by Julia London
“What, I’m not supposed to have time to myself?”
“Not when you got responsibility for a kid. I never had any time to myself.”
“I know, Mom. You never did anything but sacrifice,” he groused, not wanting to hear the broken record tonight.
But Mom gave him a pointed, you-know-better look over her shoulder as she fixed his plate. “That’s right. I did nothing but sacrifice for you so you could play baseball. Lord knows your dad wasn’t going to give you that.”
True. But then again, Dad was an asshole.
“That girlfriend of yours called here again today looking for you. At first I thought you’d gone off with her,” she said as she put his plate in the microwave. “Don’t know why you got any interest in her anyway.”
And now they would move right into a critique of his love life. “She’s nice. But it was an accident that she found your number at all.”
“Some accident,” Mom muttered.
“Got any beer?” he sighed, and heaved himself up, went to the fridge to have a look for himself. He pulled out a can of generic beer, went back to the table and popped it open.
“Ever since you left here, you been hooking up with gals who ain’t got enough sense to come out of the rain,” Mom continued, oblivious to his impatience.
“Jesus, Mom, why do you have to do this?” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “Do you have to point out everything you think I’m doing wrong? Give me a little credit—at least I’m here! At least I’m not dead or in prison!”
Mom removed his plate from the microwave and put it in front of him. “I’m not complaining about you, Jacob,” she said. “Maybe I don’t got all the right words to say it, but I’m trying to get across that you hook yourself up with these gals that you don’t care nothing about. Now you got your nephew and he needs you, and he needs a woman in his life. He’s learning from you, so if you’re gonna go with girls, go with one who’s got some substance to her. That’s all I’m saying.”
A vision of Robin, instant and uninvited, flashed across his mind’s eye. He took a bite of the casserole—tuna, cream of mushroom soup, saltine crackers—and thought it was delicious. His kind of food. Not fusion cuisine, or whatever bullshit Robin had talked about. And why “fusion cuisine” should irritate him so, he didn’t know. Jake ate quickly, nodded absently as Mom ran down a list of all Cole’s faults, then put his plate in the sink and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to him,” he said wearily and went to find him to try again to reach him.
Chapter Sixteen
The phone rang so loud in Robin’s ear the next morning that she about had to peel herself off the ceiling. It was Lucy, telling her a car would be around to pick her up at nine to take her to the airport. “Splendid. Go away,” Robin croaked, hung up the phone, and stared bleary-eyed at the clock. 7 A.M. Christ Almighty, where was the fire?
She rolled onto her back, blinked up at the bare ceiling above her, and thought of Jake. The stupid jock had been in her thoughts and dreams all night, from the moment he basically told her that he would make out with her, but that was about it. How very charming. And really, who did he think he was, anyway? But then again, what did she expect? She wasn’t a teenager—one outing did not constitute going steady, dammit.
Robin pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around the room. The sun was spilling in from the east windows, casting large squares of irritatingly cheerful light over wood floors. Clothes were strewn everywhere because she had tried on several outfits yesterday to find the perfect, get-on-a-motorcycle-with-him ensemble. Bastard. It wasn’t as if she liked him.
Oh hell yes, she did.
With a heavy sigh, she sat up on the side of the bed and frowned at the wall. He really had his nerve. She didn’t know which stung worse—that she really did like him and he didn’t like her quite so much? Or that he might prefer the Lindy-type over her? Ouch. Nothing against sweet little virginal bake-sale Lindy, but that was really a bite. To hell with it—she wasn’t going to spend the day crying over some guy who wore steel-toed boots for casual wear. No sir, she was going to Minot, North Dakota. Hallelujah!
When Robin finished her shower and had packed, she dressed in classic St. John and stumbled out of her bedroom, in desperate need of coffee. In the kitchen, she heard creaking above her, and took two sideways steps so that she could see out the kitchen door. Grrrreat! There was his truck. The jerk was up there right now, probably with his pal Doofus—hell, probably even Grandpa—ripping out the walls and turning her Tudor-style mansion into a showroom of her empty life.
