*an expletive, very mild sexual references

This takes place during Christmas vacation, roughly about 9½ (tee-hee, refrigerator scene!) weeks after The Air That I Breathe. I’m not sure what you’d call this, but it’s kind of a "companion" piece. Or maybe you could call it an extended epilogue or sequel. Dunno—I’ll leave it up to you, dear readers! Oh, and I shamelessly stole the title from a Beatles song. AND (big sigh) these characters belong to Golden West Publishing. I am using them without permission and therefore do not deserve to live.

Can’t Buy Me Love

Mary

 

Jim Frayne came bounding down the stairs, pulling on the thick sweater he had almost forgotten. Although the sun was shining brightly outside, the December climate was anything but warm in the little town of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. Still, it was a perfect day for a horseback ride in the preserve, his intended destination. It would no doubt snow any day, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity, especially considering that his fiancé, Trixie, had agreed to join him. They were both home from school for the Christmas holidays, and were especially happy about it because Jim’s faraway internship had come to an end.

"Jim, I know you’re going riding with Trixie, but can you spare a couple of minutes?" The sound of his father’s voice called from his nearby study.

"Sure Dad," Jim replied easily, slowing his stride and walking into the open door of his father’s home office. He took a brief moment to appreciate the gleaming cherrywood desk, leather chairs and sofas and hunter green walls. He recognized the family accountant, who had been with the Wheelers long before Jim had ever arrived on the scene. "Hi Mr. Brower," he said to the sharply dressed, gray-haired gentleman sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, shaking his hand.

"Hi yourself. Almost through with school, huh?" Mr. Brower replied.

Jim nodded. "Only one more semester, then I graduate in June. I can’t believe it—it went by so fast."

"It always does. And that’s why I’m here. I’ve know all about your plans to build your own school when you graduate, so your father and I decided that the time has come to talk about your financial future."

"Have a seat," his father urged.

Jim sat down, wondering why the two men were staring at him like that. Had something happened to his inheritance? He looked at his adopted father and doubted it. Matthew Wheeler was too brilliant a businessman to let anything like that happen. Besides, he had an almost boyish look of glee on his face.

Mr. Brower cleared his throat and snapped open his briefcase, removing several portfolios. "As you know, the Court, with your blessing, gave your Dad control over the half-million dollars you inherited from your great-uncle seven years ago. As you also no doubt know, he has made several investments over the years that have done well." He broke off and smiled the smile of a man who has seen great treasures and lived to tell the tale. "Very well as a matter of fact!" He looked at Jim and chuckled at the look of polite interest. "You don’t really care, do you?" He turned to Matthew Wheeler. "I guess seven years of living with you hasn’t turned this young man onto the joys of money!"

Matthew laughed in return. "Jim and I have many things in common, but no, the ‘joy of money’, as you put it, isn’t one of them. I’m willing to bet that Jim is already bored with this conversation, and is wishing that you’d just get on with it so he can meet up with his fiancé and go horseback riding. Isn’t that right, son?"

Jim had to laugh, shooting a wry smile at this man he’d grown to love over the years. "Caught," he admitted. He looked at the accountant. "No offense, but all I care about is having enough money to get my school off the ground. As for the money to keep it going, well, I’ll jump off that bridge when I get to it." He glanced out the window in the direction of Ten Acres, the sun glinting off the snow and sparkling against the pane. He thought about Trixie waiting for him in the stables and couldn’t wait for this meeting to be over.

Mr. Brower nodded, amused. "Fair enough. I’ll skip the part about how your dad was smart enough to get in on the ground floor of several Silicon Valley companies like Ebay and Yahoo; and how the stock has split so many times that only an old accountant like me can keep count, and just give you your net worth, shall I?" His face was smugly satisfied, like an old cat who has awakened from a nap to find his food bowl full.

Jim, already looking a little stunned, merely nodded. Ebay and Yahoo? Oh my God!

Mr. Brower dumped the portfolios back into his leather briefcase and snapped it shut, giving it a little pat. "Well, considering what the Dow closed at today, give or take a few thousand, we’re looking at roughly $300 million and change." He grinned at the expression on Jim’s face.

