In a more perfect world, Robert would be playing a larger role in the children’s lives to make this transition easier for them. Unfortunately, he had never been very family oriented and was even less so now, far too busy cruising through town in his red Corvette with a sexy blonde tucked under one arm to spend time with his son and daughter.
“What’re you going to do with Aunt Valerie tonight?” Natalie asked.
“She’s going to paint my fingernails, and then we’re going to put on makeup and play dress up.”
“That sounds fun.”
“I just wish you could play dress up with us.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’d like nothing better.” Natalie kissed the tip of Rosie’s nose. “But mommies don’t always get their druthers. I have to earn a living.”
“I know,” Rosie said dismally. “Maybe Poppy will win the lottery tomorrow night.”
Natalie smiled in spite of herself. Without fail, her father and grandfather wagered five dollars a week at the Cedar Forks store, hoping to win the jackpot. In between losses, they spent hours discussing how they would spend their winnings when their numbers finally came up. The most popular plan, in Rosie’s estimation, was for Poppy to buy a huge ranch with enough houses on it to accommodate the entire Westfield clan.
“If Poppy won the lottery, it’d be really wonderful,” Natalie agreed.
“He and Gramps will live in one house, and we’ll live in another one.” Warming to the subject, Rosie leaned away, her eyes as bright as copper pennies. “And Aunt Valerie will live in hers, and Grammy will live in hers!” She beamed with delight. “And you won’t have to sing to people at the supper club anymore.”
Natalie tried to imagine her parents living harmoniously as close neighbors and couldn’t get the picture to gel. Since their divorce ten years ago, Pete and Naomi Westfield couldn’t even do Christmas together without scrapping about something.
“Singing at the club isn’t so bad,” Natalie said. And she meant it. She’d yearned to be a professional vocalist all her life, and performing onstage at the club was as close to that as she was ever going to get. She found the other aspects of owning a business far more taxing, especially the rapid employee turnover. In a pinch, Natalie could bus tables or fill in as a waitress, but taking over in the kitchen was beyond her. “I love to sing.”
Rosie shrugged. “If Poppy wins the lottery, I’ll let you sing to me.”
Over the top of the child’s head, Natalie glanced worriedly at her watch. It was a thirty-minute drive into town, and she had paperwork and books to do before she went onstage.
“Oh, my goodness!” She kissed Rosie’s chubby fingers as she pried them from her neck. “I have to get my caboose in gear, sweetness. I’m running way behind schedule.”
“Maybe Frank can just play the piano, like he did the time you caught the flu.”
The Blue Parrot was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. If Natalie failed to show, the regulars might think twice before patronizing the club again. “No, sweetie. I’m sorry. I won’t be gone all that long.”
“But I’ll be asleep when you get home!”
“I’ll sneak in and give you good-night kisses anyway.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart,” Natalie replied.
Zeke couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so furious. Standing in his backyard, he took inventory of the damages. His garden was destroyed, his windows were shattered, his ass stung from that damned gander, and, to add insult to injury, his beer had gotten hot from sitting in the truck. Camp? What was the woman thinking? Her son had a bitter lesson to learn.
Disgusted, Zeke went to the shed for some cardboard to cover the windows until he could replace the shattered glass. As he approached the broken shed door, his temper kicked up another notch. How had a half-pint kid managed to do this much damage? Zeke looked around for something that the boy might have used as a battering ram to break the one-by-four cross bucks. Nothing. As difficult as it was to believe, he decided that Chad must have kicked the door in.
Only rage could give a boy that kind of strength—a mindless, murderous rage. The thought was sobering, and Zeke’s anger subsided a little. Maybe, he decided, he should be more concerned about the child than he was about the damage. What drove a kid to strike out like this? Zeke had never even seen Chad until today, so revenge was ruled out. That left—what? Surely the boy hadn’t done this solely to get his father’s attention.
