“Yeah?” Fred gave a snort. “Junior will do more than that.”
The idea of what Junior’s ham-sized fists could do to a nerdy guy like Thatcher sent a shudder rippling through Al’s frame. And Junior was hot-headed enough to start a fracas without regard for the consequences.
“He’s only trying to help.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, shock slapped Al backward against his chair. If anyone had told him he would ever utter a word in Franklin Thacker’s defense, he would have called them nuts. But he couldn’t stand by and let anyone be pummeled, either verbally or physically.
Jerry held up a hand, palm splayed. “Everybody calm down. Al and I will talk to him. Right, Al?”
Slumped in his seat, Al nodded. As the team’s manager, it was his job to help the coach, no matter how unpleasant the task. Something else that was all Millie’s fault.
Helping, as far as Al was concerned, meant providing a supportive, if silent, presence while Jerry did the talking.
“But I thought they’d want to know.” Thacker tapped on the multicolored graph he’d spread out on the mayor’s desk. “Data doesn’t lie. If they’ll pay attention to my analysis, their skills will improve. I guarantee it.”
Jerry folded his hands and rested them on the shiny surface between them. “That may be, but these aren’t professional ball players. They’re small-town citizens playing a friendly game on the Fourth of July. And they aren’t fond of having their weaknesses pointed out.”
“Surely you can see it, though.” Thacker shoved the paper across the desk. “Your shortstop is too slow. He’d be more successful on first.”
“That may be true, but there are other considerations here.” The mayor heaved a sigh. “If I don’t let him play shortstop, he’ll quit.”
“It’s because I’m new, isn’t it?” The chair creaked as Thacker slumped back. “They haven’t accepted me yet.”
“That may be part of the reason,” Jerry agreed. “Goose Creek is a small town in more than geography.”
Thacker rounded on Al. “Then you tell them. You’re a computer guy like me, but you’re a Goose. They’ll listen to you.”
A thousand excuses shot into Al’s brain, but he rejected them all. Sometimes the truth had to be told. He leaned forward, arms resting on his legs, and held Thacker’s gaze. “You offended them, Franklin. They aren’t going to accept your analysis no matter who presents it.”
True confusion erupted on the man’s face. “How did I offend them?”
Al had always assumed Thacker was annoying on purpose. Maybe he really wasn’t aware of how irritating he could be.
“Diplomacy is not your strong point,” Al pointed out.
Instead of reacting defensively, Thacker responded with a slow and thoughtful nod. “That’s true. I can see that.”
Jerry’s voice held a note of apology. “I know you’re trying to help, but I think it’s best if you don’t collect any more data from our practices.”
Thacker’s lips pursed as he ingested the news he’d just heard. “Okay. I’ll leave my tablet at home.” Then he slapped his hands on the arms of his chair and rose. “But I’m still going to think of some way to help the team. You wait and see. I’ll be a Goose yet.”
Thomas emerged from his Lexus in the animal clinic’s parking lot and circled Susan’s car, inspecting the tires. The front driver’s side looked a little low. He made a mental note to check her tire pressure. When she lived at home he’d always kept her car in good running condition, and even when she went to college he made sure the car was inspected by a mechanic one weekend each month.
That was yet another reason moving to Goose Creek was a good idea. Who would watch out for his daughter if he didn’t?
A name popped into his head, and he tightened his lips. Hinkle might think he could fill the gap left vacant when Susan moved two hundred miles away from her home, but he was mistaken. Thomas had taken care of his daughter her entire life. He wasn’t about to hand the responsibility over to a nail-pounding biker with no education.
He entered the clinic to find a satisfying number of clients in the waiting room. The woman behind the desk, Ethel or Hazel or something like that, greeted him with a curt nod before returning to her perusal of the computer monitor. Probably surfing the Internet. Of Susan’s three receptionists, he least approved of this Saturday woman. She provided nothing more than a body in the chair as far as he was concerned. The new afternoon girl, Alice, was little better. A mouse of a woman who rarely spoke above a whisper, though at least she paid attention to the clients. If only the regular receptionist, Millie, would stay on full time. A competent woman, she really ran the desk.
Her only major flaw was her approval of Hinkle. A competent receptionist, but obviously lacking in character judgment.
The clinic door swung open and Susan appeared, followed by a yellow dog—a mongrel, by the looks of it—with a child holding the end of the leash. The boy’s mother clutched several sample packets of dog food.
“Try that sweet potato formula,” Susan was saying, “and let me know if you see an improvement in the scratching.”
“Gluten intolerant.” The woman clucked her tongue. “Who would have thought?”
Susan caught sight of him. “Hi, Daddy. You’re bright and early this morning.”
The sight of her smile settled a tense knot in his stomach. They’d been at odds so often lately that that smile didn’t appear nearly as much as it used to.
Thanks to Hinkle.
Using care, he replied in a pleasant tone. “I thought I’d check the books while you worked, and then we can review them together over dinner this evening.”
