Wedding For One: Wedding For One / Tattoo For Two
Dawn Atkins
Bad Girls' Rules To Live By1. Never date for more than two months.2. Never conform.3. Never, never go home…Wedding for One by Dawn AtkinsRunning out on her own wedding years ago is coming back to haunt Mariah Monroe. Now she needs to go home to persuade ex-groom Nathan Goodman to keep running her family's company. But he's determined to free his inner wild man. And even worse, it seems their attraction didn't fade when she drove off into the sunset…Tattoo for Two by Dawn AtkinsTo her family, Nikki Winfield is a successful store owner who's married to a doctor. Truth is, she's a tattoo artist with a commitment issue. A family emergency has called her home and she has to produce a groom. Enter Hollister Marx. He's a dentist–sort of a doctor, right?–who owes her a favor. Too bad her fake husband's kisses are a little too real!
Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!
Duets Vol. #91
Talented Dawn Atkins serves up not one but two delightful stories in a special Double Duets. Wedding for One and Tattoo for Two are about two bad girls—and buddies—who come home again. Mariah hooks up with the sexy Mr. Right she left at the altar eight years before. Meantime Nikki shows up with a fake fiancé whose kisses are a little too real at times! Chaos ensues as these two girls set things right.
Duets Vol. #92
Versatile Natalie Bishop returns to the series this month with the quirky Love on Line One! “Ms. Bishop writes with a sizzling intensity…spirit and depth,” says Romantic Times. Completing the volume is popular Holly Jacobs and Not Precisely Pregnant. Bestselling author Lori Foster notes that “every Holly Jacobs book will leave you with a laugh and a happy sigh.” Enjoy!
Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!
Wedding for One
Tattoo for Two
Dawn Atkins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Wedding for One (#ub6389a48-2bb5-574e-9ab0-26496f619542)
Prologue (#u5ec57600-6409-5093-945a-93479a823bd2)
Chapter 1 (#ubd1fc3e7-842d-5e9a-bbb2-dd92d65f8288)
Chapter 2 (#ud976aafb-0458-52f9-9de1-d04a3f3ca9fb)
Chapter 3 (#u9a7a9744-1b94-505d-bb7d-3ca5f98c6bb0)
Chapter 4 (#u50f2f915-2580-5560-a2cb-9474beeb5bdd)
Chapter 5 (#uea18c7e9-7968-53d3-88e4-8a4d6ffd459f)
Chapter 6 (#ua53de05f-6dba-53ef-beeb-2abaed27a2f1)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Tattoo for Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Wedding for One
“Mariah, what are you doing?”
Nathan’s voice startled her, making her almost lose her grip on the ladder. “I’m…fixing…this valve.”
“Don’t do that!” He grabbed the ladder, making it wobble. Then she did lose her grip, and suddenly she plopped into a pool of red jelly.
“Are you okay?” He looked down at her.
“I’m fine. Sticky, but fine.”
“Give me your hand and I’ll get you out.”
She reached up to grasp his hand, but the jelly made her hand slip out of his and pulled him partially over the edge of the drum.
Hmm. Not a bad idea. This could be fun.
She reached up, looking innocent. “Let’s try again. Lean over and give me both hands.” Mariah gripped his hands, and levered as hard as she could….
Nathan teetered for a second, then slid down and thumped into the gelatinous pool.
“Come on in, the jelly’s fine.” She laughed and met his gaze. But instead of seeing anger there, she saw attraction, heat…desire.
A sexy smile spread across his face. “So, Mariah, you up for some jelly wrestling?”
Dear Reader,
Exploring the theme of these two comedies—bad girls go home—was both fun and emotionally satisfying for me. Rebellion and conformity, success and self-acceptance, and the importance of friendship are threads that run through both stories.
Mariah and Nikki go for it—heading off to live authentic lives. Two girls against the world. Of course, no one is truly “free to be” in life, and both girls have regrets and doubts. As their stories unfold and they fall in love, they both see themselves with new pride and self-acceptance.
Wedding for One is a story about the one who got away. It’s heartbreaking when Mr. Right slips through our fingers. That’s why it was such a delight to help Nathan and Mariah fall in love all over again eight years after their disastrous almost-wedding.
The operation of Cactus Confections is based on information I obtained from two Arizona-based candy companies—Ceretta’s Chocolate Factory in Glendale and Cheri’s in Tucson, which produces prickly pear cactus candies, jellies and even a prickly pear margarita mix like the one Mariah dreams up and her father invents.
I hope you enjoy Mariah’s and Nikki’s stories.
Best,
Dawn Atkins
P.S. Please let me know what you think. Write me at daphnedawn@aol.com.
Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN DUETS
77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
871—THE COWBOY FLING
895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR
To Wanda, my remarkable editor,
who knew this story before I told it
Prologue
Eight years ago
“OUCH. JEEZ. When I said, ‘Somebody pinch me,’ I didn’t mean to really do it,” Mariah Monroe said.
“I’m just trying to do whatever you want on your special day,” her mother Meredith said, fluffing the frothy wedding veil. “There! Perfect.” She surveyed Mariah in the full-length mirror. “Now, aren’t you glad we didn’t go with that terrible fuchsia mini-dress?”
“It had lace,” she said in her own defense.
“And fishnet. Please.”
“Whatever.” For once, though, Mariah agreed with her mother. This was better. She looked like she’d floated off the cover of Today’s Bride, and she felt like a princess. Teardrop pearls extended on slender wires from her headpiece, exquisite sequin-dotted lace scallops made a graceful beeline to her cleavage, and yards and yards and yards of satin billowed to the toes of her white satin pumps.
She’d considered hand-painting the dress and creating a papier-mâché flower bouquet, but decided to go traditional for Nathan, who was such a straight-arrow guy. She still couldn’t believe he’d chosen her. For the first time in her seventeen years, she felt like she fit in, instead of being kooky and contrary and just plain weird.
At the same time, she felt uneasy, as if she’d disappeared, been replaced by an actress—I’m not a bride, but I play one on TV—or a store mannequin, or a collectible doll ready for a display case. She ignored the feeling. This would all be worth it because in the end she’d have Nathan Goodman, who loved her, and they’d live happily ever after.
Abruptly, her mother stopped fussing with Mariah’s curls, which she’d pomaded into submission a few minutes before, placed a hand on each of her daughter’s temples and looked Mariah straight in her reflected eye. This was serious.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie. Some of the best marriages start out with a Pop Tart already in the toaster.”
“A what?”
“I’m your mother. You can tell me.” Her hands dropped to squeeze Mariah’s shoulders in sympathy.
A chill raced down Mariah’s satin-bound spine all the way to her pink-polished toes. “What is it you think I have to tell you?”
The answer began to trickle into Mariah’s brain at the same time the color drained from her face beneath the chichi makeup her mother had insisted on. In the mirror she looked like a ghost bride.
“Nathan will make a wonderful father. And he thinks you hung the sun.”
Hung the moon, she wanted to correct. Instead she stuck to the terrible thing her mother was saying. “What are you talking about?”
“Honey,” her mother said in a tone that said Mariah was stretching a joke past credulity, “I know you’re pregnant.”
“Where did you get that idea?” Mariah realized the answer before her mother gave it.
“That blue box on your dresser. I wasn’t snooping—I know you hate me going in your room—but it said ‘pregnancy test’ really big, so I couldn’t help but be curious.”
“That was a joke I bought for Rhonda to freak out her boyfriend.”
“Pregnancy is nothing to joke about, Mariah,” her mother chided. Then she frowned. “Wait. You mean you’re not pregnant?”
“No!”
“Oh, dear.” Meredith’s brows lifted in alarm, then lowered. “Well, it’ll still be okay.”
Suddenly, Mariah realized a terrible possibility. “Did you tell Nathan?”
“Not exactly. He overheard me talking to your father in the factory, so—”
“Nathan thinks I’m pregnant? But we haven’t even…Why would he want to marry me? Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands, stricken with shock and humiliation. “That’s why he said ‘what’s past is past. You don’t have to explain a thing.’ I thought he meant being with other guys, not that!”
“Honey, Nathan worships you. And he’ll be good for you. He’ll help you settle down and stop flitting from thing to thing.”
Mariah jerked her face up to confront her mother, hating being reminded that this was how her mother saw her. “I’m not flitting. I’m being me.” And Nathan had seemed okay with that, though she’d tried to act more mature around him. They’d only been dating a month when he’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her—saying the words in a rush, as if they’d been wrenched from him. She’d believed him and said yes without pausing for air. Because she loved him, too. Desperately.
It had amazed her that Nathan had even wanted to date a crazy girl like her, let alone marry her. He’d come to Copper Corners with a brand-new business degree from the University of Arizona to take a job helping her father run Cactus Confections. He was serious, stable and responsible. The exact opposite of her. The fact that he loved her had seemed like a miracle.
But it hadn’t been a miracle. It had been an act of mercy. He’d thought she was pregnant with another guy’s baby—since they hadn’t even slept together yet—and he was going to make an honest woman of her. He felt sorry for her. Oh, ick.
With that, her Cinderella story burst in her face like a six-piece bubble of Bazooka, leaving a sticky mess.
Well, she knew what she had to do. She couldn’t go through with this sham and she couldn’t let Nathan ruin his life just to be a hero.
“Tell Nathan to forget it,” she told her mother. She lifted her thick skirt and ran for the door, fighting tears.
“What are you doing?” Meredith asked.
“The wedding’s off, Mom. Tell everyone.” She galloped down the stairs, then stopped at the landing and looked up. “Tell Nathan….” What? That she wouldn’t settle for a mercy marriage? That she couldn’t bear to be the only one desperately in love? “That I changed my mind. I need my own life, not his.”
“Don’t run away, Mariah,” her mother called to her from the landing. “For once in your life, stick to something.”
With the deadly words ringing in her ears, Mariah lunged out the door, desperate to escape. Luckily, at that moment her best friend Nikki pulled up in her battered red Miata with the top down. Relief flooded her. Nikki would understand. They were soul sisters.
Mariah hiked up her dress and climbed into the convertible, not bothering with the door. Satin and lace puffed up to her chin, and flapped over Nikki.
“Phht!” Nikki spit out fluff. “What are you doing? I thought we were going to the church in your parents’ car.”
“Just drive, okay?” she said, as fat tears rolled through the Honey Luster powder her mother thought brought out the peach in her skin.
“Where to?”
“Anywhere.” Then she corrected herself. “Anywhere but the church.”
Nikki shot her a puzzled look, then accelerated, throwing them both back in the seats.
At the stoplight, Mariah looked at Nikki in the maid-of-honor dress her mother had urged her to choose. Lavender satin with puffy organdy sleeves and a huge satin bow over the left shoulder. It looked ridiculous on her wild friend, who was more comfortable in black leather and boots than frou-frou girlie clothes. The only thing that looked normal was the funky ceramic butterfly pin Mariah had made for her. “What was I thinking making you wear that dress? You look like Glenda the Good Witch.”
“More like Skipper does Dallas,” Nikki said with a shrug. “It’s not too late to dye my hair purple and wear my mauve snakeskin boots.”
Mariah laughed through her tears.
“We’re buds, Mariah, you know that. Thick and thin. Anything you want, I’m down for it.”
“I know. And I couldn’t stand it without you.” She leaned over to hug Nikki, organdy crackling.
“Watch out!” Nikki said, as the car swerved. “Hard to see through satin.” Still, she grinned. “So, what’s up?”
“I’m not getting married.”
Nikki slammed on the brakes. “What?!”
A car behind her honked.
“Keep driving,” Mariah said. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s like I thought I was a Bridal Barbie doll marrying Ken and moving into the Dream House. That’s nuts. So not me.”
“But you love Nathan.”
“I do.” It hurt to say that. “But I’m only seventeen. I haven’t even graduated.”
“Abso-flippin’-lutely!” Nikki said, pure relief in her voice. “I mean, I was on your side, if marriage was your gig, but, hell, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
“Exactly. What was I thinking? Too Twilight Zone.”
“What happened to change your mind?”
Mariah told her friend the sad tale of the false pregnancy and the pity proposal. As she talked, an ache began to spread from her chest to every part of her body. An ache that came from losing Nathan and all that she’d believed he felt about her. The zapped wedding fantasy was nothing compared to that.
She felt herself slipping into self-pity, so she grasped at indignation. “He probably thought it was like a duty, now that he’s working for my dad. You know, manage the factory, marry the kooky daughter. God. It’s so humiliating.”
“At least you found out before you said I do,” Nikki said, patting her knee through the cloud of satin and netting. “Now you can put it behind you.”
“Right. Behind me.” But it felt like it was all around her—a big ball of agony she couldn’t escape. She knew breaking it off was best—a quick, sharp pain, a bit of bruising, and then the healing would happen. But right now, it hurt like hell.
They drove in silence for a bit. Since Copper Corners only had five streetlights, they were soon speeding along the highway. Mariah surveyed the passing desert landscape—tall, crazy-armed saguaro, clumps of cholla and prickly pear in bloom, chaparral bushes and mesquite trees. They were headed north toward Phoenix on a wide-open highway. Wide open. Like her life had suddenly become. The thought made her feel empty and scared.
