Husband Wanted (5 page)

“I chose conservative styles for you,” she said, using the tone she saved for customers. “While we want you to look slightly sexy, it’s still important to dress like a lady.”

Frannie nodded, but the last thing she cared about was looking sexy. Nevertheless, once she put on the outfit and checked her reflection in the mirror, she was impressed. “Hey, this doesn’t look half bad. How much does something like this cost?”

“None of your business.”

By the time Frannie had tried on everything in the garment bags, she was exhausted. Blair decided what she should wear when and where, and she hung them in a closet accordingly. She even attached notes stating which accessories and shoes went with each outfit. Although the shoes were a half size too large, Blair had stuffed tissue in the toes for a better fit.

“Now we have to do something about your hair and makeup,” she said, grabbing a small suitcase. “Come on, there’s a vanity in the bathroom.”

Once Blair had pulled Frannie’s hair free from its braids, she brushed it. “You have nice thick hair,” she said. “Why do you wear it up all the time?”

“I have to wear it up at the luncheonette.”

“Well, you don’t once you get home.” She paused. “When’s the last time you had it trimmed?” she asked, studying the split ends the way a scientist might study a new strain of influenza.

“Back in third grade.” Frannie laughed at the look her friend shot her. “I don’t know. A couple of years, I suppose.”

“You’ve got gorgeous hair, but some of the length has to go,” Blair said. “I’m guessing at least four inches.”

Frannie nodded. “That sounds good.”

Blair wet down Frannie’s hair with a spray bottle, pulled out a pair of barber’s scissors and got busy. Finally, she surveyed her work. “I think this is a good length for you.” She plugged in a blow dryer and a fat curling iron. “Now, pay close attention so you’ll know how to do this in the future.”

Frannie watched each step. “It looks easy enough,” she said.

Blair nodded. “It
is
easy, you just have to take the time to do it.” Finally, she brushed Frannie’s hair. It tumbled past her shoulders beautifully.

“What do you think?”

“I love it!” Frannie said. “I think it makes me look younger.”

“Indeed it does,” Blair said. “You should wear it like this every day. Now, as for your makeup—”

“I don’t wear much of it,” Frannie said.

“You don’t need a lot, so I would suggest you use a tinted moisturizer with sunscreen.”

“I don’t know, Blair. I don’t have a lot of time to prepare for work in the morning.”

“Surely, you can spare half an hour. I can make my face in less than ten minutes.”

“Yes, but—”

“Trust me.”

Clay climbed out of his car and slipped on his jacket as he made his way to the front door of the house he’d grown up in. He was late. His appointment had kept him over, then he’d had to run home, shower, and slip into a suit. He thought it dumb to go to so much trouble for one lousy dinner, but his mother had insisted on the family dressing up, and they’d continued the tradition after her death.

Clay paused at the door, not knowing whether to knock or go in. Greta saved him the trouble of deciding by opening it before he had a chance to do either.

“I thought I heard you pull up.” She smiled.

“Hello, Greta, how are you?” he said. She offered her cheek and he kissed her lightly.

“I’ve had better days,” she said, opening the door wide for him. “Your father hired a chef.”

“No kidding?”

“And a maid.”

“Hmm. Is she cute?” He grinned at the look she shot him.

“Don’t get fresh with me, boy,” she said, although there was a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re not too old for me to take over my knee. A good spanking might be just the thing you need.”

“Only if you promise to wear something in leather when you do it.”

“You’re so naughty.”

Clay started to respond but was interrupted by his father’s sudden appearance.

“Hello, Son,” Walter said, stepping into the hall. “I see you made it.” He smiled, obviously very pleased.

“Sorry I’m late,” Clay said. “I was held up.”

“No problem, you still have time for a cocktail before dinner. Greta, would you tell Jean-Paul we’re all here now? We should be ready to sit down to dinner in twenty minutes or so.”

“Yes, Mr. Coleman.” She mumbled something under her breath as she made her way toward the kitchen.

Walter chuckled. “She missed her nap today,” he said, “and been as grouchy as a bear.”

Clay noted the pleasant expression on his father’s face. “What’s up? You look as if you just got a hot tip on the stock market.”

