The Baron

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Is there a man in your life?” he asked bluntly.

  “No, no, it’s not that. I promised a good friend—”

  Nick watched her closely as she took one step up toward the library entrance. She paused, then turned back to him, the soft denim of her skirt flapping soundlessly against her ankles. She pulled her glasses off her head and slipped them on her nose. “There. Now you’re in focus again. It was good to see you again, Nick. Thank you for coming, and for the invitation. Good-bye.”

  Nick shook his head, and the smile that softened his face was more natural than anything he’d felt in a long, long time. “No, Contessa Finnegan. Not goodbye …”

  She smiled at him and turned away. His words warmed her back as she continued up the wide steps, and then the warmth spread to other places.

  All right, fine. Her practical mind took over as she reached the cool entry hall. It would be nice to have the Baron come back. But she knew, even if he didn’t, that he’d linger in her world of dusty books and the Dewey decimal system about as long as she would in the jet-setting world of murder-mystery weekends.

  “Halley, what I wouldn’t give to read minds right now!” Elderly Kate Willows, her assistant, stood behind the desk with a wide smile on her face.

  Halley tossed her hair and laughed. “I was simply speculating on the overused aphorism that some spots are very nice to visit, but, as they say …”

  “Hmm.” Kate frowned skeptically. “If you say so. But judging by that dreamy expression I’d swear vacations weren’t on your mind.”

  Halley only sighed.

  Outside, Nick watched her for a moment, then walked slowly back to his car. A librarian, of all the incredible things. He shook his head and saw Mickey dashing away from the house, a wrapped basket held tightly in his hands, Archie’s sobering-up food, Nick guessed.

  Suddenly Nick stiffened.

  The cemetery.

  He had stood in a cemetery, and the air had not been squeezed from his lungs; icy fingers hadn’t prodded him, stung him, numbed him. He rubbed the car keys between his fingers and drew his eyebrows together.

  Fading sunlight through the distant tree branches directed his thoughts from one unseen grave to the next: to Whisper Cloud’s … to the Thorne ancestors … to other graves in other cemeteries … and inevitably to Anne’s. But he had done it; he had stood beside Halley in a cemetery, and memory had not cut into his life.

  As he shielded his eyes and looked off into the distance, Nick felt a lifting sensation, a sweet wash of comfort. It didn’t make sense, but it was there.

  In the four years since he’d buried Anne Melrose Harrington, Nick hadn’t been able to pass a cemetery without feeling her loss with a pain that reached to the deepest part of him and left him lifeless. He had vowed on the day of his wife’s burial never to set foot in a cemetery again. They housed too much anguish, too many memories. Nick felt the sting of pain now as he stood alone, staring off toward the sunset. But the sting was manageable, and the burning glow of the setting sun was still there when he looked again.

  And it was lovely.

  Five

  Halley walked slowly through the tiny living room of her cottage, enjoying the play of sunlight on the braided rug her grandmother had given her. The rich reds, oranges, and blues of thick wool scraps were a vibrant match for the trees outside her window. Even the dancing dust motes looked good in the golden light, Halley decided, so she’d be generous and not disturb them today.

  “Halley, are you in there?”

  “Patience, my dear Rosie, patience.”

  Rosie tumbled through the door when Halley finally unlocked it. Her cheeks were as pink as the warm-up clothes she wore. “It took you ages to get to the door, Finnegan. Was I … ah, interrupting anything?”

  Halley laughed halfheartedly at the expectant sparkle in Rosie’s eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, Rosie. I was making my bed, not hiding a man under it.”

  Rosie frowned. “A friend can hope, can’t she?”

  “I suppose. You’re up early for a Saturday. Sit down.”

  Rosie sprawled on the couch and folded her legs beneath her. She pulled a newspaper out from under her arm and handed it to Halley. “I have a confession to make.”

  Halley took the newspaper and began scanning the front page while she waited for Rosie to go on.

  “I was beginning to doubt the reality of this baron, Halley.”