Robin flipped on the coffeepot, tapping her foot while she waited for it to brew. When she had her cup of coffee, she marched into the dining room, dug out her computer from the mound of paper that was beginning to build, and punched up her mail.
Aha, there was a surprise. A note from Bob (Last chance, Ms. Lear, LOL!), one from the insurance agent, the usual thousand from Lucy, and one from Cecilia about the Spring Tulip dance. While she was perusing those, someone came clumping down the stairs. Robin refused to look up, refused to give him even the slightest hint that she—
“Hey hey, if it ain’t my cellmate!”
Robin jerked her gaze to a grinning Zaney, gathering tools at the foot of the stairs.
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded hotly.
“I said, HEY, IF IT—”
“I heard you. So what, is he blabbing it to everyone now? Does he think it’s funny?”
“Well, it ain’t nothing to be ashamt of,” Zaney said, looking more bewildered than usual. “It happens to damn near all of us.”
Oh God. Dear God. “No, actually, it does not happen to damn near all of us.”
Zaney heaved up the bundle of tools. “Don’t have to get so bent outta shape,” he muttered under his breath and trudged back upstairs.
Robin tried to focus on her e-mail. New safety regs, mandatory read. DOT inspection next Thursday . . . The house was suddenly stifling and full of too many fools, herself included. When was the car coming? When could she escape this place for Minot? She stood abruptly, marched back to her bedroom, retrieved her stuffed Coach duffel bag, and lugged it to the entry. A glance at her watch said that it was only eight-forty, but Robin opened the door and walked out onto the drive, peering up and down North Boulevard for any sign of the car. Seeing none, she turned on her heel and shrieked with alarm, clamped a hand over her heart at the unexpected sight of Jake standing directly behind her.
He grinned.
She frowned. “What?”
He lifted a brow. “You hurt Zaney’s feelings. He thought you two were going to be cellmates for life.”
“Very funny,” she said, and tried to step around him, but Jake matched her step. “Do you mind? I’m about to leave.”
“Since when are you so anxious to get to Minot?”
Since you said what you did, you big jerk. “I have to work.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem a little pissed off. As in royally.”
Pissed off, ha! “Pissed off?” No, nononono, she wasn’t PISSED OFF. “Why would I be pissed off?” That would imply that he meant something to her, and before he could answer, her mouth opened and her tongue began to wag. “You have your nerve,” she said, punching her fists to her hips. “That little thing you’re doing, you know, the, ‘oh, I’ll be very charming and take you out to a field of flowers and kiss you, but don’t expect me to be around’—that thing—is pretty maddening, and it’s just really rude.”
The second brow rose to meet the first. “What are you talking about?”
“What you said!” she cried, furious he could be so thick skulled. “You said, ‘hey, I had fun, but I’m not going to be around,’ or something like that, probably because you and Betty Crocker are all lovey dovey, but still, I think it was really . . . well, it was just mean, that’s what it was—”
He startled her by catching her upper arms an
d pulling her close. “Robin—”
“Oh no,” she said, her hand coming up between them, “don’t think I am into this or anything, because I don’t want you around, but still, the presumption—”
“Oh, okay—it’s fine for you to mess around, but not me,” he said, dropping her arms. “So do you use a ladder to get up on that high horse, or what?”
Now she was pissed. “What I do is none of your business.”
“Pardon me, Bubbles, but I thought there were two of us out there—”
“Big mistake! Trust me!”
Jake stopped, glared down at her. “Thanks for clarifying. All I was trying to say last night, and pretty badly, it seems, is that I am not trying to take advantage of you. I don’t know where this is going—at least I didn’t, but I guess I do now. You don’t want me around? I understand—it’s not like we come from the same planet, is it? I am reminded of that pretty constantly.”
“Ooh . . .” Robin muttered. Her heart began doing that funny skip thing again. “Jake . . .” she started, but the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires startled them both.
“Madam, your broom has arrived,” Jake said as the limo coasted into the drive and rolled to a halt right in front of them. Robin groaned as the driver got out and walked back to open the passenger door.
