Her Husband-To-Be
Leigh Michaels
The husband inheritanceDeke Oliver was definitely not Danielle's idea of husband material. So it was infuriating that he believed she was trying to manipulate him into marriage. It wasn't her fault their joint inheritance forced them to live under the same roof!And it was Deke who refused to keep it strictly business–suggesting that since they had to share a home, why not a bed? Danielle simply ignored this outrageous proposal–until she began to feel tempted by the intimacy of living together, and Deke began to look very much like the perfect husband-to-be….
“You’ve made it quite plain that you aren’t trying to marry me.” (#ua1902f60-3793-5a14-8ce3-278379dced5d)About the Author (#ub70ff5c5-4e93-5265-8677-822975e47af2)Title Page (#uda9a6715-ea1f-5fd3-9240-7da3af4c48be)CHAPTER ONE (#u1a1bfb35-dc64-5ff4-8e95-aeb8e95c3c5c)CHAPTER TWO (#u8e66bef4-5e25-5886-86b6-be534afc6c96)CHAPTER THREE (#u956445c0-3079-5075-b517-a4bbe608c53c)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You’ve made it quite plain that you aren’t trying to marry me.”
Danielle saw red. “And I never was, no matter what you thought. It wasn’t my idea that inheriting a house together would propel us toward matrimony.”
“So why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves?” Deke asked. “We’re a great combination—now that you understand there’s nothing permanent about it.”
“I not only understand that, Deke, I’m glad of it.”
“Then what’s the big deal? We had fun together, and we could again.” He reached for her hand....
Leigh Michaels has always loved happy endings. Even when she was a child, if a book’s conclusion didn’t please her, she’d make up her own And though she always wanted to write fiction, she very sensibly planned to earn her living as a newspaper reporter. That career didn’t work out, however, and she found herself writing for Harlequin instead—in the kind of happy ending only a romance novelist could dream up!
Leigh loves to hear from readers, you can write to her at PO Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa, 52501-0935 U.S A
Her Husband-To-Be
Leigh Michaels
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
HE DIDN’T often come to the Willows anymore, so Danielle was startled when she looked up from the maître d’s stand, flashing the smile with which she greeted every customer, and saw him just inside the door. Her heart jolted as if she’d had a close encounter with a defibrillator.
With surprise, she thought Definitely not with pleasure.
She had to admit, though, that Deke Oliver was as easy on the eyes as he’d ever been. Tall and straight and lean, his almost black hair as perfectly cut as his herringbone jacket, his face as perfectly chiseled as a Roman statue...
It was just too bad the man inside didn’t match up with the glorious exterior. If he had—well, then Deke Oliver would really have been something.
“Hello, Danielle,” he said. “A table for two, please.”
His voice was like hot fudge sauce sliding over vanilla ice cream, slow and rich and sensual. Once, Danielle had thought it was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. Now she knew it was just part of the man’s stock-in-trade. In Deke’s profession, a voice that invited women to swoon over him must come in handy.
With just a hint of amusement, he added, “At least I presume the restaurant’s accepting business, since you’re standing here?”
Danielle wondered what he’d do if she shook her head sadly and announced that since he hadn’t made a reservation she really couldn’t find him a table.
He’d probably barge past me into the dining room, she reflected, and take his choice.
“Of course we’re open.” Danielle smiled sweetly up at him and admitted, “I wasn’t ignoring you, Deke. It’s just that I was racking my brain trying to recall which is your favorite table. You’ll have to forgive me for letting it slip my mind.”
The woman at Deke’s side giggled a little. “Surely it hasn’t been that long since you’ve been out for lunch, Deke.”
For the first time since they’d come in, Danielle looked directly at the woman. She’d never seen so much bleached-blond hair outside of a shampoo commercial. “Hello, Norah. I’d heard you were home.” Waiting out a divorce, the gossips said—but it would hardly be tactful to mention that. Danielle reached for a pair of menus and led the way into the main dining room.
The lunch rush was just getting under way, and since the restaurant wasn’t yet busy, several good tables stood vacant. She hesitated for no more than a second before turning toward a secluded corner.
The table we used to share, Danielle thought. But it was also the best one available at the moment, a fact that had far more impact on her decision than unpleasant history did.
“I see it hasn’t slipped far from your mind after all,” Deke said gently as he held his guest’s chair.
And if I’d taken him to another table, Danielle thought irritably, he’d have no doubt said something about my wanting to protect my memories! She didn’t bother to answer, just handed each of them a menu.
Norah didn’t even glance at hers, but laid it aside and leaned toward Deke. Her voice was low and throaty. “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you order for yourself.”
Danielle signaled a waitress and went back to the foyer. With any luck I can stay out of hearing range, she told herself. Which was more than she could say about Norah’s perfume; there was no avoiding the scented trail she’d left.
At the register, a small redhead was counting the contents of the cash drawer. She looked up from the stack of bills she was thumbing through and raised an eyebrow. “What are you growling about, Danny?”
“The weather.”
Pam Lanning stuffed the bundle of bills into a bank bag “But it’s beautiful. The sun’s shining, the breeze is warm, and if we didn’t both have to work...” Her voice softened. “It’s Deke Oliver again, isn’t it? The office door was half-closed, but I thought I heard his voice out here ”
“If I was in a bad mood—and please notice that I’m not admitting I am—it would take more than Deke Oliver to put me there. He’s ancient history, Pam. It’s been—what, a year now?”
“Not quite, and I’d bet that you could tell me almost to the hour if you wanted to. Besides, the reason I think he’s still important to you is that there’s been nobody else since.”
“Of course there has. I’ve dated—”
“Once in a while, and no more than a couple of times each.”
“Well, you have to admit the choice around Elmwood has gotten a little thin.”
“Of course I admit it Why do you think I imported Greg? Nobody’s saying you should get married, Danielle.”
“On the contrary. Everyone’s saying it. You know what the gossips are like in this town.” Danielle’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Another year and they’ll start whispering about what’s wrong with me.”
Pam went straight on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “But you don’t even have a social life.”
“Of course I do. I’m coming to your party this weekend.”
“You’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you weren’t coming alone.”
“It’s going to be such a boring party I’ll need extra entertainment? Now you tell me.”
“Stop changing the subject, Danny. Where’s the harm in going out with someone for a movie now and then?”
“The harm comes when they don’t want to keep it casual and you do—and you keep running into them over lunch.” Danielle picked up a stack of menus and tapped them against the counter till the pile was straight and square.
“Like Deke Oliver.”
“Are you back to him again? As a matter of fact, that wasn’t who I meant”
“Then who? You mean Kevin hasn’t given up yet?”
“Almost, I think.” The front door opened, and in relief Danielle turned to greet the newcomers.
“Well, it’s about time,” Pam mused. “Of course, showing guys the door is getting to be a habit, Danny. You never have told me exactly why you broke up with Deke.”
And I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that, Danielle thought. She smiled at the Goodwins, who were among her favorite customers, and led them toward their usual table in the solarium. Half of her felt guilty for simply walking off instead of answering Pam, even though it was her job and not rudeness that took her away. The other half, Danielle admitted, felt guilty for not telling the truth about Deke. Yes, she’d been the one who’d officially called a halt to what most of Elmwood had expected would soon be an engagement, followed closely by a wedding. But in fact—
“I was really surprised to see it,” Mrs. Goodwin was saying as Danielle handed her a menu. “I thought they were doing very well.” She shook out her napkin and looked up expectantly at Danielle. “And with the strawberry festival coming up and everything...”
