Rich in Faith
by
Lindi Peterson
Copyright © 2015 Lindi Peterson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN: 978-1-942419-01-3
Cover design: Lynnette Bonner
[email protected]
Cover images © Dreamstime.com: 9759459 10225327 8542973
Editor: Emily Sewell
DEDICATION
To my husband Lenny.
I love you.
Other Novels by Lindi Peterson
Her Best Catch
Summer’s Song
Richness in Faith Trilogy
Rich in Love
Rich in Hope
Coming Soon
The Wedding Dress Collection Series
The Little Black Wedding Dress—Summer 2015
The Bride Wore Red–-Fall 2015
www.lindipeterson.com
“And why do you worry about clothes?
See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.
Matthew 6:28
MISTAKE
AS I STAND on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta waiting for a cab to take me to the airport, I’m reminded of the night I lost my faith. At least that’s what Mama would have called my lapse in judgment.
Losing my faith.
A muggy haze hangs over the evening, reminiscent of that long-ago night. Paul Wenthworth had been my boyfriend for awhile. He was also the richest guy in school, so when I envisioned our first time together, I thought it would happen in a grand place, like his parents’ weekend lake house.
Or maybe an elegant hotel, like the Ritz at Lenox.
So imagine my disappointment when he pulled up to a motel on the outskirts of nowhere important.
More than ten years have passed, but it seems like nothing has changed.
My wealthy, attractive fiancé has dumped me for the heiress of a clothing company, claiming he’s finally found true love. Simply a coincidence that his break up came shortly after dinner at my parents’ house.
Trailer.
House trailer.
So I, Shelby Madison, am left on the outskirts of nowhere important once again.
Alone.
Alone and more determined than ever not to let anyone in. It’s too hard when they tell you they want out.
“WHAT DO YOU mean the position is filled? There must be a mistake. Barb Simmons said she had arranged everything.” Unable to calm my racing heart, I stand in the foyer of the Hampton Cove mansion, my two suitcases flanking either side of me. My backpack straps cut into my shoulder while my overly large purse is about to break my forearm.
“I believe Ms. Simmons was misinformed regarding the position of housekeeper.” The older, sturdy woman isn’t mean. No, adamant is more like it. “I’m the housekeeper. And I intend to keep my position.”
My purse slips off my forearm and plummets to the rug. “Ms…?”
“Mrs. Stratton.”
“Mrs. Stratton. Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake? Do you know Barb? Why would she let me sublet my Atlanta apartment for the summer if you had no intention of leaving your job?”
Mrs. Stratton shoves her hands inside the pockets of her gray, knee-length uniform. “The name Simmons sounds familiar. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Simmons are friends of Mr. Treyhune. But I haven’t any idea why she would arrange for your trip here. Why don’t you call and ask her?”
The events of the last couple of weeks have really worn on my brain. Of course I need to call Barb. “I will.”
Before I can rummage through my purse which still sits on the rug, a scream fills the air. Startled, I look at Mrs. Stratton who simply rolls her eyes.
Then two flashes of small bodies with very long black hair rush across what appears to be a formal living room.
Another girl, this one in her twenties, enters the living room from the same direction the small girls did. But she doesn’t follow their path. No, she walks towards Mrs. Stratton and me.
She has a purse slung over her shoulder and a frown on her face. She holds a key out toward Mrs. Stratton. “Here. Tell Mr. Treyhune I’m done. I can’t work out my notice. It’s not worth the money. That’s how done I am.”
Mrs. Stratton doesn’t say anything, but she does take the key.
The girl who couldn’t work her notice stares at me momentarily before taking in my luggage. She shakes her head. “If you’re the new nanny, good luck is all I can say.”
With those words, she passes by me, her sweet smelling perfume moving along with her.
After the door clicks shut I look at Mrs. Stratton. “The new nanny?”
She shakes her head. “The previous nanny left almost a month ago. Tracy was filling in until Mr. Treyhune could hire someone else. Maybe Mrs. Simmons arranged that position for you.”
I shudder. “I doubt it. I don’t have any experience taking care of a child, let alone two.”
“And they’re a pair, all right.”
As if they’d been summoned the girls fly back across the living room in the direction from which they had come a couple of minutes ago. They are still screaming.
Covering my ears, I kind of hunch down. “Does that go on a lot?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On lots of things. If you want to stay, I’ll show you your room.”
I uncover my ears then run my hand through my hair. “No. I don’t want to stay. Can I talk to Mr. Treyhune?”
Mrs. Stratton chuckles. “You may. You can pull up a couch until he arrives home from work about nine o’clock this evening.”
“Nine? That’s late.” Memories of my long days as CFO at Brady Engineering fill my mind. There were times I considered leaving at nine o’clock leaving early. Of course a lot of those times I was working closely with Dale. Dale Brady had started the company, hired me as the CFO and together we had built a nice business.
And a nice relationship. The fourth finger on my left hand is now void of the engagement ring he gave me.
