Slowly Charles lowered her to the ground. He dragged in a giant breath; so did she. “When it comes to you, Lanni,” he whispered, “I haven’t got a bit of self-control.”
They clasped hands and began walking. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“We have to go somewhere?” he teased.
Lanni leaned her head against his shoulder. “No, but dinner would be nice. I’m starved.”
“Me, too, but I’m even more starved for you.”
Lanni smiled softly. “I’m dying to hear what came of the lawyer’s visit to Hard Luck. What’s this about Mariah being the one who’s filing the lawsuit? I don’t know her well, but I can’t see her doing that.”
“I’ll explain everything later,” he promised, sliding his arm around her, keeping her close to his side.
“All I can say is that Christian deserves whatever he gets. He’s been so impatient with her.”
Charles’s eyes met Lanni’s, then crinkled in silent amusement. “Whose side are you on in this fiasco?”
“Yours,” she said promptly. “It’s just that I find it all rather…entertaining.”
“Is that a fact?” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Christian’s convinced we’re in a damned-if-we-do and damned-if-we-don’t situation.”
“Really?” Her eyes held his. This could well be more serious than it sounded. “Is Midnight Sons in legal trouble?”
Charles held open the door of her favorite Chinese restaurant. “I don’t know. Frankly, it’s not my problem. Sawyer and Christian are the ones who came up with this brilliant plan to bring women to Hard Luck. I’m sure that between them they’ll come up with a solution.”
They were promptly seated and the waiter took their order. “Don’t look so worried,” Charles said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a tempest in a teacup. Mariah’s parents are the ones who started this, so I suggested we let Mariah work this out with them. Her father doesn’t want to ruin Midnight Sons—all he really cares about is making sure his daughter’s safe.”
“I’d say Mariah can look after herself very well indeed. She’s bright and responsible and—”
“Christian might not agree with you, but I do.”
A smile stole across Lanni’s features. “You’re going to be a very good husband, Charles O’Halloran.”
For long moments they simply gazed at each other. To Lanni, there was no better man than Charles. Of all the women in the world, he’d chosen to marry her—but then, she was convinced their falling in love had been no accident.
“I talked to your mother,” she said, suddenly remembering the lengthy conversation she’d had with Ellen Greenleaf. Ellen had remarried a couple of years ago and was now living in British Columbia.
“And?”
“And she’s absolutely delighted that you came to your senses and proposed.”
“I proposed?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised. “Seems to me it was the other way around.”
“Does it really matter who asked whom?” she said in mock disgust. “The important thing is I love you and you love me.”
Charles grew serious. “I do love you.”
Lanni would never doubt him. Slowly he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. The action was both sensual and endearing.
“Does your grandmother know about us?” Charles asked.
Lanni shook her head. “Her health has deteriorated in the last few weeks. Half the time, Grammy doesn’t even recognize Mom. Apparently she slips in and out of consciousness. The doctors…don’t expect her to live much longer.”
Charles frowned and his eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Lanni.”
“I know you are.”
“I spent a lot of years hating Catherine Fletcher for what she did to my family, but I can’t anymore. It’s because of her that I found the most precious gift of my life. You. Remember what you said a few weeks ago about the two of us being destined for each other? I believe it now, as strongly as I believe anything.”
Bethany had purposely waited three days before visiting the Hard Luck Café. She’d needed the time to fortify herself for this first confrontation. The night of her arrival, Mitch had confirmed what she already knew: Ben Hamilton owned the café.
Her heart skipped, then thudded so hard it was almost painful. Her palms felt sweaty as she pulled open the door and stepped inside. If she reacted this way before she even met Ben, what would she be like afterward?
“Hello.”
Ben stood behind the counter, a white apron around his middle, a welcoming smile on his lips. Bethany felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
“You must be Bethany Ross.”
“Yes,” she said, struggling to make her voice audible. “You’re Ben Hamilton?”
“The one and only.” He sketched a little bow, then leaned back against the counter, studying her.
With her breath trapped in her lungs, Bethany made a show of glancing around the empty room. It was eleven-thirty, still early for lunch. The café featured a counter and a number of booths with red vinyl upholstery. The rest of the furnishings consisted of tables and mismatched chairs.
“Help yourself to a seat.”
“Thank you.” Bethany chose to sit at the counter. She picked up a plastic-coated menu and pretended to study it.
“The special of the day is a roast-beef sandwich,” Ben told her.
She looked up and nodded. “What about the soup?”
“Split pea.”
Ben was nothing like she’d expected. The years hadn’t been as generous to him as she’d hoped. His hair had thinned and his belly hung over the waistband of his apron. Lines creased his face.
If he hadn’t introduced himself, hadn’t said his name aloud, Bethany would never have guessed.
“Do you want any recommendations?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Go with the special.”
She closed the menu. “All right, I will.”
As he walked back to the kitchen, he asked, “How are things going for you at the school?”
“Fine,” she said, surprised she was able to carry on a normal conversation with him. “The kids I’ve met are great, and Margaret’s been a lot of help.” Today was Labor Day; tomorrow was her first day of teaching.
