by Meg Benjamin
“What makes you think I’m screwing around? I like her. What’s wrong with my taking her out? It’s not like I’m a serial killer or something.”
“You like her? Are you serious about her?”
He shrugged. Getting serious wasn’t part of his agenda right now. “We’ve only gone out once. But I’d like to see her again. Assuming she ever has another evening to spare.”
“That’s asking a lot. Her life’s as busy as ours is. Busier, to be honest. She’s got Carol to look after.”
He leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. “Where’s Carol’s dad? Why doesn’t he take up some of the slack?”
“Ruth and her ex broke up when Carol was a baby. He sees her now and then when Carol goes down to stay with his folks in Colorado Springs. He does pay support, so he’s not MIA. But he’s not what you’d call an involved parent. I don’t know if he’s ever been to Antero. It’s pretty much all on Ruth.” Bec crossed something out in her notebook, then made a quick notation in the margin.
Liam frowned. “He didn’t have anything to do with the deli?”
“Nope. That’s all Ruth, too. She started it back when she started making cheese.”
“Is her cheese any good?”
“You haven’t tasted Ruth’s cheese?” Bec put down her notebook. “How is that possible? I’ve been working there for over a year now.”
He shrugged. “I’m not much of a goat cheese fan. It always tastes sort of rank.”
Bec put her hands on her hips, a sure sign that she was seriously pissed. “Ruth’s cheese does not taste rank. It’s creamy and luscious. She makes brie with her goat milk, for God’s sake. And it’s freakin’ great brie. Goat milk has a higher fat content than cow milk.”
Liam held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Maybe I’ll try it sometime. It’s probably better than the stuff I’ve had up until now.” It couldn’t be worse. But he was careful not to say that out loud. “The place always looks popular.”
Bec nodded. “She’s got good distribution—a lot of the restaurants in town use her cheese. And she’s in some of the fancy gourmet shops in Crested Butte and Breckenridge. I think she’d like to expand farther, but since it’s just the two of us and Carol in the cheese room, she can’t produce as much as she’d like. The demand’s there. The production isn’t.”
“Which is yet another pressure on her time.” Liam frowned. The situation was looking a lot bleaker than he’d anticipated. He only had a month to get this relationship on track.
“And it’s going to get worse. Eventually, I’ll have to quit working for her when the brewery really gets going. Even working part-time over there cuts into our production.”
“Well, this has been a cheery conversation.” Unfortunately, he didn’t see any way to lighten Ruth’s workload. Which meant she probably wouldn’t be going out with him.
“That’s the breaks, brother dear.” Bec gave him a grin, then turned back to her notebook. “Maybe I could try some pilsner malt this time. What do you think?”
Liam didn’t want to think about IPAs. He did want to think about Ruth, but he was sure he wouldn’t come up with anything useful if he did. Sometime in the next couple of days, he needed to come up with a plan.
“Whatever you say. You’re the one who’ll be putting this together.”
…
Ruth stared into the interior of her refrigerator, trying to make the contents add up to some kind of dinner. She needed to start writing out weekly menus so she didn’t end up doing this so frequently, but she was currently stuck making the menus for the deli since Barbara Jean’s repertoire was so limited. The last thing she wanted to do was create another menu for her own kitchen.
“No cheese,” Carol muttered. “I’m sick of cheese.”
Ruth was sick of Carol at the moment. She was still in the same funk she’d been in ever since she’d gotten back from Colorado Springs, and Ruth was running out of patience.
“Right now you’re looking at either a BLT or peanut butter and jelly. Take your pick.”
“Why can’t we have spaghetti? We never have spaghetti. I like spaghetti.”
“We’re out of spaghetti.” Mainly because it was the only thing Carol could be relied upon to eat and Ruth hadn’t restocked yet. “There’s some frozen lasagna.”
“Yuck.”
