Enlisted by Love (3 page)

“I don't think I can help him,” she began. Maybe if she blamed it on herself and not him. “I don't think our visions are simpatico.”

Tess narrowed her eyes. “When you start talking about
vision
and
simpatico
, I know that you're just trying to rationalize your dislike for the task at hand. Face it, we could use the job.”

Uh-oh. Tess had invoked the
we
pronoun. That did not bode well for Greta. Unfortunately, the ultimate truth of Tess's argument also did not bode well for Greta.

“I don't take on jobs for painful clients.” Greta tried to look pathetic and put-upon, but she knew she wasn't very good at it. Besides, her argument wasn't exactly true, and they both knew it. It wasn't possible to make a living without painful clients. Which meant Tess was well ahead on points.

“Colonel Blake seems perfectly nice,” Tess said, tactfully, not directly calling Greta a liar, nor pointing out that she was winning the argument and Greta should just stop fighting and accept defeat no matter how unpalatable.

“You're in love,” Greta said, which was the ultimate trump card and one she did not hesitate to play. “Everyone seems perfectly nice to you.”

Tess did not even respond to that allegation. Instead, she said, “Colonel Blake has a very generous expense account.”

Greta looked up at Tess and saw the worry in her sister's brown eyes. Michael made a good living, and Tess didn't do too badly either, but raising a family was expensive and with both of them basically self-employed, money could come in erratically. Tess's daughter, Belinda, had special needs and was enrolled in an expensive private school to help her build her skills, so Tess worried constantly about finances. And business
had
been slow since Greta's surgery because of the time she'd taken off and the difficulty of visiting sites during her recovery period. Business would improve, but not if she turned down clients only because she found them too attractive for her own good.

“It had better be a huge expense account,” Greta warned, hating the worry in Tess's eyes. “And you're going to be the one who deals with Mr. Blake.” Wasn't that what partners were for?

“Deal,” Tess said, and stuck out her hand to shake. The look of relief on her face gave Greta a pang. She knew it wasn't just about money. It was that Mr. Blake was Michael's best friend. Tess wanted to please her husband-to-be by sorting things out for his best friend. Greta knew full well that Michael would be surprised to find out that his simple request — “please talk to your sister” — had caused Tess so much anxiety. It was ridiculous. But Greta remembered being young enough to want to please a man. She would never be that young again. Or that much of a naïf.

Of course, being old and cynical wasn't working all that well, either. If she was young and naive, she would be spending her days in romantic reveries about his gray eyes and the way they crinkled up at the corners. Smiling over the way he ran his hand through his hair as if he still expected it to be there even after all those years of crew cuts. Wondering what it would be like if he kissed her —

That was not the point. Greta marshaled her wayward thoughts and put her mind to solving the problem at hand. Mr. Blake. The only solution was to make Tess do as much of the work as possible and get the project done as quickly as could be. That, in fact, would not be a bad strategy for all of her projects.

She turned to her sister. “You can start by getting the dimensions of the rooms down and taking pictures of the furniture he has in storage,” she said. Who knew? Maybe he had stumbled onto something good. But she didn't plan to go look herself. That was what assistants, not to mention little sisters, were for. “He wants to use the pieces he's picked up in his travels.” She did not say that she had, or would, agree to do so. But she needed to start somewhere and seeing what he had collected would give her a sense of just how much work it was going to be to produce an effective, elegant design.

“Ooh,” Tess said, eyes shining. She was bouncing on the bed again. “That'll be fun! I wonder what he's got — ”

Greta would bet good money that his collection included a fine selection of dashboard hula girls and at least one object made of coconut shells. Tess caught Greta's look and said more soberly, “I'll give him a call and make arrangements.”

“Find out what his purpose is,” Greta said. That was usually Greta's job, but it meant spending time with the client discussing his or her vision and planning how to achieve it, and Greta had no intention of being in Mr. Blake's company for that amount of time. A vision of succumbing to temptation rose in her mind.

