by Helen Conrad
“Did you like any of them?” she asked.
Beth paused and considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.” She looked at Carly, head to the side. “They weren’t young and pretty like you.” Her eyes widened with sudden wonder. “Are you going to marry Daddy?” she asked.
Carly nearly backed into the wall. “No,” she said, laughing. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m here to take care of you, just like the others.”
But Beth had hold of an idea and she wasn’t going to let go of it that easily. “But you’re not like the others. Not like Greta.” She shuddered. “She was ugly and her teeth were green and Daddy didn’t like her.”
Carly smiled. “Well, my teeth aren’t green, but I don’t think he likes me much either.”
Beth’s brows came together worriedly. “Did he call you a... a blistering id-jet and a cueball?” she asked in her matter-of-fact tone of voice.
Carly hid a grin. “No. Not yet.”
Beth nodded, her face clearing. “Then it’s all right. He used to call Greta those things all the time.” She turned and started up the stairs.
“I see,” said Carly, coming along behind her. “If he calls me a blithering idiot and a screwball I’ll know my time has come. It’s all over.”
Beth nodded solemnly. “If he doesn’t call you those things, then he really likes you.”
Carly smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Beth showed off her own bedroom, which was impossibly neat, and Jeremy’s, which couldn’t have been messier, and the room Carly was to occupy, which was ordinary but comfortable. “And this is Daddy’s room,” she said, pointing to an open door.
Carly glanced at it with little interest, then turned and looked up the staircase that led from the second floor to the third. The top of the stairway was shrouded in shadows, but if she bent down she could just make out a dark green door at the top.
“Is that your grandmother’s apartment?” she asked.
Beth looked up the stairs. “Yes. We mustn’t bother her.”
Carly hesitated. “Wouldn’t she want to know about Jeremy’s accident?”
“No!” Beth grabbed her hand and tugged her away. “No, don’t bother her! You mustn’t.”
So she didn’t. But she was becoming more and more curious about this lady, locked away in an attic apartment, and she knew there would come a time when she would visit her, “mustn’t” or not.
“Let me freshen up and unwind for a minute, Beth,” she said, heading back toward the bedroom Beth had designated for her. “I’ll come down and fix you some dinner in a moment.”
Beth skipped away and Carly went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face and attempt a revival. She was feeling the effects of her eventful day. She looked longingly at the bed before leaving the room. It was odd having someone else she had to do things for. She was used to having no one but herself to consider. It had been a long time since she’d lived with another person.
Hesitating outside the door to Joe’s room, she couldn’t resist peeking in for a moment. Surely he would have a picture of his wife by his bed, and she was interested in seeing what she had looked like.
The room was clean, neat, with a curiously unlived-in look, like the room in a comfortable motel. And there was not a picture in sight, not even of the children.
“Joe Carrington,” she whispered, shaking her head as she examined the room. “You are a deep one.”
Maybe he hadn’t liked his wife any more than he liked her. She grinned at that. Or maybe he didn’t like anyone very much. That was a suspicion to keep in mind, she told herself as she went down the stairs. The man was awfully handsome and this tragic thing with his wife dying tended to play on the sympathies. But there was something very prickly about him, too. And he obviously wasn’t looking for a cool hand to soothe his troubled brow.
“Which is just as well,” she muttered as she made her way toward the kitchen, looking for Beth. “Because I’ve never been much of a soother.”
She found the child pulling a no-longer-frozen dinner out of the microwave oven. “Beth, I was going to fix you something for dinner!”
“It’s okay. Jeremy and me, we have frozen dinners all the time.”
Just like she did, all alone in her apartment. She stared at the girl. Beth was too young for this. She should have a big happy family around her, a long table full of freshly prepared food, loving parents. It hardly mattered that Carly couldn’t really remember having all those things herself. Suddenly, achingly, she wanted it for this little urchin child
“Well, I’ll cook for you tomorrow, okay?” she said quickly.
Beth nodded and gestured toward her plastic-wrapped dinner. “Do you want one?”
“No thanks. I’ll just...” What would she do? She looked about quickly. “I’ll just munch on one of these apples,” she said, taking a bright red fruit from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. “You go right ahead.”
She sank into a chair across from the girl and watched her eat, her little lips pursed earnestly, her eyes demurely downcast, and suddenly she thought of herself at ten when her mother had told her they would be leaving the Central Valley, leaving her father, and heading for Hollywood to make Carly a star.
What had she felt? Had she been scared? Had she missed her father? Why couldn’t she remember? All that came back to her now was the memory of that long car ride over the Grapevine, the sign that said, “Hollywood, next seven exits,” the seedy little cottage with an overgrown courtyard that would be their home for the next seven years. Looking back, she could hardly remember her father at all.
But she could surely remember her mother. A reluctant smile curved her lips. She’d hated the business, the auditions, the dancing lessons, the voice training, the endless hours of waiting in line with a hundred other little girls. But she had never hated her mother for putting her through it all. For years, her mother had been the spark to her life. What would she have done without her?
