by Lois Richer
The pained look on Mitch’s face drew her immediate suspicions. “What now?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier, Melanie. I have notified him and his company that we have no further interest in them or their prize money.”
“What?” Too late Melanie remembered to keep her voice down, but Nettie seemed undisturbed. “Why in the world did you do that?” she asked angrily.
“Because you said you thought I only wanted to marry you because of the money,” he told her softly. “I was trying to prove to you that it simply isn’t true.” Mitch’s deep blue eyes blazed with something Melanie couldn’t or wouldn’t define.
“I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” she told him furiously. “I’m in the middle of a crisis here.”
“I know. We can talk about it later. I’ve got some more ideas for the wedding, anyway.” He smiled that heart-stopping grin that shook her to the core.
“We are not getting married,” she enunciated clearly, whirling from the room. “And you have just made doubly certain of that by ending what little chance I had to improve Sunset. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with my job.”
And so she did. She worked steadily using a matron’s office to phone families and friends of those who had been displaced by the fire. Miraculously, there were only a few.
When Melanie and the fire chief toured the building, it seemed that most of the home was undamaged. Smoke and water had rendered the southern end unusable. This was the area Melanie had been trying to convince the board to replace. The task of erecting temporary walls was made much easier.
Her staff had handled the situation with the quick-thinking aplomb of troupers, and Melanie made it a point to congratulate them on their speedy solutions. Doggedly, Melanie continued on, refusing to give in to the ache of tiredness that edged its tentacles toward her body. There was too much to do. Besides, she didn’t want to think about what might have been.
By seven in the morning the seniors had all returned safely to their rooms. Tired and discouraged, many had agreed to go to bed and rest a little, while a stalwart few demanded breakfast.
Melanie sighed as she pushed the heavy fall of hair off her face and took a deep breath. She sank into her plush chair with a sigh as Bridget carried in a tray of coffee and toast.
“You had better sit and eat this before you fall down,” the older woman chided her. Bright gray eyes studied her thoughtfully. “You can’t do it all yourself, Melanie. We can manage. Faith and Charity are coming over, and they’ll give us a hand settling everyone down. Go home. Get some rest. Then you can pitch in again when you’re feeling better.”
“You know, Bridget,” Melanie said with a sigh, leaning her head back thankfully, “this is one time when I’ll welcome the fearsome threesome’s presence. Even if they are minus one.” She grinned. “They’ll be a ray of sunshine here.”
“Yes, they will,” Mitch said quietly from the doorway. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
“I have a lot to do,” Melanie said tiredly, not wanting to face him and his pressure tactics. “I should probably—”
“Come with me.” He grinned, tugging her from the chair. “That’s what I said, and I meant it.”
“And I agree with him,” her mother said from the doorway.
“We both do,” Faith added, grinning from ear to ear as she set a bouquet of flowers on Melanie’s desk. “And these are from Hope and Harry. They’ll be back in a few days to help, but they send their love and thanks.”
“Oh.” It was the only thing she could think of with everyone standing there staring at her.
“Now do I have to get the wheelchair?” Mitch teased, with a glint in his eye as he rolled up his dingy, smoke-crusted sleeves. “Or are you going to come willingly?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” Melanie acquiesced at last, yawning widely. “I could use a few hours’ sleep.”
Mitch ushered her down the hall and out the door, steering her away from Nettie Rivers and her companion, Papa John.
“It’s going to be more than a couple of hours,” Mitch ordered in a no-nonsense tone. “And when you wake up, after you’ve showered and eaten, you and I are going to talk. Without interruption.” He stared at her soberly. “I have something to say to you, Melanie, and I have no intention of letting this go on any longer.”
He wheeled his sports car in front of her mother’s house, helped her out and ushered her inside without pausing.
“Where did you get a key?” Melanie demanded crossly. “I suppose you’ve wrapped my mother around your finger just like you’ve done with Nettie.”
“Your mother and I had a…discussion,” he murmured. “And she is perfectly satisfied with my intentions. So is Nettie.”