As if she’d read her mind, Nikki pressed the brakes, whipped the car into a doughnut, fishtailed in the shoulder gravel and jerked to stop, turned toward the town. “What now?”
“I don’t want to go back there and face that,” Mariah said fiercely.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t want to go back, either, and all I have to face is telling my parents I don’t have enough credits to graduate next semester.”
The best friends sat in glum silence for a few seconds, the cicada hum filling the air, buzzing along with their brains, which were busy sifting options.
Finally, Nikki spoke, her words coming slowly, excitement building as she talked. “I know what we should do….”
“What?” Mariah said, hope rising. Nikki had the best ideas.
“Let’s blow this pop stand.”
“What?”
“Let’s leave. Move to Phoenix. I was going anyway, this summer, unless my parents kicked me out early for ruining their image.” Nikki had her own problems, with her father the principal and her mother a teacher at the high school, and both the biggest worrywarts on the planet. Yet one more bond Mariah and Nikki shared—disappointed parents.
“So let’s leave now,” Nikki concluded.
“Now?”
“There is life beyond Copper Corners, Arizona. You want to mix cactus jelly in your dad’s factory all your life?”
“Absolutely not.”
“We can stay with my cousin in Phoenix. She can get us jobs at the restaurant where she works. We’ll save our money and get an apartment together. We can do our art, theater, all that—just experience what life has to offer—keep it real.”
“What about school?”
“Real life will be our school. If you want to get constipated about it, we’ll get GEDs.”
“Wow.” The idea had possibilities. She’d be away from Copper Corners, where she didn’t fit in, away from her mother who couldn’t help interfering with her every breath, and, most of all, away from Nathan and his mercy marriage.
Maybe it was time to declare her independence. Like in the books. The young rebel makes her way in the world….
Besides, right now she’d do anything to escape the humiliation of going back to town to face the looks—exasperation and worry from her parents, pity from the people in town, and, worst of all, relief from Nathan at being off the hook.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.” What did she have to lose?
“Killer! We’ll pack bags and take off.”
Mariah, of course, already had her bags packed—for a honeymoon trip to Hawaii. Her heart throbbed at the thought. She’d been dying to see Hawaii. Even more, she’d been dying to tantalize Nathan with a black lace peignoir she’d picked out for their first time of going all the way.
Forget it. She and Nikki would start a new life in the big city. This was the right thing for her. This tiny town grayed all her colors, clipped her wings. She looked into her friend’s fierce, brave eyes and wondered why there weren’t more girl buddy movies. Of course there’d been Thelma and Louise, but they’d died, for Pete’s sake.
“No looking back.” Mariah held out her hand, her elbow bent, in ready position for their rebel-girls-forever handshake.
“No looking back,” Nikki echoed. The girls clasped hands, slid to a fingertip grip, twisted palms, then kissed the air beside each other’s cheeks.
Mariah’s heart began to race. Her future was wide open now. She could be anything she wanted. How exciting! She tried to stick with that feeling, and ignore the way she throbbed with pain over losing Nathan, like one giant, all-body toothache.
They raced back the way they’d come, stopping first at Nikki’s so she could throw clothes in a bag. It took only a sec to get Mariah’s stuff, since she was already packed. She tossed out her wad of sexy lingerie, piled in more clothes and shoes, and they were off.
As they drove through town, Nikki caught sight of the church. Dozens of her parents’ friends were waiting inside in hushed anticipation for the wedding to start. Nathan was probably standing at the altar waiting for his pregnant bride to waddle down the aisle. Mariah’s heart clutched. She grabbed her friend’s arm.
“Stop here. I want to look in for a second.” She just wanted to see Nathan’s face once more. Beyond her humiliation was a deep sadness. She would miss him so much—even if he only felt sorry for her.
They stopped on the hill overlooking the church. Mariah scanned the parking lot. Where was Nathan’s gold Volvo? She hitched up her voluminous skirt and hurried down the hill, her satin heels sinking into the soft soil. Reaching the building, she saw through a side window that her mother was talking to the assembled group. To her amazement, she saw there was no groom.
Nathan was not there. She couldn’t believe it. Responsible, mature Nathan Goodman had skated on his own wedding? God. She took a backward step. She still couldn’t believe it. He’d lost his nerve probably. Realized what a flake she was and hightailed it out of there. The coward. The jerk. The ass.
Anger flooded her. Good. Anger was better than sadness or heartache. She owed Nathan nothing. Not one thing. Except maybe hate mail from her apartment when she got one. As she ran back up the hill, one shoe snagged in the ground and she just left it there, like Cinderella, without a prince who cared to find her.
“COULD YOU PLEASE step on it, sir,” Nathan asked the ancient gentleman who’d been the first driver to stop for his frantic wave. “I’m…late…for…my…wedding.” He spoke each word distinctly. It was his bad luck to get the one guy who not only drove like he was on a tractor, but who was nearly deaf.
Damn. Nathan looked at his watch. At this rate he’d be half an hour late. He knew he shouldn’t have let his college buddies talk him into a bachelor party in Tucson last night. They’d plied him with drinks and exotic dancers. He’d ignored the dancers—all he could think about was making love to Mariah—but to appease his friends, he’d had the drinks. It had been weird. He hadn’t been in a bar like that since he’d stopped hanging where his mother’s band performed. He’d had enough of constant travel, new addresses every six months. He couldn’t wait for a normal life in a nice house in a quiet neighborhood with regular mail delivery and the woman he loved.
Too buzzed to drive home, he’d gone to sleep at one of his friends’ houses. When he’d headed home that morning, the rocks his buddies had affectionately loaded into his hubcaps had somehow messed with the axle, and his rear assembly had frozen, leaving him stranded on the highway on a stretch of nothing between Tucson and Copper Corners.
He’d called from a pay phone at a rest stop, but gotten the machine at Mariah’s house and no one on the church phone, so they’d just kept driving.
They finally pulled into town—a half hour late as he’d predicted. Surely all of the guests would still be waiting at the church. Mariah had probably been late anyway. She operated on “whenever” time. That made him smile, thinking of her sweet face under all that fierce eye makeup and wild hair. He couldn’t wait to make her his. She was so amazing. When he was with her he felt stunned with joy at his good fortune.
Doubt flickered through him. She was so young. Maybe too young to know her own mind. Afraid she’d get away somehow, he’d been pretty insistent about getting married. She’d said yes, though—eagerly, too, he reminded himself.
As they passed the 7-Eleven at Cholla and Main, a red convertible bearing a cloud of white caught his eye. He turned to look more closely as it drove away, and saw, to his shock, that it was Mariah in her wedding dress in her friend Nikki’s car. Mariah was leaving town? Wait a minute. She must have thought he’d chickened out. Oh, no.
“I…have…to…drive!” he shouted to the kindly old man.
“Hmm. What’s that?”
“Could…you…turn…around?” He made a circling motion.
“Turn around? Did we miss the turn there?”
The speeding Miata would soon be just a red dot in the distance. “Never mind,” he told the old man. He’d get to the church, explain to the waiting well-wishers, borrow a car and chase her down. The poor girl. She thought she’d been jilted. She was so young, so insecure. She must be devastated. His heart squeezed with the desire to rescue her, tell her it was all a mistake, kiss away the pain….
He was charging up the steps to the church when a stunning thought hit him. Mariah hadn’t looked like a bride who’d been jilted. She’d been laughing, gesturing wildly. Even worse, two suitcases had jutted up from the space behind the seats. She’d packed bags. She was running away.
From him.
He was the one who’d been jilted. Flighty as a butterfly. That’s what Mariah’s mother had told him about her. But she was pregnant, for God’s sake. Terrible as it seemed, he’d thought that was the one thing that would make her want to settle down with someone like him. Someone stable, who would be a good father.
For a moment he considered chasing after her, demanding she give him a chance. But if she was willing to go off on her own pregnant, what hope did he have of stopping her with his love?
“Where have you been?!” Mariah’s mother bustled out of the church, flustered, her whole body vibrating with distress.
“Car trouble,” he said heavily. “I saw Mariah drive off with Nikki.” Laughing…happy…looking free.
“Oh, dear. I was afraid of that,” she said. “I made a boo-boo, Nathan. She’s not pregnant, it turns out. She canceled the wedding in a huff. You go get her. I’ll tell everyone to just talk amongst themselves for a bit.” She turned toward the church.
“What exactly did she say, Meredith? About me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something about changing her mind. But that means nothing. Mariah’s one big mind change. Also, she said some nonsense about needing her own life. It’s just jitters.”
He wanted to believe Meredith. With his whole heart. She needed her own life. He couldn’t forget the air of joy surrounding the two girls he’d picked up as he watched them roar away.
She was only seventeen, hadn’t even graduated, wasn’t even pregnant. Why would she want to settle down? She’d probably come to her senses and figured out she didn’t want a dull guy like him. Not now, not ever.
He’d wanted her so much he’d let himself think that would be enough for both of them. He’d just gotten carried away with his dream of settling down safe and sound forever.
“No. I think Mariah knows what she’s doing, Meredith.” His heart aching, he headed inside to let everyone know his butterfly bride had fluttered away.
1
Present Day
MARIAH RIPPED off her rainbow wig and clomped up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Nikki, careful to point her flappy feet outward so she wouldn’t trip. If she never in her life had to make another Pokémon animal balloon at a kiddie party it would be too soon.
As she unlocked the door, she heard the phone ring. Maybe it was the temp agency with a new job adventure for her. She’d had enough of Party Time Characters, the company she’d created with four friends from her acting class. She was near her six-month mark—her max for sticking with a job—so she’d sell Leon the costume inventory and he could take over.
She lunged for the phone, tripped over her flappy feet and crashed against the table, catching the phone as it fell.
“Hello?” she managed on a gasp of air.
“Hello, sweetie. This is your mother.” She always said that, as if Mariah wouldn’t instantly know the honey bubbly voice of Meredith Monroe.
“Hi, Mom,” Mariah said on a sigh, rolling onto her back. “Thanks for the package. The paint-by-number set was nice, except in my painting class we work freehand.” Even long-distance, Meredith continued to try to nudge Mariah’s life into a shape she recognized. She’d been doing it for the eight years since Mariah had left Copper Corners.
“The saguaro blossom taffy hardly melted at all.” She hated saguaro blossom taffy.
Sensing the apartment was empty, Mariah unzipped the clown suit and slid out of it, holding the phone against her ear. Cool air washed over her sweaty body. Ahhh. She unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side, then lay back to rub her back on the carpet. No wonder the Disney costume characters went on strike over their working conditions. These costumes were deadly hot.
“Your father will be glad. He knows how much you love his taffy. I’m not calling about the package, though. This is urgent. It’s about Nathan.”
“Nathan? What about him?” Her heart took the same hop it always did when she heard his name. She hadn’t seen him since before they’d jilted each other on their wedding day, but she still had that maddening reaction to him. It was like a superstition or a tired habit.
“It’s so terrible. We’re fit to be tied beside ourselves.”
“What happened?” Was he sick? Dead? Married?
“He’s leaving us. We can’t believe it.”
“Why is Nathan leaving?”
“It’s insane, I know. He’s perfect here. Personally, I think he’s having a midlife crisis.”
“Mom, the man is only twenty-nine. He can’t have a midlife crisis. Why does he say he’s going?”
“Oh, some nonsense about figuring out what he really wants. He sounds like you, with your self-actual-whatzit, and live-for-the-moment hooey. Have you been talking to him?”
“Of course not.” She never talked to Nathan. She made sure of that. An arrangement she was positive he preferred. She’d been home five times in the past eight years—visits she kept short to minimize her mother’s meddling—and though Nathan was always invited for a dinner, he begged off, saying it was a family time.
Which made no sense because Nathan was like a son to her parents. A fact on which she depended, since it took the pressure off her. She counted on Nathan to be the good kid she could never be.
“This just ruins everything for us,” Meredith said. “Now your father won’t retire.”
“What?”
“I’ve been talking to your father about retiring until I’m green in the face. Finally, he agrees, but only if Nathan takes over,” she said in her dramatic way. “Now Nathan’s leaving, so your father won’t retire.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. You have to talk some sense into him.”
“You can put him on, but I doubt Daddy will listen to me.”
“Not Daddy. Nathan. You have to talk to Nathan. Convince him to stay. It’s the only way. You know your father. He won’t budge. The Monroe Doctrine—never give an inch. Come and talk to Nathan, please. Otherwise, I don’t know what we’re going to do.” The catch in her mother’s voice didn’t even sound theatrical. She really was upset.
“Why would Nathan listen to me?”
“Because you’re you. I know you don’t want to hear this, but he still cares about you.”
“Mom, stop it.”
“I know, I know. You’re past all that. But my point is he’ll listen to you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Wait until you see him. He gets more handsome every year.”
“Mother.”
“I know, I know. You have a full life. A new boyfriend every time I turn around. Someone like Nathan couldn’t possibly appeal to you. He owns his own boring custom-built home, has a dull management job and lives in an annoying little town where everyone supports each other through the good times and the bad.”
“Okay, Mother.”
“What? I’m agreeing with you. So, just talk to him. Come for a visit. We haven’t seen you in a year. You’ve probably changed your hair color three times since then.”
