The Hired Husband

by Judith Stacy

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel couldn’t muster enough of an appetite for supper, Chelsey hadn’t returned from her friend’s house and this was one of Noah’s days to lurk on the staircase, so Rachel told Cook what to prepare for Mitch and went into the rear garden.

  Evening shadows slid across the green grass as Rachel settled onto a bench surrounded by blooming shrubs. She looked at the tablet she’d brought outside with her. All afternoon she’d tried to work on the luncheon arrangements. She had yet to accomplish anything.

  Of course there were lots of other things on her mind. Her father, for one. Dr. Matthews had come by the house today, as he did several times each week. She’d pressed him for details but the doctor had said nothing new, nothing hopeful. It irritated Rachel that he was always so evasive.

  Though she hated to admit it to herself, she’d enjoyed the quiet of the afternoon, made possible by Chelsey’s absence. Her younger sister had no problem making her feelings known on each and every issue that crossed her path.

  Unlike Noah. Though she’d seen him several times today, skulking through the upstairs hallway, peering over the railing and dawdling on the staircase when he thought no one was looking, he hadn’t spoken to Rachel. She’d learned months ago to ignore him on days like this.

  Dr. Matthews had looked in on Noah, but the doctor had refused to answer any of Rachel’s questions about her brother. Everything was proceeding “as expected,” he’d assured her, though Rachel didn’t feel assured at all.

  Her heart fluttered a bit as Mitch Kincade’s image floated into her mind. His presence here was unsettling, but Rachel didn’t know just how or why.

  She did know that the big, strong, capable man had become completely flustered in the study this afternoon, pretending to read his ledger upside down. And it had brought on the strangest reaction in Rachel. She’d wanted to comfort him, make things better, see him without his shirt on—

  Rachel gasped and shook her head at her own disconcerting thought. Yet that wasn’t as bad as this morning when he’d kissed her. Right there in the garden. For any neighbor who might be up at that hour to see. Or any of the servants who may have glanced out the window.

  Rachel’s insides seemed to hum at the memory of Mitch leaning closer, his scent wafting over her, then his lips closing over hers. Was that recollection the reason she’d accomplished so little today? Could a kiss do that?

  For an instant she considered discussing it discreetly with Claudia. She was officially engaged now. She might be willing to talk about men. She’d come to the house today showing off the gorgeous diamond and ruby ring Graham Bixby had presented her with, and given Rachel all the wonderful details of the upcoming nuptials.

  Rachel sighed heavily as dusk settled over the garden. She was happy for Claudia. Happy and, perhaps, just the smallest bit—

  The French doors that led inside opened, drawing Rachel’s attention. Mitch stepped out. Her heart gave an unexpected little jerk.

  He stood on the porch for a moment, hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, gazing out over the garden. He looked solid and strong standing in the dim light. After a moment, he spotted her. Rachel saw the quick intake of his breath, the straightening of his shoulders. He hesitated, glanced back inside as if deciding something, then walked over.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for not joining you for supper,” Rachel said. “I had Cook prepare one of my favorite dishes for you.”

  “Nothing like a plate of vegetables after a hard day’s work,” Mitch said. “And fruit to top it off.”

  She slid over a little on the bench. “Would you like to join me?”

  He looked down at her for a long moment. Even from a distance she sensed the heat rolling off him.

  He glanced at the tablet on her lap—at least, she thought it was the tablet he was looking at.

  “I’m working on the luncheon preparations,” she said. He glanced again at the tablet, at the blank page staring up at both of them. “I’m not getting very far,” she admitted.

  “You don’t have to put yourself through this, Rachel,” he said softly. “If your friends don’t understand that, then hell with them.”

  Rachel gasped. The idea. The very idea. Could Mitch really mean that? She couldn’t imagine.

  Of course, Mitch didn’t know the situation in its entirety. He didn’t know that Rachel’s father had married beneath himself when he married her mother. A woman from outside their elite social circle, a widow once married, with a young son.

