by Tanya Agler
Chuckling, Georgie doodled on a nearby notepad. “You’re talking to the wrong girl about girlie stuff.”
“Actually I’m talking to the right girl.” He cleared his throat. For a second her heart fluttered. “I want to restore the Thunderbird. From what I saw at the barn, I know you’re the only person to get it done. You and Grandpa Ted knew every inch of that car. I trust you.”
The right girl for a business matter. Nothing more. Nothing personal.
Silence came over the line, and Georgie considered his offer. If people hadn’t canceled their appointments, she wouldn’t have had the time. As it was, this opportunity might be the best offer on her plate. More to the point, it might show the residents of the town her expertise when it came to cars.
“Well, I did work at a body shop for a year when I lived in Salem, Oregon, and have kept up my restoration skills ever since.”
“Oregon?”
“I wanted to see the Pacific Ocean.” A measure of defensiveness entered her tone, and she stiffened her shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“How many places have you lived since Hollydale?”
“Seven places in nine years.” The only reason she’d stayed in one place for two years, rather than move on, was Kevin.
“I’m glad all roads led back to Hollydale for you, then.” A muffled yell came through and he sighed. “Duty calls. Rachel’s not sick often, but when she is, she can be a bear. Think about the Thunder—”
“I’ll do it.”
“You brighten my day like no one else.”
“Wait, before you say that, I have some conditions.” For one thing, she intended to document this restoration and post it on social media. Anything so the residents of this town could trust her with their cars.
She took a deep breath. She could also keep tabs on Mike. Find out if he had any leads on those comics. Clear her name.
“Rachel is calling. Gotta go.”
The dial tone signaled he’d hung up. She glanced at the phone and then at Heidi. “Do you have Mike Harrison’s phone number?”
“Yeah—911.” Heidi wrinkled her brow. “When we service the fleet of police cars, I update Sheriff Donahue, not Mike.”
A plan took shape. Towing the Thunderbird here was the first step. Easier to see the undercarriage and figure out the order of the repairs if Miss Brittany was in a service bay, rather than a dark and dusty barn.
Then she’d know how extensive this restoration would be and whether she could handle it by herself. She breathed in. If Mike had to help, would that be a blessing or not? There was no way she could keep this about business if he was near her all the time.
Somehow she’d have to find a way.
* * *
MIKE GLANCED AT the thermometer and stopped short of doing a victory dance. Happiness for Rachel’s broken fever lightened his mood, already improved from this morning after Georgie agreed to look at the Thunderbird. Two excellent presents, if he did say so himself.
“Looks like you’ll be well enough to go to school tomorrow.”
“Can I call Lilah and find out my homework? I don’t want to be behind tomorrow.”
He rubbed his ear, then pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Excuse me. I thought I just heard someone asking for homework.”
She giggled as Ginger jumped onto her bed. “I like school. Not as much as I love Ginger, but close.” She met his gaze and smiled. “And you’re my favorite daddy in the whole world.”
He laughed and pulled her into a hug. “I’m your only father in the whole world.”
For a second, he stiffened. At least to his knowledge he was. He’d never asked for a paternity test. Who was he kidding? Rachel had his eyes, his chin and his stubbornness.
Even if she didn’t, he’d love her anyway. Parenthood wasn’t about blood. It was about sweat and tears and joy. He was Rachel’s father, in every true sense of the word.
Ginger inserted herself between them and snuggled close to his chest. This was a day for celebration. So there wasn’t any cake or presents. Sam Edwards had called to wish him a happy birthday and update Mike on the progress, or lack thereof, on the burglaries. Rachel was feeling better, and that was all he needed. The tightness in his shoulders loosened.
“I’m going to fix dinner. Do you want chicken noodle soup or something more solid?”
“The soup with the stars in it.” She reached for Ginger and smiled. “Please.”
“Coming right up.”
“Wait!” Urgency rang out in her voice. Alarmed, he stopped and ran back from the doorway. She wore a crooked smile. “I forgot to give you your card and present.”
Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, he said, “I didn’t expect you to get me anything, kiddo. Your recovery is all I want.”
“It’s not much.” She reached under her bed and popped back up. “Here.”
Rachel handed him a piece of folded construction paper with little hearts glued all over it. He opened it and smiled at her loopy writing proclaiming him the bestest dad ever. “Thank you. I love it.”
“There’s more.”
She passed him a larger piece of rectangular paper. He gasped as he took in the charcoal sketch of Ginger and him on the couch. His daughter had talent. “Rache.” Words lodged in his throat. This must have taken her hours, and his chest tightened.
“You don’t like it.” Her lips turned down in a frown, and she slumped against her headboard. “It’s not very good.”
Reaching for it, she sighed.
He extended his arm, keeping it far from her. “I love it. I’m going to frame it and put it in my bedroom. This is much more special than a pack of bubble gum.” Then again, for an eight-year-old, bubble gum was a big purchase for Father’s Day, considering her allowance was only a dollar a week.
The frown stayed in place. He chucked her under the chin until she met his gaze. “Hey, kiddo. What’s wrong?”
“I was hoping Miss Georgie would fix the Thunderbird.” Rachel sneezed.
