“Good.” She didn’t know what he had in mind, but it was sure to be amusing.
Mariah liked to think of herself as an even-tempered person, but if she listened to much more of Christian’s bizarre advice, she’d turn into a homicidal maniac. And her first victim would be O’Halloran brother number three.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, purposefully walking out of the office. “I’ve got to get something at the house.” He was halfway out the door when he turned and flashed her one of his devil-may-care grins. “We haven’t got a thing to worry about. I’ve got a terrific idea.”
“I’ll just bet,” she muttered, but as before her sarcasm was wasted on him.
True to his word, Christian returned five minutes later, slightly breathless. He flashed her another grin and waved a small black telephone directory at her.
“What’s that?” It might not have been a good idea to ask, but she couldn’t resist.
His eyes twinkled. “Exactly what it looks like. My little black book.”
True to her prediction, this was going to be amusing. Crossing her arms, Mariah sat down and waited. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“Get a date, what else? There are a number of women in Fairbanks who’ll remember me.”
“A date?”
“Yeah.” He leafed through the pages. “Since you aren’t keen on dating Duke or Ralph—”
“They aren’t the only eligible men in town.”
“That’s right,” he said, reaching for the telephone receiver and pinning it between his shoulder and ear. “But there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he said, and winked at her. “Or in this case, kill a rumor.”
Mariah rolled her eyes dramatically.
“Hello, Ruthie?” Christian rested his feet on the corner of his desk and wore a cocky grin. “It’s Christian.”
Mariah watched as the grin slowly faded.
“Christian O’Halloran from Hard Luck. Remember?”
The smile was back in place.
“Yeah, that’s me. Right. How are you? Wonderful. Wonderful.”
A shocked expression came into his eyes. “Married! When did that happen?”
He looked at Mariah and shrugged, free hand palm up in a gesture that said this was a complete surprise.
“Congratulations. Yes, of course. You should’ve sent me an invitation…Oh, you did. Sorry, we’ve been really busy around here the past few months…Oh, it’s been a year now? That long? Well, listen, I won’t keep you…Pregnant? Oh…wow. Great. Keep in touch, okay?”
Mariah had to turn her back to him to keep from laughing out loud.
“Scratch Ruthie,” he said. “But don’t despair. I’ve got plenty of other names.”
“I’m sure you do.” The phone rang and Mariah answered it. While she was dealing with the call, she watched Christian reach for his phone a second time. Because her attention was on the call, she couldn’t follow what was happening, but from the expression on Christian’s face, it seemed to be a similar experience.
Mariah took down her caller’s information and replaced the receiver.
“Carol’s seeing someone else, too.” He flipped through the pages, muttering under his breath, dismissing one name after another. Tanya? No, he’d heard she’d gone to California. Hmm, what about Tiffany? No, they’d had that big fight. Sandra? Never really liked her. A number of times he paused and tapped his finger against his teeth as he contemplated a name. Gail? He tried the number; it was disconnected.
“It seems I’ve been out of circulation,” he said to no one in particular. “Ruthie married.” He sighed. “We used to have a lot of fun together. Where did the time go?” He picked up the phone and tried again.
Mariah didn’t want to listen, but she couldn’t make herself stop.
“Pam,” he said in a carefree voice. “It’s Christian O’Halloran from Hard Luck. It’s been two years?” He sounded shocked. “That long? Really? How’ve you been?”
Five solid minutes passed, during which Christian didn’t speak. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he finally said in a rush. “Married—only lasted three months. Divorce final this week…” He closed his eyes and waited. “Pam—listen, I’m at work. Gotta go. I’ll call you again soon. So sorry to hear about your troubles.” He replaced the receiver as if he couldn’t do it fast enough.
Slowly he raised his eyes to Mariah. “Pam’s been married and divorced since the last time I saw her.”
“This doesn’t sound like it’s going so well.” She couldn’t keep the glee out of her voice. If he was having difficulty finding a date, that was fine with her.
“Vickie,” he said, suddenly triumphant. “She used to be crazy about me.”
“Really?” More fool she.
“I’m sure Vickie’ll be available.”
It didn’t escape Mariah’s notice that the woman who was supposedly enamored of him wasn’t his first choice. Now, why didn’t that surprise her?
Christian punched out the phone number, but Mariah saw that most of his cockiness had vanished. Apparently Vickie was unavailable, because he spoke a few, brief sentences in a near-monotone.
“I got her answering machine,” he said. He looked mildly discouraged. “I wonder if Vickie’s married,” he said, and the thought appeared to sadden him.
But she wasn’t; an hour later, Vickie, the smitten one, returned his call.
Christian perked up like a freshly watered flower. “Hello, Vickie. So how’s it going?”
As best she could, Mariah tuned him out. This time, she didn’t care to listen. Vickie, Mariah feared, would sound all too familiar. It would be like listening to herself.
“Saturday night?” Christian seemed pleased. “Dinner. A movie? Sure, anything you want to see. Great. I’ll look forward to it.” A short pause. “I’ll be in Fairbanks around six. See you then.”
