“And isn’t it a beautiful one? Good morning, Ken. Have a seat and I’ll have your coffee ready in a flash.”
He shrugged out of his jacket and left it hanging in the laundry room, then looked warily up the back stairs, and down the hall toward the office.
“Miss Lydia’s still upstairs,” Gloria said as she brought him a mug of coffee. “The power went off when the storm started and she overslept. At least, that’s what she said. Truth to tell, though, she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink all night. She was sitting right there where you are when I came in this morning, just staring out the window and eating ice cream. Something was troubling her.”
Sophy looked at him, one brow raised. He pointedly ignored her. “Tell me something, Gloria. How is it you can’t remember names, but you have no problem remembering exactly how I like my coffee?”
The housekeeper’s hands fluttered in the air in a brush-off. “Give me a decade or two, and I’ll have your name down pat. But who can wait that long for good coffee?”
Carrying a plate and saucers, Sophy slid into the chair across from Ben. “What do you think was troubling Lynda, Gloria?”
“Oh, hon, I don’t know.”
“Me, either. Oh, gee, Ben, you saw her last night, didn’t you? What do you think is the problem?”
Scowling at her, he dumped sticky buns and glazed doughnuts onto a plate, then crumpled the bakery sack. “I don’t know. Maybe there are too many nosy people in her life.”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s something more personal, like … oh, I don’t know. Going out on a date and having an argument instead.”
“You know, Sophy,” he began sourly, “I hired you. I can fire you, too.”
She wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “For all you know, maybe you’ve been fired,” she said cheerfully. “Anyway, you wouldn’t fire me. We work so well together.”
“No one’s getting fired,” Gloria said. “Let’s get back to the subject. Did you and Miss Lindy have an argument last night?”
“What happened between Miss Lindy—Lydia—” Shaking his head, he muttered a curse. “What happened between us last night—”
“Is no one else’s business.”
As one, they all looked toward the stairs, where Lynda stood stiff and mannequinlike on the bottom step. If she’d had trouble sleeping last night, Ben couldn’t see any evidence of it. She wore a plain suit that was flattering only because she could make a plastic trash bag look like high fashion, and her hair was pulled back and up, pinned and clipped so tightly that he was surprised she was able to blink. She looked hard, stern, and uncompromising. And beautiful.
“Is there any particular reason you people are sitting around gossiping over coffee instead of doing the jobs you were hired to do?”
Gloria beat a quick path to the counter and poured a cup of coffee for Lynda. “Mornin’ again, Miss Lily. Here you go. This will help soothe you.”
“I’m not in need of soothing, and my name is Lynda.”
“Well, of course it is, hon.” Gloria made the coffee disappear in the sink as Lynda stopped beside the worktable.
“What will you be working on today?”
Rankled by the you people comment, Ben shrugged, and replied, “I thought we’d start on the plumbing.”
“Why don’t you finish replacing those second-floor windows before starting something else?”
He glanced at the rain, then back at her, and made the muscles in her jaw twitch. “Replacing the windows means removing them. Down where I come from, we try not to remove windows in the middle of a heavy rain, ’cause if you do, things tend to get a little wet inside. We also try to avoid climbing out on the roof with metal tools in a thunderstorm—you know, water, lightning, a disaster waiting to happen? Of course, we’re all dumb rednecks. What do we know about anything?”
Her dark gaze narrowed and sharpened. “I wonder about that myself sometimes. Please get to work. This is my time you’re wasting, and I don’t appreciate it.” Spinning on her heel, she started down the hall, toward the front of the house.
“Even a slave got a break for meals,” Ben called after her.
