“You might well ask. I can see it now — a concrete block monstrosity in the middle of a Victorian neighborhood. There are dozens of more suitable places.”
Clancey’s brow furrowed. “But rather than oppose the civic center—”
“Politically unwise,” Kaye agreed.
“You’re going around the back way, aren’t you?” Kaye nodded. “If the preservation guidelines are extended, they can’t put in a modern building.”
“It would be stupid, anyway, to tear down wonderful old houses. There are blocks in this city that could be firebombed without any loss.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first stupid thing the city ever did. But it takes time, Clancey. Time and interested people. If you still want an old house, I know of several around here that could be purchased reasonably right now.”
And then I’d never have to move again, Clancey thought.
She could renovate and remodel to her heart’s content; she could stock up all the inventory she wanted and know she’d never have to pack it in a truck and move it somewhere else. By staying in the same area it would be easier to retain her customers. She wouldn’t lose all the effort and expense of the advertising she’d done in the past few weeks.
And she could also watch what Rowan did to his house, she reflected. She would see the new roof go on next spring; she would see the new materials as they were carried inside. She could imagine, from that, what he was doing and what the house must look like as each stage of construction progressed.
Be honest, Clancey, she told herself. That would be the biggest advantage, as far as she was concerned— being close to Rowan.
And perhaps it would be the biggest disadvantage, as well. To watch longingly as he remade the place into a home would be very difficult, knowing as she did that it could never be her home. And when the inevitable day came that he brought some other woman to the house — and perhaps made the nursery he had talked of into reality...
That would be unbearable.
“I think I’ll be looking for a space in a strip mall, actually,” Clancey said. She managed to keep her voice level. “It’s much more practical.”
Kaye nodded. “Of course it would be.” She sounded just a little disappointed. “Well, you must do as you want.”
But what Clancey wanted had very little to do with it, she thought, wrapping up the toy Kaye had chosen. If her desires had any bearing at all, things would be arranged differently.
For what Clancey wanted was not just any old house, or even this specific old house. It was Rowan she wanted. It was Rowan who was important. And she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.
CHAPTER TEN
Clancey went for a walk that evening, enjoying the sharp night air, the clarity of the stars above her, the feeling of absolute aloneness. At least when she was by herself she didn’t have to try to keep smiling to put a good face on things. As pleasant as Kaye was, she was sometimes uncomfortably acute. The problem of what Clancey was going to do about Thanksgiving Day was a good example. Kaye’s invitation was special, something to be treasured whether it had anything to do with Rowan or not. Clancey hated her lonely holidays, far from her family, and there was nothing she would like better than to be part of a warm and loving circle.
But even loneliness might be less painful than spending a holiday in the same group with Rowan. It would be hard to be with his family, and yet not really be part of it. It would be very difficult to get to know his relatives for a few precious hours, and then go home alone.
Wouldn’t it be better to spend the holiday as she usually did than to allow herself to fantasize, knowing that the fairy tale would end?
But Kaye wouldn’t take no for an answer. If necessary, she hinted, she would send a kidnapping force.
It would be all right, Clancey told herself as she walked home through the moonlight. Maybe she’d hate his mother. Maybe she’d hate them all.
Right, she added ironically. Just as much as she disliked Kaye. Just as much as she detested Rowan....
She’d left the porch lights on, and as she came down the street the house seemed to glow a little warmer in greeting. Under the new coat of paint the whole structure seemed to stand taller, as if it was able to be proud of itself again.
Once the new roof was on, the house would be just as solid as the day it was built. And if Rowan devoted some time and energy to replacing the gingerbread trim that must have accented the porch and the gables when the house was new...
Would he take the restoration to such lengths, she wondered. Or did he prefer a simplified, more modem approach? She couldn’t blame him if he did. It would certainly require less upkeep. Painting gingerbread every year or two was not exactly to everyone’s taste. And what about the interior? Would he restore the missing grandeur there, or streamline the whole thing into a sleek contemporary adaptation of Victorian beauty?
She reflected suddenly that he really hadn’t said, in their chat over dinner on Halloween night, what he intended to do. Clancey had done most of the talking, afraid that if she lost control of the conversation it would lead in directions she didn’t want to go.
Now she wished she had come straight out and asked him what his plans were. She did have an interest in the house; surely he wouldn’t have objected to telling her what he planned to do with it.
Then, on further consideration, she shook her head. “It might be better not to know,” she muttered. “Just in case he plans to do something crazy — like turn the parlor into a wet bar with a hot tub big enough to seat eight.”
