Midnight Sons Volume 2 by Debbie Macomber

Mitch remained as far away from her as possible. Bethany suspected he’d rather track a cantankerous bear than stay in the same room with her. It was not a familiar feeling, or a pleasant one.

  “She must be over at Susan’s, then,” he said.

  “She didn’t say where she was headed.”

  He lingered a moment. “I don’t want Chrissie to become a nuisance.”

  “She isn’t, and neither is Susan. They’re both great kids, so don’t worry, okay?”

  Still he hesitated. “They didn’t, by any chance, ask you a lot of personal questions, did they?”

  “Uh…some.”

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds and an expression of weariness crossed his face. He sighed. “I’ll look for Chrissie over at Susan’s. Thanks for your trouble.”

  His gaze held hers. By the time he turned away, Bethany felt a little breathless. She was sure of one thing. If it was up to Mitch Harris, she would never have left San Francisco.

  Well, that was unfortunate for Mitch. Because Bethany had come to Hard Luck with a plan, and she wasn’t leaving until it was accomplished.

  Chapter

  2

  Daddy?”

  Mitch looked up from the Fairbanks paper to smile at his freckle-faced daughter. Chrissie was fresh out of the bathtub, her face scrubbed clean, her cheeks rosy. She wore her favorite Beauty and the Beast pajamas.

  His heart contracted with the depth of his love for her. No matter how miserable his marriage had been, he’d always be grateful to Lori for giving him Chrissie.

  “It’s almost bedtime,” he told his daughter.

  “I know.” Following their nightly ritual, she crawled into his lap and nestled her head against his chest. Sometimes she pretended to read the paper with him, but not this evening. Her thoughts seemed to be unusually grave. “Daddy, do you like Ms. Ross?”

  Mitch prayed for patience. He’d been afraid of this. Chrissie had been using every opportunity to bring Bethany into their conversations, and he knew she was hoping something romantic would develop between him and the teacher. “Ms. Ross is very nice,” he answered cautiously.

  “But do you like her?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you think you’ll marry her?”

  It was all Mitch could do to keep from bolting out of the chair. “I have no intention of marrying anyone,” he said emphatically. As far as he was concerned, the subject wasn’t open for discussion. With anyone, even his daughter.

  Chrissie batted her baby blues at him. “But I thought you liked her.”

  “Sweetheart, listen, I like Pearl, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to marry her.”

  “But Pearl’s old. Ms. Ross is only twenty-five. I know ’cause I asked her. Twenty-five isn’t too old, is it?”

  Mitch gritted his teeth. After they’d driven Bethany home that first night, Chrissie had been filled with questions about the new teacher. No doubt she’d subjected Bethany to a similar inquisition that morning.

  Mitch supposed all this talk about marriage was inevitable. The summer had been full of romantic adventures. Certainly Sawyer had wasted no time in marrying Abbey; it didn’t help that Abbey’s daughter was Chrissie’s best friend. Then Charles had become engaged to Lanni, followed by Pete and Dotty’s recent announcement. To Chrissie, it must’ve seemed as if the whole town had caught marriage fever. Bethany, however, had been hired by the school board last spring and had nothing to do with the recent influx of women.

  “I like Ms. Ross so much,” Chrissie said with a delicate sigh.

  “You hardly know her. You might change your mind once you see her in the classroom.” Mitch felt he was grasping at straws, but he was growing more and more concerned. He could hardly forbid his daughter to mention Bethany’s name!

  He wasn’t sure what the woman had done to sprout wings and a halo in his daughter’s estimation. Nor did he understand why Chrissie had chosen to champion Bethany instead of, say, Mariah Douglas.

  Perhaps she’d intuitively sensed his attraction to the young teacher. That idea sent chills racing down his spine. If Chrissie had figured it out, others wouldn’t be far behind.

  “I won’t change my mind about Ms. Ross,” Chrissie told him. “I think you should marry her.”

