The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1)

by Julie Christianson

  Not to mention the sting of humiliation. And the taste of unemployment.

  Ugh.

  All I want to do is get the heck out of Dodge without anybody witnessing me. So I’m practically jogging when I come around the corner of the building and run smack dab into Daisy.

  “Oh my goodness!” I grab Daisy’s shoulder before she hits the asphalt. Then I look up—way up—and see her father smiling down at me.

  “Nice catch,” he says.

  Great.

  Mr. Well-Built and his daughter are the reason I lost my job. Even if they didn’t do it on purpose, that doesn’t make me less broke.

  Or less hungry.

  I shuffle two steps to the left, but Mr. Well-Built moves to the right. His body’s a brick wall. When he touches my elbow, sparks of electricity shoot up my arm.

  “Hey there, Brooke Wallace,” he says. His voice is low and deep, with just the right amount of gravel. He almost sounds like he’s growling. But he’d better not be growling. Not after he got me fired. I pull away from the sound of his voice and the scent of his skin.

  Dignity, Brooke. Hold onto it.

  Lifting my chin, I try to act stronger than I feel by a mile. Maybe two.

  “Hey there, back.” I want to be mad at the man, but his eyes are so soft and warm, I start thinking about butter. Butter for corn on the cob. The corn that cost me my job.

  Ugh.

  “I’m glad we ran into you,” he says and my heart skips a beat. Stop it, heart. This is just some tall man in jeans, a white T-shirt, and scuffed work boots. So what if he smells kind of good?

  Okay. Very, very good.

  “Technically, I ran into you,” I say. “Into Daisy, I mean.” When I bend down to the girl’s level, Daisy stares at me. Her blue eyes are huge. “Are you all right?”

  She wiggles her nose, and my stomach clenches. Probably just from hunger.

  “She likes you,” Mac says.

  Daisy sticks out her lower lip.

  “Yikes.” I lift an eyebrow. “This is her liking someone?”

  Mac laughs and the skin on my neck gets hot. “I wasn’t trying to be funny, Mr. Mac.”

  “Just Mac,” he says. “No mister. And whether or not you were trying to be—” He shrugs. “You’re a little funny.”

  “Oh really?” I put one hand on my hip and clutch my SpongeBob lunchbox with the other. “Did you know I got fired after you left?”

  “Actually, yes.” He glances back at the library entrance. “When Daisy and I were on our way out, I overheard what happened between you and your boss.”

  “Whoa.” I frown. “You were spying on me?”

  “More like accidental eavesdropping.” Mac runs a hand through his hair. No wonder it’s so tousled. “You were really brave,” he says. “And your boss is a real idiot.”

  “Hmm.” The thing is, I agree. Mr. Dudley is an idiot. But I know better than to say stuff like that on library property. If silence works for Daisy, it can work for me.

  “Anyway.” Mac shrugs. “That’s why I went to speak to him.”

  “To who?” So much for silence.

  “Your boss. Dudley. The two of us had a little chat.”

  Oh no. “What? How? When?”

  “Just now, while you were gathering your … things.”

  Mac nods at my SpongeBob lunchbox, and I’m sure he can see me blushing. At seven o’clock in August, the sky isn’t dark enough for camouflage.

  “Anyway, I explained things to your boss,” Mac says, “and he’s letting you keep your job.”

  “Wait. What?” My heart leaps into my throat. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” He shakes his head. “But don’t tell Dudley you know yet. I think he wants to surprise you.”

  Me? Tell Mr. Dudley? I can barely catch my breath. In fact, I pinch myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. Ouch. Definitely awake.

  Mac chuckles. “Did you just pinch yourself?”

  “Ha! That would be weird.” Which isn’t really an answer, Brooke. “I was just practicing acting surprised.” I grin at him. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem.” He grins back. “There’s one more thing.”

  I knew this was too good to be true. There goes my grin. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” he says. “But it looks like Mr. Dudley will be promoting you next month.” My eyes fly open, and Mac’s mouth goes crooked. “I might’ve heard about Sheila’s retirement when I was not spying on you. You’re getting her job.”

