Jack raised a hand in greeting and she smiled back, motioning to the people behind her. A young woman strode through the door, black hair coming loose from its braid. She had dark smudges under her large eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well for more nights than she could count. Even though exhaustion was written on her face, her shoulders were straight and her lips set in a firm smile. She held a small dark-haired girl by one hand and in the other she carried a green metal box by the handle. An older child trailed behind, eyes wide as she watched the soccer team. As soon as they were through, Lana went back to the reception area with a wave.
“Uh-oh. Stragglers. I’ll go let them know that dinner was over an hour ago.” Jack loped away from the group, leaving Gavin to supervise. Maybe Marisol had something left over for these three. He sure hoped so. The mom looked as if she needed a place to sit down and rest for a minute. Or a day or two.
As he got closer, the woman met his gaze, a direct question in her dark eyes. But they ended up speaking at the same moment.
“Can I help you?”
“Can I help y—?” Jack broke off at the last word, laughing. Not sure why he’d need help at his own soccer practice, but he liked her answering smile.
She was at least half a foot shorter than he was and titled her head up as she stepped closer. “I’m sorry to interrupt your practice. Go ahead. We’ll keep out of your way.” She had a soft accent, her vowels ringing pure and clear.
“Dinner was over a while ago. I think the head cook, Marisol, might have something left. I can go see, if you and your girls want to wait here.” He glanced at the little kids, noting both had the same heart-shaped face and thickly lashed dark eyes as their mom. They peered back shyly, as if he was the strangest part of their day by far. The younger one met his gaze and dropped her head, staring down at her scuffed sneakers. Her little chin tucked into her chest, as if she was trying to disappear. The hem of her pink T-shirt was unraveling and her pants were threadbare at the knees.
The woman’s brows arched up. “Thank you, we’ve had dinner. Grant called me to fix the kitchen equipment.” She lowered the green case to the ground. The faint sound of metal tools echoed back. “But I don’t want the girls in the kitchen while I work. It’s not safe.”
She glanced at the group of kids practicing long passes. “Is it possible they could stay out here and watch?”
Jack struggled to catch up, feeling as though he’d assumed too much, although he was certain female mechanics were few and far between. “Sure. I can let them have some balls to kick around here at the end.” He paused. “I’d let them join the group for tonight, but all the parents have to sign waivers before their kids can play.”
She held out her hand, corners of her mouth tilted up. “Thank you. I’m Sabrina Martinez. This is Kassandra and Gabriella.”
Jack took her hand and nodded, thinking he had never heard such beautiful names said in quite that way. Soft, musical, like a few notes of a song.
“And you are?” she prompted him, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Her hand was warm and soft, not the sort of hand he’d imagine for a mechanic.
He cleared his throat. All that time sitting in a boardroom with sixty-year-old men and he was losing his touch. “Jack Thorne.”
“Can we, Tía? Please?” The older girl tugged on her aunt’s hand. “We’ll be really good.”
In response, the woman flashed a smile that made Jack blink. “Best behavior, remember.”
The two nodded, dark ponytails jumping in unison, and exchanged gleeful looks.
“I’ll head on in, and thanks again.” She adjusted her backpack and picked up the green box. He couldn’t imagine how much it weighed, but she lifted it easily.
“No problem.” His voice sounded odd to his own ears. The slightest whiff of cinnamon followed her as she brushed past.
Gavin’s voice reminded Jack he had a team to coach. “Looks like we’ve got visitors.” It wasn’t a question, but a friendly statement, and the girls responded with identical grins.
“This is Kassandra and Gabriella.” He tried to say it just like Sabrina had, but it came out sounding as if he was a stuffy Italian duke in need of a kingdom. “Their mom is working on the food chopper so they’ll just hang out near the end zone for a while.”
“She’s our aunt,” Gabriella volunteered. “And you can call me Gabby.”
“I’m Kassey,” whispered the younger one.
Gavin went down on one knee and shook each small hand. “Well, princesas, find a ball and enjoy yourselves. We’ll be over there.”
The two girls giggled simultaneously and trotted off to retrieve a soccer ball.
“Impressive.” Jack shot Gavin a look. “Princesas? Please tell me that’s not the only word you know in Spanish.”
As they turned back to the kids practicing drills, Gavin said, “I’ve been taking classes for a few weeks. And every girl wants to be a princess, right? It doesn’t hurt to throw that in during the conversation.”
“I’ll make a note. As always, I’m running to catch up with the wonderful Gavin Sawyer. If you weren’t my favorite brother-in-law, you would really be getting on my nerves.”
“I’m your only brother-in-law.” Gavin scooped up a stack of orange cones and handed them to Jack. “And I’m only trying to catch up to that pretty twin sister of yours. She’s always cooking up some new plan to save the world.” Gavin paused, thinking. “No, that’s not right. She’s never trying to save the whole world. Just her little corner, one person at a time.” His smile said more than his words could, about how Evie inspired him, how she had taught him to hope.
