Mating Game

by Maynard, Janice

  The house sat quietly in the shadow of enormous oaks and elms. The original portion of the structure had been an unimaginative square box. Subsequent owners had added a large wing to the left and a smaller one to the right. Later still, a decorative entryway had been tacked onto the front. Despite the hodgepodge of architectural time periods, the result was surprisingly graceful.

  As far back as Nola could remember, the place had been called Lochhaven. No one really knew where the name came from. If there had ever been a lake on the property, it had long since dried up during the multitudes of drought-stricken years that had afflicted Georgia in the previous century. But Nola loved the name, and as a child she had invented stories about a monster that died when the lake went dry and now wandered the land as a phantom, stealing her grandmother’s chickens and generally making mischief.

  Lochhaven was an aging beauty. In her heyday the residence had resembled Margaret Mitchell’s Tara. But years of heavy estate taxes combined with careful denial on the part of Nola’s grandmother had produced peeling paint, rotting boards, and a general air of decay.

  The Grainger name meant something once upon a time. Graingers had upheld the town’s economy single-handedly in the lean years. Back before the First World War, the Grainger landholdings numbered in the tens of thousands of acres. But gradually, over time and because of financial hardships, the scope of Lochhaven had dwindled. Now, if the lawyer had his facts straight, the property, much of it prime farmland, encompassed somewhere in the neighborhood of 850 acres.

  It was still a valuable piece of real estate and, if Nola continued to rent out pastures for grazing and acreage for farming as her grandmother had done, it would support Nola for years to come. But did she have it in her to meet the stipulation in the will?

  She used her key and pushed open the front door, wrinkling her nose as stale air assailed her. The house smelled like an ill-kept nursing home . . . damp and musty with unidentifiable odors. A crystal vase of wilted daffodils rested on the antique credenza. The foyer’s wallpaper, pale green with amber flocking, dated back to the late eighteen hundreds. The Oriental rug underfoot was elegant but threadbare.

  The grand staircase rose in stately fashion to the right of the entryway, leading to the second floor, where Nola’s bedroom and numerous guest chambers were located off to the left. The right wing was in disrepair and unhabitable. Her grandmother had long ago ceased trying to keep up the massive house and had closed off that portion.

  Nola stood in silence, listening to the memories in her head and heart. The sound of her young feet clattering up and down the stairs. Her grandmother’s scolding voice. The hustle and bustle of the cook and the housekeeper in the kitchen and the halls. Both women were elderly when Nola was a child, and they passed away while she was in high school. After that, Nola had picked up the slack, assuming when her grandmother didn’t hire replacements that money was tight.

  The house resonated with emptiness . . . with sadness.

  Thank God Nola knew that her grandmother’s ashes weren’t in residence. That would have been far too creepy. The lawyer was keeping the urn at his office for the moment.

  As Nola walked from room to room, she kept expecting to hear her grandmother’s querulous voice. Nola, bring me my reading glasses. Nola, why don’t you have a boyfriend? Nola, you’re too damn picky. Nola, your woman parts are shriveling up. Nola, a career won’t keep a gal warm at night.

  In the study, it was painfully clear to see where her grandmother had died. A book with bent pages hung half off the piecrust table, and the room was in disarray. An aluminum walker lay tumbled to one side. One of her grandmother’s prized coffee cups had shattered on the hearth, and there were bits of debris from sterile packaging left behind by the EMTs who had tried to revive her.

  Nola stood frozen, shivering in the doorway. Tears trickled down her face, and guilt stabbed hard. If Nola had been here, could she have saved her grandmother? It was a question with no answer.

  She stared at the chair where her grandmother had held court. Nola had been taught to respect her elders, but two days before the New Year, on the eve of her return to Chicago, her grandmother had goaded her. Nola, wise up. You need to sex yourself up a little bit. All those dark colors are depressing as hell. Show some cleavage, girl. You’ll never get a man at this rate. Flirt a little. Let them know you’re available.

  After several days of similar criticism, Nola had lost it. She’d practically yelled at her grandmother, heavy on the sarcasm. I don’t think a dried-up old maid is the best person to be giving me dating advice. It was a mean-spirited thing to say, regardless of the provocation, and she had regretted her words immediately.

  Now, even though she had apologized, remorse threatened to strangle her.

  She wiped her eyes and closed the door quietly. It would be some time before she was ready to deal with that room. As she headed upstairs, she automatically hopped over the third step with the awful screech. Sneaking around required catlike reflexes, and Nola had developed those by the time she was fourteen.

  Her room was on the second floor overlooking the front entrance. As a young teen, Nola had managed to climb out her window, tiptoe over the portico, and shimmy down a drainpipe to slip away and meet a boy.

  Her grandmother had been furious when she found out, and had striped Nola’s legs with a hickory switch. Nola refused to cry. She’d faced down her nemesis with adolescent bravado. Looking back, Nola felt more than a twinge of sympathy for her grandmother. It must have been hell on earth at times to deal with the insolent, hardheaded, rebellious girl Nola had been.