Ruth took a deep breath. She’d had a long day. Carol had been pissy for most of it. If she blew up now, it would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t settle anything. And it wouldn’t make Carol snap out of it.
“BLTs it is.” She grabbed the package of bacon, closing her ears to Carol’s response, which was bound to be snotty. Fortunately, the tomatoes on the counter were from the farmer’s market and reasonably fresh. If Carol didn’t eat her sandwich, Ruth could finish it. She was hungry enough, having skipped lunch to make cheese.
Carol sat behind her at the kitchen table while she fried the bacon and toasted the bread. She was a coiled, simmering mass of defiance. Ruth ignored her. She was not—not—going to let the kid know she’d succeeded in being a pain in the ass.
She spread butter on Carol’s toast, knowing without asking that mayonnaise was a no-go. Then she spread mayonnaise on her own. Then she placed bacon and tomato slices in the neatest pattern she could come up with.
She risked a glance at her daughter. “You want lettuce?”
Carol shook her head vehemently.
“All right then.” She placed the second piece of bread, then picked up the knife again to cut the sandwich.
“Don’t use that knife.” Carol’s voice was almost a command.
Ruth mentally counted to ten. “Why not?”
“You used it to spread mayonnaise on your bread. It’s got mayonnaise contamination.”
Ruth looked at the knife blade. If any mayonnaise remained, it would require a chemical analysis to find it. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It’s got mayonnaise. If you cut my sandwich with a mayonnaise knife, I won’t eat it. It’ll taste like crap.”
Ruth turned to stare at her. Carol’s eyes were full of tears. Her lower lip trembled. She was clutching the side of the table so hard her knuckles were white.
Ruth picked up the uncut sandwich and set the plate in front of her daughter. “Here. No mayonnaise. Fresh tomatoes. Have a bite.”
Carol stared down at the sandwich in front of her, taking a series of deep breaths. Finally, she picked it up and bit off a corner.
Ruth stayed where she was, watching. “Okay?”
After a moment, Carol nodded. Ruth sat down at the kitchen table across from her. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”
Carol immediately dropped her gaze to the plate in front of her. “Nothing. I said it was okay.”
“I’m not talking about the sandwich.” Or anyway, she wasn’t talking about just the sandwich, although the sandwich had definitely been the deciding factor. Clearly something was up that she needed to know about. “Are you unhappy because your dad didn’t make it to Colorado Springs?”
Carol kept her attention on her sandwich. “I talked to him on the phone. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just wanted spaghetti for dinner.”
Uh-huh. Ruth stared at the top of her daughter’s head. Was there more to the story than Carol was letting on? If it had been something Carol said or did, her former in-laws would be getting in touch with her soon enough. They’d never been known to let sleeping dogs lie.
But they hadn’t said anything when she’d picked Carol up. And Carol had slept all the way back to Antero. Whatever it was must not be recent enough to require a lot of argument.
She’d just put down her sandwich to pour herself more iced tea when the phone rang. They had a landline in the house because the cell coverage was so iffy in the mountains, which meant a lot of telemarketers during dinnertime. Ruth grabbed the receiver without much enthusiasm.
“Hello?”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Ruth?”
Her breath caught in her ch
est. She only heard that voice a few times a year, but she knew it well. Unfortunately. “David?”
Across from her, Carol sat up, eyes suddenly bright. “Is that Dad? Let me talk to him.”
Ruth held up a hand to quiet her. Conversations with David required concentration.
“Hi, babe,” David said. “What’s the schedule for the munchkin? Have you got a flight picked out?”
What the hell? And what sane adult refers to his twelve-year-old daughter as a munchkin? “What are you talking about, David?”
“About Carol. About her coming out here.”
Ruth glanced at Carol, whose eager expression was sliding into something closer to suspicion. “Coming out there? To California? I don’t know anything about this.”
“Oh, well, no biggie. I figured since I couldn’t make it down to the folks because of the production meeting, she could come out here, maybe next week. My PA could take her shopping or something. Maybe I could take a day off while she’s here and show her around.”
