The Ready-Made Family (Silhouette Special Edition) Page 12

  The narrow-eyed suspicion in his gaze as he contin- ued to study her was joined by wariness and other emo- tions she couldn’t identify. He probably detested the very sight of her, but that was okay. She could handle it.

  She knew how she felt—relieved. She hadn’t liked him thinking of her as a gold digger. It had weighed on her conscience more than she’d realized before this moment. Her signing the contract proved she was merely a blackmailer.

  The thought was so absurd, she laughed without thinking, startling her husband who was taking a bite of an egg roll at that moment.

  Chapter Eight

  Harry looked at the signature on the agreement. “This probably isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

  “Why not?” Harrison demanded, irritated by his godfather’s gloomy mien.

  “Because it was signed soon after the marriage when things were all sweetness and light between you two. She could break it in a minute. In Bono versus Bono—”

  “Speak English,” Harrison interrupted.

  “When Cher sued Sonny, she won.” Harry sat back in his chair and waited for Harrison’s next question.

  Harrison eyed the portly attorney warily. “Just tell me what happened,” he requested in a resigned tone.

  “Sonny had Cher sign an agreement when they were married that essentially said he controlled everything she did for life. After the divorce, when she agreed to do a show, he pulled the prior agreement on her, saying she couldn’t do anything without his permission. She took him to court.”

  “And won,” Harrison finished.

  “Right. No one can control another person’s life for- ever. There has to be an escape clause.”

  “I thought that’s what this was.” Harrison pointed to the agreement lying on the desk.

  Harry picked it up and studied the two signatures at the bottom of the third page. “Watch out,” he warned. “She signed this too easily, with not one change.”

  “Yeah. She probably knows every divorce case in history and has a plan to make sure this agreement doesn’t stick in court.”

  “A woman of foresight,” Harry said with a wistful sigh. “When am I going to see her again? That one time you rushed her past my table with hardly more than an introduction was much too brief. I don’t re- member what she looked like.”

  “A dark-haired Madonna.” Harrison smiled briefly. “With a heart full of dollar signs.”

  “Except where her kid brother is concerned. She has a soft spot there, I think.”

  Harrison snorted in disbelief. “Or it could have been a ruse to make her appear noble and all that. I intend to discover the real person behind the facade.”

  Harry scowled. “You looked pretty ruthless when you said that. Don’t do anything…ah…untoward.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harrison vowed, placing a hand over his heart. A sense of recklessness joined the cold fury. His lovely wife was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. He’d know her inside out before the year was up.

  Isa swept the living room with a critical eye. The house looked nice. She moved the vase of fresh flowers to one end of the narrow table behind the sofa and re- positioned the group of figurines.

  “That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Harrison remarked. He sat on the sofa, watching the evening news on PBS.

  The social worker had called thirty minutes ago and said she’d stop by on her way home that evening. It was after seven, and on a Friday night. The woman kept long hours.

  Almost as long as her husband. He’d taken it well when she’d called his office and said he had to come home at once. She’d wanted him to be there to present a solid domestic front so the social worker could see how happy they all were. He’d arrived ten minutes after she’d called.

  She could have kissed him when he came in the door…and might have if he hadn’t been his usual cool, sardonic self toward her. That had saved her from mak- ing a fool of herself, thank goodness. It wouldn’t do to go soft toward him.

  Harrison had changed to chinos and a deep blue polo shirt before joining her in the living room. The blue in the shirt brought out the blue in his eyes, which con- trasted handsomely with his dark hair. His male aura seemed especially alluring tonight. It stirred memories of passionate moments in his arms when his touch had almost shattered her reserve….

  She pulled her gaze from her husband and surveyed the room again. Maggie kept the house in perfect order. She couldn’t fault the spirit-woman there. If she’d only keep her mutterings about the marriage to herself, Isa would have been perfectly pleased with the house- keeper.

  Fat chance of that ever happening. Maggie ex- pounded on all subjects that crossed her path, especially strange marriages.

  “What are you smiling about?” Harrison asked sud- denly.

  Isa bent to fluff a cushion that didn’t need it. “Mag- gie. She told me today Rick couldn’t be all bad. He doesn’t play rap music at full volume like her nephew does.”

  He chuckled, and they exchanged an amused glance. It cracked right through her defenses. Longing flooded her heart. She couldn’t look away.

  He watched her, too.

  She sensed the wariness in him. He wasn’t a man to expose his heart in the best of times. In their nearly three weeks of marriage, he’d shown her only the outer workings of his mind.

  He treated her with a distant courtesy, except when passion or anger surfaced. Then he could be cruel, tor- menting her with needs she couldn’t deny. She didn’t know if the cruelty was intentional or not.

  Unlike other men she’d known, he was too hard to read. He would make a formidable poker opponent.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get it.” Harrison went to the door and returned with the social worker.

  Isa’s mouth went dry. “Mrs. Addleson,” she man- aged to say. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Please, call me Martha.”

  “I’m Isa. You remember my husband, Harrison?”

  “Of course. I’m delighted to see both of you again.” Her lively gaze swept over the living room and what she could see of the kitchen.

