by Donna Fasano
She pursed her lips. "Action is what's called for here, not thinking."
The stress from the looming time constraint put an involuntary shortness in his tone as he snapped, "I'll do something."
Immediately, Ben was flooded with a sense of remorse. He had no business taking his frustration out on his great aunt. Her suggestions were only meant to help him, were only offered out of her concern for him, he realized that.
"I'm sorry, Aunt May," he said. He watched her eyes soften.
"I know it's not easy. If you don't mind my asking, though, what do you plan on doing?" Then, she grinned impishly. "Or rather, who do you plan on asking?"
He slid his weight back until he was sitting on the wooden counter and then he rested his arm on top of the cash register. "As a matter of fact," he slowly began, "I do have a couple of ideas about who might…"
He let the rest of the sentence trail when he heard the hinges of the side door leading to the offices squeak open.
"Excuse me."
Ben's gut tightened at the sight of Chelsea Carson, but he was pleased when that was his only reaction. There had been a time when he would have turned as red as a ripe McIntosh and would not have been able to look her in the eye. However, years had passed since he'd made such a fool of himself in front of her, and over the course of those years the acute embarrassment he felt when he came face to face with Chelsea had ebbed to a fleeting tinge of chagrin.
"Hi, Chelsea," May called.
Ben watched Chelsea's mouth pull into what he'd describe as a "near smile" which was the only kind she had ever displayed in his presence, and she nodded a cordial greeting toward May.
"Trouble with the accounts?" he asked.
"Oh, no." She shook her head. "No trouble. The books are in perfect order."
He would have been surprised if she'd said anything else. Chelsea was a whiz at anything to do with numbers. Ben remembered plenty of times when his grandfather touted her as his "right hand" when it came to keeping the books straight. If Chelsea chose to be withdrawn, sometimes she could be downright standoffish around him, then that was her prerogative. She did her job and did it well, and Ben realized he had no right to ask for more than that.
"Could I see you in my office?" She gestured over her shoulder with an out-stretched thumb.
His brow raised quizzically. She'd never sought him out before, but then she'd always gone over the books with Granddad. Now that the old man had passed away, however, Ben thought that maybe it was only natural for her to seek him out. But something in her tension-rigid shoulders and the subtle anxiety in her eyes warned him that another dilemma was about to be revealed.
"I'll be there right away," he told her. He heard the weariness in his voice and it aggravated him. "Right away," he repeated, this time with a bit more fortitude.
She backed through the door, its hinges creaking. He doubted there was room on his shoulders for another problem, but as sole owner and operator of Reed's Orchard, even if it was only until next week, solving problems was his responsibility.
As he slid off the counter, he cast a questioning glance at May, hoping she could shed some light on what Chelsea's concern might be. May disclaimed any knowledge with a silent shrug and reached under the counter for her tabloid.
Pushing through the door, he paused in the tiny hallway outside Chelsea's office. Ever since he'd returned from college years ago, Ben had been in charge of the actual orchard, the planting, pruning, harvesting, storing and a million and one other tasks. John Reed had handled both the accounting and the retail-sales end of the business. Now, Ben was liable for the whole shebang. He'd have to get used to the fact that he'd have more dealings with Chelsea now that his grandfather was no longer around to handle the office matters.
She'd always succeeded in conducting herself with complete professionalism. And if she could do it, then so could he. At that moment, Ben realized he would have to look beyond the bad memory of his past behavior toward her… it had only been one incident, for Pete's sake. Why couldn't he just let it go? He had to try to form some type of working relationship with the woman.
~ ~ ~
Chelsea paced the small confines of her office and fought the panic that welled up like a ready-to-erupt geyser.
"Please, Chelsea," she whispered to herself. "Please show a little courage. Just this once."
She sat in her chair, took a deep breath, picked up a pencil, tapped it once, twice, three times, then dropped it on the desk top, stood and resumed her pacing.
"I can do this. I will do this. I will."
The sharp rap on her office door made her jump. Two more followed in quick succession before she could call out, "Come in."
Ben stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
"Hey," he said. "What's up?"
Chelsea hated the awkwardness that never failed to plant itself right in the middle of the room like a three foot wide, spotted toadstool whenever she encountered Ben. It was there and everyone knew it, but no one had the guts to point it out. Right now, the toadstool was growing by the second.
She swallowed and averted her eyes to the chair sitting near her desk. Back when she'd accepted the official title as bookkeeper for John Reed's business, he'd vacated the office so she'd have a place to work. She'd found the chair in a store room, had cleaned it up and dragged it in here in the hopes of making the room a little more cozy. The leather was worn on a couple of the corners, but the springs were just fine. The only person who'd ever used it had been John and that had been only for the few minutes it had taken her to give him a weekly financial report. Now John Reed was gone.
"Sit down, Ben," she told him.
Nerves clamped down on her voice like a vise. The very air in the room was taut. But then, why wouldn't it be? She sat behind her desk, balanced on the very edge of the chair, her back rod-straight, every muscle in her body tense. Ben looked as if he was sitting on tenterhooks himself. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to make a conscious effort to slide fully onto the chair and relax against the chair back.
