***
“We have,” Zach murmured, “a problem.”
Bett shook her head drowsily. “
You
may have a problem.
I
have no problems of any kind.” She curled her arms around his waist, snuggling closer to his bare, warm flesh. It seemed like a wonderful idea to stay just as they were. At least for the next hundred hours.
“You can be a disgracefully wanton woman, two bits.” He nuzzled at the delectable hollow in her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“Insatiable.”
“Yes.”
“Uninhibited.”
She opened one sleepy eye. “Where are all these compliments leading?”
“You
look
like such an angel. Blond hair, blue eyes.” Zach shook his head in teasing puzzlement. “I’ll tell you, though, you’d never cut the chaste life playing a harp.”
She chuckled, lazily sitting up. At a motion from him, she raised her hands in the air. He slipped her nightgown on her, then her robe. Finally, Zach stood up to tug on his jeans.
“So. What are we going to do about your mother?”
The question seemed to come out of the blue. Bett, leaning over to fold up the blanket, shot her husband a startled glance.
“Kick her out when she’s doing so well? Obviously not. Have her continually lay stress on you? That’s not going to keep happening, either. So let’s talk choices, Bett.”
He swung an arm around her shoulders as they strolled back down the path toward the pond. Bett wanted to answer him, but she couldn’t get any words out. So Zach was aware of how unhappy she’d been—she’d done her best to hide it from him. She’d done her best to pretend even to herself that it didn’t matter. Regardless, she saw no choices. Her mother had been lonely and unhappy and grieving alone; Elizabeth was happy with them. If Bett found the continual pressure wearing, the old game of trying to please both her mother and herself impossible, she didn’t see that she had any choice.
Zach pushed aside a low-hanging branch so they could pass. “Well, talkative one?”
“Zach, I didn’t think you were…bothered,” Bett said quietly.
“How on earth could I be bothered? A cold drink’s waiting for me even before I want it, slippers laid out, a woman to ask my opinion on everything as if I were an oracle. You think I don’t like being spoiled?”
A small smile played on her lips. “You like the starched work shirts, do you?”
“About as much as I like having to abduct my wife and run off to the woods to make love to her in peace and privacy.”
Bett sighed. “It’s not as though she knocks on the door every night.”
“No. Just often enough that you’ve got half your attention on worrying every time we make love.”
They reached the truck, and both climbed in. The key had been left in the lock, but for the moment Zach didn’t turn on the engine. He leaned against the door, bemused for a moment by the sight of his wife in pale yellow, her hair whispering in soft dishevelment around her cheeks. The whole subject caused her distress; he could see it in her eyes, and he had the sudden urge to haul her right back into the woods and make it all go away.
“Zach,” Bett said unhappily, “all she wants is to care for and take care of. And there’s no one but us to make her feel needed.”
“Exactly,” he said softly. He straightened in the seat, turned the key, and started the engine. “Number one, two bits, we’re about to share the stress. You keep something like that bottled up inside again and I’ll have to beat you.”
“Like you do so often?”
He cast her a severe look. “Just
once,
you could show a little fear.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Number two. If you don’t mind starting with the total inconsequentials. This isn’t a criticism, honey, it’s just a question. Is there some reason why, after all this time, you’re suddenly wearing makeup?”
Bett sighed. “Mother’s afraid I’ve been ‘letting myself go.’”
“You certainly have,” Zach agreed fervently. “A
very
few minutes ago, you were one hot little—”
“Zach!”
“What else?” His tone had turned serious, almost angry.
She took a breath. She could have drowned in all the little doubts that had been raised in the past month.
Did
a clean house actually matter to him? It wasn’t that she wanted to turn into a hausfrau; she doubted she was capable of it, but his values were involved, too. She’d never questioned him. Maybe he found it more restful to sit at the kitchen table and use silverware and china than their old habit of paper plates on the floor in the living room. Stupid, yes?
“But it’s details that make up every day, Zach. I push the toothpaste tube from the middle, leave my shoes where you stumble over them at the door. Maybe—privately—you were annoyed. The thing is, I never thought to ask you.” Maybe working together so closely wore on him from time to time; maybe when he continually saw her ramming around on a tractor in jeans and sweatshirt he saw her as less feminine than he once had—
Between the peach orchard and the plum trees, Zach jammed on the brakes and turned off the engine again. The groove between his brows boded ill. “How the
hell
could you have let her do this to you?”
Bett gnawed on her lip. “Mother? She isn’t doing anything to me.”
