by Dani Collins
“I wasn’t drinking last night. I couldn’t sleep so I went to the diner across the road. I had pie and a cup of decaf.”
“Really.” Zack’s voice rang with skepticism.
It hurt. L.C. didn’t give a golden damn what most people thought of him, but this was his son. Maybe he should open up and explain to Zack how listening to Zack talk to his kid sister, the one who had survived, gutted him. He could tell him how certain nightmares woke him up and he would rather read the funnies in a day-old paper, eating pie covered in oil-based whip topping, than lie in bed with his own thoughts.
But he didn’t want to talk about any of that. Not ever in this life.
As a result, all Zack saw was the guy who’d fallen off the wagon for a year then left town at the worst possible time, abandoning his child.
“Ready?” Mercedes asked, squeaking open the gate so Ayjia could enter the pool area, glancing at Zack as she did.
“Yeah.” Zack moved away, his posture stiff.
L.C. had never been a stellar father. He’d been an even worse husband, far too young to settle down. He had partied while Britta had nursed their son and Britta’s puppy love had failed to mature into the lasting sort that might have given them a real shot at staying together. L.C. owned that.
But being a father had ultimately saved him from himself. Yeah, he’d made every mistake possible, but he had stayed sober when Zack was with him. He had turned up to work every day to make his support payments. He had had a reason to try.
That was why he’d been ready to give it another go when he had a second chance at fatherhood four years ago. He and April might not have been in love with each other, but they’d been in love with their child, both looking forward to raising it together.
Then his little girl had failed to take her first breath.
He’d taken it as a sign from the Almighty that he wasn’t a fit father for any kid. April had left and he’d walked away from parenting, even as he was offered a third chance.
He was reaping the consequences of that bolt. Zack had lost faith in him.
“Hoo. Hot,” Mercedes breathed, lifting her loose hair to reveal red-gold ringlets clinging to her neck. “Are we good to go?”
Any other minute in his life, he would have been more than ready to go anywhere with her. He bet kisses against the back of her neck buckled her knees.
Mercedes flushed a little, maybe from the morning sun’s growing heat, maybe from hearing the suggestiveness in her own comment. She sobered as she read some of the dark emotion swirling inside him.
With a jerky little motion, she said, “To the meeting, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking, hell. And, damn. And, in another life.
Everyone smiled as Mercedes pushed into the room, all but Mrs. Garvey. She glanced at her watch-brooch.
The board had lined themselves up behind the table in their customary positions, Harrison half asleep as usual, Pete Dolinski beside him, Mrs. Yamamoto and Mrs. Garvey on the far end. Normally, Mercedes would have pulled up a chair on this side of the table and worked through an agenda. Today, it felt more like a parole hearing.
She smiled and kicked the doorstop into place, leaving the door open, pretending she didn’t notice the way Mrs. Garvey stiffened with disapproval.
“I just want to keep an eye on the kids. Zack has them in the pool. I’ve spoken to him a few times now. He seems like a good-hearted young man.” She avoided looking at the young man’s father, too aware of him as it was. If the board saw that...
Mercedes moved to the coffee service and poured a cup, just to avoid the called-on-the-carpet chair in the front row. “Zack genuinely seems to want to make up for his error in judgment and I think we should give him a chance to. Coffee, L.C.?”
“But about the children, Mercedes—” Mrs. Garvey started to say.
“Love one,” L.C. said.
Mrs. Garvey made an affronted noise.
Mercedes’s hand shook when she handed over the cup she had poured. She really didn’t want to be fired in front of this man.
And she would really love to know why his opinion mattered to her. He looked like he gave less then one hairy rat’s ass what anyone thought of him. They’d met yesterday.
“I know this is an awkward situation.” She turned to face the board, feeling L.C.’s stare so hot on her profile her cheeks burned. “But if we could table the discussion on the kids until later and just focus on Zack right now?” She cleared her throat. “I don’t mind taking responsibility for supervising him. I think he could be a big help around here. I mean, how often do we talk about the improvements we’d like to make, but the costs are prohibitive? Here we have an opportunity for free labor—”
“But what if you’re not here to supervise?” Mrs. Garvey asked. “If those children—”
“I’ve called social services, Mrs. Garvey!” Mercedes blurted, then knotted her hands into fists and folded her arms, hunching. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just this is really—” Humiliating. Heartbreaking. Hard.
