I Do, I Do...For Now (Harlequin Love and Laugher) Page 16

  “Oh, no!” As he watched Sasha leap from the bed and go racing into the kitchen, Mitch’s first thought was to wonder what his wife—his naked wife!—was doing at the station. A second later, comprehension dawned and he realized where he was. And what was making that godawful air raid sound.

  Following her into the kitchen, he waded through the billowing gray smoke and watched as she pulled a cookie sheet from the oven.

  “Am I allowed to ask what those were?” he inquired as she threw the black squares into the sink and proceeded to drown them beneath the faucet. He reached up and reset the smoke detector, silencing it.

  “I’m sorry! I wanted to make you a nice breakfast, like a good American wife...”

  “That was breakfast?”

  “Waffles.” She shook her head. “I’m such a failure!”

  “So you can’t cook.” He crossed the room and gathered her into his arms, gently tilting her chin up to meet his reassuring gaze. “You can learn. Or I can learn. Or we both can.” He traced her quivering lips with his thumb. “Or we can eat all our meals out.” He touched his mouth to hers. “Or, better yet, live on love.”

  “We would waste away.”

  He pulled her even closer and deepened the kiss, literally stealing her breath. “But what a way to go,” he said when they finally came up for air.

  Reluctantly he released her, and began opening windows.

  14

  AFTER THEY’D FINISHED the breakfast Mitch picked up for them at Glory’s, he suggested spending the night at a French country inn in Sedona.

  Sasha found the magnificent red rock country of Oak Creek Canyon awe-inspiring. “I can’t remember ever being so relaxed. Or so happy.”

  “Neither can I.” They were sitting on a wrought-iron bench beneath the spreading green canopy of an oak tree.

  They’d spent the Sunday drive up from Phoenix talking. Mitch had told Sasha things he’d never told any other person—not even his mother, whom he dearly loved.

  He admitted the pain and debilitating sense of loss he’d experienced in those days following the fire that had taken his father’s life and how he’d felt he could never live up to Garrett Cudahy’s hero image. And how he believed that his father still watched over him, and hopefully approved of how he’d chosen to live his own life.

  In turn, Sasha shared much of her life with him—a hard life filled with struggles and loneliness, which confirmed what he’d already figured out for himself.

  And now, as they sat beside the crystal stream, she told him stories her mother had told her, romanticized tales of how their life would be when they reached America.

  “My father was going to buy a house with many flowers. And a wide, covered front porch with a swing. The house would be blue with white shutters. And there would be clay pots overflowing with bright red geraniums on the porch.” She smiled. “Mama always called it their red, white and blue American house.”

  “It sounds nice.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, “it does.”

  Hearing the faint sadness creeping back into her tone, Mitch caught her downcast chin in his fingers and turned her head toward him. “We’ll find him,” he promised.

  Mitch was a hero. Her hero. But he was not a miracle worker. After a year of failure after failure, Sasha no longer held out a great deal of hope. But not wanting to ruin this exquisite afternoon, she reminded herself how lucky she was to have found such a kind and loving man.

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around him, tight. “Mitch?”

  “Mmm?” He buried his lips in her hair and breathed in her light, flowery scent.

  “I am suddenly very tired. Do you think we have time for a short nap before dinner?”

  “Darlin’—” he stood and lifted her into his arms “—I’m suddenly overcome with an attack of exhaustion myself.”

  Laughing, Sasha pressed her lips to his as he carried her back across the lawn to their cottage.

  THE INTERVIEW AIRED, as promised, on Monday and Tuesday of the following week. It was also, Sasha had been excited to learn, picked up by the network.

  On Wednesday morning, a woman in a taupe suit and carrying a briefcase arrived at the apartment door.

  “Mrs. Cudahy?” She greeted Sasha with a friendly smile.

  “Yes. I am Mrs. Cudahy.” Sasha thought it both strange and wonderful how she’d grown accustomed to answering to Mitch’s last name.

  “I’m Mrs. Kensington. From the U.S. Immigration Service. May I come in?”

