by Edie Ramer
“Custom?” he asked.
Abby nodded. “For a friend of your aunt’s.”
“Great work. Very smooth.”
“Thank you,” the taller woman said, her voice brisk.
Holden turned to her. She was only a couple inches shorter than him, tall and shapely, with pleasant features, though her short haircut didn’t flatter her long face. Holden held out his hand. Her grip was firm, and he felt calluses on the pads of her fingers.
“You must be Sam,” he said. “My fiancée, Portia Engell, has good things to say about you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s Portia. Always good.”
“Don’t you like good?”
Her head tilted, and he had the feeling she was inwardly laughing. “There’s a reason I work out here while Abby chats up the clients.”
“That’s me.” Abby grinned at Cara. “The chatty one.”
Cara giggled.
“How are the conditions here for working?” he asked Sam.
“I manage.”
“We manage,” Abby said, drawing his attention.
“I thought you worked in your home.” He looked at her, and it felt as if her smile meant something special for him. Then he told himself she was one of those people who made everyone feel they were special, like the best salesmen did—and the best whores and the best politicians. But even that knowledge didn’t stop him from feeling better about himself, better about life, just from the approving look in her eyes.
“I help design,” she said. “And I cut out the carpets for the perches.”
“She does.” Sam’s smile was indulgent, as if Abby were her little sister. “I measure and tell her what’s possible and what’s not. Otherwise, she’d promise the world.”
“Everyone deserves the world.” Abby bent toward Cara. “You deserve the world. Isn’t that right?”
Cara didn’t answer, and Holden saw the pucker on her forehead and the way she bit her lip. And in her eyes, he saw something else. A want for something she couldn’t have.
He knew that want. He’d had it when he was young and saw happy families laughing and talking together, teasing each other.
It wasn’t good to have a want like that.
“I think Cara knows what she wants,” he said, “and it’s not the world.”
“What do you want?” Abby asked her.
“Epic.” She stared at Abby, but the small tips of her fingers curled tightly around his first three fingers. “I want Epic to be mine.”
Abby’s eyes shot up, her gaze meeting his and staying. There was silence as another song came on, a woman singing about the glory of love. And he felt as if someone kicked him in the chest.
And then he dragged his gaze from Abby’s, because something odd was going on here. Something too deep, and maybe it was Cara, and maybe it was Abby, and maybe it was the uncertainty about his business, but he looked at Cara and said, “Yes.”
Her mouth opened, and he could see she didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe he was telling the truth. Didn’t believe that all the years of hearing “no” had changed in one second. That he would make this one dream come true.
“Yes, you can keep the kitten,” he said, enunciating clearly so she could hear him over the song.
“Will they let me keep it?” Cara asked, her voice so soft he had to bend forward to hear her.
Anger flashed through him; no need to ask who they were. And only after she pulled her hand from his and backed away from him did he realize his facial muscles were rigid and his eyes burning.
He relaxed his muscles, but her expression remained wary. “I’m not mad at you,” he said. He could have gone on a tirade about her mother and grandparents, but it would scare her, and she’d be afraid to say anything to him, afraid to get that reaction again. He knew that because he’d lived that. “I’m mad at...someone else. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your grandmother and grandfather let you keep Epic. They owe you that.”
Again he felt her stare, then a tentative smile pushed up the corners of her lips, and then it widened and opened to a big one. Her eyes glowed brightly, and he was still bending forward to hear what she would say when her arms whipped up, her small hands curving around his neck, not quite reaching together at the nape of it, and she leaned the top of her head against his chest.
His instinct was to jerk away, but he froze instead. After a second, he reached down to clumsily pat her back, aware of the silence in the big barn, hearing only the slam of his own heartbeat.
“I love you, Daddy.” Cara pulled back.
He had no choice but to say the words. If he didn’t say them back, she would be devastated. And he was acutely aware of Abby and Sam watching and listening. But none of that mattered, because there was a strange feeling in his heart, as if there were a clamp about it, squeezing and squeezing until it was ready to burst.
He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt like this. Or, indeed, if he’d ever felt like this.
“I love you, too.” He heard the roughness of his voice, and he felt something wet on his cheeks. He wondered what it was. Something leaking from the barn roof, which wouldn’t be good for the furniture.
Her hands came up, and she touched his face, wiping across his cheekbone with the tip of her finger. “You’re crying,” she said, wonder in her voice.
“I never cry,” he said.
She just stared at him, and then she smiled and patted her hand on his cheek, the same way he imagined she would pet the dog.
He straightened, and only then did he turn his head to the women. No, woman, he thought, his gaze resting on Abby’s eyes. Seeing their softness and approval, both of which felt pretty good to him.
Too good.
Something strange was happening to him, and he had to leave now. He felt as if he’d fallen down into Wonderland, where things weren’t like anything in the real world. Not even his heart that seemed to be melting.
“I have to leave.” He gazed down at Cara. “I have to go back to work. I’ll pick you up at six, right?”
“Me and Epic,” she said.
He stiffened but nodded. He’d given her his word. “Yes, you and Epic.”
