“Go ahead and sit,” Liz said. She got out the Cheerios, milk, bowl, and spoon and set it in front of Daisy. Then she poured her a small glass of orange juice.
“Thank you,” Daisy said. “No one has taken care of me in so long.” Her eyes teared up.
Geez, pregnancy hormones do make you cry at everything.
“Just this one time, then you find your own breakfast,” Liz said briskly, trying to detour another crying jag. It was too early for all the drama, and she had a phone call to make.
Daisy nodded and dug into her cereal. Liz grabbed her cell and took it into her bedroom for privacy. She dialed, and after a few rings, it went to voice mail.
“You’ve reached Ryan O’Hare. Leave a message.”
She dropped the phone.
Her heart galloped at an alarming speed. Ryan O’Hare. The man she’d spent years avoiding, ever since The Humiliation. Ryan O’Hare was hiring an elder care provider? She grabbed her cell off the floor and jabbed the end button to hang up.
She paced her bedroom and tried to think. Should I call back? How badly do I need this job?
She took a deep breath and dialed again, clenching her teeth as she heard his voice on the recorded message. Then, all in a rush, she left a message. “Hello, this is Liz Garner. I’m calling about the ad you placed for an elder care provider. I live in town and have many references, so please call me to arrange an interview.” She left her number and hung up.
Then she collapsed on her bed and screamed into a pillow.
Chapter Two
Ryan’s night hadn’t been a total bust. He’d bribed the front desk clerk for info and got Stew’s room number and some good intel: the swinging couple liked to go clubbing before settling in back at the Four Seasons. The fat check he’d gotten from his client more than made up for the cash he was out. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his cell from the jeans he’d dropped on the floor late last night. One message. He hit play—Liz Garner about the elder care ad. His first applicant since the ad had run yesterday. He remembered Liz from when he’d been a lifeguard at Grand Lake the summer before his senior year. She’d been the only real emergency that summer. He hadn’t seen her much since. Not too surprising considering she’d been four years behind him in school. He knew she taught at Clover Park Elementary since last fall, thanks to Gran, who felt it her duty to keep him informed of the latest town gossip.
He dialed Liz. First applicant or not, an elementary school teacher sounded like the perfect candidate to him.
“Hello?” Liz answered.
“Hi, this is Ryan O’Hare. I’m returning your call about the elder care.”
“Oh…yes. Hello.” She cleared her throat. “How are you?”
“Fine. I need someone to check on my grandmother twice a day. Help her out with a few things around the house, errands.”
“I could do that,” she said. “I know Mrs. O’Hare. She’s a sweet woman.”
“Yeah, sweet.” When she isn’t acting crazy.
“Would you like the numbers of my references?”
She’s basically harmless, he decided on the spot. Besides, everyone in town knew her parents from their restaurant. Good people. He’d still run a background check, of course.
“I know your family,” he told her. “Good enough for me.”
“Okay then!” she said in an annoyingly perky voice. “I will do my best, and you won’t be disappointed.”
“So the job is two hours a day, five days a week.”
“I’d like four hours, five days a week,” she said, coming down from perky into firm teacher voice territory. “Twenty bucks an hour.”
He stiffened. “That’s steep.”
“That’s what a nanny would get paid around here. I’m an elder care provider.”
She said it with such high falutin’ importance he thought she might trip over her own nose on that one. He’d have to get his brothers to pool their money. But it’d be worth it just to lessen his aggravation load. “Deal.”
“I’ll start Monday morning,” she informed him. “I know the address.”
“Works for me.” He hung up and thought about calling Gran to give her a heads-up about Liz. He quickly nixed that idea. She’d only fight him on it. Let Liz do all the explaining. Gran would never blow up at her. More likely, she’d fuss over Liz, offer to feed her. Least the old Gran would’ve.
He called Trav and told him to bring Shane by for burgers and dogs tonight so they could figure out what to do about Gran.
He went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. After he was fully caffeinated, he made a quick trip into town for food, and by the time his brothers showed up, the charcoal grill was nice and hot.
