by CATHY L. CLAMP; FRANCIS RAY; BEVERLY JENKINS; MONICA JACKSON; GERI GUILLAUME
“What consequences?” Andrea asked.
“Women,” he answered tightly. “Everywhere I go, they’re there. Introducing themselves. Asking me out. Offering lunch. It has got to stop. I can’t run a hospital like this. Take the wish back.”
“Once accepted, it cannot be given back.” Augusta patted his arm, then rose. “A wish has never brought anything but happiness. You’ll see.”
“Mrs. Augusta, I beg you to help me,” Nicholas said, pleading for the first time in his life and uncaring.
“By Christmas, you’ll be happily engaged. Andrea will see you to the door. Please come back anytime.”
With stunned disbelief, Nicholas watched Augusta Evans leave the room. He’d been so sure when he obtained the address from his secretary that he would be able to get Augusta to publicly announce that she’d been wrong. He oversaw the operation of millions of dollars. When he talked, people listened. But Augusta Evans had fed him, patted him on the arm, then politely dismissed him. His visit had been futile. Standing, Nicholas pushed back his chair, then walked to the front door.
“This cannot be happening to me,” he mumbled, his hands clamped around the top railing of the porch.
“If there was any way to help you, I would.”
He spun toward Andrea. Hope glittered in his eyes. “If you mean that, then get your aunt to take back the wish.”
“I’d never interfere with Aunt Augusta.”
“Then wish my wish away.” Nicholas knew his words were ridiculous, but he was desperate.
Slowly Andrea shook her head. “As I’ve told you, Auntie’s abilities have never extended to the family. No family member has ever been involved with anyone who was granted a wish or benefited in any way from a granted wish. My wish doesn’t count.” At the doubting expression on his face, she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I remember my first wish when I was nine.”
Thinking she was going to say she had wished for a doll, Nicholas was ready to dismiss it as being frivolous.
“I wished my parents were alive.” Her words were like a sharp punch to his gut. “That there had been some horrible mistake and that they hadn’t been killed in an automobile accident.”
“Andrea, I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to take away the pain and shadows that had appeared in her eyes. His situation was nothing in comparison to that of a young child who had lost both parents at once. “I’m so sorry.”
“My mother was Auntie’s only sister, her only sibling. Auntie held me and we both cried.” Andrea swallowed. “I’ve never wished for anything again. Not that I don’t believe in Auntie’s power and am not happy for others she’s granted wishes to, but I see how it hurts her when she can’t help her family.”
Nicholas stared at Andrea and hadn’t a shred of doubt that she was telling the truth. He’d seldom seen that kind of selfless love and devotion. Without thought his fingers brushed across her cheek in wordless comfort. He watched her eyes widen in surprise, felt the warmth of her skin, the silky softness, and experienced the need to keep on touching.
His hand fisted. “I should be going. Thanks again for the meal.”
Andrea remained on the porch as Nicholas backed his big black Mercedes out of the driveway. Almost immediately a late-model sedan pulled up in its place and two middle-aged women piled out. They kept looking over their shoulders at the disappearing Mercedes as they hurried along the flagstone walk, then up the three wooden steps.
“Good evening, Mrs. Freeman, Mrs. Kimbrew,” Andrea greeted both women, members of the church she and her aunt attended.
They returned the greeting, but it was obvious their minds were on the man in the Mercedes. “Wasn’t that Nicholas Darling?”
“Yes,” Andrea answered. Both women had single daughters. It didn’t take much to guess why they had dropped by.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Freeman said. “Perhaps now Mrs. Augusta can tell us who the lucky woman is.”
“I hope it’s my Annie.”
Cheryl Freeman shot her best friend, Evelyn Kimbrew, a proprietary look. “My Jackie would be better for him.”
“Why don’t we ask Mrs. Augusta?” Mrs. Kimbrew sniped.
Without waiting for Andrea to invite them in, they surged inside, each trying to get through the door first. Instead of following them, Andrea propped her shoulder against the square white post on the porch, her hand lifting to her cheek. She could almost feel the warmth and tenderness of Nicholas’s powerful hand.
