Natural Born Charmer

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “We’ve missed you, too.” April patted her cheek. “Especially your cooking. We would have stopped by yesterday, but I got held up at the house.”

  Blue hugged Riley. “You look beautiful.” Since Blue had seen her five days ago, Riley’s long, shapeless tangle had been replaced by a short, curly cut that showcased the oval of her face. Instead of her tight, too fussy clothes, she wore a pair of khaki shorts that fit her comfortably, along with a simple green top that showcased her eyes and complemented her olive skin, which had already lost its pasty look.

  “Who’s there?” The old woman materialized in the kitchen doorway and took in April with a disparaging glare. “Who are you?”

  Blue made a face. “Am I the only one who hears a cauldron boiling?”

  April pulled in her smile. “I’m Dean Robillard’s housekeeper.”

  “Blue is still mooning over your boss,” Nita said self-righteously. “He hasn’t come to see her once, but she won’t admit it’s finished.”

  “I’m not mooning. I’m—”

  “She lives in fairy-tale land that one, thinking Prince Charming is going to rescue her from her pathetic life.” Nita tugged on one of her three necklaces and zeroed in on the eleven-year-old. “What’s your name? Something odd.”

  “Riley.”

  “It sounds like a boy’s name.”

  Before Blue could put Nita in her place, Riley said, “Maybe. But it’s a lot better than Trinity.”

  “In your opinion. If I’d ever had a child, I would have named her Jennifer.” She pointed her cane toward the doorway. “Come into the living room with me. I need a fresh set of eyes to read my horoscope. Somebody else couldn’t be bothered.” She glared at Blue.

  “Riley came to visit me,” Blue said, “and she’s staying right here.”

  “You’re coddling her again.” She regarded Riley with disapproval. “She treats you like a baby.”

  Riley looked down at her sandals. “Not exactly.”

  “Well?” Nita said imperiously. “Are you coming with me or not?”

  Riley nibbled on her lip. “I guess so.”

  “Hold it.” Blue curled her arm around Riley’s shoulders. “You’re staying right here with me.”

  To her shock, Riley edged away after only a moment’s hesitation. “I’m not afraid of her.”

  Nita’s nostrils flared. “Why should you be afraid of me? I like children.”

  “For dinner,” Blue retorted.

  Nita sucked her teeth, then said to Riley, “Don’t just stand there.”

  “Stop where you are,” Blue said as Riley began following Nita toward the living room. “You’re my guest, Riley, not hers.”

  “I know, but I guess I have to go with her,” Riley said with a note of resignation.

  Blue exchanged a look with April, who gave a nearly indiscernible nod. Blue planted a hand on her hip and pointed toward Nita. “I swear, if you say one mean thing to her, I’ll set your bed on fire after you fall asleep tonight. I mean it. Riley, you tell me what she says.”

  Riley rubbed her arm nervously. “Uh…Okay.”

  Nita pursed her lips at April. “Do you hear the way she talks to me? You’re a witness. If anything happens to me, call the police.” She gazed at Riley. “I hope you don’t spit when you read. I can’t stand that.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Speak up. And straighten those shoulders. You need to learn how to walk.”

  Blue waited for the defeated look to come over Riley, but the eleven-year-old took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and marched into the living room. “Don’t pay attention to anything she says,” Blue called after her. “She’s mean to the bone.”

  The sucking finally faded.

  Blue stared at April. “Why is she going with her?”

  “She’s testing herself. Last night she took Puffy outside after dark for an unnecessary walk, and this morning, when she saw a snake by the pond, she made herself walk around the edge so she could get a closer look at it, even though she was pale as a sheet.” She took the chair Blue indicated. “It’s frustrating. She had the guts to run away from Nashville—the story behind that will curl your hair—and she stood up to her father, but she sees herself as being afraid of everything.”

  “She’s a great kid.” Blue peered into the living room to reassure herself that Riley was still alive, then pulled the cookie tin out of the cupboard and carried it over to the kitchen table.