“I brought a new flavor, guys,” his youngest brother, Shane, announced as he stepped onto the back patio. He held up a brown bag. “Peanut butter banana. Try it. Let me know what you think.” Shane’s ice cream shop, Shane’s Scoops, was doing a booming business in town. Not only did he offer homemade gourmet ice cream, a coffee bar, and candy bins at the shop, he also supplied a network of local restaurants with his fancy ice cream. Who knew they’d pay that much for ice cream?
“I won’t say no to ice cream,” Ryan said.
“Always happy to help the cause,” Trav said, following behind. “And I brought beer and chips.”
Ryan gave him a curt nod. He never touched a drop of alcohol, not after their father’s spectacular crash and burn. He didn’t like his brothers drinking, but they were big boys. And they rarely had more than one. Least not on his watch.
“Not until after the ice cream,” Shane said. He pulled out the container and plastic spoons at the patio table. “Try it while you still have a clean palate.”
Ryan bit back a sarcastic comment. His brother had gone to culinary school, so he could throw around words like “palate” without judgment. Even if he did sound like a wuss.
Trav wiped his tongue with a napkin. “My palate’s clean.”
“Idiot,” Ryan said affectionately.
They each took a spoonful. Shane looked at them hopefully.
“It’s good,” Ryan said.
Mmmph, Trav said around a second spoonful.
“Is it too much banana?” Shane asked. “Too much peanut butter? Texture?”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s fine. Good.”
Trav was too busy inhaling the container to do anything but nod in agreement.
“Does that mean I should add it to the menu?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Ryan said.
Trav took a breather to speak around a mouthful of ice cream. “Best one yet.”
Shane broke out into a wide smile. “Thank you.”
Ryan threw hot dogs and premade burger patties on the grill while his brothers traded insults over Shane’s growing stomach—hazard of an ice cream maker, he said—and Trav’s perpetual stubble—a hot look that chicks dig, he insisted. Ryan didn’t comment. Shane’s stomach was always right. And his own five o’clock shadow depended on how much sleep he got. Whether or not he shaved, it was easy to hook up with a new divorcée. They made intense revenge sex partners. And a quick exit out the door afterward was expected. Easy. Fun. No strings.
Even so, he’d turned down the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Harbinger last night when she’d invited him in for a “hot, wet shower.” Lately he’d been feeling like mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. Like his female clients were paying him for additional services. Made him feel kinda cheap even at his high prices.
He set the platter of charbroiled meat down on the table and waited for his brothers to take their fill before he took a burger and a dog.
“So, what’s up with Gran?” Shane asked after he finished his hot dog. “Is she okay?”
“She needs someone to look out for her,” Ryan said.
“She took Ry’s Harley out for a ride last night,” Trav added with a chuckle.
Shane’s mouth dropped open.
Ryan threw a chip at Trav’s head. “It’s not funny.” He dodge
d the chip Trav threw back at him. “I put an ad in the paper for elder care before she stole my Harley. Now I’m glad I did.”
Trav grinned. “Can you imagine her out on the highway with her bony butt on that huge leather seat.” He gripped imaginary handlebars and pushed his head forward like a turtle.
Ryan smiled in spite of himself. Shane just looked worried.
“I was afraid something wasn’t right with her,” Shane said. “Who eats Snickers for breakfast?”
“Yeah, well, I hired someone this morning,” Ryan said. “Liz Garner.” He took a bite of his burger.
“Liz was in my class,” Shane said. “Nice girl. She’s come into the shop with Rachel Miller a few times since she moved back.”
“Her sister’s wild,” Trav said with a lecherous smile before taking a pull on his beer.
Trav had also run wild as a kid, but fortunately between Ryan and Police Chief Bailey, they’d kept him out of juvie. And even though Trav was a landscape architect with his own high-end landscape design company, Ryan still waited for the next dumbass impulsive scrape he’d get into. It had been a while; he’d give him that.
Ryan continued. “Liz wanted twenty hours a week at twenty bucks an hour, so that means—”
“Four hundred bucks a week!” Trav exclaimed. “Are you shitting me?”
