by Helen Conrad
Charity kicked him a little harder. “I don’t know what you thought you could gain by such a ridiculous story, anyway,” she grumbled.
“I didn’t do it for me. It was for her.”
“Oh, really?” Charity picked up her glass of iced tea and took a long sip, her dark eyes examining her brother’s face. He’d always been good-looking, but now there was something else in his face that disturbed her—a look of weary bitterness around the eyes, a line of sadness around the mouth.
Mason was a dilettante, a playboy, a drifter. And that was all he would ever be. She ought to accept that and stop caring, but she couldn’t. She loved him.
“Convince me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You know what she’s like. She can’t believe we all turned out the way we did.”
Charity’s laugh was short and had a bitter edge. She couldn’t believe it, either, even though she’d seen the direction from the beginning. “I don’t know why it should be a big surprise to her. After all, with parents like we had—“
“That’s just it.” He smiled ruefully at his sister. They had always been close and they had a shorthand way of talking to each other that could shut out others if they didn’t watch it. A wink, an elbow jab, could speak volumes and make words almost unnecessary.
“She wants us to be different. I think she’s always had some personal fantasy about being the dominant force in our lives, the one who was going to change us back into normal people—“
“Hah!”
“And then she looks us over. There’s Faith with her ideas of living on herbs out in the desert, and there’s me with my nomadic life-style and what she would consider a frivolous career.”
Charity set down her glass with a snap. “And there’s me running a restaurant and being a good, solid citizen. Why couldn’t you leave it at that?”
“Because she seemed to need more.”
Mason straightened and turned so that Charity could see the earnest expression on his face.
“Listen, we were there in her apartment in Boston, sitting around the dinner table, and she’d invited all her friends over to meet me. They’d turned up their noses at the ski bum—you know how people do— and every one of them had a daughter or a niece who was married to a heart surgeon. I... I just felt bad for Aunt Doris. It’s not her fault we turned out so weird. So—“
“So you invented something for her to be proud of, too.”
His grin was handsomely sheepish. “Yeah. I mean, what you’re doing may seem normal and mainstream in the new century, but that’s not the period Aunt Doris lives in. To her it’s still 1959, and in 1959 good girls get married to men who’ll protect them.”
Charity groaned. “So you told her I was married.”
“To a wonderful man.”
“And now she’s coming to meet him.”
“Well...” Mason shrugged. “That’s your problem. I’m getting out of town. You’ll just have to explain that your husband is away at a business convention or something equally inane.”
“No, I won’t.” Charity enjoyed seeing her brother blink in surprise. It was so seldom that she succeeded in stopping him in his tracks. “I’ve found myself a husband. Aunt Doris will not be disappointed.”
Mason was skeptical. “What, some friend who’s offered to step in and play the part?”
“No.” Charity made him wait a few seconds longer before filling him in. “Actually I’ve hired someone.”
“What?”
“From a temporary agency.”
“There are agencies where they rent out husbands?”
“Why not?” She enjoyed confounding him and didn’t bother to explain it was actually an ordinary temporary agency.
Mason shook his head, a grin splitting his face. “Have you seen him?”
She hesitated. “No, but I’m sure he’ll be perfectly presentable.”
Mason groaned and fell back against the couch. “He’ll be a gargoyle,” he prophesied mournfully. “He’ll have warts on his nose and wear a bowling shirt. Just what kind of man do you think would pursue a career hiring out as a temporary husband?”
Charity frowned. She hadn’t considered that angle. “I...I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” she said uncertainly.
But he’d shaken her confidence. What if Mason were right? What if she’d saddled herself with some monstrosity?
Mason hooted. “I’m sure he won’t!”
Charity glared at him. “But as you said, it’s my problem, isn’t it? You won’t even be here to help me get through the mess you created.”
He grinned, shaking his head. “I wish I could stay and see this,” he chortled. “It’ll be the Three Stooges revisited. But Paul Lomax is coming by at around two, and we’re heading for the airport.”
She shook her head. “Yes, Chile is so lovely in winter,” she said sharply. “Give my best to the current dictator.”
He turned palms up again, giving her the boyish, innocent smile that had captivated hearts all over the world.
“I think they’ve moved on to a democracy,” he noted. “Hey, can I help it if the best skiing is in South America this time of year? I gotta go where the action is.”
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Charity’s sarcasm was softened by the tousling she did to her brother’s hair as she passed on her way to the kitchen. “And a woman’s gotta stay behind to pick up the pieces.”
