Lynda’s disappointment was stronger than the situation called for. “For what?”
“Nothing major. Public drunk a few times. A couple of barroom brawls. There was an incident about fourteen years ago involving a fast car, too much booze, a Georgia state trooper, and a few DeKalb County good-ol’-boy deputies—oh, and the trooper’s eighteen-year-old daughter. He doesn’t have any recent arrests—just a couple of speeding tickets. Apparently, he got over his fascination with fast girls, but not with fast cars. Lyn, I think you’ve hired yourself a bona fide, certified bad boy, Southern drawl, tight jeans, and all.”
“I haven’t hired him yet.”
“Oh, come on. So he was a high-spirited lad. You can’t hold that against him. They raise ’em that way on purpose down South. Besides, he’s all grown up now.” When Lynda remained silent, Melina’s voice turned sly and coaxing. “Think about those green eyes and that body to die for. Imagine that husky voice calling you pretty baby in the middle of a sultry hot night.” Then, in a normal voice, “Think about that tub on your bed overflowing and flooding the entire house.”
“Gee, thanks for putting things into perspective for me,” Lynda said dryly. “Send me a report and a bill. And thanks for the quick service.”
“We aim to please, ma’am. Talk to you later.”
Lynda depressed the disconnect switch, then dialed Angels Lodge. Ben was out, and she was relieved to get voice mail instead. She wasn’t at all disappointed at missing the chance to hear his lazy, honey-smooth voice. Really, she wasn’t.
Besides, she thought after leaving a message along with directions to her house for a Wednesday morning meeting, there was always tomorrow.
Every day after school, Alanna and Josie Dalton rode the bus to the Winchester house, where they had cookies and lemonade, did their homework, then played outside or helped Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna until Aunt Emilie came home. It was a big change from the way things were when they lived with their mom, Alanna thought, and she liked it, even if liking it made her feel bad.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mom, Berry. She did. But it was so much easier living with Aunt Emilie and Uncle Nathan. No matter what happened, no matter how bad things got, Emilie and Nathan would never leave them the way Berry used to. Even when they were poor and homeless, before Nathan, Emilie had never let them go hungry and she’d always been there to take care of them.
But their mom had done the best she could, Alanna reminded herself with a sigh as she curled her feet under her on the glider. She was sitting under the big maple tree in the sisters’ front yard with a pad of paper and an ink pen. Brendan was driving his dump truck, with his bear Earnest inside, and a few feet away Josie was playing in the grass with their cousin Michael. Because it was warm and he’d just woke up from his nap, Michael wasn’t wearing anything but his diaper, and he giggled every time Josie tickled his tummy.
“Are you writing to Mama?” Josie asked.
“Yes.” At least once every week since they’d moved into Uncle Nathan’s house across the street, she’d written a letter to their mother. Sometimes the letters went to apartments in Boston, Providence, or Hartford. Sometimes they went to hospitals or jails. Their mom had a problem with drugs and alcohol and men and life. Most the time she couldn’t take care of herself, so she sure couldn’t take care of Alanna and the kids. Most of the time she was real sorry about that.
Usually Alanna was, too. But lately she’d mostly been mad.
“If you have room, tell her I love her,” Josie said, then started Michael’s favorite game, peekaboo.
Alanna had room. So far, all she’d written was the date and Dear Mama. Usually she told her all about school and the silly things Josie and Brendan said and did. She’d already told her that in July she was going to camp with her best friend, Susan, and some other girls from school. The camp was in Massachusetts and was named Woolaroc—for woods, lake, and rocks—but Susan kept calling it Camp Woe-Is-Me and Woe-Be-Gone. She’d told Berry about all her friends and how good her grades had gotten, and about Miss Maggie’s baby, Rachel, who lived across the street, and being in Miss Holly’s wedding and all the plans for Miss Agatha’s wedding.
She always told her everything, because she knew Berry didn’t like missing out on their lives, even if it was her own fault. But at that moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say besides Dear Mama. Except Why aren’t you here?