He handed her the box of Kleenex from her nightstand.
“I have some good news...”
The sound of the doorbell cut him off, and he wrinkled his forehead. He’d texted Dad and Natalie earlier, postponing his birthday celebration in case Rachel was contagious.
“Let me find out who this is, and then I’ll be back to tell you the good news.”
Hurrying out of the room, he closed the door and sent a silent apology to whoever was waiting for him. There was a good chance he’d infect him. At least his front door was no longer a revolving door like it was after his divorce. Every unattached female in a twenty-mile radius found a convenient excuse to stop by. Wincing, he remembered Mrs. Salinger, a fifty-something widow, who’d dropped by on the pretense of setting him up with her daughter. Mike shivered. That gleam in Mrs. Salinger’s eye had left him wondering if she had, in fact, been the one interested in him.
Throwing open the door, he smiled at his most welcome birthday surprise.
“Georgie.” He looked at the dog thumping his tail as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “And Beau.”
Unfortunately he had to send Georgie away. If there was one person in the world he didn’t want to possibly catch Rachel’s cold, it was her. He groaned and held up his hand.
“Don’t come in.” He stood his ground.
“Happy birthday to you.” She picked up the handles of the huge brown bags and swept past him, along with Beau, who gazed at Georgie as if she was the best thing in the world, even better than a meaty bone from the butcher’s.
Mike agreed with the sentiment.
“If you don’t change that attitude, I’ll sing to you.”
Considering she was tone deaf, that wasn’t an empty threat.
“I might be contagious. Rachel’s been sick with a bad cold.” His
excuse sounded rather lame, yet the plain and simple truth sometimes did.
If anyone had taught him the importance of honesty, it was Georgie. He bit back the chuckle at how she’d pushed past the bullies surrounding him on the first day of middle school and asserted herself as his protector, standing in front of him, her arms outstretched.
No picking on him. It’s not his fault he’s the shortest boy in the whole school. Y’all leave him alone, do you hear?
“Miss Joanne’s chicken noodle soup should make her right as rain again.” She stopped and turned around. “How did that phrase get started anyway? Why is rain right? Usually it’s a big old pain in the butt. Pretty good for the car repair business, though. People always bring their cars in after a good drenching rain.”
“You brought Rachel soup?” Somehow Georgie bringing him food didn’t drop an anvil on his shoulders like with those other women. Georgie did something only if she wanted to, not to get on anyone’s good side.
Hmm, what would Donahue say? That she was buttering him up for info, or some such nonsense. If Georgie wanted information, she’d come right out and ask.
“And more. Where’s your kitchen?”
He caught up to her and reached out.
She brought the bags close to her chest. “Uh-uh. My surprise, my big reveal.”
Beau inched closer to Georgie, and Mike’s gaze darted toward the stairs. If that dog hadn’t been fed today, he might eat Ginger for a snack. “My cat is with Rachel. Is Beau good with cats?”
“Don’t know. We’ll find out. He’s good with people. I even introduced my mother to Beau. No hives, breakouts or any other signs of an allergic reaction.” Georgie flashed a grin and strode away, craning her neck one way and the other. “My mother didn’t sneeze or anything. Guess she was worried I’d bring home a menagerie. If every animal was as sweet as Beau, I would have. I’m sure he’ll like your cat.”
“Who’s at the door?” Rachel’s yell filled the air.
Before Mike could warn her to leave her door closed, he heard a squeak. An orange flash darted toward him. Beau thumped his tail again, and Ginger hissed and batted his nose. Beau whined and hid behind Georgie’s legs.
“Guess I should have asked you if your cat was good with dogs.” Georgie’s bemused tone let him know she was okay.
He wasn’t so sure about Beau, who seemed rather traumatized by Ginger’s abrupt behavior.
“Ginger, behave around our guests.” Mike shrugged and gave a half smile. “I need to check on Rachel. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
He rushed upstairs. Nick of time, too. Rachel was out of bed and almost at the door.
“Back to bed, young lady. I don’t want you getting Miss Georgie sick. She brought you some chicken soup.”
“From the Holly Days Diner.” He hadn’t even heard Georgie come up behind him. “Hi, Rachel. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Rachel’s brown eyes lit up before the spark died. “Are you here for your twenty-three dollars?”
“And fourteen cents?” Georgie had a good memory, and Mike’s spine straightened. “You know what—let’s make a deal, shall we?”
Mike coiled tighter than an angry rattler.
“Depends.” Rachel sat up against her pillows, folded her arms and sniffed. “What’s the deal?”
“Your dad and I were great friends growing up. I bet the two of you went to the animal shelter and rescued Ginger.”
“Daddy did.”
He chuckled. Rachel had seen right through his elaborate story about finding Ginger at the grocery store between the cinnamon sugar and sage. He’d finally admitted he’d found her at the Humane Society, where she set eyes on him and yowled. While Ginger was a rescue cat, sometimes he could have sworn she rescued him at a low point and not the other way around.
“Rachel. Why don’t you donate three dollars and fourteen cents to help out other cats in need and keep the rest?”
