“New client?” asked the young woman who was sitting in a chair beside Rachel’s desk, a beaded silver jacket draped over her lap.
Seth turned to her with a smile. He’d been wondering if the younger sister would resemble his friend Cody any more than Rachel had. He discovered that she actually resembled both her siblings. Celia had Rachel’s dark hair and delicate oval face, and Cody’s bright blue eyes and dimpled smile. It was a striking combination, particularly when accompanied by a slender figure and long, shapely legs, both nicely displayed by a snug white sweater and a short red skirt. She wore her hair soft and free to her shoulders; red highlights gleamed invitingly in the deep brown depths.
Celia Carson was a beautiful young woman, and yet Seth found his attention turning immediately back to Rachel, who wore her hair in the same tight twist he’d seen before, and had replaced the unexciting gray suit with an equally nondescript navy one. She was watching him, and Seth got the impression that she was trying to judge his reaction to her sister. “Celia,” she said, without looking away from Seth, “this is my attorney, Seth Fletcher—Cody’s friend. Seth, this is my sister, Celia Carson.”
“Nice to meet you, Celia,” Seth said easily, glancing away from Rachel only long enough to smile a greeting at the younger woman. “Cody’s told me a lot about you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Celia responded, her voice low and musical. “Cody doesn’t talk much about his wild college days.”
Some of the “wild” episodes flashed through his mind as Seth nodded and said gravely, “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“So, tell me, Seth—were you a bad boy, too?” Celia asked with a teasing smile.
“Celia,” Rachel murmured in warning.
Seth shrugged and rested a hip against one corner of Rachel’s desk, making himself comfortable. “Depends on who you ask,” he replied, thinking of his disapproving family. He turned back to Rachel, effectively changing the subject. “I take it you haven’t heard anything more from Holder since you came to me?”
“No. But weekends are when he’s at his worst,” she explained. “He goes out drinking every Friday night, and by Saturday he’s mean and vindictive. That’s usually when I get the calls from him.”
“At your home?” Seth asked with a quick frown.
“Sometimes. Sometimes here at the office.”
“You work Saturdays?”
Celia snorted delicately. “Rachel works all the time,” she muttered.
“Celia,” Rachel said again, less subtle this time in her warning.
Seth filed that little tidbit of information away for future reference. “If he calls you again this weekend,” he said to Rachel, “I want to know about it. I can help you with this, Rachel, but only if you keep me fully informed.” He snatched up a pen and a sheet of memo paper from a holder on her desk and scrawled his home telephone number. “You can reach me here if I’m not at the office. If you get my machine, leave a message and I’ll get right back to you. Okay?”
She nodded. “I’ll let you know if he calls. I just hope it won’t be necessary.”
“So do I,” he assured her. And then he grinned. “To be honest, I’d rather you’d call me for personal reasons.”
He sensed Celia straightening suddenly in her chair. Rachel’s smooth cheeks were suddenly tinged with pink. She gave him a look of warning no less stern than the tone she’d directed toward her younger sister. “Very amusing, Mr. Fletcher.”
Unabashed, he held her gaze with his own. “It wasn’t intended as a joke, Ms. Evans.”
Celia cleared her throat and stood. “Guess I’d better be going. I have to get ready for my date tonight.”
Rachel broke the visual contact with Seth and turned abruptly to her sister. “Celia, promise me again that you’ll be careful tonight.”
Celia rolled her eyes in response to Rachel’s worried tone. “Rachel, please. Chill out, okay? It’s just a date.”
“I know, but—” Rachel broke off with a frustrated glance at Seth, who looked blandly back at her, wondering what had her so concerned about her sister’s date. And then she sighed. “All right, I won’t say any more. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Bye, Rach. Nice to meet you, Seth. And, uh, good luck with getting those personal calls from my sis. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”
Her smile told him she’d recognized his interest in her sister, and that she approved, but without much hope for him. Seth hoped very much to prove her wrong.
“I’m leaving, Rachel. You need anything else before I go?” the large, red-haired woman from the reception area called when Celia walked out of Rachel’s office.
“No, that’s all, Martha. I’ll see you next week.”
A few minutes later, Seth and Rachel were alone in the small building. She avoided his eyes as she began to clear her desk with quick, efficient movements. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss, or did you stop by only to embarrass me in front of my sister?” She sounded a bit cross.
“Did I embarrass you, Rachel?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you did.”
“Why?”
“You implied that you and I were...are...uh...”
“Involved in more than an attorney-client relationship?” he said, supplying words for her.
“Something like that. And it’s not true.”
“No,” he admitted. “Not yet.”
She finally looked at him, not bothering to mask her exasperation with him. “Haven’t I made it clear that I’m not interested in going out with you?”
He gave her his most winning smile. “I’m hoping to change your mind.”
She released a quick, annoyed breath. “Why?” she demanded bluntly.
Seth shook his head with a growing exasperation of his own. “I just think it would be fun. Don’t you ever do anything just for fun, Rachel?”
Her gaze fell. She busied herself with straightening a pile of papers that hadn’t needed straightening. “I have a lot of responsibility. Running this business, taking care of my children and my home.”