  Now I’m definitely not breathing. “No way!”

  He nods. “Way.”

  “A promotion? But … I told Mr. Dudley he had pepperoni breath.”

  Mac’s lip quirks. “You did get pretty busy burning that bridge. So you’ll probably have to behave better from now on. Or at least for the next few weeks until your raise kicks in.” He raises one eyebrow, which is kind of charming, but also kind of infuriating. Who is this guy to tell me to behave? Then again, I do still have my job. And soon it will be full-time.

  Maybe Mac’s got a point.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do my best to butter up Mr. Dudley. Assuming Mr. Dudley is butter-up-able.” My stomach rumbles. Just a little. Stop thinking about corn, Brooke. “Anyway, this is excellent news. And I can survive on Top Ramen until September. No problem.”

  “About that,” Mac says. I look up and he meets my gaze. “I have a proposition for you.”

  My eyes go wide. “Proposition?”

  “No, no, no.” Mac raises both hands in protest. “That came out wrong. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “Good.” I straighten my shoulders. “Because I’d hate to have to kick your butt.”

  Mac takes a beat, then laughs out loud. Pretty soon my mouth is twitching too.

  I don’t want to like making Mr. Mac laugh, but I do. I like it. A lot.

  “You. Kicking my butt.” He shakes his head. “Now that I’d like to see.”

  “Well.” I lift my chin. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Fingers crossed.” He smiles. “In the meantime, I’d like to hire you.”

  “But … you said Mr. Dudley’s letting me keep my job.”

  “He is, but you’re still part-time until that promotion, right?”

  I nod. “Monday through Friday. Five to nine.”

  He pauses, probably doing calculations. “Twenty hours a week, huh? That’s not a lot.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “But you said you’re a teacher, right? Kindergarten?”

  A lump rises in my throat. “I was a teacher.” My memory floods with the sound of tiny voices calling me Miss Wallace. Tiny knives in my heart. “I moved here in June—from LA—and my credential doesn’t transfer out of state.”

  Ugh. Why am I telling him this? I haven’t even let myself think about that part of me—or my future—let alone talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “You don’t need a credential,” Mac says. “You’re great with Daisy. I saw firsthand the way she reacted to you. And I trust her instincts better than mine these days. Plus Dudley said you’re always entertaining kids at the library.” He glances down at Daisy and lowers his voice. “She’s been having … troubles.”

  “I gathered that.”

  Mac’s mouth slips into a grim line. “My mom used to take care of her while I was at work. But she moved back to New York to help out with my grandmother after my dad died.”

  “Oh.” I suck in a breath. “I’m so sorry about your father.”

  “Thanks.” Mac blinks fast and his Adam’s apple bobs. Then his voice goes husky. “Me too,” he says. “Anyway, Daisy took my mom’s leaving hard. First she stopped talking. Then she started acting out in … other ways.” He leans in to whisper, and I smell mint on his breath. “She got kicked out of preschool.”

  “Uh oh.” I look down. Daisy’s squirming between us.

  “She’s enrolled in kindergarten now,” Mac says, “but school
doesn’t start until September. Same as your promotion.” He takes a beat. “Coincidence? Maybe. Lucky break? For sure.”

  I narrow my eyes. “How is my promotion lucky for you?”

  “I’ve got to get back to work, and you need more income until your raise kicks in. So.” He splays his hands. “I’ll pay you to watch Daisy for me. During the day, before your shift here.”

  Oh. Oh no.

  I left teaching to get my head clear, and I need to keep my distance from kids for now.

  Especially cute ones. With big blue eyes and crooked pigtails.

  “I’m not a nanny, Mac.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s all right. We tried a professional nanny already and she didn’t work out.” He lowers his voice. “Daisy punched her in the nose one too many times. Tiffany quit yesterday.”

  Whoa. I sneak a peek at Daisy. Her nose is scrunched up like she’s smelling something bad. Tiffany.

