What a Man's Gotta Do

“If the lock gets to be too much of a hassle,” she said, “let me know. I’ll change it out.”

His face remained expressionless as he took in the room. She clutched the coffee mug to her chest, hoping the warmth would dissolve the strange knot that had suddenly taken root smack in the center of her rib cage. Her nerves lurched, sending her heart rate into overdrive. “Like I said, it’s not the Hilton.”

To say the least. Bare, white walls which needed another coat of paint, she noted. Beige industrial grade carpet. Ivory JCPenney drapes over the two large windows. The earthtone tweed sofa and two equally colorless armchairs had been in her parents’ den, once upon a time; Mala had scrounged the coffee table, mismatched end tables and black bookcase from yard sales, picked up the plain tan ginger jar lamps at Target. Not shabby—she’d seen shabby, this wasn’t it—just basic. And about as personal as a dentist’s office.

“Feel free to hang pictures or whatever, make it feel more like home.”

No comment. Just the buzz from that sharp blue gaze, silently taking everything in over the rim of the mug as he sipped his coffee. Mala swiped her hair behind her ear.

“Um, kitchen’s over there.” She pointed to the far end of the room where, behind a Formica-topped bar, the secondhand refrigerator sulked in the shadows. The living room light reflected dully off the grease-caked, glass-paned cabinets: she made a mental note to buy more Windex. Her mother would have a cow if she knew Mala was actually showing someone the place in the condition it was in. “I guess what they must’ve done was knock out a wall between the master bedroom and one of the smaller ones to make the kitchen area and living room, leaving the bedroom and bath the way they were.”

The hair on the backs of her arms stirred. She glanced over, caught Eddie watching her, his gaze steady, unnerving in its opaqueness, much more unnerving in its overt sexual interest. Over a frisson of alarm, she squatted, grimacing at some stain or other on the carpeting. Between his silence and his staring and her nerves, she was about to go nuts.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” she said to the stain.

“Sorry,” he said. Mala looked up. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, as much as his features had somehow softened. “Didn’t realize I was.” Then he added, “I just would’ve thought you’d be used to having men gawking at you.”

The slight tinge of humor in his words threatened to rattle her even more, especially because she realized he wasn’t making fun of her. She stood, her cheeks burning, then crossed to the empty bookcase, yanking a tissue out of her sweater pocket to wipe down the filthy top shelf.

“Like I said, I haven’t had a chance to clean, so it looks a little woebegone at the moment. But it’s a nice place when it’s fixed up. There’s lots of light in here during the day, and everything works. I’m afraid you’re at my mercy for heat, since the thermostat’s downstairs and I tend to think there’s nothing wrong with having to wear a sweater indoors in the middle of winter, but it’s automatic, on at six-thirty, off at ten. And the apartment has its own electric meter, so I’ll be passing along that bill to you separately—”

His chuckle caught her up short. She turned, her breath hitching in her throat at the sight of the smile crinkling his eyes. If he’d smiled at her like that when they’d been back in school…well, let’s just say her virtue might have gone by the side of the road long before it actually did.

“Now I know where your daughter gets it,” he said.

“Gets what?”

He held up his hand, miming nonstop talking.

She decided it wasn’t worth taking offense. “You should meet my mother,” she said, only to silently add, No, you shouldn’t as she started down the hall. “Bedroom and bath are right down here…”

“What’d he do to you?”

Mala turned, startled. “Who?”

“Your husband.”

“What makes you think—”

“You weren’t like this before. Nervous, I mean. Like you’re about to break.”

On second thought, things were a lot better when he wasn’t talking. “How would you know what I was like? You wouldn’t even speak to me back then.”

“Don’t always have to converse with somebody to know about them. In fact, not talking makes it easier to watch. And listen. See things about folks maybe they can’t always see for themselves.”

Anger, apprehension, curiosity all spurted through her. “And what is it you think you see about me?”

“I’m not sure. Someone who’s lost sight of who she is, maybe.”

The gentleness in his voice, more unexpected than the words themselves, brought a sharp, hard lump to her throat. For three years, she’d refused to let herself feel vulnerable. In the space of a few minutes, this man—this stranger—threatened to destroy all her hard work.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. “Do you make it a habit of going around analyzing people without being asked?”

