Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5)

by Carolyne Aarsen

  Until now.

  "Steve is mean, he's trouble, and he's out to get you," I told him, frowning at my decidedly thin resumé up on the computer screen.

  "I ain't afraid of him," Chip said. "I'll take my chances. I like Juanita. I met her a while ago and I know she's had a rough deal, but I like her, and her kid."

  "Do you really know what you're getting into?" I was pleased that my brother didn't see Kent as a liability. I liked the boy and wanted for him to have stability in his life.

  "I think I do. Juanita does too. She's tough, and she's trying to get her life together."

  Tough. The ultimate compliment from my brothers.

  "Even Jigs was afraid of Steve," I added, my voice heavy with innuendo.

  "Juanita told me enough about Steve," Chip said. "She said he was a bully. I'd like to see her move out of town, away from him. By the way, did we ever get a renter for the old house?"

  The old house he was referring to was the one we lived in right until five years ago. My brothers decided we needed a new house so they and Dad built a new one. However, because my thrifty brothers wanted to tie into the existing power and gas lines they had built our new house a stone's throw from the old one. Depending on who threw the stones. At any toss, I liked the privacy of not having anyone else on the yard, which meant I wasn’t too upset that the ad my brothers had tacked up on a bulletin board in the local Co-op had yielded no renters.

  "So the house is still empty."

  "Yes. As far as I know. I told you guys if you were serious about it you should put something in the paper."

  "Yeah, well..." he didn't finish the sentence, but I could.

  Too much work when your sister won't do it for you.

  "Anyhow, I think I might have someone," he said.

  "Who?"

  "Um...I'll let you know when everything is done."

  The dial tone in my ear signalled the end of another scintillating conversation with my younger brother. Was he looking for a place for Juanita? I hoped not. I was on the hit list of enough other parents of kids in care that the last thing I needed was to have a viable target living right on the yard. I wasn't Juanita's caseworker so I didn't know what her situation was, but I knew Steve wouldn't appreciate her living right by Chip.

  Then my desk phone rang again. I glanced at the clock. The office was closed, but an innate sense of responsibility had me answering before my tired mind could process the words "let it ring."

  "Hello," I said, making a face at the resumé still staring back at me.

  "Hello, Danielle? How are you?"

  The deep voice sent my heart into a long, slow flip. Then my brain fired up again. I had specifically told the boys to tell this 'guy' not to call me. But here he was.

  "Oh, just fine, Jigsy," I said through tight lips. "Been listening to any Schubert lately?"

  "Schubert is good. Highly underrated."

  "Nice. What can I do for you?" Jigs had left a number of messages the past few days, none of which I was inclined to respond to. But he had caught me now, and I had to be civil.

  "I thought I'd call. See how you were doing."

  "Let's see. Heart is good. Blood pressure up, but that's understandable given my job. Iron count is low, and as for the rest, I'm fine. And my goodness, look at the time, I have to run."

  I slammed the phone into the cradle, wishing my little rebellion made me feel more empowered than it did.

  Glaring at the phone helped somewhat.

  I turned my attention back to my resumé, wishing I could add more experience than this single job. But with nothing else to add, and a nothing-ventured, nothing-gained exhortation ringing through my head, I put it all together in a neat little pdf file.

  My hand hesitated on my e-mail provider’s Send button. Did I dare leave Holmes Crossing? Leave my father in the care of my brothers?

  Did I dare stay around and slowly wither away?

  I let my thoughts play around a moment and then realized meeting Jigs was a good kick in the pants. I needed to get out of Holmes Crossing and away from the memories.

  I bit my lip, said a quick prayer, hit Send, and off it flew into cyberspace. Now my resumé and application were someone else's responsibility. As for my father, I just had to pray that if the Lord wanted me to have this job He'd help me find a way to take care of Dad.

  "Great supper, Dani." Carter wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away and glanced at Neil with raised eyebrows.

  Neil looked up from scraping the last of the ice cream from his bowl. "Yeah. Really good. Thanks. You're such a good cook."

