by Lynn Turner
Abbie refrained from asking any of the half-dozen questions that sprang to mind, not wanting to sound as if she were interrogating him.
‘Both my parents have always been what you might call free spirits,’ he said drily. ‘They believe that the concept of marriage is contrary to the laws of nature.
Which is just as well, I suppose, since neither of them is emotionally equipped to maintain a monogamous relationship for more than a few months.’
He turned away to store the cutlery he’d been drying in a drawer. While he was doing that, Abbie took the dishcloth to the table and wiped up a few breadcrumbs. Seconds later Mal appeared at her side. He was holding a plastic container, into which he ladled what was left of the stew. He snapped a lid on the container, then picked it up and headed for the refrigerator.
‘Don’t bother to wash the pot,’ he told her. ‘Just nm some water in it and let it soak.’
Abbie’s teeth worried her bottom lip as she waited for the pot to fill with hot water. So far he’d told her just enough about his parents to stimulate her curiosity. She wanted to know more; a lot more. His childhood and adolescence must have been unorthodox, to say the least. The details of his formative years might even provide enough material for a separate article.
‘Are you absolutely, positively sure you can’t hold any dessert?’
Abbie glanced over her shoulder. Mal was standing in front of the open refrigerator, his right arm resting along the top of the door. Balanced on the palm of his left hand was a Sara Lee cheesecake.
‘Well…’
A slow grin spread over his face. ‘Why, Abigail Prudence, I do believe I’ve discovered your Achilles’ heel.’
Abbie smiled sheepishly. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been talking to my mother.’
His soft, throaty chuckle caused her breath to catch and goose-bumps to sprout on the back of her neck. Fortunately, he closed the refrigerator door and carried the cheesecake to the table, giving her a chance to regain her equilibrium.
‘So you don’t have a sweet tooth,’ Mal drawled as he cut two large wedges of the rich dessert.
‘Cheesecake isn’t sweet,’ she replied. ‘Just fattening.’
He placed one of the wedges in front of her. ‘And addictive,’ he said gravely.
‘Extremely addictive,’ she agreed.
She waited several minutes before speaking again. She hoped that a period of companionable silence would make him more receptive. ‘I’m curious about something,’ she murmured when she’d finished off the last of her cheesecake. ‘You said that neither of your parents is capable of maintaining a relationship for more than a few months. But they must have stayed together long enough to have you.’
Mal nodded. Her probing didn’t seem to put him off. Abbie hadn’t realised how tense she was until she felt her muscles relax.
‘Dad had just turned thirty when they met,’ he told her. ‘That’s the birthday that makes or breaks a lot of men. Suddenly it dawns on you that you’ve lived almost half your life. Even worse, you realise that your youth is behind you. You come face to face with your own mortality, possibly for the first time in your life.’
He paused, hooking an arm over the back of his chair and stretching his legs out under the table. ‘Different men react differently. My father suddenly took it into his head that he wanted an heir, preferably a son. Liz had no desire to become a full-time mother, but she thought she should experience pregnancy and childbirth at least once in her life.’
Abbie stared at him, appalled. ‘Are you saying she never intended to stay and raise you, or take you with her when she left your father?’
‘That’s right. They worked it all out before she got pregnant: she’d stay here until after I was born. Dad would support her, make sure she had the best medical care, and when she was ready to leave he promised to give her enough money to get wherever she wanted to go and pay her rent for a year.’
Abbie was stunned, and she knew it showed. She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘That’s . .. incredible. I can’t imagine how any woman could carry a baby for nine months, bring him into the world, and then just turn her back on him and walk away.’
‘She didn’t.’
Abbie shook her head again, this time in confusion. ‘But you just said ‑’
‘I told you how it was supposed to happen,’ he interrupted. ‘It didn’t work out quite that way. Liz ended up staying a lot longer than she’d intended She didn’t leave for good until I was fourteen.’
