The Man She'll Marry

by Ann Roth

  “She’s leaving in a couple of days. Now who’s going to run the factory? We need her.” Sharon glared at him. “This is your fault, Nick.”

  “Mine?” He snorted, the broom kicking up sawdust and debris. “What in hell are you talking about?”

  “At the dance Saturday night, you only had eyes for each other. You took her home after, and you both looked darned pleased with yourselves. Something must have happened, because you canceled Sunday dinner with Abby and me for no reason whatsoever. Then this morning, Cinnamon accepted a job across the country instead of the one she was offered right here in town. I don’t like that, but it’s a good job and she ought to be happy. Instead she hung around the factory all day, moping around and snapping at people. I’m no rocket scientist, but I’m not an idiot, either. There’s a definite connection between your rotten mood and hers.”

  While his sister eyed him, he pushed the mess into a neat pile. Cinnamon loved him, or thought she did. That was the connection, but he refused to go there.

  “What did you do to her?” Sharon asked.

  Made love twice—the best sex of his life. He grabbed the dustpan from the its place under the window. “That, big sister, is my business.”

  “Did you tell her how you feel about her?”

  “Again, none of your business,” he said as he swept the debris into the dustpan.

  “You didn’t say you love her?”

  “Because I don’t,” he said, dumping the pan into the trash bin.

  “Oh, yes you do. I’m your sister and I know you, Nick. You’re crazy for this woman.”

  “Fat lot you know,” he muttered, but he sounded uncertain even to his own ears.

  He leaned the broom against the wall. “I like her,” he conceded, returning the dustpan to its place, “but I’m not right for her.”

  “Ah.” Understanding dawned on his sister’s face, and she pushed away from the wall. “I get it. You’re afraid to tell her about the dyslexia. It’s not a big deal, Nick.”

  He narrowed his eyes in warning. “Easy to say, since you can read.”

  “So can you. It just takes longer.”

  He didn’t have an answer to that, so he frowned. “You done lecturing me? ’Cause I have work to do.”

  His sister shook her head. “You’re just going to let Cinnamon go, then?”

  “Yep.” But the thought of never seeing her again made him feel sick in his gut.

  Sharon released an exasperated breath. “Then you’re a thickheaded fool, Nick Mahoney.”

  YOU’RE A THICKHEADED FOOL. The words echoed in Nick’s brain all night long.

  After tossing and turning and fighting himself for hours, he’d realized she was right. He was thick-headed, and tired of hiding his secret. She was right about something else, too.

  He was in love with Cinnamon.

  Crazy, lifetime-together in love. Admitting the truth felt amazing. His heart was so full he thought it might burst from his chest if he didn’t tell her. He would do that right away, before she left town, and ask her to stay. First, though, he would tell her everything.

  At the thought, his stomach balled into a hard fist, and tension knotted his shoulders. But if this was going to work—and there were no guarantees about that—she had to know the truth.

  Unable to rest or work, he prowled restlessly through the house until six. Showered and shaved, he phoned his sister.

  “What do you want, Nick?” she said, sounding testy.

  He didn’t blame her. “Sorry about yesterday.”

  He could almost see her forgiving shrug. “You can’t help it if you’re a bonehead.”

  “So now I’m thickheaded and boneheaded?” He chuckled. “Prepare to be shocked. You’re right.”

  “Huh?”

  Since her confusion kept her from pestering him with questions, he quickly moved on. “Can you get someone else to take Abby to school today?”

  “That depends on your reasons.”

  He sucked in a calming breath that didn’t do squat. “I’m going over to the Oceanside to talk to Cinnamon.”

  “At this hour?”

  Nick frowned. “What happened to ‘Good luck, Nick’?”

  His sister chuckled. “Good luck, Nick. Only you don’t need it. She loves you, brother. But up the odds by waiting an hour, okay?”

  Exactly sixty minutes later, nervous as a kid about to read out loud in class, he strode up the steps of the Oceanside. Standing at the front door, he rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension. He couldn’t have said whether it worked. Shifting, then bouncing on his toes, he knocked on the front door.

  After what seemed a good long while, it opened. Still in her robe, Fran didn’t hide her surprise. “Nick! Hello.” She swung the door wide open. “Come in. I didn’t expect to see you today, but I can dig up work for you.” Her gaze roved from his sports coat to his dress slacks. “What are you doing in your dress clothes?”