  “Rosie, if I’m sure of anything in life, it’s that Nick Harrington is real.”

  “However, he hasn’t come back,” Rosie tossed out. “But now I know why.”

  Halley looked up from the paper. “Oh?” It was true he hadn’t come back all week, and although she was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment, Halley was determined to put it aside. After all, why should he come back? A man like Nick Harrington certainly had many more things to do than hang around libraries.

  “Yes, I do.” Rosie’s pretty face was lit by a smile. “At least if your Baron is the same Nicholas Harrington—”

  “Same as what, Rosie?” Halley had inched to the end of the chair and dropped the newspaper to the floor.

  “Same as the one on page three of the newspaper.” Halley stared at the paper.

  “Well?”

  Slowly she picked it up and turned to page three. His picture was near the top, his name a part of the headline, but the rest of the words were a blur. It was only his face that stayed in focus. It was as handsome as the image she carried around with her, but for the first time she noticed the edge to his smile, the detached look in those lovely black eyes. Had he looked like that when they kissed? she wondered. No, she was sure he hadn’t.

  “He just closed a deal on a bank in Chicago,” Rosie announced with authority.

  “Oh.” Halley looked at the tall, lean body in the picture. He had on a tuxedo, just like her Baron. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the stirrings inside again.

  “Halley, you’re blushing!”

  “It’s hot in here.” She dropped the newspaper to the floor and smiled weakly. “So now you know he’s real. And you also know why he hasn’t been around. And you also know why he’ll probably never show up again.”

  The strong knock on the door was unexpected. Once Halley unlocked her door in the morning, people usually dispensed with formalities and simply walked in and made themselves at home. “You’re expecting someone?”

  Halley shook her head.

  The second knock was even stronger and roused Halley from the couch.

  Outside, Nick stood patiently on the step, his hands shoved in his pants pockets and his thoughts centered on the woman he hoped would be on the other side of the door. She’d been on his mind all week. There was something about Halley that had distracted him in meetings at the bank, had followed him to Chicago, and crept up on him when he wasn’t expecting it. He needed to see her again, to find out what this was all about, to work it out of his system.

  When Halley finally opened the door, Nick’s hand was raised, ready to knock again.

  “Don’t knock on air, it’s bad luck,” Halley said softly.

  “An old Irish saying, no doubt.”

  She nodded. “Come in.”

  “Yes, do!”

  Halley looked over her shoulder at Rosie. She was still on the couch, but her neck was stretched to its maximum length.

  Nick strode into the cheery room and smiled politely at Rosie. “Hello, I’m Nick Harrington.”

  “Yes, you certainly are. Never, ever could you be a figment of someone’s imagination.”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted in puzzlement.

  “Don’t mind Rosie, Nick. She had her doubts as to your existence.”

  His deep laughter filled the small room. “Well, I’m sure there are ways to prove it,” he said as he looked over at Halley with a sexy grin.

  “It’s okay. She believes in you now,” she said hastily.

  “Do you?”

  “Absolutely.” Rosie knew th
at much, that he was real, but she wouldn’t bet her life savings on anything more about Nick Harrington. “So, what are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  Rosie hooted. “Come now, Nick, anyone as exotically handsome as you ought to be able to come up with something more imaginative than that! Sit down here and tell me about yourself, starting with the day you were born, and don’t leave out one juicy detail.”

  Rosie’s smile went from ear to ear, and her eyebrows were raised in delicious anticipation.

  Halley laughed. “Rosie’s shy. Have a seat, Nick.”

  Nick stepped over the newspaper still littering the floor and sat down next to Rosie. He glanced down at the paper and spotted the page-three headline. “Hmm, looks like I’ve been under foot around here.”

  “Good!” Rosie beamed. “He has a sense of humor. That’s very important.”

  “For what?” Nick asked.

  “For courting my dear friend Halley.”

  “Rosemary Agnes Wilson!” Halley barked out.