He shook his head, his expression serious. Genuinely concerned. “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

“Then why do I rate?”

“Because it burns my butt to see how much you’ve changed,” he said simply, softly, waving the cup in her direction. “That the girl who didn’t seem to have a care in the world now seems like she’s taken on all of ’em.”

She laughed, although that was the last thing she felt like doing. “I’m twenty years older than I was then. I’m a divorcée with two kids and my own business. I have bills out the wazoo, a car that needs coaxing every morning to get going and parents who worry about me far more than they should be worrying about someone this close to forty. So, yeah, I guess I’ve got a little more on my plate than worrying about acing my trig exam or how many balloons to order for the senior prom.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Zing went her heart, thudding and tripping inside her chest. “I told you,” she said quietly, desperately, scrabbling away from treacherous ground, “I’m just looking for a tenant. Not a buddy. Or…” She shut her eyes, dragged the unsaid out into the open. “Or anything else.”

“Anything else?” he drawled on a slow, knowing grin.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Cripes, she was more out of the loop than she thought. “I’m sorry. I have no idea where that came from—”

“It came right from where you thought it came from,” he said, his voice low and warm and tired-rough. “From me.”

Oh, dear God.

“I can’t…I mean, we c-can’t—”

“I know that. Which is why I’m not really coming on to you, even though that’s how you’re no doubt reading it.” She frowned, thoroughly confused. He smiled, and her insides went all stupid on her. “What I mean is, I can’t help it if I’m sending out ‘I’m interested’ vibes. I am,” he said with a no-big-deal shrug. “But I get what you’re saying. And that’s fine with me. I’m not lookin’ for anything, either. Not now. Probably not ever. The idea of settling down gives me nightmares, if you want to know the truth. I just don’t have whatever it takes to be a family man, I guess. And like you said, the kids…” He let the sentence trail off. “But that doesn’t mean a few not-very-gentlemanly thoughts haven’t crossed my mind in the past few hours. About what things could be like if both of us weren’t so dead set on avoiding complications.”

Her ears started to ring. “You’re attracted to me?”

There went that sin-never-looked-so-good smile again. “Didn’t I just say exactly that? Oh, Lord, lady,” he said on a chuckle. “For a bright woman, you are sure slow on the uptake about some things, aren’t you?”

Apparently so. Well, yes, there’d been that hmmm thing back at the restaurant, but she didn’t think that was anything personal. So now she stared at her coffee for a good three or four seconds, luxuriating in the idea of being found desirable. Realizing that, if she were smart, she’d tell him the apartment was no longer available. Instead she lifted her eyes and said, “Thank you, Mr. King.” You have just given me reason to live.

He lifted the mug in salute, his mouth tilted. “Anytime.”

She definitely caught that fast enough. Fighting back yet another blush, she mumbled something about seeing the rest of the apartment and clomped down the short hallway to the back. Eddie followed, slowly, as if he had no use for time.

Mala stopped in front of the white tiled bathroom, which was almost all tub, a wonker of a claw-footed number. A plain white shower curtain hung like a plastic ghost from a ring over its center. Eddie was standing very close to her as they both peered into the room. In fact, if she moved an inch to the right, she could…

…see that the tub had more rings than Saturn.

“And for what it’s worth,” she said, whacking her way through a jungle of hormones to get to the small bedroom, “there’s a walk-in closet. Cedar-lined, no less.”

But she could tell Eddie’s gaze had been snagged by the linens—sheets, blankets, pillows, towels—neatly stacked in the center of the fairly new double mattress. He walked over, skimmed one knuckle over the pillow. Mala tried not to shiver.

“I thought maybe you might not have any of your own,” she said from the doorway. “You know, since you just got here. And I have extras. Mostly stuff my mother pawned off on me. There’s dishes in the cupboards, too, and a couple pans and stuff. But that doesn’t mean you get maid service,” she added quickly. He twisted around, amusement crackling in his eyes. And she found herself fighting a twinge of disappointment that they’d already explored the outer limits of their relationship five minutes ago. “Washer and dryer are downstairs, in the mudroom. I do laundry on Fridays, usually, but you’re welcome to use them any other time.”

He studied her for a long moment, then said, “Sounds good to me. Where do I sign?”

