Mail-Order Millionaire (7 page)

There wasn’t much to it, he thought as he drove around the town square, and he wondered what kind of person would stay around and what kind of person would leave to seek a fortune elsewhere. He tried to see the place through Miranda’s eyes as he drove slowly to the large redbrick building with the big green sign and parked in the lot behind the retail outlet.

The woman who waited on him gave him a startled look when he took the underwear out of the bag and for a moment he regretted bringing it back in person. After he wrote his name and address on the return form, she spent more time than he thought necessary finding the right size. Then she tried to sell him a kerosene lamp and a personalized doormat. Next she asked him if he’d ever been to a sugaring off party.

“They’re a lot of fun if you’ve never been to one.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“We’re having one tonight. Would you like to come?”

“That’s very nice of you, but...”

“But you have another engagement?”

“Not really.”

“Then we’ll expect you at seven. Three miles south of town on Sawyer Camp Road. My sister’s farm.”

He stared into the woman’s guileless blue eyes. “Your sister has a farm?”

She nodded. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s got possibilities. She’s got plans for it. And she’ll do what she says if I know her. She’s the most determined person I know.” She bit her lip. “Not too determined, though. I mean she’s got it all, except for a husband. She’s never been interested in any of the guys around here. I don’t understand that. I married one. But enough about me. What about you, can you come to the party?”

“I don’t know. There could be snow on the road.”

“There’d better be snow. It’s absolutely essential to have big bowls of fresh clean snow to pour the hot syrup on.” She looked over his shoulder and out the window. “There it is now. Did you bring it with you from... where was it?”

“New Hampshire.” He turned to look at the falling flakes. “No, this is Vermont snow. You can tell by the water content. Ours is drier.”

The woman grinned delightedly, as if he’d said something witty. “See you tonight.”

Max smiled noncommittally and walked out into the falling snow. He had no intention of going to a party where he knew no one with the possible exception of Miranda Morrison. Of course it might not be her farm or her party or her sister. There must be many women with farms and sisters in Vermont, and they probably all threw parties to celebrate the season. He’d never been to a sugaring off party, but he’d been to other parties, enough of them to know he didn’t want to go to any more of them.

At parties there were people making small talk. A lot of noise, a lot of smoke and loud music. But he didn’t really want to go home, either, so he walked down Main Street with his hands in his pockets, the snow melting as it hit his head of thick blond hair. He stopped at a diner and sat in a vinyl booth and ordered a piece of apple pie. The waitress called him honey, and he wondered where this rumor about New Englanders being cool and standoffish had gotten started.

As he ate he also wondered what people did at a sugaring off party besides eat snow with syrup. Not that he was thinking of going, but it would be interesting to find out. What would Miranda think if he showed up tonight? For all he knew she hadn’t enjoyed her unexpected overnight with him and didn’t want any further contact.

No, there was no reason to go to her party. The sister was just being friendly, like the waitress. They called you honey or invited you to parties, but they didn’t expect you to respond. On the other hand, he had nothing else to do. He didn’t mind driving in the snow with his four-wheel drive. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Miranda again. If it was her farm, that is. Determined, her sister had said. Yes, that sounded like her. He ordered a cup of coffee, picked up the local newspaper and settled down to wait until 7:00.

Miranda let the back door slam behind her and headed for the sugar shack, her arms full of plates and cups, her shoes crunching through the snow. There were people in the living room, people in the kitchen and more people arriving by the minute at the front door. But it was in the sugar shack, that small wooden frame shed behind the house, where the main attraction would take place. From within a cloud of steam her sister was stirring the syrup in two pots at the same time.

“How’s it coming?”

Ariel looked up and smiled. “Coming along, coming along. What time is it anyway?”

Miranda glanced at her watch. “Seven-thirty. Why? There’s no hurry. Everyone’s having a good time judging by the noise level.”

Ariel wiped her hands on her apron. “Who all’s arrived?” she asked, studying her sister’s face carefully.

“The Ashtons with children, the Bensons without Hank, Jerry, Linda, Marcia. Go on in and say hello. I’ll watch the syrup.”

“No,” Ariel insisted. “It’s your party. You’re the hostess. You ought to be there to greet everybody.”

“The front door’s unlocked. Everybody knows everybody. They don’t need me.”

“No, they don’t. I mean, yes, they do.” Ariel gave her sister a playful shove. “Now go on back.”

“Turn the fire down and we’ll both go back. It’s your party as much as mine. You invited half the people.”

Ariel’s forehead wrinkled under a fringe of feathered bangs. “I just wish I knew if they’re all coming.” They turned the burners to low, then ran back to the house through the still falling snow.

Above the voices Miranda heard the front doorbell ring. Weaving her way through friends and neighbors and stepping on an occasional toe, she shouted, “Come in,” but the ringing continued. Was she the only one who heard it? The couple nearest the door were so engrossed in each other they didn’t even look up. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past them. Who would ring the bell, anyway, seeing all the cars, hearing the noise and seeing the lights?

