"Really?"
"Really. I spent most of my life doing what they wanted and working around them. They've never had to do the same for me." Okay, birthday girl, enough whining. I don't know why I spilled all this in front of James.
"They're good guys and they really care about you." James defense of my brothers was both interesting and disconcerting.
"I suppose they do," I said. I washed the last pot and dropped it on the drying rack. James dried it, his eyes on me. I looked back, holding his gaze as I leaned back against the counter. Much as I fought his appeal I had to admit I was curious about him. "And how did you meet my brothers, whom you so obviously admire?"
James wiped the pot and set it on the counter beside him. "I met them at a rodeo Neil and Chip were competing in. We connected a few more times after that."
"And what brought you to here? Holmes Crossing is hardly the hub of any activity other than farming and logging and ranching."
"I used to work in the oil patch. Contractor. Had a slew of equipment and a bunch of guys working for me but I got tired of the hours and the stress so I sold out and decided I wanted a slower life and job. Something seasonal so I could keep doing rodeo on the weekends." He folded up the towel and draped it carefully over the drying rack.
"What do you plan on doing here?"
He folded his arms over his chest, a purely masculine gesture, especially considering the breadth of his chest and the play of muscles in his arms. "Open a knitting shop," he said without changing expression.
I stifled my humour and played along. "Of course. A man who can master the stockinette stitch pretty much has his pick of women. I imagine you'll be teaching tatting, as well."
"Silly girl, that's for later. You need a good quality cotton for tatting. For now. I'm focusing on the complexities of yarn."
I held his hazel eyes. "And you've just spun a good one."
"The lady has a point," he said with a wink and another smile. He didn't look away and the moment lengthened. I heard my brothers' cheer but James's eyes didn't even flicker toward the living room. It was as if he was completely focused on me.
As I held his gaze an echo of the attraction I had felt for the pre-rodeo-cowboy-James quivered through me and as his smile deepened. I sensed he felt it, too.
He pushed away from the counter the same time I did, bringing us closer to each other. I could catch the vague scent of laundry soap, the tang of his aftershave.
Then his hand touched my face and cupped my cheek. The rough tips of his finger gently brushed back and forth in a hypnotic gesture.
I swallowed a sudden flutter of panic as he stepped closer. I could feel the warmth of his hand, see the faint beating of his pulse in his neck, catch the gold flecks in his hazel eyes.
He was going to kiss me and I wanted him to. I might even get my first birthday hug of the day, I thought as his hand drifted down to my shoulder, gently pulled me closer.
"Dani...you need to know...I'm really not-"
Then the doorbell sent out an insistent summons. I blinked and reason intruded.
I pulled away from what I thought was probably an apology. An explanation that wouldn't change much.
It was sheer loneliness that had me beguiled by this handsome man. That, and the fact that at one time I had been attracted to him. Well, to his alter ego.
Doing the dishes hadn't hurt his cause, either.
The doorbell rang again, and I twisted away, hurrying to answer it.
A young woman stood on the step, the outside light casting her face into shadow, but from first glance she looked to be about eighteen. She wore a denim jacket, skin-tight blue jeans, a low scooped t-shirt and an insolent grin, as if I was supposed to know her.
She had a large suitcase parked beside her, a purse over one arm, and on her other hip, a one-year-old girl.
The young woman's deep blue eyes, framed by high, plucked brows, swept over me. "I heard you can help me." She tossed her long auburn hair back from her face, adjusting the child who sat on her hip.
My mind swept back over cases trying to place her or the little girl, but I came up blank on both counts.
"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."
"But James does." She looked past me and smiled, hitching the little girl higher on her hip. "Hey, honey. I'm home."
7
I stared at the young woman as her words sunk in.
Honey?
Home?
I turned to James, who stood behind me with his mouth open, his eyes looking like a deer caught in the glare of headlights.
"Robin." The single word came out as if he had been punched in the stomach.
Anger flashed through me at the little tableau. I had been moments away from making a colossal fool of myself, but had now been literally saved by the bell. I wanted to leave, but was hemmed in by James's girlfriend--or wife or whatever--and her daughter in front of me, and the piker himself behind me.
"Hey, James. Meet Sherry." Robin picked up her little girl's hand and made her wave it. "Sherry, say hi to Uncle James."
Uncle James?
My mind did a 180-degree turn. The child wasn't his. But then...
"Danielle, I'd like you to meet my sister, Robin," James was saying in a tired tone. "Robin, this is Danielle."
"Hey," Robin said, tipping her chin toward me in, what I guessed, was a type of greeting. She clasped her child closer, shifting her weight as the little girl drooped against her mother.
Sister. Robin was his sister. Uncle wasn't an evasive nickname that many single mothers give their live-in boyfriends. Sherry was James's actual niece.
As the pieces fell into place, I felt a little foolish. Judge not...
I stepped back to invite Robin in and ran right into James. He caught me by the shoulders to steady me. His hands lingered a moment before he lowered them.
