“Yeah,” Frank seconded. “She needs a woman to talk to.”
Right. As if Jami had done such a great job with her own life up to this point, despite following all the rules like a good little girl. Not that these two men knew anything about her personal life mismanagement. Then again, maybe Betty was correct. She needed a new set of rules. Her own. She was not a loser, and despite what her mother thought, she did have herself a little bit together.
Jami held the smeared and unpleasantly fragrant art pad away from her body and knew she’d been suckered. She didn’t know if she could do anything for Andrea. She didn’t even know if anything needed to be done. But she could surely give the girl a ride home.
Which was why Jami went back inside to Easy Cheesy’s office, booted up the computer, and fixed four accounts before Andrea’s shift came to a close. She even managed to wipe the excess goo off the pad’s cover. She worked until she saw Andrea don her jacket and sling her backpack over her shoulder. After counting down two minutes, she went to her car. Frank gave her a thumbs up. Cole merely watched her leave.
Sure enough, Andrea waited at the bus stop. The time hadn’t changed yet, and it was still light out. When the clocks were set back, she’d be waiting in the dark. But jeez, she was sixteen, the street was well lit and heavily traveled, and it wasn’t as if it was midnight. It was dinnertime. You had to trust a teenager to take care of herself.
Jami rolled to a stop, the window down. “Need a ride?”
Andrea shook her head and stared at the sidewalk. God, she was as bad as Cole at using only nonverbal signals.
“It’s no trouble,” Jami assured her.
Andrea scratched her sneaker toe against the concrete. “You don’t even know where I live. It could be miles out of town.”
The girl had her there. “You’re right. Forget I asked.” Jami looked down, putting her finger to the window button and started it up. It was a calculated risk.
It worked.
Andrea jumped forward. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
Jami stopped the window a quarter of the way. “Does that mean you’ll take a ride? I’d feel better if you did.” She pushed the door lock.
Andrea climbed in, and suddenly Jami panicked. What was she supposed to say now? Frank and Cole think you’re being abused at home because you threw your sketchbook in the dumpster?
Jami didn’t know any teenagers. Her oldest niece was twelve. There was a vast difference between twelve and sixteen. A sixteen-year-old was almost an alien creature compared to a twelve-year-old.
So she simply pointed to the backseat as she looked over her shoulder and pulled away from the curb. “I rescued your drawings out of the dumpster.”
Jami could actually feel Andrea’s body stiffen even though the 4Runner had bucket seats and the handbrake was between them.
“Why’d you do that?” Andrea asked softly.
Not how’d you know it was mine? Or even do you always check what’s in a dumpster?
“I wondered why you’d throw away such beautiful drawings, and I thought you’d regret it later.” She flipped her blinker and turned right on the main road as if she were heading to Isadora’s. Andrea didn’t correct her. “You don’t have to take them now,” Jami added. “But they’re safe until you want them.”
“Thanks.” Andrea didn’t lean between the seats to repossess the book.
When in doubt—and Jami was in a lot of doubt—be direct. “Why did you toss them out? They’re so good.”
Jami felt the girl’s shrug. “They’re just stupid stuff. It’s not like I’m ever going to be Da Vinci or anything.”
Who on earth had said that to her? Surely not her parents. God forbid. Maybe no one had. A person didn’t have to say the words for them to be conveyed. “Do you take art in school?”
Andrea stared out the side window. “For a couple of years.”
Which implied she wasn’t taking art anymore. “Why’d you stop?”
The girl finally turned to her, shifting in her seat as far as the belt would allow and curling one leg beneath her. “I know you think it’s some big deal that I threw out my sketchbook, but honestly, I got tired of drawing weird things. It’s for babies. It’s not like I believe in that stuff, so why draw it?” She pointed at the next light. “Turn left up there.”
Jami put on her turn signal and moved into the other lane. “Well, I’ll have them if you ever change your mind.”
