“What if the police see us going in?”
“Dorothy called them, too. She might not be as forceful as her sister, Margaret, but Dorothy is just as efficient in her own way. Besides, they see this as a good opportunity to show you that Willow’s Eve is a terrific place to live.”
Her comment reminded Daniel of his conclusions the day he’d arrived...that there was a hidden agenda in the welcome he’d received.
He worded his reply carefully. “I wouldn’t leave just because I had to wait a night to get my water back. I’ve signed a year’s contract and plan to honor it.”
“Of course, but they’re thinking in the long-term. You know, more than a year.”
His jaw tightened. “I told them I would consider staying longer. But I have a career to consider, and hope to take on the challenge of managing a large city before long.”
Mandy stuck the key into the dead bolt and turned it. “As if I hadn’t figured that out already. You’re a type A personality all the way.”
“You don’t have to be type A to want a good career and provide a stable home environment for your daughter,” Daniel retorted, though she was partly right. He didn’t like labels, but he was success oriented.
Mandy’s lifestyle was a mystery to him. How could she just drift from place to place without building anything for herself? She’d talked about learning new things and having experiences, but what about financial security? What about a solid career and accomplishing something? He understood being reluctant to get married again, but not the rest of it.
Maybe he should keep Samantha and Mandy apart as much as possible. His neighbor’s chosen life was her own business, but Samantha was impressionable. More important, his daughter would be crushed if she became fond of Mandy, only to see her pull up stakes and disappear...not unlike his ex-wife. Celia showed little interest in her own child—to the point she had simply shrugged when he’d told her they were moving to Northern California, claiming, “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Lord, he would have gone ballistic if the Prada shoe was on the other foot and Celia had tried to take Samantha away from him.
Mandy opened the hardware store door and stepped cautiously inside the dark space.
“Dorothy said the light switch was on the right as we came in...ouch,” she yelped over a loud thud.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure, I said ‘ouch’ because I love stubbing my toe.”
The light came on and Daniel saw Mandy rubbing her right foot against the back of her left leg.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“It will probably have to be amputated, but in the meantime, let’s find the parts we need.” She picked up a sledgehammer lying on the ground and put it to one side.
Mandy seemed familiar with the store, and Daniel watched as she went to the plumbing section and selected several items. She wrote a list and left it on the front counter under a paperweight, then they locked up and drove back to his house. The plumbing repairs were accomplished, yet he was apprehensive as Mandy went outside to turn the water back on.
She grinned when she returned and saw him checking for leaks around the repairs. “Not sure I knew what I was doing, right?” she challenged.
“No, of course...what I mean is that...okay, so I’m the kind of guy who uses professionals.”
“So that eliminates all the amateur...plumbers?”
Her lips quivered and her green eyes brimmed with laughter, but Daniel didn’t understand until after she’d said goodbye and left.
Hell.
She couldn’t have thought he actually meant...?
That was ridiculous. Maybe he had gotten too serious. The Daniel in college would have recognized a joke about prostitutes, even one delivered as subtly as Mandy had done it.
* * *
MANDY SMILED ALL the way back to her house. It was fun yanking Daniel Whittier’s chain. And it was such an easy chain to locate.
She glanced at her watch; it was well after eleven, so driving into Vicksville for a movie was no longer an option. Instead, she slipped into the big claw-footed tub in the bathroom and soaked, sorting out the evening in her head. The last part, plumbing disaster included, had been considerably more fun than the earlier part. Regardless, it frustrated her she hadn’t checked the plumbing before Daniel moved in; she was the only member of the committee who’d had any knowledge in that direction.
She laid her head back on the porcelain tub, ignoring Mr. Spock, who was sitting on the bathroom threshold with a baleful glare—he didn’t approve of so much water.
It was upsetting to learn the Russells were fighting, yet at the same time, it was nice that Susan trusted her enough to come over when she was upset. A few weeks ago, she’d even mentioned how great it was to have a friend who wasn’t at all connected to the paper mill. Mandy understood. As a kid, practically everyone she’d known was tied to the college and her parents’ careers. She’d always felt as if she was on display...constantly being evaluated and judged.
Mandy raised her foot from the warm bathwater and wiggled her sore toe. It still throbbed from when she’d stubbed it on the sledgehammer, and the end was turning blue.
Klutzy move, she mused.
Her thoughts returned to Susan and Chris. Ever since she’d met them five months ago, she had thought they had a picture-book marriage. Now Mandy realized she’d been fooling herself. From the hints Susan had dropped earlier, it sounded as if they’d simply brushed their problems out of sight, instead of dealing with them.
Depressed, Mandy got out of the tub and crawled under the sheets damp. It was nights like this she missed the idea of having someone in bed next to her. Not just for the sex, but for someone to laugh with and talk about stuff.
But if a couple like Susan and Chris didn’t really talk about the important things, she’d never find someone who understood and accepted her, even if she decided it was something she wanted.
