Weekend Wife (3 page)

“I’m afraid not, buddy,” he said, drawing himself up to his full six-foot-two height. “She not some piece of meat that you can claim just because you saw her first.”

The loser’s eyes narrowed. “Says who?”

“Says me,” Ty said fiercely, and took a threatening step toward him. He didn’t want to get into some kind of barroom brawl with this idiot right here on the edge of the freeway, but if that’s what it took, let the party begin. He figured he didn’t have anything to lose.

“Who the hell are you?”

Ty rolled his eyes. For crying out loud, what difference did that make? “I’m your worst nightmare,” he bluffed, borrowing some line out of an action movie. “So, go ahead. Make my day.” He flexed his fists threateningly and glanced behind him at the little waif. She was laughing. Some gratitude, he fumed, and turned back to the loser.

“If you don’t have any further business to conduct here, feel free to take off,” Ty encouraged, his jaw set with grim determination.

Put out that he’d wasted part of a precious afternoon on this lost cause, the loser went ballistic with a string of hair-singeing curses. When he’d finished telling them both where they could go and what they could do when they got there, he finally spun on his heel and stalked off toward his waiting car.

Tyler heard an audible sigh of relief come from over his shoulder. He turned around to find her right behind him, pale and shaking like a leaf.

“Thank you so much,” the waif said, her eyes filled with gratitude. “I was really starting to worry there. I, uh—” she blushed furiously and ran a light hand over her unwashed hair in a singularly feminine gesture “—guess I’m not very good at this business yet....” She let her sentence trail off and her eyes darted humbly to her sign.

Her words and voice had a cultured sound that took Tyler by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this sure as heck wasn’t it. “Anytime,” he said, and nodded pleasantly at her. “What’s your name?” He tried not to let his excitement show.

“Emily,” came her sweet reply.

Emily. What a beautiful name. It fit her somehow. “Nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Tyler Newroth.” He extended his hand and enveloped her soft, delicate hand in his. Amazing. He’d expected them to be rough and callused from years of hard living. But instead they were as smooth and fragile as rose petals. “Actually, Emily, if you don’t have any better offers, I do have a little job for you. It would only take a weekend—or two—of your time, and I swear the pay would be great.” At this point, he was ready to split his inheritance with her.

She regarded him warily. “Just what would I have to do for this excellent pay?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Guessing the direction of her thoughts, he shook his head emphatically. “Nothing like that jerk had in mind, if that’s what you’re asking. This is strictly on the up-and-up.” He paused, and corrected himself. “Well, it’s legal, anyway.”

She smiled doubtfully up at him. “If you say so. There’s just one small thing.” She glanced over her shoulder at her two traveling companions. “They come with me as part of the deal.” Her voice brooked no argument.

“Fine.” He was in no mood to quibble. The more the merrier.

The old bird could play the mother-in-law, and the kid...well, the kid could be the kid. It was perfect. Giving himself a mental pat on the back, he followed Emily to where they sat waiting. Hot damn. He was going on a cruise with his loving wife and family. Eat your heart out, Roxanne, he nearly crowed out loud.

He felt a twinge of doubt as he neared the kooky old woman and her shopping cart full of plastic goods. Oh, well, he rationalized as he glanced over his shoulder at his showroom-condition Mercedes, they still had a week to rehearse.

“U
h, I hate to be a spoilsport...” Ty kept his voice low so that only Emily could hear. “But do we have to bring
that?
” He pointed to the odd assortment of plastic goods that Helga had stored in the broken-down grocery cart.

Emily looked up at him in surprise. “Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “That little cart holds all of her worldly possessions.”

“But...” Ty cringed at the thought of stuffing that smelly, dirty, drippy mess into his pristine trunk. “I have a bunch of plastic bags and containers at my house. New ones. I’ll be glad to give her all she wants.”

Lifting her slender shoulders lightly, Emily shook her head. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

Of course not, Ty thought sourly. He’d only had a mother-in-law for ten minutes and already she was driving him nuts.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road,” he muttered, and shrugged out of his jacket in preparation to muscle the old biddy’s garbage heap into his trunk.
Yes. He would get Roxanne for this someday.

Helga hustled forward and directed his every move with the grace and vocabulary of a seasoned fishwife. “Careful with my stuff there, you meathead,” she roared when a wheel from her cart caught on his trunk lid and some of its contents spilled to the ground. “Don’t screw with my stuff!” she shouted when he nearly lost his grip on the entire mess.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he grunted, staggering under the load. Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to hold his breath against the stench of her “stuff” and load it into the car at the same time. Ty was beginning to think that maybe he’d made his second big mistake of the day. Would he ever be able to make silk purses out of these sows’ ears? He’d had a hard childhood, practically a street urchin himself, but he’d clawed his way to the top because he’d had brains and ambition. Did these have-nots have what it took?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting Roxanne off his case. He was just desperate enough to delude himself into thinking that this would work. Finally completing the odious task, Ty dusted off his hands and turned to Emily. “Okay.” He looked around. “Where’s your stuff?”