Evan was already climbing out before the driver could pull it completely open; he stared at Robin and Jake across the hood of the car. “Rob? What are you doing?” he asked, eyeing Jake.
“What do you mean?” she asked, self-consciously taking a step away from Jake.
Evan kept looking at Jake. “I mean, are you ready?” he asked, his voice cool.
Other than the fact she didn’t want to leave now, not until she could say . . . what? That she was sorry, that she really liked him, that she had a great time yesterday. “I’ll just get my things,” she muttered, more to herself, and walked quickly to the house to retrieve her computer, overnight bag, and her new, thanks-to-Mia Hermès purse.
When she walked back outside, Jake hadn’t moved, was still standing there, his weight on one hip, calmly regarding Evan. Evan had come around to this side of the limo, was leaning up against it, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded across his chest. Both men turned as she walked out onto the drive.
“Ready?” an unsmiling Evan said, stepping aside so the driver could open the door.
“Yes.” Robin shifted the bag on her shoulder and looked at Jake. “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Don’t rush on my account,” he said and glared at Evan again.
The driver quickly relieved Robin of her overnight bag and computer; Evan held the door open for her, then climbed in to sit beside her. As the limo pulled out of the drive, she caught one last look at Jake over her shoulder. Although his head was down, he was watching her leave, methodically pushing a tape measure in and out, in and out, until she could no longer see him.
Robin faced forward. Evan smiled. “Your handyman seems like a nice guy.”
“He’s not a handyman.”
“Oh, sorry,” Evan chuckled. “What is the politically correct term for handyman?”
“So who is going to meet us at the airport?” she asked, changing the subject.
Evan opened his Tod briefcase and presented her with a sheaf of papers. “You need to review this before we get there,” he said, and as Robin took the stack of papers, he buzzed the driver and instructed him to find a Starbucks.
That the company jet made a very bumpy descent into Minot should have been the first clue, but nothing could have prepared Robin for the gale-force arctic wind that almost knocked her on her butt and did quite a number on her hair. Mr. Lou Harvey was on hand to meet them, dressed in a blue polyester sport coat, a very thick polyester-ish tie, and a white button-down shirt. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked down under an impenetrable shield of Brylcreem, and his black tortoiseshell glasses drew immediate attention to his watery amber eyes.
“Lou Harvey! Glad to meet you!” he boomed, popped a Rolaids into his mouth, and vigorously shook Evan’s hand, then Robin’s, wincing outwardly at her hair. “Do you want to visit the ladies’ room before we get started?”
Once they were safely ensconced in his Oldsmobile Cutlass, Lou insisted on giving them a tour of the town. Robin tried to claim the backseat, but Evan was too quick for her, smirking when she maneuvered her way into the front next to Lou. Her skirt was too damn short—not only was she freezing, but she could hardly keep the thing from riding up. It was a wonder they didn’t drive headlong into someone, since Lou couldn’t take his eyes off her legs.
They drove past the Grizzly Grill and Saloon, the municipal center (where, Lou said to her knees, and through a mouthful of Rolaids, they would have lunch tomorrow at the Lion’s Club), and past Sears twice before heading to the outskirts of town. Lou was hauling ass now, and came barreling to a stop in front of a red, corrugated steel building, proudly labeled Peerless Packing Supply in big yellow letters. He jumped out, ran to the glass doors leading into the offices of the building, and flashed a gap-toothed grin at Robin’s breasts as she hurried past.
Inside, Evan shoved his hand through his hair in an attempt to repair it and lied, “Great-looking place!”
“Yep!” Lou said, beaming. “Same since 1972.”
No lie, Robin thought as they walked into the middle of a small suite of offices and cubicles. A brillo pad of hair popped up above one cubicle, beneath which a pair of humongous frames peered at Robin. The woman who owned them stepped out of her cubicle—she wore red pants, a sweatshirt that had a moose painted across the chest, and black Easy Spirits. She eyeballed Robin up one side and down the other, taking in her hair (still atrocious), her St. John suit (ridiculous choice for this weather), and her Feraggamo pumps (already killing her). Then the woman affixed her gaze to Robin’s Hermès purse.