She watched L.C.’s big, scuffed work boots shift and turn toward her. Across the room, there was a rustle and scrape. Lifting her head, Mercedes saw Mrs. Yamamoto leave her knitting on the table and come around in her quick, mincing steps.
“Poor Mercedes.” Mrs. Yamamoto approached with her arms raised.
Mercedes had to stoop to accept Mrs. Yamamoto’s hug. The woman was delicate as a doily, her hands light as they patted and reassured, and her comforting touch made everything worse. Now Mercedes wanted to cry.
Don’t fire me, please don’t fire me. It’s not just a job. I need you people.
“You make her tea,” she heard Mrs. Yamamoto say. She urged Mercedes to sit in the chair. “Poor, poor, Mercedes.”
“It’s all right. I’m okay,” Mercedes said, risking a glance at the board. Harrison remained leaning back, hands linked over his barrel chest, watching through slitted eyes. Pete Dolinski was scribbling. Mrs. Garvey had her mouth pinched so small, it was a tiny pucker between her long, hollow cheeks.
“Really,” Mercedes said. “If we could just make a decision on Zack.”
L.C. handed her a steaming cup, the water barely stained by the teabag floating in it. “I’d like to see some of this work you intend Zack to do,” he said.
“Oh. Um—” Mercedes suspended the hot cup in careful fingertips. “Thank you. I just—” wouldn’t be able to see the children if she took him to the end of the complex. Of course if Zack was the paragon of virtue she wanted the board to believe, she shouldn’t have any reservations about leaving the kids with him.
Why couldn’t anything be easy?
“The damage to the units is listed in the police report,” Mrs. Garvey reminded. “We can’t be expected to tour the complex in this heat.”
“No, it’s very hot today,” Mrs. Yamamoto said. “We should stay here in the office and see for ourselves how responsible this young man behaves. We’ll watch him with the children, Mercedes. You take Mr. Fogarty to the duplex.”
“Oh.” Mercedes swallowed and gave Mrs. Yamamoto’s wax-smooth fingers a gentle squeeze of gratitude, appreciating every scrap of support she could get.
Harrison pushed to his feet with sudden energy. “Joy ride, Pete.”
Chapter 6
Mercedes didn’t like leaving the kids, but the fact was she couldn’t do her job with them underfoot. She wouldn’t be long, anyway, she reasoned—which was probably what Porsha thought every time she did it.
Ignoring the blanket of self-loathing she was wearing, Mercedes left instructions with the kids to behave, gave Zack a couple of bucks to take them to the cantina after they dried off, and met everyone at the golf cart.
Harrison and Mr. Dolinski were already in the back seat, leaving L.C. to ride shotgun. Terrific. That was a lot of honed muscle waiting next to the cart until she slid in, at which point he sat and sprawled into her space, smelling manly and no nonsense, beguiling her with the str
ong hand he splayed on his thigh. He made zero effort to hide the fact he checked out her legs as she settled herself.
Yes, she had shaved her legs, God help her, then moisturized and had even thrown on a sassy little anklet and sandals with a low heel. Like she’d had time for that bullshit, but oh, she had made time, hadn’t she? Yeah, her sister was the piece of work, luring men when she had two hungry kids at home. Maybe it was just the way Kimball women were made. Slutty.
She sighed and took one more look toward the pool.
“You don’t have to worry,” L.C. said. “Zack’s steady as a rock.”
“Right. That’s why we’re on our way to view the scene of his crime.” She started the cart and twisted to back out.
Behind her, Pete and Harrison shook their heads.
“See why I’m marrying her?” Harrison said. “Never did like the charm school debs. Gimme more spice than sugar any day.”
