by Beth Andrews
Nina nodded. The door shut softly behind him and she rubbed a hand over her aching heart. Luke came back into the room, raised an eyebrow at their father’s disappearance and shook his head. Then, without a word, he grabbed two broken chairs and headed back outside again.
Well, she’d done it. She’d stood up for herself, made her position clear. She’d also disappointed her father and now had her younger brother looking at her like she was an imbecile.
And it wasn’t even 9 a.m. God, she needed more coffee.
She stood as the front door opened. “Hey,” Blaire said, stomping snow off her stacked-heel boots. “I just passed Dad. Where’s he going?”
Nina crossed to where she’d left her trash bag. “We had a…disagreement. He’s not comfortable with certain decisions I’ve made.” She glanced at Dillon. “So he decided to leave.”
Blaire’s expression softened. “Don’t worry about Dad,” she whispered, giving Nina a hug. “He’ll come around.”
Nina bent down, slipping out of her sister’s hold to pick up a few smashed muffins. What did Blaire know about it? She’d never disappointed their parents. Blaire’s life was as close to perfect as you could get. Happily married to pharmacist Will Elliott with two great kids, Blaire, a stay-at-home mother, was the golden girl and always had been.
Her designer jeans hugged her long legs and slim hips, and a puffy, white vest was left unzipped to show the hint of cleavage beneath her V-necked, emerald-green top. A wide headband held her silky, honey-colored hair back from her face, her makeup subtle yet perfect.
Nina tightened her scraggly ponytail and tried to remember the last time she’d worn mascara or even blush. Heck, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d used moisturizer.
It was as if she’d forgotten how to be a woman.
“Why don’t I pick the kids up from school?” Blaire asked. “They can eat dinner with us, do their homework. I know you have a lot of work to make up for—”
“That’s not necessary.” While Marcus and Hayley loved hanging out with their cousins, seven-year-old Adam and four-year-old Tyler, the last thing Nina needed was more help from her family.
“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” her sister said, clearly hurt.
Nina sighed. It wasn’t Blaire’s fault she felt frumpy and as appealing as a two-day-old donut in her threadbare Levis and tattered sweater. Just as it wasn’t Blaire’s fault Nina’s life was a mess—had been one since she’d first fallen for Trey.
She forced a smile. “You’re right. And I’m sure the kids would be thrilled to go to your house for a while. Thanks.”
“Great.” Blaire started taking off her ski vest. “Can you call the school and let them know? In the meantime, what do you want me to do?”
Nina put her to work helping Luke take the bigger pieces out to the Dumpster. She finished filling her garbage bag and tied it closed when Dillon approached her.
“I’m heading out to pick up the new drywall,” he said as he slipped on his coat. “About half of the framing lumber is still usable, but I’ll need a few more pieces.”
“Okay. We should have the rest of the garbage out of your way by the time you get back.”
He nodded, but didn’t leave. “It’s not too late, you know.”
“Too late for what?”
“We can still end this. I’ll go my way, you go yours.”
“Are you backing out on me?” Frustrated and tired, her voice rose. “Because I’ve already defended you to my brother and gave an ultimatum to my father—which he took, as I’m sure you’re well aware, seeing as how you’ve witnessed every conversation I’ve had today. And now you just want to what? Walk away?”
“Simmer down. I’m not quitting. I just thought…” He shrugged, watching her steadily. “Maybe if I left, it’d be easier on you.”
Okay, that was sort of…sweet.
“I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to forget about this whole thing,” she said. “Not after what you must’ve heard.”
He lifted one shoulder. “I hear lots of things. Most of it rolls off my back.”
“Well, even though you have ducklike tendencies, I want you to know I’m sorry you had to hear any of it. And, for the record, I told them I wasn’t changing my mind about hiring you.” She attempted a smile. “It looks like we’re in this together.”
He looked at her blankly for a moment, then turned to go. She could’ve sworn she heard him mutter, “God help us both.”
“WHATEVER HAPPENED to child labor laws?” Kyle asked, his tone pissy.
His foster mother laughed. “I don’t think working a few hours a week constitutes slave labor.”
“It should,” he muttered, slouching down in the passenger seat of her car. He could’ve walked the mile from the high school to downtown, but Karen had insisted on leaving her fourth-grade class so she could drive him. Like she knew he’d skip out if she didn’t personally deliver him to the bakery.
Jeez, it wasn’t community service or anything. It wasn’t even mandatory—just some dumb thing Joe had agreed to.
Kyle stared out the window, squinting into the bright sunshine as Karen pulled over in front of Sweet Suggestions. He’d seen the boarded-up building yesterday when Joe had dragged him down here to apologize, but the sight still made his stomach feel funny.
Karen shut off the car. “Come on,” she said, sliding her sunglasses on top of her head. “It won’t be that bad.”
He snorted and stared out the window again. “Right. I mean, I’ll just be working for a convicted murderer. What could happen?”
“Are you…do you think he’ll hurt you? Are you afraid to work with him?”
He straightened. “I’m not afraid of anything.” He glanced at her. Noticed the way her hands were clenched together in her lap. The worry on her face.