“This is Barbara Gates, head of our accounts payable section!” Lou said loudly. Barbara nodded as she tried to read the little gold tag on Robin’s purse. They moved through the accounting section, and two more Jack-in-the-box heads popped up in the cube farm. Barbara followed closely behind, her eyes on Robin’s purse, as if she thought it might disperse a Jolly Rancher or two.
In the warehouse, they stood amid giant spools of bubble wrap, cardboard wrapping, pallets, and conveyor belts while Lou explained what they were seeing. In the course of it, Barbara leaned into Robin and said, “I like your purse.”
“Thanks.”
“What kind is it?”
“Hermès.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “Seen that at Penney’s.”
They moved on through the warehouse, finally reaching Lou’s office, where they began to talk numbers. Robin had to hand it to Evan—he was as smooth as he was smart. He managed to get the most pertinent information out of Lou about gross sales and receipts, sales volumes, and the details on the larger accounts. Lou, who in spite of appearances to the contrary, was pretty savvy himself, openly sizing Evan up, skirting his more delicate questions with a joke. At the end of the afternoon, however, Robin had a pretty good handle on Peerless Packing.
Lou drove them to a low-slung highway hotel later that afternoon. Robin lugged her bag to her room, shut the door against the howling wind, and noticed, with a shudder, the big, hand-lettered sign: Please do not clean game or fish in room. An hour later, she was in the lobby where the free complimentary breakfast would be served the next morning, dressed in linen slacks and jacket.
Evan came a moment later, wearing jeans and a more serviceable navy-blue blazer. “You don’t have anything more substantial?” he asked, checking out her outfit. When she shook her head, he cracked a smile and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Then I’ll just have to keep you warm.” At her withering look, he laughed. “I’m just kidding. Can’t you take a joke? Come on, I called a cab.”
Their destination was The Hunter’s Lodge, which Evan said he chose for local flavor. Local flavor was right—blanketed b
y a thick haze of smoke, various parts of elk, moose, and longhorn sheep adorned the walls, and in the middle of the dining area, a stuffed wild turkey welcomed them. They were shown to a booth by a very cheerful young woman who reminded Robin of Lindy. Actually, everyone reminded her of Lindy. Even the cheeseburger she ordered reminded her of Lindy.
“Cheeseburger? What’s gotten into you?” Evan scoffed after ordering the salmon (lightly sautéed in butter).
Jake Manning, that was what. It appeared that he was completely, totally, and firmly lodged under her skin. “What’s wrong with a cheeseburger? When was the last time you had one?”
“Nineteen seventy-four,” Evan said disdainfully.
“And fries, too,” she defiantly told the waitress, and thought again as the Lindy-clone walked away that she felt a little guilty for letting this infatuation with Jake go so far as it had. But when she thought of why she felt guilty, it made her crazy. It all boiled down to one thing: She was not supposed to like a guy like Jake. It was not in the path she had loosely charted for herself. Her life was supposed to be one of acquisition and achievement, including men with pedigrees and buckets and buckets of money. She was following in the old man’s footsteps, wasn’t she? Jake was a great guy, but by the looks of things, he wasn’t going to be the one to provide her the lifestyle she was used to, and wow, that was shallow, wasn’t it?
“I think Peerless is a good operation,” Evan said, and as he began to talk, Robin was acutely aware of the fact that she was supposed to like a guy like Evan. He was accomplished, he was a self-made millionaire, he was handsome. He was the guy she was supposed to be head over heels for. And as Evan droned on about the pros and cons of Peerless, she could see why Dad was so in love with the guy. He was very good at what he did, and he had the rare ability to adapt, which was something she did not do very well (case in point: Minot). He was pleasant, he was considerate, and he’d been crazy about her once. As Evan checked out the Lindy-clone’s ass, she decided that there really was nothing wrong with him. He was the perfect man for a woman like her. She just couldn’t help wondering what that said about her.
