“Uh,” Derrick said. “Well, I was thinking—”
“Another space, then.” Russell’s tone left no room for argument.
She blew out a breath and turned. The older man winked at her.
“There’s a kids’ room upstairs that should accommodate you. I’m sorry we don’t have another like this to offer, but if I know you, you won’t sleep much, anyway.”
“That’ll be great. I’ll be happy”—Derrick seemed far from it when he cut his gaze to her—“as long as Harper’s comfortable.”
Russell nodded toward the door, and Derrick stepped back into the hallway. “We’ll eat in about an hour,” Russell told her over his shoulder. “We’re really casual tonight, so what you’re wearing is fine. Come down whenever you’re ready.” With that, he closed the door.
Harper turned again to the view, then opened the slider and stepped outside.
The evening was perfect. Laughter and chatter from the men below joined the sound of the surf like a lovely serenade. A warm breeze blew her hair into her face, and she pushed it behind her ears.
The sun was setting behind the house, casting shadows on the beach and the few folks who lingered there. One couple strolled hand-in-hand along the boardwalk that seemed to stretch forever in both directions.
The ocean was breathtaking. Waves crashed against the sand, then slid back out, just like they’d done for thousands of years. Just like they’d do for thousands more. The thought made her feel small and insignificant.
Estelle’s final words reverberated in her mind. Red’s words, too. That God loved her. That despite all evidence to the contrary, despite the pile of mistakes she’d made, the sins she’d committed, she had a God who loved her.
Loved her.
It was inconceivable.
Yet, look at all He’d done. Brought her to this job and, through Derrick, to this amazing place.
Harper looked toward the endless blue sky. If God was there, she wanted to know Him. She wanted to believe. She imagined walking the beach, asking all her questions to the God who’d created all of this. If only she’d remembered her journal.
Laughter drifted up from downstairs and snapped her out of her musings. Derrick would expect her to go down and mingle, so that’s what she’d do, despite her desire to stay here, to soak in this view. She was at the beach to have fun but also to help Derrick impress Russell and his friends.
Back in her room, she opened her bag, grabbed her toiletries, and carried them to the attached bathroom. After she’d brushed her hair and applied some makeup, she surveyed her reflection. Before they’d left Red’s house, she’d put on white capris with a teal sleeveless blouse that accentuated the blue of her eyes. Russell had said this outfit would do, so she wouldn’t change. She was pretty, but she’d long since given up the belief that her looks were a blessing. Her looks had only led to trouble.
She’d trade all her beauty to get back those wasted years. But that deal wasn’t on the table tonight and never would be.
Chapter Eight
Harper opened her bedroom door and listened. She heard women’s voices, but no men’s, which meant Derrick was either outside or still in his bedroom. Which meant she had to go downstairs and face a bunch of women she’d never met before, all by herself.
Which wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
Right.
She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. Then she went down the stairs, resisting the urge to tiptoe.
The sound of women chattering mingled with the beeping of a timer, the humming of a vent fan.
At the bottom of the stairs, Harper peered beyond the long dining room table, which had been set to seat ten, to the screened-in porch, where Derrick was sitting on the arm of a chair. He held a brown beer bottle in one hand, a chip in the other. The other men held drinks, too, and talked. Russell was reclining, watching with those piercing eyes. She barely knew the older man, but after the way he’d handled Derrick upstairs, she liked him.
She debated for only a moment, then pasted on a smile and walked around the corner toward the kitchen.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt.
“You must be Harper.” A fifty-something blonde with a short, relaxed haircut crossed the space, wearing an inviting smile. Over capris and a T-shirt, she wore an apron that read I’m still hot. It just comes in flashes now. She took both of Harper’s hands in hers and squeezed. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Russell’s wife, Betts.”
With that wide smile and those joyful eyes, this woman seemed genuinely delighted. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t greet you at the door. I was in a critical moment with the bruschetta toast.”