Stop that.

“I'm not very good at client relations,” Tess said doubtfully.

“Nonsense,” said Greta, giving her an encouraging smile and patting her hand. Tess could hardly balk now that Greta had capitulated. “It will be excellent practice for you.”

“Uh huh,” Tess said, then brightened. “So I guess I can tell Michael everything's all set.” She paused and added, “Do you want me to let Colonel Blake know, too?”

“Yes,” Greta said before Tess had even finished the sentence. She was not now, nor ever, going to be eager to let him know he had won.

“I appreciate your doing this,” Tess said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“I'll try to suffer through somehow,” Greta agreed. “But between this and that maid of honor thing, you and Michael will be indebted to me for life.”

“That's just the way you like it,” Tess said. She glanced at her watch, made a sound of frustration, then scrambled off the bed. “I have an appointment with the florist.”

Greta watched as Tess scrounged through her bag for her keys. Every bride needed someone to restrain her when it came to floral arrangements. But Michael was busy, Greta knew, trying to get enough work done that he could take off two weeks for the honeymoon that he and Tess — not to mention Belinda — were planning, to celebrate the creation of their new family. She eyed her sister. She was not to be trusted buying flowers on her own.

“Great!” Tess said when Greta pointed this out. “You can help me decide about boutonnieres.”

“Terrific,” Greta murmured, sliding off the bed. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Ian looked at the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who was standing in the middle of his living room. Tess, Michael's fiancée and, as it turned out, Greta's sister. It didn't seem possible — she was the complete opposite of Greta. She sort of looked like she might read his fortune. Maybe she could tell him how things would turn out with Greta. Somehow he doubted anyone could guess the answer to that.

She wasn't at all what he had expected when Michael said he had a fiancée. Someone like Greta would have made more sense. But then Ian would have had to steal Greta from Michael, and that was the kind of thing that tended to cause bad feelings all around, so it was a good thing Michael had done the unexpected.

Just an hour ago, she, Tess, had called him to share the good news, giving him a convoluted story about Greta finding room in her schedule to decorate his house after all. He suspected the sudden opening had to do with Michael and Tess convincing Greta to make the opening. When he'd asked to talk to Greta, Tess had hesitated and said, “I don't think that's a good idea,” which was as maddening as it was intriguing. When did an interior decorator decline to talk to a newly acquired client?

And because he'd obviously lost his mind in his transition to the civilian world, he'd said, “Oh, okay.” But that was only until he could regroup, determine the reason for Greta's change of heart, and develop a new strategy for dealing with her.

Tess, standing in his living room, pushed her dark curls away from her face, her armful of silver bracelets chiming musically at the movement. “I'm just going to take measurements and check out the furniture you have in storage.” She dug a sketchbook out of her bag and flipped open the book. She began to work, asking him occasional questions about the house's construction but mostly chattering about Michael, and how Michael talked a lot about Ian, and she was glad she had a chance to get to know Ian. Unlike Greta, Tess appreciated him.

Ian followed her from room to room and helped her take measurements that she meticulously noted in her book. She sketched the placement of the windows and doors, recording all the features — ceiling and wall fixtures, even the placement of light switches and electrical outlets. Then she took a digital camera from her bag and took photos, too. Finally, she put all her possessions away in the bag, which he regarded with some awe (how did everything fit in there?). Then she pulled her car keys from the bag and gave him an expectant look.

He looked back at her, puzzled. Now what?

“Part two of my reason for being here,” she reminded him. “Furniture in storage?”

Right. Furniture. “I'm storing the stuff at the Public Storage building on 23rd Street,” he said.

“I'll meet you over there,” she said, heading for the door.

“Sure,” he said, realizing she was done here. “You bet. Meet you over there.” His fault for not noticing how efficient she was despite her appearance. A man expected
Greta
to be efficient, but not Tess. He wondered if, in addition to efficiency, Greta shared her sister's warmth. He wanted to find out. It might be dangerous.