Danielle was startled. You ought to know better than to let your mind wander, she scolded herself. What on earth was the woman talking about?
Mr. Goodwin said gruffly, “Always did think it was a silly idea Begging your pardon, of course, Danielle—but Elmwood’s not big enough to support a fancy hotel. The new motels are one thing, but this—”
“It’s not a hotel, George. It’s a bed-and-breakfast.” Mrs. Goodwin tipped her head to one side like an inquisitive robin and peered up at Danielle. “You didn’t know, then, that there’s a Closed sign in front of the Merry Widow?”
Apprehension tingled through Danielle’s veins. That was silly, she told herself. The Merry Widow wasn’t her concern anymore. “Perhaps the Jablonskis are taking a little vacation.”
“Right before a holiday weekend?” Mrs. Goodwin scoffed. “And leaving a sign out front telling everyone they’re gone? Elmwood may be an old-fashioned town, but most folks are smart enough not to hang out an invitation to thieves nevertheless ”
Danielle couldn’t argue with that. “Are you certain they’re gone? Maybe they just needed a couple of days’ break, so they pulled the shades and took the telephone off the hook.”
Mrs. Goodwin shook her head. “Didn’t look that way to me. All those silly figurines she kept on the front porch are gone.”
Danielle frowned. It didn’t seem likely that Kate Jablonski would have moved all her ceramics if she was only going away for a few days. But it was even less likely that the Merry Widow would have closed with no notice, no rumors... Not in Elmwood, she reflected, where nothing is too minor for gossip!
Pam was zipping the bank bag when Danielle returned to the maître d’s stand. “Anything you need from the bank?” she asked. “I noticed the register’s low on ones and fives, so I’ll drop those off before the dinner rush.”
Danielle shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else. Pam, would you drive past the Merry Widow on your way to the bank?”
“Sure. It’s the most direct route anyway. Why?”
“Because I want to know what the new sign out front says.”
Pam looked thoughtful. “You still aren’t over your infatuation with that house, are you?”
“Of course I am. It’s big and drafty and expensive and impossible—”
“And very, very romantic. If you’re not still in love with it, why should you care what kind of sign the Jablonskis put up? You don’t own it anymore.”
Technically, Pam was right. Danielle didn’t own it any more—not even the half that had once, very briefly, been hers. On the other hand... “Call it curiosity, all right? I just want to know.”
Pam dropped the bank bag and put both hands to her throat in mock horror. “Danny, please tell me you’re not turning into one of Elmwood’s old gossips!”
“Of course I am. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em, my mother always said. Now that I’m past twenty-five and there’s not a man in sight, what choice do I have but to start minding other people’s business?” Danielle burst into laughter. “Pam, if you could see your face—”
“It was your tone of voice that did it. You sounded every bit as self-righteous as Mrs. Hansen when she’s on a roll.” Pam grinned. “All right I started it, so I’ve got no one to blame but myself. You can knock it off now—I’ve got the message that I shouldn’t keep asking why you’re interested in the Merry Widow.”
“Then at least we’ve accomplished something,” Danielle murmured. She looked over her shoulder into the dining room to check that the large table in the center was ready, then went to greet the first of a group of businessmen coming in for their regular Thursday luncheon.
The busboy was just setting the last water glass into place as she showed the men to the table. Danielle ran an eye over the settings and gave the busboy an approving nod.
A high, tinkling laugh rang out from the corner table, and despite herself, Danielle turned to look. Norah had placed a hand on Deke’s sleeve and was leaning toward him with an expression of calculated worship. Danielle wondered if the woman really thought Deke Oliver was such an inexperienced fish that he’d succumb to that lure.
And she wondered if Deke knew about the Merry Widow. He had every bit as much reason to be interested as she did. After all, he had—once upon a time—owned half of it, too.
Not that she was going to stroll over and ask, of course, or share the bit of information she had. Long training had taught her never to interrupt a customer, and in this case she’d look as if she was trying to sidetrack Deke’s conference—or whatever it was—with Norah and focus his attention on herself It was hardly the impression she wanted to make.
Besides, Danielle had far more important things to do. The lunch rush had taken hold with a vengeance; three parties were waiting when she got back to the entrance, and from then on there wasn’t a chance to draw a long breath, much less think up explanations for the Jablonskis’ sign.
But the question nagged at the back of her mind nonetheless. The Merry Widow had opened as a bed-and-breakfast just eight months ago, and this should be the start of the busiest season. The Memorial Day holiday that marked the traditional opening of summer was this weekend, and it would be closely followed by the end of the school year, freeing families to travel. Elmwood’s strawberry festival, the most important civic event of the year, was next week.
The last time Kate Jablonski had been in the Willows she’d told Danielle that the Merry Widow’s reservation book was already full for festival time. Which indicated that wherever the Jablonskis had gone, they fully intended to be back in plenty of time to cash in on those reservations.
Didn’t it?
The rush ended as abruptly as it had begun. Danielle made change and small talk for a few of the businessmen who’d lingered over their coffee, waved goodbye to the busboy as he clocked out for the day, and took a couple of phoned reservations for the evening hours. Only a few scattered tables were still occupied; one of them was the corner where Deke and Norah sat.
Their waitress was frantic. “I took the check to the table twenty minutes ago, but they’re still just sitting there,” she told Danielle. “And I can’t wait any longer because I’ve got an appointment with my doctor. You know how hard it is—”
“To plan anything in this business. I know. Go on, Sally I’ll be here anyway.”
One by one the scattered tables emptied, and eventually Deke and Norah emerged from the dining room. “I had no idea of the time,” Norah was saying. She smiled up at Deke and patted his tie. “You just made me forget everything else, you charming man.”
Only the self-discipline born of her years of dealing with customers kept Danielle from rolling her eyes heavenward. She focused on Deke’s credit card instead, punching in the numbers and codes, wishing that he’d paid cash. Then she wouldn’t have to wait even thirty seconds for the computer to issue the necessary authorization; she could just give him his change and he’d be gone.
He leaned on the counter, eyeing the book she’d pushed aside. Danielle told herself it was silly to be sensitive about her choice of reading matter; if she wanted to read applied statistical methodology in her spare time, it was no one’s business but her own. A correspondence course wasn’t her first choice, but it was better than making no progress toward her degree. And someday, when her father’s health was enough better that she could go back to school, she’d be happy to have statistics out of the way.
Norah peered over the cash register at the book and shuddered. “Danielle here was always the brainy one. I never could understand things like that.” She slid her hand through the crook of Deke’s elbow. “I’m so lucky to have found you to help me with my investments.”
He signed the credit slip and pushed it back across the counter to Danielle. “I’ll certainly do my best to take good care of your money, Norah.”
Danielle wanted to laugh at the expression of blank surprise that flitted across Norah’s face. But a split second later, the blonde had recovered and looked as if she’d never been startled in her life.
They were the last customers to leave. Danielle tucked Sally’s tip into an envelope and wrote her name on it, then made a quick inspection of the dining rooms, almost entirely ready for the evening trade. She paused in the kitchen, where the cooks were already starting preparations for the dinner hour, to snatch a hard roll and a chunk of cheese, then locked the main door with a sigh of relief. In a little more than two hours, she’d have to be back, ready to take on the dinner crowd. But at least the next two hours were hers.
And there was no doubt about the first thing she wanted to do. The fact that Pam hadn’t called back to the Willows to report on the Merry Widow’s new sign had only increased Danielle’s curiosity.