Another woman stepped beside Betts. Her hair was also blond, though the dye-job wasn’t as professional, nor the haircut. “You know how finicky bruschetta toast can be.”
Harper’s chuckle surprised her. “I’m not even sure I know what bruschetta toast is.”
Both women feigned gasps.
“We’ll need to educate you!” Betts nodded toward the woman beside her. “This is my dear friend, Kitty Williams. She goes with Keith, who’s outside.”
Kitty shook Harper’s hand. “Glad you could join us.”
Harper nodded, focused on Betts again. “I appreciate the invitation.”
Betts waved the thank-you off and stepped to the side. Harper focused on the other woman in the room, a thin, perfectly polished brunette with a plastic smile.
Betts said, “And this is Marjorie Slater.”
Marjorie’s smile tightened. She wore a black sleeveless turtleneck—which set off a long strand of pearls perfectly—over black slacks and black sandals that had two-inch heels. Even with the extra height, Marjorie didn’t stand more than five-four, yet she still managed, somehow, to look down her nose at Harper. “Lovely to meet you, Harper… What’s your last name?”
“Cloud.”
Marjorie glanced at the others, then back at Harper. “What an unusual name. Where did it come from?”
Harper wasn’t sure how to answer that and was saved when Betts interrupted. “It came from her father, I assume.” She turned to Harper. “Unless it’s an ex’s name.”
“No ex—”
“Of course she’s not divorced,” Marjorie snapped. “Nobody would choose to keep Cloud as a last name.”
Kitty’s laugh was forced, and she focused on Harper. “Don’t mind her. She’s had a rough day.”
Marjorie sipped from the red liquid in her martini glass. “And not nearly enough alcohol.”
Silence settled among the women until Betts sighed and returned to the counter where she’d been working. “Kitty, get Harper a drink, would you?”
“Sure!” She turned to Harper. “We have beer, wine, and Marjorie made up a pitcher of cosmopolitans.” She cut her gaze to the brunette. “Which I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing.”
“No, thank you,” Harper said. “Just water for me.”
Kitty’s eyebrows lifted.
Marjorie uttered a little pfft.
Betts said, “Kitty, get the girl a glass of water. She’s had a long drive. Then, could you finish up with that salad?”
Kitty jumped to action. Betts was stirring some kind of cream sauce on the stove.
Marjorie leaned against the counter and sipped her cosmo. When their gazes met, the woman gave her a saccharin smile.
She’d known her five minutes, and clearly the woman hated her.
The kitchen had been remodeled with granite countertops and had fresh paint on the cabinets, but it was no designer space. Just a normal kitchen to fix normal meals, which matched the kind woman currently preparing their dinner.
Dishes and pots and pans and various food items covered the counters. “Can I do anything to help?”
Betts turned to her with another big smile—the woman seemed as happy as anyone Harper had ever known—and nodded to a cookie sheet where slices of toast covered with some sort of
tomato mixture were lined like soldiers. “You can transfer the bruschetta to a serving dish, if you don’t mind.”
“The serving dishes are where?”
Betts focused beyond Harper, and Harper turned to see Marjorie glaring at her back.
Betts said to Marjorie, “Grab her that blue dish from the cabinet, would you?”
Marjorie slid a pretty blue platter from the glass-fronted cabinet, handed it to Harper, and then settled back against the counter.
Harper pulled a spatula from a jar of utensils on the counter and shifted the little pieces of toast to the plate.
Kitty snatched one and took a bite. “Seriously, you should try it.”
Betts said, “Go ahead.”
Harper took one and bit into it. She tasted toast, tomatoes, garlic, basil, olive oil, and a sprinkling of some sort of white cheese. “This is delicious.”
When she was halfway through her third and, sadly, last bite, Marjorie said, “So what do you do?”
Harper swallowed quickly, trying not to choke on her food. She sipped her water and met the woman’s cold gaze. “I’m a private nurse. I care for Derrick’s grandfather.”
Marjorie’s smirk seemed satisfied, though Harper had no idea why.
