Husband Wanted, page 1
HUSBAND WANTED
By
Charlotte Hughes
NY Times bestselling author
~
Frannie opened the medicine cabinet, hesitating a second before reaching for a bottle of aftershave. There was something decidedly intimate about going through a man’s toiletries. She unscrewed the cap and raised it to her nose, and the scent made her shiver with awareness.
“Finding everything?”
Frannie jumped, almost dropping the bottle into the sink. She closed the bottle and nodded quickly. “Y-yes. I was just . . . I like smelling this stuff.”
Clay looked amused. “What do you think of the way it smells?”
“Uh—very nice,” she murmured.
“Yes, but you can’t really tell by smelling it straight from the bottle.” He leaned close. “Here, take a whiff. Tell me if you think I’m getting my money’s worth.”
Her stomach fluttered wildly when the tip of her nose grazed his hair-roughened jaw. She recognized the woody scent with just a hint of citrus, but this time blended with male flesh. The combination made her head spin.
“What do you think, Frannie?” Clay asked again, his breath warming her skin.
“Oh, yes,” she said in a breathless gasp. “You’re definitely getting your money’s worth. And more . . .”
~
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Copyright © 2015 by Charlotte Hughes
http://readcharlottehughes.com
All rights reserved, in whole or in part, in any format. The content should not be used commercially without prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is provided for your personal enjoyment.
Husband Wanted was originally published as a Loveswept paperback in 1995 by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam, Doubleday, Dell Publishing Group, Inc. It has since been updated and revised.
The Content that follows is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons and events is coincidental.
Chapter One
Frannie Brisbane slathered butter onto two pieces of toast, trimmed the crust, and set the small plate between Alice and Grace Dempsey, where she had already placed two bowls of their favorite cereal, topped with freshly sliced strawberries.
“Thank you, dear,” Alice said. “You always know just how we like our breakfast.”
Which is why the Dempsey sisters, both in their seventies, walked five blocks for their morning meal at the Griddle and Grill each morning and claimed it was the highlight of their day. They enjoyed sharing the latest gossip and having their horoscopes read by a smiling Frannie.
Only today Frannie wasn’t smiling. There were dark, half-moon smudges beneath her eyes. Her long, strawberry blond hair, which she always braided and wore in an elegant crown at the back of her head, was fixed in a simple ponytail. She wore little makeup and hadn’t bothered with her favorite eye shadow that emphasized her green eyes. Her uniform, which was usually crisp as a new dollar bill, looked as though it had been pulled from the clothes dryer and donned without the benefit of a good pressing.
“Frannie, honey, what’s the matter?” Grace asked, her thin face drawn in concern. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you looking so poorly.”
“Is it that time of the month, dear?” Alice asked, taking great care to whisper. Her own face was cherubic and ruddy complexioned. “We have some tonic at home that’d make you feel better and put some color in your cheeks. ’Course, it is nasty stuff. Tastes like fish oil.”
“I know what’s wrong with her,” Frannie’s best friend, Blair Styles said, checking her own reflection in her compact mirror. Not that it was necessary. Blair’s makeup was flawless, and her chestnut hair, streaked with highlights, barely brushed her shoulders in a flattering look. Her navy blue and white polka-dotted slip dress, which showed just enough cleavage to give it a sexy flair, was set off by a smart bright green short-sleeve jacket. The outfit had no doubt come from her dress shop across the street. Nobody loved clothes like Blair. “I’ll bet you stayed up half the night studying for finals.”
“I’m done with finals,” Frannie said, trying to stifle a wide yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep. Too much on my mind.”
All three women waited expectantly. “Such as?” Blair finally asked when Frannie didn’t offer a response.
Frannie stepped up to the counter, pulled a sheet of folded notebook paper from her apron pocket, and handed it to her friend.
“What is it?” Blair asked.
“A letter; read it.” Frannie’s bottom lip trembled as the woman unfolded it. Grace and Alice leaned closer.
“‘Dear Frannie,’” Blair read aloud. “‘Thank you for answering my last letter. It seems as if I’ve known you all my life’.” She paused and glanced at the signature. “Who’s Mandy?”
Frannie replied in a whisper, “My daughter. The one I gave up thirteen years ago. We’ve been writing to each other for a couple of months.”
All three women gaped. “And you’re just now getting around to telling us?” Blair said, almost in a huff.
In a booth nearby, sixty-five-year-old Walter Coleman glanced up from his breakfast of scrambled egg substitute, dry toast, and black decaffeinated coffee. A mild heart attack six months ago had forced him to give up his usual fried eggs, grits and sausage. “Could I get a refill, Frannie, honey?” he said, holding up his coffee mug.
“Coming right up, Mr. Coleman,” she said, grabbing a pot of coffee and hurrying his way. “I just made it,” she said, “so it’s nice and fresh.” She filled his mug, and he thanked her.