“I don’t see the point.”
“We miss you. Who knows how long we’ll last? You know Fred Nostrad had a stroke and died at sixty-five, not one week after his retirement dinner at the bank.”
“Are either of you sick?” Her heart clutched for a second.
“Not so far. Though your father’s cholesterol…through the roof.”
Mariah blew out a breath. It was just Meredith playing the life-hangs-by-a-thread card.
“So, come out. You can see us and remind Nathan that Cactus Confections is his home. What more could anyone want than to run a candy factory?”
“Maybe something more meaningful?” Though Nathan was pretty much a nose-to-the-grindstone guy. Work was work.
“What’s more meaningful than candy?”
“Millions of dentists agree, I guess.”
“Your father has been happy here for thirty years. You could have been happy here, too, you know.”
“I’m happy here, Mom,” she said. Absently, she rubbed the callus on her thumb from making Pikachu balloon animals. Well, she would be happy as soon as she found another job.
“Well, hel-lo…”
The male voice made her look up. Raul, Nikki’s latest boyfriend, grinned down at her from the door of Nikki’s bedroom.
“Whoops!” Mariah yanked the puddle of clown suit over her bare breasts.
“Don’t do that on my account,” Raul drawled. He wore tattered jeans and a leather vest that revealed three of Nikki’s original tattoos. By the way his eyes took a slow trip along her body, she knew he’d be interested in her when Nikki was through with him.
Raul was sweet, for a biker. But Mariah wasn’t interested in him. She’d been taking a break from boyfriends, spending some alone time with the VCR and, lately, she’d felt like painting again. That seemed more fun than dealing with casual boyfriends. She could never quite be herself. She had to stay on guard for when they got serious. Keeping it easy in a relationship was hard work. Right now, the only thing she wanted to change was her job.
She gave Raul a neutral smile. He got the message, shrugged, then stepped over her on his way into the kitchen.
“Mariah? Hello?” Meredith said.
“I’m here, Mom.”
“You don’t want Nathan to make a mistake, do you? You want the best for him, don’t you?”
“Sure I do,” she said on a sigh. She owed him a lot. In a way he’d helped her make her own life. Her parents had lavished their concern, affection and appreciation on him, and that reduced the hassle they gave her and the amount of worrying they did about her. He was the son her father never had and the business partner he would have wanted Mariah to be.
Nathan was probably just having the identity crisis her mother had guessed at. Or maybe he didn’t think he could handle the factory on his own when her father retired. Maybe she could talk him through it, get him back on track. Maybe her mother was exaggerating.
“How about if I give him a call?” The thought of seeing him in person made her pulse race and her head pound. Maintaining the two-hundred-mile distance between them seemed the safest bet. She’d call and straighten this all out. Easy.
“PUNKIN!” Mariah’s dad said, meeting her at the door when she arrived two days later. He tugged her into a hug against his portly frame.
“Hi, Daddy.” After three failed attempts to call Nathan—she kept panicking and hanging up—Mariah had decided she’d have to talk to him in person. After eight years of silence, how could disembodied voices ever connect about something so important? Face-to-face would be the only way. She was much more convincing in person. Plus, if this was just a Meredith maneuver to get her out for a visit, she might as well get it over with, before her mother faked a heart attack or something.
So here she was home again, for better or worse. She felt the familiar mix of nostalgia, homesickness and being smothered with a pillow. She loved her parents, but she loved her own life more. And her freedom most of all.
After her mother had almost bulldozed her into that false marriage to Nathan, she’d promised herself she’d never depend on them—or anyone else—to make her choices. She’d make her own way, her own decisions. She was a butterfly, light on her feet. There was nothing wrong with that. Butterflies brought beauty into the world. They didn’t stay long, but they dazzled you while they were here, and left you breathless with memories when they flew on.
She so much liked thinking of herself as a butterfly, she’d asked Nikki to sketch one she’d had made into a tattoo on her left shoulder. Nikki’d gotten a tattoo, too. And that experience had made Nikki decide to become a tattoo artist. As soon as she got together some bucks, she’d have her own shop.
“You’re skin and bones,” her mother said, swooping down on her from the kitchen, smelling of rosemary, onion and fresh-baked dinner rolls. “What are you eating? Soda crackers and ketchup soup? Do you have enough money?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said, leaning down to kiss her mother’s powdery cheek. She caught her mother’s hand before she could slip a wad of bills into Mariah’s jeans pocket. “Really, I mean it.”
Before long, her father would do the same, she knew. It was a point of pride that Mariah hadn’t spent the money her parents were forever mailing her or slipping into her pockets or luggage or handbag when she visited. She’d opened a mutual funds account with the money and planned to use it as a retirement gift to them.
She gave up thumb-wrestling her mother. “Thanks,” she said on a sigh, and tucked the wad into her pocket. Her eyes scanned the room. “What’s all this?” She walked to the dining room table, which held a laptop computer, a globe and stacks of travel brochures. A half-dozen maps were tacked to the walls.
“The nerve center of our retirement campaign,” her mother said, joining her. “Your father’s finally got the travel bug and we’re just itching to get going. We’re thinking Barbados.” She handed Mariah a thick brochure about the place.
“But now and then I do this.” Meredith spun the globe, closed her eyes, then touched a spot. She studied where her finger had landed. “Tierra del Fuego. Hmm. That’s a new one. Then I go to the Internet and read about the country.”
“That’s great,” she said, then turned to her father. “I’m glad to see you’re finally going to give yourself a break.”
“What am I saving all this money for?” he said, though he didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as her mother.
“Now, all we need is someone to entrust with the business,” Meredith said.
Her father looked at her lovingly. “You going to help out your old dad, Punkin?”
“M-me. Oh, no, not me, Daddy.” She took a step backward. “I’m just here to talk to Nathan. Didn’t Mom tell you?”
“Sure, sure,” he said, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Nathan’s stubborn about this, though.”
She’d been afraid of that. She both dreaded her visit to Nathan and couldn’t wait to see him. The whole thing made her feel schizoid. As soon as she got settled she planned to head right over to his house. Drop in unannounced, get it over with.
“This all you brought?” her father asked, hefting her suitcase.
“I’m not staying long, Daddy,” she said, trying not to see how sad that made him. “I can carry it upstairs just fine.”
“Nonsense. When I’m too old to carry my daughter’s bag, they’ll have to pry my cold dead fingers from the handle.”
Her heart ached at his words. She loved him so much. Maybe she should try to visit more….
“I made a special batch of saguaro blossom taffy for you.”
Ick. She’d made the mistake once of telling him she liked the stuff, just to be polite, and now he thought it was her favorite. “Great,” she said, swallowing hard. “I can’t wait to taste it.”
Once in her bedroom, bittersweet memories bloomed, as they had each time she’d returned. The walls were the way Mariah had left them eight years ago, each a bright color—cranberry, purple, lime green, orange. It almost hurt to look. Every inch of wall space was filled with Mariah’s artwork. Abstract oils and watercolors in garish ceramic frames, charcoal sketches, etched prints, collages, even some weavings.
She’d been so intense about everything back then. Only Nikki had understood her passion—because she shared that fascination with the mystery in ordinary objects, the magic of creating something, saying something with paint or clay or paper.
Nikki was a great artist. Mariah was only good. Her biggest problem. She had an artistic streak, not a path or a yellow brick road to a career.
Over the years, she’d accepted the fact that she didn’t really excel at anything. She contributed where she could for as long as she could, then moved on.
Her bureau was filled with jewelry—much of it she’d designed herself. Scarves dangled from the mirror along with a program she’d taped there from the one-woman play she’d performed on talent night her junior year—Dishwater March.
She usually didn’t unpack, but this trip would be longer than usual, so she opened her bureau drawer. Right on top was the black negligee she’d gotten for the honeymoon trip to Hawaii. She’d tossed it out of her bag when she and Nikki packed to leave. And now here it was in all its sex-kitten glory. Her heart squeezed tight and she shut the drawer with a bang that knocked over a ceramic picture frame.
She picked it up. The frame, which she’d made herself, held the photo of her and Nathan that Nikki had taken just after they’d gotten engaged. In the photo, Mariah leaned into Nathan’s chest as if he were a windbreak protecting her from a storm. She looked timid and sad, with flyaway hair and frightened eyes. Her heart pinched at the sight of how insecure she looked.
She was just lucky she’d realized her mistake in time and not married Nathan. What a disaster that would have been. She would have tried to be a suburban wife and failed miserably. Suburbia was not her, though at the time, she’d have done anything to please Nathan. Now she knew she had to be true to herself.
The photo got suddenly blurry and she realized her eyes had filled with tears. The past always made people sad. She’d been too young to be in love. She’d simply had a crush. She’d been infatuated with Nathan’s college degree, his four years as a man on his own, his maturity and his confidence about his future.
And the way he’d looked at her. That had been the kicker. Seeing herself reflected in his eyes, she’d felt not goofy and ditzy, but beautiful and artistic. And loved. So loved. But Nathan had probably just wanted to rescue her.
Now he was having some identity crisis and might be about to make a terrible mistake. Maybe, this time, she could rescue him.
2
NATHAN’S TWO-STORY ranch home—just a block away from her parents’—was gracious and classy and very Nathan. The only thing wrong was the garish for-sale sign stuck in the middle of the perfectly trimmed rose bed. The sight made her stomach sink. His house was already for sale. If he’d gotten this far with his plan, convincing him to stay might not be easy.
She followed the curving flagstone path to the huge door, on either side of which was a stained-glass panel featuring a hummingbird on a prickly pear cactus. Before she rang the doorbell, she became aware of an awful honking that at first she thought was a goose in great distress. After a few seconds, she realized it was a musical instrument being played badly.
She rang the bell and the tortured fowl fell silent.
In a second, Nathan stood in the doorway wielding the saxophone he must have been abusing. The instant he saw her, his face lit with amazement, then joy, and he gave her a smile as big as the one he’d delivered when she’d agreed to marry him.
“Mariah? What are you…?” Abruptly, the light switched off and the smile faded. “Your mother sent you.”
She didn’t answer. She was busy storing the memory of the joy on his face when he’d seen her.
“My mind’s made up, but come in,” he said.
She stepped into the entryway, which was tiled in whitewashed saltillo, with a high ceiling and a bright airy feeling. It opened into a spacious step-down living room at the far end of which a floor-to-ceiling window invited her into the backyard with its glittering pool, lacy palms and Mexican bird of paradise bushes, iridescent with feathery orange blossoms.
“Your home is beautiful,” she said. “It’s so…” you, but that would sound silly.
“So predictable, so yuppie,” he said with a tired sigh. “I know. Come in and sit down.” He laid his saxophone on the marble entry table.
She stepped down into the living room and went to sit on the white leather sofa, soft and yielding as a gloved hand. Seeing Nathan again made her heart pound so hard she was afraid he might hear it. She concentrated on the bad art on the wall—completely dead couch paintings, probably chosen because they matched the decor, not for their power. She wished she could have advised him. “I didn’t know you played the saxophone,” she said.
“My mom was a musician, so I thought it might be in the blood. I think maybe the talent skipped a generation.”
“Practice makes perfect,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said. His eyes flicked over her. “It’s a little early for cocktails, but something tells me I’ll need a drink for this.” He must have caught the hurt look on her face because he quickly added, “Because of why you came.” He headed for the wet bar in a glassed-in alcove. “Would you join me in a glass? I’ve got a nice cabernet here.”
“Sure,” she said. Wine might calm her nerves, but she wished it weren’t red, in case she spilled some onto his elegant white carpet.
He did look good. Her mother had been right about that. More handsome and more masculine than he’d been eight years ago. At twenty-one, he’d been wiry. Now his shoulders and chest were broader and more defined. What she could see of his arms beyond the short-sleeved shirt were tanned and muscled. He must work out. Maybe in that fabulous pool.
His hair, cut fashionably short, was thick and dark. His face looked older, too—more experienced. There were crinkles at the edges of his eyes, and his smile was more relaxed than she remembered. Though he wore a button-down, well-pressed oxford shirt and crisp khakis, he’d be equally at home on a golf course, in a corporate boardroom or a smoky biker bar. In fact, he’d look great in black leather.
With practiced moves, Nathan took two goblets from the rack overhead, opened the bottle and filled the glasses. She realized he probably did this on all his dates. As much as Mariah tried to avoid it, her mother had kept her apprised of the details of Nathan’s love life. In fact, she was pretty sure he had a girlfriend right now. A math teacher, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Nathan came toward her carrying the wineglasses. Now that he knew why she’d come, his smile seemed flat, and she could tell he was being careful not to touch her fingers as he handed her the goblet.
“So, how have you been?” he asked, sitting at the farthest end of the sofa, like he thought she might pounce on him.
“Fine. Good, actually.”
“Your mother tells me you own a condominium now?”
“Hardly. I rent an apartment. Nikki’s my roommate.”
“Oh, yes. Your wild friend.” He shook his head in wonder. Nikki bewildered lots of people. “Living in an apartment is probably fun.”
“Oh, yeah. Gallons of giggles.” She thought of the funky building with its erratic air-conditioning and thin walls, on which they had to pound to get the rock band next door to stop practicing after midnight. Not to mention the deals she and Nikki had to make to keep the phone and gas hooked up.
