by Lori Foster
“Sure.” He shrugged. “It happens.” He leveled a look on Hogan. “You know it as well as I do.”
Hogan smiled.
“Oh my God,” Violet complained in a long, drawn-out way as if pained. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Not me,” said Nathan. “I can’t help it if women and men alike are attracted to me.”
Brooklin narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you said it was a joke?”
“The column is, for sure. The rest? Who knows.”
Propping her chin in a fist, Brooklin stared at him. “So you don’t put any credence in the column?”
Nathan barked a laugh. “No. Who would?”
“A lot of people, apparently.”
“Right. You know, I hope it is Stan writing the column. It’ll give me ammunition to harass him for a year. I just hope the person writing about me isn’t old Mrs. Carlton.” He shivered. “She’s eighty, only wears her dentures half the time and always wants to pet on me whenever she gets close.”
Brooklin cracked a reluctant smile. “I hope you’re kind to her.”
“Me, kind?”
Violet laughed. “He is very kind, always.”
“It’s not easy,” Nathan insisted. “Kindness encourages her. I have to struggle for that right balance of authoritative figure and friendly neighbor.”
“That’s probably the lure, though,” Violet said. “Women love an authoritative guy, especially in uniform.” She gave a deliberate shiver.
“Some women maybe,” Brooklin said. “Not all.”
Nathan grinned at Hogan. “Looks like you really need that shirt, pal. Maybe it could pass as a uni.”
“Probably depends on what I wear, or don’t wear, with it.”
Knowing her face was now hot, Violet stood. “I need to get back to work, but, Brooklin, I’ll definitely look you up. Thanks for the card.”
“Thank you for the wonderful meal. I hope I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I’m always here, so I’m sure you will.” She looked expectantly at Hogan. “Well? Are you done?”
Doing his best to look like a martyr, Hogan followed along, groaning, “Sometimes, the boss is so damn bossy.”
* * *
Hogan looked around the upper floor with keen interest. Dust motes floated in the air, visible beneath a bare flickering bulb. It was warmer up here, almost stifling. He saw air ducts but assumed they were closed, likely to save on the bills.
The finished ceiling slanted with the roof, but was plenty tall enough in the center. If they moved out all the boxes and junk, seating could go along the walls under the windows.
Lots and lots of windows. Ratty blinds covered them, but he’d already checked and they seemed solid, in good shape. Filthy, but then, no reason to clean this part of the place.
It wouldn’t take a lot to refinish the floor. A sander, some polish.
Aware of Violet watching him, he walked from one side to the other, determining when the roof got too low. Yes, more than enough room.
Overall, the area needed a good cleaning, paint, some fresh lighting, but it could add an all-new facet to the business. If they did the work themselves, the cost would be minimal in comparison to the probable income.
“What are you thinking?” Violet asked.
“What a great area this could be.”
“Really?” She peered around as if she didn’t see it.
“Come here.” He reached out a hand, and when she took it, he led her to a big box of old pots and pans that he’d shoved toward the window. “Sit there and imagine everything clean, some nice lights. Pretend you’re on a date with a high school sweetheart, and you’re getting ready to dance.”
Laughing, she said, “That’d be tough to do. I didn’t attend many dances in school.”
Sitting there like that, she looked sweet and young and far too enticing. “No?”
She shook her head. “I worked with Uncle Bibb.”
Hogan thought about what she’d said to Brooklin, a past he’d known nothing about, and instead of going over the imagined floor plan, he came to stand in front of her. “When did your parents die?”
“My sophomore year.” She turned her face up to his, her blue eyes large in the dim light. “A stupid house fire. They weren’t burned. But by the time the firemen found them, they’d died of smoke inhalation.”
“What caused the fire?”
“Faulty Christmas lights.”
Though she’d told it without much emotion, Hogan hurt for her. He took in her straight but fragile shoulders, shoulders that had carried a very big burden—and turned it into a successful business.
She’d caught her mass of fiery hair in a messy ponytail and somehow, even that made her look vulnerable.
Or maybe it was his own perspective that brought about those feelings.
He knelt in front of her. “Where were you when it happened?”
She half smiled, her gaze slipping away from his to look around the room. “Uncle Bibb had taken me to a Christmas play downtown, then out to dinner. We got home really late.”
More than anything, Hogan wanted to hold her, but he didn’t trust himself, knowing that once he got his hands on her he wouldn’t want to let go. Not until he’d crossed every line that existed. Besides, the hurt was years old now—it had to be.
“I remember,” she whispered, “being lost, you know?”
“Yes.” He knew very well.
“Uncle Bibb didn’t let that last very long. He took me home with him and said I’d live there and we’d work out everything else. It was awful, losing them so suddenly like that, but he made it better as much as he could. He kept me busy, giving me chores at home and a job at the diner. He talked to me nonstop and...just filled the silence so I couldn’t dwell on it too much.”