“Your—” Melanie yawned “—intentions?” She stared at him, bleary-eyed. “You didn’t start that marriage nonsense again, did you?” She saw his lips curve, but Mitch merely steered her toward the stairs and gave a slight push.
“Go to sleep, honey. We’ll talk later.”
She stepped slowly, heavily, up the carpeted stairs.
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” she mumbled, tiredness tugging on every limb. “We both know it isn’t true.” She thought she heard him say something, but couldn’t be bothered to do more than undo her once pretty party dress and crawl between the sheets.
“Please help me, Father,” she whispered. “I’m so terribly confused.”
Seconds later her eyes flopped closed as her body relaxed and images of a tall, dark-haired groom whirled through her unconscious mind.
Mitchel Edward Stewart was scared spitless. He’d rehearsed the lines over at least seven hundred times in his head, and still nothing sounded just right.
“I want to marry you, Melanie Stewart.” No, he’d already said that. And a fat lot of good it had done him, too.
“You wouldn’t have to change your name.” Too frivolous.
“Why don’t you just admit you love me?”
Ha! Good question. And if she came back with the same one, he was in deep trouble. By the time his grandfather and Hope stopped by, glowing with happiness, Mitch’s palms were itchy with sweat.
“Just on our way to Sunset, boy. Hope and I want to check on things there. Might be able to help out.” His grandfather frowned, noting the lines of tiredness creasing his grandson’s handsome face. “Something wrong, son?”
“No. I’m just a bit worn out from the fire and things.” Mitch stared at them both. “Wasn’t Paris supposed to be in your plans somewhere?” he asked grimly.
“Still is. There’s just a few things around here need straightening up,” Gramps muttered with a sly look at Hope.
“Yes, Harry had one or two things that just couldn’t wait,” she murmured in agreement. Her fingers flipped a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You do look worn to a frazzle, Mitch.”
“Reckon you’ll feel better once you get your hands on half that money.” Judge Conroy chortled. “I should think twenty-five thousand dollars would put a smile on that face.”
“I’m not getting the money, Gramps. Neither is Melanie.” Mitch hated saying those awful words. He knew how much she’d wanted her half of the prize to buy equipment for her friends. Now, because of him, she would never get it.
“But I thought—” The judge’s booming voice was interrupted by his wife’s softer but firmer one. Mitch had to smile at the meek look on Harry’s face.
“This isn’t the time, Harry. Look at him. He’s dead on his feet.” Hope whirled around and glared at her new husband. “He’s tired out and needs to be left alone.”
“Yes, dear,” Harry agreed, patting her hand gently.
Hope lifted Mitch’s unshaven chin until her faint blue eyes met his darker ones.
“You go to your grandfather’s, Mitch. There’s no one there, and you’ll be able to rest. Your grandfather and I will stay here and make sure Melanie isn’t disturbed.”
“No.” Mitch shook his tire
d head, his hair flopping forward onto his face. “Thanks, anyway, Hope. But I have to be here when Melanie wakes up. I need to talk to her.”
Mitch studied the two of them for a time, wondering how much he should say. But he was tired of carrying this burden around by himself for so long. What would it hurt to share it with these two? It wasn’t as if they could do anything about it. He’d have to settle that himself.
“You see, Papa John actually did agree to give us the money. But only if we get married.”
“What? I didn’t know that.” Hope frowned. “Why must you get married?”
“He says it has something to do with his company’s image and moral standards. Besides, we don’t have a leg to stand on. I think Nettie Rivers entered my name in their stupid contest. And I took possession too late for qualifying.” He shook his head tiredly. “It’s all rather complicated and confusing, but the bottom line is we have to get married to get the money, and Melanie blames me for the whole fiasco.” He grimaced.
“I wanted her to get that money. She has so many plans for those residents, and I knew how much it meant to her. I figured if I helped her out everybody would benefit. I’d get twenty-five grand myself, she would get her bed alarms and new sheets and stuff, and everybody would be happy.”