“No, I am not shitting you. Look, Gran’s living alone in that big old house, and summer’s a busy time for all of us.”
“I’ll chip in,” Shane said. He took a bite of burger. “Perfectly medium-well, not bad for an assembly-line patty. If you really want a good burger, you’ve got to grind your own meat.”
Ryan gave Shane a one-finger salute and turned to Trav. “Come on, Mr. Landscape Architect to the Rich, are you gonna cough up the dough or what?”
“All right,” Trav said. “But if she still needs help by the end of the summer, maybe we should get someone full time.”
“Now that’s the most sense you’ve made all night,” Ryan said.
“I have my moments,” Trav said, fluttering his eyelashes.
They finished eating. Trav offered to scrape down the grill to avoid kitchen duty, so Shane helped Ryan bring everything inside. Ryan was just putting the ketchup, mustard, and relish back in the fridge when Shane said quietly, “I saw Dad.”
Ryan froze. They hadn’t seen their father since he’d left them shortly after their mother died. Shane had only been thirteen. That was seventeen long fucking years ago.
“He stopped by the shop, so I had coffee with him.”
Ryan slammed the fridge door, turned, and met his brother’s eyes. Shane’s reflected only calm. “What did he want?”
Shane shrugged. “He just wanted to reconnect. He’s been sober three years.”
“Well, good for him.”
“He asked about you. And Trav. Wanted to know if it was okay to call you.”
“Fuck him.”
Shane put his hands up. “All right, just thought I’d ask.”
Ryan shook his head. “You’re too damn nice.”
~ ~ ~
“I’m too darn nice,” Liz muttered as she yanked open the door to her best friend Rachel’s book store. I must be crazy nice to work for that insensitive, horribly…hot, so hot, no, arrogant man. She gave a quick hello to the cashier and zoomed down the aisles in search of her friend, still buzzing with adrenaline from her phone call with Ryan.
She found her on a ladder, shelving some books on the top shelf. “Rachel! I need to talk to you!”
Rachel dropped the stack of Diary of a Wimpy Kid books she was holding. Liz jumped out of the way just in time.
Rachel’s brown braid whipped around when she turned. “You scared me!”
Liz grimaced. She should be more careful about sneaking up on Rachel. Her friend was still spooked from a stalker ex-boyfriend six months ago.
“Sorry!” Liz bent and gathered all the spilled books, handing them to Rachel to reshelve.
Her friend stepped down the ladder and stood in front of her wearing a red “Readers Rock” T-shirt of her own design. Rachel Miller was a proud bookworm and the successful owner of Book It. “What’s the emergency?”
She looked around. A few people were browsing the shelves. She couldn’t chance the gossip. “It’s private,” she whispered.
Rachel grabbed her hand and pulled her into the back office, shutting the door. Liz moved a box of books off a chair and sat down at Rachel’s desk, numbly taking the cup of coffee and biscotti Rachel offered from the top of the short bookcase that served as an employee kitchen.
“I took a job working for Ryan O’Hare,” Liz blurted. “I’m spending time with his grandmother for the summer.”
“You’re shaking.” Rachel took the coffee and biscotti back from her and set it down. She sat on the edge of the desk next to Liz. “I thought you were taking the summer off, except for a little tutoring and some online classes.”
“And I’m still going to do all that, but I need the money. For Daisy. I can’t tell you why yet.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” Rachel’s chocolate brown eyes gleamed behind her glasses in anticipation of another Daisy story. They’d been sharing them ever since Rachel moved to town in sixth grade. “What did she do this time?”
Liz kept her mouth shut for a good three seconds. “You’ll see soon enough. She’s staying with me.”
“Omigod, she’s pregnant, isn’t she?”
“I really can’t say,” she said, nodding at the same time.
Rachel whistled under her breath. “Wow. So what are you going to do about Ryan?”
“I hope I never see him. I can ask him to mail my checks, right?”
“You’ve been avoiding him ever since The Incident.”
“It wasn’t an incident. It was The Humiliation.” Liz gestured wildly. “I’ve had a lot of incidents since then, and believe me this still ranks as The Humiliation.”