Had he given her time to grieve? Probably, he thought, when she should have been sleeping. He knew that was the time memories crawled in on him. Memories, regrets and anger. “We don’t have to change anything.”
The half smile widened until she had dimples in her cheeks. “You’re sweet, you know that? But honestly, Hogan, Uncle Bibb talked a lot about using the space up here. He never got around to it, but I remember sitting with him on the front porch, snapping green beans and listening to him make plans. Back then, he wanted to use this area to host private dinners, like for a birthday party or anniversary. But if he was here, still, I know he’d love the idea of doing stuff with the high school.”
The picture she painted, of an older man and a young girl, sitting on a porch, breaking beans and dreaming of the future, was a nice image. He wished he could have met her uncle. “The house you’re in now, it used to be his?”
She nodded. “Everything I have is because of Uncle Bibb.”
“Not true.” He stood again, but brought her up with him. “I can’t think of anyone who works any harder than you.”
She twisted her mouth to the side. “You can’t, huh? What about you? Shoot, what about Colt? Between the three of us, there’s a lot of hard work and long hours going on.”
The three of us.
His heart lurched and his brain shied away from the implication of grouping them together that way. He released her and turned, pretending to study the layout again while he quieted his unease.
As if she belonged there, Violet stepped up to his side. “I worry about Colt, too, you know.” She also stared out at the floor, at the dust and grime and so many boxes. “He and I were talking the other day. He’s a straight-A student.”
“Yeah. I often wonder how I got so damn lucky.”
“Good genes,” she teased, and then more seriously, “plus good parenting.”
Hogan shook his head. He’d screwed up several times in the parenting department. Luckily Colt wasn
’t the type to rebel or act out. No, he just got better, more damned perfect.
At some point, that high standard had to break.
“He’d asked me about more hours,” Violet said softly.
“What?” Startled from his thoughts, Hogan scowled. “He already works too much. I’ve tried to tell him—”
She rested a hand on his arm. “He loves you. And he wants to go to college.” Her blue eyes locked in understanding with his. “I think he’s looking for a way to pay for it.”
“Yeah.” Hogan stepped away from her hand, because seriously, even that simple touch pushed him. Then he ran a hand through his hair. “He has the grades and the drive to go to the best schools, but—”
“But it’s not feasible. He understands that.”
“He shouldn’t have to.”
In that familiar, playful way of hers, Violet shouldered him. “No, he shouldn’t. Colt is a great kid who deserves the best of everything. But kids are resourceful and adaptable, and if anyone can handle reality, he can. Besides, in the big scheme of things, he has everything he really needs, which is mainly a father who loves him like crazy and is always there for him.”
Talk so personal left Hogan rigid. Any minute now she’d ask about his wife, and he didn’t want to go there. The room that had just recently felt large and full of possibilities now felt far too small and strangling. “It’s late. We can talk more about the space later.”
She looked at him, her expression quizzical and then accepting. “Sure. We’ll hash out the plans in all our free time.”
An obvious joke, given the hours they put in, and he grinned with her as they headed for the stairs. The narrow staircase was another thing that would have to be addressed. The lighting sucked and she needed a new handrail, as well as some slip-proof treads.
In his mind, he tallied the to-do list, while also thinking about working side by side with Violet. One thing for sure: she always entertained him.
She was close behind him, and halfway down she softly said his name.
Going still, Hogan glanced back at her.
She gave him a wistful smile. “Two weeks is going to feel like forever.”
9
VIOLET SPENT MONDAY morning doing laundry, cleaning her house and then shopping, first at the boutique where she bought a beautiful blue druzy necklace made by Brooklin, and then for some type of shade for Hogan. She loved the necklace, its delicate lines, the uniqueness of it and the vibrancy of the blue stone, which the saleslady had sworn was the same color as her eyes. She planned to wear it as soon as she had a chance to dress up a little.
As for the shading device, she wasn’t entirely sure of what she wanted, just that it needed to protect Hogan from the sun.
While she looked around, she called Jason and asked him if he could give her a price on adding an awning or something to the area where his brother worked. Something more permanent that wouldn’t be a fire hazard over the industrial grills.
Sounding a little smug and far too teasing, Jason promised to get right on it.
Did he think she had too much concern for Hogan’s hide? Was she giving away her interest?
Nonsense.
Hogan was an employee. Currently a highly in-demand employee who kept her customers coming back with hungry looks on their faces. Of course she didn’t want him abused by the summer sun. It took her another hour to find exactly the right thing, or things really, that she thought would work.
By the time she got to the diner, she didn’t have long before other employees would begin showing up.
Hogan, she remembered, would be going into his office. She hated to admit it, but she missed him already.
It wasn’t a lie—two weeks would feel like an eternity waiting for his decision.
Once he came to work for her, she could also have him in her bed. At least, that seemed the logical conclusion, the reason he wanted her to wait and be sure. She liked the idea that he couldn’t be around her so much without wanting her.
Unfortunately, she didn’t need proximity to make her want him. She did. All the time. Whether he was right next to her or home with his son.
