by Various
“No, thanks,” he answered. “I want to get the mowing in before the rain comes.”
Maggie set the water glasses down on the antique cherrywood coffee table. Liz shifted some coasters under them.
“Trav could send a crew to mow too,” Maggie said, “but Ryan wants him to focus on his wealthy clients.” She shook her head in mock indignation, her lips curved in a small smile that said she didn’t mind at all. “Would you like to stay and learn to knit? Then you can join our knitting group on Tuesdays.”
“Sure, I’d love that.”
“Let’s find something for you in my stash.”
Her stash? Liz followed Maggie upstairs to what looked like one of her grandsons’ old bedrooms. It had blue walls and a few posters of baseball players. The dresser was topped with trophies and ribbons. She pictured a teenage Ryan in here. He’d been an athlete—varsity football, basketball, baseball, summer swim team.
The swimming reminded her of The Humiliation, so she focused on the yarn. The twin bed, now with a rose floral comforter on it, was covered with clear plastic bins full of yarn.
“My stash,” Maggie said proudly. She lifted the lid on one bin to reveal hanks of yarn in shades of green, blue, and brown. “I knit a lot for the boys. There’s always yarn left over that I can use to weave in to scarves or blankets, or just turn it into a hat or gloves. I never make socks. All that work and you never see them when they’re stuffed into shoes.”
“This is quite a collection,” Liz said, indicating all the bins.
“Go ahead and check it out. Make sure you really fondle the yarn. The feel of it is so important both for the knitter and the knittee.”
Liz nodded and investigated all six bins, fondling (as she’d been told) the soft squishy yarn, the silky thinner yarn, the sturdy thick yarn. Finally she held up a hank of deep purple. It was soft and thick and, when she rubbed it on her cheek, so smooth.
The roar of the lawn mower coming to life outside momentarily distracted her. She fought the urge to peek out the window.
“Ooh, that’s a good choice,” Maggie said, indicating the yarn in Liz’s hands. “Merino wool. Let me just get you some needles, and you can start with a scarf.” Maggie pulled open a dresser drawer, where she’d stashed knitting needles in a variety of tube socks. “Let’s go. My knitting is already downstairs.”
After they’d settled on the loveseat, side by side, Maggie showed her how to cast on and demonstrated the knit stitch. “In through the front door, around the back, out through the window, and off jumps Jack.”
Liz tried it. “In through the front door”—she pushed the needle through the loop—“around the back.” She carefully wrapped the hanging yarn around the needle. “Out through the…oh!” The loop fell off her needle. “Oops.”
“That’s okay, dear.” Maggie did a quick fix. “Start again.”
“In through the…” The noise of the mower was getting louder. Her gaze was irresistibly drawn to the front window. Mistake. Ryan was shirtless, offering a magnificent rear view of bronzed back muscles leading to a very fine ass as he pushed the mower away from her.
It was unbearably hot in here.
“Is the air-conditioning on?” she asked.
Maggie’s eyes danced with amusement. “Yes, it is. Concentrate, dear.”
Her ears burned. It wasn’t fair that he was just so…much…man.
Liz tried the knit stitch again. Don’t look out the window, don’t look, don’t look, she chanted to herself while her fingers fumbled with the yarn and needles. She managed to go in and around, but then Jack didn’t jump off. The yarn fell off the needle unknitted.
Liz groaned.
“Keep trying. You’ll get it.” Maggie demonstrated the knit stitch again. “I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it. It’s very relaxing.”
Liz was feeling anything but relaxed as she tried to knit. Ryan’s golden sweaty muscles went by the window, again and again, forward and back, forward and back. She was building up a sweat just watching him sweat. Another stitch fell off the needle. Focus, Liz!
She carefully poked the needle through the next loop, ignoring the unraveled loops now hanging between the two needles. She slowly wrapped the yarn around and pulled it through. “I did it!”
“Good for you!” Maggie pulled out her own knitting project—a cabled sweater in a cream color. “Now do it again twenty-nine more times.”