Mandy turned over, trying to put the thought out of her mind. Daniel was making her restless. He was proof she could be attracted to someone the opposite of herself. He obviously liked rules and order and living life by a plan, focusing on his concept of success. It was a safe bet he already had a substantial retirement fund and a portfolio of investments. Well, unless his ex-wife had cleaned him out in the divorce.
Mandy didn’t know. She’d have to make other choices if she had a child to support, but she couldn’t see any reason not to go on doing exactly what she was doing. And if she found the perfect place to live someday, her own Shangri-la, then that would be great, too.
“Mr. Spock,” she called, and a moment later the cat landed on the mattress next to her. She swept a hand over his soft fur and he thumped himself flat, leaning against her ribs and laying his head against her shoulder.
“I don’t need another male in the bed, do I?” she said to him. “I’ve got you.”
His purr started rumbling, and with it sounding like a lullaby, Mandy drifted off to sleep.
* * *
MANDY WOKE EARLY the next morning and decided to make oatmeal apple scones for breakfast. Once they came out of the oven, she slid one onto a plate and ventured out to the patio to eat with a big mug of tea.
It was a glorious day, the sun shining over the last pulses of summer, with just a hint of the coming fall touching the growth around her.
She’d eaten half her scone when she saw Daniel cross the yard to look at her over the sparse bushes.
“I’m not spying on you,” he said. “But I can’t help noticing when you’re there, especially when you’re wearing something bright.”
Mandy glanced down at her scarlet T-shirt and shorts. They weren’t the kind of clothing for covert action.
“I could hang a flag if there are times I want privacy,” she suggested. “That way when y
ou saw it, you could pretend I’m not here. You could do the same when you want to work in the yard without being sociable.”
“An equitable arrangement,” he said. “Although I doubt Mr. Spock will respect it.”
“No, I think he’s decided your house is part of his territory.”
“I don’t mind. And besides, he might give Samantha a feel for having an animal around before we actually get one.”
“That’s nice. Do you still have water in the right places, and none in the wrong ones?”
“Thanks to you, yes.”
She made a face. “I feel bad about it. I should have checked to see if the sinks were okay when the welcome committee checked out the house.”
“It wasn’t your job. Besides, plumbing breakdowns simply happen, especially when a house has been vacant for a while.”
Mandy frowned. A lot of the time it felt as if she was supposed to be responsible for things that happened, especially if something went wrong. But Daniel was right. The committee’s job had been only to make sure the Victorian was clean and to provide basic supplies to help him get settled.
“Is something bothering you?” Daniel asked. “Besides this weird sense of responsibility you seem to get about things.”
“No.” She glanced at her plate. “You want a scone for breakfast? I’m having tea instead of coffee, but can make instant.”
“Tea is fine, and a scone sounds great.” He sniffed. “That must be what that wonderful scent is from.”
“Come on over. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
“Don’t tell me they’ll go to waste, too.”
“That depends on how you spell waste,” she said, and Daniel grinned appreciatively. “How do you like your tea? Black like your coffee?”
“The Irish way, with plenty of milk and sugar.”
That was the way Mandy liked it, too, so she quickly made him a cup and brought it out with a plate of scones. She wasn’t lonely, but being neighborly would be a way to offset any clashes at City Hall. And she had a feeling there were more clashes in the offing—their contacts so far suggested they had different approaches to how they did practically everything.
Daniel bit into a scone. “Mmm, delicious. But I’m getting fed again, and I actually came over to see if I could thank you with a meal or something.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Hey, I was able to take a shower this morning after my run. That’s a big deal to me.” He smiled. “It’ll make me feel better if I’m allowed to show my appreciation.”
She smiled back. “Okay, but only as a favor to you.”
“Good, how about tonight?”
His face was casual and relaxed, so she nodded. “Sounds good.”
* * *
LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Chris soaped his shoulders in the shower and rinsed off. He would have preferred emptying the hot water tank to show his disdain for the water issue, but while he believed the furor had been artificially hyped, he also believed in conservation. So he turned off the faucet as soon as the soap was gone. Despite the fact they lived outside town, the house had been able to tap into Willow’s Eve’s water supply. Now he wished they’d dug a well instead.
He usually waited to shower until later in the evening, but to work off his frustration, he’d done yard work all afternoon. It was better than having another argument with his wife.
He dressed and then went into the hallway, catching the scent of chicken drifting through the air. Damn. Susan cooked meat in the house mostly when she was angry; she knew he didn’t like smelling it, especially at home. Not that he’d ever admitted the real explanation...that it made him crave meat. Instead he’d tried to convince her that the scent was unpleasant.
“Chicken?” he questioned as he came into the kitchen.
“I’m not a vegetarian,” Susan snapped. “And this is my home, too.”
“So if I want to smoke, that would be okay, because it’s also my home?”
“If you can keep the smoke to yourself and want to sleep in your own bed alone, go ahead.”