And Why are we living with Aunt Emilie and Uncle Nathan instead of with you?
And Why do they love us better than you do?
Alanna’s face grew hot, and she felt funny deep inside, like she’d done something wrong. The questions were mean, and she didn’t want to be mean to her mother. It was just that it wasn’t fair. Practically every kid she knew lived with both his mother and father. Even the kids whose parents were divorced lived with one of them and usually saw the other. But they didn’t even get to live with the one parent they had because she loved her drugs more than them.
It just wasn’t fair.
With a sigh, she laid the pad and pen aside and got down on the grass with Josie and Michael. The ground was still damp from the morning’s rain, but she didn’t mind.
“Are you already done writing to Mama?”
“I’ll do it later.”
“Ask her when she’s gonna come see us. She said she would this summer.”
Berry was always making promises, but the only times they’d seen her in three years were when Emilie took them to wherever she was living—or locked up. Alanna didn’t believe her anymore, but Josie did, and Emilie said it was good for her to have faith.
“Tell her she can have my bed when she comes,” Josie announced. “I’ll sleep on the floor. And I’ll clean my room and show her the picture I got an A on in Art. And we’ll have a picnic out at Dr. J.D.’s creek, and I’m gonna ask Miss Maggie to help me bake a cake for her, for all the birthdays we’ve been gone. We’ll go to church, and maybe if we save our allowances, you and me can take her to a special dinner at the inn and have candles and real napkins and ever’thing, but don’t tell her that so’s it can be a s’prise. And then we can …”
Alanna quit paying attention. There was no use getting her hopes up, ’cause their mom wasn’t gonna come. It was easier to admit she’d lied from the start than to believe her and then be disappointed. Josie didn’t mind the disappointments so much. She’d be sad for a bit, and would make excuses for Berry, and then she’d forget about it. But Alanna was tired of being sad, and of making excuses. Her mother was a bad mother. No mother at all was better than a bad one, and an aunt who really loved them was a hundred times better than a mother who didn’t.
She didn’t need her mother anymore.
And she didn’t want her anymore.
Chapter Four
Ben lay on the bed, hands folded behind his head, and listened to Lynda’s message play out. So her background check was completed, and she’d found no excuse to not offer him the job. In spite of her need to get the work completed, he suspected she would have preferred to hire someone else—anyone else—over him. But, as Emmaline used to say, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Although Lynda Barone had surely never begged in her life, this time she certainly wasn’t swamped with options.
Rising from the bed, he grabbed his keys from the table, then left the room for his car. Once he reached the edge of town, he took a meandering route that approached Alanna’s baby-sitter’s house from behind. Seeing kids in the yard, he slowed, then impulsively stopped when he drew even with them. “Hey there,” he called through the open window.
Alanna and her sister were sitting on the grass with a chubby, dark-haired baby between them. A few yards behind them, an older child—their brother, he guessed—was playing by himself, providing appropriate sound effects.
“We’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” the younger girl announced. “Uncle Nathan says so.”
“That’s good advice. Do you think—” Feeling like the lowest of liars,
he looked at Alanna as if he’d just recognized her. “Hey, you’re Miss Agatha’s friend, aren’t you? We met at the band concert.”
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, then nodded with a vague smile. He’d bet the Amazon’s stock portfolio that Alanna remembered next to nothing about him. She’d been too intent on finding young Caleb.
Josie looked from Alanna to him, her expression miffed. “How come you met her without meeting me?”
“You weren’t there,” Alanna said, giving her a poke. “We’re really not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“Uncle Nathan says so,” Ben said agreeably. “I understand. Do you think he’d mind if you gave directions to one? I hear there’s a grocery store around here, but I guess I missed it.”
“You talk like Aunt Emilie,” Josie announced. “She says she’s a Southerner by birth, but she lives in Bethlehem by the grace of God.”
“I’m from Atlanta.”
