Just Married
Autor
Debbie Macomber
Lecturas
17,0K
Capítulos
13
Former mercenary Zane Ackerman wants a family. In particular, he wants a child who'll be his legacy — and his heir. That's because his upcoming mission might be his last, and it's made him all too aware of his own mortality. Architect Lesley Walker wants a family, too. She craves a baby of her own. So Zane suggests a marriage of convenience to give them both what they want. But given the intense attraction they feel, this arrangement is becoming less convenient all the time!
CHAPTER ONE
ZANE LOVED THIS OLD HOUSE. It represented everything that he’d never had as a child. Love. Warmth. Security. Happiness. The massive, three-story structure had once been in the family, but had been sold after the death of his grandfather fifteen years ago. Zane owned the house now, and he intended to make up for the years of neglect it had suffered.
He leaned against the support column on the wide veranda that circled the grand home. As it had in his childhood, the view of Lake Michigan mesmerized him, calming his spirit. There was peace here, something that had been sadly lacking in his life up to this point. He was a man who’d willingly involved himself in war, and over the years he’d been paid handsomely for his services.
Almost unconsciously, he rubbed the ache in his injured leg. The pain worsened as the day progressed, not that he minded the discomfort. It reminded him that he was alive and that two of his men, two of his friends, were not. It reminded him that he had yet to seek his vengeance.
Zane walked to the end of the porch, recalling his days as a child when he’d raced with careless abandon across the lush green lawn. There would be no more children chasing butterflies and dreams here. No children who would hide on the limbs of the maple tree and imitate the chatter of the birds. At least none he would father.
The state of disrepair that had fallen upon the house had shocked Zane. The housekeeper he’d hired five months earlier to care for the place had said little of its condition. Upon his arrival three months ago, Zane immediately ordered repairs. It soon became evident that a new furnace and updated electrical system would only scratch the surface of what was required.
That was when he’d decided to call Jordan Larabee, a good friend and a well-known Chicago contractor. Jordan had recommended that Lesley Walker, an architect, have a look at the house and offer suggestions. Zane agreed to talk to the woman.
He had to admit that he was going through a lot of trouble and expense for a house he didn’t plan to live in long enough to enjoy.
A car turned off the main road and into his driveway. Zane checked his watch. Lesley Walker was punctual—he’d say that for her. The car slowed and pulled to a stop in the circular driveway in front of the house.
The door to the driver’s side opened and one long, shapely leg appeared. The body that followed fulfilled the promise of that one leg. The woman was tall, agile and strikingly attractive. She wore a gray business suit: jacket and pencil skirt. Zane approved. Her chestnut-colored hair bounced against the top of her shoulders as she turned toward him. Her deep, dark eyes met his and she was unable to hide her shock.
Occasionally Zane forgot about the scar that marked his face. It started at the corner of his left eye and cut a jagged line that crisscrossed down his cheek, ending below his lip. The scar, like the ache in his leg, was a reminder of a debt yet to be collected.
In the past year, he’d discovered how uncomfortable the general public was with physical deformities. He shouldn’t expect Ms. Walker to react differently than anyone else. In her eyes, like in those of the children in the nearby town, he was a monster.
Zane was mildly surprised when she didn’t look away as others routinely did. Instead, she held his gaze. Most people, he’d discovered, were uneasy with less than perfection. Her eyes softened and something passed between them. Something warm. Something gentle. Something strong.
Zane was uncomfortable with softness. He’d known little of it in his formative years, and avoided it by choice as an adult. It was a luxury he could ill afford in his chosen profession. As a soldier for hire, he had learned early on to freeze out his emotions. Out of necessity, he held back any part of himself that made him vulnerable.
“Ms. Walker?” Zane asked crisply and moved toward the porch stairs.
“Yes, and you must be Zane Ackerman.” She stood in the center of the walkway to examine his home. He noticed the way her gaze widened with appreciation as she took in the front of the house. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you making the drive,” he continued, his voice clipped and businesslike.