  Nick looked from one woman to the other, then leaned his head back into a slanted ray of sunshine and smiled. There was a tonic being dished out here in Halley’s small cottage that agreed with him. “You know, I think Rosemary Agnes and I understand each other.”

  “For that kind remark, Nick the Baron, I will leave you two alone and run along to open the store. We’ll save the life story for another day.” Rosie pecked him on the cheek and gave him a quick hug.

  Halley watched from across the room. Nick was still smiling, but he’d stiffened slightly when Rosie surprised him with her hug. Rosie was warm and spontaneous in showering affection on anyone she liked. Nick, Halley guessed as she watched him closely, wasn’t used to people like Rosie. Well, it didn’t matter. No one could be around Rosie for more than a few seconds and not like her. “Rosie manages a vintage clothing store,” Halley filled in quickly as her friend walked across the room. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is,” Rosie agreed. “And it’s from that very store, Nick, that your Contessa was clothed.”

  “Well, then it must be terrific. My Contessa was the loveliest lady at the party. You did a superb job, Rosie.”

  Rosie looked over at the oversize man’s shirt Halley wore and frowned. “It’s too bad she won’t allow me to give her advice on a daily basis.”

  Nick followed her glance. He hadn’t even noticed what Halley was wearing and realized in that moment how little it mattered. She’d be beautiful in anything. Or nothing … As a matter of fact, he’d much prefer the latter.

  “Rosie, go.” Halley pointed toward the door.

  “Beneath that dictatorial exterior lies a very sensuous woman,” Rosie assured Nick as she disappeared through the door.

  “That, Rosemary Agnes, is not news,” Nick murmured, his eyes still lingering on Halley’s shirt while his imagination slowly peeled it away.

  “Nick, it’s nice of you to drop by like this but—”

  “I thought maybe we could spend the day together. You know, for old times’ sake.”

  Halley busied herself picking up newspapers and empty glasses from the floor that had been left there by a group of friends who had stopped by the night before to watch an old movie on television.

  “That’s a very nice gesture, but I have a long list of things that have to be done today.” She smiled with real regret. It would be wonderful spending a whole day with Nick, a day without masquerade. He’d probably melt into a puddle of nothingness from boredom, but it would have been nice, nevertheless. “I don’t work at the library on Saturdays, you see, so I save that day for everything else.”

  “I’ll help. Or quietly blend into the shadows. I won’t be a problem.”

  Halley laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be a problem, I simply thought you’d be bored. Come along if you like, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Halley always began her Saturdays with a huge breakfast of sausage and thick, syrupy slices of French toast at her sister Bridget’s house. She considered skipping it today, but a growl from beneath the faded blue shirt convinced her otherwise. When Nick offered to wait at the library, she assured him vehemently that there was always extra food on Bridget’s table and that her sister would be offended if she knew Halley had left him behind.

  The white frame house was filled with kids, and Mickey quickly claimed Nick as his find while the others focused all their energies on Halley, whom they obviously adored.

  “Halley is my salvation,” Bridget explained as her four-year-old twins each whispered in one of Halley’s ears at the same time. “She listens to them, they listen to her.”

  Nick nodded as he watched the redheaded youngsters giggle over something Halley had said, and a twinge of sadness swept through him.

  But in Bridget Sullivan’s house sadness didn’t linger long. In minutes everyone was seated around a huge oak table, thanking the Lord as quickly as possible for the food, then passing it back and forth with the speed and agility of a Steelers quarterback.

  Nick was friendly but quiet, Halley noticed, and no one but she seemed to sense he was uncomfortable. Well, that wasn’t unusual, she decided. The Finnegan-Sullivan clan could be overwhelming at times.

  The hug Bridget gave Nick as he and Halley were leaving was as natural as a handshake, and this time Nick didn’t seem surprised, although he didn’t return it, Halley saw.

  He held the door open for her and smiled politely. “Wonderful breakfast,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “Listen, Nick, we’re happy to have you. Halley’s friends are always welcome here. She knows that. Now you do too.” Her round cheeks glowed.

