Wife Wanted

by Christine Rimmer

  The knock at the glass-topped back door came seconds later. Rick looked up and met the eyes of the visitor through the glass: another man, one close to Rick’s age. Rick guessed immediately that it must be Joel, the old boyfriend.

  Natalie was upstairs by then—keeping that low profile she’d been so insistent about the night before.

  “Look for more pieces of Rafael’s shell,” Rick advised Toby, as he got to his feet from his cross-legged position on the rug at the wide, low coffee table.

  When he got to the door, he judged that the visitor was just an inch or two under his own six-foot-two. And aside from a slightly weak chin, he was a good-looking man.

  Rick pulled open the door. “Yes?”

  “Is…Natalie here?”

  Rick tried not to take too much pleasure in the guy’s discomfort at finding another man in the house. “She’s upstairs, I think.” He held out his hand. “I’m Rick Dalton. You’re Joel, right?”

  “Yes. I’m Joel.” Joel acquiesced to a handshake. “Natalie didn’t mention she had company.” Over by the coffee table, Bernie growled again. Joel sent the dog a tight frown.

  Rick smiled broadly. “Listen, I’ll go and get her.”

  Joel coughed. “Well. Thanks.”

  “Hey, no problem.” He stepped back a little. “Come on in.”

  Bernie was up on all four huge paws now. He actually seemed to be glaring at Joel. Toby was watching the other man too, his small, pointed face pinched up in a scowl; if Bernie had his doubts about this guy, then Toby wanted nothing to do with him, either.

  “Uh, no,” Joel said. “I’ll just wait right out here on the porch.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Natalie appeared from the central hall just as Rick turned to go and get her.

  “Joel.” Her tone was far from friendly.

  Joel coughed again. “Natalie, it’s really important to me that we talk. If you would only—”

  She shoved the empty coffee cup she was carrying onto the kitchen counter. “Fine.” Then she flew across the room and grabbed Joel by the arm. “Outside.” She stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind them.

  Rick resolutely did not look out the bank of windows at Natalie and her uninvited guest. He went back to his son and the puzzle and the sensitive, insightful, old-boyfriend-eating dog.

  Outside, Natalie said, “Joel, I do not have your shirt. I do not have anything that belongs to you. So please leave me alone.”

  Joel looked down at his shoes. “All right. It’s not really about the shirt.” He looked up and peered through one of the windows, his brow furrowing. “Who is that?”

  “My tenant. And his little boy. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “A tenant? Why do you need a tenant?”

  “Joel. You’ve got until a count of five.”

  “All right. I just wanted you to know, I’m getting married.”

  Natalie blinked. She had no idea what to say to that.

  Which gave Joel time to continue. “Remember those ‘slight unfaithfulnesses’ I mentioned?”

  “Joel, I don’t see what this has to do with—”

  “Well, the truth is, the woman I was unfaithful to you with wasn’t as careful as she should have been. And now, I’m going to be a dad. Naturally, I want to do what’s right.”

  Natalie forced herself to speak, before he could tell her something else that she had no desire whatsoever to hear. “What in the world does this have to do with me?”

  “I just… You were always such a good listener, Natalie. And I’ve missed that. You can’t know how much. It meant a lot to me. To tell you all that I was going through. To get your feedback. You always seemed to know just the right thing to say. Melissa—that’s the woman who’s going to have my baby—is beautiful and lots of fun. But she’s very demanding. She exhausts me, you know? I miss the quiet times you and I used to share. I’d like nothing more than the chance to share times like that with you again.”

  “Wait a minute.” Natalie spoke very slowly, very clearly. “Let me get this straight. You’ve made a woman pregnant. And you’re going to marry her. But you still want to keep on seeing me. Is that right?”

  “Well…” He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, exactly. But I miss you, Natalie. I miss you terribly. And yesterday, when Melissa told me about the baby, I found that all I could think of was calling you, talking it over with you, seeing if you had any advice for me. I realize that romantically, you’re probably through with me. And that’s okay. I can learn to live with that. If we could just be friends, Natalie. Friends, please. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Natalie realized that her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut. She longed to be able to tell herself that this wasn’t actually happening. But it was.

  “Joel, do I have Welcome written across my chest?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course not.”

  “Then why is it you feel compelled to wipe your feet on me?”

  “Natalie. Don’t be foolish. I only want to talk to you, to tell you—”

  “Joel. If you ever come near me again, I will call the police. Do you understand?”

  “But, Natalie—”

  “I’m going inside now. If you do not leave immediately, I will call the police right now.”

  Joel dragged in a big breath to argue some more, but then something in her expression must have reached him at last. He peered at her, frowning. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  He shook his head. “You never want to see me again.” His voice dripped disbelief—and unwilling acceptance.

  “Bingo.”

  “Well.” He blinked a few times, and forked his light brown hair back from his high forehead. “All right. I guess I’ll…go.”

  “Thank you.” She stood there on the porch, watching him, until he disappeared back around toward the front of the house, where he must have parked his car. She was reasonably certain, from the look of stunned understanding she’d seen on his face, that he wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. For that much, she was grateful.

