The Notorious Groom

Eli noted the imploring expression on her face, which was a smaller, feminized version of his own, and knew he was sunk. Since she so rarely asked for anything, there was no way he could turn her down. Still, he didn’t want to spoil her. At least, not too much. He wanted to be the sort of steady, responsible parent that he’d never had. “You’d have to take care of it. Feed it. Brush it. Probably change a litter box—”

“Oh, I will! I will. I promise!” She flung herself at him, gave him a quick hug, then sprinted to the phone. “Wait till I tell Sarah!”

“Chelse, hold on.”

“But I’ve got to tell Sarah it’s okay right away, so they don’t give the one I want to somebody else. He’s orange with stripes and he’s got a kink in his tail. I’m gonna call him Oliver Twist!”

“You can call Sarah in a little while.”

“But Eli—”

“Trust me. There isn’t going to be a crowd lining up to claim those kittens,” he said dryly. “And right now, I want to discuss something else.”

She reluctantly set down the receiver. “Like what?”

“Like you telling people we’re having a hard time.”

Her expression went from puzzled to indignant in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t!”

“Not even to Miss Brown at the library?”

She flushed. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah. That.”

“But it doesn’t count,” she protested. “Not really.”

“How do you figure?”

She rolled her eyes. “‘Cuz Miss Brown’s different. She’s really nice. And she really listens when you tell her stuff, but she never gossips. And she likes me for me—not so she can be friends with you. Besides, the only reason I said anything—at least at first—was ’cuz I needed to know how to spell something. You can’t look it up if you don’t know how to spell it,” she finished earnestly.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, more than a little taken aback by her obvious regard for Norah. “Just out of curiosity, what was the word?”

For the first time, she looked uneasy. “Bankruptcy,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Bankruptcy? Where the hell did you hear about that?”

“Oooh. You swore.” She stuck out her hand. “Pay up.”

“Chelsea,” he warned.

She pouted. “Pay up or I’m not saying another word.”

Silently cursing the weak moment when he’d agreed to her scheme to cure him of using profanity by charging him twenty-five cents for every expletive, he stalked across the room, snatched up the jeans he’d worn the night before and tossed her two quarters. “Okay. Now answer the damn question.”

She sent him a reproachful look but complied. “I heard it from you. You were on the phone talking to Uncle Joe. Usually I don’t pay attention ’cuz it’s just about cars and engines and sports and stuff, but this time you sounded so worried...” Her voice trailed off. “I never heard you sound like that.”

And here he’d thought he was doing such a good job shielding her from the gravity of their situation. “Ah, Chelse. You should have said something.”

“I couldn’t! I didn’t want you to think I was ease... eades—”

“Eavesdropping?”

“Yeah. Plus I know you think I’m only a kid and you don’t want me to worry. But then Sarah’s mom told Sarah we might have to move, and Sarah told me, and I don’t want to. I like it here. I don’t want it to be the way it was...before. So I thought...maybe, if I told Miss Brown about it, she might help.” She cocked her head consideringly. “How come you know I talked to her, anyway?”

“Miss Brown—” he felt strange referring to Bunny-Boo so formally “—came to see me.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Does she want to give us some money? She said she’d try to think of a way to help, and everybody knows she’s got lots.”

Eli stared at her, at a loss for words. “No,” he managed finally.

Chelsea’s thin shoulders slumped. She glanced dejectedly at the toe of one small sneaker. “Oh.”

“And even if she did offer money, I wouldn’t take it, baby. Things are a little tough right now, but we’re going to be all right. I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “Okay.” Her brow creased. “But...what did she want?”

He hesitated, not quite certain how Chelsea would take the news. “Believe it or not, she wanted us to get married.”

Her head snapped up. “Really? Wow! That’s awesome! So are you going to do it?”

He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“But why not?”

For a split second he was tempted to blurt out the truth. Because I’m not the marrying type. And even if I was, the last person on earth I’d pick for a wife would be Bunny-Boo Brown, whose idea of a good time is probably rearranging a card catalog.

Yet one look at Chelsea’s trusting blue eyes made him realize the need for a little diplomacy. He cleared his throat. “Because,” he explained, “Miss...Brown and I don’t love each other. Heck, we barely even know each other. And it’s not like it would be a real marriage. It would only be a temporary one, for the summer—”

“That’s okay.” Chelsea gestured expressively. “Lots of my friends’ parents are divorced. And this way I wouldn’t feel bad when things were over ’cuz I’d know what was going on. And we’d have a really neat place to live this summer, with a yard and trees for Oliver and—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. And that’s all there is to it.”

She gave him her offended look and fell silent—for all of ten seconds. “Eh?”

“What?”

“How come Miss Brown asked you? I mean...I know why we should marry her.” The look she flashed him was eloquent. “But why does she want to marry us?”

He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing.”

“What kind of legal thing?”

“It has to do with her grandfather’s will.”