The Million-Dollar Marriage

“Why so?”

“I talked Gramps into leasing to me.”

“But you said there was no profit—”

“In vegetables. Flowers are different.”

She put her fork down and stared at him. “You’re opening a florist shop?”

“Nope. A wholesale nursery. You see, I spent a lot of time on my grandparents’ farm, and I just got into growing things. With all these acres of good rich soil—”

“Wait a minute. You said you’re studying to be a landscape artist.”

“That came later with Grandma’s rock garden.”

“I see. Meanwhile you’re running a wholesale nursery.”

“Not yet. There’s equipment to buy, greenhouses to build...things like that. Not to mention the plants themselves.”

“So you’re actually planning two careers.”

“Not really. Don’t you see how the two fit together?” He began to talk of his plans with a boyish enthusiasm that intrigued her. The clatter of silver and the murmurs of other diners faded as she sat in the little booth and listened. Through his eyes she began to see hundreds of florists and supermarkets filled with lovely luscious and unusual plants from his nursery, landscapes green with the trees and shrubs that would break up the concrete surrounding houses, condominiums, even commercial buildings and shopping centers.

Melody Sands, bored up to the ying-yang with all the successful investments and mergers discussed by all the rich successful men she encountered, listened with deep interest and awe to the dreams of this young man who was starting on a shoestring. She liked being a Miss Nobody listening to an ordinary guy talk about... No. Nothing ordinary about this guy who was really a hunk, worked like a Trojan and dreamed big.

“I guess it will take some time,” she said.

“And money,” he said. “Why do you think I’m planting roses, cutting lawns, and having to borrow a car to impress the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met?”

“The most fascinating?” she teased.

“The most,” he said with emphasis.

“Well, thanks for the flattery, but you didn’t need a car to impress me. I could have ridden in the truck.”

“You don’t belong in a truck.”

“How do you know where I belong?”

He didn’t. And that’s what bothered him. But he knew she didn’t belong in a truck. From the moment he saw her, standing so erect, the wind whipping that mass of flaming red hair... He reached across the table to touch it. It felt like silk. “Is it for real?” he asked, just as he had the first time he saw it.

“Of course it’s for real! Do you think I’d be fool enough to dye it this crazy color?”

“Not crazy. It’s out of sight.”

“Ha! If you knew how many times I’ve thought of dying it. A nice conservative brown or—”

“Don’t you dare!” She jumped and even he was surprised at his vehemence. Why did he feel such possessiveness toward this woman he hardly knew?

Damn it, he didn’t have time to possess any woman. Especially this one. Why did he sense she was out of his league? There was something about her. Something...well, classy. The way she carried herself with a certain confidence, maybe even arrogance. Even this morning, in that tattered jacket, her hair in disarray, she had looked...well, elegant. And so beautiful she took his breath away.

It’s not the way she looks. It’s the way she is. Warm, caring. Interested. He had sat all this evening spilling his guts. All his hopes and plans... things he had never even breathed to anyone else. And she had listened like they mattered to her.

This woman. This one woman. Why did he feel that he never wanted to lose her?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I might disappear or something?”

That was the way he was feeling. Scared. Like she might walk out of his life and he’d never see her again. This was crazy!

“Just thinking I’m pretty stupid,” he said. “I want to know all about you, and I’ve spent all this time on me. Things I already know. So, tell me. How many brothers and sisters do you have, and where do you live, and when can I see you again?”

“Wait, you go too fast,” she said, trying to get herself together. She didn’t want to lie to this man. But she didn’t want him to know who she was. She liked listening to him, almost as if she was sharing his dreams...like they were on the same level. Would he feel free to share if he knew? “I...I’m an only child,” she said.

“I see. That explains that look.”

“What look?”

“That I - can - have - anything - I - want - I’m - a - spoiled - brat look.”

“Now, don’t you start!” she said, feeling angry because she had always been accused of just that. “I’m not spoiled and I don’t always get what I want.” She hadn’t gotten Dirk, had she? And never mind that he hadn’t wanted her, just her money. She sat up, staring at Tony. He didn’t know about the money. He liked her.

He was laughing. “Okay, don’t bite my head off. I see you’ve got the temper that goes with that hair. And I take it all back. You’re not spoiled. You’re working hard at...what do you do?”

