Wife for Hire (8 page)

That was when Maggie saw the barrel of the gun glint in the blackness. Elsie was right beside her, and she was holding a gun with two hands the way Maggie had seen on the cop shows. “Don't worry about a thing,” Elsie said. “I've done this before. I know just where to aim.”

A black shape appeared in the far window. A knife sliced along the perimeter of the window screen, and Maggie was able to see that it was a man, and that he was wearing something over his face. A stocking maybe. She and Elsie were hidden in the shadows of the room, but the intruder was slightly backlit from a sliver of moon. He leaned forward to enter the room, and Elsie pulled the trigger.

Maggie thought it had to be like standing next to a howitzer. The blast was deafening, there was a flash of fire from the gun barrel, the smell of smoke and gun oil stung her nostrils, and the man at the window screamed in fright and instantly disappeared. There was a solid thunk as his body hit the ground, followed by the clatter of the ladder falling on top of him.

“Dang, I got excited and shot too soon,”

Elsie said. “He wasn't even halfway through the window. I probably only shot him in the heart.”

Hank rushed into the room, zipping his jeans. “What the devil was that?”

“Elsie shot some guy on a ladder,” Maggie said. “He was trying to get into my room.”

Hank went to the window and looked through the slashed screen. “I don't think he's shot too bad. I can see him taking off through the orchard. In fact, I don't think he's shot at all since there's a hole the size of a grapefruit in the wall here. How many shots did you fire, Elsie?”

“Just one. He didn't hang around long enough for me to squeeze off another.”

“Anybody get a decent look at him?”

“The big sissy was wearing panty hose on his head,” Elsie said. “I couldn't hardly see him.”

“I didn't see him very well either,” Maggie said. “But he seemed bigger than the last man. I think this was someone different. And his scream was different.”

“I heard him sneaking around the house,” Elsie said. “By the time I got to a window, he
was already on the ladder. So I grabbed Little Leroy here and headed for Maggie's room.”

Hank gently removed the gun from Elsie's hand and emptied the bullets. “Little Leroy?”

“When I was living in Washington, I bought it at a yard sale. The man who sold me the gun said he called it Little Leroy because it was big and bad just like this friend of his named Leroy.”

“Maybe you'd like to leave Little Leroy with me for safekeeping,” Hank said.

Elsie retrieved the gun and tucked it into her bathrobe pocket. “I don't go anywhere without Little Leroy. Old ladies got to protect themselves. It isn't like I could give some guy a karate chop, you know. I don't move as fast as I used to. Sometimes I get arthritis in my knee when it's going to rain.”

She turned and shuffled toward the stairs “I'm going to make myself a meat loaf sandwich. I always get an appetite when I get woken up in the middle of the night like this.”

Hank pulled the shades on the windows and drew the curtains. “Where's Horatio? He was supposed to be sleeping in here?”

“He went under the bed when Elsie blasted that poor man off the ladder. I think he's still under there.”

“Can't blame him,” Hank said. “I don't know who's more of a threat—the guys that are breaking into this house, or Elsie and her cannon.”

“Maybe we should call the police.”

“I told Gordie Pickens about the first break-in. He's the sheriff for this part of the county. If I call him now, I'll probably wake him up. I'll file a report in the morning.”

And tomorrow I'll go into town and see who's walking with a limp, he thought. Someone would be sore from falling off that ladder.

“This is too much of a coincidence,” Maggie said. “Someone's after the diary.”

“Have you got the diary in a safe place?”

“Between my mattress and box spring.”

Hank stretched out on the bed. “Good. Then I can stay right here and protect you and the diary, all at the same time.”

Maggie squinted at him in the darkness. “And who's going to protect me from you?”

“You don't need any protection from me. I'm doing my hero thing to night. I'm going to stay by your side and keep you safe.”

“To tell you the truth I don't think I'm in too much danger. These people don't seem very bright to me. I don't think we're dealing with hardened criminals.”

“Yeah. Their second-story skills are definitely lacking.”

“You think it could be a prank? You know, someone's idea of a joke?”

