What a Man's Gotta Do

Mala forced her knotted hand to relax, then shook her head. “By his own choice,” she said, remembering how Eddie had rebuffed everyone’s overtures. Not rudely, exactly. But it hadn’t taken long for everyone to get the hint. For a while, Mala had regretted not trying harder—even as wrapped up as she’d been in her own hectic life, she’d sensed Eddie’s hanging back was actually a challenge, seeing if anyone would care enough to work for his friendship. But he’d scared her, she realized, even then. So she hadn’t met his challenge.

He still scared her, she realized.

He was still challenging her, too.

She sucked in a quick little breath, then said, “I don’t suppose you know why Eddie left before he graduated?”

Bev shook her head. “No. I rarely ran into Jervis or Molly. I’m not sure I even knew he had. But whaddya suppose possessed him to come back?”

A question that had nagged at Mala for the past week. “I have no idea. Galen says he could probably find work anywhere, at a top restaurant if he wanted.”

“Well, he’s sure not back because of Molly and Jervis, since they both passed on years ago….”

The doorbell ringing made them both jump. Before Mala could answer it, both kids came roaring out from the kitchen, each one claiming whoever it was on the other side. Mala opened it to find Eddie standing there, a huge sack of salt slung on one hip. He glanced at the kids, sort of the way one might regard last night’s still unwashed dinner dishes, then up at her.

“Hey,” he said without preamble, his voice just slightly laced with contrition, she thought. “I used up most of what you had out there in the shed, figured I may as well pick up some more while I was out. Heard there’s another storm predicted for the weekend.” The kids, clearly bummed it was only Eddie, retreated down the hall, halfheartedly calling each other names. Her mother, however, had eagerly taken their place. In fact, Mala noted with a slight twinge of dread, the woman was one step removed from panting.

“Mom, Eddie King. My new tenant. Eddie, Bev Koleski. And yes, she bites.”

“For godssake, Mala, where you get that mouth, I have no idea.” Bev reached out to meet Eddie’s already extended hand as Mala grabbed her purse off a hook on the rack. “We met, when you were here before,” Bev said, “but I doubt you’d remember me.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t say that I do.”

Her wallet clamped in her hand, Mala wedged between them before her mother bonded for life. “Okay, how much—”

“Forget it,” Eddie said. “I’ll take it out in trade.”

Mala blushed. Her mother chuckled, low in her throat. Mala sent her a brief but lethal glance, then forced her focus back to the deadpan expression in those ice-blue eyes. “Excuse me?”

The eyes thawed, just a little. Just enough to poke at the snoring hormones. Then he grinned, all bad and little boyish, and she nearly lost it. “For the occasional use of your washer and dryer, is all I meant.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, that sounds fair to me.”

“I thought it might.”

The phone rang. “You want me to get that?” Bev asked.

“Please,” Mala said, sending up a prayer of thanks. Bev shuffled away; Mala looked back at Eddie, who shifted the salt to his other hip, which of course caused Mala’s gaze to likewise shift before she snapped it back up to his face. “Well, I guess I’ll just go on and put this in the shed,” he said.

Mala sucked in a breath, let it out sharply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Eddie angled away, only to turn back, a combination of regret and defiance shining in his eyes. He glanced into the house over her shoulder, as if to make sure nobody else was in earshot, then said, his voice low, “I apologize if my directness earlier upset you. I didn’t mean to criticize your mothering, even if that’s the way it came out. It’s just that…” He looked away for a moment, then back at her, his mouth pulled taut. “When you live alone as long as I have, you tend to forget about things like being tactful. Or how to put across what you’re thinking without—”

“—pissing people off. Yeah, I got it.”

There went that half smile again. Mala’s heart stalled in her throat. “It’s okay,” she said softly, leaning against the door frame. Leaning into that I-can-see-straight-through-you gaze, wanting to reach out to him so badly, her teeth hurt. “As it happens, you gave me some things to think about.”

One brow lifted. Skeptical. Amused. “Really?”

A smile tugged at her mouth, even as a little voice said, “Watch it, sister.”

“Yeah. Really.”

One Mississippi…two Mississippi…

“Well. Okay. That’s…good, then. Well…uh, tell your mama it was nice to meet her, okay?” He turned around and trudged away, his strides long and purposeful.

“Nice butt,” Bev observed behind her. Mala jumped.

“Oh, geez, Ma. Besides, what can you see under that shirt he’s wearing?”

“A wealth of possibilities, missy. And what was that all about?”

“You heard?”

“Enough.”

“Well, it was nothing. Just a little misunderstanding.” Mala managed a nonchalant shrug. “All cleared up now.”

“Oh?”

The woman could pack more meaning into a two-letter word than Webster’s in the whole flipping dictionary.

“Don’t even go there, Ma,” Mala said, shutting the door a bit more forcefully than necessary and heading back toward the kitchen.

“What? What did I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She went into the kitchen, pulled a mug out of the dish drainer, a box of tea bags from the cupboard. “What you’re thinking’s written all over your face.”

“Like you know what’s going on in my head, little girl. Well, for your information, Miss Know-It-All, what I was thinking is that Eddie King turned out okay. Not many men can find it in themselves to apologize for anything. Give me that,” she said, snatching the box from Mala’s hand. “I can make my own tea. Anyway, he’s a nice boy.”

“Ma, he’s a year older than me. He’s hardly a boy.”

“So he’s a nice man. Even better. You know if the restaurant’s open for Thanksgiving?”

Mala frowned. “It isn’t. Why?”