“You aren’t keeping the smell of chicken to yourself,” he returned, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut in the first place.
“It’s not the same thing, and you know it. Besides, I cook meat in this house maybe ten times in a year. By all rights I should get half of the three hundred and sixty-five days for the meals I enjoy eating. But no, it’s vegetarian the vast majority of the time. And you have the nerve to complain that my father always insists on his own way.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to that environmental rapist.”
“I’m just saying the pot can’t call the kettle black and then expect me not to notice.” Her voice was crisp.
Breathing hard, Chris stared at Susan, and she suddenly seemed like a stranger. They almost never argued, and he’d been proud they’d had the good sense to put a lid on their disagreements when things got heated or uncomfortable.
“There’s absolutely no resemblance between me and the medieval way your father tries to control his family,” Chris said, his own voice rising.
She whirled around to face him. “You’ve got to be kidding. Maybe that’s the real reason you two don’t get along—you’re too much alike. You both want it your way and don’t ever listen to anyone else’s point of view.”
“Bull. I’m not taking advantage of my employees to make a buck and I’m not ready to force a town to pay for more water for the same reason.”
“He’s a decent employer,” Susan hissed. “I should know because I write the checks and hear about any complaints. I’ve told you that, but you won’t believe anything except what supports your own narrow-minded prejudices. And the town needs water, whether or not the great Chris Russell agrees.”
Suddenly, he’d had it. Chris wheeled and stalked into the bedroom to throw some of his clothing into a suitcase, then marched to the front door and opened it.
“Where are you going?” Susan demanded.
“I’ve decided you were right on Friday when you canceled our date night. We need to spend some time apart.”
“Fine, leave. You always know best.”
“At least I’m not throwing out nasty insults.” With that, he closed the door with more force than he’d intended.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING Susan went into work with a pleasant expression pasted on her face, determined to keep everyone from knowing anything was wrong.
How could Chris have walked out like that? Over a stupid dam, no less? Or a water treatment plant? Hell, over sewage. And was he talking about a real separation, or just a few days apart to cool off?
Jeez, he was acting like a jerk. A complete male jerk. An eighteenth-century guy who thought women having the vote was redundant, since, after all, a woman would naturally cast her ballot the same way her husband did.
She wasn’t simply adopting her father’s point of view. And if Chris wasn’t so darned stubborn, he’d see that Willow’s Eve was in trouble. After all, their own son showed no interest in returning once he graduated from school. The majority of the local kids went off to college or the military or found jobs in the city, coming home only to visit.
But Chris didn’t get it...he didn’t want to get it. If Joe Jensen was on one side of the issue, then her husband was automatically on the other—a knee-jerk reaction. She’d dealt with it for twenty years and was damned sick of being in the middle. Chris couldn’t even prove the various proposals for new water sources would do any harm.
“Hi, honey,” said Joe Jensen’s voice from the door.
She glanced up and forced a smile. “Hi, Dad. Be careful with those ‘honeys.’ The other employees might start thinking I get special treatment.”
“You won’t let me. And a father should give his only child the best he has to g
ive.”
“If you’re uncomfortable with our arrangement I can find an accounting job in Vicksville,” she offered. “Now that Evan is away at college, the commute distance wouldn’t matter as much.”
“Hell, no,” Joe grumbled. “The books have never been run better, even if you are part-time.”
“In that case, I’d better get back to work.”
Joe planted himself in the chair on the other side of her desk. “You can take a few minutes to talk with your boss.”
“Okay, what’s on your mind, boss?”
“My sources tell me your husband walked out last night, the damned loafer.”
The familiar pain of knotting muscles crept over Susan’s back. Her father saw no value to forestry management unless it helped decide which section to clear-cut next. It had been a huge battle until he’d agreed to buy from companies that harvested trees instead of cutting everything wholesale. She’d hoped the switch would cool the hostility between Chris and Joe, but she should have known it was a pipe dream. There was a vast philosophical gulf between them, and each had her in a stranglehold, pulling her apart.
Susan shifted, her resentment growing. Chris had never given her credit for pushing the clear-cut issue with her father. And he’d certainly never considered there might be more effective ways to influence his father-in-law’s policies than shouting at him.
Of course, she’d questioned how much of their antagonism was actually over environmental issues...and how much over her. They both wanted her unquestioned loyalty and support, as if she were a mannequin with no thoughts or beliefs of her own.
“Chris isn’t a loafer,” she said quietly. “He works hard.”
“Not at his marriage. Is it true? Did he leave?”
“We’re...we’re taking a break, nothing more.”
She hoped she was right. But one thing had become crystal clear—even if the water issue vanished, her marriage would still be in trouble. Whether Chris recognized it was another matter.
Realizing she’d gotten lost in her thoughts, she saw her father had raised an eyebrow at her.
“I’d better get back to work,” she said. “Payday is coming up and your employees tend to think they should receive their checks on time.”
Until She Met Daniel Page 12