“Hard to believe. Even in my most rebellious stage I never did breaking and entering. Anyway, what ever the motive, I think Elsie did a pretty good job of discouraging them.”

“Then why are you staying here?”

“I don't want to pass up an excuse to crawl into bed with you.” He reached out and pulled her snugly against him. “How's this? Is this comfortable?”

“Actually…”

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “We can look at this like a trial run. This is how we'd sleep if we were lovers, but of course, we wouldn't have any clothes on. You'll have to use your imagination about the clothes,” he whispered into her hair.

“Don't start.”

“It was just something I thought I should bring to your attention. Details are important, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

He threw his leg over hers and curled his
hand around her rib cage. “Can you imagine how my hand would feel on you if you were naked?”

“You're doing it again! You're trying to seduce me!”

“I know. I'm a scourge.”

“You told me you were going to be a hero to night.”

“Oh man, are you going to hold me to that?” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, you're right. I said I was going to be a hero, so I'll be a hero, but I want you to know it's damn hard being a hero. I hope you appreciate this.”

“Are you going to sleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

They lay together in silence for some time. Horatio stretched under the bed; Fluffy curled in an old-fashioned rocker. Downstairs, a mantel clock ticked away the hours. The darkness was thick and velvety, the air heavy with the orchard smells that drifted through the open window.

Maggie felt Hank relax, heard his breathing turn slow and steady. He was asleep. This was something else she could easily get used to, she
decided. She liked this quiet part of sleeping with a man. She liked the warmth and security, the silent companionship. She was an extravagant personality, but she enjoyed the small pleasures of life the best. She liked to watch her cat stretch, liked to lick the beaters when she made whipped cream, liked the way Hank's arm felt as it possessively draped across her.

She lay there for a while longer, absorbing the plea sure of Hank's nearness, and little by little a different sort of plea sure stole into her. Little by little desire pushed the contentment aside and wanting took over. The wanting burned behind her skin and ached deep in her loins. She had never wanted like this before. Not with this unrelenting intensity. Not from simply being next to a man.

She moved against him; pressing her lips to his heated flesh. Her hand slid along the muscle-hard plane of his belly. Her breasts weighed heavy on him. She felt him stir, sensed a change in his breathing.

“Hank,” she whispered in the darkness, her lips skimming lower. “About this hero thing…”

He groaned.

Her hand was splayed over his navel, and she could feel the muscles tense under her palm. Her own stomach responded with an equally strong contraction. So this was what it was all about, she thought. She'd never understood before. She'd never before been caught in the undertow of desire, never felt the pull of it.

His hands tensed at her back. “Maggie, what are you doing?”

“I think I'm seducing you. Is it working?”

Another groan.

“I've never actually seduced anyone before.”

“Maybe you'd better think about it.”

“Oh Lord, am I doing it wrong?”

“No! I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

What she wanted? She was beyond wanting. At the moment loving Hank seemed crucial to her existence. Loving Hank seemed as essential as breathing air. She answered by wriggling out of her nightshirt and tossing it to the floor.

Neither moved. Nothing was said. Their breathing was shallow and silent. And then suddenly there was only passion. It roared through them like a flash fire.

He yanked his jeans off and came to her needing more than he'd ever before needed from a woman. He kissed her hard and deep, sweeping the length of her body with his hand. Loving words and tender exploration were saved for other times. There was an urgency and a ferocity to this first lovemaking that was more exciting than slow expertise.

She arched her back and cried out.

Mine, he thought. My woman, my wife, my love. He put his mouth to her and brought the fever back to her body.

He was a man who gave freely and took hungrily. He felt her move under him, heard her cry out at the intensity of the plea sure, felt her contraction tighten around him.

“Maggie.” He could hardly say it, hardly breathe for the fire that consumed him. He thought his heart would leap from his chest, and then they came together with an explosion of passion that left both of them gasping. When it was over, they clung together, trying to assemble their thoughts.

She was the first to find her voice. “Wow,” she said.

Hank couldn't top that, so he picked her up with shaking arms and carried her across the
hall into his bedroom. “Clean sheets,” he offered. “This next time is going to be slow and thorough, and I don't want you to be distracted.”