Her gaze turned back to him, and against his will he was drawn into the warm gentleness that surrounded her. “I enjoyed it.”
She returned to her vehicle, reached inside her car and brought out a thick writing tablet. “I’ll admit Jordan’s phone call piqued my interest.”
Once again she looked toward the house, and Zane had the opportunity to study her. She was lovely in ways he found difficult to define. If ever he was tempted to get to know a woman, it was now. But Lesley Walker was an emotional luxury he dare not indulge himself with—not while Schuyler lived.
Zane smiled to himself as he watched the appreciation Lesley felt for his home reveal itself in her eyes. With all its flaws, after years of neglect and indifference, she saw the beauty it had once been and would be again. Lesley Walker looked beyond the superficial—she saw beneath the obvious. Without being aware of what he was doing, his hand went to his face. Only when his fingers touched his scarred cheek did he realize what he’d done. Unnerved by the effect she had on him, he dropped his hand and returned his attention to the architect.
“I’m so pleased Jordan thought to contact me,” Lesley said with enthusiasm as she walked up to the porch to meet him.
They exchanged brief handshakes and she handed him a business card. Zane noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and wondered how it was that a woman he sensed to be as wholesome and maternal as Lesley would not be married.
“Would you like to see the inside first?” he asked, struggling to maintain emotional distance. It would be far too easy to lower his guard with her, but that was something Zane couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow.
“I’d love to see the house.”
Zane led the way through the front door. Many of the rooms were small and he had thought to take down wall open up the living area. He mentioned his ideas for the remodeling project. Without comment, Lesley wrote down his suggestions, then asked a series of pertinent questions, taking note of his responses.
“I found the original plans for the house tucked away in a cabinet in the library.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take them with me and study them,” she said, as they walked from room to room. Every now and again she pointed out small details he’d barely noticed himself even after a few months.
When they came to the library, he rolled back the double-wide mahogany doors and waited for her reaction. This was Zane’s favorite room. Rooted in his memory was a picture of his grandfather sitting by the fireplace and reading. It was something he often did himself. Zane spent more time in the library than in any of the other rooms.
“Oh, my,” Lesley whispered as though she were standing on holy ground. “This is perfect just the way it is—I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Zane felt that way himself. He wanted nothing altered in this one room, and that she immediately sensed his feelings boded well for her working on this project.
“Mr. Zane, I was thinking about dinner and—” His housekeeper, Mrs. Applegate, sauntered toward him and stopped abruptly when she realized he wasn’t alone. “Oh, I do apologize. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“It’s no trouble,” he answered, quick to reassure the older woman.
His cook was a round, gentle soul who made it her mission in life to spoil him, despite his protests. Nothing he said seemed to discourage her from mothering him. After a while, he gave up trying.
Mrs. Applegate’s eyes twinkled with delight when Zane introduced her to Lesley. “It’s time Mr. Zane brought a woman into this house.”
“Ms. Walker is the architect I mentioned earlier,” he said, rankled by the way the elderly woman linked him romantically with Lesley.
“Oh, what a shame.” She looked disappointed. “Once you finish looking over the house, you let me know,” the housekeeper insisted. “I’ll set the tea to brewing and bring it to the library. I’m sure you’re going to have lots to talk over, and there’s no better place to do it than right here with a spot of tea.”
Zane might have declined if Lesley hadn’t said, “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Mrs. Applegate’s eyes were filled with devilment as she skirted past Zane. Knowing his housekeeper, there would be far more than tea on that tray. He swore the woman baked enough sweets to keep a dentist in practice. Not a day passed when she didn’t set some new confection before him. She seemed to make it her mission in life to put a “little meat on his bones.”
“What a sweetheart,” Lesley commented, her gaze following the housekeeper.