Liz’s eyes widened. Twenty-nine times!
“It’ll get easier,” Maggie assured her as her hands flew over the needles, miraculously creating a sweater. “Soon you won’t have to think about it so much. It’ll be automatic. Then you can get fancy with it.”
Liz slowly, painstakingly worked her way through the row. Fifteen minutes later, she got to the end of the row. “Now what?”
Maggie switched the needles in Liz’s hands. “Now you do the same thing all the way down this side. Just keep going to the end and then switch the needles in your hands and start again.” The mower went quiet for a moment. “Looks like Ry could use a drink. Could you bring him out a glass of water?”
Liz looked out the window with alarm. Ryan had paused to wipe the sweat off his face with the T-shirt hanging on the front handle of the mower. She swallowed hard. She debated asking Maggie to do it, but she was here to help Maggie, not sit around on her sofa.
“Sure,” she said, heading for the kitchen. She found a glass and poured water from the pitcher in the fridge. Just be polite. Hand it to him, and come right back inside.
She walked past a happily knitting Maggie in the living room, briefly realized Maggie had a front row seat to the drinking-water scene, and stepped out the front door. He’d returned to mowing, and she waited until he turned back toward her. She held up her hand to wave, but barely managed a little finger wiggle at the sight before her, even better up close—a trail of sweat running down his chest to the arrow leading to his jeans. He didn’t see her yet, so she was free to continue looking. A woman with a two-year dry spell could look. Holy cocktails, he filled out those jeans nicely.
Bracing herself, she waved her hand in a large motion, and he looked up and stopped the mower. The engine quieted to a low roar.
“Hey,” he said.
She couldn’t move. “Maggie asked me to bring you some water.”
“Thanks.” He strode over to where she stood and took the glass. Up close, she noticed a puckered scar by his shoulder. She’d heard he’d been shot in the line of duty. Nobody knew how it happened, though. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he drank. A sweaty man should not be so appealing. The stubble on his strong jaw made him look hot and dangerous, and she barely resisted reaching out to touch him.
She gasped as he turned the glass and dumped the remaining water on his head. He shook his hair out, pushing the shaggy strands out of his eyes, and handed back the glass. “Thanks, I needed to cool off.”
She stood there, mouth agape, watching the magnificent rear view as he strode away to the mower.
“See you,” she breathed, though he couldn’t hear her over the mower. Why did he have to look so hot and be so sweet the way he took care of Maggie? Every time she looked at him, she was torn between throwing herself at him or throwing something at his head for The Humiliation. It was infuriating. She swiveled on her heel back to the house and stomped up the porch steps. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She opened the front door and stole one more glance over her shoulder.
His eyes met hers. And he winked.
He knew she’d been checking him out! Would her humiliation never cease?
She whirled away, face flaming, fumbled with the doorknob, and finally burst into the house.
“Everything all right?” Maggie asked.
“Fine,” Liz said, setting the empty glass down on the table with a bang. “Sorry.” She slipped a coaster under it. She returned to her place on the loveseat, picked up her knitting, and refused to look out that front window no matter how close the mower got.
~ ~ ~
Liz ate a quiet dinner of salad alone on Friday night while Daisy worked the dinner rush at Garner’s. She’d set up her laptop at the kitchen table so she could get started with her online continuing ed class on instructional techniques for children with reading difficulties. She was halfway through the first lesson when her doorbell rang.
She peeked through the peephole, and her heart picked up speed. Ryan! What was he doing here? She gave a quick thanks to the powers that be that she hadn’t changed into pajamas early. She smoothed her already smooth hair and opened the door.
“Special delivery,” he said, handing her an envelope. “Your paycheck.”
She reached out her hand. His fingers brushed her palm as he gave it to her, and she jerked her hand back like it was on fire. “Thank you. You can mail it next time. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
He peeked over her shoulder at her neat apartment, then looked back at her. “I’m on my way to a stakeout, but your place was on the way. What’re you up to on a Friday night?”
