by Lisa Crane
“Yeah, it was when I left four years ago,” Riley nodded. He smiled. “Not my problem anymore, though. But I wouldn’t mind talking to you about a decent alarm for this place.”
“You don’t have one?” Travis asked, surprised.
“No. Jazz – my wife – has resisted. She says everyone in the neighborhood watches out for each other. That used to be true, but not as much anymore. It’s still a great location, don’t get me wrong. But one business down the street was robbed a few weeks ago. We don’t have a lot that would be of value to a thief, but vandals could do some damage if they wanted to. Plus, there are nights when Jazz is here alone while I’m making deliveries and I’d feel better if there were a good security system in place. I think she’ll go along with it now that the baby’ll be here in a couple months.”
Brooke had eased away from the two men and returned back to the kitchen. Jazz looked at her expectantly.
“My neighbor,” Brooke muttered. “Checking up on me.”
Jazz moved around the big table to peek through the window in the door. “The crazy cat – whoa! That is not a crazy cat lady, Brooke!”
“I told you it wasn’t like that!” Brooke giggled. Then she sighed. “It’s a long story. And kind of a strange one.”
“Be right back!” Jazz said, grinning broadly. “I’ve gotta meet this guy!”
Before Brooke could say a word, Jazz had pushed through the door; it closed behind her with a soft whoosh. Shaking her head, Brooke continued cutting out cookies in the shape of leaves and acorns.
“Hey, babe,” Jazz said, sidling up next to her husband.
“Travis, this is my wife, Jazz,” Riley said, slipping an arm around her waist. “Jazz Valenzuela, Travis Cooper. Travis is Brooke’s neighbor and we’re discussing an alarm system for the bakery.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Travis,” she said. “Is that what you do? Alarms?”
“Security,” Travis said. “Not just alarms. We provide everything from alarm systems to body guards to computer protection – you name it and we can keep it safe from the bad guys.”
Jazz smiled up at her husband, saying, “I know you’re just drooling over getting a high-tech alarm system, aren’t you, Ry?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“So Travis,” Jazz said, turning her attention back to the man in front of her. “You’re Brooke’s neighbor?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered politely. “I just wanted to check on her. She left this morning before I woke up and – wait…that didn’t come out right. She slept in my guest room because her electricity was out. That’s all. And she was injured in an accident a few days ago, so I was worried.”
“She mentioned she was in an accident,” Jazz said, glancing casually over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Was it serious?”
“Yes,” Travis said adamantly. He gestured at his own thigh. “She’s got staples from here to here. There was a big piece of metal in the road that sliced her leg open. If we’d pulled it out before we got her to the hospital, she could’ve bled to death.” Jazz’s face paled. “That doesn’t even take into account the road rash and bruises everywhere else.” He shrugged. “She’s kind of like a little sister now, I feel like I should take care of her. She doesn’t have any real family.”
“Sounds like she’s lucky to have you,” Jazz said.
“She’s a nice girl,” he answered. “I think we’ll be good friends.”
“Oh, you’re new neighbors?” Riley asked.
“Yes. I just finished my house – well, the same day Brooke was injured, actually. Just moved in. Like I said, she seems really sweet.”
“Yeah, she does,” Jazz agreed. “And I’d better get back in the kitchen to help her out.”
As Jazz pushed open the kitchen door, Travis called out, “See you later, Bunny-girl!” He grinned at Riley and handed him a business card. “Give me a call. I’ll put together a couple of things for you to look at so you can decide what you need, okay?”
“Absolutely,” Riley agreed.
As soon as Travis Cooper was out the door, Riley pushed open the kitchen door. Brooke glanced up at him.
“Bunny-girl?” Riley queried.
Brooke closed her eyes briefly. She sighed.
“Neither of you looked closely at my paperwork, did you?” she asked. At two negative head shakes, she continued. “My full name is Bunny Brooklyn Valentine. And yes, I’ve very aware that Bunny Valentine is a great stripper name, thank you.” She shook her head. “I have no idea why Travis insists on calling me Bunny-girl. I guess it’s like he said, he’s the big brother I never had, so he enjoys teasing me.”
