A Love of Her Own

by Bettye Griffin

  A LOVE OF HER OWN

  by Bettye Griffin

  Originally published by BET Publications, LLC in 1999

  This eBook edition published by Bunderful Books

  This book is not available in print.

  Copyright © 2011 by Bettye-Lynn Griffin Underwood

  A Love Of Her Own

  In this updated, revised eBook version of Bettye Griffin’s classic novel originally published in 1999…

  Ava Maxwell has made a career out of helping other people with their dreams as the leading wedding planner in the trendy but troubled city of Palmdale, Florida. She cherishes the thought of starting a marriage and creating a family…knowing that for her, the reality was painfully different.

  Ten years before Ava walked out on her marriage when she and her ex-husband received the devastating news that she would never be able to have children…the one thing her ex wanted most. The intervening years have been marked by aborted relationships and by clinging to the belief that she will finally be able to claim happiness once she reaches the point in her life where she would not be expected to bear children…but she’s only thirty-five years old and lonely, and ‘that certain age’ is still a good ten years away.

  Then, in the same remarkable evening, Ava encounters both an eight-year-old purse snatcher and an exciting new man in town, and forms unlikely alliances with them both, bonds that soon deepen into something more special than she’s ever known. Could these two males be the key to her attaining…A Love of Her Own?

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  Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin 53158

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Love of Her Own by Bettye Griffin

  Also by Bettye Griffin

  About the Author

  Excerpt, Isn’t She Lovely? by Bettye Griffin

  Dedication

  For you!

  Acknowledgments

  Bernard Underwood, Eva Mae (“Bettye”) Griffin, my favorite people on Earth.

  James G. Griffin, Gordon E. Griffin, and Peter A. Griffin, my favorite people in Heaven.

  Sean D. Young of Young Creations. You did it again with this cover!

  My loyal readers. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  The Almighty, from whom all blessings flow.

  A Love of Her Own

  Chapter 1

  Ava frowned as she looked at the tally of the total sales for the day from the register read she’d just performed. It had been a slow day at Beginnings, her bridal boutique, which was always a matter of concern, but then again most people had better things to do the week before Christmas than buy wedding gowns.

  Following her daily routine, she removed all the bills and checks from the till, leaving only the change. Her shop was protected by an alarm system, but nevertheless she was determined that no burglar would make off with what belonged to her. She set aside fifty dollars in small bills to start with tomorrow and tucked it inside a special compartment of her wallet, then stuffed the rest into a small navy canvas bag and placed the rest in a zippered compartment in her purse, then squeezed the bag inside her shoulder bag. It was nearly six o’clock, and the holiday party at Catherine’s started at seven-thirty. Because time was short—she had to eat, shower, change, and walk Khufu, her Irish setter—she decided to just bring the money home with her and deposit it on her way in tomorrow.

  Ever conscientious about her salon’s appearance, Ava inadvertently straightened a few displays on her way out. She set the alarm and turned out the lights, and her last precaution was to string her shoulder bag diagonally across her body.

  She stepped out into the crisp North Florida evening air and pulled the door shut behind her well within the fifteen-second exit interval before the alarm would shrill, then pulled the metal security trellis into place and locked that as well. It wasn’t the most attractive covering, but because downtown Palmdale could be very unsafe after the stores closed and the streets became deserted, it was a necessity.

  Her car was parked right in front of the store, and she was moving toward it when someone slammed into her. She was stunned by the sudden jolt, and although her body was shaken, she did not fall. Instead it was the offending person who went sprawling down on the sidewalk.

  The first thing Ava noticed was that he was a child, maybe eight or nine years old. The second thing she noticed was that he had been carrying a purse. Now, that was certainly unusual. What was up with that?

  “Stop him, he’s got my purse!”

  Ava instantly understood what was happening. She quickly bent and picked up the purse, and at the same time she planted her foot firmly on the assailant’s back. “Move and I’ll break it,” she said menacingly. It was a line straight out of a Forties film noir. It wasn’t like her to make threatening statements, but she figured she had little to fear from a pint-sized purse snatcher.

  The mugging victim quickly closed the few yards between them. “Oh, thank you. Thank you,” she said profusely, reaching for the stolen purse. “My goodness. And here I was thinking Palmdale was getting safer.”

  “It is, ma’am, but we’ve still got some way to go,” Ava replied as she handed over the purse. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so.” The woman, slightly stout and appearing to be in the upper end of her fifties, shook her index finger at the youngster who lay on the ground. “You’re going down the wrong path, young man. You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

  Ava suspected the reason the woman didn’t call the police was because she was afraid of repercussions, in spite of the not-taking-any-stuff attitude she projected. Well, she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to have the little punk brought in if it was her he’d mugged, but of course that was why she slung her purse across her body when it contained the contents of the till, to eliminate herself as an easy target. “Are you sure, ma’am?” she asked.