  Rachel had watched her mother struggle to be “good enough” in the eyes of Father’s friends. Always careful to do exactly the right thing. Always worried about what other people thought. With the best of intentions, she’d impressed upon Rachel to worry about the same things. The actions of one family member were a reflection on them all.

  Her father never seemed to notice the subtle slights, the whispers that her mother endured; she’d been too proud to bring them to his attention. Rachel often wondered if his love had been worth it.

  She placed her tablet aside and got to her feet. “I feel like a walk through the garden this evening.”

  Mitch hesitated a moment, then fell in step beside her as they headed off across the lawn.

  “I saw your friend here today,” he said. “Claudia.”

  “She’s officially engaged now to the most perfect man,” Rachel said.

  “You don’t sound very happy for her.”

  She paused, surprised that Mitch picked up on the subtle tone in her voice. “I’m happy for her. Really.”

  “But?”

  “Well, maybe I’m just a little envious. Claudia’s life is perfect now.”

  “I suppose that depends on your idea of ‘perfect,’” Mitch said, as they passed a bubbling fountain.

  “Everyone has an idea of their perfect life. A dream of what they want their life to be.” Rachel glanced up at him. “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Surely you have a dream.”

  “No.”

  “Everyone has a dream—”

  “I have a plan. There’s a difference.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  He didn’t answer for a long time and Rachel wondered if he’d respond at all. Maybe she had no business inquiring.

  “My plan,” Mitch finally said, ducking to avoid a low-hanging palm branch, “is to build my own business.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked, a little surprised. “Uncle Stuart seemed to think your status as ‘hired gun’ to the wealthy was your goal.”

  “A means to an end,” Mitch said. “I need sufficient resources and, of course, the right investment opportunity.”

  “And that’s your idea of a perfect life?” Rachel asked. “Managing your own business?”

  Mitch glanced down at her and she saw a fierceness in his gaze that startled her.

  “That, and the things that come with it,” Mitch told her.

  “You mean a nice house and fine horses and all the usual trappings of success?”

  “I’m talking about power,” Mitch said. “And the only way to get power is with money.”

  “That’s important to you? Being powerful and wealthy?”

  “Damn right it is.”

  She studied him for another moment. “And that’s your idea of a perfect life?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  They walked in silence through the darkened yard. Mitch felt an impatience to get back into the house, continue his work on the Branford family finances, finish this job and collect his fee. Get on with his own life, make his long-awaited plan a reality.

  Rachel had asked him about his dream. He had one, of course, but it was so secret Mitch rarely allowed himself to think of it, let alone speak of it.

  He preferred to focus on his plan. Work for the wealthy, the elite of society. Make connections that would serve him later. Amass the money he’d long ago decided he needed. Search out the right opportunity to launch his own financial empire.
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  It was a lesson hard learned many years ago. With money came power, and with power no one could take things from you. No one could steal you away in the dead of night, ship you off, tear your life apart, leave you helpless.

  Yes, power was what Mitch wanted. He’d have it, and nothing would stand in his way.

  The breeze shifted and the delightful scent that was Rachel’s alone tickled his nose. Mitch had never before strolled the lush grounds of a grand mansion at dusk, in the company of a beautiful woman who smelled this nice. The urgency to get inside and back to work faded.

  “What about your dream?” Mitch asked. “Is it to get married, like your friend Claudia?”

  “Ah, yes. Marriage. A woman’s path to fulfillment. Family being the reason for her existence.”

  Mitch was certain he heard the ring of sarcasm lurking in her words.

  “I guess marriage isn’t your dream,” he concluded.

  Rachel caught his gaze quickly then looked away but not before he saw the sadness in her face. Mitch was sure he knew her answer even before she spoke.

