by Julia London
“To Carol. Carol is the one running the outfit, just like Lucy runs your office—”
“Lucy does not run my office—”
“You can’t deny Lucy keeps things humming,” he said. “Those girls are the front line. You have to get past them to get to the decision-makers. They’re busy, and they don’t have time for a lot of crap, and they are going to be the one to decide if a cold call goes on up the chain. If Carol can’t tell Eldagirt Wirt what you want, then Eldagirt Wirt isn’t going to waste her time with you. And if Carol doesn’t like you, then it’s a pretty sure thing Eldagirt isn’t going to be overly fond of you, either. See what I mean?”
“Sort of,” she begrudgingly admitted.
“Everyone has a role. You just have to understand what it is.”
That actually made a lot of sense. It was true that Lucy never passed someone along to her without telling her what the person wanted so Robin could decide what to do with the call. It was also true that if Lucy got a bad feeling about someone, Robin tended to trust her instincts. And it was painfully true that she had treated Carol abominably, attempting to pass over her like a doormat.
“Now the bad news is,” Jake said, wincing slightly, “Carol’s not real fond of you. You might need to . . . well, you know . . . eat a little crow.”
“Ugh,” she said, frowning. “I hate crow.” Man, she had a lot to learn. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe she was arrogant. Robin groaned, shoved her hands through her hair. “How do you know so much?”
Jake shrugged. “Been around, I guess.”
Robin nodded, considered the easy set of his mouth and imagined that he was probably a good friend to those lucky enough to know him. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I think I needed that.” She extended her hand to him. “Really.”
Jake looked at her hand as if didn’t quite know what to do with it. Thinking she might have somehow offended him, Robin started to withdraw it. But Jake suddenly took her hand in his, holding it gently, like a feather, turning it over slowly to look at the back of her hand. His hand dwarfed hers, made hers look like a delicate thing.
His rough, callused palm skimmed the surface of her skin, creating a burning friction. The effect was absolutely electrifying; Robin drew a breath and held it as he very carefully turned her hand over, so that her palm was facing up, and with one blunt finger, wordlessly traced the path of her lifeline to her wrist, scoring her with his touch, sparking a river of fire that ran down her arm and straight into her heart.
Jake looked up, his liquid brown gaze meeting hers, and she felt it seep into her, past the carefully constructed wall, down into the very pit of her. His hand closed tightly around her fingers, and Robin took a step forward, drawn like a magnet to the circle of his arms, attached by a powerful, physical current running between them.
“Well now, what’s going on here?”
Hello, Grandpa.
Chapter Thirteen
Yep, Jake liked Old Man Stanton—he cackled upon catching them doing the hand thing, pointed out Robin’s furious blush, and thereby flustered his granddaughter so bad that she fled into the dining room and plopped down to stare at her computer.
She tried her best to pretend it didn’t happen, but couldn’t do it, not with a blush like that, hot and fierce, just like the one Jake felt under his own skin.
Damn.
Whatever had just happened between them, he couldn’t really say. Maybe it was her genuine, innocent surprise at hearing someone might not like her, a glimpse of a secreted purity in her that went racing through him like fire. Something he had said had softened her in a way that was totally incongruent with the fast-moving, hardened rest of her. Robin was tough, she was arrogant. She was the proverbial material girl, collecting more things in her quest for the better deal. But at the same time, there was an innocence about her, an untouched part of her that so very much appealed to the man in him.
And when she had offered her hand, that delicate, nail-bitten hand sparkling with a sapphire that matched the color of her eyes, desire had surged through Jake on a tsunami wave, crashing through him and pushing him down to the bottom of it. The lure of forbidden territory had compelled him to take her hand in his; he had been only a moment away from taking her in his arms.
What alarmed him was not the handholding, or even the discovery by Mr. Stanton. It was that he was even having these thoughts about Robin Lear, and the very real fear that next time, he wasn’t certain he could restrain himself. Which was why he was going to work very hard to obliterate all thoughts of Robin Lear, grit his teeth and force these absurd images he was building in his head, images of her in various locations, like the back of his bike, or in his truck. In his bed.