"So, Chelsea," he gently said. "What's wrong? I can clearly see there's a problem. Whatever it is, we can work it out."
Chelsea inhaled a shaky breath. She wished she had only a modicum of Ben's self-assuredness. She had promised herself she would do this. It was now or never.
"Ben," she began cautiously, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with May just now. And I do have to admit it's not the first discussion between the two of you that I've overheard lately." She quickly explained, "It's not that I meant to get in your business, mind you, it's just that the shop is so close to my office and... well…"
He nodded and the look in his eyes told her he wasn't offended. She exhaled with relief and took a quick moment to form the words in her head for the next sentence she wanted to say.
"I know you're in trouble... with the… you know, the stipulations in John's will… and all." Her words were jerky and stilted. Terribly uneven. "I know you might lose the orchard... and I…" Her voice trailed off as she swallowed and then took yet another deep, fortifying breath.
Ben raised his hand, palm out to stop her, and touched his fingertips to his temple. "Where has my mind been?"
It was plain to Chelsea that his question was self-reprimanding.
He stood, took two steps toward the door and then turned back to face her.
"I was so caught up in my own troubles, it never occurred to me that I should have been talking to my employees." Ben moved closer to her desk. "You must be wondering if your job is in jeopardy."
"Well, actually…"
"With everything that's going on," he continued before she could correct him, "I can't tell you that your job is safe. In fact, it probably isn't. But I'm working on it. Everything is still so uncertain..." He shook his head. "I can't guarantee anyone's job right now. I'm sorry."
Chelsea frowned, her brow creasing deeply, he looked so remorseful, as though he truly felt he'd somehow let down the people
in his employ. Suddenly, some soft, unfamiliar emotion crept through the anxiety that was knotted in her chest. It was almost akin to the pity she felt for the wounded animals she cared for at the wildlife reserve where she volunteered her time. But, no, it went deeper than that, it was more like...
Chewing on her bottom lip, she quietly but firmly closed the door on the emotion, severed it as cleanly as if she'd snipped it with a sharp pair of scissors. Don't let yourself become too involved, a voice in her head silently warned. That was her number one rule of life. For if she did, invariably she would be hurt.
She was simply going to offer him the deal she'd concocted. She would help him, if he would help her. That's all there was to it. Plain and simple.
"Well, actually," she began, "what I wanted to talk to you about has nothing to do with the security of my job."
"Oh?"
Ben's sandy colored eyebrows raised with his question, and she noticed how they were a shade darker than his hair, which had been bleached by the sun to the color of ripe wheat. Would his hair feel as silky under her fingertips as it looked?
She refused to give the physical awareness a moment's thought. She simply shook her head to clear her mind and then continued with the task at hand.
"Well, actually," she said, immediately realizing she'd said the phrase a number of times already, "it has to do with your problem. You know, the trouble you're in. I think I might have an answer for you... I might have a plan that could help you... I mean, I think that…"
Chelsea stopped abruptly. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Why wouldn't the words come?
Because the plan is ridiculous? Outrageous? Beyond-belief bizarre?
The expression on Ben's face took on a mixture of quiet uncertainty and acute interest, but it was the interest that made his green eyes glitter brightly. She watched him slowly lower himself back down onto the chair opposite her desk.
"I'm listening. Go on," he urged. When she didn't immediately explain herself, he added, "I don't know what you have in mind, but at this point I'll consider anything." He settled back in the chair, his hands resting on the leather arms, and silently waited.
"Well…" She pressed her lips together, refusing to repeat the word actually again. Her gaze dropped to the pencil resting on her desk and she picked it up. "I know about the clause in your grandfather's will."
She absently fingered the pencil. "I know that if you don't get married, you'll lose the orchard."
The pencil spun between her index finger and thumb. "I know the man from the auction house is anxious to sell. I know the charities are just as anxious to receive their bequests. And I know the lawyers are chomping at the bit to file the paperwork with the court to force you to sell."
"Feels like the whole damn world is closing in on me."
Chelsea took a moment to offer a silent, consoling nod. At this point the pencil was twirling so quickly that it flew from her fingers, rolled across the desktop and clattered to the floor. Neither she nor Ben moved to touch it.
"Between overhearing your conversations with May," she said, "and hearing odd bits of gossip from some of the field hands, I think I know enough about your situation to realize that... you need some help."
His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.
"I think…" she swallowed "…I might be able to help you."
There, she thought, it's out. Finally.
Her gaze locked onto Ben as she waited for his response. None came.
She blinked and moistened her lips, deciding to try again. "What I mean is," she explained further, "I'm... willing to help. If you want my help, I mean."
Ben didn't bat an eye. Finally, he shook his head and said, "Help? Chelsea, what exactly is it you're trying to say?"
What was wrong with him? Hadn't he heard her? How could he not understand what she was saying?
As though reading her thoughts, he remarked, "Why don't you tell me the idea you have in mind?"
Heat flooded her face. Was he really going to force her to spell it out? Apparently so.