Strong, sensitive, and caring, he was the kind of man women dreamed of finding, of loving. But that woman could never be her. She’d told Nicholas the truth. For some unknown reason, her aunt’s gift didn’t extend to family members. Andrea would never find out how it felt to be held against his hard body, if his mouth was hot and greedy, if his hands were slow and thorough. Blushing at her uncharacteristic thoughts, she went inside and closed the door.
Chapter 3
Nicholas’s bad day on Tuesday was turning into a bad week. It was Friday afternoon and the number of women who somehow managed to ambush him increased hourly. It had gotten to the point where he was afraid to leave his house.
Women seemed to materialize out of thin air. He’d try to avoid one and end up facing three more. He hadn’t known women traveled in groups or giggled so much. And he could have happily gone to his grave ignorant of those two facts. His orderly, well-organized life had been turned upside down by a mite of a woman.
Nicholas pulled into the driveway of Augusta Evans’s house and parked. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. He didn’t hold out any hope that she would change her mind. Besides being stubborn, she believed she had right on her side. Sighing, he draped his arm over the steering wheel and studied the house in front of him.
Neat and inviting, the pale yellow house had a second floor with gabled dormers. The trim around the arched windows, the railing, and the four posts on the long porch were white. The shutters and roof were slate blue. White wicker furniture with colorful cushions was tucked in a corner of the porch. At the end of the meandering flagstone walkway stood a mailbox, an exact replica of the house.
Despite it being the middle of November, blooming flowers were everywhere. They trailed from baskets on the porch and sprouted from the well-tended beds. The house had an air of grace and serenity that reminded him of Andrea. It sat on a huge lot at the end of a two-lane graveled road. The nearest house was a half a mile away.
On the green lawn was a five-foot burlap scarecrow. Straw protruded from the stuffed sleeves of the denim shirt and the legs of the overalls. Beneath one extended arm, pumpkins overflowed from a wheelbarrow. Several clay pots of yellow and rust-colored chrysanthemums sat nearby. In his mind’s eye he could almost picture Andrea laughing with delight as she created the scene.
It was quiet and peaceful here with only the wind sailing through the branches of the maple trees, causing the leaves to shimmer like quicksilver. Colorful beds of snapdragons and pansies circled the trees. Monkey grass marched up the sides of the driveway of the detached garage off to the left. In one of the double bays he could see the back of an older-model blue Pontiac.
When he had visited yesterday there had been a much older model Pontiac there as well. The missing car most likely belonged to Augusta.
Picking up the empty red canister on the seat beside him, he got out, went up the steps, and rang the doorbell. When there was no answer, he knocked, then knocked again. Reasoning told him they could be out together, but that didn’t stop him from stepping off the porch and going around the side of the house. In the back he saw more trees, and underneath one, a yellow legal pad in her lap, was Andrea.
He was unaware of the tension leaving his body. Today, in deference to the twenty-five-degree drop in temperature, she wore faded jeans, a bulky red sweater, and sneakers. A bright purple wool scarf lay beside her. Wind playfully tossed her hair. She looked serene and breathtakingly beautiful.
He was almost to her when she glanced up. Surprise widened her ey
es; then she scrambled to her feet.
“Nicholas.”
“Andrea.” Now that he had found her, he had no idea what he wanted to say. He finally admitted to himself he’d been searching for her. Why, he wasn’t sure. He handed her the tin. “I ate every crumb.” Bending, he picked up the discarded scarf and looped it around her neck. “It’s chilly today.”
She stared into his warm eyes, inhaled his spicy cologne, and wanted to go in search of the elusive fragrance just as Melissa had done with Braxton in her novel. She moistened her dry lips. “I guess I was busy and didn’t notice.”
He frowned. “You’re so delicate. You have to be careful that you don’t get sick.”
She grinned. She had a black belt in karate. Another thing she and Melissa shared. “I’m tougher than I look. Country girls have to be.”
