"Actually, I was just about to ask you if he was in. I take it he isn't?"
Her mouth pulled tight, like a smashed pair of red licorice sticks. "That man has not set foot in this office but three times in the last two weeks. And half the time I try to reach him, I either get his machine or his cell phone's turned off. So I was wondering if you know something I don't." Now the licorice sticks got all droopy at the corners. "Judging from your expression, I assume that's a 'no.'"
Joe shook his head. Even though Wes didn't have a problem with delegating responsibility, Joe'd never known him not to keep close tabs on every detail of his business. In order to preserve what little was left of his sanity, Joe had told himself the glitches over the past several weeks had been an aberration, but if Wes was even staying out of Mary-Jo's way…
"I asked Riley, too, and he doesn't know any more than anybody else. Oh, Joe, what am I going to do if…if something happens? I can't afford to lose this job. Not with my mother ailing the way she's been and Medicare only picking up part of the tab. And you know it's not easy for a woman my age to find another job at the drop of a hat."
"And maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions," Joe said gently, handing the now weeping brunette a box of tissues from the corner of her desk. "He's been paying his bills, hasn't he?"
Mary-Jo honked into the tissue, then let out a shaky sigh. "He took the bookkeeping away from me a couple weeks ago, said his wife wanted to do it, she needed something to keep her occupied now that the girls were away…" She dabbed at her eyes, leaving black smears on the tissue. "I don't know, Joe. I just don't know. But I've got one of my feelings, and that's not good."
No, it wasn't. Especially since Mary-Jo's "feelings" were rarely off the mark. But then she got a phone call—from her mother, sounded like—so Joe took the opportunity to escape, since she was clearly looking for words of comfort and Joe was fresh out at the moment.
The sun lanced through his shirt when he stepped outside, much the same way all these unsettled thoughts were burning a hole in his brain. He was beginning to feel like he was walking blindfolded down an unfamiliar path, unsure whether his next step might send him hurtling over the edge of a cliff. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Since his bank's drive-through line reached clear to the next county, he parked and went inside to deposit his check. He'd just finished his transaction, politely sidestepping the dimple-cheeked little teller's attempt to flirt with him, when he heard "Joe Salazar? Is that you?" from a few feet away. Slipping his billfold back into his jeans, he looked over, breaking into a grin for Mitch Carlson, a contractor who'd worked off and on for Wes over the years. Joe'd always liked Mitch, a good ole boy in fancy boots and a white cowboy hat with a laugh that registered a good 6.5 on the Richter scale. After a minute or so of truncated answers to the requisite "whatcha-been-up-tos?", Mitch folded his arms across his padded stomach and gave Joe a speculative look.
"You still working for Wes, I take it?"
"Yep."
"You happy?"
Figuring this was one of those times when a smart man played his cards close to his chest, Joe said, "Can't complain. Why?"
"As it happens, I've been meanin' to give you a call. Don't know if you're aware of this, but I hooked up with a local architect to develop a gated community south of town. And since neither of us intends to be a one-trick pony, we figure this is just the beginning." A sly grin crossed the other man's face. "I know your work, Joe. Haven't run into anybody yet who's worked with you who didn't have good things to say. So, you know, if you're looking for a change…" Huge shoulders shrugged, followed by an eyeball-to-eyeball stare. "I'll match whatever Wes is paying you, plus throw in an extra ten percent."
Joe's eyebrows lifted even as the air swooshed out of his lungs for a second. "Gee, Mitch, I'm really flattered…"
"Okay, fifteen percent."
Grinning, Joe slipped his hands into his back pockets. "Like I said, I'm flattered. But Wes was there for me when I really needed a leg up, and I've been with him ever since. Wouldn't seem right to throw him over just because."
"Twenty percent, then," Mitch said, and Joe laughed outright.
"You're making it damn hard to keep sayin' no."
"That was the idea. Joe…" Blue eyes speared through him, all serious, as he lowered his voice. "I know your family situation. You can't tell me the extra money wouldn't come in handy."
