I thought of Casey and the work waiting for me. But Les's blue eyes, his warm smile and, yes, his suit, brushed reason and practicality aside. Shallow, maybe, but I was ready to spend time with a man.
"That would be lovely," I said.
Ten minutes later I was balanced on a tiny chair, a cappuccino perched on a table not much larger than a dinner plate. I guessed the savings on the tables paid for the leather couches, which were occupied.
Les sat across from me looking very much at ease as he sipped his grande latte. Jazz music played in the background while around me I heard snatches of conversation covering topics from IPOs to the advantages of leather car seats. Not a word about grain futures or internal combustion engines.
"Tell me about your family, Danielle," Les said, giving me another brilliant smile. "I'd like to know more about you."
I took a careful sip of coffee as I tried to imagine my brothers with this man. The picture just wouldn't gel. But I forged ahead. "I have three brothers. Two older, one younger. My father is a retired farmer."
I mentally kicked myself. Agribusinessman, or even rancher, would have had a nicer ring, but Dad never cottoned to that kind of talk. He was proud to be a farmer. No need to pussyfoot around that with fancy definitions, he always said.
"So you got to grow up in the great outdoors with three brothers." His smile made me feel a little less hick-like. "I'm sure they doted on you."
"My brothers?" I thought of the time I'd played catch with Neil. He'd graciously let me borrow his glove. But when I missed a catch and the hard ball landed on my nose, Neil hurried to my side more concerned for his glove than my bleeding face. "They're not so much with the doting. What about you and your family?"
"My father is a corporate lawyer. My mother works for the Museum of Fine Arts in Toronto. I have one brother. A surgeon at The Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto."
Right. I took a sip of coffee, feeling genetically surpassed. Mechanic, welder, farmer and rodeo cowboys just didn't stack up to those qualifications.
"But I didn't come here to talk about my family," Les said, putting his coffee aside and leaning his elbows on the table. And with a table this small that gesture put him close enough I could see that his eyes were not just blue. They had shades of grey, as well. "I want to find out more about you."
"I am a social worker. I come from a small town." I waved this all away as if it were of no consequence. "It's all on my resumé in black and white. Pretty bland."
To my surprise he caught my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. His hand was large and covered mine. His fingernails were neatly manicured. Not a speck of grease or dirt anywhere. "Don't talk like that," he said, lowering his voice intimately. "You are a fascinating person. I'd like to get to know you better."
My heart caught in my throat as he held my hand a fraction of a second longer. No one had ever called me fascinating. I found that, well, fascinating.
"You want volume one or two?"
"I have time," he said easily. "What does your job entail?"
Entail. Good looking and good vocabulary.
So I told him. Les was the perfect audience. Laughed when he was supposed to, looked sad at the right times, shook his head at some of the more colourful characters I had to deal with.
He told me more about the job I would do for him and Dan. About the people I would deal with. Mostly professionals who tried the standard adoption route, but were now willing to pay for the services that Dan's company could provide.
Our conversation ranged from work to family (his was far more erudite than mine), to holidays (Paris, Malta, Brisbane) to shopping (he actually enjoyed it). He was pleasant, easy to look at and, best of all, interested in what I had to say.
Time slipped past and suddenly, I realized we had been sitting and chatting for over an hour. I reluctantly told him I had to go.
He pulled out a business card, scribbled something on the back and handed it to me. "Here's my card. In case you have any questions."
I glanced at it then turned it over. There were two numbers written on the back.
"One of those is my cell phone number." He gave me a careful smile. "Just in case you can't get hold of me at work. And if you're ever in the city and want to connect..." He let the sentence hang and I presumed he meant that I could call him.
"Thank you." I slipped the card in my purse. I did want to connect. I did want to get to know him better.
"It was nice meeting you, Danielle," Les said. "And please, don't hesitate to call." He escorted me out of the shop, and on the street we parted ways. I watched him go, then I started walking. People hurried past me, each intent on what they had to do. Cars whizzed, busses zoomed. So very metropolitan, I thought, trying to imagine myself strolling so confidently through the downtown streets, knowing exactly which bistro to drink coffee at, the best places to eat.
Where to live.
For now my mission was to remember where I parked my car. I strode importantly down the street, turned left at the first avenue, crossed it, paused and then strode importantly back to where I started from as I finally remembered.
I got back in time to see a parking meter person attach a piece of paper to my windshield. Puzzled, I glanced at my watch. I was a whopping two minutes past the expired time.
Not a speck of grace was granted, I thought as I plucked the piece of paper from my windshield wiper feeling like a criminal. I got in the car, stuffed the ticket into my briefcase and paused a moment.
This is what you want, I thought as I stared straight ahead at the canyon of buildings ahead of me, traffic pouring through it, three wide going each way.
I started my car then pulled out into traffic, almost turning down a one-way street. I missed my turnoff, almost hit a pedestrian, ran a yellow light and then ran into construction.
