Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story

by Maureen Child

  Hell, no wonder the kid was so delighted at her invitation to come along with her after school.

  “Is Cash even here?” Jack asked, turning to look around the wooded area as if expecting the man to pop out from behind a bush.

  “He’d better be,” Jo murmured, hefting the heavy toolbox over the edge of the truck. The solid weight of it jerked her arm as she headed toward the main house.

  It had been two days since she’d caught him in the act at the Sanchez house. Two days of listening to Nana talk about “that nicea Cash. So polite. Issa he italiano? Cattolico?” Two days of listening to her sisters and the rest of the town speculate on the Money Fairy’s identity. Two days she’d spent remembering sitting beside him in the night, hearing the soft rumble of his voice.

  She was really slipping.

  Lifting one hand, she rubbed at the spot between her eyes and told herself that a headache was just punishment. She had no business thinking about Cash—the way she’d been thinking about him. Hadn’t she learned firsthand just how bad things could get when you fell for a smooth line?

  “Jo?”

  She glanced at her brother, pushed her thoughts to one side, and concentrated instead on him. This time with Jack was a chance for her to connect. To find a relationship with a little brother she’d never expected to have. And all in all, he was a good kid. “Right. Let’s go get him so we can finish up the work on that guest house of his.”

  She’d only taken a few steps when Cash walked out the double front doors and headed down the walk toward them. A long, slow breath slid from her lungs. She didn’t know which was more impressive, Cash—or the house he’d built.

  Clearing her throat, she spoke, her voice coming out a little louder, a little harsher than she’d intended. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

  He pushed one hand through his thick, black hair and shrugged. “Been busy.”

  Doing what? she wondered, but squelched that thought fast.

  “How’s Nana?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting just enough to tantalize her.

  She lifted one hand and pointed at him. “Don’t start with me, Cash.”

  He only grinned and said, “Hi, Jack. You here to work with us?”

  “Uh-huh. Jo says you want to add some more stuff to your cottage,” Jack said, then glanced at his sister before adding, “But first can we show her what you’re making over there?”

  Jo’s gaze followed the boy’s pointing finger and she noticed an outbuilding tucked some fifty feet behind the main house. Sheltered by trees, one long wall of the huge structure was windows and the wide, barn-style double doors were closed. She shifted her gaze back to Cash and noticed his hesitation. And since he clearly didn’t want her to see inside, her curiosity raged.

  “More secrets?” she challenged.

  He shot a look at the boy, as if reminding her that she’d promised to keep quiet about the whole Money Fairy thing, before narrowing his gaze on her. “No.”

  “C’mon, Cash. Let’s show her.” Jack turned to his older sister. “It’s really cool. He’s got all these neat tools and he let me use a planner.”

  “Planer,” she corrected automatically, still watching Cash. He looked uncomfortable. Interesting. The man was usually smooth and confident enough for three healthy men. What was it that could make him seem so . . . vulnerable?

  A soft wind kicked up out of nowhere and lifted dirt from the road to twirl it into a mini-tornado. It blew itself out again a moment later when it bumped into the tree line. Sunlight dappled the area, and from a distance, a barking dog did its best to keep the quiet at bay.

  “Fine,” Cash finally muttered, as if surrendering to a fate worse than death. “You can show her. Go open it up,” he said, with a nod for Jack.

  The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He took off at a dead run down the road and across the sun-splashed backyard. But Jo wasn’t really watching her brother.

  “A gracious invitation,” she said, lifting her toolbox to set it down on the hood of the truck.

  He scowled, then shrugged, and the black T-shirt he wore rippled over the muscles hidden beneath the soft, worn fabric. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide anything.”

  “Uh-huh. So why’re you looking like you really wish I were somewhere that was away?”

  At that, he gave her a half-smile. Just a minor quirk of his full mouth and something inside Jo took a nosedive. Weird, but she felt as if every nerve in her body were doing somersaults all at once. Which was so not what she was looking for.

  “Trust me, I like having you around.”

  He might like having her around, but she didn’t trust him, and that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? With that thought firmly rooted in her mind, she started walking, and when she passed him, he fell into line beside her. The wind off the ocean sighed around them, carrying the scent of the sea and the promise of the coming summer.

  “So what am I about to see?”

  He matched his steps to hers and the crunch of rocks and leaves beneath their feet was a friendly sound.

  “Another well-kept secret, I guess.”

  She tipped her head up to look at him. “You’re a real man of mystery, aren’t you?”

  “Never thought so before,” he muttered.

  Up ahead, from inside the building, the sounds of Jack rattling around drifted out to them. God knew what he was getting into. But before they joined her brother, Jo said what she’d wanted to say for two days.

  “Mrs. Sanchez has been telling everyone who’ll listen about how wonderful the Money Fairy was. How he’d saved her house and now she wouldn’t lose it.”

  He stopped in the road and with the sunlight dropping over them like a warm blanket, he looked at her. “I don’t do it to get the applause.”

  She studied his features, his dark, fathomless eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the nearly embarrassed expression on his face. “Yeah, I get that.”

  He nodded. “Good. Good.”

