by Melissa Beck
Daniel chuckled. “She probably did."
"Well, anyway, Eula didn't believe anything they said about Isaiah. He'd grown up around what her parents called ‘those’ women, and people figured him for a slick womanizer. Eula didn't listen. What mattered was that he loved her, and he was good to her.” She stretched her legs. “When her parents objected, though, Isaiah tried to break it off. He didn't want to cause trouble. But Eula made it clear that she believed in him and that was all that mattered. After that, it wasn't long before they eloped. And the rest is history."
Gretchen smiled. “It's such a great story. I'll tell it to Amy as soon as she's old enough."
Daniel studied her. “So you'd allow her to marry someone you didn't like?"
"I'd trust her judgment."
His gaze roamed over her. “I thought you didn't believe in fairy tales."
As Cile's attention flitted back and forth between them, Gretchen said, “Just because it hasn't happened that way for me, doesn't mean I don't think it's great when it happens to other people."
The lines around Daniel's mouth softened, and his gaze grew less intense.
"How about you?” Gretchen watched him. “Do you believe in happy endings?"
"No. But sometimes I think I'd like to."
She breathed in then, and a tingling sensation started in her scalp and settled in her lungs.
After another glance at Daniel, Cile grinned at Gretchen and wiggled her brows. When Gretchen flashed a warning look at her, she sobered. “Well, Daniel, Isaiah wasn't really convinced that things would work out for Eula and him, either,” she said, continuing the story. “But he worked hard to make them a home after they married, and he worked to gain everyone's confidence in him. Eventually, he became head of the bank. Eula threw huge parties and invited the whole town. They proved their critics wrong. Everybody was always here on the farm, watching them dance, listening to their jokes and sometimes their fights. They raised four daughters."
Daniel's gaze bore into Gretchen's. But the setting sun suddenly cast him in shadow, making it hard to see his expression. She was wondering how he liked the ending of the story when he said, “It's funny, but Eula didn't strike me as a softie at all. Hearing about Isaiah puts a whole new light on her."
"She's a proud woman,” Cile acknowledged. “But she has a big heart."
"Sounds like someone else I know.” He tilted his head toward Gretchen.
She fidgeted, and checked her watch. “We've got to get going,” she blurted, thankful for the reprieve from that fresh matchmaking gleam in Cile's eyes. “Mr. Scott's supposed to come by to check Joel's roof repair. And there's the leak in the tub. He'll want to see that."
She hugged Cile goodbye, telling her to come to work whenever she wanted tomorrow and allowing her leeway to go by the hospital. Then they walked to the car.
On the way to pick up Amy, Gretchen accidentally flipped the stereo from radio to a CD in the middle of one of Amy's songs. She hummed along to the tune.
"What is that?” Daniel asked.
"You're kidding, right?” She laughed. “It's ‘Frere Jacques.’”
"Oh."
She glanced at him. “You don't know it?"
"No."
"Didn't your mother teach you—"
"I doubt it. She died when I was seven, in that car accident I told you about, along with my father.” Stopping at a traffic light, he glanced her way. “My foster mother, Ellen, wasn't the type to sing. She was too busy keeping Chuck happy. Plus they had five kids of their own."
"But, didn't you hear other kids sing it, in school, maybe?"
"Nope. I stuck to myself. Tried to fly under the radar.” She saw the muscle move in his jaw. “My foster siblings made sure everyone knew I wasn't a true Koontz."
"Wow."
"Wow what?"
"That's not what I expected."
He glanced her way again. “What did you expect?"
"I guess I pictured your mom driving you to Little League, cutting the crusts off your sandwiches. And for your dad, I thought he'd be a company man by day, but would watch TV with you at night."
He sent her a skeptical look. “Were your parents like that?"
"No. My dad left when I was pretty young. My mom spent the rest of the time out a lot, looking for a replacement."
"Why? Didn't he give her any financial support after the marriage ended?"
"He did. But she couldn't cope on her own, I guess. I hated that."
He reached over and patted her leg in a quick gesture, before withdrawing his hand again. “Probably what made you independent."
