by Mae Nunn
“Oh, cut it out. This happens all the time,” she chided.
“That would have been useful information before we left the shelter.”
Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror at the approaching officer, then began cranking down her window. “All right! It’s Freddy Weatherford. We went to high school together.”
“Of course you did,” Heath mumbled.
“Hey, gorgeous!” The cop removed his cap and poked his head in Olivia’s window. “Everything okay?” He looked Heath’s way, the true meaning of the question clear.
“It’s all good, Freddy. I just need a push.”
“Since I’m freezing and we’re in the middle of an intersection you can introduce me to your friend another time.” He cast Heath a glare of both interest and warning before settling the uniform cap back on his head.
Officer Weatherford stepped away from the cab and signaled his partner behind the wheel of the patrol car. The driver matched his nudge bar to the Chevy’s rear bumper and accelerated gently. Olivia popped the clutch and the truck sputtered back to life. She waved appreciation and then quickly closed the window against a burst of frigid air that nearly blew off her ratty old stocking cap.
“And that happens all the time?” Heath released the breath he’d been holding.
“Since the very first day Big Red was donated. But all it takes is a push to get her started again and that’s turned out to be a nice way to meet people.”
“Maybe so, unless you’re meeting those people late at night on the end of that dark street where you built your place.”
“If you’re trying to scare me out of the warehouse district you need to take a number. I’ve been hearing that argument since the day the Realtor showed me the property. God led me to the area of town with the most need and found me the perfect building.”
He held his palms outward. “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”
“Yeah, well, say it to our clients who’ll be desperate to find a warm place to sleep tonight.”
She swung the creaky red dinosaur into a parking space in front of a multistory brick building on Franklin Avenue.
“There are at least a dozen companies inside that I can count on for donations and job leads.” She slid to the pavement, locked and slammed the door and pulled her ugly cap tight. Heath hurried to keep up. As she headed for the lobby entrance he admired the fearless tilt of her head and the confident strength of her carriage. Olivia wasn’t a woman who cowered with something to hide or slept with one eye open. Her conscience seemed clear, her motives pure.
He lengthened his stride, reached for the door and swept it wide for her to enter first.
“Lead the way, boss lady.”
Her chin dipped, her eyes cast toward the floor, her cheeks colored with humility.
It was no wonder her supporters were loyal.
But if Olivia Wyatt was Mother Teresa’s understudy, who was running drugs through her place?
Olivia hadn’t been around many technogeeks in her life, so it was taking her a while to figure Heath out. He was a lot of help once he finally loosened up, but did he ever have a suspicious nature. No wonder his parents’ efforts to give him a Christian upbringing had been such a struggle. The guy wouldn’t accept anything on say-so, much less faith.
It was a fruitful day. The truck bed was full of boxes that included seasonal foods as well as badly needed staples. With their Thanksgiving feast only days away, it was a relief to store up cans of yams, cranberry jelly and pumpkin pie filling.
“So, what did you think?” she asked during their ride back to the shelter.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
She glanced his way to see if Heath was poking fun at her but no smile creased his face. In fact, his eyes were round, his stare intense.
“Apology for what?” she asked.
“For insinuating that you were wasting your future running a homeless shelter.” Heath sat tall with his arms crossed, no longer hiding in the corner of the cab as he had earlier. “If the effort I witnessed today is a glimpse of how you operate your business, you’d get my vote for city manager if you ever decided to enter politics.”
Olivia’s cheeks warmed as she returned her attention to the afternoon traffic. “Apology accepted, but there’s a strategic error in your thinking.”
“You’d never run?”
“You can’t vote in this city.”
“Ah, good point.” He nodded. “But seriously, Olivia, you’re a passionate spokesperson and a gifted networker. You could just as easily be a marketing director with a six-figure salary.”
She shook her head at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t want a job like that, no matter what it paid. Working for somebody else has never appealed to me.”
“Sounds like you were born to be an entrepreneur.”
“I guess so. But I don’t exactly think of myself that way, either.”
The old bench seat creaked as he shifted to stare at her. She kept her eyes on the road.
“Then how do you see your life’s work? I mean, if your personal circumstances were different, do you think you’d still be on the same career path?”
“I hope my desire to serve would be just as strong as it is today. But if my path had been different I’d probably have followed my creative passion and developed my painting. I’d be a starving but fulfilled artist.”
“Really?”
The disbelief in his voice drew her glance to his face.
“Why do you find that so surprising?” Obviously, she’d read too much into his compliments for her work the night before.
“It just amazes me that given unlimited choices, you’d still be happy in a career without any guarantees.”
“Nothing in life comes with guarantees, Heath. You should know that by now. Wealth doesn’t buy you time or peace, and I have the family history to prove it. You can’t put a price on health or integrity. I feel blessed to have those things and anything more would just be overflow.”
“Points well taken,” he conceded. “So, what are you doing to develop your talent?”
“I have a few canvases upstairs that I work on when there’s time. Other than that, not much.”