She stopped, stiffened, then continued past the office and the front stairs to the living room. Suddenly, Gloria dropped the dish towel she’d been fiddling with and started toward the door. “Oh, Miss Lynette, you might want to—”
The rest of the suggestion was lost in a crash. Wood hit wood, glass broke, and hard objects thudded against other hard objects. Ben pushed past Gloria and raced to the living room with Sophy right behind him and the housekeeper bringing up the rear. He skidded to a stop in the doorway, narrowly avoiding a collision with a massive table that hadn’t stood there the last time he’d looked … or, apparently, the last time Lynda looked, either. Running into the table had thrown her off balance, and she’d taken a chair, a smaller table, and everything it held to the floor with her. She was still there, half lying, half sitting, staring at the room.
Ben looked around, too. “Wow, Gloria. When you said you were going to do some heavy-duty cleaning, you weren’t kidding, were you? Tell me you cleaned all that ugly, uncomfortable furniture and found this great stuff underneath.”
“Of course not. I found all this in the guest house out back. It’s so much better suited to the house, don’t you think?”
He agreed. The sofas and chairs were soft, upholstered in pastels, and looked perfect for relaxing or napping. The tables were good wood and proportioned to the overstuffed sofas, and the lamps were sleek, tall, and very definitely modern. Even the wallpaper looked cleaner, newer, less obnoxious, with the changes.
“You did all this yourself?” Except for the smallest tables, all the pieces were substantial, and if asked, he wouldn’t guess Gloria could lift even one end of one sofa.
“Oh, no. I had some help. You were gone to town with Sophy. It didn’t take long.” Abruptly, the pleasure drained from her face. “Oh, Miss Lynda! I am so sorry! Are you all right?”
“My antiques,” Lynda murmured, sounding as dazed as she looked.
“Are in the guest house. Everything’s fine—no nicks, no scratches, nothing broken. Well, except what you knocked over here. I’ll get a dustpan and broom. Sophy, can you help me?”
Ben crouched down, elbows braced on his thighs, fingers laced together. “Are you all right?”
She eased herself into a sitting position, avoiding slivers of glass from what looked like two vases that had shattered. “My antiques …”
“Were almost as uncomfortable as having no furniture at all. If you’re honest, you’ll admit you didn’t like them. You just thought they were appropriate.” And being appropriate was, for her, more important than being comfortable or likable. “Did you hit anything when you fell?”
“Only the floor.”
She moved as if to get up, and he easily stood, then offered her a hand. For a moment he thought she might refuse to take it, but then she wrapped her fingers around his. He pulled her to her feet and considered holding on tightly, but instead he watched as she withdrew her hand, brushed her clothes, then tried to surreptitiously rub her left knee. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No. I’m fine. You can get back to work.” Then she feigned surprise. “Oh, I forgot. You haven’t started working yet. Please do. And when you turn in your hours this week, don’t forget you got a late start today.”
The sweet sarcasm in her voice got under his skin damn near as much as her inference that he might collect wages for more hours than he’d actually worked. In his head he could hear Emmaline warning him to smile, be polite, and keep his opinions to himself. He managed the smile and turned away without saying anything at all, since that was the only way to ensure politeness, then abruptly swung back around. “You’re out of line, Ms. Barone. I’ve never cheated my employers. I’ve never padded invoices or falsified a time card or taken so much as a damned nail home from a job site, and you have no right to even hint that I might. If you don’
t like the choices I made when I was a kid, that’s your problem. It’s got nothing to do with the work I’m doing for you.”
Like him, she started to turn away. Like him, emotion got the better of her. “It’s got everything to do with the kind of man you are. You make it sound so simple, so harmless—the ‘choices’ you made. Put it in plain English, Ben. You abandoned your own baby. You helped create a new life, then said, ‘Oh, hey, I was just looking for sex. This father gig is more than I bargained for. I’m outta here.’ And you walked away and never looked back. You left her mother feeling used. You let your own daughter grow up knowing you didn’t give a damn about her. And you broke your grandmother’s heart.”
He stared at her, his face hot, his chest so tight that taking a normal breath was impossible. At his side, the fingers of his right hand curved into an impotent fist, sending a dull throb through his hand and wrist that did nothing to lessen the ache in his gut.