The smile faltered. She switched her attention to the boy, who waved farewell as he led his dog outside. Then she caught the eye of a woman in the waiting area holding a Chihuahua. “I’ll be right with you, Mrs. Baker.” She looked back in his direction but did not meet his gaze. “Daddy, could I speak with you privately?”
“Of course.”
He followed her around the desk as the receptionist slid the last customer’s check into the cashbox and returned to her inspection of the computer monitor. A glance as he passed confirmed his suspicion. Facebook. Susan would have to speak with her about that.
At the end of the short hallway Susan stopped. “Daddy, I have softball practice at five o’clock, and then Justin and I are going out. I told you yesterday.”
With an effort, he managed not to scowl at the mention of Hinkle’s name. “And I told you that you need to stay on top of your accounting.”
“Yes, of course, but it doesn’t have to be tonight.”
“Saturday is the logical time to close out the work week.” He allowed a note of chiding to enter his voice. “We’ve discussed this before, Susan.”
“I know we have.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, a gesture she’d picked up as a child that appeared whenever she was uncomfortable. “But this softball thing is only for a month, and then I can return to a normal schedule.”
She might say that, but Thomas knew better. That ridiculous ballgame was Hinkle’s maneuver to monopolize her time. When the game ended, he’d finagle something else to entice her away from her priorities.
He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a stern look. “May I remind you that I have invested a significant amount of money in your business? I can’t afford to lose my investment while you play games.”
Her head shot up and her eyes locked onto his. They gleamed with something that Thomas was not accustomed to seeing in his daughter—defiance. The rigid set of her jaw left a distinctly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m well aware of your investment and my obligation to you. You remind me often enough.”
When had this rebellious streak appeared in his passive, obedient daughter? With Hinkle, of course. Since he rumbled into town on that motorcycle, Thomas’s relationship with Susan had become increasingly strained.
&
nbsp; “This is not the place to have this discussion.” He gestured toward the waiting room. “You have clients waiting. I’ll check the books while you work, and we can go over them together.” He ground out the last, though the effort cost him. “Whenever you have time.”
For a moment she didn’t reply. Then she inclined her head. “You can use my office.”
When she headed for the reception area, Thomas entered the office to find a large, flat box leaning against the nearest wall.
“What’s this?”
She spoke over her shoulder. “The box? It’s a gate for the dog run out back. The old one is rickety and won’t stay closed. Justin’s going to install it this afternoon before softball practice.”
Hinkle again. Thomas scowled, but Susan had already disappeared through the swinging door so he turned his glare on the box. There was a time when she relied on him for anything that needed to be repaired. Why was this the first mention he’d heard of replacing the gate? He’d been in town for a full week already, willing to do whatever it took to make their joint venture a success, and so far he’d done nothing except deskwork. True, that was his forte, but he was perfectly capable of minor repairs as well. It didn’t take a genius to wield a wrench.
First he’d take a look at the existing gate and then gather the necessary tools. When he opened the back door, warm, humid air rushed into the room. The temperature must be nearly eighty already and noon was still hours away. Yet another reason to get the gate hung now, before the full heat of the day.
He inspected the gate. Definitely ready for the garbage heap. One hinge was so loose the whole thing sat cockeyed. A broken latch dangled from the top and the side bar was bent like someone had pried it with a crowbar. Two concrete blocks, one on either side, were the only things holding the gate closed. He cast a glance back toward the clinic. Susan should have ensured that the previous owner replaced this gate before she bought the business. If he’d been here, he would have done so. Even more proof that his moving to Goose Creek was a good idea.
“Helloooo!” A female voice carried to him through the heavy air.
The clinic backed up to an empty lot on a residential street. On either side of the lot sat a row of older homes, small wooden structures built decades ago. Most were not in the best state of repair. Paint peeled on the lopsided back porch of the house directly catty-corner to the clinic’s fence.
“Over here, Thomas.”
When he located the caller, a groan escaped his throat. What was that Tuesday woman doing here?
She stood at the corner of a yard two houses down the row, waving enthusiastically in his direction. The waist-high wooden fence enclosing her yard leaned at an alarming angle against a row of scraggly bushes.
He raised a tentative hand to return her wave and immediately regretted the action. Apparently she took the gesture as an invitation. She opened a rickety gate in far greater need of repair than the one he was about to replace and hurried through the unmown grass on bare feet. A muddy garden trowel dangled from one hand.
“There I was, digging up an old dead bush, and when I looked up there you were.” She fixed a wide smile on him. “I was hoping to see you again but didn’t dream it would be so soon.”
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze from the eager sparkle in her eyes. “I’m helping my daughter with a few tasks.”
“Ah.” When she nodded, her hair floated around her head like Medusa’s snakes. “She’s lucky to have a helpful papa like you.”
At least the woman possessed a shred of insight.
“She’s accustomed to depending on me, since we only have each other.”
“Yeah, she told me about you losing your wife.” She brushed at a stray curl with the back of a dirt-encrusted hand. “That had to be hard, raising a little girl on your own.”
“We managed.” Discussions of this sort, especially with strangers, left him uneasy. He bent to grasp the first concrete block and move it out of the way. Maybe if he started working she would take the hint.