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared witless. “Come on back down. The receipt book’s in my office.”

He shadowed Mala into the office, pulling out his wallet while she rummaged through her desk for her receipt book. He wasn’t a particularly big man, not compared with her line-backer brother, or even Galen’s husband, Del, but sometimes there’s more to a man than his size. In Eddie’s case, it was his quiet intensity, she supposed, that seemed to infuse every molecule with his presence. Not to mention every molecule in her body. The book found, she glanced over, clearly saw four hundreds and a fifty in his outstretched hand.

“I said two-fifty for the first month, remember?”

“I know what you said. But you’ll find it’s real hard to argue with someone who won’t argue back.”

Irritation singed her last nerve. But at herself, not him. “I’m not a charity case, Mr. King.”

“The name’s Eddie. And what you are, is stubborn. Didn’t I just tell you you’ll get nowhere arguin’ with me?”

“Why?” she asked, just this side of flummoxed. First the man as good as says he has the hots for her, then he wants to throw away two hundred bucks. This was seriously messing with her entire belief system. “Why on earth would you voluntarily pay more than I asked?”

“I have my reasons,” he said. “Now you gonna take your money or not?”

She wrestled with her pride for about two seconds, then took the money. “Thanks.”

“See how easy that was?”

A quick glance caught the slight smile teasing that take-me-now mouth. Mala wrote out a receipt, annoyed to discover her hand was shaking, then handed it to him with the keys. “I’ll try to get up tomorrow sometime to clean—”

“I can clean my own bathtub,” Eddie said, slipping his wallet into his back pocket, then setting his empty coffee mug on the corner of her desk. “You have a nice night, now. I’ll see myself out.”

Mala sank into her desk chair after he left, only then noticing her answering machine was flashing. She really should get Caller ID one of these days, but right now it was ranked way on the bottom of a depressingly long to-do list. She halfheartedly punched the play button.

A hang up. Just as well, since she didn’t think she could conduct a logical conversation right now if she tried.

Eddie stomped up the stairs to the apartment, his forehead knit so tight, he thought it might stay that way. And he wasn’t breathing right, either. Doggone it—what had he been thinking? In the space of a half hour, he’d managed to break every single rule in his book, number one being, “Don’t get involved, bonehead.”

He batted open the door—nobody’d bothered to lock it, seeings as he was coming right back up, anyway—and went inside, jerking back the drapes and opening a living room window to air out the place some. Not that he hadn’t been in places that’d smelled a far sight worse….

Shoot, it must’ve embarrassed the life out of Mala, showing him the place in this condition. Women tended to get their drawers in a knot about stuff like that. And this one’s drawers, he imagined, thinking back to when he used to watch her scurrying from class to class, her arms always loaded with about a dozen books, had probably been knotted since she was three.

Those eyes of hers…damn, damn, damn. Fierce and questioning and scared and so incredibly honest, even behind that puny veil of control, it knocked him clear into next week.

Hell, Eddie was the last person to think about reassuring some woman he barely knew that things’d work out. About reassuring anybody. He didn’t much believe things did, for the most part. But he was at least used to dodging the crap life seemed determined to fling in his path. If Eddie didn’t like the way things were going, he could pretty much just up and walk away. Mala Koleski, though, wasn’t the type of person who could do that. Not with two kids, especially. He could tell that right off, and he admired her for it. Which was why Eddie couldn’t help thinking that here was someone who deserved whatever it was she wanted.

That she needed to know that.

Still, what the Sam Hill had come over him, getting all personal like that? And then, even worse, admitting he was attracted to her? Eddie rammed a hand through his sorry-looking hair, then just held it there, even though most of his brain cells had long since left the building. Sweet heavenly days, he’d never wanted to kiss a woman so bad in his life. And he sure had never wanted to take one in his arms and tuck her head against his chest and just…hold her.

He slipped off his jacket, threw it on the sofa, then went on back to the bedroom to make up the bed. It smelled much better in here, thank heaven. Like freshly washed linens.

And Mala.

With a groan of frustration, Eddie sank onto the edge of the bare mattress, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Okay, so he’d admitted his attraction because something told him it’d been a long time since anyone had let Mala Koleski Whatever-Her-Married-Name-Was know she was attractive. That a woman didn’t have to look like those emaciated Hollywood actresses for a man to get turned on. So he figured she should know that she was worth a man’s time and attention, doggone it. Even if he couldn’t be that man for more than about two minutes.