  "Is this a new kind of ice cream?" Chip asked. "I like it. A lot."

  I looked around the table wondering if they truly thought I was that stupid. They all looked back at me with expectant eyes and I knew I was supposed to be mollified by their lame attempts at reconciliation.

  "Jigs is off the menu," I said, not completely ready to let go of my anger with them. Yesterday, after I discovered their deceitful, humiliating and painful bet, I had kept my distance. Today I was busy at work, but when I came home the boys had kept their distance. Said nothing about their buddy.

  Now, it looked like they were trying a different tactic.

  My comment netted me a respectful moment of silence. The boys exchanged furtive looks, and then with a look of resignation, Carter turned to Dad.

  "Chip said he talked to you about the old farmhouse on the yard here," Carter said, ignoring my too deep for words sigh.

  "You boys said you wanted to rent it out," Dad said, finishing the last of his soup. I didn't dare feed him the artery-clogging pizza the boys had chowed down, so had made him his favourite tomato soup. Thankfully, he wasn't fussy. "Fine by me."

  "How about you, Danielle?" Chip glanced at me. "How do you feel? It would be a good thing to do. Be neighbourly."

  I was surprised they asked me, but I had to give them props for being at least a tad considerate.

  I had to think a moment, then realized this would give me a chance to help Juanita out and help to keep an eye on her. Hopefully Steve would keep his distance knowing the boys lived here. "I wasn't keen on it at first, but if everyone else agrees, I'm okay with it. After all, my job is all about helping people and giving them a chance to turn their life around. If that will happen, then I'm okay with it."

  "Okay," Carter said, drawing out the word as he lifted one puzzled eyebrow. "Just making sure."

  "Great." Chip sat back, relief in his voice. "I'm glad you changed your mind about Jigs."

  I frowned. "Jigs? How did the conversation shift from renting the house to Juanita to Jigs?"

  Chip's smile faded to a puzzled look. "Juanita's not renting the house. She never was. Jigs is."

  I could only stare at them while trying to figure out where their brains had been parked the past few days.

  "You guys are deranged," I said, glaring at each one of them to make my point.

  Chip frowned, uncomprehending. Neil grinned and shrugged. Only Carter had the sense to look a shade embarrassed.

  "I don't want him staying here," I said in my best "don't mess with me" voice.

  "Dani, the roof on the house he's living in is leaking," Chip put in, giving me his best puppy-dog look, ignoring my pithy outburst.

  I looked from Neil to Chip to Carter but they were all smiling at me. What was it about Jigs that had my brothers so staunchly on his side? I had never seen them take someone so firmly under their wing before.

  I turned to my father to appeal to him. "Dad, I don't think it is such a good idea to have a strange man on our yard."

  "He's not strange." Dad frowned at me. "I thought you went on a date with him."

  Which was exactly why I didn't think it was such a good idea to have strange man on our yard.

  “For how long does he need a place to live?" I grudgingly asked, realizing I was cornered.

  "Just until he gets his roof fixed," Neil said, grinning at me.

  "Which you guys will do, right?"
/>   "Of course."

  I looked from brother to brother and had an ominous feeling. This was not going to go well.

  5

  I wasn't watching, I thought, yanking another weed out of the flower bed. I would stay focused on the job at hand and not let my emotions get the better of me.

  I tossed a large stinkweed over my shoulder. Then another. Last fall I had been too busy to clean up the flower beds. This meant I now had to hunt through a jungle of weeds to find the perennials. My mother had planted most of them and at one time her flower beds had been her pride and joy.

  Now they were a depressing testament to my life spent in an office hunting down delinquent parents on the phone, instead of out in the hale and hearty outdoors getting to be one with nature.

  I needed to get at these flower beds before I forgot what was in them and my brothers took a propane torch to the entire works. They believed in a scorched-earth policy for weeds and hadn't grasped the whole selective weeding concept.

  Even though I was engrossed in my project, I easily heard the sounds coming from the little house not so far away from this one.

