Husband Potential Page 5

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Barney ran an agitated hand over his bald spot. He was upset with her, but she couldn’t tell him why she was so tongue-tied. She couldn’t tell anybody.

  “Mr. Benet has also been singing your praises over the cover photo on the September issue. Apparently he knows the German lady in question and has her address. He’d like to send her a copy of the magazine.”

  “An autographed copy, Ms. Mallory,” the monk amended. “When Gerda sees herself on the front page and reads about herself in the article on the ‘choir of angels’ as she calls them, she will think her cup ‘runneth over.’”

  “I’ll be happy to sign one for her.”

  By now Barney was more or less glaring at her because her natural enthusiasm was missing. He shoved himself away from his desk. “I’ll rustle up half a dozen copies for you to sign, Frannie. That way the woman can give them to her family and friends.”

  As soon as Barney left the room, the monk handed her a copy of the magazine he’d been holding. “I found this in my room at the monastery last night.” He turned to the article on Abbot Ambrose. “I’d like you to autograph it beneath your name. Please sign it, Francesca, and address it, Dear Andre.”

  Andre. Father Andre Benet. Is that what the brothers called him?

  With an unsteady hand, she placed the magazine on Barney’s desk and reached for a pen. In the process, her silken-clad leg accidentally brushed against his knee. She felt as if a bolt of electricity had just charged her body, and quickly moved away from him. If he was aware of the jerky gesture, she didn’t notice because she refused to acknowledge him.

  Thankfully Barney reentered the room with a bunch of magazines in hand, breaking the tension crackling around them.

  “Is there anything special you’d like me to write to your friends besides my name?” She was still seated at the desk, poised to finish the autographing, then leave.

  The monk lounged back in the chair with that unconscious masculine grace she’d noticed as they’d walked in the orchard.

  “As long as you have six magazines there, make one to Gerda, another to her son, Harbin, another to her grandson, Renke, one to her daughter-in-law Ludwiga, her granddaughter, Adelheide. Oh yes, and Gerda’s brother, Kurt.”

  Fran’s mouth tightened. “I’m afraid you’ll have to spell all of them for me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you like a drink, Mr. Benet?” Barney offered. He was being even more affable than usual. “We have coffee, Coke, Seven-Up, ginger ale.”

  “Nothing for me, thank you, Mr. Kinsale.”

  “How about you, Frannie?”

  “I still have a ginger ale on my desk. Thanks anyway, Barney.”

  All the time she was signing the magazines, listening for the monk’s coaching, she felt his unwavering dark gaze studying her profile and more. Though her sweater and skirt were entirely appropriate, his male scrutiny of her feminine attributes made her feel exposed. With every passing second, she knew the flush on her face had deepened in color.

  “There.” She lifted her head, bestowing a saccharine smile on Barney. “I’ve finished. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have a deadline to meet by three o’clock. It was very nice to see you again, Mr. Benet.”

  She lunged for the door, and practically ran to her desk.

  “Good grief. What happened to you?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “Not now, Paul. I’ve got a headache coming on.”

  “He couldn’t have fired you.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “He already gave you a raise, so what else is there?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Hey—whatever it is, you’re going to live.”

  “I know. I’ll get over it.”

  I’ve got to get over it.

  Maybe most men in the world were losers. But compared to this monk who had run away from his vows and was living a lie, they were saints!

  No matter how attractive he was, Fran hadn’t waited twenty-eight years to get mixed up with a tormented monk who’d been cloistered for too long without a woman.

  She’d felt his gaze wandering over her just now. It had been far too personal and intimate.

  Maybe meeting her at the monastery had caused him to wonder if he really could give up women.

  She supposed she should confide in Paul and get his opinion, but he would probably make a joke of it and tell her it was wishful thinking on her part.

  Everything would have been all right if she hadn’t bumped into the monk in Los Angeles. Now he was back in Salt Lake and had shown up at the office.

  A nagging voice told her the whole situation was partially her fault. Because of her attraction to him, she’d gone back to the monastery when it wasn’t necessary, and the monk knew it!

  She could have sent Paul with the proofs. The monk knew that too!

  The other monk who accepted the magazines from her probably did pass her message along. If so, no wonder Mr. Benet, or whoever he really was, felt emboldened enough to seek her out, believing she reciprocated his feelings.

  Therein lay her problem. Part of her did.

  Barney had once told her that she went where angels feared to tread. That was why she made such a good journalist.

  Well, this was one time when she wished she had left well enough alone. But that was a lie too, because deep inside she was sick with excitement that he’d come to the office to seek her out.

  Heavens— He was back in Salt Lake! For how long?

  “Frannie?”

  She jumped. The sound of her boss’s voice over the intercom brought her back to reality in a hurry. She’d only left his office a few minutes ago. Was the monk still there? In panic she turned to Paul.

  “Do me a favor and find out if Barney is alone in his office. Don’t say anything, just check, and then come back and tell me.”

  He blinked. “Okay.”

