A tuba solo. A love song.”
“It wasn’t a tuba,” she said petulantly. “Clarinet. My instrument of choice.”
He raised a wicked, wicked eyebrow at her.
How could he do this? Instrument was not a dirty word!
“Never mind,” Sophie said. “I just realized how rash it was to agree to this. I’m not sure I’m desperate enough to have you for my beau, even temporarily.”
“Aw, shucks,” he said. “Just when I was starting to think it might be fun. Like porcu-pine-wrestling in my birthday suit.”
He had inserted that reference deliberately to see if he could make her blush again.
And damn him, he could.
“Are you backing out?” she demanded.
“No, I think you are.”
“I’m not!”
“Ha,” Dr. Sheridan muttered, “I’d be interested to see if the all-important Brand Sheridan, secret agent, would do anything as selfless as help an old neighbor so she could hold her head up high again. Trust me, Sophie, it’s not in my son’s nature to do the decent thing.”
Sophie felt shocked at the doctor’s bitter tone, and she saw Brand flinch as if he’d been struck.
She had found the bantering back and forth between her and Brand edgy, but playful, dan-gerously invigorating.
Now the tension that leapt in the air between him and his father was painful and tangible.
But again, the young man who would have risen to the bait, defended himself or argued, was not part of who Brand was now. Instead he replied, disciplined patience in his voice, “I’m just a soldier. I do what I’m told, when I’m told. I was on an undercover assignment. I was told I wouldn’t be granted leave. Period.”
“Whatever,” his father said.
“If I could have been here, I would have.”
“Whatever,” his father said again.
“And if Sophie agrees, we’ll do this thing.”
She felt the flutter of her heart. It wasn’t a good idea. To play a charade for the whole town was a stupid, impulsive idea that fell solidly into the category of really dumb things that she always did around him.
But could she walk away from giving Brand a perfect opportunity to redeem himself a tiny bit in his father’s eyes while he was here?
It would help her, it would help him.
Even now, he and his father were eyeing each other balefully.
And she felt compelled to insert herself between them, to ease the tension.
“I’ll do it,” she announced decisively.
“Oh, goody,” her grandmother said.
“Oh, brother,” his father said.
“Oh,” Brand said, then, “great.” Spoken with the macho bravado of a man who had been chosen from many to diffuse a bomb.
“Let’s talk romance,” Sophie suggested brightly. “I’ll come up with a plan. A few highly visible activities: ice cream at Maynard’s, maybe a bike ride or two, an appearance at Blue Rock and then—ta-da—you and I at the engagement party.”
Brand watched her talk, ruefully aware she was trying to ease the tension between him and his father. She’d been like that as a kid, too. Always wanting everything to look like a Norman Rockwell painting.
Sugar Maple Grove lent itself to that.
But now Sophie was not a kid. Not if those lips had spoken the truth about her, and he was pretty sure they had.
He was also ruefully aware that, despite her engagement and the promise of those lips, Sophie still seemed to be a sweet geek in the romance department. A plan? What kind of romance had a plan?
A fake one, he reminded himself sternly.
Brand was struck by a tingling awareness along the back of his neck. It was his sharply honed instinct. It always warned him when danger was near.
He had done many, many dangerous things.
But he doubted any of them were going to hold a candle to pretending to be Miss Sophie Holtzheim’s beau.
Why had he agreed to this?
Partly because he couldn’t resist protecting Sophie. It seemed that’s what he had been born to do, protect.
It was going to be a long, hot month in Sugar Maple Grove, and a man couldn’t be faulted for finding a way to entertain himself.
His father, with one last look at him, not friendly, shoved back his chair. “I’m going to be late for church.”
“Oh, that time already?” Hilde said in English, and in German, “We’ll leave you two alone, Sophie. Do something romantic, for God’s sake.”
In a flurry of activity his dad and Hilde left and it was suddenly so quiet he could hear birds singing and bees buzzing.
He waited to see if Sophie would do something romantic. Sophie, predictably, did nothing of the sort.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend who’s going to object to this?” she asked. It sounded like an effort—albeit a weak one—to find a way out.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said. “This job busts people up. It’s too hard on the ones left behind. I was undercover for four years. Can you imagine what that would do to a woman?”
“The right one would be okay with it,” she said with an edge of stubbornness. “It’s not just what you do. It’s who you are.”
“Well, who I am can’t just drop everything for the birthday or wedding anniversary. You get in too deep to be pulled out. Sometimes you have to pretend to have a wife or a girlfriend. Another agent plays the role. How does the woman waiting at home handle that?”
“Badly,” she guessed.
“Exactly.”
“I guess that overcomes the girlfriend thing.”
“I guess it does.”
“If we do this right,” she said, “maybe your father won’t be quite so antagonistic toward you.”
On the other hand, Brand thought, if he did more damage than good, he would confirm his father’s worst thoughts about him.
“I don’t understand why he’s not proud of you,” Sophie said.
He didn’t like it that she cut so quickly to his own feelings. Why