Ian rubbed his hands together briskly. Just what he needed to make the transition to civilian life interesting.

He realized he was alone in his living room. He grabbed his keys, then ran to catch up with Tess as she swayed down the sidewalk. In a few strides, he was at her side. “I can drive, save you the trip,” he said, indicating his sedan parked in the driveway.

“Sure,” she answered, putting her keys away.

If only it would be that easy to get Greta to go along with him.

• • •

Greta smoothed the pink silk dress over her flat tummy and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the dressing room wall. Refined. Polished. Sophisticated. Tess, staring over her shoulder, was a somewhat discordant element with her wayward curls and jangling bracelets, not to mention the brightly patterned outfit she was wearing. Greta sighed. She'd been shopping at the same clothing boutique for years. She wore the same size she always had. Her traditional, elegant style hadn't changed much, either. Simple, classic, timeless.

She was sick of it. She wanted something tight-fitting, low-cut, and short. In electric blue.

She shook her head. She did not. That was merely an infantile response to a trying day.

“That looks nice,” Tess offered.

Nice
. Greta resisted the impulse to shred the material with her bare hands. She repressed a low growl of frustration.

“I hate this color,” she said, despite the fact that she owned at least three outfits of the exact same shade. Or possibly because of it.

“At least I'm not asking you to wear a bow on your butt,” Tess soothed. Her attempt to be diplomatic brought an unwilling smile to Greta's lips. It wasn't something Tess attempted very often. “Since it's just you and Belinda, I don't care what you wear,” Tess went on to say, making a gesture with her hand that encompassed the shop — and possibly all of the shops in the entire city — outside the dressing room. “I really don't care. Just try to avoid clashing with the bride.” She offered this last with her trademark grin. Since the bride was wearing an ivory confection she'd made herself, clashing with her would require a deliberate effort.

“Does Michael look gorgeous in his tux?” Greta asked wistfully, her mind moving automatically to the groom, who most definitely wasn't going to clash with the bride. She could just imagine him, tall and lean, looking fit and handsome, smiling that devastating smile at Tess. Though Greta had always known she and Michael were destined to be friends, she understood his romantic appeal perfectly. Michael had required Tess's healing skill, not hers, but every now and then she wished — well, she wished there was a man who would wear a tux for her. An image of Ian rose in her mind.

She immediately crushed the thought as an unworthy aberration. She wished no such thing. Not at all. She was overtired and imagining things. Clearly she hadn't gotten enough sleep last night. Fatigue, not loneliness, explained her out-of-sorts feeling this morning. Her life was perfect. She absolutely would not allow it to be otherwise.

“What is it, Greta?” Tess asked, putting a hand on Greta's arm. It had been the two of them for so long, since they were children. Then they had both married badly, but they had seen each other through. Now Tess was getting married again and changing everything. Nothing would ever be the same —

To Greta's horror, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away as quickly as she could and sniffed discreetly. Really, she was being more ridiculous today than she'd been the last ten years combined. When had change ever bothered her? Life was change. Otherwise you grew stagnant and boring.

“Greta?” Tess asked again, squeezing her arm.

“It's been just us for a long time,” Greta said, meeting Tess's eyes in the mirror. “I think I'm trying to adjust.” It was hard to admit, but at least she was now under enough control not to burst into tears.

Tess understood, bless her. She nodded solemnly. Tess trying to be solemn was about as effective as Tess trying to be angry, but the fact that she tried made Greta's spirits lift a little. “When I had Belinda, that didn't mean you and I stopped being a team or a family. She added to us, she didn't subtract or divide. Marrying Michael is the same. We're still just one family. We have Michael now, that's all.”

Tess spoke earnestly and despite her upset, Greta couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips. “I wonder what Michael would say if I asked you to share.”