“You’re not making fun of our fair city, are you?”
A playful spark came to her eyes, and she wagged her head. “Not me. Wouldn’t do to bite the hand that feeds me.”
“Good point. And hey, you’d be surprised how Clayburn packs out our three restaurants. What else is there for excitement?”
“Another good point.” She was as close to beaming now as he’d seen her.
They drove out of the alley of trees into the sunshine, and Meg squinted against its brightness. She was quiet again after that.
They drove to the center of town in silence. She thanked him when he dropped her off at the inn. He considered going in with her to explain things to Wren but sensed she would rather do that herself.
“See you at eleven-thirty,” he reminded her.
“I’ll be waiting.”
She shut the door to the pickup, but the smile she gave him through the pickup window did strange things to his insides. Maybe it was just the natural reward of being a Good Samaritan. But it seemed like more. Much more.
When Maggie entered the lobby, Wren looked up from the desk with the same formal smile she’d first greeted Maggie with. Then her expression changed to one of concern. “Meg? What happened? Did you miss your bus?”
“No. I—” She teared up. What was wrong with her? She was usually a master at shoving down her emotions. But she had shed more tears in five days than she had in five years.
Trying again, she opened her mouth, her mind manufacturing another lie to explain her return. But she caught herself. Coming clean—well, mostly—with Trevor Ashlock had felt good.
She decided to adopt the same policy with Wren, who had been so kind to her. “I don’t have any place to go, Wren. I asked Trevor to bring me back here.”
“No place to go? I don’t understand.”
“I needed to get away from . . . a situation. I’m . . . out of money, but if I can find work, I’d like to stay—until I figure out what to do.”
Wren put a hand to her bosom. “Oh, honey. Is everything all right?”
Maggie wondered if the woman was fishing for details, but the concern on the older woman’s face convinced her that wasn’t the case. “No. It really isn’t. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Wren jumped up and hurried around the desk. “Oh, Meg. What’s going on?”
The canvas bag that held all of Maggie’s worldly possessions dropped to the floor as the warmth of Wren’s motherly arms enveloped her. As Maggie let herself be held, a sweet, long-forgotten fragrance brought memories flooding back. The perfume conjured the scent of her mother. Mom had held her tight like this that day in the solarium. Someone—she couldn’t remember who—had taken her and Jennifer to the hospital where Mom lived. It was the last time they ever saw her.
The social worker had driven her and Jenn to another new foster home that afternoon. They’d barely gotten to say good-bye to their first foster parents, the Tarkans. To this day, she didn’t know why they’d had to leave. She and Jenn had huddled together in a cold double bed that night, keeping each other warm.
But the next morning the social worker came again. And this time she took Jenn away in her car. “To a nice new home,” the lady told Maggie. “With a mommy and daddy to love her forever.” But that family didn’t have room for Maggie. They wanted a little girl, and Maggie was four years older than Jennifer, and more “self-sufficient.” At the time Maggie didn’t even know what that big word meant. She’d quickly learned it wasn’t a good thing.
Her foster mother told her she could visit Jennifer soon. But a week went by, then two, and no one ever said anything about Jenn again.
When Maggie started sixth grade, she and Betsy Tavenger became best friends. That eased the pain of losing Jenn a little. That, and knowing her sister was in a nice home with a nice family.
And Mr. and Mrs. Manning were nice enough, even if they seemed to spend all their time with the babies and never paid much attention to her.
“Come.” Wren loosed her arms from around Maggie and went behind the counter for a set of keys. She took Maggie by the hand, leading her down the hall to the same room she’d stayed in before. “You get settled here and rest awhile. We’ll figure out the rest later—on a full stomach.”
“Oh!” Maggie scooped up the canvas bag. “I almost forgot. I still have the lunch you made me. I didn’t eat any of it.” She thrust the bag at Wren.
“Why don’t you take that to your room? I’ll have Bart move one of our little dorm fridges in there, and you can keep a few things on hand.”
Trevor had lunch covered, and the food Wren had fixed would keep her going for another day or two. Maybe she could help Wren with some housecleaning to pay for her room for a few nights. She wouldn’t have to leave quite yet.
He barely knew the woman. Why had he become so obsessed with thoughts of her?
Chapter Twenty-Three
The back door to the print shop was unlocked, and Trevor opened it to a blast of cool air from the pressroom. Maybe a few minutes out of the heat would bring him back to his senses. It almost seemed like a dream that he’d already made a trip to Salina this morning. With a beautiful woman. And he’d brought her back with him.
The things he found himself doing since Meg Anders showed up at Wren’s were so out of character for him it made his head spin. He hit the Play button on the CD changer in his office, closed the blinds on the window that overlooked the front office, and plopped down at his desk. The same Mozart concerto that had been playing in the pickup came on. It reminded him of Meg.
Why did he feel so drawn to her? She wasn’t even his type. Even before he’d met Amy, he’d always gone for the petite, dark-haired beauties.
Meg was beautiful all right but in a very different way. He frowned. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he’d subconsciously chosen to befriend a woman who wouldn’t remind him of Amy every time he looked at her.