"And I won't insult your intelligence by saying it wouldn't. But sometimes, money isn't the only issue."
After a moment, the older man nodded, then clapped Joe on the shoulder. "I admire your loyalty, son. Which, ironically, is one of the reasons I was so hot to have you come on board. So I'll say no more. Except…" He tugged his wallet out of his back pocket and extracted a business card. "You ever change your mind, you let me know. And I mean that. Anytime you want to come work for me, you just give me a holler." Then he put out his hand, they shook, and the big man clomped off through the small bank and on out to the biggest, meanest, blackest four-by-four Joe'd ever seen.
Joe got back in the Blazer, but instead of starting up the engine, he sat there, trying to sort out his thoughts. To say he felt torn in two didn't even begin to cover it. It hadn't just been loyalty keeping him from expressing more interest in Mitch's offer, although that was a large part of it. Whatever was or wasn't going on with his boss, after everything he'd done for Joe he deserved better than to be left twisting in the breeze at the first sign of trouble. But more than that, Wes'd been around a long time, weathering fluctuations in the economy with barely a burp. However, while Mitch Carlson had always been a reliable contractor, putting on a builder's hat was something else again. There was a big difference between buying a piece of land and actually making a profit on the investment, not to mention still being in business five or ten years down the road. Job security meant everything to Joe, and to the people who depended on him. Going in with an unproven entity was just too risky.
Except there was that little matter of Mary-Jo's "feeling."
A feeling which he might have been tempted to believe had more merit than he wanted to give it, had Wes not picked that moment to call.
"Hey, there." His boss's voice rang in his ear. "Bet you were thinkin' I'd fallen off the face of the earth!"
"You might say," Joe said, revving the engine and pulling out of the bank parking lot. Steering with the flat part of one hand, he pulled into traffic. "Mary-Jo's worried sick 'cause she hasn't been able to get hold of you."
"Now, she knows I've gotten back to her after every single message she's left me, even if I haven't been available at the precise moment she's called. Had trouble with the cell service for a while, you know how that goes. Got tied up, too, with some unexpected personal matters that've kept me from sticking my nose in as much as usual. But I figured you and Madison had things in hand, am I right?"
Stopped for a red light, Joe leaned back in his seat, glaring out his window at the silver pickup pulsing with eardrum-shattering hip-hop. "Mary-Jo said you took the bookkeeping away from her."
After a slight hesitation, Wes said, "Yeah, Carmela wanted to go back to doing the books, like she used to when I first started the business. I didn't figure Mary-Jo'd mind since she's still getting the same salary for less work, right? Anyway, so I thought maybe I'd get up to Haven in the next day or two, see how that's coming along. Hank's been pestering me, and he's right, I should probably see where my money's going. He said your mom and sister are staying in one of the new prefab cabins? How's that working out?"
Joe couldn't detect a single thing in the man's voice to set off any alarms. So why was he feeling so damn jittery? Maybe it was the heat. Or Mary-Jo's paranoia infecting him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was all the other stresses in his life ganging up on him, causing him to hallucinate bogeymen in every shadow?
By the time he got off the phone, he'd decided to go with that. Not that there was any comfort in that decision, but at least it made sense.
What
didn't make sense, however, was the almost overpowering urge to talk things over with Taylor. Confide in her, get her take on things. For all her emotionality, she was still one of the most clear-headed people he'd ever met.
And if that wasn't a warning sign that he was losing it, he didn't know what was. Okay, fine, so they couldn't—and were no longer going to—keep their hands off each other. He wanted her, she wanted him, and staying away from each other was downright inhuman. But sharing your problems with a woman…hell, even he knew that was a one-way ticket to disaster.
Especially when they started doling out advice you didn't want to hear.
* * *
"Hi, Miss Tay-lor!"
Reveling in the frosty air billowing out of the frozen foods case at the Git-n-Go, Taylor turned to catch Kristen Salazar's big, bright smile.