  “But . . .” She reached out and grabbed his upper arm when he took a step forward again. Instantly, she released him, before she could get used to the feel of all that tightly coiled strength beneath her hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, one thing’s been making me nuts.”

  Black eyebrows lifted. “Just one?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Lately.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay. How does a carpenter, even a talented carpenter, get enough money to play benefactor to a whole town?”

  Cash frowned and scrubbed one hand across his jaw. He’d been sort of hoping to avoid that question. Should have known that Jo would want to confront it.

  She picked up on his hesitation in a heartbeat, and when she spoke again, her voice was filled with suspicion. “What’re you into?”

  Irritation snapped like a whip inside him. “Get that ‘I’m gonna call the cops’ look off your face. Do you really think I’m some kind of criminal or something? And if I was, I’d invite the kid into it?”

  She scowled right back at him. “Well, none of us knows much about you, do we?” she countered. “Hell, for all I know you’re some mob guy hiding out from the feds.”

  Astonished, he simply goggled at her. “Your mind is a very interesting place to visit. Living there must be a nightmare.”

  “You’re not answering the question.”

  “Wasn’t a question. Was an accusation.”

  Jo blew out a breath and held up one hand. “Okay, you’re right. Fine. Fine. I don’t think you’re a mob guy.”

  “Hey,” he drawled. “Thanks.”

  “Come on, look at it from my point of view, okay?” she said, poking him in the chest with the tip of her index finger. “You blow into town a year ago, start seducing women right and left, sending them off to be Mother Teresas all over the damn world.”

  He shifted position uncomfortably, scraping his boots against the rocky ground.

  “Then this Money Fairy starts making itself known, dropping cash a
ll over town—and now I find out it’s you.”

  He glanced at the workshop, to make sure Jack was still inside where he couldn’t overhear. “Keep it down, will ya?”

  “So pardon the hell outta me for being just a tiny bit suspicious.”

  Her pale blue eyes were lit with a kind of fire that could singe a man right down to his bones. He knew she had no idea just how amazing she looked when her temper was kicking and her body all but vibrating. Dangerous, but amazing.

  And what kind of weirdo did it make him that he actually liked fighting with her?

  He reached up, shoved both hands through his hair, scraping it back from his face and stalling to figure out just how to tell her. “In college,” he finally said, deciding to simply blurt out the truth, “my roommate was always tinkering with shit. Mechanical stuff. Wires, chips, whatever.” Smiling to himself, Cash remembered their dorm room. “I was always stepping on some stray piece of metal or the clipped ends of wires.”

  “So . . .”

  “There’s that legendary patience of yours,” he said, with a shake of his head. “The guy didn’t have any extra cash. He was always hungry, always scrounging for a little extra money to buy parts for the computers he built in our room.”

  “He built computers.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cash said, grinning now at the memories flashing through his brain. “He was brilliant—couldn’t remember to tie his own shoes but he could probably have built a working spaceship if he’d wanted to. Anyway, he eventually started selling some of them to the other students, so his cash flow improved a little. But I kept him in pizzas and spare parts for three years.”

  Jo shook her head and threw her hands wide before letting them fall back against her sides. “And this has what to do with you being the Money Fairy?”

  He winced. Seriously, he hated being called that. “At the end of our third year, Jimmy dropped out of college. Wanted to make a go of his computer business.”

  “Risky.”

  “Oh yeah, but like I said, he was brilliant.” Shrugging his shoulders, Cash continued, “I introduced him to some former associates of my mother’s. They backed him and he went into business. He gave me a million shares of the company as a thank-you.”

  “This is going to have a happy ending, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Ever hear of Holt Computers?”

  She staggered. Eyes wide, mouth open, she breathed, “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.” He grinned at her reaction. You never had to wonder too long what Josefina was thinking. Usually it was right there on her gorgeous face. “Jimmy Holt started the business in our dorm room. Now, he’s making Bill Gates sweat.”

  “And you got a million shares.”

  “Well, there’s more now,” he mused, and started walking again, not surprised when Jo fell into step beside him. “They’ve split and split again a few times.”

  “Right.” She blew out a breath. “And you don’t want anyone to know this because . . .”

  He stopped again. He could hear the radio playing in the workshop and figured Jack was making himself at home. He only hoped the kid wasn’t trying the planer again without supervision. They needed to get in there, but first he wanted to make his point. “Because when people find out about the money—they act different. Treat me differently.”

  “Poor little rich man?”

  “Funny.” He reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and dragged her close. Looking down into her eyes, he realized that this was one of the few times he couldn’t read her expression. Perfect. Was she going to be like all the rest? Was Jo going to start acting weird around him? “I don’t tell people because I don’t want them to know. Okay?”

  “Dial it down, geez,” she muttered, clearly over her shocked surprise. She stepped out from beneath his hands, shoved her own into her jeans pockets, and looked him up and down dismissively. “I don’t care if you’ve got more money than God. You still bug the hell out of me.”

  Relief shot through him at a blistering rate. But he took a deep breath and blew it out anyway, just to steady himself. He should have known that piles of money wouldn’t impress Josefina. Strange how pleased that made him. “Good to know.”

