Enlisted by Love (13 page)

She lifted her fork again, concentrating on the fact that at least the food was good. And wasn't there something to be said for having a dinner companion that wasn't
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
or whatever show was playing on HGTV?

The door to the small Thai restaurant opened, letting in a gust of cold air that attracted her attention, which wasn't difficult since she was desperate for a distraction. She looked over Donald's shoulder to see who had come in. She set her fork down with a clatter. Oh, yes.
That
was all the evening needed.

Ian sauntered into the narrow vestibule and said something to the host at the stand, which Greta could see from her table. The host nodded and went to speak to a passing waiter while Ian took a seat in the open waiting area. Clearly he didn't plan to stay — thank goodness — because there were a few unoccupied tables and he wasn't being shown to one of them. Greta watched him with narrowed eyes. An unappealing idea occurred to her. Perhaps he was waiting on a date to meet him. Well, what did she care if he was? He was probably the kind of man who'd date a bouncy twenty-something.

She was gritting her teeth again. Let him have all the twenty-somethings he wanted. She had Donald. This was not as bad as it sounded.

Ian glanced around the restaurant and she hastily turned her attention back to her plate. She hoped he wouldn't notice her. Donald's shoulders weren't quite broad enough to hide her from view.

“Someone you know?” Donald asked, momentarily interrupting his monologue on asset preservation techniques. He glanced over his shoulder to see what she'd been looking at. He assessed and dismissed Ian with a quick appraisal. Apparently Donald saw him as neither a potential rival for Greta's romantic attentions nor as a potential client in need of asset management.

“He's just a client of mine,” she said, forking up more pad thai, thinking that didn't quite express their relationship. Not that they had a relationship.

Grr.

She ate another bite of rice. She refused to give Ian any more attention. He would no longer take up any room in her brain. Let him date girls young enough to be his daughter. What woman of taste and discernment would have him? He did not deserve a moment of thought and she promised herself not to allot him so much as another second of speculation or interest. That promise didn't stop her from noticing when the waiter came out of the kitchen with a paper bag of carry-out. So he was going to have dinner with his television, not a twenty-two-year-old. Unless she happened to be on
Survivor
. Greta knew what that was like. She took most of her meals alone. The twinge of kinship startled her. Of course, he wouldn't be watching HGTV. No doubt he'd be tuned to ESPN. Why was she thinking about this?

She watched, chewing slowly, as Ian paid the waiter and walked to the door. It was only then he caught sight of her. She realized immediately that it was too late to look away. Since she was unwilling to snub him directly — he was a client after all — she nodded distantly at him. He paused, then stood a moment, as if he thought it would be rude to leave without speaking to her, though she would have had absolutely no problem with that course of action. She wished she could shoo him along in some subtle way but of course it would have been unprofessional to do that.

He took a few steps in their direction, stopping at a reasonable distance from their table to show he didn't intend to intrude. Since she'd been raised to be polite above all, she gritted her teeth (again; her jaw was starting to hurt) and said, “How are you, Ian?”

“Fine.” She made simple introductions between the men, which Ian acknowledged with a quick nod. Donald didn't say anything. Then Ian said, “Enjoy,” indicating her meal, and left the restaurant.

The encounter let her curiously deflated. Her nerves were on high alert around Ian and for the encounter to turn out to be so innocuous was somehow disappointing. She told herself she was thankful the interruption had been so trivial and forced herself to look away instead of watching his progress down the sidewalk, which she could see through the plate glass front window. Now she could focus on her companion. Her dreadfully boring companion. At least Ian was never boring. Insufferable, yes. Infuriating, indeed. But unlike her present companion, Ian was no cure for insomnia.

Unwillingly, she glanced out the front window of the restaurant again. Ian was halfway down the sidewalk, the bag swinging casually in his hand. Was he whistling? He was going to bring the food back to that big house and eat in the recliner all by himself, she knew. Why did that bother her? She ate alone at her kitchen table almost every night of her life and it hadn't hurt her yet. Turning a charming smile on Donald, she ruthlessly put Ian out of her mind.

