Brock was sometimes likened to a bulldozer. The Brocdozer. He’d tended to mow down anything in his way.
Daniel was known as Mr. Clean. When a situation got dirty, he rushed in and cleaned up the mess.
Irony at its finest. He couldn’t clean up the mess he’d made of his life.
When Daniel reached his dad’s neighborhood, he quickened his step. The housing subdivision had three streets and a grand total of twelve homes, each centered on a one-acre plot. Some of the homes resembled barns, while others were more traditional two-story colonials.
Dr. Vandercamp lived in one of the barns. The porch light was off. To discourage visitors? Oh, well. Daniel knocked on the door. Hard.
Several minutes passed before the lights flipped on and the old man—
Nope, not the old man, but his son, Brett, who was Daniel’s age. Right. He remembered Virgil telling him that Brett had become a vet, just like his dad, and that he’d taken over the old man’s practice.
Brett wore a pink T-shirt that read “Save the Boobies,” a pair of boxers and a scowl. “What do you want, Porter?”
Far from intimidated, Daniel said, “I found this little beauty a few miles back. She’s injured. Do you have the tools to care for her here, or do you need to go to your office?” Subtext: Princess was getting treatment tonight.
Brett’s gruff exterior was suddenly replaced by caring concern. “Poor darling. Don’t you worry. I’ve got what I need here.”
Good. “I’ll pay for everything.”
An-n-nd goodbye concern. “Considering you made a house call in the middle of the night, you’re lucky I’m not going to make you pay double.” The guy looked the little Chihuahua over with a critical eye. “She’s malnourished, and she’ll need to be hooked to an IV for the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow, too.”
Daniel reluctantly handed her over, knowing she would be terrified of the new human as well as the new situation. And he was right. She peed on him.
“You’re going to be okay, aren’t you, sweet girl? Yes, you are. Oh, yes, you are.” Brett’s hazel gaze flipped up to Daniel. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You don’t have my number.”
“Do you really think getting it will be difficult?” The door shut in his face.
“Thank you,” Daniel called.
He jogged to his dad’s house. When he’d first arrived in town, the colonial had been a run-down mess. Before starting LPH, Daniel had redone the trim, replaced the roof and painted absolutely everything.
A quiet entry proved unnecessary. Jude and Brock sat in the living room, exactly where he’d left them. They spent a lot of time here, discussing work and watching Virgil whenever Daniel had to be gone for an extended period.
“Why do you reek of urine?” Jude looked him over and frowned. “Better question. Why do you have a streak of blood on your shirt?”
The guy noticed everything. “I found an injured dog and took her to the vet. Where’s my dad?”
“In bed. Told us to use our inside voices or he’d put buckshot in our asses.” Brock grinned a sinner’s grin. Completely unrepentant. “Does he not know he’s partially deaf and wouldn’t be able to hear us if we shouted?” Of course, he shouted the question.
No bellow of warning came from Virgil’s bedroom.
Daniel stalked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and returned to the living room, falling into one of the chairs. What a day.
Beside him, Jude balanced a laptop on his thighs, his prosthetic limb propped against the coffee table. With his pale, shaggy hair, navy blue eyes and golden tan, he could have passed for a surfer—if there had been anything lighthearted about him. The right side of his face bore the same shrapnel scars Daniel possessed, though Jude’s were worse; one cut through his lip, giving him a permanent scowl.
“How’d it go with your girl?” Jude asked.
My girl. Not really. “I failed worse than Brock when he tried to pick up an entire bridal party.”
Brock, who occupied the other end of the couch, laughed and fluffed the cushion under his neck. He kept his jet-black hair cut close to his scalp and, no matter how often he shaved, always sported a five-o’clock shadow. His eyes were so pale a green they sometimes appeared neon.
“Why are you grumbling about a rejection?” the guy asked. “You’re no longer on the sidelines. You’re now in the game.”
Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.
Daniel drained half the beer. “Her defense might be stronger than my offense.”
“Gotta admit,” Jude said, casting the beer a death glare. “She’s not your usual type.”
The glare, Daniel understood. A drunken frat boy was the one who’d killed his family. The idiot had driven one hundred miles per hour down an overpass at night and slammed into Constance Laurent’s minivan.
But Daniel wasn’t a frat boy, and he wanted to help his friend get past his past, not coddle him.
He drained the rest of the beer and said, “I know she’s not my usual type. She’s better.” Sexier, with a fiercer temper.
“Dude. If you’re this enamored of her after…what?” Brock spread his arms. “Two conversations with her? You’re in trouble. Take it from me. I’ve been divorced twice—”
“From the same woman,” Daniel interjected.
“Still counts. Anyway. The three of us, we are high maintenance, no doubt about it, and we’re never going to make a romantic relationship work long-term until we get our heads screwed on properly.”
“I have no interest in making a romantic relationship work long-term,” Jude grumbled.
Grumble was all he did anymore. But then, he wasn’t living; he was surviving.
Daniel had been doing the same, hadn’t he? Moving from girl to girl. He sighed. “You implying my head is on crooked?”
