he told himself, then grinned. He knew he was feeling the sugar doughnuts hit his bloodstream, but suddenly he felt happier than he had in days. He had a plan, by George, and he was going to put it into practice today.

Whistling merrily, Mitch removed his sodden, coffee-stained shirt and replaced it with another.

“Fine.” He grinned cheekily at himself in the mirror. “If she wants polite and restrained, that’s what I will be. Decent. Upstanding. I can do that.” At least he thought he could.

Melanie wasn’t going to goad him into doing anything that would put her beloved money in danger. And if she didn’t get that blasted cash for her old friends, nobody would lay it at his door.

There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind demanding to be heard. Was it really for the money that he’d talked her into staying here?

Mitch ignored the question. He straightened his shoulders. He had to get this cleared up. If she was staying, and he wasn’t too sure about that, then he had some serious apologizing to do.

A gift, that was it. He’d give her something. He remembered something she had said about pets and old people being a natural. They weren’t allowed here, but maybe at Sunset…Maybe that was the answer.

“Prepare for battle,” he muttered to that little voice before grabbing his overstuffed briefcase and stomping out the door. His fingers snicked up the last doughnut on the way.

“Bran flakes, indeed!”