  It seemed like an eternity before he returned, obviously in a quandary. “What’s going on? The boss is upset.”

  She bit her lip. “Is he alone?”

  “The last time I looked.”

  “Thanks, Paul. I owe you.”

  “How about an explanation?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  When she entered Barney’s office, he just stared at her without saying anything.

  “I know I was awful,” she blurted. “But I had my reasons.”

  “You know what your problem is—you don’t like men.”

  “I like you—and Paul—and Uncle Donald—”

  “Don’t try to undermine me. I saw exactly what was going on in this room. I felt it. The minute a man gets too close to you, you run the other direction. But this time you’ve let your fears interfere with your professionalism.”

  She took a fortifying breath. “Like I said, I had my reasons.”

  “I’d like to hear them. Sit down.”

  After doing his bidding she murmured, “I think I’m in trouble.”

  He looked like he’d been stabbed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to have his ba—”

  “No!” she cried and buried her face in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Barney was an upstanding member of his church who came from an era where that expression could only mean one thing. “That isn’t the kind of trouble I’m talking about.”

  “Thank heaven.”

  “This whole thing started when Paul got sick and asked me to go to the monastery in his place for that story.”

  For the next little while Barney sat there listening without interrupting. If he was scandalized by her imprudent behavior, he had the good manners not to lecture her.

  When she’d told him everything, he sat back in his chair and tapped his reading glasses on the desk. “You’re a beautiful woman, Frannie. No man would be immune to you, not even a monk.”

  “Paul said the same thing.”

  “Tha
t’s because it’s true.”

  His comment was unexpected. “Thank you for the compliment, Barney. But you still have to admit it’s a bizarre situation.”

  “You mean a monk who’s struggling? He wouldn’t be the first man of the cloth to do so, and he certainly won’t be the last. You know what I think?”

  Her head was bowed. “What?”

  “I think you’re interested in him. I also think you’re shocked at yourself because you’ve fallen for a mysterious man who seems to be the personification of the very thing that makes you afraid of men.”

  “I haven’t fallen for him, Barney.”

  “Well, that’s the term we used to use in my day,” he gently mocked. “From where I was sitting, it looked like he was suffering from the same affliction. The truth is, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you either.”

  Naturally Barney noticed everything. “I feel like such a fool.”

  “Because you’ve discovered you’re vulnerable to a man? Personally I’m glad to see it.”

  He was beginning to sound like her mother. “I-I’d better get back to work.”

  “You do that. And if you ever feel like having another chat, you know where to find me.”

  In German, Andre wrote:

  Dear Gerda—

  Out of all the people who attended the choir’s concert in Los Angeles, the woman from Beehive Magazine located in Salt Lake City—the woman you talked to after the concert—chose your picture to put on its cover. She used your story in her lead article.

  Earlier today I went by her office to get these copies for you and have them signed. I’m sure you and your family will enjoy the articles as much as I have.

  Tomorrow I’m leaving for Alaska again and will be gone for an indefinite period. If I can ever be of help to you, for any reason, you can reach me in care of the monastery, #1 Peruvian Drive, Salt Lake City, UT 84999.

  Take care until we meet again.

  Much love, your friend,

  Andre.

  Folding the letter on top of the magazines, he sealed the box and handed it to the postal worker. Now he could leave for the airport satisfied that he had repaid Gerda in some small measure for befriending him in Switzerland several years ago at a time when he was at a particularly low ebb.

  As for Francesca Mallory, he’d already learned that a trip to the other side of the world couldn’t wipe her from his memory. In fact since his first meeting with her, the long stints at sea without being able to see her or hear her voice, had become lessons in self-torture.

  Maybe this trip he would finally be able to get her out of his system….

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FRAN’S PASTOR ALWAYS made it a point to stand in the foyer of the church after services to talk with the members.

  She hadn’t been to one of his sermons for weeks, probably because she preferred to remain so busy she wouldn’t think. Church had a way of making her too introspective. When that happened, all roads led to one man. Andre Benet.

  There’d been no sign of him since he’d come to her office. She should have rejoiced. Ironically, now that eight weeks had passed without sight or sound of him, that ridiculous longing for him wouldn’t go away. If anything, he dominated her every thought, waking or sleeping.

  Two feet in front of Fran stood Emily Wilcox who was chatting with the pastor. She was a psychiatrist at University Hospital. For the last few weeks Fran had toyed with the idea of calling her for an appointment. But she hadn’t followed through yet.

  What would she say to her?

  Doctor, I can’t let go of this feeling for a celibate monk who thrills and disturbs me at the same time. A man I’ll probably never see again. A man struggling with a faith different from my own.

  Fran shook her head in self-deprecation. You’re a hypocrite, Fran. You don’t even profess a strong belief in the faith your mother has espoused and taught you from the cradle.

  “It’s good to see you, Fran. How are you?”

  Her head lifted abruptly. “Pastor Barker—I’m fine. I enjoyed your sermon very much.”

  “Thank you for those kind words. I’m glad you came. Lucille and I are having an open house for our son, Howard, this evening. We want you to come, anytime after seven.”

