Suddenly Married

by Loree Lough

  “Stock market?”

  “That, and other investments,” he said, nodding. “I got a job my sophomore year as an intern with a CPA firm in New York—”

  “I didn’t know you were from New York.”

  “Syracuse, to be exact. Wormed my way into the Big Apple to further my education. That’s where I met her—Francine, I mean. I had just graduated. Went to a fundraising dinner for my boss. He was running for state senate, and her dad was a big contributor to the campaign.…”

  “You must have hit it off, that night at the fundraiser.”

  “You could say that. Before I knew it, we were an ‘item.’” He drew quotation marks in the air around the word. “I started saving every penny, almost from that first night, so I could one day open my own office. I wanted to take care of her in the manner to which she’d grown accustomed, to coin a phrase. She gave me a year to prove myself.” He gave a proud nod of his head. “I did it, too.”

  Dara chose to ignore that last comment. If she hadn’t learned anything else in life, she’d learned ‘never speak ill of the dead.’ “Must have paid off, all that scrimping and saving. I mean, look at you now.”

  “Yeah,” he said, gaze traveling the room. “Look at me.”

  He didn’t seem pleased with his material possessions. Not in the least bit. “She must have been very proud of how hard you worked to gain her father’s approval.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “She used to say I pinched pennies so hard I made Lincoln cry.”

  But you were doing it for her, Dara told him mentally. “How’d you manage to save enough to open your own business in just a year?”

  “I got a promotion at the firm. I was making good money, not spending a cent of it. When the weather was good, I worked for a landscaper, when it wasn’t, I hired on as a painter. Didn’t own a car—took the bus, instead—and lived in a one-room walk-up above an old woman’s house. Cooked all my meals on a one-burner hot plate I bought at a flea market. Once a week, I’d splurge on dinner and a movie for Francine and me. Other than that, I made only deposits at the bank.”

  “Must have made her feel like a queen to have someone working that hard to win her heart!” she said, grinning.

  “I don’t know about that. But I loved her like crazy. Asked her to marry me the minute I hung out my shingle.”

  “And she said yes.”

  “Reluctantly.”

  “But…I thought—”

  “She said she couldn’t live in an apartment or a town house. Too much noise. Plus it wasn’t a decent atmosphere to bring up kids, she said.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Noah, why are you putting yourself through this with a total stranger? I’m sure you have friends, lots of them, who’d be willing to—”

  Elbows still balanced on knees, he slowly turned his head until their eyes met. “Something you ought to know about me, Dara…I choose my friends carefully. Very carefully.”

  But we’re not friends, she thought. We haven’t known each other long enough to—

  “I know we’ve spent only a few hours together, but I know what I know.”

  A numbers man to the last, she thought.

  “If you think I haven’t given this marriage deal much thought, you’re wrong.”

  “This ‘marriage deal’?”

  He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “For starters, I know you have a heart as big as your head, which in my opinion is why you’re so terrific with kids. You can really empathize with them, see things from their point of view—a talent most of us soon leave behind.

  “You’re a hard worker, too, and I’ll bet you say things like ‘If you’re going to do a job, do your best or don’t bother.’”

  Her father had drummed that very line into her head more times than she could count. Did you put your life motto to the test when you were stealing the company’s money, Dad?

  “You’re as honest as the day is long,” Noah continued, “which is why this whole embezzlement situation surrounding your dad has your emotions in such a tangle.”

  This embezzlement situation, she thought, has more than my emotions in a tangle. Her heart, her head, her very soul had been affected by the news.

  “You obey the speed limit, most of the time anyway, and you never cheat on your taxes. You have a little money squirreled away for the proverbial rainy day, and it doesn’t take much to make you happy. Three square meals and a cot and you’re content. Am I warm?”

  He was right on target. But she was too busy reacting to the fact that she’d never heard anyone but Jake Mackenzie use that phrase to admit it. Two of her father’s platitudes in less than a minute. Birds of a feather? she wondered, citing yet another cliché.