Jim felt like his blood and bones switched places. "How much?" he squeaked, his mouth hanging open.

Mr. Brower repeated the incredible figure. "I don’t think you have to worry about having enough money to keep your school going, Jim. You’re never going to have to worry about that."

"Aren’t you going to say anything?" Matthew said, growing a little concerned at Jim’s lack of response. He knew his son would be surprised, but he wasn’t expecting the quiet shock that had overtaken him.

"I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in," Jim replied dazedly. He stood up and restlessly paced his father’s study, a jumble of emotions tumbling through him. He thought about how his father was always flying off to meet with one board of directors after another, the sheer time and energy involved in the process of taking care of his empire. He stopped and faced the two men. "I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but, I don’t…I mean, I want to focus on teaching and the school and...I don’t want that kind of responsibility. And I don’t want to dump it on you, either," he finished, looking at Matthew.

Matthew stood up and clasped his shoulder. "Don’t ever think helping you get the money for your school was ‘dumped’ on me. It’s been my privilege looking out for that money. And as for the continued responsibility—" he looked at Mr. Brower and grinned—"if you let him look after your investments, you’ll make him one happy man. He does get paid a percentage, you know. You just focus on your school and let your accountant do the rest."

Jim wanted to believe it, feeling a small shoot of warmth break up the ice that had formed somewhere in the vicinity of his lungs. "But you don’t do that. You’re a lot more involved in your business ventures." His voice was troubled.

"Yes I am. But son, that’s because I love it. I love the challenge; it makes me happy. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Just because that’s how I do business doesn’t mean that’s how you have to live. Do what makes you happy—life’s just too short." He looked at Jim shrewdly. "I don’t think you’re rejecting me just because you’re not interested in investing. I couldn’t be prouder of your plans for the future—and I know for a fact that your mother feels the same way." He gave him a fatherly hug, which Jim returned. "So stop worrying and enjoy the moment, will ya?" Matthew Wheeler reflected that adopting Jim was the smartest "deal" he ever made, even though some of his friends were more than surprised that he had willingly allowed a teenager to come live at his house—a teenager who was as tall as he was to boot!

Jim laughed, feeling the burden of his secret worry slip away. "Dad, you’re good. I was worried you’d feel that way." He allowed himself to feel gleeful—he would never have to go begging for funds or worry that he’d have to close the doors after a few years. He could help whoever he wanted without outside interference, never having to worry that he was upsetting someone. If you take their money, you gotta take their crap, he remembered his real Dad saying once. He turned to Mr. Brower and shook his hand. "Well, I guess you have a client. And you’re really going to earn that commission because Dad’s right—dealing with investments is right up there with root canal work as far as I’m concerned!"

Mr. Brower returned the pressure and smiled. "What about your fiancé?"

Father and son laughed together at the thought of Trixie playing the stock market; Trixie, who had given away every monetary reward she had ever received over the years, finally keeping one she had received in her senior year of high school for the sole purpose of paying her college tuition. "She wouldn’t want to be bothered with it either, believe me!"

Mr. Brower shrugged, secretly thinking Jim must be a little nuts. "Well, have it your way young man. As soon as you’re ready to start building your school, let me know and I’ll allocate the needed funds."

"Let me walk you out. Son, you’d better head over to the stables—time and women wait for no man!" Matthew said, leading the accountant out the door and into the carpeted hall, rich with the smell of the enormous Christmas tree that towered elegantly in the living room. Being the naturalist that he was, the tree would be replanted in the preserve after the holidays were over.

Jim looked at his watch and nodded—he was already ten minutes late. He grinned his thanks and left, still looking slightly stunned.

"There goes a rich man," Mr. Brower commented as Mr. Wheeler led him out the front door.

"You’re right there," Matthew Wheeler replied, shaking his hand, watching as he headed towards his limo, Tom Delanoy, the Wheeler’s chauffeur, opening the door for him. But not in the way you think, he thought to himself.

