by Julia London
“Bumper guards. To keep your ball in the right lane.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that!”
“Well . . . they’re usually for little kids,” he said, wincing a little.
Robin’s eyes narrowed; so this was how it was going to be. “Oh yeah? And whose bright idea was it? Sylvia’s? Sue’s?”
Jake bit his lip. “Reba’s.”
Something snapped like a twig in Robin’s brain. She stepped around Jake, waved at Reba. “Thanks for the help!” she called cheerfully and growled beneath her breath when Reba nudged Sue in the side. Laugh at her, would they? She turned a murderous gaze to the lane in front of her. She’d show them—she was going to learn how to bowl, by God, right here, right now, or die trying.
Her first attempt wrenched her back, but the ball stayed in the lane and hit two pins.
“Hey! Well, okay!” Jake called, clapping, his voice betraying his surprise. “That’s what I’m talking about! This time, bend your knees!” he encouraged her.
Robin bent her knees. She bent her knees so deep she damn near kissed the polished wood lane. The ball still bounced, but it wobbled down the lane, knocking over five or six more of the milk bottles. She stood up, slapped her hands together, and turned around, her chin high as she marched back to her seat.
By the eighth frame, free of her jacket and jewelry, Robin was arguing with Reba about how many pins she had knocked over (until Reba pointed out the system automatically counted them), pumping her fist with each bowl, and having (okay, very hard to admit) a good time. She had lightened up. She had learned to bowl. And on the home stretch of the second game, she was spanking Sylvia.
Jake was having a good time, too. He had fetched a bucket of beer for everyone, was going for a game of 200, which he seemed to think was pretty outstanding. He also seemed to enjoy the opportunity to flirt, yet another sport at which he appeared to be naturally gifted. And he was great fun to be with. In spite of their rocky beginning, Jake was joking about the way she bowled, high-fiving her when she managed to knock the pins down, and encouraging her when she didn’t.
But her personal victory in conquering bowling did not make Robin any less irritated that Eldagirt Wirt had not even bothered to make an appearance. She was beginning to wonder if she had been taken for a ride when Sue’s cell phone rang. She handed it to Robin. “For you.”
“For me?” she asked, surprised, and took the phone. “Hello?”
“How’d you bowl?” Girt asked in her gravelly voice.
“I managed to eke out a couple of games,” Robin said irritably. “Did I misunderstand our meeting?”
“Nah.” Girt paused to drag on a cigarette. “Sorry about that, but my son’s sick. Bob’s on his way to pick you up and bring you on out to the warehouse.”
“Umm . . . okay. May I ask if you are going to be there?”
“‘Course I’m gonna be there!” Girt declared in such a huff that it sparked a serious coughing spell. “He’ll be there in about ten minutes,” she said hoarsely. “Now could you hand the phone back to Sue?”
Robin handed the phone to Sue. Sue put the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said, but whatever Eldagirt said in return caused Sue to look at Robin, then quickly turn away so she could not hear her.
Fine. She just hoped that when Sue gave her report, she would note the strike Robin had in the seventh frame of the second game, thank you very much.
“We’re going to the warehouse,” she informed Jake as he came back from returning his shoes. She jabbed one arm into her jacket. “I think Wirt is giving me the runaround.”
“Why, what did she say?”
“She said her son was sick,” Robin responded with a roll of her eves.
“Seems plausible.”
“Seems lame! I don’t know about your business, Jake,” Robin said as she slipped off her bowling shoes, “but in mine, you learn not to trust too much. Someone is always trying to get one over on you.”
“Is that your business? Or just you?” he asked glibly and proceeded past without her answer so he could say good-bye to the ladies.
Robin followed suit, primly extending her hand to Reba. Reba’s green eyes were sparkling with mirth as she accepted it. “Hope we get a chance at a rematch.”
That seemed unlikely, but Robin smiled all the same. “Me, too—next time, I am taking you down.”
Reba laughed heartily, the flesh on her bosom jiggling with the exertion of it. “Hell, I think you mean it!”