Walter motioned for him to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Intrigued, Clay followed him through the foyer, and into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, wearing a black silk crepe de chine suit, was a striking woman, with the longest legs he’d ever seen. Clay glanced at his father questioningly.

“I think you’ve met Miss Brisbane,” Walter said, going to the woman and holding out his hand. She took it and rose gracefully.

It was one of those drumroll kind of moments for Clay who could only stare at her. “Frannie?” He stepped closer. Of course it was her. Only different.
Much
different. She smiled, drawing attention to full lips that had been painted the color of ripe strawberries. They looked wet. Wet and inviting.

“What do you think?” Walter said.

Clay shook his head, not knowing what to say or do next. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders, sleek and shiny. He suddenly realized he was staring. “You look, um, different,” he managed.

“And every inch a lady,” Walter pointed out.

Frannie offered them both a nervous laugh. “I feel like the sow’s ear trying to pass myself off as a silk purse.”

Walter shook his head. “Nonsense, you’re very lovely. Your daughter will be proud of you.”

Clay noticed the looks that passed between them and felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach. His father couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman. “Can I fix anybody a drink?” he asked, making his way to the wet bar.

“Nothing for me,” Frannie said.

“I’ve already had one,” Walter told him, holding up a glass. “I’m watching my weight. By the way, guess what Jean-Paul is preparing for our appetizer?” he asked. “Escargots, one of your favorites. How’s that?”

“Escargots?” Frannie said, a frown marring her brow. “Isn’t that—?”

“Snails,” Clay told her, pouring scotch into a glass. He shot her a curious look. “Have you ever eaten them?” Of course she hadn’t.

Frannie glanced from one to the other. She’d heard people ate snails, but she didn’t know a soul in Georgia who did. “N-no, I haven’t,” she sputtered.

“You’re a lucky woman,” Clay told her smoothly and with just a hint of sarcasm. “Now that my father has taken you under his wing, he’ll see to it that you’re introduced to life’s finest pleasures.”

“That’s right,” Walter said, giving her a hearty wink.

“Uh, maybe I’ll have that drink after all,” Frannie told Clay, hoping the snails would slide down easier if she had something to relax her. “Do you have any white wine?”

“Sure.” He put his drink down and opened a small refrigerator where several wine bottles were stored. He pulled one out, checked the label, and opened it with a corkscrew that had been placed nearby for convenience sake. He carried the glass to her, and she raised one perfectly manicured hand to take it. “It’s a very good wine,” he said. “Nothing but the best for your new guest, right, Dad?”

Walter smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Let this be an official welcome, Frannie. I hope you’ll be very happy here.” He didn’t see the look Clay shot him.

Dinner was tense for several reasons. First, Clay had not sat down in the family dining room in more than five months, and the strain between him and his father was noticeable, despite all they did to appear civil to each other.

Frannie felt the tension in her shoulder muscles. And then there were those snails to contend with. She watched as Clay, using a miniature fork, pulled the meat from the shell and placed it on a toast point. She did the same, took a big bite, and chewed only long enough to get it down.

“What do you think?” Clay asked, noting the trouble she’d gone to in order to keep from actually tasting the delicacy.

“I think one is more than enough,” she said, taking a long drink of water in hopes of washing the garlicky taste from her mouth. She turned to his father. “Walter, you’re welcome to mine if you want them.” She was so eager to get rid of them, she didn’t bother to ask if they were on his diet.

“I love snails,” the older man said, taking her plate. “Thanks, hon.”

Clay watched the display with mounting anger.
Hon?
Just what did his father have in mind? Finally, he shoved his chair from the table. “I think I’ll get another scotch.”

Frannie saw the pained expression on Walter’s face, as his son stalked from the room. She covered his hand with hers. “Give it time. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

The rest of the meal was delicious. There was a cold avocado soup that Frannie discovered wasn’t half bad, a nice salad with Bibb lettuce, and a special peppercorn dressing. The main course consisted of duckling in orange sauce, with new potatoes and fresh steamed asparagus. Once again, she watched the men for direction.

“You’re doing fine, Frannie,” Walter told her, smiling warmly.