The Willows lay on the outskirts of Elmwood, in the newer section, while the Merry Widow was only a stroll away from the restored Victorian square that had once been the main business district at the center of town. Now the square featured specialty shops and antique stores, popular draws with the sort of customer who liked staying in an elegant old Queen Anne bed-and-breakfast. The square and the house complemented each other like bagels and cream cheese; Danielle had thought so ever since the Jablonskis had first proposed the idea of a bed-and-breakfast.
Her little red car climbed an easy grade on which the Merry Widow sat as if holding her skirts up to keep from being contaminated by the surrounding commercial district. From the street, Danielle couldn’t see any new signs, just the one the Jablonskis had hung from the front porch when they opened for business.
But she could also see no life around the place. No Joe Jablonski puttering around the grounds doing maintenance chores. No guests, though the usual check-in time was approaching. Of course, it was the slowest part of the week. The weekend travelers wouldn’t start appearing till tomorrow, and most of the businessmen were already heading home for the holiday.
Danielle parked her car on the street and climbed the slope toward the front steps, pausing on the lawn to look up at the house towering above her. A classic Queen Anne, it displayed all the riotous imagination and Victorian excess of its kind—the architect hadn’t missed a trick. There were pillared porches on three sides and balconies in the most unexpected places. Arches and finials and curlicues had been splashed across the walls with a lavish hand. Even the chimneys were fantastic; each showed off a different, intricate brick pattern. The house had not only a round shingled tower but for good measure a shorter square one with a pointed roof, topped with a weather vane in the shape of a bell-skirted lady.
That, Danielle had once been told, was the tower that had given the house its name, when the first owner had tumbled off a ladder while inspecting the unfinished work and left his wife—so the story went—not only financially secure but much happier without him. There was even a variation of the tale that said the abused wife had given the ladder a push so she could marry her lover, and that the doomed home owner had flung curses as he fell, swearing that his house would never shelter a happy marriage.
Danielle had always dismissed the whole story as a romantic froth, one of those too-clever-to-be-believed urban legends. But it was certainly true that the Merry Widow had seen its share of marital discord, broken hearts, failed engagements and early deaths...
As if any hundred-year-old house hadn’t, Danielle reminded herself. This was no time to start feeling superstitious. And in any event, if the supposed curse on the Merry Widow had been what broke up her relationship with Deke, then the long-dead home owner had done her a major favor.
Not until she was actually on the porch did Danielle see the sign, and she wasted an instant wondering how on earth Mrs. Goodwin had spotted it. With binoculars, perhaps?
She forced herself to concentrate on the sign, a single sheet of paper taped to the frosted-glass panel in the front door. Compared to the neatly lettered announcement of check-in times that was posted just next to it, the sign looked crude. Each letter wavered, and the line of words had a decided downward slant.
Closed Till Further Notice
That was no help at all, Danielle thought. Nothing about where to reach the owners in case of emergency, nothing about why they’d gone. And there was something about the slapdash presentation of the sign that worried her. They’d obviously left in a hurry. And yet...
Mrs. Goodwin had been right—Kate’s ceramic figurines were gone from the wide, gingerbread-trimmed porch that extended across the whole front of the house, around the corners and well back on the sides. All around Danielle were faint reminders of the statues that had stood there, rings against the soft gray paint where dust had collected under their edges. There must have been twenty of them—and that many figurines would not have been quickly or easily moved.
So if the Jablonskis hadn’t left in a hurry, why hadn’t they made arrangements for someone to look after the bed-and-breakfast? Danielle didn’t think they had any family close by, but surely they had a friend who could step in for a few days....
“Not that it’s any of my affair,” she reminded herself. The Merry Widow is not my problem. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she should chart that sentence out on needlepoint canvas and turn it into a pillow, just as a reminder.
So why, since the house was not her concern, was she feeling the tingle of discomfort?
Slowly, she walked around the perimeter of the house, moving from porch to sidewalk and then to the porte cochere where she had always parked her car when she’d come to visit Miss Fischer. This was the door she’d always used, leading into the side hall of the house rather than the grand foyer....
A confusing mixture of emotions clutched at her heart. There was grief, of course; though it had been a year since Miss Fischer had died, Danielle still missed her fiercely. And sadness for the proud old woman who had been the last representative of one of Elmwood’s founding families. A touch of guilt that Miss Fischer’s well-meaning plans for the house she had so loved had come to nothing. A lingering trace of resentment that the woman had dumped such a burden on Danielle without even warning her of what was coming.
But incongruous as it seemed, there was a spark of gladness, too. If it hadn’t been for Miss Fischer and the Merry Widow, Danielle might not have realized in time what Deke Oliver really was. She might have gone straight ahead and fallen in love with the man she’d thought him—and in the long run, that would have hurt even worse.
Yes, she was lucky that things had turned out as they had. Pam seemed to think Deke haunted Danielle’s every waking moment—and in a sense she was right. He was always there, in the back corner of her mind, lurking. But not because she missed him. Not because she mourned for him. Not because she regretted their breakup.
It was because her judgment had been so badly off target. She’d been in real danger of tumbling headlong for Deke Oliver when Miss Fischer’s quirky legacy had brought the real man to the surface, and the shock had battered her even more than the loss of her friend.
Now she was afraid that it might happen again. If she’d been so wrong about one man, what was to keep her from misjudging another?
She didn’t hear the car in the driveway till it was almost under the porte cochere. The Jablonskis, back from whatever errand had taken them away? An unsuspecting guest, arriving on schedule? Since she didn’t relish getting involved in either scenario, Danielle stepped quickly around the corner of the house rather than be caught standing in the driveway. She caught just a flash of a dark green car as she made her escape; the driver might have had an equally brief glimpse of her but only if he or she was looking in precisely the right place.
Her hands in her pockets, Danielle continued her circuit of the house. She was halfway around now anyway, so she might as well check the other side on her way back to her car.
She strolled around the back porch, the most utilitarian feature of the house’s exterior, and started up the side, where French doors in the dining room looked out over a slate-paved patio where Miss Fischer had served mint tea on warm summer afternoons. But when she saw the patio, tucked into a sort of nook between the dining-room wall and the end of the front porch, Danielle stopped dead in her tracks.
Scattered over the dark gray paving stones were bits of broken plaster. Kate’s figurines, she thought as she stooped to pick up a fragment. It was the face of a shepherdess; Danielle remembered noticing that particular statue on one of the few visits she’d made to the Merry Widow after the Jablonskis had moved in.
She scuffed at the pieces with the toe of her shoe At first she’d thought the figurines had simply been heaved from the end of the porch onto the slate below, but none of the bits was larger than her hand and most had been reduced to little more than white dust—as if they’d been pounded to pieces by a hammer. And the moss that had lain undisturbed between the stones for decades was gouged in places as if the weapon that had shattered the figurines had slipped now and then. As if it had been wielded in fury and none too carefully.
And if Kate’s figurines had been smashed by a furious hand, Danielle thought numbly, what of Kate herself?
The sign on the front door had taken on a more sinister tone. “I don’t like the looks of this at all,” she muttered.
A deep, slow voice said from behind her, “It is rather a mess, isn’t it?”
Danielle jumped and spun around to face Deke, standing on the grass at the very edge of the patio. “What are you doing here?” she gasped. That was stupid, she told herself. Like you’ve got a right, and he doesn’t!
“Probably the same thing you are,” Deke said mildly. “Joe came by my apartment this morning to drop off a key, and—”
“Oh, it was nice of you to warn me before the gossips decided that Kate and Joe just walked out. If I’d known you were taking care of the place...” She paused. “Come to think of it, why are you taking care of the place? I didn’t realize you and the Jablonskis were pals.”