  “Yes, dear. Thank you again. Oh, here’s my bus.”

  She scurried off, and Ava looked down at the brooding figure on the ground, not sure what to do. She decided a stern approach would work best. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked, her foot still planted firmly on his back.

  “I wish you hadn’t gotten in my way,” he replied defiantly.

  Ava didn’t like that answer, and she showed it by pressing down with her foot.

  “Ouch!”

  “You had it coming,” she said, removing her foot. “Now, go home and…do something constructive, like your homework. Hmph. Bet you can’t even read.”

  “Can too,” he replied sullenly as he got to his feet, brushing street dirt off the navy blue jacket that covered his hips, then reaching for the black and blue Orlando Magic baseball cap that had fallen off his head when he fell. “And I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just needed some money.”

  “We all do, kid, but we need to earn our own, not help ourselves to somebody else’s. That lady just gave you a break. I hope you make the most of it.”

  By the time she got to the driver’s door of her car he had disappeared around the corner.

  *****

  Two hours later, when Ava stepped into Catherine Moore’s house, her first thought was, Dear Lord, please don’t let me break anything.

  She knew Cather
ine was a meticulous woman—that was obvious from her regular weekly visits to the beauty shop next door to Ava’s bridal shop for a wash-and-set—but this was unreal. Ava had never been to the house Catherine had purchased with the proceeds from her latest divorce. This, Ava thought, was the Nineties version of the dowager home. Not that Catherine was a dowager. She was in her early forties, only seven or eight years past Ava’s own thirty-five.

  Instead of a series of dark rooms with scads of easily breakable knickknacks and plastic-encased furniture, there was space and an abundance of windows to provide brightness during daytime hours, but the overall effect was the same: Perfection, from the plush beige carpeting to the perfectly plumped pillows of the slip-covered sofa to the eight-foot-tall Christmas tree, of which just about every square inch was covered with decorations. The main color scheme was burgundy. Ava thought red would have worked better; it was a more cheerful color. In spite of the gay candy canes and shiny brass horns that dotted the tree, there was something a tad funereal about all those burgundy plaid ribbons, holly, and ornaments. But then again, it could be her own personal feelings, since this was far from her favorite time of year.

  She was admiring the handsome pine entertainment wall unit in the equally well-coordinated family room when she felt someone’s presence beside her. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she said to the large-framed man who stood to her right. She sucked in her breath as she immediately noticed his dark, mustached good looks, impressive height, and broad shoulders. She’d never seen him before and wondered who he was. Surely if a retired NFL player had come to the area she would have heard about it.

  “Yeah, it’s good work. I believe she had it made.”

  “By who, I wonder?”

  “I overheard someone else asking. I think Catherine said something about Husband For Hire.”

  Ava wrinkled her nose. “Husband For Hire? Sounds like an escort service.”

  “Nothing nearly that exciting. I hear it’s some guy who makes a living doing things husbands don’t like to do—paint, wash windows, mow the lawn, fix the dishwasher, hang the drapes…and, of course, carpentry. Sort of a male version of Merry Maids…only with lots more talent.”

  “I’ll say,” she said admiringly, fingering the smooth surface of the piece. “I’ll have to ask Catherine for his number.”

  “Maybe he’s here tonight.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?” The man seemed surprised at Ava’s skepticism.

  “Because,” she said dryly, “I can’t imagine Catherine inviting someone she calls in to build her furniture to a party at her home. Even in the season of good will toward men.” She giggled. “I’m surprised she invited me. But perhaps she considers me an associate. I own the Beginnings Bridal Salon on Main Street, and Catherine has sold me her wedding gowns for my rental division.” Some people collected stamps, but Catherine Moore collected husbands, three of them to date, and each one had been more well-to-do than his predecessor. Catherine had mastered the art of marrying well.

  “It sounds like you think Catherine’s a snob.”

  Ava smiled. “Catherine is a snob; she’d be the first to tell you that. And I don’t think she would invite her carpenter to her Christmas party any more than she would invite her plumber. Her architect, yes. Her carpenter, no. I realize that carpentry is a skill, but for Catherine it’s on the wrong side of the line.”

  Before the man could respond, a woman approached him. Her revealing gold lame dress seemed more appropriate for New Year’s Eve than for an informal Christmas get-together. Ava wore a loose-fitting red sweater dress that ended just above her knees and had a white appliquéd snowman on the front. Sheer red hose and high-heeled pumps the same hue completed her ensemble. The stranger she’d been speaking with was also casually dressed in dark trousers and a thick, expensive-looking woven sweater in soft earth hues.

  “Hiltie!” the woman squealed. “It’s been ages. How are you, honey?” she asked cheerily. Ava noticed the glass of orange juice in her hand. She’d bet money that it was generously laced with rum or vodka, and that it was far from her first. This woman had passed tipsy and was fast becoming inebriated. ‘Hiltie,’ indeed.