She’d done all right without her father. Would Beth do all right without a mother?
“Do you think Jeremy is at the doctor’s yet?” Beth asked suddenly.
“I’m sure of it,” Carly returned reassuringly. “The doctor is fixing him up and he’ll be coming home very soon.”
The gray eyes continued to regard her. “I’m glad you’re here,” Beth said at last. “I’m glad they didn’t leave me alone.”
Tears threatened to sting Carly’s eyes. Implicit in Bern’s statement was the way her mother had left her. Carly thought quickly, wondering if she should draw her out about her mother or ignore it. Reaching out, she took Beth’s small hand in her own.
“You miss your mother, don’t you?” she asked softly.
Beth hesitated. “Maybe. A little.”
That seemed a strangely reluctant answer for a grieving child.
“What was her name?”
“Ellen.”
“Do you remember much about her? What was she like?”
Beth blinked twice, then said very calmly, “We don’t talk about my mother. Grandma says we must never say her name again. It hurts Daddy too much.”
“Oh.” Carly withdrew her hand, feeling properly reprimanded. Dealing with children was turning out to be a bit tougher than she’d expected. She watched as Beth put her fork in the tray and carried it to the sink.
“Well, what now?” she said with heartiness too jovial to be real. “Want to watch a little television?”
Beth turned and regarded her coolly. “No, of course not,” she said. “You’re supposed to make me do my homework. It’s a school night.”
“Oh. Of course.” She pretended to hit her forehead with the flat of her hand, then winked at the girl. “I knew that.” She grinned.
It took Beth a moment, but she did smile back. “I’ll need help with the fractions,” she said, skipping from the room.
“Fractions,” Carly muttered, rising from her chair and looking without enthusiasm at the dishes
that needed to be washed. “But, of course, ask me anything. I can always take the Fifth.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE LIGHTS ARE ON AND SOMEBODY’S HOME
Even though it was late when he turned up the long drive, the house lights were on the way they used to be and his heart gave a little lurch before he remembered Carly. He pulled the truck to a stop and turned off the engine and sat for a moment, looking at the boy sleeping in the passenger’s seat. A white bandage covered half his forehead, just one in a long line of similar badges of honor that had peppered his career as an active boy. He was going to be okay. Scarred maybe, but okay.
Joe wanted to lean over and kiss him, but something held him back, and he looked at the back door, expecting Carly to appear there any second. Frowning, he tried to remember just exactly why he’d agreed to have her come out here to stay. It seemed ridiculous now. She wasn’t going to work out. She was hardly the type for ranch life. She might as well sleep here for the night, but in the morning he would take her back into town.
Still, he’d been lucky she’d been available to take care of Beth, under the circumstances. There was always something—some crisis, some disaster. It was damned hard raising these two kids by himself. Sometimes he thought it was almost too hard. If only... He closed his eyes.
“Oh God, Ellen,” he breathed aloud, his voice shaking as much with anger as with agony. Why? Why?
Jeremy stirred and he took him up into his arms, preparing to leave the cab of the truck. He looked down at the little face, the chubby cheeks, the turned-up nose. A wave of love swept through him and he held the boy close, taking in everything about him, his feel, his heat, his smell.
This was his son, the only boy he would ever have. Thank God, he was all right. Thank God.
The back door swung open and he straightened quickly, reaching for the door handle.
“Hi,” Carly called from the back porch. She shaded her eyes against the light from the bright, naked bulb. “Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
Jeremy moved and opened his eyes as Joe came up onto the porch with him.
Carly noticed and smiled. “Thanks for calling us from the hospital and letting us know he was all right,” she said softly as she followed Joe into the house. “Beth couldn’t go to sleep until after she heard.”
He nodded and went on through to the staircase. There was something unsettling about having Carly in the house. He felt uncomfortable, holding Jeremy the way he was—as though he were letting this stranger see into his emotional life in a way he didn’t want revealed. So he didn’t say anything as he ascended the stairs. But Jeremy’s head came up and his dark eyes regarded Carly from over his father’s shoulder.
She smiled and waved at him, then sighed as the two of them disappeared from sight. Beth’s words, “Jeremy won’t mind you,” echoed in her head. Just one glance at that stubborn little face told her Beth knew what she was talking about. But that was a bridge she would have to cross in the morning.
As for Joe—he’d looked tired and was probably hungry. Maybe she could fix him something to eat while he tucked Jeremy in. The question was, what? He didn’t seem like the frozen-dinner type. She had a vague idea that men like Joe sat down to huge plates of meat and potatoes, but there really wasn’t time to fix anything like that, even if she had the slightest idea how to do it. She would have to delve into her very abbreviated repertoire and hope for the best.
She worked on it while he took care of Jeremy and went back out to the truck to get Carly’s bags and carry them up to her room. His meal was ready by the time he came back down the stairs. He looked a bit startled as he saw her there waiting for him.
“I’ve got some dinner for you,” she told him. “In the kitchen.”
He was surprised, and even a little impressed. She could see it in his eyes. But all he said was, “Thanks,” before he turned into the kitchen.
