The Man She'll Marry

by Ann Roth

  Fran shook her head. “We probably won’t hear until after they get back. If they get back too late tonight, and I suspect they will, it’ll be tomorrow.”

  “Well, call me if you hear anything,” Rosy said.

  Fran nodded. “You do the same. I think I’ll run to the ladies’ room now, before everyone arrives,” she said as the waitress bustled off. “Be right back.”

  Cinnamon nodded absently, her thoughts on Nick and his bubbly niece. Had the girl won the math competition? Since she wanted the win so badly and her mother and uncle fully supported her, Cinnamon hoped so.

  More pressing and worrisome, why did she continue to think and dream about Nick when he had no drive and no ambition to move up in life? She wanted a man who valued the things she did, not the sweet, attractive handyman who caused mental confusion and heart palpitations. She sighed. Face it, she was in lust, big-time, and no amount of self-talk could fix that.

  If only he hadn’t come to her room yesterday afternoon, his expression wary, arms crossed over his shirt, and long legs planted before her, with that sexy tool belt hanging low on his narrow hips. After the accident and the brush-off by her colleagues, she’d been upset and vulnerable, and prepared to stay mad at him for snapping at her earlier.

  But his sincere apology, warm eyes and full attention had weakened her resolve and made her want to trust him. She’d actually considered talking about Dwight. Luckily she’d come to her senses, for if Nick knew about that, he might think the same low things about her that other people did.

  But he didn’t know, and with her so-called friends shutting her out, his interest and kindness drew her to him like a dry sponge to water. No wonder she’d had those dreams.

  “I’m back.” Fran slid into her seat. “I wonder where—”

  Suddenly the door opened and a group of women trouped in. “There they are.” She smiled and waved.

  Five hands waved in return. The women hung their coats on the coat tree. Then, chattering as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, they headed for the table. One by one they introduced themselves to Cinnamon, each expressing sympathy over her injury.

  Betsy—at thirty, the same age as Cinnamon and Fran—was married with grade-schoolers and owned a yarn shop. Lynn, divorced and the town’s postmistress, and Claire, who owned and ran the dry cleaner’s, were about ten years older. Joelle and Noelle, never-married fraternal twins and retired bed-and-breakfast owners, were well past seventy.

  Talking and laughing and smelling of damp, fresh air, they arranged themselves around the table, Betsy beside Cinnamon, and Joelle and Noelle directly across from her.

  They seemed as colorful and as much fun as Fran had said. Cinnamon brightened, certain that at last she could banish Nick from her thoughts.

  “FRAN SAYS YOU LIKE to shop,” Betsy commented as she finished a piece of Rosy’s coconut cream pie.

  Cinnamon liked the woman, who seemed keenly intelligent with a ready sense of humor. “I do, but since I’m unemployed, I’ll stick to browsing,” she replied, surprised that she was able to joke about her predicament.

  Betsy shrugged. “Browsing works for me. It’s been a real slow morning, so before lunch I closed up shop for the rest of the day. The kids don’t get home from school till three-forty-five, and I have two free hours ahead. Why don’t I show you some of our shops? I’ll even reopen mine, if you want.” She glanced at Cinnamon’s leg. “That is, if you feel up to it. Either way, I’ll drive you to Fran’s.”

  Not about to give in to her injury, Cinnamon nodded. “Sounds fun. And your driving will save her an extra trip home. I’d love to see your shop. Though I can’t help but wonder how many people around here knit.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Betsy said. “Tourists buy yarn, too.”

  “Can we stop at the Cranberries-to-Go shop, too?” Cinnamon said. “I met the owner, Liz, at the doctor’s office yesterday and said I would.”

  “Did you?” Her new friend’s eyes widened speculatively. “I’ll bet she didn’t appreciate seeing Nick with you. Was she nasty?”

  Cinnamon recalled the tall, buxom blonde who had introduced herself. “No, she was friendly and warm. Probably because there’s nothing between Nick and me.”

  Every woman at the table was listening with clear interest, so she spoke to them all. “We’re hardly even friends.”

