Marrying an Older Man.

Arlene James.

Chapter One.

.Happy birthday, baby!" Irene called, her burgundy-colored hair flowing in the wind as she hung out the window, her rolling yacht of a car backing out into the street.

The old hulk had once been a luxury automobile, but thirty years had reduced it to desperation status. Neither comfortable nor mechanically sound, it tended ta rock down the road in a slightly sideways orientation, not unlike Irene herself, if it moved at all. Irene didn't seem to know or care that her transportation was questionable at best She was on her way to sunny California at last! Caroline didn't doubt that she'd get there, one way or another. She just didn't want to think about what "another way" might entail for her devil-may-care mother.

Smiling and waving, she gave Irene an enthusiastic send-off, Hot that she was glad to see her mother go. Heavens, no. But she'd held Irene here at the foot of the snowy Colorado Rockies for four long years now, the longest stretch of time they'd ever spent in one place, and today was her twenty-first birthday, frene had not abandoned an underage, ill-equipped child who still clung to the tail of her mother's skirt-or miniskirt, in'Irene's case.

Indeed, any who knew them would have said that sober, serious Caroline and flighty, irresponsible Irene had traded roles, if not bodies, years ago, and frankly, Caroline was as tired of riding herd on her vibrant, often-foolish mother as Irene was tired of her doing so. No, even if die circ.u.mstances weren't ideal, it was, nevertheless, time that they each got on with their respective lives. But Caroline would miss that zany sense of humor, the bad-as-I-want-to-be fashion taste, the color-of-the-month hair, the indomitable delight in every moment of life.

Blinking away tears, Caroline backed into the house and closed the door, chilled by the sharp edge of the wind. November 11 had dawned clear and cold, but a strong wind was driving clouds against the peaked tops of the surrounding mountains. Durango would see snow again soon, unless she missed her guess, and after four enthralled years, she seldom did. It was the snow that Irene had come to abhor, and this year the white stuff was so abundant that the ski resorts had opened weeks ahead of schedule, and the snowplows were working overtime already to keep the roads clear. Caroline loved the stuff. The house never seemed so cozy as it did when the snow was piled up outside. True, it got old at times, and she recognized the danger in it, but it was part of home.

Her landlady, Nancy Shaver, was sitting on the shabby sofa bed that had been, until this very morning, Caroline's bedroom. She sipped carefully from a mug of hot coffee spiked with whiskey, having toasted Caroline's birthday and Irene's long-coveted independence. "That mother of yours," she said, grinning and shaking her head, "I am sure going to miss her."

Caroline smiled and eased down onto one arm of the rickety chair beneath the front window. "Me, too. But it'll be okay. I'm old enough to fend for myself, and she's going to be happy in California, I know. As for you, you'll be married to Bud soon."

Nancy's brown eyes sparkled at the mention of the middle-aged trucker she was set to wed. "His divorce will be final December third," she confided, as if she hadn't announced the same every day for two months now. "But Buddy won't get in watil the sixth, and he's only got two days then, so we're waiting until the fourteenth so we can have a real honeymoon. Five days in Vegas!" Her happy sigh turned to a belligerent frown, and she added, "If that witch woman doesn't throw a kink into the works again. It'd be just like her to try it, too. I swear, I don't know how Bud stood her all those years. Well, actually, I do. He just stayed on the road all the time. But you know what? He's not leaving me sitting home without him. I'm going on the road with him! Maybe I'll even get my commercial license, so we can be, like, a team, you know?"

Caroline nodded, even though she didn't understand how the thought of wandering around the country in a "big rig" all the time could appeal to Nancy, no more than she understood die appeal of the man wirn whom Nancy was evidently In love. Stocky, balding and inconveniently married, Bud was die last sort of man Caroline would be interested in herself, but Nancy had always puzzled Caroline in mat way. A while ago Nancy had been seeing a handsome widower named Jesse Wagner, a cowboy. He'd come and gone as he pleased, occasionally spending die night. After mat had ended Nancy began seeing every man who'd shown die least interest in her. Then one night she'd brought home Bud, and mat, as rney say, was dial. Caroline was still bemused by die whole tiling, but it really wasn't any of her business, not that she could have missed die goings-on, living in die same house, so to speak. It just seemed incredible to Caroline dial any woman would not prefer Jesse Wagner to...well, to any orner man. G.o.d knew he'd been secretly taking center stage in her dreams since she'd first glimpsed him through die window curtains. She just couldn't imagine a more attractive candidate for whatever a girl might have in mind.

