Last-Minute Marriage Page 4

  “Not tonight, she isn’t.” His voice had taken on a hard edge, one she so far hadn’t heard before. He reached inside the open window, unlocked the door and got inside.

  Her car wasn’t very big to begin with. Now it seemed even smaller with Mitch Sterling sitting beside her. Tessa forced herself not to shrink away. “Get out of my car.” She wasn’t afraid of him. Not really. But no woman with any sense let a strange man into her car. Even one who rode to her rescue in a police cruiser and came out in the rain to check on her.

  “I will when you answer my questions.” He folded his arms across his chest. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweats, wet from the rain, and the play of muscles in his arms and across his chest was just visible in the dim light.

  “Look. What I’m doing here is none of your business.”

  “Maybe it isn’t, but Ethan Staver or another of Riverbend’s finest will be by any time, and they’ll make it their business.”

  Tessa had no illusions at all that the grim-faced chief of police would even think twice about hauling her off to jail on a vagrancy charge. “Don’t threaten me.” She grabbed the door handle to get out of the car. But everything she owned in the world would still be inside with him, so she stayed put.

  “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing sleeping in your car when you could have a perfectly good hotel room.” He turned to lean against the door, and his face fell into even deeper shadow. Her face, she suspected, was perfectly visible to him.

  She didn’t want to tell him she couldn’t afford a room at the hotel, but her bladder was screaming for attention. Suddenly she didn’t care if he knew the truth about her circumstances or not. “I can’t afford it,” she said bluntly. “I have less than two hundred dollars to my name. I’ve been driving all night and sleeping during the day in my car for almost a week now. I’m probably as close to a homeless person as you ever see here in Our Town, Indiana. There, are you satisfied? Now that you know all the details of my sordid little story, will you please get out of my car?”

  “No.”

  She laid her head on the steering wheel and fought tears of embarrassment and fatigue and discomfort. “Go away. Please. There’s nothing you can do. I have to find a bathroom, and then I’m leaving this place as fast as I can.”

  “What?” He sounded bewildered and alarmed, no longer threatening.

  “You heard me. I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I’m pregnant. A lot pregnant. And pregnant women have to pee all the time.” She didn’t care how inelegant she sounded. She was desperate to be away from him. She sniffed, swallowing another lump of tears and looked around for the box of tissues she always kept on the seat. It was wedged half-under his thigh, the hard muscles covered only with a thin layer of cotton. She wouldn’t have reached for the tissues if her life had depended on it.

  “Hell,” he said softly, not touching her with anything but the raspy warmth of his voice. He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging raindrops, which splashed on his broad shoulders. His hair was thick, she’d noticed earlier. Not too long or too short, and the same rich brown as his eyes. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well, you did,” she said defiantly. “Hand me my tissues, please.”

  “What?”

  “You’re sitting on my tissues.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He looked where she was pointing and handed her the box.

  “Thank you.” She took one and blew her nose.

  “I’m not usually in the habit of bullying pregnant women.”

  “Well, you’re doing a damned good job of it.” She took another tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  “My parents died in a car accident on a night like this,” he said quietly.

  Now it was Tessa’s turn to feel like a jerk. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” That explained a lot about his actions of the past few minutes.

  “That’s why I’m not going to let you drive out of town tonight.”

  Lord, but the man had a one-track mind. “Thank you for your concern, but—” She never got a chance to finish the sentence.

  “I know a place you can stay for nothing.”

  “I won’t—” She wasn’t reduced to the level of a women’s shelter yet. And she found it hard to believe there was such a place in a town this size.

  “Yes, you will. There’s a dead bolt on the door. And a bathroom.” She could hear the smile return to his voice. “And it’s only a thirty-second drive from here. So you can, um, take care of that other need you have.”

  “I can’t go home with you.”

  “It’s not my home. It’s my boathouse. Come on. I meant what I said. I’m not letting you leave town tonight. You can come with me or you can spend the night in the Riverbend courthouse jail. It’s not nearly as nice as the boathouse.”

