Because of Francie Page 5

  She moved away from the skiing machine and stood at the edge of the kitchen counter. "Noah, I have a proposition for you."

  He almost laughed. But he didn't. She was dead serious. "Go on."

  She clasped her hands together in front of her. "I want to buy a share of the Gettysburg Roller-Fun."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Do you know what kind of money you're talking about?" Noah asked.

  "I have some saved," Francie said defensively. "I just hadn't decided how I wanted to invest it. Now I know. It would give you some liquidity." She smiled beguilingly. "And we'd both be happy."

  "So what you're saying is I should keep the rink, take the money you offer to pour into the business, and forget about selling."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "It doesn't sound good to me. What you could offer doesn't create the amount of cash flow I want. I need more than that to replace..." He caught himself. "I need more than that to revamp a few of the rinks."

  She gazed at him speculatively and he felt uncomfortable. He couldn't tell her Craig had embezzled more than the cost of the rink, enough to make Noah have to cut costs as much as he could and scrutinize his cash flow and profit margin carefully. That was made more difficult by the fact he now had Craig's territory to cover and less time to spend on everything else. Craig was basically an honest, decent man who'd found himself in a situation he couldn't handle. And Noah felt responsible. He wouldn't take on a partner again. He'd learned the hard way he should only depend on himself.

  "What's the real reason you won't accept my offer?" Francie pressed as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

  "Cash flow is the real reason."

  "Can't you be honest with me, Noah?"

  When she frowned, the same dimple appeared as when she smiled. He switched his attention from her face to the matter at hand. He could be honest, but she wasn't going to like his honesty. "The truth is I don't want another partner."

  "Why not?"

  He shrugged, hoping a simple explanation would do. "I work better solo."

  "Your partnership with Craig wasn't a success?"

  He should have known that Francie wouldn't accept simple. "My partnership with Craig is none of your business." It came out sharper than he intended, but Craig's dishonesty and betrayal still hurt. Noah wouldn't set himself up like that again. Put someone in the position to hurt you and chances were they would. You'd think he would have learned that too by now.

  Her eyes widened and emotion blazed there. She stepped closer to him and pointed her finger at his chest. "You don't know a good thing when you see it."

  The tip of her finger grazed his skin and a jolt of desire shot through him. Reflexively his arms went around her.

  Her sweater was as soft as it looked, her shoulders delicate but small, her hair glossy and thick as it fell down her back and teased his hands. She was a mixture of softness and fiery determination. He'd taken her by surprise, and for a moment she was uncharacteristically still. Her lips were a breath from his. He could smell her scent of roses made more exotic by her feminine sweetness. Her brown eyes were alive with surprise and he wondered if he saw a flare of passion.

  Francie in his arms was the stirring experience he'd expected it to be. As he imagined his lips touching hers, caressing hers, devouring hers...

  The warning system he'd developed over the years kicked in and the alarm was so loud it reverberated in his head. Kissing Francie would only lead to complications he didn't want or need.

  Instead of kissing her, he brought his hand to her face and slowly traced her lips with his forefinger. "I do know a good thing when I see it. Believe me."

  She seemed mesmerized, and he felt her tremble. She was as responsive as she was sensual.

  Then she blinked and backed away. Avoiding his gaze, she went to the door and put her hand on the knob. As she opened it, she said, "It was a good idea."

  "For you, Francie. Not for me."

  She left then, closing the door with a forceful plunk.

  Logically, Noah knew he'd done what was best as far as his business was concerned, as far as Francie was concerned. But that was small comfort as the emptiness that had always been a part of his life yawned deeper and wider than before.

  ****

  The last person Francie expected to see after she brushed her teeth and combed her hair Monday morning was Noah Gordon. And the last place she expected to see him was sitting at the kitchen table with her father!

  The rink was closed on Monday and she usually slept later, ran errands, went to dance class, then read to children at the elementary school. After last night, she'd decided if Noah wanted her, he could come find her.