“That was a perfectly generous thing to do.” His grandfather nodded benignly. “I knew he’d turn out all right,” Harry muttered to Hope. “And I was right.”
“You see, when things started getting complicated, I did tell her she might have a better chance if she moved into my apartment. I thought I was helping her.” Mitch sighed. “And now that’s the stumbling stone. ‘Living in sin,’ he called it, and now Melanie thinks I’ve ruined her reputation completely, even though I offered to get married.”
The newlyweds stood staring at him as if he’d grown purple horns from his ears, and Mitch couldn’t blame them. The whole crazy thing sounded ridiculous, especially the way he’d just phrased it. He wasn’t even sure Melanie had entered that crazy contest, either. What was it Papa John had said? Something about the handwriting? When you added that up with Nettie Rivers’s strange comments, well…
“It’s not just the money, though, is it, Mitch? There’s something more to your proposal now, am I right?” Hope’s face was a study in thought, but her eyes were bright and curious as she waited for Mitch to return to reality. At his nod, she smiled. It transformed her stern face.
“I thought so,” she burst out, hugging him tightly. “I’ve wondered for weeks when you’d finally admit it. You’re in love with Melanie, aren’t you?”
“What?” Harry stared at both of them as if they’d lost their minds. “In love? Mitch? He’s not in love. Doesn’t believe in it.”
“Honey?” Hope’s voice was quiet. But there was a thread of compelling determination in it. Harry stopped speaking and stared at her. “I’m not finished.”
“But you said…” Harry took a second look at his new wife’s face and then swiveled to stare at Mitch. Finally he sank into the nearest armchair, shaking his head in amazement. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he mumbled.
Hope ignored him and concentrated on Mitch, who could feel her steady gaze penetrating his tiredness.
“You can’t talk to her now, Mitch,” she murmured at last. “You’re far too tired to explain this properly. Go and rest and when you’ve shaved and showered and eaten something, you can talk to Melanie and get the whole thing straightened out.”
It was tempting, and Mitch almost gave in.
“No,” he muttered finally. “I should be the one to show her this.” He tugged the rumpled letter from his pocket. “It’s from the peanut butter company, accepting our notification that we are dropping all claims to their prize money.”
“You renounced all your legal rights?” Harry bellowed, starting up in his chair. “Haven’t you learned anything, boy?”
Hope whirled, her hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry to have to say this to you, Harry,” She spoke firmly. “But it needs to be said. Hush, will you? This is not your courtroom.”
Harry’s face flushed as Mitch stared at Hope with a glint of admiration.
“But the boy doesn’t understand—”
“He understands more than you think.” Hope smiled, pressing a kiss on top of the balding head. “Now just hush while I sort this out.”
Justice Harry Conroy, Esquire, hushed.
“Now you go to your grandfather’s, Mitchel, and you get some rest. The time will come for you to talk to Melanie. But that time isn’t right now. She’s got a whole lot of work to do to get things on an even keel, and I expect she’s running on empty right now.” Hope led him out the door and down the steps.
“You rest and relax. If you really want to do something about this situation,” she advised firmly, “you start praying. God will provide a way for things to happen according to His will.” She opened the car door and stood waiting for him to climb inside.
Instead Mitch wrapped his big arms around that slim, immaculate form and hugged for all he was worth.
“Hope Langford Conroy, I think Gramps knew exactly what he was doing when he married you.” He laughed, kissing her smooth, flushed cheek. “You’re a martinet, but I mean that in the nicest possible way. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” She blushed. “Now go and rest. I’ll see if I can recruit a few prayer warriors for you, and we’ll talk to the Lord about this.”
Mitch drove toward his grandfather’s old bungalow with a heavy heart. She meant well. And no doubt Faith and Charity would be called in to help out with the heavenly petitions. But Mitch was pretty sure that even the fearsome threesome couldn’t work miracles in the iron-hard rock of Melanie Stewart’s heart.
