The Marriage Recipe (3 page)

“Their offices are in the south wing. The Lancaster end. So,” he said with a deliberate cough to clear his tight throat, “what's going on?”

Rachel twisted around, the material of her sweater stretching tight. Colin swallowed and shifted. Darn, but this grown-up version of his childhood buddy had his libido roaring to life, and somehow his immediate reaction was profound and, darn it, uncomfortable. She wasn't even sending him signals, and here he was, grateful that he was safely sitting behind his desk.

She removed a wadded-up envelope from her purse, leaned over the edge of his desk and pushed the paper toward him as if touching it had burned her fingertips. Bright red polish, Colin saw. She'd worn pale pink in the past, and he wondered if her toenails were the same shade of red.

“You probably heard I was engaged,” Rachel said, and he lifted his gaze to her brown eyes. That was a mistake. Anger mixed with hurt radiated there, and Colin had the immediate urge to kill the guy who had wronged her. He retrieved the envelope and removed its contents.

“Go on,” he prodded when she stopped speaking. “I'm listening and skimming this at the same time.”

“Airing this is awkward. Marco Alessandro, my ex-fiancé
and
former employer, is demanding my recipes. He says he's going to sue me for them. He's claiming they're rightfully his. The bastard didn't even give me the letter until after I refused to marry him. As if.”

Colin waited. Rachel had always been like a shadow. Present yet unnoticed. Her New York experience had her cursing, and as visible as the neon in Times Square. The change was mesmerizing and worth study.

“Sorry,” Rachel said with a dismissive wave. “My language has taken a turn for the gutter since leaving Morrisville. Both my mother and grandmother want to wash my mouth out, but I'm too big now for them to hold down. They'd try if they could, because my mother says I swear like a sailor. I'm working on it. I've just been so agitated lately.”

“It's okay,” Colin said, smoothing out the demand letter and setting the legal missive aside. “I can understand. You said Marco was your fiancé.”

“Yes.”

“And you broke off the engagement,” he went on.

“Yes.”

He sat still and waited for her to elaborate. She held his gaze for a moment, blinked, then turned her head so she could study the bookcase. He didn't think she was really interested in any of the legal titles shelved there. “Rachel,” he prompted. “You have to be honest with me. If I'm to help you, I've got to know everything.”

“I broke off my engagement because he, he…” Her entire body shook as she relived the horror of that moment. “I caught him.”

Experience had taught him patience. He waited.

She stared at him, her brown eyes imploring him not to make her do this. “Do I have to say it? Are you that much of a sadist? I caught him—in my bed—with another woman.”

Had Marco Alessandro been sitting in his office, Colin would have leaped across the desk and throttled the guy with his bare hands. How dare anyone do this to Rachel? The fact that he cared this much after all these years shook him a little. And unlike those wannabe black belts, Colin legitimately was one. He'd found martial-arts training a great way to stay fit and hone both his mind and body.

Lawyers weren't supposed to be emotionally involved, but they could be empathetic. “I'm sorry,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” Rachel replied, the quiver of her jaw almost unnoticeable. “I have bills to pay from the canceled wedding. I returned the ring. He's not getting any more of my future. Those were my grandmother's recipes before I got them. Sure, I modified them using the restaurant's kitchen, but that doesn't mean he can take them. I need those. If I'm ever going to open my own place.”

“I'll take the case,” Colin said. “If he's serious about taking you to court, we may have to pull in a co-counsel licensed in New York, but your situation won't escalate that far.”

He didn't know that for certain, but he had a strong suspicion. He'd never really wanted to be a lawyer and hadn't passed the bar exam with a high score, but once Colin had embraced the family profession, he had discovered that he could help people solve their problems. He'd become good at reading people and finding their weakness.

“Men like Marco Alessandro are often simply big bullies who expect the weak to roll over and give them what they want,” he told her.

“What he really wants is to marry me and avoid the scandal,” Rachel said, twisting her hands together in her lap.

Colin couldn't help himself. An incredulous expression registered on his face. “Is the man nuts?”

He realized his mistake the moment the words passed his lips. “Oh, Rachel. I didn't mean…I'm sorry.” He'd meant the scandal part being crazy. This wasn't the Regency era. People dissolved their relationships all the time.

But his apology was too late. Her features contorted and her skin whitened. Oh, she wouldn't. He hated tears. The Rachel of old would chew off her finger before she'd ever let him see her cry.

As her tears fell, Colin suddenly realized that perhaps he'd never known the woman sitting across from him at all.

 

S
HE WAS CRYING
. Sobbing, actually. She'd gone through at least three tissues—she figured having a box around was standard procedure in a legal office—and she was about to go through her fourth as she blew her nose and sounded like a deranged goose.

Why did she have to break down here of all places? Sure she'd cried. But in private. When she'd called her good friends, she'd been tough and unyielding. She'd swallowed her pride and moved home, dealing with the endless pity and sympathy of both her family and townsfolk. Poor Rachel. How terrible a thing to have happened to her. Through it all, she'd held her head high.

Until Colin Morris. He was as insensitive as ever. And darn him, he was the only one who'd pierced the armor shielding her bruised dignity and wounded dreams.

He'd moved around his desk and squatted on the floor beside her. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. “I meant the scandal. Not marrying you. Of course any man would want to marry you.”

“Yeah, which is why he was sleeping around!” Rachel shouted, needing to vent. “Do you know what that's like? Finding out that everything you believed to be true is a big fat lie? That you aren't good enough? Never were? That while you thought you had passion, it obviously wasn't enough to keep a man from straying? You wouldn't understand. You're never in a relationship long enough to have your heart smashed into smithereens.”