  Wanted her. Come find her. She'd seen the desire in his eyes last night and recalled all too well her response to being held in his arms, touched by his hands. She'd never experienced that kind of excitement before. When Brent had touched her, it had felt nice. Never that explosive.

  Noah saw her standing in the doorway and smiled. Her pulse raced and she dropped her eyes to the lap-top computer on the table and her father's receipts spread across the Formica.

  "What's going on, Pop?"

  Her dad clapped Noah on the shoulder. "Noah here came over to borrow a couple of eggs. He saw what I was doing and told me he might be able to make it easier for me."

  "Trading eggs for a computer doesn't seem equal to me."

  Her father laughed. "I might have to get one of these, honey. He's got a program that's more intelligent than mine. More comprehensive. Do you realize how much time this could save me?"

  "You understand it already?" she asked wistfully.

  Noah answered. "We've been at it about an hour. Your dad picked it up quickly."

  "Not like me," she muttered.

  Noah looked surprised. "You did just fine. It takes some people longer to get into the rhythm of it."

  His praise felt good but it didn't eliminate the worry and anxiety she still felt about going back to school. If Noah wouldn't accept her investment in the rink, she needed to consider further education seriously. Especially if, God forbid, the rink closed.

  Her stomach growled and she glanced at the clean frying pan on the stove. "Where's Mama?"

  "She had an early appointment in York. Decorating some office building. Gina just grabbed a cannoli. It's a good thing Angela didn't see her."

  Gina's eating habits and Angela's idea of what they should be constantly clashed. "So neither of you had breakfast?"

  Noah motioned to his mug. "Coffee."

  Paul's grin was sly. "Would you care to make us some?"

  Francie realized she was getting sucked in. Angela catered to her husband whenever she could. But Francie knew he could flip an egg as well as anyone. She smiled at him. "I could be persuaded. If the price is right."

  "Uh-oh. You got to watch these daughters, Noah. They're more conniving than any son."

  Francie laughed. "Are we gonna deal?"

  Paul rolled his eyes. "What's the price tag for breakfast?"

  "You fix the drip in the upstairs sink. I had enough trouble getting to sleep last night without—"

  Noah's gaze buckled to hers and she knew her eyes betrayed her. Now he knew the scene in the garage apartment had shaken her. He certainly didn't look as if it had shaken him. All neat and precise with his hair combed perfectly, his oxford shirt open at the neck, his slacks perfectly creased.

  "Francie?"

  Her dad's voice made her realize she'd been staring at Noah much too long.

  "You were saying?" he asked with raised brows.

  What had she been saying? Oh, the drip. "I'll make breakfast if you fix the drip."

  "And what does Noah have to do?" her father asked innocently.

  "Pardon me?"

  "Does he get off scot-free? Doesn't seem fair."

  Noah grinned rakishly. "Yeah. It doesn't seem fair. What can I do?"

  "Are you finished showing Pop what he needs to know?"

  Noah looked
at Paul. "I suppose so."

  "Good." She took a bowl from the cupboard, opened the refrigerator, snatched a box of eggs from the door, and handed them to Noah. "Crack ten of these into that bowl."

  "And what are you going to do?"

  She glanced at the cluttered table. "Set up TV tables in the living room so we can eat, then fry the bacon and stand guard over the eggs."

  As Francie pulled dishes from the cupboard, she surreptitiously watched Noah. He cracked an egg expertly with one hand and tossed the shell into the drainer in the sink. He did another, then turned and caught her watching him.

  He winked. "Thought I'd make a mess, didn't you?"

  She felt the heat flash to her cheeks. "No, of course not."

  He cocked his head. "Don't underestimate me, Francie. That would be a mistake."

  Had she underestimated him? Had she thought she could outmaneuver him? She didn't know how to play games; she didn't know how to manipulate. She only knew how to work hard for what she wanted and hope that was enough. The problem was that Noah had the power in his hands to make all her hard work count for nothing. She couldn't let that happen. No, she wouldn't underestimate him, but she wouldn't let him sell the rink out from under her, either.

