“I guess there was no way to salvage dinner at that point.”
No way to salvage her life, at this point, either, Sara thought. Not after West woke up to a view of his new landscape. How could she have done such a thing? Would West ever believe that she’d meant no harm, that she had been the victim of a twinkling dress? Not much chance he’d buy that theory. No, she’d have to figure out some other, more believable way to apologize. If, of course, he ever spoke to her again…
“The firemen said they’d take it to the station and dispose of it, but I just had them bury it in the backyard.”
“Beside numerous other entrees,” Sara said, wanting to keep the conversation far away from the twinkling wedding dress and her dismal thoughts about West Ridgeman. “She burns dinner every Friday. You’d think Kevin would catch on, but so far…”
“He sounds like a prince of a guy.” Ben looked over his shoulder. “So, Sara,” he said. “How many people tried to get you out of that wedding dress before I came along?”
“MAKE YOURSELF at home.” Sara switched on a lamp and whisked a candy wrapper and soda can off the coffee table. “Looks like Jason has been here and left again. Feel free to wander through the kitchen. You’re welcome to anything you find. There’s milk in the fridge, or at least there was earlier in the day. You can make yourself a sandwich or a cup of coffee, if you want.” She was chattering, something she rarely did, and if it wasn’t because she and Ben were alone in her house, she couldn’t imagine what else it might be. Unless it was a reaction to the total mess she’d made of her life plans in one swoop. Make that one fatal twinkle. “You and Cleo make yourself at home while I go into my office and write out your check.”
He nodded and walked to the couch. “Thanks, we’ll just sit, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Sit. It will only take a minute to get the check ready.” She started down the hall. “Where are you staying tonight? Is it far from here?”
“I don’t know.” He raised his voice so it would reach her in her office. “Where’s the nearest motel?”
“Um, fifteen, twenty minutes back toward downtown. That’s a rather pricey area, though. I doubt you’ll find a room there for less than a hundred and fifty.”
“What a coincidence,” he said. “I already have the fifty. At least I will as soon as you pay back the quarter you borrowed for the phone.”
“It’s one hundred and fifty dollars,” she corrected. “Not a hundred and fifty cents.”
There was a pause and then a patient, “I knew that. I was making a little joke.”
“Oh. I guess I’m a little tired for subtlety.” Pulling the At Your Service checkbook from the drawer of her desk, Sara wondered where he could cash a check at this time of night. But she didn’t have a hundred dollars in cash to give him. She wasn’t entirely certain she had a quarter. And his credit card had expired. And it was very late. And she needed to figure out how she could explain her actions to West. And she had to come up with a reasonable excuse for leaving him naked and steamed in his bedroom…a totally insane waste of an opportunity she realized, now that it was too late. There was either a full moon out or the twinkling wedding dress had stripped her of every vestige of good sense. She was exhausted just thinking about it. Ben had to be exhausted, too. But no. She could not and would not, invite him to spend what was left of the night here…with her.
“We’ll look in the phone book,” she said half to herself, verbalizing a plan more for her benefit than his. “There’s bound to be an inexpensive motel somewhere in the area.” She wrote out the check, tore it carefully from the stub and carried it with her to the front room. “Here’s your…”
Her visitors had taken her at her word and made themselves at home. Cleo was snoozing, all curled up and obviously comfortable in the armchair. Ben was stretched out on the sofa, one arm covering his eyes, one across his waist. She could see by the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing was slow and steady. If he wasn’t already, he was almost asleep. And despite knowing it was a bad—a very bad—idea to let him stay the night, she didn’t have the heart to wake him up and tell him he had to leave.
With a sigh, she switched off the lights, turned on her heel and carried the hundred-dollar check with her down the hall and into her bedroom.
ON THE COUCH, Ben lay very still, concentrating on keeping his breathing slow and even. He was a little surprised at himself for resorting to subterfuge in order to stay the night at Sara’s house. He could have refused to leave without the wedding dress. That was a perfectly legitimate excuse. Or he could have played up this idea she had that he was down on his luck and didn’t know where his next meal was coming from.
But he was reluctant to add anxiety to her exhaustion. Tomorrow would be soon enough to decide how he would elicit an invitation to stay on for a while. One way or another, though, he was staying. And by the end of the week, if not sooner, she wouldn’t be able to recall the name West Ridgeman.
Ben smiled with anticipation. It would be his name on her lips, his life she wanted to share, his arms she wanted to be in. All her plans were about to change. Just as all his plans had changed the moment she flew through the doorway and into his arms.
He’d reconciled to the probability that he would never find the woman who could coax a lifetime commitment from his heart. But in a split second, the odds had changed in his favor. One minute he’d been complacently headed for the next turn in the road, preparing to seek out a new adventure, pursue another temporary thrill…and the next minute, his arms were full of Sara and his heart was in a spin.
A spin he believed would never stop.
He had always suspected that love didn’t operate on a time schedule and that it could happen as easily in an instant as in a year. What he hadn’t counted on was that when it happened to him, there wouldn’t be a reciprocal reaction from the woman.
On the other hand, he loved a challenge. And Sara was most definitely the challenge of his lifetime.