“We’re not. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know it myself till half an hour ago. I was out with a client when Joe came by.”
“Of course,” Danielle said sweetly. “Dear Norah.”
“So he left the key with the shopkeeper downstairs, and I didn’t get the message till I came back after lunch. Joe said something about their marriage hitting the wall.”
“That explains it,” Danielle murmured. She bent and placed the shepherdess’s face gently on the slate.
“The Merry Widow claims another set of victims? I thought you didn’t believe in that nonsense.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As a matter of fact, the gossips have it just about right. With a divorce pending, neither Joe nor Kate has any interest in the business. So they’re simply walking away from it.”
“Giving up?” Danielle was startled. “They’re sacrificing the work and the money they’ve put into it?”
Deke nodded. “And washing their hands of the whole deal.”
Danielle sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“Oh, really? Then you can deal with the whole mess, since you’re so pleased.”
“I didn’t mean... I was only saying it’s a relief to know that I’m not going to find Kate in the basement with her head bludgeoned in. If he could do this to her figurines—”
“Who said he did?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Of course it’s not. It’s quite possible she did it herself. At least Joe had enough sense and self-control to let somebody know what was going on. Kate seems to have just vanished into the sunset. But why are we fussing over figurines when we have plenty of important things to argue about?”
“Like what? It’s not our prob...” She paused. “Oh.”
Deke nodded. “I see you haven’t quite forgotten the terms of the sale after all. Since we sold the Merry Widow to the Jablonskis with a private arrangement and financed it ourselves instead of making them get a mortgage from a bank—”
“You don’t need to rub it in. I remember perfectly well that the contract sale was my idea.”
Deke hesitated for a second as if he’d like to agree. Instead, he said coolly, “I wasn’t placing blame, only stating the facts.”
And my prissy Aunt Edna wears army boots, Danielle thought.
“It’s beside the point that if we had insisted on a mortgage instead of agreeing to the contract, we’d be free and clear right now and the bank would be deciding what to do with the Merry Widow. We didn’t, so here we are—stuck once more with the biggest white elephant in Elmwood.”
“It’s not a white elephant,” Danielle said automatically. “Just because it’s big and awkward and impractical and not in the best part of town these days doesn’t mean—”
“How else would you define ‘white elephant’, Danielle? But since you’re convinced of its value, I’ll tell you what—my share’s for sale, and I’ll give you a great price. But no more contract arrangements. It’s cash on the barrelhead this time.”
“You expect me to buy you out? Not likely. I don’t want this place any more than you do—and we all know what the probability is of you settling down and wanting a house near a school with room for a dozen kids.”
“I’m glad we’ve at least got that much straight this time around.”
Danielle gritted her teeth. She’d already said far too much. And slugging him wouldn’t do any good; she’d probably break her hand against that granite jaw.
Dammit, Miss Fischer, she thought, why did you have to go and create this mess? Why didn’t you take the easy way and just leave the place to the historical society?
She didn’t realize she’d actually spoken the thought until Deke answered. “Because they didn’t want it. Remember? We tried that route already.”
Danielle tried to will away the evidence of her embarrassment, but her cheeks stayed hot and her tongue felt fat and useless.
Deke tipped his head back and stared up at the peak of the tower, silhouetted against the brilliant afternoon sky. “This house is like a counterfeit bill, you know. Once in your possession, it’s tremendously hard to pass it on to someone else.”
Danielle bridled. “Fake twenties can be shredded and thrown away. Houses can’t.”
Deke looked as if he’d like to argue the matter. Danielle could almost see in his mind the image of bulldozers and wrecking cranes. Then he seemed to think better of it and said levelly, “The point is that once again, we own a house. You don’t want it, I don’t want it—as far as I can tell, nobody wants it. So what in the hell do we do with it now?”
CHAPTER TWO
DANIELLE didn’t know if it was the tone of Deke’s voice that made her shiver or the sudden chill in the air as the spring breeze freshened. She looked up at him—at the strong line of his throat under the unbuttoned collar of his pin-striped shirt, the square-set jaw, the uncompromising mouth—then let her gaze follow his to the house.
From this angle, the Merry Widow loomed over them, looking even taller than its actual three full stories. She could almost hear the house issuing a challenge. What are you going to do about me this time? it seemed to be saying.
Danielle couldn’t help thinking of a nightmare she’d occasionally had as a child, one that had played out the same way from start to finish each time she’d experienced it. No matter how hard she’d struggled to change the outcome, she’d been stuck; the same scary sequence of events had marched inexorably forward to the same scary conclusion.
It looked as if the Merry Widow was going to turn into precisely that kind of bad dream. Not only did they have the whole process to go through again, just as they had ten months ago, but they were just as unprepared. They hadn’t anticipated the Jablonskis’ defection any more than they’d foreseen the announcement that Miss Fischer’s will had left her beloved house in equal shares to her young friend, Danielle Evans, and to her friend, Deke Oliver....
But Deke was right about one thing, Danielle reflected. He’d effortlessly put his finger on the main factor that would keep the scenario from playing out identically. This time, they knew exactly what a tough sell the house would be. Ten months ago, when they’d still been stunned by the bequest, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that no one would want the Merry Widow.
It even seemed, for a while back then, that we might want it....
Knock it off, Danielle told herself. There had never been a “we”. There never could have been—and though Deke’s cold, blunt announcement of the fact had rasped her pride like a carpenter’s file on balsa wood, at least it hadn’t broken her heart. Danielle thanked heaven for being spared that particular pain.
She forced her mind back to the important question, the one she didn’t want to face because it seemed unlikely the answers would come any more easily this tune than they had ten months ago. What were they going to do about the house?
“Did the Jablonskis leave the furniture?” she asked abruptly.
“How should I know? And why should they?”
“Because it was part of the deal we made with them that the furnishings stayed with the house.”
“Agreements don’t always mean a lot when the pressure’s on.”
“You should know,” Danielle said sweetly. “I don’t think they could have taken out much without Elmwood noticing, though, and I haven’t heard so much as a whisper. Did you say you have a key? Maybe we’d better see what we’re actually dealing with.”
Deke dug into his trouser pocket for a brass key. Unmarked and without even a cheerful key ring to keep it company, it looked small and lonely as it lay in his palm.
The back door swung open with a creak. “Too bad it’s the wrong season for a haunted house,” Deke muttered as he pushed the door wide and dropped the key back into his pocket “This place is a natural.”
Danielle ignored him and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen. She was surprised to find that it looked almost the same as in Miss Fischer’s day. Except, of course, that Miss Fischer would never have condoned the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. “I thought they were going to remodel the kitchen.”
“There was a lot of talk about it,” Deke mused. “But then, they seemed to have all sorts of grandiose plans—at least while they were negotiating to buy the place. It’ll be interesting to see if any of them got done or if they were just talking a good game till they got possession.”
“If you’re implying that I was gullible in wanting them to have a chance...”
Deke’s eyes narrowed. “Feeling a little sensitive, are we?”
Danielle swallowed hard.
“Anyway,” Deke went on, “as far as the kitchen goes, they’d have had to install a new one before they could open a regular restaurant, as Joe said he wanted to do. But there’s an exception in the law for bed-and-breakfast places—they don’t have to have commercial kitchen facilities.”
Danielle pushed open the swinging door into the butler’s pantry and walked through to the dining room. The shades were drawn on most of the windows, and in the dim light the rooms seemed almost timeless.
The furniture had been rearranged since Miss Fischer’s day; if it hadn’t been for that, Danielle might almost have expected her friend to look up with a smile from the velvet slipper chair in the front parlor and lay her needlepoint aside.
