But to Frank’s surprise, he had wanted to hold the baby. The feeling had so shocked him that he’d left his brother’s house right away.
As he drove home, he wondered if Eli was the cause of these new feelings or if it was the other way around. Had Frank begun to change so that he noticed a kid skulking around his office?
Frank glanced over at Miranda, lying on the bed. He was ashamed of himself for what he’d assumed about her. His family had often said that his incessant business dealings had made him lose touch with the real world. While it was true that his life consisted of doing his best to win deals, he did have a social life. In fact, right now he had a girlfriend, Gwyn. They went to one charity gala after another. He owned an entire wardrobe of tuxedos, all of which got frequent wear.
It was his sister-in-law Samantha who’d said, “But that’s not real. Seeing each other at your best has nothing to do with actual life. You need to love a person at three a.m. when the baby has spit up on you and you haven’t had any sleep and you’re angry and crying and he puts his arms around you and says, ‘Go to bed. I’ll do this.’ Charity balls are the dessert, not the meal.”
At the time, Frank had dismissed what she’d said, but since he’d met Eli two years ago, he’d thought about it. A few months ago he’d been up all night working on a contract with some Russian businessmen. There’d been vodka and a lot of cigarettes. He was to meet Gwyn later that day so he’d planned to take a nap and clean up, but he didn’t. Instead, when she arrived at his apartment, he’d been unshaven, sweaty, and stinking.
She had graciously and charmingly told him she’d return when he was presentable.
Frank got up to use the poker to move the logs around. This woman, this Mrs. Stowe, wouldn’t do that. She would probably have straightened up the apartment while Frank took a shower. Or maybe he would have rubbed his whiskers on her neck, made her laugh, and they would have taken a shower together.
He liked that idea. In fact, he liked everything about her. He had treated her abominably. Horribly. But she’d returned his actions with kindness. Well, maybe she’d been a bit sassy in calling him Mr. Billionaire—the memory made him smile—but she’d fed him, undressed him, taken care of him.
When he’d told Gwyn that he’d broken his arm, she’d said, “Oh dear, how awful for you. You’ll miss the museum gala. But I’ll send you photos so you won’t feel left out.” Photos were Gwyn’s idea of kindness.
What would Miranda have done in that situation? Made chicken soup?
One of the reasons Frank was so very successful was because he could make decisions quickly. In seconds, he could see down the road to where his decision would lead him, then say yes or no.
As he looked at Miranda’s sleeping form, he could see where a liaison, a merger so to speak, with her would lead. There was a possible end to the deep loneliness of his life. Perhaps with someone like Miranda in his life he could at last give up hiding what was inside him.
He’d been angry at the thought of his siblings playing a joke on him, but maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they’d realized what Frank needed and had helped him find her.
But, he thought, how to present what he had in mind to her? Should he lie and say he’d fallen in love with her? She wouldn’t believe that. Tell her he was overcome with lust? She’d go running out the door again. Perhaps he should suggest dating? What a waste of time! He’d made up his mind so why dally?
That she had a son she wanted to take care of was to his advantage. What if he presented it all as a business deal? He could point out that they had things the other wanted, so let’s do it. Yes, he thought, that was the way.
Miranda didn’t know how long she’d been asleep before a man’s voice woke her.
“Mrs. Stowe.”
Startled, she looked up at Frank Taggert, wearing just his underwear, his arm in its heavy cast, standing there looking at her, his dark eyes serious. Only the fading firelight lit the room.
I’ll bet this is how he looks when he makes one of his million-dollar deals, she thought, and she wondered what he could possibly want of her that he needed to wake her in the middle of the night.
“Yes?”
“I have a proposition to put to you. A merger of sorts.”
Pushing herself upright, she leaned against the head of the bed, unaware that the gown showed every curve of her upper body. But Frank didn’t seem to notice, as his eyes were intense.
“Ordinarily,” he began, “the things you said to me would have no effect on me. My relatives have said everything you have and more. However, it seems that when a man reaches forty and—”
“A billion,” she interrupted.
“Yes, well, there does come a time when a man begins to consider his own mortality.”
“Midas,” she said, referring to the story of the man who turned everything, including his beloved child, into gold.
“Just so.” He hesitated, glancing down at her bosom for the briefest second. “Contrary to what people think, I am human.”
At that Miranda pulled the covers up to her neck. She was not a one-night-stand type of person. In fact, she wouldn’t even read romances in which the heroine had a multitude of lovers. “Mr. Taggert—” she began.
But he put up his hand to stop her. “You do not have to concern yourself about me. I do not force myself on women.”
She knew he was telling the truth and let the covers go. Besides, she didn’t see herself as a woman who drove men to uncontrollable acts of lust. “What is it you’re trying to say to me?”
“I am trying to ask if you’d consider marrying me.”
It took her a full minute to recover herself enough to speak. “Marriage?” she asked, her eyes wide. “To me?”