After an hour of stopping, waiting, inching forward, then waiting again, I burst through the log-jam of traffic, made my way out of the city and I was back on the highway with open fields on both sides of me. Only then did I finally release my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
A tiny niggle of doubt wormed its way through my mind with each mile I drove away from the city, with each minute between now and the interview I'd just had, as well as the pleasant hour I'd spent with Les.
Are you sure this is what you want? Working in such an organized office, dealing with people who can afford to pay top dollar for adoptions?
I suppose it would take time. I could get used to living in the city. To working normal hours.
Couldn't I?
I shelved my doubts, then did what any self-respecting North American woman would do in the situation. I called my best friend.
"So?" Tracy demanded as soon as we connected, her voice coming through the speakers of my car. "How did it go?"
"I didn't talk anyone's ear off and I made sure to nod in the right places. I even had a coffee with a potential fellow male employee." I smiled then, thinking of Les.
"Don't tell me. A real man."
"A real man. The kind that holds your chair when you sit down at a restaurant and makes eye contact when you're talking to him. And I don't think any bets with my brother were involved this time."
"Speaking of food, sorry I couldn't stay to help with the dishes the other night. Did it take long?"
"Not really. James helped me."
"Really?" Tracy's pause was rife with unspoken meaning.
"Really."
"He seems like a decent guy," Tracy continued, ignoring my sarcastic snort. "I didn't know he was such a looker. From the way you were talking he was two steps away from wearing a paper bag on his head."
"One step, actually." But even as I spoke, a sliver of doubt pierced my smug arguments. I remembered too well how I felt around him.
"Can't you get past the bet thing?" Tracy asked. "He will be living right under your nose, girlfriend."
"I don't think I need to get past anything," I said with a disappointed pout. Tracy was supposed to
be on my side. Why was she defending him? "He's a rodeo cowboy, remember."
"Well, he might quit."
"Doubtful." I saw the look of triumph on his face when he landed on the arena floor. He looked exactly like Neil and Chip did every time they completed a ride. "Besides, his little sister stopped by that Tuesday with a baby on her hip, so I think he'll be too busy to make any more bets." Or compete.
"A baby? Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"This is the first time we've connected since it happened. Casey has been running me off my feet."
Tracy's silence only seemed to underline the reality of my job.
"Anyway, I'm sure your brothers didn't count on that when they rented the house out to him."
"Not hardly." I switched lanes to get past a tractor-trailer unit chugging up a long hill. "And I'm sure it will put a damper on whatever it is James hopes to do here in Holmes Crossing."
"And what is that?"
"He told me he was opening a knitting shop. But I overheard Chip and Neil talking about him signing up on the Wild Rose circuit so who knows what he's up to. But enough about James. I prefer to discuss Les."
"You sound impressed with him."
"I am." We talked for a few more miles and when I had covered all the nuances of the interview and of the semi-date, and Tracy had assured me enough times I had done well, we said goodbye.
I ended the call and turned on the radio to my favourite station and relaxed against the seat, enjoying the open highway, the sun shining in my car and the fact that I'd had an interesting interview and had met an interesting man. It had been a good morning and was promising to be a good day.
It was also lunchtime and my stomach grumbled as I passed the turnoff to town. The thought of soup and a sandwich at Terra's cafe called to me. I tried to resist, thinking I had probably used up an entire morning's worth of Casey's goodwill already.
But the thought of a piece of Terra's lemon pie clinched the deal. I was already in Casey's bad books. Might as well face him on a full stomach. With pie.
I parked on main street, walked toward the cafe, stepped inside.
And there was James, standing at the cash register paying Helen for his lunch.
I didn't like the way my heart jumped. I was half hoping I could slip past him, but that would be rude. As Tracy reminded me I had to get past our somewhat shaky start. And, I reminded myself, he had helped me with my birthday dishes.
"Hello, James," I said.
James's head came up with a snap, then when he saw me, his mouth slipped easily into a smile.
I was instantly annoyed at the way my heart gave that funny little jump again when he did that.
Think of Les, I told myself. Think about the man, not the guy.
"Hey, yourself." He slipped his wallet into the back pocket of his blue jeans. He wore a suede jacket over a T-shirt today, no product in his soft and shining hair, and again I wondered what he kept busy with all day. He didn't seem to be working too hard on finding other employment or on doing much of anything other than lunching in Holmes Crossing.
Maybe he was some kind of spy. Or maybe he really was starting up a knitting shop.
"Your boss let you off your leash long enough to have lunch?" he asked.
"I am on my way back from the city. I had an interview for a job there." And why did I feel like I had to tell him that?
"Really?" He pulled his mouth down at the sides, like he didn't approve. "I don't see you as a city type."
I was crushed. I thought I had a certain savoir faire that easily translated into city girl. I wondered if he could see me with Les Steglund, but wasn't about to put that question to him. "And how is Robin doing?" I asked instead.
James caught his lower lip between his teeth and shook his head. "She just got out of a bad relationship. Robin has her own problems and I know I can't fix them. I wish she wouldn't come running to me all the time."
"I know what you mean."
James gave me an odd look. "Maybe you do, at that," he said. He hesitated a moment as if he wanted to say something else. Then tossed me a wave and left.