“It must be very difficult for you at times,” he acknowledged. “But you haven’t answered my question. Don’t you ever do anything just for fun?”
When she looked back up at him, her expression was so stark it wrung his heart. “I’m not sure I remember how,” she said in little more than a whisper.
“Then let me help you remember,” he urged, reaching out a hand to her.
She looked from his entreating smile to his invitingly outstretched hand. Her momentary weakness was instantly masked. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said brusquely. “I need an attorney, Seth, not an escort. If you aren’t interested in that position...”
His hand fell. Though he’d told himself to be prepared for another rebuff, he still felt a quick flash of annoyance at her attitude. Damned if he knew why he kept setting himself up this way with her, he thought, pushing away from her desk to stand. “I already consider myself your attorney,” he informed her curtly. “You let me know if you hear anything from Holder this weekend. I’ll handle it from there.”
She nodded, avoiding his eyes.
He walked to the door and was on his way out before something made him turn and say, “I never intended to be an ‘escort’ for you, Rachel. I rather thought we could be friends.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. It seemed like a pretty good exit line to him.
* * *
As exit lines went, it had been a very effective one. Rachel felt like a heel for a long time after the outer door closed with a sharp snap behind Seth Fletcher.
Had she been unforgivably rude? Had his offer of dinner been nothing more than a gesture of courtesy to his new client, to the sister of his good friend? He’d only been in town a few months. He was probably still trying to get to know his neighbors and associates. She’d had lunch a few times with her former attorney, on a professio
nal basis. She’d never included her children, or gone out with him during the evening, but maybe Seth was simply more casual about such things than Al had been. Maybe he was just a little lonely.
She could certainly understand loneliness. She’d become all too acquainted with that condition during the past three years.
It was much easier to accept that Seth had asked her out only as a gesture of friendship than to believe he was interested in a more intimate relationship with her.
She looked somberly at the framed photograph sitting on one corner of her desk. Two men stood in the foreground of the photo, one older, one younger, both looking very much alike. Her husband, Ray, and his father, Herman Evans.
The twelve-year-old snapshot showed them standing in front of their first big truck, an older version of the two that were now parked behind her office. Ray had been in his early twenties, and had looked so proud to be in business with his father, whom he’d idolized. Herman had died only a few years later, leaving Ray to build the business into the moderately successful operation it was now—three trucks, three full-time drivers and one part-time driver, a full-time bookkeeper, over two hundred customers in a hundred-mile radius, and Rachel trying to manage it all.
It should be Ray sitting at this desk now. Ray should be trying to figure out how to meet landfill increases and insurance-rate hikes. Ray should be working up bids and ordering Dumpsters and praying the hydraulic pump on the ‘89 Mack truck didn’t burn out before next month’s receipts came in. Had it not been for one irresponsible salesman who’d decided to drive home after celebrating a lucrative new contract, and had ended up killing himself and Ray in a fiery crash at a busy intersection, Rachel would be at home with her children now. Planning dinner, sewing a dress for Paige, helping Aaron learn to read, working in her garden, being active in PTA and Brownies and Little League, and all those other projects she had no time for now.
She’d learned the hard way that the price of dreaming was much too high. She’d dreamed of a long, happy life with Ray and her children, and that dream had literally ended in flames.
She wouldn’t make herself that vulnerable again. Her dreams now were for her children and their future. She would work as hard as she had to work to provide for them—to feed them, clothe them, educate them, even spoil them a little, if possible. As for herself—she’d had her youth, her fun. Now she had her responsibilities.
The sound of her own deep sigh brought her out of the reverie she’d fallen into. With a start, she glanced at her watch, then muttered beneath her breath and reached hastily for her purse. She was running behind—again. She had to go to the bank and the post office and pick up the children, and she still hadn’t been to the grocery store, which she would have to do on the way home since she had no intention of buying fast food again.
Seth Fletcher had managed to put her in a rush once again.
Her new attorney was turning out to be much more difficult than she had anticipated!
* * *
Though she had intended to go to her office for a couple of hours Saturday, Rachel impulsively decided to stay home. The children were pleased. They usually went along with her on Saturdays—even kept toys and coloring books there just for weekends—but they enjoyed spending an occasional lazy morning at home.
Rachel told herself that the decision not to go to the office that day had nothing to do with Celia or Seth. She simply had housework to do, and there was nothing particularly pressing to be done at the office that morning. The drivers knew to call her at home if anything came up during their Saturday routes and they couldn’t reach her at the office.
Leaving the children engrossed in cartoons, she worked especially hard cleaning the guest room, preparing it for her grandmother’s arrival the next day. She put fresh white eyelet-trimmed sheets on the old four-poster cherrywood bed, tied back the eyelet curtains to let the autumn sun stream through the only window, dusted the huge cherry dresser and matching wardrobe, placed air fresheners in the small, empty closet. And then she spent a moment admiring the results of her preparations.
