"Full House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evanovich Janet, Hughes Charlotte)

Chapter Two

Two hours later Nick turned into Billie's subdivision: a small cluster of fairly new, large brick colonials on the outskirts of Purcellville. The houses sat on quarter-acre, nicely landscaped lots. Each yard contained its share of flowering dogwood, cherry, and crabapple trees. The nether parts of the houses were cloaked in azalea, boxwood, spreading juniper, and holly. Silver-dollar-sized cedar chips kept order around the trees and where beds of impatiens, phlox, and begonia grew.

Everything looked neat and orderly, Nick thought. So normal. Quite fitting for a woman like Billie Pearce.

She pointed to a house nestled in the cul-de-sac. "That's mine."

Nick parked the minivan in the driveway and, ice pack in one hand, helped Billie hobble to the door on a single crutch that she'd insisted she hadn't needed but now seemed grateful for. X-rays had not detected any broken bones, but the foot would be sore for a few days. It was badly swollen and tinted a bilious green and purple.

"You'll need to call for a ride home," Billie said, standing aside as Nick unlocked her front door. She was glad she'd straightened the kitchen before she left. There would be clutter; there was always clutter in a house where children lived, but at least the place was presentable.

Nick nodded. He did need to call for a ride, but he wasn't in a hurry. Sheridan had probably already phoned by now, and he wasn't eager for the conversation that awaited. He almost preferred having Max and Deedee run amok than facing his ex-fiancee. Besides, he and Billie had spent the past couple of hours at the hospital together, and he hadn't once mentioned she try another hobby. He wanted to do it in a way that wouldn't hurt her feelings.

Who was he fooling?

He was suddenly curious to see how Billie Pearce lived. It didn't matter that he could almost see the words "hands off" stamped across her forehead, or that she was the complete opposite of what he wanted in a woman; there was an alluring side of her that made him want to take a closer peek.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open wide enough for her to enter. "I'll bet you have a dog with floppy ears, and a cat that sleeps curled up in a wing-back chair all day," he said.

"Um, well, she doesn't sleep there all day." Billie stepped inside and he followed. "The phone is in the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee?" Now why had she gone and done that? she asked herself.

He saw the doubt in her eyes and knew she had offered the coffee more out of a sense of politeness than a need for him to hang around. That made it all the more desirable to accept.

"Sure." He closed the front door behind him and, once again, followed her, this time into a large country kitchen with an old-fashioned round oak table and four upholstered chairs. It was situated in front of a large bay window that overlooked the backyard, where a vegetable garden had been planted. The room looked inviting. He grinned at the sight of a little-bear cookie jar.

"Just as I thought," he said and lifted the lid. It was filled with chocolate-chip cookies.

"Help yourself," Billie said.

Munching his cookie, Nick glanced at the rest of the house. Her carpet, a mushroom color, had been chosen out of practicality, to accommodate children and pets running about, just as her beige walls would not show handprints as easily as white ones. She had added color in comfortable-looking overstuffed furniture of plaids and prints and bright throw pillows. Tasteful watercolors adorned the walls, as well as pictures of her children in various stages of growth.

"I like your place."

Billie headed for the coffeemaker, taking care with her foot. "It feels empty with my children gone. I can't seem to get used to being alone." She put in a fresh filter and reached for her coffee canister.

Nick helped himself to another cookie. "Off at camp?"

"Off with their father," she said, giving a disparaging frown. "He took them to Disney World."

Nick pondered it while she put the coffee on to brew. He was being nosy, but he didn't care. He noted the look on her face and wanted to learn more. "Unfriendly divorce?"

Billie slouched into a chair at the kitchen table and propped her injured foot on the one beside it. "The divorce has been great. It was the marriage that had problems." Now, why had she gone and told him that? she wondered. She almost never spoke ill of her ex, especially in front of the children. She was feeling sorry for herself, that's all.

Nick looked at her expectantly.

Billie saw the look and shrugged. She'd probably never see the man after today, so what did it matter? "An early midlife crisis," she said, waving her hand in the air as though to make light of it. As though it hadn't mattered, when, in fact, it had mattered very much. "He hit thirty and took a nosedive. I should have suspected something was amiss when he got a membership to a tanning salon."

"And after he got a tan, he got a sports car and a girlfriend?"

"Something like that." Billie sighed. In retrospect, the marriage had never been that wonderful. She'd married a man who wasn't ready for monogamy. He'd made an effort in the early years, but as time passed, he'd felt more and more confined, restless. She had blamed herself. Perhaps she could have done more. After having been divorced for four years, she found that time had dulled the trauma of rejection. Still, it hadn't completely erased the occasional pang of guilt.