But that was okay, since he figured hell would freeze over before she’d take him up on his offer, such as it wasn’t. Women like her just didn’t do that, get involved with strays like him.

A weird, empty kind of feeling swelled inside him, vaguely familiar but definitely unwelcome. He got up, trying to shake it off, but it followed him right into the bathroom like an overloyal puppy.

“Go away,” he actually said out loud, but it didn’t. He looked over at the sink as he draped the thick, soft towels over the bar next to the john, saw the new bar of soap she’d left out for him.

The emptiness torqued into an sharp, nasty ache.

“You can’t,” he said to his reflection. “She can’t.”

He yanked open the cupboard door under the sink, found a whole mess of cleaning supplies. Dumping a thick layer of cleanser into the tub, he set to scrubbing it, thinking it’d been a long time since he’d entertained the idea of wanting something he couldn’t have.

Chapter 3

The Monday before Thanksgiving, Mala lay in bed, half-asleep, trying to fight off that itchy, icky feeling you get when Something Bad is about to happen.

“Mama! Guess what!”

She burrowed down farther into the pillows. “Unless there’s a van outside with balloons all over it,” she said, “go away.”

“Ma-ma!” Like Tigger, Carrie boing-boinged up the length of the bed, and it occurred to Mala that the only time her bed shook these days was when small children were jumping on it. Which, while a dispiriting thought, didn’t qualify as the Something Bad because that wasn’t something that was going to happen. It already had. “It’s a snow day!”

That, however, definitely made the short list. But after marshalling a few more brain cells, Mala decided that, nope, that wasn’t quite it, either.

Not that this wasn’t bad enough—if it were true—since that meant, being as the kids were already off for Thanksgiving Thursday and Friday…and Saturday and Sunday…she’d only have two kid-free days to do five days worth of work. Swiping her hair out of her face, Mala hiked herself up on one elbow, trying to get a bead on Carrie’s beaming, bobbing face. Her curls were a radiant blur in the almost iridescent glow in the many-windowed, converted porch she used as her bedroom.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Uh-uh. We got like a million feet of snow in the yard! You can go look! I already listened to the radio and they said the Spruce Lake schools were closed! We don’t have any scho-ol, we don’t have any scho-ol!”

Mala suppressed a groan as she glanced at the clock radio by her bed. Seven-ten. Far too early for so many exclamation points.

In footed, dinosaur-splashed jammies, Lucas unsteadily tromped across the bed, dropping beside Mala with enough force to rattle her teeth. “I’m cold,” he said, wriggling underneath the down comforter next to her, his beebee—as he’d christened his baby blanket at eleven months—firmly clutched to his chest.

“It’ll warm up in a few minutes,” Mala said.

Carrie skootched down on Mala’s other side, planting her ice-cold feet on Mala’s bare calf.

“Cripes, Carrie!”

“The heat’s not on.”

Damn. The furnace pilot must’ve gone out again. That made the second time this week. Not that it was that big a deal to relight it, but she supposed she couldn’t put off having somebody come out to give the ancient furnace a look-see any longer. Especially as she had a tenant. A tenant who, bless him, hadn’t yet complained about freezing his butt off in the mornings.

A tenant who, bless him, had made himself scarce since the night he moved in.

Except in her dreams.

Lucas snuggled closer, smelling of warm little boy and slightly sour jammies. Ah, yes…reality. As in, kids and clients and recalcitrant furnaces and laundry and meals to fix and mother’s and brother’s and well-meaning friends’ worried looks to dodge. And vague, itchy-icky feelings of impending doom.

Running away sounded pret-ty damn attractive, just at the moment.

Just at the moment, she wondered what it would be like to be able to come and go whenever you pleased, not having to answer to anyone, not be tied down to any one place for longer than a few months.

Carrie threw her arm around Mala’s middle, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Not having a child—or two—to come get in bed with you on a cold, snowy morning and remind you that you were the center of their universe.

She hugged and kissed first one kid, then the other, then gently swatted Carrie’s bottom through the bedclothes. “C’mon, move over—I gotta get up.”

“C’n you make pancakes?”