Brock gave him a pitying look. “My friend, I’m flat-out telling you. Your head is only hanging on by a thread.”
Maybe, maybe not. But probably. Funny thing, though. He’d never been more certain about a woman. He wanted Dorothea in his bed, but he also wanted to talk with her, to laugh with her…
Unfortunately, he had a feeling he would do almost anything to get what he wanted. Consequences be damned. Which proved Brock’s claim. Daniel’s head was hanging on by a thread.
But no matter. He wasn’t a freaking mansel in distress, waiting for his white knightress to come and save him.
He’d have fun with Dorothea, be distracted by the chase. If she succumbed, great. If not, no big deal. One way or another, he would move on. As always.
CHAPTER FIVE
HUFFING AND PUFFING, Dorothea increased her speed for the final mile of her morning run. She’d decided to go ten miles rather than her usual five, hoping to energize her body and clear her mind. Daniel’s offer? Not even a blip.
Okay, maybe a blip.
He’d said he fantasized about her. He’d called her curves “beautiful.” Told her that her body haunted his dreams.
Maybe I should give him a chance?
Ugh! What are you doing? Softening? Stay hard!
Last night Daniel had been as hard as a rock for her…
Shivers danced through her limbs, and she swallowed a groan. Come on! She wasn’t special to him. He would use and discard her.
You planned to use and discard him first.
Yeah, well, that was different, because—why?
Just because!
A cramp in her side slowed her, but her mind continued to whirl. Daniel confused her. He’d rejected her but had later claimed to desire her. He’d offered her a single night of passion only to leave when she finally began to maybe kinda sorta consider it.
Enough! Give no more thought to this.
The more you th
ought about something, the more power it had over you.
When she reached the inn, she decided she wasn’t ready to adult yet and paced along the sidewalk. Would Holly be stationed at the counter, as commanded? Or had her sister abandoned her, as threatened?
With Dorothea’s luck? I was abandoned without a moment’s consideration.
With a sigh, she leaned against a large white column and watched as the sun rose in the distance. The cloudless sky blazed with magnificent shades of gold, pink and purple. Such beauty! The air wasn’t hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch, or colder than a penguin’s balls.
Break out those short shorts, y’all, but keep a raincoat within reach.
This evening, a thunderstorm would roll in, no doubt about it, and it would be the first of many. Tornado season had officially kicked off, and the possibility of a cyclone would only strengthen throughout the week.
The greater the storms, the more time Jazz would spend on TV screens throughout Oklahoma. Resentment flared within her, the urge to punch something—or someone—strong.
No more regrets. Let go of the past and march into the future.
Right. Dorothea drew in a deep breath. As she released it, she straightened. She would adult whether she wanted to or not. She would shower and—whimper—she would interact with other people.
A loud rumble suddenly assaulted her ears, growing in volume, and the inn began to shake. Earthquake! Dust plumed. Her heart galloped into a faster rhythm.
She stumbled but managed to remain upright. A second later, the shaking stopped, but her heartbeat failed to slow. While Strawberry Valley only registered the bigger ones, quakes had become a way of life. Some people blamed fracking. Others blamed a previously undiscovered fault line.
At long last, Dorothea entered the inn. She’d painted her nails red this morning—anger—and now flattened her palm over her tattoo as she studied the interior, searching for any damage. Nothing appeared to be broken and Holly—
Wasn’t behind the counter.
Dorothea gnashed her molars as she phoned Mrs. Hathaway, who’d promised to man the desk until her doctor appointment, to ask if she could come sooner and return sooner, as well. Then she set up the Be Back Soon sign and stalked to her room. After a quick shower, she dressed in a pale green cotton blouse to match her eyes, and a pair of stonewashed jeans she’d cut into shorts when the denim had ripped at the knees. Recycling old clothes was a great penny saver.
She drove to the high school for the parent-teacher conferences. According to her mother, there was no reason to go and a thousand reasons to avoid it, because every teacher she met would complain about Holly, and Dorothea’s blood would boil. But she was determined to grin and bear it. Someone had to keep up with Holly’s life to ensure she wasn’t being bullied for her unique wardrobe choices. Someone had to check her academic progress, offer support and show her just how deeply she was loved.
Unfortunately, the first four meetings rolled out exactly as Carol had predicted. The teachers complained about Holly’s lack of focus.
“I’ll talk to her,” Dorothea vowed to each one.
When anyone mentioned Holly’s terrible attitude, she said, “We’re working on it.”
When her sister’s abysmal grades came up, she said, “I’ll find her a tutor.”
When Holly’s constant threats to drop out and become a streetwise hooker with secret hopes of being rescued by an icy billionaire only she could melt was mentioned, Dorothea said, “It’s good to have goals, yeah?”
Mr. Jonathan Hillcrest, the fifth and final teacher, saved the day. Even though he was a few years older than Dorothea, they’d played in the band together when they were in high school. The popular crowd had considered him a nerd, just like her. Kindred spirits unite!
While Dorothea had retained her supposed “nerdiness,” he’d grown out of his. Tall and lean with sandy-colored hair, he had a construction worker’s tan, and adorable laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His nose was a little too long, but it worked in his favor, giving him an aristocratic vibe.