"Well, actually," she began. She looked off over his shoulder. "You're in need of a wife, right?" Lowering her gaze to a spot directly in front of her on the desk, she saw that she was wringing her hands. "I'm... single... and female. And, um, willing." She rushed to add, "To help, I mean."
His green eyes darkened with revelation. Then he looked surprised. "Let me get this straight," he said, his face scrunching in total disbelief. "Are you offering to marry me?"
"Well… actually... yes."
There was a clatter outside the office door.
"Why don't you come on in, Aunt May," Ben called. "You'll be able to hear much better if you're inside the room rather than standing out in the hallway."
The older lady pushed her way into the office and then promptly plunked her fists on her broad hips. "Ben Danvers, are you insinuating that I was eavesdropping?" The question held more than a fair measure of indignation.
Ben grinned. "Well, isn't that exactly what you were doing?"
"I was not," May pronounced emphatically. "I was just passin' by the door on my way…" she looked at a momentary loss, blinking as her brain whirred "…to somewhere important." May changed the subject completely by focusing her boisterous attention on Chelsea. "This is just wonderful! Ben found a wife." She snickered. "Or rather one found him. But is there still time? I'm afraid the registering and blood tests will take too long."
"Now, just slow down, Aunt May." Ben lifted his hands, palms outward. "Chelsea and I haven't even had a chance to talk about this."
May ignored Ben completely. "I know what you could do!" She nearly got her plump body off the ground as she jumped with excitement. "You two can drive into Maryland. The Cecil County courthouse is just over the state line, in Elkton. That little town used to be called the wedding capital of the world 'cause a couple could get married in two hours." She took a breath and rushed on. "Of course, all that has changed now, but I think it only takes two days after registering and you two could be saying 'I do' before the week's out."
"Aunt May, please," Ben pleaded. He stood up and moved toward his aunt. "Why don't you go mind the register? And let me talk to Chelsea. Please."
Ushering his great aunt out into the hallway, Ben nodded a farewell, stepped back into Chelsea's office and firmly closed the door behind him. He shook his head at May's muffled but indignant harumph. Chelsea was still too nervous to return his smile.
"Now," Ben said. "Where were we? I think you had just offered to marry me."
"Of course, there would be stipulations," Chelsea pointed out.
"Of course," Ben said.
He looked overwhelmed, stunned really, and she suspected he would agree to give her the world right now if she had a mind to ask for it. Lucky for him she didn't want the whole world. Just a small…
Really? the silent voice in her head intoned. Are you being honest with yourself? What you're looking for will become your whole world and you know it.
"There must be a time limit to the union," she blurted out, her tone surprisingly cool and professional. "We could stay married for say... six months. You'll probably be required to send a copy of our marriage certificate to the lawyers and there may be some other legalities involved." Her head tilted to one side as she said, "But six months should be long enough to take care of any legal aspects that might arise, don't you think?"
Ben could only nod vaguely. He watched her nibble on her full lower lip.
"You're willing to marry me just like that?" he asked. "With no strings attached? I'll tell you, Chelsea, I just don't get it."
"Well, actually... there are some strings attached." She hurried to specify, "One string, actually. Only one."
Suspicion coiled in him, dangerous as a snake with sharp teeth. She could see it, feel it.
"What is it you want, Chelsea? What do you expect to get out of this marriage?"
The way he said the word made her gasp.
"I don't want money,
if that's what you're thinking. And I don't want any of your land. Reed's Orchard shouldn't be owned by anyone but a Reed, and that's you."
After a moment he said, "So? What is it you're looking for?"
Chelsea saw doubt and distrust written all over him; in his expressive green eyes, in the set of his smooth-shaven jaw, in his rigid shoulders, in his tightly clenched fists.
This was her moment, her chance. All the dreams she'd ever imagined could come true. All the hopes she'd ever had could be fulfilled… if she could just handle these next three seconds right.
Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she gathered every bit of inner strength she had. She inhaled slowly and deeply. Finally, she looked Ben directly in the eye and tipped up her chin.
"I want a baby."
Chapter Two
Ben sat for a moment, shocked to the point of speechlessness. Surely he hadn't heard right. He simply couldn't have heard her correctly.
There were so many things she could have asked for. A lump sum of money. A partnership in the business. The deed to the small house that she lived in rent-free as part of her compensation.
But he'd never have guessed that she wanted a... that she wanted him to...
No. He simply hadn't heard her correctly. But before he could ask, however, she slowly and succinctly repeated her demand.
"I want a baby."
Chelsea's spine was stiff and she sat there frozen in her chair, obviously waiting for him to respond. But the four little words that had slipped from her mouth had dumbfounded him. Hell, he'd been walking around feeling dazed since attending the reading of his grandfather's will. This off-kilter state ought to have started feeling pretty natural by now, but it hadn't. And Chelsea was proving to him that there were deeper depths of confusion to be explored.
"I..." he began. Then he clamped his lips shut, his green gaze shifting toward the ceiling and then back to her. "I don't know what to say."
"I have everything all figured out," she said.
Chelsea knew she must explain her idea in a clear, straightforward manner. Otherwise, he wouldn't understand, or worse, he would misunderstand and she'd lose her only chance of having her dream.