‘For good?’ Abbie repeated in amazement. The more he told her, the more intrigued and fascinated she became. The Garretts had to be the strangest family she’d ever come across. Her fingers itched for a pen and notebook, so she could get all this down while her impressions were fresh. ‘Do you mean she left more than once?’ she asked incredulously.
Mal’s soft laugh sounded more resigned than amused. ‘She left and came back so many times that at one point Dad threatened to get a revolving door for his bedroom.’
‘She must have cared about you both, though, if she kept coming back,’ Abbie murmured.
‘I suppose she did, and still does, in her own way. The trouble always was that she and Dad are too much alike. Neither of them is capable of making an emotional commitment.’ A cynical smile flickered across his mouth. ‘On the other hand, neither of them is cut out for a life of celibacy, either. The last time Liz came back, she found Dad—’ He cut himself off in mid-sentence, cleared his throat, then drawled, ‘Entertaining a female guest.’
Abbie stifled a smile. She wouldn’t have expected him to censor his language for her ears. ‘She actually caught them … er …’
‘In the act.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Turned around and carried her suitcase back down the stairs and out the front door. She hasn’t set foot on the farm since.’
‘Can’t say I blame her,’ Abbie muttered.
Mal shrugged. ‘It was only a matter of time till she caught him with somebody. Dad never could stand to be without female companionship for more than a few days. I’ve lost count of the number of women “friends” he’s had over the years.’
Abbie gave him a shrewd look. ‘Would it be safe to assume that some, if not all, of them are responsible for your dislike of self-centred, aggressive women?’
His lashes suddenly dropped to screen his eyes. ‘Oh, yeah. It would definitely be safe to assume that.’
That reply was deliberately abrupt, letting her know that, while he didn’t mind talking about his parents, he was unwilling to be as open about himself. But Abbie wasn’t about to back off now, not when she’d finally started to make some progress. She rested -her chin on her palm and gazed at him with unabashed curiosity.
‘You did offer to tell me about yourself, you know. If you weren’t serious, or you’ve changed your mind, all you have to do is say no. I promise I’ll shut up and leave you alone.’
Her outburst didn’t seem to faze him. He just watched her through narrowed eyes, his head tilted slightly to one side. ‘Did you know that, when you get mad, your eyes change colour?’
‘Dammit!’ Abbie snapped in frustration.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep, calming breath, then released it in a rush. He had to be the most exasperating man she’d ever met. ‘They do what?’
‘Change colour. Normally they’re sort of aquamarine, but when you get riled, they turn as green as jade.’
Abbie suspected that he was trying to provoke her again, so she didn’t respond. A pensive frown settled on her forehead as she watched him. He made short work of washing and drying the dessert plates and utensils, performing the routine task as if he’d done it a thousand times. Maybe she’d been wrong about the cleaning woman.
When he’d finished putting everything away, he leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest. Abbie noticed that his hair had dried. She wondered if it felt as silky-soft as it looked in the glow from the overhead l
ight. She also wondered what he was thinking as he regarded her so intently. She wondered, but she didn’t ask. She had decided not to ask him any more personal questions … for the time being, anyway. She would back off for a while, give him some space. Lull him into a false sense of security.
Mal’s voice interrupted her scheming.
‘If you’re really interested in my family history, we’ll have plenty of time to cover it during the next couple of days. In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.’
He had dropped the phoney nonchalance, and there wasn’t a trace of amusement—indulgent or otherwise—in his voice. Abbie was instantly on guard.
‘A favour?’ She knew she sounded a little suspicious. She didn’t particularly care.
‘Yes. When we go into town tomorrow, you’ll meet another engineer who’s also designed an experimental fuel-efficient engine. Naturally, I think my design is the better of the two.’
‘Naturally.’ Abbie unconsciously mimicked his drawl. ‘And this bet you’ve made—I assume the purpose is to prove that fact to the other engineer?’