Emily grinned up at him, and Ty was taken aback by the beauty of her smile. Even through the streaks of dirt and grime, something about this woman screamed class. Funny how this destitute woman had more class in her little finger than Roxanne had in her whole body.

Holding up a spiral notebook in one hand, and the dark-haired child’s hand in the other, she said, “This is my stuff.”

“That’s all?” Ty was incredulous. How could someone survive with nothing but a notebook? And what on earth could she possibly need that for?

“Yes,” she replied simply. “We’re ready to go if you are.”

Again she smiled at him, smoothed back her hair, and straightened her collar with a quick, self-conscious gesture. And again Ty was surprised by the gentle elegance she exuded in spite of her unfortunate circumstances. He was dying to know how she came to be homeless.

Smiling down at her, he said, “I’m ready.”

“Dadburnit!” Helga thundered from behind him. “Then stop staring and get your skinny butt in the car. We ain’t got all damn night here. I still gotta set up camp when we get to your place. Move it,” she ordered and, throwing the driver’s seat forward, squeezed her generous rump into the back seat of Ty’s Mercedes.

Emily smothered a giggle behind her hand and looked up at Ty’s stunned face through her heavily fringed eyelashes.

“Your mother takes a little getting used to.” He gulped and nodded in Helga’s direction.
And he had to convince Roxanne that he’d married into this family?

Emily led Carmen to the car. “Oh, she’s not my mother,” she tossed over her shoulder as she helped the child into the back seat and carefully fastened her seat belt. When she was finished, she stood and looked at Ty over the shiny roof of his car.

“She’s not?” For some reason, he was incredibly relieved.

“No,” she said, and didn’t elaborate. “We’d better get her home. She has a lot to do before dark.”

With those words to add fuel to his indigestion, Tyler got into the car and pulled onto the interstate, the old woman’s plastic goods swirling out of his trunk behind them.

* * *

Though they had probably only been driving for a few minutes, it seemed like forever to Emily. Why on earth was it taking so long to get to his house? Hadn’t he said that he lived close by?

Glancing over at the tense expression on this handsome stranger’s face, Emily grew suddenly worried. Just what did she know about this guy, anyway? What if he was some kind of serial killer? Her eyes darted nervously to the speedometer, and she wondered how she could get Helga and Carmen safely out of the back seat of his car at fifty miles per hour.

Carmen sneezed several times from the seat behind her, and Emily, resigning herself to her fate, decided to take her chances with this stranger. After all, this is what being homeless was all about, wasn’t it? Living on the edge? If she wanted her thesis to be authentic, she had to take some chances.

Once again, she slid a sidelong glance over at the polished professional behind the wheel, and wondered what a good-looking guy like him would want from a street person like herself. She knew he hadn’t given her all the details about her new job, and it was obvious that he was hiding something. Maybe he was some kind of pervert.

Was it his habit to kidnap young women into kinky love slavery? She shivered with fear until she remembered what she looked like, and then nearly laughed out loud. Some love slave she’d make. She hadn’t seen a bottle of shampoo in well over a week, and her carefully manicured nails had broken off days ago. Chewing on her lip, she wished she at least had a tube of lipstick. Then she rolled her eyes, wondering how much better her grubby face would look with a coat of dewy lilac frost on her lips.

What the heck was she thinking, anyway? She didn’t care if this sexy stranger thought she was pretty or not. No. She was here for one purpose and one purpose only. To get help for Carmen and Helga, and hopefully to gather some research for her project along the way.

He must have felt the intensity of her stare, because Tyler Newroth slowly turned to look at Emily and favored her with one of the sexiest, most genuine, heart-melting smiles that she’d ever seen. And suddenly, for reasons she couldn’t fathom at the moment, Emily knew that they were safe.

She didn’t know how she knew, exactly, but she knew. The same way she felt that this man had desperately needed her help back there at the side of the road. Even after a nightmarish week on the streets of L.A., she was still a sucker for anyone in trouble. But just what kind of trouble was this guy in?

“It won’t be long now.” He kept his voice low, so as not to disturb Helga, who was snoring like a log truck in the back. “We should be there in about ten minutes or so.”

“Your house?”

“Yes.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “It’s kind of a mess, actually. I just moved here from Boston, and I still have a lot of unpacking to do.”

Why he should bother explaining to her that his house was a mess, Emily would never know. A bombed-out room at the Beirut Hotel was preferable to where they’d been sleeping. “Is that why you need my help? To get you settled here in L.A.?” She hoped so. Unpacking was a task she could handle.

“In a way, yes,” Tyler hedged. “I’ll fill you in on all the details as soon as we get home. It really is kind of a long story.”

Much to her mortification, Emily’s stomach chose that moment to growl in cranky protest of its neglect.

“How does pizza sound?” Ty asked.

Once more Emily’s stomach rumbled rudely. “Heavenly.” She sighed.

Picking up his car phone, he hit one of the speed dial buttons and grinned at her. “This is how us bachelors cook.”

Funny how it was so easy for him to take life’s little conveniences for granted. Having spent the last week eating from the occasional can of beans she was able to scrounge up and share with Helga and Carmen, a pizza, ordered from a car phone, made Emily want to weep with joy.

“What do you like?”

“Everything,” she breathed.