She straightened her shoulders. She was not one to dwell on the past, but she had certainly learned from it. She might not have been the world's greatest wife, although she knew in her heart she'd given it her best shot, but she was a terrific mother. And she was a good teacher — the best darn teacher at Purcellville Elementary the previous year. She had an award that said so. And she had a green thumb that kept fresh vegetables on the table for two growing children.

Nick saw the slight tightening of her mouth and knew his prying had opened old wounds. He decided to change the subject. "You didn't take your pain pill."

No wonder her foot hurt like the dickens, Billie thought. It throbbed as though, well, as though a damn horse had stepped on it. "I try to avoid medication, even aspirin if I can help it. I'm overly sensitive to it."

She was trying to be tough again, Nick thought, just as she'd balked at the idea of using a crutch. "The doctor wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't think you needed it." He glanced at the sample packet they'd given her. "My dentist has prescribed this painkiller to me before. It's very mild." He found a glass and filled it with water.

Billie hesitated for a moment before popping the pill into her mouth and following it with the water.

Nick realized he might have acted too quickly. "You probably shouldn't have taken it on an empty stomach."

"Now you tell me."

The coffee had finished dripping through. He'd only planned to grab a quick cup, dissuade her against her polo career, and be on his way, but he couldn't just leave her. She needed food, and she probably wouldn't go to the trouble with her bum foot.

Face it, Kaharchek, he told himself. He was in no hurry to leave.

"How about some lunch?" he said, turning to her refrigerator. "I bet there are great leftovers in here."

Billie had to shake her head at the sight of Nick Kaharchek, renowned playboy and newspaper mogul, with his nose in her refrigerator. He was one of those people who never looked out of place. He'd seemed perfectly comfortable in the hospital, doing his best to reassure her and asking the doctor all the right questions so that Billie didn't have to try to concentrate in her state of discomfort. He was obviously a man who had no trouble taking control when the situation called for it; he was taking charge of her kitchen as though it were completely natural.

"Help yourself," Billie said, wondering at the change in him. Was this the same man who'd been so aloof on the polo field? She studied him as he moved about the room with an ease that surprised her. "You know, you're much more mellow in a kitchen than you are on a horse. Do you always experience this change of personality when confronted with a refrigerator?"

"Cookie fumes," Nick told her, hauling out a platter of lasagna. "They go straight to my head." He located plates and put sliced squares of lasagna onto them, stuck one inside the microwave and turned the timer to three minutes. "So, how many kids do you have?"

"Two. A son and daughter, ages eight and ten." Billie continued to watch him. He seemed to be moving about slowly and deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world. Was he stalling? She suddenly wondered why he was hanging around. The man wanted something. She'd cut her teeth on sixth-grade con men. What was Kaharchek after? Surely he had better things to do. She thought of Miss Sheridan Flock who, no doubt, was waiting by the phone for his call. The come-hither look she'd given him had left no doubts in Billie's mind that the woman was ready, willing, and able.

Her mind searched for answers. Was he afraid of a lawsuit? Was he trying to butter her up with lunch and that knockout smile in hopes of winning her over? It probably worked on most females, but she wasn't buying. The man was a known womanizer. A hunk with money. He could have any woman he wanted.

So why was he spending time with a divorced mother of two? He'd given no indication that he even liked her. Okay, she had to admit there was a slight physical attraction. Well, maybe the attraction was more than just slight, she told herself, remembering how her body had reacted when she'd fallen on top of him and all their body parts had touched.

She had her reasons. She still believed the old-fashioned notions that sharing a bed with a man meant love, commitment, and ultimately marriage, beliefs that sent ice water through the loins of most men nowadays. But she'd made up her mind long ago never again to settle for less.

"You miss them, don't you?"

"Huh?" Billie realized she had been lost in her own thoughts. Her shoulders slumped. "Yes. I should have signed up to teach summer school like I usually do, but I wanted to have time with my children. I should have taken into account they'd be gone a month. Not only that, most of my friends are teaching, so I don't see them much." Lord, she sounded downright pathetic.

"Is that why you decided to take polo lessons?"

She was beginning to feel light-headed. "That's one of the reasons."

"Why'd you choose that particular sport?"

"You mean why did I choose something that I'm really no good at?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "You'll think it's silly."

"Try me anyway."

