Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  “Why not?”

  She leaned her head on the seat, adjusting her seat belt so that she had enough room. The leather seat was plush and comfortable, and the air-conditioning made the already formidable heat bearable. “Oh, I’d be too shy,” she said, smiling dreamily. “I can’t imagine taking my clothes off in front of a man.”

  His heavy eyebrows lifted. “How do you imagine people make love, in dark closets?”

  “At night, of course, with the lights out,” she said.

  He looked up toward the headliner. “My God!”

  “Well, don’t they?”

  “I am not licensed to teach sex.”

  She actually flushed and quickly turned back toward the window. She hadn’t realized how intimate the conversation was getting. Flustered, she searched around for a safe topic.

  “How much farther is it to your building site?” she asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen anything in the planning stages. Do you have blueprints or…?”

  “Stop floundering,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  The gentleness was unexpected. And unwelcome. It made her vulnerable, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her chin lifted. “No harm done. What about the building?”

  He pulled up at another traffic light and stared at her. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “I can actually see the wall going up. I thought I was the only one who did that.”

  “Did what?” she asked tightly.

  “Never mind.” He reached out and touched her hair lightly, noticing the way she tensed and the panicky look in the blue eyes that searched his accusingly. “Why are you nervous?”

  “It’s disturbing to sit so close to the enemy,” she countered.

  He smiled faintly. “Is it?”

  “The light’s changing,” she remarked.

  “Evasive maneuvers?” he taunted. But he turned back to the steering wheel, and the tension was broken.

  The building site was only minutes further along. He’d turned on the news and they’d listened to that for the rest of the drive.

  Amelia wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find. A nice level lot, probably. But what they found was a deserted tenement, old and crumbling, on a corner lot.

  “Where are you going to put your condo,” she asked, “under it or on top?”

  He laughed at her expression. “We’re going to take this building down and clear off the lot first.”

  “Isn’t that expensive?”

  “Of course. Construction always is.” He parked the car at the curb and helped her out, his eyes narrow and keen as he studied the lay of the land.

  “Have you already bought this?” she asked.

  “If I had, why would I be here looking at it, for God’s sake?” he shot at her.

  She drew herself up to her full height, still much inferior to his own. “You have a black temper,” she told him curtly.

  He folded his arms across his broad chest and studied her quietly. “Go ahead. Point out my shortcomings. Don’t be bashful.”

  “You’re overbearing,” she obliged. “Insolent, arrogant, insensitive…”

  He glanced at his watch. “I only have another hour before I’m due at a trustee’s meeting.”

  “…maddening and hardheaded,” she concluded agreeably.

  “Fine,” he replied. “Now. How would you like a thumbnail sketch of your own shortcomings?”

  “I don’t have any,” she informed him smugly. “I am courteous, friendly, kind, thoughtful, cheerful and an asset to the world.”

  He looked as if he was trying not to laugh, but the absurdity of the pat answer got to him. He turned away, his shoulders shaking.

  Amelia got out her pad and pen and tried to look professional. “Would you like to take notes?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced down at her. “Why, am I supposed to write a testimonial for you?”

  “About the building site! That is why you brought me along, isn’t it?”

  “Oh. That.” He glanced up and around. “Let’s go walking.”

  He started off down the street. She almost had to run to keep up with him, aware of city smells and sounds, and longing halfheartedly for her home and the crash of the Atlantic against a shimmering white beach and the cry of sea gulls.

  “Where are you going?” she asked breathlessly. Her high heels were uncomfortable, much too high and spiked.

  He studied her feet. “Why do you wear those things? Do you like risking your neck every time you move?”

  “They’re stylish,” she defended.

  “They’re stupid. Next time, wear flats.”

  “How was I supposed to know I was going to be press-ganged into an expedition at the breakfast table?” she wanted to know.

  “I suppose you were looking forward to tea and cakes and polite conversation, with an occasional scribbled letter from grandmother to give you the illusion of working?” he prompted.

  “Your grandmother does need someone with her,” she said angrily. The morning was hot, and her temper wasn’t helping. She pushed at a loose strand of dark hair. “Except for the maid, most of the staff are almost retirement age. What if she fell?”

  His face hardened. “You aren’t a nurse,” he said.

  “I was a nurse’s aide,” she informed him. “I’ve done a lot of odd jobs in my life, and that was one of them. At least I know first aid. And surely she does need a secretary to help her do things?”

  He stopped in the middle of the block and glared down at her. He wasn’t contradicting her, though.

  “I can give you three or four character references,” she continued. “Two of them are ministers, one in the city and one back home. About the only illegal thing I’ve ever done in my life was to jaywalk. And in Seagrove, in tourist season, that is really an act of valor more than a crime.” Her blue eyes in her softly tanned face held his. “I’ll start looking for another job in the morning,” she promised. “Just let me stay with her until I find one. Is that fair enough?”

  “All right,” he said, relenting. His eyes narrowed.