“I... paperwork,” she floundered. “For the man of the house.” That was true. She often helped her father with his business.

“Oh, a secretary. I should have known.” He reached for her hand with its perfectly polished nails. “Much too pretty and soft to do much scrubbing. And where do you live?”

“Where you saw me,” she said, absorbed in the calloused thumb that was stroking the back of her hand, making her feel...like she hadn’t felt for a long time.

“Oh, a live-in secretary?”

“Kinda.”

“Don’t know if I like that. You’re much too pretty to be around some old fogy.”

“He’s away. Away most of the time. He travels a lot.”

“Good. And your parents. Do they still live in Wilmington?”

“My mother’s dead. And my father...well, we had a little disagreement.” They had had a disagreement, hadn’t they! “Anyway, he’s away, working out of town.”

. He could see that she was agitated by his probing, so he let up. There would be time. “Better take you home, much as I hate to,” he said. “I’ve got to start early in the morning.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHE couldn’t sleep. She was too keyed up. Still glowing from the most exciting evening she had spent in years.

She laughed at herself. What, for Pete’s sake, was so exciting about sitting in a crowded little restaurant, struggling with a plateful of slippery spaghetti?

Just talking. They had talked all the way back to the house, where he got out of the car and stayed with her until she let herself in. Protective, courteous. Too courteous. He hadn’t kissed her.

Because of the outside lights? Because he didn’t want to?

She felt like she had been kissed. So alive, tingling as in after a night of passionate lovemaking.

Was it because he had asked when he could see her again? Hell, every man she ever dated asked that. Why was Tony Costello different? Why had she wanted to shout... “Tomorrow, the next day, and the next. Anytime! Anywhere!” She wanted to pin down a time. She had told him not to call the house because she wasn’t sure what kind of signal Mrs. Cook would give off. She had thought of confiding in her. The housekeeper went a long way back and had always been warm and friendly toward her, but she was also loyal to Dad. During the Dirk episode, Mel had never known which side she was on. Best not to confide.

Confide? Good Lord, this wasn’t a conspiracy or anything like that! She was going to tell Tony all about herself, wasn’t she?

When?

Soon.

How soon?

When we get to know each other...well, better. When it won’t matter.

It matters now?

To me, it does. Because Tony likes me. Me. Not who I am. At least he doesn’t know who I am, and I think he likes me.

Anyway, I like him. So much that I can’t stand to see him leave without knowing when I’ll see him again.

So it was she who had said, “What are you doing tomorrow evening?” Then wanted to bite her tongue because he looked so surprised. She was surprised herself. Usually it was her escort, not she, who was eager.

“I have school,” he said. “I missed tonight. Can’t afford to miss too much. What about Sunday?”

“Good,” she said, disappointed. Four days away. “We can go on a picnic. I’ll fix us a lunch.”

He looked embarrassed. “I meant Sunday night. You see, Sunday is my only day off and the only time I get to work at the farm.”

“You weren’t kidding, were you?”

“Huh?”

“You really don’t have time to date.”

“Not until you,” he said with such emphasis that her breath caught. He did like her! “Sunday night? We could take in a movie or go dancing. Whatever you like.”

“You said you work at the farm,” she said, absorbed in his eyes. They seemed to promise...something. “Why...I mean, what do you do out there all day?”

“Lots of things. And...well, right now I’ve got a few lilies ready for the Easter market. Got to fix them for delivery on Monday.”

“Need some help?”

“Now you’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. I could help you plant or hand you things...whatever.” Anything. Just so she could be with him. “Anyway, I want to see your grandma’s rock garden.”

He was silent for a moment and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally said, “You don’t know what you’re in for. But...okay, it’s a deal!”

And now she was so excited she couldn’t sleep. She got out of bed, walked to the window and looked out at the night. How could she wait till Sunday?

And she’d have to confide in Cook. No way could she explain being picked up in a truck early Sunday morning.

“Damn it! You got the car, didn’t you! You said you’d turn the soil and...”

Tony held the phone away from his ear, but Pedro’s tirade came through loud and clear. “I didn’t say this weekend.”

“You said when I was ready. I’m ready.”