  “You’re sensitive, very sensitive, which is usually a good thing.”

  “When isn’t it a good thing?”

  “When you put others first and they don’t seem to give a hoot about what you need. It makes you mad, if you’re honest with yourself, real mad. Not because they’re thoughtless…because…” He scooted closer, took her right hand in his left and said with soothing compassion, “It makes you mad because you don’t like that their thoughtlessness hurts your feelings. You see it as a fault.”

  “Well, it is.”

  There was a tremor in his husky voice, as though something had touched him deeply. “I haven’t disagreed with anything you’ve said so far, but I draw the line at that one. From what I’ve seen, you don’t have any flaws. I could put ads in every newspaper in the country and not find a person better suited to raise kids. My kids.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re a bargain, even at two hundred thousand—”

  Dara snatched her hand away and stood abruptly. “I am not for sale, Noah Lucas! Not at any price!”

  He blanched. “Of course you aren’t I—I didn’t mean…I never meant to imply—”

  “My father’s reputation is important to me, very important. You’re one hundred percent right about that. But I won’t marry you just to preserve it. When I marry—if I marry—love will be the motivator, not money.” She stalked over to the French doors, crossed both arms over her chest and stared out at the relentless snowfall. Lord, she prayed, make it stop. The snow, the proposal, these feelings…make it all stop!

  She heard Noah leave the room. Had she made him angry? Hurt his feelings? Embarrassed him? Well, his offer to pay her to be his wife had made her mad, had downright humiliated her, and she didn’t see him feeling all guilty about that!

  Still, compared with Noah, she’d lived a life of comfort and ease from the day she was born. Dara didn’t relish the idea that her “poor little me” attitude had added to his suffering, even a little. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids, felt a sob gnawing in her throat. Guilt? she wondered. Or self-pity? Whichever, she could not give in to it. Not here. Not now. Dara clenched her jaw, girding herself with resolve. She would not cry. She would not cry!

  She turned when Noah came into the room, arms overflowing with pillows, blankets, sheets. He dumped his load onto the couch, shoved the coffee table out of the way. “It’s a queen sleeper,” he said, tossing a cushion aside. “I’ve never slept on it, but the salesman said—”

  “No need to go to all that trouble,” she said. “I’ll sleep on it just as it is.”

  Nodding, he put the cushion back into place. “Okay. If you think you’ll be comfortable,” he said, his mellow baritone edged with control.

  “I’ll be fine, really.”

  “You know,” he said, pocketing his hands and staring at the couch, “I never gave it a thought before tonight. Most folks would have turned their extra bedroom into a guest room, but I made a home office out of mine so I could bring work home, spend more time around the kids, you know?” He sighed with exasperation, smiled sheepishly. “I wish I could offer more comfortable accommodations, something with more privacy, but—”

  “Noah, this is a beautiful room, what with the fire
in the woodstove and everything. And the powder room is right across the hall. It’ll practically be like having my own suite—once you go upstairs.” She tried to smile. “It’s my fault, after all, that I’m not sleeping in my bed tonight. If I had checked the weather from time to time, I wouldn’t be stuck here, would I?”

  He regarded her silently for a long moment before saying, “I left something out earlier.”

  Her raised eyebrows asked, “What?”

  “A man wouldn’t guess it to look at you, tiny as you are and all, but you’re a tough little thing. And a natural-born nurturer, too.”

  “I rather like being seen as a ‘tough little thing,’” she said, laughing softly, “but nurturer? I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I think so. Just look at you, chin up and shoulders back, stranded in a virtual stranger’s house, and you’re worried about me.”

  In truth, she had wanted to make him feel better. Had he seen it on her face? In her stance? It’s positively spooky the way he knows these things about you, she told herself. “I’m not worried about you. Why would I be worried about you?”

