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THE MARRIAGE PROTECTION PROGRAM
Margaret Watson
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17
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Chapter 1
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He was still there.
Janie Murphy looked out of the kitchen of Heaven on Seventh and saw that Deputy Sheriff Ben Jackson was the last person left in her restaurant. Even Mandy, her waitress, had gone home.
And Ben didn't look like he was in any hurry to leave.
She'd have to face him sometime, Janie told herself, and wiped suddenly damp hands on her dress. It might as well be now. At least there was no one else in the restaurant to hear them.
Fixing what she hoped was a pleasant, impersonal smile on her face, she pushed through the swinging door and grabbed a pot of coffee. "Do you need a refill?" she asked, standing at a careful distance from his table. The memories of what had happened the last time she got too close to Ben Jackson were still far too vivid.
Ben studied her, his dark eyes unreadable. "I've had about as much coffee tonight as one man can hold," he finally said.
She set the coffee down and turned back to him. "Then can I get you your check?" She tried not to sound too eager.
He shook his head. "I need to talk to you, Janie." He took a deep breath. Almost, she thought, as if he was bracing himself. "It's important."
Her heart skipped once, then began pounding in her chest. How many times had she imagined this scene? And how many times had she told herself that it wasn't possible?
"What can I do for you?" Her voice was polite, and she struggled to suppress all emotion.
He stared at her, holding her gaze with his own, as if he was gathering his words. There was at least three feet between them, including the table. But awareness of him rippled over her skin and hummed along her nerves. He surrounded her, his scent filling her head, and she throbbed as if she were standing next to an electrical current.
It happened every time she got too close to Ben. It was why she stayed so far away from him.
"I need a wife, Janie," he said abruptly, his voice harsh. "A temporary wife. Will you marry me?"
"What?" She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself as she stared back at him. "What did you say?"
"I said I needed a wife, and I asked you if you'd marry me."
Anger stirred, and she welcomed it. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"
His eyes darkened. "I wish it was." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Janie, for springing it on you this way."
"Then why did you?" she asked, her voice fierce.
For the first time, she saw a flash of humor in his eyes "I figured if I didn't get right to the point, you wouldn't stick around long enough to hear me out."
He needed a pretend wife. And he'd asked her.
The pain was overwhelming. It engulfed her, pounding at her with its unleashed fury. All the loneliness of the past three years, the secrets she had to hide, the essential unfairness of the events that had changed her life, swept over her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. A huge lump lodged in her throat and threatened to grow. She couldn't, wouldn't break down in front of him. Not daring to look at him, she turned and tried to hurry back into the kitchen. She had to get away.
But Ben moved more quickly than she'd expected. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a chair next to him, but he didn't let her go. Her hand trembled in his. Even after five months, her body remembered his touch. His hand was hard and calloused on hers, and his heat seemed to flow around her, warming her in places that she hadn't even realized were cold.
She stared at his hand, seeing his tanned skin dark against her paleness, seeing his long, narrow fingers circling her fingers easily. The treacherous memories swamped her, and waves of sensation crashed over her. She knew she had to move away, but for just a moment, she allowed herself to feel the pleasure, allowed herself to enjoy his touch.
As if he felt the same current as she did, his hand dropped away suddenly and he eased away from her. When he let her go, the emptiness inside her yawned wide again.
"At least hear me out, Janie. Give me a chance to explain. I owe you that much, at least."
She looked at him steadily, determined he wouldn't see the pain in her heart. "You owe me nothing, Ben. I thought we'd already agreed on that."
A dull red colored his cheeks. "I wasn't talking about what happened that night. I meant I owed you an explanation after asking you to marry me like that."
"I misunderstood," she muttered, cursing the color that rose in her own cheeks. She'd assumed that he'd forgotten all about that stolen night so long ago.
The silence throbbed with unasked and unanswered questions. Finally, Ben said, "Do you want to stay here?"
"No one will interrupt us."
Ben hesitated, then glanced at the windows in the front of the restaurant. "That's fine with me."
Janie followed the direction of his gaze, and realized that the darkness outside and the lights inside illuminated them to anyone passing by. For the first time since she'd started talking to Ben, she remembered why she didn't like standing in front of lighted windows. And was appalled that she'd been able to forget for so long.
"Maybe we'd better go somewhere else."
"Fine with me." Ben pushed away from the table, and waited while Janie turned off the lights in the restaurant. Before stepping out the door, she let her gaze drift over the shadows that lined the street. It was a ritual she had performed every night for the past three years, even though nothing had happened since she'd been in Cameron. But still she checked every night.
As she pulled the door shut behind her and locked the door, Ben put his hand on her arm again. And again she froze, unable to block out the sensations crashing through her. Before she could move away, he slipped her key chain out of her hand and stared down at it.
"What are you doing with pepper spray?" he asked, his voice hard. "You've been here long enough to know you won't need it in Cameron."
