on the snow-encrusted sidewalk was no withered senior citizen with a gleam in his eye. Far from it.
He was tall and lanky, with amazing shoulders, coal-black mischievous eyes full of improper suggestions, plus curly dark hair that tickled his ears and the back of his strong neck. His clothes were rough—a rumpled old parka over jeans, a faded flannel work shirt and heavy boots suitable for hiking the Klondike. The parka was unzipped, revealing a low-slung tool belt worn with the panache of a gunslinger.
“Let me guess,” said Susannah when she could control her vocal cords. “Mr. Busybody Santori?”
His wide mouth quirked into a wry grin. He had a strong Italian face with prominent cheekbones, expressive brows and velvety black eyes that communicated volumes. “Am I going to get a lecture from you, too, Miss Atkins?”
“That would be cruel,” Susannah shot back, smiling. “I bet my grandmother has chewed you up one side and down the other already.”
“I’m still licking my wounds, in fact.”
“She was angry at you for calling me?”
“Furious,” Joe Santori pronounced. “She says I have spoiled your vacation by suggesting you come home, and I’ll never be forgiven.”
“It’s not as bad as that,” Susannah replied, hefting her suitcase out of the car and slamming the door with her other hand. “I’m sure I’ll still be able to catch my plane. I’ll bet she’s mostly angry that you interfered. My grandmother prides herself on her independence.”
“She has a right to be proud.” Joe took her overnight case without asking and slung the strap effortlessly over one shoulder. “But we all need a little help now and then.”
Looking up at him, Susannah doubted that Joe Santori believed his own words. He looked like a man who’d rather die than ask for help for himself. The arrogance that showed plainly in his face was tempered only by his lopsided grin. Obviously, he was perfectly at ease conducting the lives of people around him and felt justified telephoning a complete stranger to come home to check on a sick relative.
But there was something else in Joe Santori’s expression, too—something Susannah felt she could trust. Along with his natural self-confidence, he seemed to radiate honesty. He had a few flecks of gray in his dark hair, and the laugh lines around his eyes also seemed to bespeak a certain amount of tragedy along with amusement. He had an interesting face. A trustworthy face.
“Tell me the truth,” Susannah said, coming directly to the point and knowing she could rely on him. “Is my grandmother really sick?”
Joe shrugged and responded just as bluntly. “I can’t tell. I’ve known her for a couple of years, but only as an acquaintance. I started doing some work on her house earlier this month, and Rose seemed pretty perky then. But now...well, I can’t tell what’s wrong, exactly. Maybe she’s just feeling blue.”
Susannah shook her head, concerned anew. “Not before Christmas. It’s her favorite season. My Granny Rose loves getting ready for parties and...well, everything.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions before you’ve seen her,” Joe cautioned, his voice low and quieting. He put one hand on Susannah’s shoulder to steady her and said with a grin, “Maybe you’ll take one look at your grandmother and decide to belt me for dragging you to Tyler on a wild-goose chase.”
Susannah appreciated his kindness. She didn’t feel like belting him at all.
Joe looked down at Susannah Atkins and couldn’t imagine her belting anyone. She was so small, for starters. On television, she looked average in size, but in person she was quite dainty. Her body was concealed by a flowing, camel-hair coat, belted casually around a slim waist and long enough to show slim ankles encased in trim black boots. But Joe was familiar enough with “Oh, Susannah!,” the popular television show that came on after the noon news every day to know that Miss Susannah Atkins had a body worthy of great admiration.
And while she was pretty on the small screen, Joe hadn’t been prepared for how exquisitely beautiful she was in real life. She had a delicate face with a sharp chin, pointed nose and thickly lashed blue eyes that were deep-set and luminous. Her shoulder-length blond hair was smooth and glossy, pulled back into a raspberry-colored beret that exactly matched the shade of her lipstick. With her quirky little mouth and those expressive blue eyes, she looked darling—just ready for someone to come along and muss her up a little.
With a lilting laugh, she said, “I don’t believe in belting people, Mr. Santori. I leave that to my grandmother. Has she ever told you the story of when she chased off a burglar with a frying pan?”
She was charming, Joe decided. “There are burglars in Tyler?”
“No, it was just a teenage boy trying to sell encyclopedias, but Granny Rose didn’t like the way he seemed to be casing the joint and she decided he was a burglar. Rather than call the police, she chased him for a block, waving a frying pan.” Susannah turned and led the way up the sidewalk to her grandmother’s house, saying, “As it turned out, he was a fraud. Granny Rose investigated the company he worked for and found it was a very shady outfit. Single-handed, she chased them out of the state.”
Joe suspected Susannah was every bit as stubborn as her grandmother. He said, “Rose is independent, all right. I’m glad I don’t have to tangle with her anymore. Maybe you can handle her.”
“She doesn’t need to be ‘handled,’ I’m sure,” Susannah replied.
“Taken care of, then,” Joe corrected.
“No,” she said, mounting the porch steps. “Not that, either. The Atkins women don’t abide people trying to control them. We like our freedom.”
Joe stopped on the top step. “There’s a difference between freedom and plain foolishness. Your grandmother needs supervision, Miss Atkins.”
Susannah paused and turned to face him, lifting one narrow eyebrow as she studied Joe again. “Are you one of those macho fellows who wants to be in charge of everyone, Mr. Santori?”
“Hell, no, but—”
She smiled. “I bet you’re the sole breadwinner in your family, and your word is law at home. Am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you’re not used to women like my grandmother. She was the child of an immigrant farmer who built their house with his own two hands, and she worked hard all her life, Mr. Santori. Her husband died when she was still young, and she’s outlasted her children, too, earning a meager livelihood but living a very full life. Don’t think you can come in and start bossing her around now.”
“Listen, Miss Atkins—”
“And you can’t boss me around, either.”
Joe’s comeback was cut off by the sudden opening of the front door, and in another instant, they were joined on the porch by Rose Atkins herself, a feisty old woman in blue jeans and sneakers. She was just as diminutive as her granddaughter, and must have been every bit as beautiful in her day.
“What’s going on out here?” Rose demanded, her blue eyes sparking. “Are you two talking about me?”
“Yes,”