But so far as Danielle could tell, nothing was missing from the public rooms. The knot in her stomach relaxed a little.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Deke said. “Though, on the other hand, if they’d stripped the place we’d have had a lot less to deal with.” He stared at the crystal chandelier that hung at his eye level above the huge oval dining table. “You know, if we just called in an auction house—”.
“Miss Fischer specified that the house and furnishings should stay together.” Danielle walked on into the front foyer and stooped to pick up the envelopes scattered beneath the mail slot in the door.
“And what’s she going to do about it if we don’t stick to the rules? Follow us around rattling chains and shrieking down chimneys?”
“Probably only you,” Danielle murmured, “since it’s clearly not my idea to sell all her treasures to the highest bidder” She flipped absently through the mail, then laid it in a neat pile on the carved sideboard that served as a hall table.
“Well, I don’t believe in ghosts. It’s all very well to carry out the wishes of the dear departed, but sometimes what people want isn’t very practical in the real world, and the ones who are left with the mess just have to do the best they can. Since we’ve already been down the road of selling the place as a package, with somewhat mixed results, I’m only suggesting that—”
“You know, there’s a problem here.” Danielle was hardly listening to him.
“Only one?” Deke leaned against the sideboard and folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve singled out for special attention.”
“We can’t just walk in and put up a for-sale sign.”
“Why on earth not? The property has reverted to us. Just as a bank can foreclose on a mortgage holder who doesn’t make the payments—”
“But that’s just it. The Jablonskis haven’t even missed a payment yet In fact, the next one isn’t even due till...” She calculated “Till Tuesday.”
“Joe said they’re walking out—leaving it all behind. A voluntary abandonment means that we have all rights back immediately.”
“I don’t doubt that you’re correct about the legalities—if Joe really meant everything he said. But what about Kate? She’s got just as many rights as Joe has, and I don’t think it’s terribly safe to take his word for what she thinks right now.”
Deke frowned.
“And what if they change their minds and come back?” Danielle went on. “If they were really giving up the last hope, wouldn’t they have salvaged everything they could—agreement or not? Not the furniture, maybe, that would require a moving van. But it didn’t take you any time at all to spot that chandelier and know it’s got some value. And it would fit in the back seat of my car, never mind the Jablonskis’ van.”
Deke was shaking his head. “If you’re disillusioned and sick of trying and you just want out in a hurry, you don’t hang around to disassemble crystal chandeliers, no matter what they’re worth. You didn’t hear Joe’s message.”
“But that’s just it, Deke. You didn’t hear it, either. I mean, you didn’t talk to him yourself, so can you really judge his state of mind any better than I can?”
“Believe me—”
“What if they decide to get back together just as abruptly as they seem to have decided to split? We don’t have any idea what their fight was about or how serious it really was.” She glanced into the music room, tucked under the stairs, that the Jablonskis had turned into an office.
“Those smashed-up statues out on the patio looked pretty serious to me.”
“Oh, really? A little while ago, you seemed to think all that damage was just Kate having a temper tantrum. Which is my whole point, really. What if it was just a silly quarrel and they do work it out? If they come back in time to make the next regular payment and find that in the meantime we’ve sold the property—”
“Before Tuesday? We should be so lucky.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. We’d get hit with lawsuits from about a dozen different directions.”
Deke didn’t answer, but in his silence Danielle could hear reluctant agreement. Finally, he said, “A formal eviction could take months. So what do you suggest we do, Ms. Layman Lawyer? Just stand around and twiddle our thumbs while the place runs down?”
“I don’t know,” Danielle admitted. She reached for a leather-bound calendar that lay open on the desk and flipped the pages. Not every square was filled, but a respectable number were. And Kate hadn’t been exaggerating about the list of guests already booked for the strawberry festival, little more than a week away. “It’ll take days just to cancel the reservations,” she muttered.
Why cancel them? asked a little voice in the back of her brain.
Danielle frowned. What kind of stupid suggestion was that? Of course they’d have to be canceled. Guests would have to be notified or they’d show up on the doorstep and be fighting mad when they found a Closed sign. And she knew better than to assume the Jablonskis had taken care of that little detail.
“I guess the trouble is,” she said slowly, “that I just can’t believe Kate and Joe are simply walking away from this.”
“All this,” Deke drawled. “Yes, how anyone could walk away from this treasure is certainly beyond—”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic. They have a lot invested here.”
“Are you certain of that? I suspect they aren’t leaving behind as much as you think.” Deke sat down on the corner of the desk. “The work that’s been done—and there hasn’t been all that much of it—Joe did himself. The grand plans to remodel the kitchen obviously came to nothing. There’s a little new wallpaper and paint, but not more than a few hundred dollars’ worth.”
“It’s apparent,” Danielle said dryly, “that you haven’t priced wallpaper recently. But go on.”
“And though they were never late with a payment on the contract, they’d have been paying just about as much in rent if they lived somewhere else. And I have a nasty suspicion any cash that was left over didn’t go back into the business.”
“Well, they had to eat.”
“Just brace yourself in case they didn’t bother to pay the property taxes—because I’ll make sure you get your half of the bill.”
“And what am I supposed to use to pay if?”
“How about your half of the payments the Jablonskis have been making every month?”
Danielle bit her tongue.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been spending every cent on ...” Deke paused. “Now what could you have spent it all on? Not eating out, that’s for sure. You must have nearly every meal at work. Or rent—you are still living with your dad, aren’t you? Or travel. I doubt you’ve been out of town in the past three months. Clothes, perhaps?”
Danielle tapped her toe on the faded Oriental rug. If he dared take it upon himself to criticize her clothes, she thought grimly, she’d mop the floor with that elegant herringbone jacket of his.
Deke looked almost sad. “You really should have listened to me, Danielle, about the power of investments and compound interest. If you had, you could have been on the way to financial independence.”
“Not on half of the payment the Jablonskis were making. And what I spend my money on is none of your business.”
“Right—as long as you have enough to meet your share of the expenses. Even if we walk out right now and lock the door, there are going to be some bills along the way. We can’t simply turn off the utilities, you know. And if you insist that we just let the Merry Widow sit here and gather dust till we’re absolutely sure the Jablonskis aren’t going to reappear...” Deke pushed his jacket back and put both hands on his hips. “How long do you think that’ll be anyway? A month? Six months? Seven years, till they can be declared legally dead?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not suggesting we just let it sit here.”
“Then what are you suggesting we do, Danielle?”
She looked down at the reservations calendar, still open to the pages set aside for the week of the strawberry festival. Then she squared her shoulders and said, “Run it.”
Deke stood absolutely still, while time and Danielle’s nerves stretched longer and longer. Then he threw back his head and started to laugh.
She folded her arms across her chest and waited, but her patience ran out before his hilarity diminished. “I’d love to stick around a while longer and be jeered at, but I really have things to do,” she said coolly.
Deke held up a hand. “No, wait. Just give me a minute to recover. The place is already a failure, so you want to run it? And do what? Make the hemorrhage of cash even worse?”
“The Jablonskis’ marriage is on the rocks,” Danielle pointed out stubbornly. “That doesn’t mean the Merry Widow is a failure.”
“I thought you said a minute ago that they probably just had a lovers’ spat.”
“I said... Never mind. Whatever their problem turns out to be, it has nothing to do with the Merry Widow.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” Deke sighed. “And you’re splitting hairs, you know. This is not exactly a record-breaking concern. If Kate and Joe couldn’t make it successful, how do you expect to?”
“They had to make payments for the house.”
