The Marrying Man (12 page)

***

By the middle of the next afternoon, Cat was back on her feet, a little wobbly but basically none the worse for the wear. She had a dim memory of Riley McKendrick carrying her upstairs...of large and gentle hands fumbling with the buttons of her shirt...and then nothing.

She took a shower, tried to make some sense of her hair, then went downstairs. She supposed it didn't much matter what she looked like or how much of her he'd seen. No doubt he'd be out the door the moment he saw she'd recovered.

She found him in the kitchen, staring out the window as he nursed a cup of coffee.
Damn you, Riley McKendrick
,
she thought. Why couldn't he be a marrying man
?
She felt as if she'd been looking at him standing there in her kitchen, for as long as she could remember. As if he belonged there.

She knew it didn't make sense, that you couldn't possibly feel this way about someone you barely knew, but there it was anyway. This wild, irrational feeling that the best thing that ever happened to you was about to slip through your fingers and there wasn't one single thing she could do about it.

Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself. The last thing she needed was an alpha male in residence, poking his head where it didn't belong, trying to make her see the error of her ways.

 
He turned as she walked into the room. "An eighteen hour virus?" His voice sounded oddly husky and his eyes glittered with a glassy sheen. Somehow she knew tears of joy weren't responsible. "Didn't think I'd see you down here so soon."

"A special deal for mothers," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Who has time for the entire twenty-four?" His skin looked a touch green. Temporary parenthood, she wondered, or the Danville flu. "Did the kids behave?"
 

"Once we established the groundrules, everything went great."

A suspicious blob on the kitchen floor caught her eye. "Mashed potatoes?"

"We had an accident."

She took a closer look. "And cranberries. Are you sure there wasn't a food fight?"

He ignored the question and posed one of his own. "When is Jenny coming home?"

"Tonight."

"And you're feeling okay?"

"If you're trying to find out if you can leave, McKendrick, the answer is yes. You can--" She peered at him closely. "Did you just wheeze?"

"Get real, Zaslow. I don't wheeze."

"You did it again."

"You're hearing things."

This time he didn't wheeze. He sneezed.

"I knew it," she said. "You're sick."

"The hell I am."

"The hell you're not." She reached up and pressed her palm to his forehead. "You're burning up."

"I'll grab some aspirin in Boston."

"You won't make it to Boston with a fever like that."

"I'll take my chances."

"What about the other people on the road? Think they feel like taking chances too?"

He swayed on his feet but was too stubborn to fall down. "Don't try and stop me, Zaslow. I'm out of here."

She leaped in front of him. "Believe me, cowboy, I want you out of here as much as you do but you're sick and I'm the reason why and if you think I'm going to be responsible for the highway patrol finding you in a ditch somewhere, you've got another think coming."

He sneezed again and she thought she heard him groan. "I outweigh you by a good sixty pounds--"

"Seventy."

"Whatever. You don't really think you can stop me, do you?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling her jaw tighten with resolve. "Actually I do."

***

Riley was reasonably sure he was dying. His head hurt, his eyes watered, his throat felt like a golfball was lodged inside it. He wanted to crawl into a dark cave and stay there until he either died or recovered and at the moment the former seemed a hell of a lot more likely than the latter. Somewhere in the recesses of his fevered brain was the memory of Cat's slender body as he'd stripped her of her clothes and bundled her into a nightgown but he was too damn sick to savor it.

The last time he'd found himself in bed at three o'clock in the afternoon he'd been in Sweden with a long-legged blond who didn't believe in forever-after any more than he did.

Told you so, McKendrick. You should've made a break for it while you still had the chance.

Soon as he'd heard Cat puttering around upstairs, he should've grabbed his duffel and car keys and left temptation in the dust.

Because this was the ultimate temptation.

Real life. A real family.

A woman who could make him believe in happy endings.

It's the fever talking, McKendrick. You're dreaming...you came into this world alone and that's how it was meant to be.

But he'd had a glimpse of something else, of possibilities, and those possibilities scared him more than skydiving without a parachute.

He sensed someone standing by the bed and he opened one eye.

Sarah stood near his head, carrying a half-filled glass of orange juice. "Mommy says you should drink this."

He leaned up on one elbow and squinted at the little girl. "You carried that all the way up here by yourself?"

She nodded, obviously proud of her accomplishment. "I poured the juice but it was too full so I had to drink some of it."

"That's real nice of you, Sarah." She handed him the glass and he drained it in one gulp. "Thank you."