  “Chrissie. We’ve already been over this. I’m not going to marry Ms. Ross.”

  “Why not?”

  There was something very wrong when a grown man couldn’t out-argue a seven-year-old. “First, we don’t know each other. Remember, sweetheart, she’s only been in town two days.”

  “But Sawyer fell in love with Abbey right away.”

  “Yes…” he muttered warily.

  “Then why can’t you put dibs on Ms. Ross before any of the other men decide they like her, too?”

  “Chrissie—”

  “Someone else might marry her if you don’t hurry up!”

  Mitch calmed himself. It was clear that his daughter had a rejoinder for every answer. “This is different,” he said reasonably. “I’m not Sawyer and Ms. Ross isn’t Abbey. She came here to teach, remember? She isn’t looking for a husband.”

  “Neither was Abbey. I really want you to marry Ms. Ross.”

  Mitch clenched his jaw. “I’m not marrying Ms. Ross, and I refuse to discuss it any further.” He rarely used this tone with his daughter, but he wanted it understood that the conversation was over. He wasn’t getting married. End of story. No amount of begging and pleading was going to make any difference.

  Chrissie was quiet for several minutes. Then she said, “Tell me about my mommy.”

  Mitch felt like a drowning man. Everywhere he turned there was more water, more trouble, and not a life preserver in sight. “What do you want to know?”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Very pretty,” he answered soothingly. Normally he found the subject of Lori painful, but right now he was grateful to discuss something other than Bethany Ross.

  “As pretty as Ms. Ross?”

  He rolled his eyes; he’d been sucker-punched. “Yes.”

  “She died in an accident?”

  Mitch didn’t know why Chrissie repeatedly asked the same questions about her mother. Maybe the child could tell that he wasn’t giving her the whole truth. “Yes, your mother died in an accident.”

  “And you were sad?”

  “I loved her very much.”

  “And she loved me?”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart, she loved you.”

  His daughter seemed to soak in his words, as if she needed reassurance that she’d been wanted and loved by the mother she’d never known.

  After that, Chrissie grew thoughtful again. Mitch returned to his paper. Then, when he least expected it, she resumed her campaign. “Can I have a brother or sister someday?” she asked him. The question came at him from nowhere and scored a direct hit.

  “Probably not,” he told her truthfully. “Like I said, I don’t plan to remarry.”

  “Why not?” She wore that hurt-little-girl look guaranteed to weaken his resolve.

  Mitch made a show of checking his watch. He was through with answering questions and finding suitable arguments for a child. Through with having Bethany Ross offered up to him on a silver platter—by his daughter, the would-be matchmaker.

  “Time for bed,” he said decisively.

  “Already?” Chrissie whined.

  “Past time.” He slid her off his knee and led her into her bedroom. He removed the stuffed animals from the bed while Chrissie got down on her knees to say her prayers. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, her expression intent.

  Mitch could see his daughter’s lips move in some fervent request. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was asking. If God joined forces against him, Mitch figured he’d find himself engaged to the tantalizing Ms. Ross before the week was out.

  Christian O’Halloran, youngest of the three brothers, walked into the Hard Luck Café and collapsed in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table
and buried his face in his hands.

  Without asking, Ben picked up the coffeepot and poured him a cup. “You look like you could use something stronger,” he commented.

  “I can’t believe it,” Christian moaned.

  “Believe what?” Ben assumed this had to do with Christian’s secretary. He didn’t understand what it was about Mariah that Christian found so objectionable. Personally he was rather fond of the young lady. Mariah Douglas had grit. She had the gumption to live in one of those rundown cabins. No power. No electric lights. And for damn sure, nothing that went flush in the night.

  “You won’t believe what just happened. I nearly got my head chewed off by some feminist attorney.”

  Now this was news. Ben slid into the chair opposite Christian’s. “An attorney? Here in Hard Luck?”