“Oh my God,” she half-moaned, “you mean there's going to be a next time already?”

Maggie stood in front of the bathroom mirror and took stock. Her hair was impossibly tangled, her eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, her cheeks rosy…and she had a foolish grin plastered to her face. Stop smiling, she told herself. You look like an idiot!

Five minutes later she emerged from the shower, squinted into the fogged mirror and rolled her eyes. She was still smiling.

“They're going to know,” she murmured. “They're all going to know. And
he's
going to know.”

That was the worst part. Hank Mallone was going to know he'd just given her the best night of her life. She wasn't quite sure why that bothered her so much, but she felt like a cat with its hackles raised. Defense mechanism, she guessed. The more she loved him, the more
wary she became. Weird. Definitely weird, she decided.

She pulled a comb through her curls, dropped a T-shirt over her head, put on a pair of black jogging shorts, and checked the mirror one last time. The smile was still there.

Hank was stapling a new piece of screen across the door when Maggie came into the kitchen. He looked up from his work and chuckled when he saw the smile on her face.

The heat rose from her shirt collar and burned in her ears. Wonderful. Now she was blushing. She made a frustrated sound and took out a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator.

Elsie put a plate of scrambled eggs on the table. She stepped back and took a good look at Maggie.

“That's some smile you got on your face. Shame on you. You two hardly know each other. I tell you, in my day we didn't go around smiling like that until after we were
really
married.”

“It's only a smile, for goodness sakes,” Maggie shouted.

“Well at least you're finally getting some exercise,” Elsie said. “I guess there's something to be said for that.”

Maggie slanted a look at Hank. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, and he had a grin on his face that was even sillier than hers. She cleared her throat and concentrated on her eggs.

Elsie added an English muffin to Maggie's plate. “I've got to go now. I've got an appointment to get my hair done. I've got a date to night.”

“Sounds serious,” Maggie said. “You better watch out you don't wake up smiling some morning.”

“It's different for me,” Elsie said. “I can't wait around. Men my age are dying like flies.” She straightened her dress and took her purse from the kitchen counter.

“That's a pretty big purse,” Hank said. “It looks heavy.”

“It's not so bad,” Elsie said. “Keeps me in shape. All the young women today go to them expensive spas with those fancy machines. I just carry a good-sized purse. I've got muscles in my arms those women only dream of.”

Hank poured himself a cup of coffee and listened to Elsie gun the Caddy down the driveway. “There's only one thing I can think of to make that purse so heavy.”

Maggie grimaced. “You checked her references, didn't you? I mean, she doesn't have a criminal record or anything, does she?”

Bubba opened the newly repaired screen door. “Howdy,” he said. “Am I too late for breakfast?”

Hank looked at the kitchen clock. “Over sleep?”

Bubba cracked six eggs into the frying pan and poured himself a cup of coffee. “It's Saturday. I've been fishing. Ruben Smullen told me Goose Creek below the trestle bridge was doing real good, so I went out first thing this morning.”

“Catch anything?”

“Got a mess of trout. They were just about standing in line to get on my hook. I got them in a cooler on the back porch. I'll split them with you.”

He found leftover meat loaf in the refrigerator and added some slices to the pan. When it was cooked to his satisfaction, he turned the eggs and the meat onto a plate and covered it all with ketchup.

“That's a lot of breakfast,” Hank said. “Even for you.”

“I'm a man with a problem. I'm lacking
essential gratifications. So I'm substituting food.”

“Does it work?”

“No.”

“What's the problem?”

“Peggy wants to get married. Says there's not going to be any more…you know, until we get married. I blame you for this. You did it. It's like a disease. An epidemic. A plague. Ever since you got married, every woman for fifty miles is out to get a ring put on her finger.”

“Maybe you'd like being married,” Hank said. “You've been going with Peggy for years. Maybe it's time to get married. You aren't getting any younger, you know.”

“Or any slimmer,” Maggie said, watching him fork into his eggs.

“I don't know. The idea gives me the willies.” He looked up at Hank. “You like being married?”

