by Abby Gaines
“Barb had already done more than enough for me—she was the one who encouraged me to get out of Pinyon Ridge to make a fresh start,” Jane said. “Turned out it wasn’t any easier getting a job in Denver, thanks to an attitude problem I didn’t know I had. In the end, Barb talked to a friend of hers who ran a fancy boutique in Cherry Creek.” One of Denver’s most expensive neighborhoods. “She hired me to fetch and carry, mostly as a favor to Barb.”
“How did you get from that to running your own business?” He noticed an uneven patch in the polyurethane around the bifold doors, and walked over to check it. Nope, just a trick of the light.
“I wanted a sales role, which would earn more money, but my boss said I wasn’t suitable,” Jane said. “She didn’t know my background, so it had to be something I was doing. Or not doing. When I started paying attention, I realized the way I acted was different from the way my boss and her customers did. I tried some of the things they did, like making eye contact in a way that was friendly but not challenging. Not getting defensive at any question I didn’t know the answer to. Choosing to say please and thank-you out of courtesy, rather than seeing those words as kowtowing to people who thought they were better than I was.”
Kyle was impressed that she’d made those observations and decided to change, rather than blaming others for not responding to her the way she was.
“I’d been watching the Peters family in action for years,” Jane said, “without ever thinking I could be like that. But once I started, although I didn’t nail it right away, it took surprisingly little time to get my act together. My boss gave me more responsibility, the customers engaged with me. I could actually sell them nice clothes because they trusted my recommendations, when a few weeks earlier they’d have assumed I knew nothing.”
Kyle found himself intrigued by her story. By her. He was getting the uncomfortable feeling he might have misjudged Jane on several fronts. Even though she might have encouraged that misjudgment, he felt bad about it. “And somehow you ended up running your own business,” he prompted.
“Not for a while,” Jane said, “After I’d been there a couple of years a woman walked in off the street looking for a job. She obviously had a background that disadvantaged her—I could see she would never get a job in a place like that, if anywhere. When my boss sent her on her way, I chased after her, offered to give her a few pointers.”
She wandered down to the window to look out at the view. Kyle wondered if she registered she’d moved closer to him. That wasn’t her motivation, he was certain.
“A few weeks later she got a job,” Jane said. “Nothing fancy, flipping burgers, but she was thrilled. The halfway house where she was staying asked me to help another woman, and then another, and it went from there. All on a volunteer basis, in my spare time. But when the state released some funding, the director of the halfway house suggested I apply for a grant to turn it into a business. They didn’t give me much, but it was enough to get started.”
“So you work mostly with women from halfway houses?”
“And women coming out of prison, or in battered women shelters.”
“Sounds like you make quite a difference in their lives.”
She slanted him a suspicious look. “A lot of the women I work with are in serious therapy for their issues—what I do in no way solves their underlying problems.”
“Except,” he said, “I imagine finding a job does solve a bunch of issues.”
“It helps them feed their kids and shows those kids a different side to their mom,” she agreed. “Even my private clients, middle-class women whose husbands have left them, and now they feel worthless, even they can benefit from a stint of fake-it-till-you-make-it.”
Which was what she’d done. He had a glimpse of how difficult it must have been to reinvent herself. To put on an unfamiliar mantle of confident respectability, day in, day out, until people stopped treating her like a second-class citizen.
“You’re not faking it now, right?” he asked. “When you do that stuff long enough, it becomes part of you. Like you said about that smiling you have me doing.”
She shrugged. “To some extent. But we’re all faking elements of ourselves—we hide our insecurities.”
I admire her. The thought took Kyle by surprise. But the way she’d overcome her past to accept herself and to move on was nothing short of impressive.
He couldn’t help not only admiring her, but liking her for it. Probably not a good idea, considering the context. The context where she was blackmailing him and he’d made her promise to leave town and never come back. Adding anything else to the mix would be way too complicated.
“Let’s go find Daisy,” he said abruptly. He ushered her out the door. “Her room’s the third on the left.” Walking behind her, he noticed the subtle sway of Jane’s hips down the hallway.
“Jane!” Daisy smiled to see her. “Did you come to see my new bedroom?”
“Sure did.” Jane sounded much more natural with Daisy now than she had when she’d first arrived, though she hadn’t entirely put aside her reserve.
Daisy’s room had the same mountain view as the living area. It was large, light and warm, with a closet that would hold Daisy’s undoubtedly growing number of possessions right through her teenage years.
“It’s beautiful,” Jane said.
“Where will you sleep?” Daisy asked. “You could have the room next to mine, couldn’t she, Daddy?”
Jane’s eyes met Kyle’s. He had a sudden shocking thought as to where she could sleep and it wasn’t the next room.
Whoa. To go from admiring her to thinking about sleeping with her in the space of five minutes was way too fast.