  Christian nodded, his face a smoldering shade of red. “I was accused of everything from false advertising to misrepresentation and fraud. Me,” he said incredulously.

  “Who hired her?”

  Christian’s eyes narrowed. “My guess is Mariah.”

  “No.” Ben shook his head. Mariah might’ve been the cause of some minor troubles with Christian, but there wasn’t a vindictive bone in her body. From everything he’d seen of her, Mariah was a sweet-natured, gentle soul.

  “It isn’t clear who hired the woman,” Christian admitted, “but odds are it’s Mariah.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do!” Christian snapped. “I swear to you Mariah’s been looking for a way to do me in from the moment she got here. First off, she tried to cripple me.”

  “She didn’t mean to push that filing cabinet on your foot.”

  “Is that a fact? I don’t suppose you noticed how perfect her aim was, did you? She’s been a thorn in my side from day one. Now this.”

  “Seems to me you’re getting sidetracked,” Ben said. He didn’t want to hear another litany of Mariah’s supposed sins, not when there was other, juicier information to extract. “We were discussing the attorney, remember?”

  Christian plowed all ten fingers though his hair. “The lawyer’s name is Tracy Santiago. She flew in from some highfalutin firm in Seattle. Let me tell you, I’ve seen sharks with duller teeth. This woman’s after blood, and from the sound of it, she wants mine.”

  “And you think Mariah sent for her?” Ben asked doubtfully.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. Santiago’s here, and when she’s through discussing the details of the lawsuit with Mariah, she wants to talk to the others. To Sally McDonald and Angie Hughes.” He referred to the two most recent arrivals—Sally, who worked at the town’s Power and Light company, and Angie, who’d been hired as an administrative and nursing assistant to Dottie. Both of them were living in the house owned by Catherine Fletcher—Matt and Lanni Caldwell’s grandmother.

  “Are you going to let her?”

  Christian raised his eyes until they were level with Ben’s. “I can’t stop her, can I? But then, I don’t think a freight train would slow this Santiago woman down.”

  “Where is she now? Your office?” Ben asked, craning his neck to look out the window. The mobile office of Midnight Sons was parked next to the airfield, within sight of the café. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “Yeah, I had to get out of there before I said something I’d regret,” Christian confessed. “I feel bad about abandoning Duke, but he seemed to be holding his own.”

  “Duke?”

  “Yeah. Apparently he flew her in without knowing her purpose for coming. He made the fatal mistake of thinking she might’ve been one of the women I hired. Santiago let him know in no uncertain terms who and what she was. By the time they landed, the two of them were at each other’s throats.”

  That they’d been able to discuss anything during the flight was saying something, given how difficult it was to be heard above the roar of the engines.

  “If I were this attorney,” Christian said thoughtfully, “I’d think twice before messing with Duke.”

  Ben had to work hard to keep the smile off his face. When a feminist attorney tangled with the biggest chauvinist Ben had ever met, well…the fur was guaranteed to fly.

  The door opened. Christian looked up and groaned, then covered his face with his hands again.

  Ben turned around and saw that it was Mariah. He lumbered to his feet, reached for the coffeepot and returned to the counter.

  “Mr. O’Halloran,” the secretary said as she timidly approached him.

  “How many times,” Christian demanded, “have I asked you to call me by my first name? In case you haven’t noticed, there are three Mr. O’Hallorans in this town, and two of us happen to spend a lot of time together in the same office.”

  “Christian,” she began a second time, her voice quavering slightly. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with Ms. Santiago’s arrival.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Mariah clenched her hands at her sides. “I didn’t know anything about her,” she insisted, “and I certainly had nothing to do with hiring her.”

  “Then who did?”

  Ben watched as Mariah closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When she spoke again, her voice was a low whisper. “I suspect it was my dad. He must’ve talked to her about my being here.”

  “And why, pray tell, would he do that?” Christian asked coldly.

  Mariah went pale. “Would you mind very much if I sat down?”