  But she still couldn’t help wondering grimly what was wrong with her judgment, for her to have been involved with Joel Baines in the first place.

  “Natalie?”

  She turned to see Rick, standing in the door behind her, looking achingly handsome in the old pair of sweat-pants and black T-shirt he’d been wearing since breakfast. “Everything okay?” He sounded honestly concerned.

  Her heart—which couldn’t be trusted—was suddenly beating faster. “Yes. Everything’s fine. Joel and I had a little…misunderstanding. But I think it’s cleared up at last.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The words seemed to have a hundred dangerous meanings. And he was smiling at her. That was dangerous, too.

  Remember Joel, she thought bleakly. Remember that you have absolutely no judgment when it comes to men. Remember that you are maintaining a low profile around here.

  “I’ll just get a little more coffee,” she said distantly. “And go back to my rooms.”

  His smile faded to nothing. He stepped back. “After you.” His tone was cool.

  She granted him a distant smile, and went ahead of him into the house.

  Seven

  That afternoon in Minneapolis, after Dr. Dawkins met with Toby, she invited Rick into her private office for a short consultation.

  The doctor was pleased. “Toby’s doing wonderfully. He makes direct eye contact. He even smiled twice during our visit today. The period of withdrawal he suffered through is almost completely over, I believe. Watch for him to start talking again soon. And when he does, don’t make too much of it. He might say a word or two, and then not talk again for a while. Don’t push him. Let him rediscover his voice in his own way.” She sat back in her big leather chair and templed her fingers. “Also, I think it’s time to cut back to two appointments per month.”

  Rick felt a surge of
pure elation. And then he thought of Natalie and the dog.

  “Is there something on your mind, Mr. Dalton?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” He explained about his new landlady and the dog that Toby adored. “Toby smiled the first moment he met her. And she leaves for a trip in two weeks. And Toby is nuts about that dog. We’re watching the dog while the landlady’s gone. But when Toby and I return home in the fall, the dog will stay behind. I’m concerned.”

  “That he’ll regress without them?”

  “Yes. That’s it, exactly.”

  There was a gleam in the doctor’s dark eyes. “Don’t worry.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Dalton, let me remind you that you are the central figure here. It is your commitment, your investment of time and attention in Toby, that is making the difference for him. As long as his relationship with you remains stable, he will continue to improve. I have no doubt at all that the day will come, not too long from today, when you will look at your son and see a perfectly normal, healthy, happy little boy. The nice landlady and the friendly dog can help, and you may see a few signs of worrisome past behaviors when Toby loses contact with them. But it won’t devastate him. He’ll get past it. You are the person with whom he is bonding. And as long as you keep showing him your love and commitment, he will be all right.”

  Rick rubbed his eyes.

  “I know,” the doctor said, “it’s a huge responsibility.” She chuckled. “But you’re doing great so far.”

  He thought of Natalie, the night before, knowing exactly what to say to Toby about the monster in the closet—when Rick himself hadn’t had a clue. He shook his head. “I’m glad you think I’m doing all right. But sometimes, I’m not so sure.”

  “Be sure. You are doing fine.”

  “Sometimes I think that what I need is a wife.” The words were out before he even realized he would say them.

  Dr. Dawkins was silent for a moment before she advised, “You do not need a wife, Mr. Dalton. Not as far as Toby is concerned. However—” now there was a grin on her smooth ebony face “—if you want a wife, that’s another issue entirely.” She rose from her chair. “I think we’re through for the day.”

  Rick stood, as well. Dr. Dawkins came around her desk and showed him to the door, reminding him to schedule Toby’s next appointment on the way out.

  When Toby and Rick returned to the farmhouse, there was a white Mercedes parked in front. Rick pulled around by the side door, planning to unload the groceries he’d bought.

  Before he and Toby could get out of the car, Natalie appeared in the doorway to the small, enclosed side porch. Bernie slid around her and bounded down the steps. Rick gave him a quick pat on his broad flank as the dog went past, headed for the real object of his affections: Toby.

  While Toby greeted the dog, Rick stared at Natalie, wondering what her distracted expression might mean and trying not to think about how good it made him feel just to see her standing in a doorway in shorts and a faded blue shirt. Her hair, as usual, was escaping from her ponytail.

  “Thought I’d bring in the groceries through the closest door this time.”

  The frown between her brows melted away, and she said teasingly, “You brought half a grocery store with you when you first arrived. That was only the day before yesterday.”

  Rick said nothing, only unlatched the trunk with the button in the glove compartment and then got out of the car. He was wondering how this could be happening to him. He’d met the woman two weeks ago, and this was only the third day he’d spent in her house. She’d made him promise to keep his distance. And yet, every time he laid eyes on her, all he wanted was to get closer.

  When he glanced at Natalie again, he saw that her teasing smile had faded—probably because she’d remembered their little agreement, which she seemed to have the same tendency to forget as he did.

  In a businesslike tone, she volunteered, “I’ll help you.” She started for the trunk of the car.

  He beat her there. “No need. I’ll handle it.”

  She stopped halfway between him and the house. “I don’t mind.”

  He threw the trunk lid all the way up. “I said, I’ll handle it.”