Then took back.
I wonder if he’ll give his new girlfriend a ring someday and if so, will it be the same ring?
I need a distraction from these thoughts that keep assailing me. Will Dale ever leave my brain? “I could go to Mr. Treyhune’s office if you give me the address.”
“He has several offices. One at each dealership. Treyhune Chevrolet, Treyhune Ford, Treyhune Dodge. Take your pick. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
I steady my hand on my luggage handle. “Mr. Treyhune is that Treyhune?”
Mrs. Stratton looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “What do you mean by that Treyhune?”
“Please don’t tell me he’s the racing Treyhune. The one that won all the championships way back.”
She shakes her head. “He’s not that Treyhune.”
My nerves steady. “Okay. Good.”
“He’s his son. Court.”
I stand stunned. My dad would have a heart attack if he had an inkling his daughter was standing in the home of Court Treyhune. The fact that he couldn’t ever live up to his father’s racing greatness made him no less important in t
he eyes of the racing fans.
They still loved him.
According to the media what Court lacked in driving ability, he made up for in his looks and charitable doings. Great. “Court Treyhune. And these are his daughters?”
“They are. Bristol and Darling.”
I laugh at the irony. “Race tracks.” I point to myself. “I’m named after a car, myself. Shelby. Shelby Madison.”
Mrs. Stratton cracks a smile for the first time in our conversation. “Nice to meet you, Shelby.”
“His wife died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?”
“Yes. I only knew her a short time before she passed away. I started working here when they moved in, but she didn’t live long after the move. She was very sick.”
I’m not telling Mrs. Stratton I feel like I know the Treyhunes. My dad is a huge fan, and I probably know way more about them than any sane person should. And half the stuff my dad told me, I tuned out. Like maybe the fact that Court Treyhune lived in Hampton Cove, Florida. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure the girls miss their mother.”
“They do. And now it looks like I’m not only the housekeeper but the nanny for the rest of the day.”
I rummage through my purse and find my phone. Two o’clock. I could go and try to catch Court Treyhune at one of his offices. Or I could stay here until he comes home.
I hold my phone up. “I’m going to call my friend Barb and see what is going on.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Mrs. Stratton’s expression matches my thoughts.
I turn away as my phone connects to Barb’s and starts ringing. It rings several times and when it connects to her voicemail, I leave a message for her to call me back. As soon as I hang up, the two girls, whose screams had been silent for the last few minutes, come flying from the right once again. But this time they head straight for Mrs. Stratton.
Mrs. Stratton who almost falls as each girl grabs onto one leg. I reach out and steady the older lady. I notice the girls’ faces are tear-streaked and they are identical. They’re both sobbing, then one of them starts hitting the other one on the arm.
“Stop hitting me.” The girl being hit pushes off Mrs. Stratton and plops on the floor.
“You stop pulling my hair. Tracy left because of you.” The other girl makes no move, continuing to cling tightly to the housekeeper.
The housekeeper who was obviously right about being the nanny for the rest of the day.
“She did not,” the other girl counters. “She left ’cause you have a big mouth and won’t be quiet.”
I wonder which one is Darling. Although it really doesn’t matter. They both seem “too tough to tame,” the nickname for Darlington Motor Speedway.
And racing at Bristol Motor Speedway is like driving around inside a fishbowl, cars always wrecking. Are their names premonitions of their lives?
Crazy.
I know too much about a sport I dislike.
Silence hovers, and in looking down at the crumpled girls, I decide they’ve run out of steam. At least for a minute.
Maybe Mrs. Stratton will have a reprieve.
My phone vibrates and I see that it is Barb calling. I answer quickly.
“Barb. It’s Shelby, hi. I’m at the Treyhune home, but there’s some sort of mistake. I’m standing here with Mrs. Stratton. The housekeeper. Who has no intention of leaving her job. So, I’m confused as to why I’m here.”
“Shell, sweets. So glad you made it. While I’ve got you on the phone I must tell you Rhea, the gal who sublet your place, loves it. She’s thrilled with it. Okay, I’m at my desk, I know the information is here somewhere, bear with me a moment, sweets.”
I can hear ruffling and shuffling going on as my body relaxes knowing that momentarily this mix-up will be solved. “I’m bearing.”
“Ah. Here it is. I wrote it all down while I was talking to Court. Such a precious man. Single, too.”
“Barb, please. I need a distraction from the male population.”
“He’ll distract you, all right. Sweets, here’s all the info. Nanny needed for the summer. Gal gave two-weeks notice. Come as soon as you can.”
My relief swiftly tenses. “Barb. You told me housekeeper.” I lower my voice to whisper status and move as far away from Mrs. Stratton and the twins as possible. “Remember? I needed to get away and do something totally different for a couple of months. Cleaning houses I can do. It’s in my blood. Kids? No.”
“Housekeeper, nanny. All the same. Domestic help, right?”