Sue and Sylvia likewise thanked Robin for bowling with them, and eyeballed Jake’s butt one more time as he said his good-byes to Reba. “You’re lucky there, girlfriend. Don’t keep him up too late,” Sylvia said.
“I’m not promising,” Robin said with a wink, much to the delight of Sylvia and Sue.
She and Jake waved good-bye and walked out into the sunshine to wait for Bob, where heat was radiating off the parking lot at a cool five thousand degrees. Jake was pretty pleased with his 200 game, and even reviewed some of the frames for her while they waited.
“Yeah, yeah,” Robin said, laughing. “You’re a stud.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “So come on, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You looked like you were having a pretty good time.”
She folded her arms and peered up to the main road in search of Bob’s pickup truck. “Okay, I will admit it was fun. But I really didn’t come to Burdette to go bowling with three women I’ve never met and will never see again.”
“Life’s an adventure if you’ll let it be, Robin.”
“You sound like a John Denver song.”
“Baby, I am a John Denver song,” he laughed as Bob came barreling around the corner, the sound of his engine drowning out any further conversation. He came to a hard stop, leaned over, and pushed open the passenger door. Robin guessed that meant to get in.
Bob pointed his truck toward the opposite end of town from the smelting plant, and they were off again. With the radio tuned to a country western station, they hurtled down the main drag, picked up speed on the outskirts of town, flew past trees draped in Spanish moss, and finally slowed to turn down a poorly paved road that obviously saw a lot of truck traffic, and coasted up to three white warehouses at the end of the road.
Bob stopped the truck, got out and went inside.
Jake climbed out of the bed of the truck at the same time Robin stepped out. She brushed off her pants, then glanced up, and immediately burst into laughter at the sight of Jake’s hair.
“Watch it,” he said good-naturedly as he tried to comb it with his fingers.
“Y’all getting on okay?”
Robin would recognize that voice anywhere and whipped around. But it surprised her to see that the body did not match the voice. Eldagirt Wirt was not a ball-busting former Nazi bodyguard as Robin had imagined, but a very thin and wiry woman with lots of curly black hair, who looked to be about the same age as Robin—definitely not an old hag. She was wearing a red-and-white striped, sleeveless T-shirt, and her arms were buff. The T-shirt was tucked into a pair of black Wranglers that looked as if they had been painted on, and at the end of two skinny legs were a pair of classic Doc Martens—just like the pair Robin owned.
“Call me Girt,” she said, and stepped forward, smiling, revealing stained teeth.
“I’m Robin Lear.”
“Oh yeah, I knew who you was right away,” she said matter-of-factly. “What I want to know is, who is he?”
“My friend, Jake Manning.”
“Well, now I’m really sorry I didn’t make it to the bowling alley,” Girt said with a grin. “Hope you don’t mind a little bowling, Mr. Manning.”
“Are you kidding? I bowled a two hundred.”
“No lie?” Girt asked, clearly impressed.
“No lie,” Jake said, his chest still puffed.
Girt shifted her gaze to Robin. “I take it you don’t bowl much.”
“I don’t get the opportunity,” she lied.
Girt star
ted toward the building. “That’s what we do in Burdette,” she called over her shoulder. “You might think about that if you’re serious about buying this place.”
That remark caught Robin off guard—she had never mentioned purchase to Girt. “What makes you think I want to buy?” she asked, hurrying to catch up.
“Mr. Iverson told me. He’s called down here twice now.”
Robin stopped in mid-stride, trying to grasp the notion that Evan had called Eldagirt Wirt, confused as to why he had, and moreover, why he hadn’t told her.
Girt held the door open for them. “You coming in?” she asked before disappearing inside.
“I see what you mean about not being able to trust anyone,” Jake said as he put his hand on her back and gave her a gentle push forward. Confused, Robin stumbled forward.
Wirt Supplies and Packing was a much larger warehouse than Peerless, but without the fuss of offices up front. There were only two that she could see, each with two desks and stacks of papers piled high on the floor, the filing cabinets, and the desks.