  Ava turned away, feeling she was intruding on a scene that was clearly none of her business.

  “Oh,” the man said before she could move on, “here’s my card. I’m sorry to say I don’t know anyone who needs a wedding dress, but maybe you know someone who’s in the market for my services.” He handed her a white card, then allowed the woman in gold to lead him away.

  Ava stared at the card. ‘Husband For Hire’ was printed in large block letters. In smaller print beneath that it said, ‘Hilton White, Owner/Operator.’ She bit her lip. Quickly she glanced over to where he stood talking with the golden lady, then looked at the card again. How embarrassing. But she’d walked right into it, like a half-open door in the dark.

  “Are you all right, Ava?”

  Even before Ava turned her head toward the speaker she recognized the voice of her hostess. Catherine was beautifully attired in wide-legged satin slacks and a matching long-sleeved button-down blouse in a muted print of orange, bronze, and gold.

  Gold. Once more Ava stole a glance toward where Hilton still stood talking to his friend. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said to Catherine. “I just put my foot in my mouth, that’s all.”

  “What?”

  Ava explained her gaffe. “Since when do you invite hired help to your parties?”

  Catherine lowered her voice. “Since he’s so fine.”

  “Sounds like he’s gotten your full attention. Are you in the market for another husband?”

  “You never know. I’ve only been married to professional types, but I always wanted to get close to somebody who works with his hands, if you know what I mean.” She made a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

  “Well, he does look like he can work those big hands of his,” Ava replied with a smile. “And I’ll bet he can really fill out a pair of jeans, too.” He certainly didn’t do any disservice to the sweater and slacks he wore now, she thought with a touch of impishness. He filled out the seat nicely, and when he moved she could glimpse the strength of his thighs as they hugged the fabric of his slacks.

  “I’m so glad you approve, dear. I just have to ask that you do it from afar. After all, I did see him first.”

  Ava shrugged. She suspected Catherine was a few years older than Hilton, which in itself was no big deal. So much attention had been given to women dating younger men of late, including an unflattering name for the women. Ava’s mother said all the fuss was ridiculous, that there was nothing new about it. She cited some old-time comedienne named Moms something or other who used to include anecdotes about younger lovers in her comedy routine all the time. But as far as Catherine and Hilton, Catherine didn’t seem his type. Although not obese, she was undoubtedly plump, and Ava pictured the broadly built Hilton with someone tall and curvy…a taller, more sober version of the woman who’d just latched onto him.

  Ava was helping herself to a glass of white wine at the generously stocked self-service bar Catherine had set up when Hilton suddenly appeared next to her, whistling “Silent Night” in an upbeat tempo. “Hi there,” he said, grinning broadly.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re here only to gloat? That wasn’t very nice, pretending you weren’t the one who designed that cabinet.”

  “Yes, but it was irresistible, and you did walk right into it. It was done all in good fun. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, really.”

  Ava studied his expression for a moment before deciding he was sincere. “So it looks like Catherine’s not as snobbish as I thought.”

  “She probably just made an exception. She was pretty happy with the unit I made her.”

  Ava thought of the long, narrow sun porch in her own house, which she had been meaning to turn into a work area. “I’ve been thinking about having some work done at my place,” she remarked. “Tell me, are you reasonable?�
��

  “I’m fair.”

  “I suppose that means you won’t rip me off.”

  “No, but on the other hand I can’t be had, either. Give me a call; I’ll come out and give you an estimate. You do still have my card, don’t you?” The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

  She was tempted to say she’d thrown it in the trash, but she merely nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got your number, all right.” To her surprise, her words, meant to be a mild rebuke, came out instead as a seductive drawl of their own accord. And he was looking at her like she was nuttier than a Snickers bar.

  Fortunately, Catherine chose that moment to approach them. “There you are, Hilton,” she said pleasantly. “A few of my guests were admiring my wall unit, and when I told them the designer and builder was here they insisted on meeting you. I think you’ll get at the very least some inquiries out of it, possibly some new orders.” She flashed Ava a sunny smile. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Ava?” she asked, then slipped a bracelet-encrusted wrist around his arm and led him away without waiting for a reply.

  Ava smiled. Catherine was definitely anxious to get close to Hilton, but of course she already knew that and so did Hilton, unless he was dense. That was another reason she’d been so shocked at her behavior. It was out of character for her to flirt with anyone a friend had expressed an interest in, and Catherine had certainly left no room for uncertainty when she talked about her intentions regarding Hilton White. If she had her way, the man who operated Husband for Hire would become Husband Number Four.

  She simply moved on to another group. Ava knew many of the guests present—Palmdale was essentially a small city, with less than fifteen thousand residents. Catherine was on the city council, and many of the leading citizens were present—the mayor, several judges, the district attorney, and the chief of police, as well as less prominent members of local government, business owners, and plain old friends and neighbors.