She thought she recalled a rumor that he and his girlfriend of two years had broken up a few months ago.
“I have to tell you, Dottie. Holly has so much potential. She’s so smart. She just needs to apply herself.” He sat at his desk, the surface cluttered with papers. “Any tips for how I can reach her?”
She decided not to correct his use of the hated nickname. The meeting wasn’t about her. “Are you kidding me? I need tips.”
He chuckled, and she grinned.
“And please, call me Dorothea.”
Twining his fingers over his middle, he leaned back in his chair. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”
Her eyes widened. He’d noticed her? Before this?
Then he shocked her further, saying, “It looks good on you.”
What! It did?
“Thank you,” she replied, her tone soft, her cheeks burning. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Not kind. Honest.” Now unwilling to meet her gaze, he cleared his throat and stacked a set of papers at the corner of his desk. “Anyway. We were talking about Holly.”
“Right.” Dorothea hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. How to explain she’d been back home for nearly a year, but her sister had yet to forgive her for leaving in the first place?
“I know your family owns the Strawberry Inn, and I wonder if Holly maybe…works too much?” His hesitation lessened the sting of his words. “She rarely turns in her assignments. I’ve offered her numerous extensions, but she always declines, stating she’s far too busy to pencil me into her schedule.”
Guilt pricked at Dorothea. Holly had zero free time, the way Dorothea had once had zero free time. The way she now had zero free time. And she had only perpetuated the problem.
When her sister asked for a day off, she should have given it to her. She remembered the teenage horror of being forced to turn down every after-school invitation. Not that she’d been invited anywhere by anyone other than Ryanne and Lyndie.
Making a split-second decision, she said, “Consider Holly fired, effective immediately.” The theme rooms could wait. Every penny she’d saved could be used to hire a new receptionist. “I want the best for her. Underneath her insults, she has a good heart.”
He nodded as she spoke. “I agree.”
Those two swords fertilized Dorothea’s hopes, helping them grow. If she and Mr. Hillcrest teamed up, surrounding her sister with love and acceptance, Holly would have nowhere to run.
Together, they brainstormed ways to help Holly engage with the class. At one point, he stopped Dorothea to ask for her number. “So I can keep you apprised of my progress.”
How kind. She rattled off the digits.
A harried knock echoed inside the room, and they jolted in unison. The door swung open, an irritated-looking woman stalking into the classroom. She tapped on the screen of her phone. “My meeting was scheduled to begin six minutes ago. I’ve been pacing the hall, waving at you through the glass partition, doing my best to be patient, but I have a job, too, and I can’t be late.”
“I’m so sorry.” Dorothea jumped to her feet. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m leaving.” She extended her hand to Mr. Hillcrest. “Thank you again, Mr. Hillcrest. I—”
“Call me Jonathan. Please.”
She inclined her head before darting into the hall. As she left the building and made her way across the parking lot, her gaze lifted to the sky out of habit. Over the past few years, Oklahoma had been dubbed the home of the quakenado. Storms, tornadoes and earthquakes, oh my! She loved to predict what would come next.
The thunderstorm she’d predicted now brewed, a thick wall of cloud stretching as far as the eye could see; the heavy veil of humidity sug
gested there would, in fact, be tornadic activity, too.
A horn blasted.
She yelped and skidded to a stop. A minivan sped past her. Yikes! She’d been so wrapped up in weather-watching she’d lost track of her surroundings.
“Sorry,” she called.
Heart thudding, she settled behind the wheel of her car. The same car she’d had since she was sixteen years old. A granny mobile, kids had called it. Once, those same kids had used shoe polish to write the words oink oink on her windshield.
Ugh. No more thinking about the past.
Since she planned to fire Holly later today, she needed to stop at Copy Copy to create the perfect flyer for a new hire…
Wanted: Receptionist for the Strawberry Inn.
If you can:
* Speak to strangers
* Answer a phone
* Show up on time
* Type complete sentences
You have the skills we need.
Contact Dorothea Mathis to schedule an interview.
Excellent! Up next, posting the flyers and setting Holly free.
Would Dorothea be met with hugs or insults?
She heaved a sigh. Like she really had to wonder.
* * *
DOROTHEA RETURNED TO the inn and stopped short in the lobby. Her little sis had actually listened to her! Holly rather than Mrs. Hathaway manned the desk. If “manned” was defined as staring at a cell phone and chewing gum. Still, it was progress.
“Good afternoon.” Dorothea approached her sister the way she would approach a wounded animal.
Holly popped a bubble. “Daniel Porter came by to see you.”
The air gushed from her lungs. “What’d he want?”
“He looked tee-icked, but he wouldn’t tell me what the problem was. I bet he’s going to complain about his last stay.”
Or discuss his offer.
Head fogging, she said, “Enough about Daniel. Let’s talk about you.”
“Nope. I’m busy.”
“Too bad.” If it’s broken, fix it. Dorothea braced herself for an onslaught of insults and said, “I met with your teachers today.”
Second Chance Page 7