  “How can you stand living with that woman?” April took one of the homemade sugar cookies Blue offered.

  “I’m pretty adaptable.” Blue grabbed a cookie herself and sat down in the gilded chair across the table from April. “Riley’s an amazing kid.”

  “I suspect Dean’s the reason behind all this testing she’s doing. I overheard him talking to her about mental toughness.”

  A golden-haired elephant had wandered into the kitchen. “He’s finally acknowledged her?”

  April nodded and filled Blue in on what had happened last Tuesday night, the same night Dean had shown up in the caravan and they’d made love. Blue knew he’d been in pain, and now she understood what had caused it. She broke off the edge of her cookie and changed the subject. “How are things going at the house?”

  April stretched her catlike body. “The painters finished up, and the furniture is beginning to arrive. But the guys who are supposed to be building the screen porch picked up another job during Nita’s boycott and can’t come back for two weeks. Believe it or not, Jack’s taken over. He started framing the porch on Wednesday.”

  “Jack?”

  “Whenever he needs an extra set of hands, he barks at Dean to come help him. Today they worked all afternoon and barely said a word to each other.” She reached for a second cookie and moaned.

  “God, these are good. I don’t know what you and Dean are fighting about, but I wish you’d make up so you could come back and cook. Riley and I are getting tired of cereal and sandwiches.”

  If only it were that simple. “Once I finish this portrait, I’m leaving Garrison.”

  April looked disappointed, which was nice. “So your engagement is officially off?”

  “We were never engaged. Dean picked me up two weeks ago on the highway outside Denver.” Blue told her about Monty and the beaver costume.

  April didn’t seem all that surprised. “You do live an interesting life.”

  In the living room, Riley finished reading Mrs. Garrison’s horoscope. It said romance was in the picture, which made Riley so embarrassed she wanted to make something else up, but she couldn’t think of anything. Riley wished she was in the kitchen with April and Blue, but Dean said she had to stop letting people know how much they scared her. Dean said she should watch how Blue took care of herself and do the same thing, except without hitting anybody, unless she absolutely had to.

  Mrs. Garrison grabbed the newspaper like she thought Riley might steal it. “That woman in the kitchen. I thought her name was Susan. That’s what I heard in town.”

  Nobody except Blue knew that April was Dean’s mother. “I think April might be her middle name.”

  “Are you related to her? What are you doing at the farm?”

  Riley poked at the couch arm. She wished she could tell Mrs. Garrison that Dean Robillard was her brother. “April’s a friend of the family. She’s sort of like…my stepmom.”

  “Humph.” Mrs. Garrison stared at her. “You look better today than you did last week.”

  She meant Riley’s hair. April had taken her to get it cut, and they’d also gotten some new clothes. Even though it had only been a week, Riley’s belly didn’t seem to stick out so far, maybe because she didn’t have so much time to be bored and eat. Whenever she wanted to go to April’s cottage she had to walk, and she had to take care of Puffy. The bike riding was hard with the hills, and then Dean made her throw the football around. Sometimes she wished the two of them could just sit still and talk, but he liked to be doing stuff all the time. She’
d started to think maybe he was ADHD like Benny Phaler, or maybe it was just because he was a boy and a football player.

  “I got my hair cut,” she said. “Plus, there isn’t too much junk food lying around, and I’ve been riding my bike a lot.”

  Mrs. Garrison’s lips got all puckered, and Riley saw that some of her pink lipstick had run into the creases. “Blue turned nasty that day at Josie’s just because I said you were fat.”

  She twisted her hands in her lap and remembered that Dean said she had to keep standing up for herself. “I know I am. But what you said kind of hurt my feelings.”

  “Then you have to stop being so sensitive when it’s obvious someone’s having a bad day. Besides, you don’t look so fat now. It’s good you’re doing something about it.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You should study dance so you can move better. I used to teach ballroom dancing.”

  “I went to ballet for a while, but I wasn’t any good, so I dropped out.”

  “You should have stuck with it. Ballet builds confidence.”

  “The teacher told my au pair that I was hopeless.”