  “One of my sisters offered to take over,” Mac says. “But Tess is taking summer school classes and studying for the LSATs.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “Great. So you think I want to get punched in the nose?”

  “Of course not,” he says. “But you need help paying for rent and food. I need help with Daisy. Maybe we can help each other.”

  His words stop me cold. I taught last year’s class a song with almost those same lyrics.

  You help me. I help you. We help each other. That’s how the world goes round.

  “Daisy needs a real caregiver right now,” he says. “Someone with experience. Someone she connects with.” He glances down at her then back up at me. “I didn’t even know she was thirsty back there, but you clued in immediately.”

  I blink. “I guess I did do that.”

  “So.” Mac bobs his head. “Is that a yes?”

  Ugh.

  I came to Apple Valley to give myself time and space to process what the doctors said. To get control of my emotions without distractions or complications. Someday—when I’m ready—I plan to weigh my options calmly. But Daisy is a huge complication right now. A distraction I’m not ready for.

  “Please, Brooke.”

  Mac’s face is so open and optimistic, but I cannot take this on. Too bad saying no—like being graceful—is not my strongest suit.

  How can I convince him to let me off the hook?

  Think, Brooke. Think.

  I pull Mac a few feet away so Daisy can’t hear us talk. “There’s a small problem,” I whisper. “Actually a big one. The problem is … I … don’t … like … children.”

  Mac laughs out loud. “Wait. You what?”

  “Yep.” I suck in another long breath. “I can’t stand kids. At all. Yuck.”

  Mac rakes his hair again, shaking his head. “But I saw you with Daisy. You were great. And your boss says you’re always playing with the kids.”

  “Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips. “I’m pretty good at faking it, Mac. But only for so long.” I shrug. “I tried teaching because I thought I might love the challenge, but … no.” The lie sticks in my throat. Maybe I’m not so good at faking it.

  “Wow. That’s … pretty hard to believe.” Mac studies my face for a moment, then he scrubs his chin. “We’re not talking about a long-term commitment, Brooke. Just a temporary arrangement.” He motions for Daisy to come over to us. “My daughter is all I care about now. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  My chest tightens. Like a straightjacket. “It matters to me.”

  “Right. Fair enough.” Mac stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So let me make it worth your while then.”

  I lift my chin. “I don’t think you can.”

  “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars a week. For one month,” he says. “Once Daisy starts school, and you’re a full-time library employee, you can be on your way. Since neither one of us wants a permanent agreement, we’re both looking at a win-win.”

  When he puts it like this, it sounds so simple. So why do I feel like I’d lose?

  “I’m sorry, Mac. I can’t help you.”

  “Hold on.” He reaches for Daisy’s hand. “I’ve got some money saved,” he says. “I can scrape up a thousand a week for the next month.”

  Okay. Wow. That would buy a whole lot of Top Ramen and beef and broccoli.

  “So. What do you say, Brooke?”

  Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my cardigan. It’s Mr. Dudley.

  “I have to take this.”

  Mac just stands there, holding Daisy’s hand. Smiling at me. Looking cute.

  “Hi, Mr. Dudley.”

  “Ms. Wallace. Hello. Yes. Hi. I’m calling to ask you to stay on as our second-shift security guard.” Mr. Dudley pauses. “Please?” Holy cow. I’ve had more men say please to me tonight than in the rest of my entire life.

  “You want me to keep working for you here at the library?” I raise my voice, putting on a show for Mac. “Well, knock me over with a feather!”

  Mac chuckles. And I like it.

  “Be that as it may.” Mr. Dudley clears his throat. “Vivian will not be sending you termination papers tomorrow.”

  “Well that is really excellent news,” I say. “But if you don’t mind my asking, what made you change your mind?”

  Mac starts waving his arms like I shouldn’t go down that road.

  “Oh, well. Yes.” Mr. Dudley sputters. “Be that as it may.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I did?” He stammers. “Oh. Yes. Well. Ms. Wallace. Thank you.”

  Thank you and Please?

