She had been stuck at home so much these last three years, her life so circumscribed, that she had begun to think of her house like a turtle does its shell, needing its protection from more than the wind and rain. Was that why losing the house was hitting her so hard?
John made no move to sit down, just met her eyes. "Emma and I have a proposition for you."
Jesse was saying something to one of the dogs and Anna clung to Marian's leg. Emma's brown eyes were fixed eagerly on Marian's face. Marian was aware of all three children, and yet not. Somehow the world had narrowed. All she really saw was John's face with the shadow of a beard on his jaw, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, his mouth controlled and his eyes watchful. She felt something similar to what she had felt the other week, standing on her front porch, when she had known he was going to ask her a question that might change her life. Until now, she had forgotten that moment, the sensation of being on the brink of something earth-shattering. She couldn't seem to think now, or anticipate. She only waited.
"We would like you to become our housekeeper. We want you and Jesse and Anna to come live with us."
Marian felt a rushing in her ears, and realized that she was dizzy. "Your housekeeper?" she echoed, then sank onto the couch.
"I didn't expect you to be surprised," he said.
On one level the offer was a complete surprise; but in her heart she had known what he would suggest. It was almost too perfect to be true.
She and the children would be secure, with a comfortable roof over their heads and food on the table. She would have time for Jesse and Anna, time to remember who she really was. She could mean something to Emma, too, who needed to feel secure as badly as Marian did. And John would be there, perhaps gradually letting her know him beneath that self-possessed, humorous facade. Did he ever lose his temper? Laugh until he cried? Mourn? Ache with loneliness?
Marian sat there staring stupidly up at father and daughter, seeing a vision. The five of them together, a man, a woman, and their children. Dinner-table conversations, silly, serious, in between. Good-byes and good mornings. Making his bed, folding his laundry. School open houses, horseback rides.
A family. Dear God, that was what she wanted so badly that she ached. So badly that there was no way on earth she could accept what he had offered, because it would never be enough. She didn't want to work for him, relegated to belowstairs. She didn't want to accept a paycheck once a week, smile pleasantly when he took another woman out to dinner, discreetly absent herself when required. She wanted everything, his passion and his anger, the prosaic with the tempestuous.
What he had offered instead would hurt too badly. If Crystal's parents or Lizzie's parents had offered the same deal, she would have accepted. Would have had to accept, for Jesse and Anna's sake. From John McRae, she couldn't.
But forcing the words out was bitterly hard. Her voice was husky from the effort, and her fingernails bit into her palms. "I ... I appreciate your asking. It's very kind of you. But I'm afraid I...I have to say no."
Emma's face fell so ludicrously it might have been funny in other circumstances. A frown gathered between John's dark brows, though Marian couldn't tell whether he was annoyed or dismayed.
"Will you think about it?" he asked. "I can promise you I'd be a considerate employer. It's a practical solution for both of us."
Marian stood. "I know you'd be kind to Jesse and Anna and me. Of course you would be. It's..." she swallowed and clasped her hands in front of her. "I just don't think it's right for me. I've fought so hard to be on my own. Working for you and living with you, too, would make me feel dependent. As though I had given up. Do you understand?"
He didn't answer right away, but studied her with a frowning gaze. At last his mouth twitched ruefully. "I understand. That doesn't mean I like your answer. And I won't promise to accept it."
Marian felt a tiny spark of leavening humor. "Please don't make me feel like a football."
"Something I don't like fumbling?" His smile was as wry as hers. "It's...a little more complicated than that."
What did he mean? Marian wished she knew exactly what he had been offering in the first place. She couldn't have misread the desire she'd seen in his eyes. Had he imagined that sharing his bed would be part of the deal? Or did he simply feel sorry for her? Marian told herself that it didn't matter. Either way, his offer wasn't for her. Her pride wouldn't let her accept his charity, and she was afraid to accept his desire. She would only want more.
And if he offered more... She was afraid of that, too. How could she trust him? He was a man, just like Mark. A man, she had to remind herself, who was offering her a job so that he could more conveniently abandon his daughter half of every week.
"I'm sorry," she said to Emma. She put her hands on each side of the girl's face and tilted her chin up so that her brown eyes, swimming with tears, met Marian's. "You know what?" she said softly. "I'd love to go home with you. But you wouldn't need me for very long. And then we'd have to say goodbye, and that would be hard. We can be better friends this way."
Emma gave a small, jerky nod and stepped back. Her hand clung tightly to her father's. Marian looked up from Emma's averted face to John's. Their eyes met, and she saw something disconcerting there before he wiped it away. But what? Physical desire again? Anger? Hurt?
Whatever he had been feeling was securely tucked away, because he smiled again, still ruefully, and said, "I won't argue anymore. Will you at least let us help you move when the time comes? I can bring the truck and a horse trailer. I don't think you have anything we couldn't get in it. That'd save you some money and me some pride."
She had to laugh, just a little. "Okay," she said. "I won't argue anymore, either."
"Then we'll say good night and give you some peace," John said. "By the time I pack Emma's lunch, it'll be bedtime for me, anyway. I have to roll out of bed tomorrow at the crack of dawn. Not my best time of day, but my partner's taking a couple of horses down to a show in Portland."
