The Man She'll Marry

by Ann Roth

  “Fran invited me,” she replied, her gaze darting to her lap. Moments later she raised her head and looked at him. “About yesterday…”

  She bit her sweet lower lip. He knew its softness and the taste of her mouth. Desire burned in his blood, and he barely stifled a groan. “What about yesterday?”

  “I—”

  Whatever she was about to day was cut off by the loud squeak of a microphone. Standing at the podium, Mayor Jannings pushed a button, blew into the thing and tested it again. When all was well, he nodded at the crowd and offered a polite smile.

  “Good evening and thank you for coming. What a great turnout, but that’s one reason why I love this town. I know you love it, too. That’s why the council members and I called this special meeting. We are in crisis, people. The Tate Cranberry Factory is on the brink of closing. It’s my hope that together we’ll figure out what we can do to save it, and tonight, I encourage you to share your ideas.”

  Nick noted Sharon’s frown and Abby’s grave expression. From his seat he couldn’t reach either of them, yet he wanted to offer his sister a reassuring pat. Leaning back, he stretched his arm behind Cinnamon and touched Sharon’s shoulder. She offered a wan smile.

  He caught a whiff of Cinnamon’s floral scent and inhaled, which caused his arm to brush her back. He pulled away, but the damage was done. His body went on red alert and the semierection that had plagued him all day threatened to go full tilt. She gave him a wide-eyed, accusing look that shamed him.

  This was no time to think about sex. His sister’s job was at stake. He angled away from her, desperate to shield his arousal and rein in his hunger.

  He stared hard at the podium and strained to concentrate on Mayor Jannings. But nothing worked.

  He was in lust hell, with no way out.

  CINNAMON TRIED TO LISTEN to Mayor Jannings, but with Nick beside her, awareness of anyone else was difficult. Especially after he’d slipped his arm around her. She knew it was only to reach his sister, but the brief contact had aroused every nerve in her body. Now she longed to lean into him and exchange bonemelting kisses—and more.

  Dear God. She locked her hands around her purse strap and shifted restlessly, her wooden folding chair creaking.

  A grizzled man she recognized from the factory stood, and the mayor nodded at him. “Charlie?”

  Determined to focus on the meeting instead of Nick, she swiveled her head toward the speaker.

  “If we started earning a profit again, we’d do all right, wouldn’t we?” he said.

  “How’re we going to do that, when our machinery is so durn old it breaks down constantly?” a man called out from the back. “We can’t compete like this.”

  “You said it, Vince!” a woman shouted.

  Angry people throughout the room yelled out thunderous agreement.

  The mayor held up his hands for silence. “We can’t discuss the problem if everybody talks at once,” he stated loudly into the microphone. “One at a time, please. You’ll all get your chance.”

  Hands shot into the air.

  “Claude Jenkins has the floor.”

  The thin, graying man who stood appeared to be close to retirement age. “I’ve been with this factory forty-odd years and I’ve seen things go from good to okay to bad. I agree with Charlie, but I also agree with Vince. Given our situation, how’re we going to make a profit?”

  The man named Vince jumped to his feet. He was about Nick’s age, with a stocky frame, wearing a Cranberry, Oregon, sweatshirt. “Even if Tate won’t give us new machines, he oughta sink more money into advertising. That’d help.”

  “He hasn’t bothered to do that over the past eight years. Why should he start now?” asked a middle-aged female with frizzy hair. “He’s got a string of successful businesses. He doesn’t need us. Unless we make money without his help, we’re history.”

  “Ain’t that the truth!” a woman shouted.

  Grumbles again filled the room.

  Vince, who was still standing, crossed his arms. “We don’t even have a general manager anymore, just Andy, Claude and me trying to run the place without knowing what we’re doing. Today the mixer jammed a good ten times. It’s so old, nobody remembers how to do much except unclog it and pray. We had to close down one whole processing unit. Only the good Lord knows when we’ll be able to use it again.”

  “Uncle Nick can fix that machine so it won’t ever break again.” Abby’s girlish voice rang out. “Maybe he’ll invent a whole machine like he did with the sorter my mom uses.”

