by Lois Richer
“What did you want to talk about?” Melanie asked, ignoring the bait and changing the subject adroitly. “I left your key and half of next month’s rent on the hall table.”
“I don’t want your money,” he spluttered. As her eyebrows rose, he swallowed. Melanie watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down several times before he cleared his throat and began again.
“I have the wedding invitations for Gramps and Hope,” he told her. “I just wanted you to look them over. Hope said you would need to know the color scheme to order the flowers and stuff.”
“You chose the colors? And the wedding invitations? Why?” Melanie couldn’t absorb the idea of Mitch Stewart entering a bridal shop to pick out such a thing.
“Why?” He sounded indignant. “Because she asked me to, that’s why. She’s too busy trying to find a dress and bridesmaid dresses and deciding on a place for them to live. The invitations have to go out fairly quickly, you know.” Mitch preened. “I picked out the most suitable and had them printed up by special order. I’ve also chosen a lot of the hall decorations.”
Melanie pulled in beside his bright red sports car with a jerk and turned to stare at him.
“But I thought I was supposed to do all that,” she protested weakly, unable to envision him choosing wedding decorations.
“No, you’re supposed to do the church, the table favors, the caterer and the emcee. Forget the groomsmen, though. Gramps already has everything picked out. And he won’t change his mind.”
Stunned, Melanie carried box after box into the house, glad that for once her mother wasn’t home. She could never have explained this crazy situation. When they were finished, Mitch went out to his car and returned with yet another box. He carefully slit the tape and opened it, lifting out a smaller white box.
“Now, proof this and tell me if everything is okay.”
Melanie stared at the pale green announcement with amazement. It was embossed with two pearlized calla lilies and elegant script, which invited the recipient to “Please Join Us.”
She slid apart the two lilies and opened the heavy bond paper to see what syrupy sentiment Mitch had chosen. To her surprise, the invitation was beautifully worded.
“Miss Hope Langford and Judge Harry Conroy invite you to join them as they pledge their marriage vows to one another on August third at eleven o’clock a.m. in the sanctuary of Third Avenue Church. A buffet luncheon will be served in the community hall immediately following the ceremony. Your presence will be your gift to us.”
Two embossed Hs were linked at the bottom.
“It’s, uh, very nice,” Melanie sputtered, astonished at this new image of Mitchel Stewart, wedding consultant.
“It did come out well, didn’t it,” he agreed happily. “I didn’t want it to sound sappy or anything. I mean, they do have their dignity. And this is an important occasion for them. I want everything to be just right.”
“So do I,” Melanie told him, shaking herself mentally. “But I thought everything was scheduled for three in the afternoon. Who changed it?”
“Gramps.” Mitch grinned that wide, alluring smile. “He wants to take Hope on a honeymoon trip to Paris. The plane leaves at three.”
Melanie gaped. “Paris,” she whispered, her mouth sagging. “Lucky Hope.”
“Well, she doesn’t know yet, so don’t tell her, okay? Gramps wants it to be a surprise, and he’ll tear a strip off me if she finds out.”
“All right.” Melanie could barely say the words. Nothing was sane in the world anymore!
“The thing is, I’ve got their lists, and the invitations need to go out right away. I wondered if you’d help me address them all. I could help you wrap those candy things later if you want.” He looked like a little boy begging, and Melanie couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll help you for a while tonight, but first I’ve got to set up Mom’s VCR. There’s a program on that I want to tape for Mr. Harper. He just loves Westerns, and there aren’t that many on anymore.” She set the controls and then poured a cup of coffee for each of them.
Melanie could feel his eyes following her, watching her every move.
“You really care about those people, don’t you?”
Melanie didn’t understand why he seemed so surprised. “They’re my friends,” she told him. “Of course I care about them.” She began writing out names and addresses with the thin-tipped gold fountain pen Mitch had given her. They worked companionably together for several minutes before Mitch spoke again.