She wondered if he was on a dangerous mission. He always looked a little dangerous with his stubble and swaggering confidence. Focus, he asked you a question. “Oh, I’m…” She looked back at her empty apartment. “Going out later…but right now I’m working on an online continuing ed class.”
“Going out later,” he echoed in a voice as smooth as silk. “What does Liz Garner do for fun?”
Her hand fluttered to her throat, where her pulse was way too high. “I, uh, hang out with Rachel.”
“Anything else?”
She wondered what he was getting at. He always made her feel rattled. Was he referring to her ex-fiancé Craig?
“This and that,” she finally said. “Well, thank you for stopping by.”
He just stood there, his sharp eyes studying her. “You’re a puzzle, Liz.”
“I am?”
He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, and her heart caught in her throat at the gentle gesture. “You seem so…uptight,” he said.
She stiffened and took a step back.
“But I know you were checking me out when I was mowing.”
She flushed, but rallied quickly. “I was only bringing you water.” She crossed her arms and said primly, “You surprised me when you dumped the water on your head. I was merely looking to see if you were going to do any other…surprising things.”
His lips twitched. “You’re like a librarian just waiting to let loose.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She bristled, hands on her hips.
“There it is.” He smiled and stepped close, crowding her space. She drew in a quick breath, but held her ground. “The puzzle—fire and ice.”
She put both hands on his solid chest and pushed him out the door. “Next time, mail it.” She shut the door in his face, turned and leaned against it. “Urgh!”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said through the door.
She ripped open the door. “Go away.”
His head cocked to the side while he bit back a smile. “Is that any way to talk to your employer?”
“Gah!” She slammed the door and locked it. She heard his low laugh as he walked away.
~ ~ ~
Garner’s Sports Bar & Grill had an unusually busy Saturday night dinner rush, with an overflowing bar area, as well as a line out the front door. Liz had stopped by to check on Daisy on her second night of her new hostess job.
She worked her way through the mass of people in the front entryway to get to her sister. “What’s with all these people?” she asked.
“I’d like to say that business is booming,” Daisy replied, “but I think the good people of Clover Park came out to see this.” She indicated her baby bump, more of a bulge, really, as she sat on a stool behind the hostess stand.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that,” Liz said.
“Party of two,” Mr. Cox, their former soccer coach, said.
“Got it,” Daisy said.
Liz smiled at him.
Mr. Cox peeked at Daisy’s stomach before returning to his wife.
Daisy gestured for Liz to come closer. “See?” she hissed. “All these people are talking about me. They had to see for themselves the screwed-up Garner girl. They’re probably taking bets on who the father is. I’m quitting. I’m not a sideshow.”
“Daisy, no, I’m sure that’s not what it is. It’s probably just the summer rush. And Dad did add some new items to the menu.”
“Can someone take our name down?” Mrs. Peters, their first-grade teacher, asked, pulling her bifocals down and peering around the hostess stand.
“We got it, Mrs. Peters,” Liz said, dutifully writing her name on the list.
Daisy eased herself off the cushioned stool. “You might as well take over, Liz. You’ll do a much better job than me anyway.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Liz said in her best no-nonsense teacher voice. “You need a job, you have a job. And you’re going to keep it. I’m working too, but I can’t do everything.”
Daisy frowned, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know. I’m sorry, sis. I’m being selfish.”
Liz sighed. She was still getting used to this new weepy Daisy. She’d never seen her cry so much in her life.
“Chin up,” she told Daisy. “If anyone says anything nasty to you, tell me. But I really do think people are here for the food and the company. Okay?” She hugged her sister.
Daisy nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m going to grab something quick at the bar.” Liz headed over to the long, dark cherry bar where their regular bartender, Josh, was serving up drinks and the occasional appetizer. A wooden sign with a beach scene above the bar read: Garner’s Paradise: It’s Always Happy Hour Here. She’d given it to her parents for their last anniversary, and it made her smile every time she saw it. They had the kind of marriage she hoped for—thirty-five years of happily living and working together, a true partnership.