Zane’s reply was unintelligible on purpose. He was grateful to Martha Applegate, but he didn’t like the subtle way the woman attempted to work her way into his life. He had a mother, one he preferred to forget, as it happened.
He’d hired Martha Applegate sight unseen a week after he’d decided to take up residence. He needed someone to open up the house and get things in order before he moved to Sleepy Valley.
After viewing the library, Zane led Lesley up the stairs to the six bedrooms situated on the second floor. It was difficult for him to make the trek with his bum leg. Pain shot through his thigh as he climbed. He gritted his teeth, unwilling to show his discomfort.
Once again, as they toured the bedrooms, Lesley made a series of notations and asked him a number of questions. Standing in the narrow hallway outside the master bedroom, she turned full circle, made a note on the tablet and then glanced his way and smiled.
“How about the kitchen next?”
“Sure.” It might have been his imagination, but it seemed that her walk slowed as they descended the staircase. Despite the pain, he increased his step, unwilling to accept allowances for his injuries.
When they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Applegate was nowhere to be seen, which was just as well. Lesley seemed to be filled with enthusiastic ideas. She quickly started to write, her hand moving in a blur over the page. Again she didn’t share her thoughts.
She happened to look out the kitchen window and then turned to him.
“Those are the stables,” he explained.
“And the man?”
“Carl Saks. He lives in the guest house.” Carl was a friend and a former soldier who’d decided to retire in the same area. He’d been looking for property himself. Unable to sit idle, Carl had become a handyman of sorts around the place. Because of his physical limitations, Zane was grateful for the help.
When Lesley finished writing, she pressed the notepad against her breast. “I think that about does it, unless there’s something else you’d care to show me.” Her eyes landed on the pot of tea Mrs. Applegate had set out, along with a plate heaped high with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies.
Over the years, Zane had developed a sixth sense about danger. It had served him well and saved his sorry butt more times than he could count. A half hour with Lesley Walker and he realized this woman was double jeopardy. The best thing he could do for them both was to get her out of his life. And fast.
He made a show of looking at his watch. “I believe you’ve seen everything necessary. If you’re finished, I’ll see you to the door.”
A look of surprise and disappointment showed in her expressive face. The friendliness drained from her eyes and she stiffened into a businesslike stance. “Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ackerman.”
He escorted her out of the kitchen, stopped in the library long enough to retrieve the blueprints he’d mentioned earlier and then led the way to the front entry.
They exchanged swift handshakes.
“When can I expect to see your ideas?” he asked, and the eagerness with which he posed the question surprised even him.
“I can have a rough draft to you next week. Would that be soon enough?”
“Perfect,” he answered, the lone word abrupt.
He stood on the porch and waited until she was inside her car before he turned away. The urge to slam the door was almost more than he could resist. The anger that festered inside him was sharp, raw and completely irrational.
He’d only met Lesley Walker, and if the Fates were with him, the necessity of seeing her again would be minimal. She had yet to pull out of his driveway, and already he was worrying about how long it would be before he could see her again.
This woman was dangerous. Instinctively Zane recognized the threat she represented to his sanity. It was unfortunate. He would have enjoyed getting to know her but he could see no purpose in developing any kind of relationship when he fully expected to be dead within the year.
* * *
Lesley caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and saw that her mouth had formed into a tight line. “That, my dear,” she whispered to herself, “was a brush-off.” She wondered what she’d said or done to offend the great and mighty Zane Ackerman.
One thing was sure, he was by far the most unusual man she’d ever met. Compelling. Forceful. Handsome. Even with the scar that ran down one side of his face. And the limp seemed to enhance the sense of overwhelming masculinity.
When Jordan Larabee had contacted her about this project, he’d been uncharacteristically closemouthed about the man he was sending her to meet. All Jordan had said was that he’d appreciate it if she’d look over the project and get back to him.
The request was unusual in itself. The fact that it came from Jordan made it more so.