“Yes.” He was serious. “I can see that you’re shocked. Most of the women I meet are tall, statuesque blondes who train horses and wear couture. I don’t usually come across short, plump—”
“I understand,” she said quickly. “So why aren’t you married to one of these horsey women who spends her life trying on clothes?”
Her cattiness was acknowledged with a tiny bit of a smile. “I’m afraid that it’s as you say—they care only for my money.”
“Mr. Taggert,” she said, looking at him hard, “I’m not interested in your money or you.”
He gave a little smile. “Surely there are things you want that money can buy. I would imagine you live in a house with a mortgage, and I doubt that your car is less than three years old. Does your ex-husband pay you any support? You’re the type who would never take a person to court for nonpayment of debt. How long has it been since you’ve had any new clothes? There must be many things besides an education that you want for your son.”
That he’d described her life perfectly made her angry. “Being poor is not a social disease. And since slavery was outlawed some years ago, I don’t have to sell myself to get a new car.”
“How about a white Mercedes with red leather interior?”
She almost smiled at that. “Really, Mr. Taggert, this is ridiculous. What’s the real reason you’re asking me to marry you? If you still are, that is.”
“Yes. Once I make up my mind, I never change it.”
“I can believe that about you.”
Again he gave her a bit of a smile, making her wonder if any of the tall blondes in his life had ever contradicted him. “My life is too perfect,” he said, “and it’s beginning to bore me. Everything is perfectly in order as my servants are the best. There’s never so much as a hairbrush out of place in any of my houses. For some time now I’ve thought it might be pleasant to have a wife, someone familiar to me. I like familiarity, which is why the contents of each of my houses are exactly the same.”
Blinking, she thought about this for a moment. “Same towels, same—”
“Same clothes in exactly the same arrangement, so that no matt
er where I am I know what is where.”
“Oh my. That is boring.”
“But very efficient.”
“Where would I fit into this efficiency?”
“As I said before, I have considered a wife, and the women I generally meet would be as perfect as my life already is.”
“Why not marry several of them?” she asked helpfully. “One for each house. For variety you could change hair color, since I’m sure it wouldn’t be natural anyway.”
This time he did smile. Not an all-out teeth-showing smile, but a smile nonetheless. “If wives were not so much trouble, I would have done so years ago.”
She couldn’t suppress a bit of a laugh. “I think I’m beginning to understand. You want me because I’ll add chaos to your life.”
“And children.”
“Children?” she asked, blinking.
“Yes. My family is prolific. Twins, actually. I find I want children.” He looked away. “Since I was quite young, I have been very aware of my responsibilities. As the oldest of many siblings, I knew I would be the one to run the family business.”
“The crown prince, so to speak.”
“Yes, exactly. Fulfilling my obligations has always been uppermost in my mind. But about two years ago I met a boy.”
When he said nothing more, Miranda encouraged him. “A boy?”
“Yes, he was at my brother’s offices, skulking around from desk to desk, pretending to play but actually listening and looking at everything. I spoke to him, and it was like looking into my own eyes.”
“And he made you want to have children of your own, did he? Sort of a wish to clone yourself, is that right?”
“More or less. But the boy changed me. He made me see things in my own life. We have corresponded since that time. We have become . . .” He smiled. “We have become friends.”
She was glad that he had at least one friend in the world, but he couldn’t marry a woman and hope she would give him a son just like the boy he’d met. “Mr. Taggert, there is no way I could produce the kind of son you want. My son is a sweet, loving child. He is the personification of kindness and generosity. He would die if he knew I told anyone this, but I still tuck him in every night and read aloud to him before he goes to sleep.” She wasn’t going to mention that she usually read advanced physics textbooks, because that would have ruined the fairy-tale aspect of the story.
Turning his head to one side, Frank said, “I would like my children to be a bit softer than I am.”
It was beginning to dawn on Miranda that this man was serious. He was coldly, and with great detachment, asking her to marry him. And produce children. For a moment, looking at him, she couldn’t quite picture him in the throes of passion. Would he perhaps delegate the task to his vice president in charge of production? Charles, my wife needs servicing.
“You are amused,” he said.
“It was just something I was thinking about.” She looked at him with compassion. “Mr. Taggert, I understand your dilemma and I would like to help. If it were only me, I might consider marrying you, but others would be involved. My son would be exposed to you, and if you and I did have—well, if we did have children, I’d want them to have a real father. I can’t imagine you reading fairy stories to a two-year-old.”
For a moment he didn’t move; he just sat on the edge of the bed. “Then you are saying no to me?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean, yes, I’m saying no. I can’t marry you.”
For a few seconds he stared at her, then he stood up and silently went to his own bed.
As Miranda sat there in the dark silence, she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing. She’d just turned down marriage to a very wealthy man. Was she terminally stupid? Had she lost all sense? Eli could have the best the world had to offer. And she could—
She sighed. She would be married to a man who wanted her so she could add chaos to his life. How amusing. Plump little Miranda walking about in circles in her attempt to leave the cabin. Daffy Miranda being stupid enough to fall for an elaborate joke played on a cold, heartless billionaire.