  Making breakfast was not a difficult task. Francie had certainly done it often enough. But working next to Noah, she was all thumbs and two left feet.

  She stood at the stove watching the bacon. Noah dumped the eggs into the skillet and reached around her for the salt and pepper, his arm grazing her back. She dropped her fork. He bent to pick it up at the same time she did. Their noses almost touched; their fingers did. She plucked the fork from the floor, straightened, and dropped the utensil in the sink. Apparently he'd learned his way around the kitchen, because when she turned back to the bacon, he presented her with another fork.

  "Know what we forgot?" he asked with a serious expression.

  She was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

  "Onions."

  She'd been thinking how large his hands were, how hot his skin was, how green his eyes were. "Onions?"

  "I like to chop and saute them before I dump in the eggs."

  Saute. This undeniably masculine male knew the meaning of saute. She eyed him suspiciously. "Did you ever take cooking lessons?"

  He grinned and her stomach lurched. "Nope. Betty Crocker's cookbook is the bible in my kitchen. I read it cover to cover when I was twelve."

  "Why?"

  His grin disappeared. "Because I was tired of canned soup and it was one of the few things in the house to read. I didn't have a computer then to get the info...or recipes I wanted."

  From the little Noah had said about his background, she'd suspected he hadn't had a "normal" childhood. She hadn't, either, but hers was due to choice rather than circumstance. "We had books galore lying around, but I never had time to read them. And a computer. But I was busy with everything that had to do with skating." She was suddenly more curious than she wanted to be about his years growing up. "It sounds as if you were on your own a lot."

  He cut the eggs in quarters and flipped them. "My dad cut out soon after I was born. My mom was too busy working in cocktail lounges and looking for singing gigs to think about much else."

  Meaning she was too busy to think about him. Francie didn't know what to say. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if her father had heard. But he seemed to be engrossed at the laptop. "You said you have no family. Your mom..."

  "Died the year after I graduated from college."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I. That year I could have helped her. I finally had some money..." He shook his head and went silent.

  Francie sensed he didn't want more questions. She could understand the need for privacy. That's all she'd wanted when she'd come back to Gettysburg. And her family had given her that, for the most part. Except for her mother. She had prodded and poked till she learned the whole story. She'd probably told the family, but no one had questioned Francie.

  Who did Noah have to support him?

  "Noah?" When he looked at her, she couldn't ask. There was too much sadness in his eyes. She realized his support came from an inner strength he'd somehow developed.

  She wanted to take that sadness away. So she smiled. "How are the eggs?"

  He smiled back. "Finished."

  As they ate breakfast, Francie's father kept the conversation flowing with Noah. As Paul finished his last forkful of eggs, he declared, "I've made up my mind."

  "About?" Francie asked.

  "I want a laptop with the same programs that Noah has. "Noah, if you're not too busy, would you go to the electronics store with me and point out what I need?"

  Noah looked pleased. "Sure. I have an appointment at two but until then I'm free."

  Francie suspected what that appointment was about. "Does it concern the rink?"

  Paul arched his brows at his daughter. "Maybe it's personal."

  Noah wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it on the table next to his dish. "I have an appointment with a real estate agent."

  Francie wasn't surprised, but it was a blow just the same.

  "I'm going to show him the rink," Noah continued. "Can you be there?"

  "No, I'm busy then."

  Paul broke the tense silence with an admonishing look at his daughter because she hadn't explained further. "Francie reads to a kindergarten class every Monday afternoon."

  Francie hopped up from her chair and collected her father's dish. When she reached for Noah's, he said, "I'll bring it in."

  She went to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. Noah placed his plate in the slot behind hers. "You knew what I intended to do."

  She rearranged a few of the dishes. "But I thought you might wait a few days, at least."