*     *     *

Jim entered the well-kept stables, flawlessly clean, even the straw seeming to be symmetrically laid out. Regan sure trained his replacement well, he thought. Regan had finally fulfilled his dream of owning his own horse training business, figuring the time was right with most of the kids away at school. Everyone was very proud of the Wheeler’s former groom, his enterprise already gaining an outstanding reputation in the community. Jim was glad Regan hadn’t moved out of Sleepyside; he had an idea for his school that would never work unless Regan agreed to be a part of it. I’ll offer him a huge salary! Jim couldn’t help thinking, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Regan was another Trixie, unimpressed with large dollar amounts, only concerned with having enough to do what he wanted to do. Still, Jim couldn’t imagine having horses at his school without Regan’s watchful eye, and if he was willing to put in the time, Jim was damn sure going to compensate him for it. He walked past the stalls to where Trixie was making the final adjustments to Susie’s saddle.

"There you are!" Trixie said to Jim, giving the black mare’s nose a loving pat. She looked at him curiously. "You have the strangest look on your face. Did something happen?"

"I just had a talk with Dad and my, uh, the accountant, Mr. Brower. A meeting, I guess you’d call it."

"Is everything okay? You talked about your inheritance, right?" Trixie looked at him in concern. If anything had happened, and he wasn’t able to open his school after he graduated, she knew he’d take it very badly.

"Yeah, we talked about my inheritance." Jim suddenly felt uneasy—how would Trixie react when she found out how much money he, and therefore she, had? He allowed himself an ironic chuckle—most girls would be thrilled to learn that their fiancé was rich. Of course, that was the problem with most girls! Jim remembered one girl he dated when he first went away to college who asked him if it was true that he was the adopted son of Matthew Wheeler before the first course had even been served. She had such a predatory expression on her face…

"Something is wrong, isn’t it?" Trixie let go of Susie’s reins and stood close to him, sliding her hands around his waist.

Jim put his hands on her shoulders. "And what would you say if I told you I was as penniless as the day you met me? Would you still want to marry me?" he asked warmly.

Trixie smiled up at him. "Of course, you idiot. Gleeps, what a question!"

"Where would we live; what would we eat?"

Trixie started laughing, reassured by his tone. "Oh, we could always camp out in the woods and live off the land. Just think, there wouldn’t be any dishes to wash, and we could eat with our fingers!" She looked so happy at the thought that Jim started laughing too.

"After what I found out a few minutes ago, you never have to wash another dish again," he said, moving his hands from her shoulders down her back in a caressing gesture.

"What do you mean?" Trixie asked, puzzled.

"Well, apparently Dad’s been investing my inheritance all along, and it’s worth a lot more than a half a million dollars."

Trixie looked at him uneasily. "What exactly happened in that meeting?"

Jim decided there was no use beating around the bush. She had a right to know the truth. "I found out my net worth is $300 million," he said bluntly.

Trixie gasped. "Three hundred million? As in dollars? As in rich?" She suddenly thought of the Loony Toons cartoon where Daffy Duck screams, "I’m rich! I’m rich! I’m financially secure!" But this wasn’t funny. This was…this was terrifying.

"Trix…"

"So I’m never going to have to wash another dish again because we’re going to live in some mansion, surrounded by servants?" Susie snorted at the panicky sound in Trixie’s voice.

"Trixie, don’t get nuts on me. It’s just money!" Jim said desperately, not liking the look on her face. He regretted his dishwashing remark, realizing too late how it must have sounded.

"Don’t get nuts? Jim, do you have any idea what my net worth is?"

"C’mon, they haven’t invented a calculator with enough numbers in it to compute your net worth," Jim replied sincerely.

"I’m being serious."

"Well so am I!"

Trixie hated the trembling she was feeling in her body, but couldn’t stop it. "Jim, I know you are, but money changes everything. People will treat you differently, they’ll expect a certain, I don’t know, style. And I don’t have any!" She broke off, involuntarily looking down at her jeans and home-knit navy blue sweater.

Jim let out a laugh, wanting to lighten the mood. "Are you kidding—you have plenty of style!"