  “Because somehow, you know I feel like a complete jerk for making you think I wanted to buy you. And even though you were the one whose feelings got hurt, you’re trying to make me feel like less of a jerk…though I don’t deserve it.”

  Except for the “deserve it” part, Dara could only shake her head and sigh, because yet again, he’d hit the target.

  Noah stood and walked toward her. He was beside her in an instant, hands on her shoulders, face mere inches from hers. “I’m sorry that I insulted you. Believe me, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I know it made me seem like a clumsy oaf, spelling out my plan the way—”

  “Seem?” she put in, grinning.

  “Okay. So I am a clumsy oaf.” He returned her grin. “But I honestly thought it was a good idea, one that would help us both out of a bind.” He spoke slowly, tentatively, as if testing her reaction.

  Biting her lip, she looked away.

  “It’s getting late, and I know you’re tired. I’ll go now, so you can get some sleep.”

  But she was only half listening as she struggled with her thoughts. The way he looked just now, all apologetic and embarrassed, she’d almost agreed: it is a good idea.

  “‘Want me to help you make up the couch?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. I think I’ll make myself another cup of tea, watch some television—if it won’t disturb you, that is.”

  “Are you kidding? You could probably set off a bomb in here and we wouldn’t hear it upstairs.”

  Dara nodded. “Good. Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He nodded, too. “Right. In the morning, then.”

  Without the slightest warning, his arms encircled her, one hand on the small of her back, the other cupping her nape. He stood for a long, silent moment, studying her with eyes that glittered like blue diamonds, lips pulled back in the barest hint of a smile. Stepping forward, he clasped her to him. She felt his soft breaths on her cheek, heard the quiet sigh issue up from deep inside him, felt the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart. The warmth of it was so complete, so sure, that Dara relaxed, resting her cheek against his chest. The embrace was almost unbearable in its tenderness, and she had no desire for it to end, ever.

  But it must end. Now. Without looking away, she backed out of his grasp.

  “Good night, Dara.” He sighed. “Sweet dreams.”

  And he was gone.

  She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep. Not because of the narrow couch. Not because of the snow that continued to fall. Not even because she had proof positive of her father’s wrongdoing.

  But because she’d be thinking of Noah Lucas, and the way his blue, blue eyes had lit up when she’d almost admitted his idea had merit.

  Chapter Five

  Noah lay on his back, hands clasped under his head, and stared at the ceiling. A brisk wind had kicked up, went prowling and howling through the yard like an angry, lone wolf. As the snowflakes steadily hissed and pecked at the windowpanes, Noah was reminded that he had a houseguest.

  Would Dara be asleep by now, snug and warm under the green plaid quilt he’d brought her? Had she put on the pajamas he’d tucked between the comforter and the sheets…the two-sizes-too-small pajamas Francine had bought for him half a dozen Father’s Days ago?

  If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Dara, the maroon silk of his pjs looking lush against her creamy skin as she sat cuddled in front of the cozy fire, long, dusky lashes dusting her freckled cheeks as she sought a peaceful night’s sleep on a stranger’s sofa.

  He hadn’t seen freckles on a female since grade school. Dara’s dotted the bridge of her nose as if they’d been sprinkled there by a guardian angel. He wouldn’t have noticed them at all if he hadn’t pulled her into a hug under the sixty-watt lightbulb in the kitchen fixture. At the time, his only thought had been how incredibly lovely she was. Now, he thought, the faint, almost undiscernible speckles gave her a girlish, innocent look that went perfectly with chin-length auburn curls that bounced and bobbed with every turn of her head.

  She had a quick, natural smile that immediately put others at ease. And those eyes, as big and wide as a doe’s, glimmered with mischief when Angie and Bobby had challenged her to a spirited guessing game, then later glowed warm with sympathy when he described his pathetic past.