  “Would you like something to drink? I have coffee made. There’s spiced tea, too.”

  “No, thank you.” She got right down to business. “Where’s our young man?”

  Isa felt the flutters of panic grab her stomach. “In his room. I’ll call him—”

  “Don’t bother. If you’ll show me the way, I’d like to talk to him for a few minutes.”

  “Of course. His room is down the hall here.” Isa led the way. “Rick, Mrs. Addleson is here to see you.” She stepped back so the woman could enter Rick’s room.

  Isa saw that it was still neat. Her brother sat at the desk. A textbook was open, and he had a paper in front of him that he was writing. Good, he was doing home- work.

  “I…my husband and I will be in the living room…if you need us,” she added lamely.

  Mrs. Addleson nodded, a dismissal.

  Isa retreated down the hall. She heard the murmur of voices as the social worker greeted Rick and went into the room. The door closed behind her.

  In the living room, she sank into a chair and stared at the TV screen without seeing it. She locked her hands together and waited for the outcome of the interview.

  “Relax,” Harrison told her.

  She smoothed the black knit of her slacks. “I hope—”

  “What?” He flicked the TV off.

  “I hope my brother remembers his manners,” she confessed.

  “Umm, yes, teenagers do seem lacking in that de- partment for the most part. Sometimes it’s hard to be- lieve they grow up to be credit-card-carrying adults, isn’t it?” His tone was wry, but not worried.

  She pleated the material, then smoothed it, over and over again. Minutes crept by. A glass of the spicy iced tea that Maggie had made for them appeared in front of her.

  Harrison gave her the glass, then returned to his seat. She was aware of his gaze while he drank from
his glass. He chose a cookie from the plate he’d placed on the coffee table.

  “We might as well be comfortable. This may take a while,” he commented and snapped half a cookie off in one bite.

  She controlled her resentment. After all, it wasn’t his future that was on the line. Looking at her watch, she wondered what Mrs. Addleson and Rick could be dis- cussing. Her brother didn’t say more than five words to her in a day.

  At last, footsteps sounded in the hall. The social worker returned. “I’ll take that tea now, if you don’t mind.”

  Isa jumped to her feet.

  “Sit still, darling. I’ll get it.” Harrison ambled into the kitchen while Mrs. Addleson took a seat on the sofa and opened her notebook on her lap.

  “The weather seems to be warming up fast after that storm earlier this month, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, it does.” Isa tensed when the woman glanced around, then wrote several notes on a page.

  Harrison returned with the tea.

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Addleson took a drink and sighed in heartfelt delight “That’s delicious.”

  “Have a cookie,” Harrison invited. “Maggie Bird makes the best peanut-butter cookies this side of the mountains.”

  Mrs. Addleson beamed. “I know Maggie quite well. She’s helped me more than once with youngsters from her tribe.” She selected a cookie. “I probably shouldn’t eat this. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “I’m kinda hungry myself,” Harrison confessed.

  Isa realized he probably hadn’t eaten, either. She hadn’t thought about it before. Guilt rushed over her. Before she could apologize, Harrison spoke again.

  “Maggie roasted a turkey breast yesterday. How about me and you rustling up a sandwich, Martha?”

  He stood and waited. Martha hesitated, then rose, closing the notebook as she did. “That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” She went to the kitchen with Har- rison.

  Isa sat in the living room in irritated surprise. She’d had answers prepared for any questions the social worker might ask. Now they were scattered like bowl- ing pins.

  “You want anything, hon?” he called from the kitchen.

  She joined the other two. Martha sat at the breakfast bar. Harrison rooted around in the refrigerator. He set the turkey platter on the counter, found the fat-free mayo, pickles, pickled peppers and lettuce and added them to the fare. A loaf of bread and a bag of chips followed the other items.

  “See if Rick wants something,” he suggested.

  Isa, after giving Harrison a wary glance, went to in- vite her brother to the impromptu feast.

  This was not how she’d imagined the evening would go. She’d envisioned them chatting politely in the living room for a few minutes. She’d serve coffee, tea and cookies. Rick would have milk with his cookies.

  Martha would see that they were an ideal American family. She’d give them high marks, write up a glowing report in her notebook and leave, satisfied that Rick was in good hands.

  “We’re having turkey sandwiches. You want to join us?” Isa asked, pausing at the open door of his room.

  “I guess. Sure.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t think of anything better to do and unfolded himself from the desk chair.

  She realized her baby brother was as tall as she was.

  “Please, remember to be polite,” she whispered, frowning in worry. His attitude might not sit well with Mrs. Addleson.

  He glowered at her, but made no comment as they went to the kitchen. She wondered again if she was handling him wrong.

  Laughter greeted her when she and Rick entered the comfortable room. With a.start, Isa realized that while Martha had gray hair, she really wasn’t so old…late forties, maybe.

  She stole a quick study of the other woman. Actually, the social worker could be in her early forties.

  A funny feeling settled in her chest when Harrison continued with some story he was relating. When he finished, his deep chuckle joined with Martha’s laugh- ter. The blend of masculine and feminine merriment was oddly intimate.

