If it’s dangerous to talk to yourself, it’s probably even dicier to listen.
Axell knew better than to get involved. He especially knew better than to get involved with a female with “trouble” written all over her. Some people lived from one disaster to another, and Maya Alyssum struck him as that kind of person. Her vulnerability would eventually expose his deficiencies, and nothing good could come of either.
But he had an inherent need to help the town of his birth, and to give back to the community some of the wealth it had so generously provided him. Angela had claimed he just liked controlling people, but that wasn’t so. Of course, in this case, helping — or controlling — Maya would ultimately solve his worst fear: losing Constance.
He sat Maya down in a booth at the back of the restaurant and signaled his bartender to bring them sweet tea. Matty and Constance were occupying themselves in the employee break room, well looked after by his doting staff. He could safely concentrate on bending this tear-stained waif of a woman to his will. He’d already noted she bent remarkably easily. He had experience and determination on his side. Surely he could keep a safe enough distance between them that emotions wouldn’t play a factor in their relationship, even if Maya was prone to all the usual female complexities.
“If I hire an inspector,” Axell paused to let the implication of her obligation sink in, “and he allows you to move your things, where will you move them?”
She twisted a red paper napkin between her fingers and didn’t look up. “We haven’t remodeled the upper story of the school yet. I thought Matty and I could move our things there. But we really need to keep Cleo’s shop open. She has to have somewhere to go when...” She hesitated, apparently not wanting to say the word “prison” out loud. “If only the mayor understood the awfulness Cleo went through to get this far, maybe he’d listen?”
Axell had looked up the sister. She’d been busted for chronic possession and shoplifting a teddy bear, not the act of a hardened criminal. Still, selling drugs was usually the logical next step for an addict. He had to be cautious here, but he didn’t think a schoolteacher would condone the behavior of junkies, even if one was her sister.
“Besides, the artisans who designed the stuff in there deserve an outlet for their creativity and some reward for their work,” Maya continued. “Some of it would sell for a fortune in California. Cleo had a brilliant idea. She just didn’t know how to make it work.”
Axell sat back as the bartender set the teas in front of them. Crossing his arms on the wooden table, he studied his companion. He’d read her credentials. She had a Masters in childhood education, four years teaching experience, and an extremely high grade-point average at an excellent state university. He knew nothing of her prior life. He didn’t even know where the damned father of her child was. Maybe that was a starting point.
“Do you have any income other than the school?” he asked pointedly. “Child support, alimony?”
She shook her wavy curls, and the purple streak fell forward across her brow with a will of its own. Since she couldn’t reclaim her clothes, she wore the same outfit she’d worn the day before. Somehow, the outlandish gauzy pleats and silky shirt looked exotic and expensive, even though he knew damned well she’d bought them at some thrift store.
“Stephen and I aren’t married. We were more or less separated when I heard about Cleo...” She skipped over that part with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t even know for certain I was pregnant when I flew out here. He travels a lot. I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t any money. I can’t expect any help from that quarter. I can make it on my own,” she said defiantly, “I just need to get my stuff out of that building.”
“I’ve been through the Pfeiffer place.” He hadn’t blindly sent Constance to a school he knew nothing about. When it had opened, he’d had every aspect of it checked thoroughly, except the finances, which weren’t a matter of public record. He wondered if he ought to probe that angle further but decided against it. Selene Blackburn’s family had money. They would probably invest in anything to keep their rattle-brained daughter off the streets. “The upper story hasn’t been refurbished in decades. You don’t even have working plumbing up there. No heat, no air; it’s not fit for habitation.”
She stirred the sweet tea with her straw and watched the ice cubes swirl. “I’ve lived in worse. The plumbing downstairs is just fine. We can open the windows upstairs in the summer. By winter, maybe something better will come along.”
She’d lived in worse? Axell didn’t want to imagine it. Old man Pfieffer had pulled the upper story apart in the process of renovation, then lost interest after his wife died. Wallpaper hung in ragged strips. Plaster had been ripped from the lathes. Molding for the unfinished floors above the school lay in jagged lengths full of nails that invited tetanus. The mayor was probably right. The building should be demolished. He shook his head.
“You’re not thinking, Miss Alyssum,” he admonished. “You not only have a son, but an infant on the way. They can’t live like that.”