“I suppose.” Finally releasing the scarf, he glanced around the well-tended yard. “My mother would love it here. Dad’s due to retire from the accounting firm he works for in a few years, and when he does she wants to move out of Philadelphia to a little town where the pace is slower, but close enough to visit me and my brother and her future grandchildren,” he finished with a derisive twist of his mouth.
“Is that where you’re from?” she asked. He’d have beautiful children.
“No. I was born in Flint, Michigan, and lived all over the country while Dad climbed the corporate ladder. He transferred to Philadelphia from Akron when I was a freshman in high school.” He chuckled. “Mom told him pointblank once we were settled that if he moved again before he retired, he’d go without us.”
“Four generations of Radfords have lived here. My great-great-grandfather was the town’s blacksmith and built the original house,” Andrea said with pride. “Each generation has worked to improve the place without changing its personality.” She laughed. “I still have the claw-foot tub in my bathroom my grandmother ordered from the Sears and Roebuck catalog.”
Nicholas’s black eyes narrowed; then his gaze traveled leisurely over her body. “I’d like to see that.”
Andrea’s body went hot. She wasn’t sure if he meant the tub or her in it. Self-consciously she drew the tin and the tablet closer. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.”
“You’d be surprised in what interests me lately,” he said cryptically, then nodded toward the tablet. “Another drawing?”
“No. I’m working on an entirely different project.” She wasn’t ready to tell him about her book. Most people laughed themselves silly when she mentioned wanting to write a romance novel.
His finger traced the top of the tablet, coming precariously close to the rounded curve of her breast. “Can I take a peek?”
Her heart thudded. There it was again. The double meaning. “No,” she said, her voice a wobbly squeak.
“Perhaps some other time.” His hand fell, but his eyes watched her with the intensity of a large cat studying his next meal.
Andrea gulped. “You just get off work?”
The seductive laziness vanished. In its place was the same frustration she’d seen when he’d visited yesterday. “Yes.”
“Things haven’t been going well, have they?”
“It doesn’t seem to matter that it’s illogical for women to think they can win the wish pot and get me like I’m some toy in a box of Cracker Jacks.” He snorted. “I’m running five to one ahead of everything else on the wish list. I can’t go anyplace without women looking at me as if I’m the cherry on top of an ice-cream sundae.”
Andrea caught herself before she licked her lips hungrily. Then she shook herself; Nicholas had felt safe coming here. “Auntie’s gone to visit a friend, and I was just about to go in and make biscuits for supper. Would you like to join us?”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he told her.
Andrea smiled at the grudging wistfulness in his deep voice. “You won’t be. I love to cook and so does Auntie. Come on in.” She crossed the backyard and went into the house.
Inside the kitchen she placed the pad on the counter and washed her hands. “Have a seat or, if you want, you can go to the living room and watch TV.” She dried her hands on paper towels and turned on the oven. “It’s a black-and-white, I’m afraid. Neither of us watches much television.”
Folding his arms, Nicholas leaned against the counter next to her. “How do you spend your spare time?”
“We both like to read. At night, Auntie knits and I do the less meticulous sketch work.” Taking a bowl from beneath the counter, she mixed the ingredients for the bread.
“What do you read?” he asked, watching her quick, easy motions.
She cut him a sharp glance, transferred the dough to a lightly floured surface, then picked up a rolling pin. “Fiction.”
“What kind of fiction?” he asked when she didn’t elaborate.
Picking up the round pan of biscuits, she put them in the oven and faced him. “Romance.”
Nicholas came out of his slouched position. He almost took a running step toward the door until he remembered the little girl who hadn’t made a wish since she was nine and why. Girls dreamed and wished for their Prince Charming just like the young woman he’d seen in Andrea’s sketches. What must it be like for her to see other women’s wishes come true, but not her own?
“If I could give you my wish, I would. I’d wish that you’d find a man to love you as much as you’d love him. As much as you deserved to be loved.” The words just slipped out. No one could have been more surprised than Nicholas. After the fiasco with his last wish, he thought he’d completely removed that word from his vocabulary.
