by Janet Eaves
Mike set his fork down when he realized he was bending it. Why would the adoption idea upset him? He’d been nothing in LizBeth Ann’s life until this morning, and he would step out of it when he left this afternoon. End of story. He tipped his head as he studied her. Such a little doll. Why couldn’t things have been different?
“Don’t get attached.” Betsy’s soft hiss sounded near his ear.
“I’m not.” He dragged his eyes from his daughter and turned to look at his wife. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna mess anything up.”
“Too late for that, Mike. Way too late.”
A muscle in his neck began to ache. “Like I don’t know that?”
She shrugged again. “Just keep your distance.”
“Don’t worry, Babe. I’ve got a key to the house, but I’m not that much of a loser.”
Shock registered on her face. She hadn’t thought about that, had she?
“I’ll turn the key over to Greg when I talk to him. Just chill out, Betsy.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll chill out when I know things aren’t going to be screwed up for my daughter again.”
He didn’t like what she was insinuating. “Our daughter, you mean.”
“First time I’ve ever heard you call her that.”
“It is not.”
“Yes it is.”
“Well. Maybe you should get used to it. She’s mine, too, and since you’ve practically dropped out of the sky and landed in my hometown—”
“It’s my hometown too!”
“Fine! Since you’ve landed here after all this time—”
“Hey! Stop yelling!”
Mike clamped his mouth shut and glared briefly at Betsy, then turned his attention to LizBeth Ann.
“Sorry. Just having a disagreement.”
She stepped carefully across the floor and stood next to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes. “But you were yelling.”
“Talking loud?”
She shook her head, the curls bouncing. “No. Yelling. Yelling isn’t nice. It isn’t inside voice. Right, Mommy?”
“Right. Yelling is outside voice, for playing in the park. We don’t yell when we disagree.” She twisted a long tendril of her hair around her finger. “When we disagree, we sit down and talk about it. Nicely.”
“Uh-huh.” The little blonde head nodded. “Both of you should go into time out, because you were doing it wrong.”
“Time out?” Mike had heard the phrase when his young cousins got into trouble.
“Maybe this one time, we don’t have to do time out, LizBeth Ann. Daddy didn’t know about inside voice.”
His daughter looked at her mother, then up at him in disbelief.
“Nope. McClains are loud. Especially us guys. Inside voice is a new one on me, Princess.”
“Huh. Well… this one time. But no more yelling.” She smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Done deal.” He kissed the back of her hand again, stood up and picked up the tray of dishes. “Now I’m so well fed, I need to get back to work.”
“Here. I’ll take them.” Betsy reached for the tray.
“I can take it into the kitchen, Betsy.”
“No. You’ll track stuff down the hall.”
“Hey!”
Everything with Mike was an argument. Betsy stuck dishes into the dishwasher and wondered how she’d ever fallen in love with the jerk. And how dare he make noises about suddenly being a daddy to LizBeth Ann? He’d never sent even a birthday card, or called to ask about her in all this time, and now to suggest… Well, Betsy wasn’t going to allow it. No way. They were divorced, or at least almost divorced, and surely the law had rules about suddenly wanting to be a parent. She sighed. Probably the law was going to be on Mike’s side. It always seemed like McClains ended up on the winning side of everything. Another reason she’d left Legend when she left Mike.
Chapter Four
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But Greg, I need to get outta there.”
“Sorry, man.” Mike’s boss, Greg Andrews, owned Deluxe Home Improvements. Moving to Legend had been taking a chance, but he’d heard the town was updating and upgrading, and needed skilled people to make things happen. So far it looked like it had been the right move for Greg’s business. Mike knew it was the best thing to happen to him in a long time.
“Mike. You’re the guy who has the skill for Dorothy and Charles’ job. You’re the only finish man I’ve got. You know Trevor doesn’t have what it takes for that.”
Trevor was a great guy, could build a house from the ground up, but anything fancy was out of his league. The attention to detail required for the library woodwork Dorothy wanted? No way.