She wondered what Ben saw when he looked at her. Did he notice any resemblance? Did he see how much she looked like her mother, especially around the eyes? Or had he wiped the memory of her mother from his mind?
“Everyone in Hard Luck’s real pleased to have you.”
“I’m pleased to be here,” she responded politely. She was struck by how friendly he was, how genuinely interested he seemed. Was that why her mother had fallen in love with him all those years ago?
The door opened and Ben looked up. “Howdy, Mitch. Said hello to the new schoolteacher yet?”
“We met earlier.” Bethany thought she detected a note of reluctance in his voice, as if he regretted coming into the café while she was there.
Mitch claimed the stool at the opposite end of the counter.
“I don’t think she’s contagious,” Ben chided from the kitchen, then chuckled. “And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t bite.”
Mitch cast Bethany an apologetic smile. Uncomfortable, she glanced away.
Ben brought her meal, and she managed to meet his eyes. “I…I meant to tell you I wanted to take the sandwich with me,” she said, faltering over the words. “If that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all.” He whipped the plate off the counter. “What can I get for you, Mitch?” he asked.
“How about a cheeseburger?”
“You got it.” Ben returned to the kitchen, leaving Bethany and Mitch alone.
She looked at him. He looked at her. Neither seemed able to come up with anything to say. In other circumstances, Bethany would’ve found a hundred different subjects to discuss.
But not now. Not when she was
so distracted by the battle being waged in her heart. She’d just walked up to her father and ordered lunch.
No, he wasn’t her father, she amended. Her father was Peter Ross, the man who’d loved her and raised her as his own. The man who’d sat at her bedside and read her to sleep. The man who’d escorted her to the father-daughter dance when she was a high school sophomore.
The only link Bethany shared with Ben Hamilton was genetic. He was the man who’d given her life, and nothing else. Not one damn thing.
Chapter
3
on the first day of school, Mitch swore his daughter was up before dawn. By the time the alarm sounded and he struggled out of bed and into the kitchen, Chrissie was already dressed.
She sat in the living room with her lunch pail tightly clutched in her hand. She was dressed in her new jeans and Precious Moments sweatshirt.
“Morning, Daddy.”
“Howdy, pumpkin.” He yawned loudly. “Aren’t you up a little early?” He padded barefoot into the kitchen, with Chrissie following him.
“It’s the first day of school.” She announced this as if it was news to him.
“I know.”
“I’m Ms. Ross’s helper,” she said importantly.
Mitch had stopped counting the number of times a day Chrissie mentioned Ms. Ross. He’d given up telling her he wasn’t interested in marrying the teacher. Chrissie didn’t want to believe it, and arguing with her only irritated him. Eventually, she’d see for herself that there’d never be a relationship between him and Bethany.
He’d heard that Bethany had stirred up a lot of interest among the single men in town. Good. Great. Wonderful. In no time at all, she’d be involved with someone else, and his daughter would get the message.
Mitch hated to disappoint her. But, he reasoned, disappointment was part of life, and he wouldn’t always be able to protect her. The sooner she accepted there’d only be the two of them, the better.
“I packed my own lunch,” she told him, holding up her Barbie lunch pail.
“I’m proud of you.”
She delighted in showing him what she’d chosen for her lunch. Ham-and-cheese sandwich carefully wrapped in napkins, an apple, juice, an oatmeal cookie. Mitch was pleased to see that she’d done a good job of packing a well-balanced meal and told her so.
He looked at his watch, gauging the time before they could leave. “What about breakfast?”
Although Chrissie claimed she was too excited to eat, Mitch insisted she try. “How about a bowl of cereal?” he suggested, pulling out several boxes from the cupboard. He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater himself. Generally he didn’t have anything until ten or so. More often than not, he picked up a doughnut or something equally sweet when he stopped in at Ben’s for coffee.
“I’ll try to eat something,” Chrissie agreed with a decided lack of enthusiasm. He let her pour her own cereal and milk. His daughter was an independent little creature, which was fine with Mitch. In fact, he took pride in it.
By the time he’d finished dressing, she’d eaten her breakfast and washed and put away her bowl and spoon. She sat on the couch waiting for Mitch to escort her to school.
“Are you sure you need me, now that you’re a second-grader?” Not that Mitch objected to walking his daughter to class. However, he had a sneaking suspicion that if her teacher had been anyone other than the lovely Ms. Ross, Chrissie would have insisted on walking without him.
“I want you to take me,” she said with a smile bright enough to blind him. The kid knew exactly what she was doing. And being the good father he was, he had to go along with her. The way he figured it, he’d walk her to the school door and, if he was lucky, escape without seeing Bethany.
His plan backfired. Chrissie had to show him her desk.
“I’m over here,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the front row. “Ms. Ross let me pick my own seat.” Wouldn’t you know, his daughter had chosen to sit directly in front of the teacher’s desk.
He tried to make a fast getaway, but Bethany herself waylaid him.
“Good morning, Mitch.”