He turned, and Georgie wore a scrunched-up-nose smile that matched her tone.
“There’s a rumor there may be a birthday cake in one of those bags downstairs. Is Rachel well enough to come down, sing to you and have a piece?”
“Please, Daddy.” Rachel laced her fingers together and begged before gazing at Georgie with something akin to hero worship. “Thank you, Miss Georgie.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Silence greeted him. For a second Mike cherished it after a day of Rachel’s sniffles. Then alarm rocketed through him. “Ginger.”
He sped to the kitchen, and his head jerked back. There on the linoleum floor next to Ginger’s food dish were the two animals. Ginger lay snuggled up against Beau’s curled tummy.
A few seconds later, Georgie followed. “See. Everything’s fine.”
How did she manage it? Within minutes of arriving, she’d lifted his spirits, as well as Rachel’s. And she even threw in a lesson about charity. He didn’t know whether to sit back and bask in the reflective glow of Georgie’s kindness or bristle at how she did everything so much better than he did in ten short minutes.
Was there anything Georgie Bennett couldn’t do?
* * *
THE NIGHT WAS almost over, but Mike didn’t want it to end yet.
“Tell Rachel good-night for me. Beau and I should go.” Georgie reached for Beau’s leash.
“Ginger and Beau are still asleep.” Mike touched Georgie’s arm. “I’d like one more present to make my birthday complete.”
“Dinner and cake not enough for you?”
“How about five minutes on my porch? I’ll be close by if Rachel wakes up.” Mike issued a dare, hoping that would entice Georgie.
“You’re lucky I’m a sucker for a good porch swing.” Georgie led the way outside.
Dusk had settled, but the glow from the porch light provided enough illumination. They sat in the swing, the metal chains clinking a sweet melody. With some people, silence was awkward. Never with Georgie, though.
“Any updates on the burglaries?”
The gentle rocking had lulled him into a false sense of security. “The stars are out and there’s a good-looking guy next to you, and you want an update on the case?”
“Good-looking guy? Where?” Georgie laughed. “Are you any closer to the real thief?”
He’d love to know that, as well.
“There have been some developments I can’t discuss. I believe in you, Georgie, and we’re working on tracking the evidence to apprehend the real perp.” Same as he was working on getting back in Georgie’s good graces and getting the sheriff to believe in her.
“And we’re friends again, aren’t we?” Georgie scooted toward him.
Was that all they were? Friends and nothing more?
The air sparkled as something shifted in that moment. He leaned toward her, and she nodded. “I have one more birthday gift for you,” she said.
Their lips almost touched, but the front door swung open.
“Daddy?”
Mike jumped away. If it weren’t for Rachel, he would have kissed Georgie. While that would have been an unforgettable birthday present, Rachel was the best reminder of why he had to keep Georgie as a friend and nothing more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GEORGIE WHISTLED AND entered her mother’s front door. Successful evening. Mike had laughed and almost glowed while blowing out the candles on his cake. He had glowed when they almost kissed before Rachel interrupted them. When she left, his smile was back, and his shoulders no longer seemed to carry the weight of the world. Ten years were shaved off his appearance in the blink of an eye. Whether it was his favorite meatloaf platter from the Holly Days Diner or Rachel’s rather bad mock-opera version of “Happy Birthday to You,” she wasn’t quite sure.
What if she was part of his megawatt smile? Did she want to be?
Beau t
rotted inside, and she closed the door. She’d miss the giant mutt once Mr. Reedy recovered.
“Georgie, is that you?” Her mother’s brittle voice reached her.
She walked into the living room, the smile still on her lips. Beverly’s pale skin stood out in the dim surroundings. Her tray held a plate full of food. If Georgie wasn’t mistaken, her mother’s cheeks were hollower than this morning. Georgie’s exuberant mood fizzled like flat cola on a summer’s day. She glanced at Kitty, who shrugged and kept knitting.
Beverly’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were coming home and eating with us.” Her nose rose in the air, quivering like a bunny’s. She pushed the tray away. “I’m not hungry.”
“I brought dinner to a friend of mine whose daughter couldn’t go to school today.” While that was the truth, guilt rattled through Georgie at the omission of some details, like names.
“Was it that nice Lucie Decker? She and her lovely twins are coming tomorrow to keep me company after she finishes her shift at cousin Odalie’s dress shop.” Her mother’s face lightened, although the dark circles still alarmed Georgie. “Feel free to invite your friends here anytime. After all, this is your home.”
Georgie’s mouth went dry. Her mother was trying. Perhaps the stent procedure might have done more than add years to her life. Perhaps it would bring them closer after all.
“I’ll tell Mike you said that.”
Beverly’s expression changed faster than a pit crew could change a tire. “Mike? Are you talking about Mike Harrison? I don’t like how he treated you in high school.”
“Mike’s changed. He stayed home tonight on his thirtieth birthday because his daughter was getting over a cold.”
Beau whimpered.
She must have pinched her short nails into his fur. “Sorry about that, Beau.”
“You can be sorry to that animal,” Beverly’s voice rose, “and for that man? What about me? What about an apology for not calling to tell me you were going to be late for dinner?”