“Could you put in an order for some lettuce wraps?” she asked.
“You got it,” Josh answered, punching in the order on the computer. “Drink?”
“Just a seltzer.”
She sipped her drink while she waited, listening for any Daisy gossip. The bar was mostly filled with college students back home on break and some guys watching the Sox game on one of the two TVs. She spotted Travis O’Hare at the other end of the bar, staring at his beer. He resembled Ryan—same caramel brown hair and hazel eyes, but he was lean and sinewy while Ryan was taller and solid, filled out with muscle. She scanned the crowd near him, but didn’t see Ryan. Relieved, she returned to her seltzer.
Her lettuce wraps arrived, and she took her time savoring the three wraps of southwestern-style chicken, corn, and tomato. She entered her meal into MyFoodBuddy and headed back to the kitchen to see if her parents needed help.
The kitchen was controlled chaos as her father barked out orders and her mother worked as sous chef preparing salads and plating desserts. Three cooks worked frantically to keep up with the incoming orders. She waved to her dad and went to her mom’s side; she was slicing some chocolate cake and setting the slices on dessert plates.
“How’s it going, Mom?” she asked. Her mother had long, blond hair and smooth skin—she’d been religious about sunscreen—looking much younger than her fifty-seven years. It gave Liz hope for herself as she aged.
Her mother looked up. “Liz! Could you grab the whipped cream from the fridge?”
Liz retrieved the whipped cream and handed it to her mother. “How’s it working out with Daisy?”
Her mother artfully fashioned three spirals of whipped cream next to a chocolate cake slice. “She’s fine. You girls practically grew up here, so I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Her usually sunny mother let out a sigh. She finished the whipped cream and announced, “I’m on break. Rose, step in here.”
Grab
bing Liz’s arm, she steered her out the back door. It was a warm June night, and the sun lingered in the sky.
“Everything okay, Mom?”
“We need to find out who the father is.” Her mother spoke in a low tone for privacy. “It’s just not right not having him in the picture. At the very least he could send child support.”
“I agree, but Daisy says he doesn’t want anything to do with the baby.”
Her mother eyed her. “And you believe her? No, she’s being cagey about it. Won’t give me a name.” She threw her hands up. “All she’ll say is he’s on that baseball team.”
“The Norwalk Tigers.”
“I’m thinking of hiring a private investigator. We’ve got one right here in town. It’ll all be very discreet.”
Ryan. “No, Mom! I’ll handle it, I promise. I’m going to go home right now and research the team.”
Her mother’s lips tightened while she thought it over. “Okay, see what you can find. Then try to pin her down. You’re living with her. You should be able to get something out of her.”
“I will.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and headed to her car. The last thing she wanted was Ryan snooping around in her sister’s business; bad enough she had to deal with him through Maggie.
When she got home, she opened up her laptop and Googled the Norwalk Tigers. Twenty-six players on the roster. She clicked through, one by one, reading their bios and stats, looking at their pictures. She wondered if her nephew would be half Latino. That would be cool. She just needed a name from Daisy, and she’d take care of the rest. Maybe he could have a relationship with his son. Her nephew deserved the best she could give him.
Now she just had to figure out how to get the info from Daisy without upsetting her. A lot of stress on the mother wasn’t good for the baby. She had to wait for the perfect moment. Lord, she hoped she didn’t have to wait long. The last thing she needed was to have her mom hire Ryan.
She was beginning to think he enjoyed rattling her.
Infuriating man.
Chapter Seven
Liz and Daisy sat at the doctor’s office Monday morning in a waiting room filled with other pregnant women, many of them with their husbands. It was glaringly obvious what Daisy was missing. This could be the perfect moment she’d been waiting for. She glanced at her sister, who was flipping through a travel magazine. Daisy’s cheeks were rosy, and her hair seemed extra glossy. “How are you feeling?”