“Shopping. With your personal assistant.” Ruth took a breath before counting to ten. The only things Carol liked shopping for were snowboards and mountain bikes.
“Yeah, you know, like Century City or Rodeo Drive or something.”
“Carol’s not usually interested in clothes.” She glanced toward her daughter. Carol gave her a furious look, then marched out of the kitchen, probably heading for her room.
“Well, maybe they could go to Disneyland, or Knotts Berry Farm. Someplace like that. And I could get her tickets to see a taping. I figure she’d like that.”
A stress headache was starting at the back of Ruth’s neck. The number of problems—beginning with David’s total cluelessness where Carol’s interests were concerned and extending to his casual approach to looking after his daughter—boggled the mind.
“I’m not sending Carol to L.A. Certainly not next week and maybe not ever. You can’t just jerk her out of her daily life and put her on a plane. She’s only flown once as it is, and never on her own.” Which you would know if you stopped to think about it.
“Hey, she’s a bright kid. She’ll figure it out.”
She took a deep breath. “Did you already talk to Carol about this?”
“Yeah, I talked to her on the phone when she was at my folks’ place. What’s the big deal anyway? She’s not in school or anything.”
The stress headache gave another throb. “The big deal is you didn’t bother to discuss this with me. You didn’t ask me in advance. You didn’t give me a chance to plan, to see if it was possible. To say yes or no.”
“Why are you the one who gets to say yes or no? I’m her father. And I want her to come out here.”
And there it was, that petulant note. The one that once had had the power to drive her to shouting insults at him. “David, you don’t know anything about what’s going on here. You don’t know what her schedule is. You’re asking me to set all of this up in a flash. I can’t do that.”
There was another pause then, slightly longer this time. She pictured David’s pissed off face, the one she remembered, anyway. Lord only knew what he looked like now.
“Hell, how long do you need? Just go on Travelocity or something. Text me when you’ve got it all set up. She can stay as long as she wants.”
A lump formed in Ruth’s throat, made up of an odd mixture of fury and terror. “I’m not doing this on the fly. I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t think about it too long. I want this to happen. ASAP.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want. I said I’ll think about it.” It was a small miracle that she hadn’t raised her voice. She could only hope David didn’t notice the slight tremor.
He was silent for a moment. “Goddammit, Ruth.”
Ruth closed her eyes. This conversation had already gone on too long. “I said I’ll think about it and I’ll talk to Carol. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll be in touch. Get it done.” The line went dead. As always, David was the king of the dramatic exit line.
Ruth sighed and hung up. Now for the fun part of the evening: talking to her daughter about why exactly she wasn’t going to California.
Chapter Four
Carol had retreated to her bedroom, although Ruth didn’t believe for a moment that she hadn’t listened to the phone call, at least Ruth’s end of it. She climbed the stairs to the second floor.
At least Carol’s bedroom door was open, which saved knocking. Ruth leaned in the doorway, studying her.
She’d grown an inch or so over the year, but she was still a little girl, slender and small. She’d only turned twelve last month. Ruth’s heart gave a quick throb. Don’t grow up too fast, sweetheart. Let me have you with me a little longer.
She managed to ruthlessly kick that sentiment aside. If she wanted to get to the bottom of this situation, she needed to at least try to be objective. “That was your father on the phone.”
Carol nodded stiffly. “I heard.”
“He says he invited you to come visit him in California.”
Carol’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. So?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this when we got home?” Ruth moved farther into the bedroom, pulling over the rocker to sit in so that she could face her daughter.
Carol shrugged. She hadn’t lifted her gaze from the floor since Ruth had come into the room. “Why should I? I knew you wouldn’t let me.”
Ruth sighed. She was tired of this game. Of all the games. “I couldn’t even think about letting you if I didn’t know about it.”