  It’s a Monday night miracle at the library.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Dudley. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

  “I wish I could, Ms. Wallace,” he says. “Unfortunately, they’re paging me over the intercom. Mrs. Dodd is causing problems in the non-fiction stacks tonight. She’s singing the soundtrack to Cats again. And this time, she’s dressed like a cat.”

  “Oh no.” I giggle. “Sounds serious.”

  “Be that as it may.”

  “Mr. Dudley—”

  He ends the call.

  “Hmm.” I turn to Mac. “That was weird.”

  Mac shrugs. “Dudley’s a weird guy.”

  “He is.” I nod. “But something about this whole situation doesn’t add up.”

  “Well.” Mac shifts his weight. “I can’t pay you more than a thousand dollars a week, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “No. It’s just that I was there with you when you told Mr. Dudley about asking me to throw the lettuce. That was before Mr. Dudley fired me. So what did you say to him afterward to make him change his mind?”

  “Oh. That’s easy.” Mac’s mouth tilts up on one side. “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”

  Right.

  I know this type. Mac is Pushy with a capital P. But I was raised by Pushy. I dated Pushy. Pushy can go jump in the Willamette River.

  “Hey.” Mac’s smile falters. “I didn’t threaten Dudley if that’s what you’re worried about.” He must realize his persuasion isn’t working on me, because he’s starting to scramble now. “That’s not how I do business,” he says.

  “What kind of business do you do?”

  “That’s not important.” He meets my gaze. “Let’s just say we came to a mutual agreement.” Those glass-green eyes of his are almost convincing. Almost. But I refuse to be manipulated. Or to let anyone try to control me.

  Ever. Again.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mac, but—”

  He takes a small step toward me. “It’s just Mac, remember?”

  “Thank you, Mac, but my answer is still no.”

  I risk one last glance at Daisy before heading toward my car.

  4

  Mac

  “Brooke! Please! Wait!”

  She doesn’t wait.

  She makes a beeline across the parking lot. Climbs into a beat-up Toyota. Is that a Celica?

  Do they even make those anymore?
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  Dang it, Mac. You blew it.

  I practically told her I made Dudley an offer he can’t refuse. Like some mobster. What was I thinking? I’ve never been that guy. I never wanted to be. But something about Brooke Wallace threw me off. I lost all my game—what little I have—and I didn’t know how to act around her.

  At first, I just felt bad for the security guard. And kind of guilty after she got fired. I was trying to help out. And, let’s face it, I wanted to keep Daisy laughing. Two birds. One stone, right?

  But then, out in the parking lot, Brooke and I started talking. And I figured out she’s funny. Smart too. And tough. So what did I go and do?

  I threw money at her.

  Great, Mac. Just great.

  Gwen would’ve jumped at the cash. She wasn’t interested in the real me. Just the McCoy name. And my bank account. She didn’t believe me when I told her I had simpler goals. A home. Lots of kids. Family life. She played along at first. Sure. She even had a baby she didn’t want. But once she realized my money couldn’t buy her what she really wanted, she couldn’t get out fast enough.

  I wonder if she knows I ended up as McCoy’s CEO after all. Doesn’t matter now. We’re over. And I’ll never risk being disappointed like that again.

  Disappointed. Heh. Try heartbroken.

  I can afford a lot, but not that.

  My only focus now is Daisy. Her wellbeing. Her happiness. Stability. I just want to give her the life I dreamed of for us. She’s always been my number one priority. And that won’t change. No matter how many people leave us.

  I take Daisy’s hand, turn, and start heading to my truck, when a sound behind us stops me cold. An engine turning over with a rapid tick-tick-tick, then sputtering, then dying.

  Uh-oh.

  Brooke tries again. Again the engine ticks and sputters and dies.

  Tick. Sputter. Die.

  When I turn around, I see the car hasn’t moved an inch. Brooke is still stuck in her parking spot, banging her head against the steering wheel. She lifts her head and pounds the wheel with her fist so hard, I’m surprised her airbag doesn’t deploy. Then again, that car of hers is probably too old for airbags.

  “Hey, Daisy. Do you think we should go check on Ms. Wallace?”