it is a major difference. Don’t forget that.” How could he? It was the reason for his divorce. Helena had blithely informed him that she wasn’t having their second baby after all and that it was a fait accompli, a done deed, giving him no choice. And then she’d left him and Amy. But he had wanted no more of her and would never forget the pain that she’d caused him.
“Thanks, Luke. I’ll keep you posted.” He hung up. A man shouldn’t be faced with such choices; he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
The following evening, Amanda sat on her upstairs back porch looking over at the Albemarle Sound that had been a part of her life ever since she knew herself. She had stopped by the Caution Point Public Library after leaving school and collected books on the North Carolina and Virginia coast towns. Her heart wasn’t in it, but a week had passed and she hadn’t heard from Marcus, so she had to start looking for a new home. Amanda hated the thought of leaving the place where she belonged, where people knew her name and she could distinguish the churches by the ring of their bells, knew the cracks in the sidewalk, the names of the dogs that barked at night and which trees had broken limbs. She would have to move; she couldn’t expect the ultraconservative citizens of Caution Point to accept unwed motherhood from the principal of their junior high school. After all, a lot of people thought it disgraceful that fifty-six-year-old Minnie Carleton, a spinster, had gotten married. A woman in her position wasn’t supposed to think of such things.
Amanda leafed idly through a book on the outer banks of North Carolina, listening to the swirling waters of the Albemarle Sound. She couldn’t contemplate life without it, but she knew she would have to leave if Marcus Hickson turned her down. And he might; the idea didn’t seem to have found any favor with him. But she was betting on his love for that girl, a love that she sensed was strong enough to force him to do things he didn’t want to do.
She sniffed the air with pleasure as scents of the roasting herbed chicken, buttermilk biscuits and apple pie baking in the oven wafted up. She sat on a low hassock, and when the cool April breeze worried her bare toes, she pulled the burnt orange caftan that she wore down to cover them. She loved the color orange, because it flattered her smooth brown complexion. The wall supported her back, comforting her because it was familiar. And she needed, loved, to have familiar people, things and places around her. But for how long? The telephone ring broke into her thoughts, and her heart seemed to drop to her middle as it had with every ring since she’s encountered Marcus at the hospital cafeteria the previous week. She raced to her bedroom.
“Hello.” That nervous squeak couldn’t be her voice.
“Hello, Amanda. This is Marcus Hickson. If you’re not busy, I’d like to come over.” She felt shivers rush through her at the sound of his rich baritone.
“When?” she asked, nervous and excited.
“Now, Amanda. I’m at the hospital. How do I get to your place?”
She gave him her address and the directions. But Caution Point was a small enough town, just over fourteen thousand people, and everybody who lived there knew how to get around. Why did he need directions? She figured it would take him about forty minutes walking and took her time about dressing. When he rang the bell in less than ten minutes, she had no choice but to greet him as she was—thick hair billowing, feet bare and burnt orange caftan clinging.
Her impression of Marcus Hickson had been of a refined, sophisticated man, and she wondered why he seemed less poised.
“Hello, Amanda. I assume you’re Amanda.” He offered her what was barely a smile. “But this is certainly one hell of a metamorphosis.”
Amanda at home was very different from Amanda anywhere else. Gone were the severe suits, sensible shoes and the thick twist or braids in which she always wore her hair. In the evenings, her heavy black mane hung loosely down her back, kinky and wild; she wore floor-length, brightly colored caftans, and shoes never touched her feet.
Thinking that he was disappointed in the way she looked, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d need more time getting here. I didn’t have time to get dressed.”
He looked down at her and gave his left shoulder a quick shrug. “God forbid you should make yourself less attractive on my account. I caught a ride. Mind if I come in?” She stepped back and let him pass as she mused over his cryptic remarks. Not an easy man to understand, she decided.
“Before we talk business, let me show you around.” She would be foolish if she didn’t do everything she could to make him decide in her favor, so she began the tour upstairs, showing him first the guest room and adjoining bath that would be his personal quarters.
“You could rearrange it to suit yourself,” she told him, “and I’d change the covers and curtains. You’d want something more masculine.” She walked on. “This is my sitting room.”
He nodded. “You’ve got a complete office up here,” he said of her sitting room.
“You’d be welcome to use it.” They walked out onto the porch.
“This is beautiful, Amanda. Idyllic. Don’t you get lonely here?”
She answered him truthfully. “Yes. But the result of my one experience at reaching out after my aunt died is the reason you’re here. Believe me, lonely is better.”
She’s rambling, because she’s scared and nervous, he thought, and told himself that he should put her at ease. But he didn’t; the little exercise was very revealing.
She took him through the living and dining rooms and, though she didn’t invite him to do so, he followed her through the breakfast room and into the kitchen. She took the pie out of the oven and turned the chicken. Her slight body with well-rounded, feminine hips silhouetted through the caftan sounded a warning to him as she bent to her task. This wasn’t going to work. She’d upped the ante. He refused to believe that she hadn’t presented herself as a little siren just to get him to agree to her mad scheme. He had been astonished when the door was opened not by the lackluster person he’d met previously, but by a lovely and charming woman. He let his gaze travel over her back. Yeah. A real sexy sister. The sensation he experienced was not one that he welcomed.
He brought his left hand up and brushed the back of it against the bottom of his chin. In all fairness, she was entitled to try and win her case, he acknowledged silently; she had plenty to lose. He told himself to lighten up.
“What kind of contract are you offering, Amanda?” The abruptness with which he opened the topic surprised her, but it relieved her, too. If he wanted to discuss it, he hadn’t ruled it out.
“Go on in the living room; I’ll get us some coffee. Sugar or cream?” He took both.
“The kitchen’s fine.” She felt oddly secure as she watched him settle his long frame into the straight-back chair.
“Well, I thought like this. You would have no financial responsibility for me or the baby. We’d stay married for one year, and then consider the future, though I expect you’ll want to end it. You’d live here. Any of your friends or family would be welcome anytime you wanted them to come, because this would be your home. We’d both have physical exams first and you’d get the certified check as soon as we married. We’d divorce after one year on grounds of irreconcilable differences, if that’s what either of us wanted. I would bear all household expenses during that time.”
He turned sharply and stared at her. “You’re proposing to take care of me for one year?” His