"Well, hey, Kristen," she said back, grabbing a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey and dropping it into her basket, even as she waited out a little ache of need brought about by Kristen's appearance. On the surface, she'd been fine with Joe and her not being able to be together the rest of the week while his folks were here. It was what was going on under the surface that was a problem. Because way down deep—okay, maybe not so deep—she missed him with an intensity that made her head spin. And maybe this was wishful thinking on her part, but she had a real strong feeling Joe's thoughts were running pretty much along the same lines, given the looks she'd catch him lobbing her way whenever she happened to catch his eye.
But it was about all these people and obligations and circumstances piling up higher and higher between them….
"What're you doing here?" she finally asked Joe's sister.
"Ma-ma's over there, get-ting milk for din-ner. We ran out. Did you walk here? We walked. Mama says it's good for me to walk a lot."
"It's good for everyone to walk," Taylor said with a smile. "I walked, too."
"Yeah? Cool. That looks good," Kristen said, pointing to the ice cream. "I like ice cream. But on-ly if it doesn't have stuff in it."
"Not even pieces of chocolate?"
The girl grinned. "I guess that would be okay," she said, and Taylor laughed, even though she needed those pieces of chocolate like a hole in the head.
"Oh, there you are," Danielle said—a little breathlessly—to her daughter as she appeared. "But then," she said, chuckling, "I should have known you'd follow your ice-cream radar. Why don't you pick something out for dessert?" she said to her daughter, then turned to Taylor, her gaze just assessing enough to make Taylor shiver slightly. "I've been meaning to tell you how much Kristen enjoyed being at camp. Thanks for letting her visit."
"No problem," Taylor said with a nod. "It's been great having her."
An awkward silence followed while Danielle helped Kristen find her favorite kind of ice cream and Taylor stood there wondering what came next.
"It's a shame we have to leave tomorrow," Danielle said, starting for the register.
Taylor followed, muttering something brilliant like, "Yes, it is."
Danielle unloaded her groceries onto the checkout counter as Kristen drifted over to the magazine rack and started leafing through a bridal mag. Joe's mother glanced over at her daughter, her expression a mixture of love and concern, and then gave Taylor a speculative look that nearly made her jump.
"Is something the matter?" Taylor asked, half smiling as the skinny gum-chewing girl behind the counter rang up Danielle's purchases.
"No, no. It's just…" She frowned. "Are you in a hurry, or could we talk for a minute?"
"Sure, no problem," she said, even as, This can't be good, flitted through her brain.
After Taylor paid for her groceries, they left the store, Kristen striking out a little ahead of the two women. "She likes to walk by herself," Danielle said. "Helps her feel more independent."
"You've done a great job with her," Taylor said, and Danielle laughed.
"Believe me, I worry about her far less than I worry about my son."
"I can see why," Taylor said softly.
Danielle was quiet for a moment, then said, "You care a great deal for Joe, don't you?"
"Not much point in denying it."
"But…?"
She met the shorter woman's kind gaze. "But…it's not just up to me."
"Ah. In other words, Joe's being mule-headed."
Taylor laughed. "That's one way of putting it. He…" How could she put this diplomatically? "He…takes his other responsibilities very seriously."
"Kristen and me, you mean?"
"Yes."
Danielle sighed. "Just for the record? This isn't coming from me."
"I didn't think it was. Just for the record."
They shared a smile, then Joe's mother shook her head. "We don't need his money, Taylor. Not anymore. Between what I make and what we get from the state, we're fine. But pride is a very hard habit to break."
They came to a stop at Taylor's turnoff; Danielle touched her arm, catching Taylor's gaze in hers. "I don't know much about whatever other relationships Joe's had before this, but I sense he feels something very different for you. Something real. And I can see why," she added with an amused smile. But then her brows drew together. "I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but you might be his last chance. To shake him out of whatever this is that has him so convinced he can't have his own life. I'd like to know I can leave him in your hands, that you'll be there for him."
Taylor's gaze strayed down the road to Kristen, who was singing to herself as she walked. "I am here for him, Danielle," she said, then looked back at the older woman. "But he has to meet me halfway."