  “Of course!” Sasha stepped aside, glancing past the woman, half expecting to see her nemesis lurking nearby.

  “I’ve been assigned your case, Mrs. Cudahy,” the woman said, answering Sasha’s unspoken question.

  Mitch chose that moment to wander in from the bedroom, clad in jeans and bare feet. He was buttoning a blue chambray shirt. “What happened to the weasel?” The possessive way he put his arm around Sasha’s too-rigid shoulders did not escape the immigration officer’s professionally trained eyes.

  “I assume you’re referring to Mr. Potter.” A hint of a smile-tugged at her lips. “He was reassigned yesterday.”

  “Reassigned?” Sasha asked.

  “Actually, I believe a more accurate word is demoted.” The satisfaction in the woman’s eyes suggested to Mitch that Potter had made life as uncomfortable for his fellow workers as for Sasha and all the other poor immigrants unlucky enough to have him assigned to their cases. “Our regional director was not exactly pleased with how your network interview made our office look.”

  As he felt Sasha begin to relax, Mitch decided to send Meredith a dozen roses for having solved one of Sasha’s problems so neatly.

  “So,” he said, squeezing Sasha’s shoulder reassuringly, “I suppose you’re here for the home visit.”

  “Yes.” The woman glanced down at her watch. “But since my caseload has more than doubled since inheriting Mr. Potter’s files, I’d better be on my way.”

  “That’s it?” Even Mitch was surprised.

  “That’s it,” the woman agreed.

  “Did we pass?” Sasha risked asking.

  “With flying colors.” She glanced at the two cups and two cereal bowls still on the kitchen table. “It’s obvious you’re living as man and wife. It’s also obvious that you care for one another. And, after such a remarkably sympathetic network appearance relating your attempts to locate your father, we’d look like Scrooge if we tried to deport you,” she assured Sasha with a warm smile.

  “It will take a few weeks for the paperwork to clear.” She held out her hand. “In the meantime, welcome to America.”

  As she shook the woman’s hand, Sasha felt the tears begin to overflow. But this time they were tears of joy.

  TWO DAYS LATER, after Mitch had left for the station, Meredith telephoned.

  “I just received a call,” the reporter said. “From your father. He wants to meet you.”

  “Really?” Although Sasha’s suddenly frantically beating heart wanted to believe that this was the happy ending she’d been searching for, her head reminded her of all the other times she’d been disappointed.

  “Really. Actually, he wants you to come live with him.”

  “Live with him?”

  “In Big Sur. South of San Francisco. Seems he’s got a huge house—one of those glass and redwood things—overlooking the beach. Looks as if you struck it rich, Sasha.

  “Of course we’ll want to film your reunion. It’ll make a dynamite Cinderella story—how the penniless little immigrant waif discovers the streets in America really are paved with gold.”

  The knowledge that her father wanted her after all these years, should have given Sasha pleasure. Instead she felt a shadow move over her heart. Her mind went numb as she wrote down the information.

  MITCH WAS GLAD when the day turned out to be one emergency after another. It kept him from thinking of Sasha. Of how much he missed her.

  He was grinning as the truck headed back to the station aft
er putting out a car fire. For the first time, he understood why Jake had traded his sportscar for a minivan. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Sasha. Because somehow, when he wasn’t looking, he’d fallen in love with his wife.

  With that amazing, yet highly satisfying thought in his mind, Mitch idly glanced around at the neighborhood they were passing through. It was an older neighborhood, the kind with deep front lawns and mature trees, and small, but well-built houses sporting wide front porches that harkened back to days when an evening’s entertainment meant sitting outside with a glass of ice-cold lemonade, watching your neighbors.

  “Hey!” he shouted, pounding on the side of the truck. “Tell Jake to stop!”

  The word filtered forward, fireman to fireman, to the cab of the truck where Jake was behind the wheel. He pulled over to the curb and leaned out the driver’s window. “What’s wrong?”

  “I gotta check on something,” Mitch said. “I’ll be right back.” He jogged back down the street to the information box attached to a white wooden For Sale sign surrounded by bright flowers.