  Halley bent and kissed each of the kids, then followed Nick out of the door.

  Next stop was Joe’s Auto Repair.

  “Are you having trouble with your car?” Nick asked, listening to the hum of the Volkswagen engine.

  “Not really,” Halley answered as she turned the car onto a busier street, which served as a tiny business area for the Hill district. “You happen to be riding in the most pampered bug in Philadelphia.”

  Nick threaded his fingers behind his head and watched her as she talked. She was perfectly relaxed, uninhibited, comfortable. Her hair moved freely about her shoulders, and she frequently brushed it back with a flick of her long, slender fingers. They were simple movements, but the tightening they caused inside of him was anything but simple. She shifted behind the wheel, and the loose shirt grew taut across her breasts for a moment, clearly outlining the full curves. He thought of them filling his palms, firming beneath his touch. He imagined the sweet excitement of kissing them.

  Halley was still talking and didn’t notice his quick intake of breath.

  He thought of the vacation trip to Majorca that he’d suddenly canceled a couple of days ago. His hosts hadn’t understood. Hell, it was no wonder; he hadn’t understood.

  “Joe likes to check it out each week,” Halley continued. “Mostly it’s an excuse, I think, so I’ll be sure to stop by—”

  Nick pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the conversation. “Joe?”

  “Pop.” Halley pointed to a large wooden sign fronting an auto-repair shop and slowed the car. JOE’S GARAGE, it read. “Joe is Joseph Conor Finnegan. My father,” she added proudly, then honked three times. The garage door lifted and she drove on through.

  Joe Finnegan was a crusty Irishman with a sparkle in his clear blue eyes. He welcomed Nick and carefully scrutinized him at the same time, but only after he had swallowed his auburn-haired daughter in a huge bear hug that lifted her clear off the cluttered cement floor.

  “Pop is the best mechanic this side of the Atlantic,” Halley announced, one arm looped affectionately around her dad’s waist.

  Joe Finnegan’s rumbling laugh blotted out the compliment, and he started in on Halley’s hidden virtues.

  “She could replace shock absorbers before she graduated from St. Elizabeth’s grade school,”
he said, boasting.

  Nick thought of the friends he had deserted who were by now lolling on white beaches drinking expensive champagne. To them shock absorbers were small pills and analysts’ couches. He forced back a smile. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “You take a look-see around, Nick, while Halley and I check out the vehicle. Time for the Green Knight’s weekly checkup. There’s coffee in my office.”

  His last words were muffled as he and Halley slid under the car on wheeled dollies and began poking and probing.

  Nick wandered into the small office that was separated from the main garage by a dusty glass window and poured himself a cup of coffee. All he could see of Halley were her long legs sticking out from beneath the car and the flaps of her shirt resting on angled hipbones. A tiny sliver of pale skin poked through just above the jeans where the shirt pulled to the side, and Nick meditated on it for a minute. Lovely, just lovely. The next movement of her slender body caused it to disappear, and Nick satisfied himself by looking around the cluttered office.

  The desktop was littered with papers and framed pictures, as were the two bookshelves along the wall. In between, covering the three walls, were more framed pictures and certificates. Nick moved closer. He picked out Halley immediately in the family group shots, even though there were several siblings that shared her coloring and one who had the same intriguing, infectious smile. There were no formal shots; even when it looked like the whole family was collected, there wasn’t a stillness and stiffness about the photos. There was always someone laughing broadly, and in one or two there was a baby in tears, a solicitous adult cuddling it. He spotted Joe’s garage license, framed and hanging above a picture. In the center of the whole gallery, hanging in a gilded frame and with a wide space around it so no one could miss it, was a diploma.

  Nick looked closer.

  Halley Elizabeth Mary Finnegan

  Bachelor of Arts

  Pennsylvania State University

  There was a date and a scholastic honor listed on it, and Nick noticed it was the only item in the room that looked like it got a regular dusting. He smiled. The diploma was definitely important to someone.