She followed him, feeling pleased with herself. Omelets—she’d had plenty of experience with them at three in the morning after an evening of theater and dancing. This one was lightly browned and perfectly shaped. A nice piece of buttered toast lay beside it on the plate. Joe was staring down at it as well, but he didn’t look nearly as pleased as Carly felt. He looked at her.
“This is it?” he asked.
She nodded, the pleasure melting away with his tone. “It’s a cheese omelet. Don’t you like eggs?”
“Eggs? Sure, I like eggs. For breakfast.” He lifted his arm and made a show of reading his watch. “But isn’t this a little early?”
If the feelings warring inside her chest were any indication, she was going to have a bit of trouble remembering she was just an employee here. She held her temper in check, but it wasn’t easy.
“Listen, mister,” she said crisply. “If you’re hungry, this is what’s available.”
He looked from her to the plate on the table and back again, then sank with seeming reluctance to take his place. “It’s better than nothing, I guess,” he grumbled, picking up his fork and poking at the food as though he thought it might get up and run away if he provoked it enough. “Is this what you call a real man’s meal in the city?”
She had expected to give him the food and beat a hasty retreat to her room, but now she found herself pulling out the chair across the table from him and perching on the edge of the seat.
“You know what your problem is?” she announced, not bothering to answer his question. “You’re behind the times. Stuck in your ways. I guess out here in the country you haven’t heard that we don’t have to be locked in by traditions any longer. You can eat what you want, when you want.”
She flipped her hair back over her shoulder in a sassy gesture. “And—here’s a shocker for you—if a man doesn’t like what a woman serves him, he can darn well get up off his duff and fix his own meals.” Her sweet smile belied her words. “And that’s the way we do it in the city.”
“Yeah. I just bet you do.” To her surprise, his eyes were sparkling and little crinkles were appearing beside them. He took a bite, but he was still watching her, looking her over speculatively.
“So... did you make any headway in finding yourself yet?” he asked.
She knew he was goading her and she considered it for a moment, wondering whether to rise to the bait or ignore it. Funny how a man could be so attractive and so annoying at the same time.
“Not yet,” she said at last, unable to resist. “I think it’s going to take more than a couple of hours cleaning a kitchen to do it.”
He glanced around the room, taking in the shiny sink, the uncluttered counters as though he hadn’t noticed before, but he didn’t comment.
“I don’t know why you people all seem to go and get yourselves lost in the first place,” he muttered instead, taking a long sip of coffee.
She responded again, even though she knew she shouldn’t. “’You people’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yes, she hadn’t been wrong. His eyes were definitely flashing with amusement. He was laughing at her. Strange, though, she didn’t seem to feel offended. What she did feel was a slight prickly sensation that she wasn’t sure she liked. She sat farther out on the edge of her chair and tried to ignore it.
“‘You people,’” he was saying, “means human beings like you—mostly women—who have too much time on their hands and tend to spend it staring at their navels and wondering why they’re alive.”
He was teasing her, but she had a feeling there was a serious undertone to his words. She wasn’t sure she wanted to call him on it, but she wasn’t going to let it pass either. She leaned forward across the table.
“Are you saying that you never have any doubts or questions yourself?”
He shook his head, exuding male confidence from every pore. “I don’t have time for that kind of garbage.” He waved his fork in the air. “I’ve got work to do, trees to irrigate.”
She nodded, head to the side. “And kids to raise,” she added for him.
<
br /> He looked just a bit startled. “Yeah,” he said. “Them too.” But his face told her that was a concept he hadn’t quite come to terms with yet.
Looking up, he met her gaze, and for just a moment she couldn’t look away. His eyes were dark and clouded and there was a wariness in them that made her want to reach out and touch him, as though to comfort him for some hurt someone somewhere had inflicted. Her hand even moved, but he noticed and she could see him pull back defensively. She picked up an apple from the bowl in the center of the table, as though that were what she’d been after all the time, and stared at it, rolling it around in her hand.
“So tell me about this guy you’re trying to ‘find yourself’ for,” he said quickly.
She recognized his statement for what it was—a distancing technique. But that was all right, because she wanted to keep space between them, too.
“What’s his name?”
Taking a deep breath, she smiled as she looked up again. “His name is Mark.” No last names here. He might have heard of Mark Cameron. You never did know. And she would just as soon keep that connection quiet.
If Mark found out she was here and came looking for her, he would ruin everything. She needed to be alone, away from him, to be able to think this whole thing through. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with him? Did she want the political scene to be her milieu? Was she ready to be a politician’s wife?
And maybe what it all boiled down to—did she love him?
Joe took a last bite of egg before he asked, “What is he, some lawyer or doctor or something?”
“No, not exactly.” This wasn’t going to work. She had to tell him something. “He, uh, he works in government.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “And you... ?”
“I... more or less work for him.”
“Ah. The old boss-falling-for-the-secretary routine.” He threw down his napkin. “Is he married?”
She set her jaw and stared right back at him. “No. He is not married. And I’m not a secretary.”