  “But Nick drove you to Doc’s. Then he stayed and waited for you,” Betsy pointed out.

  “So? If Liz had hurt her leg, I’m sure he’d have done the same.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” replied Lynn, the postmistress who sat on Betsy’s other side. An intent expression brightened her weathered face as she leaned around Betsy to catch Cinnamon’s eye. “See, Liz has a thing for Nick. She’s always been wild for him.”

  Claire, who sat opposite Lynn, nodded. “Tell her about that time at the post office, Claire.”

  “You mean when they both showed up at the same time, and Liz did everything possible to seduce the man?” She shook her head in disgust, her short, gray bob swaying. “Rubbing her chest and licking her lips in broad daylight, not caring who saw her. Shameless! It’s a good thing no other customers were around. Nick ignored her, bless his heart.”

  “Can you imagine?” Claire tsked. “That woman is way too hungry for male attention.”

  Lynn gave a knowing nod. “It scares men off.”

  “She got pregnant and married while she was still in high school,” Betsy said. “But the marriage didn’t last. Her ex moved away, leaving her when Bret was just a baby.”

  “A real tough situation,” Joelle sympathized. “But you gotta hand it to her because she did—”

  “—get her GED.” Noelle nodded. “And worked her way from a clerk—”

  “—to owner of Cranberries-to-Go,” Joelle finished for her twin.

  “That’s admirable,” Cinnamon said. “Nick says she’s looking for a man to settle down with.”

  “That can’t be true.” Claire looked surprised. “She’s been divorced nearly twenty years and loves to flirt. Wonder where he got that idea?”

  “Maybe she proposed,” Joelle said.

  The entire table laughed.

  “All I know is he doesn’t want to settle down,” Cinnamon said. “You know, Liz’s son is nine-teen, only thirteen years younger than Nick,” she added, quoting his very words. “She’s too old for him.”

  Inwardly she frowned. Want to or not, here she was, thinking and talking about Nick. Again.

  Joelle and Noelle offered matching sage nods. “Plenty of ladies besides Liz have tried to catch him,” Joelle said. “But he’s never dated the same woman for long. I—”

  “—wonder why that is?” Noelle posited.

  “What do you think, Cinnamon?” the twins asked in unison.

  The question drew the interest of everyone at the table including Rosy, who was stacking dirty plates onto a tray.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Fran shot her a sly, sideways glance. “My guess is, he hasn’t met the right person.”

  Talking about Nick made Cinnamon uncomfortable, especially with six women eyeing her. She focused on Fran. “Shouldn’t you be getting to your meeting?”

  Fran hastily looked at her watch. “I almost forgot!” Grabbing her purse, she jumped up, setting off a chain reaction.

  “Good to meet you all,” Cinnamon said.

  “You’re a lovely young woman.” Joelle smiled. “We must do this again—”

  “—before you leave town.” Noelle patted her blue-gray perm. “How about next Friday?”

  “SURE YOU WANT TO go in there?” Betsy nodded at the metal Cranberries-to-Go sign hanging over the door.

  Cinnamon and she had spent the last hour touring the shops, and when her leg hurt, sitting and talking like old friends. She felt nearly as comfortable with Betsy as she did with Fran.

  Oddly, she’d never felt this relaxed around her colleagues. No wonder they didn’t treat her like a friend—they�
�d never been more than business associates.

  The insight was a disturbing one, and she wondered at herself. She’d been so wrapped up in work that she’d mistaken acquaintances for something more. How pathetic.

  She peered through the window, glimpsing jars, kitchenware and oven mitts emblazoned with cranberries. “Looks interesting to me. And I did tell Liz I’d stop by.” Noting Betsy’s round eyes and curious expression, she frowned. “What?”

  “I just thought, given that she’s been after Nick all these years, and given that he was with you at Doc’s…”

  Cinnamon groaned. “We went over this at lunch, remember?” She shook her head at the cloud-laden sky. “There’s nothing between Nick and me. He’s not my type.” Moving as fast as her injury allowed, she opened the door and limped through it.

  “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Betsy murmured, following her inside.

  Save for Liz, the small store was empty.