Robin's eyes narrowed as she looked from me to him and back again. I recognized the look as the one of a proprietary sister. Not that I used it much myself of late, but at one time, when Carter or Neil would bring a girl home, I would try it on. They never caught on. Men never did, but then the look wasn't for them. It was for the other woman.
Not that I was "other woman" material, I wanted to assure her. James wasn't my type. At all.
You didn't seem to think that a moment ago.
Brain freeze. Birthday blues. All of the above.
"Would you like to come in?" I asked, looking at Sherry. The child was yawning and rubbing her red eyes. Her hair hung in damp curls around her rosy face. I had little in the way of baby food but I am sure I could find something for the poor child.
"No. I want to get Sherry to bed." Robin shook her head, not looking at me. "I didn't see your truck," she said to James. "Did you get another one?"
"No. I live on the yard here," James said. "I walked over."
Another piercing look shot my way. I wanted to put my hands up in a gesture of surrender. Not my idea.
"How did you get here?" James asked in return.
Robin held up her thumb and grinned at us. "I used my no-cost, never-expiring ticket."
She was hitchhiking with a baby? Was she crazy?
"Are you nuts?" James pushed past me, towering over his sister, his eyes wide with indignation, his words echoing my thoughts. "You don't hitchhike with a baby."
Robin tilted her shoulder up in a casual shrug. "How else was I supposed to get here?"
James glanced at me as if seeking help.
As if I could do anything for him. I dealt with young mothers who tried to leave their children on doorsteps, not young sisters who actually show up on said doorstep. So I gave him my "I don't know" look and underlined it with a shrug.
Though I had to admit, it was interesting to see how flustered a tall, well-built man could get when faced with the tiniest of human beings.
"And how did you find me?" he asked, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration.
"Erwin, the guy you used to rodeo with, told me." Rob
in shifted the little girl again. "But, hello? Baby? Tired? We need to go."
"Okay. Give me a minute to figure out what to do." Another helpless glance my way. "I don't imagine you have a crib or anything Sherry could sleep in?"
While James had been dealing with this new twist to his life, my social worker training was kicking in. I had been thinking about where this child would lay her tired head. "You know, there could be an old crib in the attic of your house," I said. "When we moved in here Mom and Dad didn't clean everything out of the old house. It might be in pieces if it is though."
"That would be great." He blew out a sigh and dragged his hand over his face, then angled me a half smile. "Thanks for dinner and, well, happy birthday." He waited a beat.
Was I supposed to do something? Thank him for coming? Kiss him goodbye? Knit booties for Sherry?
"Thanks," I said. Brevity was the soul of wit and of goodbyes.
"Okay, then," he said slowly. "I'll be gone. See ya."
And then he was. Gone.
I couldn't hear what they were saying as they walked away, but the tone of his voice carried quite well.
Not hard to hear that he was very, very angry.
And me? I was very, very relieved I hadn't given in to the impulse that had thrummed through me only moments ago.
He's a cowboy. He's a guy.
He's not for you.
8
"I have to say I'm quite impressed with your credentials." The man sitting across the desk from me gave me an encouraging smile. Dan Crittenden was my potential boss, depending on how the interview went. He was an older man, his greying hair worn short.
Beside me was Les Steglund, a potential fellow employee who Dan had asked to sit in on the interview.
I tried not to feel intimidated by either the men or the surroundings. So far the best way to accomplish that seemed to be imagining each of these well-groomed men with grease on their hands and billed caps on their heads.
It was quite a stretch considering they each wore suits tailored to the nth degree. But it was the only way I could feel in charge.
Last week when Les had asked me to come for the interview I was so excited. But now that I was here, I wondered if my dreams hadn't stretched beyond my reach.
Dan had my papers laid out in a neat fan on his wide mahogany desk. From the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him the early morning light poured in, for now muted by gauzy curtains.
Cloth curtains. In an office.
The office was on the tenth floor of a building that overlooked the river valley edged with parks and treed areas. Downtown, and yet with such a beautiful view. I could get used to this, I thought, settling back in my leather chair. Though the company was registered as a nonprofit, its offices and appointments were impressive.
I'd got the morning off to drive down here for this interview, though I had to promise Casey I would make up for it by working extra this afternoon and evening. That meant I would have to grab lunch on the road.
Lunch.
Panic clutched my chest. In my excitement to get here I had forgotten to remind my brothers to feed my father. I needed to text them, but I doubted my potential employers would look kindly on an interviewee texting and talking.
And I needed this interview to go well.
"Your current job is the first one you got right out of college?" Dan was asking me.
"Yes. It was an opportunity to stay with my family for a while." Only I hadn't planned on the "awhile" lasting this long.
"I noticed you had Professor Croft for sociology at the University of Alberta," Les was saying. His smile blazed out at me, white teeth against tanned skin. Les was easy to look at. Although he was sitting beside me, I could see he was tall. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Suit. Tie. Silk tie. Very nicely put together.
"Did you attend U of A, as well?" I asked Les, jumping on this small connection. Dan and Les were interviewing four other candidates for this job and I needed to stand out.
"Yes. Spent some of my best years there." Another smile.
