Two of a Kind

by Susan Mallery

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling a credit card out of his wallet. “I promise to come to a full stop at the house and not ask you to jump out while the car’s still moving.”

  “I could do a tuck and roll.”

  “Not in those shoes.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

  She nodded because she was afraid if she spoke, she would betray her disappointment. As they left the restaurant and she faced a long evening of missing Gideon and wishing they were together, she realized that caring for someone came at a price. To open one’s heart meant letting in all emotions, not just the good ones.

  * * *

  “IF YOU DON’T focus, I’m going to hit you,” Consuelo said, glaring at Ford.

  “Sorry.”

  He gripped the punching bag more securely. Just as she shifted into position, he stepped back.

  “It’s my mother,” he admitted.

  “Do I look as if I care?”

  “You heard about the booth?”

  “Everyone heard about the booth, and we’re all laughing at you. Now, can we get back to the workout?”

  They were supposed to be sparring together. When he’d been too distracted for a decent round or two, she’d suggested they move to the punching bags.

  “Consuelo, you don’t understand. She’s taken applications from different women and sorted through them by likable attributes. She’s been emailing me the information and then following up to see if I’ve called them yet.”

  Ford was about thirty-three, over six feet tall and all muscle. Although she would never admit it to anyone, she was pretty sure he could take her. So it was unexpected, to say the least, to watch him practically tremble at the thought of his mother sending women his way.

  “Tell her no,” she said.

  “My mother?”

  “Isn’t that who we’re talking about?”

  “I can’t. She won’t understand. She went to a lot of trouble.”

  “It was a booth for two days. She had fun. It’s not like she was in an Iranian prison on a hunger strike.”

  “She’s my mother.”

  Now he was giving her a headache. “We’ve established that. If you say she’s your mother again, I’m going to hit you in the balls. Is that clear?”

  Ford stepped closer to the bag, as if that would offer protection. Idiotic man.

  “What do you want?” she asked, digging deep for patience she didn’t naturally possess.

  “Her to leave me alone. I made the mistake of mentioning I was moving out, and she wants me to move back home. I already spent a few days there. It’s not going to work.”

  “And you can’t tell her?”

  “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” He narrowed his gaze. “Before you get on me about that, you wouldn’t hurt your mother’s feelings, either.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” Assuming she were still alive, Consuelo would want to do everything in her power to make her mother happy and proud of her.

  “So you have two problems,” she said. “Living quarters and the women. Let’s take them one at a time. Where are you going to live? You can’t stay in the house.”

  Ford and Angel were going to kill each other, which she could live with, but then she would have to clean up the mess, which annoyed her.

  “I’ve got a lead on an apartment. I’ll know if I got it in a couple of days. It’s above a garage, very private.”

  “Sounds nice. So don’t tell your mother where you’re going to be.”

  His expression turned pitying. “This is Fool’s Gold. There are no secrets. Even if I don’t tell her, someone else will.”

  Consuelo began unfastening her gloves. Obviously there wasn’t going to be a workout with Ford this morning. When he was done whining about his problem, she was going for a run. A long one. Then she was going to soak in the big tub in her bathroom. Later, there would be wine. She was sure of it.

  “There’s a difference between lying and withholding information.”

  “Not a big one,” Ford said.

  “Then you’re going to have to deal with her knowing your whereabouts. It’s a small town. It’s not like you’ll have distance on your side.”

  “I never should have moved back.”

  She glared at him. “No, what you never should have done was promise me a workout and then gotten all girly about your problems.”

  “I’m sharing something personal here.”

  “Cry me a river.”

  “You’re not very feminine.”

  “That makes one of us.” She drew in a breath. “Okay, this isn’t working. You’re getting an apartment and you’re going to have to deal with your mother dropping by. Do you see another solution?”

  “No.”

  “Great. Problem solved. Or if not solved, then something we don’t have to talk about anymore. Next, the women applying to marry you. You know, if we’d recorded this conversation, all you’d have to do is post it on YouTube and they’d run in the opposite direction.”

  “Why do I remember you being more helpful?” he asked.

  “Hell if I know.” She dropped her gloves to the mat and flexed and opened her hands. “Have you talked to any of them?”

  “The applicants? No. Why would I?”

  “I don’t know. Because you need to get laid and they’re offering. They can’t all be bad.”

  “I don’t want to get married.” His voice was two parts stubborn, one part whine.

  “All right. I’ll bite. Why not?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “Okay. As long as it’s a good reason.” She decided if she moved just a little closer, she could nail his groin with a quick kick. Then the issue of having children would be off the table. But despite his annoying honesty and soft spot for his mother, she sort of liked Ford. If she couldn’t enjoy hurting him, there was no point in causing the pain.

  “Go out with them,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Go out with them. How bad could it be?”

  “Bad.”

  “You don’t know that. Your mom knows you pretty well. She put up with you for years.”

  “I was a kid. I’ve changed.”