Someone had been feeding the girl a line. Parents? Friends? Teachers? Saying that creativity was for babies sounded like it came from a so-called friend. A friend who was perhaps jealous of the obvious talent. Kids often belittled what they wished they could do themselves.
When did she become such an expert? She didn’t have kids. A passel of nieces didn’t count. Jami ignored the ache under her ribs every time she thought about babies.
“Right at the next street,” Andrea directed.
What to do, what to do? Jami wished she’d had a dream to pursue, like being a writer or an artist, a goal that would have given her direction. Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up running away to Masterson. Maybe she would have made up some of her own rules. What a concept!
Was being a mother a big enough aim in life?
“That’s my house right there.”
Andrea pulled her out of her musings. She was supposed to be helping the girl, not examining—fruitlessly, mind you—her own issues.
“Thanks for the ride.”
Jami caught the telltale glance at the book on the backseat, but Andrea hopped out without retrieving it.
The house was painted shades of green, and slightly shabby. The lawn was too long, parts off it choked off with weeds. A swing hung from the branches of a shady tree, and rattan chairs dotted the wide front porch. A half full glass sat on a small round table as if someone had just gotten up and left it behind.
Lemonade? Or a happy hour margarita?
The screen door banged, then the front door slammed, and Andrea disappeared.
“So what did you just accomplish?” Jami muttered aloud.
Nothing. But she had the sketchbook, and she’d keep it until Andrea was ready to take it back.
Or maybe Jami could figure out a way to encourage her to want it back.
Chapter Twelve
“Hello?”
Jami’s sleepiness carried over to Cole’s end of the line. It wasn’t quite nine o’clock at night, yet her voice tempted him. “Did I wake you up?” he asked.
“Uh...no.”
“I was calling to see how it went with Andrea.” Right, that’s why he’d left work, taken his shower, then settled into his easy chair before he finally called Jami.
It was more like settling in for phone sex. Not that he could remember the last time he’d had phone sex...nor even sex, period. Women tended to want something more if you had sex with them. He didn’t have anything more to give.
“How’d you get my number?”
Was that a trace of alarm? “Frank gave it to me so we could find out if you learned anything about Andrea’s situation.” That much was true. Frank had given him her cell number and insisted he call. Yet he could have done it at Easy Cheesy instead of sitting at home in a pair of sweats and nothing else.
For that matter, Frank could have made the call.
She sighed, made another sound, almost a low throaty moan. Or maybe she was just turning over. He wanted to ask her if she was in bed. If the lights were out. What she was wearing...
The cat jumped into his lap and circled before curling into a ball. He should never have let CT in the house. Now it thought it belonged. The only good thing about CT was the interruption to his rising thoughts...and other rising parts.
“Mmm. I didn’t get much out of her.”
For a moment, he had no idea what she meant. The husky timbre of her nighttime voice made him nuts. This was dumb, a big tease he had no intention of doing anything about.
“But do you think she trusts you?”
he persisted. “That will help her to open up eventually.”
“I don’t know one way or the other.” She yawned, then cut it off as if she were doing it right in front of him. She made the most amazing sounds over the phone. “Trust takes some time to earn,” she added.
“Yeah.” What the hell was he doing? The cat started to purr. He put a hand out, but stopped short of stroking it.
“Her house looked normal. No ferocious pit bulls or dead bodies in the front yard.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Thank God for that.”
“I think it’s some of her friends making fun of her drawing. Nothing serious. Just kid stuff.”
“Good. That’ll make Frank feel better.”
“And how will it make you feel?”
She said it so softly, he closed his eyes, and his body got hard. Yeah, calling her was a really bad idea. “I’m fine. It’s Frank that’s all wound up.” Frank was such an easy scapegoat when he wasn’t around to defend himself.
“You guys are a couple of softies. Who’d have guessed?” She chuckled, and he added that to his store of sounds to replay in his mind later.