  Fran couldn’t help but wonder if Howard was still as crazy about himself as he used to be. She had a feeling her father had started out the same way, a conceited ladies’ man. That’s why years ago while attending the church’s young adult activities and socials, she had kept her distance from the Barkers’ son.

  Of course Howard had been away at medical school a long time. Maybe the hard knocks of life had made him more bearable. “Mom told me he’s a fully fledged doctor now.”

  The Pastor’s whole face beamed. “He is. Nothing could make us happier than knowing he’s home to stay.”

  “That’s wonderful. You must be very proud of him. Naturally I’ll drop by.”

  Of course becoming a doctor might have made Howard even more arrogant. Wouldn’t you know he’d become a woman’s doctor?

  “Excellent. We’ll see you there.”

  It was the last thing she wanted to do tonight, but she couldn’t be rude. Lately nothing held any particular appeal. It was beginning to worry her.

  If it wasn’t too late, she would try to catch up with Dr. Wilcox and talk to her. The other woman probably hadn’t left the parking lot yet.

  But in that assumption Fran was wrong. By the time she’d been forced to stop and talk to a few other people on her way out of the church, Dr. Wilcox’s classic green Jaguar with the tan leather seats, which the whole congregation coveted, was nowhere in sight.

  Feeling at a loose end, Fran took off in her economy car. There were dozens of things left undone at home, but she was too restless to discipline herself to take care of them. Perhaps a drive that took up a better portion of the day was exactly what she needed.

  The family were all having Sunday dinner at her uncle’s, but Fran had opted out this time, preferring to be alone. She knew they meant well, but today she couldn’t handle the inevitable barrage of questions. If she got hungry, she could eat later at the open house.

  The bleak November afternoon fit her mood as she traveled up the canyon to clear her head. With the trees denuded of their leaves, Salt Lake didn’t look its most attractive right now. The transformation wouldn’t occur until a couple of major snowstorms swept through.

  Once again she found herself wishing it were a working day full of so many deadlines she wouldn’t have time to think about the monk who—if she were being totally honest with herself—was fast becoming her obsession.

  As her car traveled past the turnoff which would eventually lead to the monastery, she increased her speed, refusing to even look in its direction. She wondered if the day would come when she wouldn’t be conscious of the monk’s existence every time she had to drive past it.

  Two hundred miles later, after making the grand loop of several canyons, she ended up on the interstate at the base of the mountains leading south. She was almost out of gas and wouldn’t make it back to her apartment without it.

  At the turnoff for the freeway, Andre headed north for a mile in his rental car, then took the next exit which brought him to a small shopping center with a couple of restaurants, a minimart and a service station.

  He went inside the busy convenience store for a newspaper. Luckily there was one copy of the Salt Lake Tribune left in a box. Grateful all the papers hadn’t been sold out this late in the day, he got in line to pay for it. That’s when he caught sight of a silvery-blonde head. A woman stood several people in front of him. He craned his neck to get a better look.

  Instead of flowing to her shoulders, the gossamer hair had been caught back at the crown with a tortoiseshell clip. She was wearing a stunning navy blue suit and matching leather high heels. The collar of the blouse was a lighter blue paisley. From the back she looked elegant, classy, and above all, feminine….

  He couldn’t wait to see
her when she turned around. Judging from their avid stares, neither could the two younger men standing in line ahead of him, discussing her attributes. Absurd as it was, their reaction was making him feel distinctly territorial.

  The odds were a million to one, but if she didn’t turn out to be Ms. Mallory…

  He hadn’t wanted to wait until tomorrow to see her, or worse, to find out that she might be out of her office on a story.

  Suddenly he caught sight of her profile and couldn’t prevent the low groan that escaped. The blood began pounding in his ears.

  She started for the doors. He followed, tossing the newspaper back in the box. For a woman in high heels she moved fast. He moved faster. They reached her car at the far gas pump at the same time.

  “Francesca?”

  Her audible gasp was uniquely satisfying to Andre. It told him among other things that she hadn’t forgotten him. More importantly, that she wasn’t indifferent to him.

  She whirled around, staring at him in unfeigned disbelief. “What are you doing here?” she finally blurted.

  “I was about to buy a newspaper when I saw you.” In her dark-fringed eyes, the translucent green color stood out so he couldn’t look anywhere else. “The coincidences seem to keep happening to us.” Her shallow breathing pleased him no end. “As soon as I realized it was you, I followed you out of the store.”

  When nothing else was forthcoming on her part he added, “You must admit the odds of our bumping into each other like this aren’t as great as they were in Los Angeles. This time I’m only three short miles from the monastery.”

  She stared at him so strangely. “Something tells me you’re still afraid my soul is in jeopardy, that I’ve forsaken my vows.”

  The small moan that escaped her lips confirmed his suspicions. A long silence ensued before she said, “You appear to be a restless spirit. It’s only natural of me to assume that you still haven’t made up your mind whether to stay with the brothers, or leave forever.”