She grabbed the key chain out of his hand and dropped it in her pocket. "Old habits, I guess." She tried to keep her voice light, but wasn't sure she succeeded. "They're hard to break sometimes."
She wasn't sure if her trembling was because of his touch, or the fact that he'd noticed the pepper spray. Afraid that the evening was getting out of control, she turned and started walking down the street.
"Do you want to come to my house, Janie, or shall we go to yours? It's up to you."
Neither, she wanted to shout. She didn't want to spend any time with Ben. She didn't want to listen to the reason for his outrageous question. She wanted only to get away from him and the painful memories his closeness aroused.
When she didn't answer, he slowed, then stopped and turned to face her. "Or maybe you'd like to go sit in the park."
For a moment, his face was filled with raw need and the memories of that night. His dark eyes flashed at her with desire barely held in check. I was wrong, was all she could think as she stared back at him. He hadn't forgotten anything. The memory still burned as bright in Ben as it did in her.
But she'd had five months of practice at ignoring the need that rose up inside her. "All right," she said abruptly, willing to do almost anything to break the spell that had her feet rooted to the pavement. "You can come to my house." Nothing could induce her to step foot into his house. She had worked too hard to suppress the memories of the one time she had been there.
"Thank you."
She didn't want to stand on the street, staring at him, for any longer than necessary. She needed to be in her ow
n house, needed the reminders of what was at stake if she allowed herself to give in to her emotions.
Her house was only a few blocks from the restaurant, and she turned and began to walk again. Ben laid a hand on her arm, and she froze. Against her will, her nerves quivered and longing rose up deep inside her. It had been so long. And she was so lonely.
And she would stay that way. She stepped back, and his hand dropped away.
"I have my truck. Do you want a ride back to your house?"
The fear came rushing back then, all the lessons she'd been taught and all the warnings she'd received. "Don't ever get into a car with anyone, even someone you think you know."
"No thanks." She turned and started walking toward her house. "I spend too long inside the restaurant all day," she said lightly. "I enjoy walking, especially when the evening is as soft as this one."
He walked along with her, and after a moment, he said, equally lightly, "Now there's an expression I haven't heard about Utah. I didn't think anything about this state was soft."
"It may be a hard land, but the people have soft hearts," she said, watching the street in front of her rather than looking at him.
"You're right, but I didn't think you'd noticed."
Even without looking at him, she knew he'd moved closer to her. "What do you mean?" she asked, edging away.
"You're a figure of mystery in Cameron," he said. His voice was light and teasing on the surface, but she heard the questions underneath. "No one knows you very well, and you don't seem to have a lot of friends."
There was one night when you knew me very well. She couldn't suppress the thought, or the panic that stirred inside her at his words. He shouldn't have been able to read her so easily. The best defense is a good offense. "I could say the same thing about you."
"My job keeps me busy." There was no inflection in his voice.
"So does mine." She swallowed. "When would I have time for a social life?"
"I guess we're in the same boat, then," he said, and she felt the jaws of a trap easing closed around her. He'd deliberately steered the conversation in this direction. Now they were allies, she thought uneasily, two people with something in common. But not marriage. Never that.
They had nothing in common, she told herself firmly, in spite of that one magical night. That one mistake, she corrected harshly. And that's the way it had to stay.
As they turned the corner onto her street, she automatically dipped her hand into the pocket of her loose dress and let her fingers curl around the tube on the key chain. The streetlights showed the street to be deserted, but she didn't care. She wasn't alone tonight, but that didn't make any difference. She was prepared for anything.
Ben slowed as they approached her house and looked it over carefully. For a moment, suspicion flared in her mind. But then he said, "One of the deputies drives down your street about this time every night. We know you're walking home by yourself."
"Thank you," she managed to say, hoping that he couldn't hear the remains of the fear and suspicion in her voice. "That's very thoughtful of you."
He shrugged. "Dev takes his job as sheriff seriously. And so do I."
It was comforting to know that someone had been watching out for her at night. It didn't change a thing, but she felt another surge of affection for Cameron. In the beginning, she'd never imagined she'd think of the town as her home. Now, even though she knew she might have to leave again, she felt like she belonged here.
She stepped into the front yard, opening the gate and listening with satisfaction to the loud squeal of its rusty hinges. She smiled to herself. It was a small thing, but an effective early warning system.
"Maybe you should oil that gate," Ben said. "It's pretty loud."
She shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."
"What about your neighbors?"
"They haven't complained."
He looked around her yard, and she wondered if he noticed how bleak it was, how empty. She felt a small stab in her heart every time she looked at it. The barrenness was an affront to her gardener's soul, but bushes and plants were potential hiding places. She'd ruthlessly removed every living thing from her yard before she'd moved in, and she'd resisted the need to plant more. In her mind's eye she saw perennials blooming, bushes outlining the house and annual flowers creating a lush frame for her small property. But they remained in her mind's eye only.