“How did Mandy get your address?” Alice asked, when Frannie returned. “I thought adoptions were strictly confidential.”
Frannie shrugged. “Mandy didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.” Another customer came through the door. Frannie grabbed a menu and headed his way.
Grace shook her head sadly. “I remember the scandal surrounding that baby like it was yesterday,” she whispered. “Frannie had to drop out of high school because the kids teased her something awful. As if it weren’t bad enough that her mother was ill.”
“I wish I had befriended her,” Blair said sadly, “but I was too busy hanging out with the popular crowd and becoming Hanahan High School’s homecoming queen. I can’t believe how self-centered I was.”
Alice went on. “Once the baby was born and handed over to its new parents, Frannie got that job at the mill. She worked all day, many times she pulled double shifts. When she wasn’t working she was taking care of her sick mama.”
“Whatever happened to her daddy?” Blair asked.
Grace shook her head and made a tsking sound. “He walked out on the two of them when the mama became ill. Frannie wouldn’t have been able to take care of a baby and an ailing mama, plus work almost around-the-clock to keep the bills paid. ’Course, folks thought the worst of her, for giving up the child. They couldn’t see she was doing the poor thing a favor.”
“It says here that Mandy wants to visit,” Blair said.
“Oh, my,” Alice declared. “After all these years!”
Frannie returned, slightly out of breath after carrying a tray to a table of five college students, all guys, several of whom had flirted or teased her. Because it was a college town, she was accustomed to dealing with mouthy students who seldom tipped. “Did you read it?” she asked Blair.
Blair nodded. “You must be terribly excited.”
“Excited?” Frannie exclaimed. “I’m a wreck. She can’t come here!”
“Why not?” Alice asked.
Frannie’s eyes glistened with tears, but she quickly blinked them back. “I’ve done something awful. I sort of misled her about a few things.”
“Misled her?” Alice said.
Frannie blushed. “Well, you know. I wanted her to think I had come a long way in life since I had to give her up—”
“You have come a long way,” Alice said.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Exactly what was it you told her?” Grace asked.
Frannie’s face turned crimson. “That I’m married to this wonderful man and we live in a fine house. I may have mentioned that we have servants. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did.”
“Why did you lie?” Alice said.
“I wanted her to be proud of me. How was I supposed to know she would end up visiting? Besides, you’ve seen where I live,” Frannie added.
“Your place is adorable, now,” Blair said. “You’ve fixed it up nicely.”
Frannie had made vast improvements to the place. After painting most of the interior, she had begun scraping and painting the outside on her days off, and during school holidays, when she was able to take a break from studying. It had taken months to complete. “Yeah, but it’s still old and small.”
“What does it matter the kind of house you live in?” Alice asked. “Your daughter is coming to see you.”
Frannie sighed. “From what I’ve gathered, Mandy is accustomed to living very well. Her father is a big-shot with the State Department, rides around in a black limo. I’m sure she has had the best of everything.”
This time Blair spoke. “How could your daughter possibly be ashamed of you?” she said as though she hadn’t heard a word. “You’re working full-time—”
“Yeah, waiting tables in a diner.”
“And going to school at night to earn your degree. Look how hard you’ve worked. You’re almost there. You have every right to be proud.”
Frannie shook her head. “I’m almost thirty years old, Blair. Most people already have their degrees by now.”
“Most people haven’t been through what you’ve been through. Which is why you’re going to make a great social worker.”
“Don’t you want to see her?” Alice asked softly. “Aren’t you curious to see how she turned out? She has to be what, twelve or thirteen-years-old?”
“She just turned thirteen,” Frannie said. “And, of course I’d love to see her, but —”
“How are you going to tell her she can’t come?” Grace asked. “She’ll feel like—” She paused as though trying to think of just the right word.
“Excuse me,” Walter Coleman said, startling the women so badly, they jumped.
Frannie glanced up at the distinguished-looking man with silver hair. “Oh, Mr. Coleman, I’m sorry,” she said, having forgotten about him completely. “Would you like more coffee, or do you want your check?”
“No, no,” he said. “Just hold on there. I couldn’t help overhearing you’re in somewhat of a bind.”
“You mean you were eavesdropping,” Alice said, giving him a pinched look.
Frannie was embarrassed that he had heard. The last thing she’d wanted to do was trouble her customers with her personal problems.
“Now, don’t interrupt me,” he said. “I don’t like to be interrupted; especially when I’ve come up with a solution.”
All four women fell silent.
“Sounds to me like you need a house,” he said to Frannie, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, which, thanks to his diet, were so baggy, they had to be held up by suspenders. He refused to spend money on new clothes—even though he could well afford to—but, as he claimed, there wasn’t a dang thing wrong with the ones he had. “I’ve got a fine place,” he went on. “You’re more than welcome to use it.”
Frannie gazed back in disbelief. Although Walter was a favorite customer, always joking and flirting with her, she didn’t quite know how to take his offer.
