Monkey Wrench

Monkey Wrench Nancy Martin WELCOME TO TYLEREVERYONE'S HOME FOR CHRISTMASChristmas is coming to Tyler. Share a cup of eggnog and the warm holiday cheer of America's favorite hometown.THE CARPENTER AND THE CELEBRITYJoe Santori, Tyler's resident contractor, is loud, cocky and filled with a zest for living. So what on earth is he doing pursuing Susannah Atkins, the workaholic Milwaukee TV personality who's home for the holidays?THE ODDS ARE AGAINST IT – OR ARE THEY?Susannah's certainly convinced they have nothing in common. But her Granny Rose has other ideas. She wants Susannah back in Tyler permanently-with Joe. And what Granny Rose wants, she usually gets. WELCOME TO TYLER-EVERYONE’S HOME FOR CHRISTMAS Christmas is coming to Tyler. Share a cup of eggnog and the warm holiday cheer of America’s favorite hometown. THE CARPENTER AND THE CELEBRITY Joe Santori, Tyler’s resident contractor, is loud, cocky and filled with a zest for living. So what on earth is he doing pursuing Susannah Atkins, the workaholic Milwaukee TV personality who’s home for the holidays? THE ODDS ARE AGAINST IT—OR ARE THEY? Susannah’s certainly convinced they have nothing in common. But her Granny Rose has other ideas. She wants Susannah back in Tyler permanently—with Joe. And what Granny Rose wants, she usually gets. Previously Published. “Your grandmother needs you,” Joe said. “I’m not sure that’s true.” “How can you deny it?” Joe asked, incredulous. “She’s over eighty years old. She’s not going to live forever.” “Of course not,” Susannah snapped. ”But I can’t step in and take over her life. I have no right to march in here and boss her around!” “To save her life, you have the right to do a lot of things.” “I don’t feel that way,” Susannah said staunchly, wondering how she could have imagined Joe Santori was an attractive man. “My grandmother’s life is hers to live, not mine.” “I suppose we should be grateful for small favors,” Joe muttered. “Your grandmother is obviously living a full and happy life, while you’re only worried about catching your flight to the Caribbean. It beats me how you ended up in the same family!” “It beats me how you ended up in the human race. You’re obviously a superior being—in your own mind at least!” She stormed up the stairs. Dear Reader (#u4d6532d3-20fd-53ff-b89f-059d0d53e44f), Welcome to Mills & Boon’s Tyler, a small Wisconsin town whose citizens we hope you’ll soon come to know and love. Like many of the innovative publishing concepts Mills & Boon has launched over the years, the idea for the Tyler series originated in response to our readers’ preferences. Your enthusiasm for sequels and continuing characters within many of the Mills & Boon lines has prompted us to create a twelve-book series of individual romances whose characters’ lives inevitably intertwine. Tyler faces many challenges typical of small towns, but the fabric of this fictional community will be torn by the revelation of a long-ago murder, the details of which will evolve right through the series. Big changes are afoot at the old Timberlake resort lodge, which has attracted the attention of a prominent Chicago hotelier, a man with a personal interest in showing Tyler folks his financial clout and a private objective in reclaiming the love of a town resident he romanced long ago. Marge is waiting with some home-baked pie at her diner, and policeman Brick Bauer might direct you down Elm Street if it’s patriarch Judson Ingalls you’re after. Even television personality Susannah Atkins knows she can find everything she needs at Gates Department Store. She’ll probably stop in when she makes an unscheduled stop in Tyler to check up on her Granny Rose. So join us in Tyler, once a month, for the next nine months, for a slice of small-town life that’s not as innocent or as quiet as you might expect, and for a sense of community that will capture your mind and your heart. Marsha Zinberg Editorial Coordinator, Tyler Monkey Wrench Nancy Martin www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Special thanks and acknowledgment to Nancy Martin for her contribution to the Tyler series. Special thanks and acknowledgment to Joanna Kosloff for her contribution to the concept for the Tyler series. CONTENTS Cover (#u3d57d3dd-1b0b-5f2e-b795-90580490df6a) Back Cover Text (#u46193f3b-94e4-568e-95a9-550bb9ffd87f) Dear Reader Title Page (#u0993e53d-62d6-5769-960f-77fa0746ab1e) Acknowledgments (#u82d7f91b-1172-5bff-b253-d7fb6509f707) CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_25a923d8-c352-5386-805f-72e189bacee9) CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_40a999db-e0a5-54e1-9a98-7bbfe1b21858) CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ab2bccb9-450d-5be4-bf15-c6ff053e21dc) CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_101995e1-a9a1-5eee-a645-4cd4cb6f2376) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9a7424cd-3ae7-5e0c-90ff-069089dfa425) “THAT’S A WRAP!” the director called. “Have a merry Christmas, everybody!” Susannah Atkins blew a sigh of relief and stepped out of the spotlight that brilliantly illuminated the kitchen set of “Oh, Susannah!,” the daytime household-hints program that was her claim to fame. Untying the strings of her apron, she draped it around the neck of her favorite cameraman, Rafael, and playfully tugged him close. “Thanks for rescuing me when I missed my cue. And happy holidays, Rafe.” “Same to you, superstar.” Susannah laughed and gave the young man a kiss on his bearded cheek. Around them, the rest of the crew and production staff of “Oh, Susannah!” were calling cheery farewells and “see you next years” to each other. It was a pleasant sight. After six exciting years of working together, the team had become a close-knit family, not one of those squabbling gangs Susannah heard horror stories about when she visited other stations. Everyone connected with “Oh, Susannah!” was genuinely fond of the others, and Susannah felt a swell of pride at the thought. A relaxed and professional attitude of the star sometimes made all the difference. The show’s burly director, Pete Willard, made a detour around a camera to say goodbye to Susannah personally. “That was a good show, Suz,” he said, pushing his glasses onto the top of his slightly balding head—a sure sign he was finished working for the day. He pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate his chronic headache. “You headed someplace exciting for the holidays?” It was almost two weeks before Christmas. Somehow the taping schedule had worked out so that Susannah had nearly three full weeks of glorious free time before she had to be back at work. Susannah grinned and began to rub the director’s tense shoulders—the best way she knew to ease Pete’s stress. “The Caribbean. I can hardly wait. We’ve got a condo right on the ocean.” The director groaned as she rubbed. “Sounds wonderful. I’d give my right arm to get out of Wisconsin this winter, but the kids...well, they think it’s not Christmas without snow.” “I hear Santa visits beach houses, too.” “Yeah, well, tell that to my two-year-old! You don’t know how lucky you are not having any kids, Susannah.” She kept her smile in place and released his neck. “I’ll think of you on Christmas Eve when I’m dancing to steel drums—” “And I’ll be putting together that damned dollhouse I bought for my Jennifer. Ah, that feels great. You’re the best masseuse I know, Susannah. Must be that Swedish ancestry of yours.” Pete looked far from dismayed at the prospect of spending his holiday piecing together a toy for his child. He patted Susannah’s arm and said, “Have a great time. Just don’t get sunburned! We’ll need that pretty face of yours back in front of the camera on January second!” “I’ll be here,” Susannah called over her shoulder, half wishing she could be worrying about something other than her face this Christmas. But she banished the thought quickly and waded into the studio audience—her faithful fans. The audience always waited patiently for their favorite local star after the show taping. And Susannah had been careful from the beginning not to play the prima donna. Even in a city the size of Milwaukee, it never hurt to hang on to those small-town values that her public seemed to appreciate most. Susannah signed autographs and allowed her picture to be taken a dozen times. “Miss? Susannah?” An elderly man tugged at her sleeve. “I really got a kick out of your pumpkin pie recipe. Who else but you would have thought of adding summer squash and pecans? You ought to write a book!” “Oh, it’s just an old family recipe of mine. I enjoyed the chance to share it.” “Would you mind signing my program?” he asked flirtatiously. “I want to prove to the guys at the bowling alley that I really talked to you.” “For a pumpkin pie lover, anything! How shall I write the inscription?” “To Hank,” coached the old man, leaning close. “What a hunk. With love, Susannah.” Susannah cheerfully obeyed. She liked the relaxed and genuine affection of her fans. It made up for a lot of things—things Susannah tried not to think about. After half an hour, she finally tore herself away and headed for her office, a small, unpretentious cubicle tucked at the end of a narrow corridor near the studio. In the office, which was jammed with so many books and gadgets it looked like the lair of a mad wizard, stood Susannah’s young secretary, Josie. Nearly six feet tall in her flat shoes and always dressed to the nines, glamorous Josie looked more like an up-and-coming television star than Susannah, who left her clothing choices to the studio wardrobe department and wore jeans in her off hours. Josie always looked elegant despite her youth. Susannah, on the other hand, looked elegant only when somebody else dressed her. Otherwise, she preferred to use her energy on more creative endeavors. Despite their differences in personal style, Josie and Susannah were a perfect team. With a schedule as hectic as Susannah’s was, she needed a good secretary more than she needed anything else. And Josie was worth her weight in gold. Her limitless energy had often saved Susannah when her own resources got low. With the telephone receiver pinned to her ear as Susannah pushed through the door, Josie was saying sweetly, “I’m sorry, sir, Miss Atkins is still taping a show in the studio. I can’t interrupt.” Susannah mouthed, “Who is it?” Josie shrugged elaborately and said into the phone, “I’m sorry, sir, but unless it’s an emergency, I can’t...yes, yes. All right, I’ll double-check. I’ll put you on hold for a minute, all right?” Susannah was also thankful that Josie was unbelievably organized—a quality Susannah herself lacked almost entirely. And Josie took inordinate pride in her ability to fend off the hundreds of hopeful male viewers who called the station every week on the chance of getting in touch with “Oh, Susannah!” herself. The young black woman had turned the gentle letdown into an art form. “Who is it this time?” Susannah asked, sliding into the comfortable swivel chair behind her antique desk. “Another senator who wants to meet me for lunch, like yesterday? Or someone trying to sell his mother’s recipe for goulash?” “Neither,” Josie said, lighting a cigarette one-handed, obviously in no rush to get back to the caller waiting on the other end of the line. “He’s a nobody. But he’s got a voice that makes my blood tingle.” She blew smoke and waggled her dark eyebrows lasciviously. “You know, the low and rumbly kind, a cross between Darth Vader and...oh, somebody sexy. Kevin Kline, maybe. Trouble is, the ones with great voices always turn out to be four feet tall with overbearing mothers.” “Josie!” Susannah laughed and kicked off her shoes. She put her stocking feet on the desk, noting lackadaisically that she had a run in her panty hose already, and leaned back in her chair to relax. “Do you mean to say you actually meet some of the men who call for me?” Josie sniffed aloofly. “In the interest of science, that’s all. Somebody ought to do a study on guys who call television stations. It might as well be me. One of the perks of my job is getting your castoffs. It’s in my contract.” “Yeah, right. I think my contract says I can’t date men who call here.” “You don’t date anybody, honey,” Josie remarked. “’Cept old Roger, and he hardly counts.” “What’s wrong with Roger?” Josie shrugged. “Too nice.” “Too nice?” With a grin, Josie tapped cigarette ash into a seashell sitting on the desk. “You deserve more excitement. Want me to line up an appointment with this guy?” She wiggled the receiver. “Maybe his face matches his voice.” “I doubt it. Better get rid of him.” “Chicken. But you’re the boss.” Josie punched the hold button with one of her long, enameled fingernails. “Hello? Still there, sir? Good. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to locate Miss Atkins at the moment. I could...yes, I can take your name.” Susannah closed her eyes and listened with only half an ear while Josie reached for a pad and pencil from her desk and began scribbling. “Will you spell that for me, please? S-A-N-T-O-R-I. Yes, I got it. Now, can I ask what this is in reference to, Mr. Santori? Who? From Tyler?” Susannah sat up straight. “Tyler?” Josie’s gaze met Susannah’s, communicating a new message altogether, and she said into the telephone, “Yes, I know Tyler is Miss Atkins’s hometown. Who? Oh, you mean Miss Atkins’s grandmother? Is something wrong?” Susannah didn’t waste another instant. She reached for the receiver and took it from Josie’s hand. “Hello?” she said briskly as soon as she clamped it to her ear. “This is Susannah Atkins. Is my grandmother all right?” A wonderfully melodic male voice said, “I thought you couldn’t come to the phone.” “I’m here now. What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong,” he said soothingly. “I’m butting in, that’s all. I think you ought to come home for Christmas.” “Home? Why? Is my grandmother ill? Or—” “Take it easy. She’s not sick. At least, not yet.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Susannah found she could hardly breathe. Her grandmother was the most important person in her life, and the thought of Rose sick or in trouble was horrifying. Susannah’s hand clutched the receiver with a clammy grip. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” “Look, I don’t want you to get all upset, Miss Atkins, okay? Your grandmother’s not sick—at least she claims she isn’t. But...well, in my opinion, she hasn’t been up to snuff lately.” “Oh, dear heaven.” “It’s not bad,” the man assured her. “But she’s disappointed that you’re not coming home for the holidays, and I...well, I don’t believe she’s feeling as good as she pretends. I got to thinking—if it was me, I’d want somebody to call before I went away on a trip. And I’d want to check for myself. You’re going to a beach, I hear.” Susannah frowned and tried to control her emotions. “My plane leaves tomorrow. I was going to see her when I got back, but—” “Do you have time to drive out here this afternoon? You could take a look at her yourself before you go.” “Let me check my book.” “Your book?” Most people did not understand Susannah’s total reliance on the small, leather-bound datebook she kept within reach at every waking moment. With her many appointments and her busy work schedule, Susannah’s life was very complicated. She had many obligations and responsibilities. What made things worse was her mental weakness concerning dates and times. Though talented in a hundred different ways, she absolutely could not keep her life on track without writing down every detail. Fortunately, Josie kept a duplicate book so that, between the two of them, Susannah ran on schedule. But the man said peevishly, “You can’t squeeze in a couple of hours for your own grandmother?” “Of course I can,” she retorted. But there were things to juggle, no doubt—like a public appearance at a department store that Susannah had promised to make that very afternoon. As she flipped open her datebook, her eye fell on the appointment at once. Josie was checking her version of Susannah’s schedule, too. In an undertone, she said, “I’ll cancel the department store, if you want.” “They’ll understand a family emergency.” “But listen,” Josie said. “The store’s on your way to Tyler. Why not drop in, make the appearance a short one and buy yourself that bathing suit you need for your trip?” “I’m not sure,” Susannah murmured uneasily. “You could be in and out of the store in twenty minutes. I’ll go along and make sure it goes smoothly.” “I really must get a bathing suit.” “May I suggest a bikini?” said the dry male voice in her ear. “In pink, maybe.” Susannah had forgotten that her voice was audible to her caller, but he probably hadn’t heard Josie’s side of the conversation. “Oh, sorry—” “You look good in pink,” he continued sarcastically. “A pink bikini sounds like the perfect choice. It’ll make you forget all about your grandmother, I’m sure. Sorry to have bothered you, Miss—” “Wait! That’s not it at all. I’m just checking my schedule. Of course I’ll come. I just have to make a quick stop along the way, that’s all.” “For the bikini. All right, go ahead.” Tartly, he added, “The right bathing suit might do you a world of good, in fact.” “I beg your pardon?” “A lady as straitlaced as you seem on television—a lady who has to check her book before she goes home for a visit—well, that’s a lady who needs loosening up, I’d say. Get a hotpink bikini, Miss Atkins.” He was probably right, Susannah thought. Maybe her life was pretty strict, and she had allowed herself to forget the things that were truly important—like grandmothers and bathing suits. She found herself nodding in agreement. Besides, it was hard not to be seduced by that marvelous voice. Glad he couldn’t see her smile, Susannah said, “I’m hardly the bikini type.” “Who says so?” “I say so.” “That’s too bad.” There was a slight pause, during which he must have decided he’d flown off the handle. His voice dropped another half octave and on that new note he said, “Maybe you ought to try something out of character for once.” “I like my character the way it is.” “An occasional change can be healthy. Buy a bikini and see what happens.” Susannah couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Are you always so free with your advice?” He laughed, too, and the tension eased. “When it’s needed. And I think it’s definitely needed in this case. I’ll tell your grandmother that you’re coming today, all right?” “Fine.” Susannah hesitated, then impulsively asked, “Who are you, anyway? A friend of my grandmother?” “Yep,” said the voice. “I’m Joe Santori.” “Well, I’m warning you, Joe Santori. My grandmother is going to be mad at you. She doesn’t like people interfering.” “I can take it,” he replied with a laugh. He hung up without another word, leaving Susannah to stare, smiling, at the humming receiver. For a friend of her grandmother, he sounded very young indeed. Maybe he was one of those little old fellows who hung around Tyler’s retirement home. She frowned again, trying to place his name. Was Joe Santori one of the old coots who played gin rummy every day at the hardware store? Or one of the gentlemen who sang in the church choir? He didn’t sound like an old man. Far from it. With that low, sexy voice, he could be— “Well?” asked Josie, interrupting Susannah’s runaway thoughts. “Who was he?” “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Susannah replied, cradling the phone. “But I’m going to find out.” * * * THE DEPARTMENT STORE was mobbed with Christmas shoppers, but Susannah and Josie managed to slip into the resort-wear section for a swimsuit before making Susannah’s quick appearance in the kitchen appliances, where she had promised to demonstrate a new brand of food processor. She apologized to the store manager for cutting her stay short, but the woman was completely understanding. “I look after my grandparents, too,” she said sympathetically. “Sometimes I have to drop everything to take them to the doctor’s office or to the grocery store. It’s exasperating, but I wouldn’t trade them for any promotion in the world.” “Thanks,” Susannah said, relieved that she’d found a human being to deal with. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” The manager smiled. “I’ll hold you to that! Our customers love ‘Oh, Susannah!”’ Josie took the manager aside to schedule another appearance, and Susannah began her presentation. It was fun and lighthearted, and she even managed to sell a few food processors to people who had gathered around the demonstration table to watch her chop, grind and puree. Then Josie stepped in and broke up the event, making apologies on Susannah’s behalf and hurrying her out of the store. “You know how to get home to Tyler, right?” Josie asked, bundling her into her car in the parking lot. “You want me to follow you as far as the interstate?” “I may be an organizational cripple,” Susannah shot back cheerfully, “but I can find my way home.” “Okay. Then you’ll come back early tomorrow, right? You need time to finish packing for your trip. I’ll phone Roger to tell him what’s happening.” “Thanks. What would I do without you, Josie?” “You’d be a dismal failure, I’m sure,” Josie said with a grin, kissing Susannah’s cheek as they hugged. “Either that, or you’d be a network star making millions. Maybe I’m just holding you back.” “You’re holding me together. Someday it will be your turn, you know.” “I can’t wait. One more thing. You’ll need this.” Josie handed over the small suitcase she insisted Susannah always keep ready in her office, packed with a few essentials and a change of clothes. “Don’t go off to Tyler unprepared.” “Oh, Josie, you’re a lifesaver. And I appreciate it more than you can imagine. Give Marlon a smooch for me.” Marlon was Josie’s temperamental cat. Josie laughed. They parted then, with Josie turning her car back to the city and Susannah heading west. The drive to Tyler normally took more than an hour, but Susannah lost track of time and was surprised to find the sunlight slanting over the horizon when she finally pulled her station wagon into the town limits of Tyler, Wisconsin. Tyler looked as pretty as a Christmas card, covered with snow that sparkled in the last flicker of afternoon light. Picturesque trails of smoke wisped from the chimneys of the neatly kept houses on Elm Street. The steeple of the Methodist Church pointed heavenward from a thatch of spruce trees, with snowflakes settling gently on the fluffy green branches. Susannah’s chest felt tight as she drew up to the curb in front of the tall Victorian house on the corner of Elm and Third streets. No matter how many years had passed since she’d left her hometown for college, she always got a pang of pleasure when she returned. Pleasure mixed with regret. Susannah often thought of Tyler as the life she’d left behind. The lovely town was quiet, yet full of good people who lived rich, full lives. Tyler had a lot to offer. But, even though she visited occasionally, Susannah had turned her back on it somewhere along the line. She had never meant to abandon her roots so completely. Sometimes a hot career in the big city paled by comparison. Her grandmother’s house, with its gracefully curving front porch, its scalloped trim and its twin turrets, looked as welcoming as ever. Susannah knew every nook and cranny in the house, having lived with her grandmother after the deaths of her parents. Nothing had