She smiled at him again, a shy smile. He patted the top of her head, feeling awkward. Both of them were learning how to do this family thing, though she wasn’t his family and would be taken away in a week and two days.
“I’ll see you later.” He backed away from her. Nodding at the two women, he saw the glistening eyes of Abby. While Sam’s were narrowed in cynicism, as if she didn’t believe his show of affection.
He strode away and wished he didn’t believe in it, either. He didn’t know what had happened, or how, but he needed to get out before he did anything else imprudent and unlike him.
8
“He’s engaged,” Sam said.
Abby straightened her shoulders, wondering what Sam saw in her face. “I know. Don’t worry about me. He’s not my type. Too serious. Life is serious, and when I go out, I like to laugh and have fun. He’s like a...” She gestured outdoors. “A sturdy oak tree that just stands there and provides shade and oaks. I like oak trees. I admire them. But in the end, he’s a tree, and I prefer a flower.”
“I’ve seen a few of your laughing boyfriends.” Sam scratched the side of her head, riffling her short hair. “They remind me of dandelions.”
Abby laughed, and Cara giggled.
“Do you like dandelions?” Sam bent toward Cara.
Cara nodded energetically. “They’re pretty.”
“Right,” Sam said, “pretty and bright-colored, but then you wake up one morning, and they’re dandelion fluff, blowing away with the wind.”
Abby made a face. So true about her boyfriends through the years. “But what if I don’t mind them blowing away?”
Sam shook her head, one side of her mouth indenting. “Nothing wrong with a girl having fun.”
“But I’m not a girl anymore. Right?” Abby winced at the truth of h
er words. Though she still got carded, thirty was coming up in less than two years, and she was still living from month to month. And with the extra expenses—the leaking roof and the machinery breaking—this month it was week to week.
“When I get my life together,” Sam said, “that’s when I’ll give you advice.”
“Ha! So true.” Abby shook off this pensive mood. She didn’t do pensiveness well. It usually ended with her diving into a depression that even a bag of her favorite chocolate couldn’t make disappear, until she recovered enough to remind herself she had so much good that meant more than money. She had her health, her sister, her cats, her dog, her friends. And though her parents were gone now, she’d had wonderful years with them.
All she was missing was money.
“I don’t have time for a serious relationship anyway,” she said.
“Just the fun ones?” Sam asked. “How’s that working for you?”
“Bitch.”
Cara gasped, and Sam leaned forward, her hands on her thighs, and looked Cara in the eyes. “Cara, I’m proud of being a bitch. It’s what people call you when you tell the truth.” She straightened and peered straight into Abby’s eyes. “But I know something about love; it’s the serious ones that stick.”
“But what if I like to laugh?”
“Don’t tell me. Tell it to your heart.”
“You’re...” Words wouldn’t come. At least none she could say in front of Cara.
“Right. I’m right.” Sam folded her arms.
“He’s engaged. I’m not likely to get into any trouble with him.”
“I know Portia. She and he would make a terrible couple. They’re too alike. I bet their sex life is so boring they fall asleep in the middle—”
“Sam!” Abby put her hand on Cara’s shoulder.
Scratching the back of her neck, Sam shook her head. “Good thing I don’t have children. I’d be a terrible mom.”
“You’d be wonderful!”
“I wish you were my mom,” Cara said, her voice wobbly.
In an instant, Abby snapped around and knelt at Cara’s feet, hugging her close against her. She wanted to tell her that she wished Cara were her daughter. But saying that would be irresponsible and might even hurt the girl.
Two thin arms curled around Abby’s neck, hugging her back, and Cara’s forehead pressed against her neck. Seconds later, Abby felt moisture on her neck. Still on her knees, smelling cut wood and wood stain and small girl, Abby swayed, rocking Cara from side to side, crooning wordlessly and wishing she had a secret power to make everything all right for her.
And thinking that if she were married to Holden—which was crazy thinking—she and he could petition for custody.
She loosened her grip. Time for her real life, which didn’t involve a multimillionaire who would make Prince Charming look too pretty. Like the furniture his company made, he exuded solidity.
Cara let go of her. “Are we going to be here much longer?”
Abby stood then wiped wood dust from her knees. “You want to go home to Epic?” Cara’s vigorous nods made Abby smile.
Her underarms and her breasts prickled from the heat. It was in the lower eighties today and humid. She glanced at Sam. “We should put the fans on.”
“Can we afford it?” Sam asked.
“Can we afford not to?”
“The electric bills are in my name. If I can’t pay it, my credit will be mud.”
Abby looked around at the big barn they couldn’t heat adequately in winter or cool in summer.
If only they could charge more.
If only they could afford more.
If only they had more money.
“We’ll have the money soon. I’ve decided to sell the house.” She forced her voice to be steady, forced her shoulders not to droop.
She’d been fooling herself that two weeks would make a difference. The queen of positive thinking was finally admitting that wishing it were so didn’t make it so.
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Where will you sleep?”
“We’ll be all right.”
“Don’t say your SUV.”