Chapter Ten
“Morning.”
Ben looked up from his orange juice to encounter the curious stare of the young man who had just shuffled into the kitchen. “Morning,” he answered as he noted the wrinkled clothing and the belligerent pair of brown eyes below a mop of tousled auburn hair and concluded that Sara’s brother was just returning home after what must have been a boisterous night. “I’m Ben Northcross.”
“Jason Gunnerson,” came the mumbled reply. “That your Harley parked out by the curb?”
“Yes. She’s a 1955 Panhead. Fifty-four thousand original miles.”
Jason whistled. “Where did you find it?”
“In a barn in Tennessee. I made the farmer an offer on the spot. It took two days and several counteroffers, but I finally persuaded him to sell. Two weeks later, I had the engine up and running, and I’m going to do the bodywork once I get home. A year from now, she’ll look and sound like she just rolled off the factory floor.”
“Man. You’re so lucky. I’d love to do something like that.”
As Jason looked in one cabinet after another, Ben finished the orange juice, thinking that his whole life could be summed up in those two words. You’re lucky. With all the risks he’d taken—some of them incredibly foolish—he was lucky to be alive. And healthy. And successful. With a little change in luck, it could easily have been he standing in this kitchen wishing for a motorcycle but not really believing he could ever hope to own one.
Jason closed a cabinet door, yawned, stretched and looked at the dog. “That your Labrador?”
“Her name is Cleo. She’s waiting for breakfast.”
“Yeah, well, good luck. No one cooks around this joint.” Jason opened the refrigerator and poked his head inside. “I haven’t had a decent meal since I got here.”
“You should learn to cook.”
“Yeah, right. Like Sara gives me free time to mess around in the kitchen.”
“Works you pretty hard, does she?”
“Yeah.�
�� Jason tipped the milk carton to his mouth and drank in long, loud gulps. He swiped his hand across his lips, then set the carton, spout still open, back inside the refrigerator. “What’s that smell?”
“A breakfast casserole. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. Where’d it come from? Did Sara get up and cook for you?”
“No, I made it. I haven’t seen Sara this morning.”
“Then take my advice and get out of here before she barrels in with a list of things a mile long for you to do.” He shut the refrigerator door and looked Ben over. “Did she hire you last night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That figures. One screwup that wasn’t even my fault, and she gives away my job.” He ran his fingers through hair the same shade as Sara’s and shook his head in frustration. “Sisters are nothing but a pain in the butt.”
“Occasionally they do something redeeming.”
“You got one?”
“Yes. A younger sister.”
“You like her?”
“Most of the time.”
Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah, I like Sara, too, most of the time. But lately she’s always on my back, and she doesn’t even give me a chance, you know. I try, but nothing’s ever good enough to suit her. I should try harder or be smarter or have more ambition. That’s her favorite gripe. You have no ambition. That’s what she says.”
“I’m sure she wants the best for you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how she thinks she can know what that is. Half the time, I don’t even know.”
“It’s a matter of perspective, I imagine.” Ben stood and walked across the kitchen. Covering his hand with a mitt, he opened the oven door and pulled out a pan, which he carried to the table. “Sit down,” he said to Jason, “and I’ll tell you how to cook this for yourself the next time you want a decent meal.”
As Ben went over the recipe, Jason pulled out a chair, tipped it back, straddled it and then plopped down. He was scooping a huge serving onto his plate before the front chair legs regained the floor. By the time Ben returned to his place at the table with his coffee cup, the casserole was half gone.
“This is great,” Jason mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled egg. “You’re a pretty good cook.”
“Thanks.” Ben helped himself to a serving and watched Sara’s brother plow into a second helping. Jason might have no idea where he was going, but he was in a hurry to get there, just the same. “Cooking isn’t hard.”
“You should tell that to Sara.”
“I’m telling you.”
Scraping the last bit of casserole from his plate, Jason finished eating, got up and took the carton of milk from the refrigerator again. This time he poured the milk into a glass before downing it in a long swallow. “How long you planning to stay around?” he asked.
“That depends.”
Jason nodded as if he understood completely. “I hope she lets you stay long enough to cook dinner. Don’t pay too much attention to anything she says, and you’ll get along fine.”
Ben observed him thoughtfully. “What do you think about West Ridgeman as a brother-in-law?”
“Couldn’t say. Never met him, but Sara talks about him a lot. How successful he is and stuff like that. Personally, I think the main reason she’s so impressed is because he’s nothing like our old man.”
“Your father?”
“Yeah, dear old Dad.”
“He wasn’t successful?”
Jason laughed, although without much humor. “Hardly. We must have moved a thousand times just because he’d hear about some new get-rich-quick idea or gimmick and had to get in on the ground floor. The last time Sara got a letter from him, he was somewhere in Mexico, selling vitamins and still waiting for his ship to come in.”
Ben placed that piece of information into the puzzle that was Sara. “You and your sister didn’t have a particularly stable childhood, I take it.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It didn’t seem all that bad to me. But then, Sara was always there to make sure I had what I needed. She was kind of like my parent, I guess. A mother and father rolled into one person.” He straightened from a boneless slouch. “I’m getting out of here before she catches me and sends me off on some stupid job. Man, I’d like to send her on a long vacation.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Ben advised. “She may leave you in charge of At Your Service.”