  She was about to make a smart-ass remark when she realized he was telling the truth. Ford had become a SEAL. He’d been around the world, seeing and doing things that very few people could understand. That had a way of changing a man...or a woman.

  “So, distract her,” she said. “She’s also looking for a wife for Kent. Tell her you need more time to settle into civilian life, that you’ll be difficult to date. She should understand that. Say she can practice on Kent.”

  Ford’s worried expression relaxed. He circled around the punching bag, heading toward her. Consuelo started backing away.

  As she’d feared, he was both stronger and faster, and apparently more determined, she thought grimly as he grabbed her in his arms and swung her around.

  “That’s perfect!” he crowed, squeezing tight. “I’ll get my mom to focus on Kent.” He put her down and released her. “He can be her practice case.”

  She took a deep breath, just to make sure there weren’t any bruised ribs, and told herself she didn’t care if Ford’s brother started dating other women. It’s not like she knew the man. “So much for brotherly love.”

  “Lorraine left Kent years ago. He’s got a kid. He needs to get married.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your professional assessment.” She cleared her throat, then did her best to sound casual. “Do you know why she left?”

  He shrugged. “She was a bitch.” He held up both hands. “My mom’s exact words. I’m not being critical of a woman. Don’t hurt me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Ford dropped his arms to his sides. “Kent was crazy about her for years, and they had Reese together. He’s a stable kind of guy. A math teacher. As far as I know, he never cheated. When we spoke right after the divorce, he was pretty broken up about it. I felt kind of
bad.”

  “Do you think he’s looking to get involved again?”

  A stupid question, she thought angrily. It wasn’t as if she was right for him. Even if he found her attractive, he would only want her for sex. Normal men wanted normal women to marry. He was an intelligent single father with kind eyes. Whether he wanted to or not, he wouldn’t stay single for long.

  “He told Mom he was. At least he’s not disinterested, which is pretty much the same thing.” He started toward her, but she shook her head.

  “No more hugging?” he asked.

  “No. But I understand you’re grateful. You’ve bought yourself some time. But once Kent is happily involved, your mother is going to go looking for a woman for you.”

  “I’ll figure out something,” he said.

  “Great. Problem solved.” She started out of the gym.

  “Wait.” He walked alongside her. “Where are you going?”

  “For a run.”

  “Want some company?”

  She rolled her eyes. For all their toughness and attitude, she would swear the guys she worked with were like puppies. Annoying and underfoot, but ultimately kind of adorable.

  “Fine, but you have to keep up.”

  He winked. “I’ll leave you in the dust.”

  “In your dreams.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MORNINGS WERE GIDEON’S favorite time of the day. He liked the quiet when he was alone in the house, the coolness before the sun had completely cleared the mountain. He stood on the widest part of the deck, his elbows bent, his arms moving as he completed the movements. He focused on his breath and flow, feeling the energy in his body.

  The slow-paced exercise, a kind of moving meditation, kept him grounded. When he was faithful in his adherence, the nights were less long, the dreams less violent. He’d been distracted, with Carter’s arrival and having Felicia around, and he’d paid the price. Now he inhaled to a slow count of ten and reminded himself he would never be able to forgo the simple practices. They kept him able to function.

  He pivoted on his back foot and tightened his muscles as he shifted his weight. Carefully he—

  “Yoo-hoo, Gideon? Are you home?”

  He brought down his right foot and turned, able to see through the house to the two women peering through the big front window. The old ladies, he thought grimly. Eddie and Gladys. They’d followed him home.

  He shook his head and went in through the sliding door on the deck. He was halfway across the living room when he remembered he was wearing nothing more than sweatpants. Sweatpants that sat very low on his hips.

  “Goddamn sonofabitch,” he grumbled, detouring into the kitchen where he’d left his T-shirt. He jerked it over his head and pulled it down as he continued walking toward the front door.

  “What?” he barked as he jerked it open.

  Eddie and Gladys both stared at him. Eddie’s mouth curved up in a smile.

  “Were you in the shower?” she asked hopefully.

  “No. I was exercising.”

  “Naked?”

  “Not naked.”

  The first shiver of fear replaced annoyance. He shook off the sensation. They were old ladies. They weren’t going to hurt him...were they?

  Gladys pushed her friend aside. “We want to talk to you. It won’t take long.”

  Good manners overcame common sense. Gideon stepped back and let them in.

  “How can I help you?” he asked as they prowled the living room.

  Gladys turned to him first. “What? Oh, why we’re here.” She smiled. “We want you to sponsor our bowling team. We have the shirts all picked out. We’ve chosen the colors and everything. Show him.”

  Eddie plopped down on the sofa and pulled a picture out of her large handbag. He inched forward and took it, then stepped back out of range.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, studying the fuchsia-colored bowling shirts. They were a new level of ugly.

  “You can see why we want them,” Gladys said.

  “Not really.”