  In her room, she plopped down on the mattress and fell backward, staring up at the old-fashioned embroidered canopy that matched the bed curtains. The heavy cotton was marred with age spots and holes where the fragile threads had simply given way. Nola had always loved this cloistered hideaway. For a girl with a vivid imagination it had been, from time to time, everything from a magic carpet to a secret cave.

  How lovely it was in retrospect to be so young and innocent and carefree. Despite the tragedy, her childhood had been, in many ways, idyllic.

  But now she was on her own with all the trials and tribulations of adulthood. She missed Marc, but she knew she’d been right to turn him down. There was no place for him here, even temporarily. She could imagine the look of distaste on his face when faced with dust bunnies the size of gophers, the occasional field mouse, and a plumbing system that was ancient and temperamental at best. Being with Marc had been exciting and fun, but she was convinced the novelty would soon wear off. They were too different in every way to sustain a marriage.

  The one serious contender she had in mind, her high school sweetheart, Billy Inman, still lived in Resnick. And he was still single. They were compatible and their backgrounds were similar. It made sense on paper, but she had barely spoken to him in years. It was quite a leap to think she could talk to him about marriage. Especially since Billy had been the one to break things off.

  But when she remembered the sweet puppy love they’d shared, it made her smile. If she had to marry someone, she could do worse than Billy Inman.

  She closed her eyes and dozed, hearing the whispers and groans of the old house. It might be scary to stay here all alone. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but there were plenty of mortal men with evil intent. Perhaps if the finances were in decent order, she could hire a live-in housekeeper. . . .

  Despite her mental turmoil, Nola slept through the night. Now, after spending the morning frantically riffling through her grandmother’s papers to see if there was any way to dodge the marriage requirement, Nola was ready to give up and find a groom ASAP. The clock was ticking, and sifting through musty old papers was not productive, particularly since she faced such a time crunch.

  When the doorbell rang just after noon, it startled her so badly she dropped a soup spoon in the sink. And then she had to laugh at her own jumpiness. She dried her hands on a dish towel and hurried toward the front of the ho
use. When she disengaged the dead bolt and opened the door, her stomach did a little flip of shock.

  The man standing framed in the doorway was enormous, broad in the shoulders, lean hipped, and easily six feet, four inches tall. His longish blond hair, laced with caramel and gold highlights, was shoved back from a face that was more interesting than handsome. His nose was slightly crooked, and he had a small scar above his right eyebrow.

  He was wearing cutoff khaki shorts, battered work boots, and a faded red plaid cotton shirt with the sleeves hacked off at the shoulders.

  The shirt buttons strained to cover his impressive chest. When he took off his sunglasses, she saw that his eyes were the color of Coca-Cola in a sun-warmed glass.

  She stood there mute until he stuck out his hand. “Ms. Grainger? I’m Tanner Nash. Your grandmother had hired me to do some work around the house. I thought I’d stop by and see if you still want me to carry on.” He paused for a half second, his face reflecting discomfort. “I’m really sorry to hear that the old bird is gone.”

  There was too much affection and respect in his voice for Nola to quibble over his choice of words. She stepped back. “Thank you, Mr. Nash. Please come in.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and sat down in one of the ladder-back chairs. Nola was sure she heard it groan under his weight. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on his big body. He was solid bone and muscle, his hands dwarfing the small tumbler of water she offered him.

  He drank it down thirstily and eyed her steadily. “Have you had a chance to look things over?”

  She shook her head. “I just arrived late yesterday. And before you start thinking of me as a callous ingrate, I have to tell you that my grandmother’s will specified that I was not to be notified of her death until after she had been cremated.” She paused, surprised again by a rush of grief. Her throat tightened. “I would have been here,” she whispered.

  And suddenly the floodgates opened. The tears she’d held at bay for a week and a half came rushing forth in a torrent of noisy sobs.

  Tanner Nash got to his feet and took her in his arms, holding her tightly against that wall of a chest, crooning words of comfort, rubbing her back with his big hands. Even in the midst of her distress, she felt his steady strength.

  He smelled faintly of clean male sweat and the outdoors. Her tears made dark patches on his shirt.

  She wound down finally, and belated mortification began to sneak in. When her sobs dwindled to sniffles, he released her long enough to take a handkerchief from his pocket, wet it at the sink, and unfold it to wipe the tears from her face. When he spoke, his warm breath brushed her cheek. “It’s Nola . . . right?”

  She nodded, feeling lost. She stood, totally spent, and let him care for her.

  His large hands were incredibly gentle as he dabbed at her cheeks, and the concern in his eyes warmed her through and through. He spoke softly, as though calming a child. “It will be okay. The first couple of weeks are always the hardest. But she lived a long and healthy life. Some would say she was lucky to go so quickly. Myself, I’ve always thought fast and unexpected is preferable to wasting away in a nursing home.”

  Nola told herself it was no more than gratitude she felt . . . appreciation for simple human contact and for his kindness. But even in those first moments, she felt the pull of his personality. He radiated masculinity, but not like Marc did.

  Marc was slick and sophisticated. To him, appearance was everything. And he made no apologies for his self-indulgent lifestyle. He was generous and entertaining, both of which made his ego bearable, even sweet at times.