She was such an easy mark. He could push her to talk to Joe, get him to change his mind about this. She’d already bitched Joe out last night when Dillon Ward had called about Kyle working there.
Karen studied him, probably trying to figure out what he was thinking. She was big on wanting to know what was going on inside his head, as if by sharing his thoughts and feelings over every little thing, it’d somehow magically make them a family.
It’d somehow morph him into the kid she’d always wanted.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said.
See? She was way too soft. Too…nice.
“It’s okay. It’s only for a couple of weeks, right? Besides, like Joe said, it’ll look good to the court.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, twisting a chunk of her chin-length, brown hair around her finger. “Your wrist isn’t too sore, is it?”
“It’s fine.” Did she have to hover? Ever since the accident, she’d been constantly asking him if he was in any pain. If there was anything she could do for him.
As if he hadn’t stolen her car and gone through her purse.
She’d even cried Sunday night when she’d seen him at the hospital. Instead of yelling and telling him what a complete screwup he was and how she couldn’t wait to get rid of him, big tears had slid down her cheeks. She’d gently touched his face. Then she’d hugged him tight.
She’d held on to him for so long, her tears soaking his T-shirt, that Joe had to make one of his stupid jokes to get her to let go.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Listen, it’s no big deal, okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
He nodded and gripped the door handle. Karen leaned toward him and he froze. She wasn’t going to hug him or anything, was she?
Either Karen sensed his feelings or she hadn’t planned on hugging him, because all she did was pat his arm. “See you in a few hours.”
“Yeah,” he said, telling himself he was glad she hadn’t gone all mushy on him. “See ya.”
At Sweet Suggestions, he stopped and waved. Karen waved back. After a minute, he roll
ed his eyes and pulled open the heavy door. She wasn’t going anywhere until she saw him walk into the building.
He let the door slam shut behind him. Nickelback blasted from a portable radio in the corner by Dillon Ward’s feet. Dillon was tearing out pieces of what was left of the wall, and tossing the chunks onto a large pile in front of what used to be a window. Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. He didn’t want to scare the guy. Old dude like him would probably have a heart attack and Kyle’d get the blame.
“You’re late,” Dillon called over the music without looking up. There was no way he heard Kyle enter. Must have some sort of freaky psychic ability.
Probably got it in prison.
Dillon reached over and flicked off the music. Instead of silence, Christmas music—the song with all the pa rum pum pum pums—filtered in from the other room. He thought he saw Dillon make a face, but it was gone so fast, he couldn’t be sure. “I said, you’re late.”
“Yeah, I heard you. What are you going to do? Dock my paycheck?” He sneered. “Oh wait, I guess you can’t since I’m not getting a paycheck.”
Dillon took off his gloves and slapped them together. A small cloud of dust exploded in the air before dissipating. “Paychecks are reserved for people who earn them. What you’re doing is making restitution. And you can start by taking these pieces of drywall out back to the Dumpster.”
He held up his bandaged hand. “I have a broken wrist.”
Dillon picked up his hammer. “I noticed. I also noticed that your other wrist and your legs are fine.” Then he turned the radio back on and started tearing at the wall again.
Kyle frowned. What the hell? He stood there for at least five minutes, but Dillon didn’t say anything else. Didn’t bitch at him to get going, didn’t add a slap to help him move.
Blowing out a breath, he trudged over to the drywall pile, searching until he found the smallest piece. Hey, he had a bad wrist and a head injury—maybe even a concussion. Even though that stupid doctor in the emergency room hadn’t said so.
He wasn’t taking any chances.
Kyle expected Dillon to act like a prick about it, to tell him to not be a wuss and to take a bigger piece, but he didn’t even glance his way.
Slapping the piece of drywall against his thigh, he went through the door Dillon had indicated. The bakery lady was at the counter, rolling dough. She wore a plain apron that had streaks of purple and blue across it. The sleeves of her pink shirt were pushed up to her elbows, and her hands were covered in flour.
And while she didn’t smile or seem overjoyed to find him standing in her kitchen, she didn’t look like she’d just sucked on a lemon, either. “Hi,” she said, over the Christmas tune blaring in the background. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Uh…yeah.” He ducked his head, studied the toes of his sneakers. “Dillon wanted me to take some stuff out to the Dumpster. Out back?”
“Oh.” She sipped from a glass of water and glanced at his bandaged wrist. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”
Guilt, something he’d never had to deal with until he moved to this stupid town, pinched him. This chick had a screw loose. He’d wrecked her bakery and she was worried about his wrist? Jeez, she was as bad as Karen. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
He took his time crossing the small room. The kitchen smelled great, like when Karen made pies and stuff for Thanksgiving. His stomach rumbled and heat crept up his neck. He hoped the bakery lady hadn’t heard. Maybe he shouldn’t have spent the lunch money Joe had given him on cigarettes.
He trudged outside and hunched his shoulders against the cold. Tossed the drywall over the side of the Dumpster. For over two hours he repeated the process.
Juvie was sounding better and better. He had to take several cigarette breaks just to keep his brain from leaking out his ears in complete boredom.
Finally, the clock on the wall said six. About freaking time.