That was the gaudiest, most tasteless decorating scheme she could think of at the moment, and the very idea amused her. No, he wouldn’t do anything like that, she thought. Rowan wasn’t the wet-bar-and-crowded-hot-tub type. Now if it was a glass of champagne and a single intimate friend in a whirlpool...
Stop it, she warned herself. Just because you’d like to be that intimate friend doesn’t mean Rowan feels the same way.
But once she had allowed the seductive image into her mind, it wasn’t easy to push it away.
*****
It snowed a little on the Friday afternoon before Thanksgiving Day. Clancey thought it was great. The sky might be gray and gloomy, the wind cutting and the general atmosphere dreary, but it always took a snow before people truly got into the mood to shop for Christmas. And if the snow came a full week before the traditional start of the shopping season, so much the better for sales and profits in the long run.
Eileen, on the other hand, made little effort to hide her disgust. “It’s too early for this,” she wailed. “It’s fine for you to be chortling about the crummy weather — you have to stay here all evening, anyway. But it’s my night off.”
The reminder sobered Clancey a little. Small World had always been open late on Friday nights. It was one of the better retail times in this particular business, because paychecks were fresh and couples were free to shop together. But that didn’t make the twelve-hour day any easier to get through, and looking at the calendar and seeing how many of those days still lay ahead made her feel grim. If only she had felt free to hire another full-time assistant.
“Snow,” Eileen muttered irritably. “On my night off.”
“Don’t complain too much,” Clancey recommended as she retreated behind the cash register. “You might tempt me to revise the December schedule so you can work a few extra days.” It was chilly by the front door, and she folded her hands around her coffee mug to capture the warmth from the china. Rowan had replaced the problem outlet, but she hadn’t dared plug the portable heater in again for fear of another blackout. “Or let’s see. I suppose I could get violently ill all of a sudden and make you stay tonight while I go drink chicken soup and watch a bad movie.”
Eileen’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare. I have a—”
“Oh? A heavy date, were you going to say? I thought you were finished with all of that. Don’t tell me you’re still seeing the kamikaze driver fro
m the supermarket.”
Eileen’s cheeks had turned ever-so-slightly pink. “Who? Oh, no. I sort of took your advice this time.”
Clancey tried to remember which advice Eileen might have taken to heart, and gave it up as an impossible job. “I hate to remind you,” she said finally, “but it’s past your quitting time.”
Eileen’s dust cloth didn’t even pause. “He’s picking me up here.”
The fact threw light on one thing that had been puzzling Clancey for half an hour. She hadn’t asked Eileen to dust the bookshelves. It was a job Eileen hated. But from there she had a good view of the front sidewalk.
“I actually get to meet one of your dates? In that case, it must be true love.”
“Who’s in love?” Rowan asked from the doorway between dining room and kitchen. “Eileen?”
Neither of them had heard him come in, but there he was, leaning against the jamb, his soft cap pulled down over his forehead, the shadow of the brim making his eyes look even darker.
I’m grateful, Clancey told herself. I’m very glad he doesn’t seem to think it was possible I was talking about me.
But it annoyed her, nevertheless — the fact that she was apparently of so little interest to him he didn’t even consider she might have someone important in her life.
Eileen had turned a charming shade of rose pink. “Of course I’m not in love,” she protested. “It’s just a date, that’s all. And here he comes, so if you embarrass me, either one of you—”
The rest of the threat hovered in the air as the front door began to open.
Clancey sat back on the stool behind the cash register with her elbows on the counter and propped her chin in her hands, watching the door with undisguised curiosity.
It was perhaps fortunate she’d had such little time to conceive notions of what Eileen’s new boyfriend would look like, for the man who came into sight would have met none of them. He was older than Clancey would have expected. He was also shorter and stockier. And the top of his head was bare and pink and surrounded by a rim of dark brown hair. It almost looked as if it had been polished.
Clancey couldn’t help herself. Her jaw dropped.
The man smoothed his coat lapel — his suit had been carefully and expensively tailored to make him look taller and slimmer, Clancey decided — and said tentatively, “Is Eileen here?”
All she could do was point into the parlor.
Rowan obviously had better control of himself. He came forward with hand outstretched. “Good to see you, Lawrence,” he said cheerfully.
Lawrence shook hands, and then, as if it was an irresistible urge, he ran a hand over the top of his head, nervously stroking the smooth pinkness. It looked to Clancey as if he wasn’t used to the feel of naked skin, or perhaps as if he wasn’t quite sure what Rowan was likely to say about it.
That was when Clancey remembered the advice Eileen must have been referring to. At least he could take off the toupee, Clancey had told her once; other men couldn’t shed their shortcomings so easily.
Good heavens, she thought. I wonder how she managed to make him give it up.