She looked down at her thigh where her skin still tingled from his touch. The gesture made her think he understood her feelings, because in a way, he'd been in her shoes.
"So your mom was always going out and leaving you?"
She nodded.
"Is that why you don't go out? Because you're worried Amy might think she isn't enough to make you happy?"
"I—I hadn't thought about it."
"Well, we need to consider that Amy isn't me and she isn't you. She's a mixture of both of us. And thanks to your parenting skills, she seems very well-adjusted.” He glanced at her. “She seems fine about having me around. I think you're underestimating her and I know you underestimate yourself."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm saying, I don't think Amy's holding you back from finding someone. I think you're just scared."
"No I'm not. I like being on my own."
The way his mouth quirked up at the edge implied that she hadn't exactly convinced him. But he didn't say anything else.
They stopped and picked up Amy from Crystal's, and then headed for home.
When they reached the house and turned down the drive, they saw Mr. Scott's truck parked up front.
As they climbed from the SUV, the elderly landlord ambled away from the far side of the duplex, with that wiry reporter friend of Daniel's on his heels.
Gretchen noticed how Daniel's shoulders stiffened when he spotted him.
The two men ambled over to them. After Mr. Scott had commented to Gretchen on the fine job Joel had done on the repairs, he said, “Mr. Artis, here, just paid me a month's rent on the other side of the house."
Disappointment washed over her. This could mean the end of Daniel's visit. “I thought we were looking for a full-time renter,” she said quickly.
"We are.” Mr. Scott removed his Bass Pro Shop baseball cap and scratched his bald scalp. “But a month is more than I've gotten lately."
"Mr. Scott?” Daniel shot a hand out toward the landlord. “Daniel Nicholson. Pleasure to meet you.” Mr. Scott hesitated for half a second, eyeing Daniel, before accepting his hand. As they shook, Daniel said, “I believe Miss Parks mentioned that I've been living in the rental unit while you were out of town? I came to see her—she's a friend—and she let it out to me on a day-to-day basis. She told me about your having just lost a long-time renter, so I'm guessing our setup worked out well for all involved.” Reaching into his jacket's breast pocket, he pulled out a leather checkbook. “How much is a month's rent? One, two thousand?"
Mister Scott's hound-like face wrinkled in a bewildered-looking frown. “Shoot, no! Eight hundred's what I get, and Mr. Artis here just paid it."
"Mm. Well, I feel bad for taking up the place while you were gone and not giving you time to fix it up between renters.” Daniel rustled around in the wallet and extracted several hundred-dollar bills. His lips moved as he counted them, before squaring them off and handing them to Mr. Scott. “There. That's all yours. Two thousand, for my rent and for a clean-up after I leave."
"You've only been here a week. That's too much, unless you've done some damage.” His gaze narrowed a little.
"Nope. No damage. And I'll be here until the end of this week. I'm really enjoying the place. Consider the rest a donation toward—flowers, maybe. Some, uh, pansies for Gretchen and Amy. Some fertilizer, some soil."
Gretchen's gaze
shot to his, and he met it with a lightning-quick wink. She slid glances at the other men to see if they'd noticed. Eddie stared straight at her, a knowing gleam in his eyes. But he only said to Daniel, “Ain't this one for the books! Thinking money talks in the boonies, just like in the city. Trouble is, you're late. I've already rented."
The landlord shifted his palm, crossed with all that cash, back toward Daniel. “He's right.” Regret tinged his voice.
Daniel plucked the cash from his hand, counted out eight bills, and handed the rest back. “How about if Mr. Artis and I work this out between us? And in the meantime, you can consider the place rented to me."
"Oh, yeah?” the reporter snapped.
"Yeah.” Daniel's jaw clenched as he thrust the eight hundred at Eddie Artis, who hesitated and then took it.
Mr. Scott looked from Daniel to Eddie to Gretchen, and shrugged. Rolling the remaining bills into a tube, he fisted them in his left hand. With a quick nod and “Gretchen's got my number, so call if you need me.” He skedaddled to his truck.