  “I’ve never set foot in a jail in my life,” she said indignantly. The state of her bladder wasn’t going to allow her to continue this argument much longer. She opened her mouth to give it one last try, then closed it again.

  He let the silence stretch out for a few seconds. “Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll get you the key and in less than five minutes you’ll be…” Mitch hesitated, and she could have sworn she saw his face darken in a blush, but of course, it was too dark to see any such thing. “Cozy as a bug in a rug,” he finished lamely.

  Tessa sighed and turned the key in the ignition. The prospect of a clean bed and a chance to shower and wash her hair was irresistible. She would figure out some way to repay him later. But right now it looked as if she was going to spend the night in Riverbend whether she wanted to or not.

  “DAD! WAKE UP!”

  Mitch’s eyes shot open. Sam was standing a foot from his head. “Not so loud, tiger.” He made a tamping-down motion with his hand.

  “Sorry, Dad.” Sam tried hard to keep his voice at a conversational level, the way he’d been taught by his therapists. But it wasn’t always an easy thing to do.

  “What’s up?” Mitch signed, stifling a big yawn.

  “There’s a car parked in front of the boathouse. A red car. With California license plates.” Sam didn’t bother signing. He had already bounded over to Mitch’s bedroom window to look down at the brown-shingled boathouse below. He looked back over his shoulder to see Mitch’s response to his news.

  “I know. I let a lady stay in the boathouse last night.”

  Sam’s blue eyes widened. “A lady? I didn’t know you knew any ladies.”

  Mitch laughed and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He doubted if Sam’s Sunday-school teacher, or Lily Mazerik, or Ruth and Rachel Steele would appreciate his son’s last remark.

  “Who is she?”

  Sam had been doing homework when Mitch brought Tessa Masterson to the boathouse the night before. He hadn’t heard her car drive in, of course. Neither had Caleb, who was dozing in his favorite chair in front of the TV with the volume so loud he was as oblivious to outside noises as Sam.

  “Her name is Tessa Masterson. What were you doing looking out the window at dawn?”

  “I wanted to draw the boathouse.”

  The answer surprised Mitch a little. “I figured you were checking to see how foggy it was.”

  Sam grinned. “I was doing that, too. School’s going to start two hours late. Tyler Phillips sent me an e-mail already. Can I come to the store with you?”

  “Sure, tiger.”

  Sam looked out the window again. He was still in his pajamas, his blond hair sticking up in spikes all over his head. Mitch glanced at the bedside clock. It was a little before seven. He was due at the store in less than half an hour. He opened early, because contractors and farmers started work early. “Damn,” he muttered, heading for the shower. He’d overslept because he’d forgotten to set his alarm. And he’d forgotten to set it because he’d had three beers before going to bed in an attempt to keep his thoughts away from Tessa Masterson sleeping fifty feet away in the boathouse. It hadn’t
worked.

  “It’s a good thing you remembered to set your alarm or we’d be late for work.” Sam’s alarm clock was connected to his bedside lamp. When it went off, the lamp flashed. There was also a vibrator under the mattress that alerted him it was time to wake up.

  “What’s she doing in our boathouse?” Sam wasn’t going to be diverted from the subject he was most interested in. And his curiosity had saved Mitch from the indignity of rushing over to his bedroom window to see if she’d gotten up before dawn and left town without a thank-you or a goodbye.

  “She was lost and needed a place to stay so she didn’t have to drive in the fog.” Mitch thought that was as good an explanation as any for a curious ten-year-old.

  “How’d you find her?” Sam was looking out the window again.

  Mitch clapped his hands sharply, bringing his son’s head around. “I’ll tell you all about it at breakfast. Is Granddad Caleb up yet?”

  “He’s still snoring.” Sam grinned. Oddly enough, Caleb’s snores were one of the things, like the clap of Mitch’s hands, that Sam could hear. Probably because of the vibrations. His son wasn’t totally deaf, but his impairment was serious and affected every aspect of his life.