“Yup.”

He shifted his attention to Maggie and grinned. “I can tell you like being married.” He winked at Hank and leaned across the table to him. “Only one thing puts a smile like that on a woman's face.”

Maggie stuffed an entire muffin into her
mouth and chewed. She'd agreed to stay for six months. She'd already been here for five days. That left 179 days. 179 breakfasts with Bubba. It wasn't an appealing prospect. She swallowed the muffin and washed it down with half a cup of coffee. “I have to go to work,” she said.

“It's Saturday,” Hank said. “Why don't you work for half a day, and we'll go for a drive. I'll take you up to the top of Mt. Mansfield on the ski lift.”

Bubba looked up from his meat loaf. “You can't do that. You told Bill Grisbe you'd take a look at his Ford. Hank is a mechanical wizard,” Bubba told Maggie. “And then we've got a game against West Millerville.”

“Softball,” Hank explained. “I forgot. Maybe we could go to Mt. Mansfield tomorrow.”

“I thought you were going to Burlington with me tomorrow,” Bubba said. “We were going to take a look at the new press Sam Inman just installed.”

“Oh yeah. It's a great press,” he said to Maggie. “It's the kind I want. He's got a thirty-two inch hydraulic rack-and-cloth press with a sanifeed unit.”

Maggie felt her smile fading. Hank didn't have the time or the desire for a real wife. That
was why he'd hired one. Lord, she was such an idiot. After their wonderful night, now she was playing second fiddle to Bill Grisbe's Ford. Men!

“Wouldn't want to disappoint Bill Grisbe,” she said frostily. “And I certainly wouldn't want the softball team to do without you.”

“Uh-oh,” Bubba said to Hank. “I think she's mad. I think she's getting the old ball and chain ready to clamp onto your ankle.”

Old ball and chain?
Maggie felt the fire burning in her scalp, felt her temper kick in.

“Listen, Mr. Lard, it's none of your business what I clamp onto my husband's ankle. And for your information, your days are limited at this breakfast table. If you haven't dropped dead from clogged arteries by Wednesday, you're going to have to make other arrangements to fuel up.” She glared at him. “Got that?”

“She sure gets riled,” Bubba said to Hank. “Must be that book is wearing her out.”

Maggie wheeled around and marched out of the room, shaking her head and muttering.

Hank grinned after her. “She likes me,” he said. “She doesn't want to share.”

“She sure is changeable…smiling one minute and calling me names the next. She's
unstable, Hank. I'm telling you, the woman is loony.”

Maggie stomped into her study and slammed the door shut. She wasn't loony, and she wasn't unstable. She was mad. Mostly she was mad at herself. She'd walked right into this with her eyes wide open, and now she was peeved because it was turning out just as she'd expected.

She threw herself into her chair and turned on her computer. Ignore them, she told herself. Concentrate on your work. Who cares about a silly trip up to the top of Mt. Mansfield.

She cared! She hadn't been off the farm for five days, and she was going bonkers. She cracked her knuckles and looked out the window. Apple trees for as far as the eye could see. Boring, stupid apple trees. They were always the same. At least her parking lot in Riverside had some activity. Cars going in and out. People taking their garbage to the dumpster. And then twice a week the big garbage truck would come and empty the dumpster. Now that was excitement.

She stared at the computer screen, rereading the last paragraph she'd written. She tapped a pencil against her forehead and pursed her lips.

“Now what?” she said. “Now what?”

She didn't know. She'd lost her momentum. She thumbed through the diary, but it didn't inspire her. So, Kitty Toone had become a madam to buy baby cereal.

“Big deal,” Maggie said. “Everybody has problems. Look at me. I've got problems.”

By two o'clock she'd organized her sock drawer and her lingerie, she'd written a letter home to her mother, she'd yanked the hairs out of her legs with hot wax, she'd put two coats of bright crimson lacquer on her nails, and she'd gone through two giant bags of potato chips. But she still hadn't typed anything into the computer.

