No Less Than a Lifetime

by Christine Rimmer

  Price gestured casually at the discarded applications. “In spite of their thoughtless behavior, I have to agree with my parents about the women we interviewed today. None of them would have worked out.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Yes, I know that.” His voice was gentle, infuriatingly so. “But you aren’t the one with the choice.”

  “We don’t have forever on this, Price.”

  He shrugged. “This was only the first day we’ve interviewed. Call the agency. Have them send over another group on Friday—after one, of course.” The stock market was open until four on the East Coast, which meant one o’clock their time. If possible, Price never handled household business until after the day’s trading was through.

  Faith busied herself gathering up the applications and sticking them back in the clipboard. By the time she had it all in order, she had thoroughly quelled her annoyance. There was nothing she could do if the Montgomerys chose to turn down perfectly good people. Friday, she’d bring on the next group and hope that her employers had sense enough to make a choice.

  Clipboard in hand, she stood. “All right, then. We’ll try again Friday.”

  “Faith?”

  She looked down at him. It wasn’t easy. She got all fluttery inside. She wanted to reach out and caress his silky black hair, to get lost in his deep blue eyes, to stroke his healthy bronze skin, and to trace the perfect blade that was his nose.

  But she’d been hiding her love for a long time. She kept her back straight, her expression remote. “Yes?”

  “You’ve never really told me anything about that motel you bought.”

  She clutched the clipboard against her breasts. Under it, her heart was pounding so hard she actually feared he might hear it. “Well, I…urn…”

  “Come on.” He put his hand on the back of her chair again. “Sit with me. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you?”

  She gulped. “Mary’s up in the ballroom.” Mary was one of the two part-time day maids. “She’s oiling the woodwork. I should—”

  “Mary can get along on her own for a few minutes more, don’t you think?”

  “Well…”

  He patted the back of her vacated chair. “Come on.”

  Unable to think of more excuses—and as thrilled as she was terrified at the prospect of talking to Price about something other than the running of Montgomery House—Faith sat down once more. For a split second, as she settled back in the chair, she leaned close to him. That wonderful aftershave taunted her. Her stomach lurched in a dangerous, and thoroughly marvelous, way.

  As before, Price removed his hand as soon as she dropped into the chair. Grateful for small favors, Faith set the clipboard on the table again and turned the chair so that she was facing him. Facing him was better. She wasn’t quite so close that way, and it was easier to think.

  Price leaned back in his own chair, getting comfortable, as if he had all day to talk to her. “What made you buy a motel?”

  Her lips felt dry, but he was watching her so closely, she didn’t want to lick them. She settled for pressing them together, then realized that was a nervous-looking action. She ordered her mouth to relax and forced herself to explain. “Well, for the last several months I’ve been really thinking of moving closer to my sister and her family. I’ve been on the lookout, I guess, for a business opportunity in North Magdalene that might be right for me.”

  He was watching her lips, as if every word she said really mattered to him. “I see.”

  She forged on, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “The motel’s been on the market for a while now. The former owner was gone a lot. She really wanted to get rid of it. So the price was low.”

  “Have you actually closed escrow yet?”

  “A week ago.”

  He was smiling now. He had the most wonderful mouth, sculpted on top, slightly fuller below. “So it really is all yours.”

  “Yes. It is. All mine. Well, after I pay off the loan, of course.”

  “Of course. How many units?”

  “Twelve.”

  “That’s not very big.”

  “I’m going to add onto it. Eventually.”

  “I see.” Today he wore dark twill trousers and a midnight-blue cashmere sweater. He’d pushed the sleeves of the sweater up to the elbows, revealing lean, corded arms. His shoulders looked hard and broad beneath the incredibly soft wool.

  Price’s left hand rested on the wooden arm of his chair. There was no wedding band on that hand; there hadn’t been for over five years now.

  It occurred to Faith, as she gazed at that ringless hand, that she knew a great deal about Price. Too much, really. She had lived in his house and cared for him and his family during some very rocky years. She had heard most, if not all, of his deepest secrets. She knew what Price had suffered, and the dark vows he’d made to himself.

  She knew that he would never wear a wedding band again.

  “What are your immediate plans?”

  Faith realized she’d stared too long at his hand. She looked up and put on a bright smile. “You mean for the motel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m going to spend the rest of the winter taking stock, I think. Getting a real handle on everything that needs to be done. And then, when spring comes, I’ll start the renovations, two or three units at a time. It’s a one-motel town, and in the summer they get a lot of tourists. So even though the place is run-down, there should still be a demand for rooms. I’ll keep the rates nice and low at first. And then, when it’s all fixed up, I’ll be able to charge a little more.”

  “You’ve thought it out carefully, then?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Could you use an investor?”

  For a moment, she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

  He chuckled, and the sound sang along her nerve endings. “I said, could you use an investor?”

  “You mean you?”

  “Who else?”