"I want to be good at something. Anything. My children's father excels at sports. Big football star in high school, hockey star in college. He skis like he was born wearing them, he has a cabinet full of tennis trophies, and now he has taken up skydiving. The kids think he's some kind of superhero."

"Surely you're good at something."

"I've tried bowling, but I had a bad habit of throwing the ball into the next lane. I think the manager was thankful when I turned in my shoes. I couldn't hit a tennis ball if my life depended on it, and I was such a klutz the few times my ex-husband took me snow-skiing, he began insisting I stay inside by the fire and drink hot chocolate. The one time I tried sailing, I fell in the water and had to be fished out."

Nick found it hard to believe that she could be so bad at everything, but the earnest look on her face convinced him she was telling the truth. He was thoughtful. "I'll bet your ex can't make chocolate-chip cookies. And where do your kids go when they need help with their homework or have a bad cold?" He thought of his own mother. She could have organized a dinner party for fifty at a moment's notice, but she couldn't have made a simple grilled-cheese sandwich if someone had been pointing a gun at her. "Not all mothers are good at that sort of thing, and some just don't take the time." He saw that his words were having very little effect on Billie. But how could he expect to help her when he had so much else on his mind?

"How long will they be gone?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Huh?" Billie realized that she had lost her train of thought again.

Nick noticed the dazed look in her eyes, and wondered if it was the medicine already at work. "Your children? How long will they be away?"

"A month."

He perked. "A month?"

"May as well be a year."

At first he just stared, but his mind was already beginning to race. He didn't like what he was thinking. "A whole month? That is a long time, considering there are almost five weeks in this month."

"Thanks for making me feel better," she said, annoyed as she watched him put the lasagna aside. He removed lettuce, tomatoes, and whatever else he could find in her refrigerator, and began preparing a salad. Talk about a man knowing his way around a kitchen, and this wasn't even his kitchen. She didn't quite know what to make of it, except that he seemed to be finding ways to hang around longer than necessary. He was being too precise with the salad, tearing the lettuce into perfect bite-sized pieces and quartering the tomatoes so carefully that Martha Stewart would have been impressed. She was glad she didn't have radishes on hand; probably he would have made florets out of them.

Yes, he was definitely killing time.

Billie rearranged her foot, studying the look on his face. He had something on his mind, but what? She could feel the pain pill taking effect already, making her woozy-headed. If he did have an ulterior motive for being there, for preparing her lunch, she was at a clear disadvantage.

Perhaps he was simply concerned about her, she thought, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. She had become more suspicious where men were concerned since her divorce. "After Disney World, they're going down to the Keys," Billie said after a moment, "and I'm miserable." Had she confided too much? Her eyelids felt heavy, gritty. She propped her elbows on the table. One slipped, surprising her, throwing her off balance. She began to topple.

Nick was there to catch her. "Whoa. Are you okay?"

"I'm fading fast. I knew I shouldn't have taken that pain pill. I warned you."

"You definitely need food." He helped her straighten in the chair. "Can you hang on just a minute?"

"Shur."

Nick grabbed the plate of lasagna from the microwave and began searching for flatware. He wouldn't worry about the salad at the moment, he just wanted to get something in her stomach, at least keep her coherent until he got what he wanted.

What he wanted.

He really was a cad, as so many women had pointed out once they got that certain look in their eyes — the one they wore while daydreaming about bridal gowns and wedding bands and babies — the look that sent him racing for the hills like a champion sprinter. But he was a desperate cad. And Billie Pearce had the answer to one of his problems. Fate had obviously sent her his way — it was the only possible explanation. He had a twinge of guilt over the rotten thing he was about to do to her but brushed it aside. It was necessary. And for a good cause, he reminded himself.

He joined her at the table and cut the lasagna in bite-sized pieces. "Okay, open up."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting food into you."

"I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself." She made a swipe for the fork and missed. When she managed to grab it, the fork slipped through her fingers and clattered onto the wooden table.

"Maybe not," he said, wondering if the medication would work for or against him. "Let me help you."

Billie was too sleepy to argue. She opened her mouth, and he forked a piece of the warm lasagna inside. "Okay, chew."

She did as she was told. "I need something to drink."

Nick jumped from the chair and opened the refrigerator. He found a diet soft drink inside and grabbed it, then threw open the freezer door and reached inside an ice bin.

"The ice maker doesn't work," Billie said. "Hasn't worked in years and nobody can seem to fix it."

He pulled out an ice tray instead.

"I'll drink it from the can."