"Money talks and he listens,” Eddie muttered, watching him back out of the drive. Pivoting back to them, he appraised Gretchen with a leering grin before coming around to Daniel. “What the hell you doing here, anyway, City Boy?"
"Me? What about you?” Daniel's jaw clenched as he swept his gaze over him. “You're not on vacation. You never quit snooping."
"Maybe I am vacationing, on your ticket.” Eddie looked down at the cash he still held. He counted it out, folded it, and finally pulled a silver money clip out of his pants pocket and clipped it. Looking up at Daniel again, he said, “Maybe you're gonna earn me more than eight hundred by the time I'm tanned and rested."
Daniel's mouth tightened. “Go home."
Eddie pulled a pack of Marlboros from of his breast pocket, pounded it on his palm and extracted a cigarette that he stuffed between his lips. “Sooner you tell me what you're up to,” he said around it, “sooner I go back.” He cocked his head, lit the cigarette with a lighter and inhaled deeply. Exhaling, he said, “Weren't you in the midst of some big scandal when you left? Something to do with a councilman's daughter?"
Gretchen went cold inside.
Daniel tensed.
"Maybe that has something to do with your flight from the Windy City.” He puffed on the cigarette again. “But why here, in the middle of nowhere?"
"I'm helping a friend of Gretchen's keep his business afloat."
He sneered. “You expect me to believe you'd walk away from Toyco, that international account you're working on, to come here and help some mom ‘n’ pop shop?"
"And I'm visiting Gretchen."
The reporter glanced at her, narrowed his gaze a second, and then shifted his attention back to Daniel. “Why?"
"That's between us."
Gretchen folded her arms. “Yes. And I think you'd better go now."
Eddie's eyes glinted as he held up a key to the duplex. “I'm home."
Daniel took a step toward him, and Gretchen moved back when she saw the hard look in her ex-lover's eyes. “Gretchen suggested you leave,” he said, his voice low and strong. “I gave you back your money, now give her back the key."
Eddie's brows shot up, but he said, “Aye aye, Cap'n. Miz Parks is a little old for you, though, isn't she? I mean, the councilman's daughter was, what? Twenty-two?"
Gretchen knew the instant Daniel's muscles tightened. He leaned threateningly closer to the other man.
Chuckling, Eddie stepped backward toward the road. He'd parked his car under one of the buckeyes lining the edge of the property. Turning and strolling toward it, he looked over his shoulder at Amy on the swing set. “When I do get the scoop on you, Danny boy, it'll go down the way it always does, to the highest bidder. So keep that checkbook handy."
He hopped into the car and drove off.
Gretchen turned to Daniel. “He knows."
"Let him. Let everyone know, for all I care.” He squeezed her fingers. “Seriously, don't let a has-been photographer make you nervous."
"He's a photographer, then, and not a reporter?"
"Yep, he's a mid-level paparazzo who likes to talk big. He can't hurt us unless we let him get to us."
She took in his chocolate-rich eyes, his square jaw line, his wind-rumpled hair. It wasn't just what Eddie'd implied about Amy that scared her. “What happened with the councilman's daughter?"
"Nothing. Someone set me up. I was in a bar and a woman came on to me. She was hungry, and I offered to whip her up some spaghetti in my apartment."
His gaze seemed earnest. But then, it always seemed earnest. It was part of his attraction, that deep, soul-engaging way he had of looking at people.
"I went into the kitchen to fix the pasta. Next thing I know, someone's beating down my door. I open it and there's a photographer there snapping shots of me and this girl, who'd stepped up from behind me and draped herself on me."
Disappointment enveloped Gretchen. “Let me guess. She was naked."
His gaze dimmed, and he nodded. “She'd said she was going to the bathroom. But she went into the back room and took off all her clothes."
She shoved out a breath, and looked away.
He stepped to her, and placed his hands gently but firmly on her upper arms. “Look at me, Gretchen."
With effort, she turned to meet his gaze.
"We didn't do anything. It was a setup."