“Ah, come on, Pedro. I got a date...sorta.”

“What do you mean...sorta?”

“Another date, Tony?” Rosalie broke in.

“Oh, hi, Rosie. Didn’t know you were on the line.”

“Hi. Just picked up to call Mom and heard you and Pedro squabbling. Gee, Tony, you had a date the other night. Again today? That’s good. You haven’t had a date in months. Same girl or—”

“Will you get off the phone, Rosie! This jerk’s trying to wiggle out. You heard him! He said—”

“Okay, okay! Tomorrow. Early.” Tony slammed down the phone. Wouldn’t take more than half an hour to do Pedro’s little plot, but he was already going to lose three hours at the farm. Couldn’t expect Mel to get up at the crack of dawn, could he? Mel...beside him all day. Hell and damnation, he’d lose more than three hours. He grimaced, but could not shake thrill of anticipation. Neither could he shake the feeling that she didn’t belong in a truck.

She was dressed for it when he stopped for her the next morning. Even if those jeans did look as if she had been poured into them. Her loafers were scuffed, the yellow pullover faded, and that gorgeous hair was tied back with a yellow scarf. Suddenly the sun was brighter, the air more refreshing, the day crisp and rich with promise.

He laughed as he lifted her into the truck. “You’re worth three hours,” he said. Just the sight of her was worth a whole darn day.

“What are you talking about? I’m ready, at eight, just like you said, aren’t I?”

“Right. Don’t mind me. I’m mad because Pedro’s cutting into my prime time, and I’m taking it out on you.”

“Pedro? The owner of the Mustang?”

“Who’s demanding payment pronto!”

“Oh, yes. The...er...landscaping. I take it his yard is bigger than your other brother’s. What’s his name?”

“Frank. Yeah, Pedro bought one of those old houses in Richmond. East End.”

An alarm bell sounded. Mel gasped. Wasn’t that the section where Jake’s wife’s company was doing a lot of business? If she ran into Judy...

Oh, for goodness’ sake, Judy might be a dedicated architect/contractor, but was surely at home now, very much occupied with their two-week-old son. Oh, hell, Judy wouldn’t be hobnobbing with the residents, would she? Not even anywhere in the area on a Sunday, and...

And I’m getting paranoid. This is ridiculous. I should just tell Tony who I am.

“Used to be a pretty bad section.” Tony, who seemed not to notice her reaction, was still talking. “They’re upgrading it now, and Pedro got a real bargain. Not bad. Big yard, trees.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. More breathing space than the new ones like Frank’s.”

“Space enough for vegetable gardens than need tilling, huh?” Why not tell him? What difference would it make?

“Right. But it won’t take long. And it’s on the way to the farm.”

“Does Pedro have children?” That’s when she’d tell him. On the drive to the farm. It would be awkward, but... Oh, well, just a misunderstanding. Not worth mentioning. Didn’t seem important, forgot.

“He has three, and one on the way. You’ll meet them.”

She did meet them. All at once. They converged upon the truck as soon as it rolled around the house into the backyard. A boy and girl who jumped from a tree and came running. A dark-haired pregnant woman with a toddler squirming in her arms.

Tony jumped down and took the boy from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting him, Rosie.”

“I didn’t want him to run under your truck. He heard you turn into the drive and was off!” The woman spoke to Tony, but her wide speculative eyes were on Mel.

Uncomfortable under the inspection, she smiled. “I’m Mel,” she said, glancing at Tony. He was involved with the children who were climbing all over him. “I hope you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“I’m Rosalie, and I don’t mind at all. I’m delighted. You can keep me company while they work.”

The screen door slammed, and a man came out. Pedro, of course. A slightly heavier version of Tony, almost as good-looking. “Get off Tony,” he shouted. “He’s here to work, not to play with you.”

Tony, relieved of the children, made the introductions, including the kids. “Patsy, Jerry and Mike, better known as Buddy.”

As they were exchanging greetings, another man came across the lawn. A tall lean man.

“Charlie Hill, my neighbor,” Pedro said. “This is Melody Sands, Charlie, a friend of Tony’s.”

Mel’s heart jumped into her throat. She knew this man. She had met him at Jake’s just last week, when he and his wife came to bring a present for the new baby. Did he recognize her?