“You’re a natural, an artist at this stuff, Mike.” He smiled. “And if you tell anybody I said that, I’ll deny it!” He leaned his old oak desk chair onto its two back legs and looked hard into Mike’s eyes. “Tell me what’s really going on.”
Mike sighed deeply and he slid further down into the cracked green Naugahyde couch in Greg’s office, resting his head on the plastic paneling behind him. “Greg, Betsy is making a huge deal of this. She wants me gone. I told her I’d talk to you.”
“Okay. You talked to me, and I said there’s no one else for the job. End of story.”
“You don’t know Betsy. She’s… I don’t know. She’s like a little tiger.” Mike crossed his legs at the ankles and stared at the scuffed toes of his work boots. “Didn’t used to be like that,” he muttered.
“More like a kitten?”
Mike didn’t quite stifle a smile. “I guess. Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.”
“Well, let me tell you something. When those kittens grow up and have kittens of their own, the animal instinct to protect goes right along with it. You’ve got a situation where Betsy thinks she has to protect her little girl from… Hell, I don’t know. Why does she think that?”
“Nothing specific. She just hates me.”
“Okay, perfect answer. She’s a woman and doesn’t have to make sense. Whatever. She’s got it in her mind that you’re the bad guy and she’s just panicking. Lashing out. I’ve seen it dozens of times.”
“Which explains why you’re not married?”
Greg noisily dropped the chair down onto its front legs, went to the dingy coffee pot, and filled his huge Measure Twice, Cut Once mug. His blonde braid hung down to the middle of his back over the pale blue tee shirt.
“Yeah. One reason. There’s a million of ‘em. Another one is women are just out to change us.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Mike sat up and rubbed his eyes. Too late for him to change. At least, too late to make up for the past.
“I never knew you were a daddy, Mike. You never mentioned it. What’s that like?” He returned to his chair and leaned it back again.
“It’s like nothing. Betsy took LizBeth Ann when she was still a baby, and a car load of stuff, and left town. That was it.”
“No visitation?” Some coffee sloshed out of his mug and he wiped it off a work order with his hand, then wiped that on his jeans. “I hear about it from friends, man. The court has to give you visitation unless you really screwed up bad.”
“I never asked for any.” Mike stood to go. This conversation was already way too personal, and looking to get worse.
“Some judge signed the final papers without it? That’s bizarre.”
“Well. The final papers aren’t signed. We’ve been separated for, I don’t know, around a couple years. Betsy filled out the first papers herself, saying she wanted a divorce and she wanted custody. She filed them by mail with the court. I got a copy by certified mail.” He carefully set his coffee mug onto the shelf, remembering the way his hands had shaken as he read the contents of the official envelope. “Later on she sent me more papers with an agreement for both of us to sign. You know, she’d get the baby, how we were dividing our stuff up…”
“And child support.”
�
��Uh, yeah. And that. Well, I never signed the agreement. She wrote me a couple more times asking me to. Even threatened to get a lawyer and make things rough for me if I didn’t sign. But finally she just stopped writing, and nothing else happened.” He was poised at the door, ready to escape.
“So you’re still married?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you can take care of that while she’s here in Legend.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Mike! Hello? Don’t you want it over so you can move on? There are other women in the world.” He winked. “Some of them are still kittens.” Greg’s piercing green eyes shot a bead into Mike’s. “Oh, man. You don’t want the divorce. That is so lame.”
“Yeah. I know.” Mike left, and headed to his pickup truck. He was just going to have to tough it out with Betsy. And she was going to have to make the best of it. He didn’t know what he’d do if she brought up the subject of the divorce papers.
****
“I tell you what, sweetie. Let’s drive into town and see a friend of mine. You’ll really like her, I bet.” Betsy slung her leather bag onto her shoulder and was locking the front door. The new carpenter hadn’t arrived yet, and she’d just as soon put off the first meeting as long as possible. Who knows what Mike might have told the guy about her.
LizBeth Ann stooped to pluck a tiny yellow wildflower from a seam in the sidewalk. “Well… Does your friend have a little girl for me to play with?”