“You could be the next Grandma Moses if you’d put half the energy into your art that you put into your pitch for donations.”
She snickered at his observation.
“I’m serious. You were so sharp those people never felt the blade.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m sticking it to my contacts?” she teased.
“Basically, but for a good cause so it’s not a bad thing. And if you ever do decide to go in another direction, you have a toolbox full of sales skills.”
Glad for a reason not to look into Heath’s eyes, Olivia watched her mirrors as she expertly backed Big Red up to the side entrance. She enjoyed a compliment as much as the next woman, she just wasn’t sure her sales skills were what she most wanted to be admired for.
“Here we are.” She set the hand brake and wrapped her woolen scarf tight before reaching for the door handle.
“Olivia?”
She swung her gaze toward the sound of his soft voice as he continued.
“All joking aside, the effort you’re making for others is extraordinary. My mama used to talk about the importance of being a quiet witness. Watching you today, I finally understand what that means.”
Her heart thumped as she realized he hadn’t missed her occasional mention of a passage of Scripture or her offering of seasonal blessings. Maybe this man who appeared so dry was actually a dry sponge just waiting to soak up some Truth.
“Thank you, Heath. My testimony is the most important thing God packed in my toolbox.”
“Miss Livvy!” Velma called from the open door. Her eyes were so wide with worry that the whites shone all around her dark irises.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia’s sneakers hit the pavement, slamming her door as Heath did the same.
“It’s Amos. He’s sicker than a
dog.”
“Could it be something he ate?” Olivia’s insides quivered at the thought. Food-borne bacteria could spread through a shelter like wildfire, making it necessary to throw out the good along with the suspicious.
“Don’t think so. He took to his bunk with a chill straight after lunch and right now he’s burnin’ up with fever and sounds like he might cough up a lung.”
Olivia looked at Heath who gave a grim nod.
“Flu,” they chorused.
“Go.” He shooed her. “I’ll get this stuff unloaded.”
Olivia hurried to the men’s dorm. Amos was curled on his side beneath several blankets. The warmth from a small space heater had the window sweating next to his bunk, yet Amos’s teeth still chattered uncontrollably. Olivia remembered her own chill and raw throat from the evening before, but that seemed to have passed. She bent closer, placed the back of her fingers against his unshaved cheek.
“His temp has to be well over a hundred.”
“The poor old fella’s hotter than a $2 pistol,” Velma agreed.
“Is anybody else showing the same symptoms?”
“Not that I know of.” She shook her head.
Olivia fished in her pocket, and pulled out the key to her apartment. “Go set up the sofa bed in my living room. We’ll move him upstairs just in case he’s contagious.”
“It’s closin’ the gate after the cows are out, but worth a try.”
Olivia followed behind Velma. When she turned into the stairwell, Olivia continued out the exit.
Heath hefted a box filled with canned goods, handed it to Nick who headed inside and then reached for another carton. “How is he?” Heath asked.
“Velma didn’t exaggerate. I’ll get him moved up to my place so we can keep him quarantined.”
“You get a flu shot?” He barked as if he knew what her answer might be.
She shook her head, ashamed of being shortsighted, especially in the midst of so much hype about this year’s flu season.
“I meant to have somebody over from the free clinic but that detail never made it to the top of my to-do list.”
“I can look after the old guy.”
“You?” She couldn’t help smiling at the grudging offer. She’d lay odds Heath had never filled the role of caregiver. This would be a rough initiation.
“Hey, I know I wouldn’t be anybody’s first choice, but I did have the good sense to take a flu shot so I’m less likely to get sick.”
She gave an emphatic shake of her head. “No, my staff is my responsibility.”
“Maybe so, but if you come down with the crud, who’s gonna run this place?”
“Good point,” Olivia agreed, knowing she was in no position to decline his offer.
When Nick returned, she asked him to finish up the unloading. Then she motioned for Heath to follow.
“I’m pretty sure we’ll have to carry him up the steps. Want me to get Bruce to help us?”
Heath cut a glance her way, an insulted squint to his eyes. “I beg your pardon, but I do occasionally get away from the computer and into the gym. I’m pretty sure I can manage his scrawny hide by myself.”
“Sorry,” she murmured as they passed the men’s locker room, and then hurried through the bunks to Amos’s bed. She’d been right, he was in no shape to walk, much less climb a flight of steps.
Heath didn’t hesitate once he reached the bedside. He tossed off two blankets, tucked the third neatly around Amos’s limp body and scooped the man up as effortlessly as he might lift a child.
“Lead the way,” he instructed.
She moved through the familiar hallways, her handiwork on the walls a blur as a dozen questions sprang to mind. What if somebody else came down with it? Maybe she should close for a few days rather than risk making her clients sick, but where else would they go in this bitter-cold weather?
At the top of the stairs, the door to the apartment stood open. The sofa was pulled out with fresh sheets smoothed over the mattress. Heath settled Amos carefully and Olivia tucked warm blankets around his shivering body. Heath was silent. He’d stepped back and shifted his gaze to her walls. She noticed his wide-eyed stare at the unframed canvases that crowded every lateral surface of her minimal living quarters.