“Daisy, you know Jane’s going back to Denver,” he said.
“But when she comes to visit,” Daisy persisted.
Kyle had made her promise never to come back. How was he supposed to answer that?
Jane let him off the hook. “What color walls do you want, Daisy?”
“I’ve chosen a neutral palette for the whole place,” Kyle told her. “Colors that fit with the stone and wood.”
“Can I have pink?” Daisy asked, and Kyle realized neutral palette meant nothing to a little girl.
“Sounds lovely,” Jane said, before he could explain. “Doesn’t it, Kyle?” Maybe she hadn’t let him off the hook, after all.
“We’ll see,” he said. It was good that Daisy had asked for something, and he didn’t want to discourage her, but he wasn’t having pink.
“What color was your room when you were a girl?” Daisy asked Jane.
“I shared a room with my sister and brothers,” Jane said. “So it wasn’t really mine. It was white, I think. We need to go, Daisy.”
“I’ll see you at home before bedtime,” Kyle promised. He reached out and ruffled Daisy’s hair before he even realized what he was doing.
Daisy gave him a curious look, but she didn’t pull away. He should make physical contact with her more often. He always kissed her good-night, but that was rote behavior. Prescribed touches. He needed to be more spontaneous. Aw, what the heck. “Love you, sweetie,” he said.
Jane’s jaw dropped. Daisy darted a glance at him through lowered lashes.
Had he done it right? Was that what Jane had meant when she asked if he ever told Daisy he loved her?
When she mouthed Thank you over Daisy’s head, he figured he must have done okay.
He followed Jane and Daisy down the hallway, intending to
resume work in the kitchen. Again, he noticed Jane’s distinctive walk. Would Daisy walk like that one day?
Which would prevail in his daughter? Nature, or nurture?
Slater DNA, or Everson upbringing?
CHAPTER NINE
JANE HAD ARRANGED TO MEET Micki in her apartment above the Eating Post, after the café closed at three on Saturday. Entering Micki’s private domain seemed a strangely personal step.
“Come on in,” Micki said as she showed Jane into her small, cheerfully decorated living room.
She directed Jane to the window seat, where the sun streamed in. Jane settled at one end, Micki took the other.
“So, tell me what I need to do to get my man,” Micki said. “I’m putty in your hands.”
“You sound like the dream client.” Though in fact it was Kyle who’d featured in Jane’s daydreams, at least in recent days. He was working so hard to follow her advice, she couldn’t help but be moved by his commitment. It was paying off, too, in Daisy’s increased confidence around her dad.
Jane pulled her notebook from her purse and flipped past the pages of notes she’d made on Kyle. She wrote Micki’s name and the date at the top of a new page. “Okay, let’s talk about what you’re trying to achieve.”
“I want Charles to want me,” Micki said.
Jane set down her pen. “That’s easy. Lock him in the café and take your clothes off. I guarantee that’ll do it.”
Micki gaped. “Are you nuts?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Think harder. What do you really want? A quick fling? Something more serious? You’ll act differently depending on the goal.”
“Something more serious,” Micki said. Then, firmly she added, “Something very serious.”
Wow. Jane sat back against the cushions. “Are you...in love with Charles?”
Micki bit her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I think I might be. But it seems dumb to say that without ever having dated him, so I reserve the right not to be.”
“Fair enough.” Jane picked up her pen again. “So let’s talk about the obstacles to your goal. You’ve already said Charles thinks of you as a friend and nothing more. Is he averse to dating?”
“I don’t think so. He’s dated a few times since Patti died, but in a small town like Pinyon Ridge you have to decide early on if it’s going to work out. Breaking up can get messy.”
“I can imagine.” Jane made a couple of notes. “So reluctance to date isn’t an obstacle.”
“In general, no. But I’m pretty sure he’ll think I’m too young for him.”
Jane was inclined to agree. But she didn’t say so, just wrote “too young” on her page.
“He doesn’t think of me sexually,” Micki said. “I can tell.”
Jane tilted her head to one side. “He just about choked to death when you kissed Kyle.”
Micki’s eyes widened. “You think that was because he’s interested? He’s always telling Kyle and Gabe to ask me out.”
“He tells them that because you have qualities he admires, the kind he’d like to have in the family,” Jane pointed out.
“I never thought of it like that.” A slow smile spread over Micki’s face.
“Since we know he has a high opinion of you just as you are, we don’t need a radical transformation. How often do you see him outside of the café?”
“I hadn’t been to his house in years, before that barbecue. I see him in church on Sundays, but we mix in different circles there.”
Jane tapped her pen against her lip. “So we need to encourage him to see you fitting into his life in a wider context than just cooking him breakfast. Though cooking him breakfast has a certain, uh, wifely charm.”
Micki laughed, blushing. “I don’t know what kind of wider context is available. Charles isn’t a big drinker. He doesn’t go to bars on Saturday nights.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big drinker myself.”