She opened the door and a gust of cold wind hit her in the face and sucked the air from her lungs. She gasped. She stumbled backward. The man standing in the doorway looked like Max Carter. Had the same broad shoulders that filled the door frame, the same thick blond hair blown across his forehead, the same blue eyes that gazed down at her intently. It had to be him, but it couldn’t be him. What would he be doing at her house on a Friday night? She wished she could ask him, but she was completely out of breath, and her lips were too numb to form the words.

Other people didn’t seem to have any problem moving their lips. “Come in and close the door,” they shouted.

Miranda shrugged her shoulders helplessly and reached for the doorknob. Max Carter came in and she closed the door.

“You weren’t expecting me?” he asked, noting her reaction.

She shook her head.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

She opened her mouth and the words tumbled out at last. “Of course you should. But how... where... ?”

“Your sister invited me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you knew.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She invited a lot of people.”

His eyes left hers for a moment and scanned the crowd. “So I see.”

Miranda leaned against the carved newel post at the foot of the staircase nearby, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her knees were too weak to hold her up without support. She felt so shaky, so breathless, but that was just because she was so surprised to see him. That was all.

There was a long silence while his gaze returned to hers, his blue eyes making a leisurely tour of her long loose hair, her eyes, her mouth and then the contours of her striped polo shirt.

She turned toward the kitchen, desperate for some fresh air and some space away from the heated gaze of her unexpected guest, but bumped into Mavis and Lianne, who were bearing down on her, their eyes on Max.

“Who’s your friend?” Mavis hissed. “Don’t you dare leave this room until you’ve introduced us.”

“Of course.” Miranda turned and almost crashed into Max, who was right behind her. “Uh, Maxwell Carter, meet my friends, Lianne and Mavis. And now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go check on the syrup.”

Lianne gripped her arm tightly. “We just checked. It’s not quite ready.” Her gaze shifted to Max. “Are you the man, you can’t be the man with the boots, can you?”

“Ah certainly can,” he drawled and proceeded to explain the whole story to them. It might have been her imagination, but to Miranda his accent seemed a little stronger tonight, a little more appealing than she’d remembered. And she could tell by the rapt expressions on the faces of her friends that they thought so too.

When Max paused in his narrative, the two women looked at each other and sighed. “We didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Max smiled. “Neither did I.”

“Ariel invited him,” Miranda explained.

“Ohh,” they exclaimed. “There she is now.”

Ariel was gliding toward than as if there was no crowd, just as she used to do in high school when the place was full of her friends. She was always in command of any social situation, always trying to arrange dates for her younger sister, convinced that Miranda, though beautiful, had no feminine wiles to rely on. But this time she’d gone too far. She could have at least warned her, so she could have been prepared instead of acting like a shell-shocked victim at the front door. Miranda still hadn’t completely recovered from the shock, but she’d recovered enough to speak to Ariel. And she couldn’t wait until she got her alone.

“What a surprise to see Max,” she said, giving her sister a pointed glance.

Ariel turned on her warmest smile. “Is that his name?” She held out her hand. “I’m happy to meet you.”

“And now if you’ll excuse us,” Miranda interrupted, taking Ariel firmly by the elbow. “We’ve got to check on something.”

“Oh, I don’t...” Ariel couldn’t refuse without making a scene, and Miranda made the most of it by hustling her back out in the snow behind the house.

“How could you?” Miranda sputtered the moment they were alone, snow flakes falling on her head.

“How could I what? I swear to you on Grandpa’s bible, I didn’t know who he was. He comes in to the store at five o’clock tonight and says he’s never been to a sugaring off party. What was I supposed to do, ignore him?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I should have known you were up to something. I’m surprised you didn’t invite the whole store full of customers.”

Ariel chewed her lip thoughtfully as if she wished she had.

“What was he doing in the store?”

“Exchanging his long underwear.”

“And I suppose you didn’t recognize it?”

“Of course not. I sell a ton of long underwear. And even if I did recognize the underwear and the Southern accent, what’s wrong with inviting him to our party? You told me yourself he wasn’t an ax murderer.”

Miranda sighed. “Did it occur to you that if I’d wanted to invite him to the party, I would have?”

Ariel shivered in the cold air. “Could we continue this discussion later? I’m freezing.” With that she plowed through the swiftly falling snow to the sugar shack, Miranda at her heels. Without speaking, they each took a long wooden spoon and stirred the thickening syrup. Miranda took several deep steadying breaths before her heart slowed to a normal rate and her knees stopped shaking.

“You have to admit he’s very attractive,” Ariel said with a sidelong glance at her sister.

“I admit it, he’s very attractive,” she conceded.

“And he’s definitely interested in you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw how he looked at you.”