His look said he did. But evidently he had also caught the slight shake of her head, for he simply acknowledged the introduction as if he had never seen her before. She thanked him with her eyes, wanting to explain that it would be all right as soon as she told Tony who she was.

Tony was taking down a machine, and talking to Charlie about some plants he wanted. Mel, still a little shaken, found she was being addressed by the little girl.

“Tony’s got to work,” Patsy explained. “You want to play with us?”

Mel looked down, delighted by the wide, friendly, one-tooth-missing smile. “What are you playing?”

“We’re pirates. That’s our ship.” The boy pointed to a wooden platform that had been constructed along two limbs of the wide-spreading cedar tree.

“Can you climb a tree?” Patsy asked.

“Sure,” Mel answered. She had ridden horses, sailed boats, skied steep mountain slopes. But...she had never climbed a tree in her life. It seemed a good idea. “I’d enjoy it,” she assured the apprehensive Rosalie.

“Well, only for a few minutes. Then it’s my turn. Women talk,” Rosalie added, and winked at Mel before going into the house.

Mel was glad she had opted for the tree. She wasn’t ready for Rosalie’s “women talk.” Not until the coming talk with Tony.

Following Jerry’s instructions, she mounted the two-stair step boards that had been driven into the trunk of the tree and swung easily onto the first big limb. The platform was sturdy with ample space for the three of them, and, with a bit of pretend, was a ship tossing upon an ocean far below.

“I’m the captain, and Patsy’s first mate,” Jerry announced. “You can be the second mate,” he generously conceded.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Mel saluted, and following orders, climbed to the “masthead” to sight vessels within capturing distance. The weather had turned warm, but there was a gentle breeze stirring. The top of the tree swayed in the breeze, and Mel held on, viewing the vast ocean of fenceless backyards that stretched below her. There was Tony expertly handling the noisy rototiller that was uprooting the garden soil several yards from the house. There was Pedro directing Tony and making sure a scampering Buddy was kept safely away from the machine. There was a blue fenced-in unoccupied swimming pool in the yard next door. “Belongs to the Hills,” Jerry had said, “but we can swim in it anytime... that is, when Charlie’s there to watch us.”

Charlie, who knew who she was. For goodness’ sake, she was acting like being rich was a crime! And it wasn’t like she was trying to deceive Tony. She planned to tell him this afternoon, as soon as she got the chance!

She took a deep breath and continued to survey the neighborhood. Two houses away, three teenage boys tossed a basketball at a hoop mounted on the back of the garage. There was the sweet smell of cedar mingling with the fresh aroma of newly overturned earth.

There was a vague sad sense of something she had missed. A yard that blended into other people’s yards where other children played and shared swimming pools and basketball hoops. Hers had been a big yard that stretched for acres, and contained no child but herself. Plenty of trees, but not one to climb. Or was it she had not thought of climbing? Would it have been permitted? Visions of her childhood flashed before her. Coloring books, games, or puzzles with whichever nanny. Contact with other children was restricted to birthday parties or visits to the club under the careful supervision of several nannies. Less supervision when she graduated to horses and boats, of course.

But she envied these children who, even in their early years, had the freedom to imagine and pursue their own games. She enjoyed every precious minute with them. She was sorry when Rosalie called that breakfast was almost ready. Jerry was to tell the men and Patsy should come to set the table.

“We’ll do this another time,” she told the children. She would take them sailing on a real boat...Jake’s. They would like that.

After the ritual of hand-washing, Mel followed Patsy into a big kitchen which smelled delicious. “Can I help?” she asked.

“No, indeed. Everything’s about ready,” Rosalie declared. “You just sit over here and talk to me while Patsy sets the table.”

When I was Patsy’s age, Mel thought, I wasn’t even allowed in the kitchen, where a Swedish cook, at one time a French chef, presided. She watched in amazement as the little girl set out the plates, silver, coffee mugs, glasses, and paper napkins as efficiently as her mother turned over the hash browns.

“Is Wilmington your home?” Rosalie asked as she added slices of red onions to the potatoes.

“Yes.”

“Lived here all your life?”

“Mostly.” She was right. Rosalie was curious.

“Me, too. Lacey Elementary and Milton High. Did you go to Milton?”