I watched him go, feeling as if the day had shifted again.
The day was almost over when I parked my car behind Carter's truck on the yard and leaned my head back with a sigh. For a day that had started off so well, the rest of it had erased any and all warm fuzzies.
All afternoon Casey had been doing his best mini-dictator imitation--making me redo a custody agreement, rewrite an assessment--his small revenge for my absence this morning and, I supposed, my interview. I had phoned my brothers and while I was typing, ignoring Casey's hovering presence and trying to make sense of his notes, I walked Carter through the onerous and complicated process of heating up leftovers for supper.
Thankfully, Dad could at least feed himself, otherwise who knows how that scenario would have played out.
Then, after all the unreasonable demands on my sanity that threatened my very salvation, Casey sent me to do a home-study on a family that wanted to be foster parents, but were hostile about the steps they had to go through.
I used up every drop of good nature and charm to convince them that the training they would take was for their own good. And that, yes, they had a lot of experience because they raised five children, but foster children required a different tack and other skills.
I got the feeling they didn't believe me, but I knew that when they had to deal with their first six-year-old runaway, or eight-year-old arsonist, they'd thank me.
That was my life these days. Always in the wrong place at the right time.
So now it was eight o'clock. I was starving and hoped that Neil wouldn't find the last piece of cake I had hidden in what I hoped would be the last place my brothers would look--the vegetable drawer.
I stepped out of the car, my head feeling as if it would float off my body, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a baby crying.
Loud. And coming from James's home.
It's not your problem, I assured myself as I closed the door and hefted my briefcase over my arm. Robin seemed like a capable person. She hitchhiked here, didn't she? With a baby.
But the crying didn't stop. I heard a deep voice singing some off-key version of a nursery rhyme. James?
Curious, I walked down the driveway toward his house and saw him walking past the window, holding the baby.
He stopped, looked out the window and saw me. He looked terrified.
9
The look on his face got me going. I hurried to the house and yanked open the door, my heart pounding. What could have happened? Did I need to call an ambulance?
How was my infant CPR?
Rusty. Could I be of any help?
James met me at the door, holding out a screaming, flailing infant the panic on his face real.
"Please. Help me," James begged, his voice haggard as he shoved his niece at me. "I can't make her stop."
I glanced at him, then at the child who was now twisting and squirming in my arms, her cries cutting like a serrated knife.
She was one bundle of red face, open mouth, tears and noise.
"Did you feed her?" I yelled, letting my briefcase slip off my arm as I clutched her with the other.
"I tried. She wouldn't drink her bottle. Wouldn't eat her porridge or whatever you call that slop," James shouted, as he ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of defeat. "Nothing helped."
"Where's Robin?"
"Don't know. I came home, and this kid was crying and she's heading out the door. Have heard nothing more from her."
I tried to cuddle the screaming baby as I walked around and around James's living room. It was like holding a hysterical eel. She kicked, she thrashed, she lunged from side to side. She almost hit my face a couple of times. She didn't feel hot, and she seemed to breathe okay.
"Diapers? Do you have any clean diapers?" I called out to James over her.
He frowned, not comprehending what I was talking about.
&nb
sp; "Did Robin have a big bag with stuff for the baby in it?" I yelled.
He nodded and ran into another room and returned with a diaper bag. He dropped it on the floor, ripped it open and yanked clothes out, tossing them behind him in a mad effort to find diapers.
I laid Sherry on the floor, anchoring her twisting body with one hand on her stomach as I liberated the diaper bag from James. I quickly found what I needed, then glanced at the carpet.
The couch beside me was leather. What to do?
My hand hovered over the tabs of the diaper. Who knew what mysteries awaited me once I opened things up.
Oh, well. Nothing for it. This carpet had seen its share of substances and I didn't want to take any chances with James's couch. So I ripped off her diaper, then almost gagged as a horrible, sour smell assaulted me. Just as I suspected. The little girl's bottom was red and raw.
"I need wipes," I said.
This created another flurry of things getting tossed as poor little Sherry arched her back and lifted her bottom clear off the smelly diaper screaming even louder. She held that position until James found the wipes, pulled some out and handed them to me. I wiped and cleaned, trying to get at all parts that showed and remove the offending diaper. I folded it up one-handed.
"Can you get rid of that?" I asked.
James pulled a face, then picked it up between thumb and forefinger, allowing as little of his flesh to come into contact with it as possible.
"Is this considered hazardous waste?" he asked.
"Do with it what you think best," was all I could advise.
In a matter of minutes Sherry was cleaned up, lotion was smeared and her cries subsided from wails into half-hearted little hiccups. I took off the rest of her clothes, now damp with her sweat, and put on a clean, dry terry cloth sleeper, tucking her arms and legs in. As I zipped it up, she drew in a quavering breath. Then, in spite of the tears that still sparkled on her long eyelashes, she granted me an open-mouthed grin, two little pearls of teeth glinting back at me.
James fell back against the couch that had been spared the indignity of having a dirty diaper on it and sighed heavily. "I wouldn't have thought of that. I mean, I didn't smell a thing."
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 11