“Hey, so’s Aunt Emi—”
Alanna clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth. “You haven’t missed the grocery store. You just didn’t go far enough. It’s straight ahead on the right.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
The chatty sister waved as he pulled away, then exclaimed, “Sheesh, Lannie, you didn’t have to …”
His daughter was beautiful, responsible enough to be entrusted with a baby’s care, had clear blue eyes, wore a crystal around her neck in the shape of a star, and answered to the nickname of Lannie. She was a real person, with her own personality, wants, and needs, and not just some abstract unwanted nuisance, and she had the ability to make him feel guilty for thinking of her that way the last thirteen years.
He would never think of her that way again.
The grocery store was downtown, across the street from the large stone building that housed the courthouse, the police and sheriff’s departments, and the jail. To Emmaline’s great distress, Ben had become as familiar with Southern jails as his old man had. He intended to stay hell and gone from Bethlehem’s jail, for Alanna’s sake if not his own.
Fortunately he wasn’t a picky eater, he thought as he made his way through the store aisles, because he wasn’t much of a cook. Other than a good Southern breakfast of fried ham, biscuits and gravy, his only talents in the kitchen lay in the washing of dishes and the mopping of floors. But he could live just fine on sandwiches and canned soup, scrambled eggs, and frozen pizza.
“Is that your favorite brand?”
Ben looked at the pizza boxes in his hand, then at the girl who’d spoken—no, woman, he corrected. She was in her early twenties, slender, wearing shorts and a T-shirt that had seen better days and a ball cap that covered most of her curly blonde hair. Pretty, innocent, and very young in spite of her age, she reminded him of Alanna, and particularly Josie.
He tossed the pizza into the cart. “Frozen pizza’s frozen pizza.”
“Actually, it’s not.” She returned the boxes to the freezer shelf, then took out the same variety in a different brand. “These are the best, and they’re cheaper. Trust me.”
“You’re a frozen pizza connoisseur?”
“An expert judge of all convenience foods. I love to eat and hate to cook.” She extended her hand across the shopping cart. “I’m Sophy.”
“Ben.”
“You’re new in town.”
“Let me guess. The accent gave me away.”
“Bethlehem’s a small town. I know everyone here. I would have remembered seeing you.”
He gave her a sidelong glance as he pushed his cart toward the ice-cream display. He’d been picked up by his share of women in grocery stores, but he was hard put to say that Sophy was coming on to him. If so, she was too subtle by half—and way too young for his tastes.
“You have family here?” she asked as he added a half gallon of ice cream to the cart.
He thought of Alanna and, with a twinge of guilt, shook his head. It wasn’t as if he were truly denying her existence. He had no obligation to share the personal details of his life with anyone, especially a stranger. Hell, he hadn’t even decided yet if he was going to share them with Alanna herself, but if so, she certainly deserved to know before everyone else.
“So if it’s not family, what brings you to our fair town?”
“Luck. Fate.”
“Around here we call those things miracles. O little town of Bethlehem, and all that. Do you believe in miracles?”
“You bet.” He might not have set foot in church in the last twenty years for any reason but Emmaline’s funeral, but he’d been raised there. He believed in God, miracles, salvation, and damnation.
“Are you looking for work?”
“Already found a job.”
“Really? Doing— Working for Ms. Barone, I bet. I heard the old men at the hardware store talking.” At the end of the frozen foods aisle, she picked up a couple of insulated bags and slid his pizzas inside, then neatly folded the tops over. “Have you seen her house yet? It’s a lovely old place, in spite of all its problems.”
“So I’ve heard. I’ll see for myself tomorrow. I’m meeting Lynda there in the morning.”
“Lynda,” she repeated. “It’s a fairly common name for a very uncommon woman. When you first meet her, you expect her to be named something exotic. Alia, maybe, or Kailani.”
He chose the checkout with the shortest line and began unloading his cart. “I don’t know. I think Lynda suits her. It’s Spanish for pretty, isn’t it?” And she was definitely that. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be seeing much of her, and when he did, he would be keeping his distance.