“Really?” Riley asked, laughing. “You think that’s it?”
“Sure, what else would it be?” Brooke asked, a blank expression on her face. At the wry look he gave her, it was Brooke’s turn to laugh. “Oh, please! Travis Cooper is so far out of my league, it’s not even funny! You heard him yourself. Big brother. Little sister. End of story.”
“If you say so…Bunny.”
Chapter 10
On her lunch break, Brooke drove to a convenience store. She had in her purse a week’s worth of tips from her job at the diner. In the store, she handed her electric bill and the cash to the clerk. The woman began processing the payment, then frowned curiously.
“Says here you got a zero balance.”
“What? No, that’s not possible.”
“Says so right here,” the woman said, pointing at her screen. She shrugged, popping her gum. “I mean, I’ll take your money, but do you really wanna pay a utility company if you don’t owe ‘em yet?” She held out the money and the bill.
“Thank you,” Brooke said uncertainly. She walked back out to her car and pulled out her phone. She quickly dialed the number on the utility bill. She couldn’t reach a human being, but the recording did, indeed, say her account balance was zero. Brooke followed the recorded voice prompts, listening to the payment history; the mechanical voice said a payment had been made online that morning. How was that possible? Then it hit her. Travis. Somehow – she didn’t know how – he had paid her electric bill; she was sure of it. What was that man up to?
While Brooke was gone, Riley and Jazz sat in the small office eating the lunch Jazz had packed that morning. As they ate, they talked about their new employee.
“So what was all that about the neighbor?” Jazz asked her husband. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m just saying, it was almost like he was trying to convince himself Brooke was like a little sister, you know? He said it twice. Just seemed like overkill to me.”
“And what about Brooke?” she asked thoughtfully. “Does she really think he’s out of her league?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure why,” Riley answered. He grinned at his wife. “I mean, she’s no Latin beauty, but she’s cute.”
“It’s okay, Riley, you can be honest,” Jazz laughed. “She’s more than just cute. That curvy little figure, those pouty lips – and did you see those eyes?”
Riley rose. He leaned across the desk and kissed Jazz.
“But she’s still no Latin beauty, my little Latin beauty.”
“I love you, Riley Parker!” Jazz giggled.
A knock sounded at the door to the bakery. Riley turned to leave the office.
“Back to the grindstone, my love,” he said. “Oh, it’s Brooke. And she doesn’t look very happy.” He unlocked the front door, and flipped the “Closed” sign back to read “Open”. “Hey, Brooke, how was your lunch?”
“My new neighbor is the most arrogant, high-handed, controlling man I’ve ever met!” she blurted out.
“Ha!” Riley laughed sarcastically. “You never met my father!”
“He paid my electric bill!”
“And…that’s a bad thing, hon?” Jazz asked, confused.
“Yes!” Brooke snapped. “He paid the hospital bill, he took care of my dog, he dragged me to his house and fed me and made me sleep in his guest room and now
he’s paid my electric bill, and…now that I’m saying all this out loud…I realize it just makes me sound like an idiot, doesn’t it?”
“No!” Jazz answered, her laughter barely contained. “The nerve of the man, feeding you dinner and making sure you got a good night’s sleep!”
“He paid your hospital bill?” Riley asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Well, he felt like the accident was his fault,” Brooke said. She explained how the accident occurred. “What he doesn’t know is I intend to somehow pay him back. I may have to get another job, but I will pay him back.”
“You’d take a second job to pay a man back who obviously doesn’t expect to be paid back?”
“I’ve worked two jobs since I was eighteen, Riley.”
“Yeah, we weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths,” Jazz said dryly. She looked at Brooke. “So you’re saying you lost two jobs while you were in the hospital?”
“Well, I didn’t say either of them were great jobs,” Brooke answered, smirking. “There was my job at Joe’s, and then there was my very glamorous job at Hot Diggity’s. I might actually still have that one. I’m supposed to go talk to the manager after I get off work here.”