Trixie was not deterred. "It’s a whole lifestyle, that’s what I’m talking about. And I’m not knocking it, believe me." She smiled ironically. "Some of my best friends are rich! But I just never expected, I mean, I didn’t think…" she broke off, frustrated at her inability to express her true feelings. She was too upset to realize that her old demon insecurity was back, and stomping all over her heart, whispering not good enough, not rich enough, not pretty enough... She looked at Jim, the man she had loved for so long, looking effortlessly gorgeous as usual in a gray-green, crewneck sweater. "Oh Jim, it’s just not…me." She tried to picture herself the lady of the Frayne manor and failed miserably.

"Trix, you’ve known all along that I was going to come into money when I finished school…"

"But Jim, I figured it would all go to building your school! I never for a second thought you were going to become some multi-millionaire. My god!" Her blue eyes filled with tears, which she impatiently dashed away.

Jim felt apprehension gather in the pit of his stomach. "You…you’re not saying…do you want to call off our engagement?" he asked quietly, his throat aching.

Trixie felt something cold rush throughout her body. "I don’t know," she whispered. She looked into his eyes, her breath catching at the expression in them. "I need to think. I’m sorry..." She grabbed Susie’s reins and led her out of the stable. Jim heard the sound of hooves pounding away, his heartbeat perfectly matching the sound as his world crashed down around him.

*     *     *

Trixie let Susie take her wherever the still-feisty mare wanted, her eyes blinded with tears. It was some time before she was able to notice that she was on the trail that led to Mr. Maypenny’s cabin. She reigned her in, not wanting to see anybody, Susie prancing and snorting in protest. "Easy girl," she said soothingly, talking just as much to herself as to her mount. She breathed in the loamy smell of the woods, feeling a chill that wasn’t related to the brisk December weather. Jim’s announcement had shifted the ground from under her, making her feel off-balance and precarious.

She turned onto a trail that led away from Mr. Maypenny’s cabin, glad that she was wearing thermals under her clothes. Her breathing was finally coming under control, allowing her to think. She spent the next hour walking Susie up one trail and down another, trying to make sense of her jumbled emotions, but she was only sure of one thing: she loved Jim and he loved her, even if, now that he was rich, she probably wasn’t the kind of girl he should be with. She also knew that there are some people who only love one person in their lifetime, and that she was one of those people. Could she really give up Jim if it was best for him? She pulled the reins and stopped Susie; they were in a particularly secluded spot in the woods, where time seemed to stand still, the shadows sharing space with the trees, laying their icy fingers on her heart. She slid off of the horse’s back burying her face in her mane, Susie bending her head down, gently blowing out her breath. Trixie had no doubt that her favorite mount was trying to comfort her—she and Susie almost seemed to have a psychic connection at times.

"What would you say to me if you could talk, Susie-girl?" she said, almost laughing to find that she half expected the mare to answer her. "Would you tell me I’m being crazy?" She lifted her head, rubbing her sleeve over her eyes. She knew her brother Mart would tell her that, although he’d find a way to use as many complicated words as possible. If she concentrated she could almost hear him say, "My dear sibling, your curly-headed pate has no doubt led you down the trajectory of defective presupposition!" Then he’d probably give her a shove and remind her that Jim knew exactly who she was, and that he loved her for the same reason.

Her oldest brother Brian would first ask her if she was feeling all right; and after ascertaining that illness was not the cause of her current state of mind, would give her that I-can’t-believe-you’re-actually-related- to-me look of his before telling her that yes, she was indeed crazy for thinking that his best friend would be better off without her. Trixie had to smile—she knew that for Brian, the thought of his baby sister with anybody other than Jim was just too scary to contemplate!

In spite of her mood, she giggled—she had no problem imagining an entire meeting of their old club the Bob-Whites of the Glen, with her mental state the sole topic of discussion! She remounted Susie, knowing that it was bad for the horse to stand in the chilly air, slowly returning to the Manor House stables.

She thought about Jim’s sister Honey, her very best friend in the world. Honey was born into money, had been a very rich girl her entire life, like her mother, like her mother’s mother, and so on. What would she say if she knew what Trixie was thinking? Trixie winced—not only would she be upset on her brother’s behalf, wouldn’t she also see Trixie’s fears as a rejection? Trixie could almost hear her gentle voice telling her what a mistake it would be to assume that Jim needed to be with someone used to living a wealthy lifestyle; when what he needed was to be with someone who loved him. All Honey ever wanted were friends who cared about her—money be damned.