changed, as far as Susannah could see. It was comforting to know that life stayed the same in Tyler. When she opened the car door, she could hear the soft croon of Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols from the loudspeakers in front of Gates Department Store, just a few blocks away. Across the street, Mr. Connelly was stringing colored lights in his shrubbery while his two small children watched, bundled in identical yellow snowsuits with pompoms on their hats. The children looked away from their father long enough to give Susannah happy waves of greeting. “There’s certainly a feeling of Christmas in the air,” Susannah murmured, reaching into the back seat for her overnight case and a gaily wrapped jar of peach chutney she’d brought along to give to her grandmother. It was an old family custom to bring little gifts when visiting. Then she straightened and inhaled the fragrant scent of wood smoke that hung in the air. “That’s the way life is in Tyler—it’s always like Christmas. Oh, I almost wish I wasn’t going to spend the holidays in the Caribbean!” “Maybe you can get a refund,” said the same wonderfully masculine voice Susannah had heard on the telephone. She spun around, fully expecting to come face-to-face with one of her grandmother’s friends—an old man with a cane, perhaps, or loose dentures. A lot of men came to visit Rose Atkins, because she was so lively for her age. Her vigor seemed contagious. But standing in front of Susannah on the snow-encrusted sidewalk was no withered senior citizen with a gleam in his eye. Far from it. He was tall and lanky, with amazing shoulders, coal-black mischievous eyes full of improper suggestions, plus curly dark hair that tickled his ears and the back of his strong neck. His clothes were rough—a rumpled old parka over jeans, a faded flannel work shirt and heavy boots suitable for hiking the Klondike. The parka was unzipped, revealing a low-slung tool belt worn with the panache of a gunslinger. “Let me guess,” said Susannah when she could control her vocal cords. “Mr. Busybody Santori?” His wide mouth quirked into a wry grin. He had a strong Italian face with prominent cheekbones, expressive brows and velvety black eyes that communicated volumes. “Am I going to get a lecture from you, too, Miss Atkins?” “That would be cruel,” Susannah shot back, smiling. “I bet my grandmother has chewed you up one side and down the other already.” “I’m still licking my wounds, in fact.” “She was angry at you for calling me?” “Furious,” Joe Santori pronounced. “She says I have spoiled your vacation by suggesting you come home, and I’ll never be forgiven.” “It’s not as bad as that,” Susannah replied, hefting her suitcase out of the car and slamming the door with her other hand. “I’m sure I’ll still be able to catch my plane. I’ll bet she’s mostly angry that you interfered. My grandmother prides herself on her independence.” “She has a right to be proud.” Joe took her overnight case without asking and slung the strap effortlessly over one shoulder. “But we all need a little help now and then.” Looking up at him, Susannah doubted that Joe Santori believed his own words. He looked like a man who’d rather die than ask for help for himself. The arrogance that showed plainly in his face was tempered only by his lopsided grin. Obviously, he was perfectly at ease conducting the lives of people around him and felt justified telephoning a complete stranger to come home to check on a sick relative. But there was something else in Joe Santori’s expression, too—something Susannah felt she could trust. Along with his natural self-confidence, he seemed to radiate honesty. He had a few flecks of gray in his dark hair, and the laugh lines around his eyes also seemed to bespeak a certain amount of tragedy along with amusement. He had an interesting face. A trustworthy face. “Tell me the truth,” Susannah said, coming directly to the point and knowing she could rely on him. “Is my grandmother really sick?” Joe shrugged and responded just as bluntly. “I can’t tell. I’ve known her for a couple of years, but only as an acquaintance. I started doing some work on her house earlier this month, and Rose seemed pretty perky then. But now...well, I can’t tell what’s wrong, exactly. Maybe she’s just feeling blue.” Susannah shook her head, concerned anew. “Not before Christmas. It’s her favorite season. My Granny Rose loves getting ready for parties and...well, everything.” “Don’t jump to conclusions before you’ve seen her,” Joe cautioned, his voice low and quieting. He put one hand on Susannah’s shoulder to steady her and said with a grin, “Maybe you’ll take one look at your grandmother and decide to belt me for dragging you to Tyler on a wild-goose chase.” Susannah appreciated his kindness. She didn’t feel like belting him at all. Joe looked down at Susannah Atkins and couldn’t imagine her belting anyone. She was so small, for starters. On television, she looked average in size, but in person she was quite dainty. Her body was concealed by a flowing, camel-hair coat, belted casually around a slim waist and long enough to show slim ankles encased in trim black boots. But Joe was familiar enough with “Oh, Susannah!,” the popular television show that came on after the noon news every day to know that Miss Susannah Atkins had a body worthy of great admiration. And while she was pretty on the small screen, Joe hadn’t been prepared for how exquisitely beautiful she was in real life. She had a delicate face with a sharp chin, pointed nose and thickly lashed blue eyes that were deep-set and luminous. Her shoulder-length blond hair was smooth and glossy, pulled back into a raspberry-colored beret that exactly matched the shade of her lipstick. With her quirky little mouth and those expressive blue eyes, she looked darling—just ready for someone to come along and muss her up a little. With a lilting laugh, she said, “I don’t believe in belting people, Mr. Santori. I leave that to my grandmother. Has she ever told you the story of when she chased off a burglar with a frying pan?” She was charming, Joe decided. “There are burglars in Tyler?” “No, it was just a teenage boy trying to sell encyclopedias, but Granny Rose didn’t like the way he seemed to be casing the joint and she decided he was a burglar. Rather than call the police, she chased him for a block, waving a frying pan.” Susannah turned and led the way up the sidewalk to her grandmother’s house, saying, “As it turned out, he was a fraud. Granny Rose investigated the company he worked for and found it was a very shady outfit. Single-handed, she chased them out of the state.” Joe suspected Susannah was every bit as stubborn as her grandmother. He said, “Rose is independent, all right. I’m glad I don’t have to tangle with her anymore. Maybe you can handle her.” “She doesn’t need to be ‘handled,’ I’m sure,” Susannah replied. “Taken care of, then,” Joe corrected. “No,” she said, mounting the porch steps. “Not that, either. The Atkins women don’t abide people trying to control them. We like our freedom.” Joe stopped on the top step. “There’s a difference between freedom and plain foolishness. Your grandmother needs supervision, Miss Atkins.” Susannah paused and turned to face him, lifting one narrow eyebrow as she studied Joe again. “Are you one of those macho fellows who wants to be in charge of everyone, Mr. Santori?” “Hell, no, but—” She smiled. “I bet you’re the sole breadwinner in your family, and your word is law at home. Am I right?” “Yes, but—” “Then you’re not used to women like my grandmother. She was the child of an immigrant farmer who built their house with his own two hands, and she worked hard all her life, Mr. Santori. Her husband died when she was still young, and she’s outlasted her children, too, earning a meager livelihood but living a very full life. Don’t think you can come in and start bossing her around now.” “Listen, Miss Atkins—” “And you can’t boss me around, either.” Joe’s comeback was cut off by the sudden opening of the front door, and in another instant, they were joined on the porch by Rose Atkins herself, a feisty old woman in blue jeans and sneakers. She was just as diminutive as her granddaughter, and must have been every bit as beautiful in her day. “What’s going on out here?” Rose demanded, her blue eyes sparking. “Are you two talking about me?” “Yes,” Susannah replied at once, kissing her grandmother before saying smoothly, “Mr. Santori tells me you’re furious with him, Granny Rose.” “I am,” Rose snapped, glowering at Joe and folding her arms over her sweatshirt, which was imprinted with a Far Side cartoon concerning Holstein cows. “He’s poking his nose in things he has no business poking into, and if he’s ruined your vacation, Suzie, I’ll never speak to him again.” “You have to speak to me,” Joe replied calmly. “I’m not finished fixing up your back porch, and you can’t stop yourself from checking up on me every five minutes.” “I want the job done right!” “So you hired the best man to do it!” “I hired you because you’re the most entertaining carpenter I know, but I didn’t plan on paying you money to butt into my personal affairs.” “I won’t bill you for butting in.” Susannah began to laugh. “You two sound like a couple of toddlers who need naps. Granny Rose, I brought you some chutney I made in the fall. Invite Joe inside for a snack and we’ll settle this once and for all.” Rose looked sulky. “He can come in, I suppose. But we’re not going to talk about me.” “Well, it’s a start.” Rose sent Susannah a glance that was suddenly glimmering with purpose. “Maybe we should talk about you.” “Me?” “Joe, what do you think of a woman who is so busy being glamorous that she hasn’t time to find a husband and start a family?” “Granny Rose—!” “It’s a crying shame,” Joe said, laughing. “I have spent a lot of time trying to find the right man for my granddaughter, but she’s very fussy, not to mention more disorganized than...” Rose snapped her fingers. “Good heavens! I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before.” “What are you talking about, Granny Rose?” “You and Joe, of course. Despite some rather obvious superficial differences, I suspect you’d make a perfect couple.” “A perfect—? Granny Rose!” “Why, of course! Joe is so bossy and you’re such a fool with keeping track of things that...why, you’re ideal for each other!” Joe began to laugh at Susannah’s expression—a pink-cheeked, blue-eyed combination of mortification and profound fury. The glamorous television star in her stylish beret looked appalled at the thought of being half a couple with a blue-collar carpenter. She swung on Joe with fire in her eyes, as if blaming him for the sudden turn of events. Joe was still laughing. “It looks like your grandmother’s not the only one who resents interference, Miss Suzie.” “I never—I didn’t—” “Come inside, Joe,” Rose commanded. “I want you to get to know my granddaughter.” It was a command Joe couldn’t resist. He stepped inside the house on the heels of Susannah Atkins, the most beautiful little hothead he’d ever laid eyes on. CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f12262f7-550d-5973-814e-551282db0405) “I DID NOT COME to Tyler to meet men, Granny Rose.” Susannah stepped inside the house and said vehemently, “I came to see you.” “Well, you’ve seen me, and I’m fine, so you might as well get to know Joe.” Rose took Susannah’s coat and hung it in the closet. Susannah suppressed a smile and kept her patience. Rose Atkins had always been a stubborn lady, and old age hadn’t changed that. “I know Joe as much as I care to know him—no insult intended, Mr. Santori—but I’m very concerned about you, Granny Rose.” Rose kicked off her sneakers, turned on the heel of her woolly white sock and padded back through the downstairs hallway, calling over her shoulder, “No need to be concerned. I’m in tip-top shape. Joe, you can take that bag upstairs—that should keep you out of trouble for a few minutes. The first bedroom on your right. Then meet us in the kitchen for cocoa. Consider it a peace offering. Come along, Suzie.” Amused and exasperated at the same time, Susannah looked at Joe, who was closing the front door. Tartly, she said to him, “This is starting to look very much like a wild-goose chase. My grandmother seems fine.” Joe grinned. “Ornery as ever, huh?” “She’s not ornery, she’s...” Susannah stopped herself. “Come to think of it, Granny Rose isn’t usually ornery.” Joe jerked his head to indicate the kitchen. “Go talk to her. I’ll hang around upstairs and give you a few minutes together.” “Thanks,” Susannah said, meaning it. “And, listen, about what my grandmother said—” “About you and me?” With a laugh, Joe teased, “It’s an intriguing idea, isn’t it, Suzie?” He had latched onto her nickname rather quickly, Susannah noted, feeling an absurd blush start. Hastily, she said, “Look, I’m not planning to get involved with anyone right now. I’m very busy, you see. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire.” “And no time for love? That’s a pretty sad commentary on your life, isn’t it?” Susannah opened her mouth to protest. Joe sent her another of his dazzling smiles and proceeded up the curved staircase with her suitcase in hand. Susannah swallowed an infuriated growl and stomped after her grandmother. In the kitchen, Rose was already puttering at the stove with a carton of milk, a wooden spoon and a box of powdered cocoa. She hummed while she worked. “He’s one of the most sought-after men in Tyler, you know.” Susannah threw her beret on the kitchen table. “Granny Rose, you’re as maddening as ever!” Laughing, Rose said, “Because I’m in the mood for cocoa? Or because I’d like to fix you up with Joe?” “You’re always trying to fix me up with somebody or other. Why him, of all people?” “Why not him?” Rose cried. “Joe is available, good-looking and well respected, plus he’s fun to be around. And he’s a real man—not one of those overgrown boys you see in the city. What more could a woman ask for?” “A little culture, maybe? I like men who read books, not just use them to fix a wobbly table now and then.” “Don’t be such a snob.” “I’m not a snob,” Susannah replied defensively. “I simply know my own taste, that’s all. I like bright men with a certain amount of...of polish, I suppose.” “Joe has polish.” “I meant sophistication,” Susannah shot back. “Not something you rub into fine furniture.” “That was the remark of a snob.” Susannah slid limply into one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re right. I apologize.” She rubbed her forehead. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. This whole day has caught me off guard, as a matter of fact. I’ve been working very hard lately. I’m supposed to be going on my vacation tomorrow, but I’m more disorganized than ever. I guess I really do need some time off.” Rose turned and leaned against the stove to look at Susannah, as if ready for one of their patented heart-to-heart talks. For a moment, Susannah felt as if it were twenty years ago, and that she was still a teenager confiding in her grandmother in the privacy of their cozy kitchen. The room was filled with the fragrance of fresh baking, and rows of cookies filled sheets of waxed paper on the counter. The shelves were lined with jars of fruits and jellies that Rose had painstakingly preserved the previous summer. Sheaves of dried herbs and flowers hung from the beams overhead, reminding Susannah that everything she had become—the cooking, decorating, entertaining expert of Milwaukee television—she owed to her grandmother, who long ago had taught Susannah gracious living and the value of hearth and home. “It feels good to be home,” Susannah said at last. Rose relaxed and smiled. “It’s good to see you home, dear.” She padded to Susannah and gave her granddaughter a warm hug and a kiss on the top of the head. “I wish you were home to stay, not running off to some hot beach tomorrow. I’m going to miss you this Christmas.” With a guilty pang, Susannah held her grandmother’s hand a little longer. “I’ll be back on Christmas Day, Granny Rose. I just won’t be here for all the parties beforehand.” “Not even for your birthday?” Susannah’s birthday fell just a week before Christmas and had been the family excuse for a large pre-Christmas gathering ever since Susannah was born. The famous Atkins party was one of the social events of the season for the whole town of Tyler. “I can’t celebrate with you this year, I’m sorry.” Hearing the wistful note in Rose’s voice caused Susannah’s heart to ache, but she said, “Roger bought the tickets, you see, without remembering my usual plans to be in Tyler for the week before Christmas. I hated to disappoint him, Granny Rose.” “Why? He disappoints you all the time.” Rose released Susannah’s hand and returned to the stove. “He doesn’t mean to disappoint me. He’s just forgetful. He’s a busy man.” “Too busy to be kind?” Rose sent her a short-tempered frown. “I won’t defend Roger today,” Susannah said patiently, having endured Rose’s low opinion of Roger Selby for a long time. “Roger and I understand each other, and that’s what matters. Subject closed. I’d rather hear about you.” “I’m fine,” Rose said at once, spooning cocoa into a saucepan full of milk. “Joe says—” “Oh, what does Joe know? I had a little episode, that’s all.” “An episode?” Susannah echoed. “That sounds like a euphemism for something very bad.” “It wasn’t.” Rose shook a dash of cinnamon into the warming milk and reached for the bottle of vanilla from the open shelf over her head. “I just...I didn’t feel well for a couple of hours. Maybe it was the flu.” “What happened, exactly?” “I felt light-headed. Then, I...well, all right, I admit I blacked out.” “Good heavens! That’s more than the flu!” “Joe was here,” Rose said hastily. “So I wasn’t alone. It hasn’t happened again. I’m fine now.” Her concern heightened, Susannah asked, “But what caused it? Have you been taking your blood-pressure medicine?” Rose flipped her hand. “Off and on. When I need it.” “Granny Rose!” Truly angry, Susannah rapped the table with her knuckles. “You’re supposed to take that medication regularly! It’s not something you pop into your system now and then—” “I’ve been feeling well without it.” “When was the last time you saw your doctor?” “I have an appointment scheduled in January.” “That’s not answering my question. When was the last time?” Rose didn’t respond, pretending to concentrate on the seemingly intricate task of stirring hot cocoa with the long-handled spoon. Frustrated, Susannah leaned forward on her elbows, trying to think of a way to force her grandmother to take care of herself. It seemed very odd, though, for Rose had been Susannah’s parent for most of her life. To reverse roles and become her grandmother’s caretaker felt...well, presumptuous. Until now, Rose had been perfectly capable of taking care of herself. What right did Susannah have to march in and take over? “Look,” Susannah said, endeavoring to keep her voice steady, “it’s not my place to order you around. You’re a grown woman with common sense, and you know you should take your medicine and see your doctor regularly. But for some reason you’re not taking care of yourself, Granny Rose. That upsets me.” Impatiently, Rose said, “I promise to see Dr. Phelps after Christmas.” “Why not immediately? I’m sure he’d squeeze you into his schedule right this minute if—” “I don’t need to see him now.” “But if—” “I’m fine, and that’s final! Go on your vacation and have a wonderful time, Susannah. After Christmas, you can come see Dr. Phelps with me, if you’re still upset. But I’m not going to budge until then, do you hear me? I’m fine!” Susannah glared at her grandmother’s turned back. “Granny Rose, are you afraid you’ll spoil my silly vacation if you’re sick?” Rose was saved from answering that question. A thump sounded on the stairs, and a lofty baritone voice carried to the women in the kitchen, singing, “‘Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plain....”’ Then Joe appeared, filling the kitchen doorway with his tall frame and broad shoulders. His gaze traveled swiftly to Susannah, and he lifted his brows as if to ask how everything was going. Susannah frowned and shook her head. Rose turned from the stove. “You don’t look much like an angel, Joe, but you can sing like one. Want a cookie?” “As many as you can spare,” he said cheerfully. “Sit down, then. This cocoa is almost ready.” “Smells great.” Joe eased his body into the wooden chair opposite Susannah’s, and he continued to watch her face while Rose’s back was turned. “So,” he said, “you two get everything worked out?” “Yes,” said Rose. “No,” said Susannah dourly. “That’s what I like to hear,” Joe responded, reaching a long arm to snatch a cookie off the nearby countertop. “D?tente, right?” “The matter is closed,” Rose said with authority. “Now we’re free to talk about you two.” “There’s nothing to talk about, Granny Rose.” Susannah glowered at Joe, who grinned back at her before taking a sizable chomp out of his cookie. “Nothing whatever.” “There certainly is, dear. Given a chance, you and Joe might really hit it off.” To Joe, Susannah said, “She’s just doing this so we’ll leave her alone about her health. I don’t know why she feels she needs to matchmake for me. I’m very busy in Milwaukee.” “Not the right kind of busy,” Rose said. “Have you ever seen her show, Joe? It’s really wonderful. Last week, Suzie showed how to make Christmas wreaths out of corn husks, how to roast a goose with sage leaves stuffed under the skin and how to make cranberry preserves in crystal glasses to give to your friends. Trouble is, Suzie’s apartment has a front door hardly big enough to hang a wreath, she’d never roast a goose for herself alone, and I’ll bet her friends in the city would rather eat caviar than cranberry preserves.” “There’s no man in your life?” Joe asked bluntly, polishing off the first cookie and reaching for another. “No. Yes.” Exasperated, Susannah said, “I have a gentleman friend whom I see regularly.” “You ‘see’ him?” Joe inquired. “What does that mean exactly?” “He’s her boss,” Rose supplied. “The station manager. It’s not exactly a hot love affair.” “It’s comfortable,” Susannah retorted. “Roger and I don’t have time to develop a serious relationship with anyone, so we...well, we’re happy associating with each other. Dinner now and then—that sort of thing. Now could we please get back to the subject at hand—” “They’re going on vacation together,” Rose added for Joe’s benefit, disregarding Susannah’s attempt to terminate the discussion. “But they’re going to plan the next six months’ worth of ‘Oh, Susannah!’ shows together. Can you imagine going to the beach to work?” “No,” Joe said promptly. “But then, I hate the beach. I’d much rather go hiking in the snow. What do you want to go to the beach for? You’ll just get sunburned and sweaty.” “I like the ocean.” “It’s too hot.” “It’s beautiful!” “It’s boring.” “How could anyone be bored at the beach?” Susannah demanded. “It’s so overwhelming and awe-inspiring—” “I don’t go on vacations to be overwhelmed.” “No,” Susannah said, studying him cryptically. “I don’t suppose a guy like you is ever overwhelmed.” From the stove, Rose interrupted. “I hope you like marshmallows, Joe. I don’t trust a man who won’t eat marshmallows.” “I love ’em,” Keeping his lazy-eyed grin trained on Susannah, he said, “I have a terrible sweet tooth.” “But that’s your only weakness, right?” Susannah asked softly. She felt uncomfortably warm under Joe’s penetrating gaze. He laughed. “How’d you guess?” “Just a shot in the dark.” “You think I’m a legend in my own mind?” “If the shoe fits...” Joe leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and staring straight into Susannah’s eyes. “And you,” he said distinctly, “are so caught up in your big-city career that you wouldn’t recognize a real man if you ran into one in a dark alley.” “I avoid dark alleys,” she replied primly. “Scared?” “No, just smart.” “Sometimes even smart people have to take risks. Otherwise, life passes you by, Miss Suzie.” “Children, children,” Rose cautioned, looking absurdly pleased as she carried two china cups of steaming cocoa to the table. Both cups were crowded with marshmallows. “You’re making assumptions about each other before giving this whole thing a chance.” Susannah blinked in astonishment at her grandmother. “Five minutes ago you were threatening you’d never speak to this man again! Now you’re practically angling for a marriage proposal! What’s happened?” Rose set the cups in front of her guests and said smugly, “I was blinded by a brilliant idea. I’ve never known two people who were more ideal for each other.” “Ideal?” Susannah objected, laughing. “You’re always digging up men with whom I have nothing in common!” “Hey!” Joe sat upright, feigning offense. “How bad do you think I am?” “I don’t think you’re bad,” Susannah said quickly, making an effort to be polite despite her frustration. “It’s just that I’m perfectly happy the way I am, and I don’t need a husband to make my life complete.” “Who said anything about becoming a husband?” Susannah threw up her hands. “Oh, heavens, how did this conversation get started? Granny Rose, you never seemed to need a man in your life.” “The right one came along at the right time,” Rose said peaceably, pouring herself a cup of cocoa from the saucepan and adding a generous pile of marshmallows on the top, “but he didn’t last, that’s all. When he passed away, I didn’t feel the need to go looking all over again. I had my happiness. But you haven’t had your chance yet, Suzie.” “I am happy!” Rose sniffed. “Drink your cocoa.” “It’s delicious cocoa,” Joe said to Rose, cradling the cup in one rough hand and slurping marshmallows. “Unique, but classic.” “Thank you, Joe.” Rose joined them at the table and sipped from her own cup approvingly. “I always add a dash of cinnamon and vanilla along with a pinch of sugar to sweeten the milk. I believe in going the extra step to make everything special...even with little things like cinnamon in cocoa. And I’ve taught Susannah to do the same. Why, you should taste her Christmas eggnog! It’s—” “You don’t have to sell my wifely skills to Mr. Santori, Granny Rose,” Susannah interrupted dryly. “I am not a prize heifer on the auction block.” “Don’t be rude, dear, while Joe and I are having an innocent conversation.” “Must you be so obvious?” “Obvious about what, dear?” Susannah began to smile. It was impossible to stay angry with her grandmother, especially in such a ridiculous circumstance. In fact, it was almost a pleasure to be sitting comfortably around the old kitchen table, sharing a snack and laughing with old friends. And that was exactly how she felt about Joe Santori. For some reason, he fit right into the familiar scenery. He was relaxed and funny—surprisingly easy to be with. He bore Rose’s needling in the spirit it was intended. His laughter rang off the ceiling beams and rattled the delicate china cups on their hooks over the sink. His grin was friendly...and ever so slightly wicked. Susannah couldn’t help smiling back at him from across the table. In a rough, manly kind of way, Joe Santori was very sexy. So sexy that Susannah found herself wondering if she hadn’t missed something in life, after all. To Rose, Joe said, “So you’re not mad at me after all, Mrs. A.?” “I’m annoyed, but not mad. I hired you to fix my back porch, not run my life.” “Well, the porch is almost done, but there are a few other things this house could stand to have fixed, you know.” “Like what?” Rose asked, drinking her cocoa. “In layman’s terms, this old place is falling apart.” Susannah said, “Surely you exaggerate.” “Not at all.” Quite seriously, Joe addressed himself directly to Rose. “I took the liberty of looking around upstairs a little just now. I notice the roof leaks, for starters.” “Oh, it’s nothing a few pots and pans can’t take care of when it rains,” Rose answered with a twinkle in her eye. Susannah frowned. “I had no idea you were having problems with the house, Granny Rose. Why didn’t you tell me?” Rose shrugged. “Why should I spend my time worrying about an old pile of wood? It just has to last as long as I do. The only reason I had Joe work on the porch was that the posts were rotting.” Joe said, “You’re going to live a good, long time, Mrs. A., so I think we should make sure your house doesn’t fall down around your ears in the meantime.” “Oh, Joe, you’re too busy to bother with an old woman like me.” Despite her objection, Rose looked suspiciously delighted to be the center of an attractive man’s attention, Susannah noted. She said, “Maybe you ought to get some estimates from other carpenters, Granny Rose.” “Oh, I don’t want anybody but Joe working on my house. If he’s got the time, that is.” “I’ve got time,” Joe said. “Aren’t you working on the old lodge for the Ingalls family?” “It’s coming along fine.” Joe leaned comfortably back in his chair and reached for yet another cookie. “In fact, I think the Ingalls family is trying to decide if they’re going to sell the old place or not. My crew is moving right along on the major renovations while they think about it. The improvements we’ve made should certainly help them get a better price.” Susannah’s curiosity was piqued by that bit of Tyler gossip. “The old lodge is for sale? I thought it was condemned years ago.” “Not condemned, just closed up. It was in pretty bad shape,” Joe said, “but Liza has been fixing it up again. Do you know Liza?” “The youngest Baron girl? Yes, she was several years behind me in school—her brother, Jeff, was closer to my age—but I remember her. She was...well, a little wild, as I recall.” Joe grinned. “She hasn’t changed. She’s a pistol, but I like her. Liza’s got a real artist’s eye where old buildings are concerned.” “And,” Rose added with a smile, “she got married recently. I think she’s finally on the right track. Her grandfather is very proud of her.” The Ingallses were one of the town’s most prominent families, and whatever they did was grist for the gossip mill in Tyler. Old Judson Ingalls had long been a community leader, and his daughter, Alyssa, was respected as one of Tyler’s most gracious and generous ladies. Her good works were well known, and a great many people asked her advice on matters. Alyssa’s apparently fairy-tale marriage to Ronald Baron had come to a tragic end when her husband took his own life after a financial setback, but Alyssa and her three children seemed to have weathered the tragedy as well as could be hoped. Daughter Amanda was a successful lawyer, if Susannah remembered correctly, and Jeffrey had become a doctor. Only Liza, known for her wild ways, had failed so far to make her mark in the world in a big way. Susannah had always liked the feisty youngest child of Alyssa Baron, and she was glad to hear Liza was finally coming into her own. She said, “Liza was always very talented.” “I hope she’s also a good detective,” Joe remarked. “Why?” Joe exchanged a glance with Rose. “Well, the Ingalls family has a mystery to solve.” “A mystery?” Susannah repeated. Rose’s expression brightened with excitement. “Yes, the whole town’s been buzzing for months. Joe and his men found a dead body buried up at the lodge.” Susannah stared at Joe. “Whose body?” He shrugged and appeared unaffected by the gruesome event. “Nobody knows. Whoever she was had been buried for a very long time—more than twenty years, I’m sure.” “She? How did she get there?” “That’s the mystery. We don’t know anything, except that it was a woman—the police just figured that out, apparently—and she died under suspicious circumstances.” Joe added, “In fact, I think she was probably murdered.” Rose set her cup down and said firmly, “I’ll bet you a dozen doughnuts it’s Margaret Ingalls.” “Judson’s wife?” Susannah asked, astonished by Rose’s revelation. “I thought she disappeared a long time ago. Her disappearance caused a big scandal years back, didn’t it?” Nodding, Rose said, “Everyone assumed Margaret left Judson and ran off with one of her boyfriends—she had a bunch of them. What a naughty flirt she was! I know where Liza got her spunk. Margaret ran away, but we never really learned what happened to her. The murder story makes sense, don’t you think? Instead of abandoning her husband and never contacting her friends again, she was killed!” Susannah couldn’t help grinning as she noted Rose’s fascination with the mystery. “That’s what this town needs. A juicy murder mystery to help pass the cold winter nights.” “It’s been the talk of the town,” Joe agreed. With even more fervor, Rose declared, “I always knew Margaret Ingalls would come to a bad end.” “Wasn’t that wishful thinking, Granny Rose? You had a soft spot for Judson, if I remember correctly.” Rose blushed and got up suddenly from the table. “Oh, that was a long time ago. I never meant for Margaret to get hurt. Judson and I were friends, that’s all, especially after my Henry died. That’s the way things work in a small town. Everybody’s known everybody else since the day they were born, and we look out for one another. Except Joe, of course. He’s not from Tyler, are you, Joe?” Susannah saw that Rose didn’t want to talk about the details of her romantic past, and Joe must have seen the same thing. He played along, saying, “Tyler is my home now, and my daughter likes it here.” “Joe has a daughter,” Rose said to Susannah, clearly relieved that the topic had been changed. “She’s a lovely girl. Perhaps you’ll get to meet her.” Amused, Joe heard the hopeful note in Rose’s voice and knew exactly what the old girl was up to. Practically every woman in Tyler had tried to help Joe’s love life along by introducing him to their daughters, their sisters, their maiden cousins from Chicago—any female who didn’t have one foot in the grave. And it wasn’t just the women who tried to hook him up with marriageable ladies. A great many fathers, brothers, uncles and even a grandfather or two had made overtures on behalf of their female relatives. A widower like Joe was a prime target in a small town. In fact, Joe figured he’d met every eligible woman within a hundred miles of Tyler. He liked meeting eligible women, of course. But Joe wasn’t looking for one particular woman in his life. He was having enough trouble with his daughter. Another female around would surely spell disaster. However, something about Susannah Atkins intrigued Joe, unlike all the other women he’d met since coming to Tyler nearly a decade earlier. He couldn’t help noticing that Susannah Atkins was different. As she sat at the cluttered kitchen table, her delicate hands cupping her hot cocoa, she looked beautiful, stylish and smart—not the kind of woman Joe was usually introduced to. But he liked the sound of Susannah’s laughter, and he could hardly keep his eyes off her. His insides were churned up, too, with unmistakable physical attraction. And for some reason, he was fighting the urge to reach across the table and toy with her hand. She was that kind of lady. He tried to figure out exactly why the bells and whistles were going off in his head. It wasn’t just her beauty that drew his