“We’ve gotta get his fever down,” Olivia insisted, drawing Heath’s attention back to Amos.
“I gave him aspirin a couple of hours ago but it didn’t help much,” Velma offered.
“Got any ibuprofen?” Heath asked. Olivia nodded and headed for her bathroom cabinet. She returned with two tablets, they propped Amos up and he swallowed the meds and a sip of water without resistance. But seconds later he burst into a fit of coughing, his chest heaving with the effort.
“Get some towels and a bucket in case he gets sick. I can handle fever and coughing but barfing is another issue altogether.” Heath looked from Olivia to Velma and back to Olivia again, sweeping his hands in a hurry-up motion. “Well, give me what I asked for and then get out of here.”
Olivia wasn’t at all certain it was right to dump this on Heath. Community service meant he should cook and clean, not get exposed to the worst kind of seasonal sickness.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Heath?”
“Keep bugging me and I might change my mind.”
“Here ya go.” Velma plopped the requested items on the floor near the sofa. “Come on, Miss Livvy. Let’s get away from this flu bug.”
Worry settled over Olivia’s heart as she moved slowly toward her door. It was late, there were clients to check in for the night and dinner to serve. She had no idea what kind of shape the kitchen was in and if Amos had been sick all day that probably meant the laundry was stacked up.
“You comin’, Miss Livvy? There’s a bunk open next to me, I’ll make it up for you after dinner.”
She had no choice but to leave the two men alone in her apartment, her private sanctuary. It wasn’t like there was anything of value in the place, but these few small rooms were her home. She glanced around at the meager, secondhand furnishings and many original paintings, then followed Velma into the stairwell and closed the door from the outside.
This wasn’t even close to how Heath had planned to get into Olivia’s apartment, but it would work. He looked down at the thin form of the man passed out on the sofa bed.
As long as he could keep Amos medicated and asleep, he’d be free to search to his heart’s content, Heath thought to himself.
But at the mention of his heart, it seemed to ache a bit. He was going to invade the lady’s private space. And, as he’d just discovered, it seemed to be hung wall-to-wall with incredible art that he’d wager had never seen the light of day. Her talent deserved to be celebrated, not locked away inside a shelter that was under surveillance by the police. He felt another twinge of guilt. Well, he’d just have to get over this dose of conscience, and in a hurry. There was no room for regret in undercover work.
Heath was about to tiptoe toward Olivia’s bedroom when Amos struggled to support himself on one elbow like he was determined to share some news.
He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he began to heave.
Chapter Eight
Two changes of bedsheets later and Heath was afraid he might be sick himself.
But the last three hours of tending to a sick person had taught Heath a new sense of respect for his mama. The woman had a constitution of steel. Not much had bothered her when Heath was growing up. She hadn’t shuddered when he’d come home with a nail through his hand, hadn’t shrieked when he’d wrestled a wounded squirrel from the cat next door, and never shied away when too much partying left a fraternity brother in a disgusting heap on her bathroom floor.
Now that Heath thought about it, she’d never even hounded him on those occasions. Not unless he counted her scriptural references on each subject as hounding, and back then he had. While he scrubbed his hands for the umpteenth time he made a mental note to send his mama flowers and a thank-you card.
He hurried to answer before she disturbed Amos, who’d only just settled back down. Heath cracked the door a few inches expecting a dinner delivery that wouldn’t appeal to him no matter what was on the plate.
Olivia’s face was flushed, pink and gleaming from warmth. Her eyes were wide, almost panicky.
“What’s wrong?” He pulled the door wider but didn’t want her to come closer for fear of Amos’s nasty germs.
“Bruce just passed out in the men’s room.”
“Not another one,” Heath muttered, knowing the answer. A runaway train was bearing down on him and there was no way to stop it. “I suppose you want to bring him up here.”
“We don’t have any choice. Nick will be along in a minute with a roll-away bed and as soon as it’s made up I’ll need you to help us get Bruce upstairs.”
Good grief! One sick guy I can handle, but with two I’m never gonna get this apartment searched.
“Have you considered taking them to the emergency room? Amos has been a handful so maybe that’s the best place.”
Olivia shook her head, pushed past and headed for the small closet where he’d found extra sheets. “I already called two hospitals. They’re swamped and won’t do anything more than test to confirm the flu and then send both men back here with medical bills they can’t pay.”
She pulled out the remaining linens, tossed them on a chair, then pushed a footstool and table against the wall, presumably to clear a path for the cot.
“Miss Livvy?” Nick stood in the doorway they’d left open.
“Right here, Nick,” she directed him.
The roll-away snapped together and fifteen minutes later Bruce was shivering beneath blankets, complaining of the worst headache of his life.
Heath motioned for Olivia to join him in her small kitchen, kept his voice low. “Are these garden-variety flu symptoms or could it be something worse?”
“I Googled this year’s strain. Fever, chills, aches and cough are common. Most people don’t get the stomach issues.”