“I just wondered if he’s doing anything, that’s all.”

“Oh, dear God,” Mala said, raising her eyes to the heavens. Well, okay, the ceiling, but it was close enough. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“So you should ask him if he’d like to have dinner with us.”

Us. Meaning her parents and Mala and Steve and Sophie—whose first Thanksgiving this would be, since they didn’t do Thanksgiving in Carpathia—and their five kids and her two.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not that mean. Besides, he has other plans.”

“You know this, or you’re only trying to get me off your case?”

“Yes.”

Footsteps creaked overhead. “You know somethin’?” Bev said, “I’ve got half a mind to go up there and ask him myself.”

Mala opened her mouth to protest, when suddenly, she didn’t care anymore. What the hell did it matter to her if Eddie King accepted her mother’s invitation? He certainly didn’t need her protection. And with all those people around, it wasn’t as if they’d even see each other. Probably. Besides, her parents had been inviting strays to holiday dinners for as long as she could remember. So big fat hairy deal.

“Fine,” she said. “Go ask.”

Which Bev did. Mala listened, heard faint voices upstairs, then her mother’s slow, steady descent on the outside stairs.

“You’re right,” Bev said when she came in. “He can’t make it. Says he’s got plans.”

So how come she felt disappointed rather than relieved?

And what kind of holiday plans could a man have who didn’t know anybody in town? And how was this any of her business?

Mala shook herself, yanked open the dishwasher to stack another half dozen dishes inside. “So who was on the phone?” she asked her mother.

“The phone?” her mother said from the kitchen table. “Oh, right. Nobody. A hang up. Which is so rude. Geez. I mean, if you get a wrong number, the least you can do is say ‘sorry’ or something, y’know? And when the hell you gonna get Caller ID, anyway?”

Mala just sighed.

Chapter 4

“So,” Mala said to her sister-in-law as she scraped leftover mashed potatoes into a plastic store ’n’ save bowl, swearing softly when a blob landed smack on the front of her new fur-blend sweater, “how’d you enjoy your first Thanksgiving?”

Amazingly, it was just the two of them in her brother’s kitchen. Sophie and Mala had combined forces to convince Bev, who’d done most of the cooking, to go play grandma and let them clean up; the living room reeked of football-crazed testosterone; and the kids were…elsewhere. The old country house was cozy and filled with laughter and leftover feast smells, and for the moment, Mala could almost believe she was as content as she would have everyone believe.

Raking one hand through her short, ash brown hair, Sophie chuckled. “I think I’m bloody glad it only comes once a year,” she said in her almost-English accent, ripping off a length of aluminum foil to cover what was left of the auxiliary ham. Her square jaw and angular features prevented her from being pretty in any traditional sense of the word, but her quick smile and the love that constantly radiated from her gentle gray eyes made her as appealing as anyone Mala had ever met. “Otherwise, I’d be big as a house from overeating. Not that I won’t be that in a few months, in any case.”

She patted her slightly bulging belly underneath the floppy red sweater, then wrinkled her nose, obviously tickled with her condition. Sophie and Steve had only been married since July, but having just turned thirty, the princess was thrilled about her pregnancy.

“And with those hips you don’t have,” Mala said pointedly to her skinny sister-in-law, “you’ll look like you swallowed a torpedo.” She opened the refrigerator, frowning at the already jam-packed interior. The ceiling shook as many small feet stormed down the upstairs hallway, accompanied by shrieks of varying degrees of intensity. Neither woman so much as glanced up. “I hate to break this to you, honey, but you can either get the rest of the turkey in here, or everything else. Not both. And no, that wasn’t a call for help, bozo-hound,” she said to the grinning oversize mutt wagging his entire rear end at her feet. She gently shoved at the dog with her knee. “Go away, George.”

“Oh, come here, you big goof,” Sophie said, collapsing into a kitchen chair. Wearing an expression that could only be translated as, “Yes!”, the dog pranced across the linoleum floor to gobble down whatever it was his mistress was offering. “You should really get the kids a dog,” Sophie said, making kissy noises at the beast.

“Uh, no, I really shouldn’t.” Mala stacked the homeless containers back on the counter, then leaned against it. “So how’re you feeling these days?”

“Oh, fine. The morning sickness only lasted a week or so, thank God. So I’ll be really up for when Alek and Luanne bring the children after Christmas.”

“Really? I can’t wait to meet them.”

“They feel the same way, I gather.” Sophie smiled down at the dog, who’d plopped his muzzle in her lap. “I know it seems a bit precipitous, but Alek’s quite keen to introduce Luanne to Steven and your parents. I think he hopes it will relieve her mind somewhat about marrying into a royal family.”

“If it doesn’t frighten her off completely,” Mala said wryly.

But then, the circumstances surrounding the reunion of Sophie’s older brother, Prince Aleksander Vlastos, and the Texan born-and-bred Luanne Evans Henderson was the stuff of soap operas, involving a secret baby and a marriage-of-convenience gone wrong, a tragic race-car crash that had taken Luanne’s husband’s life, a love denied for more than a decade. Due to the delicacy of the situation, Mala knew the couple weren’t planning on a wedding for some time. But just a few weeks ago they’d agreed, for both their son’s sake and the simple fact that they couldn’t stand the thought of being separated a minute longer, to live under the same palace roof with Sophie’s and Alek’s octogenerian grandmother and Carpathia’s reigning monarch, Princess Ivana.

Next to all that, Mala’s family seemed excrutiatingly dull.

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