He glanced back at Helga. “Probably better get a couple of them, huh?”

Emily nodded happily. “At least.” She knew she could eat one all by herself.

* * *

Shortly after placing his pizza order, Tyler nosed his Mercedes through the gates of the Rolling Heights Estates. Emily’s eyes widened in surprise as he cruised past dozens of opulent mini-mansions nestled into the hills overlooking the magnificent Pacific Ocean.

Looking down at her filthy jeans and shoes, Emily suddenly felt like one of the Beverly Hillbillies after the kinfolk said, “Californy is the place you oughta be.” She began to hum under her breath as the stunning residences of California’s elite rolled by.
So they loaded up the Mercedes and they moved to—
Wow!

Tyler pushed a button that was clipped to his sun visor and two large iron gates, attached to an impressive brick-and-ironwork fence, swung open to allow them to pass. As he drove down the cobblestone drive and slipped into the portico, the gates slid silently shut behind them.

Manicured box hedges lined the driveway and divided smaller areas off for rose gardens and fountains. The rambling Spanish-style house was crawling with ivy and, as far as Emily could tell, seemed to go on forever. From where she sat under the portico, she could see the kidney-shaped pool, cabana, and a large, landscaped patio area that must make for wonderful parties.

Emily was beginning to wonder if she’d been hit by a car on the freeway. She was sure she’d died and that St. Peter was lurking somewhere beyond that fabulous pool. Sighing, she smiled up at Tyler.

“The pizza should be here in about half an hour or so,” Ty said as he pulled his keys out of the ignition. “That should give us enough time to get you settled in.” An earthshaking snore came from the back seat. “I hope.” He looked doubtful.

“Sure.” She nodded encouragingly at him. “Why don’t you get Helga’s cart out of your trunk, and I’ll get these guys up?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ty nodded, unfastening his seat belt. He disappeared toward the back of the car to wrestle with Helga’s worldly possessions, while Emily lifted a sleepy Carmen into her arms.

“Come on, honey,” she murmured into the child’s dark hair. “We’re home now.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Helga howled, struggling to emerge from the confines of Ty’s snug back seat. “I thought I warned you not to screw up my stuff!” Bursting out of the car, she hustled around to where Ty was grappling with tons of dirty plastic and shoved him out of the way. “Not like that, you knucklehead! What are ya trying to do?”

Wondering what the normally amiable Helga was up to, Emily gently pulled her out from under Tyler’s impatient feet.

“What are you doing?”
Emily chided, her brow drawn into a worried frown.

“Seeing what he’s made of.” Helga grinned at her and winked. “Thought I’d test him out a little bit. Make sure he’s a nice guy.”

“Well, tone it down a little, will you? We need to get some medicine for Carmen.”

“Killjoy,” Helga muttered, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

His starched white shirt was somewhat the worse for wear as Ty marched over to Emily, indignation written all over his face.

“Is she always like this?” he demanded, and plunged his hands through his corporate haircut, giving himself a cute, disheveled look.

Emily, now able to stand and really watch him in action, was again struck by how appealing he was. There was something vulnerable behind that big-business facade he presented to the world. Something tenderhearted and loving.

“No,” she replied, biting back a smile. “Sometimes she’s worse.”

“Great. Just great,” he muttered under his breath. “Roxanne’s gonna love this. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

Roxanne? Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? He was married. Obviously to someone named Roxanne. Fighting a fanciful wave of melancholy, she took Carmen by the hand and led her into the house. What difference could it make that he was married? He wasn’t really a knight in shining armor. Besides, she was here to get help for her two friends, not play the part of damsel in distress.

And what about Will? She was already interested in a man back home. Will Spencer, the man she’d been working for this summer as a nanny—that is, until the university had requested her research results three months early. Will thought she was still there, performing her job. And she was—in the form of her identical twin sister. She wondered how Erica was faring up there in Harvest Valley, posing as her. Probably just fine. It wasn’t as if Will had ever paid that much attention to her. Her infatuation with him had always been one-sided. No, most likely Will hadn’t even noticed the difference. It was kind of funny how she hadn’t really thought much about him since she’d left.

Tugging on her hand, Carmen skipped into the house, chattering a mile a minute.
“La casa es muy, muy, muy bonita!”
she chirped happily, sneezing several times in quick succession, as she stared at the interior of Ty’s opulent home in openmouthed awe.

Emily had to admit that, even though it was clear from the packing crates stacked in tidy piles that Ty was still moving in, his home was awesome. Carmen was right. This house was California living at its best.

Ty stopped and stared. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She has a virus of some sort, I think.”

“No. I mean, why is she talking that way?”

“You mean, Spanish?”

“Spanish?” Ty moaned. “She speaks
Spanish?
”

“Well, she
is
Mexican.”

“Oh, great.” He slapped his forehead with an open palm and muttered again under his breath. “A Spanish-speaking daughter. That’s rich. Roxanne will probably just die laughing.”

What was this about a daughter? Emily wondered, tightening her grip on Carmen’s little hand. This man and his wife wanted a daughter? She didn’t know who this Roxanne woman was, but she certainly didn’t sound like mother material.