And Diana…Trixie closed her eyes and pictured her good friend, so beautiful with her jet black hair and violet eyes. Sure, she was miserable when she first became wealthy, but not because of the money, but rather the attitudes of the people around her. And you were one of them, an insistent voice whispered. You felt uncomfortable around her and stopped being her friend. It was only when Diana was accepted into the Bob-Whites, only after Trixie treated her as a friend, that she became a happy person. Although Di was renown for her ability to soothe ruffled feathers, Trixie had the uncomfortable feeling that she would really let her have it for leaving Jim standing in the stables looking as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.

Which left Dan Mangan. Surely, he’d understand where she was coming from; Dan, who, like her, had to work for every penny, who had come to Sleepyside to live after his mother died and he had fallen in with a street gang. Trixie cantered along, thinking. Dan was one of the best people she knew—next to Honey, he was her best friend. Jim’s been promoted! she thought happily, before she remembered, her face twisting with pain. She forcibly brought her thoughts back to her dark haired friend. His life had never been easy, but he’d emerged a stronger, wiser person. He was all set to graduate in the spring, and had already gained experience interning at the Sleepyside police department. Luckily for him, Captain Molinson gave him the chance to prove himself, and was very pleased with the result, even writing a letter of recommendation to the White Plains Police Department.

"What do you think Dan, am I a lunatic or what?" she said aloud, tilting her head back, feeling her blonde curls blow back over her shoulders, the sound of Susie’s hooves on the well-beaten trail almost hypnotic.

You aren’t being fair, a voice muttered. Trixie started, smiling sheepishly when she realized that the voice was coming from her own mind, even though it sounded exactly like Dan. It was official—she was hearing voices; she was coo coo for Coco Puffs! The voice kept speaking with Dan’s reasonable voice. You aren’t being fair. You’re judging Jim; you’re making assumptions about what he needs, what he’s thinking, what he wants without taking the person he is into consideration. Just like the people who took one look at my long hair and the fact that I live in the woods with Mr. Maypenny as proof positive that I’m not fit for good society…Trixie slowed the exuberant mare down to a walk, her imaginary conversation fading to a stop. Nothing made Trixie or the other BWGs more furious than when Dan was judged like that—luckily it happened less and less. Was that what she was doing—being judgmental?

What am I afraid of—what am I really afraid of? Trixie sighed when the answer came to her, unrelenting in its honesty. I’m afraid that I’m not good enough, that I won’t fit in—that Jim will be disappointed that he married me, that I’ll be an embarrassment. The rational part of her knew that this was ridiculous—Jim wouldn’t treat a complete stranger so harshly, let alone her. She thought about what she said back at the stables, that money changes things, that people treat you differently. And maybe some people would, but not the people who really mattered, not her closest friends and family. Shame filled her as she realized a fundamental truth. The only person treating Jim differently in this scenario is you, Trixie Belden! "Foolish girl, what have you done?" she groaned aloud.

"Hey Trix!"

With a Herculean effort, Trixie focused her attention on her surroundings once more, shocked to realize that she was again heading for Mr. Maypenny’s cabin, that this time Dan’s voice was real. Gleeps, if I don’t wake up, Susie’s going to take me to the moon!

She reined Susie to a stop and stared at Dan who had exited the cabin and was heading towards her. "I know what you’re going to say Dan, so forget it!" she exclaimed, turning Susie’s head and heading briskly down the trail back to Manor House, leaving an astonished Dan behind her.

Dan stood staring after her, puzzled. "Women!" he finally said, shrugging his shoulders, heading back indoors.

*     *     *

"Did you and Trixie have a fight?" Honey asked her brother, who was pushing his food around with his fork, but not eating it. The two were sitting in the kitchen having lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler having gone into the city for some last minute Christmas shopping.

"What makes you think that?" he replied evasively, not wanting to think about what was happening, or rather, not happening with Trixie and himself.