Mel shook her head, visions of her Swiss finishing school dancing through it.

Rosalie laughed as she stirred the onion rings in with the potatoes. “Don’t know why I keep thinking I should have seen you somewhere. If you had gone to Milton, it would have been long after me. Good gracious, seems a hundred years since my high school days. Patsy, strap Buddy in his chair, and see if the men are getting washed up. Oh, here they are.”

Just in time, Mel thought, with a sigh of relief. She was glad Rosalie’s turn with her had been brief. Answering the inquisition would have been awkward. After she told Tony...

After a brief but solemn blessing by Pedro, the usual Sunday ritual began...a short Bible verse from each person at the table. Mel panicked. Her church excursions were skimpy. Her mind frantically searched. Please, she prayed as, beside her, Patsy’s child voice confidently crooned, “Honor thy father and thy mother...”

Her prayer was answered. Her mother’s funeral. She repeated the pastor’s words. “In my Father’s house are many mansions...” Thank you, she silently whispered to a God she hardly knew.

It was a good thing that everybody in this family was very active. Otherwise they would all be fat, Mel thought as the full platters were passed around. Potatoes browned to perfection and well seasoned by the crispy onions. Thick, juicy slices of ham. Hot biscuits with jam or honey, eggs to order, and strong, hot coffee. Rosalie was obviously in the last stages of pregnancy, but even she could not be called fat. Probably never would be, Mel thought, the way she kept jumping up and down to serve everyone. Every now and then Patsy was called upon for hot biscuits or to get more butter. But no man, not even little Jerry, budged. Meals were definitely women’s work.

It was a hilarious gathering, with everyone, even the children, talking at once. About everything, from the vegetables Pedro was going to plant to the “owie” on little Buddy’s skinned knee. Mel said nothing, but felt warm and happy, a part of the camaraderie. Happy listening to down-to-earth talk that had nothing to do with stock options or how the market was going. Happy just looking at Tony.

He was beautiful. Now that was stupid. Calling a man beautiful, especially one as masculine as Tony. Tall, and yes, almost too slender, but with strong rippling muscles that made him seem as sturdy as a tree trunk. She loved the way he used those muscles with graceful dispatch. Planting roses, or lifting her into his truck as if she was as light as a feather. She loved the tender caring way he had taken Buddy from Rosalie, the easy strength with which he had held the rototiller steady. How he was laughing at something Pedro had said, and that crooked tooth was showing. She loved that crooked tooth, loved the way he ate. With his fork in his left hand! Why? He wasn’t European. Funny, she had not noticed at the spaghetti house. Just that he had wound the spaghetti around his fork with the same ease and dispatch as he did everything else. She loved the way he moved.

She loved him.

This was ridiculous. She didn’t really know him. Hadn’t known he existed five days ago.

He had never even kissed her. None of those passionate, all-consuming, erotic sensations that had once rippled through her body on a Nevada mountaintop. A love she had lost and never hoped to find again.

This couldn’t be it, could it? Couldn’t love a man just because he held his fork in his left hand and handled a rototiller with ease, could she?

But there it was. A warm, sure knowing. A feeling that she had found someone wonderful, someone warm, caring and dependable. A feeling that she had come home to a man she would love forever.

Come home to...? Good heavens! What made her think he would have these same crazy mixed-up impossible sensations!

She tried to get back on track, and focused on the conversation at the table.

Pedro’s deep laugh bellowed out. “Married into money, did he?”

“Guess so. More’n he’d ever had, anyway,” Tony said. “She’s got some kind of catering business that’s beginning to pay off.”

“So you lost the only employee in your little posy business.”

Mel didn’t like the way Pedro said that. Like he was putting Tony’s business down.

Tony didn’t seem to mind. He answered readily enough. “Wasn’t much help anyway, the lazy slob.”

“What’s his wife like, Tony?” Rosalie wanted to know.

“Busty blonde. Kinda good-looking, but a bit bossy for my taste. Joe’ll be dancing to her tune the rest of his life.”

“But he’s pretty well set, ain’t he?” Pedro’s laugh rang out again. “Maybe you should follow Joe’s example, Tony. If you’re gonna stick with posies, you could use some support.”