“Well, if there’s nothing else you want...” Her voice trailed off as if she heard the faint double entendre.
There was more, but he couldn’t handle it. The scary part was realizing he actually wanted more for the first time in so many years. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, grabbed the cat off his lap, and rose.
“That’s it. Thanks. Keep up the good work. See you tomorrow. Bye.”
One-handed, he punched the Off button. He could hear his heartbeat in the quiet of the room just before he shooed CT out the front door. “And don’t come back,” he whispered into the dark. “There isn’t anything here for you.”
Right. There wasn’t anything here for Jami, either. So why was he being nice to her?
* * * * *
Why was he being so nice to her?
But oh his voice on the phone last night. Like a good daughter and sister, Jami had fielded phone calls from her mom and sisters. Yes, Mom, Cathy, Nannette, Denise, I’m totally and completely fine about Leo and his cheating ways, and I’ll be home...someday. Then she’d settled down with a sexy little romance novel. Daydreaming herself into the story, she’d ended up halfway between the real world and somewhere else, somewhere better, when her cell rang again, that time with a generic tone. Not her family. Instead, she’d felt Cole’s voice drizzling all over her body like caramel sauce.
Jami stuffed her purse in its usual place, the bottom drawer of Frank’s desk.
Cole had been nice to her, too, when she’d arrived at Easy Cheesy a couple of minutes ago. In his case, that meant he didn’t scowl and bite her head off. Instead, he raised his lips in what sort of resembled a smile and muttered a good-morning.
Frank, on the other hand, brought her a mocha and a blueberry scone. “Blueberries are good for you. Lots of antioxidants.” He beamed. “And can you watch after my baby? She didn’t want to be left behind this morning.”
He stood Ruby on the desk and dashed out to set up for the opening bell and the late-morning-early-lunch rush.
Jami knew why she rated a scone and a mocha.
“If the health inspectors find you here, we’re in big trouble,” she told the dog, lifting Ruby onto her lap as she sat and booted up the computer.
Then it hit her.
She felt good. Really good. She couldn’t remember ever going to work and feeling this good. Certainly not while she was directing materials at Southside and working for Dick Head. Oh no, she’d gotten in before anyone else so she could self-medicate on two cups of coffee sweetened with vanilla-cinnamon creamer.
Each day had been a struggle to get out of bed. The last few weeks, the pressure had been a physical ache behind her eyes. Leo hadn’t wanted to hear about it. It was only now, with distance, not just in miles but in time, that she saw they’d been heading for a showdown. A decision. God, simply a change.
She’d gotten that all right; now she made half the money. Yet for the first time in over a year, she liked coming to work. Losing Leo didn’t seem quite so terrible. “Does that make me shallow, Ruby?”
The dog looked up at her with sad eyes that said either, I’m so in tune with your pain, honeybunch, or you seriously need to get a life.
The fact that Ruby chose that moment to jump down and curl up in her basket indicated it might be the latter. Jami did need to get a life, but first she had to figure out why she’d allowed the situation with Leo to continue for so long. Unfortunately, she wasn’t close to an answer yet.
She’d burrowed deeply enough into Easy Cheesy’s books to feel confident about printing up the checks, and she was in the midst of choosing invoices to pay when someone banged on the front window.
“I want to talk to Jami.”
Her heart skipped a few beats. She didn’t recognize the voice, but...
She poked her head out the office door. The man was big, not just tall, but wide, with thick arms, a barrel chest, and thighs like tree trunks. She didn’t recognize him from Adam.
“Who the hell are you? And don’t get your dirty handprints on my clean windows.” Frank shook his fist.
“What kind of place are you people running? I want to know why this Jamie guy is giving my kid a ride home.”
The plate glass wasn’t so thick the man had to shout that loudly to be heard, but Frank hadn’t opened the order or pickup windows yet either. A well used but spotless blue truck sat sideways along the front walk, exhaust belching out its rear pipe as it idled for a quick getaway.