  This man was different. Nola felt her stomach quiver at his nearness, and she took the handkerchief and released herself from his embrace with no small amount of regret. A surreptitious glance at his ring finger made her sigh inwardly with relief. He didn’t appear to be married.

  Her train of thought took her aback. She already had her eye on one choice for a husband, and if everything worked out her way, it was a sensible direction to take. Was she really now evaluating this big, brawny handyman—a total stranger—as a potential groom?

  She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs and the confusion. His steady gaze met hers, and she grimaced, monumentally embarrassed. “Sorry for falling apart on you like that. I guess I hadn’t dealt with those feelings yet.”

  “You loved her.” He stated it as a fact.

  Nola nodded. “We couldn’t agree on the color of the sky or which way was up, but she was the one constant in my life. I know she loved me, too. But good Lord, she was difficult to live with.”

  “I can imagine.”

  A half smile kicked up one corner of his mouth, revealing strong white teeth. She imagined them biting into the soft flesh of her neck, and felt herself go red. Down, girl.

  She twisted the damp square of cloth in her hands. “So what exactly did she hire you to do?”

  He handed her a list and stood quietly while Nola looked it over. The words were recorded in her grandmother’s spidery handwriting. Gutters, soffits, painting, porch rails . . . and that was only the beginning. Nola handed it back to him with a wince. “I honestly don’t know what kind of shape the finances are in. So I probably shouldn’t let you do anything until I’m sure I can pay you.”

  He shoved the list into his back pocket, his expression unreadable. “She gave me one check already. We’ll let that cover getting started.”

  “Do you live here in Resnick?” It occurred to her that she had never seen him around, and in a town this size, that was significant.

  He shook his head. “I run a construction business over in Grantham. But I was in the neighborhood one day and saw that this house was in need of some TLC. I stopped by to introduce myself, and she hired me on the spot.”

  Nola frowned. “If you own your own business, I would think you have more important things to do than tinker with an unending list of repairs on an old house. Especially one way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  He shrugged, his smile easy. “I had a gap between houses. And I’ve never been good at taking vacations. I suppose you could call this a busman’s holiday.” Nola realized that she knew virtually nothing about this man. He could be lying through his teeth. But her grandmother had been an excellent judge of character, and that was good enough for Nola.

  She summoned a smile, feeling oddly off balance in the presence of such blatant masculinity. Two hundred years ago she would have been simpering and fluttering her fan. Now she could do no more than try to keep from embarrassing herself further.

  “How long do you think the work will take?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. At least a couple of weeks. Maybe more. I guess that’s up to you.”

  “Would it help if you stayed here on the premises?” The words left her mouth with no apparent filter. Holy cow. Was she nuts?

  He went still, his eyes wary. One thick eyebrow went up. “Stay here?”

  She nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “You’d save time on the commute, and with the cost of gas so high, it seems to make sense. Unless, of course, you have a family to get home to in the evenings.”

  Now the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable male interest. She’d opened herself up to that, and she couldn’t entirely regret it.

  He shook his head. “No family. Just me.”

  Hallelujah. Things were looking up. She’d feel far safer with a man in the house. And her bedroom door had a sturdy lock. Always assuming she wanted to keep Tanner out. With one potential candidate already on her list, this delicious specimen of masculinity would make two, and if all else failed, there was always Marc.

  Surely with one-in-three odds a girl could snag a man, save her inheritance, and have some fun in the process. Whoever she chose was going to be a real husband . . . for the long haul, God willing. She wouldn’t be party to a sham marriage just to line her own pockets. She’d honor her grandmother’s last wish if at all possible.

  But one thing was nonnegotiable: S
he and Mr. Right had to be compatible between the sheets. Marc had shown her how much fun it could be to explore her sexuality, and she wasn’t about to go back to her inhibited ways. She wanted love above all. But love took time, and in the interim, she would enjoy finding the man who was her perfect match in the bedroom.

  Her new employee stood silently, his hip propped against the doorframe. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, and his booted feet were planted a fair distance apart . . . almost a fighting stance.

  She licked her lips. “Well, then. I’d say we have a deal. It will be good to give this place a sprucing up. And I can be cleaning out the inside at the same time.”

  He nodded. “I’ll try to stay out of your way. I’ll do the outside stuff first, and save the indoor projects for rainy days.”

  His words were prosaic, but Nola flashed unexpectedly to a vision of the two of them tangled in sweaty sheets, breathing heavily in the aftermath of amazing sex as rain beat gently on the large windows of her bedroom.

  Her knees actually went weak. She told herself it was hunger.

  He turned and headed for the foyer. “I’ll go home and pack up some tools and clothes and things. I’ll be back before dark.”

  She rummaged in a drawer, then held out her hand. “You should have this key. I might not be here when you get back. I have to make a run for major groceries and cleaning supplies.”

  Her stomach growled loudly, right on cue.

  He grinned, the first full-fledged smile he’d given her. “You want me to order some pizza and pick it up on my way back?”

  Wow. He had her heart beating faster already, but when he unleashed a genuine smile, he made her want to throw off her clothes and say, Take me, you fool.