  The look Christian threw her said he would. After an awkward moment, he gestured curtly toward the seat across from him.

  “You want some coffee?” Ben felt obliged to offer.

  “No,” Christian answered for her. “She doesn’t want anything.”

  “Do you have orange juice?” Mariah asked.

  “He has orange juice,” Christian told her, “at five bucks a glass.”

  “Fine.”

  Another moment of strained silence passed while Ben delivered the four-ounce glass of juice.

  “You had something you wanted to tell me?” Christian asked impatiently.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m sure my family’s responsible for Ms. Santiago’s visit. You see…I didn’t exactly tell them I’d accepted your job offer. They didn’t know—”

  “You mean you were hiding from your parents?”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” she argued. “Not exactly.” She brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, and Ben saw that her hands were shaking badly. “I wanted to prove something to them, and this seemed the only way I could do it.”

  “What were you trying to prove?” Christian shouted. “How easy it is to destroy a man and his business?”

  “No,” she replied, squaring her shoulders. “I wanted to demonstrate to my father that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. That I can support myself, and furthermore, I’m old enough to make my own decisions without him continually interfering in my life.”

  “So you didn’t tell him what you’d done.”

  “No,” she admitted, chancing a quick look in Christian’s direction. “Not at first. It’s been a while since my family heard from me, so I wrote them a letter last week and told them about the job and how after a year’s time I’ll have the title to twenty acres and the cabin.”

  “And?”

  “Well, with Hard Luck being in the news and everything, Dad had already heard about Midnight Sons advertising for women. He…” She paused and bit her lower lip. “He seems to think this isn’t the place for me, and the best way to get me home is to prove you’re running some kind of scam. That’s why he hired Ms. Santiago. I…I think he may want to sue you.” She closed her eyes again, as if she expected Christian to explode.

  Instead, he stared sightlessly into space. “We’re dead meat,” he said tonelessly. “Sawyer and I can forget everything we’ve ever worked for because it’ll be gone.”

  “I explained the situation as best I could to Ms. Santiago.”

 
“Oh, great. By now she’s probably decided I’ve kidnapped you and that I’m holding you for ransom.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Think about it, Mariah. Tracy Santiago would give her eyeteeth to cut me off at the knees—and all because you wanted to prove something to your father!”

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Mariah promised. Her huge eyes implored him. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll get everything straightened out. There won’t be a lawsuit unless I’m willing to file one, and I’m not.”

  “You’ll take care of it?” Christian repeated with a short bark of laughter. “That’s supposed to reassure me? Ha!”

  Lanni Caldwell glanced at her watch for the third time in a minute. Charles was late. He was supposed to pick her up in front of the Anchorage News, where she was working as an intern. She should wait outside for him, he’d said. It had been ten days since they’d seen each other, and she’d never missed anyone so much.

  They’d agreed to postpone their wedding until the first week of April. At the time, that hadn’t sounded so terrible, but she’d since revised her opinion. If these ten days were any indication of how miserable she was going to be without him, she’d never last the eight months. Her one consolation was that his travel schedule often brought him to Valdez, which was only a short airplane trip from Anchorage.

  Just when she was beginning to really worry, Lanni saw him. He was smiling broadly, a smile that spoke of his own joy at seeing her.

  Unable to stand still, Lanni hurried toward him, threading her way through the late-afternoon shoppers crowding the sidewalk.

  When she was only a few feet away, she started to run. “Charles! Oh, Charles!”

  He caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. They were both talking at once, saying the same things. How lonely the past days had been. How eight months seemed impossible. How much they’d missed each other.

  It felt so good to be in his arms again. She hadn’t intended to kiss him right there on the sidewalk with half of Anchorage looking on, but she couldn’t stop herself. Charles O’Halloran was solid and handsome and strong—and he was hers.

  His mouth found Lanni’s and her objections, her doubts, her misery, all melted away. She hardly heard the traffic, hardly noticed the smiling passersby.