Gradually, she became aware tiiat Nancy had a real case of die fidgets, one finger going around and around and around die rim of her coffee cup. Obviously she had something more on her mind. Caroline c.o.c.ked her head thoughtfully. "Something bom-ering you, Nance?"

The older woman grimaced and hunched forward over her coffee cup. "This isn't a good time. It'll wait."

"Don't be silly. If you need to talk to me, talk." Caroline chuckled, "You aren't going to raise my rent, are you?"

"No, honey, it's not mat. It's...well, since I'm going on the road with Bud, we've, um, decided to put the duplex up for sate."

Caroline blinked at the news.

"You're going to give up the house?"

"We want to buy our own rig," Nancy explained apologetically. "You can make good money driving for yourself, but the divorce is costing Buddy big money. Selling the house will give us a good down payment and a little cushion, too. You understand how it is."

But Caroline didn't understand. Never having had her own home, it seemed inconceivable to Caroline that Nancy could so blithely give up hers, but then home was about more than a simple structure. Some deep, innate instinct told her that it took something more, something that had always been missing in her life, perhaps even in herself.^ Whatever it was, it was sure missing in Irene. Her mother was a real gypsy, roaming from one place to another with the slightest encouragement. No doubt Irene had known that Nancy intended to sell the duplex. She and Nancy were thick as thieves, after all. Then again, maybe she was being unfair. Caroline slid down into the seat of the chair and leaned forward, hands clasped together atop her knees. "I suppose you spoke to Mama about this?"

Nancy nodded sorrowfully. "She felt it'd be best to leave it alone for a while, until you got used to being on your own."

And you gave me all of five minutes, Caroline mused. Well, better now than later. She licked her lips. "Are you saying I should move out?"

"Oh, no!" Nancy shook her bleached head. "Not right away. Why the house could take months to sell, and you never know, the new owner might want to keep things jusf like they are. You might not have to move at all, though Bud says it's possible that a buyer would want to convert this old house back to a-single-family dwelling. But we don't know that, do we? No, I just thought you should be prepared for some changes, is all.1'

Caroline sighed. When had her life not been Ml of changes? Just once, for a little while, she would like to be bored to tears by the very sameness of her existence. But maybe no one's life was really like that, no one she knew, anyway. "I'm sure it'll all work out," she said, because, somehow, it always did. Who knew? A new owner might very well keep the duplex as it was. Better yet, a new owner might actually paint the place or fix the leaky faucet in the bathtub or put carpet down over the cracked and curling linoleum. After all, anything was possible.

Now that the bad news had been delivered, Nancy relaxed back onto the lumpy sofa and sipped her spiked coffee as if she hadn't just added monumentally to Caroline's worries. "So what are you going to do now, sugar? Your mama said you might get a loan to finish college."

Caroline shook her head. Accounting was a good field, but it had never inspired any great enthusiasm in her. Nothing did, really, except... She shook her head again. Dreaming was one thing, pipe dreams were something else altogether. Some people just weren't meant for some things, things like real families with two parents happy to see each other at the end of a day, children too secure and comfortable to worry about anything more than homework and team sports. She turned off the thought and said, "Actually, I'm looking for another job."

"What's wrong with the one you've got?"

"For one thing, it's part-time, and for another, I just need something more fulfilling than keeping books. I want something more-oh, I don't know-domestic, I guess."

Nancy's eyes went round, and she sloshed coffee onto her black pants. Wiping it absently with the tips of her fingers, she confided, "You know, it's a funny thing you should say that. I have a good friend who's looking for someone to help his mother with housework and cooking."

Caroline perked up. "Really? Would it be full-time?"

"Yes, I think so. No, I'm sure of it I remember him saying that because of her arthritis, she's just not up to doing everything that needs doing on a ranch, like feeding the hands every day."