“It’s nothing like this, that’s for sure,” she said, waving out the window. “I bet you come home every night from a hard day at the candy factory and dive into that crystal cool pool, huh?”
He shrugged as if it were nothing. “How about work? Your mother says you’re acting. Community theater? A play you wrote?”
Oh, for God’s sake. She’d written the skits for most of the costume characters they took out to kiddie parties, but that was hardly theater. “Meredith tends to embellish,” she said. “Actually, I’m between jobs right now.”
She just couldn’t bring herself to explain that she’d turned over her clown suit, Barney costume and Power-puff Girl tights the day she’d left, and told the temp agency to put a hold on her job application until she settled this family situation. “Enough about me,” she said, uncomfortable with the way his blue eyes seemed to dig down inside her. “Let’s talk about you.”
Nathan gave a weary smile. “That’s why you’re here, right? Guess we might as well get to it.”
Very cool, Nathan congratulated himself. He couldn’t believe how relaxed he’d sounded, considering the fact that the woman who’d flitted through his dreams for the past eight years had suddenly lighted on his sofa. He wanted to move very slowly so she wouldn’t zip away. That was stupid, though. Mariah had come here with her own agenda, not to restart their abandoned relationship.
She was prettier than the photo her father’d let him have. The camera deadened her electric blue-green eyes, doused the life in her face, dulled the gleam in her golden brown curls. She’d done something to the ends—bleached them blond. An interesting effect that made her look exotic. Though he’d left plenty of distance between them on the sofa, Mariah’s intensity seemed to fill the room all the way to the predictably high ceiling.
He thought about the last time he’d seen her, zooming down the highway, in a sea of white satin laughing her way away from him with Nikki, her partner in crime. He often wondered how things would have turned out if he’d gone with his first impulse and grabbed a car, chased her down and dragged her back. But those were just late-night thoughts with one too many scotches in his bloodstream. They were past all that now. It was about time he realized it and moved on.
“So, I hear you’re blowin’ town,” Mariah said. “What’s the deal?”
The deal was that he’d finally figured out why no relationship seemed to work, why he could be surrounded by people, busy with work he enjoyed, and still feel dead bored and lonely as hell. He’d been holding a torch for Mariah since she drove away from him eight years ago. He was a complete idiot. “I just think my life should be more…”
“Meaningful?”
“Exactly.”
“As my mother says, what’s more meaningful than candy?”
He laughed. “Your mother’s something else.”
“I know. And, Nathan…” She looked down, then up at him. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for my parents—looking out for them, working with my dad these past years.”
Mariah’s words made Nathan realize how much more mature she’d become. She’d seemed so scared and uncertain at seventeen, he’d wanted to protect her from everything. Now, besides being more beautiful, she’d become more confident, more sure of her place in the world.
“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, pushing away his observations. “They’re great people. Like family. But I think it’s time for me to move on.”
His words seemed to worry her. For a second, he had the insane hope she didn’t want to lose him. “What are you thinking of doing?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I signed up for a conference to explore my options. It’s a retreat for business people tired of business.”
She was trying not to laugh, he could see. Her face had always revealed every feeling. “A retreat for businessmen? Isn’t that an oxymoron—like jumbo shrimp or military intelligence?”
“Not at all.” He’d explain it in its best light. “They have career counselors there. Motivational speakers. Aptitude tests, résumé analysis and, I don’t know, discussions. Speakers who’ve broken off and done different work. It’s a place to start.”
“Mom thinks you’re just having an early midlife crisis.”
He barely managed a smile. “She may be right. I just know I can’t stay here.”
“My parents are completely freaked about you leaving.”
“We’ve got good staff. The floor manager, Dave Woods, could probably take over. He’s not as passionate about the product as your dad, but he’d do fine. As far as that goes, we could hire a headhunter to find someone your dad likes.”
“That would take a while, wouldn’t it? Maybe you just need a breather. A vacation or something?”
“A vacation won’t do it. I’ve decided.”
“What does your girlfriend think about you leaving?”
His eyes shot to her. “How did you know…?”
“How else? Meredith, who knows all and tells all.”
He smiled. “She doesn’t know all, I guess, since Beth and I broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
So that was why he was leaving. “I’m sorry, Nathan, but you might be able to work this out. Sometimes things seem bad—”
“Beth’s not the reason I’m leaving.” Except that his very lack of feeling for her had proved he had to get away. “I just need to go,” he said firmly.
“You’ve got your house up for sale.” Mariah worried her lip.
“Yeah. I figure I’ll find a place in southern California when I’m out there for the conference.”
“You’re moving to California without a job? With housing prices the way they are? That’s not very sensible.”
He shrugged. “I’ll play it by ear.”
“This doesn’t sound like you. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” She pretended to check his forehead for a fever.
He braced himself against the sweet brush of her fingers and managed a smile. It was out of character, but if he didn’t break out, do something different, he’d never stop clinging to the impossible.
“The kind of life you’re thinking about is not as romantic as it sounds. It’s uncertain and kind of scary.” She slid closer to him on the couch. “Believe me. I’m living it.”
Her lips were so red, so inviting…. After that first kiss eight years ago at the dry creek make-out spot, he’d have done anything for more of that mouth.
“Definitely not you,” she concluded, shaking her head.
“That’s the point. I’ve had enough of being me.” He wasn’t about to explain that she was the reason he needed to escape. “And how is it you know what’s me anyway? We haven’t seen each other for eight years, when you ran away from me.” He gulped. He hadn’t meant to go there.
“I wasn’t running from you. I was running for me,” she said. “Besides, at the time I thought you were doing the same thing, remember?” She smiled wistfully, laughed a little.
“Of course I wasn’t doing that. I—”
“I know, Nathan,” she interrupted. “Drunken bachelor party, rocks in the wheel, slow ride with Farmer Jim, everything. It’s fine. We were just lucky my mom made that remark about my Pop Tart in the toaster.”
“Your what?” What was she talking about?
“Never mind. I just mean my mom did us a favor by telling me you thought I was pregnant.” She seemed troubled by what she’d said, so she glanced away from him, out the window. “Oh, look, there are some baby quail under that mesquite.” She rushed to the window carrying her wine, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“They were born in the yard a couple weeks ago,” he said, following her to the window. “You should hear their parents squawk them into line.”
She was silent for a moment, watching the birds. She spoke, still looking out the window. “You were marrying me under false pretenses, Nathan.”
He had the insane desire to take her by the shoulders, turn her and tell her the truth. I wanted you no matter what. Pregnant and all. I loved you. I still do.
As if she’d read his mind, she turned to face him. Maybe she felt the same.
His heart stopped and he held his breath, waiting for her to say it.
“We would have made each other miserable,” she said with a short laugh.
His heart started up its slow, sad rhythm and he released his breath. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. “Miserable.”
“Thank God we’re past all that.” She lifted her glass to clink against his. “It was for the best.”
He clinked back and managed a smile, but he couldn’t echo her toast. “So, now I’m taking a page from your book. Hitting the road, being free. You should be happy for me.”
“Freedom’s not good for some people.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“No offense, but how could you give up all this?” She indicated his living room.
“Would you want to live here?” he asked.
“Not me!” She stopped. “Sorry, I just mean, this is you.”
Maybe, but he figured turning his life upside down would keep him too busy to mope about her.
“It looks like you’re serious about leaving.” Mariah sighed as she headed back to the couch. “So, what should we do about my parents?”
“They’ll be fine,” he said, but guilt tightened his gut. He did hate hurting Abe and Meredith. They’d been like parents to him—or at least the way he thought parents were supposed to be. His mom had been more like an older sister, way too relaxed about her motherly duties. Abe and Meredith counted on him and now he was letting them down. He wished he could fix that.
And then, looking into Mariah’s face, the solution came to him. It was a long shot, but it would give him a way to keep Mariah too busy to poke around in his motivation for leaving. “If you’re really worried about them, why don’t you stay?” he said. “You could take over for me.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Her glass sloshed.
He caught it before anything spilled. “Not at all. You’ve had business experience. You managed a restaurant and a boutique, didn’t you?” The idea was sounding better and better, except for the horrified look on her face, which made him want to grin. He hadn’t wanted to grin in a long time.
“I was a waitress and sold jewelry on consignment. Like I said, Mom tends to exaggerate.”
“You learn a business from the ground up anyway. If you’re smart and motivated, the sky’s the limit.”
“Tell that to the Caravan Travel Agency. I motivated them right into a three-month slump with a couple of my out-of-the-way trip ideas. Turns out there are reasons some places are out of the way—like ankle-eating fleas and no flush toilets.”
He shrugged. “I could teach you all you need to know before I leave. You said you’re between jobs. Maybe you need to try stability on for size—changing jobs can be a rut, too.”
“I could never stay here. My mom’s probably already picking out paint to redo my room and signing me up to sing in the church choir. It would be crazy.”
“No more crazy than asking me to stay.”
She gave him a long look. “I suppose so.” She paused. “When do you leave?”
“In two months, when I go to the conference. How about you? How long will you be in town?” He hope he didn’t sound too interested.
She didn’t answer immediately, and he could practically see her mental gears whirring through their calculations. “I’ll stay until I figure out what to do about my parents. And you.” She gave him a Cheshire cat grin he’d never seen before. Eight years ago, she’d been too uncertain to act mischievous around him. What the hell was she cooking up? The prospect of finding out made him happier than he’d been in a long, long time.
“SO HOW WAS NATE?” Nikki asked Mariah the next day when she called home.
“Great,” she said.
“Nate the Great. Poetry. How did he look?”
“Great.”
“If you don’t give me details right now I’ll go moshing in your Madonna bustier and get it all sweat-stained.”
“Okay, okay. He looked the same. Better. More built, more masculine, more confident. I don’t know.”
“Does he still act like he’s got a stick up his—”
“Nikki!”
“Well, really. He’s definitely a Wall-Street-Journal-with-breakfast-martini-after-work guy.”
“He’s different now. He wants to discover himself. It’s kind of cute, really.” She explained Nathan’s desire to search for meaning in his life. “He kind of reminds me of me.”
Her friend paused. “Jeez Louise, Mariah. You’re still hot for the guy, aren’t you?”
“No more than any woman would be. He’s still a babe, and I’m only human.”
“So, sleep with him. That’ll clear the cobwebs from his psyche. Talk about finding himself. Whoo, baby.”
“That would be manipulative. Besides, I doubt he wants to sleep with me.” Not true. She’d definitely felt vibes. That was gratifying, but unsettling, too. “It would just complicate things.”
“For who? Two months and out, remember? How deep can it get in two months?”
That was the rebel girls’ philosophy on relationships. In two months, the sex was still fresh, both of you were on your best behavior, solicitous and eager to see each other. After two months, you started taking each other for granted, stopped doing the dishes at each other’s place. Soon, the guy was scratching his belly and belching in front of you, and you stopped wearing makeup and lace teddies.
On the other hand, Mariah had begun to weary of the constant change. That’s why she’d taken a timeout on dating. That way she didn’t have to be on guard against leading someone on. It was lonely, but at least no one got hurt.
“He might get too attached,” she said.
“Right,” Nikki said. “He might.”
“There’s no point to it, Nikki. If I convince him to stick around here, which is where he belongs, I certainly won’t be staying. The best thing I ever did for Nathan Goodman was to climb in your car and drive away from that stupid wedding.”
“Take a breath, girlfriend. I’m not the one who needs convincing.”
“Anyway, what I have to do is get him through this career crisis, so he can realize he’s happy where he is. I’ve got two months.”
“Two months, huh?”
“Yeah, until he goes on some kind of self-discovery retreat in California.”
“Nathan Goodman at a retreat? You’re kidding!”
“Crazy, huh? Hell, I could probably teach the thing. If you can take a class in it, join a club about it or buy a self-help book for it, I’ve taken it, joined it or bought it.”
Nikki paused. “You could, you know.”
“What?”
“Teach him. Give him his own private retreat. The Mariah Monroe Institute of Self-Discovery.”
“Hmm. Not bad…” Actually, it was a great idea. And it could be a shortcut to keeping him at Copper Corners. “I could. I could teach him to meditate, do yoga. I could even do a little Gestalt therapy with him.”
“Absolutely.”
“And you know the best part?”
“What?”
“He’ll hate it. Left-brain guys like Nathan hate meditation and energy flow, exploring their emotions, any of that stuff. The yoga postures will make him feel silly.”
“And when you ask him to get in touch with his inner child?”
“He’ll run screaming from the room, forget all about that stupid retreat and realize the grass is greener right here in Copper Corners.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“It couldn’t be better.” She gave Nikki a list of self-help books, manuals and materials to send to her, and hung up.
It would work out great. In a few weeks, her father could safely retire, leaving his factory in the hands of the newly contented Nathan, and Mariah would be back on track to whatever the future brought. Whatever it was, it had to be better than Copper Corners and the church choir.
3
TWO DAYS LATER, Mariah rang Nathan’s doorbell. He opened the door, then stared at her, blinking sleepily. “What the…?”
“Help me,” she said, tilting some books and the yoga mats from her arms into his.