gaze, although her fine blond hair had started to come loose, and framed her face in silky, touchable wisps. Her features were more precise than the television camera portrayed. Her eyes were bluer. But there was something more appealing than good looks about Miss Suzie Atkins. With a start, Joe realized he also liked the fact that she wasn’t making bedroom eyes at him. In fact, she appeared to be downright determined not to start anything personal with him or anyone else. Susannah was one woman who wasn’t going to chase him, Joe decided. She’s a challenge, he said to himself. For once, here was a woman who wasn’t going to bake him cookies he didn’t need or invite him to parties he didn’t want to attend or fuss over him until he paid a compliment. She was cool and lovely and sophisticated, a woman who knew her own mind and could laugh when the moment warranted. She laughed at Rose’s suggestion of meeting Joe’s daughter and shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t get along very well with children. Forgive me if I beg off, Mr. Santori.” “You don’t have kids?” She blinked, looking prettily surprised. “Me? Heavens, no. I never had the time.” “Not to mention a husband,” Rose grumbled from the other side of the kitchen. “Don’t you think it’s a shame, Joe? A nice-looking girl like Susannah ought to have a big house with lots of children. A woman her age—” Susannah pretended to be pained by her grandmother’s not-so-subtle campaign. “Let’s not discuss my age, Granny Rose, if you please. Mr. Santori doesn’t need to learn all my secrets.” “Whatever your age,” Joe heard himself saying, “it suits you very well.” Susannah laughed and Rose applauded. “Bravo!” “Don’t try turning my head with pretty talk,” Susannah cautioned with a wag of her forefinger. “You’re just trying to get me on your side, so you can spend the winter working on my grandmother’s house.” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Joe grinned. Although he told himself he wasn’t looking for any female companionship, he found himself saying, “How about if I take you on a guided tour of this house tomorrow, Miss Suzie? You can help your grandmother decide if any repairs should be made.” “I’m leaving for the Caribbean tomorrow.” “What time?” “I’m not...I don’t know.” For the first time, her confidence appeared to waver. “I’ll have to check with my secretary. I think the flight’s in the afternoon.” “I’ll come in the morning.” Rose said, “Come for breakfast. You two can have a nice chat together.” Susannah covered her face with one hand and groaned. “Granny Rose, must you be so obvious?” “It’s a date?” Joe asked with a grin. “Yes, yes, all right. But please come early. I really do have a plane to catch.” “It’s a deal.” Joe slapped the table and stood. “Now I’ve got to get home before my daughter burns down the kitchen. She’s just learning to cook.” Rose piped up, “Oh, Susannah could teach her everything about cooking—” “Granny Rose!” Susannah warned. She stood also and moved to escort Joe to the front door. “You’d better get out of here before my grandmother calls the nearest minister and marries us.” “There are worse fates,” Joe murmured under his breath, bending to give Rose a quick kiss on her cheek. She gave him a bright look and winked, which caused Joe to laugh before he followed Susannah from the room. He found her waiting at the front door, with one hand resting on the handle. She wore a soft suede skirt that clung to her hips and flared with feminine grace around her legs. When she was sure Rose hadn’t followed him, she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Thank you very much, Mr. Santori.” Joe grabbed his parka from the small chair where he’d left it. “For what?” “You know. Calling me about my grandmother. I appreciate your kindness.” “I hope it didn’t screw up your day.” “On the contrary,” she said, watching as Joe shrugged into his coat, “this trip has actually made my day.” Joe collected his tool belt. “You think she’s going to be okay?” “I’m not sure. But I’ll spend this evening with her, and tomorrow morning, before I decide.” Susannah met his gaze. “I must say, it’s a comfort knowing that people like you are still here in Tyler, looking after one another.” He wrapped his tool belt around his hand, lingering. He wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, and Susannah hadn’t opened the door, either, he noted. He said, “I like your grandmother.” “And she likes you.” With a hint of a blush starting, Susannah added, “I hope you don’t think she’s serious when she suggests...well, when she talks about you and me.” “I think she’s dead serious.” “But...of course it’s impossible—” “She’s determined,” Joe said plainly, “to get you married and pregnant as soon as possible, Miss Suzie. And frankly, I agree with her theory.” Her eyes flashed. “I will put up with my grandmother’s opinions, Mr. Santori, because I love her. But you—” Joe chucked her playfully under the chin, unable to resist teasing her. “You ought to have a family and a home of your own, Miss Suzie, instead of spending your life showing everybody else how to do it.” “I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is,” she said, turning cool. “I’m very busy.” “So you keep saying. Personally, I think a woman who’s too busy to enjoy life is missing a hell of a lot.” He’d gone too far, Joe saw as soon as the words left his mouth. Susannah stared at him for a long, silent moment, then opened the front door. She didn’t say goodbye. Joe considered apologizing, but decided the truth was the truth. He brushed past her, hunched up the collar of his parka and started down the steps. But on the sidewalk, he paused and turned. Glancing back, he met her gaze and grinned. “See you in the morning, Miss Suzie.” CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5a9b41ab-f9c7-5a8b-95c7-067d4fb36998) SUSANNAH CLOSED the front door, then kicked it, fuming. “Where does he get off telling me how to live my life? He’s a carpenter, for crying out loud!” What did a small-town, blue-collar, power-tool collector know about life in the fast lane? Susannah angrily glared out the beveled glass panes of the door and watched while Joe climbed into a battered pickup truck and drove away. Hold on, her inner voice said. You’re being too touchy, my girl. Which was true. What was the sense in getting hot under the collar at the remarks of a man she’d never see again after tomorrow? Besides, in less than twenty-four hours, Susannah planned to be sitting on an airplane with Roger, heading for sun and sand and more than a week of relaxation. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize a wonderful vacation. Too bad Roger doesn’t look like Joe Santori, said that pesky inner voice again, breaking into her mental picture of softly waving palm trees. I’ll bet he’s got a body built for a bathing suit. Susannah blushed at the thought and abruptly pulled herself together. She marched toward the kitchen, determined to have a shoot-out with her grandmother. “Granny Rose, I can’t believe you’d embarrass me in front of a perfect stranger,” she lectured, once again entering the kitchen. “What in the world possessed you to think I’d have any interest whatsoever in a man like— Oh, God! Granny Rose!” Susannah gasped and rushed to her grandmother, who was slumped over the sink, weakly grasping at the counter to stay on her feet. Just as Susannah reached her side, the elderly woman lost consciousness and slid limply into Susannah’s arms. Lowering her grandmother to the floor, Susannah cried, “Oh, Granny Rose!” She cradled Rose’s head in her lap and fanned her grandmother’s ashen face with a dish towel, her own heart thumping madly in her chest. “Please, please, let her be all right,” Susannah prayed. “Granny Rose? Can you hear me?” A full minute passed—it felt like a week, at least—before Rose’s eyes flickered. A hint of color began to bloom in her cheeks, and she opened her eyes. “Suzie?” “Thank heavens!” Gradually Rose’s eyes focused, and she blinked. “What happened?” “You fainted, I think. I was only gone for a minute or two, and when I came back, you—” “I remember now. I blacked out. I was reaching for a casserole dish in that cupboard, and I—I—” Consternation filled Rose’s expression, and she clutched weakly at Susannah’s hand. “Don’t talk,” Susannah commanded, holding tight. “Just rest quietly for a moment. Then I’ll call the paramedics.” “Is Joe still here?” “No, he just left. I’m here now.” Rose frowned weakly. “You should go on your trip, Suzie.” “Nonsense,” Susannah said. “The Caribbean will always be there.” “But Roger—” “Roger won’t mind. He knows how important you are to me, Granny Rose. He’ll want me to stay here as long as I’m needed. I want to be sure you’re going to be okay.” “But you’re too busy—” “Hush.” Susannah hugged her grandmother. “I’m never too busy to take care of you, Granny Rose.” * * * JOE POINTED his rattletrap truck down the street and headed for his own home, just a couple of blocks away. Snow swirled across his windshield, but he knew his way around Tyler as well as a native, so the trip wasn’t treacherous. Joe Santori liked Tyler, Wisconsin. After growing up in Chicago and attending trade school and, later, engineering courses there, he’d been lured from the city by a job offer from the Ingalls Farm and Machinery Company at a time when he’d needed a change. He’d never thought of himself as a small-town kind of guy. Despite years of hounding by his wife, Marie, who had wanted to raise their family somewhere other than the streets of a big city, Joe had resisted leaving the Windy City. But when Marie died of ovarian cancer, Joe decided to make the change she had always wanted. He’d applied for the position with Ingalls Farm and Machinery before he was even sure he wanted to leave Chicago behind. But things had worked out well indeed, and Joe was glad he’d brought Gina to the rolling hills of Wisconsin. For Joe, the culture shock had been tremendous at first. Wisconsin people didn’t lock their back doors, and they sometimes left their cars running while they dashed into the pharmacy to get a prescription filled. It had taken him a while to relax and get over his big-city paranoia. But his daughter blended into the small-town milieu very easily. Perhaps because she was a motherless child, Gina had been an instant hit in the neighborhood, a darling of families up and down the street. At the age of six, she had learned to run out to the sidewalk after breakfast to find playmates to ride tricycles with until noon. Now nearly fifteen, Gina led the busy life of a teenager, complete with track-team practice, Ski Club, pickup games of street hockey and baseball—and her dreaded piano lessons, the only concession to femininity Gina would allow. Joe’s only regret had to do with his wife, Marie. She would have loved the town, and he often wished he’d brought her to Tyler before her illness. He took consolation in the idea that she was watching from above and approved his choice of towns in which to raise Gina. Joe pulled his truck into the driveway alongside the tall Victorian house on Church Street, just four blocks from the town square. He noticed the kitchen light was on, so he walked across the snow-dusted driveway and let himself in the back door, stomping slush from his boots and shaking the snow from his parka. “No way, Gramps,” Gina was saying into the telephone. “You couldn’t pay me to be a cheerleader! It’s so stupid cheering for a bunch of stupid boys when I could be playing ball myself. Besides, I hate to wear skirts.” Fourteen-year-old Gina lay flat on her back on the kitchen linoleum, her sneakered feet propped on the counter above, looking just as tomboyish as ever in her torn