What the Lady Wants Read online

  Barbara opened her mouth and then must have thought better of it. She gathered up her things and swept out of the library, followed by the lawyer who practically ran her down trying to get away.

  "Half the value of the house and its contents." Mae shook her head and swallowed. "It's not enough. It'll support them for four or five years, but not for the rest of their lives. They need enough for an annuity. I've got to find a way—"

  Mitch sat down next to her and put his arm around her, alarmed at the quaver in her voice, cursing the chair arms between them. "So we'll find a way. Tomorrow. Tonight, we'll talk about something else. Just forget it all for right now. You sound like you're about ready to crack."

  Bob peered through the open doorway and then padded into the room.

  "You know, I really don't want to think about much of anything anymore." Mae's voice was heavy with fatigue.

  "Then we'll talk about nothing. Tell me about Bob."

  "About Bob?" Mae smiled and relaxed against him, and he closed his eyes briefly under the luxury of her weight. "There's not much to tell about Bob."

  "Tell me what there is."

  "I found Bob about seven years ago and brought him home to stay." Mae reached down and played with the dog's ears, sending him into ecstasy, and Mitch felt a moment's envy. That was bad. Envying a dog was not a good sign. "Armand hated him," Mae went on, still caressing the dog. "But I was twenty-seven, and it was harder to bully me than when I was a kid, so Bob stayed."

  "I had a dog when I was a kid." Mitch watched the light gleam on her bent head, picking out the half circles of her dark curls. "A beagle. Of course, he was brighter than Bob. These chairs are brighter than Bob."

  "I had a dog when I was a kid, too." Mae's smile faded as she straightened. "I found him on my way home from school. He was all skinny and hungry, and I brought him home, and June fed him, and we gave him a bath. He was beautiful, and we named him George."

  "What kind was he?"

  "All kinds. My kind. But George wasn't a pure breed, so when Armand got home, he took him to the pound."

  "What?" Mitch tightened his hold on her. "That son of a bitch."

  "I was hysterical," Mae went on, still playing with Bob's ears as she leaned against Mitch. "And Armand refused to go back and get George. So June called Uncle Gio because I wouldn't stop crying, and Uncle Gio said, 'Tell her I will fix it,' and June did, and I still cried myself to sleep. And the next day, June took me to Uncle Gio's, and George was there, and Uncle Gio promised me he'd always be there, and after that, I went to dinner every Sunday and played with George." Mae looked up at him, her eyes bright. "And that is why I do not believe that my Uncle Gio has ever hurt anybody, and why I still go to dinner every Sunday even though George died twelve years ago, and why I hated my Uncle Armand, and why I'm not sorry that he's dead."

  Mitch pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, holding her close, his cheek against her hair, while she buried her face in his shoulder. "It's going to be all right," he said.

  "I know," Mae said on a muffled sob. "I know. I'm just so tired."

  "And maybe I was wrong about Gio," Mitch went on, closing his eyes again as he held her. "But your cousin Carlo is still for the birds."

  She laughed into his shoulder then, and he relaxed into relief, but she was still tense when he finally left her.

  He really hated leaving her.

  Chapter Six

  "This is so nice," Stormy told Mae the next day. She gazed in delight around the sedate lunchtime crush at the Levee. "I always feel so rich here." She was wearing a navy blue dress that was shirred across the shoulders and that made her look demure and sexy and refined and breathtakingly beautiful. Mae was wearing another of her flowered sundresses, this one pink, knowing it didn't really matter what she wore, anyway; she was invisible as long as she was sitting next to Stormy. "Don't you feel rich here?" Stormy asked her.

  "No. This place always reminds me of how poor I am." Mae scanned the menu tiredly. "I'll have a small salad,'' she told the hovering waiter.

  "Lobster." Stormy beamed at him. "I love lobster."

  The waiter beamed back and left them, and Mae did some quick calculations to see how badly lunch was going to maim her financially.

  "Armand didn't bring me here much." Stormy's smile faded, and her eyes brightened with incipient tears. "He liked it to be just us at home."

  He liked it cheap, Mae amended silently, but all she said was, "That must have been nice."

  "I like this better." Stormy looked around and began smiling again. "Dalton brought me here three times this week."

  "So you're seeing Dalton," Mae said, trying to goose the conversation away from Armand and tears. "How nice."

  Stormy leaned forward a little. "You don't mind, do you?"

  "Mind what? That you're seeing Dalton?" Mae laughed. "Good heavens, no. Feel free."

  "Well, he is your ex-husband," Stormy offered. "I thought maybe..."

  "Take him with my blessings," Mae said firmly. "Dalton is definitely out of my life."

  Stormy put her chin in her hand and surveyed Mae. "What about Mitch?"

  "What about Mitch?" Mae echoed, suddenly not finding the conversation as amusing.

  "Are you dating him?"

  "No." Mae picked up a breadstick and crunched into it. "I'm employing him," she said when she'd swallowed. "That's it."

  "Because I think he's really sexy." Stormy let her eyes roam the room again. "I don't know why. He's not very handsome. Dalton is handsome."

  "Date them both and split the difference." Mae tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It was a good thing that Stormy was interested in Mitch since it was inevitable that Mitch in turn would be interested in Stormy. It meant that she wouldn't have to worry about all of the problems that might develop if she gave in to her baser instincts and made a pass at him. He didn't seem too thrilled with her yesterday, a little voice inside her offered, but she squelched it. If Stormy turned those big blue eyes on him, Mitch would fall. Any man would. Especially a man who needed to lay pipeline and open the West. "He's all yours," she told Stormy and crunched into her bread-stick again.

  "Well, I don't know. I'm seeing a couple of other guys, too. I just met one yesterday—" Stormy stopped as the waiter served their salads. "Thank you."

  The waiter stopped, stunned by her smile.

  Mitch wasn't going to have a chance. Mae sighed and stabbed her salad.

  "None of them are like Armand, though," Stormy said when the waiter was gone, and Mae resisted the urge to point out that this was a definite plus. "They keep asking me what I want to do. Armand just told me. That was nice. Sort of."

  Mae chewed faster to keep from blurting out her opinion.

  "I mean, that's how I knew he loved me." Stormy poked at her salad listlessly. "He took care of me. You know? Isn't that what every woman wants?"

  "No." Mae put down her fork. "Didn't you ever want to make the decisions?"

  "No." Stormy blinked at her. "Not very much. It was like Armand said, his way, everything was a surprise. It was like Christmas, only everyday."

  "But what if you didn't want to do what Armand wanted to?" Mae persisted. "What if you wanted to do something else?"

  Stormy's eyes shifted away from hers. "Why would I want to do something else? Like Armand said, that's what love is, having somebody take care of you. Armand knew what was best." She put down her fork and fumbled inside her purse to pull out a small jeweled box. "I liked it that way," she said defiantly. She popped a tiny white pill in her mouth. "It was best."

  "Not for me." Mae thought of her car and a thousand other things Armand had overruled her on for her own good. "For me, love is a partnership. Making decisions together."

  "That's dumb." Stormy dropped the box back into her purse and went back to her salad. "If a guy will take care of you, let him."

  "And then what happens when he's gone?" Mae stopped with her fork in midair. "What happens when he leaves you high and dry?"