Making It Right

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Making It Right Page 11

by Kathy Altman


  Harris ambled back into the room and Gil scooped up his cards without looking down. The older man’s irritation at being interrupted by the doorbell had been replaced by a somber thoughtfulness. He exhaled loudly as he resumed his seat between Noble Johnson, Castle Creek’s blond giant of a librarian, and Joe Gallahan, the marketing shark turned motel owner who ran Sleep at Joe’s.

  “Where were we?” Harris picked up his cards and thumbed them into a fan. When no one answered he looked up and met the four expectant pairs of eyes trained on his face. His brow puckered. “I don’t suppose we could just get back to the game?”

  When no one said anything he exhaled a curse word, tossed down his cards and folded his arms.

  Joe rested his elbows on the battered pine table. “Why didn’t you invite her in?”

  “You know damned well why.”

  Seth shot Gil a sideways glance. Gil swigged his beer, which suddenly tasted a hell of a lot like guilt.

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Noble dropped his spoon into his empty bowl. As metal clattered against ceramic, he flushed and patted his belly. “I can’t help what chili does to me. That’s what air freshener’s for.”

  “You could help it by not eating the chili,” Seth said, his expression deadpan. He scratched at his short beard. “If it causes you so much distress, why don’t you just give it a pass? Eat a sandwich instead?”

  “I do give it a pass. And when it brings tears to your eyes, I get my best shot at the pot.” Noble nodded at the pile of chips in the center of the table. “It’s my secret weapon.”

  “Tell you what.” Joe slid a stack of chips across the table. “I’ll pay you not to eat any more secret weapon.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Noble leaned over the table and used both arms to pull the small stack in, as if he’d won the jackpot. “Come to papa.” When he sat back down, his chair groaned under his bulk and Harris winced.

  “Okay, gents,” Seth drawled. “Let’s figure out where we are. Noble dealt, Harris bet five, Joe raised five, I put in ten. It’s on you, Coop.”

  Gil shifted in his chair. Everyone grabbed their drinks and held them steady until he’d stopped moving.

  After a fresh assessment of his cards he tossed them facedown on the table. “I’m out.”

  “Bummer.” Noble added two chips to the pile, then two more. “I’m raising another ten. And a question. So, Harris. No one here has met your daughter?”

  “Gil met her,” Seth said. After Harris tossed in his three chips, Seth hesitated, eyeing his own stack. “Didn’t you, Coop?”

  Gil was going to kill him. The next time they visited Hubbard Ridge, he was going to push him over the edge. He peered over his glasses at Harris. “She waited on me at Snoozy’s.”

  Harris smacked his cards into a stack in his hand and passed a glower around the table. “Hands off, all of you. She’s smart and she’s pretty, but she’s also spoiled, and way too ready to go for the easy solution, whether it’s legal or not. Best thing you bunch of blockheads can do is steer clear.”

  Gil traced the design on the back of a card. Too damned late.

  Seth gave a sly sort of cough. Gil aimed a kick his way and his foot connected with the table leg instead. Poker chips clinked and clattered as the table rocked. Tea sloshed over the edge of Joe’s glass.

  Gil bit back a whimper. Son of a bitch, that hurt.

  “What the hell?” Noble demanded.

  Harris had a chip between his index and middle fingers and was tapping it on the table. “I’m not getting any younger over here.”

  Joe raised his hands. “I’m out. Noble’s too cheap to keep raising for no reason.”

  “I hear that.” Seth slapped his cards on the table and sat back.

  Noble gave Harris the side-eye. “Call.”

  “Hold on.” Gil leaned forward, gaze trained on Harris. “You were a little hard on her, weren’t you? When she came to the door?”

  “My door. My kid.” Harris scowled. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

  Gil was feeling guilty, that’s what, for talking to her like he had at the store. As boneheaded as it was, he also couldn’t stop thinking about what’d he’d said at the bar, when he’d begged her to let him tell another joke.

  “’Cause everyone deserves a second chance.”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t come across as a spoiled kid at the bar. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Harris tossed his cards onto the table. “You don’t know her. She’ll stay long enough to convince herself I don’t need what she owes me and take off again. I’d put money on it if she’d left me any. Well, her and this joker to my right because whatever he has sure as hell beats a pair of sevens.”

  “Yet you kept betting.” Gil didn’t take his eyes off Harris. “Why?”

  “Because,” Seth drawled, the word dripping in duh, “that’s how the game is played.”

  “No.” Gil pushed at his glasses. “Because there’s always the possibility that the risk will pay off. Sooner or later, the odds will turn in your favor.”

  Joe groaned. “We’re not going to get another lecture on probability theory, are we?”

  “Just saying.” Gil held up his hands. “Doesn’t make sense that you’d give up on your own kid. Even Snoozy’s taking a chance on her.”

  Jesus, what was he saying? She hadn’t told him who she really was because she’d known he wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

  He picked up his spoon and poked at the remains of his chili. Maybe she wasn’t conniving after all. Maybe she was just lonely.

  Or maybe she was conniving and lonely. He let go of his spoon and it clanged against the side of the bowl.