“Worse than The Ordeal?” Rachel asked, referring to the wretched time when Liz had to cancel all her wedding plans two weeks before the blessed event as everyone knew Craig had run off and married someone else.
“No, not worse than that,” Liz admitted.
“It’s been, what?” Rachel asked in a gentle tone. “Sixteen, seventeen years? Can we downgrade it to an incident?”
Liz dropped her head in her hands. “I wish I could.”
Rachel rubbed her back. “I’m sure it will be fine. The Humiliation lives large in your memory, but he’s probably forgotten all about it.”
Liz looked up. “Well, I never will.”
“Let it go, Liz. Really. You’ve come a long way. You’re not the same girl you once were.”
She perked up a bit. Rachel was right. She wasn’t that overweight, awkward, shy girl anymore. She was trim, confident, and in control. She had a job to do. And Ryan O’Hare wouldn’t keep her from it.
Chapter Three
“Knock, knock,” Liz called through the open screen door of Mrs. O’Hare’s house at ten o’clock Monday morning. Mrs. O’Hare lived in a beautiful Victorian home, white with black shutters and a wraparound porch. She could tell her three grandsons helped out around here. The home and yard were beautifully maintained. She loved the pink roses blooming above cheerful blue geraniums, all neatly arranged in landscaping beds in front of the porch. The home was across the street from Trav’s landscape company in the historic former blacksmith place, and a few blocks away from Ryan’s house, which she steadfastly avoided driving or walking past. Shane lived in the apartment over Shane’s Scoops just a short walk away on Main Street.
Mrs. O’Hare appeared at the door, wearing a white T-shirt embroidered with colorful flowers, blue leggings, and sneakers. Short white tufts of hair from her pixie haircut stuck out of a dark blue visor perched on her head.
“Hello, Liz. What brings you by today?”
“Hi, Mrs. O’Hare. May I come in?”
“Sure, come on in.”
Liz followed her in past the
gleaming hardwood floors of the front entryway into a formal living room. A fireplace that looked original to the home with a white, carved mantel and brick surround was the focal point of a seating area with matching red velvet chairs, a loveseat in shades of gold with cheerful daisies, and an antique cherrywood coffee table. A large plum-colored hand-knit blanket was thrown over the loveseat. Very cozy.
“Can I get you some tea?” Mrs. O’Hare asked. “I’ve already started a kettle.”
“That would be lovely,” Liz answered, following her into a small, cluttered, but homey kitchen. The windows were open, letting in a nice cross breeze. The air smelled fresh with just the hint of roses. She watched the older woman getting out the tea bags. “How are you feeling since the accident?” she asked.
“Oh, fine, just fine,” Mrs. O’Hare said. “Best thing that ever happened to me.” She paused to smile at Liz. “Cream or sugar?”
“Neither, I like mine plain.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. “How was the accident the best thing to ever happen to you?”
“Just what I said,” Mrs. O’Hare replied. She set the cups and saucers on a tray and rummaged around in her cabinet. “Ah, cookies. Too bad I don’t have scones, but these will have to do.”
Liz pulled her cell out of her purse and scanned the Milano cookie bag with MyFoodBuddy. One hundred eighty calories per serving, one serving was three cookies. I’ll only have one cookie. She entered her planned portion on the screen.
Mrs. O’Hare raised an eyebrow. “What’d you just do?”
Liz tucked her cell away. “Nothing. Just a calorie tracker.”
“You don’t need that. You’re just right.” She shook the cookie bag a little. Five cookies spilled out.
Hope Mrs. O’Hare is feeling hungry. “I don’t understand. About the accident?”
Mrs. O’Hare reached in the bag, pulled out a ruffled paper cup, and gave the bag another shake. Five more cookies.
Liz lifted a hand to stop the cookie flow and, unable to find a polite way of grabbing the bag from her host, dropped it by her side.
“Yes, well, it gave me a new lease on life,” Mrs. O’Hare said, oblivious to Liz’s distress as she arranged the cookies in a circle.
The Opposite of Wild Page 2