Deke shook his head. “Oh, no. You can’t disregard the value of a capital asset just because you happen not to owe a debt on it. That still has to be figured into—”
“Will you stop being a financial analyst for half a minute and just listen?”
“All right. I’m listening. What is there to gain from keeping the Merry Widow open?”
“I’d never have expected to have to explain it to you, oh great fiscal wizard,” Danielle said crisply. “But then, most of your business experience is in the abstract, isn’t it? Stocks and bonds and mutual funds and things like that?”
“And since you grew up in the restaurant trade, you know everything about running a business?”
Danielle refused to react to the irony in his voice. “Being actively involved in a retail trade is a much more practical education than an M.B.A. We’ve already learned that there isn’t much of a market for this house—”
“This is news?”
Danielle ignored him. “As a house. But it’s not just a house now, it’s a business.”
“I don’t anticipate that fact creating a great deal more interest. Who’d want to buy it as it stands?”
“Nobody, if it isn’t running. That’s the whole point.”
After a long pause, Deke nodded. “You’re right.”
Danielle was annoyed. He didn’t have to sound so amazed about it or act as if the admission had been forced from him. “If our best chance of selling the Merry Widow is as a bed-and-breakfast, then it has to be up and operating.”
Deke shrugged. “All right. It’s true that a great deal of the value of a business is lost in the first few weeks it’s closed. Of course, that’s assuming that it had any value to begin with.”
Exasperated, she snapped, “So do you have any better ideas?”
Deke leaned back into the worn velvet cushions and shook his head. “You utterly amaze me, Danielle.”
There was a note in his voice that set Danielle’s teeth on edge. If he accused her of thinking this up so she could maneuver him back into her life.. Well, the sooner that possibility was wiped out of his mind, the better. She held out a hand. “If you’ll give me the key, I’ll get started. Would you like regular reports or will learning about it on the grapevine be good enough?”
“Oh, I’m sure anything I need to know I’ll hear about.” There was a tiny twist of irony in his voice, and Danielle noted that he didn’t waste any time digging into his pocket for the small brass key as if he couldn’t wait to wash his hands of the whole problem.
And she wondered for just an instant, as she stood there holding a key still warm from his body, if she was an utter fool not to have done the same.
The rich scent of roasting prime rib wafted toward Danielle from the Willows as she got out of her car at the farthest corner of the restaurant parking lot. She’d only taken a couple of steps toward the building when Pam’s car pulled in beside hers, and she leaned against a fender and waited for Pam to gather up her belongings
“Sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” Pam said breathlessly. “There was a crisis at school and Josh ended up at a friend’s house, so I had to go retrieve him and get him to his clarinet lesson. Anyway, I didn’t see any sign at the Merry Widow, and—”
“It’s there. Right on the front door.”
Pam sighed. “I might have known you couldn’t stay away. Honestly, Danny...” Her gaze focused on the back seat of Danielle’s car. “Why is there a suitcase in your car? Your father didn’t have another attack, did he?”
“No. In fact, I expect he’s already here, geared up for the evening.”
“That’s good. I could just see you having to go off to the hospital with him and me being stuck trying to figure out which people go with which tables. So why the suitcase? Are you eloping after work?”
“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” Danielle countered. “You never know when you might meet the man of your dreams.”
“It’s especially hard to anticipate the moment when you’re not even looking.”
“That is a bit of a difficulty,” Danielle admitted. She pulled open the main door and held it for Pam, who was carrying the bank bag and a box full of receipts. She was barely inside the restaurant when she spotted her father in the main dining room, moving two small tables together to accommodate a larger group, and she forgot all about Pam as she hurried to help. “Harry, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting ready for a party of eight,” Harry Evans said. He leaned on one of the tables and smiled at her.
It was a half-theatrical pose that did nothing to fool Danielle. She could hear the tiny wheeze in his chest, and she wondered if his heart condition was getting worse or if he’d simply been exerting himself more than he should this afternoon. “Dammit, Dad, you know better.” She moved the second table into position, bracing it tightly against the one Harry was leaning on, then slid the chairs back into place. “Let the busboys earn their pay.”
“Then why are you doing their work?” Harry asked gently. He rearranged the linen napkins and place settings and strolled toward the office. “If you have a minute, Danielle, we need to talk about increasing our orders for next week, to be ready for the strawberry festival.”
Danielle followed. “And making sure we have some extra help on call wouldn’t hurt, either.” Especially, she thought, since she herself was going to be wearing two hats right then—and both jobs would be demanding ones. She groaned. I think I need my head examined.
She straightened her shoulders. She was doing what needed to be done after all. And it wasn’t as if she was taking on the Merry Widow as a lifetime commitment, just till the Jablonskis had sorted themselves out or another buyer came along. Which might not be long at all if the strawberry festival was a success.
Harry Evans dropped into his office chair with a thud, and Danielle frowned. “I don’t have to go tonight, Dad,” she said. She’d intended to study the bed-and-breakfast’s reservation book tonight and try to plan at least a few days ahead. But perhaps she could just stop by the Merry Widow, pick up the book and take it home. “If you need me—”
Harry grinned “Now that’s the most loaded question I’ve heard in a month.”
Danielle leaned against the door frame and studied him. His color had come back, and he seemed to be breathing more easily. And she knew better than to treat him like a child. The man was well past fifty, for heaven’s sake.
Pam stopped sorting small bills into the cash register drawer. “Where are you going? And does this mean I’ll be shanghaied into acting as hostess for the lunch rush tomorrow? Because I warn you, Danny—”
“Of course not. I’m only going to the Merry Widow.”
“If they’re closed, how can you check in for a rest cure? Besides, supporting the hometown economy is wonderful, but if I were you, I wouldn’t stop within fifty miles. Too many people can find you if you stay in town.”
It wasn’t as if there was any secret involved, Danielle realized. By tomorrow, all of Elmwood would know the basics, the shopkeeper who had passed on Joe Jablonski’s message to Deke had no reason to keep her knowledge to herself “I’m going to be running it for a while. Till we can sell it again.”
Pam dropped a roll of quarters. The paper wrapper split and bright coins spilled across the floor. Danielle stooped to help pick them up
“Excuse me, but is this a time warp?” Pam asked mildly. “I thought the sale was final almost a year ago.”
“We thought so, too. But Joe and Kate didn’t have quite a good enough credit record to get a mortgage, so we decided...” Danielle took a deep breath. “I decided, really, that it was worth some risk to give them a chance. So instead of making payments to a bank, they’ve been paying us, Deke and me, every month.”
“Till now.” Pam sighed. “As your accountant, Danielle—”
“Please don’t start. You can’t say anything Deke didn’t tell me at the time.”
“But he went along with it anyway?”
“I didn’t give him a lot of choice,” Danielle admitted. “The only other serious interest we had was from a group that was going to cut the Merry Widow up into apartments, and I couldn’t stand to see that happen to Miss Fischer’s house.”
“So you planted your feet and fought.”
Not all that hard, Danielle reflected. But he knew I would if I had to—and by that time, Deke would have agreed to almost anything to be rid of me. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Pam; there were some wounds too tender to share even with a best friend “After she’d trusted me with it, how could I do anything else?”
“She trusted you and Deke,” Pam reminded her “You know, I’ve always wondered why she included him—why she didn’t just leave the place to you. She didn’t even know him, did she?”
“They met once. I went to visit her in the care center a couple of weeks before she died, and I took Deke with me.”
Funny, Danielle thought, that the whole mess really stemmed from a casual trip to the lake. They’d been on their way out of town for an afternoon’s swimming when she’d remembered Miss Fischer and told Deke she’d promised to stop by to see her for a moment. And he’d come inside with her rather than wait in the June heat.