“You sure you’re up to it?” Riley asked. “You’ve been on your feet all day. You’re limping more now than you were when you got here this morning.”
“Lord, please save me from overprotective men!” she muttered, rolling her violet eyes heavenward. “Thank you for your concern, Riley, but I’m fine. And sometimes you just have to suck it up and keep going.”
“How about we park you on a stool and you can ice some of those cookies you baked earlier?” Jazz suggested. At Brooke’s obstinate expression, she shrugged. “Hey, I’m the boss. You sit down to work, or you go home.”
“What about washing those baking pans?” Brooke asked. “What about sweeping up in the kitchen?”
“I can take care of that later,” Riley replied, grinning broadly. He winked at his wife. “That’s what I was hired to do four years ago, right?”
Brooke bowed to the pressure put on her by Jazz to sit on a stool and drizzle glaze over cookies. After several hours, her leg no longer ached, but her hand was tired from squeezing a pastry bag. She held it up in a claw-like gesture for Jazz to see.
“Look what you’ve done!” Brooke laughed accusingly. “I can’t straighten out my fingers!”
“Well, maybe that handsome neighbor will cook dinner for you again tonight,” Jazz teased.
“Don’t even go there.” Brooke picked up her purse. “I guess I’ll head on out. I’m off to see if I can talk the manager at Hot Diggity’s into letting me keep my job, if he hasn’t already replaced me.”
“Good luck, Brooke,” Riley said, one arm draped casually around his wife’s shoulders.
“We’ll see you Monday morning at six,” Jazz added. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Brooke!”
Brooke left the bakery and headed to the mall. She parked as close as she could to the food court and limped inside. The line in front of Hot Diggity’s was, as usual, snaked to the side, overflowing into the mall. Brooke bypassed the line and slipped behind the counter.
“Hey, Brooke!” a young man in a bright yellow and red cap greeted her. “How ya doin’?”
“Pretty good, Bryan,” Brooke answered. “You?”
“Not bad,” he replied. He jerked his head toward a door behind him. “Schmidt’s in his office.”
The young man rolled his eyes and made air quotes with his fingers. The employees at Hot Diggity’s all thought it was a huge joke that Mike Schmidt called the tiny store room his ‘office’. He’d squeezed a wobbly chair and a rickety little table into the tight space between shelves stacked high with condiments and paper products; from there he reigned his little hot dog dynasty. Now Brooke tapped on the door and opened it to stick her head in the stuffy space.
“Hello, Mr. Schmidt,” she said respectfully. “How are you?”
Brooke cringed when the man looked up at her. He gave her one of his leering smiles and gestured for her to come in and close the door. Brooke hesitated, then pulled the door shut behind her. She turned and smiled politely at the man.
“Mr. Schmidt, I’ve come to ask if I still have a job,” she said. “I realize I missed a couple of shifts, but I was in the hospital.”
“So I heard,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes slithered over her from the top of her head to her toes, with a few pauses along the journey. “You look just fine to me.” He chuckled at his little joke.
“Well, I – it’s my leg,” Brooke said. “Lots of staples.”
“Maybe I should make you show me, just so I know you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me.”
“Um…uh…” Brooke stammered. She gave him an awkward smile. “So do I still have a job?”
Schmidt frowned thoughtfully. He ran his hand over his oily comb-over, eyeing Brooke the whole time.
“I’m short-handed tonight,” he said finally. “Can you work right now?”
Brooke just managed to keep her shoulders from drooping in exhaustion. Instead, she felt her smile stretch a little wider, almost a grimace.
“Absolutely, Mr. Schmidt!” she said as if working at Hot Diggity’s was the most exciting thing she could possibly think of at the moment.
“You’ll have to have a tee shirt,” he said. “And I’ll have to take it out of your next check.”
“Of – of course.”
The man rummaged in a box. He pulled out a red shirt and tossed it to Brooke. She glanced at it and frowned.