jeans and rumpled baseball shirt. She’d pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder, leaving both hands free to braid her ponytail into a tight plait while she talked. When Gina spotted her father entering the house, she waggled her foot at him without breaking off her phone conversation. “Forget it, Gramps,” she said into the receiver. “You can’t convince me it would be fun. I don’t care if Mom was the captain of the squad in her school. It’s demeaning to women. My piano teacher said so.” Joe opened the refrigerator and took out a quart of chocolate milk. For some reason, he wanted to enjoy the taste of Rose Atkins’s hot cocoa all over again—and cold chocolate milk would have to do. He poured the last three inches into a jelly glass decorated with cartoon characters and listened to Gina’s conversation with her grandfather in Brooklyn. He was glad Marie’s parents kept in touch with their granddaughter, despite the miles that separated them. Every summer, Gina traveled east to be with her grandparents, and Joe tried to invite Marie’s family as well as his own mother to visit as often as possible. Gina needed an extended family to keep her grounded, he felt. Gina sighed dramatically. “Yeah, okay, Gramps. I love you, too. I gotta go, all right? Give my love to Nana. Bye.” Without moving from the floor, she tossed the receiver to Joe, who hung it up. “Holy smoke,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands as if holding back tremendous suffering. “When are they going to realize I’m not going to be just like Mom was? Now it’s cheerleading!” Joe grinned, leaning against the counter to drink his milk. “Your mom looked good in that short skirt. It didn’t demean her as far as I could see.” “What do you know?” Gina asked witheringly. “You’re a guy. A little old, maybe, but still a guy.” “Thanks, I think.” “Oh, Dad, you know what I mean.” “Sure. What’s for dinner?” Gina blinked up at him from the floor. Sometimes she showed signs of her mother’s innate ability to play dumb when the situation warranted. She said, “I thought it was your night to cook. Weren’t you going to bring home a pizza?” Joe blanched. “I hate pizza.” “I never knew an Italian guy who hated normal Italian food the way you do,” she groused. “Can’t you like anything that’s easy to make?” “You were going to fix omelets tonight,” Joe shot back. “Those are easy.” “We’re out of eggs.” “Open a can of soup, then.” Gina sat up, objecting. “Dad, I need a high-carbohydrate meal tonight! We’re playing a big scrimmage game tomorrow against Bonneville!” The basketball team, Joe remembered. He had trouble keeping up with Gina’s athletic endeavors sometimes. “Okay, okay, I’ll make the ultimate sacrifice tonight. How about macaroni and cheese?” “Great,” she said with satisfaction, climbing to her feet and clearly believing she had manipulated her father into preparing their dinner. Joe knew his daughter hated cooking, but he was determined to see that she was competent in the kitchen at the very least. She said, “I’ll keep you company while you make it. Where have you been, anyway? I expected you home half an hour ago.” Joe thought of Susannah Atkins at once. He turned around and put his empty glass in the sink, trying to keep his expression hidden from Gina in case it revealed his thoughts. Keeping a casual tone, he said, “I met a celebrity today.” “Oh, yeah? Who?” “Susannah Atkins. Of ‘Oh, Susannah!”’ Joe felt Gina glance at him. She said, “Is she pretty?” “Very pretty.” “Prettier than Mom was?” “Different pretty,” Joe admitted, walking a fine line, he knew. “She’s very nice.” “How nice?” “Just nice. You’d like her, I think.” “I doubt it,” Gina said bluntly, hitching her behind onto one of the stools at the counter and dismissing the subject of Susannah Atkins. “But I like old Mrs. Atkins just fine.” She splayed her elbows on a place mat and watched Joe wash his hands and dry them on the nearest towel. “Me, too. I’m going to fix up her house a little.” “Why? So you can be close to the television lady?” “No,” Joe said shortly, “because her house needs fixing, that’s all. The television lady is leaving Tyler tomorrow.” Joe took a box of pasta from the pantry shelf and dug a block of cheddar cheese from the refrigerator. He said, “Maybe you’d come along and visit with Mrs. Atkins while I’m working there. She’d enjoy the company.” Gina shrugged. “Sure.” “Maybe,” Joe ventured cautiously, “she could help you pick out a dress for the Christmas dance. Unless you already have a dress, that is.” Gina’s dark brown eyes flew open in surprise, and the teenager sat up as if she’d been jabbed with a hot poker. For an instant, she could not find her voice, then she blurted out, “How do you know about the dance?” “How could I not know about it? Every ninth grader in town is talking about the big Tinsel Ball. Your friend Marcy cornered me in the drugstore to ask what color your dress was.” “That nosy fink!” “What color is it?” “What?” Gina pretended complete bafflement. “Your dress for the Tinsel Ball,” Joe said patiently. “Marcy said you told her it was the...let’s see, what word did she use, exactly? Slinky, that’s it. The slinkiest dress in Madison. I didn’t know you’d gone to Madison to buy a dress.” Hastily, Gina said, “You must have misunderstood, Dad. You know how fast Marcy talks. She must have said her dress was slinky—” Joe set his ingredients on the counter and glowered at his daughter, ready to confront her with the truth. “Don’t try to snow me, Gina. I know what Marcy said. Have you been lying again?” Gina thrust out her lower lip and looked sulky, her automatic reaction to any accusation. She refused to meet her father’s gaze, but said bravely, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Joe considered his options. There was no denying that Gina’s biggest problem was stretching the truth. She could tell a whopper without blinking an eye and had been caught so often that Joe sometimes wondered how many times she’d actually gotten away with lying. The possibilities boggled his mind sometimes. Her teachers complained every year, but the problem had finally become such a daily event that lately they’d started pushing Joe to seek help from professionals. The school psychologist had suggested that Gina was lying because she missed her mother. Joe had a hard time making the connection, because Marie had never told a fib in her life, but Gina seemed to do it just because it was more fun than telling the truth. If her lying was a bid to get more attention, it seemed to him that there were easier ways of doing that. He felt unable to understand or stop the situation. The psychologist hadn’t been a hell of a lot of help and had encouraged Joe to find a therapist for family counseling. Family counseling sounded like a lot of hogwash to him. He could handle the problem himself. But he hated confrontations with his daughter and was experimenting with ways of handling the various troubles of adolescence without resorting to yelling at Gina. She only yelled back, and she was a heck of a lot louder than he was! So he set about calmly cooking the macaroni and said, “Let’s start this conversation all over again, shall we? Your friend Marcy thinks you’re going to the Christmas dance next week and that you’ll be wearing a great dress. The way I look at it, you need to get a dress so she won’t think you’re—” “Yeah, okay,” said Gina, jumping at the chance to get out of trouble. “I was going to ask you for some money, Dad, but you’ve been so busy lately—” “I’m never too busy to help you buy some clothes, Gina. Trouble is,” Joe said wryly, “I’m not going to be much help picking out a party dress. That’s when I thought of Mrs. Atkins. I bet she’d love the chance to help you find something nice.” “Well...” Joe heard a new note in Gina’s voice and looked at her sharply. “You are going to the dance, aren’t you?” “Oh, sure,” Gina said quickly. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” Joe suspected she wasn’t quite telling the truth again, so he shot a suspicious look at his daughter. Why in the world did she act this way? Wasn’t he giving her enough attention? Or maybe it was just the wrong kind of attention? Perhaps it was a case, as the school expert suggested, of Gina worrying that she was going to lose both parents. Not through death, necessarily; she might also fear losing him to another woman, to his work, to any number of possibilities. So she lied just to keep him hopping. And maybe she was lying again. Gina wiped the guilty expression from her face at once. “Naturally, I’m going to the Tinsel Ball. I just...I haven’t had the time—” “What’s the problem?” “It’s not a problem,” she said immediately. “Not exactly. I just haven’t found a date yet.” “You haven’t—? How can you go to the dance if a boy hasn’t asked you yet?” Gina looked scornful. “Oh, Dad! This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore! I’m going to ask a boy myself. I’m not going to wait around for some nerd to ask me when I could ask whoever I want in the first place. My piano teacher says it’s demeaning to women to—” “Yeah, I heard that line before.” Joe growled, “Pretty soon Nora is going to start charging me for more than piano lessons. So if you’re going to ask somebody, why haven’t you done it yet?” “I haven’t gotten around to it, that’s all!” Gina’s voice rose petulantly. “You’re not the only one who’s busy around here, y’know!” “Okay, okay,” said Joe, placating his hot-tempered child before she really blew up. “I’ll leave that part up to you. But if you need money for a dress or anything else in that department, I’ll be happy to give you whatever you need—within reason.” “What’s within reason?” Joe hadn’t the faintest idea how much a dress was going to cost—fifty dollars, maybe? But somehow he knew it would be a tactical error to admit such a failing. He said, “I’ll think about it and get back to you. In the meantime, you can concentrate on finding a date.” “I can manage that, I think.” “Can you manage to fix us a salad, too?” “Okay,” said Gina, hopping off her stool to help. She hugged Joe from behind first and said, “I love you, Daddy. You’re so understanding. You’re the best father in the whole world!” Joe grinned. He was wrapped around his daughter’s little finger, and he knew it. He’d give Gina a hundred dollars for a dress. She deserved the best, after all. She loosened her hug and said softly, “You know, if you wanted to see the television lady again, I guess I wouldn’t blame you.” Joe laughed and turned around, cradling Gina in his arms. “What brought that on?” She didn’t meet his gaze. “I dunno. You’re not a monk, I guess.” “A monk? Who have you been talking to?” Joe demanded, amused. “Your piano teacher again?” Gina shrugged. “Maybe. She says you’re an attractive man. She did, honest,” Gina repeated when Joe laughed in disbelief. “She says I can’t keep you all to myself much longer.” “Gina...” Joe began, massaging her arms and wondering what in the hell he was supposed to say. But Gina stepped away from him, shaking her head rapidly. “I know it’s true. You hate me sometimes—when I lie—and you want to have somebody nice around....” “I never hate you, Gina.” “But...” Gina stopped, her voice suddenly clogged with tears. “You need a woman around.” Joe’s heart melted. But he couldn’t find the right words to ease his daughter’s pain. Clearly, she was threatened by the idea of another woman entering his life, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain that his feelings for Gina would never change. She was his daughter, for crying out loud! Nobody could ever change that bond. “Listen,” he said, attempting to josh her out of her mood, “let me decide what I need around here, okay? Nobody