  “Hello there.” Her carefully made-up face brightened. “You’re my first customer in ages. I was just about to close up shop.”

  “I locked up at noon,” Betsy said.

  Brow creased, Liz glanced from Cinnamon to Betsy. “You two know each other?”

  “We met today at lunch.”

  “That Friday girls thing Fran started, huh?”

  Apparently everybody in town knew about the weekly get-together. Which wasn’t surprising.

  “I can’t buy anything today,” Cinnamon said. “But I wanted to see your shop.”

  “That’s okay. How’s your leg? Does it still hurt?”

  “I think I’ll live, thanks.”

  Liz arched one penciled brow toward Betsy. “How’s that darling husband of yours?” She smiled at Cinnamon. “Cal’s my CPA, and I just adore the man.”

  “You adore every man,” Betsy muttered.

  If Liz heard, she didn’t let on. “Any news on Abby?” she asked Cinnamon.

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “I thought for sure Nick would have called you by now.”

  Betsy regarded Cinnamon with an I-told-you-so smirk.

  Cinnamon frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “I saw how he looked at you in Doc’s office, and I figured…” She winked. “You know.”

  What was this, a conspiracy? “You figured wrong,” Cinnamon said for what seemed the dozenth time. “Nick brought me to Doc’s because he had to. We’re not involved, and he doesn’t have feelings for me.”

  “Think what you want, but I’ve known him for years. He’s never looked at me that way.” Liz leaned toward Betsy. “Like he wanted to eat her for lunch.” She fanned her red-tipped talons and blew on them, while Cinnamon’s cheeks warmed and Betsy grinned. “If he just once looked at me like that, I’d be head-over-heels and halfway to heaven.”

  Cinnamon had seen Nick’s eyes go dark and feverish when he looked at her. Her insides warmed and tingled, and she knew exactly what Liz meant. “You’re imagining things,” she lied. “Even if I wanted to get involved with Nick, which I don’t, there’s no time for that. A week from Monday I’ll be headed back to L.A.”

  For what, she didn’t know. Not a job…yet.

  Liz’s mouth pursed in a coy expression. “That’s enough time for an affair.”

  Betsy nodded. “She’s right.”

  Cinnamon gaped at the woman she’d spent the past few hours with, wondering whether she knew her at all. She hadn’t told her about Dwight, but they had discussed relationships and men in general.

  “I don’t do those,” she stated.

  Liz smiled. “Maybe you should.”

  Just then Betsy’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, slipping it from her shoulder bag.

  Tired of the conversation, Cinnamon stared past Liz. “Think I’ll look around now.”

  “Enjoy.”

  Cinnamon wandered past shelves of cranberry chutney, sugared cranberries and cranberry cosmetics. She picked up a porcelain plate decorated with cranberries and absently noted the full set of matching pieces, all the while musing over Liz’s suggestion.

  Have a quickie affair with Nick?

  She certainly lusted after him enough for that, and she definitely was over Dwight. But affairs were something her mother did, over and over. Not Cinnamon. She had committed sex—it didn’t happen outside serious relationships headed toward forever. With successful men, or those on their way up the corporate ladder. None had lasted, but that was just bad luck, relationships gone sour. Not affairs.

  She stopped at a table of silky bikini panties emblazoned with cranberries and sifted through them for her size. What about Dwight? Even though she’d thought that eventually they would get married, in the end what they’d shared was just a tawdry affair that had cost her the job she loved, and ruined her career.

  No, affairs caused nothing but heartache and trouble. Even so, making love with Nick was a definite temptation.

  Appalled, Cinnamon dropped the panties and turned away. No more of that. Pulling a cranberry cookbook from a display, she leafed through it with pretended interest. She would not have an affair with Nick, and why in the world had Liz put the idea in her head? Never mind. In ten days she’d leave. Until then she’d simply close off her emotions as she had at Sabin and Howe.

  Compared to weeks spent stifling her feelings there, ten days was nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning dawned clear and crisp. Rested and pleased at Abby’s success, nonskid tape and tools in hand, Nick whistled as he strode across Fran’s veranda. He carefully avoided thoughts of Cinnamon. Out of sight, out of mind had worked well for him, and whether or not he saw her today, he intended to keep himself occupied by work.