She was lying spread eagle on the floor, supposedly thinking, but actually taking a nap, when she heard a car pull up in front of the house. She went to the window and watched while Hank's parents got out and made their way to the door. A surprise visit from her in-laws. They probably came to see if she'd set any more of the ancestral home on fire.

She took stock of herself and decided she looked utterly disreputable in her most comfortable but oldest shorts and faded T-shirt. Her hair hadn't been combed since before
breakfast, and she'd lost track of her shoes. Maybe she could hide in her room, she thought. Maybe Elsie would answer the door and tell the Mallones that Hank was off with Bubba fixing somebody's broken-down car. Then, hopefully, they'd leave.

She heard Elsie move to the door when the bell rang, and she crossed her fingers. She really didn't want to face Harry Mallone.

There was the muffled sound of conversation in the foyer, and then Elsie yelled up the stairs. “It's the Mallones, Maggie. They came to say hello.”

Maggie groaned. She ran an in effective hand through her hair and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” she said, opening the door to her study.

Horatio bounded in. He put his paws on Maggie's chest and gave her a big, happy slurp on the face. He saw Fluffy sleeping next to the keyboard and did the same to Fluffy. Fluffy reacted with a lightning fast swipe that caught Horatio on the side of the head. Horatio yelped. He regained his footing, raised his hackles, and barked in the cat's face. “
Woof!”
Fluffy took off with the dog in pursuit.

Maggie ran down the stairs after them, stopping short when she reached the foyer. The cat was now affixed to Hank's father's chest.

Harry Mallone's face was brick-red, his even, white teeth clenched, his eyes bulged slightly. “This house is a loony bin,” he said. “And I
hate
cats!”

Helen Mallone patted her husband's arm. “I think she likes you, dear,” she said. “Remember your blood pressure.” She smiled pleasantly at Maggie. “We were out for a drive and thought we'd stop around to say hello.”

Maggie unhooked the cat claws one by one. “I'm terribly sorry!”

Elsie was still holding the front door open. “I've never seen anything like it. That cat just flew through the air to old Harry here. Must have some squirrel in her. She just flew through the air.”

Hank's pickup rattled down the driveway and stopped in front of the house. Hank and Bubba got out and jogged to the porch.

“What's going on?” Hank asked.

“Your parents came over to visit, and the cat from hell attacked your father,” Elsie said.

“That cat's a killer,” Harry Mallone said. “It's a threat to society. It should be locked up, put to sleep, have its claws ripped out.”

Maggie clutched Fluffy to her chest. “Over my dead body!”

Harry didn't look upset about that possibility. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Hmmmm.”

Hank gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “It's great to see you guys, and I'd like to stay and chat but I'm late for a softball game. Maybe you could stop by the field and watch me destroy West Millerville.”

“That would be lovely,” Helen said sweetly. “We could swing by Dr. Pritchard's office and get a tetanus shot for your father, and then we'll watch you play for a little while.”

Hank took his cleats from the hall closet, rumpled Maggie's hair, and kissed her on the nose. “See you at supper. Don't forget about the dance to night.”

Bubba's mouth fell open. “You're taking her to the dance at the grange? You hate that kind of stuff.”

“I'm going to the dance too,” Elsie said. “I hear everybody'll be there. I even got my hair done.”

“The grange holds two dances,” Bubba told her. “One at the beginning of the county fair and one at the end of the county fair. This here's the one at the end of the county fair, and it's always the best. The king and queen of the fair will be there. One year Hank was supposed to be king of the fair, but he never showed up.” He elbowed Hank. “Remember that?”

Hank's father shook his head.

“He was a trial,” his mother said. “But now he's all settled down. Married to a lovely girl. No more crazy schemes. Goodness, it makes a mother feel good.”

Maggie put her finger to her eyebrow.

“Something wrong, dear?” Hank's mother asked.

“A slight twitch. It's nothing. The doctor says it's a nervous disorder, but you can't believe everything those doctors say. I'm not a nervous sort of person. I'm really very calm. Don't you think I'm calm, Hank?”

“I told you she was loony,” Bubba whispered to Hank. “You'd better watch her. Old Bernie Grizzard started with a twitch, and now he's talking to doorknobs.”