“I think you’re a very lucky man, Michael Lord,” Megan said in a voice that made Michael’s smile die. There was no laughter in Megan’s voice at all. She sounded deadly serious. “I’m with Garrett all the way on this one.”
Silence. You could have heard a pin drop. Finally Jenny spoke. “I’m off to get dressed,” she said. “You think you can manage your own cornflakes? The directions are on the box.”
“A dutiful wife would pour my flakes,” Michael said, trying for a casualness he didn’t feel. Jenny chuckled.
“Where would you like them poured, dearest?” Jenny took a step toward the cereal box, speaking in honeyed tones, and Michael grinned and raised his hands in self-defense.
“Okay, woman. I can take a hint. Leave me with our guest and the dog and the domestic chores while you fritter your time away on your appearance. Marriage! It’s not what it’s cut out to be, Aunt Megan.”
“I can see that,” Megan agreed, still serious. “And aren’t you lucky that it’s not.”
Once more there was an uncomfortable silence. Jenny saw the smile die on Michael’s face. He was feeling trapped, she thought, and wished suddenly that Megan would go. He needed space. He didn’t need to be crowded like this.
She could make him laugh again if Megan left.
The knowledge came to her in a flash-she knew him as well as Megan did. That was crazy! Megan was like family.
But Jenny was his wife.
It was too much to take in.
“I’m off,” she said again desperately, and headed for her room-then stopped dead as another knock sounded.
Great!
“Will you excuse me?” Jen asked carefully. “I’m not dressed for visitors.”
“You’re dressed for Megan,” Michael said. “Isn’t she a visitor?” And then he looked at Socks, who’d abandoned his pursuit of nosing for errant cornflakes. Socks was standing bolt upright, and the hair on the back of his neck was bristling
The dog growled.
“But he didn’t even bark at Mrs. Maitland,” Jen said wonderingly, putting a hand down and touching his bristling fur.
“That’s Megan to you,” Megan said blandly. She had the look of someone who was enjoying herself. “Or Aunt Megan, if you must, and it’s a wise dog. Socks knows family.”
“But…”
“So if it’s not family…” Michael sighed. “Surely it’s not official. I’ve just about had enough of this. Jen, stay where you are.” He walked to the front door while Jenny stayed behind, holding Socks by the scruff of his neck. The Gray Suits were back again.
“YOU GUYS don’t know when to give up.”
Michael stood on the front step and stared at the two men, summing them up. Officials through and through. There was nothing to fear there. Then he looked past them, and there was Gloria-again-standing next to her luxurious rental car. Behind her were the two thugs who’d threatened Jenny with the syringe. Bruno and the other one.
Now what?
Now nothing. The two men on the doorstep were definitely officials. There was no way they could stand by and watch while anything untoward happened-especially since Megan was standing in the kitchen with the door open.
So keep it light.
“Hi, Gloria,” Michael called, and waved. “Lovely day. Great day for traveling. You heading to your earldom soon? I don’t know how England can be managing without you.”
Maybe humor wasn’t Gloria’s strong point. The woman flushed a deep shade of red, and then her face was shuttered. She was dressed all in black, her hair was drawn into a chignon that stretched every muscle tight in her face, and she looked as if she was about to bust her stays.
Where had that expression come from? Michael wondered irreverently, and only the thought of the thugs beside her kept him from grinning.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, turning to the officials, who were regarding him with caution.
“We’re doing a residence check on Jennifer Morrow.”
“Jennifer Lord,” he reminded them. “My wife.” He looked closely at the older of the two men. “Can I see your ID, please?”
He was presented with two ID cards and grimaced. Okay, they were official, which meant he had to be polite. Where did Gloria keep digging them up?
“A residence check?”
“Our information is that Jennifer Morrow-Jennifer Lord-works at Maitland Maternity and she lives with you. The official who came here last night wasn’t able to verify that she was here, and she wasn’t at work this morning.”
Michael sighed. “Nope. She was asleep last night because she was tired. She’s given up work now because she’s tired. It happens, you know. Tiredness. It goes with advanced pregnancy. Our baby’s due in a little over three weeks.”
“What does he mean-our baby?” The hiss came from the street, and Michael sighed again.
“I told the official last night that this lady wasn’t welcome here,” he said, motioning to Gloria. “My wife is frightened of her. She’s intimidating and she’s unpleasant. If this is an official visit, then can we go indoors and leave her outside?”
The older official hesitated. And then he raised his shoulders. “Mr. Lord, this lady-” he indicated Gloria with an expression that told Michael his opinion of the woman was somewhere around the same level of distaste as Michael’s “-has been making her presence felt around the department in no uncertain terms. She has people leaning on us all over, and we’re not enjoying it one bit. She’s swearing to us that your marriage is a sham and that this Jennifer-”
“My wife.”
“Yes. Your wife. She says that Jennifer doesn’t live here.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“But it would save us a whole lot of grief if we could just see her,” the official said. He gestured to Gloria. “And her mightiness, too.”
“My wife doesn’t wish to see her.”
“Hey, Michael!” There was a holler from the street, and Michael turned to see Lana heading toward him, with baby Greg bundled in a cocoon at her breast.
“What are you doing home? What’s wrong?” she called, anxiety in her voice. “Is there something the matter with Jenny?”
“Jenny’s fine.”
“I’ve got the day off from the store and just came to take her shopping.” She walked up the street toward them, making a careful assessment of the callers. “Is she busy?”
“She’s entertaining guests,” Michael said, then sighed one last time and stood aside. Why fight what was starting to look like an avalanche? “Jen, we’re coming in,” he called toward the kitchen. “For Pete’s sake, hang on to Socks!”
SOCKS WAS NOT amused. The dog allowed Michael in, even giving a perfunctory wag of his tail. He figured instinctively that Lana and the baby were friends. But when he saw the Suits, his hair stood straight up again, and when Gloria and her thugs marched in, his control broke. He snarled and launched himself forward.
Jenny held on for all she was worth, but Socks had strengths she didn’t know about. She stumbled against something-probably Lana’s foot-and would have fallen except for Michael. He caught her, and then whirled to catch Socks before the mutt went for Gloria’s jugular.
And then there was silence.
The silence went on and on, the only sound the low growl of Socks as he strained against Michael’s grip. Whatever canine instinct was working here, it was working well. These people wished Jenny ill, and Socks wanted them out of here.
“I agree,” Michael said at last, as the second of the thugs came in and edged cautiously around the table out of the dog’s range. “I don’t like them any more than you do, boy, but we have no choice but to talk to them. Now sit.”
And to everybody’s amazement, Socks sat. He looked resignedly at Michael as if to say, “Okay, I’m sitting. But one word from you and I’ll have these guys on toast.”
Jenny couldn’t see. Her face was against Michael’s chest, and she was burning with embarrassment. Michael grimaced, then lightly touched her tousled curls with his lips and turned her to face the assembled company. She made a desperate struggle to stay exactly where she was and then gave up. She stood there, facing Gloria in pajamas…facing the world in pajamas!