Last-Minute Marriage Read online

  Thinking of the new store out by the highway brought a frown to his face. He’d lost his best employee, Larry Kellerman, to them just the week before. Mitch was going to have to find someone to replace him soon. Trouble was, no one with Larry’s experience or business training had applied for the job yet, and with the Christmas season less than a month away, Mitch couldn’t afford to put a novice on the front lines. He’d have to take up the slack himself.

  And then Sam would get the short end of the stick.

  Not if he could help it, though. Sam had gotten the short end of the stick too often in his life. An ordinary sore throat when he was two had developed into a serious strep infection. His temperature had soared and for two days his life hung in the balance. Then when he’d emerged from the semiconscious state he’d fallen into, it had taken weeks for him to fully recover. And sometime, somehow, during the illness, Sam had lost a significant portion of his hearing.

  Mitch’s world had rocked on its foundation. Some days it was still a little wobbly. Kara had tried, she really had. But Sam wasn’t an easy child to raise. There was the extra vigilance required to keep an inquisitive, hearing-impaired toddler safe, and all the therapy sessions and special preschool classes at the regional rehabilitation center forty miles away. If it hadn’t been for Mitch’s mother being there to help out…well, his marriage probably wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did.

  But when Sam was six, his parents had died in a car accident on the sort of foggy night tonight promised to be. Kara had called it quits soon after, taking off for the bright lights of Chicago, where she could be free to find herself without the impediment of a handicapped son and a husband she’d “outgrown.” Now it was just Sam and Mitch and Mitch’s granddad, Caleb. And if it wasn’t the ideal arrangement for raising a child or living your life, Mitch was mostly content with the way things were.

  He coasted to a stop in front of Lily Mazerik’s big old Victorian house and headed up the walk to the front door. He could have buzzed Sam’s pager and had him meet him at the curb. It was a special one that vibrated, instead of beeping when a message came in. But he wanted to say hello to Lily and ask her how Sam was coming along, so he hadn’t bothered. He turned the key on the old-fashioned metal doorbell and waited.

  A moment later Lily appeared at the door wearing a paint-stained smock. Her silvery blond hair was pulled into a soft knot on top of her head. There was a smudge of paint on her cheek and a smile on her lips. “Hi, Mitch,” Lily said, stepping back so he could enter the house. “Do you have time to see Sam’s latest masterpiece, or are you in a hurry to get him home?”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “Good.” Her smile widened.

  They’d been friends all through school and fellow River Rats, which was the name given the gang of kids who used to hang out together by the river. Over the summer Lily had fallen in love with Aaron Mazerik, the high-school coach and proverbial bad-boy-made-good. Aaron had also turned out to be the illegitimate son of Abraham Steele, the president of the bank and Riverbend’s leading citizen, who’d died of a heart attack back in the spring. The revelation had created speculation and gossip that had lasted most of the summer.

  Mitch followed Lily to the back of the house. Aaron was nowhere to be seen, and Mitch figured he was probably at the gym. Preconditioning for basketball season had started that week even though football season was still in high gear. Lily and Aaron’s romance had had tough sledding for a while, but it looked as if everything was working out for them now. They’d been married in a quiet ceremony right after Labor Day.

  Actually, when he thought about it, a lot of his old River Rat pals were pairing off. Charlie Callahan and his ex-wife, Beth, were back together after a fourteen-year separation. Mitch had promised Charlie he’d be best man when they retied the knot on Valentine’s day. Lynn Kendall, the pastor at the Riverbend Community Church, and Tom Baines were seeing a lot of each other, and Mitch wouldn’t be a bit surprised if something serious developed there.

  He was the only one of the bunch left single except for Nick Harrison, who was now his lawyer, and Jacob Steele, Abraham’s legitimate son. But for all he knew, Jacob could be married with a dozen kids by now, or he could be in jail, or dead. No one in town had heard from him in years, not even his aunts Ruth and Rachel. His old friend hadn’t even come home for his father’s funeral, and Mitch didn’t have any idea why.