  “And you let her get away with it? Where was your pride?”

  “I don’t think I have too much.”

  “It’s time you get some. Grab that book over there, put it on your head, and walk.”

  Riley didn’t want to, but she crossed the room toward this gold swan table and put the book she found there on top of her head. It slid off right away. She picked it up and tried again with more success.

  “Turn your thumbs so they’re pointing straight ahead,” Mrs. Garrison ordered. “It’ll open up your chest and pull your shoulders back.”

  Riley tried it and decided she felt taller, more grown-up.

  “There. You finally look like somebody who has a good opinion of herself. I want you to walk like this from now on, got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  April poked her head in. “Time to go, Riley.”

  The book slipped off Riley’s head, and she leaned down to pick it up. Mrs. Garrison’s eyes squeezed into little slits, like she was getting ready to say something really mean about Riley being fat and clumsy, but she didn’t. “Do you want a job, girl?”

  “A job?”

  “Get the wax out of your ears. Come back next week and you can walk Tango for me. Blue’s worthless. She says she’s walking him, but all she does is take him around the corner and let him sleep.”

  “Because he’s too old to walk,” Blue called out from the kitchen.

  Wrinkles folded up between Mrs. Garrison’s eyebrows like she might be thinking she was getting too old to walk, too. Somehow it made Riley less afraid of her. She sort of liked what Mrs. Garrison had said about how Riley finally looked like somebody with a good opinion of herself. April, Dean, and her dad were always saying nice things to her, but they were just trying to build her self-esteem, and Riley didn’t believe them. Mrs. Garrison didn’t care about stuff like self-esteem, so if she said something good, it was probably true. Riley decided to practice more with the book when she got back to the farm.

  “Blue, bring me my purse!”

  “Is there a gun in it?” Blue shot back.

  Riley couldn’t believe the way Blue talked to Mrs. Garrison. Mrs.

  Garrison must really, really need her or she’d make Blue leave. She wondered if Blue had figured that out yet.

  When Mrs. Garrison got her purse, she pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it toward Riley. “Don’t buy candy with this or anything fattening.”

  Riley’s dad always gave her twenties, and she didn’t need more money, but it would be rude to refuse. “Thank you, Mrs. Garrison.”

  “Just remember what I told you about your posture.” She snapped her purse closed. “Blue will drive out to the farm to get you next week.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ll still be here,” Riley said. Her dad hadn’t told her what day they were leaving, and she was afraid to ask him because, more than anything, she wanted to stay at the farm for the rest of her life.

  On the way home, April reached over and patted Riley’s leg. She didn’t say anything. She just patted. She also hugged a lot and touched Riley’s hair and made Riley dance with her. Sometimes April acted just like a mom, except she wasn’t always talking about calories and boyfriends. Also, Riley’s mom had never said the curses April did. Mainly Riley liked the way April smelled, like wood and flowers and spiral notebook paper. She would never say it out loud, but sometimes being with April was even better than being with Dean, because Riley didn’t have to run around after a football all the time.

  She started to smile, even though she had a ton of things to worry about. She couldn’t wait to tell Dean that she’d been alone with Mrs. Garrison, and she’d hardly been scared at all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blue’s bedroom might be the smallest on the second floor, but it was also the farthest from her employer’s, and it had a tiny balcony overlooking the backyard. She sat cross-legged on the pink plush carpet, her back against the puffy floral bedspread as she studied the drawing she’d just finished. Nita’s eyes looked like a ferret’s. She’d have to fix that. Or maybe not.

  The gilt bedside clock pointed to midnight. She set her sketchbook aside, yawned, and closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw the caravan nestled under the trees. She imagined a light flickering in the window, calling her home. But the caravan wasn’t home, and she’d get over missing it the same way she’d gotten over missing all the other places she’d left behind. All the other people she’d left behind.

  Something hit the balcony door, and she jumped. As she twisted around, she saw a looming figure. Her heart lurched. A melee of emotions—anticipation, dread, anger—struck her all at once. She pushed herself up from the carpet, stomped over to the door, and yanked it open. “What do you think you’re doing? I almost had a coronary.”