He huffed out a sigh. If that were the case, it wasn’t working. Meg did make him think of Amy. Or at least made him remember what it was like to be in love. To feel the way Amy had made him feel—strong and competent. And needed.
Since he’d lost Amy and Trev, he sometimes felt that nobody would even notice if he fell off the edge of the earth. Oh, sure, Bart and Wren appreciated his helping around the inn, and the kids at the day-care center obviously enjoyed his stories, but anyone else could have stepped into those shoes and done a fine job. None of them truly needed him.
But Meg seemed like a lost kitten yearning for a place to belong, and he liked the idea of maybe becoming that place for her.
“Trevor?” Jamie Marlowe, the high-school girl who worked as his Saturday receptionist, stood in the doorway of his office. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Can you come and talk to someone about an order?”
He followed her to the front counter and greeted the owner of the local lumberyard who served as president of the chamber of commerce. The man was waiting to talk about a printing project for the chamber. For the next twenty minutes Trevor’s thoughts were absorbed in business matters. But the moment Trevor entered the pressroom, Meg Anders jumped to the forefront of his mind again.
His feelings troubled him. He barely knew the woman. Why had he become so obsessed with thoughts of her? Why had he gone out of his way to help her? He was as nice as the next guy, and sure, if he saw someone lying injured in the street, he would be the first to help. But he didn’t go around looking for good deeds to perform.
Yet that’s what he’d done for Meg. And in spite of the fact that she was a troubled woman, and obviously running from some relationship, he was drawn to her. Why? He’d had women practically throw themselves at him ever since Amy’s death. He’d never even been interested until now.
He wished he could talk out his conflicted feelings with someone. But he didn’t really have a confidant. A stab of guilt pierced him at the thought. Of course he did. God was always waiting to
hear him whine. But right now he wouldn’t have minded someone made of flesh and bone.
In the first weeks after Amy and Trev’s accident, his friends had gathered around him and let him talk endlessly about his loss. It had helped too. But most of their friends had been couples, and it seemed to be the wives who were most willing to let him talk. And that got awkward. When weeks and then months went by and he lost interest in anything but nursing the crushing grief, one by one, his friends drifted away. He couldn’t blame them. Sometimes he got tired of his own company.
And then there was Jack. The one friend he’d known from the time they were boys covering each other’s backs on the playground at Clayburn Elementary. He’d always known Jack would stick with him through anything. But the accident had changed all that.
Oddly, when he wished for a confidant now, Wren was the first person who came to mind. But amazing as it was under the circumstances, that she had chosen to take him under her wing, he’d never been able to confide in her about anything to do with Amy’s accident. Wren had too much at stake in the whole mess.
It surprised him to realize that he hadn’t thought of the accident itself—the ugly, difficult details—for a long time. The revelation encouraged him. There’d been a time when he thought about it every single minute of every single day. Ironically he had Wren to thank for much of his healing. He thanked God every day that he had a reason to stay away from home. He sometimes worried that Wren had manufactured her little remodeling project purely out of sympathy for him—or worse, out of her own misplaced guilt.
He shook off the thoughts. Maybe he’d give his father a call tonight. It had been awhile since they talked. Unfortunately, since his folks moved to Florida, out of sight had soon become out of mind. But Dad was a good listener, and whether he simply let Trevor talk or offered a word of advice, it helped to spend some time with him—even if it had to be over the telephone wires.
He went back to the pressroom, where Mason was stuffing fliers and coupons in an advertising tab slated to go out with next week’s Courier.
“You want me to do all these before I leave, Trevor? I could finish up first thing Monday morning.” Mason’s hopeful expression left no doubt what his preference was.
“What’s the deal? You have a hot date tonight or something?”
When Mason flushed ten shades of red, Trevor almost regretted teasing the kid. “I don’t care when you do them. As long as they’re done by eight or so Monday morning. I’m going to need you for that chamber job first thing.”
“No problem.”
A grin split the young man’s face, and Trevor couldn’t resist. He punched him in the bicep. “You mean to tell me you’d rather take some cute girl out than work late on a Saturday night? Think of all that overtime you’re giving up.”
Mason laughed. “Ha! If you saw her, you’d do the same thing. Hey, I think she has an older sister.”
Trevor tried to shrug off the suggestion. For the past few months it seemed the entire population of Clayburn had conspired to get him married off—or at least dating again. He wasn’t in the mood for this conversation, but Mason didn’t take the hint.
“Seriously, I could probably set you up. Audrey goes to some college back East, but she’s home for the summer.”
He clamped a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “She’s probably a tad young for me, Mason. I think I’ll pass, but thanks for thinking of me.”
“No, wait. Audrey’s a lot older than Mandy. I think she’s divorced or something and going back to college again. She’s not as hot as Mandy, but you could do a whole lot worse.”
Trevor shook his head. “You’ve got it bad for that girl, don’t you?”
Mason turned the backward bill on his cap around and hid beneath its shadow. They both laughed.