“Four weeks in the house and she’s turned my confident, sassy wife into a worrywart. What is this? If I’d wanted a wife obsessed with ring around the collar, I would have married one. I happen to be a big boy with strong vocal cords, two bits, and I’m more than capable of telling you if I’m unhappy with how we’ve set up our life. I’m not. Now, if
you
are, we’ll work on it. If you’ve really suddenly decided you need the floor under the refrigerator waxed, we’ll hire someone to do it. You sure as hell aren’t going to devote a second to it. You happen to bloom best in fresh air, and I happen to get a kick out of watching you, tiny as a minute, ramming around inside the cab of a tractor ten times bigger than you are. It makes me feel protective, and proud of you, and good inside to know we’re sharing the same goals. Generally, it also makes me want to go up and whip you out of there and take you in the middle of a field, but that’s neither here nor there.” His frown leveled out, a wicked smile taking its place. “I’m used to that reaction, whenever you’re within a two-mile radius.”
Bett, for some strange reason, had tears in
her eyes. Was he shouting? He reached out and tugged her close, drawing her onto his lap, irritated at the limitations imposed by the steering wheel.
“Have we got that stuff clear now?” he grumbled.
“Yes.” Very clear, Bett thought. Zach should shout at her more often. All the mindless anxieties that had been haunting her had abruptly fled.
“And in the meantime, there’s an answer for your mother.” Zach shifted her next to him, very close, as he started the truck again. “She likes to take care of people. She is never going to survive well alone. She needs to feel needed. Heaven knows, she’s into waiting on a man—”
Bett slapped his thigh. “Don’t get
too
used to it.”
“She’s still relatively young,” Zach continued absently. “Not unattractive. She’s got this rather crazy side and she talks
continually
and there’s that insomnia of hers, but maybe we could keep that kind of thing secret for a while.”
“Pardon?” Her husband was talking Greek.
He shot her a mischievous smile. “Are you ready for the campaign?”
“What campaign?” Bett asked bewilderedly.
“We’re about to get your mother married off, two bits. It’s the only answer.”
Bett set down
The Beekeeper’s Annual
and glanced outside. The library at Silver Oaks was relatively new, with huge windows looking out on the main street of the town. Their small burg had one of everything—one grocer, one bookstore, one druggist, one department store; the single exception being, naturally, seven agricultural implements dealers. Kalamazoo and even Chicago weren’t that far to go for real shopping; but as it was, the community was small and exactly to Bett’s liking, a friendly, intimate, know-everyone type of place where it was perfectly safe to walk the streets at night.
Staring absently at the tree-lined street, she thought idly that the
silver
in the town’s name was a misnomer. The oaks were turning that smooth, buttery gold they always did in early October. A distracted thought; she seemed to have been distracted for the better part of a week. The thing was, whom did she know in the town who might be a good companion for her mother? Smoothing her navy skirt, she stood up and wandered toward the front of the long, book-lined room. Her skirt—donned especially for the trip to town—was paired with a red nubby sweater with a scooped neck and short sleeves. Her hair was tied back with a patterned scarf in the same colors.
She felt unusually pretty, and just a little more so when Mr. Hines looked up appreciatively as she paused in front of his desk. “I miss you in the summer,” he said warmly. “You and your husband are my best winter customers, you know.”
Bett chuckled, leaning on the counter. “I’m playing hooky this afternoon, I’m afraid. Though I did come here with a purpose. Word has it there’s a new virus attacking bees in the area, but I’ll be darned if I can find anything about it in any of the usual trade journals.”
Mr. Hines pushed back his glasses. “Do you have the name of it?”
Bett gave it. “But I don’t know anything about it except the rumor. Some disease brought up by a hive from Texas, settled in Ohio, moved into Michigan last spring?”
Mr. Hines’s forehead puckered, then smoothed out as he motioned to her to follow him. Bett stuck her hands in the pockets of her skirt, an amused and affectionate smile on her face as she trailed behind. Mr. Hines was a librarian to the core, but she had the feeling that he had secret fantasies of being a private eye. Mysteries were his obsession. Books were his turf, and somewhere in the billions of pages on the shelves there had to be answers for everyone.
“We’ll try here, first.” He motioned.
She had five magazines in front of her before she could have said boo, and rather than leaving her, Mr. Hines licked his thumb and started flicking through pages with her, pushing his glasses low on the bridge of his nose so he could see better.
Halfway through the second periodical, she found herself staring at him. Theodore Hines was rather short; in the five years she’d known him, he’d never worn anything but a gray suit. The kids loved him, in spite of his dignity. He’d probably help a convicted thief if the thief liked good literature—and didn’t use slang.
He had to be nearing sixty; Betty knew he was a bachelor. What would her dad have thought of him? she considered idly. Very thoughtful, very shy, occasionally just a little pompous, but no question; true-blue
nice.
Mr. Hines turned absently and caught a sudden, radiant smile on Bett’s face. “You found what you needed?” he asked, as if thoroughly disappointed that the search had taken so little time.
“I think so—if I could take this out?”