  "Hey, careful with the couch." I heard an all too familiar voice call out. "It's vintage."

  "Isn't that just a fancy word for junk?" Neil called back.

  "It's only junk if it's in the landfill," James said.

  "Isn't that a fancy name for dump?"

  This had been going on ever since the white-and-orange rental truck had pulled up to the other house at six this morning. I had tried to sleep through the noise of talking and laughter, but my window overlooked the yard and the sound carried up the hill. At seven o'clock I had given up and gotten out of bed.

  Today was the first Saturday in weeks I wasn't on call, and I had been looking forward to sleeping in, then leisurely working on the yard, possibly taking my horse, Spook, out for a ride. I had neglected him of late, and the guilt I felt about that was one more mark against my life.

  Not to mention that up until a week ago I had been looking forward to spending time with James.

  Snake.

  I yanked another weed out and tossed it over my shoulder. And another, and another, and then had to stop myself because the last ‘weed’ I had pitched was a shoot from one of Mom's rare lilies.

  About fifteen minutes later I had all four flower beds in front of the house done and, in spite of my frustration, was pleased with the result. I could finally make out the new spikes of green from the rest of the lilies, the mound of columbine leaves, and the shoots of the iris and poppies. The other perennials would show themselves later.

  "Do you have a broom?"

  I screamed, jumped, then spun around.

  James's hair was spiked with sweat, whiskers stubbled his chin, dirt smudged his face and a pink t-shirt strained across his broad chest and shoulders. His blue jeans were ripped at one knee and he wore sneakers with the laces trailing.

  It was a combination of anger and surprise that made my heart quiver, I assured myself as I planted my fists on my hips.

  "A broom? You want a broom?"

  Oh, you witty and intelligent creature, you. You are all ticked off and angry with him and that's all you can come up with?

  "Yeah. You know." He pretended to make a sweeping motion. "Gets rid of dirt with a flick of the wrist? I forgot mine," he continued, his smile slipping in the face of my obvious displeasure. Just like it did when I discovered his true identity as a snake. "There's no substitute for a true lack of preparation so I'm counting on you to help me out."

  I glared at him, wishing I could come up with something but gave up. He was a ‘guy.' He wouldn't get it.

  "Sure. I have a broom. Somewhere." I turned, took a step and promptly got tangled up in the pile of weeds I had accumulated.

  I would have fallen but for the strong hands that grabbed my arm.

  In a great romantic movie he would have caught me by both arms, I would have stood face-to-face with him, so close we could have kissed.

  But this was my life. A comedy sketch. Instead, I was thrown off balance, on one knee in the weeds, with his his hand clamped around my upper arm. Very delicate. Very romantic.

  Very infuriating.

  I jerked away, but James held on, pulling me to my feet.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, with an apologetic look.

  I brushed my arm, erasing the feel of his hand on mine, but it didn't disappear as quickly as I would have liked. "I'll get your broom."

  I found one on the back porch and brought it out to him. He was standing in front of the flower beds, looking down at the plants.

  "So what are these?" he asked.

  "Asiatic lilies." I shoved the broom toward him. I wasn't about to give him another chance to spout off information that would make him look all sensitive and caring. "Do you need anything else?"

  I knew I was being rude and abrupt, but he made me feel unsettled. Too many confusing emotions were attached to this guy--attraction and frustration, anger and glimmers of hope.

  I waited a beat, then walked back toward the house.

  Please, Lord, help me to be more civil to him, I prayed as I jerked open the door of the porch. And please, Lord, help me not to fall for him again. Literally and figuratively.

  Over the course of the morning. Chip, Carter and Neil were in and out of the house borrowing window cleaner, a mop, the vacuum, garbage bags, boxes and, for some inexplicable reason, the cordless phone.

  I got the weeds dragged away and then started up the riding lawn mower to drown out the noise I heard coming from the house. Someone had turned a stereo on and they were playing Keith Urban at full decibel.

