The Unknown Malone

Taylor sat up and rested her elbows on her knees, her face reflecting some inner debate. “You’re very good with children. You’ve had experience, haven’t you?”

Nicole hesitated only a second. “Yes.” She wanted to volunteer more, but was afraid where the questions might lead.

“Could you provide references?”

Excitement and hope sent a shiver down her back. Could she? The mothers she’d helped would certainly recommend her, yet she couldn’t have mail sent to Joeville without the risk of being tracked down. Then she remembered yesterday and the little post office adjacent to the doughnut shop nearly fifty miles away.

She met Taylor’s hopeful smile with one of her own. “It may take a week or two, but yes, I’m sure I can.”

“Mind keeping this between us for the tune being?”

“No. Not at all.”

They watched the children and didn’t say much after that, but Nicole knew she had just made her first friend in Joeville. For a moment she thought about asking what had happened to Michael at the party, but she didn’t want to pry.

Still, the longer she thought about Taylor’s brother, the more she was certain that he had come to this place with baggage of his own. She wasn’t the only one with something to hide.

Four

Michael dropped a plumb line from the header above the new door frame leading to one of the large upstairs bathrooms, the scent of this morning’s bacon lingering in the air, and the image of Nicole lingering in his mind. He’d read the paper and drunk coffee, pretending to ignore her, but when she hadn’t been looking, he’d studied her graceful and confident movements around the kitchen. It had been seven years since his mother’s death, and until this morning he didn’t realize how much he missed the presence of a woman doing what seemed to come natural. It felt good.

Damn good.

Damn it. This wasn’t smart. In a week or so she’d be gone. He’d be wise to remember that.

He kicked the bottom of the stud so that it aligned with the plumb line, then hunkered down and nailed it in place.

“Refill?”

Over his shoulder Nicole stood with a fresh pot of coffee. He lifted his mug from the floor, and she filled it, a smile on her face and a fresh floral scent invading his space. Nowhere was there a hint of the woman with the attitude he’d met yesterday. Which was the real Nicole? Or was she a chameleon, someone who could adapt at the drop of a hat? And for what purpose? To ingratiate herself so that she could stay here indefinitely?

“Can I help you with anything?” Her voice sounded sincere enough.

“No, thank you. Breakfast was great.” He sipped some of the hot brew and added, “And so is this coffee. Thanks.” Damn! Why did he feel so uncomfortable with her standing nearby? He felt awkward and clumsy and so big next to her slight figure.

And what a figure it was, he thought, setting his mug down and turning back to his work. Her knit top, though not snug, could not hide her generous curves. Today’s jeans looked even sexier than yesterday’s denim skirt. Oh, brother. It had to be his neglected libido speaking. This line of thinking was stupid, stupid, stupid.

“There’s a big pot of soup simmering on the stove,” she said to his back. “I...I, uh, was thinking maybe I should do a major grocery shopping today...unless you need me for something else.”

No, no. Please leave. “You can take the van, if you want. Keys are hanging by the door.” He kept hammering at the nail, refusing to meet those big brown eyes.

“Could you check on the soup whenever you’re downstairs?”

“Sure.”

“It should be boiled-down and thick enough by lunchtime. There’s some bread cooling on a rack, too.”

“Great.”

“Um...I have some personal things to take care of while I’m out, so I probably won’t be back until supper. Is that okay?”

“No problem. Take your time.” Please.

“Well, then—”

She was still standing there, her perfume driving him to distraction. What was she waiting for? And then it hit him. Money. She’d need money for groceries.

He stood and retrieved the money clip from his pocket and started counting out twenties. He handed them to her, and she took them shyly, a slight tinge of pink rising in her cheeks. “Do you think this is enough?”

“Oh, plenty, I’m sure.” She looked at him soulfully, and this time he couldn’t look away. “Thank you, Michael, for everything.”

He could feel the heat rising up his neck, and he waved a hand before returning to his work. “See ya later.”

He heard her retreating and forced himself not to look over his shoulder, not to notice again the gentle sway of her hips, the just-right curve of her small backside. He blew out a loud breath. It was good she’d be gone all day. He had work to do.

Yes, he lectured himself, downing more coffee. He’d put Nicole out of his mind and get down to business.

He grabbed a handful of nails and dropped them into his tool belt, a little voice at the back of his head reminding him of a more immediate problem—one he’d been avoiding. It was time he sorted things out regarding the Malones. In Michigan it had been easy to think he could deal with the complications of their intertwined families. Here, faceto-face with people he barely knew, it was quite a different matter.

Michael gave up any pretext of working and sat cross-legged on the floor. The subject needed more than a cursory glance, and there was no point putting it off any longer. If he planned to live in Joeville, he’d have to see them sooner or later and make peace. Not that they had ever been at war, he reminded himself. Actually, in the brief time he had met them seven years ago, he liked the whole family.

Even Max. He let out a long sigh, wishing he could sweep away the truth as easily as he did sawdust.

Max.

His father.

How strange that simple thought.

He wasn’t the dad that John had been, the man Michael had lived with and worshipped. But nonetheless, Max was his father—a fact he hadn’t learned until after his return to Michigan—a fact he had denied, or at least refused to dwell on, for all the intervening years.

As long as the good man who raised him was alive, he’d wanted no other father. Even now that his dad was gone, Michael still had trouble thinking of Max in those terms. For all practical purposes, they were strangers. Sure, there would be family gatherings that would force them to be in the same room from time to time, but the family was large and they could get lost in the crowd. They could be civil with each other without the need to go further.

He closed his eyes and pictured his dad working alongside him. All their years together—he’d taken them for granted as if there was no end. Now Michael would give anything to have him here He would have loved this old place, taken pride in its rebirth. Two peas in a pod, his mom had always said.

The ache in his chest returned as it always did when he thought of his mother. He had always put her right up on that pedestal with his dad. If only she were still alive to answer his questions. Why had she been unfaithful? And why had she deceived them both, taking her lies to the grave with her? He had loved her and trusted her with all of his heart.

Why, why, why?

Frustrated, he stood and picked up his hammer, feeling all the old anger welling up inside him—anger at his mother, anger at Max, anger at Roxanne, the next woman Michael had so unwisely chosen to love, and mostly, anger at himself for his inability to control any of it.

He stalked to the window and gazed down. There, looming at the end of the brick walk, was Nicole’s rusted Chevy. He planted his hands on his hips and spoke to it as though it were the woman herself.

“And what am I going to do about you?” He said aloud. Another woman. Another problem. Yet he couldn’t just send her packing. She needed work and money first. He remembered Taylor had hinted at a remedy for that, but her solution meant having Nicole stay.

“I’ll be damned if I allow that!” He turned and strode back to his work, knowing his words were as hollow as the wind whistling through the open window behind him. He had about as much control over Nicole as everything else. He pushed the tool belt lower on his hips, thoughts of her not wanting to retreat.

Even if—he repeated the word if stronger in his head—even if she went to work for Taylor, he didn’t have to let his guard down with her. She may look fragile and harmless, but underneath, he’d bet anything she was cunning and deceptive.