The Hired Husband

“Then why isn’t she attending now?”

“She hasn’t attended since Mother died.”

“Why not?”

“Because the family is in mourning. It simply isn’t done.” She spoke the words as if the reasoning should be obvious.

“Does that have anything to do with the luncheon she spoke of at supper last night?” Mitch asked.

The reserve Rachel seemed to wrap tightly around her a moment ago, slipped completely. Her shoulders sagged and she pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“That luncheon…”

Mitch jumped out of his chair at the distressed look that had overcome Rachel. He didn’t know how a luncheon could do that to a person, but he had to find out.

“What about it?” he asked, the words coming out more harshly than he’d intended as he rounded the desk to stand next to her.

With some effort, Rachel drew herself up. “It’s the La-La luncheon,” she said gravely.

Mitch stopped. “What’s a la-la luncheon?”

“The Ladies Association of Los Angeles,” she said. “The La-La’s, for short. It’s the premiere women’s organization in the city, and the upcoming luncheon is the single most important event on our annual calendar. The luncheon is always—always—hosted here, in our home.”

So far, this didn’t seem like too big a problem to Mitch. “And…?”

“Mrs. Aurora Chalmers—she runs everything in the city—expects me to host the event, as always.”

“And…?”

“And it’s really Mother’s event. She always plans it, arranges things and does a beautiful job. But this year—”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Rachel nodded, sadness causing her shoulders to droop farther.

“And it’s too upsetting for you to do it this year,” he concluded.

She nodded again.

Mitch shrugged. “Then don’t host the luncheon.”

Rachel came to life then. “I can’t back out. Good gracious, what will people think? What will they say?”

“What difference does it make what people think or say?”

She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

“It makes all the difference in the world,” Rachel declared. “What sort of reflection would that be on Mother, if I didn’t host the luncheon? What would people think of her? Of the family?”

“Let me get this straight,” Mitch said. “Chelsey can’t return to school, but you can host a luncheon?”

“These are two entirely different circumstances,” Rachel insisted. “There are parties, dances and outings at the school. This luncheon is for a service organization.”

Mitch didn’t really see the distinction, but he let it go and said, “You don’t have to host the luncheon. Not if you don’t want to.”

Rachel’s shoulders sagged again. “I’m afraid you simply don’t understand.”

She left the study. Mitch’s heart ached watching her go. She was right. He didn’t understand.

Chapter Seven

R achel couldn’t muster enough of an appetite for supper, Chelsey hadn’t returned from her friend’s house and this was one of Noah’s days to lurk on the staircase, so Rachel told Cook what to prepare for Mitch and went into the rear garden.

Evening shadows slid across the green grass as Rachel settled onto a bench surrounded by blooming shrubs. She looked at the tablet she’d brought outside with her. All afternoon she’d tried to work on the luncheon arrangements. She had yet to accomplish anything.

Of course there were lots of other things on her mind. Her father, for one. Dr. Matthews had come by the house today, as he did several times each week. She’d pressed him for details but the doctor had said nothing new, nothing hopeful. It irritated Rachel that he was always so evasive.

Though she hated to admit it to herself, she’d enjoyed the quiet of the afternoon, made possible by Chelsey’s absence. Her younger sister had no problem making her feelings known on each and every issue that crossed her path.

Unlike Noah. Though she’d seen him several times today, skulking through the upstairs hallway, peering over the railing and dawdling on the staircase when he thought no one was looking, he hadn’t spoken to Rachel. She’d learned months ago to ignore him on days like this.

Dr. Matthews had looked in on Noah, but the doctor had refused to answer any of Rachel’s questions about her brother. Everything was proceeding “as expected,” he’d assured her, though Rachel didn’t feel assured at all.

Her heart fluttered a bit as Mitch Kincade’s image floated into her mind. His presence here was unsettling, but Rachel didn’t know just how or why.

She did know that the big, strong, capable man had become completely flustered in the study this afternoon, pretending to read his ledger upside down. And it had brought on the strangest reaction in Rachel. She’d wanted to comfort him, make things better, see him without his shirt on—

Rachel gasped and shook her head at her own disconcerting thought. Yet that wasn’t as bad as this morning when he’d kissed her. Right there in the garden. For any neighbor who might be up at that hour to see. Or any of the servants who may have glanced out the window.

Rachel’s insides seemed to hum at the memory of Mitch leaning closer, his scent wafting over her, then his lips closing over hers. Was that recollection the reason she’d accomplished so little today? Could a kiss do that?

For an instant she considered discussing it discreetly with Claudia. She was officially engaged now. She might be willing to talk about men. She’d come to the house today showing off the gorgeous diamond and ruby ring Graham Bixby had presented her with, and given Rachel all the wonderful details of the upcoming nuptials.

Rachel sighed heavily as dusk settled over the garden. She was happy for Claudia. Happy and, perhaps, just the smallest bit—

The French doors that led inside opened, drawing Rachel’s attention. Mitch stepped out. Her heart gave an unexpected little jerk.

He stood on the porch for a moment, hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, gazing out over the garden. He looked solid and strong standing in the dim light. After a moment, he spotted her. Rachel saw the quick intake of his breath, the straightening of his shoulders. He hesitated, glanced back inside as if deciding something, then walked over.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not joining you for supper,” Rachel said. “I had Cook prepare one of my favorite dishes for you.”

“Nothing like a plate of vegetables after a hard day’s work,” Mitch said. “And fruit to top it off.”

She slid over a little on the bench. “Would you like to join me?”

He looked down at her for a long moment. Even from a distance she sensed the heat rolling off him.

He glanced at the tablet on her lap—at least, she thought it was the tablet he was looking at.