I’m surprised the phone doesn’t shatter in my hand at the tight grip I have on it. “No, Barb. Not the same at all.”
“Shells. You’re a whiz at whatever you do. And you wanted a change of pace. I’m sure you can handle any position Court has for you. Need to run. Love.”
“Love.” My tone is flat as the phone is now silent.
I drop my phone in my purse and slowly turn. Mrs. Stratton is staring at me.
So are the two girls.
“Are you our new nanny?” The one who asks scoots closer to the other girl, like they are a team and a force to be reckoned with.
Even at their young age they know this.
I don’t know if I am the one who can reckon with Team Twin.
But it appears I’m the one hired to do just that.
BRISTOL AND DARLING stick close to me as I unpack my suitcases in my room, which is directly across from the media room and the girls’ bedrooms. They each have their own room but sleep in the same bed. Mrs. Stratton, who, even though I told her to call me Shelby didn’t offer to let me call her anything but Mrs. Stratton, told me the girls have never slept in separate rooms.
It doesn’t escape my notice that our quarters are on one side of the mansion while Court’s quarters are on the other side.
Mrs. Stratton is allowed to leave after dinner.
Lucky lady.
“Did you bring any fun clothes?”
As I can’t tell the twins apart, I’m not sure which one asks me the question. “What do you mean by fun clothes?”
She picks up a blouse that I had laid on the bed. “This is for when you go to work. What about shorts? T-shirts?”
Considering I’d spent the last five years working, I probably don’t have many fun clothes. Then the night I packed, shortly after being dumped by Dale, I basically shoved what I could into the suitcases, not thinking about having any kind of fun.
Especially considering I was in a funk of the worst kind.
Still am if I’m honest.
You don’t get over a serious relationship in a minute.
Dale’s face appears in front of my eyelids every time I shut them. His betrayal has consumed me, and I stupidly thought putting literal distance between us would help.
But every item of clothing reminds me of times spent with him.
“This is ugly.”
I knowingly narrow my eyes at the child.
She narrows her eyes back at me.
I’m frustrated that I don’t know which half of Team Twin I’m narrowing my eyes at.
Sighing, I dig through my make-up bag. Spying a smaller plastic bag, I pull it out and open it.
I look at the girl who told me my shirt was ugly. “Which one are you?”
“Bristol.” Her tone is defiant, while her face looks angelic.
“Hold out your hand.”
She continues to stare.
“Now.”
“Please?” Her tone is mimicking. I wonder who she’s mimicking.
“Please hold out your hand.” Oh, I’m not cut out for this job. Give me some financial plans to assess. Some figures to analyze.
Bristol holds out her hand, and I slip a black elastic ponytail holder around her wrist.
I look at Darling. “Your turn. Please.”
Darling copies her twin, and I slip a red one on her.
“I want you to leave these on your wrists until I can learn to tell you apart. Deal?”
They look at each other
and smile. “Cool. These are Granddaddy’s racing colors.” Bristol looks at me. “Did you know that?”
Cal Treyhune’s colors. Black and red. “Maybe.”
Subconsciously I’m sure I did.
I lay the bag of elastic bands on the bed. The two girls could put those bands to use with their thick black hair. I can’t imagine brushing through what looks like lots of tangles, but keeping it in a ponytail will be a huge help in taming it.
I’ll tackle their hair as soon as I’ve put my clothes away.
“Bristol. Do you know telling people their clothes are ugly is rude?”
She plays with the band on her wrist. “I’m just being honest.”
“Sometimes you need to keep your honesty to yourself. You can hurt people’s feelings.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?”
To tell the child I have no feelings because they’d been trampled upon, stomped out, and ground into the cement sidewalk seems dramatic. I simply say, “No. But it’s not polite.”
Neither is telling your friend there’s a housekeeping job open when it’s really a nanny job, but I can’t be too mad at Barb. She’s a great friend, and I know in her heart, she was doing what she thought I wanted.
And I suppose if I have to hang somewhere for three months, this mansion isn’t the worst place I could have landed.
“Ow!”
My attention focuses back on the twins where it appears Bristol has popped Darling’s elastic band. A red ring shows up against Darling’s wrist.
“Bristol. Apologize to your sister.”
She pops the elastic band again before folding her arms over her chest. She then looks at me with a rebellious stare. I’ve dealt with a lot of people in my life, but they’ve all been over four feet tall and had more than a few years on them.
Dealing with this little set of dynamite twins has me in a place I’ve never been before.
I never saw this coming.
Not at all.
I reach out and pop Bristol’s band.
“Hey, ow. What’d you do that for?”
“I wanted to show you how it feels. It doesn’t feel good, does it?”
She continues to rub her wrist. “I didn’t pop Darling’s that hard. I’m gonna tell my dad tonight. He’ll fire you.”
“Fine by me. Why don’t you two go play while I finish hanging up my clothes. This must be boring for you. I’ll be done shortly.”
Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3) Page 1