“Hope you’ll forgive the mess,” Girt said and proceeded to show them through her operation. She explained where the packing materials were made and stored, the various types of bags, plastics, and boxes they made and sold, the different strappings, the wooden pallets, the storage units, the cushion products.
It was plain Girt was proud of her operation. She said that her father had started the company, that she had bought him out when he got sick with cancer. Bob helped her manage the operation, they employed thirty-two people, most of whom were longtime employees.
“That’s quite an accomplishment,” Jake observed.
Girt beamed at him. “We pride ourselves in being good to our employees. That’s one thing I’d have to know, that my people were going to be taken care of.”
“Does your father get involved anymore?” Robin asked.
“Oh, he died,” Girt said matter-of-factly. “He’s been gone two years now.”
The casual way she said it was like a fist to Robin’s gut; unconsciously, she put a hand to her stomach. Jake quietly took her hand and held it.
They moved through the last warehouse where the cushioning products were prepared for shipping, but Robin wasn’t paying much attention. She was too engrossed in the number of similarities between her and Girt. When they finished the tour, Girt invited them up front for a soda. On the way, Robin asked why she would consider selling a business of which she was so obviously proud.
“Not sure I will,” she admitted. “But you people and American Motorfreight—they’ve made noises about buying me out, too—it’s just all made me think about things a little different.”
“Like life?” Jake asked.
“Yeah,” Girt said with a laugh. “Like life. I’m a single mom, you know, and I have to think of my son.”
“But can’t you keep this and look after him?” Robin asked, suddenly and strangely convinced she did not want Girt to sell.
Girt smiled as they walked up to the main office. “Not really,” she said and motioned for Robin to precede her. “Meet my son, David,” she said as Robin stepped across the threshold.
Seated in a wheelchair, his head strapped to some godawful contraption and his arms and legs horribly twisted at odd angles, David grinned at her. Next to him, Bob was mixing something up in a Slurpee cup.
“David’s got cerebral palsy,” Girt said and walked over to her son, ran her hand along the top of his head. “If I sell Wirt, I’ll never have to worry about taking care of him again. I keep thinking about that.”
“Oh God, “Jake murmured softly, and Robin silently echoed his plea.
Chapter Twenty-one
They had lifted off, en route to Houston. Robin was still lost in thought about Burdette and Girt and her son. She looked at Jake sitting across from her, his legs crossed, his sandy brown hair wildly disarranged by his tour of Burdette from the back of a pickup truck, reading a local paper from a convenience store. Amazing, how easily he seemed to fit with people from all walks of life. She couldn’t seem to do that. Why? Why couldn’t she befriend Reba and Sue and Sylvia right off the bat? Because you’re arrogant.
“What are you thinking?” Jake asked without looking up from his paper.
Startled that he had sensed her retreat, Robin shifted uneasily in her seat. “Nothing.”
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, looking up. “That’s so unlike you.”
“Very funny.” She grinned, looked at her hands. “I was just thinking about Girt.”
“She’s good people,” Jake observed, putting aside his paper.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think so before today. I assumed all sorts of things about her.”
“That’s just human nature. You get impressions of people over the phone or e-mail that get blown out of the water when you actually meet them.”
“But it’s more than that. I don’t know . . . I don’t understand how you can walk into a room and be so easy, but I can walk into the same room and feel like . . . like my back is against the wall. Like I am surrounded by the enemy.” She winced at that, glanced out the window. “I think Dad is right. I think I really am arrogant.”
Whatever she expected Jake to say, she did not expect him to laugh. He moved forward, braced his arms on his thighs. “Robin. I don’t know what kind of trip your old man has laid on you, but you are not arrogant. You are strong-willed and you know what you want. And you’re aloof; you have a tendency to hold yourself out. But you’re confusing fear with arrogance.”
“Fear? I’m not afraid!”