“Don’t I wish. But that ain’t never gonna happen.” In its way, his youthful grin was as engaging as Sara’s smile. “Thanks for the breakfast.” He headed for the door. “Don’t tell her you saw me. She’ll just get mad at you for not havin’ enough ambition to stop me from leaving.” He leaned down to scratch Cleo’s ear on his way past. “Bye, Cleo. You’re a great dog.” He looked at Ben. “What did you say your name was?”
“Ben Northcross.”
“Nice to have met you.” Jason walked away, moving quickly toward wherever he was going. A few minutes later, the front door opened and shut. A few minutes after that, a car engine coughed, sputtered, then caught with a rattling growl. The sound of a pulsating engine and a booming radio faded into the early noise of a Saturday morning in the suburbs.
Sipping his coffee, Ben thought about Sara as a young girl, assuming the responsibility for being both father and mother to her younger brother. He wondered where her mother had been, and how her father’s success fantasies—if that’s what they had been—had shaped her ambition. It was easy to see the source of her determination. She would never be content to sit back and daydream about the day her ship would come in. She’d swim out to meet it and drag it in by the anchor, if she had to.
And he intended to stay close to her, making sure she didn’t drag in the wrong ship. Or the right ship for the wrong reasons.
“Nine-thirty!”
Like a warning bell at a railroad crossing, Sara’s shout of dismay signaled the start of another round of surprises. Cleo lifted her head and looked at him, as if to ask, “What now?”
Ben shrugged in answer. “Whatever it is, I’m going along for the ride. And you may as well forget coming along as a chaperone. With or without reverse psychology, you’re not invited.”
With a dispassionate sigh, Cleo laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes.
SARA ENTERED the kitchen like a whirlwind, grabbed a coffee cup, and in a matter of sixty seconds or less had poured coffee, swallowed it, rinsed out the cup and set it in the dishwasher. In a slim-skirted dress of moss-green silk, she looked like a long-stemmed rose—delicate, dainty and adorned with some thorns.
“Have you seen Jason?” The words were rushed, the voice tense, the attitude clearly on the testy side.
“Your brother?”
“He would be the person who used that plate—” she pointed at the table setting “—to eat that—” her finger indicated the casserole dish “—before and after he drank milk straight from the carton.” She picked up the empty milk carton and tossed it in the trash.
“As a matter of fact, there was someone like that here just a minute ago. But he used a glass.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“The second time, he did.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “That could ruin his reputation. Did he say where he was going?”
“No, but then I didn’t ask.”
“You should have. I’m running late, you know.”
“I thought I recognized the symptoms.”
She took another cup from the cupboard, poured a little coffee into it, drank it in a single swallow, rinsed the cup and set it in the dishwasher. “Do you realize that until yesterday, At Your Service had a perfect punctual attendance record? Now, suddenly, I’m late for everything.”
“What are you late for this morning?”
“I’ve got to drive downtown, get Alicia Randolph’s wedding gown and have it at the church by ten-thirty. I promised I’d have it there at ten, but I doubt I can manage that even if I drive like a maniac.”
“And
you wouldn’t want to ruin your driving record.”
She opened the refrigerator, took out the orange juice, poured it in a glass and drank it. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in being my assistant today, would you?” she said as she rinsed the glass and put it in the dishwasher. “Since my brother didn’t see fit to stick around, I’m going to need some help.”
“Do I get to unbutton that dress for you?”
“Absolutely not.” She frowned at him, as if that would convince him of her seriousness. “This is business. Strictly business.”
“In that case, I accept your offer of employment on one condition—I’ll work for food.”
“You mean, groceries?”
“I mean dinner. Tonight. I’ll even cook.”
She looked surprised. “Really? But you already cooked breakfast.”
“I was hungry. Tonight will be for you.”
An odd expression came into her eyes—not quite a smile, but a pleased look, as if no one had ever offered to cook for her before. “Okay.” The acceptance was softly appreciative, quietly shy. Then she seemed to realize that time was sweeping past. Grabbing another cup from the cupboard, she poured a swallow of coffee, downed it, then rinsed the cup and set it in the sink instead of the dishwasher.
A change in routine, Ben thought. Interesting.
“Let’s go.” She headed for the front door, her shapely legs even more evocative through the long back slit in the slim, calf-length dress.
Ben didn’t get up. Sara obviously hadn’t realized the obstacles she was up against this morning.
“Oh, no!”
Obstacle one. Ben stood and strolled over to set his coffee cup in the sink—without rinsing it.
“The van is still at West’s.” She was back in the kitchen, anxiety pouring from every pore. “I’ll have to call a taxi. Darn Jason. Why couldn’t he have—”
The phone rang, and Ben had never seen anyone in such a hurry to answer.
“Sara Gunnerson, At Your Service.”
Ben leaned against the kitchen counter and admired Sara’s legs—along with the rest of her—while she was otherwise occupied.
The Fifty-Cent Groom Page 14