knows better than I do, got that?” She tried to smile. “Okay.” “And the first thing I need is food,” Joe declared. “I’m starving. Let’s get dinner on the table, partner. Then we’ll talk more about this dress business, okay?” Gina’s smile flickered at last. “Okay, Dad.” He released her and went back to fixing dinner. He’d find a way to get Susannah Atkins out of his mind eventually. The last thing he wanted was to alienate Gina. If giving up women for the rest of his life was required, then so be it. But, damn, Miss Suzie was going to be hard to forget. CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_25bfbc84-a253-5c20-9201-ac2675fe65d9) THE PARAMEDICS GAVE Rose a thorough examination. “We could take you to the emergency room, Mrs. Atkins, but I’m not picking up anything really terrible,” said the young woman with the stethoscope. “Your blood pressure’s a little high.” “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Rose insisted. “I was just a little dizzy. I feel fine now.” “Well, you should see your doctor tomorrow,” the paramedic counseled. “Perhaps your granddaughter will take you.” “Oh, no. Susannah’s going on vacation. I’ll ask a friend to go with me.” “We’ll see,” Susannah said, then showed the kind paramedics to the door. When she returned to the parlor where Rose was reclining on the sofa, she said, “I think I’ll call your doctor immediately, Granny Rose. Are you still seeing Dr. Phelps?” “Heavens, don’t bother him tonight.” Rose sat up briskly. “He’ll just tell me to come in in the morning.” “All right, I’ll take you to see him first thing.” “I won’t hear of you changing your plans for me, Suzie. I’m not feeble, you know!” “But—” “I don’t need a nursemaid. You should take your vacation. You need it.” The argument went on for several minutes, and Susannah had never felt more helpless. How could she force a perfectly sane adult woman to see a doctor when she didn’t want to? Her attentions only upset Rose. “Granny Rose, I wish you’d be sensible.” “I’m perfectly sensible,” Rose snapped, putting an end to the discussion by getting up and preparing a delicious supper of homemade soup and whole wheat rolls that she popped out of the freezer and into her warming oven. The rolls were perfect with Susannah’s peach chutney, and Rose chattered at length about the soup recipe, one she felt Susannah could use in her TV program. Susannah was aware that her grandmother was trying to divert their attention from the problem at hand, but she allowed Rose to talk aimlessly about unimportant matters during the meal. Afterward, in the parlor, they enjoyed tea laced with brandy in front of a roaring fire. Talking local gossip, Susannah watched her grandmother’s every move and syllable for signs of illness, but Rose seemed healthy and happy. Rose always went to bed before ten o’clock. Since Susannah could hear her grandmother cheerily humming Christmas carols in her room, she tiptoed downstairs to telephone Roger. She got through to his answering machine. “Roger,” she said to the recording, “I’ve run into a problem with my grandmother. I may have to postpone my flight. I’ll call you in the morning when I know what’s going on. I—I’m sorry about this.” She wished she could say more, but it was difficult speaking to a machine. She ended by saying softly, “I’ll be in touch. Good night.” She hung up, wishing she could have talked with Roger personally. Although he wasn’t much of a listener where personal problems were concerned, he was a logical, unemotional thinker, which might be helpful. He could at least act as a sounding board for Susannah’s worries about Rose. She needed someone to share her feelings—someone who could help her decide how to help her grandmother without compromising Rose’s self-esteem and independence. “How do I help Granny Rose without making her feel like she’s incapable of taking care of herself?” A good answer didn’t occur to Susannah, so she went upstairs quietly and changed into her flannel nightgown. She left her bedroom door ajar in case her grandmother should cry out in the middle of the night, and climbed into bed. It was the same canopied princess bed where she’d slept during her childhood. The same gauzy white curtains festooned the frilly white bed that resembled—in Susannah’s mind—the grand sleigh of a beautiful ice princess who drove a pair of milk-white ponies over the snowy land she lived in. But the pleasant memories evoked by her bed didn’t make Susannah feel any better. She lay awake for a long time, wondering what she could do. So many of her friends had taken care of elderly parents, but Susannah had never imagined the day when Rose might be incapacitated in any way. Such a vital, fun-loving woman as Granny Rose didn’t deserve a slow, undignified slide into dependency. Yet there was no stopping old age, Susannah knew. Eventually, Rose would need a great deal of care and the responsibility would be Susannah’s alone. Somehow, she had to find a way to help Rose without hurting her pride. In a few hours, Susannah knew, she could be winging her way to a beautiful beach bathed by sea breezes. But only a completely selfish woman would abandon Rose when she was most in need. Susannah intended to telephone Roger in the morning to cancel their plans. She hoped he’d understand. Perhaps she’d invite him to spend Christmas in Tyler. She had often contemplated a more serious relationship with her boss. Perhaps now was the time. Roger might enjoy the endless entertaining, the hours of puttering in the kitchen while neighbors popped in and out to sample Christmas cookies and lend a hand. Roger might actually have fun decorating the tree with the hundreds of antique ornaments Rose and Susannah had collected over the years. Gilded fruit, yards of shining ribbon, garlands of pine—Susannah loved draping the house in finery. Perhaps Roger would, too. But lying in bed, Susannah knew that Roger wouldn’t care for a Tyler Christmas in the least. He’d hate the pointless chatter, the foolishness of decorations that would have to be stripped down in January. He’d have a terrible time making small talk with the old ladies who’d come for eggnog. He’d find the church service boring and the family traditions charming but foolish. Not that Roger didn’t have other good qualities, Susannah told herself hastily. He was a nice man, of course. He had a wonderful head for business and knew broadcasting inside out. He had been a big part of the team that made “Oh, Susannah!” a success. But he couldn’t sit in a kitchen drinking cocoa and gossiping about the Ingalls family the way Joe Santori had—not without yawning, checking his watch and dashing off to make important phone calls every half hour or so. Roger was very single-minded. His work was his life. Susannah felt the same way. Her work was important—the reason she got up every day. She loved the pace and the stimulation. Although trips to Tyler were relaxing and precious to her, Susannah thrived on her career. But oddly enough, she found herself dreaming about Joe Santori when she woke the next morning. She sat up abruptly and threw off the quilt, which had suddenly turned very hot. Just conjuring up Joe’s face caused a warm sensation to curl through Susannah’s body. “Why in the world is he floating around in my head?” she groused, reaching for the bedside clock to check the time. “Heavens, it’s after eight! I wonder how soon he’ll get here?” Susannah’s question was answered not by a voice, but by a tremendous thunk that sounded from the porch below. “What in the world?” She climbed out of bed and grabbed the white satin robe she had left draped over the rocking chair by the door. Pushing her rumpled hair away from her face, she went out into the hallway in her nightie. “Granny Rose? Did you hear that noise?” Rose had just emerged from her own bedroom, already dressed for action in a pair of baggy trousers and a sky-blue sweater embroidered with snowflakes. She was pulling a knitted cap down over her hair and looked ready to go out of the house. She also looked cheery and pink-cheeked—the picture of health. “Oh, that was probably the paperboy, Lars Travis. Sometimes he throws the paper from the street to build up his arm. Good morning, dear. Lars wants to be a football player, you see.” “Surely he’d get better practice on the football field.” Susannah sleepily put her arms through the sleeves of her lace-trimmed robe as she followed her grandmother down the hallway. Rose charged along the carpet as though powered by a full-throttle steam engine. “Oh, Lars practices whenever he gets the chance!” She laughed. “Good thing, too. He’s just terrible, you see. But he’s very charming. He’s the town gossip, to tell the truth. Almost as good as Tisha Olsen at the Hair Affair.” Susannah grinned. “He sounds like someone worth knowing. Granny Rose, where are you going, may I ask?” “Oh, I have a date at Marge’s Diner. I promised a friend I’d lend her my coffeepot.” “Hold it!” Susannah cried. “What about going to see Dr. Phelps?” Rose waved her hand breezily. “The office won’t open until nine, I’m sure. I have plenty of time to get down to Marge’s and back.” “See here, Granny Rose! Give me a minute to dress and I’ll drive you down. After last night, you shouldn’t be wandering around the streets of Tyler—” “Why not?” Rose demanded, spinning on Susannah and startling the younger woman with the fire in her gaze. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never once so much as tripped over a crack in the sidewalk between here and the diner! I can hotfoot my way down there and back in fifteen minutes.” “But—” “You’re not my baby-sitter, you know!” “If you’d just slow down a little—” “The day I slow down is the day I die!” Susannah held her tongue, ashamed that she’d upset her grandmother. She felt her face grow hot. Clearly chagrined, Rose leaned forward and gave Susannah a kiss on her cheek. Then she turned and led the way down the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “Help yourself to tea or coffee. I just put some muffins in the oven—banana and pecan, a new recipe. We’ll try them when I get back from the diner. Listen for the timer, please?” “Of course.” Susannah followed, not bothering to tie the sash on her robe but tiptoeing barefoot down the stairs. “After breakfast, I’ll help you pack for your trip. You are leaving today, aren’t you?” “Not until I’ve heard what your doctor has to say.” “Oh, I’m fine this morning.” As if sensing Susannah’s disapproval, Rose added hastily, “But if it will make you happy, I’ll call for an appointment as soon as I get back. He keeps Saturday hours and will fit me in, I’m sure. Then you can go off and have a wonderful vacation!” Susannah didn’t argue further. She said, “I wish you’d let me go along to the diner.” “That’s silly. I’ll be back in two shakes. Why don’t you read the paper while I’m gone? It’s on the porch, I’m sure.” From the enormous walnut armoire in the hallway, Rose removed an ancient duffel coat and pulled it on. “Just save me the front page and the obituaries—the important stuff. I’ll go out the back door.” “Surely you won’t ride your bike!” Rose Atkins had long ago forsaken the automobile as her primary mode of transportation. Instead, she pedaled a three-wheeled, adult-size tricycle all over town—to the grocery, the local diner and her various meetings with friends and clubs. Although Rose claimed she used the bike for ecological concerns, Susannah suspected her failing eyesight was the primary reason she’d decided not to drive her car anymore. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/nancy-martin/monkey-wrench/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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