The Foster Girls

by Lin Stepp

  “Is there a good room for an office up there?”

  “There should be. One of the bedrooms is supposed to be a sitting room. Maybe that will work.” Vivian smiled as she peered into a large room at the end of the hallway. “I’ve found the sitting room, Tad. It’s a wonderful room, painted a soft yellow, and it has a lot of light. This is definitely where I’ll have my office. There’s a desk here already, a big side table, a nice old striped sofa, and lots of bookshelves. It’s cozy. I’ll put my laptop and printer on the desk and my fax over on the side table. And I’ll be all set.”

  “Is the room inspiring?” Tad asked.

  She laughed. “You know I don’t have to be inspired to write, Tad Wainwright. Writing is much more discipline than inspiration.” She looked around. “But, truly, if a place was inspiring, this one would be tops on my list. In the daytime, I’ll be able to look out the windows over the yard and see up toward the mountains behind the house.”

  Tad started talking to Vivian about upcoming deadlines while she walked down the hall to look at the bedrooms.

  She interrupted him with excitement. “You won’t believe these upstairs bedrooms. One is a boys’ bedroom and the other is obviously a girls’ bedroom. The rooms look just like they probably did when the kids lived in them. I wish you could see them. Even the children’s toys are still here – dolls, trains, books. Everything has been left just the same, as though the children just went out to play or off to school yesterday.

  “And get this,” she added. “There are even hand-worked samplers over all the beds that tell the children’s names. There were six of them, four boys and two girls. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to grow up in a big family like this one? It feels like such a happy home here.”

  “Maybe the house will stir some new story ideas.”

  “Maybe so.” Vivian glanced around the girls’ bedroom wistfully and then squatted down to steal a look into an ornate, Victorian dollhouse under the window. “You know, this girls’ room is a dream. There is a big wooden dollhouse here that would make any little girl start imagining dramas. It is so sweet.”

  “You know, underneath that academic veneer, Vivian, I think you’re really just a sentimental romantic at heart.”

  Vivian smiled at that. “You’re probably right, Tad. But keep it to yourself, you hear. I want to keep my professional image intact.”

  Tad’s voice took on a teasing tone. “Did you bring your own little dolls with you, Vivian?”

  “You know I did,” she answered him primly. “They’ve gone everywhere with me ever since I was a little girl. You, of all people, should know that. And you should know what they mean to me, too. They’re all I have left of my real mother. Perhaps I’ll settle them into this fine old dolls’ house while I’m visiting here.”

  Vivian enjoyed Tad’s laugh to that idea.

  She stood up and yawned then. “Okay, Tad, we’ve been through the whole house. Will you let me get off the phone and unpack now? You know what my agenda has been like these last days. I’m really tired, and I’m ready for a hot shower and an early bedtime with a good book.”

  Vivian paused. “Thanks again for all you’ve done for me. I don’t think I could have gotten through this time without you and Boone and Betsy.”

  Tad’s voice was gentle then. “We love you, honey. We just want you to be happy.”

  “Just keep people from finding me, Tad. If you and Betsy want me to write, then keep people away from me. Keep me hidden.”

  “We’ll do our best for as long as we can,” he promised.

  After hanging up at last, Vivian walked back down the stairs and started to retrieve her luggage and boxes from the entry hall. The wet footprints over the floorboards reminded her of her scare earlier with Scott Jamison and the sheriff. Her thoughts wandered back over those moments, almost making her heart beat fast again. The nerve of that man. Coming over here with a gun to threaten her and calling in a sheriff.

  She stopped to think about it for a minute. Perhaps he had a right to be worried, she thought. As he said, there had been some ongoing problems with vandals. It had certainly turned out to be an incident. She wondered, suddenly, how Mr. Jamison had felt when he discovered she’d locked him out of the house and put his gun outside.

  Vivian shrugged. Perhaps it would be a while before she had to see him again. To be frank, she hoped it would be a rather long time before he came by again, if ever.