“She’s an interesting woman. You wouldn’t believe how much moving to Bethlehem has softened her. The Ms. Barone today is so much warmer and friendlier than the one five years ago.”
If that was the warmer, friendlier version he’d talked to this morning, she must have been encased in the polar ice cap five years ago.
“She wasn’t really living then. She was just going through the motions. But that’s changing.” She gave him a grin that lit up her entire face. “You’ll help it change.”
The disinterested checker read out the total of his purchases, and he paid her before fixing a frown on Sophy. “The only thing I’m interested in changing while I’m here is that old house.” And maybe the relationship he’d never had with his daughter.
He pocketed his change, then picked up two of his bags. Sophy swept up the other two before he could reach them, and fell into step beside him as he headed for his car. “Do you work here?”
“Nope.”
“Then why are you masquerading as a dispenser of advice and a bag girl?”
“At least you didn’t say ‘bag lady,’ ” she teased. “But dispenser of advice … I like that. Sophia Jones, dispenser of advice. She sees all, knows all—”
“But has a knack for avoiding telling all.”
“Is this your car?” She touched the GTO’s paint job lightly. “Pretty. I bet it purrs like a big, dangerous cat.”
He put his bags in the backseat, then leaned against the car and crossed his arms over his chest. She smiled prettily, but when he didn’t respond, she put the bags she carried inside, too, then slid her hands into her pockets. “All right. Truth is, I’m looking for work, and I know some of the jobs you’ll be doing up there require more than one person.”
He looked her over again. She didn’t look particularly strong—too slender, too delicate, too blonde—but with most of the work he would be doing, physical strength wasn’t as important as know-how and the willingness to follow directions. He’d never worked with a female helper before, but then he’d never done this sort of one-on-one job before, either. He’d always been part of a crew with little, if any, contact with the homeowner.
And there was the clincher—she looked as if she needed the job.
“I assume you’ve done this kind of work before?”
She nodded enthusiastically enough to make her curls bounce. �
��I’ve done lots of building and making repairs. It’s really all I’ve ever done.”
“So you know the business end of a hammer.”
“They’re both business ends, depending on what your business is.”
He grinned. “Okay. Tomorrow, at the house, around ten. You have a car?”
“No, but I can get a ride. Thanks, Ben. You won’t regret it.”
He watched her cross the street, headed for the town square, and wondered if her promise might be right. There wasn’t much in his life that he didn’t regret, and that had been one of Emmaline’s great regrets. It was too late to change for her sake … but was it too late to do it for himself?
The sky was still dark when Lynda’s alarm went off Wednesday morning. She shut it off, then got up and dressed in running clothes. She did an easy five miles on the treadmill before jumping in the shower, where she focused her attention on the day ahead. As usual, there were meetings to attend, reports to study, and proposals to evaluate, as well as a hundred and one problems to solve. She had a conference call scheduled for one P.M. with their offices in Tokyo and London, as well as lunch with Ross, Tom, and the U.S. senator sponsoring a bill they seriously wanted to get through Congress.
Oh, yes, and the meeting with Ben Foster. Funny that it was the one she was most uneasy about. Of course, that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was, as Melina had so aptly put it, a bona fide, certified bad boy, now could it? Or how about the fact that she hadn’t been on a date in … jeez, this century? Or that her hormones had decided to come out of dormancy at the first sight of a vastly inappropriate male?
It was just a business meeting, like all the others—less than all the others. No fortune rode on the outcome. No futures hung in the balance. It was hardly even worthy of her time.
She reminded herself of that as she dressed in a conservative steel-gray skirt and jacket, and reminded herself more emphatically as she traded the suit for a softer, collarless jacket in lavender and matching slacks. The change had nothing to do with him. It was just that she’d worn traditional suits in dark colors both days that week, and she was ready for something lighter, more summery.
Getting Lucky Page 6