He rose, actually helping her take dishes to the sink. “But you’re so good at it,” he said in what was supposed to be a soothing tone. “You always were the one to fix things for us.”
He went on talking about the arrangements he and Paul had made for their trip to Chile, but Charity wasn’t listening. His last words echoed in her mind.
You always were the one to fix things....
Twinges of rebellion stirred inside her. She swept a stack of dishes into the sudsy water and began to rub them vigorously with a dishcloth, but she couldn’t clean away her thoughts as easily.
It was true. Though she was the youngest of three children, she’d always been the one with the level head, the one the others turned to as an anchor in the storm. Mason, being the male and two years older than Charity, should perhaps have been the natural leader of their little family, but it hadn’t worked that way. Mason was a thrill seeker. He didn’t believe in caution. More than once, Charity had been forced to pluck him from the jaws of sure disaster— or the local jail.
Their sister Faith was the oldest by another two years. Tradition said that the oldest should be the wisest and most responsible. Tradition had never dealt with Faith.
“She was left here by Martians on a field trip,” Mason used to complain when they were teenagers. “No human species could have spawned this mutant aberration.”
Faith was beautiful. Her blond hair floated around her in an unearthly cloud and her pale blue eyes seemed to see into another world, although they seldom saw what was going on around her.
They’d grown up on the run, moving from one Pacific island to another with parents who were, by turns, missionaries of a metaphysical religion, extortionists or con artists.
There was no nice way of saying it. The Ameses had been crooks, and they’d raised their children in a weird atmosphere of cunning and chaos, usually just one step ahead of disaster—and the authorities.
Faith and Mason had never minded it much. Normal life seemed boring to them, anyway. Charity had felt the brunt of the burden; she’d ached for some dignity and respect.
And so Charity had been the one to fix things when she could. When things went wrong, both her siblings still showed up on her doorstep, expecting her to shelter them from the cold, cruel world. And she’d never turned either one of them down.
Now she had Aunt Doris coming. Aunt Doris didn’t want to be sheltered. Aunt Doris wanted to check on things. And Charity felt like a student on the eve of final exams.
“Going to dress up for your gargoyle?” Mason asked in all innocence just be
fore he left the kitchen.
“Gargoyles are people, too,” she reminded him, glaring all the while. Actually she was planning to dress up. It was only around family members that she looked like a hobo. Before the world, she liked to present a more professional image.
Mason shrugged. “I’m going out to pick up some supplies for the trip. If Paul gets here before I get back, entertain him. Okay?”
“Sure,” she answered absently, but she hardly heard the door slam as he left.
Gargoyles. Who needed them? She stared at her cell phone lying innocently on the counter. Maybe it would be best if she canceled the hired husband after all.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Cast of Characters
CHAPTER ONE: Feet of Clay
CHAPTER TWO: Take Me Home Tonight
CHAPTER THREE: Cheaters Never Prosper.
CHAPTER FOUR: Up, Up and Away
CHAPTER FIVE: Into the Woods
CHAPTER SIX: Avocado Green
CHAPTER SEVEN: Buy Me the Moon
CHAPTER EIGHT: It’s a Balancing Act
CHAPTER NINE: A Time To Heal
CHAPTER TEN: Meant To Be
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Affirmation
Title Page
Cast of Characters
CHAPTER ONE: Carry On, Jeeves
CHAPTER TWO: The Kids Are Coming!
CHAPTER THREE: A Butler’s Work Is Never Done
CHAPTER FOUR: No Matter What You Do
CHAPTER FIVE: They Don’t Promote Butlers To Wife
CHAPTER SIX: At His Command
CHAPTER SEVEN: Aunt Julia Shakes Things Up
CHAPTER EIGHT: A Force To Be Reckoned With
CHAPTER NINE: Learning Navigation
CHAPTER TEN: Koalas Need Mothers Too
CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Night They Were Dancing….
Title Page
Cast of Characters
CHAPTER ONE: To Catch a Thief
CHAPTER TWO: Sushi Fixes Everything
CHAPTER THREE: Casing the Joint
CHAPTER FOUR: We Meet Again
CHAPTER FIVE: The Chocolate-Covered Strawberry Mistake
CHAPTER SIX: Take My Breath Away
CHAPTER SEVEN: Hot Stuff
CHAPTER EIGHT: Men Like Michael
CHAPTER NINE: Irresistible is What You Are
CHAPTER TEN: Teaching a Lesson to the Teacher
CHAPTER ELEVEN: All Fall Down
Also Available from Doorknock Publishing
Excerpt from Husband Wanted: Will Train
Author Helen Conrad