His hand swept down over his face. Maybe he should give more thought to ordering the MRI machine. He could be the first to have his brain scanned.
Andrea’s face softened. “Thank you.”
“For what? I don’t believe in your aunt’s power.”
“I know. That’s why I thanked you, because you wished from your heart.”
The way she was looking at him did strange things to his body. Mercy, she was gorgeous. Delicate and beautifully proportioned. He’d have to be careful of her when they made love for the first time.
His mouth dropped open.
“Nicholas, what’s the matter?”
Clamping his mouth shut, he swallowed. His hand scoured his face again. He was definitely losing it. The one woman in town who wasn’t coming on to him, and he wanted her more than he’d ever thought possible to want a woman. “I-I just remembered I have an appointment. I’d better go.”
“Wait!” she called as he started toward the door. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
He was already shaking his head. “That’s not necessary.”
Andrea wasn’t listening. She quickly put smothered steak and rice into a microwavable container. “Here.”
Nicholas’s unsteady hands clamped around the container. She was treating him like his mother did, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and make love to her until he had just enough energy to breathe . . . maybe not even then.
He swallowed again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Once you finish with your appointment, you can stop back by for biscuits.”
Nodding, Nicholas tore his gaze away from her mouth and hurried to the door. If he came back, it wouldn’t be for biscuits.
Tuesday evening the women in the Beauty Boutique cheered and applauded Augusta as she entered the salon with Andrea. A week had passed since Augusta had granted Nicholas Darling his wish. Women whistled, stomped their feet, and waved their hands. Augusta took it all in her stride, nodding to the women as she made her way to a padded green chair in the small reception area.
Andrea glanced around at the cheering women and felt sorry all over again for Nicholas. Perhaps if he wasn’t handsome enough to make a woman lick her lips, he wouldn’t have half the single women in town after him.
“Mrs. Augusta, you sure have livened things up,” Glenda Hobbs, the owner of the shop, said. She removed the cape
from around the neck of a customer she’d just given a finger wave and gave it a brisk snap of her wrist. “I’m ready for you.”
“Thank you, Glenda.” Her black patent-leather purse dangling from its strap in the crook of her arm, Augusta took her seat in the stylist’s chair. She placed her purse in her lap as the cape whipped around her neck with a flourish.
“Yeah, Mrs. Augusta,” Hazel, the beautician at the next station, said. “I saw him yesterday at the post office. He’s one fine-looking man.”
“I wouldn’t mind finding him under my tree Christmas morning wearing a big red bow,” Rebecca, getting her waist-length braids redone, commented with a wide grin.
“Why waste the bow, since you’d rip it off?” joked Glenda. “I know I would.”
The women howled with laughter. Glenda, robust, with dyed blond hair, had been married three times and made it no secret she was looking for number four.
Andrea smiled, remembering she’d had a similar thought about a man for Christmas and wondered if she’d be bold enough to rip the bow off. If the man was Nicholas, it would be gone in seconds. The smile faded. Nicholas was not for her. Why did she keep forgetting?
“Come on, Mrs. Augusta. Let’s go to the shampoo bowl,” Glenda said as she helped Augusta to the floor. “I don’t suppose you know who the woman is?”
Hair dryers clicked off; scissors and curlers halted. Breaths were held. Ears strained to listen. Eyes locked on Augusta.
Augusta kept them waiting until her head was over the shampoo bowl. “She’s one of our own.”
An excited buzz raced through the shop.
“I think the hospital should open the wish list to the whole town,” Glenda suggested, squirting shampoo into her hand. “Give some of the rest of us a chance to win that pot. I can think of ten ways to use that money right off the bat to get his attention and him.”
This time the excitement rose higher as women listed ways they’d use the money to entice and lure Nicholas. Poor Nicholas, Andrea thought. It would be all over the town by tonight. Gossip from the beauty shop traveled faster than the speed of light. “Auntie, I have an errand to run. I’ll be back in an hour.”