“Morning.” The tropical bird was back in full plumage. She wore a black skirt with a colorful floral top; it reminded him of the shirt Sawyer had brought back from Hawaii. Her hair was woven into a thick braid that fell halfway down her back.
She did have beautiful hair, he’d say that much. It didn’t take a lot of effort to imagine undoing her braid and running his fingers through the glossy strands. He could see himself with his hands buried wrist-deep in her hair, drawing her mouth to his. Her lips would feel silky soft, and she’d taste like honey and passion and—
“Are you picking me up after school?” Chrissie asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Thank heaven she had. Apparently all Chrissie’s chatter about Bethany was having more of an effect on him than he’d realized. His heart pounded like an overworked piston, his pulse thumping so hard he could feel it throb in his neck.
Bethany and Chrissie were both looking at him, awaiting his response. “Pick you up?” As a rule, Chrissie walked over to Louise Gold’s house after school.
“Just for today,” Chrissie said, her big eyes gazing up at him hopefully.
“All right,” he agreed grudgingly. “Just for today.”
Chrissie’s face shone with her smile.
He would’ve told Bethany goodbye, but she was talking to other parents. Just as well. The sooner he got away from her, the sooner he could get a grip on his emotions.
Mitch wished he knew what was wrong with him. After vehemently opposing all talk about becoming romantically involved with Bethany Ross, he found it downright frightening to discover the effect she had on him.
Sawyer debated what exactly he should say to his brother. It wasn’t often that he felt called upon to take Christian to task. But enough was enough. Christian had Mariah so unnerved the poor girl couldn’t do anything right.
“She did it again,” Christian muttered as he walked past Sawyer’s desk to his own.
Sawyer looked up. “Who?” he asked in an innocent voice.
Seething, Christian jerked his head toward Mariah. “She can’t seem to find accounts receivable on the computer.”
“It’s here,” Mariah insisted, her fingers on the keyboard. Even from where Sawyer was sitting, it looked as though she was randomly pressing keys in a desperate effort to find the missing data. “I’m just not sure where it went.”
“Don’t you have it on a backup disk?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes…”
“Who knows?” Christian threw his hands in the air. “The backup disk’s probably in the same place as the missing file. We could be in real trouble here.” Panic edged his voice.
“She’ll find it,” Sawyer said confidently.
Mariah thanked him with a brief smile.
“Let me look,” Christian demanded, flying out of his chair. “Before you crash the entire system.”
“I lost it, I’ll find it.” Mariah didn’t budge from her seat. The woman had long since won Sawyer’s admiration, not least for the mettle she’d shown in dealing with his brother.
“Leave her be,” Sawyer said.
“And risk everything?”
“We aren’t risking anything. There’s a backup disk.”
Christian sat down at his desk, but his gaze remained on Mariah. Sawyer watched Christian. And Mariah did her level best to ignore them both.
“Fact is, I could use a break,” Sawyer said. “Why don’t we let Ben treat us to a cup of coffee?”
“Okay,” Christian agreed reluctantly.
As Sawyer walked past Mariah’s desk, she mouthed a thank-you. He nodded and steered his irritable brother out the door.
“I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on her,” he said the minute they were alone. It annoyed him to see Christian treat Mariah as if she didn’t have a brain in her head.
“Hard on her?” Christian protested loudly. “The woman driv
es me insane. If it was up to me, she’d be out of here in a heartbeat. She’s trouble with a capital T.”
“She’s a good secretary,” Sawyer argued. “The office has never been in better shape. The files are organized and neat, and the equipment’s been updated. Frankly I don’t know how we managed without her as long as we did.”
Christian opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have an argument.
“Okay, so there was the one fiasco with that attorney,” Sawyer said, knowing that part of Christian’s anger stemmed from the confrontation with Tracy Santiago.
Christian’s mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. “Mark my words, she’ll be back.”
“Who?”
His brother eyed him scornfully. “The attorney, of course. If for nothing more than pure spite. That woman’s vicious, Sawyer. Vicious. And as if that’s not bad enough, she took an instant dislike to all of us—especially Duke. She’s out for revenge.”
Sawyer didn’t believe that. True, Christian had been the one who’d actually talked to her, but his brother’s assessment of Tracy’s plans for revenge sounded a little far-fetched.
“It’s my understanding that everything was squared once Mariah talked to her. I don’t think there’s any real threat.”
“For now,” Christian said meaningfully. “But don’t think we’ve heard the end of this. Yup, you mark my words, Santiago’s gone for reinforcements.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would she do that if no one’s paying her fee? We’ve seen the last of her.”
“I doubt it,” Christian muttered.
Instead of going straight to Ben’s, they strolled toward the open hangar. John Henderson, who served as a sometime mechanic and a full-time pilot, was servicing the six-passenger Lockheed, the largest plane in their small fleet.
When he saw them approach, John grabbed an oil rag from his hip pocket and wiped his hands. “Morning,” he called out cheerfully.
Sawyer noticed that John had gotten his hair and beard trimmed. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy when he put some effort into his appearance. Of course, there hadn’t been much reason to do that until recently.