  With a long of list of chores, that shouldn’t be hard. He strode through the dining room sliders in search of coffee and nearly plowed into Cinnamon.

  “Whoa. You’re in a big hurry,” he said, looking her over.

  Coat on, keys in hand, she looked to be on her way out. Her eyes were bright and her skin glowed with good health. She was more beautiful than ever.

  “Um, thanks.”

  Her cheeks flushed the way he liked and her gaze darted away and he realized he’d spoken out loud. His turn to go hot-faced.

  Yet he couldn’t look away. It had only been two days, but he couldn’t believe how good it was to see her. Or how much he wanted her.

  So much for getting her out of his system.

  He set down his tools and supplies. “Where are you off to?”

  “Meeting Betsy Grand for coffee,” she replied in a crisp voice he’d never heard.

  She seemed aloof and not interested in making conversation. Which should have been a relief, but wasn’t.

  Nick scratched the back of his neck. After apologizing Friday, he’d assumed they’d cleared the air. Looked as if he’d thought wrong. Better off with her being distant. Maybe he should leave things alone.

  “If you’re going out and wearing those pretty beige slacks, your leg must be better,” he said instead.

  “Much, thanks.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “I hear you have good news, too. How wonderful that Abby took first place in the state for her age category. You and Sharon must be so proud.”

  “We are.” His chest puffed as he grinned. “Abby’s over the moon.”

  “Please congratulate her for me.”

  He nodded.

  Silence.

  Not quite ready to let her go, Nick searched his mind for something to say. “I’ll be doing paint touch-ups today,” he said at last. “I still need a sample from the Orca Suite to match at the hardware store. Okay if I get that this morning?”

  “Certainly.”

  Refusing to meet his eye, she stared at his shoulder and fiddled with her keys, their jingling the only sound in the room. Every clink upped the tension between them.

  “I’m trying like hell to make conversation, and you’re stiff as a corpse,” he said
. “Are you still upset about Thursday, or did I do something else to make you mad?”

  Abruptly the jangling stopped. “It’s not you,” she answered, sounding more like the Cinnamon he knew and liked. But she still wouldn’t look at him.

  He waited for her to explain, but she didn’t. So he pushed. “What is it, then?”

  Her lips compressed, and she shook her head.

  “Fine,” he snapped, seriously irritated. “You want to be in a foul mood, suit yourself.” Wheeling away, he strode into the kitchen, snatched up the mug Fran had left by the coffeemaker and filled it.

  “Where’s Fran?” he asked, sounding gruff even to his own ears.

  Cinnamon shot a nervous glance at the door. “Picking up a gift for Abby. Something from both of us.”

  That last part surprised him so much he nearly snorted his coffee. “You only met her once.”

  “That was enough to know I like her. I admire her, too, and I’m very proud of what she accomplished.” The guarded expression vanished, and at last she met his eyes.

  Nick didn’t understand the sudden change in her mood, but under her warm, direct look and words his temper faded. “You should have seen her, Cinnamon. She was calm and cool. With all the stress of competing, I never thought she’d be able to relax as much as she did. Watching her up there was amazing.” He shook his head in wonder. “Where she got those smarts, I don’t know. Not from our side of the family.”

  “You’re no dummy, Nick.”

  She wouldn’t say that if she knew he barely could read. Dropping his gaze to the dark liquid in his mug, he shrugged. “Anyway, you’d have enjoyed watching her.”

  “I wish I’d been there.”

  Damned if she didn’t sound and look as if she meant that. “So do I,” he said, staring at her generous mouth.

  “Did she use your breathing technique?”

  “Yep. Anytime you want me to teach it to you, I will.” His offer surprised him, but then, he was talking out of desire.

  What in the world had made him think he could forget about wanting her? One friendly glance and he was gone.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Her lips parted a fraction, the bottom lip full and tempting. Drawn by a force he couldn’t fight and hardly aware of what he was doing, he set down his mug and moved toward her.