He stared at her so long, so hard, that her anger faded and her damnably cool civility took over. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I think it would be best if we both went to work and forgot—”
“No.”
She looked startled. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. Sorry I can’t give notice, but yesterday was my last day. Since you apparently have doubts about my honesty, my integrity, and my character, keep the money you owe me. That ought to cover anything you think I cheated on.”
This time when he turned, he walked past Sophy and Gloria, both staring openmouthed, down the hall, across the kitchen, and out the door, and he never looked back.
After the soccer game Saturday afternoon, Alanna was nursing a sore rib where she’d collided with one of the other team’s players, and she was hot and sweaty, but she couldn’t have felt better. The Seraphim were undefeated, she’d been asked to help out at Miss Agatha’s wedding shower that night, and—best of all—Caleb would be there, too. They would be watching the little kids with Susan, Trey, and some of the others, and when it was over, Dr. J.D. was treating them all to dinner. Of course, it wasn’t a date—Uncle Nathan told her she couldn’t date until she was twenty-one, and Aunt Emilie said he was just teasing, but Alanna wasn’t so sure, because he got that stern-policeman look in his eyes. But it was going to be a lot of fun anyway.
When she got to the bleachers where everyone was gathered, Aunt Emilie bent to kiss her forehead. “You did a great job, Lannie.”
“Thanks.” Soccer wasn’t the most important thing in her life, but she was glad she was good at it. When they’d lived with their mom, they’d never stayed anywhere long enough or had the money for her to take part in sports or anything. She’d been jealous of kids who played soccer, took gymnastics, or were in Scouts, because she was lucky to steal enough money from her mom to buy food before Berry had spent it all on drugs. All she’d wanted back then was to have a normal life—a home, enough food, someone who loved them, and friends.
And she had it all now.
With Aunt Emilie and the kids, Alanna started toward the parking lot. People they passed patted her on the back and said they were lucky to have her, and she smiled politely. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the after-the-game part was almost as much fun as the game itself.
They were practically at the car when she saw Ben Foster walking toward his car. “Hey,” she said in greeting. “Where’s your friend?”
“She couldn’t make it. You did good. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She waved as Aunt Emilie turned from unlocking the doors.
“Who was that, Alanna?”
“A friend of Miss Agatha’s and Grandpa Bud’s. His name is Ben, and he’s from Georgia.”
“Does he know someone on the team?”
Alanna shrugged.
“Do you run into him very often?”
“Nah. Just at the band concert. And he was at our game one day. And Susan and Mai and I talked to him at Harry’s last weekend. Oh, and we saw him when we went to the fabric store last week. And today. That’s all. Oh, yeah, and he came by Miss Corinna’s one day, asking for directions. Can I wear my new dress tonight, or do I have to save it for church?”
“We’ll see.”
Josie was already buckled in the front seat, so Alanna got in back with Brendan and Michael. She made sure Brendan’s seat belt was fastened tight, then checked the straps on Michael’s car seat before fastening her own seat belt. Finally, Aunt Emilie got in and started the car.
“If you see this man again, Alanna, let me know,” she said as she backed out of the parking space.
“Is he a bad man?” Josie asked. “If he is, Uncle Nathan can shoot him with his gun.”
“How can I know if he’s a bad man if I don’t know him?” Aunt Emilie asked. “I’d just like to meet him and welcome him to Bethlehem the way everyone welcomed us. Do you remember?”
“You’re gonna make him cinnamon rolls and hot cocoa? That’s what Miss C’rinna and Miss Agatha did for us.” Josie made a face. “No offense, Aunt Emilie, but I don’t think you can make cinnamon rolls as good as they can. You prob’ly better buy ’em instead, or ask Miss C’rinna to bake ’em.”
Aunt Emilie laughed, and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” But she took a long time to pull out of the parking lot, because she was watching the man’s car drive away, and when she looked at Alanna in the rearview mirror, she had a funny look in her eyes. Kind of a worried look.
Alanna wondered why.