Man, he needed to put some buffers between him and the house on North Boulevard before it was too late.
In the dining room, Robin was having similar misgivings about what she considered a near disaster, and while she could hardly tolerate Grandpa’s ribbing, he had saved her from a horrible, terrible mistake. She did not need any entanglements right now; she had enough trauma in her life as it was. Nonetheless, she couldn’t seem to let the hand incident go, and spent a fair amount of time studying the wall where Jake had been working, imagining his capable hands skillfully and carefully removing years from the brick.
And she wondered why this . . . this thing with Jake felt impossible, or what exactly it was she was afraid of. It baffled her—but Robin generally preferred to avoid any real introspection because she rarely liked what she saw. And men, well . . . they either wilted around her or tried to corral her. Usually, after the first few dates with a guy, she would begin to feel like she was searching for something. Something the guy probably didn’t have. But Robin never had understood what she was searching for.
She tried not to think about that, and tried to focus on the wacky world of packing materials. But when she drifted off to sleep that night, in that conscious point of no return, the curious question of why she couldn’t do this thing with Jake clouded her thoughts.
When she slept, she dreamed of pink flamingos and pickup trucks.
The next morning, she hauled herself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6 A.M., put on her running gear, and headed outside before it got too muggy, determined to put this strange infatuation firmly behind her.
She did not succeed.
Coming back from her lame attempt to run and think about anything else but Jake, she entered the house through the back door, and damn near walked over a man she had never seen before, down on one knee, scraping up what looked to be the remnants of a breakfast taco on the floor. At least she hoped that was what it was.
The man looked up, jerked backward with surprise when he saw her, then said cheerfully, “Oh hey, how you doing?”
Only then did she notice his arm was in a sling. “Who are you?”
“Me? Oh! I’m Chuck Zaney. But you can call me Zaney.”
Zaney, Zaney . . . did she know him? Robin racked her brain, tried to remember where she had left the phone.
Before she could remember, the man offered, “I’m the dude behind Manning. Get it? Well . . . not behind him like that,” he quickly clarified, “but you know . . . like with him.”
“Zaney,” she repeated, the name registering in some deep recess.
“Yep. Spelled just like it sounds.” He suddenly laughed. “You know what they used to call me in school? Zany Zaney.” He waited a beat or two, then laughed in loud Foghorn Leghorn fashion. When Robin did not join in his jocularity, his laughter trailed off. “Yep, those were some crazy guys,” he said and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Where’s Jake?” Robin asked quickly before he detoured down memory lane again.
“Oh man, he had to go talk to his nephew’s teacher. The kid keeps running off, so Jakie, he’s gonna go knock some sense into him.” Zany Zaney finished cleaning up whatever it was and struggled to his feet. “I’m still trying to figure this out,” he said, waving his sling about. “Hard to manag
e the tacos.”
“I can see that,” Robin said and walked past him to the dining room. The clump of Zaney’s work boots followed directly behind her. “So when is Jake going to be here?” she asked.
“Dunno,” Zaney said, shaking his ponytailed head. He held up his good hand. “He’s gotta go see about the kid,” he said, folding one finger over, “and then he has to make up his class,” he added, bending the second finger, “and then . . .” He paused at the third finger.
Robin waited for him to finish his thought. Until she realized that he had. “His class?” she prompted, trying not to sound too interested.
“Oh, yeah! Jakie, he’s gonna be an architect! He’ll be done next summer if Cole don’t mess it up for him.”
This news surprised her. “He’s studying to be an architect?”
Zaney nodded again. “He’s real good.”
The unexpected information pricked her conscience—for some reason, Robin had assumed Jake was streetwise but without a college education. That snap assumption on her part, however vague, struck her as unfair . . . and maybe even a little arrogant. “So how is it this Cole is going to mess it up?” she pressed further, her curiosity running rampant now.