  “No work for me today,” he said. “I’m here to see Cinnamon.” He cleared his throat. “That is, if she’s awake.”

  Fran nodded. “We’ve already eaten breakfast. She’s upstairs, packing. She doesn’t leave till the day after tomorrow, but you know how she is about organizing things.”

  “She’s not going anyplace if I can help it.”

  Fran’s jaw dropped. He headed upstairs, his heart in his throat.

  CINNAMON’S DOOR WAS OPEN, but Nick hovered uncertainly outside. “Mind if I come in?”

  She glanced up from the open suitcase on the unmade bed, surprise on her face. “If you want. You’re all dressed up.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute.” Closing the door behind him, he moved slowly into the room, which was filled with clothes and books.

  Books she carried with her to read. Books he would never crack open.

  She lifted one, hugging it to her chest. “What do you want?”

  “Better sit down,” he cautioned. “I have something to say.”

  After darting a nervous glance at the bed, she pushed aside the clothes piled on the chaise and sat there.

  His legs were shaking so badly, his knees nearly crumpled. “I think I’ll sit, too.”

  He pulled out the desk chair and seated himself behind the desk. Her laptop was there, so he placed it on the floor. Hands folded in her lap—not fidgeting, he noted—Cinnamon watched him, her expression both wary and hopeful.

  That made things worse. Recalling his advice to Abby about focusing, he pulled in a fortifying breath. Then slowly exhaled. Another breath, and he forged ahead.

  “The other night you said I was hiding something. I was.” Though the top button of his shirt was open, his throat felt constricted. He stuck his fingers inside his collar and pulled on it. “This is a part of me nobody but Sharon knows about. Well, I’m tired of that.”

  Pausing, wishing he’d never come over, he shot Cinnamon a nervous glance. The love in her eyes encouraged him.

  “I don’t read so well. I have dyslexia,” he blurted out, bracing for her shock.

  The relieved look on her face surprised him.

  “That’s your big, dark secret?” At his nod, she smiled. “I thought maybe you’d been in prison or something.”

  “Not being able to read is a kind of prison,” he said. “I barely made it through high school.” He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wood seat. “Didn’t finish until I was twenty years old.”

  “That must have been very painful,” she said, not with pity, but with understanding.

  “More than you’ll ever know.” Needing to see her eyes, he looked at her straight-on. “If you don’t love me after all, I can accept that.”

  Her eyes widened as if she thought he was crazy. “Silly man, I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought you could read. I fell in love with you because you’re warm and thoughtful and you have a solid gold heart. And because you’re smart.”

  “You’re the smart one,” he said. “You have a master’s degree.”

&n
bsp; “You don’t need an advanced degree to be smart, Nick. I never could invent things or fix machines the way you do. That takes brains.”

  He saw by her face that she meant what she said. Her belief in him made him feel good. Smart, even. That new and heady feeling gave him courage. The tension stiffening his muscles eased, and he relaxed some. “Then it doesn’t bother you that I barely graduated high school?”

  She shook her head, her eyes filled with love. “I care about you, not your education.”

  They stood at the same time.

  “You wanted to know why I dressed up,” he said as he moved toward her. “It’s not every day you tell a woman you love her. I love you, Cinnamon.”

  “Oh, Nick.” She stumbled over a shoe, righting herself.

  “There you go again, tripping. You need me around to take you to Doc’s.” He grasped her hands. “Don’t take that job in Boston. Stay here with me.”

  Her eyes filled.

  Scared out of his wits, he studied her face. “That is, if you’re okay with living in Cranberry. I guess I could move if—”

  “I don’t want to move,” she said. “I love this town and my new friends. I love Fran. And I love you.”

  Pulling her close, he kissed her. Minutes later, he tore his mouth from hers.

  “Maybe we should get married,” he said, looking into her luminous eyes.

  “Really? Yes!” Her whole face lit up before she went into planning mode. “Where’s my Palm Pilot? I’ve got to call Boston and cancel, then contact the mayor, and—”

  “That stuff can wait.” Nick plucked her open suitcase from the bed. He led Cinnamon toward it.

  “Right now, I want to make love with the woman I’m crazy about. The woman I’m going to marry.”

  And they did.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6977-7

  THE MAN SHE’LL MARRY

  Copyright © 2006 by Ann Schuessler.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com