  “But I don’t—”

  He lifted that ringless left hand and leaned forward a little in his chair. “Wait. It’s just an idea. Hear me out.”

  “I…All right.”

  “Who’s running the motel now?”

  “Chuck Swan, the uncle of the former owner.”

  “Well, then. Let Chuck Swan continue to run it for a while. Or close it down, if you want. But you could stay on here and keep your job. Take a few days off a week, whatever you think you need, to visit your property and take stock, as you put it. Then, when spring comes, hire a builder and see that the work gets done all at once. Since you have so many family members in North Magdalene, I’m sure one of them would be happy to keep an eye on things for you. And, as I said, I’d be willing to let you have as much time off as you need. And lend you the money so you can get things done quickly. You could probably reopen by autumn.” He sat back again. “What do you think?”

  She thought that she loved him, that it was very possible she would always love him. Still, if she was ever going to have the life she dreamed of, she had to do everything in her power to get away from him.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, Price.”

  Now he was frowning. “What’s the matter? It’s a sound proposal. And, of course, I would expect to get my money back with interest.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  “So what do you say?”

  “I say I’m flattered that you’d do all that just to keep me around for a few extra months.”

  “Good. Accept my offer.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Price. I know you believe that no one can take my place here.”

  “I don’t believe it. I know it. We Montgomerys are not your average family.”

  Amen to that, she thought.

  He went on. “My parents are eccentric, and my brother hasn’t been himself for two years now. You understand them. You respect their individuality. You’re exac
ting in the way you take care of the house—and totally indulgent of my family. They adore you. And they won’t do well without you. You are ideally suited to Montgomery House. No one else will do.”

  Faith’s head was swimming. She would drown in such high praise, if she didn’t watch out. She made herself look at Price steadily. “I will find you someone. Someone perfect.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  “I’m pleased that you think so. But I’m no longer available. I’m moving to North Magdalene as soon as I possibly can.”

  The ringless hand was gripping the chair arm now. “Why? When you can live here and continue working, bringing in a good income, while your new business is being fixed up just the way you want it?”

  “I want to fix up my new business myself.”

  “You will be doing it yourself.” He was leaning close again, too close. She smelled that seductive scent of his, felt the strength of his indomitable will. “Agree to my offer.”

  She looked at him pleadingly. “Price.”

  “Agree.”

  “Please don’t—”

  He reached out and laid that ringless hand over hers.

  Faith gasped. The touch seemed to send sparks shooting through her whole body—out to the tips of her fingers and down into her toes. They stared at each other.

  Sir Winston chose that moment to let out a protracted wolf whistle.

  Price blinked at the sound. Then he removed his hand and shifted back in his chair, away from her. “Sorry. Of course. You’ll do what you think is best.” His voice was cold.

  Faith knew she had to get out of there. She snatched up the clipboard again and clutched it to her pounding heart. “I have to go. To check on Mary…”

  He shrugged. “Right.”

  She stood too quickly, upsetting the chair.

  He caught it before it toppled. “Watch out.”

  “Yes. Thank you. I will.”

  Faith drew up her shoulders and turned for the kitchen. She prayed with all her heart that he couldn’t see her knees shaking as she strode toward the door to the back stairs.

  That night, Price went out for dinner. Regis and Ariel never emerged from their rooms, so Faith had Balthazar leave some delicacies in plain view in the big subzero refrigerator.

  Faith carried a tray up for Parker, and discreetly knocked on the door of his room. She heard shuffling inside, and then a wary voice asked, “Faith?”

  “Yes, Parker. I have your dinner.”

  The door slowly opened. Faith entered the small, dark room and set the tray down where she always put it, on the battered chest of drawers near the door. Parker had retreated to stand by his desk in the corner, where the screen of the computer he never turned off cast an eerie glow over the room.

  Faith smiled at him. “Just leave it outside the door when you’re finished.”

  “I always do.”

  “Good.”

  She turned to go.

  “Faith?”

  She paused halfway out the door. “Yes?”

  “Mom says you’re moving out.”

  “Yes, Parker. I am.”

  “Why?”

  “I want…a new life.”

  “A new life.” Parker said the words with a sigh.

  Faith turned to him again. The computer screen gave off enough light that she could see that he was wearing a threadbare T-shirt with the logo of some rock group on the front. Old jeans and Converse high-tops completed his ensemble. The headphones to his stereo hung around his neck. She ached for him, as she always did. He was twenty-one now. And yet he seemed younger. A teenager, frozen in time.

  “I wish you’d stay with us,” Parker said.

  Faith thought of Price, of the feel of his hand on hers a few hours before. She wished she could stay, too. But she couldn’t. It simply wasn’t enough anymore to live on dreams that would never come true.

  She told Parker, “Well, I won’t stay. But I’ll find someone terrific to replace me before I go.”

  He was quiet. Then he muttered, “It won’t be the same.”

  “No. But you never know. It might be better.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll miss you, Faith.”