“Maybe. After I get the furnace going.” Mala struggled out from underneath the covers, static electricity crackling as she yanked at her flannel nightgown to dislodge it from the bedding. Half hopping, half stumbling, she stuffed her feet into her old shearling slippers as she made her way across the carpet to the window to see just how generous Mother Nature had been.

Yup—she rammed one arm, then the other, into her terry cloth robe, glowering at the vast expanse of white outside her window—it had snowed, alrighty. Not a million feet, but at least one, gauging from the pile of the white stuff on the picnic table. Oh, joy.

It was still flurrying, although the faint blue patches in the distance meant the storm would probably break up before noon. But with this much snow already on the ground, Mala thought on a huge, disgusted yawn, nobody was going anywhere, at least not until some kind person took pity on them and plowed the street. Which could be Christmas, with her luck. Whitey was probably sitting in the nice dry attached garage, chuckling. Man, she’d sell her soul for something with all-wheel drive.

The ceiling creaked slightly under the pressure of Eddie’s heavy, deliberate footsteps overhead. She heard the upstairs door slam shut, followed by the sound of boots clomping down the outside stairs. She edged back from the window and watched him plod through the soft snow toward the second garage out back in just his jeans and that denim jacket of his, and she felt her brow furrow in concern that he wasn’t dressed warmly enough.

Lord. She was such a mother.

He had the day off—the restaurant was closed on Sundays and Mondays—and she found herself wondering what he’d do, since his Camaro wasn’t any more snow-worthy than her sissy little Escort. Not that it was any of her business. She just wondered.

Mala suddenly realized he’d come back out of the garage and was looking in her direction through the light snow, his gaze steady in an otherwise expressionless face. She doubted he could see her, not from that distance and with it still snowing, but it was as if he knew she was standing there.

Heat dancing across her cheeks, Mala backed away, just as a sudden shaft of sunlight turned the flurries into whirling, glittering confetti. And as if in a dream, Eddie began trudging across the yard toward her window, the sparkling flakes settling onto his thick, curly hair and broad shoulders like fairy dust, at such odds with the serious set to his mouth. When he got to within a few feet of the window, he stopped, then mimed shoveling.

Mala raised the window, the brittle cold instantly goose-bumping her skin. Lucas crawled out of the bed and wedged himself between her and the windowsill. One little hand arrowed into the soft drift. “Honestly, Lucas—” Mala snatched back his hand, then wrapped him in her enormous robe and hugged him to her stomach, like a mother hen enveloping her chick. “You could just come around to the door, you know,” she said to Eddie, her breath a cloud.

His gaze snapped back to her face. “Waste of time, seeing’s as you were already standing there. So, you got a snow shovel?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I need to dig out my car.”

“Oh, of course.” She shivered. “Yeah, there’s one in the shed.”

He turned, glanced at the wooden shed huddled against the back fence, then angled his head back to her. “It locked?”

She shook her head. He nodded, then trooped away.

A half hour later, she was standing in her living room after her shower, staring at the TV and contemplating the possibility of being sucked into the perpetual springtime of Teletubbieland—but only if one could exterminate the Teletubbies first—when she heard the rhythmic scraping of metal against cement outside and realized she’d been had.

Eddie hadn’t exactly planned on shoveling the entire walk when he’d gotten up this morning. After all, he was just the tenant. Wasn’t his responsibility. But then he got to thinking about it, and it just seemed like the right thing to do. And since not too many opportunities to do the right thing crossed Eddie’s path, he figured he might as well take advantage of it. You know, just in case St. Peter asked him for a list or something down the road.

Didn’t hurt that the exertion had the added benefit of taking the edge off his run-amok libido.

It didn’t make a lick of sense. There she’d stood, no makeup, her hair every-which-way, wearing some kind of sack with a bigger sack thrown over it, and his blood had gone from frozen to boiling in about ten seconds. And she was just as close to forty as he was, to boot. In fact, in the stark light, he’d even seen a few strands of gray in her dark hair. Yet she opened her mouth, and that morning-gravelly voice of hers spilled out of the window at him, and all he could think was, whuh. He’d been trying to put a finger on just what it was about her that turned him inside out for the past half hour—okay, for the past week—but he was no closer now than when he’d started.