• • •

Ian juggled the paper bag from Zen Zero, the keys Tess and Michael had given him, the uncooperative front door lock, and the frenzied barking of the dogs, who smelled food. Not for nothing had he retired as a lieutenant colonel; he knew how to handle multiple priorities. The lock finally yielded and he staggered inside.

The dogs immediately launched their offensive, but Ian was expecting it and held the food out of reach.

“Get down, Agnes,” he said. “You, too, Rufus.” But apparently he said it in such a way that no one believed he would do anything if they didn't behave. Which he wouldn't because he wasn't really a dog person and didn't know much about them. Except to keep the food out of reach.

“No, Blue!” he growled in his best take-charge voice, but no one said, “Yes, sir!” They just panted excitedly and wagged their tails.

The things he did for his friends. Pet-sitting. A man his age taking care of how many dogs?

He put the pad thai on top of the refrigerator and shooed the dogs outside into the fenced yard that contained their exuberance from spilling over onto the neighbors' yards. Then he took a deep breath and tried to remember what he was supposed to do.

He consulted the list Tess had helpfully put on the refrigerator under magnet that resembled a sewing machine. Right. Feed the dogs. He found the bowls where he had put them last, filled them with dry kibble, then made sure the water dishes were full. After that, he braced himself and let the dogs back in, watching as they fell over each other trying to get to the food.

“Relax, guys,” he said. “There's plenty for everyone.”

If they heard him, they gave no sign. Well, now he knew where the term
feeding
frenzy
had originated.

After a few moments of voracious wolfing — if he hadn't just fed them this morning, he would have sworn they were being starved to death — they settled into companionable munching, with occasional slurps from the water bowls and the occasional tussle for position in the hierarchy. After a few minutes, Ian thought it was safe enough to retrieve his own dinner. Only Agnes came over to investigate, and she was easily warded off.

He collapsed onto the sofa and reached for the remote, then opened the box containing his now-lukewarm dinner. He forked rice in his mouth while watching a lame reality show. Tess didn't have premium cable or a satellite dish. He had a great home theatre room at home, thanks to Greta, but here he was stuck in the land of the Luddites. Unfortunately, there were no good sporting events on broadcast television tonight. And Greta was out with the pompous windbag Ian had seen her with at Michael's wedding. He couldn't decide which was worse.

He could always turn off the television and read a book. His gaze strayed over to the bookshelf in the corner, stocked full of Disney titles and Little Golden books. They must belong to Tess's daughter. Tess and Michael's daughter, he should say, because Michael certainly seemed to think she was his. Belinda was a sweet kid. Despite — or maybe because of — her challenges, her cheerfulness and steadiness in dealing with her problems made her the kind of child anyone would be glad to claim.

He wondered why Greta had never had any children. She certainly doted on Belinda, from what he could see and what he heard in casual conversation with Tess and Michael. Had she just never found a man she wanted to make a family with?

What
did
Greta see in that pompous windbag? There was no sparky feuding between the two of them, he'd seen that right off. They were probably excruciatingly polite to each other.
May I request that you change the topic of conversation before I fall asleep in my soup? Please forgive me for being the world's longest-winded bore.

Agnes came over and rested her head on his knees. Absently he scratched the top of her head. Then with a subtle move he wasn't expecting, she nudged the box off his lap and onto the floor, then leapt delightedly on the contents, slurping up the last of his pad thai.

Women
, Ian thought, picking up the remains of the styrofoam container and tossing it in the trash. Canine or human, you never could figure them out. You never knew what they were going to do next. In the case of Greta, a man would go nuts just trying to figure out why she did anything she did. At least Agnes's actions, though unexpected, made sense. Put a dog and food together, and said dog would attempt to acquire said food.

Right. Fine. But Ian couldn't help feeling the lawyer was a personal affront. Greta could have a man like Ian — okay, not a man
like
Ian, she could have Ian himself — and yet she chose the lawyer? Why? And why did he think he should do something to save her from herself?

