A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband. Lois Richer
she sucked in a lungful of air.
“Look, buddy,” she told him, poking a finger into his very broad, very bare chest. It confused her, that tingling sensation, so Melanie put her hand down and concentrated on the words.
“I will move into your apartment because I do need that money for my friends.”
“We’ve already agreed on that.” He chuckled, then bent to stuff the remains of their meal into the tiny cooler before dousing the fire.
“Right.” Melanie tried to focus on her speech. “So I will stay there. But that’s it. Not for anything else.”
She tried to emphasize the words, but somehow they had little effect on Mitch. He smiled that lazy, sexy smile and agreed with her quietly as he tugged her arm.
“Right, darlin’,” he drawled as he pulled her along beside him through the warm sand. When they reached the car, he dropped everything on the pavement beside it and wrapped one lean brown hand around her neck.
“And nothin’ anybody can say will change it,” he drawled right before his grinning lips closed on hers.
Melanie knew his effusive charm was just a cover. Something that would draw her off course so Mitch would not have to answer any questions. And she would tell him that he couldn’t just get away with this.
Soon.
With a sigh, Melanie decided she would tell him so right after she’d kissed him back. For a few delicious minutes she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his lips tasting hers before she pulled away from his strong embrace and climbed dazedly into the car.
She knew there was something she wanted to say. But right now she couldn’t remember what it was. Not on the long drive home, not when Mitch kissed her a very thorough good-night outside her apartment and not when she was lying in her soft bed much later.
“Thanks for the sign, Lord,” she whispered. “I’m taking this to mean that I should proceed full steam ahead. Now, if You could just work on his attitude a little.”
A smile curved her soft, full lips as she drifted off. Yes, he had a bad attitude, all right. Tomorrow, she decided. She would remember to tell him off tomorrow.
“Oh. Uh, hello. Miss Langford, isn’t it?” Mitch stared at the older blond woman in the doorway of his apartment. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Hope pressed past him without a word, her face drawn tight, lips pursed as she motioned to the items scattered at her feet.
“Actually there’s quite a lot. But for right now, would you mind bringing in my suitcases? I’ll be sharing Melanie’s room. You’re not going to destroy my best friend’s daughter’s reputation as long as I can stop it!”
Mitch stared at her, his mind whirling. Was this what Gramps had meant this morning on the phone? What had he said? “Hope has her feathers ruffled.” Was that it? Apparently she was angry with him. Mitch groaned at the thought of this straitlaced busybody and her obviously mistaken impression of his and Melanie’s unusual arrangement.
“Miss Langford, I assure you that there’s nothing like that going on. Melanie and I—”
“Will have a chaperone,” she interrupted smartly, straightening the cushions thrown haphazardly on his sofa. Her eyebrows lifted disdainfully at the coffee rings covering the glass surface of the coffee table. “Melanie should be staying with her mother. And if it weren’t for the missionaries Charity had already invited, I’m sure that’s where she would be.”
Mitch watched transfixed as Miss Langford picked up a half-eaten box of doughnuts and dumped the whole lot in the trash.
“Hey! That was my breakfast,” he told her, frowning resentfully. He decided to make a show of bravado, even though his knees were shaking. There was something about this woman that brooked no nonsense.
“Now, look here, Miss Langford. I’m letting Melanie use the spare room so she can get her half of the money for that nursing home she’s so wrapped up in. That’s all there is to it.”
“Fine.” Hope Langford stared at the carpet, grimacing at the bits of lint and fluff. “And while she’s here, I’m here,” she told him firmly. “Please bring my things through to Melanie’s room. I’d like to get settled in.”
Mitch found himself obeying even though the last thing he wanted was this neatness freak in his apartment. Fortunately his spare room had two single beds. He watched transfixed as Hope removed perfectly pressed clothes from the satchels and hung them in the minuscule closet that already housed a few of Melanie’s uniforms.
His original houseguest had planned on moving the rest of her stuff tonight. It was going to be a tight squeeze in this dinky apartment, he decided, leaving Hope to pour himself another cup of coffee and contemplate the doughnuts in their box in the garbage can.
A really tight squeeze, if she was going to insist on chucking out his food supply. But how did you throw out an older woman determined to save the reputation of someone who didn’t need it?
“Coffee is very hard on your stomach lining,” Hope said in a stern voice. “I make a wonderful protein drink with raw eggs and yogurt that would give you lasting energy.”
Mitch set down his cup hastily and grabbed his briefcase. He had to get out of here. Quickly.
“Er, uh, no, thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing the doorknob like a lifeline. “I have to get to work. Early appointment.” At the convenience store across the street, he thought. He almost had the door safely closed behind him.
“Young man?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, debating the propriety of a salute.
“I will need a key to this residence. There are several matters to be taken care of today and I will need to let myself in and out.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” He thought. “I made a spare for Melanie yesterday. I think it’s in the kitchen. In the drawer beside the sink. I’ll get another cut this afternoon.” He watched her carefully to see if that was all right with her, and when she nodded, he turned to escape.
“Have a nice day,” she told him cheerfully.
No doubt all that happiness came from her power drink. He shuddered and climbed into his red Camaro with relief. Thank goodness it was running properly, at last. At work, Mitch could hardly wait to dial Melanie’s work number. When she answered, he almost bellowed at her over the phone.
“Thanks a lot,” he shouted angrily.
“Mitch? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.” He tried, really tried to control his temper. “I’m just calling to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she answered politely. A few seconds later her puzzled voice came on the line. “For what?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. She arrived this morning, bag and baggage. All prepared to settle in for the duration.”
He waited for her excuse; her plea for understanding for her aunt. He was all ready to shoot her excuses down, one by one.
Instead he heard:
“Have another cup of coffee, Mitchel, and call me back when you’re awake and in your right mind. Okay, okay. I’ll settle for awake.” The telephone line went dead.
“Of all the overbearing, pushy women,” he began, stuffing another chocolate-covered doughnut into his mouth.
“Mitch, your nine-thirty is here. Shall I show him in?” His secretary’s eyebrows rose as she watched him nod and shove the doughnuts out of view. Amanda chuckled appreciatively. “Pigging out, are we?”
“Just show him in, will you, Amanda?” he muttered in frustration, trying to hide the sticky evidence.
Clarence