Wife Wanted

by Christine Rimmer

  They had to talk, she decided as he was cleaning up the kitchen all by himself. So as soon as Toby was in bed, she gobbled down a couple of painkillers and limped to the great room on her new crutches.

  “Rick, I’d like to talk to you.”

  He was sitting on the sofa with his Newsweek on his lap. The television was on with the sound low. They’d been leaving it that way, on the chance that they might catch any late-breaking news about Monica Malone’s death or about Jake. So far, there had been nothing they didn’t already know.

  Rick picked up the remote and turned the sound down all the way. Then he tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and stood. “You’re supposed to keep that leg up.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He shoved an ottoman in front of an easy chair and grabbed some throw pillows to put on top. “Come on. Get over here.”

  She stumped to the chair. When she got there, he was waiting to help her down into it. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  “Have it your way.” He sounded exasperated, but he did step back, returning to the couch, where he sat down again, so easily and so gracefully that she was green with envy.

  Now it was her turn to sit. She knew it wouldn’t be pretty. And it wasn’t. With more grunting and groaning than could possibly be considered attractive, she dropped into the chair, laid her crutches on the floor at her side and hoisted her aching leg onto the ottoman and its pile of pillows.

  “All right,” he said when she was finally settled. “Let’s talk.” The way he stressed the word reminded her of the other talks they’d had since he came to stay at the farmhouse. There had been the talk when she told him she would never become involved with him. The talk when he asked her whether they could be “friendly.” And, of course, the talk last night, when she accused him of having all kinds of despicable motives for making love to her, until he finally agreed with her that what they’d shared had been a big mistake.

  “Well?” He lifted an eyebrow at her.

  She ordered her tired, drugged mind to stay in the now. “Yes. All right.”

  How to begin? She dragged in a breath and forged ahead. “This just isn’t fair to you.”

  He let a beat elapse before asking, “What isn’t fair?”

  “You’re spending all of your time taking care of me.”

  “We’re managing.”

  “But it’s not right. You came here to be with Toby, not to play nursemaid to your landlady.”

  He yawned.

  Irritation sizzled through her. “I’m sorry. Am I keeping you awake?”

  “It’s late.” He stood and stretched, looking so handsome and strong and masculine that, even with her incessantly throbbing leg and her mind fogged with pain medicine, she remembered last night. The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her, how beautifully male he was when he was naked, and how it had felt when he—

  She closed her eyes tight to make the memories go away.

  “Natalie, you really need sleep. Let me help you to bed.”

  She opened her eyes. He was standing right over her.

  “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “Fine.” He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans. “Spit it out, then.”

  She stuck out her chin. “All right. I will. I think I should go and stay at my mother’s.”

  He grunted. “Do you want to go and stay at your mother’s?”

  Now why did he have to put it that way?

  “I didn’t think so.” His half smile was annoyingly smug.

  She felt pitiful and incompetent and utterly miserable. “I’m a capable woman.” It didn’t sound convincing.

  “I know you are.” His tone was gentler. “It’s a rough time, that’s all. You’ve just had one too many things to deal with in the past few days.” He gave her a smile that turned her insides to mush. “Now, come on. Bedtime.” He scooped up her crutches, then held out a hand to help her up.

  She stared at that hand. “Rick.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.” He dropped his hand and backed away a step. She made herself raise her glance to his face. Her throat closed up. She coughed to relax it. “I’m sorry for all those awful things I said to you last night. I…I was confused. And I was wrong. It’s obvious from…all you’ve done for me and my family today that you can take care of Toby just fine without any help from me.”

  He kept on watching her. She had no idea in the world what he might be thinking.

  She made herself continue. “And Sterling insisted on having you checked out, before you moved in here. His people are very thorough, I promise you. Which means that if you’d wanted an introduction to one of the Fortune companies, or if you’d had any money problems, they would have found out. So, I really do realize that I was way out of line. And I can’t take back what I said. I can only say that I honestly regret it and hope you will consider accepting my apology.” She swallowed. “Please.”

  Rick went on looking at her. When about a century had passed without him saying anything, she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “All right. I get it. Apology not accepted.” She started to push herself out of the chair. He stepped closer again, and she dropped back with a small gasp. “What?”

  His eyes were like a pair of laser beams; they cut right to the center of her.

  “What? Say it. Please.”

  “All right. I accept your apology. Now, come on. It’s time for bed.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she was lying in Rick’s bed, wearing an extralarge T-shirt for a nightgown. Her leg, elevated in a nest of pillows, pulsed dully. But she wasn’t really thinking about her leg.

  She was thinking about her father, wondering where he could be, praying that he was going to come through all the awful things that were happening to him.

  And she was admitting again how totally she’d blown it with Rick. He’d been nothing short of wonderful today. She might as well be honest with herself; about now, she would trade her trust fund for another chance with him.