  Nick, an inventor? Did he own the patent, and why hadn’t he mentioned this talent? Cinnamon looked at him curiously.

  “That’s a great idea!” Sharon grinned at her brother.

  Shouts of “Nick! Nick! Nick!” pounded through the room.

  To Cinnamon’s surprise his face flushed red and he ducked his head, as if he couldn’t handle the attention. She’d never thought of him as shy. He certainly wasn’t around Fran or her, and he hadn’t been at Rosy’s the other night. This was different.

  “Stand up,” Sharon urged.

  “I think they want you to say something,” Cinnamon added.

  “No way, so both of you lay off.”

  He threw his sister a look Cinnamon couldn’t see, then aimed a forbidding frown at her before his attention centered on his lap. Over his bent head Sharon raised her brow and shrugged.

  Liz’s brother stood. “Andy Jessup, here. You don’t have to stand up or say anything, Nick. Just stop over to the factory tomorrow and give us a hand. We’ll pay you out of the supplies fund, but don’t tell Tate.”

  Nervous laughter erupted through the room, providing a needed respite from the tension and worry.

  Nick eyed Fran, who expected him to return to work at the B and B in the morning. “My chores can wait,” she said. “You go ahead and do what you can to help the factory.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be over first thing tomorrow,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Thanks,” Andy called out.

  A young woman with cocoa-colored skin stood. “I’m Becky Johnson and I run the sorter with Sharon Mahoney. Even if Nick fixes the problem, we’ll be lucky to make up what we lost today, never mind turning a profit. You must know something we don’t, Mayor Jannings. Are they gonna shut us down, and if so, when?”

  “That’s a fair question, Becky,” the mayor said. “I spoke with Randall Tate this afternoon and asked him that very question. I also suggested he hire a consultant to help turn the business around. I recommended someone who happens to be sitting in the front row in this very room.” He looked straight at Cinnamon. “Miss Cinnamon Smith, a close friend of Fran Bishop’s, happens to be an expert at saving companies on the verge of bankruptcy. She’s good at it, too. I checked.”

  Stunned, Cinnamon gaped at the man on stage while wild applause broke out.

  “Wahoo,” crowed Fran, shooting her a big grin.

  Abby shrieked, and Sharon clapped louder than anyone else.

  She frowned at Nick, who shrugged. “I had nothing to do with this, I swear,” he said over the noise.

  “I haven’t finished,” the mayor said in a booming voice. He looked and sounded so solemn, the crowd immediately quieted. “Unfortunately, due to cost considerations, Tate declined to hire Ms. Smith or any other consultant. He repeated what most of us already know—if he can’t sell the factory over the next few months, he will shut it down.”

  Heavy silence greeted the statement, the tension and worry of the citizens of Cranberry palpable. Cinnamon felt awful for the people she’d come to know and like, especially Sharon, Abby and Nick. What would they do?

  “Any nibbles from potential buyers?” a man asked from the back.

  The grim-faced mayor shook his head. “Not as of this afternoon.”

  Nobody spoke, and the tension mounted. A tall woman in rimless glasses stood. “We’re in a catch-22. Nobody wants to buy us because we’re not profitable, but we won’t be profi
table until somebody sinks some money into the business.”

  “I have an idea,” Cinnamon said in a voice only Fran, Sharon and Nick could hear. “What if—”

  “Stand up and tell everyone,” Fran urged.

  Sharon nodded and glanced at Nick, who seconded the suggestion with a thumbs-up.

  Cinnamon raised her hand.

  “Our expert consultant has something to say,” the mayor said.

  She stood and pivoted to face the group. “Why don’t the employees buy the factory?”

  Stunned expressions greeted the question. “Interesting idea,” the mayor said. “How would we go about doing that?”

  “And how can we afford it, when most of us are struggling to make ends meet?” asked a woman a few rows back.

  “You may not need much cash. There are attorneys who specialize in employee buyouts who could figure all that out.” She glanced at Pete and Anne, seated on-stage. “Do either of you know of someone?”