Lesley worked for one of the largest and best-known architectural firms in Chicago. Remodeling projects were not her expertise. Most recently, she’d worked on the plans for a high-rise apartment complex. She was responsible for the design of a new city library and the year before, a large government building. Jordan knew all that and yet he’d personally requested she be the one to look at Zane Ackerman’s home.
Lesley’s relationship with Jordan was finally back on an even keel. They’d once dated while Jordan had been separated from his wife, and had gotten serious enough to discuss the possibility of marriage.
At the time, Lesley had agreed to Jordan’s stipulation that there be no children. After the death of his infant son to SIDS, Jordan had refused to consider a family. But, as it turned out, Jordan had reunited with his wife.
It had never set well with Lesley that she was dating a man who remained technically married. When their relationship had progressed to the point that they were serious enough to contemplate making a commitment, Lesley had insisted Jordan go ahead with the divorce. Unfortunately he hadn’t a clue where his wife, Molly, was.
Then Jordan discovered that she was working as a nurse in the politically unstable country of Manuka in Africa. And despite Lesley’s protests, he had insisted upon going after her himself.
Far more than a rescue had taken place the day Jordan found Molly. Less than three months after the other woman’s return to Chicago, Lesley learned that Molly was pregnant. Their daughter was born six months later and within the last year they’d had a son.
Lesley was happy for the couple, and wished them her best. In retrospect, she recognized she hadn’t been in love with Jordan Larabee. Instead, she had been in love with the idea of being married. The idea of being a wife. Frankly, it appealed to her now as much as it had three years earlier, but she wasn’t as desperate as she’d been the year she turned thirty. If she met the right man, she’d be thrilled. Ecstatic. But frankly, she had given up hope of that happening.
In the time since her breakup with Jordan, she had dated a number of men. But they seemed to fall into two distinct classifications: the disillusioned and the unfit. She wasn’t interested in either group.
As she drove down the long driveway that led back to the highway, Lesley realized that because she was interested in the house, she hadn’t paid any attention to the view of Lake Michigan. Now the view flashed before her like a shooting star blazing across a velvet night. She literally slammed her foot on the brake.
The car jolted to an abrupt stop. For a moment she did nothing but sit and stare, the view as spectacular as any she’d seen. The blue sky reflected upon the water’s white-capped surface like a shiny mirror. Gulls circled overhead and fluffy clouds billowed past.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, Lesley turned off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle. She didn’t mean to trespass as she walked across the large expanse of manicured lawn, but she couldn’t help herself.
She’d wandered some distance when she stumbled upon a viewpoint. A stone bench sat at the edge of the drop-off. Clusters of blooming red roses scented the afternoon air.
After standing and admiring the view for several moments, Lesley sat down and breathed in the calm beauty of the scene before her. Water stretched for as far as the eye could see. Sailboats with their bright spinnakers dotted the surface. Motorboats zoomed past, their wakes rippling wider and wider swells.
For no reason Lesley could understand, emotion clogged her throat. It was as though this house, this property…this man lured her very soul.
She’d sensed it the moment she’d turned into the driveway. Felt it to the very marrow of her bones. The house had called out to her like a wailing spirit. A small voice buried deep inside her heart had welcomed her home. Because she was practical, she’d refused to believe, refused to listen.
That was when she first noticed Zane standing on the porch, waiting for her arrival. One look at the forceful, enigmatic man and she had felt as though all the oxygen had emptied from her lungs. Never had she reacted to a man quite this way.
Even now she was left to wonder what had happened between them those first few moments. Neither chose to voice whatever it was, and both seemed equally uncomfortable with the force of the attraction.
Later, Zane couldn’t seem to get rid of her fast enough, and Lesley was convinced that whatever had transpired had all been one-sided.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
A sound behind her alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. Lesley stood and turned to face the man who’d dominated her thoughts from the moment they’d met.
Zane sat atop a black gelding, his dark gaze focused on her. “I thought you’d left.”
