Out of Control

by Tory Richards

  Out of Control

  Copyright © 2014 Tory Richards

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Tory Richards

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  ****

  **** All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older. ****

  Prologue

  Twenty-seven-year-old Libby Turner walked into her parents’ house and their heated conversation without being noticed. Not that she was trying to sneak in and eavesdrop; she’d been invited to dinner and let herself in with her key. Hearing their raised voices caught her by surprise. Her parents never argued unless it was about her grandmother. And lately, that topic was becoming an everyday occurrence. She knew because her mother called her almost daily to complain about it.

  Libby walked as far as the archway leading to the large formal living room and halted, waiting for them to notice she was there. Her mother was sitting on her fancy settee like a lady of royalty, dressed in a tailored linen pantsuit and heels, pearls in her ears and around her slender throat. As far as Libby knew she was the only one invited to dinner. But, that was her mother.

  Always poised and dressed to perfection. Her father was pacing the room as she’d seen him do so many times while growing up. The lion’s expression on his face warned her he’d made up his mind and was determined to see it through, to his liking. Libby guessed by his expensive suit that he hadn’t been home from work for very long. He was a successful lawyer with his own firm and well known for his tenacity.

  “We have no choice but to put her into an assisted living facility,” her father said with strong conviction. “After what happened last weekend she can’t remain living on her own anymore.”

  “But—”

  “No, Doris. Your mother’s seventy-nine years old. She could have burned the place down! Are you prepared for the financial consequences?”

  Her mother released a sound of annoyance. “But she didn’t.”

  “Only because someone saw the smoke before it became a fire. Thank God there was a fireman present; what are the odds to that?”

  “For goodness sake, it was outdoors, a barbeque. It was an accident.”

  “My point exactly, Doris. It was an accident. And not the first one, I might add. Remember when she left the faucet on in the tub and then went to play bingo for three hours? The place was flooded…”

  “That could happen to anyone.”

  “What about the time Rufus climbed up on the roof and she climbed up there on a ladder to get her, and the ladder fell, leaving her stuck up there almost all night?”

  “That was two years ago.” Her tone revealed her frustration level was rising, right along with her blood pressure, too, if Libby knew her mother. “Do you always have to remember the worst?”

  “Well, what happens next time? What happens if she falls and breaks a leg or a hip and lays there for days before someone notices they haven’t seen her for a while? What happens if—?”

  “Enough, John! You’ve made your point! You’ve wanted to put mother into one of those…those places for years now. You know this will kill her. She’s been so independent since Daddy died.”

  His tone dropped down a notch, and Libby knew that was only because he sensed he was gaining ground. “It’s for her own good, dear. We can’t be with her twenty-four hours a day. And hiring a live-in is out of the question. It’s too expensive and you know as well as I do she won’t take money from us. Not to mention it would be a nightmare trying to find someone we can trust.”

  “She has her own money.” Her mother’s tone sounded dejected.

  “Which will barely pay for her to move to an assisted living complex.”

  “There has to be another solution, John.”

  “Well, if you can think of something, I’m all ears.”

  “Well, I think…”

  Libby swung away from her parents with a heavy heart, stepping into the family room. She turned toward the picture window that faced the pond outside their home and promptly tuned them out. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were actually discussing putting her beloved grandmother into an old folks’ home, as though she were an old gray mare needing to be put out to pasture. Sure, her mother wasn’t a hundred percent on board with it, but Libby knew it was just a matter of time until she gave in. She always did. However, there was one thing she agreed with her mother about. This kind of move would surely kill her grandmother.

  Sighing, Libby folded her arms, wondering how her grandmother would cope under those conditions after living on her own for so long. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been full of spunk and life. She lived life to the fullest, and she loved the retirement community she lived in. It wasn’t fair to take her away from all her old friends. If her parents took away her bingo nights, the craft workshops, and the morning coffee and doughnut gatherings at the clubhouse, they might as well forget about an assisted living place and just throw her in the loony bin. They would break her spirit. As her mother said, there had to be another way.

  She sank down onto the built-in window bench, her gaze drifting to the TV. Her parents must have muted it earlier in order to discuss their current dilemma without being distracted. Libby’s father liked to have her mother’s undivided attention whenever he felt they were having a life-altering conversation. Steering her into the other room was his way of controlling the situation. Either that or her mother had been trying to get away from him. She laughed quietly to herself.

  She watched the TV screen for a moment, smiling when she realized she was viewing the preview for Mrs. Doubtfire, the movie where Robin Williams dressed up as a woman in order to become his children’s nanny. She’d always loved that movie; it was hilarious and one of her favorite comedies. Her smile slowly faded as an idea began to take shape in her mind. An alternative that would allow her grandmother to stay where she was, and not give up her current lifestyle. It would require a lot of creativity and hard work. Pulling it off wouldn’t be easy. Could even be costly. But Libby loved her grandmother and would do anything to help her remain in her home, where she’d be happiest.

  The only question was—would her outrageous plan work?

