Husband For Hire. Susan Wiggs

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СКАЧАТЬ I go, Mom? Can I?”

      She nodded. “I’ll come find you when it’s time for the picnic supper.”

      “See ya,” Carter said as Brian handed him the raffle box and sped away.

      “We can set these down here,” Twyla said, indicating the spreading shade tree by the rodeo arena. Another volunteer had strung up the hospital guild banner: Converse County Hospital—35 Years Of Sharing And Caring.

      “You work at a hospital?” Carter asked her, laying the table down and prying up each metal leg.

      “Just as a volunteer once a week.” She considered offering him an opening to tell her what a big, important city doctor he was, but decided against it. He was too perfect as it was. He certainly didn’t need any prompting from her. “I do hair for a living,” she said, almost defiantly.

      He set the table on its legs and jimmied it back and forth until it stopped wobbling. Then he looked up at her, hands braced on the table, the nodding boughs of the tree framing his broad shoulders. “Twyla’s Tweezers,” he said softly. “Now I remember where I’ve seen that name before.”

      “It’s the Tease ’n’ Tweeze,” she corrected him.

      “Why the Tease ’n’ Tweeze?”

      “Because that’s pretty much what we do.”

      “And people pay you for this?”

      “That’s right.” A flush stung her cheeks. Just for a moment, she wished she could say, “I sculpt male nudes for a living,” or “I’m a district attorney,” but the truth was she was a hairdresser and Brian’s mom, and she could do a lot worse than that.

      He made no comment, but she thought perhaps his smile got a little hard around the edges. Probably so. Men generally didn’t find much in common with hairdressers.

      “Thanks for your help,” she said, unwrapping the quilt.

      “No problem.” With a casual wave of his hand, Robert Carter, M.D., walked toward the pavilion, putting on a pair of aviator shades.

      She taped the raffle ticket sign to the edge of the table. Then she unfolded the quilt and took out some clothes-pins, stepping back and eyeing one of the tree branches.

      She should have asked him to help her hang the quilt. His height would have been a convenience, but now she’d have to reach the branch without him. Standing on tiptoe on the metal raffle box, she pegged a corner of the quilt around the branch.

      The second corner was more of a challenge. She reached out, stretching, and too late felt the metal box tip. “Whoa,” she said, grabbing the tree limb as the box tumbled away. Dangling absurdly from the branch, she wished she hadn’t worn her high-heeled sandals today. Dropping even the short distance to the ground would probably sprain her ankle. Just what she needed—a fat doctor’s bill and time away from work.

      Grumbling under her breath, she hoped no one could see her predicament. She had her back to the crowd, so she couldn’t tell. She was about to let go of the branch, bracing herself in case her ankle snapped like kindling, when a pair of hands grasped her from behind and lifted her down.

      “She teases, she tweezes, she swings through trees with the greatest of ease,” said Robert Carter, M.D., affecting a newsreader’s voice.

      “Very funny.” Twyla pulled her dress back into place.

      “Much as I liked the view,” he said, “I wasn’t too sure about watching you fall out of a tree.”

      Twyla leaned her forehead against the rough tree trunk. “This is pretty much the most humiliating thing that’s happened to me since Mrs. Spinelli’s hair turned out lime green.”

      “Yeah?” That easy laugh again. He picked up a clothespin and pegged the quilt in place. “I guess that must’ve been pretty embarrassing.”

      “You have no idea.” She glanced ruefully at the toppled metal box. “Actually, now you probably do.”

      He handed her a sweating plastic cup of iced lemonade from the table. “I thought you might be thirsty, so I went and got this.”

      “Bless you.” She took a gulp and sent him a grateful smile. “This is awfully good of you.”

      “You say that with some surprise.”

      “Do I?”

      “Uh-huh. Does it surprise you when a strange man does something nice?”

      She laughed. “It surprises me when any man does something nice.”

      He took off his sunglasses. “I hope you’re kidding.”

      “Beauty parlor humor,” she confessed with a wry smile, and finished her lemonade.

      Carter studied the quilt for a minute. “So this is what you’re selling?”

      “Raffle tickets. This is what the winner gets.” She fingered the edge of it. “The ladies who make these do wonderful work.” She truly loved quilts. Each one was a small, homey miracle in its own unique way. “I think it’s amazing how old, tattered pieces of hand-me-down fabric can be stitched together into something so beautiful.” She ran her hand over a square. “This could have been some old man’s work shirt. This flowered one looks like a grandmother’s apron, probably full of holes or burn marks from the oven. Each one on its own was a rag, not worth keeping. But when you take a small piece of this one and a small piece of that one, and stitch them together with care, you get the most magnificent pattern and design, something that will keep you warm for a lifetime.”

      “Wow,” he said, reaching into his back pocket and taking out a slim leather wallet, “that’s some sales pitch.”

      She laughed incredulously as he held out a hundred-dollar bill. “I don’t have change for that.”

      “I don’t want change. I want a hundred raffle tickets.”

      She mouthed “a hundred” even as her stomach lurched with gleeful greed. The hospital guild was usually lucky to pull in seventy-five dollars on a quilt raffle. “Whatever you say,” she replied, taking the money. She counted out a hundred tickets from the long, printed roll in the metal box, tearing the strip apart in the middle.

      “You hang on to these, and listen for your number when we do the drawing.”

      He shook his head. “You keep them. I’ll check in later. Today might be my lucky day.”

      “But—”

      “I trust you.”

      “That’s what my best customers say.”

      He put the sunglasses back on. “I’d better go. I think they’re getting ready to start.”

      “Start?” she asked stupidly. This guy was too perfect, and she was pretty certain that all the staring she was doing at him had caused her IQ to drop.

      “The auction.” He stuck his thumb in his belt, studying her. “Think you’ll СКАЧАТЬ