“We got a letter today.” He waited expectantly, and Melanie’s eyes flew to his. “Here, let me read it. ‘Dear Miss and Mr. Stewart, Papa John’s Peanut Butter has come to a decision regarding the prize money of fifty thousand dollars that was to be awarded in regard to our recent peanut butter contest. Our client has requested your presence at our office on Friday next to discuss the resolution of this issue. Should this time be unsuitable, please feel free to contact us as soon as possible.’”
“But that’s the day after tomorrow,” Melanie said.
“I know,” he admitted. “Can you make it?”
“You bet I’m going to make it,” Melanie told him firmly. “Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money, and I need every dime of it for Sunset. And, believe me, I intend to collect every cent.”
“Melanie, it might not be that easy,” Mitch cautioned. His voice had dropped.
Melanie stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he began reluctantly. “If they’re going to award the money, why didn’t they just send the checks? Why make us go in there and discuss a ‘possible resolution’?” He shook his head. “It just sounds odd to me.”
“Oh, you worry too much,” she teased. “I know that God has sent that money just when we needed it most. He’d hardly take it all away now.” Her thoughts meandered. “I can hardly wait to start improving the place. They’ve waited for so long.”
Mitch said nothing, but she could tell he was still thinking about the letter. An hour later he stamped the invitations they’d addressed and carefully packed away the rest, folding the lid closed just as Charity walked through the door.
“Thanks for the help,” he murmured, walking beside Melanie to his car. “I sure appreciate it.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.” She smiled. “I want everything to go off without a hitch for those two. Goodness knows, they’ve waited long enough.”
He stood staring at her until Melanie flushed a dark red.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded at last.
“A very beautiful woman,” he whispered. “One who isn’t afraid to give to other people and just keeps on giving, no matter what.” He leaned forward and kissed her, his arms tight and compelling around her. Then, in a movement so quick she had no time to protest, he was in his car.
“Good night, sweet Melanie,” he murmured before shifting gears and pulling away.
He disappeared down the street and around the corner, his car softly purring in the stillness. It wasn’t until another car passed that Melanie realized she was still standing on the street, staring.
“Good night,” she whispered, brushing a finger over her tingling lips.
Chapter Ten
“Today’s the big day, Mother. You’d better pray extra hard this morning. Sunset needs that money now more than ever.”
Having thus ensured that someone would be talking to the Lord about her problems, Melanie glugged down her coffee. She wanted to be on the road as early as possible. Since Mitch had neither offered her a ride nor asked to come with her, she felt free to leave when she wanted. Why wasn’t that a pleasant thought?
Charity’s hand on her arm was the only thing holding her back.
“My dearest girl,” she murmured with a smile. “If God wants those folks to have things, they don’t have to depend on Papa John’s beneficence. God will make His own way.”
“I know, Mom. The Lord will provide.” They grinned at ea
ch other as she recited their favorite saying from years gone by. “But He already has, otherwise I wouldn’t have won.”
“You don’t actually have that money yet, Melanie. Please let God work this out in His own way.” Charity’s usually smiling face was sober.
Melanie kissed the smooth parchment cheek and hopped into her car, waving one hand. Just down the street she could see Faith and Hope striding toward her. Their faces were strained, and Hope seemed to be crying.
“Bye,” Melanie called and drove away, wondering what the problem was. Why doesn’t life ever seem to go smoothly? Unfortunately, the answer evaded her.
At WMIX, Mitch had already arrived and was seated in one of the comfortable leather chairs. His blue gaze swept over her quickly before he looked into her eyes. She couldn’t read his. They were closed off, shuttered.
“You made it,” was all he said as Papa John’s lawyer offered her a seat.
“Of course I made it.” She stared at his elegantly suited figure. “How come you’re here so early?”
“Business,” he told her. “Melanie, I need to talk to you. Privately.”