  “I know.” She sighed. “You don’t trust me. My grandfather wouldn’t trust you, either,” she added with a grin. “He thinks Chicago is full of gangsters. He wouldn’t speak to Dad and Mom for days after I left home to come here. He even calls me sometimes to make sure I haven’t been the victim of a gang murder.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “Flinty character, I gather?”

  “A real hell-raiser,” she agreed. “He was a fisherman until times got hard and he lost his boat. He retired and now he does odd jobs. He hasn’t been the same since my grandmother died. He said it took the color out of the world for him.”

  “What did she die of?”

  “A heart attack. It was quick. And kind of nice, if death can be called that, because she died working in her flower garden. It was what she loved most.” She smiled and had to fight tears. It had only been a year, and the hurt was raw sometimes. “My other grandparents, my father’s parents, died years ago. I never knew them. Mom’s parents have been like a second set for me. Dad and I could never talk the way Granddad and I can.”

  “Was it a happy marriage, your grandparents’?” he asked.

  She smiled. “They’d just celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. He took her to a drive-in movie afterward and they came home with the windows fogged up,” she added with a mischievous look. “You always had to knock before you went into the house. They liked variety, and once mama walked in on them in the living room.”

  “My God,” he said with a laugh.

  “They were very modern grandparents.” She walked along beside him, remembering. “Your grandmother is very like mine. I like her.”

  “So do I.” He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and stared at it. The cellophane had never been opened.

  She glanced up. She didn’t remember seeing him with a cigarette. “Do you smoke?” she asked suddenly.

  “Y
es and no.” He sighed and repocketed the package. “I’ve been off them for two weeks.”

  “Cold turkey?”

  He nodded. “I need something to do with my hands.”

  “You might take up knitting, I hear it’s very…no!” She dodged as he aimed a swipe at her. “Gentlemen don’t hit ladies!”

  “I’m from Chicago, not the South,” he reminded her.

  “I know,” she replied. “Your accent gives you away every time.”

  “I don’t have an accent.”

  Her eyebrows lifted wildly. “If I took you home with me, people would come from miles around just to listen to you talk.”

  “You’re one to talk about accents,” he chided with a mocking glance.

  “Well, I don’t have one,” she drawled. “Not in Georgia, at least.”

  He shook his head. His eyes were busy, staring around, measuring, calculating.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you when I find it. Write this down.”

  He dictated and she scribbled as they walked. He noted locations of grocery stores, bus stops, drugstores, businesses, traffic lights, streets, until Amelia got lost in the tangle. As they got around the block and back to the potential site, he was still throwing out ideas.

  He looked up at the tenement and had her write down names of potential subcontractors, demolition people, city government officials, building inspectors. Then he made notes about the site itself, using terms she had to ask him to spell. It became obvious that he knew his business.

  “I’ll want cost estimates, too,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll send Reynolds out here with the blueprints.”

  “Cost estimates?”

  He looked down at her. “I have to know everything when I start a project. Right down to the cost of each nail I’m going to use.”

  “How do you do that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “If you’re really interested, I’ll tell you over lunch.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She expected him to drive her back to the house, but he took her instead to the very elegant French restaurant where she’d been arrested. Chez Pierre.

  “No,” she pleaded as he opened the door for her at the entrance and handed the keys to a parking valet.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Come on. They’ll never recognize you.”

  They didn’t, either. Not even the hostess who’d been so startled. They were shown to a cozy table for two by a window overlooking a flowery courtyard.

  “Lovely!” she exclaimed, sighing over the profusion of flowers. “I love flowers!”

  “Yes, I puzzled that out.”

  She looked across the table at him, eyes wide and curious.

  “It was the way you spoke about your grandmother’s flowers,” he explained.

  “I like growing things,” she confessed with a sigh. “Except that I’ve got no place to do it. My apartment is surrounded by green hedges and lush grass, and the Kennedys have terrible hay fever. I wouldn’t dream of inflicting pollen on them. They’ve been good to me.”

  “Your landlords, I gather?”

  She nodded. “They were trying to live on their retirement pension, without much success, so they gave in to necessity and rented their garage apartment. I applied, and I guess they thought I was harmless. I’ve lived there ever since I’ve been in Chicago.”

  “It’s tidy,” he said.

  “It’s tiny,” she corrected, laughing. “But I can walk to the beach on weekends.”

  “I imagine you miss the coast?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I miss shelling and sitting on the beach and watching the Atlantic in full storm,” she said softly, her eyes brimming with excitement. “You can see whitecaps to the horizon. It’s noisy and wet, and the wind rips into your hair like a comb, stinging your eyes.” She drew in a breath. “I miss it.”

  He was watching her, toying with his silverware. “Yes,” he said absently, “you do seem the kind of woman who’d risk a hurricane to stand on a deserted beach. I imagine you like to stand out in electrical storms as well.”

  She laughed self-consciously. “Granddad says I’m an elemental person. So is he. Not foolhardy, exactly, just adventurous.”

  “And passionate,” he added, holding her eyes. “Ten to one you’re a fire sign.”

  “If you mean astrology, I’m Capricorn.”