As Zeke cut pieces of cardboard to fit his windows, he tried to imagine what it would be like to grow up without a father. It was like trying to imagine going through life without arms. His mom and dad had been wonderful parents, both of them devoted. Zeke honestly couldn’t remember a single time in his life, even as an adult, when his dad hadn’t been there for him.
Not all kids were that lucky. Sometimes, despite the efforts of both parents, a marriage just fell apart. When that happened, a whole lot more than the neighbor’s garden could be at risk, namely a young boy who wasn’t sure where his loyalties lay anymore and couldn’t understand why one of his parents no longer seemed to love him.
At precisely eight o’clock the next morning, Zeke answered the door and found a hostile kid standing on his porch. Today Chad wore an oversize Big Dog T-shirt, sloppy tan shorts that hung well below his knees, and the same dusty Nikes with the laces dangling. He looked like a hundred other boys Zeke had seen in town. All he needed was a nose ring and a tattoo to be totally in vogue.
“My mom says I have to work here to pay you back,” Chad said with a sullen glare.
Zeke nodded and pulled the door wide. “Come on in. You had breakfast?”
Chad snorted. “Like my mother doesn’t feed me?”
So much for trying to befriend the little shit. Zeke led the way to the kitchen. “I’m having eggs Benedict. If you don’t want to eat, you can sit and watch while I do.”
Chad shuffled along behind him. “Eggs what?”
“Eggs Benedict,” Zeke repeated. “Poached eggs and ham on toasted English muffins with hollandaise sauce on top.”
“You cooking it yourself?” Chad asked incredulously
“Of course.” Zeke stepped over to turn the flame back up under the eggs. “It’s the maid’s year off.”
Chad flopped onto a chair, skinny legs sprawled. “You a queer or something?”
Zeke slanted the boy a hard look. “The politically correct term for a homosexual is gay, not queer.”
“So—are you gay, then?” the boy asked with a sneer.
“My sexual persuasions are none of your business.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re gay. That’s how come you live alone in this big house and cook fancy food.”
“Maybe I like living alone and enjoy cooking. Ever think of that?”
“Yeah, right.”
Zeke refused to let the kid get his goat. “No long hair in my toothbrush, no nylons hanging on the showerhead, no standing in line to use the john, no fighting over the remote control.” He slapped a lid on the Teflon skillet. “Sure you don’t want something to eat? It’ll be a long time before lunch.”
The kid shrugged, which Zeke took as a yes. He stuck two halves of another muffin into the toaster, grabbed more eggs from the fridge, and resumed his position at the stove. Minutes later when he handed Chad a plate, he said, “When you’re finished eating, tie your shoes. We’ll be using power tools. I don’t want you to trip and get hurt.”
“Nobody but geeks tie their shoes.”
“You’ll be a geek while you’re working for me, then.”
Chad pushed at the eggs Benedict with his fork. “These are weird.”
“Don’t eat them. All the more for me.” Zeke sat at the opposite side of the table to enjoy his breakfast. “You want some orange juice?”
Chad shrugged again, so Zeke poured him a glass. The kid guzzled the juice, then tried the food. “Yuck,” he said, but continued to eat. “We never have eggs this way.”
“What kind do you have?”
“Burned scrambled or burned fried. If my mom invites you to dinner, don’t come.”
Zeke almost grinned. Then he remembered his garden and stifled the urge. “Some people enjoy cooking; others don’t.”
“My mom enjoys it.” Half of the boy’s eggs Benedict had already disappeared. “She just sings while she cooks and forgets the food.”
Curious, Zeke arched an eyebrow. When Chad wasn’t forthcoming with more information, he couldn’t resist asking, “What’s she sing?”
“Country, mostly. She pretends the spatula or spoon is a microphone and dances around the kitchen.”
“Ah. She got a good voice?”
“Poppy says she could’ve been the next Reba.” Chad pushed at his honey-brown hair, which was sorely in need of cutting. “Then she met my dad, got pregnant with me, and had to get married. My dad didn’t like her to sing, so she stopped for a long time. Now she’s too old to make it big.”
