Believe Me (Hearts for Ransom Book 3)

by Evans, Georgia A

  Zoey responded with another burst of wind and more giggles. “What did your brother feed you for breakfast this morning?” Claire shook her head. At least Mason wasn’t going to be exposed to sunshine and lollipops. She wondered how he’d feel about holding a tooting baby. The man wanted to meet and hold his daughter. Zoey might just see to it that her father was in for a rude awakening.

  Mason’s foot itched, and he couldn’t figure out how to scratch it. He tried stretching out in his bed and rubbing it on the rail, but that only succeeded in making it itch worse. He felt like a clumsy contortionist when he tried to maneuver his torso so he could reach it with his good arm while keeping his cast-stiffened left arm out of the way.

  Colton and Joni had just left, or he would have taken a chance on listening to Colton mouth off for a good year or more, and asked him to scratch it. Maybe after tomorrow when they moved him to the long-term care wing, he’d be out and around people more often. What good that would do him in this type of situation, he didn’t know.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Could you scratch the instep on my right foot, please?” He’d make lots of new friends that way. He snorted. He’d more likely end up in an entirely different wing of the hospital—one with nice, soft padded walls.

  A quiet knock sounded on his door. Maybe it was somebody he could ask to help him with that blasted foot.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a lovely young woman walked in. She looked vaguely familiar to Mason, but he couldn’t quite place her. A light blonde ponytail hung over one shoulder, and even under the loose football jersey and baggy coat she wore, he could tell there was the potential for a double dose of black eyes if someone had their eyes at that level.

  “Can I help you?” She must have come into the wrong room.

  Bright blue eyes flickered with amusement, reinforcing his feeling of déjà vu. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t place you. Have we met before?”

  “If I told you I work at Trimble’s, would that help?” She had a very pleasant voice.

  Then he remembered. “You’re the waitress I…I’m sorry. I had too much to drink. I shouldn’t have hit—”

  “It’s okay.” She smiled and stepped closer to the bed. “I hope you don’t mind me visiting you. I read in the newspaper you’d been in an accident, and I was here visiting somebody else so I thought I’d just stop in and see how you were doing.”

  Mason remembered how nice she was to him, and had a vague recollection of confessing his transgressions to her.

  “Have a seat.”

  As she pulled off her coat and sat in the chair, he was surprised to see, without any makeup, she appeared to be no older than twenty-one or two, younger than most of the waitresses at Trimble’s.

  “I guess I should introduce myself.” She had a beautiful smile. “My name is Betsy Weller.”

  “I’m…” he started, but then realized how foolish he was being. “I guess you obviously know who I am.”

  She nodded. “Mel told me your name when he asked me to sit with you. I was just trying to make sure you didn’t decide to drive yourself home before your friend got there to pick you up.”

  She had gone above and beyond as far as he was concerned. “Thank you. I just have to tell you again, though, how sorry I am for getting plastered and acting the way I did.” He felt even worse about it now, after seeing how young she was.

  “That’s okay.” Her voice was the same soothing one he remembered from that night. “You just seemed like a broken-hearted man to me. At least you didn’t try anything like most of those men in there do. They make me sick.”

  Mason was confused. “Then why do you work there?” Trimble’s was well known for the “accommodating” waitresses. With the way they dressed, being hit on had to be par for the course.

  “My mom’s in long-term care here at the hospital.” Betsy suddenly looked tired…and older. “The state insurance helps, but there are still bills to pay. I make more in tips alone during one shift at Trimble’s than I would in a week’s salary waiting tables in a restaurant.”

  “But you have to let men—”

  Her face instantly hardened. “I don’t let the men lay a finger on me. I have to wear the uniform and let them look, but I don’t have to act like most of the other waitresses there and give myself away.”

  “Then can’t you get another job?” he asked. “Something that pays better than waitressing?”

  “Look at me.” She swept her hand down. “Who would take me seriously? Everybody takes one look at me and thinks the same thing—sex.”

  Which was exactly what he thought when she first walked in. He felt terrible. “I’m sorry. Being a jerk comes naturally to me.”

  “No.” She drew her bottom lip in between her teeth for a moment, and then her smile was back in full force. “I shouldn’t let myself become so upset like that. I’m a little oversensitive about my job.”

  “But I understand what you mean about people thinking you’re a certain way.” Something about this young woman made it easy to open up. “I lived my entire adult life sleeping with just about every woman I could get into bed. Then something happened that changed me. I’m a different man.” For some reason, he believed Betsy would understand. “Nobody can see that, though. I’m still Mason Wright, the irredeemable sex maniac.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Betsy reached out and placed her hand on Mason’s uninjured arm. “I’d like it if we could be friends. I don’t have many of those.” Her gaze dropped to the floor before coming back to his. “Women tend not to like me, and men usually only want one thing.”

  He felt a kinship with this young woman. “I’d like to be friends, too.”