“Sounds like you have plenty in common,” Jane said.
“I could invite him to dinner with some friends....”
“That’s just encouraging him to see you as a cook,” Jane said. “Sure, he’d be upstairs rather than downstairs, but you’re playing the same role. We need to broaden his horizons.”
“You’re smart,” Micki said admiringly.
It wasn’t a serious comment, but it warmed Jane. Sure, she was used to the appreciation of her clients in the city, but they knew nothing about her past. To have Micki respect her despite knowing her background felt like something special.
Just as she’d felt special when Kyle had made it plain he respected her work when they’d talked at his new house the other day.
“I’m planning a birthday party for Daisy—she turns six next week,” Jane said. “How about you come along? Have Charles see how well you fit into a family event...one where you don’t make out with one of his sons.”
Micki blushed. “Can we move on from that?”
Jane grinned. “When I’m good and ready.” She doodled on her pad as she thought. “How would you feel about letting someone else cook Charles’s breakfast at the café?”
Micki’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“It’ll shake things up, let him know he can’t take your presence in his life for granted, not even at the café. Even if at this stage he’s only concerned about losing your friendship, he needs to realize even that relationship requires more of an effort from him than merely ordering breakfast.”
Micki looked terrified. “What if he doesn’t care who cooks his breakfast? What if he asks Margaret to sit and talk with him instead?”
“Then your friendship’s not as strong as you thought, and you have a different problem,” Jane said baldly.
“Ouch.” Micki looked sick. “I usually do all of the cooking myself—Margaret does the support stuff. But she’s a good cook—she fills in when I can’t work.”
“So she’ll cook for Charles,” Jane said. “I tell all my clients it’s important to look as if you have options. Never look desperate. Charles will see that cooking for him is just one of the ways you might choose to spend your morning.”
Micki ran her hands through her short hair. “Can I still sit and talk with him while he eats?”
“Sometimes,” Jane said. “But again, options. You’re a busy woman with demands on your time. I’ll come in for breakfast if you like, and you can choose to talk to me.”
Micki started to agree, then stopped. “Uh-uh. If there’s even a remote chance of this working, I don’t want Charles to dislike you because you’re getting in the way of our romance. I want him to like my friends.”
Jane got a lump in her throat. “Thanks,” she said gruffly, “but he already dislikes me. I’ll try not to make that worse.” She cleared her throat. “Next thing on the list. I’d like you to make occasional physical contact with him. A casual touch on his arm or hand as you talk.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit forward?” Micki asked. “Charles is old-school. He’s not touchy-feely.”
“He has to want to be touchy-feely with you,” Jane pointed out. “This is just a foretaste, the merest hint. Nothing he can get awkward about, and nothing that puts you out there as a love stalker.”
Micki snickered.
“He can either ignore it,” Jane said, “or he can start paying attention and realizing that you don’t touch every friend that way.”
Micki nodded, though she looked unconvinced. “What about my clothes? I sometimes wonder
if part of the problem is I still dress the way I have since I knew him as teenager—jeans and T-shirts every day. Though I wouldn’t say he looked any more interested when I wore a dress to that barbecue....”
Jane winced. “That wasn’t a great dress.”
“A moment’s madness,” Micki admitted. “It was one of my mom’s. I have no idea how old it was, and Mom was somewhat rounder than I am.”
“No more of Mom’s dresses,” Jane advised. “Is there a store in town that has clothes you like?”
“Rich Rags,” Micki said. “I buy the occasional accessory there. But Theresa will think it odd if I show up wanting a dress. She knows I’m not a dress kind of gal.”
“Does it matter what she thinks?”
“In Pinyon Ridge?” Micki gave her a look of disbelief.
“Yeah, right.” Jane laughed. “How about a couple of blouses, then, to wear with your jeans?”
Micki considered. “I could do that.”
“And maybe one dress—you could say it’s for Daisy’s party and I’m making you dress up. Or you could even shop online.”
Micki nodded. “It’s worth a try.” She beamed. “This is so exciting.”
“Just remember,” Jane warned her, “you can change your look, change your behavior, be as fabulous as it’s possible for you to be. But, as I tell my clients when they go to a job interview, there’s still a chemistry factor. A client can get rid of the obstacles that might blind the other person to their strengths, but if they don’t click in the interview...”
“You’re saying Charles might just plain not be interested,” Micki said.
Jane nodded. “Through no fault of yours. Plus, even if there is chemistry, a man like Charles Everson might take some persuading that it’s okay for him to date a woman so much younger.”
“He likes to do the right thing,” Micki agreed.
Jane’s interpretation had been, he’s narrow-minded. But maybe there was something to what Micki said. Kyle was fixated on getting it right, too. He wanted to do the right thing for Daisy, for his family, for the town.
