When Aunt Martha had barged through the front door thirty minutes ago, the expression of horror on the woman’s face had nearly been laughable. But Hannah had obviously found nothing humorous about the compromising situation her aunt had walked in on. He’d felt Hannah tremble in his arms, had heard her sharp intake of breath. Clearly, Hannah had not been expecting the woman.
And clearly, Aunt Martha had not been expecting to find her niece standing at the foot of the stairs with a strange man, both of them half-naked.
The woman’s face had gone from bone-white to scarlet in the blink of an eye, a sharp contrast to the chic, slim-fitting chocolate-colored sheath dress she wore. She was an attractive woman, probably in her sixties. Her silver hair was fashionably short, her makeup fastidious, her long nails the same bronze tone as her lips. With wide eyes, she’d stared at them in disbelief, her hand still frozen on the door. On that same hand, she wore a diamond that probably cost more money than he’d even made last year.
Hannah had been the first one to move. She’d tugged frantically at the hem of the T-shirt she wore—his T-shirt—babbled about what a surprise it was to see her aunt, made an attempt at introductions, then dashed up the stairs. Her lips pressed into a tight line, Aunt Martha turned her narrowed, piercing gaze back to him, looked him up and down, then closed the door behind her and marched into the living room without so much as a word.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out neither woman wanted him around at that moment. It had taken tremendous effort, but he’d resisted the temptation to go after Hannah when she’d run up the stairs. Instead, he’d gone back to his room and slipped on a T-shirt and tennis shoes, then headed for the kitchen and the coffeemaker.
Some people said that music soothed the savage beast. For him, it was strong black coffee.
And after catching bits and pieces of what Aunt Martha was saying to Hannah—irresponsible, promiscuous and improper were a few of the words spewing from the woman’s mouth—savage was a good word to describe what he was feeling. The only problem was, the coffee wasn’t working. Minute by minute, as he listened to Hannah’s aunt harangue her, his blood burned hotter and his anger turned darker.
“…your inexcusable behavior…” Seth heard Aunt Martha say from the other room. His hand tightened on the mug he held; a muscle jumped in his jaw. He needed to get out of the house before he said or did something stupid. As much as he’d like to tell the old biddy off, he knew he wouldn’t be doing Hannah any favors if he interfered.
He turned, started for the door to the hallway and laundry area, intending to slip out the back door. But even in the hallway, the sound of Aunt Martha’s voice burned the air.
“I’ve been exceedingly patient with you,” the woman said stiffly. “A three-months’ extension has been more than generous on my part, Hannah. If you can’t be prompt with a simple payment on your share of the rent, then how do you expect ever to run a successful business? You’ll fail before you’ve even seen your first customer.”
Seth ground his teeth, told himself to keep walking. None of your business, he told himself. Control had always been more than important to Seth, it had been essential. In his job, control, or the lack of it, could mean the difference between life and death. He’d learned to think before he spoke, to calculate the consequences before he made a move.
Yet he stayed at the base of the stairs and listened. Why didn’t Hannah respond? he wondered. Why didn’t she tell her aunt to butt out?
“What would your mother think, God rest her soul?” Martha continued. “Her own daughter having a shameful tryst with a man she’s just met. It’s disgraceful, Hannah Louise.”
Anger slashed through Seth, hot and sharp. Answer her, dammit, he thought. Tell her to go to hell.
But she didn’t. Seth curled his hands into fists and turned back toward the hallway. He couldn’t stay here and listen to this. He needed to get out now.
“What kind of woman does that make you?” Martha said shrilly. “What kind of mother?”
Like an arctic blast, Martha’s pious, insulting comment froze Seth where he stood.
That did it.
He turned slowly, made his way to the living room. Wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a soft pink silk blouse, Hannah sat on the sofa, her back straight as a board. She stared down at the hands she’d linked tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, her lips pressed firmly together. Aunt Martha stood in front of the brick fireplace, her arms folded, her nose lifted in the air as if there were a bad smell in the room.
“Were you thinking about your children?” Aunt Martha said coolly. “Were you thinking about how this might—”
“Stop.” Seth moved into the room, startling both women. “You just stop right there.”
“Seth.” Panic lit Hannah’s face as she rose from the sofa. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right, dammit.” He stared at the elder woman and tried to understand how Hannah could be related to such a patronizing witch. The scent of her expensive perfume filled the room, made him want to throw every window open and pray for a cleansing breeze. “I won’t—can’t—just stand by and let you talk to her like that.”
“This is none of your concern.” Aunt Martha narrowed her disapproving eyes at him. “I’ll ask you to leave immediately.”
“You can ask all you want.” He moved into the room. “And I’m making it my concern.”
“Seth, please.” Hannah moved between him and her aunt. “This isn’t helping.”
“It’s helping me.” He kept his gaze on Martha, felt the icy chill of her gaze. “Have you any idea how hard this woman works to take care of this house and her daughters? Did you know she gets up every morning at four-thirty just to bake muffins to bring in a few extra dollars? That she works two jobs outside the house, plus any side jobs she’s offered?”