“Too old?” Zeke guessed Natalie Patterson to be in her late twenties or early thirties. That wasn’t exactly over the hill.
“My mom says lady singers have to make it big really young,” Chad explained. “Before their boobs start to sag and their butts get big. She’s got cellulite dimples on her thighs.”
That was more than Zeke wanted or needed to know. He pushed up from the table, gathered the dishes, and went to put them in the sink. As he scrubbed smears of egg yolk from the plates and utensils, visions of Natalie Patterson’s thighs flashed through his mind. Definitely not fat, and if they were dimpled, he hadn’t noticed.
“You ready to hit it?” he asked after loading the dishwasher.
“Do I, like, have a choice?”
“No.”
Five minutes later, Zeke had Chad lined out for the morning, washing tomato pulp off the siding. The boy worked at tortoise speed, spending more time wiping the sweat from his brow than he did scrubbing.
“Kick it in the butt,” Zeke called as he wielded the rake, gathering destroyed garden plants into piles. “You owe me a hundred and forty hours of hard work. If you slough off, I won’t give you credit for the time.”
Chad sent him a smoldering look. “I’m working.”
“You’re piddling.” Zeke tossed a pile of rubbish into the wheelbarrow. “If you haven’t paid off the debt by the time school starts, I’ll work you weekends and evenings after school. No sports, no girls, no fun. Choose your poison.”
Chad began scrubbing with more enthusiasm. When they’d worked for two hours, Zeke called for a break. They sat in the shade of an oak tree at the edge of the yard and drank nearly a half gallon of ice tea.
“So, seriously, why don’t you have a wife?” Chad asked.
“Don’t want one.”
“Why not?”
Zeke considered the question for a moment. The answer was that he liked being single, but he settled for saying, “Because.”
“Like that’s an answer?” Chad gestured with his glass. “Why have a garden with no one but you to eat the stuff?”
“I like being the only one to eat the stuff.” Zeke pushed to his feet. “The game of twenty questions is over. Back to work.”
Chad resumed the task of washing the house while Zeke piled debris into the wheelbarrow and made countless trips to the compost heap. When he’d almost cleared away the mess, Chad tossed the scrub brush into the bucket and turned with a mutinous expression on his face.
“How come I have to work a hundred and forty hours? Once the work’s all done, seems to me my debt should be paid.”
Zeke forked up some wilted tomato plants and broken cornstalks. “You’re forgetting the cost of the damages. New windows, exterior paint, and wood don’t come cheap, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
Zeke straightened and flexed a kink from his shoulder. “True. If you were, you’d have some manners and a better work ethic.” He inclined his head at the stained siding. “You’d also have some respect for other people’s property. I figured your hours at minimum wage, which is more than you’re probably worth, and I shaved off some time, to boot. It’s going to cost me a thousand dollars or more to put things right. If you think I’m being unfair, figure it out for yourself, but do it on your own time.”
Zeke no sooner finished speaking than he glimpsed a flash of blue at the corner of the cream-colored shop, a cavernous metal building that did triple duty as a garage, work area, and storage room. He turned to see Natalie Patterson stepping into the backyard. Today she looked completely different, more the cute and adorable girl next door than a sexy vamp, her dark hair caught in a clasp at the back of her head, her oval face devoid of makeup. She wore faded jeans and a man’s white shirt, the sleeves rolled back to her elbows. The stiletto heels of yesterday had been replaced with smudged sneakers.
“Hi,” she said.
Zeke wanted to whistle and say, “Wow.” Instead, he laced his voice with studied indifference and said, “Hello.”
She glanced around, taking in the mess. “I, um, thought I’d come over and help.” Her smile was stiff. “Two for the price of one. This way, the work will get done faster.”
And Chad would be able to go to camp. Zeke bit down hard on his back teeth. No way was he backing down on this. The kid had done the damage, and he would pay the debt.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Zeke asked.