“A nurse!” Kitty sounded downright jubilant at the news. “I’m a doctor.”
Harper faced her over the huge bowl of salad Kitty was tossing. “What’s your specialty?”
“Pediatrics.”
“You like your job?”
“Mostly, I love it. I only work part-time right now, so I can be home with my kids.” She carried the salad to the dining room table around the corner. When she returned, she said, “But pediatrics is hard. Children aren’t supposed to get sick.”
Betts said, “It’s so sad sometimes.”
Harper turned to her. “You work there, too?”
“I’m just a volunteer at the hospital,” Betts said. “I hold the babies and play with the kids.”
“What a wonderful way to help,” Harper said. “I bet you’re universally loved.”
Betts shrugged, and Kitty said, “She is. And you focus on geriatric patients?”
“I was working at a nursing home when Derrick and I met. I’ve always felt so comfortable with older folks. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“But it’s sad, too,” Kitty said. “In a nursing home, there’s never a happy ending.”
Harper shrugged. “I don’t know. Death is a step in the natural order of things, isn’t it? I lost a patient, a dear friend, right before I moved. She never talked about death, just about going home. I love that sentiment.”
“If you know God,” Betts said, “it’s not just sentiment. It’s truth.”
Kitty’s smile was indulgent before she turned back to Harper. “And Derrick’s grandfather? Is he a good patient?”
Harper chuckled. “He’s not always a patient patient, but he’s a kind, sweet man. I’ve never had a better job.”
Behind her, Marjorie hmm’ed. Harper made sure her smile was in place when she turned to face her. “And what do you do?”
“Nothing so important as what you do.”
Harper was amazed at the woman’s ability to make the word important sound like an insult.
Marjorie continued. “I work for a fashion designer in Manhattan.”
“Oh. Sounds like a fun job.”
“Fun.” She sipped her drink. “Loads.”
Betts poured a huge pot of pasta over a colander in the sink. “Get the guys, would you, Kitty? It’s time to eat.”
“Constantine isn’t here yet.” Marjorie’s voice held more animation than it had yet. “Shouldn’t we wait?”
Betts glanced at the clock. “It’s seven-thirty. If he gets here, he gets here. I’m not waiting any longer.”
Marjorie’s tight lips told Harper what she thought of that.
Kitty passed the dining room table and opened the slider. “Soup’s on.”
The men walked into the house carrying their drinks and their conversation.
Derrick crossed to her side, took her hand, and leaned in. “Having fun?”
“Sure. They’re nice.” Her gaze cut to Marjorie, but Derrick didn’t notice.
Harper turned to Betts, who was mixing cream sauce into pasta. “What can I do?”
Betts got her husband’s attention. “Russell, make sure Harper meets everyone.”
He nodded to his wife, then stood beside Harper. The two men she hadn’t met were deep in conversation when Russell led her to them and interrupted. “Gentlemen, this is Harper Cloud.”
Both men turned to her. One had longish brown hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. He was older and barely cracked a smile. “Keith Williams.”
Kitty’s husband. He couldn’t be more different from the friendly woman Harper had met.
Russell said, “Keith’s a police detective in Baltimore.”
The word police had her stomach dropping, but only a little. She had nothing to fear from this man. She’d not so much as rolled a stop sign since she’d gotten out of prison. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” His voice was gruff, and as soon as he’d spoken, his attention shifted elsewhere.
Russell turned to the other man. “And this is Marjorie’s husband, Carter Slater.”
Carter’s gray eyes met her gaze with an intensity that made her want to step back. He took her hand in his, then covered it with his other hand. He moved closer, too close. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Harper Cloud.”
Adrenaline pumped into her veins as if he’d flipped a switch.
“Careful, Slater.” Derrick’s voice, right beside her, held a hint of warning beneath the forced chuckle. “She’s spoken for.”
Carter held her gaze a moment longer, then dropped her hands. “Just getting to know our new friend.”