  “Dad!” Sam looked up from the table in Lily’s kitchen where he was sitting. “See what I did?”

  “Hey, tiger,” Mitch greeted him, moving past Lily to look down at Sam’s drawing.

  “It’s…Mothra destroying Tokyo and…Godzilla’s coming to the rescue of everyone in that building Mothra’s going to step on.” Sam smiled and shrugged. “How’d I do?” He’d made a hash of the monsters’ names, but Mitch wasn’t in the mood to correct him.

  “Not too bad. We’ll add them to your vocabulary list and practice later. Your picture’s great.” Mothra and his nemesis, the legendary Godzilla, were towering over the hapless Japanese capital, tiny human figures cowering at their feet. Perspective had obviously been the lesson of the day.

  “He’s one awesome dude.” His son’s smile reminded Mitch of Kara. Sam had his mother’s blond hair, which turned almost white under the summer sun, blue eyes and one crooked front tooth. But Mitch also recognized himself in the boy. He had the Sterling square jaw and a nose that was going to be too big for his face for a few years to come.

  He ruffled Sam’s hair. He was a good kid—an antidote to all the lonely nights and lonely years that stretched ahead of Mitch. There he was, thinking about being alone again. “Tell me how you did this,” he said a bit grimly.

  “It’s called perspective,” Sam explained, enunciating as clearly as he could. Mitch shot Lily a grateful look. It was obvious she’d taken the time to help Sam with the word. “I’m learning how to make things look bigger and smaller just like you see them in real life. See, Mothra is fifty feet taller than Godzilla, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s still going to get his ass whipped.”

  “Sam!” Lily’s eyes widened, but the corners of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

  “Whoa, son.” Mitch laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder and applied some pressure so Sam would understand the importance of his words. “That’s not a term you use in front of ladies. In fact, it’s not a word you should be using at all.”

  Sam clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oops, sorry,” he said, signing the apology for good measure. “It just slipped out. I mean, Godzilla’s going to kick butt.”

  “Well, that’s some improvement,” Mitch said.

  “You’re forgiven,” Lily told Sam. “How do you sign ‘forgiven’?”

  Sam showed her and she tried to repeat the swift movements of his hand and fingers. Mitch encouraged Sam to use spoken words as much as possible even though he knew sign language. It was a controversy in the world of the hearing impaired, sign versus speech, and Mitch had listened to both sides. But he’d decided that everyone Sam encountered would speak to him, and only a very few would sign. So they’d put most of their emphasis on speech therapy.

  “Slow down,” she said with a laugh. “I can’t keep up.”

  “Practice,” Sam teased, but the r sound slid away as it so often did. Consonants were particularly hard for his son to reproduce, since he’d lost his hearing before he was fully verbal, but Lily understood and rolled her eyes.

  “Very funny. I’ll practice signing. And you practice your perspective. Is it a deal?”

  “Deal,” Sam said.

  “Okay. Your assignment for next week is to draw something you can see from your bedroom window using the proper perspective, okay?” She had been looking directly at him as she spoke. She formed her words carefully and didn’t speak too quickly so Sam could read her lips.

  “I promise. Can I take my picture home tonight to show Granddad?”

  “Sure.” Lily produced a heavy cardboard folder to p
rotect Sam’s picture from the rain on the trip home. “See you next week, Sam.”

  “See you. Come on, Dad. I want to watch Unsolved Mysteries.”

  “Homework first.”

  Sam wrinkled his forehead into a frown. “I’m sick of school already.”

  Lily laughed. “It’s only October.”

  “Tryouts for basketball are in four weeks,” Sam told her. This was Indiana. Basketball season was as real an indicator of the passing year as falling leaves.

  “You’ll make the team this year, I know it,” Lily said. “Aaron’s told me how hard you’ve been working all summer.”

  “Really?” Sam brightened at the praise.

  “It all depends on your report card,” Mitch reminded him with a touch on his shoulder so Sam would look his way. “Now come on. Granddad is waiting for us, and he’ll want to see your drawing, too.”