  The attorneys conferred quietly. “We might,” Pete said. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll check and report back to you.”

  “That’d be fine,” Mayor Jannings said.

  “Tate brought in his own general manager, but he quit,” Andy said. “Our last local G.M. was Willis Tilden, and he’s in the cemetery. There’s nobody else around here to run the place.”

  The town council members exchanged blank looks, while from the floor, individuals fired off questions.

  “How would our buying the place guarantee a profit?”

  “What do we know about running a business?”

  “How’re we going to get money to upgrade our equipment?”

  “What if we lose our shirts?”

  From the back of the room, a rail-thin male who looked about sixteen stood. “My name’s Eddie Wilkins,” he said in a surprisingly powerful voice that boomed through the room. “I like your idea, Miss Smith. If you’re Fran’s friend, then I also trust you. Will you help us?”

  Cinnamon considered the offer, which was exactly the kind of project she enjoyed. Earlier tonight, hadn’t she wished she could stay here longer? Here was the chance to do that. Trouble was, she needed a job that paid decently. Working with factory employees who didn’t have much to spare for a business teetering on bankruptcy, she’d be lucky to earn anything. How would she pay her bills and rebuild her savings? No, she couldn’t accept. She opened her mouth to explain, but Fran cut her off.

  “Cinnamon’s services don’t come cheap. She commands high fees and deserves every penny. How would we pay her?”

  Cinnamon could have hugged her for stating her concerns.

  “She needs to earn her living, just as we do,” another understanding soul somewhere in the back called out.

  The energy level in the room plummeted. Shoulders slumped and people stared desolately at their feet.

  “You can have all the money in my savings account,” Abby said as she scrambled to her feet. “Ninety-six dollars and fifty-three cents.”

  Heartfelt murmurs filled the room. Touched, Cinnamon smiled at the girl, whom she now liked and admired more than ever. “That’s very sweet, Abby, but—”

  “If the factory closes,” the girl interrupted, the words tumbling over each other as if she were afraid slower speech might be easily stopped, “my mom and lots of her friends will lose their jobs. We’d have to move away, to a place where we don’t know anybody.” Chewing her thumbnail, she shot Cinnamon a stricken look. “I don’t want to leave Cranberry and my friends, and I don’t want to be the math bee champion for some other school. Most especially, I don’t want to move away from my uncle Nick. He already told my mom and me he’s not moving.” Eyes huge and guileless, she finished. “Won’t you please help us?”

  The entire room went dead silent, everyone awaiting Cinnamon’s answer. The plea deeply touched her. Her heart broke for the girl, her family and the friendly town. But much as she wanted to help, she couldn’t survive without a decent pay-check.

  She bit her lip. “I can’t take your money, Abby.”

  Beside her, Nick cleared his throat. “Take mine, then. That machine I’m about to fix? Give my pay to Cinnamon.”

  Her jaw dropped as she turned toward him. His gaze held hers, warm and pleading. Before she could thank him and refuse, other offers peppered her.

  “From now on you’ll stay free at the Oceanside,” Fran said.

  “Eat anytime at Rosy’s, on the house,” the diner owner called out.

  “That shin I patched up?” Doc said. “No charge.”

  “I’ll give you free knitting lessons and all the complimentary yarn you need,” Betsy promised.

  “And free goodies from Cranberries-to-Go,” Liz said.

  Offers of free groceries, movie rentals and gas followed.

  Cinnamon was awed by the generosity of these people, who didn’t have much to begin with. Her knee-jerk response was to turn them down. Throughout her childhood she and her mother had lived hand-to-mouth, often relying on handouts. This wasn’t charity, yet somehow it felt that way. Money was what she wanted and needed.

  “Well?” Nick’s soft words were for her ears only.

  He didn’t touch her, but he was so close she felt the warmth from his body. She wanted to look at him but didn’t dare. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his face when she refused the job and let down the people of Cranberry.

  She opened her mouth to refuse the offer. “All right, I’ll help you,” she said.