She flushed, and this time, she did step back. Marjorie glared at her from the far side of the room.
Great. They hadn’t even eaten dinner yet, and she’d cemented her status as the enemy. Wouldn’t this be fun?
Chapter Nine
The food was passed around the table. Fettuccini with a seafood cream sauce, angel-hair with a meat sauce, bruschetta, salad, and various side dishes. Harper loaded her plate, ravenous after the long day.
“Must be nice to be able to eat such rich and fattening foods.” Marjorie, sitting on the other side of the table, eyed Harper’s plate with disdain. “I can’t imagine.”
Harper snatched a couple of olives off the antipasto plate before she handed it to Carter. “It is, actually. I can eat whatever I want and never gain a pound.”
At the look Marjorie gave her, she wondered if the woman knew how to do anything but glare.
Two seats down from Harper, Kitty laughed. “Every woman’s dream!”
Betts added, “Men think our dream is to find Prince Charming. But no. It’s calorie-free food.”
Harper, Kitty, and Betts shared a laugh. Marjorie’s lips tipped up in a feeble attempt before she helped herself to a bird-sized portion of angel-hair pasta.
Carter, who’d snatched the seat beside Harper, leaned in. “Whatever you’re eating or not eating, it’s working.”
Harper shifted her attention to Derrick, sitting opposite her, hoping for some support. But he was focused on Russell.
Derrick asked, “How’s business been? I read in the Wall Street Journal about that big merger—”
“Let’s not talk shop tonight.” Russell set the bowl of seafood pasta in the center of the table. He leaned over to Betts and kissed her on the cheek. “Looks delicious, babe.”
She beamed at him. “I hope it tastes good.”
They dug into their meals, and for a few moments, the only sounds were the scrape of silverware and the appreciative mmms of the diners.
“Wow.” Keith lifted his fork, which was piled with pasta and tomato sauce. “This is awesome.”
“Thank you,” Betts said. “It’s Russell’s mother’s recipe.
”
“Good cook, your mother?” Harper asked.
“Second best.” Russell smiled at his wife, who blushed. They acted like newlyweds. Harper was about to ask how long they’d been married when a knock sounded at the door a moment before it opened.
A man stepped into the room. He was short, heavy-set, and had white hair and a white beard. He wore a sport coat over a polo shirt and slacks.
All the men stood. “Constantine,” Russell said. “Glad you could make it.”
Constantine surveyed the dinner table, and his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “I see you waited for me.”
Russell just laughed. “Betts’s house, Betts’s rules.”
Betts stood and produced a smile, though it was tight on the corners. “And Betts was hungry. Grab a seat.”
Only when Constantine headed toward the table did Harper notice there was a woman behind him. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Blond, blue-eyed, slight, and beautiful.
Russell must’ve just noticed her, too. He crossed the room, and Betts followed. Russell held out his hand. “I’m Russell Caldworth. This is my wife, Betts. Welcome.”
The woman glanced at Constantine before shaking Russell’s hand. “Hi. I’m Jenny.”
Russell introduced her to everyone, then introduced Constantine to Keith, Kitty, Derrick, and Harper, while Betts set another place at the table. The man barely nodded at any of them. He turned to the girl. “Come in and sit.”
Jenny followed Constantine to the table.
And that’s exactly what it was—obedience. In fact, except for Russell and Betts, everyone in the room seemed to fawn over Constantine. It wasn’t shocking, really. The man emanated strength and power and authority. But did he wield those over this tiny, cowering woman?
Constantine sat at the end of the table, though Jenny hadn’t reached her seat yet, the empty chair beside Harper. The rest of the men, Derrick included, waited until Jenny and Betts sat before they resumed their seats.
When the food had been passed to the new guests, Harper leaned toward Jenny. “I’m Harper. In case you missed it.”
Her gaze flicked to Constantine, then to her plate. Then, for an instant, they focused on Harper. “Nice to meet you.”
Beauty in Flight, #1 Page 4