Marian scooped Anna up on one hip and followed John and Emma to the front door. "When you were a football player, didn't you have morning practices?"
"God, I hated 'em." He grinned at his own fervency.
"Emma tells me you were All-Pro, whatever that means. You couldn't have played too badly, even if you were still dying for another cup of coffee."
"I faked it." He smiled again. " 'Bye, Jesse, Anna. Good-bye, Marian."
"Emma, I'll see you Friday," Marian called to their retreating backs.
Emma didn't answer and John just waved.
Marian went back inside the house and closed the door, feeling absurdly lost and let down. Their departure had come so quickly, it seemed like an anticlimax. As she steered Jesse and Anna into the bathroom to brush teeth, she made herself analyze why.
Had she wanted John to argue? To overwhelm her with logic until she agreed despite herself? She was terribly afraid that she had. He had accepted her answer so easily, even if he had made protesting noises. Well, why should that surprise her? He could hardly have wanted a housekeeper encumbered by twins in the midst of the Terrible Two's! No, she had to face it. John McRae was a nice man who had felt sorry for her. No more and no less.
*****
John tried hard to keep his distance over the next couple of weeks. The only alternative was begging her to have dinner with him, and he was pretty sure that was the last thing she wanted or needed right now.
Every time he saw her, she looked more tired. With that translucent skin, lack of sleep left purple bruises beneath her eyes. She made him think of a fine porcelain doll, not just because she was beautiful, but because he was increasingly aware of how fragile she was.
The next two weekends he didn't even have to ask whether she had found a new rental. When she saw him on the doorstep, she gave a tremulous smile that was meant to be insouciant and shook her head. But the mountain of boxes in one corner of her living room grew, and the small, shabby house began to feel chilly and bare.
/> He wanted to help her so badly it tore at him, but he couldn't make her accept anything from him. The night when Marian had refused his offer of a job, John drove home, gently explaining her reasoning to Emma. He tucked his daughter into bed and wandered down to the living room, where he picked up the new Sports Illustrated with every intention of reading it. Abruptly he felt a wave of anger, frustration, fear for this woman he hardly knew—a muddle of emotions so strong he suddenly slammed the magazine against the wall. He was shocked to realize his hands were shaking.
Football players were known for throwing temper tantrums on the field. As a senior in high school John had earned his team a penalty that lost them the game. He had kept a relentless grip on himself ever since.
With one exception. The night Susan died, he had taken every book from a bookcase, one by one, and flung them across the room with the arm that had made him All-Pro. They had slid down the wall and landed in a heap with broken spines and creased pages. One by one. Mindless. Like a quarterback warming up, he'd thrown those damn books. He hadn't even realized until later that they were Susan's. He hadn't realized how angry he was at her. At fate.
What the hell was it about Marian Wells that called up similar feelings of choking frustration? Was he most angry because she had hurt Emma? His daughter, who had needed a woman to want her and love her?
Or was it Marian's stubbornness that infuriated him? He found a certain ironic amusement in the idea. Because if so, it was a case of like calling to like. Or maybe he'd told more of the truth than he had realized, when he'd reminded Marian of how competitive he was. Maybe he just didn't like losing.
At least he had sense enough to know this wasn't the time to suggest a romantic evening out. For one thing, Marian would have had every reason to feel pressured, in more ways than one. For another thing...all he had to do was look at her. What she needed was a good night's sleep, an unexpected windfall, a house she could afford. Not another demand.
He had asked if she needed her weekends free, if while she packed and moved he should try to find someplace else for Emma. She had looked at him with alarm she tried to hide.
"Heavens, no! Emma's no trouble. If anything, she's a help keeping the twins out of my hair! Really. I'm delighted to have her."
And she needed what he paid her each Monday. But when he added ten dollars to the amount, Marian handed the check back to him.
"You've been paying me more than generously. I can't accept this."
"Stubborn," he muttered, reaching into his back pocket for his checkbook.
She just smiled. "That's like the pot calling the kettle black."
"One of my mother's favorite sayings." He tore off a new check. "Wednesday night okay to come and get the animals?"
"Yes, of course." This time her smile wasn't as convincing. "Emma told me that's what you had in mind."
"We figured that would give her a day to help them settle in before she's back here for the weekend."
"Yes." Marian looked down at her hands, which were tightly clasped together. "John, I know I've said this before, but...thank you."
"The clock's ticking," he said roughly. "You're down to eight days. What are you going to do, Marian?"
She lifted her chin in unconscious pride. "Rent something temporary, if I have to."
"What about the dogs and cats?"
"One of my other parents offered to take them for a few weeks, if it came down to that."
He was dumbfounded, speechless. Later he realized how he'd felt. Astonished. Hurt. Like a kid who had been told he wasn't big enough to help. Why had he convinced himself that she had no one to turn to? Of course she had friends and family! The trouble was, he wanted her to need him. It was a humiliating admission to make.
Do all men imagine themselves as a prince in disguise, sweeping a woman away ?