Hannah touched his shoulder, whispered his name as she exhaled. He heard her desperation, felt it in her touch, but still couldn’t stop himself. “Did you know she’s been remodeling this place practically by herself, that her good for nothing ex-husband hasn’t given her more than a few dollars in months?”
Clearly she hadn’t known that, Seth decided. Aunt Martha’s surprised gaze darted to Hannah and her hand went to her throat.
“Hannah, why didn’t you—”
The woman stopped, then lifted her chin and said crisply, “She doesn’t have to live like this. I’ve offered my niece a lovely home to live in and private schools for her girls. Boston is rich in culture and civility. What does Ridgewater have, other than an absurd, oversized mass of fruit and nuts?”
“It’s got heart, for one thing,” Seth said tightly. “Something you seem to have misplaced.”
Martha’s eyes widened at the verbal barb, then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I entertain a great deal, could connect Hannah to all the right people. People who could help her find a suitable position.”
“She’s got a suitable position.” Seth barely noticed Hannah’s hand tightening on his arm. “Right here. In this house, in this town. A single mother on her own, and the best damn mother those girls could hope to have. She’s also twenty-six years old, and shouldn’t have to explain or justify whatever happens in the privacy of her own house to anyone. Especially to someone who doesn’t have the courtesy to call, or even knock, before she walks in unannounced and uninvited.”
“Please,” Hannah pleaded. “Seth, let me handle this. Please.”
“I refuse to stand here and listen to any more of this.” Aunt Martha shot an icy gaze at Hannah. “Obviously your taste in men has not improved, my dear. I’ll be on the next flight out.”
“Aunt Martha, no. Don’t go.” Hannah touched her aunt’s arm, but the woman merely shrugged her off.
“When you come to your senses, Hannah Louise, call me and maybe we can talk.” Martha picked up her small, brown-leather shoulder bag and headed for the front door. “Either way, you’ve proven to me that you’re making all th
e wrong choices. I’m putting this house up for sale next month.”
Hannah’s face paled. “No. Please. Just give me time and I’ll make up the back payments. I just need a little more time.”
“I’ve been more than patient with you. I realize it’s difficult for you to face another failure in your life, but once you and the girls come to Boston, you’ll thank me.”
The woman shot one long, withering look at Seth, then marched out the front door. Hannah started to follow, then stopped and hugged her arms close to her. “What have you done, Seth?” she murmured. “Oh, God, what have you done?”
“I couldn’t let her talk to you that way,” he said gently and came up behind her. “You didn’t deserve that, any of those things she said.”
Hannah turned to face him, anger lighting her blue eyes. “She always talks like that when she’s upset. If I let her rant for a while, she calms down. I could have bought a little more time. Now I don’t know.”
“Dammit, Hannah.” He spun away from her, dragged a hand through his hair. “She’s a bully and a snob.”
“She’s also half owner of this house. She can sell if she wants to, without my permission.”
“Banks give loans to small businesses,” he insisted. “You have friends here who would help. I would help.”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Banks don’t loan money to single mothers with no collateral. I refuse to borrow money from friends, and I most certainly will not borrow money from you.”
He winced inwardly at her words, felt a muscle jump in his jaw. “You don’t need her, Hannah. You don’t need that kind of abuse.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what I need,” she said tightly. “In a few days you’ll be back on the road and I’ll still be here, trying to get from one day to the next. You had no right to interfere.”
“For God’s sake, Hannah, will you just—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She turned away, reached for her purse on the end table and pulled out her car keys. “Why don’t you drive into town and have a look around? There’s a diner that serves four-egg omelettes and the best hash you’ll ever eat, or there’s a tavern with a pool table and darts. The girls won’t be home until seven and I could use the time to work around here.”
He narrowed his eyes, felt the cold settle in his gut. “If you want me to leave, just say so.”
“I thought that’s what I just did.”
He reached for the keys, covered her hand with his. “I mean, if you want me to pack up and go, tell me.”
She went stiff for a moment, then lifted her gaze to his. She looked tired, he thought. Weary.
“If I wanted you to ‘pack up and go,’” she said quietly, “I’d tell you. I just need a little time alone, that’s all.”
He didn’t want to leave her alone, dammit. Not like this. And he sure as hell didn’t like getting kicked out, either.
Dammit, anyway.
He started to reach for her when the phone rang. She moved to the side table and answered it, then turned back to him.
“It’s for you.” She handed the receiver to him. “A Lieutenant Jarris.”
Jarris. Dammit.
“Yeah?” Seth met Hannah’s flat, steady gaze as he spoke into the phone, then said after a moment, “Two weeks is the best I can do.”
While Jarris barked at him from the other end of the line, Seth watched Hannah turn stiffly and move up the stairs.
Dammit, dammit.
“I’ll get there when I get there,” Seth said tightly, then slammed down the phone. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then stared at the empty stairs.
This definitely had not been one of his better days.
Hannah sat at her kitchen table and ran through the figures in front of her one more time, at least the tenth time in the past hour. It didn’t seem to matter how she rearranged the numbers, the outcome still remained the same: she simply couldn’t come up with enough money to pacify her aunt or satisfy the bills she was already late on.