  Sam picked up his backpack where he’d left it beside the front door. “He’s very talented, Mitch—before you know it, I’ll have taught him all I can,” Lily said, stopping Mitch with a hand on his arm. “If he keeps progressing at this rate, we’ll have to contact someone at the university to work with him.”

  “Whoa. You’ve only been giving him lessons since school started. You’re making it sound like I’ve got a budding Rembrandt on my hands.”

  “Well, I may be overstating things just a bit,” Lily admitted. “But he’s good.”

  “If he works at it,” Mitch added.

  “That, too. But he is only ten. Discipline comes with maturity.”

  “And he’d rather be Michael Jordan than Michelangelo.”

  Lily sighed. “Yes.” She knew how sports crazy Sam was. And that his small size and his hearing impairment were holding him back from competing with the same skill and success as his friends. “You’ll work it out.”

  “Yeah. We’ll manage.” Mitch shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “We always do. At least with old Abraham’s bequest to Sam, finding money for special lessons won’t be a problem.” He still had no idea why the town patriarch had left his son nearly $27,000, and he probably never would, although his grandfather Caleb insisted it had something to do with him fishing Abraham out of the river after he’d fallen through the ice when they were boys. “Tell Aaron I said hello.”

  “I will. Goodbye, Mitch.”

  “Goodbye, Lily.”

  “Bye, Sam,” she called. But he was already halfway down the brick sidewalk and couldn’t have heard her, anyway. “Tell him I said goodbye.”

  “Will do.”

  They didn’t talk in the car on the way home. It was too dark for Sam to read lips, or sign and be seen, for that matter. They drove past the park, and Mitch caught the quick reflection of taillights in the parking lot as they made the turn. He wondered who was there after dark on a rainy night like this.

  No matter. Ethan or one of his men would take a swing through the park later, and if the car was still there, they’d check it out.

  He pulled the truck into the driveway, and Sam hopped out, holding his drawing carefully in both hands. He sniffed the wet air. “Smells like fog,” he said, turning so that he could see Mitch’s response in the fitful glow of the porch light.

  Mitch laughed. “How do you know it smells like fog?”

  “It just does. Granddad says he can smell rain and fog and snow on the wind.”

  “Granddad’s good at predicting the weather. But he also listens to the weather report on the radio every hour on the hour.”

  “And he watches the weather channel a lot. Will it be bad enough they’ll cancel school tomorrow?” his son wanted to know.

  Mitch helped open the storm door for Sam to enter the back porch. The front of the house faced River Road, but almost no one except the mailman used the front door. Everyone else in Riverbend came down the driveway and around to the back.

  “I’m not sure they’ll cancel. But there’ll probably be a delay and you can sleep in an hour in the morning.”

  “And stay up an hour later tonight?” Sam asked hopefully.

  “Wrong,” Mitch said. “Now, get in there and show Granddad your drawing and then get to your homework while I fix supper.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No buts. Or no Unsolved Mysteries.”

  Sam grumbled something unintelligible and went inside with his head hanging. But by the time he’d greeted Belle, their yellow Labrador, and encountered his grandfather seated in the breakfast nook reading the paper, he was in a better mood. He held out his drawing for Caleb to see, explaining the finer points of the battle between Mothra and Godzilla.

  Mitch watched the two most important people in his world for a moment as blond head and white were bowed over the drawing. But another part of his brain refused to focus on the scene. Instead, it kept pestering him to check out the car in the parking lot near the rose bed in the park. Unless he missed his guess, it was a red compact. And as far as he knew, there had only been one red car parked there today.

  But Tessa Masterson was supposed to be safely ensconced in her room at the River View, not sitting in a dark parking lot on a wet October night.

  “I’m going out for a quick run,” he told his grandfather, who waggled his finger so that Sam could turn his head and watch Mitch repeat the words. “When I get back, we’ll order pizza. How does that sound?”