When he finished, Mariah glanced toward his desk. Christian sat with his fingers linked behind his head, elbows jutting out. He wore a wide, satisfied grin.
“Our troubles are over,” he said, and paused as if she should thank him for the noble sacrifice he was making on her behalf.
“Wonderful,” she said.
“Don’t you see?” Christian asked impatiently. “Once everyone in Hard Luck finds out I’m dating another woman, the gossip will stop.”
“Really? And how will people learn that, since you’re flying into Fairbanks to see Vickie? Or was that Pam? No, Carol.” She was being deliberately obtuse.
His smile was stiff. “Vickie. And people will know because I intend to tell them.”
“Perfect,” she said without enthusiasm.
“You don’t sound happy.”
“You’re wrong. I’m thrilled.” She checked her watch and realized it was quitting time. In more ways than one. Reaching for her sweater, she cast him a deceptively calm smile. “See you in the morning.”
Then she walked out the door, suppressing the urge to slam it.
VICKIE. CHRISTIAN COULDN’T believe he hadn’t thought of her sooner. He’d always gotten along famously with her. He wondered if she still worked at the bank.
Not until he’d started making the calls did he realize he’d been out of touch for so long.
Tucking the small phone directory into his shirt pocket, he frowned. Mariah had left the office in quite a rush. And she didn’t seem to appreciate that he was putting his ego on the line, calling his former girlfriends after such a long absence.
More than a year.
Like the rest of the men in Hard Luck, he occasionally flew into Fairbanks—or he used to—for some R and R when the mood struck him.
But a year.
Then it hit him. Hard Luck had started bringing in women right around that time. That explained it.
Turning off his computer and the office lights, Christian left for the evening.
As he was walking home, his
eight-year-old niece rode past him on a bike. She hit the brakes, skidding on the dirt.
“Did you hear?” she called back to him excitedly.
“Hear what?” Christian asked.
“Mom and Sawyer—I mean Dad—just got back from the doctor’s appointment in Fairbanks.”
Christian remembered that Sawyer was flying into Fairbanks that afternoon because Abbey was having an ultrasound.
“The baby’s a girl.”
“A girl.” Christian smiled. Ellen would be delighted.
“They got pictures of the baby and everything. I was on my way over to tell Chrissie. Bethany’s going to have a baby, too.”
“They have a picture of the baby?” This was something Christian wanted to see. A picture of an unborn baby.
“Well,” Susan said, chewing on her lower lip, “they said it was a picture, but all it looked like to me was a bunch of blurry lines.”
“A little girl,” Christian repeated. “That’s great.”
“Dad thinks so,” Susan said, and laughed, “but I think he would’ve been happy with a boy, too.”
“My brother’s easy to please.”
Susan tried to climb back on the bicycle, but was having difficulty. Christian walked over to give her a hand by holding the bike steady. She clambered up and grinned at him. “Thanks, Uncle Christian.”
“You’re welcome.”
Susan took off at breakneck speed, leaning over the handlebars in her eagerness to reach her friend’s house with the news. So, Mitch and Bethany were going to add to their family, too. Hard Luck was about to experience a population explosion.
Christian hadn’t gone more than half a block when Scott came racing down the road. “Did you see Susan?” he asked, his face red with anger.
“What if I did?”
“She stole my bike.”
“She wanted to tell her friend that your mom’s having a girl.”
“Well, the doctor might be wrong,” Scott grumbled and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his tennis shoe.
“I take it you were hoping for a boy?”
Scott shrugged. “We got enough girls in the family already. I asked Mom if she’d be willing to have another baby, to make sure the next one’s a boy—and you know what she said?”
Christian shook his head.
“She said not to count on that, but if she doesn’t have a boy, then maybe Lanni would when her and Charles have babies. Or maybe Mariah after you marry her.”
Chapter
9
CHRISTIAN WAS HAVING a pleasant evening, but he sensed his date wasn’t. Vickie was resolutely silent as they sat across from each other in the all-night diner. They’d been to dinner and a movie, and Christian’s spirits were high.
“Did I mention the time Mariah made the filing cabinet fall over?” He could laugh about the incident now, but he hadn’t found it funny at the time. She’d been trying to shift the cabinet herself, just to spite him. Then when he’d hurried over to help, she’d tripped—and the cabinet had tumbled onto his foot. He’d limped for a week.
To this day the top drawer didn’t close properly. Leave it to Mariah.
He relayed the story, laughing as he told it; Vickie, however, hadn’t so much as cracked a smile.
Confused, Christian lowered his coffee mug to the table, and his laughter faded.
“Do you realize,” Vickie asked, her gaze direct and not the least amused, “that you’ve spent the entire evening talking about another woman?”
He had? No way. “Who?” he asked. Surely Vickie was exaggerating. That couldn’t possibly be true. Okay, so he’d mentioned Mariah and the filing cabinet, but the only reason he’d told Vickie about that incident was because it was so funny.
“First, I heard about the fire that destroyed Mariah’s cabin, followed by—”
“I was updating you on the news in Hard Luck,” he broke in, defending himself. “Didn’t I also tell you that Sawyer’s married and Abbey’s expecting? And I told you about Charles and Lanni, didn’t I?”