“Like hell you’re not. You were afraid to ride in that truck today. When we walked into that bowling alley, you stiffened up like an old dead cow.”
“Not because I was afraid,” she argued. “I just don’t get along with people like you do. I don’t seem to connect like you do.”
“Are you nuts? Look how you treat my nephew when no one in my family can stand the kid. And Zaney—God knows Zaney can be a pain in the ass, but you don’t seem to mind him. And what about Lucy? And Elmer—”
“You can’t count him, he’s my grandpa.”
“The point is, you get along fine with anyone you allow past that wall you put up.”
“What wall?”
“You know, the rich princess in the tower routine. You can be a little standoffish.”
His remark, surprisingly, did not offend her. She knew exactly what he meant. “See? I’m arrogant, not afraid.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Okay, Certified Genius, what am I so afraid of?”
“That they won’t like you.”
His answer stunned her—she’d never thought of it, but knew instantly that it was true.
“But you are in luck, sweetheart, because I’m going to help you conquer your fear,” he said with a devilish grin and moved across the small aisle toward her.
“Oh really? And just how are you going to do that?” she asked, putting her hand on his chest as he braced his arms on either side of her to kiss her forehead.
“I am going to take you to meet my mom on Easter Sunday.”
Robin laughed. “I’m not afraid of your mom!”
“You should be,” he said lazily, kissing her lips. “Hey, by the way . . . you’re not afraid of flying, are you?” he asked, kissing her again. “I mean, really flying?”
“Are you kidding?” she asked and welcomed Jake as the charter member in her mile-high club.
They spent that evening in her bed, languidly making love, watching TV, and eating popcorn, the only food Robin had in the house. Jake made a point of not leaving, and on Sunday, when he left to go get Cole, Robin called her dad in New York.
“I’m doing fine!” he said gruffly when she asked. “Stop worrying about me!” But Mom told her that Dad was going to have to go for more radiation. They hadn’t quite gotten it all.
“What does that mean? Why didn’t they get it all?”
“It’s a very aggr
essive type of cancer. But we’re still very hopeful.”
Robin closed her eyes. “Mom, how are you holding up after all these weeks?”
Mom laughed. “Well, he’s as impossible as he ever was . . . but he needs me.”
It must be nice, Robin thought. He certainly didn’t need her.
That afternoon, she treated Jake and Cole to an Astros game from box seats, courtesy LTI. They ended the day with pizza and Cole talking about how much he hated algebra. Jake seemed fascinated, and the two of them had a legitimate, civilized, conversation. And for some reason, algebra made Robin think of the work she was doing.
The next morning, she phoned Evan in Dallas.
“Robin!” he said, surprised to hear her voice.
“How’s it going, Evan?”
“Great! Just great!”
“I was in Burdette this weekend. Girt said you called her.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Why did you call her? I thought you were going to let me handle this.”
“I am! I tried to get hold of you. When I got back to Dallas Friday, I ran into the sales manager at American Motorfreight. He mentioned in passing that they were thinking of acquiring Wirt. When I couldn’t get hold of you, I called down there, told her not to make a hasty decision, that we wanted to talk to her, too.”
Robin pondered that—it sounded reasonable. It was true she had been out of pocket Friday afternoon, and Girt had confirmed American Motorfreight’s interest.
“So what did you find out?” he asked.
“Well, she’s got a larger operation than Lou Harvey, which we knew. And it’s definitely more diverse, which I like. Lou’s deal bothers me because it looks like he’s been losing money the last couple of years.”
“Right. I saw that, too,” Evan agreed.
“But I don’t know if I understand everything I see with Lou’s operation. On the other hand, Girt says she hasn’t seen a huge increase in profit, but she’s been steadily growing.”
“That’s right. Let me tell you a couple of things to look for,” Evan said and proceeded to list things Robin could check as crews began to trickle in to work on her house. He confirmed her instincts about Peerless and Wirt, which both surprised and pleased Robin. She had not reached the point where she actually trusted herself; it helped that Evan seemed to think she was right on target.