He headed to the door. Had his hand on the knob when Dillon shut off the music and said, “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow unless you’re ready to work.”
Kyle shook his hair out of eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I did work.”
Dillon’s expression didn’t change. The guy was like some sort of cyborg. “You dragged ass, carried a fourth of what you could handle and at least five times you were outside for fifteen minutes. What happened? You get lost?”
“I was taking a break.”
“You work for three hours. If you need a break, you can have ten minutes at four-thirty.”
“What are you, my warden?”
“I’m your boss. And no smoking while you’re working for me. The last thing I need is for your parents—”
“Foster parents.”
“The last thing I need is for anyone to ride my ass.”
Kyle clenched his hands into fists. “This is stupid. What are you trying to prove? It’s not like this is going to make a difference to anybody. Besides, I can handle juvie.”
Dillon just stared at him. Made him fidget the way he studied him, no expression on his face. Didn’t the guy ever get mad?
“You think having no privacy is no big deal? Sleeping with guys that have done things you can’t imagine? You think you’re such a badass that they can’t touch you? Hurt you? That you’ll waltz in there and be running the place?” His voice was mild, curious almost. “You want to spend a few months or even years in a place where you can’t even take a leak in private? Where if you look in someone’s room or make eye contact with the wrong person you’ll get jumped?”
Kyle lifted his chin. “Hey, if someone messes with me, they’re the ones who end up being sorry.”
Dillon shrugged. “Maybe you’re as tough as you claim. But that doesn’t matter. You’ll never be the same if you get locked up. There’s no hope. No joy. There’s not even fear anymore. You have to deaden all of that or you’ll never survive. And sometimes, even knowing you’re getting out eventually, there are times when you no longer care if you live or die.”
“What were you expecting when you killed that old guy? A day camp?”
Something flashed across Dillon’s face and for a moment, Kyle wondered if he’d gone too far. He stepped back. But Dillon shook his head and once again, his face was expressionless.
“You have a chance here to avoid all of that,” Dillon said quietly. “But you have to decide whether or not you’re going to take it, or if you’re going to walk away and prove everyone right. Prove that you’re nothing. A nobody. And that you’ll never be anything else.”
What a bunch of bullshit. He wasn’t nobody. He’d make something of himself no matter what—and he’d do it all on his own.
He’d show Dillon. He’d show them all.
A car horn honked twice—Karen had arrived right on time. With one last glare at Dillon, Kyle stormed outside, slamming the door behind him. He walked out in the cold, suffocating under his fears, anger and the unfairness of it all.
CHAPTER FIVE
“THINK HE’LL be back?”
Dillon whirled around to find Nina leaning against the remaining display case. Damn it. How long had she been standing there? How much had she overheard? His gaze slid over her and something in his chest tightened.
Her jeans were ancient, her sweatshirt stretched out beyond hope, but a flush brightened her cheeks and some tendrils of hair had escaped her braid to frame her face in honey-colored corkscrews. One long curl caressed the soft curve of her jaw. His fingers tingled to tuck it behind her ear. He clenched his hands.
“Yeah,” he said, crossing the room, putting distance between him and temptation. He lifted the hinged lid of his standing toolbox. “Kyle will be back.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The kid’s not dumb.” He grabbed his nail gun’s orange plastic case and set it on the floor. “He knows this could be his last chance.”
He knew when Nina moved closer to him. Knew when she stood right behind him, if he shifte
d back, he’d bump into her knees.
He reached for an extension cord, used the movement to edge forward a few inches.
“If he does come back, I hope his attitude improves.”
Dillon glanced up. “He give you a hard time?”
“No,” she admitted grudgingly. “But he didn’t seem too happy to be working here, either.”
He hadn’t exactly been thrilled himself to spend most of the day under the watchful eyes of Nina’s family. Luckily, her brother had left right after lunch and her mother and sister took off a few hours after that.
Dillon straightened and took a step back. “You always happy about doing the right thing?”
“I don’t sulk as if my world’s just come to an end.” When he raised an eyebrow, she pursed her lips and added, “Well, at least, not much.”
He didn’t smile until he’d turned to set his nail gun in the toolbox. “Kyle’s just being a teenager,” Dillon said. “Most people overreact to their mood shifts.”
“I know you’re not talking from experience since you only seem to have two moods—stoic and brooding.”
He scowled at her. “I don’t brood.”
“Right. And I didn’t get these hips from testing all my recipes.”
Did she think there was something wrong with her shape? He jerked his gaze from her hips back up to her face. “Actually, I am speaking from experience. I spent my teenage years making sure Kelsey kept out of trouble. Or at least, trying to. As you might’ve heard, it didn’t always work.”
“She’s doing okay now.”
He snorted. Yeah, Kelsey seemed to be doing all right for herself. He just hoped her rebellious streak didn’t ruin the life she’d worked so hard for. Not that he believed his sister had completely changed her ways and would be content to settle down with someone as straitlaced as Police Chief Jack Martin.
“What about you?” he asked, snapping the case shut. “Were you a moody and rebellious teen?”
“Please. So far my biggest rebellion has been hooking up with you.” She blushed. “Hiring you,” she added quickly. “My biggest rebellion has been hiring you.”