She shot him an angry look. “The name is Maya, Matty is my nephew, and my sister and I lived like that more times than I can count. Not everyone in this world was born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”
Back off, Axell. He retreated against the booth seat and signaled for more tea. Don’t provoke emotional outbursts, he reminded himself. Matty was her nephew. Cleo’s kid. Things were getting clearer now. He’d thought her a bit young to have two kids, but what did he know about how the other half lived? After all, he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
“Having lived like that, I’m sure you’d prefer Matty and your child to live otherwise.” Dumb, he realized as soon as he said it. Now he’d really raise her hackles. How in hell did one go about approaching this topic carefully? Already, his deficiencies were showing.
Maya’s brave smile faded, and she shrugged. “There are a lot of things I’d like. Not many of them are attainable. Kids don’t really notice their surroundings too much. What they notice is how much they’re loved. Just tell me what I have to do to get you to hire the inspector. I have no idea what one costs or how to go about hiring one. I just know I can’t afford him.”
Amazed at how easily she cut to the chase, Axell raised his glass in salute to her astuteness. She offered a wry grin and a lift of her glass in return. He admired a woman who could speak his language.
“My interest in all this is Constance. I don’t want you returning to California. I don’t know how you do it, but you’re bringing my daughter out of her shell. If you leave, she might regress and give my mother-in-law the means to pry her out of my hands. I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that.”
He’d considered offering her a place in his home again, but the incident this morning had given him second thoughts on that. He didn’t need wide-eyed waifs in his kitchen at four in the morning. He didn’t need women giving birth on his kitchen floor. He had all he could handle already without adding the dangerous complications a female would bring — particularly after Constance’s revelations about the other women in his life. He’d never have any privacy. “I own the building next door to this one.”
Her head jerked up, her eyes widened, and she stared at him with an awakening hope and fascination that shot Axell’s hormones into overdrive. She was pregnant, dammit! She was little better than a helpless child. Just because she looked at him as if he’d handed her the moon didn’t mean he was free to lose control.
His libido never had listened to reason. That’s why he’d ended up married to Angela. He learned from his mistakes.
Shifting uncomfortably, Axell gulped his iced tea before continuing. “The last tenant left it in fairly reasonable condition. It’s not earning any money sitting there empty. Maybe we could make some kind of deal.”
“If we can get the inspector’s approval to move my stuff,” she reminded him. “What kind of a deal did you have in mind?”
Had she not been twenty-months pregnant, all kinds of possibilities would have danced through his lecherous mind. He’d always been a sucker for helpless women, and this one not only appealed to his wretched need to protect, but with that wisp of uncontrollable purple hair and huge, wounded eyes, she appealed to his baser instincts as well.
But her pregnancy ruled out all his low-minded thoughts, simplifying his answer. “You can move into the upstairs apartment, set up shop downstairs, and pay me a percentage of your gross every month. My only stipulation is that you be available to Constance as much as possible. Keep her with you as you do Matty while I work. Except on busy nights like Friday and Saturday, I try to get away from the bar around nine or ten. If she’s right next door, I might be able to get out to see her more often.”
Her eyes lit up like a child with a new toy as she contemplated his promises. He’d never seen anything like it. Grown women should be a damned sight more wary of men offering candy. This one just seemed to slip off into her own little dream world.
“We’ll have to move the counter. Do you think I could hire someone to help me dust all that stuff before we put it back out again? Could we go look at the building now? I want to tell Matty...”
She was already across the booth and almost out of her seat before Axell could help her. Had she not been so pregnant, she’d probably be out the door before he could get up. Like quicksilver, she shimmered and glided and disappeared before his eyes. He’d never seen anything like it. His front door closed after her before he could cross the restaurant.
Feeling considerably less burdened now that he had the problem with Constance solved, Axell loped after her, whistling a happy tune.
***
“This is marvelous! This is gorgeous.” Maya whirled around in the vast open space of the downstairs shop of the restored old building. “The light from here is heavenly.”
“The foot traffic outside is heavier and should draw more customers,” Axell added.
Ignoring him, Maya ran her fingers over the mahogany banister to the upstairs. “Someone treated this place with respect. There’s a much happier aura in here.”