  He laughed softly. “Freedom-loving, adventurous, outdoorsy, passionate.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m Capricorn myself.”

  “I’d have guessed Leo.”

  He shook his head. “I was a Christmas child. My birthday is Christmas eve. When’s yours?”

  “The day after yours. I was a Christmas present.”

  He laughed. “Ironic.”

  “I’d rather be a May baby,” she said with a sigh. “I like emeralds.”

  “But turquoise would suit you better,” he remarked. “It’s the old December birthstone. I prefer it.”

  She glanced at his hands. They were big and darkly tanned, and rippling with strength. He wore only one ring—a huge silver one with a square turquoise setting—on the little finger of his right hand.

  “I hadn’t noticed before,” she said.

  He glanced at her own hands. “You don’t wear jewelry at all,” he said, and seemed surprised.

  “I have a class ring, but I never wear it. I’m too careless. I lose things.”

  The waiter came with menus, and Amelia chose a steak and salad. So did he.

  “Protein,” he said. “I like red meat.”

  “Raw red meat, judging by the way you’re having it cooked,” she laughed.

  He leaned forward. “It’s hard to get a tough rare steak, didn’t you know? Some of the better-cooked cuts bounce.”

  So he wasn’t such a stuffed shirt as she’d thought. All through the meal, he was courteous, attentive and interesting to talk to. He explained the notes he’d had her take, and the preliminary steps that construction required. He answered her questions and satisfied her curiosity. And she was reluctant to see their excursion end. It had been unexpectedly pleasant.

  His grandmother was waiting in the living room when they got back.

  “So there you are.” She glared at Wentworth from the sofa, where she was lounging in a breezy pantsuit. “Absconding with my new companion on her first day, working her to death so she’ll quit!”

  “We agreed,” he reminded her with a grin and a quick kiss on her smooth forehead. “She’s all yours now.” He glanced at Amelia, who had collapsed into a big armchair and was debating whether or not she could get away with taking off her shoes. “I’ll need those notes tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh! Your trustees’ meeting!” she exclaimed suddenly.

  “Damn!” he burst out. “I forgot all about it. I’d better call.”

  He left the room and Jeanette Carson laughed delightfully. “That’s a first,” she told Amelia in a conspiratorial whisper. “He never forgets meetings. What did you do to him?”

  “I asked him how to build things,” she said simply. “It was really interesting.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” Jeanette sighed. She leaned back. “Well, dear, what shall we do today? I thought we might sunbathe and listen to the radio.”

  “I don’t have a bathing suit, but I’d like to sit in the sun,” Amelia said. She gave her employer a wry glance, remembering what Worth had told her. “What kind of music do you like.”

  “I like Bruce Springsteen and Lionel Ritchie and Michael Jackson and Prince,” she said.

  “Thank God,” Amelia said with a sigh. “My favorites.”

  Jeanette laughed delightedly. “My dear, you and I are going to be great friends. Here, help me up, and let’s escape before Worth comes back and captures you. You can work up those notes before dinner.”

  “I really need to leave about six,” Amelia ventured.

  “Whenever. I’ll make sure you have t
ime to do what you need to do for Worth. Come.”

  Amelia wondered if she should mention that she’d promised Worth that she’d start looking for another job tomorrow. With a heartfelt sigh she went out after the elderly lady. It was going to be harder to quit this job than she’d expected. Even though she’d only known the Carsons for a couple of days, it would be like giving up family. How odd, she told herself, that she should think of them that way.

  Five

  The next morning Worth was gone when Amelia got to the house. While she was waiting for Mrs. Carson to wake up, she began to run through the Help Wanted columns, as she’d promised Worth she would. He’d made it patently obvious that he didn’t want her around, despite his grandmother’s wishes. And Amelia didn’t really have the stomach to make a cat-and-dog fight of it. That wouldn’t do anybody any good, especially Jeanette Carson.

  She found two promising offers and quietly dialed the numbers. The first job had already been filled, she was told, and someone had forgotten to cancel the ad. But the second was still available, and she was given an appointment to apply for it the next day. She hung up, feeling hopeful. It was secretarial work in a law office, and she thought she might like it.

  Worth had rushed off to his trustees’ meeting the previous afternoon and had still been gone when she left that night. Mrs. Carson had coaxed her to leave the transcribing of her notes for this morning. Now she went to work on them. She finished and put them on Worth’s desk, just as Mrs. Carson came easing in on her walker. The old lady was dressed in Bermuda shorts and a loose top with a trendy red scarf around her silver curls.

  “There you are.” She laughed. “Well, I’m finally awake. There was this great murder mystery on cable early this morning, and I just had to watch it.”

  “You don’t get enough rest,” Amelia teased gently.

  “Rest!” Mrs. Carson scoffed. “I’m seventy-five years old. Who wants to rest at my age? I’m headed for the Big Sleep, you know, Amy. I’ll get my rest then. For now, I’m going to do everything I always shied away from when I was younger. I’m going to live my last years.”

  Amelia smiled warmly. “Tough, aren’t you?” she said with a grin.