"It's on a ranch?" Caroline said, practically bouncing up and down in her seat. My, mat sounded grand. She'd always wondered what it would be like to actually own a hunk of ground, to know that one piece of the world was yours.

"That's right," Nancy said, her gaze skittering away. "You know what? I probably shouldn't have said anything. My friend, he likes to keep his business quiet, you know, and, um, he's planning to advertise in the paper, so-"

"Well, if he's planning to advertise, then he wants it known, right?" Caroline pointed out.

Nancy ignored the question and fluffed her hair, still not meeting Caroline's gaze, and in that instant, Caroline's heart literally stopped. Not him! Oh, G.o.d, let it be him, she whispered silently. She swallowed convulsively.

"You are going to tell me who he is, aren't you, Nancy?" she asked softly.

' 'I really shouldn't," Nancy muttered, finding something in the corner of the room unaccountably interesting.

Caroline's heart pounded so hard that it felt as if someone had mumped her in the chest. She took a deep, silent, calming breath. "You know I'm a good cook and housekeeper," she prodded gently, "and I am the soul of discretion. You know that"

Nancy smiled at that, one corner of her mouth turning up wryly. "That's true." She quickly spirited her gaze away again, however, sweeping it around the small room, one end of which was a tiny kitchen. Caroline knew what she saw. The place was shabby but spotless and organized within an inch of its existence, and mat was her doing and hers alone. Irene was satisfied if she could find the bed under her clothes at night, but Caroline craved order and personalization. A nester, Irene always said of her. Caroline waited, a litany playing on a looped reel inside her head. Please G.o.d. Please G.o.d. Please G.o.d.

Finally Nancy turned back to her with a little shrug. "What the heck. I'd be doing him a good turn. He couldn't get better help than you."

Cautious relief filled Caroline. "Thank you."

Nancy waved away the thanks with a languid sweep of her many-ringed fingers. "It's Jesse Wagner."

Caroline reeled. Excitement sang through her veins. J&rnk You, G.o.d! Thank You, thank You! It must be fated that they should meet at last.

"You've probably seen him around," Nancy confessed. "You know, that tall, good-looking cowboy that used to come by all the time."

Caroline strove mightily to maintain her composure. Clearing her throat, she said as casually as she could manage, "Yeah, I think I've seen him. The one who drives that red and black truck?"

"That's the one," Nancy confirmed. "He has a ranch just south of town. Lives there with his parents. His mama, she's got arthritis real bad, apparently. Anyway, Jesse said she'd finally agreed that she had to have some help, and so he's going to put this ad in the paper. Or he was. Maybe he won't have to now."

"You think he'll hire me, then?"

"I don't see why not. He'd be a fool not to, and one thing Jess Wagner is not is a fool, let me tell you."

"He seems thoughtful of his mother," Caroline said carefully.

"Oh, yes. Always tias been. That's why we never publicly..." Nancy's face actually colored as she followed the thought to its natural conclusion. "Well, of course we wouldn't What Imean is, he's the discreet kind, you know? A real old-fashioned sort of gentleman, if you follow me. He has his needs like every other man, but he likes to handle them privately. You understand."

Caroline understood all right. Even if she hadn't been privy to Nancy's business over the past four years, she'd have her mother to thank for a wealth of such knowledge as Nancy alluded to. Far too many men who couldn't lay the slightest claim to old-fashioned gentlemanliness had wandered in and out of Irene Monc-ton's life. That was precisely the reason Caroline had kept herself clear of involvements. So far.

But Jesse Wagner was a discreet gentleman who considered his mother's feelings ahead of his own. She felt wanned by the information and hopeful in a way she couldn't explain even to herself. She crossed her long, slender legs. "Tell me more about this old-fashioned sort of gentleman-just so I can have the inside track on the job."

Nancy lifted a heavily penciled eyebrow. "Well, he's all man, for one thing, and he seems to have pretty deep pockets, too. At least, he's generous." She sat forward suddenly. "Listen, kid, I'd say I'd give him a call and put in a good word for you, but he wouldn't like that See, he told me right from the beginning that he never wanted his family to know about our-" she paused for several heartbeats then concluded "-friendship."

Caroline was glad to know that he'd dealt honestly with Nancy from the start "I understand," she said, encouraging Nancy to go on with an indulgent nod of her sleek blond head.