He leaned back against the pillow, wondering if you could be sick as a dog and macho at the same time, then decided he felt too lousy to care. The little girl wouldn't care if he looked pathetic. Sarah didn't move a muscle. He closed his eyes, counted to twenty, then cautiously lifted one lid a fraction of an inch.

"I see you," said Sarah. "I knew you weren't sleeping."

"No," he said, "I wasn't sleeping but I'm real tired."

"When I'm tired Mommy reads me a story and I fall asleep. I could read you a story."

Bedtime stories, he thought with a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with the flu. Who did Cat Zaslow think she was, Ma Walton or something? Nobody read bedtime stories to their kids any more. They sat them down in front of the television or shoved a Nintendo control in their hot little hands. This whole thing was getting more dangerous by the second.

Before he had a chance to say thanks but no thanks, the little girl sat herself down on the foot of the bed. "I can't read yet," she said primly, "but I 'member what I hear. Do you have a best story?"

He shook his head. He didn't trust his voice.

"Okay," she said with a smile just like her mother's, "then I'll tell you my best story. Once upon a time there was a man that lived all by himself in the woods. The man didn't have anybody to love him, not even a dog." Her big blue eyes widened. "That's a sad story, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he managed. "Very sad."

"Anyway, the man was all by himself until one day he heard a lady singing in the woods and he--"

***

The onslaught went on all day. First it was Sarah and her happily-ever-after stories. Then it was Ben with updates on local football games. Jack found his way upstairs with a bowl of chicken soup and crackers. Kevin brought a dish of vanilla ice cream and the Hartford Courant and Michael set up a radio and cd player on the nightstand so Riley could listen to one of those "...old peoples' stations..." that played ancient music from the 70s and 80s.

To Riley's surprise he found he liked the kids' visits, liked them almost as much as he liked the kids themselves. They were smart and funny but more important than that they seemed to care about each other and the people around them. And Riley had a feeling he knew exactly where they'd learned it.

From Cat.

The one person who never so much as popped her head inside the door to see how he was doing.

Big deal, McKendrick. By this time next week you'll have forgotten she even existed.

He wasn't about roots or settling down or getting mixed up with a widow with five kids, all of whom had somehow managed to worm their way into his heart.

But hell. He'd get over it. He'd never met a person he couldn't walk away from.

He dozed a little in the early evening then awoke to the sound of voices and laughter downstairs. He lay still, listening. Apparently Jenny and Dawn had returned from Disney World, bearing gifts and stories and hugs for everyone. And an unexpected traveling companion. A familiar male voice rose above the din.

Max?

He sat up straight. No doubt about it. He'd know Max's voice anywhere.

Maxwell Bernstein, confirmed bachelor and lover of freedom, was down there talking about Disney World as if he'd done a power breakfast with Mickey. Unbelievable. The Max he knew would rather be staked to an anthill.

Was the whole damn world going crazy on him?

***

"You're engaged!" Cat burst into tears as she hugged Jenny then Max. "I can't believe this!" The clues had been right there in front of her eyes all the time and even then she hadn't seen it coming.

Jenny's eyes glowed with that radiance reserved for lovers and madwomen. "He rented a Lear jet and flew down to Disney World to propose," she said. "Can you imagine? There I was, standing on line for Pirates of the Caribbean and this wonderful man swooped down on me with three dozen red roses and this." Jenny extended her left hand where a brand new diamond ring glittered.

"Wow!" Cat shot Max a look. "Now I know what you do with all you the money you've made off me."

Max looked sheepish, proud, and disbelieving. "I saw Riley's car in the driveway. Go get him. We'll call in for pizza and celebrate."

"I'm not getting him," said Cat.

"I knew that stupid bet would backfire," said Max.

"The bet didn't backfire. It's just over."

"You should've just let me hire him to help you out. That would've solved everything."

She thought of how right it had felt to be in his arms and heat flooded her cheeks.

"That wouldn't solve anything, Maxie. Look at her!" Jenny beamed at Cat, eager to believe in hearts and flowers and all things romantic. "I knew you two were soulmates when you had that fight about the hall closet. Riley was the first man I've ever seen who could stand up to you, Cat."

"Stand up to me? I'm very easy to get along with." She glared at her friends. "I saw that look."

"You're a formidable woman," Max said with an amazing display of diplomacy. Love apparently did work wonders. "But the one thing you're not is easy to get along with."

"That's why Riley McKendrick is so perfect for her," Jenny said as if Cat weren't standing right there. "He can put her in her place."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Cat said, unable to control her temper, "but he didn't put me in my place. I put him in
his
place."

Max glowered at her. "You didn't poison him or anything, did you?"

"For heaven's sake, Max! I write about murders, I don't commit them. He's upstairs with the flu."