Jack wanted to roll his eyes at the expression on Gavin’s face, but part of him wished he knew how it felt to be so deeply in love. He’d always thought he’d find the right girl, settle down, have a few kids, nothing complicated about it. Now all those steps would have to wait awhile. He was on the verge of leaving a high-paying position with a guaranteed future for financial uncertainty. No woman would see him as a good candidate for marriage if he walked away from a life of security. He had his reasons, but they were hard to explain. Something about God’s will for his life and being true to his calling. Definitely not ideas he could toss around on a first date.
He laid out the orange cones in a line around the cafeteria and tried to shrug off the suspicion he had wasted the best years of his life as a corporate flunky. He’d tried to make the job work, tried to get involved in other levels besides meeting and greeting VIP visitors to Colorado Supplements. But last week’s meeting with Bob Barrows had clinched his decision. The way Barrows had mocked him for wanting to see the production statistics still rang in his head. He was just the boss’s kid and that would never change. Not there anyway.
It was time for new chapters. He had his savings, a long list of clients built up and an excellent reputation as one of the best snowboarders in Denver.
He was going to focus on disentangling himself from the family company and salvaging his relationship with his father. Sabrina’s teasing expression flickered into his mind. Beautiful, accented women wielding tools were not on the radar, unfortunately. He had plenty of work to do on his own life without making it any more complicated.
* * *
“Sabrina, mija!” Marisol grabbed her in an enormous hug that squeezed the air out of her. Sabrina suspected the enthusiastic greeting was less for her personally than for her toolbox, but she returned it with equal fervor. It was the nicest thing that had happened to her all day and she savored the warmth of her embrace for a moment.
“Show me the equipment and I’ll get started.” She glanced around at the hurrying kitchen staff. Two days before Easter was pretty bad timing. Dios, ayude me. The mission needs this machine to work.
Marisol motioned her to the Hobart chopper and hurried away, calling over her shoulder, “Thank you!” Lines of
kitchen staff stood side by side at the long steel tables, chopping vegetables.
Sabrina stood in front of the old Hobart and tried not to groan. They had met before and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Sure, it could process six hundred pounds of potatoes an hour, but it was still a cranky old piece of equipment. The blades were sharp and most of the gears were new, but the motor was barely clanking along.
She sighed and set her toolbox on the ground. Running from job to job all that day, she had just sunk into her couch and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving when the phone rang. She’d hustled the girls out of their bath and minutes later been out the door again, Kassey and Gabby in tow. Her mothering skills left a lot to be desired. The poor kids should be in bed, not running all over town.
Straightening up, she brushed back her hair. No, that was no way to think. Her nieces were loved and safe and fed. If everything went well, she’d be their permanent legal guardian within months. She did the best she could and God always filled in the gaps. Self-pity would have to wait for another day.
Soft voices interrupted her thoughts. Marisol had her arm around a young girl, speaking in Spanish to her in soothing tones. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but looked frail and small. Her face was pinched, her shoulders hunched and the kitchen apron swamped her tiny frame. Large dark eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for danger.
“You’re okay here, Jimena. No one will hurt you. It is loud, but you are safe.”
Sabrina focused on her toolbox and tried not to listen. But the expression on the young girl’s face seemed close to panic. Why would anyone be scared of working in the kitchen? Maybe the equipment made her nervous. She could understand some people, especially those new to the large machines, not feeling comfortable around the loud motors.
“I can leave anytime? I can go?” Jimena’s voice trembled at every word.
“Of course. Do you want to go back to your room?”
Sabrina peeked up to see Marisol ushering the girl back toward the kitchen entryway.
Jimena stopped, taking deep breaths, dark eyes still wide with fear but not as panicked. “I—I would like to try to work here. Just for a little while.”
“Come stand by me. We will work together. And give yourself time. You have been through a very bad experience.” Marisol slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “No one blames you, Jimena. You went for a job. Those men were criminals and they will be caught.”
The two walked slowly back to the gleaming metal table. Jimena stayed close to Marisol, choosing a knife and beginning to work.
Sabrina stared unseeing at the concrete floor. Just when she thought her life was difficult, she heard of something worse. Much worse. She couldn’t even imagine what might have happened to that girl, but she could guess. Stories swirled about young people, especially girls, being lured to job sites and then never being allowed to leave. Months of slave labor was the very least of what happened, and even that was enough to scar a person deeply.
She swallowed. It happened, and more often than anyone thought. A lack of education and family meant desperation. Starvation. Utter poverty. Images of her nieces, laughing and running toward the soccer ball, made her throat constrict. Please, God. Help me keep them from all harm. Help us stay together. Help the judge see that I’m capable of caring for them.
Shrugging off her backpack, she pulled out her coveralls and slipped them on. It was warm in the kitchen, but she never went without her hard hat and safety goggles, even if it meant she was going to be sporting crazy hair and sweaty lines on her face. She glanced at her hands and saw the grease under her nails. Jack had almost swallowed his tongue when she’d shaken his hand. She could see why. A man like Jack was probably surrounded by polished women who got professional haircuts and manicures.