Embarrassed to have been found trespassing, Lesley cleared her throat and licked her lips before she forced herself to smile. “Hello again,” she greeted. Zane made an intimidating figure sitting atop the sleek Arabian, staring down on her. Because the sun was behind him, it made it all the more difficult to read his expression, but she couldn’t help feeling that he was displeased to find her still on his property. “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped to admire the view.”
The temperamental gelding jerked his head, and shifted his two hind legs in an impatient two-step. With a flick of the reins, Zane quieted the imposing beast.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Lesley added, hoping that was explanation enough. She glanced at her watch, startled by how much time had passed. It seemed she’d only been a matter of minutes, but she’d been sitting there nearly an hour.
She should say something, anything, but it was as if his happening upon her had frozen her thought processes. She knew that had she tried to explain, she would have made an even greater fool of herself, which was something she wasn’t eager to do. She didn’t know what Zane must think of her.
“This was my grandmother’s favorite spot,” Zane surprised her by saying. He didn’t sound displeased with her. If anything, she heard puzzlement in his voice, as if she were the last person he expected to find on his property.
“Your grandmother?” she repeated, not realizing that there was a family connection with the house.
“The house belonged to my grandparents,” he admitted gruffly, as though he resented her knowing even this small bit of information. The Arabian’s impatient jig continued. “How much longer do you intend to stay?”
“I really must get back to the office. I should have left right away. I’m sorry if I did something I shouldn’t have.” She backed away from him.
“It’s fine, Lesley,” he said so softly, she wasn’t sure Zane was the one who’d spoken or if it was that small voice she’d heard earlier. The voice in her own heart. The one that had welcomed her with open arms.
* * *
Lesley didn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, it was Zane Ackerman’s face that came into view. He’d been both abrupt and unfriendly, and yet she was physically drawn to him with a force so powerful, it left her senses reeling.
The next morning the first thing Lesley did when she reached the office was put a call through to Jordan Larabee.
“How do you know Zane Ackerman?” she asked without so much as greeting him.
“Good morning to you, too,” Jordan said, his amusement echoing over the line. “I take it you drove out to meet Zane yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“How is he, by the way?”
“Fine. I take it he’s a friend of yours.”
“We go way back.”
“Tell me about him.” After a sleepless night, Lesley wasn’t up to playing cat-and-mouse games with Jordan.
“What do you want to know?”
“Is he married?” That this would be the first question she put before him shocked her. Although the question had been paramount in her mind, she never intended to blurt it out. She hoped to ease into it with far more subtlety.
To her dismay, Jordan laughed outright. “So that’s the way the ball bounces?”
“What do you mean by that?” She sounded defensive, and that irritated her all the more.
“You’re irresistibly drawn to his bad-boy image. Well, Lesley, I hate to say it, but you aren’t alone. I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t intrigued by Zane Ackerman. I don’t know what it is about him, but whatever it is, he’s got it in spades.”
“I’m not interested in him that way,” she said with far less conviction than she felt.
“And pigs fly.”
“He was rude and he couldn’t seem to get me out of his house fast enough.”
“That’s Zane all right.”
Her comments seemed to amuse Jordan.
“What happened to him? The injuries look recent.”
“He never said,” Jordan answered, “and I never asked.”
Lesley bit her lower lip. “I fell in love with the house. I’m working on another project now, but I’ll look over my notes and get back to you by the end of the week.”
“Perfect,” Jordan responded, but he sounded distracted. Like her, Jordan was a busy man. Neither one of them had time for chitchat. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” she promised.
“Thanks, Les,” Jordan said affectionately. “I appreciate you doing this, and I know Zane does, too.”
“I’m glad to help.” As she replaced the receiver, Lesley wondered if she’d feel the same way later. She had the distinct impression that this assignment wasn’t going to be like her normal projects.