Honey sighed. "Number one, you’re sitting with me instead off riding with Trixie. Number two, you look like you just lost your last friend in the world."

Jim smiled a small, bitter smile. "I wouldn’t call it fighting exactly." He looked around at the large kitchen, much less intimidating than the formal Wheeler dining room, but big and impressive just the same. Didn’t Trixie know that he much preferred the cozy kitchen at Crabapple Farm? Did she honestly think that he wanted to live some flashy lifestyle?

Honey laid her hand sympathetically on his arm. "What would you call it?"

Jim patted his sister’s hand. "I appreciate your interest, I really do. But I just can’t talk about it right now. Not until I talk to Trixie again." He looked at his sister and tried to smile. "Please don’t feel bad."

"My own brother won’t talk to me, why should I feel bad?" she said, her hazel eyes warm, a light, teasing note in her voice. "Just let me say one quick thing, then I’ll shut up, I promise. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you this. No matter what she said, or what you said, I know Trixie loves you. And as Forrest Gump once said, ‘that’s all I have to say about that!’" she finished.

Jim let out a little laugh. "I know," he said simply. Trixie not loving him wasn’t the problem. Trixie not marrying him, now that was a problem!

"Good," Honey responded. "Then it’s safe for me to go over to Diana’s? We’ve got some Christmas shopping of our own to do," she explained, rising from the table and putting her empty plate in the sink.

"Geez, do I look that bad? Of course you can leave me by myself!" Jim grinned at his sister; she always knew how to make people feel better. She gave a tiny wave as she left.

The cook came back into the kitchen, eyeing Jim’s full plate.

"Uh, I’m done," Jim stammered, suddenly feeling like he’d insulted her. Dang, he was making everybody unhappy today! He hastily rose and exited the kitchen as she smiled indulgently, the sound of clinking plates following, reminding him about what he had said to Trixie about her never having to wash another dish. What an arrogant thing to say, he suddenly realized. It does imply a certain lifestyle that has nothing to do with cozy kitchens! He walked into the enormous living room, the gleaming hardwood floors and priceless rugs still a wonder to him, even after seven years of living there. He appreciated the beauty, and didn’t begrudge his mother for her love of decorating, but knew that it wasn’t what he pictured for himself. He sank down on one of the sofas, leaning his chin in his hands, picturing a roomy, yet cozy, house built on Ten Acres, maybe with one of those porches that go all the way around, oh and definitely one of those swings where he and Trixie could sit and watch the sun go down…Jim felt his heart drop into his stomach. If Trixie wasn’t there to share it with him, it didn’t much matter where he lived, or how for that matter. He had to talk to her and soon; he’d make her see that they could live anyway they wanted to…

*     *     *

Trixie hung up the saddle, perfectly cleaned and precisely in its place. Even though Regan was no longer in charge of the Wheeler stable, it never even occurred to her to deviate from the rules he had set down so long ago. She had already brushed Susie and given her food and water; she was as ready as she’d ever be to eat humble pie.

She ran a hand through her windblown curls as she headed up to the big house, hoping that Jim wasn’t too mad at her. Well if he is, I deserve it! She marched up to the door, Celia startling her by opening it before she could knock.

"Hello Trixie—I could see you coming from the window." The attractive blonde maid smiled, her eyes twinkling with friendliness at the healthy picture Trixie made with her skin glowing from exercise. Trixie returned the smile, unable to imagine Manor House without her.

"Hi Celia. Is Jim around?" she asked, coming into the lavish entryway, sighing at the glimpse of wind-reddened cheeks, her curls in their usual disarray in the gold framed mirror.

"You have no idea how pretty you look, do you?" Celia laughed, rightly interpreting her expression. She eyed the young woman, wondering if she and Jim were having some kind of argument. "He’s in the living room," she finally replied.

Trixie took a deep breath. "Thanks," she said, unconsciously squaring her shoulders and heading further into the house.

"You’re welcome. I think you know the way!" Celia’s voice was teasing as she made her way to the kitchen. Now she knew her suspicions were correct, but she wasn’t worried. Those two had been arguing since the day they met!