Eileen excused herself to hang up her dust cloth and wash her hands, and Clancey listened in dumbfounded silence as the two men compared notes on the mayor’s latest, and riskiest, political stance. Rowan had said something about hanging around city hall, Clancey remembered. But was there no one he didn’t know?
After the couple had gone, Rowan leaned against the counter beside her and said thoughtfully, “I wonder if Eileen likes the idea of being first lady of the city someday.”
“I doubt she’s given it any— You mean Lawrence might run for mayor?”
Rowan nodded. “Next election. He’s one of the powers behind the scenes right now, just biding his time. I’ve already agreed to be finance director for his campaign. I wonder if Eileen is the one who persuaded him to acquire the natural look.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was.” Clancey’s voice was dry.
“Probably so. Well, if that’s the case, she may have quite a future as a political adviser, too. That toupee was his biggest handicap.”
“Just as long as she waits till after Christmas to take on the job,” Clancey muttered.
Rowan grinned. “He may have looked just a little dizzy about her, but Lawrence has his head on straight. He wouldn’t give up common sense for any woman. Need anything from the hardware store?”
Clancey shook her head.
“I’ll be back soon, then. Want to go out for something to eat later?”
“It’s my night to stay open till nine, so I’ve got a sandwich.” She wished that she could agree — just close the place down and go off with him right now, if he liked. But she couldn’t, and the disappointment made her say perversely, “Besides, I thought you came to work on the wallpaper.”
“I did. But I remembered when I got here that I broke my scraper last night. I wouldn’t get far with only my fingernails, I’m afraid.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and then he was gone, leaving her heart rocking like a boat in a storm.
It wasn’t fair, she thought, that such a fleeting contact could have so deep an impact on her. Clancey supposed she ought to be grateful there hadn’t been a repetition of that steamy good-night kiss. The results could have been nothing but embarrassing for her, because she certainly couldn’t have kept her poise through another one of those. It was difficult enough to stay calm and casual through the ordinary things — the touch of his hands as he helped with her coat, the flick of his fingertips against her cheek, the sudden devastation of his smile....
The waiting, when she knew that she would see him soon and every footstep made her look up with hope...
But tonight, the masculine feet that stamped across the front porch and sent her heart rate skipping turned out to be Hank Gleason instead.
He brushed snowflakes off the shoulders of his camel-colored topcoat and smiled at her. “It’s turning into quite a storm out there, Clancey. I suppose you ordered this to get people in the holiday spirit?”
“It doesn’t seem to be working,” she said lightly. “I’ve only had a few customers tonight. The others must all be at home by their fires.”
“That’s where I’m headed, too. Finally — after almost a month — my client’s tax troubles are taken care of.”
“That’s good. Did you get him cleared?”
Hank nodded. “Compromise and negotiation, that’s the answer. Since I hadn’t had a minute for you in so long, I thought I’d better stop by and catch up. I’ve missed you, Clancey.”
She smiled, rather sadly.
Hank propped his elbows on the counter and leaned confidentially toward her. “This month has made me think about a lot of things. I’ve realized, for one, that I haven’t been paying enough attention to you.”
What had brought this on? Clancey wondered. She said uneasily, “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. We’re both busy people, Hank.”
He nodded and looked around the shop, at the multitude of Christmas toys and decorations. “You can say that again. Must have taken days to get all this stuff put up.” He gestured at the row of stockings hung suggestively from the mantel, and picked up a teddy bear in a Santa T-shirt from a nearby pile. “I’m surprised you went to all the bother.”
Clancey shrugged. “I can’t sell merchandise straight out of the shipping boxes, you know. Not unless I want a reputation as a discount store. I’ll just have to pack it all up again sooner or later, if it doesn’t sell.”
“Sooner or later?” he repeated. “Does that mean McKenna has decided to let you stay a while?”
“No. I still have to be out on January first.”
“You signed that short-term lease, then?” Hank shook his head and said, almost to himself, “It still doesn’t make sense.”
“Signing it?”
“No. Kicking you out. If he’d left the three-year lease in place, of course, you could have gotten nasty about it. But now that you’ve agreed
to the shorter time, I’d think it would be smarter to let you stay a while and rent by the month with no guarantees of possession. It’s a delicate spot he’s in at the moment. Without a tenant, he’s not going to get the maximum out of the place when he sells it.”
“Sells it?” Clancey shook her head in confusion. “Rowan’s not going to sell it. He’s going to renovate it and move in.”
“I suppose he told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Directly? He said exactly that?”
“How should I remember exactly how he said it? What are you talking about, Hank? Where did you get the idea he was planning to sell?”
“It took me a while to figure out, you see. He’s got better political connections than I do, for one thing.”
The Unexpected Landlord Page 14