“You’ll be left at the altar, Harrison, unless the rock of Gibraltar is on my finger by June. I told you that.” She straightened and sent a wrinkled nose apology to L.C. “Sorry about the cheap shot. Fact is, I do think he’s serious about making up for what happened. I’m just a little stressed. I’m a Cancer. We worry.”
She was about to snap with anxiety over the coming meeting with the social worker and being way too aware of a man didn’t help.
Don’t think about it. She put the cart in forward and started to turn onto the Ring Road.
“No, no,” Harrison said, pointing to one of the narrow lanes. “We’re swinging by Pete’s so we can pick up beer.”
“It’s not even eleven! This is official business.” And she didn’t have time to conduct a scenic tour of the complex.
“Actually, you’re right. Go out that way, then circle back so Edith doesn’t see where we’re going.”
“Harrison!”
“Do you have any idea what she’s been like? This friend of yours—” Harrison nudged L.C. in the shoulder from behind. “—should have his nuts trimmed and fed to the squirrels for producing the little shit who started all of this.”
“If you think you’re the first to suggest that, you’re not,” L.C. drawled.
Mercedes smirked, liking that L.C. was impervious to Harrison’s forthright ribbing.
“Harrison is a Sagittarius. Says exactly what’s on his mind. It’s the one that looks like a centaur, which tells you he’s also a bit of a horse’s behind.”
She waited, expecting Harrison to come back with something about considering the benefits, lewd ol’ coot.
“You believe in that stuff?” L.C. asked, grabbing her attention by angling more toward her. He hooked one arm on the seatback between them, making her aware of his chest and flat abdomen, the rippled fly of his jeans.
She spent a lot of time with overweight, elderly men. She’d forgotten how exciting it was to be up close to one in his prime. Honest to God, she wanted to touch him. Test all that muscle with fingertips and maybe teeth. Nicely, but get a full taste of all that vitality.
“I, um...” What had he asked her? Right. Belief. “No, I’ve just spent a lot of time trying to make sense of people who don’t make sense. What are you?”
He snorted. “Do I look like someone who pays attention? My birthday is end of October.”
“After the twenty-first? You’re a Scorpio,” she told him when he nodded.
“And what does that do for my chances of keeping the family jewels?” he asked dryly.
“Umm....” She licked her lips. Did they really need to keep discussing those? It was really hot today. She waved at Mrs. Sanduk as they passed her deadheading the hanging baskets along her porch. “Scorpios, um, go either way: saint or sinner. Whichever path they choose, they pursue with great zeal.” She smiled sweetly.
His mocking smile told her which way he’d gone, as if there was any doubt.
Sin, sin, sin.
Her pulse tripped and sexy warmth rose like a blush inside her thighs.
She didn’t bother mentioning Scorpios and Cancers were supposed to be a harmonious match.
“Turn, turn,” Harrison urged.
Mercedes tsked, giving in because she was also ruled by guilt. “Was she really so bad?” she asked, accelerating down the lane that would take them to Pete’s backyard. The dry Spring air brushed over her face like warm velvet. Man, she loved it here.
“She would have been happier if the place burned down,” Harrison said. “That way, the only cost would be a bulldozer. Instead, it’s been a steady stream of how we couldn’t afford to repair the units as it was and now look how much it will set us back.”
“Mrs. Garvey’s a Taurus,” Mercedes told L.C. “Stubborn. Doesn’t like change. Hates to spend money.”
“That’s how she got elected to the board,” Harrison said. “We had an accounting problem with our last manager and Edith’s as tight as a— Hey, Pete! Got smokes?” he cut off to ask as Mercedes parked and Mr. Dolinski stepped out of the cart.
“Shirley threw them out,” Mr. Dolinski said with a wrinkly mope in his brow. He strolled to his back porch in a tall, looming hunch.
“Damn,” Harrison muttered. He patted his chest and came up with an empty pack. “L.C., you got any?”
“Sorry.”
“Hmph. Well, as I was saying, our last manager wasn’t nearly so loyal and helpful. Not as pretty, either. I can’t tell you how lucky we all feel to have someone so sweet and accommodating—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! If you want me to run for your cigarettes, just say so.”