Nancy obliged, settling back and drawing her feet up beneath her. "You must think I'm pretty soft in the head, going for an arrangement like that, but the truth is, I get sick and tired of all the lies and games. With Jesse you know where you stand, and that's worth something, believe me. Besides, he definitely gives as good as he gets. Oh, I know that I was nothing more than a convenience for him on one hand, but on the other, he's been a good friend."

"I'm glad," Caroline said, and she was,- knowing too well how many ways a man could take advantage of a woman without once giving anything in return. Hie only time Irene ever got down in the dumps and weepy was over some man who'd done her wrong. Of course, in all fairness, Irene had broken her share of hearts, and a few of them had belonged to men whom Caroline had genuinely liked. She had never understood why her mother chose as she did. It was as if the good ones bored her silly.

"I can't tell you how many times Jesse's come to my rescue," Nancy was saying. "I broke my ankle once, and when he found out about it, he paid my hospital bills, because he knew I didn't have any insurance. And he's had my car fixed." She pointed at Caroline, certain she would remember this next example. "That time the heater went out, about two years ago..." Caroline nodded. "It was Jesse who arranged to have it repaired for us." Nancy sighed and shook her head. "He's one of a kind, mat man, but he's not for me, and well I know it, too. And mat's why I never let myself settle on him, you know? Besides, he's still in love with that wife of his-and her dead a decade or more." Nancy sent Caroline a sage, knowing look. "Now that's real love for you. Real love and a real man."

Caroline didn't doubt it, but was he really still "in love" with his late wife after all these years? It didn't seem possible to her. Oh, of course he should love her memory and hold close to his heart all that they'd meant to each other, but it seemed to her mat being "in love" meant something else altogether. One could love from a distance without ever having one's feelings reciprocated, but being "in love" meant being concerned, if not consumed, minute by minute with the need to hear and touch and experience firsthand the object of one's affections. At least it seemed so to her. Put like that, the bald truth was that she'd loved Jess Wagner for a long while now but from a secondhand kind of distance. She couldn't help wondering if she might not tumble headlong in love with him given enough proximity. And, if so, might not he do the same with her? Well, she wouldn't know unless she got that job, would she? And why shouldn't she have that job? She was perfect for it, and it was perfect for her. Now if she could just convince him of that.

He wouldn't know her, of course. At least, if he'd ever noticed her peeking through the curtains at him, he'd certainly never given any sign of it, and if he had, she doubted he'd have even bothered to ask about her. Certainly he wouldn't have made note of her name if Nancy had ever bothered to mention it. No, she was a stranger to him for certain. Well, she'd just have to arrange an introduction.

What was the worst thing that could happen, after all? He'd simply tell her that he wasn't going to hire her, and that would be that. Somehow, though, she didn't believe that was going to happen. Somehow she knew in her heart that this was meant to be. It just felt right. He felt right. In fact, he was exactly what she wanted in a man. He was mature and responsible, generous, thoughtful, and he had a constant heart, an obvious feeling for family and a respect for women that was too often missing in males of her acquaintance. And he was gorgeous, with that wavy chestnut hair, square jaw, strong features and straight white teeth. She wondered what color his eyes were. She'd never seen him up close enough to tell, but it didn't matter, not with the breadth of his shoulders and the way he filled out a pair of jeans. She shivered just thinking about him. He had to be well over six feet tall, a big man with big hands and feet, a real man's man, but he would know how to treat a woman. Oh, yes, he would.

She realized suddenly that she was smiting and that Nancy was looking at her with an intense puzzlement. Self-consciously she smoothed down hair as straight and fine as corn silk and said, "Well, this is a stroke of good luck, I'm sure. Perhaps if I apply for the job before he has time to get it in the paper, I'll have a , better chance. What do you think?"

Nancy shrugged and lifted her coffee cup. "Just be sure you tell him privately how you came to know of it."

Caroline nodded. Yes, indeed, very privately. She picked up the now cold cup of coffee she'd left earlier on the battered side table and saluted Nancy with it, silently wishing herself a happy birthday or at least a successful one, for this very morning she meant to apply for a job.