  Chapter 4

  Scott stomped back through the woods after leaving his Gramma Jamison’s house. He had worked himself into a nice little fit of anger, which was unusual for him. By the time he let himself in the back door of the cabin, he was completely soaked, as well, despite the heavy slicker. He toweled down in his bathroom, kicked off his wet shoes, and dug a dry t-shirt out of the chest of drawers, muttering the whole time.

  Padding barefoot out into the kitchen, he poked around in the refrigerator looking for something to eat, while grabbing up the phone to punch in a familiar number.

  “Hello, Scott,” his mother answered. “How are you, dear?”

  “Geeze, mother, I hate these new phones that tell people who’s calling just by the number. It gives me the creeps to have someone know who I am before I even get a chance to say hello.”

  “You sound cross, dear,” she remarked. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Yes, a lot is wrong, mother. Did you know that professor woman was coming in early to Gramma Jamison’s place?”

  “No, dear, I thought she wasn’t coming until next week. I’d have to check my notes at the office, but I’m positive that’s what she told me. Is she here already? Did she come by to see the house?”

  “She not only came by, she’s settled herself right in. Why didn’t you tell me you gave her a key, mother? I saw the lights through the storm and thought some of those kids were over there having a party again.”

  “Oh, dear,” she answered airily. “I hope you didn’t go over there and scare her.”

  “As a matter of fact, I went over there with my rifle and probably scared the pee out of her. And Hershel Fields came, too, all ready to arrest her before we figured out who she was.”

  “How upsetting that must have been for her!” There was an anxious edge to his mother’s voice now.

  “Upsetting for her?” Scott complained, coming close to shouting. “Listen, mother, it was pretty upsetting for me. I thought those kids were tearing up jack again at Gramma’s place. I tromped all the way over there in the pouring rain to save the day and instead got royally embarrassed.”

  “Was Hershel upset with us, dear?”

  “Oh, Hershel thought it was a great joke and razzed me about it,” he told her in annoyance. “Honestly, mother, I just wish you had filled me in more on this renter. It might have saved me a bad evening here.”

  “Well, I did tell her to contact me before she went out to the house. Granted, I sent her a little map, but I never thought she would try to find the place on her own. The woman was coming all the way from California, you know. It’s not like she would know the area or anything.”

  “This woman looks more like a girl than some staid old maid professor, mother. Are you sure she’s going to be a suitable renter for Gramma’s place?”

  “She had wonderful references, son. And she has a PhD degree and has been teaching college out in California. She can’t be that much of a girl with all that education behind her. Maybe she just looks youthful.”

  “She doesn’t even look as old as I am, mother. Believe me, she’s very young.”

  “Well, perhaps that will be nice for you, dear. Is she attractive?”

  “That hardly has anything to do with whether she’ll be a suitable renter or not, mother,” Scott snapped in annoyance.

  “No, but it might be nice for you to have someone young and smart and attractive so close by.” Scott heard that speculative tone in his mother’s voice. “And I don’t think she’s married either, dear. In fact ….”

  Scott k
new only too well where this line of thought was going. “Cut it with the matchmaking, mother. You have two of your sons married already and one with grandkids. Give it a rest. I’ve got the camp to run, and I’m not the least bit interested in settling down right now with anyone.”

  “You always were the one who liked to play the field,” she replied with a wistful tone, drifting off into her usual reminiscences of Scott’s early years. “And always so popular with the girls, too. They chased after you much more than after Raley and Kyle, perhaps because you were always such a handsome thing and so charming. Raley was my strong and determined child and tended to be a little forceful sometimes. I think he scared the girls a little bit in that way, don’t you? And Kyle was always a bit shy. You usually helped him with his dating if I remember right. You introduced him to Staci, too. Such a wonderful girl and such a nice little wife. She’s so good for him, don’t you think?”

  Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Kyle and Staci are a great couple, Mother, but what does that have to do with this situation with our renter next door? I really want to know more about this woman, Mother.”

  “Now Scott, just because you got off to a bad start with our new renter, doesn’t mean she is not a suitable one. I told you I checked all her references out, and they are excellent.”

  He frowned. “So tell me what you know about her.” He tapped the counter with impatience.

  His mother paused, obviously thinking back. “Well, my original contact with her came through Betsy Picardi. She’s an editor out in California, lives in Sacramento. She and her family meet here in the area for family reunions periodically and they stay in some of our rental cabins up in the mountains. Wonderful people. Well, Betsy called me and said she had a client that she worked with in California that was going to take a sabbatical from her teaching to do some writing. Betsy has an interest in the book, of course, and she wanted her to have a nice, quiet place to work. Tennessee had come up because the client – that was Vivian, of course - thought she might have some relatives in this area. Betsy remembered us and called me to see if we might have a place she could rent long term, for six months to a year.”

  “And this Betsy Picardi spoke well of this woman?”

  “Oh course, dear. And let’s quit calling her ‘this woman.’ She has a name, Vivian Delaney. She’s a professor, a writer, and Betsy also uses her to do some editing work for the publishing company. Honestly, Scott, I don’t know how we could have found anyone more suitable. You know we’re not ready to sell the place yet, and we don’t want tourists renting it for short-term weeks with all Gramma’s things still in the house. Ms. Delaney, or rather I guess we should say Dr. Delaney, has put her furnishings in storage out in California for a space. She was really delighted to find a furnished place to lease. I think she will be a good renter, Scott. I can’t figure out why you are so uncomfortable about her. Perhaps it was just the storm and the identity confusion that has upset you so much about this.”

  “Maybe.” He couldn’t even say why he was so ticked off. There was just something about that girl that made him uncomfortable.

  “I’m sure our new renter is just going to be perfect, dear,” his mother assured him. “Why don’t you go get a good night’s sleep and see if you don’t feel differently about everything in the morning? I’ll try to drive over tomorrow to help smooth things over at the farmhouse. I’d like to see Aunt Mary, anyway, while I’m over there. It’s been an age since she and I have had lunch and visited. Maybe I’ll take her over to meet Vivian with me. I’ll stop by and see you, too, dear, while I’m there. Do you need me to bring you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks, Mother. And listen, I really need to get off and fix something to eat now. I haven’t had any supper yet with all this mess that’s been going on tonight.”

  “Yes, of course, Son. You go fix yourself a nice little dinner.” She paused for a minute. “It’s a shame things had to start this way with our new renter. You did apologize to the girl for all this, didn’t you, dear?”

  Scott’s end of the line was quiet.

  “No answer is a clear answer, Son. Perhaps in the morning you could stop over there first thing and make that apology. You know, she did have a right to be there, Scott, despite all this confusion. And I’m sure you and Hershel frightened her dreadfully. That’s hardly the way we Jamisons welcome people to the valley, you know.”

  Scott listened to a few more platitudes of this sort while he dug around in the refrigerator for something to fix for dinner. Then he excused himself, by saying he needed his hands free to cook, to finally get off the phone.

  “Some sympathy,” he grumbled as he hung up.

  He made a quick bacon and egg sandwich and took it into the living room to eat. With the lightning still crashing all around, he could hardly plug up the television again for company.

  So he sat instead and looked out at the storm and watched the lights winking through the trees from his grandmother’s house.

  The girl was pretty, he acknowledged at last. Too pretty and too young. His grandmother’s house was his responsibility now, and he was going to be back and forth there a lot. It would make it more awkward - dropping in on a single girl living alone. He didn’t want her getting ideas.

  Scott lounged back on the couch to relax, but then had to sit up to get the dog bone out from under the couch cushion. Oh, geeze, he thought. Fritzi and Dearie were out in this rain. He’d forgotten them both in all this confusion. Probably they were holed up under the green glider out on the front porch. It was a wonder they hadn’t been barking and yowling to get in the house since he got back.