He had to laugh at the irony. So far, he was one of the contenders who had ended up as a skeleton in the middle of the thicket.
CHAPTER 5
Marian drew a deep breath and steeled herself. "I'll take it," she said, without allowing herself to look over her shoulder at the plain, boxlike house, painted pale green and set behind a tiny, yellowing lawn.
"Wonderful!" the owner said. "Well, then, let's see... As I mentioned, I'll require first and last month's rent as well as a damage deposit. Especially since I've agreed to permit both cats and children."
"I supervise the children very carefully," Marian said from between gritted teeth. The woman, plump and well-dressed, had introduced herself as a realtor who owned several "investment" properties. The rent was unreasonable for a house this size, but Marian was the beggar who couldn't be choosy. It was a twenty-year-old rambler with three small bedrooms, one bath, and a kitchen that would have fit in the cabin on a weekend boat. A "galley" kitchen, the owner had euphemistically called it. Marian called it cramped.
But the house would do. The backyard was fenced, and the owner had agreed to let her run her day-care business—with a substantial deposit—and Marian had to move quickly.
So she wrote out a check for an amount that decimated her already inadequate reserves, and handed it over.
"I'm afraid I can't give you the key until the current tenants move out," the realtor said briskly. "I'm sure you understand. Now, I expect to be paid by the fifth of each month. If you want to paint or wallpaper or anything like that, it will be at your own expense and I'll need to approve the colors or paper before you start."
"I understand."
"You will keep the dogs outside?"
"Yes, of course."
The woman's smile became steely. "I do drop by regularly, just to see how things are going. If you have a problem, leave a message any time on my answering machine."
Marian managed—barely—to smile and thank her new landlady. She stood on the cracked front walk, Anna and Jesse and Emma beside her, and watched the woman drive away. The silence was eloquent.
"Well," Marian said, forcing yet another smile, "this is our new home. We can move in next week."
"I liked your other house better," Emma said, wrinkling her nose. "This one's ugly."
"It's not that bad," Marian said, less than wholeheartedly. "We can fix it up. You'll see."
"It's kind of dirty, too."
"I'll bet the people who are moving out will give it a good scrubbing," Marian said brightly. "If they don't, I will."
Three children stared at her with identical expressions of doubt. To escape, Marian turned to look at the house again. After a moment she sighed. "Let's go.”
In the car, Emma fastened her own seat belt, then waited until Marian had buckled the younger children in the backseat and settled herself behind the wheel.
"You know," Emma announced, "Daddy isn't going to like this house."
I don't, either! Marian thought rebelliously. All she said was, "Then it's lucky he doesn't have to live here."
"Our house is lots prettier than this one. We have wood floors you can run and slide on. And three bathrooms. And I'll bet Daddy would let Rhodo and Aja in the house."
"To scratch your beautiful wood floors?" Marian stopped the car before she had backed into the street and reset the hand brake so that she could give her full attention to Emma. "Sweetie, we just can't come to live with you. I thought you understood why."
The little girl ducked her head and mumbled, "Well, I don't."
From a deep well of tenderness, Marian reached out to gently stroke the five-year-old's brown hair back from her face. "You'd like to pretend Anna and Jesse and I are your family, wouldn't you?" she said softly. "That I'm your mother?"
Emma looked up then, her huge brown eyes washed with tears. "Why can't you be? I want you to live with us."
Marian's heart twisted. "I know. I know you do, Emma. But..." How to explain to a child so young? "Have you told your dad how you feel?" she asked.
The desperate gaze clung to Marian's face. "He said you were afraid you'd love me, only I wouldn't really be yours, so someday you'
d have to leave and it would hurt." She bit her lip. "I heard him say you were stubborn, too."
Annoyance warred with Marian's sense of humor. Amusement won. "Your dad's pretty stubborn, too. I think he and I have had this argument before."
"I want you to change your mind."
"I know you do," she said gently. "But I just can't. That doesn't mean I won't be happy to have you come and stay with us any time at all. And we'll come over and ride Snowball sometimes. Won't that do?"
Emma pulled away from Marian's hand and turned her head to stare out the window. Her voice was muffled. "I never get what I wish for."
Marian looked sadly at the back of her head. "You know, sometimes wishes don't come true right away. And sometimes when one does, it's not in quite the way you expected. What you really want is a new mother. Maybe one of these days you'll get one."
Emma was silent so long, Marian finally released the emergency brake and had begun to back the car out of the driveway when Emma said, very quietly, "I don't want any mother. I want you."
"Oh, sweetie," Marian said helplessly. "I'm sorry."
*****
Snowball was docile enough to willingly follow Emma into the horse trailer, even though he hadn't seen one in five years. Esmerelda was made of entirely different stuff, however. She wanted nothing to do with a box on wheels. John pushed while Marian pulled, but the goat managed to twist at the last second and break free, leaping off the ramp and throwing John to his knees.
The rope whipped through Marian's hands, burning her palms until she tightened her grip. When Esmerelda hit the end of the rope, she almost ripped Marian's arms from their sockets.
"Damn," she said explosively.
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