  But he’d been so…unreadable, when she stumbled through that apology. Probably because he was still as certain as he’d been last night that it was over between them. And really, how could she blame him if that was how he felt? She’d insisted from the first that she wouldn’t get involved with him, so he was only giving her what she’d claimed to want all along.

  Oh, but he’d been so gentle when he helped her down the hall to this room she’d stolen from him. Her leg had felt like a lead weight; she’d looked none too graceful, she knew it, stumbling along. And she could have used a bath. She wasn’t dirty, exactly. But she certainly wasn’t fresh and clean-smelling, either. However, with her leg in a cast, a bath was going to be an adventure—one she hadn’t been up to tackling that night. Her hair felt stringy, ready for a good shampoo. The bald truth was, she’d had all the sexual allure of an old rag.

  But still, she hadn’t been able to stop herself thinking how strong his arms felt. She’d even dared to imagine how piercingly sweet it would be if he would only kiss her once. Not a passionate kiss, even. Just a quick, gentle good-night kiss.

  But he hadn’t. She’d been burning up with awareness of him, and he’d treated her like just what she was: a bedraggled woman with a newly broken leg who needed help getting around.

  Natalie let out a long, sorry sigh.

  She really had to face facts. Rick Dalton was a good, generous man, doing what he could for another human being during a difficult time. He was through with her romantically. And the sooner she accepted that, the better off she’d be.

  The phone rang very late. In her eagerness to apologize to Rick and in her confusion afterward, when he insisted on helping her to bed, Natalie had forgotten to do anything about plugging a phone into the line in the downstairs bedroom.

  But Rick, as usual, took care of the problem. He got up and crossed the landing to her upstairs rooms and answered it for her. She had managed to drag herself out to the bottom of the st
airs when he emerged with her remote phone in his hand. He was wearing black sweatpants and nothing else. She tried not to look at his gorgeous bare chest as he took the stairs two at a time to reach her side.

  He put his hand over the phone, and his blue gaze ran over her. She knew she must look awful, in her old T-shirt, with her hair all tangled, clutching the newel post to keep from keeling over onto the floor.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Her leg beat out a dull throb of pain with every pulse of the blood through her veins. She clutched the newel post a little tighter. “I heard the phone ring. I was worried it might be—”

  “It’s your mother. She says she’s just spoken to your father.”

  She reached for the phone.

  “Let’s get you off that leg first.” He spoke into the mouthpiece. “Erica? Can you hold on just a moment more? Thanks.”

  And then he wrapped his arm around Natalie’s waist. She could have died, he felt so warm and strong and solid. “Come on. Back to bed.” He helped her to return to the bedroom, where he hoisted her onto the bed and gently positioned her broken leg on the pillows. Then, when she was all settled, he handed her the phone.

  She pasted a smile on her face and hoped it would carry over into her voice. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.”

  “Oh, Nat. How are you? Rick says you had an accident.”

  “I’m all right, Mom. Really.”

  “What happened?”

  “I broke my leg. But it’s just a hairline fracture. The doctor says in six weeks I’ll be just fine.”

  Erica made a low sound of distress. “I should be there.”

  “No. No, you shouldn’t. I’m fine. Really. Rick says you talked to Dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “How is he?”

  “I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. He said I wasn’t to worry.” A high, slightly frantic laugh escaped her. “Can you believe that? Everyone thinks he murdered Monica Malone, and I’m not to worry….”

  “Where was he, when you talked to him?”

  “Back at the estate. Evidently Sterling had come for him. Some place in Wisconsin, I think. Sterling convinced him to come back and talk to the police.”

  Natalie’s stomach tightened. “He’s talked to the police?”

  “Yes. He’s been at the police station. Being questioned. For several hours.”

  “Did they charge him with anything?”

  “No—not yet, anyway. After the questioning was over, Sterling took Jake back to the estate. And Sterling called me from there, to say Jake was safe. I insisted he let me talk to your father. When Jake came on the line, well, it was just so difficult to make sense of what he said. He insisted that he didn’t kill anyone, no matter how bad the whole thing looks. He asked me to call all of you kids. To tell you he was innocent. And then he…asked about you. About what you’d said to the police. What could he have meant by that, do you think?”

  “It’s all right, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry?”

  “Settle down. I’ll call him and clear it all up with him right away.”

  “I don’t see what you can clear up….”

  “Mom. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Well. All right. But are you sure you don’t want me to come on over there?”

  “No, Mom. I’ll be fine. I promise you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Natalie said goodbye before her mother could protest any further. With Rick looking on grimly, she dialed the number at the estate. But no one answered. Instead, the machine there picked up after the first ring and her father’s recorded voice asked her to leave a message.

  “Dad,” she said into the phone, “it’s me. Nat. I just spoke with Mother. I know it’s late, but if you’re there…?” She let the question trail off on a sigh. “Call me, Dad. Please.” She turned off the phone and handed it to Rick.

  “What’s happening?”

  Briefly she explained what her mother had told her. Then she wondered aloud, “Maybe I should go over there.”