His face was white with strain, and he looked distant. This tall, cool man who sat across from her was suddenly a stranger. And it hurt. Oh, he treated her with courtesy and respect, but there was no sign of the man whose big hands had rubbed suntan oil onto her back, who had massaged her tired shoulders when she had been depressed and beaten, who had held her when she’d lost Jonathan. Melanie searched his blue eyes, looking desperately for the man she had come to know over the past few months. But he wasn’t there.
“But not now. Now we’ll settle this prize thing. If you’re ready?” the chilly-voiced stranger inquired coolly.
“Yes, go ahead.” She tried to pretend his cool civility didn’t hurt.
Papa John sauntered in, grinning brightly from ear to ear.
“Ah, my two prospective winners,” he bellowed in that down-home voice he assumed for official duties. “Let’s chat, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist he motioned the corporate exec types out of the room.
Melanie was confused. Chat? Weren’t they supposed to award the prize now? And what was this prospective business? She glanced at Mitch for confirmation, but he shrugged, unable or unwilling to shed light on the situation.
“I wanted to speak to you two alone for a few minutes,” the old man began, glancing from one stiff figure to the other. “I foresee several problems that never occurred to me before and I wanted your input. You, Mitch, will know all the legal implications of this.”
Melanie frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. Not at all.
“The thing is, folks…” Papa John’s voice was solemn. “I have shareholders, lots of them. The board is made up of some of the most crotchety old codgers you’ve ever seen.” He smiled faintly as if just realizing that he was one of those codgers.
Melanie stared at Mitch, trying to assess what she was hearing. But Mitch’s face was a frowning mask that told her only that he, too, was dismayed.
“Cut to the chase, Papa John,” he muttered, interrupting the old man’s flow of words. “What, exactly, are you trying to say?”
The old man scratched his whiskered chin with one lean, manicured hand.
“Well,” he began cautiously, “the board feels that the company’s image with our loyal public is based on wholesomeness. If you know what I mean.”
Melanie disregarded the wink he cast Mitch’s way. Why didn’t he get down to business?
“What is the problem?” she blurted. If he didn’t soon enlighten them, Melanie was going to reach out and yank on that beard. Hard.
“We can’t award the prize money to two people who are living together in sin.”
The baldness of his statement shocked her. Never mind that the sentiment was hopelessly mawkish and very dated. Papa John was insinuating that she and Mitch…that they were…
Her face blushed a deep, dark red as she considered how it must look. If not for Hope’s insistence…She burst into speech.
“But we’re not. I mean I moved out a few days ago. Anyway, nothing happened. You can ask—”
“Shut up.” Mitch’s voice cut her off midstream. She stared at him. He glared at her, daring her to say another word. “I’ll do the talking here.” He turned to face Papa John.
“You had two winners to your contest. Us.” He pointed to Melanie and himself. “The conditions have been met, correct?”
Papa John bumbled around, but Mitch refused to let him off the hook.
“Do we, or do we not, get the prize money?”
“Well, young fella, there’s no need to git all uppity. If you’ll just hold yer horses…”
Melanie could feel the sizzle of anger that radiated off Mitch from her perch six feet away.
“Cut the hillbilly lingo, John. It’s a put-on, and so is this bluff you’re trying to pull on us here.” Mitch slid his hands into his pockets and leaned against the door frame lazily. He looked like a shark deciding where to bite first. “Do we or do we not get the fifty grand?”
“Not.” The word entered the room like a jolt of electricity. Melanie stood up from her chair.
“What? But I thought—”
Mitch’s big hand pressed firmly on her shoulder. His voice was frigid.
“Sit down and be quiet.”
She did both.
“Either you award that money to Miss Stewart and myself or we’ll sue.”
As she studied the rugged lines of his face, Melanie decided she would not like to face Mr. Mitchel Stewart in court. He would be a skilled opponent—razor sharp and tough as steel. For once she was glad he could hide his emotions so readily.