“It’s supposed to be a reference for the library.” He frowned, and then offered her one of his tiny, very special smiles. “I can’t say we usually have a run on beekeeping material. If you could have it back to me in a day or two?”
“No problem.” Bett glanced at her watch. It was nearing five o’clock. “Are you working late tonight, Mr. Hines?”
“Not tonight.” He moved behind the librarian’s desk, searching distractedly for his date stamper. He had never once found it on the first attempt in the whole time Bett had known him. “Tuesdays and Thursdays I stay until nine, but Myra takes Mondays and Wednesdays. Then on Fridays—”
“I wonder,” Bett interrupted gently, “if you would like to come to dinner tonight?”
“Pardon?” The librarian blinked.
“All this time Zach and I have known you, you’ve always been so helpful to us. I can’t imagine why I’ve never asked you before,” Bett said smoothly. “We’re having lamb with a mint sauce tonight. My mother’s staying with us; she makes the most wonderful sponge cake. Wouldn’t you like to come?”
Mr. Hines turned a gentle shade of pink, clearly flustered. “I…I don’t know. I have no way…you see, I walk to work. It never occurred to me—”
“I could drive you out and Zach will bring you back. That’s no problem. You probably don’t like lamb, though,” Bett said sadly.
“I do. I do. I’ve always liked lamb,” Mr. Hines said nervously. “I never meant to imply I didn’t like lamb—”
“You don’t like sponge cake with marshmallow frosting?”
“I do. Or I suppose I do. Honestly, it isn’t that. I just…”
Mr. Hines just didn’t like to make decisions quickly. Another customer approached; he stamped three books with the wrong date and then did them over, glancing up twice at Bett.
Honest—I have nothing painful in mind,
her eyes told him affectionately.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised as two more people came up with their books. She hustled into the rest room to use her cell in private. “Mom, do we have enough for one extra for dinner?” Not that she needed to call. Her mother was a big fan of leftovers. Bett thought wryly that she could have brought an impromptu army to dinner and there still would have been food left over.
“Of course. Who is it?” her mother asked.
“Theodore,” Bett answered. “Theodore Hines. The librarian in town; he’s a wonderful old friend of ours.”
“Well, fine. Theodore—you call him Ted?”
Bett tapped the phone with the tip of her nail. “Um. Actually, we’d better stick with Theodore. Be home in a little bit, Mom.”
When Bett very gently herded Mr. Hines out of the pickup twenty minutes later, he was still flustered and apologizing for nothing that Bett could figure out, clearly bewildered at being offered a home-cooked dinner. He nearly balked again when he saw Sniper sitting on the seat; Bett resisted the urge to pat his fanny up into the truck before he could get away. He kept his hands folded meticulously in his lap four inches from the cat as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home.
“You’re absolutely positive this is going to be no bother?”
“Absolutely positive. My mother’s name is Elizabeth,” she mentioned, and rapidly turned to other subjects. Getting Theodore to relax was all uphill work. Shakespearean sonnets helped, and so did a discussion on medieval music. By that time, the librarian was doing all the discussing, since Bett knew absolutely nothing about the subject, but she’d moved from Mr. Hines to Theodore. A massive breakthrough.
And just in time. They were edging over the last hill before the driveway that led to the house. The sun was just squinting over the horizon in a blaze of orchid and fuchsia hues that for no reason at all made Bett think of making love with Zach.
Zach, as it happened, was pulling into the drive just ahead of her. She frowned absently, noting the outline of a head in the passenger seat of his truck. The last thing she needed at the moment was another visitor just before dinner. Red Hornack stepped out of the vehicle, laughing heartily at something Zach had said, as Bett turned onto the gravel and parked next to them.
Red owned the local feed store. He was a big, blustery, good-humored man with a fluff of red-gray hair on top of his head. He had half a dozen grown children, and had lost his wife a few years back. Bett and Zach knew him vaguely, having stopped in from time to time; he carried rabbit food and salt licks and wild bird seed, the kind of thing Bett couldn’t buy for her wild creatures in the grocery store.
Mr. Hines stiffened the moment he saw Red. Bett patted his hand reassuringly. “You know Red Hornack?” she asked lightly, and frantically tried to catch Zach’s eye as she bounced out of the truck.
“Come in, come in,” she urged the librarian.
“Little Bett!” Red boomed, and zeroed in for a rib-crunching hug.
As soon as she’d recovered, she grabbed Theodore’s arm and dragged him toward the door, beaming radiantly at Red. “We haven’t seen you in an age—”
“Well, I’ll tell you now, I just never expected an invite to dinner this night. Always thought the world of you two kids, always did. Miss my own; they’re strung out all over the country these days…”
Ah, yes. Inside the door, she took Theodore’s suit coat and Red’s faded denim jacket. Both men suddenly looked equally ill at ease, glancing around. Bett had only a moment to glare furiously at Zach before she took their arms and led her little lambs in toward the slaughter. “Mom?” she called out brightly.