  “My dream is just that. A fantasy. Impossible to attain.” She stopped suddenly and looked up at him, the closing lights from the house highlighting the determined lines of her face. “I want to turn back time. I want to go back a year to when my mother was alive, to when Father was well, when Georgie ran the family business and Noah had both arms and Chelsey was happy at school. That’s my dream. An impossible one, as you can easily see.”

  Mitch nodded slowly, the want in her voice winding through him, tearing at an old wound he knew would never heal.

  “I guess we all have a moment like that,” he said softly. “A moment that changed our lives, a moment when everything went to hell.”

  They stood facing each other in the garden for a long, silent moment until Mitch couldn’t bear the past pressing down upon him, made worse by the hurt he saw in Rachel’s expression.

  “So since you can’t have your dream,” Mitch said, forcing a lighter tone into his voice, “what else do you want? What sort of plan do you have for yourself?”

  Rachel jumped and drew back a little, startled, as if he’d just asked if he could peek under her skirt. “Nothing. Nothing, of course.”

  She’d responded so quickly, so forcefully Mitch suspected it was a lie. When she kept talking, he knew it was a lie.

  “Why, for a woman to have a plan—a business plan?” Rachel shook her head vigorously. “It’s simply not done. What would people think? I mean, really, it couldn’t possibly happen. It just couldn’t.”

  Mitch’s desire for her returned unexpectedly. Whatever she was going to such great lengths to deny must be something grand. He had to know what it was.

  But before he could ask, the excitement left Rachel’s face and she turned away.

  “I really should get inside now.”

  She didn’t wait for him, just started walking, leaving Mitch to follow. She kept her chin up, her eyes forward, her gait swift as they entered the house. She didn’t speak a word, which only made Mitch more curious, more anxious to know what was on her mind. When she stopped suddenly in the front hallway, he nearly ran into the back of her.

  “Oh, dear…” Rachel turned toward him, shielding her eyes as if she’d seen something she shouldn’t.

  Mitch followed her line of sight toward the entryway.

  “No…no you shouldn’t….” she murmured, trying to block his path.

  He sidestepped her and saw the butler across the foyer as he disappeared silently down the hallway. Then he spotted Noah on the stairs, and his breath caught.

  The boy sat crouched on a step, desperately clawing at an envelope held between his knees. With only one hand, he struggled to open it, his lips pressed together, his brow drawn in frustration.

  It was one of the most pathetic sights Mitch had ever seen.

  Noah’s gaze came up, impaling Mitch. Embarrassment flashed across the boy’s face, then anger. His gaze bounced from one of Mitch’s arms to the other, and his expression turned to one of such hatred that it stunned Mitch.

  Noah crushed the envelope in his hand and raced up the staircase taking the steps two at a time, his empty sleeve billowing behind him.

  A rage exploded in Mitch. He turned to Rachel.

  “Why doesn’t somebody help him?” he demanded. “How can you leave him to struggle with things that he can’t possibly accomplish? How can you—”

  Rachel touched his arm, and as she’d done before, rose on her toes and leaned close to his ear.

  “It’s from Madeline,” Rachel whispered.

  Mitch eased back, still angry but now confused.

  “The letter. It’s from Madeline,” Rachel said quietly. She glanced up the staircase and watched for a moment before continuing. “Madeline Jacobsen. She’s a lovely girl. Her family moved in down the block a little over a year ago. Noah and Madeline were inseparable from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Love at first sight. But not that silly schoolboy and girl love. It was as if their souls entwined at their first meeting, joining their hearts and minds. The two of them are absolutely perfect for one another.”

  “And all she can do is send him a letter?” Mitch asked, bitterness in his voice.

  “It’s all Noah will allow. He refuses to see Madeline—or anyone, for that matter—ever since the…accident.”

  Mitch’s frown deepened. “Do you mean that none of Noah’s friends have been to see him since he lost his arm?”

  “They came, at first. But he wouldn’t see any of them.”

  “And he hasn’t been anywhere? He hasn’t been out of this house since last year?”