He backed up under the load. “It’s six-thirty in the morning. What are you doing here?”
“The early bird catches the self-awareness worm,” she said, pushing past him and loping into the living room, where she dropped her folded easel, collection of CDs, candles and more books on the cocktail table. The truth was, she hadn’t been able to sleep for planning her approach, so she’d rushed over.
“What are you talking about?” He followed her, looking dazed.
“It’s simple. I’m going to give you your own personal retreat,” she said. “You don’t need to spend a fortune to sit around and whine with a bunch of corporate clods in California. I can get you straightened out right here—a customized self-awareness experience in your own home.”
“What?” He looked completely stunned. Maybe she should have given him a few minutes to wake up.
“Sure. I’ve got all the experience you need,” she said patiently. She proceeded to recite her self-actualization curriculum vitae while he stood blinking at her, holding the books and yoga mats.
As she talked, she noticed how great he looked right out of bed. There was a charming pillow crease on his cheek and dark, sexy stubble that made him look born-to-raise-hell-ish—an effect completely ruined by the monogram on his robe and the crisp seams at the shoulders and sides. The thing had been steam-pressed. Sheesh. This guy was so far from free-to-be she couldn’t imagine where he got the idea that was what he wanted. It should be a cakewalk making him long for his uptight way of life.
“So what do you say?” she asked when she finished with her credentials.
Nathan blinked. “I need coffee.” He dropped the armload of stuff beside hers on the table and turned toward the kitchen.
“Oh, no coffee,” she said, rushing to stand in front of him. “Caffeine is a stimulant. It confuses the body’s natural wake-up mechanism.”
“The body’s what?”
“Look, Nathan. I’m going to save you a ton of money and wasted time. We should get started right. No coffee.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I need a shower,” he said.
“Dress comfortably,” she called to him as he dazedly lumbered off, mumbling to himself. “We’ll start with meditation and yoga.”
While he was gone, Mariah decided to create the ambience she needed. She closed the wooden shutters so the room’s light dimmed and laid out the yoga mats so they would face each other. She lit a cluster of scented candles and two cones of patchouli-vanilla incense. Considering the size of the room and the high ceiling, she lit three more for good measure.
Then she put on a soothing CD that featured bird songs, wood flutes and soft percussion. Perfectly serene. The light filtered in through the cracks in the shutter slats, cozy and dim. She sat for a moment and took a few calming breaths. She had to be very convincing, so he would trust her to help him.
Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes. Nathan stood a foot away. He was naked to the waist, wearing only black jersey shorts. Short shorts that showed legs that definitely got regular workouts. His hair gleamed with water and his pectoral muscles were perfect. A light dusting of dark hair filled the middle of his chest and arrowed to his waistband. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for Calvin Klein underwear.
“Aren’t you a little chilled?” she asked, finding it hard to swallow. She wished desperately she’d brought one of those long-legged East Indian coverall robes for him to wear.
“It’s a hundred and five outside.” He coughed and waved the incense smoke away. “Where are the marshmallows? Smells like you started a campfire in here.”
“That’s incense,” she said, trying to focus on her task. “Scents are mental cues, bringing direct sensation to the brain. Just breathe it in like this.” She took a deep breath, then burst out coughing. Okay, maybe she’d lit a couple too many cones. Her eyes watered.
Nathan picked up three of the smoking cones, moistened his finger and extinguished them. “Before the fire department gets here, okay?”
“If you insist.” Cough, cough. “Now sit on the mat, and we can get started.”
He obeyed her, sitting across from her, his legs crossed in a decent imitation of her lotus position. Great definition on those legs.
“So, what did you decide? You going to let me help you?”
He gave her a look that made her nervous. He had something up his sleeve. “On one condition.”
Uh-oh. “What’s that?”
“That you work with me at Cactus Confections.”
“What?”
“Just assist me. I’ll show you the business and what I do and let you get a feel for the place.”
“I told you I won’t stay.”
“Think of it as research so you can help your dad hire my replacement.”
“That’s ridiculous, Nathan. We don’t need your replacement because you’ll be staying.”
“I think you’ll like it.”
“No way.”
“Take it or leave it. I’ll do what you want if you’ll do what I want. Even steven.” His blue eyes crackled at her.
“Even steven? That’s so high school.”
“Maybe so, but that’s how it’s gotta be.” His jaw was firm.
Okay, what would it hurt? She’d take a tour, admire the place for Nathan’s benefit while she straightened out his life. “You drive a hard bargain, Nathan Goodman.”
“I’m a businessman.” He waved at the lingering smoke. “And you set a mean fire.”
“Very funny.”
“Okay, how does this go?” He closed his eyes and said, “Ommmm.”
“If you’re going to make fun, then forget it.”
“Sorry.” He grinned mischievously at her.
“We’ve got to tap into your intuitive sense of what you need. It’s a mind-body-spirit thing. Right now, you’re all up in your mind. We need to engage your spirit and your body. Get all your parts working together.”
He pretended to ponder the idea. “Get my parts working together, huh?” There was a crackle of sexual interest in his eyes that she chose to ignore.
“We’ll start with meditation, then yoga, which should free your energy and increase your awareness. Then, we’ll…well, we’ll go from there.” She wouldn’t mention Gestalt therapy yet. Or his inner child.
“And you’ll come with me to the factory, right?”
“As long as you do what I say.”
“Yes, O Mistress of the Soul Search. Your wish is my command.” He pretended to salaam.
“Nathan,” she warned, fighting a smile. She hadn’t seen the playful side of him during their short weeks of courtship. He’d been so serious then. They both had been. He’d been just starting his career and she’d been trying not to blow it with him. Plus, they’d been so hot for each other that most of their time was spent making out, while resisting the hunger to go further. Nathan had thought they should wait because she was so young, and he wanted her to be “ready,” whatever that meant. And then, after he’d proposed, he’d wanted to wait until they were married. It had been so sweet…and sexy. Very sexy.
“So, let’s get meditating,” Nathan said, bringing her back to the present.
“Oh. Okay.” She had to stay focused. “Close your eyes and I’ll lead you through a visualization. Just follow along. If a thought comes into your mind, notice it, then let it go.”
“Okay.”
His broad chest rose and fell, his breathing deep and even. The muscles of his chest and legs rippled a little as he swayed slightly. Even his feet looked strong….
“Now what?” he asked, opening his eyes, catching her staring.
“Oh, um, where was I? Oh, yes. Close your eyes again.” The truth was, she’d never been that great at meditation, even when she wasn’t staring at a gorgeous, nearly-naked man. She found it impossible to slow her mind or settle it on one idea. She loved the music, the candles and the calm, even if the serenity of the experience didn’t last more than a few moments for her.
“Take a deep breath in through your nose, then blow it out slowly through your mouth, counting to seven slowly. Let your cares flow out with your breath. Slow, slow, let it flow out, disappear on the air…Going, going, gone.” She watched him breath out slowly, exactly as she’d instructed. God, he was handsome. Focus, she told herself. “Your breath removes toxins from your body. Now you must remove toxins from your thoughts….”
NATHAN DID what Mariah told him to do—sucking in air and blowing it out. He was more aware, all right. More aware of Mariah. He could smell her, even over the smoky incense and the cloying scent of the candles, and could practically hear her breathing.
“Now, imagine yourself in a peaceful place,” she said in that sexy voice of hers, velvet against his ears. “Absolutely serene. Nothing but pleasant sensations.”
Pleasant sensations, huh? In his mind, he moved to his pool. Cool water, soft motion. Very pleasant. Except then Mariah appeared in a tiny bikini, looking almost edible. Mmm, even more pleasant. She dived to him, all wet and wild. Soon that perfect mouth was doing something way more interesting than whispering in his ear. Oops, he was getting an erection. Did it show? He hoped to hell Mariah had her eyes closed.
He cleared his throat, and tried to think about baseball, or burning a batch of prickly-pear jelly, or bungling his tax return. Anything to stop his body from revealing its response to his meditation on Mariah.
It was no use. “I’m not getting anywhere with this,” he said, his voice raspy. “Maybe we should do something more active. Like jog a couple miles.” Or ice-cold showers.
“Relax, Nathan. It takes time to develop your ability to focus. Be patient. Whatever comes up for you, release it.”
He wasn’t about to “release” what had “come up” for him, that was for sure.
“Let your mind carry you to a place you’d like to be,” Mariah purred.
Instantly he went there—in bed with Mariah, with those trim legs wrapped around his back. Oops. He jumped to his feet. “I need water.” Ice water, strategically applied.
“No coffee, now, remember?” Mariah called to his retreating back. His retreating, muscled back, and his tight butt and strong thighs. At least she’d have a few seconds away from all that raw manhood. She’d hardly been able to keep words coming out of her mouth for the animal awareness she felt. Being this close to him made her whole body—scalp to soles—tingle.
On the other hand, her plan seemed to be working. Already, he was bored out of his mind, asking to do something more physical, jumping up for a drink of water.
In a moment he was back. “So, let’s move on to that yoga thing,” he said brusquely, slopping water as he gulped it down. “Something with movement to it.”
“Okay, but tomorrow we’ll try this again and you can build up your tolerance. Meditation is key to your self-discovery.”
He muttered something that sounded like “God help me,” but she didn’t pursue it. Things were going according to plan.
She started with an easy warm-up, then some simple postures—Rama’s Easy Pose, Stretching Dog, Standing Sun Pose, Tree Pose, then the Dancer Pose. Luckily, he was a quick study and had great balance. She dreaded having to adjust his postures by touch. Putting her hands anywhere on his body would be tough to do without showing some reaction.
“Don’t rush your movements,” she said, watching him do the Easy Fish, which required him to arch his back and reveal the incredible line of each abdominal muscle. “It’s a smooth movement and a slow stretch. That’s it. Yoga is a deep muscle activity, so don’t underestimate its power.” Damn, he was in good shape.
She explained the Easy Bridge, which required lying on his back and thrusting his pelvic area upward. She didn’t demonstrate because it was too suggestive. “Hold it, that’s it, hold it….” Man, could he hold it! She was dying. She couldn’t help imagining how he could use all that holding in bed with her. “Now release.”
He released the position, thank God.
“This next posture is the Cobra,” she said. She demonstrated for him, lying on her stomach, palms braced parallel to her chest, then pushed her upper body into a slow curve meant to resemble a cobra about to strike.
“Nice technique,” he breathed. He lay on his side, propped on an elbow, his chin resting in his palm, his eyes glued to her chest. There was an edge to his voice that made her realize that all the stretching and holding and panting was having an effect on him, too. She was partly pleased, but mostly nervous.
“Now you,” she said.
“Okay, but I don’t think God meant me to bend that way.” He rolled onto his stomach, put his hands in place and pushed up. “Ow,” he said. “Is this supposed to hurt?”
“Not if you’re doing it right. You don’t want too much strain on your back.” She checked the angle of his arms, lying on her side almost under him. At that moment, his elbow gave and he landed on her, tipping her onto her back so they were chest to chest.
“That’s much better,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “You’re right. This yoga stuff is powerful.”
The moment stilled. Nathan’s terrific body was right on top of her, his face inches away, his mouth so close. How she wanted to kiss that mouth. Would it feel the same as it had eight years ago? She began to tremble. This was insane. “Nathan, we don’t want…I mean this wouldn’t be good.” She pushed at his chest, but he stayed stubbornly in place.
“There’s still something between us, Mariah,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can tell you feel it, too.” His eyes locked on hers and she knew if she held his gaze any longer they’d be trying some positions that were more likely to be in the Kama Sutra than her yoga book.
“What’s between us is just…just…nostalgia.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Nostalgia? That’s a new name for it.”
“You know what I mean,” she said shoving him off and sitting up. She straightened her leotard and smoothed her hair. “I think that’s enough yoga for today,” she said primly.
“If you say so, O, Spiritual Advisor,” he said, a trace of a smile on his lips, “but I was just getting the hang of it.”
“We’ll do more tomorrow.”
“Great.” More wicked twinkling.
“But you have to behave yourself,” she warned, knowing her own face was still flushed with heat.
“Oh, absolutely.” He crossed his heart.
“I mean it.”
“Oh, me, too.”
“You’re impossible,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh. I have some more ideas.”
“Mmm, I can hardly wait.”
“Oh, don’t be so sure,” she said, deciding she’d start with counselling. That would make him completely uncomfortable and put an end to this flirtation. “I’ll leave a couple of these books for you to look over, and the mats and candles. You can practice the yoga positions on your own.”
She picked up a few of the career counseling books to do a bit of studying, and started toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nathan asked.
She turned to him. “Home. We’ve finished for the day.”
“Uh-uh. We had a deal. You’re coming to the factory.”
“Today? But I’m not dressed,” she said, indicating her leotard and gauze skirt.
“Go get dressed. I’ll meet you at CC in one hour.”
“But—”
“No buts. We made a deal.”
Damn, he was going to get technical on her. She’d definitely have to figure out a way to turn this to her advantage.
4
MARIAH PULLED INTO the parking lot of Cactus Confections precisely an hour and a half late. What better way to prove to Nathan that it was a waste of time to drag her into the business than to show him she had no sense of time? She’d never deliberately goofed up before, but she’d decided it could be fun. A new way to be creative.