Clay, now on his second scotch, had lost interest in his food. His attention remained fixed on the exchanges between his father and the young woman. He shrugged mentally and drained his glass. Oh well, why should
he
care if there was anything going on between the two? He was tired of trying to keep his father from looking foolish, more tired still of trying to save the family fortune.

“Do you always go to this much trouble at dinner?” Frannie asked.

“Clay’s mother insisted on it,” Walter said. “She claimed it was the only way she knew to get the whole family together.”

“Frankly, I would have a hard time getting used to all this fuss,” she confessed, “especially with my schedule. I hate to admit it, but there are times when I’m so worn out, I grab a bowl of cereal before bed. Tacky, isn’t it?”

“My dear, nobody could describe you as being tacky. Indeed, you are like a rose among thorns.”

Clay set his glass on the table with a loud thunk and started to get up, just as Louisa entered. Walter beamed in Louisa’s direction.

“Tell Jean-Paul dinner was excellent,” he said, “and if he’s ever interested in coming to work for me full-time, I’ll make it worth his while financially.” He paused, seemed to hesitate, and shoved his chair from the table. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Excuse me,” he said, nodding to Clay and Frannie. He and the maid disappeared through the doorway.

Frannie shifted in her chair uneasily. The tension in the room was thick.

“Your father’s very kind,” she said when the silence became unbearable and she could stand his penetrating gaze no more. “Not many people would open their homes the way he has for me.”

Clay regarded her. “Yeah, he’s a real knight-in-shining-armor. I’m sure he has his reasons, though. He usually does.”

“What makes you think he isn’t doing it out of the kindness of his heart?” she asked, wishing Clay could see the goodness in his father, as she did. No matter how selfish and insensitive Walter had been in the past, the heart attack had changed everything.

“My father never does anything unless it benefits him somehow.”

“How could he possibly benefit from having
me
here?”

Clay leaned back in his chair. “We both know the answer to that, Frannie. Let’s don’t pretend otherwise.”

She stared back at him for a minute. He obviously suspected his father was using her situation to get Clay to move back home. “You agreed to the whole thing. Maybe you’re ready to make peace as well.”

He shook his head. “Making peace with my father had nothing to do with my agreeing to go along with this charade. I’m doing it because—” He paused. “Because I knew you were desperate,” he said.

“I see.” It annoyed her that he felt he had to help her because she couldn’t get another man to pose as her husband—and it hurt a little, too. She pushed her chair from the table and stood.

“Well, as you said before, it’s only for a few days. Surely we can tolerate each other for that length of time. But don’t worry, I’ll do my best to keep it quiet. I’d hate for folks in town to find out you had to pretend to be married to Frannie Brisbane, who slept with the first boy who treated her kindly, then got knocked up.” She saw him frown and move his chair from the table as well. “Why, you’d be the laughingstock.” She turned for the door.

He reached out and grasped her wrist, bringing her to a halt. “Wait a minute, Frannie. That’s not what I meant at all,” he said, realizing the scotch had loosened his tongue and twisted his meaning; which explained why he didn’t often drink.

“Isn’t it?” she said, realizing, much to her horror, that she had tears in her eyes. “Tell me, how did your father get you to agree to the whole thing?

What kind of deal did you make? I know you’re not doing it out of the kindness of your heart.”

She said it so flippantly, he thought. She didn’t have the slightest idea how close to the truth she was. “Look, I’ll admit I wasn’t looking forward to it. How do you think I feel watching the two of you together?” He regretted it the minute he said it. Once again, his true feelings had seeped through the veneer of control he’d hidden behind for so long.

Frannie blinked twice. She didn’t understand at first. Then it hit her. Could he really be jealous of the easygoing relationship she had with his father? Certainly he did not think there was more to it than that? Jealous because he couldn’t spend five minutes in the same room with the man without making it uncomfortable for everybody else.

“It’s your own fault, Clay. Your father is begging for your love, but you won’t even give a little. Can’t you see how lonely he is? Don’t you see how much he needs someone in his life right now?” She closed her mouth and bit her bottom lip. Oh, how she longed to tell him just how close he’d come to losing the man.