Jesse hunched his shoulders against a razor-sharp wind. This was nothing, of course, compared to what it would be in a few weeks' time, but today it seemed to cut through his heavy flannel jacket, flannel shirt and undershirt to whip his skin with shivers. Time to get out the insulated long Johns. Seemed like he was breaking them out earlier every year. Before long he'd be dragging them out at the end of summer, just like his father. He was standing on the edge of thirty-eight, but some days it felt more like sixty-eight, like when the wind whipped down out of the Rockies and cut him to bits. Clamping a hand down over the crown of his serviceable old brown felt hat, he ducked his chin below the turned-up edge of his collar and moved briskly toward the house.

He. hadn't taken ten steps before he realized what he should have seen the moment he left the barn. Company was parked in me rutted, snow-curbed drive just outside the welded pipe fence enclosing the tight, two-story house where he lived with his parents. He didn't recognize the car, and yet something about it struck a chord with him. It looked like nothing so much as a big, battered tin cup on roller skates, and if it had ever been painted, the color had long ago worn to a dull, dirty gray. As he strode closer, the driver's side door creaked open and what looked like every high school quarterback's dream come true got out and waved a hand at him.

She had pale gold, waist-length hair, long, long legs encased in black leggings that disappeared beneath a cheap, fake rabbit fur coat topped by the face of an angel. "Handsome, you lucky dog," Jesse muttered, for who else could she be here to see but the young cowboy he'd taken on at the beginning of the summer? He stepped up and nodded, not offering his hand because she looked about sixteen. "Can I help you?"

To his surprise, she stepped forward and reached out her own long, slender hand to him. "I'm Caroline Moncton, Mr. Wagner. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He took her pale, cold hand in his own gloved one and shook it. She had a good strong grip for a girl, and mottled blue-and-green eyes, lavishly lashed, that were downright dangerous. He took his hand back and tucked it away. "Handsome* s down at the barn. You're welcome to go down and-"

"I beg your pardon?"

He chuckled, figuring he knew what the problem was. "I meant Jerry, Jerry Harris. We call him Handsome Harris around here because of all the g- Well, he seems to have some sort of appeal we haven't figured out yet"

She c.o.c.ked her head and scooped straight silk out of her eyes. "I didn't come here to see anyone called Handsome Harris," she said. "I came to see you."

"Me?" Now that was a surprise. Who the devil was Caroline Moncton? "I'm afraid I can't imagine what you'd have to see me about."

"The fact is, I want a job."

His mouth dropped open. Shades of Kara Detmeyer Wagner! According to his brother and what Jess had seen himself, his new sister-in-law was as able a cowboy as any man who'd ever sat astride a horse, but at least she looked the part, dressing in jeans and boots, hat and work shirts. Rye swore she was more at ease in chaps and rough-out gloves than skirts and flounces, but he'd hinted---unnecessarily-that what was underneath was all woman. This gal was all girl from die outside in. He couldn't believe she was interested in cowboying. He huddled down into his coat "Honey, I don't know what notion you've got rattling around inside that pretty little head of yours, but ranching's rough work, besides which I don't have an open spot, not that I'd take you on if I did. I mean, I'm all for women's lib or feminism, whatever you want to call it, but there are just some things the average five-foot, four-inch female can't manage, and wrestling balky steers is one of them."

She stared at him without discernible expression for several seconds, and then she bowed her head, giving him the distinct impression that she was hiding a smile. When she looked up again, however, no such thing was in evidence. "Number one," she said, throwing up a hand to tick the numbers off her fingers, "I'm five-five, not five-four. Number two, I'm not interested in wrestling balky steers or any other kind. Number three, don't call me honey unless you mean it. And number four, nothing rattles around inside my head, thank you. I have a brain in there, quite a good one, if I do say so myself. Now, shall we start all over, or would you like to go on from here?''

He didn't quite know which option to take. He was, in fact, having trouble keeping up. His brain didn't seem to want to move past point one. A quip about an inch only making a difference in certain bed sports came to mind, but he rejected it instantly. She was just a kid, for pity's sake, a bright, determined one, by all indications, but a kid, nonetheless. It just wouldn't do to go crossing tongues with some little high school cutie. He laughed at the very thought. Cute was a deal short of the truth. This little gal was a beauty, all the more reason to mind his manners. He cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. "How do you do? Jesse Wagner."