  The whole scene was, Isa realized with a jolt. Har- rison was making the sandwiches, and Martha was slic- ing them in half and putting them on plates, along with the condiments and chips. There was nothing about her that suggested the grandmotherly type, which had been Isa’s first impression at the courthouse.

  The funny feeling coalesced in her throat. She swal- lowed hard, then smiled coolly when she saw Harrison watching her.

  He brought another chair to the breakfast bar that wrapped around the end of the counter. “I think every- thing is ready.”

  Isa took her usual seat, and Rick sat to the left of her. Harrison politely waited until Martha took the chair where she’d sat before, which was on Isa’s right, before sitting in the extra chair. He was directly across from Isa. Martha was between them. Again, that funny feel- ing attacked Isa.

  “How did you get into this line of work?” Harrison asked their guest.

  “My mother. She was a social worker, too, before she retired last year. I was worried about her after my dad died a couple of years ago. Now she’s on an exotic honeymoon cruise with her new husband and is study- ing the martial arts.” Her happy laugh made those around her want to laugh, too.

  Harrison chuckled, clearly enjoying the woman. “She seems to have found a new lease on life.”

  “Yes. If I weren’t such a nice person, I’d be green with envy.” She wrinkled her nose when she grinned.

  The confession was spoken with such wry good hu- mor that the admitted envy took on the shine of an endearing human trait instead of a fault.

  While the other two chatted like long-lost friends, she and Rick ate their sandwiches in silence. Harrison was the most charming of hosts, drawing their guest out ex- pertly, laughing at her humorous stories as she related her early experiences.

  Even Rick laughed a couple of times. Isa forced her- self to join in, too. She didn’t want to appear a cur- mudgeon.

  An hour passed.

  “My goodness, look at the time. I need to get home,” Martha finally said.

  “One more thing. Is there any rule against Rick driv- ing as soon as he’s old enough?” Harrison asked.

  Rick’s head snapped up in astonishment. Isa stared at her husband, not sure what to expect. He glanced at her, then Rick before turning back to the social worker.

  “Not as long as he has a valid driver’s license,” she said.

  “He’ll be fifteen soon. That’s old enough for a day permit. Is it okay with you for him to drive?”

  “If he accepts the responsibility that goes along with driving.” Martha’s tone was stern.

  “He will.” Harrison raised one eyebrow as he glanced in Rick’s direction. “Right?”

  Rick hesitated as if unsure what to say. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” His expression was wary, yet so hopeful, Isa found it painful.

  “Isa’s car needs work. We’ll rebuild the engine this summer, maybe get a paint job to brighten it up.” Har- rison reached into his pocket and took out a set of keys. He handed them to Isa. “You can have the red car. Rick can drive yours when we get it in prime shape.”

  “The one in the garage?” she asked stupidly. The sleek two-seater sports car that looked like a cool mil- lion?

  “Yes.” He smiled at.Martha. “Let me see you to your car.” He ushered the woman out, leaving Rick and Isa standing there.

  “You gonna let me have the car?” Rick asked. He looked as if he expected her to say no, as if she’d take away the promise that Harrison had made.

  She realized that during much of his young life that was exactly what had happened. Their father had made promise after promise to them. This time things would be different. This time they were going to strike it rich…get a horse…a new bike…a house so they could have a real home….

  She clenched the keys until they hurt her palm. She couldn’t deny her brother the promised gift of a car, but she wasn’t going to take anything that wasn’t h
ers. “Maybe. On your birthday,” she said. She nearly added “if you behave,” but held the words inside.

  “Like, wow!” he said. He surprised her with a bear hug, then picked up the dishes and put them in the dish- washer without being asked. He looked carefree and happy for the first time in ages.

  Isa blinked fiercely as a rush of love for the brother she’d raised hit her. She wanted to go to her room and mull over the evening, but she had a few things to say to her husband first.

  Isa heaved an exasperated sigh. She’d waited forever for Harrison to return to the house. After he’d stood out in the chilly desert night air and talked to Martha for a good forty-five minutes, she went to her room to change clothes. Upon returning to the kitchen, she found the lights out and the house locked up. He’d come in and gone to his room.

  She glared out the window across the patio toward the master suite. The lights were on in there.

  Tightening the belt of her robe, she took her courage in hand and went to confront him. After crossing the dimly lighted atrium, she stood outside his door, afraid to knock.

  Perhaps she’d better confront him in daylight…and in the kitchen rather than his bedroom at night. But before she could scoot back to her room, the door opened.

  Harrison stood before her, a towel draped over his shoulder. That was all he wore.

  “Oh,” she gasped. She couldn’t keep her gaze from roving over his tall, powerful body. He was overwhelm- ingly masculine. “Oh,” she said again, unable to think of another word.

  ‘I’m going for a swim,” he announced. “Care to join me?”

  She resented his cool tone, the overlay of cynical humor directed at her. Heat swept up her, down her, all the way through her. For a horrible second, she thought she might faint.

  Then she remembered he’d been talking to another woman before going to his room and deciding on this late swim.

  “In the future,” she said, keeping her eyes on a pot- ted fern next to the door, “I’d appreciate it if you’d discuss anything that involves my brother with me be- fore mentioning it to him. Or anyone else.”