  Shocked silent by her own words, she sat down hard, while cheers erupted and energetic conversation shook the rafters.

  “Working without pay is not an option. I can’t take this job,” she stated, though over the noise she barely heard herself speak.

  Apparently Nick heard, for his smile was warm and grateful. “I think you just did.” Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”

  The warmth of his lips almost made up for the fear in her heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Thanks to noisy machinery, employees calling out to each other as they worked and oldies tunes belting from somebody’s radio, Nick couldn’t hear himself think. Lucky for him, installing the new rotator didn’t call for much thought. That part of the job had come with studying the defective mixer and taking apart the engine yesterday, then spending all day and half the night designing and fashioning what he needed out of the odds and ends stashed in his workshop. Two whole days of work. He only hoped the thing ran.

  If it did he’d get back to Fran’s job and the other ones that paid, and get on with saving for Abby’s camp room and board. Cinnamon said she didn’t want his pay from this job, but he planned to give it to her anyway. He didn’t begrudge her the money, since his first priority was doing what he could to help the factory survive.

  Besides, the camp people had their deposit. They didn’t want the rest until mid-July, a good five months from now. Plenty of time to save up—as long as Sharon didn’t lose her job.

  Nick slipped his screwdriver into his tool belt. He swiped his hands on his jeans, then he nodded to Cliff Baxter, the mix operator who, with his long neck and bobbing head, reminded Nick of a chicken.

  Peering nervously at the control panel, Cliff waited until Nick joined him before pushing the start button. The engine purred to life, its huge metal blade rotating exactly as it should.

  “She’s good as new,” Cliff hollered to his coworkers. “Thanks, buddy,” he told Nick, clapping his shoulder.

  “Happy to help,” Nick replied.

  His job here was finished. Employees around the area cheered and waved. Hating the attention, he accepted their thanks with a bowed head. Eager to head out, he pivoted toward the door on the other side of the factory.

  He didn’t move, though, because Cinnamon was walking toward him with the confident, sophisticated grace you’d expect of a woman with her smarts and background.

  Dressed in expensive slacks and a matching sweater that hinted at her curves, she looked elegant an
d every inch the professional consultant, and out of place among the jeans-clad group.

  While he was an unskilled, uneducated handyman in faded jeans and an old work shirt.

  Aside from occasional glimpses of her moving through the factory interviewing workers and taking notes, he hadn’t seen her since the town hall meeting two nights ago. But he’d thought about her nearly every waking moment, and plenty of sleeping ones, too. Now he drank in the sight of her, along with several other men on the floor. He scowled at the room in general, warning them off.

  “Hello, Nick,” she said, offering a cool, fleeting smile.

  So she wasn’t thrilled about running into him. He told himself he didn’t care and hadn’t expected anything else, especially since she was here more or less under forceful persuasion. Word was, she’d agreed to stick around two more weeks, then leave for good. Back to life in the big city.

  Matching her reserved greeting, he offered a terse nod. “How’s it going?”

  “I could use a few more hours’ sleep at night, but other than that, not bad.”

  He could identify with that. “I haven’t been sleeping much, either,” he admitted, glancing from her mouth to her eyes.

  Cinnamon flushed, and for an instant her eyes darkened as they had after those kisses he couldn’t seem to forget. With that one brief, hot look, the lust that had plagued him since she’d shown up at Fran’s ignited. No way was he sprouting a hard-on here in the factory. Frowning, Nick backed up a few steps and reined in his desire.

  “Sorry you took this job?” he asked.

  She shook her head, surprising him. “Actually, I’m enjoying myself.”

  She noted the look on his face, and her lips twinged into a semblance of a smile. “That shocked me, too. I’ve been working late, researching the cranberry industry. I’ve learned interesting facts. Did you know that over the past decade, the world-wide demand for cranberry juice and frozen cranberries has dropped?”

  “No, I didn’t. We sure drink enough of the stuff around here.”

  “Apparently this town is the exception to the rule. In order to survive we need to look at manufacturing other cranberry products,” she said. “Your sister and some of the other employees are meeting right now to brainstorm ideas.”