The solid sandstone building with Cactus Confections in copper letters across its face brought back complicated memories—love and frustration, comfort and boredom.
She pushed through the glass door and met the delighted smile of Lenore, the receptionist who’d worked there forever.
“Mariah, honey, you’re here! Your daddy said you’d be coming to work, but I didn’t expect you today. Gimme some sugar.”
Lenore wore the same blond beehive with a little curlicue at the top she had always worn, and her nails were as long and sharp and fire-engine red as ever. Mariah’s father hated when she painted them in the office, since the fumes interfered with the candy smell he loved. “It’s so good of you to help the poor man,” she whispered, enveloping Mariah in her soft hug.
“I’m not here to work,” she said, stepping back. “I’m just here to, um, observe, get a feel for the place.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, smiling a your-secret’s-safe-with-me smile, a dimple in her chipmunk cheek. What the devil had Mariah’s father told her?
“Louise, get your hiney in here,” Lenore shouted over her shoulder into the business office. “Mariah’s starting work today.”
“I’m not working. I’m just…never mind.”
Louise, Lenore’s twin, leaned out the business office door, where she served as bookkeeper. “Hi, there,” she said, with a tentative wave of a hand that she swiftly withdrew. She was as shy and thin as her sister was chatty and chubby. “You’ve grown up so, um, pretty,” she said.
“Thanks,” Mariah said, though the woman was obviously just being polite. Mariah’s fingers flew to her curly hair, the tips of which she’d bleached white, and she looked down at her baggy pants, black tank-top and studded bracelet. Pretty, she wasn’t. Arty, maybe. Interesting, but not pretty.
“Is that my girl I hear?” Her father’s booming voice came to her and he marched down the hall toward her. He wore his big green cooking apron, so she knew he’d been in the mixing room. “About time you got here. Ole Nate’s been champing at the bit to put you to work.” He put his arm around her. “Come on, I’ll take you to him. Isn’t it great to see her?” he asked Lenore.
“Just wonderful,” Lenore chirped.
“We’d better get going,” Mariah said, uncomfortable in the Kodak moment of it all. She hurt inside, feeling loved and valued and dead certain she’d disappoint these people. She had the urge to run before she could actually let them down. Instead, she followed her father down the hall past his office to a frosted-glass door, stenciled with Nathan’s name and title.
Nathan looked up, then glanced at his watch and frowned. He’d noted how late she was. She tried to look innocent.
“Here’s your new partner,” her father said to Nathan.
“Dad, I’m not a partner, I’m—”
“Observing, yeah, yeah. Anyway, Mariah, Nate here has been my right hand. He knows everything I know and does half of it better,” her father said, resting a hand affectionately on Nathan’s shoulders.
“I’ve just done what needed doing, Abe. You set up the business and now it practically runs itself.”
Affection passed between the two men and Mariah felt a surprising jolt of loneliness. What would it have been like to share the workday with her father in the family business? To have him describe her as his “right hand.”
Suffocating, that’s what it would have been. She’d have been controlled, bossed, fussed over, and watched every minute. Thank goodness she’d escaped.
“You should be very proud, Abe,” Nathan continued. “You’ve left a tremendous legacy.”
“Hold on. I’m just retiring, not dying. I’m just handing it over to you two.”
“Dad, I’m just—”
“Observing. Right. Well, I’ve got to get back to the gumdrops. I’ll leave you two…all on your own.” He gave Nate a wink.
A wink! Like there was going to be hanky-panky or something. She felt herself blush and fought it down. She was relieved to see that Nate had turned a matching pink. She changed the subject. “I guess I’m a little late.”
“Ninety-two minutes,” he said, his brow dipping. “I thought you’d reneged on our deal.”
“I just lost track of time. I tend to do that. My mind is such a whirly-gig.” Her stomach tightened at the words. She usually fought the airhead impression she sometimes left because of the way she dressed and how her brain spun, kaleidoscope-like. She believed you could be professional without being all linear and uptight. With Nathan, however, her job was to intensify the effect. She needed to be airhead incarnate.
The misrepresentation would be worth it to be done with this and gone. Plus, the more irritated he was with her, the less attractive he’d be. Men who got annoyed with her were complete turnoffs. Which was exactly what she needed to be around Nathan—turned off. “I just can’t help being a butterfly.”
“Right,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. Perfect. She’d already gotten the eye roll. Soon she’d get the heavy sigh, the head-shake, then the lecture. She’d argue, and it would be happily downhill from there.
He looked her over. “I see you’re dressing for success.”
Oooh, even better. He was already insulting her. “So, this is your office,” she said, ignoring the dig.
“It could easily become yours.”
She gave an exaggerated shudder. It was so not her. The place looked like a museum display of an office—practically shellacked into neatness. Perfectly arranged file folders, everything at right angles. There were no stacks of paper, no open books, scattered pens or left-over fast-food meals. If Nathan was as hopelessly anal-retentive as he seemed, frustrating him would be easier than she’d thought.
“I’m just finishing up analyzing the month’s receipts and the profit-loss statement,” Nathan said. “It’s all on computer. I’ll show you if you’ll step over here.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she said, barely glancing his way.
“I had this software customized to suit our process,” he said. “With it, I can track cost per candy, and—”
He looked up as she started the steel-ball perpetual motion pendulum toy clacking on his desk. “Go on,” she said innocently. “You can track…?”
With an irritated sigh, he reached out and stopped the steel balls from knocking together. “Would you come here and look at this?”
“Maybe later. I’m deadly with numbers.” She grinned sweetly at him, then picked up a manipulable desk sculpture made of small metal diamonds shaped around a magnet, and changed its rectilinear shape to a helix.
He did not like that, she could see. This was fun. “Why don’t you show me the plant?” she asked.
“All right.” Nathan pushed away from his desk, stood and came toward her, wearing a long-suffering expression.
At the doorway, she paused to brush her finger on a bad painting on the wall, so that it hung slightly crooked. Then she picked up a huge geode from the top of his bookcase to examine its purple-and-white crystal interior before placing it on a lower shelf before she walked out, watching Nathan as he followed.
Sure enough, he paused to straighten the picture and replace the geode. She smiled. Things were going like clockwork.
At the end of the hall, Nathan pushed open a double door into a wide hallway where the factory began. The hum of human activity, machinery, and steam filled the air, along with the familiar smell of her childhood—candy cooking. Nathan led the way to the first archway. “The mixing room. Where we put it all together.” He led her farther into the room.
“I remember,” she said. “When I was a kid, everything in here seemed so huge.” She’d loved to watch her daddy work with the gigantic mixing bowls with their huge mechanical stirrers.
“Almost all of our products—the jelly, jellied candies, taffy and lollipops—come from the juice of the prickly pear cactus fruit,” he said, sounding like a tour guide. “Summer is prickly pear harvest time. Over just six weeks each summer, we process all the juice we’ll use for a year’s product. We had an exceptional harvest this year. In fact, we’ll be freezing a substantial amount for next year. Here’s where it starts.” He indicated a huge vat where red bulbs of cactus fruit bobbed and bubbled in boiling water.
“Once the fruit is softened, we crush it with this.” He indicated a wooden device.
“The wine press from Italy,” she said. “Dad was always so proud of that.”
“Yep. He got it straight from a vineyard. Anyway, after that, the juice is strained, then sent through these pipes,” he indicated shiny brass tubes overhead, “to the separate areas to create each kind of candy.”
He moved to a stainless-steel tub. “Here is where we make our most popular item—jellied candy squares. Here we add lemon, corn syrup and eventually gelatin,” he said.
The juice bubbled in the drum, cranberry red, giving off a tart steam that filled her nose. She paused to identify the elements. “Lemon, lime, cranberries and cotton candy all rolled into one great smell.”
Nathan took a quick, short sniff. “It’s nice, I guess.”
He walked over to a man who reached up with a pole to switch off a valve, then scooped out some of the red jelly, which he allowed to fall slowly back into the bowl.
“How’s the consistency, Jed?” Nathan asked the man.
“Better. That new coil evened the heat like you said it would.”
“Great,” Nathan said, his eyes alight with satisfaction.
He was proud of his work here, she could tell, but she wouldn’t mention it. Not yet. He’d just deny it.
“When I was little, Dad would let me add ingredients sometimes.” She’d loved watching the corn syrup cascade into the mixture, a river of sweetness. “It was like Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory, only for real.”
“Sounds like you loved it here.”
Whoops. She didn’t want him to think she missed the place. “It got old, though. Imagine every day as the day after Halloween. Pretty soon if you see one more piece of candy you want to throw up.”
“Exactly. Imagine eight solid years of Halloween. That’s why I need to move on.”
This was backfiring. She had to point out the good things about the place to encourage Nathan to stay, but not give him the idea she’d ever consider staying herself.
“The problem was me, not the factory, Nathan,” she said. “When I started getting into trouble, Mom grounded me here while she did the bookkeeping and reception work.”
“What did you do that was trouble? When I met you, Nikki and you were doing a lot of ditching.”
“I straightened out once I met you. Nikki and I used to hitch to Tucson or Phoenix, go to art shows and underground dances. Some drinking and carousing. Meredith thought she needed to crack down.”
Chained to the factory, she’d grown to hate the place and the way its false promise of sweet fun hid the sticky grip of duty and routine.
“You were a kid. Kids rebel. I’m sure your mother was just doing what she thought was best.”
“She pay you to say that?”
“I just know Abe and Meredith love you.”
“Yeah. They do. Too much. That’s what makes it hard. I’ve always disappointed them.” Just being who she was seemed to hurt them. Sometimes her uniqueness felt like a badge of honor. Other times, it felt like a scarlet W of weirdness.
“Maybe if you talked to them you’d find out they feel differently.”
“I’m fine, Nathan. My parents are fine. You’re the one on the self-improvement kick, remember?”
“Right,” he said, but he held her gaze, cupped gently, the way you’d hold a fuzzy dandelion. I’m here for you. You’re okay just as you are. There it was—that look of acceptance that had made her say yes to him when he’d proposed. She’d just melted into that look, heart and all.
But she’d grown up and accepted herself now. She didn’t need Nathan or that look. She broke the gaze. “How about the rest of the tour?” she said and shot ahead of him so that he had to gallop to catch up with her.
He showed her where they squirted the jelly into jars, where they stretched the saguaro blossom taffy—its pale orange and green strands looped by the industrial-sized stretcher as if it were skeins of thick, silky yarn—and where they extruded the mesquite-honey meringue buttons, and slow-cooked the syrup that went into the hard candy and novelty lollipops shaped like saguaro cactus, coyotes and cowboy boots.
In the processing room, she watched the sheets of cooled jelly get cut into shapes. As a kid, she’d loved the magical way the designs appeared and the unused jelly paste peeled away to be remolded again. She loved the assembly line with its jerky machinery and geared conveyor belt that had seemed almost alive. “This place looks exactly like when I left.”
“Unfortunately, it is the same as when you left. We need new equipment, but your father doesn’t think the capital investment’s worth it. Luckily, Benny Lopez, our mechanic, has a way with a steam valve you wouldn’t believe. I think he puts a spell on the boilers. They practically purr when he goes by.”
They glanced into the formulation and tasting kitchen, where her father experimented with new creations or brought clients to impress them. It was empty. “Abe hasn’t tried anything new in a while,” Nathan said.
That fact struck her as sad. On the other hand, he was about to retire, so maybe it made sense. Who would come up with new formulas after her father was gone?
“I think there was a jalapeño jelly he was working on, though,” Nathan said and went to the refrigerator. He pulled out a sample jar. “Want to try it?”
“Why not?”
Nathan spread a bit of the bright jelly on a tasting biscuit. Mariah opened her mouth and he held the cracker for her to taste. The air grew tense with the intimacy of the moment. She extended her tongue to accept the cracker. Her lips closed, brushing his finger and he made a sound.
She could almost see the electricity pass through him. Then it hit her, jolting her to her toes. The jelly’s tartness and the chili’s burn seeped into her mouth, which filled with saliva. She wanted to taste Nathan, too.
She could see he wanted to kiss her, was about to move forward. She remembered those lips—they knew when to be rough and demanding, and when to be soft and teasing. She licked her lips, waited…
“There you two are!” Her father’s deep voice bellowed out.
They jerked apart as if stung.
“Mariah, I want you to meet Dave Wood. He’s the floor manager and my chief cook. He’s the wizard who keeps things rolling around here.”
“Miss Monroe,” Wood said, bending slightly in greeting. “You should be wearing gloves and a hair net in this room. As should you, Mr. Goodman.” He looked at them the way a disapproving valet would look at the profligate playboy he served.
“Dave runs a tight ship,” Nathan said.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, saluting him as she clicked her heels together. Woods nailed her with a look. The boss’s airhead daughter. Even though it was what she wanted him to think, she felt wounded. He hadn’t even given her a chance to prove it.
“Dave could take over this place if he wanted to,” Nathan said to her.
“My job is fine as is,” Dave said.
“You’ll want to shadow Dave,” Nathan said. The idea seemed to annoy Dave, so she knew getting on his wrong side would be an easy way to make herself unwelcome around here. Hair nets, huh?