  Then she frowned at him. “Okay, then, as your friend, I have to ask if you were drinking when you had your accident. The pictures of your car they put in the paper…it’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  “No,” he told her. “I was sober. They say something probably ran out in front of me, and I swerved. I can’t remember.”

  Suddenly, he needed to change the subject. “I’m moving to long-term care tomorrow. Didn’t you say your mother’s there? Maybe I can meet her.”

  She smiled sadly. “Mom’s in a coma. She has been for over three years.”

  “What happened?” he quietly asked.

  “My parents and brother were coming home from Michigan—they’d been up to my grandparents.'” Tears shimmered in her eyes before a lone one broke free to trickle down her ivory skin. “Nobody knows what happened…if my dad fell asleep or got distracted…but he drove their car right into the front of a semi-truck. Mom was the only survivor, and she’s never woken up.”

  He pulled his arm out from under her hand and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m very sorry. Do you see your grandparents often?”

  “They can’t stand to be around me or my mom. It’s like they blame us for still being alive while their son is gone. My mom’s parents live in Washington State, where we all used to live, but they only come once or twice a year. They just can’t take seeing Mom like she is.” Betsy forced a smile. “Listen to me, telling my sob story to a man laid up in a hospital bed.”

  He laughed. “That’s all right. I deserve it after I showed you such a good time at Trimble’s the other night.”

  Claire had just opened the door to Mason’s room far enough to see the woman sitting in the chair. She heard what Mason said. Everything he told Claire about changing was a lie. He had been at Trimble’s with that woman—showing her a good time. Right. Though she’d never been there and wild horses on a Harley couldn’t drag her to the bar, Claire—no, everybody— in Ransom knew what went on in dark corners and the parking lot.

  Claire took off, almost running in her haste to get away from the huge mistake she almost made. She rushed around the corner and bumped into somebody and jolted Zoey, who was pressed between Claire and the other person.


  “Claire?” Emily Taylor’s hands fell from Claire’s shoulders, and she stepped back, her eyes glued to the little girl in Claire’s arms. “Oh, my. She looks just like Mason. What did he think?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Claire informed her. “He was too busy reminiscing about the good time he showed his date at Trimble’s the other night.”

  Emily’s face was awash with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “He hasn’t changed,” Claire stated bluntly. “If you believe he has, he’s fooled you. You can go see for yourself.”

  “I’ll just do that.” Emily walked past Claire, and Claire watched her until she disappeared into Mason’s room.

  “So my roommate finally found the key inside the cookie jar.” Betsy finished telling Mason the story.

  Mason looked up as Emily stormed through the door.

  Emily looked from Betsy to Mason, and then she laughed derisively.

  “Boy, was I a sucker!”

  Mason had no idea what she was talking about. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s unfortunate your latest conquest showed up to walk down memory lane when she did. Your daughter got to look at that floozy instead of her father,” Emily bit off.

  Mason was dumbfounded. “Claire was here? She brought Zoey to see me?”

  He had seen that look on Emily’s face before. She was furious. “Yes, and I’m disgusted with myself. I went to Butlers and chewed Claire out—shamed her into letting the changed man in front of me see his only child.” Sparks shot from her eyes. “Well, the laugh was on me, wasn’t it? You haven’t changed at all. You’ve just become more devious.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason said. “It’s not like that. Betsy’s not like that.”

  Emily’s eyes traveled straight to Betsy’s chest. “Right.” With one last glare at Mason, she turned and left the room, not even bothering to make sure the door closed behind her.

  Betsy quickly stood up and put her coat on.

  “I’m sorry I messed up your visit with Zoey.” She didn’t make eye contact with Mason, instead keeping her eyes downcast.

  “Listen to me, Betsy.” What could he say to fix this—to keep his new friend? “I’m sorry. It looks like we were both right. Nobody is ever going to give either of us the chance to show them we’re not who they think we are.”

  She smiled sadly, still not meeting his gaze. “Goodbye, Mason.”

  “Hey, we’re still friends. You’re going to stop by and see me again, right?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. All your other friends will think the same thing that lady did.”

  Mason clenched his fist. “If they’re really my friends, they’ll give both of us a chance.”

  Her voice was barely audible as she turned to leave. “Goodbye,” she repeated before walking out the door and closing it quietly behind her.

  Mason was shell-shocked. He couldn’t believe he had been that close to seeing Zoey. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong—nothing that could justify Claire changing her mind.

  Suddenly he realized something. He was tired. He was tired of feeling guilty all the time. He had apologized more times than he could count and tried in every way he knew, to show Claire how sorry he was. And she still plainly didn’t believe anything he told her, not really, or she would have at least given him a chance to explain what Betsy was doing there.

  He didn’t have much to do but think, and he just might have to think about taking the decision for him to be Zoey’s father out of Claire’s hands. He was pretty sure he had some rights. He was going to call Brody Gaines to see if he would come and visit him. Besides being the state champion second-baseman and base stealer Mason knew, Brody was the best attorney he’d ever met. And he needed some legal advice.