  “Of course.” She took a step backward. He could see in her eyes that his harsh tone had hurt her. He felt like a jerk.

  “Natalie?” The hesitant, well-modulated voice came from the door to the porch.

  Rick looked up to see Grace Kelly, dressed all in white, standing in the porch doorway where Natalie had stood a moment ago. He blinked and then looked again. On that second glance, he decided he wasn’t seeing ghosts after all. This woman’s oval face was a little narrower and her body slimmer than the fabled princess of Monaco’s had been. But she was every bit as stunningly beautiful, a fully mature woman who might have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty.

  “I’m coming, Mother.” Natalie turned and started for the house again.

  The beautiful blonde smiled at him over her daughter’s head. “Hello. I’m Erica. Natalie’s mom.”

  “Rick Dalton, the tenant.”

  “A pleasure.”

  Natalie hooked her arm through her mother’s. “Let’s go in, Mom. Rick wants to get his things unloaded.”

  But Erica Fortune pulled away. “Natalie, I’m sure he doesn’t mind taking a moment to say hello. And I do want to meet the child.”

  Toby, who had already noticed the strange woman, now approached cautiously, Bernie at his side.

  “Hello.” The vision in white stepped lightly down the short porch steps and knelt in the grass, her snowy skirt belling out around her like the petals of some delicate flower. “I’m Erica.” She smiled a tender smile, and suddenly Rick could see the resemblance between mother and daughter.

  Toby shyly smiled back.

  “His name is Toby,” Natalie said.

  “I know. You told me.” Erica Fortune’s attention was all on Toby. “I had a little boy. Only one. Now he’s all grown up, with children of his own and, at last, a lovely, good wife.”

  Toby reached out and stroked the woman’s silvery-blond hair, which gleamed in the sun like platinum spun with gold. She laughed, a laugh like Natalie’s, only slightly more brittle and not quite so warm. And then she grabbed Toby and hugged him.

  Rick took one protective step forward; Toby was very reserved, as a rule. He might be frightened.

  But then he saw that Toby was allowing the embrace. More than allowing it, actually; he was wrapping his thin arms around Natalie’s mother. He was patting Erica’s back.

  Erica was the one who pulled away. Sighing, she rose lightly to her feet. “You’re an angel,” she said to Toby. She looked up at Rick, and he saw that her green eyes were moist. “I love children,” she said. “Sometimes I miss the days when mine were small. Life seems so…tenuous sometimes lately. Then, things were simpler. Or at least it seems so now.”

  Natalie spoke from the steps. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go up to my rooms and—”

  “No, really. You’ve already done what you always do. Listened. And cared. I feel much better. So I’ll be on my way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Nice to meet you, Rick.” She granted him a gracious smile, then spoke to her daughter again. “Walk me to the car.”

  As the two women started for the front of the house, Rick reached for the bags in the trunk. And then he saw his son out of the corner of his eye, heading around back to play with the dog. It occurred to him that a boy who was up to hugging a woman he’d never met before was probably ready to help carry in the groceries.

  “Hey, Toby!”

  Toby stopped and turned.

  “I could use a little help here.”

  Toby made a face.

  “I mean it. Come on.”

  Dragging his feet, slumping his shoulders—in short, looking very much like the average little boy—Toby did what Rick told him to do.

  Inside, Rick saw the tabloid newspaper spread open on the b
reakfast table. Curious, he slid the bags he was carrying onto a counter and went to look at the thing.

  Monica Malone and Ben Fortune, the headline read, Their secret love that lasted a quarter of a century. The words were splashed across separate photographs of the beauty queen and a handsome gray-haired man, the late Ben Fortune. Worse, the shots had been spliced together to make it look as if the actress were about to kiss the former head of the Fortune empire.

  There was a shot of Kate Fortune, too, off to the side. She wore a disapproving expression on her patrician face, one that had probably been aimed at whatever determined member of the paparazzi had snapped the picture. But, of course, the tabloid wanted the reader to think that Kate’s expression showed distress at what was going on between her husband and the former goddess of the silver screen.

  The whole thing was cheap and exploitative—and most likely not true. But still, Rick was curious. He started to read the story, but only got through the first few lines before a loaf of bread hit the table at his elbow. He glanced up from the page to meet his son’s challenging eyes.

  Can I go play now? the boy’s expression said.

  “Go out and bring in that bag of potatoes and the box of laundry detergent. And then you can play.”

  Toby wrinkled his pug nose.

  “Go on. Do it.”

  Toby trudged out, Bernie close behind.

  Rick turned back to the magazine. He scanned the lines quickly. There was nothing to substantiate the outrageous charge at all. The piece began with “An informed source has revealed…” and didn’t have much more to say than the shocking headline, except to propose the theory that Monica Malone’s recent acquisition of so much Fortune Industries stock might be her way of getting even with the Fortune family.

  “Though the legendary Monica Malone was the one great and true love of Ben Fortune’s life, he would never give up his wife and his family for her. So they shared their love in the shadows. And now, at last, Monica Malone is stepping forward, demanding that the Fortune family deal with her, claiming her own place in the sun….”