“No. But she’s really nice, and very pretty. She has long black hair, and her name is Midnight.”
“Ooh.” The little girl stood and held the flower out to her mother, who took it with a smile. “Like midnight o’clock?”
“Yes, sort of. Midnight Shelby McClain is her name.”
“McClain? Same as my name?” The little blonde scrambled into her car seat.
“Yep. Same as yours and mine, and Uncle Charles and Aunt Dorothy.” Betsy buckled her daughter in and kissed the tip of her nose, then got in the front seat of her lime green Volkswagen Beetle, dropped the flower in the built-in vase, and started the engine.
“And Daddy. He’s McClain too. There’s a lot of people with that name here. I didn’t know that.”
Of course she hadn’t. Betsy had kept her away from Legend. LizBeth Ann didn’t know any of the McClains. There had been letters and calls from some of them. But a little girl who couldn’t yet read and wasn’t allowed to answer the phone didn’t know those things. The Christmas cards were put on display taped to a door frame, but no mention was made of who had sent them. They were just decoration.
Betsy had kept in touch with Midnight, though, ever since leaving town. There’d been good reason for staying away from Legend. But now a part of Betsy wondered if there was good reason to come back.
Not just the house-sitting, though that was almost an answer to prayer. Dorothy had written a lovely note, asking Betsy to take care of the house while the elder McClains had a long, leisurely vacation. Betsy had hesitated only slightly before writing back to accept. Things in Atlanta weren’t good for her anymore. She’d been downsized out of her job, and as luck would have it, the rent on her apartment was being raised at the same time. Nothing was keeping Betsy and her daughter in Atlanta, but something had been calling them home.
Betsy drove down the curvy mountain road, enjoying the evergreens’ smell coming through the open windows. Pine scent in a spray can wasn’t anything like smelling it in person in the Smokies.
She’d never expected to be homesick for the little town, but now realized how much she had missed it. The city was a nice place to spend a day shopping, seeing a movie, eating in a new restaurant. But for Betsy it had never felt anything like home. Not that the little house on Mitchell Street had been special. That wasn’t the home she missed. She missed the feeling of home that she used to have all the time—and had taken for granted—in Legend. Every time she walked down the street or went into any of the shops, there were people she knew. People who asked about her and talked silly to the baby to get her to laugh.
People who loved them both.
Slowing the car as she entered the city limits, Betsy’s pulse picked up speed. Even more picturesque than before, Legend was looking a little more prosperous. There was some renovation going on, and a few of the buildings on Main Street that had started to fall into disrepair looked as if they’d had some TLC. She wondered if the contractor Mike worked for had had a hand in that.
She went a block out of her way so she could drive past McClain Realty, where she’d worked for Mike’s cousin Martin. What a great guy. Kind of temperamental, and absentminded part of the time, which is why he’d needed her… No doubt somebody else was taking care of the front office now. She hoped they were being good to Martin, and that he kept his temper under control for the most part.
When she had realized nothing with Mike would ever improve, Betsy had given up on him, and on Legend. There were McClains all over the county, and she’d assumed they would take Mike’s side of things and make life difficult for her. She couldn’t imagine Mike getting custody, but she couldn’t take that chance either. So she had packed up LizBeth Ann and some clothes and left town. She hadn’t spoken a word about it to anyone—not Martin, or even Midnight, her closest friend. Now, looking back, Betsy figured that was because she knew Midnight would talk her out of it. Midnight would have helped her see that the McClains weren’t like that. She should have stayed, should have stood her ground and gotten the divorce, but she shouldn’t have given up on Legend. This was home. Somehow she had to make a home here for LizBeth Ann, too.
And Michael McClain had best not get in her way.
****
The exterior of The Emporium at the corner of Main and Second Street was beautiful and welcoming. The large display windows showcased some of the locally made arts and crafts Midnight offered for sale on consignment. Only she could create such a glorious display from simple items. The woman was amazing. Betsy opened one of the large oak and glass front doors of The Emporium, and let LizBeth Ann step in first.