  Nice try, I thought as I spun around the yard, not falling for the obvious ploy. The boys knew of my Keith Urban addiction. The boys knew far too much about me, but cared too less.

  An hour later the lawn was mowed, I had trimmed the edges along the flower beds and the sidewalk and I was hot and sweaty. The stereo next door was still going strong. Over the noise I heard sounds of hammering and the whine of a jigsaw. Were they renovating?

  As I hung up the weed snipper in the garage, I forced down my innate curiosity. I didn't need to know what they were up to, but I needed the broom James had borrowed to sweep away the grass from the sidewalk. So how could I get it without going down there?

  Brainwave. I could get Dad to get it.

  Brushing the clippings off my pants, I toed off my runners and went looking for my dad to get me off the hook.

  I found him in his recliner. Asleep. For a moment I tried to reconcile the tired, old man laying in his chair with the vital and alive father who used to go riding with me or take me out on long hikes. The man who would wrestle large, unruly calves when we had to give them shots.

  The doctors had warned me, but I couldn't have imagined the change that had come over my father since his heart attack.

  I pulled the newspaper off his chest, folded it and put it on the coffee table. As I stroked the hair away from his face I thought of the resumé and application I had sent off two days ago.

  If I got the job did I dare leave him in my brothers' hands?

  But if I didn't send it, did I dare stay around?

  The phone rang, and I jumped to answer it before its shrill tones woke up my father. I checked the call display as I connected and my heart dropped to my shoes. It was my boss.

  "Hey, Casey. What can I do for you?"

  "I just got wind of an emergency apprehension and placement." Was it me, or did he sound happier than he should have?

  "But it's my first Saturday off in weeks," I whined. "Get Henry Agnew to do it. He's on call." And, I wanted to add, more capable of dealing with all the potential for disaster that came with apprehensions.

  "I can't get ahold of him and this is an emergency. A baby and a two-year-old. We have to move while we can."

  What was this, irresponsible parent week?

  If it wasn't because I wanted--no, needed--this other job and, by extension, a good r
eference from Casey, I would have told him no. Told him to try harder at tracking down Henry. But Casey knew I wanted to move on and I'm sure he was using my situation to his advantage and for a bit of payback.

  Instead I stifled my frustration and anger. "Where's this supposed to happen?" I asked, pulling out a pen and paper to take directions.

  "Sangudo."

  A two-hour drive away. I wouldn't be home till midnight, which meant poor Spook would have to wait for yet another free day to get some exercise. As I jotted down the relevant information, I glanced at my father. My previous reluctance to leave him for another job was now balanced with the reality of my current job and my current boss.

  I needed to get away from that too.

  There wasn't much in the refrigerator for supper. No handy leftovers I could get the boys to heat for Dad and themselves. No pizza in the freezer. I fell back on an old staple. Bean soup in the slow cooker. I dumped the ingredients in the pot, one eye on the clock, then ran upstairs to change.

  I slipped on slacks, a soft shirt and a blazer. Low shoes. I never knew what to expect with these apprehensions. I knew I usually needed to combine the ability to leap over couches in a single bound with a semiprofessional look.

  I brushed my hair, pulled it back, put on some makeup and gave myself a critical look. Okay. Time to head into battle. But first, I had to go down to the house and let my brothers know what was going on, which meant facing James again.

  The music had been turned down when I arrived. The hammering had stopped, but the boys were still laughing together. I knocked on the door and Carter yelled at me to come on in.

  Chip, Carter, Neil and James sat around the kitchen table going through what looked like James's photo albums.

  "Hey, come on in," James said, looking up at me with a smile.

  "What's up, sis?" Neil asked. His long blond hair was anchored with a baseball cap sprinkled with wood shavings.

  "I have to go to work." I wasn't looking. I wasn't curious about what went on here while I worked. But in spite of my determination to keep myself aloof, I couldn't help a glance around. The living room looked cozy. A couch and two matching chairs. I saw what the boys had been working on. Between the two large living room windows sat a bookshelf, its wood still gleaming white. It was already filled with books.