  This was it! Sasha’s dream house. Right down to the blue siding, bright white shutters and the swing. All right, perhaps the red flowers were petunias instead of geraniums, but with that single exception, it could have been drawn straight from her mother’s description.

  He plucked a brochure from the box, tucked it into his jacket and returned to the truck.

  “Thinking of doing a little nest building?” Jake asked with a knowing grin.

  “Just drive,” Mitch said, his own grin taking the edge off his words. “I want to get back to the station. I have a call to make.”

  He looked back at the house and pictured Sasha standing on the front steps, looking pert and sexy in her white nurse’s uniform, welcoming him home with open arms while their baby slept in an old-fashioned blue buggy on the old-fashioned shaded porch.

  The idea was more than a little appealing.

  After talking with the real estate agent on the phone, Mitch was even more enthusiastic. The house sounded perfect. And what’s more, he’d socked away enough to easily make the down payment.

  Next on his agenda was to see the inside and make an offer before the house was snatched up.

  “Hey, Jake,” he asked his brother-in-law, whose threeday shift was just ending. “How’d you like to do me a big favor?”

  “Like stick around while you take your bride to see her new home?”

  One thing about so many guys living so close together was that privacy became a rare commodity. Mitch grinned. “Yeah.”

  Jake grinned back. “Since Katie would kill me if I screwed up a chance to make Sasha happy, it doesn’t look as if I have much choice. So go play real estate magnate. And have fun.”

  “Thanks.” Needing to wash the lingering smell of smoke from his hair, Mitch took a quick shower. When he came out of the communal bathroom, there were hoots of amusement.

  “Nice undies, Mitchie,” one of the firemen called out.

  “Pink is definitely your color,” another one pitched in.

  “This is what marriage does to a guy,” a third drawled. “Softens him up. Next thing you know, he’ll be measuring the station windows for gingham curtains.”

  Mitch flashed them a good-natured middle finger and proceeded to finish dressing. So what if Sasha had messed up the wash? So what if she couldn’t cook? He loved her. Just the way she was.

  He was just about to call her, to tell her he was on the way home to pick her up for a surprise, when Jake called out, “Sasha’s on the phone.”

  He took the receiver. “Hi, darlin’. Your timing’s perfect. I was just getting ready to call you.”

  “I heard from my father,” Sasha blurted out.

  “What?” Mitch shook his head, certain he must have misunderstood her.

  “I said, my father called me. Just a few minutes ago.”

  He still didn’t understand. “How—”

  “He saw Meredith’s report on the network broadcast and called her. She gave him my number.”

  “I see.” Wondering how this was going to affect their marriage, Mitch paused and let out a long breath. “Well, this is what you’ve been wanting.”

  “Yes.” She did not sound all that enthusiastic.

  “So. How did it go?”

  “Very well, actually.” It was her turn to let out a breath. “He wants me to come live with him, Mitch. In Big Sur.”

  Mitch waited for her to say that of course she’d told him that was impossible. That she already had a home—and a life—in Phoenix, with her husband.

  Nothing. Just dead air coming from the other end of the telephone line.

  “Big Sur, huh? Sounds like he’s done okay for himself.”

  “He wrote a book on journalism that’s required reading in most colleges. And some novels. Meredith said he’s very rich.”

  “Looks as if you’ve hit the jackpot.”

  “That’s what Meredith said.”

  The pause this time was longer. And deadlier.

  “Congratulations,” Mitch said finally. “I hope he’s everything you wanted him to be. Look, Sasha, I’d love to talk some more, but I’ve got a fire to go to.”

  He hung up before he resorted to begging. Then slammed his fist into the wall.

  SITTING on the edge of the bed, Sasha stared down at the telephone receiver. He’d hung up on her. Just like that. And she knew he was lying. If there’d been a fire, she would have heard the alarm.