  “It’s raining,” Sam observed.

  “I know. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Your dad’s losing his marbles, going out for a run on a night like this,” Caleb informed his great-grandson, drawing circles on his temple with his index finger.

  Sam nodded, repeating the gesture and rolling his eyes for emphasis.

  The old man laughed, but he looked at Mitch with inquisitive eyes that had once been as brown as Mitch’s own.

  Maybe he was crazy, Mitch thought. Crazy enough to have to see for himself if the car in the parking lot had California plates and a pregnant, sad-eyed woman inside.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TESSA SNUGGLED MORE DEEPLY into her big chenille sweater. It was the warmest thing she owned right now. She’d gotten rid of all her New York clothes when she followed Brian to California. Who needed parkas and wool gloves and snow boots in L.A.? But some nights it did get cool at the ballpark, so when she’d seen the sweater in a trendy boutique, she’d bought it without a second thought.

  That had been seven months ago. Just about the time she got pregnant. The purchase was the second-to-last impulsive act she’d committed. The last had been to let Brian make love to her without protection one romantic weekend in Mexico, where he’d played a series of exhibition games. She’d been foolish enough to believe she knew her body’s cycles well enough to get away with unprotected lovemaking. She’d been wrong. And she would never, ever be so impulsive or so foolish again.

  She pulled the folds of the sweater more tightly around her. She didn’t want to wake up from her half doze just yet and be confronted with reality: a bad choice in love, a nearly empty pocketbook and almost a thousand miles still to drive. She wanted to go on floating half-in and half-out of her dreams, the anxiety that dogged her every waking moment temporarily held at bay.

  Knuckles tapped against the passenger window, and Tessa sat upright with a jerk. She turned her head toward the sound and at the same time reached for the door-lock button to make sure whoever was outside her car stayed there.

  “Tessa?” She recognized the whiskey and honey voice, and the square-jawed profile outlined by the pinkish glow of a nearby street lamp.

  It was Mitch Sterling.

  “Oh, damn,” she muttered under her breath.

  She glanced past his concerned face. It was fully dark now, the kind of darkness a rainy night produced. She had no idea what time it was. She couldn’t see her watch, and the clock on the dash didn’t light up unless the engine was running.

  She’d bought a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water at a place called the Sunnyside Café and brought them to the p
ark. The storm clouds had rolled in while she ate. She’d watched the patterns the raindrops made on the river, watched the mist rise from its surface to writhe among the tree branches and creep forward to swathe her car. She’d only meant to rest her eyes, but instead, she’d fallen asleep. For a cowardly moment she thought of turning on the engine and driving away as fast as she could without saying another word to the man standing in the rain outside the car.

  But she wouldn’t take the easy way out. She wasn’t that much of a coward. She lowered the window.

  “Hi,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She wasn’t really, of course. She was twenty dollars poorer than she’d been when she encountered him the first time. She wasn’t one foot closer to her destination. She’d lost four hours of driving time. It was dark and raining and getting foggy, and would continue to be that way for the next hundred miles or so, according to the weather forecaster on the local radio station. She was tired and discouraged, and she had to go to the bathroom. The last problem, a natural consequence of drinking an entire half-liter bottle of spring water and being seven months pregnant, loomed largest at the moment.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” He dropped onto his haunches in that infuriatingly graceful way men had, laid his arms along the open window and brought his face level with hers.

  “I was a little sleepy, so I took a nap.”

  “Is your bed at the hotel that lumpy?” She couldn’t see his smile but guessed it was there.

  She was too uncomfortable and too embarrassed to be polite or equivocal. “I didn’t take a room at the hotel, after all. Thank you for being concerned about my welfare, but please don’t bother yourself anymore. I’m leaving town right now.”

  “You’re not planning on driving in this weather.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Tessa guessed the smile on his face had disappeared along with the one in his voice.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Careful might not be good enough.”

  “Look. I don’t want to argue with you. You’ve been very kind and helpful today, but I really have to be on my way. My sister’s expecting me.”