“It’s called profit.” Axell examined the ceiling tile twelve feet above them. “Heating and cooling is a problem though.”
“There’s a ceiling fan. And look at the floor! If I could just have it waxed...” Seeing that Axell was counting pennies, Maya slipped up the stairs. She really shouldn’t take another place with stairs, but what choice did she have? The baby would come when it was ready. Ignoring a frisson of fear at her lack of preparation for that event, she peeked around the corner at the living quarters. She didn’t own a crib or baby clothes. She had no nesting instincts to rely on. So she ignored the future in favor of the present.
“Perfect,” she murmured happily as she glimpsed the upstairs. “Look at those windows! I could turn the front room into a gallery if we didn’t have to live here.” Wrinkling her nose at the thought of Cleo’s ugly plaid couch desecrating the marvelous airy space, Maya crossed the wide front room to look out on the street below.
“Streetcars used to go up and down that road on the half hour.”
She hadn’t heard Axell come up behind her, and she caught her breath at his sudden proximity. His square build seemed so solid and reassuring, she had to resist leaning into him. What would it be like having a man like him to lean on?
Boring, she reminded herself. Just because she was scratching the bottom of the barrel financially and longed for the security he represented didn’t mean she’d be happy with riches. She needed a man who understood her dreams, not a stiff Norse god who’d never had a dream in his life.
“Wouldn’t it be lovely to have one of those cute little trolley cars going up and down someday? Tourists love trolley cars, and this town would be ideal for an artists’ colony. With these huge old windows in most of the stores, we could have art galleries for paintings and pottery and textiles. There’s room for antique dealers specializing in the arts. Then in some of those larger places, someone could have flea market and craft items for the less wealthy. An ice cream parlor! Wouldn’t that be fabulous?”
“Would I have to serve artichoke hearts and radicchio?”
She heard the sarcasm and shrugged it off. “Men would love your place with the dark paneling and steaks and hearty fare. Someone else would have to open a tea room for the women. And a bakery! With traditional Southern desserts — mud pies!” She drooled of dream heaven. “There’s room for all kinds.”
“I’m glad to know there’s still room for me. In the meantime, don’t you think you ought to be putting together some kind of business plan? You can’t continue operating on a song and a prayer if you expect to make a profit.”
Maya wrinkled up her nose. “You and Selene sound just alike. Where’s the room for creativity in a business plan?” She turned and nearly bumped her nose into his chest. She looked upward but couldn’t read his bland expression.
Axell stepped backward, putting more distance between them. “I’m amazed Selene knows the definition of ‘business plan.’ Are you going to look at the rest of the place?”
“Selene has vision, which is more than I can say for most people,” Maya said pointedly, traipsing across the front room and aiming for the back.
“I don’t know a damned thing about art galleries,” he called after her, “except they can’t possibly be profitable. People have to eat and wear clothes. That’s where the money is. You’ll have a hell of a time finding a market for the inventory your sister left.”
“Admittedly, there are better places to sell enlightened art than this two-bit backwater, but the city is out there. We just have to reach it.” Maya peered out the back bedroom windows overlooking an alley. She’d prefer trees and grass, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was better than Cleo had before.
“The people here are more practical than the dilettantes in the city with more money than sense,” Axell argued from behind her.
“And beauty isn’t practical.” She carried her bulk to the narrow galley and shrugged off the comparison with Axell’s enormous state-of-the-art kitchen. Well, at least the place came furnished with a stove so she wouldn’t have to move that abomination from Cleo’s home.
“I didn’t say that,” he answered grumpily. “I just said you’ll have a hard time selling it out here.”
She was avoiding looking at him. She wasn’t much on self-analysis, but generally she didn’t avoid looking at people. She didn’t usually argue with them either. Maybe some of his distancing technique was rubbing off on her.
Reluctantly, Maya turned and caught Axell’s gaze. He seemed startled but this time refrained from backing away, although she saw the wariness behind his eyes.
“Well, I can’t sell groceries, and I’m not much of a cook, so I guess I’m stuck with Cleo’s inventory for now. I’ll just have to make it work.”
With this admission of her weaknesses, Axell crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter, master of all he surveyed. “I think in your own best interests, we need to form a partnership,” he announced.