“Me use your house?” she said after a moment, wondering if his intentions were entirely honorable. After all, it was a known fact he was a womanizer, had been all his life. His poor wife had barely been in the ground six months before he’d married some money-hungry floozy with bright red hair and cantaloupe-sized breasts. His son had eventually thrown her out, then moved out of the family estate himself. This was all before his father’s heart attack, a condition only a handful of people in Hanahan, Georgia knew about, including Frannie, who’d immediately made alterations to his regular menu. She, like the others, had been sworn to secrecy about the heart attack.
She smiled. “But, Mr. Coleman, you live in a mansion. That’s hardly what I had in mind.”
“It should impress your daughter. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Are you saying I should let her think the place is mine?”
“That’s the whole idea.”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Blair said, clearly as surprised as everybody else by Walter’s generosity. “And you know you can count on me, hon,” she said. “You and I wear about the same size. By the time I get finished with you, you’ll look like a fashionista.”
Frannie stared back at them, thoughts spinning. “I don’t know what to say,” she replied, shaking her head from side to side. “I appreciate your offers, but I’ve already lied to her once, and you see where that got me.”
Walter waved the comment aside. “When does she want to visit?”
Frannie was still reeling from his offer and wondering whether to accept. “During spring break,” she said. “No school for ten days.”
“Spring break is less than a week away,” Alice cried.
“It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Frannie said, feeling on the verge of a major panic attack. She shook her head at their shocked looks. “It’ll never work. I don’t know how a refined lady of the manor is supposed to act.”
“Oh, stop!” Blair said. “You have impeccable manners.”
“If you’re that concerned,” Walter said, “my housekeeper can help you out.”
“Trust me,” Blair said. “You’ll need a small makeover, but once I get you out of that uniform and in proper attire, you’ll look like a million bucks.”
Frannie surprised them with a chuckle. “It all sounds great, guys, and I really appreciate the offer, but there only one problem,” she said. “Where am I going to find a husband?”
#
Clay Coleman took a sip of his black coffee and studied the blueprint in front of him. It was a simple two-story frame house with a small front porch and a deck along the back. It resembled a box. He’d built a dozen just like it because they were cheap.
Someone knocked on the door, and Clay glanced up as his father stuck his head through. “You got a minute?”
Clay tried to keep his expression neutral. He hadn’t seen his father in at least a month, maybe longer. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid him. “What do you want?”
“Just a minute of your time,” the older man said, coming into the room. “Your secretary wasn’t at her desk so I decided to show myself in.” He took a seat in one of the worn leather chairs facing his son.
Clay was thankful his secretary, a cute twenty-three-year-old, was taking a late lunch. His father had a penchant for pretty women and would have embarrassed the poor girl with his blatant flirting. Clay would have had to apologize afterward. It had been that way for as long as he could remember.
“You’ll have to make it quick,” Clay said. “I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes.” He rolled up the blueprint because he didn’t want his father to know his business.
“This won’t take long,” Walter said. “So, how’ve you been, Son?”
Clay was in no mood for idle chitchat. “Why don’t we cut the small talk and get right to the reason for your visit?”
Walter clasped his hands together and leaned forward, anchoring his elbows on his knees. “Are you going to be mad at me for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not mad,” Clay said, although in all honesty he couldn’t think of a better word to describe how he felt toward the man. Maybe disappointed was the word he was looking for. Extremely disappointed.
“You never come by the house. Haven’t been by in months. Not since—” He paused as though trying to count in his mind just how long it had been.
“Not since I threw your second wife out,” Clay supplied for him.
Walter held his hands out as though surrendering. “I made a mistake.”
“A very costly one.”
“I was lonely.”
Clay thought of his mother, who’d been lonely all her married life. She had never grown accustomed to her husband’s philandering, but good breeding and a lot of patience had allowed her to turn a regal head to it all. She’d simply gone about the business of living her own life, finding pleasure in raising her son and performing volunteer work. The two of them had been very close.
“What do you want?” Clay repeated.
“I hear you applied for a loan at the bank a few days ago,” he said. “So you could buy that tract of land north of town.”
Clay scowled in response. “So much for confidentiality,” he muttered, annoyed that his business dealings had reached his father’s ears. “Okay, so I applied for a loan. So what?”
“I have a better offer in mind. I know you’d love to get your hands on the property along the river. It has been in the family for years, but there’s no sense in me hanging on to it till I die when you could make a fortune building luxury homes. You could turn it into a gated community if you like.”
Clay crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the man. He’d lost weight. Clay wondered if he was sick. “Why would you do that?” he asked, knowing how tight with a dollar his father could be. At least he was until his second wife had come along, and then he’d been only too glad to empty his pockets.
“You’re my son. I’ve already willed it to you, but I may as well hand it over to you now. I’ve been foolish to hang onto it, but you know how I get sometimes.” He paused. “Your mother accused me of being stingy more than once, if you’ll remember.”