Their last stop was the packaging room, where Nathan described the shipping process. She could hear pride in his every word. Her task was to reinforce that pride, while helping him work through this strange spell of dissatisfaction.
“It’s obvious you love this place,” she said. “Maybe all that’s wrong is you’ve been taking it for granted.”
“You think that’s what’s wrong?”
“Maybe. I just don’t think Cactus Confections is what’s bugging you.” And a man who couldn’t stand a decorative rock being moved didn’t seem a likely candidate for running off to find himself. There was a sadness in his face, a disappointment almost, that she couldn’t figure out. “We’ll know more once we’ve tried a few more exercises.”
“Exercises? That sounds scary.” She could see he was trying to lighten the moment. “Will there be a rack involved? ‘You vill work in ze vactory and you vill like it.”’
“I was thinking some counselling,” she said.
“Counselling?” He pretended to shudder. “I’d rather have the rack.”
“Relax. I’ll go easy on you. We won’t get to the primal screaming until the third day.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What will the neighbors think?”
“That you’re finally getting laid right.”
“What makes you think I need that?”
“Look at you.” She gripped the muscles below his neck, trying to ignore how terrific he felt. “You’re tight as a coiled spring. If you were getting what you need, you’d be more loose.”
“Sounds good. Maybe you could help me, um, loosen up?”
Her mouth went dry. “Sex isn’t the only way, you know.”
He stepped toward her, close enough to kiss. “Just the best,” he murmured. Was he serious or teasing? Why on earth had she brought up sex again? It was her traitorous subconscious that wouldn’t let her forget how much better Nathan had been at making out than the frantic high school boys she’d gone all the way with. He knew how to take his time, how to give her pleasure….
“Where’s the harm?” Nathan whispered. “We can start with just a kiss.” His lips met hers.
The word just didn’t belong anywhere near that kiss. She felt lit up inside. His lips were firm against hers. His tongue pushed its way in, and he shifted his mouth to reach more of her. She made a sound and her knees gave a little. His arms went around her, tight and secure.
She remembered him holding her this way all those years ago—making her feel safe, protected and so desired. But this was even better because this Nathan was more mature, more sure of what he wanted than the Nathan of eight years ago.
She just wanted to let go in his arms, keep kissing him and being kissed by him. She knew Nathan would never let her fall.
A fist of rational thought muscled into her dazed brain. She was letting one kiss turn her back into the needy teenager she had been once. This was absolutely not part of the plan. She broke off the kiss and shoved at his chest. “Enough!”
“But I don’t feel loose yet,” Nathan said, reaching for her.
“Then take a hot bath,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I came here to work, so let’s work. Show me a spreadsheet or something.”
What in the world was she saying? She made a wobbly turn toward the corridor that led to the offices, gratified at the shocked look on Nathan’s face. Good. He had no idea what she’d do next.
The problem was neither did she.
THAT KISS HAD BEEN a mistake, Nathan told himself in the shower the next morning—lighter fluid on the embers still glowing in his heart for Mariah. He was an idiot to tempt himself with the impossible. Mariah had moved on. He should, too.
He’d heard that men sometimes locked onto their first loves and stayed stuck. That was obviously his problem. Eight years was too long to hold on to someone who’d flown away.
He shoved his face in the pounding stream and promised himself no more flirting or kissing or touching. Period.
There was good news, though. There was a chance he could get Mariah hooked on the factory. She’d loved seeing the place, he could tell, and she’d stared, hardly breathing, at the spreadsheet while he’d explained it. Fascination was probably what accounted for the odd trembling he’d felt her doing. He, on the other hand, could hardly keep from grabbing her and kissing her.
She definitely liked being back at Cactus Confections. Hell, she even loved how it smelled—something he was no more aware of than the air he breathed.
She’d always been a sensitive person. That was one of the things he’d loved about her. She’d made him more aware of things—sunsets and cricket rhythms, the textures of things. Like skin and mouth…His mind locked on the kiss in the tasting kitchen.
Talk about tasting. He’d wanted to swallow her whole. Forget it, he told himself, toweling down roughly. If he kept himself in check and played it right, he could get Mariah to take his job. Then he could leave with a clear conscience, knowing Meredith and Abe would be fine and Mariah would have found her place in the world.
She’d be here any minute for more self-discovery baloney. She’d said therapy was the plan for today. He could only hope she wasn’t as good at psychology as she was at kissing. He did not intend to confess the real reason he wanted to leave Copper Corners.
He sighed, heading into the bedroom for clothes. He had to have some coffee. Screw the body’s natural wake-up mechanism. For this, he’d need fortification.
5
“I SMELL COFFEE,” Mariah declared, frowning at Nathan in the entryway of his house. It was only day two of the Mariah Monroe Institute of Self-Discovery and he’d already broken a rule.
“I needed coffee. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“If you don’t follow my instructions, we won’t get anywhere.” She was actually grateful for the irritation because it distracted her from how fabulous he looked in a white T-shirt and soft gray shorts.
“Want a cup?”
“Absolutely.”
He turned to go and she watched the way the fabric clung to the curve of his butt like a cotton hand. She wished desperately she hadn’t told him to dress comfortably. His comfort gave her considerable dis comfort.
Walking farther into the room, she saw that he’d set up the yoga mats, dimmed the lights, and lit candles and incense. She turned to him as he arrived with a steaming mug. “You set everything up.”
“Like I said, I’m your willing disciple.”
“You promised not to make fun.”
He shrugged and went to sit cross-legged on his mat, looking unbearably sexy in the dimly lit room.
Mariah took a deep gulp of coffee—the last thing she needed, since looking at Nathan already made her jittery—and took her place across from him.
“Relax your mind. Think peaceful thoughts,” she said, closing her own eyes so as to avoid looking into his and thinking about yesterday’s kiss. “Visualize the sun kissing your—” Kissing? What was she saying? “Um, the breeze caressing your—never mind.” She broke out in a sweat. “Just do what you did yesterday.”
“Yesterday? If you say so,” he said with a sigh, lifting a pillow off the sofa and tucking it into his lap. For comfort, she guessed.
While they meditated, Mariah tried to focus on the upcoming counselling session, but she kept feeling this energy between them shimmering like heat above a summer sidewalk. Finally, when Nathan’s gorgeous butt floated one too many times before her mind’s eye, she said, “Whenever you’re ready, open your eyes.”
“Mmm.” He slowly opened his eyes. Their gazes locked. “That was nice,” he said. “Very real.”
“Good. We want to make meditation real for you.”
“If that were any more real, we’d both be sorry.”
Her stomach flipped. Nathan was having the same kinds of thoughts she was. That was good. No, bad. Oh, hell. She didn’t want to think about it.
They worked through the yoga postures avoiding each other’s eyes the entire time, and when they were finished, Nathan sat up. “So, now you counsel me?”
“Right.” Except she’d never be able to do it with him looking like that—his face flushed from exercise, his sweat-damp T-shirt clinging to his chest, and his shorts outlining bumps she didn’t want to be aware of. “Why don’t you shower and dress for work, so we can concentrate better?”
“I can concentrate just fine like this.”
“It will feel more like a real appointment, okay?”
“Suit yourself.”
By the time he came out, she’d opened the shutters and turned on the lights and was seated on the edge of the leather chair kitty-corner to the sofa, which she patted. “Have a seat.”
He sat straight up on the edge of the sofa, then tugged at the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t be nervous. This won’t hurt a bit. We won’t discuss anything you don’t feel comfortable with, but if you’re truly interested in working through what you’re conflicted about, I advise you to be as open as possible.”
“I am open,” he said, folding his arms.
Impatience rose in her. You’re blocked. Defensive. In denial. But she couldn’t say that. The Gestalt therapist’s job was to carefully guide the client into a deeper awareness of his feelings and thoughts, all while keeping him grounded in the here and now. The key word for the Gestalt therapist was patience.
Which was exactly why two months of training hadn’t been enough to turn Mariah into one. She was too quick to draw conclusions, too eager to tell people what to do. Alarmingly like her mother, she’d been sorry to realize.
She took a breath and blew it out, trying to center herself. To do this correctly, she should focus on Nathan’s face, watch his eyes, his breathing patterns, become aware of his energy, notice where in his body he carried his distress, and share that with him. The body told the story of the mind if you paid attention. Except she couldn’t bear to look so closely at him. “So talk to me about what’s happened to lead you to want to change your life.”
He frowned. “I don’t know. Since I came to Copper Corners, I’ve had my nose to the grindstone, I guess, and I think it’s time to smell the roses, explore the world, do something different.”
“Hmm,” she said, putting on her most therapist-like expression. “Why don’t you tell me more about wanting to leave Cactus Confections?”
“I need a challenge, I guess. You should know the answer to that. Why do you leave jobs?”
“Our focus is on you, Nathan.”
“Yeah, but maybe your insights can help me.” He looked at her steadily. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.
She sighed. “Okay. I change jobs when I get bored, or when it’s obvious I don’t belong there any more, or something more interesting comes up, or I feel finished.”
“Exactly. I feel just like you do. Finished.”
“Except I’m hard-wired for short-term jobs and you’re Mr. Stable. You have a career and a degree and special expertise. You shouldn’t leap from job to job like I do.”
“You have expertise, too.” Nathan scooted closer and leaned toward her. “Your problem is obvious. The jobs you take aren’t challenging. If you had a job that used your creativity and skills, you’d want to stay.”
“That has nothing to do with it. What happens is that I—”
“You just need to make a commitment to a place. If you decided to stay and work through things—”
“Hold it,” she said, lifting her hand. “What you’re doing is ‘deflection’ and it’s the oldest trick in the therapy book. We’re focusing on you, Nathan. Not me.”
“First, tell me if I’m right.”
“Nathan.”
He gave her that stubborn look. Why hold out if it helped?
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t like work that kept me interested for a longer time. I did enjoy the travel agency, until that problem with the tours to no-toilet land.”
“So, instead of working things out, you decided you were bored.” He moved even closer, holding her with his eyes.
“But I was bored. And it wasn’t that creative.”
“So what about your creative jobs—the jewelry business?”
“It started out fine, but then I had tons of orders and it was one long assembly line. Completely dull. I—damn. You’re doing it again. Scoot back there.” Away from her. “I’m the therapist. You’re the client.”
He moved back with reluctance.
“So, you say you’re finished here,” she continued. “How did you come to that conclusion?” She held his gaze and managed to keep her therapy focus, too.
He seemed to be having an internal struggle. Probably with whether or not to tell her the truth.
“What are you feeling right now?” she asked. “This minute.”
He stared a moment longer and then the word just slipped out. “Empty.” His shoulders sagged, signaling he’d decided to be honest. “When I come home, I’m just…there. My house is comfortable and I have everything I need here, but I still feel…”
“Empty?” But she could see in his eyes that what he meant was lonely.
He saw that she understood and that seemed to scare him, because he folded his arms and began to babble about being able to run Cactus Confections in his sleep and how startup companies were so challenging, and on and on. As he talked, his expression was flat, his eyes dead. This could go on for hours, with Nathan pretending he was worried about his career, when it was really his heart that hurt. She decided to cut to the chase. “What about the rest of your life?”
“The rest of my life?” His gaze shot to her.
“Yeah. Tell me what happened with your girlfriend.” She wasn’t being nosy. This was therapy.
“There’s not much to tell. It was mutual. We got along well, but there was no fire. We were just passing time with each other.” He swallowed hard, then looked past her, lost in emotion.
There was more to it than that. “And does the breakup have something to do with your decision to leave?”
His eyes shot to her, then he looked away, then back. “In a way, I guess. When I start over in California I hope I’ll meet someone. I want love in my life.”
“Tell me more about this someone,” she said, swallowing. The question made her nervous. “What will she be like? How do you see her?”
“You really want to know?”
She nodded.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, so close she leaned back. “She’ll be someone with fire in her soul, who’ll make me think and make me laugh. Someone I can’t wait to come home to so I can see her face, hear her voice, find out how she’s been while we were apart…You know what I mean?”
Yes, oh, yes. She swallowed and fought to maintain her therapist composure. She forced her words to come out calmly. “It sounds like having someone special in your life is very important to you.”
“Yeah. My life feels empty without her.” His eyes flared with emotion. For a second, she thought he was talking straight to her. My life feels empty without you. But that couldn’t be. How vain of her to think he was talking about her. That had been so long ago. They’d been kids. Or at least she had been.
She felt herself redden. She had to say something therapeutic, but she couldn’t come up with anything.
“Don’t you feel that way?” he asked her, still leaning close.
“Of course.”
“But you probably have your pick of men.” His eyes dug into her.
She sighed. “Not really. I’ve been on my own lately. Dating gets routine.”
“I know what you mean.”
“It’s like riding around the rotating restaurant at the top of the Hyatt hotel—how many times can you look out at the same landmarks?”
“Exactly,” he said.
She’d said the same thing to Nikki, but Nikki shrugged it off. She enjoyed the challenge of keeping things light with men more than Mariah did. “You start saying the same things,” she continued, “hearing the same lines, and pretty soon you just want to—”
“Find someone special,” he finished.
“I was going to say, ‘rent a good movie and eat some red licorice.”’