  Claire walked to the final table she was responsible for serving. If she had any idea the hospital Thanksgiving party was going to be this large, she might have had second thoughts about working at it, extra money or not.

  “What would you all like to drink?” she asked before looking at the table’s occupants.

  “Claire?” an increasingly familiar voice asked.

  She looked up and into Emily Taylor’s eyes. Of course. She knew Emily was a nurse in the emergency room. She was bound to be there tonight.

  “Hello.” She forced a smile, remembering their last awkward encounter. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get another server to your table.”

  Emily’s brows shot up. “That’s not necessary.”

  Claire was still embarrassed because she was foolish enough to trust Mason Wright, and Emily had been a witness to her humiliation. “I think it would be for the best,” she firmly insisted. “Annie will be right with you.” She’d just switch this table for Annie’s tenth one, keeping their workloads even.

  Emily reached out and touched Claire’s arm, stopping her from leaving. “Will you be free anytime this evening? I mean when I can talk to you for a few minutes.”

  “I’ll have a fifteen-minute break after I serve the entrees.” She couldn’t imagine what Emily felt inclined to talk to her about this time. “Why?”

  “Because I really need to speak to you,” Emily spoke fervently. “It’s imperative.”

  Claire glanced up and saw her boss frowning at her. Annie was already leaving her last table, so it was too late to switch with her.

  “Okay,” she told Emily. “Now, may I please get your drinks?” She plastered a smile on her face as each person sitting around the table told her what they wanted.

  It wasn’t until she was serving their turkey dinners that she paid any particular attention to them again. The huge man with the blonde crew cut was telling a story, and the other seven people were paying rapt attention.

  “So, I’m at Mercy House Nursing home, and I get back to the unit where Jan Daniels is working, to pick up a fellow named Leonard,” he said. “While I was waiting for Jan to get his coat on him so I could transport him, he reached around and goosed her—like over and over. She was turning around to keep her seat end away from his hand; at the same time she was getting his coat on him. Jan kept saying, ‘Hands to yourself, Leonard,’ but that old man wouldn’t listen. He just kept telling her she had a great tush.”

  “Are you making this up?” a big-boned woman with shoulder length, brown hair asked.

  The man crossed his heart. “About that time a woman with a cane let out a bellow that I bet you could have heard at the hospital if you’d been listening. She took off after one of the other women with her cane flyin’. She kept yelling about her arm getting broken.”

  He looked up as Claire set his plate down in front of him. “Thank you,” he said in a friendly voice. Then he returned to his story. “And, while all this is going on, another old man is standing over by the fish tank talking to the goldfish. But do you know what really takes the cake?”

  There was a murmur around the table as they waited for him to finish his story.

  “A little old lady sat in the middle of all this commotion—sound asleep. She didn’t so much as bat an eye.”

  “Why didn’t you help Jan?” Emily asked, frowning.

  He grinned at her. “I would have if the surfer dude who works with her, Lance, I think his name is, hadn’t gotten back when he did. He grabbed the woman with the cane and started dancing her in a circle. She forgot she was even mad at the other woman. I took Leonard with me, and that poor Jan looked like she’d have liked nothing more than to sit on a chair and scream. I tell you, we might get some kooks at the hospital, but there isn’t enough money in the world that would persuade me to trade jobs with her.”

  Claire heard their laughter and chatter as she folded up the serving platform. She found herself pondering what it would feel like to be carefree as she made her way through the door leading to the back room of the Ransom Ready to Run building, where the Butlers crew had set up a makeshift workstation.

  She had just sat down with a glass of iced tea for her break, when St
an walked over to her, an unhappy expression on his face.

  “Claire, one of your diners has asked to speak with you out in the lobby.” He waited until she set down her tea and stood up. “We trust that she isn’t going to complain about any of the food or our service. You know how important it is to Mr. Butler that we make a good impression, don’t you?”

  Claire sighed. “I’m sorry. She’s just an acquaintance. She asked to speak to me when I had a break, and I completely forgot about it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Please see that you don’t take too long,” he instructed her. “We don’t want her food to get cold.”

  One of these days when Claire was just a little too tired to use her common sense, she was going to ask Stan if he had an invisible friend. The man didn’t know how to use the pronoun “I.”

  Besides, she would be quite content to forego the entire conversation with their patron and let Emily enjoy her food right at that moment, but she was going to the lobby at the customer’s request. What would “they” have her do?

  She silently trudged to the door leading to the lobby. Emily was standing a few yards on the other side of it when Claire walked through.

  “I’m sorry, Emily,” Claire started. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but if this is about my daughter, it’s really not your concern.” That was the only thing she could imagine Emily wanted to talk to her about.

  “Please.” Emily blinked rapidly several times. “I made a huge mistake, and if I don’t make this right, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

  Claire stood, silently waiting for her to continue. Emily Taylor was one persistent woman, she’d give her that.

  “After I saw Mason with that woman, I was furious. I was still angry when Logan got home from work. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him everything.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said, “but other than hoping he will keep my daughter’s parentage to himself, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”