Sharon Swan - Her Necessary Husband

“Oh, if the whole thing ever came to pass, I can deal with the cooking and housekeeping part,” Jenna said with confidence, although honesty forced her to admit, privately anyway, that Myra Hastings might not be an easy act to follow, either. Not when it came to maintaining a spotless house decorated mainly in white—or as much of it as Jenna had seen, anyway.

“You can handle the mothering part, too,” Peggy assured her. “You not only helped raise your sisters, but from what you tell me, you’ve had recent experience riding herd on kids, as well. Heaven knows, you already have Tyler wrapped around your finger. You didn’t scream when he pulled out the fake spider that looks real enough, goodness knows. It’s made you tops on his list.”

“He’s a great kid,” Jenna pronounced without hesitation, and fully meant it.

Peggy grinned a plainly proud grin at that compliment to her offspring. “Thanks. Watching you with him, it’s easy to see that you like children, and I’ll bet they generally like you, which goes a long way toward what’s needed to make a good mother, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

Jenna mulled that over for a second. “I guess you have a point there. To me, caring about kids—not just caring for their needs—has to be a prime ingredient in what makes a good mother. And stepmother, too,” she added firmly.

“I don’t see you as a wicked one, that’s for sure,” Peggy murmured with a twinkle in her eye.

But would the two girls she’d met hours earlier come to view her in that light? Jenna knew that was the real question. There might well be rocky times ahead in that area, as their father had frankly conceded. Nevertheless, as he’d also contended, they would ultimately benefit from having a younger woman in their lives. It by no means had to be her, Jenna readily admitted, but having someone around to fill that role would be a plus.

Peggy sat forward. “And now we come to the wife part.”

“Yes, well.” Jenna ran her tongue around her teeth. “That particular subject is far from clear at the moment.”

“You don’t have to be Cynthia,” Peggy assured her, reading her like a book. “You just have to be you.”

“I can only be me,” Jenna replied, realizing the truth of that. When all was said and done, she was who she was, and she’d been comfortable with that for some time. Nonetheless, she also recognized that who she was might suffer in comparison to what many would consider a sterling example of perfect womanhood.

Jenna Lorenzo was by no stretch of the imagination perfect.

“So are you at least going to give this whole thing some real thought?” Peggy asked.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Jenna said with a wry curve of her lips, “because the man in question has already talked me into going out with him for dinner on Friday night.”

Peggy’s grin came back full force, lighting up her elfin face. “Well, if nothing else, you’ll be going out on a date with Ross Hayward. At one point in my life, I would have stood on my head and sung every rowdy rock tune I knew—backward—to be able to do the same.”

Jenna had to laugh. “Me, too, as well you know.”

But that was long ago, and the upcoming event wasn’t precisely the normal kind of first date. It wouldn’t be a casual get-to-know-you occasion. Or only on the surface, perhaps. Underneath, far more serious matters were in the balance, ones that would demand answers before too long.

With Myra Hastings leaving in a matter of weeks, Ross Hayward had no choice but to make some arrangements. He would either be hiring another housekeeper—which wouldn’t be her, Jenna knew. Or he’d be taking a wife—which might be her.

In fact, he seemed more than willing to consider her for the latter position. The woman she’d become realized it was so, even if the girl who would always remain a part of her still couldn’t quite believe it.

HE WAS RUSTY at this dating business.

Ross couldn’t help but acknowledge that truth as he pulled out a chair for Jenna at one of the quieter eating spots in Harmony. He’d been out of college for only months the last time he’d ventured on a date as a single man. Not long afterward, he’d become a husband, and then years later, a widower with little desire to ask any female out.

Nevertheless, despite his lengthy break from the dating scene, the Mountain Meadows Café had seemed like a good bet for tonight. Not as starchy as the dining room at the Founders Club, where he continued to maintain a membership yet seldom visited these days. And not as casual as the diner where he’d chosen to conduct a job interview with the woman seated across from him, her deep burgundy evening suit providing a colorful contrast to both his own charcoal-brown suit and the pale tablecloth.

“This is nice,” she said, glancing around. Her small ruby earrings sparkled in the flickering glow of the single candle resting in the center of the table.

Again she wore her hair caught back in a thick coil at the nape of her neck. And again he wondered how it would look flowing like a dark waterfall down her back.

He also had to wonder if he would ever find out. If he would ever get the chance the run his hands through those gleaming strands. If…

Ross took in a breath and reined in his wandering thoughts. “The view is one of the best around,” he told his companion.

“It has to be.” Jenna studied a picture-postcard scene through the wall of clear windows beside her. Even in the growing darkness, enough light remained to make out the tall pines dotting the side of a low mountain.

“Would you like a cocktail or some wine to start things off?” he asked.