  “I do that to women.” Dean stepped inside. He smelled spicy and exotic, while she smelled like hash browns. He took in her wrinkled Goodyear T-shirt with old paint stains on the logo. She hadn’t even washed her hair this morning because Nita kept banging her cane on the bathroom door demanding breakfast. Still, he seemed a lot more critical of the pink-on-pink bedroom than of her. “Where do you keep your Barbies?”

  “You could have called,” she retorted. “Or, better yet, continued to ignore me.” She sounded like a sulky ex-girlfriend, but it hurt that he’d stayed away, even though that’s what she’d wanted him to do.

  “Now where’s the fun in calling?” He wore faded button-fly jeans and a fitted black shirt with a tuxedo-pleated front. Who would even think of putting together something like that? And pulling it off so perfectly.

  “How did you know this was my room?”

  He slipped his finger under the bunched sleeve of her T-shirt and straightened it. “The only one with the light still on.”

  If it weren’t so late, if Nita hadn’t tested the last ounce of her patience, if Blue hadn’t missed him so much, she’d have done a better job of hiding her feelings of ill use. As it was, she snatched her arm away. “You’ve ignored me all week, and now you decide to show up in the middle of the night.”

  “I knew you’d miss me if I gave you half a chance.”

  “Go away.”

  He gazed down at her with those dreamy blue-gray eyes and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re worn out. Have you finally had enough?”

  She pulled her eyes away from the suntanned V of skin at his open shirt collar. “More than enough.”

  “Good. I’ll let you come back.”

  She couldn’t help it. She sucked her teeth.

  His lip curled. “You’re going to be your normal pigheaded self, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know how to be anyone else.” She grabbed a stack of clean laundry and stuffed it in the dresser. “Go away. I didn’t invite you up here, and I don’t feel like sparring with you.”


  “That’s a first.” He folded himself into the overstuffed pink ruffled boudoir chair. He should have looked silly, but the chair only made him look more masculine. “Here’s the thing, Blue. I’m not saying you’re selfish, but I do think you could consider somebody other than yourself once in a while.” He extended his legs and crossed his ankles. “Like Riley, for example. She hasn’t had a decent meal since you left.”

  “Hire a cook.” Blue knelt down to pick up her sketches from the carpet.

  “You know I can’t do that while Mad Jack is around. He decided he wants to build that damned porch himself. So far, the workmen haven’t recognized him, but that’s only because he keeps to himself, and nobody expects to see a rock star standing on a ladder with a hammer in his hand.” Long, denim-clad legs stretched in front of her. “But hiring household help is asking for trouble.”

  She snatched a drawing pencil from under his heel. “Jack’s leaving soon, and so is Riley. Your problem’s disappearing.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” He drew his leg in. “I don’t ask for favors easily, but we could use a little help.”

  She picked up the last of her drawings and stood. “I already have a job.”

  “And it’s making you miserable.” He rose from the powder puff chair.

  As she gazed up at him, the small bedroom seemed to grow even smaller. There was one sure way to get him out of here. “How much will you pay me?”

  She waited for him to start pulling hundred-dollar bills from his pockets, so she could kick him out. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over a bandage on his wrist. “Nothing. I’m asking you to do this as a favor. A home-cooked dinner on Sunday.”

  Just like that, he’d yanked away her moral high ground.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, “but all of us would really appreciate it. If you give me a list, I can pick up whatever you need.”

  She’d been certain he’d offer her money, which would have given her a perfect excuse to throw his Sunday dinner back in his face, but he’d outmaneuvered her, and now she’d feel churlish if she refused. She dropped her sketches on the bed and thought about how much she missed the farm. She wanted to talk to Riley. She wanted to see how the new furniture looked and check up on Puffy and embarrass herself in front of Jack. She wanted to be part of it all again. Her old weakness—trying to belong where she didn’t. “Is everybody going to be there?”