Cole stepped forward to stand beside Frank, the ubiquitous spatula held aloft like a weapon.
“We don’t even know your kid, Mister.” Frank widened his stance and hunkered down for a fight. “So get the hell off my property before I call the cops.”
Jami had an inkling, and she needed to step in before Frank came out swinging. “He’s talking about Andrea.”
Frank shot her the universal stop signal without even turning his head to look at her. “Let us handle this guy. Get back in my office.”
“Honestly, Frank, he’s just looking out for his daughter.” She should have introduced herself last night when she dropped off Andrea, but she hadn’t thought it would turn into a federal case. She raised her voice. “I gave Andrea a ride so she didn’t have to take the bus.”
The man blinked. “But you’re a woman.”
This time both Frank and Cole turned their heads to study her, as if it were the first time they’d noticed her gender.
“Yes, I am.”
Andrea’s father altered his bearing, relaxed a tad, shifting his feet. “Oh. Well. I don’t like her taking up with strangers. We got enough trouble with her brother Darryl, ya know. At least we never had to worry about her before.” Then he looked at Frank, Frank’s tattoos, and finally Cole’s six-foot-three height. “If I’da known she was working with a bunch of men, though, I’d never have allowed her to take this job.”
“Well, you can see she’s not working with a bunch of men,” Jami assured him. “I’m the bookkeeper here, and I can attest to Easy Cheesy being a safe environment.”
If he was so concerned about where his sixteen-year-old daughter worked, why hadn’t he been down to meet her employer when Andrea got the job?
Mr. Bagotti didn’t look entirely convinced as he eyed the two menacing visages behind the glass.
“Frank, quit looking like a Hells Angel biker dude with chains, and Cole, get back to the grill.”
“I don’t trust him,” Frank grumbled. “He could be planning to nab you when our guard is down.”
“You are so melodramatic.” She headed to the side door for a five-minute reassurance talk.
“Don’t go out there,” Frank called.
“Dude, get a grip.” Cole lowered his spatula. “She’s right. He’s Andrea’s dad.”
“I don’t like the way he banged on the window. That’s not norma
l. And another thing—”
Jami let the door close on him mid-mumble.
Mr. Bagotti watched her approach. Despite what she’d told Frank, it was odd that the man verbally attacked instead of simply asking a question.
“I didn’t mean any harm, sir. I saw her standing at the bus stop, and since I was going her way, I gave her a ride.”
He shifted foot-to-foot again and stared at the concrete. Maybe that’s where Andrea learned to avoid eye contact, her father’s example. “Well, she didn’t tell me you were a woman. I wouldn’t have been so worried if I’d known. But you shouldn’t go to any trouble for her. She can take care of herself.” He shuffled to the edge of the sidewalk and closer to his idling pickup.
“It’s no bother. I like her.” She wondered how to bring up the sketchbook and Andrea’s sudden disparaging remarks about her drawings. Her parents could have a talk with her, figure out what happened, maybe help restore her confidence.
“Well, her mom and me are grateful then. Didn’t mean to come off sounding like an ass. She’s been moping around a bit lately, and when she said some person named Jamie gave her a ride, her mom thought maybe a man down here at the Easy Cheesy was hitting on her, and that’s why she was acting so funny.”
He didn’t look at her once during the entire speech, and Jami didn’t know what to make of him. Frank unlocked the order window, braced his hands on the counter and stared.
“We just got her to give up the idea of art school, then she started talking about a man”—he flapped a hand in the air, either at Frank or Easy Cheesy as a whole—“and we thought maybe...” He shoved his hand into the pocket of his blue overalls. “Older men, they prey on teenage girls. They say it happens on the Internet all the time.”
“Well, everything at Easy Cheesy is fine.” She glanced at Frank, narrowed her eyes at his glower, then smiled for Mr. Bagotti. “I’ll look out for her, don’t you worry.”
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