Unlocking the door, she kept the key chain and the spray in her hand as she moved into the house. All the lights inside were lit, and she waited for Ben before locking the door behind him. If he noticed the heavy-duty security locks, he didn't say anything.
"Come on in. Would you like something to drink? Iced tea or a soft drink?"
"Tea, if you have some made."
She led him into the living room, grimacing at the social charade. Some things couldn't be forgotten, she supposed, and manners were one of them. "I'll be right back," she murmured.
She left him standing in the middle of the room, looking around, and she wondered what he was thinking. The room was plainly furnished, with no family pictures on the wall, no mementos on the bookshelf, nothing personal anywhere. It was a room without a soul and she hated it with a passion, but it was the way she had to live.
Her hands shook as she poured the tea into two glasses, then arranged some homemade chocolate chip cookies on a plate. Even her house seemed to be aware of Ben's presence in the other room. The old frame structure suddenly felt like it was suffused with life, holding its breath and waiting for something to happen.
Mimi, her calico cat, wrapped herself around her ankles and chirped at her. She reached down and scratched her ear, whispering, "All right, Mimi. I haven't forgotten. I'll get your dinner."
She quickly fed the cat, then washed her hands and lifted the tray. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She could do this. She could listen to Ben's explanation, then tell him that what he asked was impossible and usher him out of her house and out of her head.
She had no choice.
As she walked into the living room, her skin prickled with awareness. He sat in one of her chairs, his stillness a direct contrast to the alert watchfulness of his eyes. His dark eyes had been cataloging the room, but he looked at her and stood as soon as she entered the room.
"Sit down, Ben." She set the tray on the table next to him and arranged herself on the couch, as far away from him as she could get. "Why don't you just tell me why you asked me … your question."
"You don't mince your words, do you?" One side of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.
"No. I've learned it's a waste of time." She sat on the edge of the couch and prepared to harden her heart to his request.
Ben stared at her for a moment, then set his glass down on the table with a snap. "It's about Rafael."
She shot up from the chair. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"
"Nothing is wrong, Janie." He stared at her with dark eyes, and she couldn't read his expression. "At least not physically. Rafael is fine."
"What is it, then?" She sat back down slowly, watching Ben. Rafael was one of the children Shea McAllister had smuggled into the country from the small South American country of San Rafael. She had reunited the others with their families, but Rafael didn't have any family in this country. Ben had found Rafael in the mountains after he'd run away, and she knew that he had developed a bond with the boy. Just as she knew that his search for the boy had evoked painful memories that had led to their night together. She tried to banish any thought of that night from her mind. Clearly, what Ben was asking had nothing to do with the night of passion they had shared.
"Rafael and I … get along. He likes living with me."
Janie continued to watch Ben. Although his eyes softened, his voice was full of pain. "That's wonderful, Ben. I suspect you're just what Rafael needs."
"I want to adopt him." His stark words echoed in the silence of the house.
Janie swallowed. "And you need a wife to do that
."
"You catch on quickly."
Janie steeled herself to ignore the spark of appreciation in Ben's eyes, ignore the warmth that bloomed there. It wasn't for her, she told herself. It was merely because she'd grasped the situation right away and understood his dilemma.
And she could be no part of it.
Pain and anguish crashed over her again. If she were living a normal life, if she could have allowed herself to be attracted to Ben, would this moment be different? Would his proposal be the culmination of a courtship? Would it have been real?
It didn't matter, she reminded herself. This was her life, normal or not, and what Ben asked was impossible. It would have been impossible even if she wanted to agree. Which she didn't, she told herself.
"I'm sorry, Ben, but I can't do it."
He waved his hand at her. "I didn't think you'd agree right away. At least hear me out, Janie. I'm sorry I had to spring this on you, but I'm desperate. You're my only hope of getting Rafael's adoption approved."
He moved over and sat next to her on the couch. Before she could move away, he slid her hand between his, holding her lightly. It was a comforting gesture, nothing more, but her entire being was focused on the touch of his hands. She could barely concentrate on his voice. Finally she drew her hand away and curled it into a fist in her lap.
He didn't seem to notice. "The whole situation with Rafael has gotten too much publicity in the last few months. The damned reporters have been swarming all over Cameron." He scowled and stood up to pace around the room again, and she drew in a wobbly breath. "Everyone knows about him now, about how he lied to Shea's courier about his family so he could get out of San Rafael. The adoption agency has couples calling from all over the country who want to adopt him." He scowled again. "Hell, Shea and Jesse even wanted to adopt him. But he wants to stay with me. The problem is, the social worker assigned to him told me that I have as much chance as a snowball in hell of having my adoption approved. What judge is going to let a single man adopt him when there are couples waiting in line?"
THE MARRIAGE PROTECTION PROGRAM Page 1