  Rick was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. “No way. Your leg’s broken, Natalie. It’s two in the morning. You need rest. And you’re going to get it. Now.”

  “But if he’s—”

  “You’re not going to run to your father’s rescue, Natalie. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, you’re going to get some—” The ringing of the doorbell cut Rick off. “Who the hell is that?”

  Natalie started to swing her good leg off the bed.

  “Stay,” Rick said, as if he were talking to Bernie.

  “Rick, I have to—”

  “You stay here. I’ll get it.”

  He rose from the edge of the bed and left before she could say another word, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him.

  But he stuck his head in again two minutes later. He didn’t look happy. “Someone to see you.”

  Before she could ask who, he pushed the door all the way open. Her father stood behind him in the doorway.

  Fifteen

  Jake stepped around Rick and into the bedroom. “Hello, Nat.”

  “Dad,” she said softly, thinking he looked terrible, even though his clothes were clean and it appeared that he’d showered and shaved not too long ago. Still, his eyes were puffy and red, his skin looked gray and his hair was mussed, the way it had been last night, as if he’d been forking his hands through it in agitation.

  He turned to Rick. “I’d like to speak to my daughter alone, please.” His voice held only a scratchy echo of its old command.

  Rick crossed his arms over his broad chest, the gesture clearly indicating he wasn’t going anywhere. But when he spoke, it was gently. “I think it’s better that I stay.”

  Jake tried leveling a frozen glare at Rick. But Rick only gazed back at him, unmoved.

  Natalie spoke up. “It’s okay, Dad. He knows…everything that I know. He was there when I talked to Sterling.”

  Jake swore under his breath. “Fine. All right. Whatever.” He turned from Rick, who remained near the door, and approached the bed. “What happened to your leg?”

  “I broke it. Slid down the porch roof. But it’s not too bad. A month and a half and I’ll be running up and down the stairs again.”

  “Good. Good.” He stood looking at her rather blankly for a moment. And then he sighed. “Nat.” He dropped heavily to the side of the bed, jarring her leg and making her wince. “I’m sorry, Nat. For everything. But I didn’t do it. I really didn’t. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, and meant it. Her father hadn’t murdered anyone. She knew it in her bones.

  “I don’t really remember what I said last night, Nat. But I…I was confused, you know?”

  “Yes, Dad. I know. I understand.”

  “Sterling says all you told the police was that you found me drunk in the library and helped me up to my rooms.”

  “Yes, that’s what I told them.”

  “Good.” He patted her hand. And then he bent close. His breath smelled like an open bottle of Scotch. She did her best not to recoil. “I explained to the police that I argued with Monica Malone last night. That’s all that happened, Nat.”

  “I know. You told me.”

  “So if the police come snooping around you again, you might have to admit that much. I hope that’s all you’ll ever say.”

  She looked steadily into his bloodshot eyes. “Of course it’s all I’ll ever say. After all, it’s all I know.”

  Her father blinked. “Yeah. That’s right. It’s all you know. I was drunk. I mentioned to you that I’d had an argument with Monica Malone. You took me to my rooms.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well. Good, then.” He moved as if to rise.

  She caught his hand before he could get away. “Dad, you look so tired.”

  “I’m all right.”

  She tried to speak brightly. “I have an idea. Why don’t you go upstairs? Take my room, get a little rest….”

  But h
e was already pulling away, rising to his feet. “No. Can’t. Gotta go.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “I’m sorry, Nat. What a damn mess. Really sorry. Gotta go.” He turned and left.

  She sent a pleading glance at Rick just as Jake disappeared down the hall. “He shouldn’t be driving….”

  “Stay there. I’ll see that he’s all right.” Rick followed after Jake.

  Natalie listened. She heard a car start up outside. Rick returned before she could drag herself out of the bed again.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He was beside her in three long strides.

  “I heard a car start up. Is he—?”

  Gently he pushed her back among the pillows. “Relax. He’s not driving. He got into the back seat of a limousine. There was someone else at the wheel.”

  “Edgar, probably. That’s his head chauffeur.”

  Rick shrugged. “The point is, he’s not going to kill himself or anyone else by trying to handle a car right now.”

  She shook her head. “He looks so terrible.”

  Rick nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I wish I could…”

  “What?”

  She gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Make it all better. Make everything right.”

  He raised the sheet and settled it over her. “Well, you can’t.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Her phone was on the nightstand. “I’ll put that back upstairs again.”

  She snatched it up before he could get to it, and clutched it to her chest. “No. Leave it here. That way, if it rings, it won’t bother you.”

  “Won’t it lose its charge, without the base?”

  “Rick. Leave it here.”

  “I want you to sleep.”

  “I want you to sleep.”

  They glared at each other, and then they both smiled.

  He went to the door. “Good night,” he said softly. He stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

  She stared at the closed door. “Good night,” she whispered in return.

  The next morning, Natalie hobbled into the downstairs bathroom first thing, and then refused to leave it until she’d managed to have a bath.