Betsy watched the little girl’s eyes light up as she looked around. The room was filled with subtle light from large, round, moss-green glass globes suspended by pewter colored rods from a twelve-foot forest green tin ceiling. Hundreds of different arts and crafts were displayed in oak and glass cases, or sitting out—on the floor if they were large. It was so classy and subtle it didn’t exactly look like a store. Maybe more like a cozy museum, if there were such a thing. There were no aisles, just lots of space to walk around and explore.
At the far end was a small stage with a striking floral arrangement placed in front of the walnut-and-brass lectern. That’s where Midnight had begun having the meetings for Market Legend about three years ago—the project that had started Legend on its way back to prosperity. Betsy knew sometimes the stage was used for local writers to give readings, if there wasn’t enough room for the crowd in Jane Winchester’s book shop. Sometimes women’s clubs used the space for meetings.
Parallel to the left wall was the old bar that in its former life had served mostly beer and whisky. The beautiful wood had been refinished under Midnight’s loving hand, and designer coffees and teas were now the main menu. And, on special occasions, she brought out the Irish crème and served her signature coffee drink, Legend by Starlight. Tall, elegant stemmed glass mugs proclaiming The Emporium in forest green letters were hanging from the brass hooks above, waiting for customers.
“Betsy! Oh, Betsy, you’re home!” Midnight Shelby McClain seemed to appear from out of nowhere. She swept Betsy into a tight hug, then took a step back and held her by the upper arms. “Honey, you look good. Love your hair!” Smiling, she looked down, and immediately dropped to her knees on the hardwood floor. “LizBeth Ann, bless your heart. You are just the person I needed to see today. Now I’m so happy!”
The little girl smiled a bit shyly. “Are you Midnight O’Clock?”
The tall, elegant woman threw back her
head and laughed. Her long straight black hair reached nearly to her waist when she did that.
“How about just Midnight?”
“Okay.” LizBeth Ann looked up at her mother. “You’re right, Mommy. She is pretty.”
The two women exchanged smiles as Midnight stood up and went behind the bar. “Ladies, what may I get for you this morning? It’s on the house.”
“Whatever coffee is mild. You choose, Midnight.”
“Got it! And LizBeth Ann? How about a glass of foamy milk?”
“I never had that before. Um, okay.”
She took down two of the tall glass mugs and began to prepare their drinks. Betsy lifted her daughter onto one of the high stools.
Midnight raised her black eyes from her work. “So. The house-sitting should be a nice break. I’m glad Dorothy thought of it.”
“What else do you know?” Betsy asked, watching her friend’s beautiful hands deftly work the coffee making machinery. Her emerald and diamond ring glinted in the light.
Midnight turned back to them, her hand suddenly still. “What else is there to know?”
Betsy sighed. At least Midnight wasn’t in on it. That would have hurt. “Dorothy decided to have the library redone.”
“It’s a big mess. My daddy’s making the big mess, but then he’s gonna fix it up pretty.” She looked up at Betsy. “Right, Mommy?”
Midnight’s eyes widened when she heard the little girl’s part of the story.
“Mike is employed by a contractor. I hear he does excellent work. But wow, that’s a bit…awkward. Hm.” She looked from Betsy to her daughter, and back again, obviously unwilling to say anything to upset the child.
Betsy cleared her throat. “There might be a c-h-a-n-g-e of m-e-n today.” She stirred raw sugar and whole milk into the mug of coffee Midnight gave her. “There’d better be a c-h-a-n-g-e.”
“Ah.” One of Midnight’s eyebrows rose and she gave LizBeth Ann a half-full glass mug of foamy milk. “See how you like that, my dear.”
She took a big drink and, through a foamy milk mustache, pronounced it “yummy.”
The front door opened again and Daniel McClain walked in. At sixteen years old, he looked to be on track for surpassing his dad, Martin, in the handsome category. Another thing about McClain men. They were devilishly handsome.