Renee Roszel - Her Hired Husband

She faked a giggle and focused on her grandparents. “My—sweetie is a wonderful doctor, but he’s a little forgetful.” She glanced back at the tall man beside her. She smiled, but shot a desperate plea with her eyes, begging him to get into the script and now. “Grandmother and grandfather, I’d like you to officially meet my husband—Dr. Thomas…Step.”

Step? She flinched. That name came out of nowhere. How lame! Couldn’t she have thought of something more substantial? Even if she stuck to the ridiculous staircase theme, at least Banister? She tried to squelch her annoyance. It was simply bad luck she’d been looking at the stairs in the mirror over the fireplace. What difference did it make what name she made up, anyway? In an hour her grandparents would be gone.

“How do you do?” Abigail Vanderkellen said, her hands remaining clasped in her lap. “I suppose I can understand why neither Sam nor Sally told us of her marriage.” She flicked a reproving glance at her granddaughter. “There has been a bit of a strain in our relationship.”

A bit? Sally scoffed behind her forced smile. Like the sinking of the Titanic was a bit of bad luck!

Abigail Vanderkellen shifted to present her stern look at the orderly. “Of course, you know all about that. Tom, is it?”

He cleared his throat, and Sally had a bad feeling. She shot him a terrified glance, but too late. She only caught the snap of his eyes as he looked away. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

“Actually, no.”

He lifted his hand from her shoulder, and Sally could only watch helplessly as he walked around the rough-hewn pine coffee table. Her heart leaped up to lodge in her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe. Actually, no? What did he think he was he doing?

“I can say with all honesty she’s told me nothing about your relationship.” He extended a hand toward Abigail. “And my friends call me Noah.” He continued to hold his position until the older woman unclenched her fists and belatedly accepted his hand. After their brief contact, he turned to Hubert. “Thomas Noah Step,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand.

Sally’s heart hammered so deafeningly in her ears, she wasn’t sure she heard right. Thomas Noah Step? Then—then he was going along with it, after all. Thank goodness!

Hubert gave Noah a look. “You look somewhat familiar, young man.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I have one of those faces.” The orderly said, wearing an odd half grin. “Had we ever met, Mr. Vanderkellen, I’m sure I would remember you.” His gaze shifted to Mrs. Vanderkellen. “Both.”

Harboring enough misgiving to choke a horse, Sally watched her fake husband retrace his steps. This guy may have agreed to be a part of her scheme, but he didn’t follow orders well. What was that unnecessary insistence on being Noah? Why couldn’t he have gone with Tom and saved her a near heart attack?

To her astonishment, he replaced his arm across her shoulder, even giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’d forgotten you two were dropping by.” He turned to Sally. “Darling, how long did you say they’d be here?”

“Uh—an hour.”

He glanced at his watch. “Ah.”

Ah? What did that mean? Didn’t Sam give this guy any of the details? Why the frown at his watch? Did he have a train to catch? From looking at him, it was more likely a hot date.

“Is there a problem, Dr. Step?” Hubert asked.

Noah faced the older man and smiled. “Noah. And no. No problem.” He looked down at Sally. “Why don’t you sit, sweetheart?” He aimed her toward an over-stuffed chair and ottoman, liberally splashed with daffodils. “Elevate your feet. You know how your ankles swell when you stand.”

Reflexively she checked her ankles. They weren’t swollen. They’d never been swollen a day in her pregnancy. She gave him a look that wasn’t totally loving. “My ankles are fine—honey.”

He grinned, this time the act involved his whole mouth and some dazzling teeth. She sat down heavily, more out of a mysterious weakness in the knees than an excess of water on her ankles. She had to give this My-Friends-Call-Me-Noah credit. He had a way with smiling.

She watched him in a state of agitated awe as he moved to take a seat on the sofa with her priggish grandparents. Don’t say anything that’ll blow it for me! she silently threw out, hoping he was better at telepathy than blind obedience. He was acting like the lord of the manor!

“So…” Noah extended an arm along the back of the couch, looking relaxed and in charge. “You’re Sally’s grandparents. On her mother’s side?”

Both Hubert and Abigail shifted in unison and stared, looking shocked. “Well, of course!” Abigail said, affront edging her tone. “Surely you knew that!”

“Not necessarily.” He turned on that whopping big, sexy grin again. “Look at her. Does it look like we did much talking?”

Sally could not believe that lewd remark. Her cheeks sizzled and maintaining her smile became the hardest work she’d ever done. Her baby kicked and she placed her hands over her belly. Apparently she wasn’t the only female in the room affected by his smile.

“H-honey,” she said, trying to pretend amusement. “Please.”

His wink was alarmingly wicked. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you know how you affect me.” He turned back to the open-mouthed Vanderkellens. “So, you’re from Boston,” he went on, conversationally.

With his direct observation, Abigail and Hubert recaptured their poise and even seemed to swell a bit. Being Vanderkellens from Boston was no small thing. Everybody who was anybody in Boston knew Abigail and Hubert Vanderkellen.

“Why, yes, we are,” Hubert said, though he didn’t smile.

Sally watched them preen.

“Have you ever been there?” Abigail asked, toying theatrically with a diamond earring, her knobby fingers heavy with all manner of pretentious stones.

“I don’t mean to brag, but the Vanderkellens are an old, old family,” Hubert added, making a production of fluffing a loosely folded maroon pocket square.

“I don’t get up north much,” Noah said.

“What a shame.” Abigail looked truly sorry for him. “Boston is one of America’s great, historical cities.”

“Houston’s got a little history, too,” he said.

“I’m sure.” Abigail’s tone was so haughty, she might as well have said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sally ran a hand through her hair, wishing the time would pass more quickly. The clock on the brick mantel had only traveled fifteen minutes since her handsome partner in crime had arrived. She scanned her grandparents, willing them to disappear.

Her antagonism bubbled to the surface. Stuffy and snobbish and narrow-minded, they sat, looking as though they feared the old farmhouse that had been her family’s home, teemed with rats and roaches and all manner of vermin that might thrive in such an uncouth wilderness.

Abigail touched as little of the sofa as possible, obviously trying not to contaminate her precious, cream-colored cashmere suit. Hubert didn’t appear much more comfortable about the safety of his brass-buttoned, navy Prince of Wales blazer and gray slacks. He crossed his legs and bumped the coffee table with a foot, drawing Sally’s attention to hand-sewn leather wing tips.

When he pulled a white handkerchief from an inside pocket and wiped the leather as though contact with her table had streaked it with grime, she had to struggle to keep from screaming. So what if his darn shoes cost more than all the furniture in her parlor? Her home might be a little cluttered, but it was not dirty!

Both Abigail and Hubert patted their hair at the same time, a bizarre mutuality, as though they shared one brain. Both had perfectly coiffed silver locks—Abigail’s caplike hairdo not quite as long or thick or bouffant as Hubert’s. Since they hadn’t been part of Sally’s life, she didn’t know if they’d looked so much alike some fifty-odd years ago when they were married.