It was a long while before she fell asleep.
The next morning Miranda was silently making strawberry pancakes while Frank sat before the fire staring at the pages of a book on tax reform. He hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes, so she knew he was thinking rather than reading.
No doubt I’m the first thing he’s tried to buy and failed, she thought. Will he take the loss in good spirits or will he try to win me over? Read a how-to book on courting? Maybe he’ll send candy to Eli. A man like Frank Taggert would never take the time to find out that Eli would rather have new computer equipment than all the candy in the world.
But as she cooked, she watched him—and she began to feel sorry for him. The feeling of isolation he projected surrounded him like an impenetrable glass bubble.
It was while she was making a sugar syrup for the strawberries and thinking how she’d like to see a little fat around the middle of Mr. Trim Taggert that she began to soften. Eli was always telling her that her problem was that no matter how bad a person was, she forgave him.
But in this case, it was understandable. The little glimpse she’d had into his life last night had shown her a very lonely man.
“How long is it before we can leave here?” she asked.
“In three days my assistant will come in a helicopter to see if I’m all right.”
“He’s too cowardly to come on a horse with Sandy?”
He didn’t smile. “Julian is pure city.”
She put a stack of pancakes on the table and he sat down, but he kept his eyes downward, not meeting hers.
She couldn’t bear to see anyone so unhappy. “Look,” she said, “if we’re going to be stuck together for three days, we can at least be friendly. Let’s pretend that last night didn’t happen. All right?”
He didn’t look up. “Do you mean where you undressed me or where I made a fool of myself?”
For a moment she blinked at him. “Did you just make a joke?”
He looked up at her. “I believe I did, yes.”
“Should I look outside to see if the sky is falling?”
He didn’t smile, but there was a tiny twinkle in his eyes. “I think it’s safe.” He began to cut his pancakes, but the cast made it difficult to do. He looked up at her as though asking for help.
“Only if you apologize for thinking I was a lady of the evening.”
“Can’t do that,” he said seriously. “You’re quite pretty and your frame is . . .” He hesitated as he searched for a word. “Luscious.”
“Oh my,” Miranda said. “I should probably protest that remark but I won’t.” Getting up, she cut his stack of pancakes into bites.
“These are good. What’s for lunch?”
“Whatever you catch. Sandy said you like to fish.”
“I do. What about you? Ever been fishing?”
“No. Never. But I would like to go outside.”
They smiled at each other across the table, and Miranda thought that with his big plaid shirt on, he didn’t look like the owner of some Fortune 500 company. “Help me clean up the kitchen,” she said, “then we can go.”
He didn’t hesitate as he carried his plate to the sink. She washed and he tried to dry, but with just one hand, it wasn’t easy.
“Here, let me help,” she said, then moved next to him to take the plate. She halted when she felt his breath on her hair, but she didn’t look up at him.
Seconds later, he stepped away and went to a cabinet near the front door. It was full of fishing gear.
It took a while to pack it all, including an old iron skillet that was blackened with years of use. “Whose is this?”
“Mine,” he said.
“Then who gave it to you?”
“What makes you ask
that?”
Miranda turned to the cabin. “This place is yours and it is perfect. If you owned a skillet, it would be stainless steel and spotless. Did Sandy give you this?”
Frank tried to repress a smile. “He did, actually. Do you moonlight as a detective?”
“No, I leave that for my son and his friend Chelsea. But some of it does rub off on me.”
Frank was glad his back was to her so she couldn’t see his face because he was sure it had just drained of color. Chelsea?! Eli’s friend? Was it possible that she was Eli’s mother? If so, it was possible that he had just seen the reason behind everything. All this was Eli’s doing, not his brother’s.
Frank tried to regain his calm. “Is this the son I’m to send to school?”
“Oh, heavens!” Miranda said. “I forgot about that. I’m sorry I said that. I was just so angry I couldn’t think clearly. You asked what I most wanted in life and that came out. But it’s absurd to even think you’d pay for my son’s schooling.”
“My company gives scholarships. Is your son smart enough to qualify for one?”
Miranda picked up a nylon pack full of gear and put it on her back. “Eli is smart enough for anything. He’s being offered a full scholarship, but . . .”
“But what?” Frank opened the door and they went outside to the trail.
“I can’t bore you with my life story. What about you? Your life must be very interesting.”
“It is. Since my last board meeting, I’ve been worried about something. The Hong Kong market is volatile right now and I’m concerned about my stock in one of my minor companies. I can’t decide whether to go public or not. What’s your opinion?” He turned to look at her.
“I, uh . . . Uh . . .”
Frank started walking again. “Right. There’s nothing in my mind that would interest anyone not in a business suit. So what were you saying about your son’s future? Eli. Was that his name? And the girl was Sheila?”
“Chelsea. They are the most incongruous pair you’ve ever met. She looks like a girl who’d only care about her nail polish, while Eli . . . Well, to me, he’s beautiful, but he didn’t inherit my ability to put on weight.”