  He checked the front porch and the back. Then he checked through the house to be sure they weren’t already inside asleep somewhere. No luck.

  Great. They’d never be out on a night like this by choice. They must have gone to the farmhouse. They missed Gramma Jamison, and to them the farmhouse was still their home. Scott had brought them both over to the camp with him after his grandmother died. He’d promised Gramma he’d take care of them, too. But the animals just didn’t understand why they couldn’t live on at Gramma’s house like they always had. So they were back and forth all the time between Scott’s place and the farm.

  Sometimes Scott stayed over there with them just for old times’ sake and to please the little pets, as well. He even kept food for them, and for himself, at the farmhouse.

  “Just a big softie,” he muttered, glancing toward the window again.

  It was a bad storm out. The rain was still coming down outside in sheets. Scott wondered if the girl would let the pets in. He knew Fritzi would scratch at the front door. And Dearie, despite her small size, had a big mouth on her. She could make herself a real nuisance with her yowling if she had a mind to.

  He smiled at the little joke that played in his thoughts. The animals probably figured the family had just finally gotten sensible and found someone to live at the farmhouse to take care of them. His renter really had her work cut out for her if she didn’t like animals.

  Scott looked out at the lights through the woods again. If she didn’t let the animals in, they’d probably come on back home when the rain let up. He’d stay up awhile and listen for them. He had paperwork to do, anyway.

  Chapter 5

  Vivian was standing on a step stool rummaging in a kitchen cabinet for a coffee maker the next morning when Scott came in the back door carrying a brown grocery bag.

  “Good morning,” he said pleasantly.

  Vivian, startled by his sudden appearance, just barely caught herself from falling off the stool.

  “Don’t you ever knock on the door like ordinary people?” she snapped. “I almost fell off the stool, you startled me so.”

  “Sorry. Here, let me help you down.” He put the bag of groceries on the counter and reached up to take her hand.

  She took his hand, stepped down and stumbled, and suddenly they were too close. Something crackled in the air like the electricity of la
st night’s thunderstorm. They stood silent for a moment, both caught off guard with it.

  Vivian’s blue eyes slid over him assessingly. Scott was glad he looked a lot better than he had last night, when he’d been draped in that wet slicker and carrying a gun. He knew he wasn’t a bad looking man - tall with hazel eyes and dark hair that had just a touch of premature grey above the ears. His physique was lean but muscular, and he was nicely sun-browned from being out-of-doors so much.

  That last girl, Jeannie, he’d dated said he had a sensual, boyish charm and that he was too good-looking for his own good. Scott had liked that description. She’d also said he looked like trouble on wheels for any sensible woman. Scott grinned, remembering that.

  Vivian dropped her eyes and moved back from him. Then she busied herself moving the step stool back across the kitchen. Scott studied her at leisure while she did so, sweeping his eyes slowly over her from top to bottom while her back was turned.

  Hershel had been right about her being a gorgeous woman. He’d been too riled up last night to really appreciate her looks. She had a serene, quiet beauty, almost regal. She was almost as tall as he was, long legged, looked athletic, with rich, dark chestnut-red hair, and indigo blue eyes that looked like the patterns in his Gramma’s kitchen dishes. And, to be frank, it had been a long while since he’d been around a woman who gave him a real zing like she did.

  He’d watched her pull her hand away quickly when she realized they’d been staring at each other too long. Now she was busying herself around the kitchen trying to act like nothing had happened. That meant she wasn’t fast or forward. It also meant she was a little shy. If there was one thing Scott knew about it was women. They had always liked him, simpered and flirted with him, contrived ways to get his attention, and often came on to him. Sometimes it was flattering, and sometimes it almost seemed like a curse. Some girls were so blatantly sexually aggressive today that it embarrassed him. And he didn’t embarrass easily, either.