The Marrying Man (4 page)

He gulped down some coffee then glanced at the clock hanging over the cash register near the door. Three minutes to noon. According to the map Max had given him, he was 8.7 miles away from her house. He'd stop by, offer his apologies, then by twelve-fifteen be'd be back on the road to Boston where he'd spend the night with a woman who had as little interest in holidays and family celebrations as he had.

A woman who wasn't Cat.

He knew all about high maintenance types like Catherine O'Leary Zaslow. The kind who came with lots of expectations, not to mention children, pets, and a house with a white picket fence. Everything he'd gone out of his way to avoid since he packed and left Nevada behind a lifetime ago.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in all of those things. He did. At least he did for other people. He'd learned early on that the things the rest of the world took for granted weren't in the cards for him and he'd made his peace with it. You learned how to stand on your own real fast when you grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home.

He'd been on the wrong line when life handed out lucky breaks. All he'd had going for him was his size and he'd managed to parlay athletic ability into scholarships that had funded his education. Too bad there'd been nobody around to celebrate when his dreams began to come true.

People talked about family. They talked about sacrifice and love. But Riley knew that love was the first thing to disappear when the sacrifices became too much to bear. He'd been five years old when he found out.

And he wasn't about to forget it.

***

Cat leaped from the bathtub, sending a spray of Mr. Bubbles across the room.

"Jenny!" She wrapped a bright yellow bath sheet around her body as she she raced downstairs, then through the hallway toward the kitchen. "Please be home, Jenny! We forgot the cranberries!"

No such luck. Jenny was still at the Wassersteins' pilgrim party over at Danville Park.

The smell of turkey wafted from the oven while assorted pots and casseroles were lined up on the countertops, awaiting their turn. Too bad cranberry sauce wasn't hiding in one of them.

Scooter, her ten year old golden retriever, bounded into the room, followed by three of their multitude of cats.
"We've got trouble, guys," she said, scratching the dog behind the ear. Jenny was out with the minivan. Cat's station wagon was in the shop. And only a monster would call Alec Marton for a cab on Thanksgiving afternoon.

She glanced up at the clock over the sink. Not quite ten after twelve. If Jenny would just hurry home, there might still be time to jump into the car and head for the mini-mart before the guests started arriving.

She wrapped the towel more tightly around her torso and started back toward the staircase. Anyone could forget cranberry sauce, she reasoned as she left a trail of Mr. Bubbles behind her. It's not as if it was a crime against the nation, even if certain people like Riley McKendrick would probably take it as a sign of her total lack of character.

She was halfway up the stairs when the rumble of a car engine caught her attention. Turning she raced back down the stairs, darted around two of the newest litter of kittens, and barely avoided a collision with Kevin's skateboard.

She swung open the front door. "Jenny! Don't turn off the engine, I--"

It wasn't Jenny.

It was Riley McKendrick and he was striding up the path and heading straight for her. He wore grey flannel slacks that hugged his form, a cream-colored sweater, and that sexy-as-hell leather jacket.

Cat hadn't been raised in New York City for nothing. She knew exactly what to do in a situation like this. She slammed the door in his face.

He rang the doorbell. She looked down at the bright yellow bath towel and the amount of skin it left uncovered and felt her cheeks redden.

"Go away!" she called out. "You're three hours early." She admired punctuality as much as the next woman but this was an affront to human decency.

He banged on the door. Scooter started to bark, which woke up Bingo and Fred, two of Scooter's offspring. Bingo and Fred started to bark as well, followed by Mitzi the beagle's preternatural howling.

She opened the door a crack and glared at McKendrick. "I thought you clockwatchers knew how to tell time." He was every bit as gorgeous as she remembered. Why couldn't he look the way he was supposed to look? Pale, wan, and not the slightest bit interested in seeing her in a bath towel
.
She hesitated. The thought that he might not be interested bothered her even more.

"I'm on my way to Boston. I stopped by to tell you I won't be coming to dinner after all."

His green-eyed gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering nowhere. Missing nothing. Her heartbeat lurched wildly. She wasn't certain if she should slap his face or fling herself into his arms. Both ideas had merit.

 
 
"A bit out of your way, wouldn't you say?" She opted for a more neutral approach. "You could've called."

"Don't have your number."

"You could have asked Max."

"Yeah," he said, "I could've but Max wasn't home."

There it was again, that look of sadness, of loneliness.
Don't look at me that way, cowboy. I'm not going to beg you to stay for dinner.