“Well, see, Cole, he’s Ross’s kid. But Ross died in a car wreck. Cole was just a punk kid then, still is if you ask me, but Ross’s old lady, she wasn’t really planning on raising the kid, so she took off, and Cole’s been living with his grandma ever since, but now he’s a little older, and he keeps getting hisself into trouble. So Jakie, he says he’s gonna teach him how to be a man.” Zaney paused, adjusted the tool belt around his slim hips with his good hand, then struggled to withdraw a measuring tape. “‘Bout how big is this room?”
“How old is Cole?”
“Fourteen. See, my idea is we start upstairs and gut those rooms first.”
“Does anyone else live there? I mean with Cole?”
“His grandma’s all. Jake’s dad ran off a long time ago. Then Ross died, and Todd the Toad—that’s what we used to call him, the little fart—oops, beg your pardon,” Zaney said, his face turning crimson. “Well anyway, Todd, he’s gone for a while, so no, there ain’t no one there but Cole and his grandma.” He looked down at his measuring tape. “Okay, I’m gonna go upstairs and check it out,” Zaney said.
“Sure,” Robin muttered. Zaney clumped up the stairs as she headed for the shower.
She mulled over the information Zaney had so happily given up. It fascinated her that the three Manning sons had turned out so differently. Jake must have faced a lot of adversity. But . . . wow. What fragments she knew about Jake’s life were a little on the mind-boggling side. It was hard to understand how he could be so . . . so sane. Yet he had somehow managed to overcome it, was building a solid clientele among Houston’s elite families, and while he was doing that, he was attending school.
Pretty damn remarkable. And highly admirable. She had really underestimated him.
Robin finished dressing, donning gray slacks, white shirt, and black sandals. As she came out of her bedroom, she heard a familiar voice, and groaned softly to herself at the sight of Grandpa in the entry. He was wearing his coveralls. And he was with Jake.
“Hey, El, you want to hand me that crowbar?”
El? El?
Grandpa shuffled over to the toolbox, found a crowbar, and handed it to Jake. Then he stood there, hands on knees, watching closely as Jake pulled the baseboard from the wall.
“Grandpa, what are you doing?” Robin demanded as she came into the dining room.
“Hey, Robbie-girl.”
“He’s assisting me,” Jake said, giving her the once-over with a lopsided smile. “Me and El, we’re a team.”
That was all the world needed. Robin was about to protest, but the phone started ringing, and when she went to answer it, she couldn’t find the damn thing. On the fourth ring, she found it, said breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Ms. Lear?”
Instantly, she knew the gravelly voice on the other end belonged to none other than Eldagirt Wirt. “Yes! Robin Lear, here!” she said excitedly.
“Eldagirt Wirt. I hear you been trying to get hold of me.” She sounded like she had smoked a pack of cigarettes just moments ago.
“Thank you for calling!” Robin said, and almost added something entirely too smart, like this year, but then remembered: flies with honey. “I know you are very busy. Ah . . . Carol, ah, she’s been a great help,” she said, surprising herself. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but I’m with LTI in Houston, and we’ve been looking at different packing supply companies, hoping to form a partnership.”
Eldagirt responded with a phlegm-laden cough.
“Ah . . . your company has an excellent reputation—”
“The best,” Eldagirt interjected.
“Yes. Yes, that’s right, one of the best. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I thought perhaps we could explore a future collaboration between LTI and Wirt—”
“LTI . . . is that Lear Transport?”
“Yes, it is!” Robin exclaimed. “So you’ve heard of us?”
“Nah. Carol told me once, I just couldn’t remember. She says we’ve stocked you before. So, this LTI runs all classes of freight?”
“All classes. I’d love to come and talk to you about what we transport.”
Robin could hear the click of a Zippo lighter and the draw of smoke into Eldagirt’s lungs. “The thing is, Ms. Lear,” she said, exhaling, “I don’t got a lot of time. I’ve increased my accounts by about fifty percent over last year, and I’m a single mom, so I am running from one thing to another all the damn time.”
“Oh,” Robin responded, disappointed. But wait . . . this was business—surely the battle-ax had a baby-sitter or something. “Well . . . I promise not to take too much of your time,” she said uncertainly. “I’d just like the opportunity to tell you what we’ve got in mind.”