"And if that's not enough?"
Taylor let out a dry, I'm doomed laugh. "Then…I guess I have to go a little further?"
The other woman smiled. "Right answer, chica," she said, and set off down the road after her daughter.
* * *
There was a reason Taylor decided to pay a visit to Maddie Logan on Saturday afternoon, and it wasn't just to bring her manicotti. The doctor's wife, her new—and enormous—baby son hiked up on her shoulder, greeted her with both delight and suspicion, her light brown brows dipping slightly as she took in the towel-shrouded casserole. "What is it?"
"Uh-oh. Someone looks like she's had a recent close encounter with Arliss Potts."
"Lord, yes," Maddie said, leading Taylor through the high-ceiling foyer and on into the cluttered living room, chock-full of original-to-the-house furniture, baby stuff and country music. In her sleeveless blouse and baggy shorts, the woman looked more like her baby's big sister than his mama, even though there was nothing even remotely childish about Ryan's wife. "She's taken to putting canned peas in her tuna casserole."
"Oh, no." The Baptist minister's wife's cooking "skills" were legendary. "With the chili powder or instead of it?"
"With it."
Taylor laughed, even as she said, "I'm so sorry, honey. But this is baked manicotti. No peas, no chili powder. I made two batches last night."
The baby deposited on his back in a nearby bassinet, Maddie came over to lift a corner of the towel. "Oh, my," she said on a sigh. "You know what? Forget the fridge, there's no room in there anyway. Just go on ahead and put that right in the oven. And go on and get yourself some tea or whatever you want while you're at it. How's that for bein' the gracious hostess?"
"Sounds good to me," Taylor said with a chuckle, heading into the equally chaotic kitchen, the refrigerator all but obliterated with drawings and recipes and kids' photos, the dining table piled with whatever projects the other kids had been working on last. Her heart twinged, a little, as it always did whenever she came over here. It was hard, sometimes, being in the midst of other peoples' happiness. Even if she knew how hard-won that happiness was, for both Maddie and Ryan. Which was part of the reason she was here.
So she put the baking dish in the oven and turned it on, then found a clean pair of glasses and poured them both some tea. "Should take about a half hour," she said, coming back out into th
e living room and handing one glass to Maddie, who smiled her thanks from where she'd collapsed on the sofa. "Where're the rest of the kids?" she asked.
"Ry took 'em over to Dawn's and Cal's so I could get some rest," Maddie said with a weary laugh. "'Cept I ended up spending all day cleaning." She took a sip of her tea and glowered at the room. "Although you could never tell it."
"Hey," Taylor said, sweeping a pile of dolls off a nearby chair and sinking into it. "Kids live here. Go with the flow."
"Yeah, except one day the flow's gonna carry me right outta here. Anyway, talk to me. About anything other than babies and breastfeeding. So Joe's mom and sister left?"
"Yesterday, yeah."
"Didi tells me Kristen visited camp a few times."
"She did."
"How'd that work out?"
"All in all, pretty well. And it was good for the other kids, too. To tell the truth, there was some serious staring going on the first day or so, but by her last day there, I think most of them had stopped seeing her as 'different' and just related to her as another kid. But…" She blew out a breath. "It was so hard watching her struggle to do things kids half her age had mastered years ago."
"How's her family deal with it?" Maddie asked, as if reading Taylor's thoughts.
"Her mother's one of the most upbeat women I've ever met, which I'm sure is the main reason Kristen's made as much progress as she has. Seth, of course, is still coming to terms with having a sister, let alone one with Down syndrome. He hadn't said anything much to me about it, but while I think he was glad to meet her—to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else—I think he's glad for some space to absorb it all."
"Makes sense to me," Maddie said, then snuggled down into the sofa, leaning her head back against the cushions. "And Joe?"
Taylor poked at the ice cubes in her tea—no way was she about to betray his trust by discussing his confession of sorts from a week ago. So all she said was, "He's about to bust something trying to make everybody happy."
Everybody's Hero Page 20