  Rachel sighed wearily. “He won’t go anywhere. Not even into the gardens. We all tried to talk him into it but he refuses. Dr. Matthews said we shouldn’t force him. He’ll have to do things in his own time.”

  “So he just sits here, day in and day out? Doing nothing? Cut off from everyone and everything?” Mitch asked.

  “Except for his letters from Madeline.” A smile touched the corners of Rachel’s mouth. “His other friends finally gave up, but not her. She writes to him twice a week. Every week. And, as you can see, Noah lives for those letters.”

  “Christ…” Mitch turned away, his anger bubbling and his heart aching with the need to do something.

  “I wish I understood.”

  Rachel’s wistful words took Mitch’s attention. She gazed up at him, looking utterly lost.

  “I wish I understood,” she said again. “Noah and Madeline are perfect for each other. They’ve loved each other since the moment they met. He refuses to see her, but she won’t give up on him. Why doesn’t he see how much she cares for him? How much she loves him?”

  The anger, the rage left Mitch, in its place an emptiness so painful that he turned away from Rachel and pounded up the staircase. In his bedchamber he tore off his suit and pulled on his faded denim trousers and scuffed work boots, then headed for the attic.

  Joseph had cleared a spot in the spacious room, as Mitch had requested. Under the flicker of the bare electric lights hung the punching bag Mitch kept in the room he called home and took with him when he traveled. He threw open the windows and pounded the bag until sweat poured off his brow and soaked his white undershirt. He kept at it, punching and jabbing, dancing back and forth until his arms hurt. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until the ache in his body drove away the pain in his heart and mind, and the want of the secret dream he longed for.

  He pushed himself harder, but tonight not even the physical punishment chased away the image in his head.

  Noah and Madeline.

  Oh, to be loved like that….

  Chapter Eight

  Stupid rich people.

  Mitch sat on the leather seat of the hansom cab gazing out the window but seeing little of the Los Angeles scenery that passed by. The creak and sway of the carriage had kept him company since he’d bade goodbye to Stuart Parker a short while ago and headed for t
he Branford home.

  Stupid rich people. Long ago Mitch had developed that opinion of most of the clients he worked for, yet he’d found a welcome contradiction these past few days as Parker had introduced him to the businessmen of the city.

  After spending several days in the Branford home going over a portion of the company books, journals and records, Mitch had needed to get out, see the company holdings and assets in person. Standard procedure, in his line of work. Not everything could be properly assessed from studying contracts, journal entries or accounting ledgers. Mitch had to look for himself, judge for himself in order to make a sound recommendation.

  Stuart Parker, anxious to please, as all his clients were, had personally taken Mitch for a tour of most of the buildings, lands, factories, warehouses that Edward Branford owned. An impressive portfolio that had taken several days.

  Parker had also done what most of Mitch’s clients did. He’d introduced him to other businessmen in the city, showed him off at business lunches, taken him to the city’s most prestigious gentlemen’s club for brandy and cigars.

  Mitch was pleased to realize that some of the men were already aware of him by reputation. Those who weren’t, upon hearing of his solid background, were anxious to meet him, talk with him, ask his opinion on business and investments.

  Even old money wanted to associate with the smart newcomer, regardless of his background.

  Mitch had discovered years ago that his past, the details of his personal life were of no consequence to his clients or the businessmen he met. They wanted Mitch’s knowledge, they wanted to hear his opinion, his feeling about the economy or his gut reaction to an investment opportunity.

  With Stuart Parker’s glowing recommendation and business connections, Mitch knew he was on solid footing with the men he’d met in the city. He’d spotted several men whom he was certain would ask for his help. Potential clients. Potential business contacts. For that, Mitch was grateful.

  He was grateful, too, that things had gotten easier for him over the years. Mitch sank a little lower on the hansom seat and allowed memories of his very first business venture to play through his mind. Still, over twenty years later he remembered it with pride.