Carol raised her eyes at that. Ruth blinked. Her daughter’s face was scrunched into pure fury.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me no matter what I said. You’ll never let me go visit Dad. It’s no use talking to you about it.”
Ruth caught her breath. “You never told me you wanted to go before.” Mainly because David had never asked her to go before.
“I want to go. I kept asking Dad to let me and he kept saying maybe sometime, and now it’s sometime.” Carol’s lower lip extended. “Why can’t I? I’m old enough.”
Technically, she was. She could fly as an unaccompanied minor with a flight attendant to look after her. Ruth had a momentary vision of Carol standing alone and abandoned in the vastness of LAX because David had forgotten which day his daughter was coming. Or he’d forgotten to tell his PA to pick her up. Or the PA had forgotten what she was supposed to do, given that David’s PAs were frequently hired for something other than their efficiency. “We can talk about it.”
“You see? That means no.” Carol’s lower lip began to tremble. “Why don’t you want me to spend time with Dad?”
“I don’t mind if you spend time with your father. But I need a lot more information before I can buy in. You can’t just go out there on a whim. It takes a lot of planning.” Something David had never had much luck with.
“Grandma said it would be okay.” Carol looked like she’d bitten into something sour.
Of course, David’s indulgent mother would give her approval. “Your grandmother’s not the one making this decision. I need to know what your father’s plans are. I need to know where you’ll be and what you’ll be doing. And when you’ll be back. I don’t even know what your father’s working on right now.”
“Grandma says he’s producing that show, Crimson. The one about the teenage vampires.”
Ruth managed not to grimace. David was producing a show she wouldn’t let Carol watch. “Maybe he is. I don’t know.”
Carol stared down at the floor again. “Grandma says maybe I could think about moving to California for a while.”
And here it is. Thanks, Grandma Lois. “You can’t move to California without my consent. When we got the divorce, we agreed you were going to live with me, and I live here in Antero.” She took another deep breath. “Are you interested in moving to California?”
Carol bit her lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
Ruth fought down a quick surge of panic. Carol had probably considered it, but she wouldn’t have made any final decisions yet. That could be what the trip to California was all about—checking out her options. And if Cool Dad showed her a good time, with shopping trips and days at Disneyland, would that sway her opinion away from Mom the Drudge?
“Joanie Denton’s folks got into a fight over who she was going to live with. When her mom married that guy from the resort. Her dad made her move to Denver.” Carol’s forehead furrowed. “Do I get any say in where I live?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you get a vote. But so do I.”
“And Dad?”
Ruth closed her eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see. I’ve got primary custody, so my vote counts for a little more.”
“It isn’t fair,” Carol said softly. “You all make the decisions and I don’t get to make any.”
Welcome to the real world, kid. A lot of it isn’t fair.
“Give me a couple of weeks to think about a trip to California. Let me see what the flights are like from Grand Junction and Denver, and what kind of schedule we both have for the next couple of months.”
Carol sighed. “I guess that makes sense. I still think this is crappy, though.”
Ruth closed her eyes. “Don’t say crappy. Or don’t say it around anybody but me. Your grandmother’s likely to get upset with you if you do.”
“I know not to say it around her.”
“Okay, then.” Ruth paused for a jaw-cracking yawn. It had been a miserably long day. And it didn’t look to be ending anytime soon. “Sorry. I got up too early today.”
“Barbara Jean’s an awful cook,” Carol said flatly. “Is she going to get any better?”
“We can only hope. Assuming she sticks around, which I’m not sure she will.” If Barbara Jean left, they’d be in real trouble, since Ruth would have to do the cooking herself, which meant she wouldn’t have time to make cheese. She pushed herself to her feet, then leaned down to kiss her daughter on the forehead. “You need to finish your sandwich or eat something else. Then you can get some sleep. We can talk more about this tomorrow.”
Carol reached up quickly and hugged her, her arms tight around Ruth’s neck. She held on for a long moment. “I love you, Mama,” she whispered.