The antique bedroom furniture had belonged to Ray’s mother, who’d died when he was just a teenager, before Rachel had met him. The mahogany table, eight chairs, buffet and china cabinet in her dining room had also belonged to Ray’s mother, as had other select pieces scattered throughout the four-bedroom home she and Ray had bought soon after they’d married. They’d planned to have three children, but Aaron had just turned two when Ray died, and they had scheduled the third child to be conceived when Aaron was three.
Ray and Rachel had been serious about their planning and scheduling. They couldn’t have foreseen that their plans would change so abruptly, and so tragically.
But she was getting morose again. She shook off the incipient depression and put away her cleaning supplies. There were so many things left to do before her grandmother’s visit.
“What time will Granny Fran get here tomorrow?” Paige asked during lunch.
“I’m not sure,” Rachel answered. “Aaron, you’re dripping your soup. Watch what you’re doing.”
Aaron brought his attention back to his lunch. Rachel wondered what youthful fantasy had been playing in his imaginative head. Her five-year-old was quite a daydreamer, unlike his older sister, who was firmly grounded in reality.
“How long is Granny Fran going to stay?” Paige asked.
“A couple of weeks.”
“Will she make chocolate-chip cookies?” Aaron asked.
Rachel smiled. “Probably. Granny Fran loves making cookies. Especially for you and Paige.”
“Is Uncle Adam going to stay here, too?” Paige asked. Paige always wanted to know all the details, was always the one who worried over the little things. The child was so much like her mother, Rachel thought ruefully.
“Uncle Adam isn’t going to stay. He’s bringing Granny Fran to us and he’ll stay for dinner, but after that he has to go back to Little Rock.”
“He prob’ly has to go save some lives tomorrow,” Aaron commented matter-of-factly. Aaron’s favorite television program was Rescue 911. He’d decided that his mother’s cousin was a dedicated rescuer just like the ones on the program.
Rachel had never tried to explain to Aaron that Adam was a plastic surgeon, more acclaimed for bolstering egos than for saving lives. She was very fond of her older cousin, who’d been one of the first ones to come to her after the news of Ray’s death had reached him. Afterward, he’d made repeated offers of financial assistance, which Rachel had always gently refused. His efforts had been awkward, sometimes bordering arrogance, but she knew they had been sincere.
Paige’s attention had already moved to another topic. “Are we going back to that lawyer’s office soon?” she asked, looking up from the grilled cheese sandwich she’d been pulling into bite-size pieces.
“What lawyer?” Rachel asked, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.
“You know,” Paige said impatiently. “The one with the fish in his office.”
“I liked the fish,” Aaron murmured, watching tomato soup cascade in a thick red waterfall from the end of his spoon.
“You mean Seth Fletcher? I don’t know that we’ll be going to his office again anytime soon. Why?” Rachel asked curiously.
Paige shrugged. “He had a nice smile.”
Rachel was startled. Paige hadn’t seemed particularly taken with Seth when they’d met three days earlier, nor had she mentioned him since. It seemed Rachel wasn’t the only one who’d found thoughts of Seth Fletcher lingering in her mind!
“Aaron, don’t play in your soup. You’re going to make a mess,” Rachel said, her attention conveniently distracted by her son’s behavior. “Both of you finish your lunch. I need to run to town and pick up a few things so we’ll be ready for Granny Fran.”
“Can I have a new coloring book?” Aaron asked, immediately intrigued. “My old one’s colored up.”
“I need a new pencil case for school,” Paige remind
ed her mother. “Bobby Mitchell broke mine. Ms. Walker made him miss recess,” she added in satisfaction.
Rachel willingly agreed to both requests. Shopping was a much less disturbing subject than Seth Fletcher.
* * *
Her shopping done and purchases stored away, Rachel was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner early that evening when the telephone rang. She glanced automatically through the window over the sink as she reached for the phone. Paige and Aaron were playing in the backyard where she could see them; it was almost time to call them in, since daylight was rapidly fading. “Hello?”
“I hear you got yourself a new lawyer. You’re going to need him.”
Rachel swallowed a groan. She recognized the low growl immediately, of course. Just as she knew instantly that the caller had been drinking again. “Frank. I’ve asked you to stop calling me. Please don’t make it necessary for me to file charges against you.”
“File charges against me? That’s a good one,” Holder snarled. “I’m the one who oughta be filing charges.”
“I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you’re going to try to make me believe you didn’t talk to that personnel director for Carter Trucking, either.”
Rachel sighed. “Mr. Loudermilk did call me for a reference. I did nothing but honestly answer the questions he asked me about you. You certainly didn’t expect me to tell him that I had no problems with you as an employee, did you?”
“You kept me from getting a job with them.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you find another position. But don’t ask me to lie for you. I won’t do it.”
“You bitch. You’ll do anything you can to ruin my life, won’t you? It wasn’t enough that you fired me, now you gotta make sure no one else hires me.”
“Frank,” Rachel said firmly, cutting into the increasingly loud diatribe. “I am not trying to ruin your life. You’re doing a pretty good job of that by yourself. I told you several times that you need to get professional help. Your drinking is...”
A Man for Mom Page 4