"A setup. Right. Who would do that?"
"I don't know. Someone at Chroma Agency, maybe. They're competing with us for the Toyco deal."
She couldn't listen to his excuses. As she swallowed past the sickness bubbling up, the heaviness inside, an inner voice tormented her. Here you go again. Here's proof that he's a player. You pushed it to the back of your mind today, because you want him.
"Hey.” His voice softened. He moved closer, so close that her breasts pressed against him and her hips brushed just below his. “I know I have a bad track record.” He released one of her arms, to smooth back some tendrils that had fallen forward on her cheek. “It started after you left. I didn't want to work at relationships anymore. I went a little wild. But I stopped.” His gaze hardened. “Unfortunately, my reputation was in place and the media kept building it even after I'd burned out."
She willed herself to be inured to the sales pitch. Not to be thrilled by the touch of his flesh against hers, or the way he looked at her as if she were the only one in the world who mattered. “I have to take Amy in now."
Shifting out of his arms, she stepped back.
He stood there, his hands at his sides, his gaze unreadable now. “You don't believe me."
She didn't say anything.
He nodded, and murmured, “So this is the Gretchen who walked away from me back then."
"Maybe I saw you more clearly then. Maybe I knew what you were going to do and my gut told me to go before you started it."
"Maybe it wasn't my issues that made you go. And maybe if you'd stayed, things would've worked out."
He watched her. But she wouldn't give him anything. Nothing in her expression. No words. Finally, in frustration, he ground out, “Don't listen to me, then. That's fine, as long as I have my daughter. If she believes me, that's all I need."
"And if she doesn't?"
His chest stilled. He drew his brows down slightly and stared at her.
She glared right back.
His shoulders suddenly sagged, as if a weight had dropped on them. He drew out a long breath. “I was hoping,” he said, turning toward Amy on the slide, “I had it in my head that she would accept me.” When he looked back at Gretchen, her heart contracted at the sadness in his gaze. Then he turned, and without another glance in her direction, strode off toward his end of the house.
She stared after him until his front door banged shut. Her bones ached. Her voice barely came out enough when she called to Amy. She heard her, anyway, and they went inside together.
As she went through the motions of making pizza, Gretch
en longed to go to Daniel. She'd seen the hurt in his eyes. She'd heard the disappointment in his tone when she threw back at him that his daughter whom he'd come here to meet might not accept him.
She wanted to believe in him. So what if he'd messed around with a councilman's daughter? So what if it'd hurt Amy and her?
She wanted him, and it was becoming harder and harder not to throw caution, integrity and her future to the wind, just to be able to spend another moment in his arms.
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Chapter Ten
On busy days at the gift shop when customers stood in line glaring and muttering under their breath for Eula to make up her mind about a purchase, Gretchen had wished the town's matriarch wasn't so obstinate. When Eddie Artis disclosed that Daniel and she had known each other in Chicago and Eula had figured out their connection, she'd wished Eula wasn't so smart. Now, sitting next to a hospital bed with sides locked like a fence around her friend, she longed for those days. Where was the fire that usually ignited Eula's blue eyes? Where was the resonance that so distinguished her voice from every other Midwestern twang?
Eula wasn't the type to allow something like a stroke to render her feeble. She'd never agree to this confinement. Yet here she lay, drifting in and out of sleep, scarcely aware of people she'd known their whole lives.
If it could happen to Eula, it could happen to anyone. One day, Gretchen could go to bed strong and wake up weak. Maybe it'd already happened, but in her case it wasn't so obvious as a stroke. Maybe it was just that she'd felt strong before Daniel showed up and now she felt vulnerable, unsure of her future. Yesterday, she'd pretty much admitted to herself that she was falling in love with him.
"Hey! Miz Parks!"
She glanced around. Eddie Artis stood in the hallway, grinning at her. What nerve, coming into the hospital at a time like this.
Tiptoeing to the doorway so as not to awaken Eula, she stepped out of the room. She pulled the door shut behind her, crossed her arms and stared hard at him. “What are you doing here?"