  “Good. Now. You want to show me your other little secret so we can finish up the latest additions to the cottage?”

  Marconi Construction had been working on the guest cottage at Cash’s place off and on for the last eight months. Every time she thought they were finished, Cash came up with something new to do. Expand the kitchen. Add a built-in Murphy bed to the living room. A river rock fireplace. You name it, Cash wanted it.

  And now that Jo knew he was Grace Van Horn’s nephew, she wondered if compulsive construction was hereditary.

  He laughed, took her elbow and steered her toward the workshop. They stepped into the wide, sunlit area and Jo stopped dead beside him. When he told her about the money, she’d been surprised, but clearly unmoved. But this was different, he thought, watching her as she stepped into the part of his life that was the most important to him.

  Her pale blue eyes went soft and dewy and she moved forward slowly, carefully, as if she were entering a church. She turned in a slow circle, letting her gaze linger over the finished furniture and the projects he was still working on. He followed her gaze himself and felt a swell of pride as he looked at the handcrafted armoires, beds, and tables crowding the hangarlike building.

  The rich smell of freshly sawn wood filled the air and classic Stones pumped from the radio.

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Jack shouted over the music. “Cash made all this stuff!”

  Jo ignored her brother and let her gaze sweep over the collection of furniture stacked in Cash’s workshop. She hadn’t given a damn about his money. Hadn’t cared that he was sneaking around town being Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny rolled into one. But this.

  This was different.

  Shaken, she stared at the exquisite craftsmanship of the pieces surrounding her. This was the kind of thing she appreciated. The kind of work she loved to do herself—when she could find the time to indulge herself.

  To find the hidden beauty in a block of wood and coax it to the surface. To show it to those who would never have seen it on their own. The detailed carving, the painstaking care involved in true craftsmanship took patience, she knew. But it also required sheer talent to create such beauty.

  The wide windows lining one side of the building allowed plenty of sunlight to enter the room, and it dazzled off polished wood surfaces, spotlighted works in progress, and showcased some amazing completed pieces.

  She recognized the style. The artistry. Now she knew who had made the special “one of a kind” furniture that was sold at a specialty store right outside of Chandler. Now she knew who had carved the magnificent bed her sister Mike and her husband, Lucas, had bought there.

  And one more time, she was forced to admit that there was a lot more to Cash Hunter than she’d first imagined. How did he manage to keep surprising her?

  Shaking her head, licking dry lips, she looked up at him and whispered, “Okay, now I’m impressed.”

  “Nana,” Mike said, inching back into the sofa as far as her nearly eight-months-pregnant body would let her. “I just don’t think olive oil on my stomach is the look I’m going for.”

  “Silenzio, Michaela, quiet,” the old woman translated just in case Mike had missed the order given.

  But she was used to listening to half Italian, half English. Nana was still more at home with her first language than with the English she’d learned as a young woman. Just as she was more at home with herbal remedies than aspirin, or olive oil instead of expensive body creams and lotions.

  Mike was already a woman on the edge. Hadn’t she just that morning practically chased her own husband out the door? She felt like an overfilled balloon and wished to hell someone would pop her already. It had been years since that moment when she’d so giddily announced her pregnancy. Years.

  She
couldn’t even remember a time when she could bend over to pull her own boots on. Hell, she hadn’t seen her feet in two weeks!

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked as she came back from the bathroom.

  “Michaela issa making a fuss,” Nana said primly, clasping the bottle of olive oil at her waist as though it were a sword in the hands of a skilled fighter.

  “Ooh. News flash,” Sam said, swallowing hard and easing down onto the soft green couch opposite its twin, where Mike lay like a beached whale. “What’s wrong now?”

  Nana straightened up to her full four feet nine inches—used to be five feet even, but she was shrinking—and lifted her chin. In a slice of sunlight, she was silhouetted. A short, thin woman still wearing black for the husband who’d died more than thirty years before. Her snow-white hair lay close to her head in a series of tightly wound curls that looked like sausages snuggled together in a package.

  Her face was lined, but her dark brown eyes snapped with life and energy. Her voice was quiet but steely, and her stubbornness was the stuff of legend.

  “Michaela issa arguing with me.”

  “Impressive,” Sam whispered, “but a losing proposition.” She propped her feet up and dropped her head back onto a pillow. Taking deep breaths, she cupped her palms over her slightly rounded belly.

  “Drink your tea,” Nana said.

  Mike smirked as she looked at her sister. “Nana doesn’t think you should still be so sick. So she made you a special tea. To help.”

  Sam’s eyes widened as she finally noticed the steaming mug set near her on the low coffee table. Her nose wrinkled at the flowery yet stinky smell drifting toward her. “Oh.” She swallowed hard. “Thanks, but—”

  “Drink your tea, Samantha. Issa good for you. Good for the bambino.”

  “The bambino doesn’t like anything I eat, Nana.”

  “He will like this.” She narrowed her eyes on Sam until the younger woman surrendered and picked up the mug.

  Taking one slow, cautious sip, Sam swallowed and waited. When nothing disastrous happened, she took another and began to breathe a little easier.