Elizabeth peered out of the kitchen, her jaw dropping only slightly at the Mutt-and-Jeff duo. Her hostess’s smile instantly replaced a look of pure shock. She marched forward when her hand stretched out, a pink flush of shyness on her cheeks matching the ruffled powder-pink shirtwaist with its bright green sash. “I’m so glad to meet Bett and Zach’s friends. You’re…Theodore.” She had no trouble choosing the right hand to shake. “And you must be Red.” Her hand was pumped a mile a minute. Elizabeth glanced bewilderedly at her daughter. “Dinner will be ready in just about ten minutes, if that’s all right with everyone?”
“I’ll get drinks.” Bett noted that Zach seemed to be finding his open-throated shirt tight at the neck. Very strange. Red wanted a beer, from the can was fine; Mr. Hines preferred a light cream sherry.
The Monroe household stocked neither. Zach managed to come up with the last of the previous year’s honey wine while Bett discussed the forecast and seated their guests in the living room. Elizabeth had defected to the kitchen. After five minutes, Bett excused herself—just for one short minute—to powder her nose.
The downstairs bathroom was already occupied. Zach had his hands on his hips, a disgusted expression on his face, as he pushed the door closed with his foot. “You could at least have called home and
told
me you were bringing someone home tonight.”
“Exactly like you called me?”
“Bett, it just sort of happened…”
“So did Mr. Hines just sort of happen,” Bett said glumly. She leaned back against one wall; Zach leaned against the other. “But of all people.
Red?
”
she moaned. “Honestly, Zach, what were you thinking? Red is so…lusty.”
“Lusty?”
Zach’s mouth twitched. “Two bits, he’s got a paid-for business, a host of grandkids running in and out, a house that needs caring for, and financial security.”
Bett looked up at the ceiling. “He gives Mom one of those bear hugs and she’ll take off for the closet.”
“You think your choice is better? Hines might work up to a kiss after a five-year engagement.”
“He’s a very nice man,” Bett said huffily.
“He’s as boring as limp lettuce.”
A gentle knock interrupted them. Bett swiftly opened the door. Elizabeth blinked, startled to find the two of them in the bathroom together. “I was just coming to help you with dinner,” Bett announced brightly.
Dinner just didn’t go as anticipated. Theodore sliced his lamb into tiny pieces. Red wolfed his down. Elizabeth sat at one end of the table and steadily kept serving food that just as steadily kept disappearing. The two bachelors had clearly never eaten in their lives before. Theodore, in spite of all his priceless manners, was silently working on his third helping. Bett stared helplessly at Zach. No one was talking. What was this? Everyone was just…eating.
She pinched Zach’s thigh beneath the table. His fork clattered to his plate. “How’s business going, Red?”
“Jes’ fine, jes’ fine. More of them peas, please, Miss Elizabeth…”
“Certainly.” Elizabeth smiled.
They listened for a minute and a half to a discourse on the price of chicken feed before the conversation died again. Bett let her fingers wander up Zach’s thigh beneath the table. Half a dozen peas jumped from his fork back to the plate. “Extra busy at the library, Mr.—Theodore?”
The librarian looked up. “There’s been a rush on Chaucer,” he announced happily. “Three English classes at the high school got it assigned at the same time. I had to limit them to a seven-day checkout schedule—”
Chaucer didn’t go over very well. Bett seemed to be the only one listening as Elizabeth served sponge cake. As she swallowed her second bite, politely looking at Theodore Hines, Bett was terrified that she was going to yawn. Her left hand strayed to Zach’s lap again.
“More cake, Zach?” Elizabeth asked. “Anyone else?”
No-thank-yous chorused around the table.
“Well, I’ll just do the dishes, then,” Elizabeth announced.
Bett jumped up. “I’ll do them. Zach will keep me company. Would you serve coffee to Red and Theodore in the living room, Mom?”
The exodus didn’t take long. Bett stacked the dirty plates and carried them to the sink, casting a critical eye at Zach, who was still sitting by his lonesome at the kitchen table. There was definitely a wicked hint of sapphire in his eyes. “Have you taken a look at your left hand recently?” he asked.
“No. Why?” She lifted up her palm.
“It should be blushing from all that…activity at the table.”
“It is,” she announced, and added sadly, “Zach, this isn’t going at all well.”
“Give them a few minutes.” He rose from the table to help her with the dishes. They took as long as they could. When neither could find a single excuse to remain in the kitchen, they both walked just to the door and paused to peer delicately around the corner.
Red was slouched on the sofa, his stomach protruding; he was red-faced and yawning from his huge dinner. Theodore sat next to him, primly erect, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Elizabeth was sitting in the chair across from them, crocheting an afghan. No one was talking.