***

Riley found himself vaguely irritated when Cat didn't try to convince him to stay for dinner.

"Enjoy your turkey," he said. Not a great exit line, but serviceable. Turning, he started down the porch steps.

"Cranberries!"

He stopped. "What?"

She made a funny little clutching motion with the towel, one that made the shadowy valley between her breasts look even more intriguing. He wondered if she had any idea what effect she was having on his libido. Probably not. If she did, he had no doubt she'd bolt the door and bar the windows.

She looked up at him and offered him a very female smile. He'd already realized she wasn't flirtatious by nature, so the smile carried considerable punch. "Are you in a hurry to get to Boston?"

"Why?"

"I--uh, Jenny forgot her wallet."

"You said something about cranberries."

"Cranberries?" Her eyes went wide and innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm worried about Jenny."

"Jenny?"

"My housekeeper. What if the police stop her and she doesn't have her driver's license? She'll end up in jail."

"Last I heard they don't put you in jail for forgetting your license."

"I don't need a lecture, Mr. McKendrick. I need a lift to the mini-mart. If it's too much trouble, just tell me."

"Your housekeeper's at the mini-mart?"

"Well, actually she's at the Wassersteins' pilgrim party but--"

"So why not call the Wassermans?"

"Wassersteins and that's impossible. Dianne always takes them to the park over by the lake and--"

"Don't explain," he said. "Whatever you do, don't explain."

"You'll drive me?"

"Let's go," he said.

"I can't go like this."

"I don't mind if you don't."

"Believe it or not, I don't usually go to the store in my bath towel."

He leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms over his chest. "Make it fast."

She swung open the door the rest of the way. "You don't have to wait out there."

Don't do it, McKendrick. Step through that door and it's all over.
Every instinct he had for self-preservation was screaming for him to put as much distance between himself and Cat Zaslow as he possibly could. But damn it, she was naked under that bright yellow bath towel and there were only so many things a red-blooded man could resist.

The way her skin took the light. The way she'd taste sweet and fresh. For a moment they stood close enough that he could smell the scent of soap on her smooth skin and he imagined having her on the floor...right next to the scruffy Barney doll with the grinning purple face.

"Get dressed." He sounded like he was growling. "I want to get back on the road." Or take a cold shower.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," she said over her shoulder as she started up the stairs, her long legs sleek and bare and inviting. "Help yourself."

Tempting
,
he thought as she disappeared from view. Very tempting
.

***

He drove a sleek black sportscar, the kind of car married men dreamed about. Low, powerful, terminally sexy. No wife worth her salt would let her man drive around in a lethal weapon like this.

It put Cat in a bad mood the moment she fastened her seat belt.

"What's the matter?" he asked as they roared off toward the Danville Mini Mart. "Forget the turkey?"

"Very funny." He didn't know how close he was to the truth. "I was just thinking that this is the kind of car my son Kevin would call a babe magnet."

"I'll let you know," he said. "I just picked it up yesterday."

"New car?"

"It's rented."

"What kind of car do you own?"

"I don't." He shot her a sidelong glance. Wouldn't you know harsh sunlight would be kind to him. Was there no justice in this world?

She swiveled around in her chair to face him. "You don't own a car?"

"Nope."

"Why? Is it some kind of efficiency thing?"

"You could say that."

"I'm curious," she persisted. "The only people I know who don't own cars live in Manhattan and you don't live in Manhattan, do you?"

"Max was right," McKendrick said. "You do ask a hell of a lot of questions."

"Then you won't take this personally. Where
do
you live?"

He rolled to a stop and turned to look at her. "Nowhere."

"You must live somewhere."

"Nowhere in particular," he repeated.

"Where do you get your mail?"
Don't play coy with me, cowboy. I can badger a witness with the best of them.

"A service in Kansas City forwards it to me."

"So then you live in Kansas City."

"I didn't say that."

"But that's where you said you get your mail."

"Because it's convenient," he said. "Kansas City's in the middle of the country. It's a good place to begin."

"You have one of those mailbox services?"

"Bingo."

"And I suppose you think that's more efficient?"

He grinned. "Now you're getting it, Zaslow."

The whole idea gave her the creeps. "Where do you keep your clothes? As far as I know they haven't invented a rent-a-closet yet."

He gestured toward the back of the car. "In the trunk."

"I'm being serious, McKendrick. Your clothes, your books, your papers -- you have to stow them some place."