  Chapter 1

  “Come on now, old girl, you have to keep up or we’ll miss the good doughnuts and end up with the ones with the holes in the middle!”

  The good doughnuts meaning the jelly and cream-filled ones. Libby rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to tell her grandmother that she could run circles around her and her old cronies, if she wanted to give herself away. Every five minutes she was forced to remind her grandmother that she was an old friend and supposed to be acting like a seventy-year-old woman. All of which usually fell on deaf ears.

  She bent to drag up a sagging knee high doing her best to catch up, imitating the surprisingly rapid gait of her grandmother, while at the same time trying to insert a little age into her step. Goodness, you’d think she hadn’t eaten a doughnut in a month, not just the Monday before. Libby thought about the pancakes they’d had on Friday. If this kept up she was sure her one hundred and ten pound weight was going to double by the end of the summer!

  “I’m doing the best I can, Gram…Margaret,” Libby said in the scratchiest voice she could muster. Even after a week she was still having a difficult time remembering to c
all her grandmother by her first name. Old habits were hard to break.

  “Good morning, Reba!”

  Libby shot a quick glance next door, waving gaily at the elderly man sitting on his porch sipping coffee. “Good morning,

  Vincent!”

  “Don’t encourage him or we’ll never get away from him!” her grandmother whispered harshly, uncaring if she was overheard.

  “Gram!” Libby scolded under her breath, skipping to catch up. “Be nice.”

  “The old fool is interested in you,” Margaret continued, not breaking her brisk stride. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You’re new meat. He’s nothing but a big flirt and he’s old enough to be your grandfather!”

  “Well, he doesn’t know that.” Libby chuckled, waving back at him one last time.

  Her grandmother made a disgusted sound beneath her breath and nearly swung the club house door off its hinges when she opened it to walk through. Libby remained on her heels, knowing the drill by now. No time to stop and chat with any of the fifty or so elderly who’d come to the meeting that morning.

  The first priority was the small buffet table someone had set up with hot coffee and a colorful array of every kind of doughnut one could think of.

  “Margaret…” An overweight woman close to Margaret’s age greeted her. “I was wondering—”

  “I’ll be right with you, Lois.” Margaret made a beeline for the table. Libby grinned beneath the heavy makeup she was wearing, watching her grandmother snatch up a paper plate and cream-filled sweet in one smooth swoop.

  Libby paused in the foyer to the large dining room, grimacing at her reflection in the mirrored wall. She’d gotten her money’s worth. The heavy theatrical makeup she’d purchased at the local theater certainly did what it was intended to. No one, unless they were looking for it, would be able to guess her secret. And with the age limit restriction of fifty plus, Libby knew the importance of that. She’d never be allowed to live there if anyone knew the truth.

  She took a moment to straighten her hair, which was really a wig in the prettiest shade of blue silver she could find. It hadn’t been easy stuffing her waist-length hair beneath it. She’d even contemplated cutting off the red gold locks, but she’d always had long hair and couldn’t bring herself to get rid of her best asset, or so she’d been told most of her life. Clear green eyes peered out from beneath a pair of fake bifocals that had the thickness and color of coke bottle glass.

  Libby glanced around and almost laughed out loud. Pedal pushers, as her grandmother referred to capris, and sneakers seemed to be the normal summer wear for most of the women around there, while the men opted for baggy knee-length shorts, white socks up to their knees and sandals. What was it with elderly men, socks and sandals anyway? Her own father had tried to sneak out of the house once wearing them and her mother had nearly had a heart attack!

  Well, Libby wasn’t making a fashion statement either in her borrowed clothes. She couldn’t get by with capri style pants; there wasn’t enough makeup in the world that would give her the lumps, wrinkled skin or varicose veins that seventy-year-old women wore like a badge of achievement. Libby was forced to wear baggie dresses that hung past her knees and thick ugly support hose, or long pants, which didn’t go well in the stifling Florida heat. And she had to wear a blouse with long sleeves too, or reveal the fact that her underarms didn’t flap like a free-blowing flag in the wind. The body suit she sported gave her figure a full, slightly sagging appearance.

  She tried not to make a face at the sight she presented in the multicolored dress hanging almost to her ankles and gold sandals, reminding herself it was all for a good cause. Every time she looked at the happy face of her grandmother she knew she’d made the right choice, even if her parents still had reservations. It had taken Libby a long time to convince them just to give her plan a try. Three months, her father had stated with authority, three months’ trial period and then they’d, meaning him, would make a final decision.

  “Reba, come get a doughnut!” her grandmother hollered, remembering her name for a change. She’d calmed down now that she had her breakfast and had joined some of her friends. They were making their way to one of the empty tables, laughing and talking as they moved along.

  “Yes, join us, dear,” Joan encouraged. “After we eat, Vincent’s grandson is going to talk to us about fire prevention and the different types of fire extinguishers.”

  “Yes, he’s going to tell us how to put a fire out,” Libby’s grandmother added, smiling.