“Bend those knees, Thomas.” She pointed with her trowel. “You’ll hurt your back otherwise.”
The last thing he needed was advice from a woman with dirty green fingernails. Straightening, he gave her a glance down the length of his nose. “Don’t let me keep you from your bush.”
“Hmm.” Sparkling eyes narrowed in a knowing look, and then her lips twisted into a sideways grin. “Okay. But if you run out of things to do, I’ve got plenty. Toodles!”
He watched her retreat, stepping high through calf-length grass, her hair waving like a willow tree in the wind. Bending once again to his task, he grasped the edges of the concrete block and tugged. Heavier than expected, the thing didn’t budge. One side had sunk into the dirt and become wedged. Rearranging his hands, he gathered his strength and pulled.
“Umph!”
Pain shot through his lower back, sharp enough to bring tears to his eyes.
Drat the woman, she had cursed him.
He released the block and tried to straighten, a fist pressed against his spine. The muscle went into a spasm that felt like a spear being shoved through his back. A cry flew unbidden from his mouth and he wavered.
“Thomas! Oh no!”
Leaning heavily on the gate’s support post, he fought the sting of tears. Tuesday’s feet appeared in his line of vision.
“Are you all right?”
No, he wanted to shout. Someone is stabbing my back with a hot poker. “Fine,” he managed to grind out.
“No you’re not. I told you to bend your knees, didn’t I?”
Never had he wanted so badly to tell a woman to shut up, but at the moment he had no breath to spare.
She grabbed the outside concrete block in her grubby hands and—knees bent—rolled it out of the way. The gate swung outward and she rushed to his side.
“Tell me where it hurts.” Surprisingly gentle fingers moved his fist and prodded his back.
“Ow! Don’t touch me.” He tried to twist away, and the movement increased his agony so that he nearly collapsed.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“No,” he said quickly. If Susan saw him like this she’d think he was getting old and useless. He straightened slowly, his jaw set against the pain. “I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.”
“Hmm.” Tuesday planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head. Once again, insight sparked in her eyes, leaving Thomas with the uncomfortable feeling that she knew exactly why he didn’t want to be led inside the clinic like an invalid. “If you ignore that muscle, it’s going to tighten up on you. By tomorrow you won’t be able to walk. If you can walk now, that is.”
“I’ll take aspirin or something.”
She blew a raspberry through pursed lips. “You want to burn a hole in your stomach lining on top of everything else? Come on.” She stepped close and tried to slip her arm around him.
Jerking away resulted in more pain, but at least she halted. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to my house. What you need is a massage and some ice.”
When he would have protested, she crossed her arms and pierced him with an unyielding stare. “If you don’t, I’m going to march inside right now and get your little girl to come talk sense into you.”
Cornered, that’s what he was. He could go around the building and attempt to limp to his car and hope the receptionist was so wrapped up in Facebook that she didn’t notice him through the window. Or that none of the customers in the waiting room saw him. Or Susan herself.
Pouring all the dignity he could muster into his voice, he said, “It seems I have no choice.”
“A good decision. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
He allowed her to take his arm and lead him slowly across the uneven ground, feeling like a hobbled prisoner being led to the firing squad.
Boxes crowded the small living room, some stacked three high. One cushion on a worn sofa was clear, and a stack
of books covered the seat of an armchair.
“You just moved to town?” Thomas asked. Not that he cared particularly, but at the moment he was under attack by a fit of nerves. What would people think if they found him with Tuesday Love alone in her house?
“A couple of days ago.” Tuesday bent to shove a box out of the way and started down a short hallway. “Come on back to the bedroom.”
He halted. Under no circumstances would he enter her bedroom.
Turning, she peered at him and broke into laughter. “The look on your face. Are you afraid I’ll try to seduce you or something?”
No safe answer came to mind, so he remained silent and looked anywhere but at her.
“My massage table is set up in there. I sleep upstairs.” She ducked her head to catch his eye and spoke as if coaxing a child into the dentist’s chair. “Come on, Thomas. You’re perfectly safe.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said quickly. The moment the words left his mouth he realized how childish they sounded.
“Of course not, not a big strong man like you.” She smiled encouragement down the hallway.
His back throbbed, and he fought to hide a wince. Since he’d come this far, he might as well go through with it.
Like the living room, this room was tiny. No boxes here, though. Instead, a narrow cushioned table stood in the exact center. A rolling stool such as a doctor might use had been pushed into one corner, and a small desk rested against the back wall.
“You’re in luck.” Tuesday crossed to a table in the corner and switched on a miniature waterfall. “My table is the first thing I set up. I want to be ready for potential clients even before I open my business.” Beside the waterfall sat a compact stereo, which she also turned on. Soft music began to play.
She pulled down a window shade to darken the room, and then faced him. “I’m going to step out in the hall while you take your clothes off.”
“What?” He jerked upright, an unwise movement that sent pain shafting across his back. What kind of place was she running? “No. Absolutely not.”
Hands planted on her hips, she twisted her lips. “How do you expect me to work your muscles with your clothes on?”
Renovating the Richardsons Page 8