Jim was deep in thought when Trixie entered the room, taking a deep appreciative sniff of the beautiful Christmas tree in spite of herself. She loved that smell—it brought back happy memories of every Christmas she had ever known. She felt Jim’s eyes on her and walked up to where he was sitting, sinking down next to him, taking his hands in hers. "Jim…"

Jim gripped her hands so hard it almost hurt. "I can’t lose you over this. I can’t. I’ll give every Goddamned cent away before I let that happen."

"You’d really do that?" Trixie asked softly. Before he could answer she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. "Don’t answer that. You’re not losing me. I’m sorry I was so stupid and immature before," she said as he put his arms around her. "I wasn’t being fair."

"You were being honest," Jim replied, thankful to hear her words, relief suffusing every pore at the knowledge that she wasn’t breaking their engagement.

"I was being an idiot. Why do you put up with me?"

He pulled her closer. "Because I love you. And that’s worth a lot more to me than all the money in the world."

"I don’t see why it’s worth anything after the horrible way I acted. I totally freaked out!"

"Well, I did kind of drop a bomb on you without any warning. Then I made that stupid remark about never washing dishes. I guess it did imply that I was talking about having a house full of servants or something."

Trixie put her arms around him. "But then I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. I just had all these dumb thoughts about people treating us differently and everything changing, and it frightened me, I guess."

He kissed her temple. "We can do whatever we want—just because we have money doesn’t mean we have to dress up and attend charity benefits, or, or…"

Trixie started laughing, hugging him tightly, "…or raise orchids that we name after ourselves!"

"Or have a butler who caters to our every whim!"

"Or have a personal dresser who undresses me at night!"

Jim slid his hands under her sweater and unhooked her bra. "I’m afraid that position has already been filled," he whispered suggestively.

She pushed him away, refastening the hooks. "Stop that! Celia could walk in at any minute," she said, her face a little red, a tiny smile darting on her lips. She looked so irresistible that he was tempted to risk it.

"Mmm, all the more reason not to have any servants. And you were worried that having lots of money would change me. What did you think I was going to do—turn into Cary Grant and wear a tuxedo to dinner every night?" Jim grinned at her.

Trixie chuckled, "Yeah right; the poster child for the L.L. Bean catalog!" She shook her head. "I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just scared I guess. Jim, I just…I don’t know how to have a lot of money. I know that sounds ridiculous, but at least you’ve had some practice, living with the Wheelers for the past seven years."

"Nothing you feel is ridiculous. Just tell me I’m worth the trouble?"

Trixie had to smile. "Well, I guess you are, Mr. Grant." She tilted her head as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her for so long that she was breathless. "Oh my," she said when he finally raised his head.

"There are some things that money cannot buy," he murmured, lowering his head once more, the taste of her firing his passions. The heck with Celia!

"I take it you’ve forgiven me," Trixie murmured into his mouth, her hands stealing under his sweater, moving sensuously up the muscled wall of his stomach.

Jim disengaged himself reluctantly, knowing that in a few seconds he wouldn’t be able to stop and then he’d have to explain to his parents why they needed to hire a new maid! "There’s nothing to forgive. Just don’t do it again—you just about killed me!" he replied, pulling her into a less X-rated embrace.

"I won’t. Like I told you once before, you’re stuck with me. Besides, being co-presidents of the Bob-Whites of the Glen is a lifetime job, whether you like it or not!"

"Oh, I like it. And as co-president, I have a proposition to make."

Trixie shifted more comfortably in his arms, fitting her head under his chin. "I already said I’d marry you, remember?"

Jim kissed the top of her head. "This is another proposition. I think as co-presidents, it’s only fitting that we should make as many donations to worthy causes as we see fit, in keeping with the traditions started by the BWGs. Wouldn’t you concur, Ms. Co-President?"

Trixie smiled happily, wondering how she could have ever believed for a second that money would change him. "I do indeed, Mr. Co-President! Oh, and Jim—" her blue eyes were twinkling as she started to laugh from pure joy—"if you want to wash all the dishes when we get married, that’s perfectly fine with me!"

The End

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