  Mitch had come as close as he could to getting over his guilt about the illness that had caused Sam’s handicap. He and Kara had taken him to the doctor at the first sign of the fever that had escalated into a life-threatening infection. The doctor had prescribed the most effective antibiotic to treat it. But nothing had worked. And no one could be blamed. But Sam’s life had been altered drastically, and and that fact had to be lived with. And worked around.

  “I’m starved,” Sam said. “Let’s get breakfast or you’ll be late opening the store.”

  “How come this sudden urge to be the fifth generation of Sterlings to run a hardware?” Mitch asked.

  “No reason,” Sam replied, trying to look innocent and angelic and missing both by a hair.

  “Come on—spill it,” Mitch demanded, sticking his head out of the bathroom so that Sam could read his lips. “What’s up?”

  “I want a new basketball, and you won’t let me use my bequest to buy it.”

  Sam wasn’t even close on bequest, but Mitch didn’t correct him. “We agreed the money was to be used for special things. A basketball—”

  “—isn’t special. I know. But practice for fifth- and sixth-grade teams starts in two weeks. Tryouts are only a month away.”

  “I thought you were going to wait until Christmas to get a new basketball.”

  The glint in Sam’s eyes intensified. “I’m going to make the team this year. The first team, Dad. Coach Mazerik said I was a hundred percent improved from the beginning of summer. I know to keep my eyes on the other guys. And I can hear the whistle sometimes if the ref blows it loud enough.”

  It was hard to take a stand against such determination. If Sam wanted to try out for the team, then Mitch would do everything he could to facilitate that. If his son made it, Mitch would cheer the loudest. If his son failed, he’d be there to pat him on the back and give him the encouragement he needed to try again the next year.

  “Okay. It’s a deal. Now hop in the shower and then we’ll go invite our guest to breakfast.”

  “You’d better tell Granddad about her first.”

  “Good idea.” Mitch’s grandfather was as sharp as a tack and just about the most outspoken old coot in Riverbend. There was no telling what he’d say to Tessa if he thought he could get away with it. His nosiness was, in Caleb’s words, “just being neighborly.”

  Mitch wanted his son and grandfather to make a good impression on Tessa Masterson. He knew it was foolish to care what she thought of the three of them, or what she thought of him. It wasn’t as if she was going to make Riverbend her home. In an hour, maybe two, she’d be gone from his life for good. And with any luck the allure she held for him would dissipate as quickly as the fog would burn away under the October sun.

  TWO PAIRS OF EYES watched her intensely as she sipped her orange juice. One set was blue, friendly and unblinking. The other was brown, faded with age, and they studied her with wariness and reserve.

  Mitch wasn’t watching her. He was standing and looking through the middle one of the boathouse’s three double-hung windows that faced out over the river. A couch and a reading chair sat at right angles to each other a few steps behind him. To his right was the tiny kitchenette where she sat. It had white metal cupboards, a round-shouldered refrigerator and a stove and sink, both as old as the refrigerator. Against the outside wall was an equally small bathroom, and directly across from it, in a small alcove, was the bed, separated from the living area by a curtain hanging from a wooden pole. Above the head of the bed was another window, which didn’t have a view of anything but Mitch’s woodpile.

  “More toast, Miss Masterson?” Mitch’s grandfather asked politely. Caleb was a little stooped with the weight of his years, but in his youth he would have been as tall and broad-shouldered as his grandson. And as good-looking.

  “More pancakes?” Sam added, watching his grandfather speak. Mitch’s son was a slender boy, as blond as his father was dark. His blue eyes were fringed with long, luxuriant lashes. And because his smile was infectious and he looked so anxious to please, she intended to eat every morsel of overdone pancake and leathery egg on her plate.

  Twenty minutes earlier the Sterling men had arrived at the tiny apartment over the boathouse bearing a breakfast tray loaded with food.

  “Good morning,” Mitch had said. “I’m glad we didn’t wake you, but my son and grandfather wanted to meet you before we left for the store.”