“It’s a big SUV.” Abby laughed and heard the shakiness in her voice. “Just kidding. Once I sell the house, I’ll have money to afford an apartment for me and Grace.” Swallowing, she pictured the big house in the exclusive area where she and Grace had started out. She’d traded that in for the smaller house soon after they realized there was no money. That the unlicensed, drunk driver who’d smashed his van into their parents’ car hadn’t had insurance. And that her parents had been brilliant in their professions but not brilliant at making sure their daughters would be cared for financially.
Abby had never faulted them for it. They hadn’t planned to die so soon.
“You could stay here,” Sam said, her voice gruff, but Abby shook her head. They’d gone through this before.
“It’s not fair to Grace to give up her friends.”
“It’s not fair to you to give up your life.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t given my life away. I’m living every second.” She smiled at her friend. “We’ll manage.”
“You could use the money to pay a factory in China to make the cat furniture.” Sam’s eyes wouldn’t meet Abby’s. “I’ll be okay doing something else.”
“No.” Abby spoke firmly. “We’re in this together. I believe in what we’re doing. We’re putting out a quality product, and the people who purchase our furniture love it. We just need time, and I’m not giving up.”
Sam’s tight shoulders sloped in relief. Only then did Abby realize she’d been worried about her answer. Abby didn’t know Sam’s whole story but was familiar enough to know that behind her stoic front was a woman who’d been deeply hurt.
Maybe because of Sam’s sexuality, but she wasn’t saying, and Abby wasn’t asking. She loved Sam as a friend and admired her for her work ethic and her skills, and wasn’t that what mattered?
Life wasn’t about money. It was about love.
She said she had to get going and turned to call Minnie to her carrier. A meow caught her attention, Minnie at her feet already. She gazed down at her. “You must be the smartest cat in the world.”
Sam patted Cara’s head then looked at Abby with a twisted smile.
“I think it’s way past time that I should call my old sorority sister.”
“Are you going to ask her to help us?” Abby should be glad that Sam was trying to raise money.... But the thought that it was Holden’s fiancée made her feel sick.
“No.” Sam smiled with her lips together, but her eyes...they were narrowed, with no smile in them at all.
Abby nodded and turned away. As she and Cara walked out of the barn, the sun hit them, bright and hot, but it felt good on her shoulders and face. A small hand slipped into hers. They stopped at the car, and a tug on her hand made Abby turn around.
“What I said about Sam being my mom?” Cara blinked, her little face twisted with worry. “I was being nice. I wish you were my mom.”
Abby knelt once again and hugged her. Maybe Cara was collecting hugs, committing them to memory for when she had to go back to that loveless place she’d come from.
A few moments ago, Abby had thought silence was the responsible thing to do.
But now she thought she’d been wrong.
“Me, too,” she whispered. “Me, too.”
9
In his office, Holden stared at the canvas for long moments until his cell phone rang, three smooth beats. Portia’s ring. He put the canvas in his briefcase then grabbed the phone. Forcing his facial muscles and his jaw to relax, he greeted her.
“Do you mind if I cancel dinner tonight?” she asked.
He tilted back in his chair. “That’s fine. Something else come up?”
“Remember we talked about my old sorority sister? Sam?”
“I met her today.”
“Did you?” Her tone changed, and he imagined her frowning, thinking about thei
r meeting and wondering what it meant.
“I went to the barn and saw their cat furniture.”
“Oh, that’s right. Abby’s your babysitter. I was so excited to hear from Sam again that I forgot about it. She just...disappeared from my life. We were such good friends, too. I never knew why, and it’s bothered me all these years. She wants to meet for dinner tonight, and I said yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I’m glad that she called you. You go ahead and enjoy yourself.”
She laughed and sounded giddy, unlike herself. “I plan to. You have a nice dinner with Cara.”
A knock came on his door, then Ryan strode in, as usual not waiting for an invite. Holden sat straight and said goodbye to Portia and hung up, glad that he’d put the painting away and Ryan wouldn’t see it.
“What was that?” Ryan sat on the leather guest chair, one foot slung over his knee. “You got a big order? You’re looking...” His eyes narrowed. “Relieved.”
“That was Portia. She called to cancel dinner for tonight.”
Ryan laughed, though nothing about this situation was funny to Holden. He couldn’t deny his relief, but he didn’t like feeling it.
“Dude, you sure don’t look like a man in love. You should cancel the wedding.”
“Love fades. Compatibility is the key to a good marriage.”
“Bullshit.”
“Since when did you become the expert on relationships? I didn’t ask Portia to marry me on a whim. I put a lot of thought into it.”
“That’s the problem. It’s not thought that you need to put into it.”
“What?” Holden raised one eyebrow. “The heart?”
“Nah.” Ryan grinned. “The penis.”
“In that case, you should be asking strippers at the VaVaVoom Bar to marry you.”
His brows rose. “Ha, ha, ha. Don’t turn this around to me. I’m not the one about to make the second biggest mistake in my life.”
“Right. You’re the one not making any mistakes. When was your last serious relationship? What’s the matter? Why are you afraid to commit?”
“Told you, it’s not me.” Ryan gave him the same smile that made women slip him their phone numbers and bra sizes. “It’s my penis.”