Dropping her elbows on the table, she rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. The base of her skull throbbed, and her eyes had long since blurred from staring at the columns of numbers. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, had her laying her head down on her arms. It wasn’t exhaustion of a physical nature, even though she’d had little sleep last night, but rather an emotional and mental exhaustion.
The first two hours after Seth had left the house, she’d thrown herself into sanding the final cracks in the upstairs bedroom. She’d taken a shower after that, let the hot water beat down on her stiff neck and shoulders while she rehashed the morning’s events over and over in her mind.
Aunt Martha would never forgive her, Hannah was certain. No one ever spoke to the wealthy and influential Martha Richman that way. At least, Hannah had never heard anyone speak to her the way Seth had. Her aunt had been visibly shocked.
In spite of herself, in spite of the situation, Hannah smiled.
And though she was certain her aunt would never forgive her, Hannah was just as certain her aunt would come back around. Aunt Martha would speak to her again—sometime—but Hannah knew that she would have to hear about this incident for a long time to come. Like forever. And the chances of her aunt changing her mind about the rent were somewhere between slim and none. Just about the same odds for Hannah coming up with enough money not only for her bills, but to keep her house, as well.
And as far as the bed-and-breakfast went, she couldn’t even think about that now. If she didn’t figure out a solution to her financial situation, opening up the Wild Rose would become a moot point.
She’d think of something. She would. She hadn’t come this far to lose everything now.
She glanced at the clock on her stove. It was nearly four o’clock and she needed to start dinner soon. She had no way of knowing when Seth would return, but she wanted to have a meal prepared in case he came home hungry.
Home. Strange how easy it had become to use that word when she thought of him. This wasn’t his home, of course. She understood he was just “passing through,” as the expression went, understood that the phone call today from his boss was probably another assignment, that he’d be going to Wolf River, then back to New Mexico.
She also understood that what had happened between them was physical. An extremely pleasurable, mutual night of passion between a man and a woman. Most men and women would accept that situation, move on with their lives when the time came to go their own way.
She wished to God she was most people, wished that her heart could understand what her brain did, that Seth would be leaving soon, that she would probably never see him again. Wished to God that it didn’t matter nearly as much as it did.
And if wishes were nickels, her mother used to say, we’d all be rich.
With a heavy sigh, Hannah laid her head in the crook of her elbow and listened to the sounds of the neighborhood drift in through her open window: the Clark children splashing in their pool two doors down, Charlie Hanson’s electric hedge trimmers, the hum of Mrs. Peterson’s air conditioner. All familiar, all comforting. This was her home, where her grandparents and parents had lived, where she wanted to raise Maddie and Missy.
Her home, dammit. Not some glossy, marble-floored showpiece in Boston. This house, this town, was where she belonged, where her girls belonged. She might go down, she thought, but she sure as hell wouldn’t go down without a fight.
She’d work five jobs if she had to. Ten jobs. Whatever it took.
But she just needed a minute to rest. Needed to regroup and gather her strength. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift off. One minute, she told herself, maybe two…
He found her like that thirty minutes later. Bent over the table, her cheek resting on her arms. The sight of her sitting there, sleeping peacefully, made something shift in his chest. His hand tightened around the bouquet of pink carnations he held behind his back, a peace offering, he’d hoped, when he’d
picked them up at the local market.
He’d let her sleep, he decided, but hadn’t turned before she stirred, furrowing her brow as her eyes fluttered open. With her head still on her arms, she muttered, “What is that heavenly smell?”
“Pizza.” He moved into the room, placed the cardboard box on the table and sat across from her. Another peace offering. “I hope you like pepperoni.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Lifting her head, she yawned, then stretched her arms. “I was going to make dinner.”
“Well, if you don’t want it—” he started to rise “—I’ll just toss it in the trash.”
She reached out a hand and grabbed his arm. “Put that back or you die.”
Grinning, he sat back down, watched pleasure light her eyes as she lifted the lid of the box. She closed her eyes and breathed in the spicy scent of herbs and tomato. She was reaching for a piece when he pulled the flowers from behind his back.
She went still, stared at the bouquet, then glanced up at him. “Seth, you didn’t have to—”
“Stop saying I didn’t have to. You’re right, I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”
This was new territory for him, apologizing, and he didn’t like it. With a frown, he thrust the flowers at her. “Look, I’m sorry I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong earlier. You were right. It was none of my business.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes softened as she took the flowers, then stuck her nose amongst the pretty pink blossoms and breathed in. “They’re beautiful.”
“Tell me what I can do to make things right between you and your aunt.” He’d rather eat glass than apologize to that superficial, snooty tyrant, but he would. For Hannah, he would. “Rent a billboard, hire a skywriter, write ‘I’m sorry’ in blood. You name it.”
Shaking her head, she got up and rummaged through her cupboard, then pulled out a crystal vase. “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to do anything. No one knows better than me how exasperating Aunt Martha can be. She’ll forget about it soon enough.”
In Blackhawk's Bed Page 11