* * *
Zane wandered down to the breakfast table early the following morning. Mrs. Applegate was humming cheerfully to herself as she stood in front of the stove.
“Such a nice young woman,” she said, smiling over at Zane as she poured him a cup of coffee.
“Who?” he asked, pretending not to know.
“That architect who stopped by yesterday afternoon.”
Zane didn’t respond one way or another. An achy, restless feeling had come over him the moment Lesley Walker had driven away. The sensation had stayed with him all night. Generally, the pain in his leg was what kept him awake. Not thoughts of a woman. Especially one he barely knew. One thing was certain, he had no intention of furthering the relationship.
The back door opened and Carl stepped inside the kitchen. “Morning,” he grumbled with a decided lack of friendliness. He walked over to where Zane sat and pulled out a chair. “I’ve been thinking of changing feed stores,” his friend announced starkly. Carl had taken over ordering the supplies and other duties to keep himself from going stir-crazy.
“I thought we got a good price at Hoffman Feed.”
Mrs. Applegate delivered plates heaped with crisp fried bacon, eggs and toast to the two men.
“The prices are fine,” Carl answered before digging into his breakfast. He ate like a man who feared this would be his last meal.
Zane knew the man well enough to realize something was troubling Carl, and he suspected it had little to do with the local feed store. To the best of his knowledge, Carl had been buying whatever he needed from the same place since the horses had been delivered. Their prices were fair and Zane preferred to do business locally. But if Carl wanted to drive another twenty miles to another feed store, Zane figured that was his business.
“You got a problem with Hoffman Feed?”
Carl paused, the fork poised in front of his mouth while he analyzed the question. “I don’t much care for sassy women.”
Zane lowered his head in an effort to hide his amusement. So Carl had clashed swords with Candy Hoffman again. It wasn’t the first time the two had created sparks.
“I saw a woman wandering around the grounds yesterday. Who was she?” Carl asked.
“The architect,” Zane answered without elaborating.
“A real sweetheart, too, if you ask me,” Mrs. Applegate called from the other side of the kitchen.
Zane hadn’t asked, but he knew if he mentioned it his housekeeper would ignore him, and so he said nothing.
“She was a pretty thing,” Carl said. “Will she be visiting again anytime soon?”
“I don’t know.” Zane eyed his fellow soldier, disliking the interest Carl revealed in Lesley.
“If she does, how about an introduction?”
Zane wasn’t keen on that one bit, but before he could say so, Mrs. Applegate approached the table and set down a plate of hot-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls. “She isn’t the one for you.”
“Who isn’t?” Carl barked the question as he reached for a roll, burning his fingers in the process. He licked his fingertips and cursed under his breath.
“Candy Hoffman has her eye on you,” the housekeeper informed him.
Carl didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “That woman’s meaner than a beaver with a broomstick up her butt.”
Mrs. Applegate chuckled, and shook her head. “That’s not the way I see it. It seems to me you’re just as sweet on her, only you don’t like it. Come to think of it, Candy isn’t all that pleased about it neither.”
Carl snorted loudly. “I’d rather be skinned alive than have anything more to do with that woman. She’s unreasonable, irrational, pigheaded, and that’s just for starters. If I never see her again, it’d suit me just fine.” Having said that much, Carl leapt up from the chair and headed out the door. He turned back abruptly and reached for the cinnamon roll. “I’ll be buying the feed elsewhere,” he said in a way that challenged Zane to defy him.
“Get it wherever you want,” Zane told him.
Carl cast a triumphant look toward the housekeeper and headed out the back door. To his surprise, Mrs. Applegate burst out laughing. “Life’s too short for green bananas.”
Baffled, Zane studied the older woman. She had a habit of saying the most nonsensical things, and then looking for him to agree with her.
Zane raised both hands. “I’m staying out of this,” he announced.
The housekeeper didn’t seem to mind.
One thing she’d said did make sense. Life was too short, and for him, it was getting shorter every day.