Another draw of smoke, a lazy exhale. “Tell you what. I’m not so busy on the weekend. Come up on a Saturday and we can talk a little.”
Oh yeah! Saturday in Burdette! “Sure,” Robin said instantly. “Burdette. Is there, like, a local airport there?”
Eldagirt’s laugh was one long wheeze. “You ain’t never been out this way, have you? It ain’t but a two-hour drive from Houston.”
“Yes, but—”
“There’s a little landing strip just outside of town, but it don’t get used much. I’ll plan on making time next Saturday. Get here around noon. I’ll meet you at the—” A sound in the background interrupted her; Eldagirt shouted to the side, “Do you mind? I am on the phone!” After a moment, she said, “Like I was saying, just come next Saturday at noon.”
“Okay,” Robin said, feeling even more uncertain. “How will I find you?”
Eldagirt wheezed again. “You’ll be able to find us, don’t you worry,” she said and dragged on her smoke again. “Burdette ain’t no bigger than a tick on a dog’s butt. All right, I gotta go. See you next Saturday.”
“Wait!” Robin exclaimed, frantically trying to think of some reason she could not go to Burdette next weekend, but caught sight of Jake standing there, watching her.
“Yeah?” Eldagirt asked, the impatience in her voice evident.
Nothing. Not one reason came to mind that would keep her from going. “I just wanted to say . . .” Something! “Thanks. Thanks a lot. I really do appreciate this,” she said, and felt, strangely enough, as if she really meant it.
“Oh!” Eldagirt said, her voice lighter. “Well, okay, see you then.” She hung up.
Robin slowly put the receiver down, stood completely still, feeling something . . . After days of fuddling about like a blind man, she had done it; she had gotten through to the elusive Eldagirt Wirt! She suddenly threw her hands up in the air and, with a wheeeee, whirled about. “I did it! I got Eldagirt Wirt on the phone, and she invited me to Burdette next Saturday!”
“That’s my girl,” Grandpa said happily, ha
ving no idea what she was talking about.
“You see?” Jake said. “Somehow, I knew you could do it.”
“I know it’s only a trip to Burdette—”
“Might as well be a presidential visit, as hard as you’ve tried,” Jake reminded her as he handed Grandpa a hammer and pointed him upstairs. “Way to go, Peanut.” He winked as he started up after Grandpa.
Grinning like a fool, Robin gave him a thumbs-up, watched until he disappeared upstairs, then reminded herself it was only Burdette. She sat down and began reviewing the files Evan had brought her, trying hard to keep her mind from Jake, trying harder to learn about the profit/loss ratio of Wirt Supply and Packing.
When Jake, Grandpa, and now (oh boy) Zaney reappeared near the noon hour, she was distracted by Zaney’s protracted monologue about how he was going to form a band, playing one-armed air guitar as he talked. The man definitely wasn’t quite right, and she couldn’t help admire Jake for appearing to be interested in what Zaney was saying when lesser men (like Grandpa) were made comatose.
Grandpa looked exhausted, actually, and she asked if he would accompany her to the grocery store, where he filled her basket with cookies and sodas, which Robin took out and replaced with peanut butter, yogurt, a head of romaine lettuce, a handful of frozen dinners, and a giant Hershey bar. When Grandpa wandered off to the home appliance aisle, she perused the cereals, trying to remember if she ever actually ate cereal, and if so, what kind.
There was something not quite right about her life, wasn’t there? Most people knew if they ate cereal or not, didn’t they?
Finally worn out with the task of keeping track of Grandpa, Robin figured she had enough so that she’d live another week or so, and returned home.
Jake had left, Zaney said, and therefore, Grandpa decided to go home, too. Robin left Zaney tearing out the trim upstairs and put away her groceries, hating the barren look of her refrigerator. It was like a giant metaphor staring at her, the only thing missing was the big flashing neon arrows pointing to the empty box. She phoned Lucy to check in—that call was always good for a bitchfest. Lucy had no messages for her, other than the news Evan had had a long talk with Darren at Atlantic, and the account file was now closed.