  Eddie ignored him. “Our names get embroidered on the front and the radio station logo goes on the back. That’s advertising for you, which is why you’ll want to pay for the shirts. Lots of people come to the bowling alley. They’ll see the call letters and want to listen.” She paused as if she thought he needed time for the concept to sink in.

  He’d been in more dire situations before and understood the need to have a plan of action. However, none of his military training had prepared him to face two old ladies on a mission.

  “I get a pretty decent audience share right now,” he said.

  Gladys put her hand on her chest and actually seemed to go pale. “You’re telling us no?”

  Eddie’s mouth quivered. “I have to sit down,” she said, then shook her head. “Oh, I am sitting. It’s just the trembling gets so bad.” She looked at Gideon, then lowered her voice. “It’s my condition.”

  Gladys sat next to her and squeezed her hand. “Honey, you know it upsets you when you talk about it.”

  Eddie nodded. “I know. It’s just I really thought with the new shirts and all we had a chance at winning. Just one last time before...” She swallowed. “You know.”

  Death, he thought grimly. She meant death. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being played, but he also wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll buy the damn shirts. Order them and send me the bill.”

  Eddie beamed. “Do you want to approve the design?”

  “No,” he told her, then remembered who he was dealing with. “Yes. I want to see what you’re putting on the shirts before I pay for them.”

  “No problem.”

  Eddie stood with amazing agility for one so close to her final chapter. Gladys bounced up next to her.

  “Thanks so much,” Gladys said, leading the way to the front door. “We appreciate it.”

  They walked to the front door and let themselves out. Halfway down the driveway, they turned to each other and did a high five. Octogenarian hands slapped loudly in the quiet of the morning.

  He’d been had. Suckered by two old ladies, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. As they drove away, he figured he’d gotten off easy. No doubt they would go perform their show in front of someone else to get another sucker to spring for new bowling balls.

  He started to go inside, then saw a mail truck pulling into the driveway. A young woman with a ponytail got out.

  “Mr. Boylan?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a certified letter I need you to sign for.”

  “Sure.”

  He scrawled his name, then took the slim letter.

  “Have a nice day,” she called as she got into her small truck.

  He nodded.

  The return address was from a medical lab outside Sacramento. There was only one reason he would be getting correspondence from a lab this way. Inside was the information on Carter.

  He went into the house and stood by the front door. For a second he thought about not opening the envelope. He could cheerfully go a long time without knowing. Except he already knew. In his gut and maybe even his heart. There were plenty of clues and lots of physical evidence. The report would only confirm the information he already had.

  Still, he tore off the end and pulled out the single sheet of paper. When he read the report, he went to the study and put it in a drawer. Then he walked away.

  * * *

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON FELICIA walked into the kitchen, not sure what she wanted to do for dinner. She had lots of ingredients but no real sense of how to put them together. Maybe she could go look on the internet.

  But her search for inspiration stalled when she saw several dirty dishes sitting on the counter, along with an open package of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The knife was still sticking out of the jar and half the bread was spread over the counter. Two slices had fallen into the sink.

  Gideon was out running erran
ds, so she knew he hadn’t done this, which left only Carter. While he wasn’t perfect—most mornings he tossed his dirty clothes on the bed rather than putting them in the basket she’d provided—he was generally neat and considerate. He’d made his own lunch and snacks before, and he’d never left such a big mess.

  A sense of unease washed over her. Something was going on, and she didn’t know what. Even more troubling, if someone had stopped and asked her how she knew there was a problem, she couldn’t begin to tell him or her.

  She walked down the hall to Carter’s room. The door was half-open. She knocked as she entered.

  Carter was sitting in front of his laptop, slouched in his chair. His feet were up on the desk, and he was playing a computer game with lots of shooting and what looked like purple-skinned space aliens.

  “Carter,” she began.

  “Give me a sec.”

  He twisted in his seat as he fired several more times. His shooting style was inefficient, she noted. He wasted a lot of energy and had less than fifty percent accuracy. Not that she was going to give him tips right now.

  “Carter,” she repeated. “I need to speak with you.”

  He sighed heavily, paused the game and turned to face her. His feet hit the floor with a thunk.

  “What?”

  She hadn’t realized so much information could be contained in a single word. Not that any of it was good.

  For a second she felt as if she’d intruded, that she should apologize and leave him alone. The sense of being uncomfortable, of not fitting in, nearly had her backing away. Then she remembered the kitchen.

  “You made a peanut butter sandwich a little while ago.”

  “So? I was hungry. Are you saying I shouldn’t eat? Do you want to starve me?”

  Felicia processed the words twice and still found no linkage between her comments and his. “I’m saying you left a mess in the kitchen.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He turned back to his computer screen and picked up the controller.

  “Carter.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t bother turning around.

  Frustration joined confusion. “Carter, I’m speaking to you.”

  “We’re the only two people in the room. I get that. Unless you want to have a meaningful conversation with the bed.” He chuckled.