She stared at him for a long, loaded second before nodding her assent. Zeke led the way to the gravel parking area in front of the shop. When they were beyond Chad’s earshot, he turned, settled his hands at his hips, and locked gazes with her.
“I told you last night, I don’t think this is a wise idea,” he said softly.
She blinked, managing to look both innocent and sexy at once. “You don’t think what is a wise idea?”
“You coming over here to help.”
“Why not?”
“Because the boy needs to be taught a lesson.”
Two bright spots of color flagged her delicate cheekbones. Her lovely brown eyes flashed with anger. In that moment, Zeke was convinced that he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
“Excuse me? Chad is my son. As long as you receive recompense for the damages, I fail to see how his upbringing is any of your concern.”
She had a point, but Zeke chose to ignore it. “Chad is the one who vandalized my property. He should be the one to make restitution. I made my position on that clear.”
“True, but you were mad. I hoped you’d be reasonable this morning.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable.”
“There are a number of things happening in Chad’s life right now that you don’t understand.”
“I understand that he’s too old to be mollycoddled and let off easy.”
“I’m not asking you to let him off easy. I’m asking only that you work with me and be fair.”
“By doing the repairs myself, I’m shaving off at least five hundred dollars in labor, and I cut him some slack on the hours. That’s fair. You can’t say it’s not.”
“My son is going through a very difficult time.”
“We all go through difficult times. That doesn’t give us license to destroy other people’s property.”
“Who’s going to supervise him for three and a half weeks? Don’t you have a job?”
“I own a ranch-supply store. I’ll juggle the schedule, do the ordering and books at night. I’ll be here to monitor him.”
Her cheeks grew even redder. “I still fail to see how my helping would be a bad thing. Your place will be put back to rights more quickly that way.”
“And Chad will get to go to camp?”
Her eyes sparked with indignation. “You’re overstepping your bounds, Mr. Coulter. Whether or not my son goes to camp is none of your business.”
“Wrong. It became my business when he threw the first tomato.” When she started to speak again, Zeke held up a staying hand. “I’ve stated my terms. If you don’
t like them, we can always let Chad’s punishment be decided in juvenile court. Is that what you want?”
At the threat, her face drained of color. “You know it isn’t.”
“Then leave it alone. It won’t kill Chad to work off the debt by himself, and he’ll learn a valuable lesson while he’s at it. If this isn’t nipped in the bud now, what’ll he do next, rob a convenience store?”
“Don’t be absurd! He was just acting out to get attention.”
She obviously hadn’t been around many teenage boys. If Chad continued on his present course, she would have no control over him in another few years. “Mission accomplished. He definitely has mine.”
“Oh, how I wish I had a thousand dollars. I’d pay you off so fast it’d make your head swim! If you’re so keen to raise kids, have some of your own.”
“It takes a village. You ever read that book?”
Arms rigid at her sides, she gathered her hands into fists. Zeke had a bad feeling that she yearned to punch him. “You’re insufferable.”
She whirled and stalked away. After taking several steps, she turned back to scorch him with another fiery glare. “Everything else in his world has been taken away—his home, his school, his friends, even his father. Going to camp was the only familiar thing left, and now you’re taking that away from him, too.”
Natalie was so furious when she got home that she slammed the door as she entered the kitchen. Still in her nightshirt, Valerie was at the stove, pouring a cup of coffee from the dented aluminum pot that had served the Westfield family for generations. Dark hair in a lopsided topknot, eyelids smudged with mascara, and mouth still stained red from last night’s dress-up lipstick, she looked like a hooker who’d put in a hard night.
“What’re you in a snit about?” she asked with a huge yawn.
Huffing from the walk across the field, Natalie stepped to the cupboard to get a clean coffee mug. “That man.”
“What man?” Valerie lifted her eyebrows. “If he’s under forty and halfway cute, give me five minutes to grab a shower and I’ll take him off your hands.”
Bright Eyes Page 3