“Oh, sorry. So, you’ve given up on finding that person?”
“No, I’m just not looking now, I’m…” What was she doing? Holding her breath? Waiting for Mr. Perfect? Who probably didn’t exist anyway? She hadn’t felt sure of her feelings about a man since Nathan. And then she’d been a kid—clueless about love.
“You’re…?” Nathan prompted.
“I’m…” Nathan was the last person she should be talking about her love life with. “I’m late for work, that’s what I am,” she said, making a big show of looking at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m not even dressed.”
“When did you start worrying about being late for work?”
“I guess you’ve been a good influence on me. I think we’ve done enough for today anyway, don’t you?”
“Yes, actually. I think I’ve said enough.” He looked relieved to be off the hook.
She didn’t need more therapy time anyway. Nathan was lonely. And he was sublimating that loneliness, claiming it was career dissatisfaction. The obvious cure was a new woman. But Mariah wasn’t about to round up eligible singles. She did not want to be his dating service. Sleep with him yourself. She knew that’s what Nikki would advise her. That’ll clear the cobwebs from his psyche.
No way.
But you’re lonely, too.
Ouch. She hated when she was honest with herself. Turned out Nathan wasn’t the only person getting therapy here. Talking about his experience made her realize that the empty feeling she’d been carrying around for months—and trying to ignore—was loneliness. She wanted a special someone, too.
So, sleep with him.
Uh-uh. At best, that would be a short-term solution and, at worst, a heartbreaking disaster. Whatever Nathan felt for her was mostly the backwash of nostalgia. Even if it was more, she never stayed in relationships, and Nathan was the kind of guy who stayed and stayed. And stayed.
No. She had to find another way to cure Nathan’s loneliness besides sleeping with him. The sooner she did, the sooner she could leave everything about Copper Corners that bugged her—her parents, the candy factory and, most of all, Nathan.
Still pondering, she went home, took a shower and got dressed for work, choosing the most inappropriate thing she’d brought—a lime-green miniskirt and tank top.
“Good lord, Mariah. You’re not going to work in that,” her mother said, watching her dash from her bedroom to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
“It’ll be fine, Mother.”
Her mother tsked at her from the doorway. “Pardon me for saying this, dear, but the Salvation Army is for people who can’t afford clothes. Why don’t you spend some of the money I gave you on something new? Let’s go to Tucson and shop.”
“My clothes are fine,” she said, scrubbing her teeth.
Watching Mariah critically in the mirror, her mother lifted her hair off her neck. “Sergei could really work with this.”
“My hair’s fine.”
“You have split ends everywhere!”
“Didn’t you know? Split ends are all the rage.” She rinsed her mouth. When she raised up, her mother examined the size label on her blouse. “Mom…” she warned, but her mother patted the label in place, smiled and left.
“My clothes are fine!” she shouted down the hall. She had a terrible feeling it was too late. Meredith, the steamroller, had begun to chug into gear.
MARIAH PUSHED through Cactus Confections’ glass doors with a purpose. It was time for the next phase of her plan—getting banned from the premises. Lenore whistled at the sight of her. “What a hot tamale,” she said. “Louise, get out here and see this.” She turned back to Mariah. “Won’t Nathan be pleased?”
Oops. Maybe she should have gone with the baggy black jeans again, she thought as she headed for Nathan’s office. She’d meant to look inappropriate, not sexy.
“Late again,” Nathan said, not looking up.
“Sorry,” she chimed happily.
He looked up, then boggled. “You’re going to make men fall into the machinery dressed like that.”
“Should I go home and change?” she asked innocently.
“Forget it. You’re already two hours and twelve minutes late. Take a look at this printout.” He turned a bound thickness of computer paper to face the guest chair across from his desk.
She made a cross with her fingers and held it out, as if warding off the undead. “Anything but numbers.”
“Look, Mariah. If we’re going to do this, you’ve got to work with me here. Pay attention and make an effort.”
“Okay,” she said, “but don’t think I’d even consider staying.”
“Right,” he said.
“Just so we’re clear.” Then she smiled. “All right. Tell me everything I need to know.” So I can mess things up.
Nathan showed her the computer printout and explained the operations of Cactus Confections—the production calendar, hiring policies, the business plan, profit projections, equipment maintenance schedules, payroll, bookkeeping, on and on.
She did her best to act disinterested and confused, but she was annoyed to find it interesting. It wasn’t because of the way Nathan explained it, either, because every time he looked at her—or her cleavage—he lost his thought and she had to remind him what he was saying.
She was mostly pleased that it all made sense. She did have some expertise—Nathan was right about that. She’d seen the inside workings of a small ice cream store, and built her jewelry business and the kiddie party company, so she understood profit and loss and building a customer base.
She hid all that from Nathan, though, with stupid questions. She was soon delighted to see him grit his teeth whenever she interrupted him with an inane query.
“No, we don’t have our own trucks, Mariah. That’s why we use a distributor, remember?” He tapped the product list. “We count on our distributors to get product out fast and fresh. ‘Homegrown, handmade and fresh to you from Arizona’s desert,’ is our slogan. Stale product means lost accounts. And every account we have is critical.”
“Critical?”
“Yes. This is a specialty market.”
“What’s your advertising budget like?” Whoops. A sensible question.
“Good question,” he said, surprised. His gaze zipped to her face—after a little side trip to her cleavage. “You’ve hit on a problem. Let me introduce you to our marketing man, Bernie Longfellow, and that’ll explain everything.”
“I remember Bernie. He used to pretend to steal my nose.”
“You’ll probably recognize the suit he’s wearing from back then, too.” Nathan led her to a tiny office next to the entrance to the factory floor. He tapped on the door, then opened it.
Bernie was in the act of peeling an invoice off his cheek. He’d apparently been napping at his desk when Nathan knocked. He looked the same, except his hair was now white, instead of streaked with gray. “Hey, there,” he said, blinking rapidly.
“Bernie, Bernie,” Nathan said affectionately. “You’ve gotta quit partying ’til dawn. Say hello to Mariah.”
“Well, look at you, all grown up.” He stood to shake her hand, smiling fondly.
She blushed, feeling twelve all over again.
“I heard you were coming to work for us.”
She resisted the urge to explain his error and just smiled.
“Why don’t you tell Mariah a little about our marketing plan, Bernie?”
“Marketing plan? Now, let me see…Where did I put that?” He pretended to pat the surface of his desk. Mariah noticed he didn’t even have a computer on his desk. “Ah, here it is.” He picked up an index-card box and delivered it to her like a present. “Our customers,” he said, grinning broadly. “And the plan?” He tapped his skull. “All up here.”
“Bernie’s an old-style marketer,” Nathan explained.
“Marketer, my ass. Pardon the language. I’m a salesman. I don’t need no phony-baloney title. I’m in sales. Life is sales. And sales is personality. And relationships. I’ve got good steady customers who know me and trust me. That’s how it works.”
“I see,” Mariah said. She flipped through the dog-eared cards and saw that in addition to order dates and amounts, the cards contained wives’ birthdays and reminders to ask about how kids’ weddings had gone. “Impressive,” she said, handing him back the box. “Have you had any luck with the new coffee-houses and gourmet grocery stores? Seems to me I’ve seen some obscure products there—Australian rock candy and Native-American flat breads. I bet our candies would fit right in.”
“Fads come and go,” he said. “We stick with the basics, and the basics stick with us. I’ve been here twenty-five years and I know what works.”
“I’m sure you do. I know my father counts on you.”
He looked pleased at the recognition, then smiled wistfully at her. “I remember when I used to steal your nose. You remember that?”
“Sure do.” She hated feeling twelve. “What ads do you run?”
“A couple in warehouse catalogues. A full-color ad in Candy International. Advertising isn’t the answer. Relationships are the answer. My customers know me and trust me.”
“I see what you mean,” she said. “You’re the expert.”
“If you want me to show you how it all works, just stop in. End of the month I make my calls.”
As soon as Nathan and she were outside his door, Nathan said, “See what I mean? Bernie’s locked in the eighties. That coffeehouse and gourmet store lead sounded good. Why don’t you make some contacts?”
“I was just talking.”
“I mean it. You can see we could use the help.” He paused. “You’re fresh and new and—” He ripped his gaze from her chest— “Anyway…” A crafty look came over his face. “On the other hand, why bother? You’d never be able to get around Bernie. He’s completely set in his ways.”
“All you have to do is draw him into the planning. Lean on his expertise. Made sure he knows he’s respected and valued.”
“Good point,” he said, and she could see he was fighting a grin. “But still. I think it would be virtually impossible.”
“I could talk to him,” she said. “Just to keep busy.”
“Of course. Might as well use your time well.” He couldn’t hold back his smile. Okay, he’d manipulated her. But if she helped boost business, that would boost Nathan’s enthusiasm.
She could always goof up later. Or in between times.
WHEN SHE GOT HOME that night, Mariah’s mother met her at the door. “Tada!” she said and waved her arm to indicate the sofa on which she’d laid out three business suits with matching handbags and shoes. “Look what I got for you!”
“Mom, you shouldn’t have.”
“Sure I should. You’re a businesswoman. A tiger has to change his spots.”
“Tigers have stripes, Mom, and they don’t change them. That’s the point of the saying.” She went to finger one of the suits—gray and tailored. It was something a funeral director might wear. “This isn’t me, Mom.”
Then she caught sight of her mother’s crestfallen face. She hated that look. She’d caused it so many times as a teen. Since she’d been here, there had already been difficult moments. Her mother had pointed out her bad posture, bad eating habits— “you’ll give yourself cancer”—her colorful language and how loud she played the stereo.
“All right. I’ll wear them.” Dressing like a flight attendant for the few weeks of her visit wouldn’t kill her. She’d spice up the suits somehow. She knew her mother meant well. Mariah was her only child, after all. Why not give her this small pleasure? Clothes weren’t permanent at least.
“Terrific. You can model them for the girls when they come for pinochle.”
Before she could object, the doorbell rang. Her mother bustled to the door. “Why, Sergei, what brings you here?” she said, faking surprise.
“A hair emergency, you told me it was,” he said, sounding gay, Russian and worried at the same time. He looked past her mother at Mariah. “And you were correct, I can see.”
Before Mariah knew it, Sergei had her by the hair, tsking and huffing. She relaxed and let herself be styled to her mother’s satisfaction. No matter what, though, she was not joining the church choir.
6
“TODAY, WE GET IN TOUCH with your inner child,” Mariah announced to Nathan after they’d finished the yoga session.
“My inner child? Shouldn’t we let sleeping kids lie?”
“That’s dogs, Nathan, not kids. And you need to remember the simple joys of childhood, so we can identify what might make you feel that way again.” She folded her legs under her on the loveseat and patted the couch for Nathan to sit. “Let’s talk.”
“I’m not doing anything goofy.” He eased onto the edge of the sofa, looking ready to bolt at the first hint of weirdness.
“Come on. You weren’t even goofy as a kid. Lean back on the couch and picture your childhood….”
Eventually, he opened up to her, sharing a touching story of a childhood spent in apartments all over the country as his mother moved from band to band, town to town, gig to gig. Nathan had had a lot of responsibility as a kid—shopping, laundry, errands—and hadn’t gotten too close to friends, since a move was always around the corner. But he had loved his mother’s music, and that was a perfect place to start.
Finally, she convinced him to bring out that poor abused saxophone and play it for her.
He started out with a few broad squawks, adjusted the reed so the squawks became squeaks, adjusted some more, played a halting scale, then took a few breaths before he launched into an absolutely wretched version of what she eventually recognized as “Satin Doll.” When he faltered to the end, he looked at her with a sheepish smile. “Migraine kick in yet?”
“There’s a learning curve. How long have you been playing?”
“Two months.”
“Two months? Oh. Well, maybe you’re just tense. Let’s pick an easier song.” She sat beside him on the sofa, and flipped through the pages of the music book he had—Jazz Greats Made Easy—looking for something simple. At the back of the book, she noticed a cardboard flap that held a CD. “What’s this?”
“A CD of the songs. So I can compare how awful I am with how it’s supposed to sound, I guess.”
“Maybe if you played along with the CD, your timing would be better.”
“Mariah…”
She rushed to his stereo, put the CD in place and pushed the number for “Satin Doll.” A simple orchestration filled the air. “That sounds easy enough.” She hit Stop. “Play along this time.” She started the song.
Nathan missed the first few notes the first three times, but she put the track on repeat play, and came to sit beside him as he kept trying. By the tenth time, he was getting it.
“That’s enough,” he said, clicking the CD remote so a new song played. “That did help,” she said. “Thank you.”
Terrific. This was working. A hobby was just what he needed to ease his loneliness. “You’re starting to sound good,” she said. “I bet if you get good, you could start performing—”
“Mariah, hold it. I’m better, not transformed.” He grinned and nodded, though, his eyes twinkling. As he looked at her, his expression took on the eager glow it used to have when he would come to pick her up—almost as though if he didn’t see her soon he’d just die.
The CD moved on to a sweet and tender torch song, and Nathan said, “I think my inner child remembers something else I used to like.” He took Mariah’s hand and pulled her to her feet and into his arms, leading her in a slow dance with assurance and grace.
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