  “He’s certainly lit a few fires around here!” Someone else chuckled.

  “Gertie!” Joan chastised, turning her head to hide her own smile.

  Is the woman actually blushing? Libby glanced around the room, looking for the retired Adonis that still had the power to make a woman turn pink at the mention of his name. If he was the same man who’d saved her grandmother, she wanted to thank him.

  “Good timing too, considering what almost happened here a couple weeks ago,” another of her grandmother’s friends mentioned.

  “Yes, thank God Logan was around then, too.”

  It sounded like Logan was around a lot. Libby vaguely wondered if he had a love interest living there. “What makes him an expert on fires? Just because he’s a fireman doesn’t mean he’s an expert on fires,” she teased. She looked the strawberries over for just the right one. She popped one into her mouth, her lips curving upward at their sweet and juicy taste. Maybe she wouldn’t double her weight by the end of August…

  After a couple seconds of devouring the delicious fruit, Libby glanced up and fell headfirst into a pair of laughing gray eyes. Her jaw dropped, and she knew for certain that she was staring into the face of Adonis himself. Oh my! She felt the heat spread up her neck and settle onto her strawberry stuffed cheeks. He looked wicked and wild, like something right off the cover of Playgirl. The gleam in his eyes was mesmerizing. There was nothing retired about this man—he was in the prime of life.

  His face was bronzed by the wind and sun, and it was obvious he spent a good deal of his occupation outdoors. His lips were firm and sensual and curved with humor over her remark. Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes. His handsome features were rugged beneath the thick unruly cut of his streaked, tawny-gold hair. Libby’s eyes continued her silent inspection of the man, taking in the powerful build of his six-foot-plus body dressed in a sleeveless tee-shirt that revealed the well-defined muscles of his powerful arms and faded jeans he looked like he was poured into. She couldn’t help dropping her curious gaze to the male attributes so clearly defined behind his straining zipper. There was actually a prominent bulge there! She caught her breath, praying her instant reaction to his charisma wasn’t noticeable.

  Dear Lord! No wonder Joan had blushed at the mention of his name. And what gave him the right to dress like some hot stud around a community full of elderly, weak-hearted women? Did he want to give them all heart failure? Libby’s gaze shot back up to his face. She began to choke on the strawberry when it slid down her throat the wrong way.

  Concern quickly spread across the man’s face. When he made a sudden move to come around the table she panicked and waved him back.

  “Let me help you, ma’am, I’m a firefighter,” he explained as Libby coughed out of control.

  Her eyes began to water and she felt her glasses slipping down her nose. She didn’t care what he was. She didn’t want him touching her in any way, shape or form. She shook her head, feeling her wig slip and grabbed for it wildly. “I’m not on fire,” she said between coughs, backing away from him. Her rump came in contact with a chair and she nearly stumbled to the floor.

  “You look red enough to be on fire to me,” someone had the nerve to say with a loud laugh.

  Was that her grandmother’s voice? Libby glanced in her direction to see the merriment dancing in her ageless eyes. “Gr—Margaret!” she stuttered in a shocked tone, praying her grandmother took the unspoken hint to behave herself.

  “T
he poor dear is choking!” a frail voice said, chastising her grandmother for being insensitive. “Do something, Logan, help her.”

  Adonis was moving closer and Libby knew if he touched her it would all be over. One attempt to dislodge the strawberry would send her padded boobs flying right out of the oversized bra she was wearing, and her secret would be exposed. She cleared her throat and reached for someone’s water glass—she didn’t care whose—and gulped enough down to cool her suddenly overheated body. She was actually sweating, and that was big trouble for someone wearing the amount of heavy-duty makeup she was!

  “Ma’am?”

  Libby forced herself to meet Logan’s eyes. Steel had replaced the humor, turning his eyes into charcoal as they moved over her quickly and efficiently, all with respect and concern and not the least bit interest. Libby was a little disappointed. Well, how did she think he was going to look at her? With the same lust in his heart as she had in hers?

  He was close, yet he kept his distance, obviously not sure of her. “I’m fine, young man. It just went down the wrong way.” For once Libby didn’t have to work at making her voice crack with age. “You can go put out someone else’s fire.” Laughter erupted around her and his brows rose and Libby realized what she said.

  “You all right, Reba?” Vincent, Logan’s grandfather, made his way to Libby’s side in an uneven gait that was characteristic of him. Compliments of an old war wound, he’d told her. “Logan’s trained to save people, honey. He can do CPR and mouth to mouth.”

  Mouth to mouth! Libby felt faint all of a sudden, her heart racing out of control by just the thought.

  “Oh for goodness sake, Vincent, she’s okay!” Margaret snapped from her chair. “Come sit down so we can listen to what Logan has to say about fires. And bring me one of those cream-filled doughnuts when you come.”

  “Guess I’m good for something around here,” he grumbled good-naturedly. He gave Libby a wink. “You go ahead, Logan. Say what you need to before the old fool burns herself up in a fire. She’s the reason you’re here.”