‘Right. Both cars will leave the courthouse square at noon tomorrow. The winner will be the car that consumes the least amount of fuel and has the fewest mechanical problems during the trip.’
Abbie frowned at him. ‘I thought this was going to be a race.’
‘It is. Each of us will be trying to get to DC first, and we’ve set a deadline of noon, Monday. If either car hasn’t made it to the Capital Building by then, it means an automatic forfeit.’
‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ Abbie murmured. ‘So you’re allowing two days to make the trip. That should be plenty of time, shouldn’t it?’
She thought Mal’s smile looked a bit grim. ‘It depends. Remember that both these engines are experimental. Up till now, all the testing’s been done on a nice, safe, oval track, under controlled conditions.’
Abbie felt a twinge of unease. ‘In other words, either or both of the engines might break down.’
He dismissed the suggestion with a shrug. ‘Theoretically, anything could happen. But I’m not worried. Both the Shelby and my engine will go the distance.’
He seemed confident, she thought; and he should know. ‘But what about the other car? Evidently you know the guy who designed the engine. How good is he?’
‘She.’ He ejected the word from his mouth as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. Abbie wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said she,’ he muttered. ‘The engineer who designed the other engine is a woman.’
Abbie experienced a stunning burst of insight. Of course! The woman the waiter at the hotel had told her about—the one who’d jilted him, then used what he had taught her to steal his clients.
‘We used to be lovers.’ He revealed the information reluctantly, Abbie could tell. She prudently held her tongue. His lips twisted in a cynical facsimile of a smile as he added, ‘Until she decided to head for greener pastures.’
Abbie bit her lower lip, hesitating briefly. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, what are the terms of your bet?’
She could see that the question had taken him by surprise. He’d probably expected her to ask something a lot more personal.
‘If I win, she pays me twenty thousand dollars.’
Abbie’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘And if she wins?’ she asked in a faint voice.
Mal closed his eyes, as if to shut out an unpleasant sight. ‘I move to New York and become her partner.’ He said it as if he were pronouncing his own death-sentence. His eyes opened. Their gazes locked. Abbie felt the impact of his formidable will, the force of his determination to win. A tiny shiver of excitement slithered down her spine.
‘I’ve got a lot at stake here, Abigail Prudence,’ he said softly. ‘I’m counting on you. Don’t let me down.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘I won’t.’
He nodded once, evidently satisfied with the response. ‘Right. Now, about that favour.’
Abbie sat forward expectantly. ‘Yes?’
‘When we go into town tomorrow, I want you to pretend to be my lover.’
CHAPTER SIX
The right front tyre of Deke’s truck found another pothole. Abbie supposed she should be grateful that she wasn’t bouncing around the cab like a ping-pong ball. She couldn’t work up much gratitude, though, because Mal’s left arm had her shackled to him so tightly that she couldn’t have moved if she’d tried.
She didn’t delude herself that he was holding her so close out of concern for her comfort. He was just making sure that Deke thought exactly what Mal wanted him to think. Judging by the knowing looks Deke kept sliding in her direction, the strategy was working. The complacent smile Mal couldn’t quite wipe off his face told her that he thought so, too.
She was extremely irritated—mostly with herself, for having allowed Malachi Garrett to manipulate her into taking part in this crazy charade. Last night she had been so flabbergasted by the ‘favour’ he’d asked of her that she hadn’t reacted for several seconds, which had proved to be more than enough time for the conniving devil to outfox her. He’d pretended to interpret her dumbfounded silence as assent. When she’d tried to set him straight, he’d merely smiled and told her not to worry, that he was sure she would give a convincing performance. And then he had neatly forestalled any further discussion by suggesting that they take the Shelby out so she could get in some more driving practice.
When she and Mal reached the garage, she discovered that the Shelby had been loaded on to a long, flat-bed trailer that was hitched to the rear bumper of Deke’s truck. Deke was sitting patiently on a corner of the trailer. Apparently he’d been expecting them.