She felt her lips tug up at the thought of what Maya would do at the sight of Jack. Maya, who lived upstairs, was nineteen and officially boy crazy. She would have at least gotten a phone number. The man was obviously athletic, impressively muscled, attired in expensive athletic gear—those things warranted that first glance. Then there was the classically handsome face and shockingly blue eyes, and a matching set of dimples upped the swoon factor. A man like that could have any woman he wanted.
But enough of the daydreaming. She needed to focus or they’d be here all night.
She laid out her small tools and started to remove the front of the food processor. The hinged hood would have to be secured so she could get underneath. Sabrina turned to her toolbox, shaking her head.
“What? It can’t be fixed? We will cancel Easter?” Marisol’s worried voice cut through her thoughts.
“No, sorry, just thinking.” She reached out and squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “I need a prop for the hood.”
Marisol blinked, not understanding.
Sabrina switched to Spanish while peering around the kitchen for something the right height. There had been a metal prop attached to the inside of the Hobart once upon a time, but it had long ago broken off and been discarded. Could she use a chair? No, the legs would be in her way. Frustration coursed through her. She had a small jack that expanded to four feet and supported a hundred pounds, just for machines like the old Hobart, but she’d left it at home.
Marisol lifted a finger in the just-a-minute gesture. “Wait here.”
Sabrina nodded. Not much choice. She could still loosen the parts on the bottom while Marisol went to fetch a small stool or ladder. The machine was clogged with hours-old potato pieces and she scooped the remains to the side, the dank smell clinging to her snug-fitting work gloves. She didn’t mind engine grease, but rotten-vegetable wasn’t high on her list of wearable perfumes.
The enormous kitchen echoed with the steady sound of knives hitting chopping blocks and the dishwasher running in the corner. She felt the rhythm of the place, as comforting as a heartbeat, and relaxed into the work. Her small power drill made a quick job of the screws and in a few minutes the machine stood exposed. Sabrina sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her face with one arm.
“Nice hat.”
She startled backward at the deep voice and landed directly on her bottom. Her face flamed as she scrambled back to her feet. The good-looking soccer coach was feet away, perfectly at home in the mission kitchen.
Touching the back of her hard hat, she remembered Gabby’s little gift. She’d earned it at school and Sabrina couldn’t bear to get angry over the fact it had ended up on her work uniform. It was an act of little-girl generosity, because Gabby had been sure her aunt wanted a big sparkly pink star of her very own. “Do you need something?”
He laughed, bright eyes locked on her face. “You keep asking me that.”
“Are the girls okay?”
“Everybody’s fine.” He moved closer to the Hobart. “Marisol said you needed help.”
Of course. The way this day was going, she should have guessed that Marisol wouldn’t bring a ladder or a prop. She would bring a man, and one who spoke in a deep, chocolaty baritone that made Sabrina wish she wasn’t wearing coveralls and coated in potato peels. She blew out a sigh and jerked her shoulder toward the metal sheet that was the front of the chopper.
“I need to get into the engine, but there’s nothing to hold up the cover.” Searching for a tool spared her from having to make eye contact and seeing the look on his face.
“Sure.” He stood close to the cover, one hand on the edge. “There’s no way to lock the hinge?”
“No. I usually have a prop, but I forgot it at home.” The idea of him hovering as she worked made her palms sweat. “It’s up right now, but with all the vibration of the machinery, it could fall while I’m working. I don’t want my nose squashed into the gears if I can help it.”
“I’ll be the spotter.” He set his feet apart, seeming comfortable enough.
“Spotter?”
“It’s a sports term. You’re the athlete and I’m the person who stands nearby to catch you if you fall.” He was smiling that slow smile that started at the corners of his mouth and worked toward his eyes.
Sabrina nodded and ducked under the hood, swallowing back a sudden wave of emotion. It had been a very long time since anyone had been there to catch her. Even when her parents were alive, she had been the one responsible for interpreting for them, for talking to bosses and apartment managers. After her mother died, her dad’s drinking meant she was head of the household at sixteen. It was impossible to keep her little sister under control. By the time Rosa was twenty, she’d had two babies. Another year and she’d been gone, off to live with some guy she met on the internet, a guy who didn’t want the responsibility of kids.
Turning a wrench with a quick twist of her wrist, Sabrina tried to focus on the job at hand. Responsibility was her middle name. All work and no play was her motto. It was nice to think of having a partner, to not be the only one in charge, but in the end it was all up to her. Better to face that fact and not be disappointed. Plus, when fighting for custody, the court looked more kindly on a woman who was focused on the kids and not her social life.
“Do you carry all your tools in your trunk?” His voice came from somewhere right above her head.
“My trunk?” It was easier to talk this way, as if she was talking to the grumpy Hobart.
“Of your car.”
“Oh.” She dropped a few bolts into the tin near her foot. “I don’t have a car. We took the bus.”
There was a pause. Sabrina stared at the shiny blades of the peeler. She didn’t like taking the bus with two little girls at this hour of the night, but a job was a job, especially since the rent just went up. Again. There were only so many hours in the day. Soon it wouldn’t matter how much she worked—they would have to move to a smaller apartment in a tougher neighborhood.
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