Fifteen minutes, that was all. A quarter of an hour in which he hadn’t even been trying to captivate Miss Fischer—which said something about Deke Oliver’s charm. He didn’t have to try.
He’d stepped outside the room to allow Danielle a private goodbye. She hardly remembered what Miss Fischer had said, for the words had been unremarkable. Something about what a nice young man he was, a very special young man, but that obviously Danielle already knew that. And Danielle had hugged her and said, “Oh, yes. A very special man indeed.”
And from that tiny, careless comment, Miss Fischer—who despite all appearances had been a romantic marshmallow deep inside—had constructed the picture of a couple in love, a couple who simply hadn’t yet told anyone else about their feelings. A couple who’d need a place to live and to establish a family. And so, without a word to anyone else of her intentions, she’d called in her lawyer and changed her will....
And the fallout of that decision, Danielle thought wearily, was still drifting over them, with no end in sight.
It was nearly midnight when the last party left the Willows and Danielle could lock up the restaurant and leave. Harry Evans was still in the office, ostensibly ordering the extra supplies they’d need to have on hand when the strawberry festival began. Danielle knew, however, that he was killing time, waiting around as he always did on the nights it was her turn to close.
She stopped in the office doorway to put on her jacket. “Don’t work too late, Dad,” she said with only a faint tinge of irony
Harry shuffled his papers into the desk drawer. “Is it closing time already? I might as well walk out to the lot with you.”
Danielle could almost have recited the words along with him. She didn’t bother to argue with him anymore. If it made him feel better to stay around to keep a protective eye on his baby and then walk her to her car—well, at least staying up late didn’t hurt him the way moving tables did. Harry could sleep well into the morning.
Which was more than Danielle could. She’d have only a few hours to call her own tomorrow, and in that narrow span of time, she’d have to plan the entire weekend How many guests would be coming in on Friday? How long would they stay? What kind of staples had the Jablonskis left in the kitchen and what would she need to buy?
Despite the hour, the downtown square was still washed with light when Danielle drove through. The shop windows lining the streets glowed softly, showing off merchandise even though there was no one just now to see it. In some of the apartments above—remodeled in the past few years from dark, low-rent rooms into larger, more elaborate homes—windows gleamed. And soft floodlight spilled over the courthouse in the center of the square, making it look even more like a daintily iced wedding cake.
Danielle tried not to look up at Deke’s apartment. But it was hard to avoid; it was on the very corner of the square, so rather than just a narrow frontage, his apartment had windows down the entire length, as well.
They were dark, which was no surprise. What had she expected anyway—that he’d be up late pacing the floor and worrying about the Merry Widow? “Maybe fretting because I’ve taken on so much responsibility and he’s doing nothing,” she jeered at herself.
But if the square was full of light, two blocks away the Merry Widow was another story. Danielle had never seen the place so utterly black, its windows emptily reflecting the pale moonlight.
She’d intended to put her car away in the carriage house, but the walkway between the buildings was even darker than the house itself. At the last minute, she left the car under the porte cochere. But the key Deke had passed on to her didn’t fit the side door, so—grumbling under her breath—she walked around toward the back porch.
High above her was one faint gleam from a tiny attic window that the Jablonskis had no doubt overlooked. The feeble light somehow made the rest of the house seem even darker.
She pushed the back door open. Even though she’d braced herself for the squeal of the hinges, a cold prickle ran up her spine at the sound. Deke hadn’t been far wrong when he said the place would make a great haunted house.
“What a comforting thought,” Danielle told herself wryly. “Why don’t we see if we can conjure up a few spirits while we’re at it?”
There was enough moonlight to guide her once her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness. She’d wait till tomorrow, she decided, to search out the light switches. And she’d run out to the hardware store for some night-lights, too. How had the Jablonskis expected their guests to get around an unfamiliar house in total darkness?
She reached the top of the stairs and paused. She should have looked around earlier; she hadn’t given a thought till just now about which room she should use. The Jablonskis’ quarters, she supposed. She’d never been there, but she’d heard Kate talking about fixing up the attic into a private suite so all the more accessible bedrooms were available to guests.
But it hadn’t occurred to her to reconnoiter this afternoon. She’d only been thinking of getting away from Deke and that half-mocking smile, that slow and lazy voice. You utterly amaze me, Danielle....
She heard a creak from the front of the house, then something that sounded like a long sigh. She froze for an instant and then shook her head and smiled. In a house the size and age of the Merry Widow, creaks would be a dime a dozen And the sigh was easily explained; the wind had picked up throughout the evening and there was probably no shortage of leaky windows.
She turned toward the set of stairs, only a little narrower and plainer than the main ones, that led up to the attic. She’d been there only once before, on her first inspection tour after Miss Fischer’s will was read, and her main impression had been of a single enormous room, full of slanted walls and tiny odd-shaped windows, under the high-peaked roof The room had been lit only by a few bare bulbs, and there were plenty of boxes stacked haphazardly, most of them clustered in the center around the head of the stairs, as if they’d simply been dumped.
But the huge room Danielle climbed into was nothing at all like the attic she remembered. The basics were still the same; the ceiling soared just as high in the center, and the outer walls still sloped sharply except in the corner tower room.
But there the resemblance ended. The boxes were gone and bright rugs were scattered over the scarred floor. Here and there she thought there was a new wall, blocking off part of the enormous room to create at least the illusion of private space.
Not that she could see much. The only source of light, no doubt the cause of the pale glow she’d seen from outside, was a single small bulb above what looked like a built-in bar in a far corner of the room. No wonder the Jablonskis had missed it; it was so dim that in daylight it probably didn’t show up at all.
She was too tired even to walk across the room to turn the light off. She certainly wasn’t going to bother to unpack, she decided, or to look for clean sheets. She’d just collapse atop the Jablonskis’ bed, and in the morning she’d take care of the details.
Or at least she’d get started.
CHAPTER THREE
DANIELLE was used to waking to sunshine streaming through the wide windows of her father’s bungalow. Even on overcast days when there wasn’t enough light to rouse her, her internal alarm clock always kicked in, making sure she didn’t oversleep.
But on her first morning at the Merry Widow, nothing worked right. There was no sunshine, the Jablonskis had not only selected the darkest attic corner for their bedroom, but they’d angled the privacy wall to close out direct light from the tower windows, the only ones near enough to make a difference. And Danielle’s internal clock seemed to be on strike, as well, she felt almost hungover, as if she’d slept far too long—or not nearly long enough.
She must have fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. In fact, Danielle thought wryly as she forced her eyes open, she wasn’t so sure her head had hit the pillow; all she’d been able to see in the dark room was the corner of the bed, and she’d simply flopped across it and closed her eyes. She felt stiff and lethargic as if she hadn’t moved all night Or perhaps it was still the middle of the night and she’d been jolted into consciousness long before she was ready.
Without even raising her head, she squinted hopefully at the clock on the bedside table and groaned. No such luck—it was morning all right She’d meant to be awake a couple of hours ago By now she should have been well on her way to having the Merry Widow organized. Instead.
Something was jabbing at her, poking her in the side. She tugged a book out from under her. It was a hardcover, its jacket wrapped in plastic—no doubt on loan from the local library In the dim light she could hardly make out the title, but from the design of the cover it was apparently some kind of bloody murder mystery. She wondered if it was Joe or Kate who had the interesting taste in bedtime reading.
She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. The room was the gloomiest she’d ever known. She was no psychologist, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the Jablonskis’ fights had something to do with waking up every morning in the dark.