Her smile was electrifying, and he hadn't imagined the solid grip. "Caroline Moncton," she said, "and I heard that you need a housekeeper and a cook, someone to help out your mother because her arthritis has gotten bad. I'm here to apply for the position."

He stood staring at her for a long moment before he realized mat he still held her hand in his. Then he coughed, reclaiming Ms own hand to cover his mouth, and tried to mink how to let her down easy. She was about the last thing he'd envisioned when contemplating someone to help out his mother, but he was smart enough not to say so. No doubt he'd get his ears pinned again. No, he'd have to play this one by the book. "Well, uh, what experience do you have?"

"On, about ten years of keeping house and making meals. I'm a good cook. Everyone says so. And I have my own system for keeping up the housework."

She was serious, very. Suddenly he remembered her saying, Don't call me honey unless you mean it. She was serious about that, too, but he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the implications. Instead, he forced himself to think about the issue at hand. "Your own system? You want to explain that?"

She went on to carefully, concisely explain how she intended to keep his house in order. The funny thing was that it sure sounded workable to him, but then what did he know about it? The only thing he'd ever done that could remotely be considered housework was dropping his dirty clothes in the hamper and rustling up the occasional snack. He'd learned to make a halfway decent breakfast lately, but that was only because it took his mom so long to get limbered up and in working order of a morning. But that was painting it too bright. What pa.s.sed for working order for his poor mother these days was being able to get around and tolerate the pain at the same time. She sure needed help. In fact, he had an ad coming out in next Sunday's paper.... Wait a minute, that ad hadn't even been published yet! He narrowed his eyes, knowing full well that when he did so the blue leeched out to leave them a cold, steel gray. Something fishy was going on here, and little Miss Moncton was holding the pole.

"Where did you say you heard about this job?"

She grimaced at that, waving a hand helplessly. "I, um, didn't, and I'm not sure you really want me to."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," he pointed out sharply.

She shrugged and glanced over her shoulder at the steeply roofed ranch house. "All right," she said in a you-asked-fbr-it voice. "Nancy Shaver told me."

Jess felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "N-Nancy?" His mind whirled suddenly. "Uh-huh. I may have mentioned it to Nancy. Just how do you know her, anyway?"

Caroline Moncton licked her lips, full, bow-shaped lips that he now realized were devoid of artificial color. That dusky, rosy red was natural, for heaven's sake. She looked down at her toes and said, "Well, you might say I live in the same house. She's my landlady."

He let that sink in. "You mean you live in the other side of the duplex."

"That's right."

He had one more all-important question. "How long?"

Her head came up, her wide, blue-and-green eyes meeting his unflinchingly. "Just over four years now."

She knew. There wasn't any doubt about it. He felt his face heating, the tips of his ears glowing white-hot in the cold breeze. This innocent and wholesome-looking child knew all about the most private part of his life. He saw the certain knowledge there in her angel's face. Embarra.s.sment churned in his stomach and burned up his throat. "I see."

She actually reached out a hand toward him, brushing his sleeve with her fingertips. Oddly, it felt like a gesture of comfort "I wouldn't want you to think that Nancy betrayed a confidence. It wasn't like that at all. She never so much as mentioned your name before, but I need a job and you need help, and Nancy realized that this is just the sort of thing I'm best at. The way I see it, she did us both a favor."

He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, trying to catch all die implications of this news. One thing was sure, Nancy didn't owe him a thing, not even silence, but he'd maintained the connection for so long precisely because she'd kept it so completely to herself. He knew mat she wouldn't have mentioned him now if she did not honestly believe that she was doing him a favor. For the first time, he had to take Miss Moncton seriously, and that irritated him. He couldn't say why exactly, but it did. Suddenly a new thought occurred. "You wouldn't be trying td force my hand here, would you?"

She stared at him, her jaw slowly lowering as understanding turned to outrage. "No!"

"How do I know--"

"I could have spread it around a long time ago, if I'd wanted to!" she snapped. "It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out why you were slipping in and out at odd hours of the day and night!"