The three of them climbed into the truck and Deke towed the trailer over several miles of rutted gravel roads, until finally they reached one with a smooth asphalt surface. Mal backed the Shelby down a hinged ramp that Deke had lowered from the rear of the trailer. When he cut the car’s engine and unfolded himself from behind the wheel, Abbie was waiting to take his place.
‘Aren’t you going to make me wear a helmet?’ she asked as she started to step past him.
She was only teasing him a little, the way he’d been teasing her for the better part of the evening. She certainly wasn’t prepared for his response. His left arm suddenly snaked around her waist and he pulled her against him, so hard that the breath left her lungs in a surprised whoosh. Abbie barely had time to register his wolfish grin before he planted a swift, hard kiss on her mouth.
‘Maybe later,’ he drawled when he released her. ‘You could be in for a rough ride when we get back to the house.’
The outrageous remark was so unexpected that Abbie’s only immediate reaction was a blank, open-mouthed stare. Mal took advantage of her shocked silence to hustle her into the driver’s seat. By the time indignant outrage replaced her stunned disbelief he had walked around the car and was climbing in on the opposite side.
‘How dare you?’
Her voice throbbed with anger, but before she could unleash the full force of her wrath Mal suddenly leaned across the space between the black leather bucket seats. Abbie instantly stiffened, her spine pressed against the contoured backrest in instinctive withdrawal. When his hand lifted towards her shoulder she sucked in a sharp, alarmed breath and raised her own hand to slap it away.
‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I was only reaching for your seat-belt.’
‘I can fasten my own seat-belt,’ she informed him curtly.
‘Then do it!’ he snarled. ‘Deke’s watching us like a hawk.’
‘So what?’ She had no intention of reaching for the shoulder-restraint until he had backed off. ‘After that disgusting little scene you just improvised, he’ll probably assume we’re having a lovers’ spat.’
Mal inhaled slowly, deeply. Abbie could almost feel the drain on his self-control as she silently counted to ten along with him.
‘F
asten the damned seat-belt and start the engine,’ he said in an ominously soft voice.
‘I will.’ She was careful to keep her own voice low as well. ‘As soon as you’re back on your side of the car.’
For a moment she thought she’d gone too far. His mouth thinned to a slash and the muscle along his jaw worked as if he were grinding his teeth. But then he suddenly shoved away from her. He had his own seat-and shoulder-restraints fastened while she was still wrestling with hers. As soon as they were underway, she said very clearly and distinctly, ‘You were deliberately vulgar and insulting back there.’
He heaved a gusty sigh. ‘You agreed to play the part, dammit.’
‘Wrong!’ she corrected. ‘I never agreed to anything,’
‘You didn’t refuse, either,’ Mal was quick to point out.
‘Possibly because you didn’t give me a chance to!’
He shifted restlessly. ‘Yeah, well… I was afraid that if I gave you time to think about it, you’d say no.’
The gruff admission effectively spiked Abbie’s growing resentment. She waited until she’d negotiated the forty-five-degree curve, then bluntly informed him that she expected an apology.
There was a second of surprised silence before Mal’s indignant, ‘For what?’
‘You know perfectly well for what.’
‘All I did was kiss you!’
Abbie took her eyes from the road long enough to give him a frosty glare.
‘And make one slightly risqué remark,’ he added grudgingly.
‘If that was your idea of a “slightly risqué” remark, I hope I’m not around when you decide to be really offensive.’
Mal was silent for so long that she thought she’d managed to get in the last word. She was about to repeat her request for an apology, when he drawled, ‘Abigail Prudence Kincaid, you’re a perfect example of how deceptive appearances can be. You look like a warm-blooded, fun-loving woman.’
Abbie’s fingers clenched on the steering wheel. ‘Because I have blonde hair and curves in all the right places, you mean? How terribly disappointing it must be to discover I’m not the empty-headed bimbo you took me for.’