  He’d told her he believed she was an honest woman, a hard worker with a heart bigger than her head. Well, she’s all that and then some. The proof? Dara’s attitude toward his blithe compliments. He’d clearly embarrassed her, as evidenced by her downcast eyes and the pink blush that had colored her cheeks. And that puzzled him. Puzzled him plenty. Because it had been his experience that most women lived to be flattered, whether the praise was bona fide or blarney. Surely a woman as gorgeous as Dara had had those attributes pointed out to her many times.

  But if that was true, why hadn’t she reacted the way other women he’d known before her had? “Oh, stop Noah,” they’d say, giggling, striking shy poses, fluttering their lashes. “You’ll make me blush.”

  Dara had blushed!

  She’s something else! he told himself, grinning into the darkness. There were likely a thousand clichés to describe her. Pretty as a picture. Sharp as a tack. Sweet as cotton candy. But there’s nothing cliché about Dara! No, sir. She’s one of a kind.

  If he ever fell in love again, it would be with a woman like Dara Mackenzie.

  He ran the thought past his brain another time or two. If he could fall in love again…Why can’t you love again? he wondered.

  But the answer was there, as plain as the night-black ceiling above him: he hadn’t felt the heart-tugging stirrings of romance because he hadn’t given it—or himself—a real chance.

  Noah scrunched the pillow up under his neck, linked his fingers atop his chest. Have you been deliberately choosing women without a single solitary maternal bone in their bodies? Not deliberately, maybe, but subconsciously, he’d sabotaged the would-be relationships, right from square one.

  Until now.…

  What was different about this one? Why was he being so ham-handed now?

  Because didn’t he owe it to her memory to try to keep the promise he’d made on the night Francine died?

  You just answered your own question. Francine hadn’t just asked him to “Get a woman in here, fast.” She’d made her demand plain and simple: “They need a mother to look out for them. They need a woman’s touch.”

  A woman’s touch. Noah grunted, one side of his mouth tucked in, hands back up under his head again. Kids aren’t the only ones who need a woman’s touch.

  Francine hadn’t been the perfect wife, but she’d been pretty close. He’d never worn a shirt that hadn’t been pressed to perfection. Never left the house with a button missing or unpolished shoes. She could have been a chef in some fancy restaurant if she’d wanted to, and
the joke around the house was, her house was so clean folks could eat right off the floors. She’d alphabetized the spice rack, the pantry, the linens. And in the clothes closet, his shirts hung in color-coordinated order…grouped by sleeve length and fabric type.

  Sometimes he thought she was too hard on the kids, insisting they tow the line, always, no matter what. But “mothering” was her job, and they were terrific kids. Who was he to argue with her methods, when the results were so obvious?

  Besides, how many wives would insist that their husbands find their children a mother substitute, as soon as possible? And that’s what this is all about, he reminded himself. Angie and Bobby.

  From the moment of their conception, the children had given his life meaning and hope. Once born, it took little more than a toothless smile to brighten his dull world. And now that they were old enough to hold two-way conversations, they’d become companions of a sort, filling his lonely days with questions and observations that kept him from growing old before his time: “Why is the sky blue, Father?” and “God lives in the sky because He can see everything better from there.” They were loving little beings that deserved to be loved right back…by a woman’s gentle hands.…

  In the morning, he’d try again to convince Dara to marry him. He hadn’t spent all those hours on his knees for nothing in the years since he’d lost Francine. Dara was the woman God intended him to spend the rest of his days with; Noah knew it as he knew the earth would continue spinning.

  He’d phrase the question a bit more romantically this time, so she wouldn’t be insulted, wouldn’t feel like a heifer on the auction block. You’re a buffoon, he chided, remembering the way he’d presented the idea initially, a callous dolt to have put it so bluntly. Francine would surely have scolded him soundly for being an insensitive lout. And the reason she’d chasten him would be simple: she wanted only the finest for her children, and how was he to provide the mother they needed if he scared the woman off?

  Now there’s an idea, he thought, sitting up. How would Francine have said the same thing?