“Cigars, angel. They’re in the humidor on the coffee table. Door’s open.”
“Be right back,” Mercedes said to L.C. He was suppressing a grin, enjoying the entertainment Harrison always provided, which made L.C. that much more attractive to her.
She hurried through the Chamberlain’s backyard to Harrison’s bungalow, praying the Chamberlains were out. If they spotted her, she’d be visiting through a six-course meal before getting away.
As she bolted back to the cart, Pete was seating himself.
“I won’t be held accountable if your wife catches you with one of these,” she told Pete, handing three cigars to Harrison.
Pete nodded to the plastic container he’d left on her seat. “Cookies for the kids.” He peeled a beer off the dewy six-pack in his lap. “She wants you to come for dinner while you’ve got them.”
“Thanks.” Mercedes smiled and handed the plastic tub to L.C. so she could get behind the wheel again. “Cowboy cookies. Fully loaded. Help yourself. Give me one, too.”
“All right.” Harrison rubbed a cigar between his palms. “Packed and rolling. Now take the long route, Mercy, so we can get a few puffs in.”
Accepting the cookie L.C. handed her, Mercedes cut across to the eastern side of the Ring Road that circled the outer units of the complex. Behind her, a can tab popped.
“L.C.?” Pete offered.
“No, thanks.” L.C. said around a cookie, turning his head to admire the vintage Thunderbird in the Jefferson’s driveway.
“Don’t start drinking this early?” Harrison asked.
“I don’t stop. Not until a court appearance is necessary. This place is a lot bigger than it looks from the road.”
Mercedes lost her footing on the accelerator, making the cart lurch into a crawl before she jammed her foot back into place and got them rolling at top speed again.
L.C. glanced at her.
She didn’t turn her gaze to meet his. She tightened her hands on the wheel, kept her nose forward and let her brain reconfigure. Scorpio and Cancer. Bad mix. Very bad.
“Seventy-eight duplexes,” Harrison said as if he hadn’t heard the admission of alcoholism. “Another twenty bungalows like mine, plus the apartment building which is forty single-bedroom units. That’s where Mercedes lives. It all needs work. That manager I was talking about? Frank? He was skimming. Said he was fixing things, but our board was four birds who couldn’t change a light bulb between
‘em. That’s why Pete and I signed on. At least we know what bullshit smells like. You want a cigar?”
“Can’t. Makes me want to drink.”
Mercedes pressed her numb foot flat on the accelerator, trying to work up enough speed to waft the cigar smell out of the cart.
“You’re no fun a’tall, are you?” Harrison said.
“You’ve been talking to my ex,” he accused. “Why are these units different back here?”
“Different developer,” Harrison said. “The original guy had a greener vision so there’s garden space back here. The crowd here’s a little different than the folks up front.”
“Hippies,” Mr. Dolinski said. “Gotta watch for pot plants.”
“Oh, for—” They’d have him snorting lines of coke off their bald heads in a minute.
“What?” Harrison asked.
“Nothing,” Mercedes muttered, gripping the wheel with clammy hands as they reached the bottom of the Ring Road. Above them, the rust-colored cliff that bordered the back of the property rose five stories. To the left, where the road outside neared the corner of the property, a berm hid the chain link fence that Zack and his friends had broken through.
Mercedes parked in the tiny sliver of shade cast by the cliff. As she stepped out, Harrison said, “We’ll stay and finish our beer. You show L.C. the unit.”
“Sure,” she murmured, stepping from the cart. She couldn’t meet his gaze and led him across to the sidewalk on the inside of the Ring Road.
“One offer of a drink isn’t going to knock me off the wagon,” he told her.
Was she that obvious? Self-conscious heat replaced her cold sweat. Mercedes unlatched the wrought-iron gate in the waist-high stone wall that surrounded the patio on the derelict side of the duplex.
“Are you in A.A.?”
He shook his head, joining her on the unswept patio, but looking back toward the cart with a thoughtful roll of his tongue along the front of his teeth. “I prefer to white-knuckle it. Feels more like personal accomplishment. You’ve had some experience with drunks, I assume?”