“Mr. Schmidt, this is a small,” she said. “I really need at least a medium.”
“Sorry, that’s all I got. Unless you want extra small?”
“Oh.” Brooke sighed. “No, this will do. I’ll just run to the restroom and put this on. I’ll be right back.”
When Brooke returned from the ladies’ room with the red tee shirt on, Bryan gaped at her. He cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something, but remained silent.
“I know, I know,” Brooke muttered. “It’s too tight. This was all he had.”
“No it’s not!” Bryan snorted. “He just got a shipment of shirts yesterday! I guarantee you he has some mediums.”
“I just want to get through this evening, then I can wear one of my shirts that fits for my next shift! Hey, at least he let me keep my job!”
For the rest of the evening, Mike Schmidt found reason after reason to be out front with his employees; this was an unusual occurrence, and Brooke quickly realized it was all about her tight tee shirt. The knowledge made her even more uncomfortable, but she did her best to ignore him.
After three hours of ogling by her manager and customers alike, Brooke was ready to leave. And after three hours of standing, she was aching – literally – to get home and put some heat on her leg. She walked out of the mall to her car, limping even more heavily. Rain had begun falling sometime during her shift at the hot dog stand, and Brooke hurried as much as she could to avoid getting completely soaked by the cold downpour.
When she reached her car, she quickly slid behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. She turned the key. Nothing happened. Not the sluggish sound of the engine turning over, not even that annoying clicking sound cars sometimes made when they refused to start. Nothing at all happened when she turned the key. Brooke leaned her head on the steering wheel. She just wanted to go home, take a warm bath and go to bed.
Chapter 11
Brooke started when she heard a loud rapping at the window next to her head. She turned to see the leering face of Mike Schmidt. He gestured for her to roll the window down. Brooke cranked the window down a couple of inches.
“Car trouble, Brooke?” he asked.
“Um, I think it’s the battery,” she answered.
“I can give you a lift.”
“No, I’m good.”
Mike looked pointedly around the parking lot. The few cars left belo
nged to other mall employees and those were quickly driving toward the exit of the parking lot. He looked back at Brooke.
“What?” he asked mockingly. “You gonna sleep in your car?”
“Nooo,” Brooke said, dragging the word out thoughtfully. She pulled her cell phone out and flipped it open. “I was just going to…oh.”
“Dead, huh?” Mike laughed. “Come on, girlie. You don’t trust old Mikey to give you a ride home?”
Brooke hesitated. She had no way to call anyone, even if she had someone to call. Travis Cooper flashed in her mind for just a split second, but no; even if she wanted to, she couldn’t call him with a dead cell phone. Brooke’s leg was aching so badly, exacerbated by the cold and rain, and she just wanted to go home. Slowly, she climbed out of her car. Mike grinned broadly and Brooke followed him to the little two-seater he drove.
In the close confines of the car, Brooke was nearly overwhelmed with the smell of Mike Schmidt’s cologne; she wondered if he’d put some more on after seeing her stuck in the parking lot. She sat as close as she could to her door, trying to put some distance between her and her manager. Mike started the car and the tires squealed as he sped out of the parking lot.
Brooke began trying to give Mike directions to her house, realizing as she did that he’d know where she lived then. It was unavoidable, however, so she continued telling him which way to go. At several intervals, Mike tried cajoling Brooke into going to a club with him.
“Just a drink between friends,” he said. “Come on, what’s the harm, Brookie?”
“I don’t drink, Mr. Schmidt, but thank you.”
“Why so formal? You can call me Mikey.” He wiggled his eyebrows and leered some more, saying, “Or Big Mike, if ya know what I mean.”
Eww. Brooke wondered how badly she’d be hurt if she were to leap from the car now. If she weren’t already injured, she might seriously consider it, just to get away from ‘Big Mike’.
“Okay, um, Mike,” she said hesitantly. “Again, thank you for your invitation, but no, I don’t drink.”
“Come on, girlie,” he persisted. “Just one drink’s not gonna hurtcha!”