But Trevor’s smile faded as soon as he closed the door to his office. He turned on his computer and pulled up the documents for a printing project that was due Monday. The four-color job required some photo retouching before he could put it on the press, and he hadn’t quite mastered the Photoshop program. He was grateful for the concentration the task required. He wasn’t in the mood to think too hard.
He glanced at the clock before settling in with the job. Why he’d offered to take that woman from the inn—Meg—to lunch, he didn’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. She was in a bad spot. But now that it was almost time to pick her up at the inn, he wondered what he was going to tell people about her. Trevor Ashlock couldn’t just show up at the Clayburn Café with a pretty girl in tow and not explain her to people.
Maybe he’d pick up sandwiches at the grocery store and they could do a quiet picnic in the park. He’d make it short and sweet. Feed the girl and take her back to the inn. He needed to knock off work early anyway so he could get in a few hours on Wren’s kitchen tonight.
Meg would understand that even though it was Saturday, he had work to do. He was a business owner. And he’d already taken off half the morning on a wild-goose chase to Salina on her account.
He kneaded the bridge of his nose. What had he gotten himself into? Meg Anders seemed like a nice enough woman, but she was hiding something. Something besides the fact that she was running from some jerk who had treated her badly. He was certain of it.
Maggie surveyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d paired the maroon print blouse from Wren’s rummage-sale bag with her khaki pants. It wasn’t exactly what she would have chosen for a job interview, but it would have to do. By the looks of things, she didn’t think Clayburn was too concerned with formality.
She ran the comb through her hair one last time, took a deep breath, and stepped into the hallway.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” Wren said when Maggie walked through the lobby.
“Wish me luck. I’m going to see if I can find a job.”
“Already?”
Maggie nodded. She didn’t want to tell Wren how little money she had left.
The wrinkles in Wren’s forehead grew pronounced. “You might have better luck if you wait until Monday, honey. A lot of the shops close early on Saturday.”
“Oh.” Maggie hadn’t thought about that. In some ways, it seemed as though it had been one long day since her adventure began in the early hours of Tuesday morning.
“Well, you never know.” Wren brightened. “It sure can’t hurt to try. But you come back in time to eat lunch with us, okay?”
“Oh . . . thank you, Wren, but Trevor invited me to have lunch with him.”
A slow smile tipped Wren’s mouth. “He did, did he? Well, I’d invite you to have supper with us, but Bart’s taking me out to dinner and a movie. The sweet man thinks I need a break.”
“That is sweet.”
Wren chuckled. “Well, Bart’s idea of dinner out is Taco Bell, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” She turned back to the papers she was sorting. “But listen, Meg, you feel free to raid the refrigerator. If you can get it open in that crazy wreck of a kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m not used to eating that much anyway. Besides, I still have the sandwiches you made for me.”
“Well, good luck with your job search. You just smile that pretty smile and you’ll get hired in a flash. I’d hire you myself if we had the money.”
Well, that answered that question. Trevor had said as much, but she’d held out hope. But there was no sense getting discouraged before she’d even made one inquiry. Her heart fluttered a little, but it was more with excitement than with nerves. She hadn’t figured out what to do yet about her lack of identification, let alone the fact that she hadn’t held a job in two years.
Breathing in deeply, she shook off the thought. She had to think positive. If she did find a job, it meant the opportunity to stay here in Clayburn. And start a new life.
She was beginning to like that idea very much.
Maggie faced the moment she’d hoped for—and dreaded.
Chapter Twenty-Four
&nbs
p; With one hand on the door, Maggie checked her reflection in the window of the children’s clothing shop. She sighed, pasted on a smile, and tried to straighten her sagging shoulders. How much rejection could one woman handle in the space of a morning? She’d gotten a firm “sorry, we’re not hiring” at every other shop on this side of Main Street’s business district—such as it was in Clayburn.
She took in a deep breath, opened the door, and went to give her now well-rehearsed spiel to the woman behind the counter.
Before she even finished, the woman frowned. “I’m sorry, but I barely have enough work to keep myself busy.”
“Do you know anyone in town who’s looking for help?” She hoped the proprietor didn’t detect the desperation in her voice.
“Have you tried the Dairy Barn out on the highway?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t really have any experience with animals.”
The woman looked askance at her, then a spark of realization came to her eyes and she started laughing. “It’s not that kind of dairy barn, hon. It’s an ice-cream place—like a Dairy Queen.”
“Oh.” Heat crept up Maggie’s neck, but she smiled past her embarrassment. “I’m new in town.”
The woman grinned back at her. “I guessed that. Unfortunately they probably don’t need anyone now. They hire on a lot of high-school kids in the summer. But they’re usually looking for people as soon as school starts.”
Maggie’s hopes flagged. She couldn’t wait a week, let alone two months. Besides, even if they would hire her today, how would she get to work?
The next two shops on Main Street gave her the same story—and the same suggestion to try the Dairy Barn.
She started across the street. Lunch customers were already lined up at the café, so she decided it would be best to wait until later to inquire there. She knew beggars couldn’t be choosers, but she’d worked as a waitress for a few months while she was in college, and waitressing held no appeal whatsoever. But if they were hiring, she’d be game.
Remember to Forget Page 13