Nick popped the metal top and handed it to her. He waited until she took a long sip before coaxing more food into her mouth.

"You're very handy in the kitchen," Billie managed. "Do you like to cook?"

"I like to eat. Eating necessitates cooking. Here, take another bite."

"I'm full."

"You only ate three bites."

Billie cocked her head to the side, trying to understand what made the man tick. Nicholas Kaharchek was a strange one, indeed. He owned a string of polo ponies, a newspaper, and a huge patch of prime real estate. He'd arrived at the barn in a custom Mercedes 550 SL. Not someone you would expect to find preparing his own food. "You don't have a cook?"

"I have a male housekeeper, of sorts. But he hates to cook." Nick looked around the kitchen. "You know, this is a big house, lots of doors and windows in the place. Have you ever been robbed?"

The question took Billie by surprise. "No."

He tried to coax her into taking another bite, keeping his eyes averted. "You probably have an alarm system."

She shook her head.

"You really should have one. Especially since you're here all alone."

Surely he wasn't trying to sell her an alarm system, she thought. The man was already a millionaire.

"Of course, it would probably take weeks to get it installed."

Billie shifted uneasily in her seat. Odd that he should bring up alarm systems at a time like this. There had been some strange noises in her backyard since the children left, sounds she would probably have attributed to a stray cat digging through her trash or a simple breeze rustling the bushes outside her window, had she not been alone in the house. She gave a sigh of disgust. She was being ridiculous. He was making her nervous.

"This is a safe neighborhood," she said. Sure, there'd been a minor burglary some weeks back, but that was all. Besides, she added silently, Raoul, the bug man, made it his business to keep an eye on things.

Nick had seen the momentary flash of doubt in her eyes. Time to make his move. "It just occurred to me that we might be able to help each other."

Billie focused on his face. Here it comes, she thought, fighting grogginess and the strong urge to close her eyes. Here's the pitch.

"I have a friend who's looking for a place to stay for the next two weeks. You could rent one of your empty bedrooms to my friend, and then you wouldn't be all alone in this big house."

Billie pondered it as best she could in her present state. The idea was certainly appealing — the extra money would come in handy and having someone else close by might ease her night jitters. But a stranger in the house? The idea didn't sound appealing. "Why doesn't this friend stay with you?"

"That's the problem. She has been staying with me, but it's not working out."

Billie's eyebrows rose inquisitively. Not an easy task, considering it felt as though each lash were weighted. "She? Are you trying to dump a girlfriend on me? Boy, that's tacky." She shoved the plate of lasagna aside, folded her arms on the table, and put her head down.

Nick leaned down as well, trying to look into her eyes. He was losing her. He didn't want to sound desperate, but he had to move quickly. "We're related. Cousins," he added.

Billie yawned.

"She's nice, but she's a little, well … disorganized right now. She's getting married in two weeks, and she inadvertently canceled her apartment lease too soon. She literally found herself, luggage and all, on the street. I took her in."

"Nice of you," she managed.

"Uh-huh. But her fiance isn't happy about her living with me. Thinks I'm a poor influence. Silly, huh?"

Billie gave up the fight and closed her eyes. " 'Magine that."

"And she doesn't want to move in with him before the wedding. Scruples and all that." Nick almost choked on the lie. Deedee wouldn't know a scruple from a truffle. After going through four husbands in five years, she knew enough not to move in before the marriage. Two weeks of living with Deedee and you were ready for the Foreign Legion.

"So, what do you say?"

Billie peered at him through one eye. "About what?"

"Will you let her stay for a couple of weeks?"

"Will you leave and let me go to sleep if I agree?"

He smiled. "After I finish off the lasagna and toss back a couple of cookies."

"Deal." Billie closed her eyes, too drowsy to move from the table to a more comfortable spot.

Relief flooded Nick, and for the third time that day, he hauled Billie into his arms and carried her to what looked to be the master bedroom. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, the smell of some flowery scent, the feminine decor. He'd just solved a major problem, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Very gently, he laid Billie on her bed. She was so damn cute, with that turned-up nose that made her look more like a college girl than the mother of two. He felt like a real rat foisting Deedee on her, but he had no choice. It was dangerous for Deedee to stay at his place now. Max was out of control.

Besides, it would give him a chance to spend more time with Billie Pearce, and with her children gone, he might just be able to take her mind off missing them. And give him a chance to get his head on straight where Sheridan was concerned.

Of all times for Sheridan Flock to show up in his life again, it had to be just when he had come to terms with the end of their relationship.