  “I’ve been up for an hour,” she’d told him. That was true. She’d been awake long before dawn. Twice she’d almost gotten in her car and driven away into the foggy darkness. But she’d made herself stay. Mitch had been right last night, and driving would still have been dangerous. It was foolhardy to put herself and her baby in harm’s way for no better reason than to avoid seeing Mitch again.

  He had stepped aside. “Tessa Masterson, I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Caleb.”

  “It’s a pleasure, miss,” the old man had said with a dip of his head. “Welcome to Riverbend.” He’d held out the tray he carried. “We brought you some breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” She’d stepped back so that he could enter the small apartment.

  “Hope you were comfortable last night,” he’d continued. “Hasn’t been anyone staying in this place in a couple of years. Not since the last time my old army buddy from Florida visited. When was that, Mitch? Two, three years ago?”

  “Three, I think.”

  “Hi. I’m Sam.” Tessa had blinked at the forcefulness of the boy’s words.

  Mitch laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little.

  Sam turned his head. “Too loud, Dad?”

  “A little,” Mitch had responded, making gestures with his hands. Signing.

  That was how Tessa had learned Mitch’s son was hearing-impaired.

  Sam had chattered the entire time she was eating. She’d tried hard to follow what he said, but it was sometimes difficult. Certain words were slurred, others hard to recognize. But Sam didn’t seem discouraged by her apologies for not understanding. He’d repeated himself patiently, as though it was second nature.

  “Did you live in California very long? Did you ever meet a movie star? Did you go to Disneyland?”

  “No and no and no,” Tessa had replied, laughing. “I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve been to Disney World. That’s in Florida, not California,” Sam had told her. “It was great.”

  He hadn’t commented on her pregnancy, although she’d caught him sneaking a peek or two at her tummy.

  “Dad,” he said now, watching her finish the last of her pancake. “It’s time for the school updates. If they cancel school, I won’t have to take my books to the store. Come to the house with me and listen for me.”

  His words were
matter-of-fact, without an ounce of self-pity, but Tessa thought Mitch’s eyes darkened a fraction, as though some old familiar sadness had stirred to life inside him.

  “I’ll be along in a minute,” Mitch promised Sam.

  “Take your time, son. I’ll go along with the young one.” Caleb held out his hand to Tessa. “It was a pleasure meeting you, young lady,” he said courteously.

  “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “And thank you for the lovely breakfast. I…I wish I could repay you somehow.”

  “No payment necessary. It was the neighborly thing to do. When I was a boy, my mother always had a meal or a dry place to sleep for a soul in need.” He picked up the tray and moved a little stiffly toward the door. “Have a safe journey, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Glad me and mine could be of help.”

  “Granddad!” Sam hollered from somewhere outside.

  “That boy’s got no patience, just like his ma,” Caleb muttered as he left.

  She was alone with Mitch. He was still standing in the same place, but he’d turned his back to the windows. Behind him she could see ghostly shapes of trees beyond the river. The fog was beginning to lift. It was going to be a lovely autumn day.

  “Thanks for being so patient with Sam.”

  “No, you thank him for being so patient with me.”

  “Sam forgets strangers sometimes have trouble understanding his speech. His world is still small enough that, thankfully, it hasn’t been a big problem yet.”

  “Do you all know sign language?” She shouldn’t be having this conversation. She shouldn’t be giving in to the urge to learn more about him. She should be shaking his hand and picking up her backpack, then climbing into her car and driving out of town.

  “Some of his friends are learning a few words and phrases. It’s not just a translation of English words into ASL—American Sign Language—like most hearing people think. It’s a complete language, with French derivation. The sentences are constructed differently from English. It’s confusing sometimes. He’s in regular classes at school, and none of his teachers have had the time to learn sign. His speech therapist uses it. Granddad and I sign with him, but mostly we encourage him to read lips. Actually, it’s something of a controversy in the deaf world. To sign or to speak.”