Melina had had one hell of a week, so when it was over, she did what came naturally—she packed a bag, gassed up the Bug, and headed for Bethlehem. She loved her brief trips—the long drive with the top down and music blaring, the lazy nothing-to-do-unless-she-wanted-to attitude once she got there, the catching-up with Lynda. The only downer was having to leave again. She had actually, a time or two, given thought to staying. Not that the town could support her business, but it could be handled long-distance.
But she wasn’t moving. She hadn’t kidded when she’d told Lyn on her last visit that she wanted love, marriage, commitment—all those things that had come automatically for her mother’s generation, that her generation wasn’t supposed to care so much about. Well, she cared, and there were a lot more marriageable men in a city like Buffalo than in a hamlet the size of Bethlehem.
But all it took, her mother was fond of saying, was one.
She’d just turned off Main Street when she saw a familiar car approaching from the opposite direction. She slowed to a stop, then raised both arms over her head in exuberant greeting. “Ben!”
Rumbling like the powerful machine it was, the GTO stopped beside her, and the driver gave her what would be a smile from anyone else. But she’d seen Ben Foster smile, and that was a poor substitute for the real thing.
“You look like hell. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I got my stitches out. It’s a beautiful day. What could be wrong?”
“How’s Lynda?”
“You’ll have to ask her when you see her.”
“You had a date with her Wednesday.” And Melina hadn’t heard from her since. She’d meant to call her, but that hellacious week had gotten in the way—one employee quitting, having to fire another, bailing two more out of jail as well as dealing with demanding clients. It had been a fun couple of days. “What did Lyn do wrong?”
“She didn’t do anything. The evening was fine. She was fine. Everything’s fine. Listen, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. How about dinner …” She let the words trail off as he drove away with a wave.
Her face felt as if it had settled into a permanent scowl by the time she reached Lynda’s house. She let herself in, then bellowed Lynda’s name.
“Melina? What are you doing here?”
The voice came from the office. By the time Lynda got to her feet, Melina was already striding through the doorway. She assumed she looked as fierce as she’d been aiming for, because after one look at her, Lynda sank back down into her chair and put
on a scowl of her own. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Don’t try to get on my good side. What happened on your date Wednesday night?”
Lynda’s eyes hardened. “The usual stuff. I let him take me in that car of his. We drove a hundred-ten miles an hour over mountain roads, and had hamburgers and fries at a drive-in plagued by neon, teenagers, and fifties’ music.”
Something had definitely gone wrong, because Lynda wasn’t a snob, not about things like cars and restaurants. One of her favorite places in Buffalo had been a hole-in-the-wall burger joint where the aroma of fried onions made your eyes water a block away, and the only problem she had with riding in the Bug was when the top was up and her head bumped the roof. “Did you let him kiss you good night?”
Lynda suddenly found it imperative that she give the computer a command at that very instant. Then, finally she grudgingly admitted, “By the time the evening was over, he wasn’t interested in a kiss or anything else.”
It took a few minutes to coax an explanation from her, and even then, it wasn’t complete. All she would say was that they’d argued over something he’d done years earlier. What that was, she wouldn’t admit.
“I didn’t want him to quit,” she said moodily.
“I don’t know. You accuse an honest man of ripping you off just because your nose is out of joint, you gotta expect a similar reaction. I mean, what kind of respect could you have for the guy if he stuck around after you said something so insulting?”
“He made insults, too,” Lynda said defensively.
“What did he say?”
“That my mother doesn’t give a damn about my career. That she sees me as a failure because I haven’t found a husband and given her grandchildren. That she wants to breed me like a prize mare.”
Melina sat down and propped her feet on the edge of the desk. “You know I adore your mother, but all she ever wanted you to be was a housewife and mother, just like her. She wanted you to finish college so you would have something to fall back on if your husband left you for a younger woman, but she never wanted you to have a career. Besides … you subjected him to two hours of Janice’s insults. At least he had the decency to not say his peace to her face, like she did with him.”
Getting Lucky Page 21