“I guess it’s all up to You,” he prayed tiredly, as his head sank against the crisp cool sheets. “I guess it always was.” He turned and stared out the window at the bright, sunny day.
“Please show me the right way,” he whispered. “There has to be something I can say, something I can do that will show her how much I love her.”
But whatever it was, it eluded him. At last his eyes closed, and he allowed the blanket of sleep to override his aching body and whirling mind.
“Charity, I’m telling you that we have to do something. They’ve broken things off, and Mitch is desolate. I don’t think he’s going to keep asking her. Your daughter has rejected that boy once too often.” Hope listened to her friend’s voice for a long time, nodding and murmuring from time to time, until finally her face cleared and her lips smiled.
“Are you sure this will work?” she demanded finally. “I still want to go on my honeymoon, you know.”
Again there was a reply that made her smile.
“All right. I’ll handle that. You and Faith go see Nettie. And keep praying. Hard!”
“Hope, dear.” Harry came up behind his wife and tapped her on the shoulder. “I was just feeling a bit peckish,” he murmured apologetically.
“Harry Conroy,” Hope burst out, grasping his lapels, “you help me with this and I’ll buy you the best steak dinner you’ve ever eaten.”
“Done,” he agreed, kissing her cheek. “Now, what’s up?”
Chapter Thirteen
Melanie rolled over and squinted at the bedside clock. Her room was lit by a few golden rays of sunshine, and while a little breeze blew through the curtains, the room wasn’t hot. She wondered what had woken her and realized the phone in the hall was pealing a summons. Rubbing her eyes, Melanie padded out to pick it up, praying there hadn’t been another incident at Sunset.
“’Lo,” she mumbled, yawning widely.
“Melanie, darling, it’s Mother. How are you feeling, dear?”
“Tired. I just woke up.”
“That’s good, dear. You don’t want to sleep too long after these things. Best to get up and get back into the scheme of things.”
It was the last thing Melanie wanted to do, but she agreed anyway. “Y
es, Mother. I’m far too tired to go anywhere, though. Where are you?”
“I’m with the girls. We’re having a little coffee party.” Charity’s voice changed, lowered to a whisper. “Faith wants to come over and see you, dear. She has something she wants to say.”
“Oh, Mom! I’m not fit to receive visitors.” Melanie grimaced at her tousled reflection in the hall mirror. “Whatever Faith wants, can’t it wait?”
“Why, no, dear,” Charity murmured. “I don’t think it can.” There was a pause and some whispering before she came back on the line. “She’ll be over in fifteen minutes. Okay?”
“I suppose,” Melanie mumbled ungraciously. “It’s not as if I have any choice about it, is it?” But Charity had hung up and Melanie was talking to herself. “It figures,” she complained. “That’s the first sign.”
With a lot of effort and only by resolutely ignoring the bunch of fresh-picked daisies standing on her dresser with a card that carried Mitch’s scribbled signature, Melanie managed to shower and dress in fifteen minutes. As she did, snatches of the last evening she’d spent with him returned.
He’d refused the prize money!
The thought shocked her into stillness. Just when she had him figured out, he went and did a silly thing like that, throwing all her preconceived notions out the window.
But why? That was the question. It wasn’t because he didn’t need the money. Nobody in their right mind refused twenty-five thousand dollars. Of course, if you believed he wasn’t in his right mind…No, she wouldn’t go there.
Melanie was still puzzling when Faith breezed through the front door, her arms loaded with fresh-baked cinnamon buns.
“Hello, dear.” She beamed happily. “I thought perhaps some calories might make you feel better.” Quick as a wink, the older woman had made coffee, whisked out two of the steaming, dripping concoctions and set places for them both.
“Oh, Faith.” Melanie breathed, closing her eyes as she inhaled the fresh cinnamon scent. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I didn’t need a lot of fuss. I could have had a piece of toast.” She slipped a bit of cream cheese topping into her mouth and smiled. “But this tastes much better.”