Finding Mr. Perfect. Nikki Rivers
pulled to a stop at a red light and looked at the microphone and then at Hannah. That no-nonsense name sure fit. She sat there with her recorder, looking at him with that straight little nose of hers slightly in the air, all ready to put him under a microscope. Well, if she thought he was going to cooperate with this crazy contest, she was in for yet another surprise. “Come on, professor, have a heart. If I have to go to summer school, at least make the test multiple choice.”
“It’s not a hard question, Mr. Walker. How would you describe your childhood? Happy? Fulfilling?”
“How about wild and adventurous?”
She gave him a look. “I meant your home life.”
“So did I,” he said as he eased his foot off the brake when the light turned green. “Living in the Walker homestead can be a harrowing experience.”
Danny could tell by the way she set her lips that she didn’t like that answer at all. She scribbled something in her notebook and said, “Perhaps we can come back to that question later. Now, then, were you and your sister close?”
He shrugged. “We played it like we couldn’t stand the sight of each other but when trouble came we were always right there for each other. Still are. But I wouldn’t say we’re all that close.”
She started scribbling again and he leaned sideways a little trying to get a look at the notebook but she caught him at it and shifted it.
“What about your father? How would you describe your relationship with him?”
“Indescribable.”
“That’s no answer. It’s too vague.”
He gave her a grin. “So is my relationship with my father.”
She jotted something down.
“And your mother? How do you feel about her?”
“Hey, a guy loves his mother,” he told her. And he did. He loved his ma to death.
“Yes, of course,” she said impatiently. “But you must have other feelings, too.”
What did he feel? His emotions concerning his mother had always been pretty mixed. There were times he wanted to hug her and other times she drove him up the wall.
“My feelings for my mother are complicated,” he found himself saying. “I mean, she was always the first one there to feed the gang, always the first one there with the bandages, always the first one there with the pat on the back. She was great. But—” Danny let the word trail off and wondered when he’d started cooperating.
“But?” she prompted.
He shrugged. “Sometimes a guy wants a mother he can actually talk to.”
“You feel you can’t talk to her?”
Jesus, why was he saying this stuff to her? And what the hell was she writing down in that notebook?
“Look, Ma’s great. Don’t get me wrong. She’s just a little dizzy.”
The professor grimaced as she turned off the tape recorder. “Do you think we could pick another adjective?”
“Why? You think cereal eaters don’t know what dizzy means?”
She arched her brow and stuck her nose in the air. “One wonders, Mr. Walker, since you seem to think so little of your parents, why do you still live with them?”
He looked at her. “Is that one of the questions you’ve got written down there?”
“No—I’d just like to know.”
“Fair enough. I love my parents. But this is the real world, not a commercial. And as for why I live with them—you’re the sociologist. I’m sure you have a theory.”
“Money?”
“Not bad, professor.”
“But I thought your business was successful.”
“Successful enough,” he said. “Let’s just say I have a very expensive obsession.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You mean you live off your parents so you can spend all your money on a woman?”
“Hey—get something straight. I don’t live off my parents. I pay my own way. And who said anything about a woman?”
“What then? A gambling problem?”
Christ. Could her opinion of him get any lower? “You know, professor, you’re starting to put a real damper on this car trip.”
Danny didn’t like this a bit. Hell, he was supposed to be the one riling her up, not the other way around. But damned if she wasn’t starting to really bug him with her preconceived ideas and her useless studies. Well, he’d show her something that wasn’t in her statistics.
“Hang on, professor, you’re about to meet my obsession.”
The truck tires squealed as he made a U-turn and headed back down Ludington, then took a right at Sheridan and a left just past the hotel onto Miller Street. Neither of them spoke until he pulled up to the curb in front of the boarded-up building that had consumed him for years.
“There she is, professor. The lady who takes my money—not to mention my blood, sweat and tears.”
He wished he could relish the look of surprise that flooded her face, but he was too pissed off that she’d goaded him into bringing her here. This part of his life was not for publication to sell cereal.
“An opera house?”
“That’s what it says above the door,” he said, aware that he sounded surly as hell.
She looked at him. “You’re obsessed with an opera house?”
“What’s the matter, professor? Do your studies show that guys like me don’t own opera houses?”
“You own it?”
He nodded. “The town wanted to tear it down. I went to the council and got them to sell it to me. I’ve applied for historical status so I can get some funding, but in the meantime—” Danny broke off. He didn’t appreciate the look on Hannah Ross’s face. “Better close your mouth, professor, before your eyes pop out and drop into it.”
“Sorry, it’s just that—”
“It’s just that your statistics show that men who work with their hands spend their free time watching wrestling on TV and listening to country on the radio. Proving once again the idiocy of statistics.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“And you’re in way over your head.”
She thrust her chin up stubbornly. “And just what does that mean?”
“It means that Granny picked the wrong person to run her contest.”
HANNAH WAS BARELY ABLE to enjoy her meat loaf. The family dinner she’d been so looking forward to wasn’t exactly cozy. Henry, still in his grimy coveralls, was hiding behind the sports section. Every once in awhile his fork would sneak out the bottom, load up some food, and disappear under the baseball scores again. Kate was fretting over a list that had something to do with her church group and Uncle Tuffy had taken his plate into the living room to watch cartoons. None of this was, in her opinion, Great American Family behavior. But what was even worse was the fact that Hannah had to, once again, sit across the table from Danny.
Danny Walker was shaping up to be the worst problem in the family. His demeanor was definitely not Great American Family caliber. She could clean up Henry and Uncle Tuffy. She could find a way to get Kate to keep her thoughts—and her greenhouse—to herself for the duration of Pollard’s visit. But how on earth was she going to get Danny to stop acting like something out of a Tennessee Williams play?
She