Papa John shook his head while his thumb snapped one suspender placidly against his rounded belly.
“No grounds,” he responded sedately. Melanie could hear the ping of the metal as it hit a button. “The agreement was to award the money to M. Stewart, once we got the address problem straightened out. Miss Stewart here claimed to be the person living at apartment 108, when in fact your name is on the lease and hers appears nowhere on it. Doesn’t seem to have a phone in her name, either.”
Melanie noted Mitch’s frustration by the clench of his hand, flexing in and out.
Papa John continued. “She didn’t even move in until well after the contest drawing, did she?”
Melanie felt her cheeks burn with the implication in those beady old eyes. So this was what a harlot must have felt like. She tried to explain the situation.
“But I was just—”
“If you don’t be quiet, I’m leaving,” Mitch barked at her. “This is a legal issue. Papa John is legally bound to hand over that money to us. We have the reassurances of our prizewinner status on official Papa John’s Peanut Butter stationery,” His blue eyes penetrated her green ones, daring her to deny the facts.
But Melanie couldn’t think of a word to say for, truth to tell, she didn’t have that letter. Hadn’t a clue where it was. Without it, she doubted they would award her anything but a jar of peanut butter. She sealed her lips tightly. Whatever Mitch could salvage out of this terrible day was the most she could hope for.
“Go ahead,” she told him quietly.
“Well?” Mitch’s voice was pure ice as he glared at the owner of Papa John’s.
“Miss Stewart has no claim.”
Melanie sucked in a breath of air, ready to defend herself as Mitch shifted those eyes to her. She subsided without a sound.
Mitch turned his attention to the older man. He let that statement go to counter with one of his own.
“And me? Why can’t you award the total to me?”
Papa John stoked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, you see, there’s the rub. Actually you were not an employee at Sunset, nor a resident at the apartment, at the time of the drawing. In fact, you began your job after we made the drawing, and you took possession of the apartment two weeks later.”
“Nope.” Mitch smiled that cat-that-g
ot-the-bird smile and leaned backward on his wing tips. Melanie saw the satisfaction curve his hard mouth. “I was there at the television station, remember. That was two weeks after I’d arranged for residence. You haven’t got a hope.”
Melanie thought the old fellow looked downright smug and self-satisfied.
“Sorry, son.” He smirked, tapping his toe on the soft, thick broadloom. “The draw date was twenty-eight days before the show. That was the first date WMIX could give us the time slot we wanted. And we had to inform the prospective winners.”
Melanie heard the subtle emphasis on the word and turned to study Mitch’s face. Disgust and frustration creased his forehead as he glared at the old man.
“So it was all just a game,” he rasped. “A total waste of our time?”
“Good Lord, no.” the old man exploded, erupting from his chair with a bound. “I wanted to award that money to you folks. Still do. But I’m not taking any heat from the board or unfavorable publicity from the public to do it.” He studied them with intense scrutiny.
“What exactly do you want from us?” Mitch’s low voice sounded like ice on a hot pan as it sizzled across the room. “What’s the catch?”
Papa John ambled over to sink his plump body into the big leather chair behind the mahogany desk. He folded his hands calmly as he met Mitch’s furious glare.
“No catch, son.” He leaned back and studied the ceiling for several moments. Then he straightened and fixed them with his watery eyes. “The only way my board will let me award that money is if the two of you are married.”
“What?” Melanie jumped from her chair, glancing from one male to the other. “Get married? For money?” Silence reverberated through the room until Mitch’s soft voice whispered in her ear.
“You were willing to live together for it. Why not marriage?”
Melanie stared. She couldn’t help it. She gaped like a goldfish gulping air. “Do you mean you’re going along with this? Are you crazy?”
Mitch smiled sardonically. “Oh, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not going along with it at all. I just thought it was interesting to see where you draw the line at getting that money.” He swiveled to face the man behind the desk.
