Wife for Hire - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,16

on his fork is no reason to think things aren’t going well.”

“Exactly. My father’s knuckles always turn white when he eats.”

“And there are a lot of positive things to be said about this dinner party,” she continued. “No one’s gotten sick. No one’s insisted we have the marriage annulled. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“You couldn’t ask for much more than that.”

“And my mother hasn’t even brought out my baby pictures…the ones where I’m mashing green beans into my hair. She hasn’t mentioned Larry Burlew or the time I had to stay after school for two weeks in the second grade for chewing gum. She hasn’t told anybody about how I drove the Buick into Dailey’s Pond or how I got locked in Greenfield’s Department Store overnight.”

She looked over her shoulder at the closed kitchen door. “Of course, it’s still early. She’s only just arrived.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I should never have left the room. That’s like an open invitation in Riverside. You leave the room and you’re road kill.”

Hank looked at her more closely. “Something wrong with your eyebrow?”

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s twitching.”

“Oh no! Oh, that’s just great.” She slapped her hand over half of her face. “Now on top of everything else your parents will know I’m a twitcher. Tell me the truth. Do you think this could get any worse?”

Aunt Marvina’s voice carried in from the dining room. “For goodness sakes, it’s Fluffy! And she’s skulking around looking scared to death.”

“Fluffy?” Hank and Maggie mouthed the word in unison.

Maggie groaned. “I must have left my bedroom door open.” Her hand clamped back onto his shirtfront. “Horatio’s outside, isn’t he?”

“Horatio is under the dining room table.”

There was a bloodcurdling cat screech, and Hank and Maggie rushed to the dining room. Fluffy was backed into a corner. Her ears were flat back to her head, and she growled low in her throat. It was a sound that would put fear into the heart of any living creature…with the possible exception of Horatio.

Horatio bounded up to the cat, gave a joyful bark and pinned the cat with one heavy paw. There was another feline growl, followed by a quick right claw to the snoot. Horatio yelped in pain and Fluffy took off, climbing up the first available object—Harry Mallone’s rigid back.

Horatio snapped at the cat, and Fluffy hurled herself onto the table, knocking over a candlestick. In an instant the white linen tablecloth was a wall of flames. Hank grabbed a corner and yanked the tablecloth into the kitchen and through the back door, leaving a trail of singed food and broken crockery.

Everyone followed Hank outside and circled the little bonfire of food and linen that was burning on the back lawn. Their eyes glazed over in rapt fascination and their jaws went slack in stupid silence as the buttermilk biscuits burned one by one, then the carrots and broccoli and, last but not least, the beef incinerated.

So this is what my first dinner party is reduced to, Maggie thought. A bunch of people standing around watching a rump roast burn. She had a ridiculous urge to sing camp songs and checked to see if anyone else was smiling. Only Hank was.

Their gazes caught and held, and Maggie felt her heart begin to beat faster. She couldn’t remember a man ever looking at her quite that way. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were hungry and possessive. There was a moment of perfect understanding, a meeting of minds and emotions, and an acknowledgment of genuine affection that passed between them.

Chapter 4

The rump roast got boring after a while. It had burned itself into a charred chunk about the size of a baseball. It was black enough to look like a Cajun delicacy and had the density of a meteorite.

“So,” Maggie said, “anyone ready for dessert?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Linda Sue said. “I have to be getting on home now.”

Holly tiptoed around the mashed potatoes on the back porch, following Linda Sue. “Yeah, me too. This has been great, but it’s getting late.”

Harry Mallone clamped a hand on his son’s shoulder. It was a gesture of condolence usually reserved for sickrooms, wakes, and the passing on of a severance check.

Hank chose to ignore the obvious. “About that loan—”

Helen Mallone gave Maggie a hug. “I’m going to take Harry home now, and don’t worry about the roast, dear. Hank never was much of one for leftovers. Maybe it’s all worked out for the best,” she said gently.

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