While her thoughts spun this way and that, she got the small wrought iron table and massive umbrella into place by the grills. She put a fat, comfortable cushion on each of the two chairs that came with the set, then used the printer in her office to create a sign that read: Reserved for the Barbecue Master.
Snickering, she fastened it to the table so customers would know not to use it.
It was Hogan’s table, with two chairs for the times that Colt joined him.
As soon as she could, she’d get that shirt made for him—and then, even though she knew he’d been joking, she’d coerce him into wearing it.
She smiled while greeting her employees, while opening up the diner and welcoming customers, but the time dragged. It never had before, but now, waiting for Hogan, it did.
Would he get there at six? Later? She wasn’t sure.
The man had a regular, respectable, white-collar job and he obviously liked it. Why, she didn’t know, because despite what he said, Hogan was not a stuffed-shirt accountant.
Oh, he was terrific at numbers, no doubt about it. But the job didn’t fit him, not the way... What? Violet groaned and dropped onto a stool.
Did she really think Hogan could be content working morning to night in a small-town diner?
Why not? She was. Uncle Bibb had certainly loved it, too.
She’d never be rich, but she was comfortable. She had a retirement plan, money saved, a small but nice house.
When the Clearbrook Trickle arrived, Violet took a copy into her office and sat down to stew. They wouldn’t get really busy for another hour or so, and she wanted to see if there was another mention of Nathan inside.
The first bit of advice was about him and Violet sat forward, the paper opened on her desk, anxious to read.
Dear Advice Anonymous,
A certain gorgeous “man of the law” jogs without a shirt! Merciful heavens, he looks fine in a uniform or out of it. Should I tell him I think so, or continue to peek from my window as he goes past? It doesn’t matter that he sometimes has a woman with him. It’s easy to ignore her when he’s there looking so fine. But I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want him to take a different route.
To speak, or not to speak?
A man in a uniform. Of course that had to be Nathan. And he’d mentioned something about Brooklin jogging with him, so she had to be that other woman who was supposedly easy to ignore.
The reply was even more entertaining.
Dear Speak,
Don’t be shy! Let him know how you feel. I suggest you join him jogging. Wear something sexy to get his attention. All’s fair in love and war.
Advice Anonymous.
Violet laughed out loud. Poor Nathan! He was about to be accosted by every interested woman in the county. She couldn’t wait to show Hogan!
The next bit of advice took her by surprise.
Dear Advice Anonymous,
What could be sexier than a man who grills delicious food and looks good doing it?
Violet frowned, her back stiffening.
He has a great sense of humor, too. But he’s always working. Not that my friends and I mind ogling him at the grill, but how do I get him away from the job, and away from his kid, long enough for us to have a little fun?
Since I know other ladies are thinking the same, I have to make my move quickly.
Signed, “Ready to do some cooking of my own.”
Ha, Violet thought, her mouth pinched and her brows down. He may not be officially mine, but I’m the one scheduling all those hours.
It was one thing for women to want him shirtless, though she definitely nix
ed that idea now. But to try to take him from his job?
Her gaze dropped down to the reply, curious as to what advice would be given. Maybe she’d even pick up a tip or two that she could use herself.
Dear “Ready to Cook,”
I appreciate your position, but I suggest you think twice about this one. Something tells me he could already be involved with another. You see, he’s very recently had a lady to his house, and that indicates she’s more than a casual date.
After all, there’s no place like home.
Exploding from her chair, Violet stared at the paper, trying to deny what she’d just read.
Hogan had a woman over? Very recently?
Who? When?
Surely not the other night. He’d left her late, and he’d promised—he’d made that outrageous claim that he’d take care of himself!
Fury buried the possibility of hurt—until she stopped to think. It was a gossip column, for crying out loud. Written by an anonymous person, and everyone knew you couldn’t believe anonymous rumors. It was for entertainment, not meant as fact.
Still, she’d ask Hogan about it as soon as she saw him.
While she waited, she went over it in her head again and again, determined to be calm and cavalier. She wasn’t the type to fly off the handle, to make assumptions or act clingy.
She waited for him to show up, constantly checking the door where he usually entered. When he did show up, he went straight to Colt to talk for a moment, then got caught up in greetings from neighbors and customers.
He headed for the prep area, but Jason was right outside that door, doing measurements for an overhang. That entailed lots of questions from Hogan and no real answers from Jason.
“I wanted to give you some shade,” Violet said, stepping into the mix.
Hogan gestured at the table. “And that? That’s not enough shade?”
She grinned at the rainbow-striped umbrella, large enough to shield three men. “It’ll do until something more substantial is built. But if we get any wind, you’d be in trouble. So something better—”
“There are other renovations we’d talked about besides this.”
Feeling mean, Violet slowly turned to glare up at him and folded her arms over her chest. “Yes,” she said, in a soft but deadly tone. “We discussed things, but I’m the boss and I make the final decisions.”