  “And I’ll miss you, too.”

  Friday, in the morning room, they saw six more applicants. After Faith had shown the last one out, the Montgomerys told her that not a single one of them would do.

  Faith made the mistake of asking why. And the Montgomerys told her.

  Regis started with the first applicant of the afternoon. He claimed she was shifty-eyed.

  “And how can we bear having some shifty-eyed woman taking care of the house?” Ariel demanded, then complained that the second applicant to be interviewed had been dressed entirely in beige. “I simply never have been able to trust a person who isn’t willing to show a little color here and there,” Ariel proclaimed.

  “And this one.” Regis waved the third application, to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “Remember this one? She let out a little squeak of alarm every single time Sir Winston squawked or whistled. Not a good sign, I’m telling you. She’s got something she’s guilty about, mark my words.”

  Ariel held up another application. “This one was a cold fish. Did you see the way she stared? Zap. Right through a person. Narrow-eyed and narrow-minded, I feel it in my bones.”

  “And this Miss Fidgely.” Regis pointed to the fifth application. “How can I say this? She smelled odd. Did you notice? Like moldy ironing…“

  “And this fellow.” Ariel frowned at the sixth and final application, from the single male applicant so far. “I’ve seen that face before, I’m positive. In the post office. On a Wanted poster.”

  “No,” Regis declared, “none of that group will do.”

  Ariel chimed in. “They’re each and every one all wrong.”

  “And now,” Regis said, “I have to get moving.” He stood. “I’ve got to get back down to the basement. I can’t explain what I’m working on, but I will say this—it is destined to blow the lid off the jar industry.”

  Ariel stood. “And I must go, too. It’s only a week until my new show. Where does the time go, I ask you? I’m working at white heat, and it’s still not fast enough.”

  “Tallyho,” Regis said.

  They turned together and exited through the kitchen.

  As on Wednesday, Faith and Price were left alone at the big table.

  Faith dared a quick glance at Price. He smiled at her— rather ruefully, she thought. She decided it was time to confront him about this little game he and his parents seemed to be playing with her.

  She folded her hands on the table and spoke in clipped tones. “The agency is running out of suitable applicants, Price.”

  Price lifted his broad shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. “Maybe you’ll have to try another agency.”

  She saw that she was going to have to be more direct. “What good is another agency going to do, if you and your parents refuse to take this interview process seriously?”

  Price picked up one of the discarded applications, frowned at it, and dropped it again. “We’re taking the process seriously, Faith. You just haven’t found anyone we want to hire yet.”

  She breathed deeply—twice—before she pressed on. “I know what the three of you are up to. And it isn’t going to work.”

  He didn’t look guilty in the least. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You and your parents are purposely finding something wrong with every person who applies for my job.”

  “I’m sorry you think that.”

  “No, you’re not. You don’t care if I think that. You have some idea that I’ll stay here indefinitely if you don’t make a choice. You are mistaken.”

  He waved a hand. “Call another agency. That’s all I can suggest.”

  Though his gesture and his tone were casual, his eyes had grown hard as sapphires. She let the subject drop. Really, there wasn’t much more to say. She’d told him she kne
w what he was doing; if he continued to do it, he’d be the one to lose out.

  And besides, though she was exasperated with the Montgomerys, she couldn’t help but be touched that they were willing to go to such lengths to try to keep her around.

  Price was smiling again, this time in a teasing way. Her heart did a silly little flip-flop. And suddenly even her exasperation was gone. She really was utterly defenseless when it came to him.

  She gathered up the applications. When they were all in her clipboard, she pushed back her chair.

  “Stay,” he said when she was halfway on her feet. “Tell me about your family. In North Magdalene.”

  She stood the rest of the way and looked down at him, longing to remain with him for a few minutes, yet determined to hold her own. “Price. If this is some new angle on getting me to change my mind—”

  He shook his head. “I swear. I’d just like to talk for a while, that’s all.”

  And, somehow, she was sinking into her chair once more. They ended up sitting there for a good twenty minutes, talking about her family and North Magdalene and why she thought it was the right place for her to make a new life.

  They were interrupted by the ringing of the cellular phone that Price had brought in from the library with him. When he answered, he found it was something he needed one of his computers to handle, so he left her. But he actually seemed reluctant to go.

  Faith sat alone at the table for several minutes after he departed, thinking about how comfortably they’d been talking. It had seemed almost as if they were friends; the words and glances, smiles and laughter, had flowed so naturally between them.

  “Love hurts!” cawed Sir Winston.

  Faith jumped. And then she laughed.

  A few days before, Faith would have agreed with the mouthy black bird. But just lately she wasn’t so sure. Since she’d given her notice, Price really did seem different. He had grown more attentive, she would have sworn to it, more aware of her.

  But then she shook her head. She had to be careful not to get her hopes up over a couple of friendly conversations and a teasing glance or two.