She opted for white wine, and he ordered a bottle of Chardonnay when the young waiter approached. He’d decided to join her despite the fact that a premium brand of Scotch on the rocks was his usual drink, one a long line of Hayward men had favored. Even his father, he thought, hadn’t broken with tradition there.

Silence fell between them on the waiter’s departure, as if neither knew exactly what to say next, until Ross picked up his menu and offered some comments on meals he’d enjoyed at the Mountain Meadows in the past.

“I don’t think you can go wrong with any of the fish selections,” he said. “The last time I was here, I had the grilled salmon and certainly didn’t regret it.”

“As it happens, I like fish.” Jenna studied her menu. “Even tuna fish is a hit with me. I used to have to fight a cat I once had for it. I swear Bingo had a sixth sense that brought him running every time I opened a can, no matter how quietly.”

“Was that when you lived in Nevada?”

Jenna looked up and hesitated for a brief moment. “Yes. What made you think that might be the case?”

He lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “Bingo, cards, gambling. They seem to fit.”

“I suppose so.” She closed her menu. “I’m going to take your recommendation and try the salmon.”

He decided on the pan-fried trout and again searched for a subject of conversation once the wine appeared and their orders were taken. He could have asked Jenna more about her days in Nevada—would have, if he hadn’t noted how she’d put a subtle yet swift end to the earlier conversational turn.

A sign that she’d rather not discuss that particular time in her life? Could be, he concluded, mindful of the fact that there were times in his own life he had no wish to discuss, either.

He finally settled on food as a safe bet. “What do you like to cook?”

“Pasta is one of my favorites.” Jenna sipped her wine. “Goodness knows, I ate enough of it when I was a kid. My mother makes the best red sauce ever. I learned from watching her, so I’m pretty good at it myself.” She paused. “Can you cook?”

“Not really. Then again, my mother never had a great deal of interest in that area, either.”

She met his gaze. “I assume you had a housekeeper to take care of kitchen duties when you were growing up.”

“Uh-huh. We had several over the years, as a matter of fact.” But none of them ever looked like you, Ross added to himself.

“And after you got married?”

He ran a long finger down the smooth stem of his glass. “Cynthia preferred to run her own household,” he said. And then it was his turn to change the subject, because his former marriage was one of the things he’d just as soon not discuss. “How do you like the wine?”

Whether conscious of it or not, Jenna returned his earlier favor by readily going along with the switch in topics. “It’s excellent.” She glanced down at her clear goblet and the golden liquid it held. “Very smooth.”

As the evening continued, Ross couldn’t help but wish he were half as smooth when it came to wining and dining a woman. But all in all, it wasn’t going too badly, he decided when they’d done justice to two good meals and lingered over after-dinner coffee. Thankfully they’d found one subject that seemed to suit them both when it came to maintaining a steady flow of conversation, and that was Harmony itself.

It almost—but not quite—kept his thoughts from drifting to something he’d been asking himself in the back of his mind since halfway through dinner.

When they arrived back at the house where Jenna was staying, should he kiss her good-night?

Ross cleared his throat. “I’ll never forget when we had the record snowfall,” he said in another bid to silence the nagging question for which he had no firm answer. “I must have been around twelve, and I remember standing chest-high in one of the drifts.”

Jenna sipped her coffee. “That was the year it was nearly over my head in spots.”

“And did you build the biggest snowman you could, as I did?”

“Mmm-hmm. My sisters and I made fast work of it, too, since snow seldom lasted for long here. We tied a bright red scarf around his neck, as I recall, and thought he looked very dashing—until he started to lean to one side and promptly fell over. Then we consoled ourselves with a snowball fight.”

“I recall a few of those myself,” he told her. “Being an only child, I relied on my friends and a cousin around my age to provide a satisfying battle. We usually wound up half burying each other in the stuff.”

Jenna laughed, and found that it felt good. Somehow the thought of very young Ross Hayward covered from tip to toe with snow put her more at ease. It wasn’t like her to let her nerves rule, which they mostly had since he’d arrived on the O’Brien doorstep to pick her up. She usually had a much better hold on them.

Certainly her escort had done nothing to foil her efforts in that respect, either. This might not be quite the normal version of a first date, but so far he’d made no reference to the startling suggestion he’d come up with days earlier. She could only be thankful that he hadn’t brought it up again, because at this point she was still a long way from sure how she would respond if he actually wound up proposing.

At the moment it was far easier to put herself to the task of being a genial companion. With that in mind she kept up her end of a casual conversation, which remained centered on the past as they talked about the grammar school they’d attended and the first-grade teacher who’d taught several generations of the city’s residents.

“I haven’t seen Miss Hester since I got back,” Jenna said. “I wonder if she’d remember me.”

“My guess is she would,” Ross replied. “Although she’s over eighty now, she’s still as sharp as a tack. I think she really runs half the town, although no one will admit it.”