"Your overall performance review is also excellent," Dan was saying, and I looked back at him. "How do you feel about your current job?" he asked me.
My current job and my current boss are the reason I'm here.
But to my credit I went with, "I enjoy the challenges my job gives me."
I mentally cringed at the rehearsed line. Tracy had tried to convince me to go for spontaneous, but I was so nervous about getting this job that I didn't trust what would come spilling out of my mouth if I ventured into unknown terrain. I could conceivably start by talking about my job and end up discussing the advantages of synthetic over regular engine oil. So I had spent the two hours of the drive down here wisely. Rehearsing.
"Much as I enjoy the challenges," I continued, "I feel like I'm ready to expand my horizons."
Now wasn't that nice and bland. If I wanted my interview to stand out, I wasn't exactly surging to my feet here.
Dan nodded, no expression on his face. "I am a little concerned about your lack of experience in the adoption field, however," he said. "How do you think that lack would hinder you in this job?"
Hinder me? Now he wanted me to underline my shortcomings?
This interview was falling away from me and we had barely gotten started.
Please, Lord, help me concentrate, I prayed as I clasped and unclasped my hands in my lap as my thoughts skittered around, gathering useless information. I don't want to end up living with my brothers until I'm eighty-five. I really want this job. I need this job.
I took a deep, calming breath, opened my hands and looked Dan straight in the eye. "I prefer to look at what I can bring to this job rather than my lack of experience," I said. "In my work I have dealt with children who have been taken away from their parents at various ages and stages of their lives. Regardless of how poorly these children were treated, I've seen strong parent/child bonds and recognize how powerful that relationship can be. What I believe I can do for any adoptive parent is prepare them for the reality of that bond if the child in consideration is older. I know that your agency's track record includes a high placement of children under the age of one, as well as the overseas adoptions of infants. This adds a cultural context to the adoption that can be as strong and add as much complexity to the potential relationship as the biological connection children have with their natural parents." Wow. Listen to me. I felt like I should be taking notes on myself. I was on a roll and I knew sooner or later I should stop or Dan and Les would fall asleep, but the words spilled out of my mouth in one unbroken stream. "I believe I can not only help place children with parents, but be a support to them after the fact. I also believe this component is lacking in your organization and if I were to be hired, I would like to see this support network put in place for the sake of the adoptive parents. They need to have ongoing care and consideration. I mean, you're charging them an arm and a leg to get a baby and I think they could use a little more bang for their buck."
Ouch.
Had I really said "bang for their buck" in a professional setting? Had I seriously used the phrase "arm and a leg" when referring to adopting babies in an interview for a job I desperately wanted?
Well. How to make your interview stand out. Criticize the company you will be working for and use colloquialisms more suited to dealing with a cattle auction. I should have stopped with 'cultural context.’
Dan's smile slipped a little. Not a good sign. But I heard a stifled chuckle from Les beside me. For a moment I wished the men were switched around. Les seemed more approachable.
Dan looked at my papers again. His frown was not a positive. He stroked his chin with one finger. "That's interesting."
If there's one word that women can decipher it is the ubiquitous "interesting." Replace that with "I've got a radical nutcase on my hands and how can I get rid of her?" and I think I nailed that translation. Now the only thing left to do was say goodbye and make a graceful exit on deep pile carpet wearing stiletto high-h
eels.
"You bring up a good point." He nodded, absorbing my flood of information, tapping his gold pen on his blotter. "I appreciate the input I've received from you."
I had slipped forward, ready to get up, but when my tired brain caught the word "appreciate" I settled back in my chair.
"Tell us more about some of the work you've done," Les said, leaning closer, his smile warm and welcoming.
Obviously the interview was still a work in progress.
We chatted for another half an hour. I found out more about the job. I would have my own office and possibly a secretary. It all sounded so very civilized.
Kind of tame.
I pushed down the ungrateful thought. Tame is why I applied for this job. I worked with the Beast and was tired of wild and untamed.
The interview moved from my work to my life and somehow I ended up telling them about my brothers, about my life in Holmes Crossing and how I wanted to leave.
Les laughed in the right places and seemed interested in what I was telling him. Dan sat back, commenting now and then.
Of the two, Les was easier to talk to. It helped that he was good-looking as well. Good-looking in a refined and cultured way that appealed to the part of me tired of grease and dirt on my men.
His hands were immaculate, his nails clean and neatly cut. His hair was artfully tousled and held in place with gel. Just like James's had been the first time I saw him.
Though I doubted he had ever sat on a horse in his life.
After a while, I saw Dan discreetly glance at his watch and I knew my time was up.
I got to my feet and slung my purse over my shoulder. "Thank you for seeing me," I said, looking at Dan, then Les. "I appreciate it."
"No. I should thank you for an interesting and lively interview," Dan said, getting up. "You will be notified if you receive the job. Les will show you out."
That sounded good.
I followed Les out the door and as he shut it, I let out my breath.
"Don't worry," Les said. "You did great." His blue eyes held mine as he smiled again. "This may sound presumptuous, but would you have time for a cup of coffee? There's a place around the corner I go to often."
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 10