“Sure, in passing,” Vickie said, flipping a strand of hair over her shoulder. Christian had always liked her long, golden hair. Straight and silky, it reached halfway down her back.
“Then there was the story about Mariah’s luggage flying open on the runway—”
“You’re making too much of this.” Christian didn’t remember Vickie as the jealous type, but then, he didn’t really know her that well.
“I don’t hear from you in over a year, and now all of a sudden you can’t wait to take me out. I have to tell you, Christian, your suggestion that we get together is becoming suspicious to me.”
“Suspicious?”
“Like you’re trying to prove something to yourself and using me to do it.”
“Not true,” he replied in annoyance. “There’s a perfectly logical reason I haven’t been in touch. You heard we, uh, invited some women to town, didn’t you?”
“Of course I heard about it! Midnight Sons had the whole state talking.” She pinched her lips together in a show of disapproval and folded her arms. “Bringing in women! It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What’s wrong with the women right here in Fairbanks?”
Christian wasn’t wading into that muddy pond, so he ignored the question. “Well, it explains why you didn’t hear from me,” he muttered.
“I’d have moved to Hard Luck if you’d given me a reason to.” Her look was full of meaning, and her gaze held his.
Christian swallowed. “Sure,” he said, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “There’re plenty of single men left in Hard Luck. You’d be welcome to move to town anytime.”
She glared at him. “I’m not asking about other men,” she snapped. “I want to know about you.”
“Me?” Someone must have raised the temperature in the restaurant, because the room felt suffocatingly hot. Christian resisted the urge to ease his finger along the inside of his collar.
“Well, I’m certainly not interested in the guy who runs that café.”
“Ben.” Christian leaped on his friend’s name. “Why, he’s great.”
“Get real, O’Halloran.” The hair he’d recently admired flew back over her shoulder like a blast of gold. The glare returned full force. “What I want to know is why it was so all-fired important to call me now, especially with all those women you’ve managed to bring to Hard Luck.” The challenge was impossible to ignore.
Christian decided it would be poor timing to explain that he was hoping to kill the rumors that linked him with Mariah romantically.
“I’ve been awfully busy lately…and, well, I figured I should renew old acquaintances.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been so eager to see you,” she said, and slapped her purse on the table. “You call good ol’ Vickie, and then spend the whole evening talking about another woman.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said stubbornly.
She sent him a disgusted look, then slid out of the booth.
“What are you doing?” Christian was stunned; she was leaving.
Vickie offered him a bright smile. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll drive you.” She appeared to find his company objectionable, but to leave the diner without him added insult to injury.
“No, thanks,” she said stiffly.
Christian hurriedly paid for the coffee and followed Vickie out of the diner. “What did I do that was so terrible?” It was embarrassing, but he suspected he was actually whining. He’d never had this kind of trouble with a woman before.
Vickie had changed in the past year; then again, maybe she wasn’t the only one. Christian had the distinct feeling he’d done some changing of his own.
“What did you do?” Vickie echoed, standing outside the coffee shop. She sighed loudly. “Listen, you’re a great guy, but whatever there was between us is over—and was a long time ago. I guess I needed this date to prove to myself ho
w over you I am. It’s also pretty clear that you’re crazy about Mariah.”
Out of habit, Christian opened his mouth to deny everything, but Vickie didn’t give him the opportunity.
“I don’t know exactly what you were trying to prove, but I resent being used.”
“No need to get on your high horse. If you don’t want to go out with me again, fine. But at least let me drive you home.” It was a matter of pride, if nothing else.
Vickie agreed, and they rode silently back to her apartment complex. When he parked, she turned to face him. “I hope you manage to work everything out with Mariah.”
Christian didn’t bother to correct her. He wasn’t “crazy about” Mariah or involved with her or anything else, but he’d be wasting his breath to tell Vickie that.
“Promise me one thing,” she said.
“Sure.”
“Send me a wedding invitation. I’d like to meet the woman who tagged you.”
This time Christian couldn’t stop himself. “I’m not marrying Mariah!”
He wanted to shout it again. He wasn’t marrying her—was he? Yes, he found her attractive. Yes, he’d kissed her and wouldn’t mind doing it again. But that didn’t mean marriage. It shouldn’t. True, he felt protective of her, but that was because…because he felt responsible. Wasn’t it?
Vickie laughed softly and patted his cheek. “You protest far too much. Just remember what I said. I want an invitation to the wedding.”
FIRST THING MONDAY morning, Mariah took out the file of applications Christian had collected the previous year. She was reading through the stack of them when he arrived.
“Morning,” he said curtly, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Morning,” she returned, her mood matching his.
The coffee was brewed and ready, but she didn’t pour him a mug. He could darn well get his own, she decided. Either he was unwilling to do that or not interested, because he sat down at his desk and immediately turned on his computer.
“How’d your big date go?” she couldn’t refrain from asking. This penchant for emotional pain was probably something she should investigate. Besides, even if he’d had a perfectly miserable evening, he’d never let her know.