Thank heavens you're back
, Greta wanted to say the moment she saw Tess but she restrained herself. She should give her sister a minute to adjust to being back at work. It couldn't have been easy to go on a honeymoon with Belinda and Michael and make sure everyone got equal attention. The last thing she needed was someone else demanding her attention and time.

Even so, Greta uncharacteristically threw her arms around her little sister, artfully avoiding the cups of coffee she was carrying, and hugged her tightly. Then she let Tess up for air and asked, “Did you have a great time?”

“I was on vacation with a nine-year-old,” Tess said, setting her shoulder bag down. She handed a cup of coffee to Greta and kept the other for herself. Greta took the cup gratefully. It meant some things hadn't changed, even though everything had.

“But you had a good time?” she persisted. Someone should be having a good time, and since she herself seemed constitutionally incapable of it —

“I was on my honeymoon,” Tess said with a grin. “Yes, I had a good time.”

“TMI,” Greta said, holding up a hand.

“Too much information? I haven't given you
any
much information,” Tess protested, peeling the top off her coffee and taking a deep slug, then sighing in appreciation.

“But you're about to.” Greta didn't mind sharing her sister's joy in her life but she had to draw the line somewhere. There was such a thing as being obnoxiously happy and it was up to Greta to prevent Tess from straying into that territory.

Tess rolled her eyes and threw herself into the armchair next to the bed. The only reason she didn't throw herself on the bed as usual was because it was piled with Greta's laptop and files and other accoutrements.

“Been busy?” Tess asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess. Looking at the scattering the way someone like Tess might see it, Greta realized that she had let the work fill up every part of her life so that there was hardly any room for anything else.

With a guilty start she wondered if she'd have any time for Tess if Tess weren't part of the business.
Of course I would
, she reassured herself, but she hoped she was never forced to find out the truth.

Besides, work wasn't the only thing in her life. “I had a date while you were gone, I'll have you know.” She pronounced the words with satisfaction. There. Tess couldn't fault her for not getting out and socializing. She'd socialized. She wasn't all that eager to do it again soon but Tess didn't have to know that.

“Was it with Ian or that icky lawyer?” Tess asked. “Michael's mother felt compelled to invite him to the wedding for reasons I can't fathom.”

“What makes you think I would ever go on a date with Ian?” Greta demanded.

“Uh huh,” Tess said, slurping coffee. “So?”

“So?”

“So who was it?”

“The icky lawyer,” Greta said, not even the slightest bit compelled to defend the man. Defensiveness only served to fan the flames of Tess's curiosity, as Greta had years of experience to prove.

“Oh.” Tess sounded disappointed. She cocked her head and gave Greta a considering look. “Somehow I can't see you with him.”

Greta shook her head. Of course Tess could see them together. They matched perfectly well. Tess didn't
want
to see them together, and that was something different. She was probably envisioning Donald as an excruciatingly proper brother-in-law, so Greta set her mind at rest.

“Just because you're married doesn't mean I want to follow suit,” she pointed out. “There's nothing wrong with dating a companionable man without starting to plan which caterers to hire.”

“Right. A companion so you don't have to go to movies alone,” Tess said. “Because you go to so many movies. And you don't have any female friends, or even a sister, to go with you.”

“Precisely.”

Tess studied her for a moment. She took a sip of coffee, then blurted out, “I worry about you.”

“Me?” Greta asked, taken aback. When had anyone ever had to worry about her? Not for a long time, not since she'd finally left her husband and started building a new life, piece by piece, a life that didn't require anyone else in it for it to be complete. “You have nothing to worry about,” she assured her sister. “I'm not going to do anything foolish.”

“Precisely,” Tess said in a fairly good imitation of Greta's tone. “That's my point, Greta. You haven't cut loose in — wait, in all the time I've known you.” She grinned at Greta, but Greta knew her concern was serious. She also knew Tess would continue down this road unless Greta convinced her to stop.