“The first thing I’d do,” she muttered, “is knock some skylights into the roof.” She tossed the book over her shoulder toward the opposite side of the bed.
It landed with a thump, instantly followed by a growl that sounded to Danielle like a bear with the breath knocked out of him.
The mattress shifted under her, and from the corner of her eye Danielle saw movement to her left, almost behind her. She turned her head so quickly that a muscle in her neck felt as if it had pulled loose completely, and for a moment tears of pain blurred her vision.
“What are you trying to do, knock me unconscious?” Deke asked There was a faint rasp in his voice this morning. He sounded like warm honey on sandpaper. “And you’re on your own with the skylights. Don’t send me half of the bill.”
Shock turned Danielle’s throat as rigid as an icicle. She stared as Deke pushed pillows into a pile against the wall that served as a headboard She’d never seen him before with the shadow of stubble along his jaw, his eyes dark and still heavy with sleep. The sight sent an almost painful jolt through her, and she hastily looked away from his face, only to see that the soft blanket draping his body had slid to his waist as he leaned back against the pile of pillows, stretching his arms above his head.
Danielle watched the easy ripple of muscle in his bare chest and tried not to remember the last time she’d seen so much of Deke Oliver—at the lake that day after their visit to Miss Fischer. The visit that had seemed so innocent, so casual. The visit that had led directly to this moment.
Though she was damned if she could understand why he was here. He had a perfectly good apartment, and she’d have sworn the last thing he’d intended when they parted yesterday was to get further involved with the Merry Widow.
“All the persuasive energy I exerted trying to get you into bed went for nothing,” Deke mused. “And now, with no effort at all, here we are. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Fury melted the icicle in Danielle’s throat. “So that’s it. You saw your chance—”
“And rushed right over so I could experience the dubious pleasure of waking up beside you?” Deke said, frowning. “Hardly.”
Danielle gulped. It did sound pretty stupid, phrased that way.
“And your salacious scenario has another small problem, too,” Deke continued relentlessly. “I could hardly have planned this—exciting though it is to sit here in bed and argue with you—because I had no idea you were actually planning to move in. What are you doing here anyway?”
Danielle tried to think through the conversation they’d had yesterday. Had she said anything then about her intentions of staying at the Merry Widow? She couldn’t remember, so she went on the attack instead. “It looks to me as if you’re the one who’s taken up residence.”
“But you brought a suitcase.” Deke pointed to her luggage, where she’d dumped it at the foot of the bed. “I have only the clothes on my back. Figuratively speaking.”
With all the self-control in her command, Danielle couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting down the length of his body. The soft blanket draped intimately around him, making it obvious that the only thing he was wearing was a wristwatch.
Feeling herself grow warm, she forced her gaze away from him and her attention back to the problem. “So why are you here?”
A voice echoed up the stairwell “Hello up there’ Anybody home?”
Danielle’s eyes widened. “You’re entertaining here instead of in your own apartment? If I’d known I’d walked into a rendezvous—”
“This is not a rendezvous,” Deke said mildly. “And that is Mrs. Winslow. Otherwise known—along with her husband—as my reason for being here.” He glanced at his watch, a gold slash against his tanned skin. “And she’s looking for breakfast.”
“I don’t get it. You mean they’re guests? But there wasn’t anything in the reservations book.”
“Certain of that, are you?” Deke pushed the blanket back.
Danielle averted her eyes and tried to remember what she’d read in the reservations book. Was she certain? She could see the calendar in her mind—but it was open to the strawberry festival, not the current week. “Not absolutely,” she admitted.
“Well, you’re right. Their reservation is for today—but they arrived a full twenty-four hours early, just as I was leaving the house yesterday And since I had no idea how you planned to handle the details—whether, for instance, you intended to pass out keys so guests can come and go as they please or just leave the place standing wide open...”
Danielle flung herself against the pillows and started to chuckle. “So you’ve been held hostage overnight? Poor Deke! Serves you right for laughing at me. If you hadn’t, I’d probably still have been here when they arrived and you could have ducked out.”
The cheerful voice called again, and an instant later a head topped with frizzy gray hair popped around the end of the privacy wall. The woman’s gaze slid from Deke, who was just starting to zip his trousers, to Danielle—still sprawled across the bed—and back.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Winslow said faintly. “No wonder you weren’t answering earlier. I do beg your pardon.” She disappeared, and footsteps retreated hastily toward the stairs.
All Danielle’s desire to laugh had abruptly evaporated.
Deke put on his shirt. “Well, since you’re here, you can take on the breakfast detail.”
“Nice try.” Danielle pushed herself up from the bed. “You could have warned me last night, you know. So, since you didn’t, make their breakfast yourself.”
“And have them sue over the cooking? Besides, I tried to warn you. I called the Willows twice last night. Once I got cut off, and the other time I was on hold till my ear was black and blue.”
“We had a lot of parties last night,” Danielle admitted. “Nobody had time to answer phones and carry notes.”
“That was apparent. Then I left a message on the machine at your father’s house, but obviously you didn’t get it.”
“I came straight here after work. And since Dad knew where I was going...”
Deke nodded. “He probably thought there was no point in calling since I said I’d wait here for you.”
Danielle pounced. “So you did expect that I’d come and you set up a booby trap for me.”
Deke turned slowly to face her. Very deliberately, he fastened the last button on his shirt, folded the cuffs back halfway to his elbows and tucked the tail neatly into the waistband of his trousers. “If by a booby trap, you mean you think I plotted some sort of seduction scene, Danielle ...”
She’d spoken without thinking, and now an almost painful flush rose from throat to forehead.
“If I’d had any such intention, I’d certainly have stayed awake for the payoff.” His voice was dry. “As it happens, I got tired of waiting and of Joe’s taste in literature, and decided to get some sleep. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
And since she hadn’t turned on a light ...
“Good thing I didn’t choose the other side of the bed,” Danielle said wryly.
“Isn’t it, though?”
Danielle stared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Look, if you think I saw you here and climbed in just for the sheer joy of sleeping with you... I’ve met some egos in my day, Oliver, but you take the—”
“The possibility never occurred to me.”
She was relieved, though still a bit wary. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“Because if that was what you wanted, you’d have made sure I woke up.” The last of the sandpaper roughness was gone from his voice, it was pure honey now. Warm honey, which seemed to ooze through her skin and trickle into her veins... “Which makes us even, doesn’t it?”
You can’t win, she told herself. And you’re an idiot to keep trying.
She turned on her heel, circled the end of the privacy wall and descended the stairs all the way to the kitchen. She knew perfectly well Deke was right behind her, almost in perfect step, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of any further reactions.
At the bottom of the stairs, he murmured, “You wouldn’t like to walk up again, would you? I’ll bet your skirt’s even more attractive from that angle.”
She tried to ignore him; Deke was chuckling as she opened the kitchen door.
The room smelled of coffee and frying ham. At the stove, Mrs. Winslow was carefully forking thick slices of meat from a skillet onto a couple of plates. Nearby, a bald man with thick glasses was buttering toast.
Mrs. Winslow grinned over her shoulder at Danielle and Deke. “I thought—under the circumstances—that you wouldn’t mind us helping ourselves. Want some ham and eggs?”
Danielle, absolutely speechless, shook her head.
Deke said, “Sounds wonderful to me. Can I pour you some coffee, my dear?”
Mrs. Winslow gave him an approving nod. “That’s the style. Take good care of her. Hand me the basket of eggs, Bill.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/leigh-michaels/her-husband-to-be/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.