  His voice came over her shoulder, clear and determined. "I need to get appraisals. I have to start somewhere. If all goes well, I can get it listed by next week."

  The dishes forgotten, she spun around. "I thought you were going to give me some time to show you—"

  His green regard was as direct as his reasoning. "With the market the way it is, this could be a long process, Francie. It could take months. I have to get the ball rolling."

  Rolling right over her and the rink. She dropped the silverware into its caddy.

  Ignoring her frosty dismissal, his voice softened. "Tell me why you read to a kindergarten class."

  He was attempting to divert her attention. She might as well let him, because arguing wouldn't serve any purpose except to increase the tension between them. She said curtly, "I like kids."

  "You're with kids at the rink all the time."

  "Reading to them is different. I have their full attention. Their eyes get so big and wide. They ask questions. There's this connection between us. They learn from me. I learn from them."

  He leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. "What do you learn?"

  Noah had a way of listening that led her to respond spontaneously. "That kids have the innate curiosity to learn and if we don't tamper with it, but rather guide it, they'll take off like shooting stars."

  "It sounds as if you'd like to do more than read to them."

  "I'd like to teach them," she mused softly and suddenly realized she'd said it aloud. Noah was too easy to talk to. She took the dishwashing detergent from the cabinet, poured it into the door, and flipped closed the compartment latch.

  "Why don't you?"

  "Because I need a degree."

  "Do you want to go back to school?"

  "It takes more than wanting, Noah. All my life, I've felt I've been preparing, not living. It's hard to explain."

  The seriousness of his voice belied his casual pose. "You could go back to school and live."

  "I've been thinking about it. But I've been away from books for eight years. And college is a major commitment."

  "But it could be your future."

  She studied him, looking for an ulterior motive for his encour
agement. If she went back to school, he could feel less guilty about selling the rink. "I'd still need a job while I'm going to school. I have to support myself."

  "Maybe you could enroll in a work-study program."

  Didn't he just have all the answers? Even if she did that, a part-time job such as work-study offered wouldn't take care of all her living expenses. "I could look into it."

  He uncrossed his ankles, straightened, and probed her heart with his gaze. "You're afraid to go back."

  She shouldn't feel so vulnerable around him. She shouldn't feel as if he knew her, because he didn't. "What makes you such an authority?"

  He leaned forward and she thought he was going to touch her. Instead, he shoved his hand into his pocket. "Do you think I haven't known fear, Francie? But I've learned to face it and do what I need to do anyway."

  "Maybe you're stronger than I am," she said softly. She thought about her last practice with Brent when they'd tried to execute a complicated lift and he'd dropped her. She remembered the reason why. Was she hesitating about going to New York because she didn't want to face that fear and those memories, either?

  "Maybe you don't know your own strength."

  The more she talked with Noah, the more complex he seemed, and the better he seemed to know her. Turning away from the power and knowing in his green eyes, she closed the dishwasher door. "Going back to school is more complicated than sitting down with a new computer program." To herself she added, So was going to New York and skating with Brent.

  Noah's voice was firm and as penetrating as his gaze. "More complicated, but not so different, either. Have you made a decision about skating?"

  She had pushed Brent and skating to a think-about-tomorrow corner of her mind—until now. "No." If Noah wanted her future settled so it wouldn't affect his, she wasn't going to oblige him. Not until she was sure about what she wanted to do. The question was—when would she be sure?

  ****

  Sipping her chocolate milkshake on Thursday evening, Francie sat with Gina in the snack bar at Roller-Fun. Every few minutes Gina checked her watch and glanced toward the doors. Francie had been delighted when Gina told her she'd bring Jake in to meet her. Besides, in addition to the opportunity to build a better relationship with Gina, Francie appreciated the distraction. She practically jumped out of her skin whenever Noah came close, so she'd avoided him as much as she could. But she couldn't avoid the real estate agents who'd paraded through the rink all week, asking her questions.