  She’d done everything but beg him to ask her to stay. Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to leave him to run off to Big Sur? Didn’t he know how much she loved him? As she raised her hand to replace the receiver, the flash of her gold wedding band drew her attention to her reflection in the dresser mirror.

  They were married. In front of Elvis they had promised to love and honor each other, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—forever. And although the marriage may have been fraudulent in the beginning, Mitch himself had pointed out that the rules had changed.

  She was his wife. Mitch was her husband. That being the case, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Except, Sasha amended, to the store. To buy a cookbook.

  MITCH WAS LYING on his back on his bunk staring up at the ceiling. Although he knew how badly Sasha wanted to find her father, he also knew damn well that she loved him. And he loved her. That being the case, they belonged together. Forever.

  They were married. And, if he had anything to say about it, they were going to stay married. “Hey, Jake...”

  “I figured you’d change your mind,” his brother-in-law drawled. “That’s why I stuck around.”

  Before Mitch could thank him, the alarm blasted through the building. “Hey, Mitch,” the dispatcher called out, “it’s your apartment complex.”

  He cursed. Sasha must have been in the kitchen again. At least, he thought as he climbed onto the back of the truck, she hadn’t been packing.

  Mitch’s mild irritation turned to terror when the truck rounded the corner and he could see that the building was engulfed in flames. Two other trucks from nearby stations had already arrived on the scene and the firemen were busy pouring water on the raging inferno.

  “What the hell happened?” Mitch asked, grabbing the arm of the first fireman he saw.

  “Nobody knows for sure.” The man pointed the stream of water directly at Mitch’s apartment. “But one of the neighbors says there’s a kid living in the end apartment who thinks he’s Mr. Wizard. Always fooling around with chemicals and stuff. He could have made a bad mix.”

  Mitch knew the kid. He should. His parents were his next-door neighbors. “What about the people inside?”

  “Everyone’s accounted for except some woman in the apartment next to the end one.” The fireman raised his voice to be heard over the roar of the fire as it ate away a section of wooden roof shakes. “It’s too hot to get up there and see.”

  His apartment! Mitc
h watched horrified as an explosion blew out the arcadia doors leading to his balcony. This time there was no way up the outside stairway. However, if he could make it to the roof of the adjoining units...

  “Don’t even think it,” a voice shouted in his ear. Mitch turned and glared at Jake, who, officially off duty, had followed in his minivan.

  “Sasha could be in there!”

  “And she might not be,” Jake said. “And I’m not about to explain to a pretty young bride that I let her husband kill himself with some damn fool stunt.”

  “She’s my wife, dammit.” When Jake grabbed his jacket, he reacted on instinct and swung.

  Jake dodged the fist. “Sorry, hotshot.” He landed a blow on Mitch’s jaw, sending him sprawling into a pile of fire hoses.

  That was how Sasha found them, rolling on the wet ground, arms flailing, fists flying, while all around them the firemen continued to fight the blaze, ignoring the fact that two of their own were engaged in a brawl.

  “Mitch! Jake!” She dropped the plastic book bag, ran over to them, and began pulling them apart. “What are you doing?”

  Adrenaline was pumping through Mitch’s blood and fear had its icy grip on his mind, distorting his thinking process. It took him a minute to figure out that it was really Sasha who’d thrown herself on his back and was trying to grab hold of his hands.

  “Mitch!” she shouted in his ear. “You must stop this! Now!”

  “Yeah, Mitch!” Jake yelled. “Knock it off!”

  Realization finally sank in. Mitch twisted around and stared up at her. “Sasha? You’re safe?”

  “Yes.” She pressed a kiss against his mouth. “I am safe.”

  The breath went out of him in a deep, relieved whoosh. “I was so worried.”

  “I am sorry.” She glanced up at the building that was engulfed in a cloud of steam as the fire hoses doused the flames. “I promise, Mitch. I was not cooking.”

  Her expression was so earnest, Mitch had to laugh. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t care if you had started it. So long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

  Jake pushed himself to his feet. “Since you two lovebirds don’t need any company, I think I’ll go see about getting some ice for my eye. You pack one helluva punch.”