Inner Harbor. Lois Richer
his own was so great.” He paused, then decided to tell the whole story. “He and my grandmother were married after her parents died. It was a marriage of convenience that provided a home for her baby sister and gave him the society wife he wanted. But they fell in love, and everything worked out for them. They had a great marriage, the envy of everyone who saw them together. I guess that’s why he thought it would work if he forced the two of us together.”
If Russ closed his eyes, he could see his grandparents, hands clasped, eyes shining with a rich, deep joy he’d never known. Maybe if he could feel that kind of emotion, be so confident that nothing he did would disappoint, he would be more interested in the institution of marriage.
But Russ was smart enough to know he was not his grandfather. Nor his father. When people depended on him, they were disillusioned. Invariably. He didn’t do it deliberately. Responsibility just didn’t work with him. Whether it stemmed from selfishness, or from years of being expected to follow in the family career path, he’d never managed to be the man they wanted, had never come close to stepping up to the plate and handling the responsibility they wanted to give him.
“Now that you mention it, I do remember he once said he missed her presence more than anything else he’d ever known, that she’d gone from being a stranger to becoming a part of his heart. The way he talked about her—it was so sweet.”
She drifted away on some memory Russ couldn’t share. Clearly Annie Simmons knew his grandfather well. But how—
“So your grandfather named you as his heir?”
Nodding, Russ steeled himself to face her. “One of them.”
The next part would be touchy. There was no easy way to say it without sounding crass and greedy, but neither was he quite ready to divulge his true reasons behind this strange proposal.
“His plan goes like this. We marry, and I collect my inheritance. I get my business on a solid footing, charm the tourists with my creations and start work on some bigger projects I’ve been itching to try, once I buy some more equipment. It’s actually quite simple.”
Simple? It was a nightmare, one Russ would have avoided like the plague if he hadn’t allowed himself to be persuaded by the cajoling words in that letter Gramps had left behind. He’d only come here, asked her to do this, out of respect for the old man and because he wanted to see what Annie Simmons had that had bowled over his crusty old grandfather so much that he’d taken it upon himself to arrange a marriage.
Gramps’s opinions on marriage were no secret to him. It made a man stronger, grounded him, gave him purpose and a helpmate to lean on when things got tough. He remembered their last conversation vividly. The right woman would help Russ realize his dreams. Well, Russ was realizing his dreams just fine—gaining increasing fame with his work, landing contracts, building a base of studio buyers.
Gramps knew Russ had committed every dime he could spare to open that shop—and that wasn’t counting the loans he’d taken to move everything to this tourist Mecca. His studies had shown the potential here, the support for craftsmen willing to work hard and build their business. Russ desperately wanted to prove himself, but he was at the sink-or-swim point. If Safe Harbor didn’t work out, he’d have to dip into his savings, and that was a last resort. Gramps had known that, and apparently he’d come up with this solution.
Marriage.
Russ might have walked away without a second thought, dismissed the whole idea as the romantic machinations of a delusional old man if he hadn’t had that last conversation with his grandfather, hadn’t felt the conviction in the old man’s voice that Annie Simmons was his soul mate. Hadn’t listened to his fervent prayer for Russ’s future happiness. Hadn’t received the letter.
Even so, after the funeral, after the will had been read, he’d worked six ways through Sunday, unpacked his law books and plied every legal tactic he could remember to break that will, until finally he’d been forced to admit defeat. The will was unbreakable. Gramps would have it his way or Russ would lose his opportunity and break the trust his grandfather had placed in him. The latter would hurt far more than losing any money.
He looked at Annie. She didn’t speak, didn’t say a word. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Russ shifted uncomfortably, tented his hands, then unfolded them and shoved them in his pockets.
“So? What do you think?” he blurted, unable to keep silent a moment longer. He’d never been so uncomfortable in his life. He didn’t want to marry her, knew he couldn’t be what his grandfather had been to Gran. Annie didn’t need her life messed up by him. But Gramps—
“I’m thinking that I need to get away from you.”
“What? Why?” He ordered his mind to pay attention.
“This is a quiet little town, Mr. Mitchard. People don’t walk into my bed-and-breakfast and suggest I marry them so that they can inherit an estate! It just doesn’t happen here.” The speech burst out of her as if it had been prepared some time ago.
“It probably doesn’t happen anywhere else, either,” he admitted dryly. “My grandfather never did anything the ordinary way. He liked to be—original.” Okay, that was a vast understatement of the facts. He tried again.
“The marriage wouldn’t have to be the ordinary kind of marriage, Annie.” He tried to comfort her. “It could be whatever we wanted—a business arrangement between us, if you like. I fully expect to split the inheritance with you, anyway. Gramps would have wanted that.”
“Pay me, you mean? For marrying you?” She was outraged. “No.”
Russ raked one hand through his hair and desperately wished his grandfather were here right now to explain what will-o’-the-wisp dream had engendered this situation in his fertile mind. Gramps knew exactly how little Russ wanted the responsibility for someone else’s happiness—anyone else’s. Apparently Annie felt the same way. He didn’t blame her.
“No, not pay you.” He retracted the words, trying to find new ones as he stared into her angry face. “I just meant that I wouldn’t expect you to disrupt your life for nothing. I know this will inconvenience you.”
“Inconvenience me? Getting married? Oh, perhaps just the teeniest bit, Mr. Mitchard.” She laughed, a sharp, grating sound that told him the state of her nerves. “This whole thing is impossible! He should have known that.”
“Maybe.” Russ reached out a hand to stop her from leaving. “But it’s also reality.” And it got worse. Russ dredged up one last ounce of courage and laid it on the line. “I have to be married to you within the next three months.”
If he had to wait that long, he’d give up. As it was, he’d had to summon every ounce of courage to ask someone he didn’t know to marry him. Only the memory of his grandfather’s whispered words pushed him forward. But Russ kept that knowledge to himself, silently chiding his grandfather for his manipulations. Bad enough Gramps had used him. But Annie? She seemed a sweet, innocent person. Why involve her in this?
“Three months? Three years. The answer is the same. No.” She shook her head, her eyes huge as she leaned away from him, jerking her hand out from under his.
“Annie, I’ve done everything I could think of to find some way around this, but the will stands.”
“I don’t know about the will. I only know I’m not marrying you. I loved and respected your grandfather. I’d like to do as he asked. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to marry you.”
Russ wasn’t crazy about marriage himself, but the way she said that made him feel like a slug. He wasn’t that bad, was he?
“But—”
“Forget it.” She jumped to her feet, grabbed her coffee cup and carried it to the sink. “No. No! No way.”
“I see.” He frowned, tilted back on his chair and studied her, stuffing down his doubts. “What’s the problem? Is it me or just the general idea of marriage that you