“I'll do what I can to help,” Colin promised. He placed his hand reassuringly on her jean-covered thigh. “You'll get through this. You're one of the bravest and toughest people I know.”

“Ha!” She sniffled. “That's why I fell apart here. I don't see you for years and first thing I do is bawl my eyes out and sob like a freak. This is why I wanted to see Bruce.”

Colin straightened, placing some distance between Rachel and him. “He's not available—I am. Do you want me to handle this for you or not?”

She sniffled again, frowned at his abrupt change in tone and stared at him through what had to be red eyes. “You already know everything. You might as well take the case on. How much will it cost? I'll be honest. I'm close to broke. All my savings went to paying my credit cards. I've put the jewelry Marco gave me in a safe-deposit box just in case he starts demanding that back.”

“I'll talk to my father and get back to you about the fees. You're practically family to him, so I'm sure it won't be much. Don't stress over fees. Let me work up a response to this demand letter. Do you have copies of all the expenses you incurred preparing for your wedding?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I'll need those,” Colin said.

Rachel shifted. She'd never viewed the professional, go-get-them persona of her former next-door neighbor. She found the change fascinating. Colin was assured and confident, a man in control. He had a plan, which was more than she could say. All she'd really done was move home. Everything else she'd put on hold until she got this straightened out. “Okay, but can I ask why?”

“Absolutely. Anytime you have a question or comment you have to speak up. That's important if we're going to get the results we want. The way I see it, engagements are oral contracts. He promised to be faithful and marry you. He broke that contract. You have the right to demand that he compensate you for your mental anguish and your expenses.”

“That's legal?” she asked. “There's a law regulating fidelity?”

Colin smiled. “A lot of legal maneuvering is just strategy. He demands—we demand. We negotiate a truce. If he's so worried about scandal, I doubt he wants to take this to court, where one, the suit becomes public record, and two, he risks getting an unfavorable judge, one who might have had her husband cheat on her, or a boyfriend on her daughter, or something like that.”

“Ah,” Rachel said, although she still didn't quite understand. Still, Colin seemed certain, and she'd always been able to trust him. “So you don't expect them to really file anything?”

He shook his head, a strand of blond hair falling across his right eye. He brushed it back, and a gold cuff link twinkled. “I don't think they will. Once court is involved, things get pricey and everyone's out a lot of money.”

“Except the lawyers. I guess this is why only the lawyers get rich,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, Marco's lawyer will bill for his time no matter where this goes. At this stage the case is easy money. Write a letter and send the client a bill.”

“Sounds mercenary,” Rachel said. “No wonder Shakespeare wrote, ‘First thing we do is kill all the lawyers.'”

He shot her a look that said,
Give me a break.
“Gee, thanks. I'll save your recipes, maybe get you some money in the process, and I'll still be in a scummy profession.”

“I didn't say that. You know me. I was just quoting.” Rachel reached for her coat, her sobbing fit concluded. Back in place was the strong woman of action who refused to be defeated. The pity party was over. Colin would not see her as a weakling again.

“By the way, that wasn't what Shakespeare meant. You used the words out of context. Characters in the play were trying to plan a rebellion and figured they needed to take down the legal system to do it. You and your quotations.” Colin grinned. “It's good to know some things haven't changed. Do you remember that night we had the champagne? I've never had anyone spout as many quotations in my ear as you did. That's how I knew you were tipsy.”

“I was young. It didn't take much alcohol to make me drunk,” Rachel said brusquely. They'd kissed, and now was not the time to rehash how memorable that had been—not. “I'm no longer a lightweight. One thing about working at an Italian restaurant, I drank a lot of wine.”

“Maybe we'll have to discover what type of stuff you're made of one night when neither of us is driving,” Colin said. His phone rang, and he picked it up and listened to his paralegal. “Just have her hold for a moment. I'm wrapping up now.”

Rachel couldn't help herself. “Girlfriend?”

“Client,” Colin said. He shot her a wicked grin. “Why? Interested?”

She shrugged, cool and composed. “Only for the sake of having some fresh gossip to toss about the diner. It might take everyone's attention off me.”

“Ah.” He nodded, as if not buying her explanation in the slightest. “I'll stop by tomorrow and let you know about fees. I usually do lunch at Kim's on Thursdays.”

“Prime-rib special,” Rachel said. “Been that way every week for at least twenty years.”

“And I try not to miss it. Tomorrow every seat will be full. Your mom and grandmother serve the best prime rib in town, even better than the stuff at the Sherman House in Batesville, and that's fantastic. Do you want me to walk you out?”

She turned her head to ascertain if he was serious. She was used to walking the streets of New York at night. She could handle small-town Morrisville, one of the safest places on the planet. “No,” she said. “I'm not that bad off. Attend to your call. I can find the way.”

He sent her an appreciative smile. “Great. Then I'll see you tomorrow.”

She'd just reached the door, when his voice had her glancing around. “Rachel?”

He held the phone, his hand covering the mouthpiece. “Yes?” she said.

“In case I forget to tell you this later, it's good to have you back. And don't worry, we'll get him.” He stood there at his desk, impeccable in his blue broadcloth shirt, matching tie and dress pants.

“Don't keep your caller waiting,” she chided, trying to tame her racing heart. She tugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder.

She did not need to start entertaining any silly notions about Colin. Her time in Morrisville was temporary. Not a life sentence. Just a quick hit before she went back to New York, even if she had to stay the full six months before her noncompete clause expired. She gave Colin one last glance. He was silhouetted against the windows, a man secure in his element and this small provincial town.