  Harris sniffed. “Her job at Snoozy’s was Genie’s doing.”

  “How is Genie?” Noble got the full blast of Harris’s former drill sergeant glare and quickly corrected himself. “Eugenia. Ms. Blue. How is she doing?”

  Harris rubbed two fingers over his chin. “All right, I s’pose.”

  Gil exchanged a glance with Seth. Yeah, that was pretty much code for “I wouldn’t know since she’s not talking to me.”

  Seth finished a swig of beer and pointed his bottle at the old man. “You don’t believe Snoozy hiring your daughter is a good idea?”

  Harris eyed Noble’s cards. “Think I’m looking forward to Snoozy kicking my ass when it all goes south?”

  Joe got up and grabbed the platter of cookies. “Doesn’t he already want to kick your ass?”

  “That he does. Which is why I had to make my own chili.”

  “What exactly did she do?” Gil asked quietly.

  Harris’s mouth tightened and relaxed. “Her husband was running some kind of insurance scam. When she finally realized what he was up to, instead of turning him in, she tried to cover it up. Ended up being part of it. And that’s all I’m saying about that.” He turned his glower on Noble, who still had his cards pressed to his chest. “You ever plannin’ to show us what you got?”

  “Pass me a cookie and I’ll consider it.”

  Harris stretched forward, snagged the platter and pulled it close. One by one he picked up the cookies and gave them a lick.

  Noble made a tsk-tsk sound and fanned out his cards on the table in front of him.

  Harris slapped both hands to his head. “You beat me with a pair of nines?”

  “Look at that.” Joe bumped knucks with Noble across the table. “Way to bluff.”

  Noble beamed. “Those aren’t nines, boys, they’re balls, and we all know a pair of balls beats everything.”

  Gil swallowed a sigh. Exactly what he would need. A pair of balls, if he had any idea of coming clean to Harris and starting things up again with Kerry.

  Except that wasn’t entirely his decision, was it? He doubted she’d agre
e to tell her old man what had happened between them. Why should she? She hadn’t even wanted to give Gil her number. Which meant he’d be risking the friendship of the man who’d basically been his mentor—albeit a grumpy one—ever since Gil’s own father had died. And he’d be risking it for nothing.

  He glanced across the table at Harris, who was stuffing cookies in his mouth while Noble loudly counted his winnings.

  When you had too much to lose, it was time to deal yourself out of the game.

  * * *

  KERRY WAS REALLY starting to appreciate her day off. Monday was her sleeping in day. Ten in the morning and she’d only just decided she should probably get out of bed. Eight hours of sleep? A beautiful thing.

  That’s where the appreciation stalled, though. Once she’d hauled herself out of bed, hit the shower and polished off her usual breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, the day stretched out in front of her like one big, long, soon-to-be-missed opportunity.

  Three weeks ago she’d arrived in Castle Creek and she still hadn’t made much headway with her father. He’d stopped by the bar once, but Snoozy had given him the stink-eye, so he didn’t stay long. He’d made good use of that perfect excuse and hadn’t come back.

  Neither had Gil Cooper.

  She rolled over in bed, rested her cheek on her stacked hands and gazed through the unshuttered window at the sun-limned treetops hiding the view of the lake. She’d seen Gil twice since she’d asked for a truce, but only on her way to work. Once he’d been loading cans of paint into a customer’s trunk, and once he’d been sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store. Remorse had filled her each time, but she’d gotten exactly what she’d deserved.

  If she’d been honest with him, maybe he’d have eventually realized she truly did mean to patch things up with her dad. Maybe he’d have given her a chance.

  Now it seemed she’d be lucky if he ever acknowledged her again, let alone flashed a dimple.

  With a disgusted sigh, she heaved herself out of bed and stood wavering between comforts—coffee first, or a shower? She moved toward the kitchen, where she could see the enticing blue of the lake out of the window above the sink. And if she turned ninety degrees, she could see the front of the hardware store.

  Which was why the shower won out.

  And also why she felt a sudden sense of purpose. She hadn’t been to the lake yet. Today was the day she’d check out the beach. Maybe even take a picnic. And a book.

  She pulled off her T-shirt and hurried into the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, she reached around to fasten her bra clasp and winced as the lacy fabric of the cups rubbed across sensitive skin. She frowned. Her bras were wearing out, but she’d have to make do. No way she’d spend her precious paycheck on lingerie.

  She pushed the lacy bra into the back of the drawer and selected another of her favorites, a pretty purple, velvety-soft thing. But when the fabric brushed her nipples, she winced.

  Holy Hannah. She’d been having some erotic dreams about Gil, but had she actually been touching herself in her sleep? Pinching her nipples like he had, and—

  She backed up, and dropped abruptly onto the bed. Pressed the heel of one hand to her forehead as she stumbled through a few calculations.

  She’d missed a period. Two weeks ago.

  Oh, dear God, no.

  No, no, no.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KERRY LEANED FORWARD and hugged her arms around her waist. Her bra straps dropped from her shoulders and tapped her arms in a gentle rebuke. The pristine white carpet blurred at her feet and she covered her mouth with a trembling palm.

  This was what they got for using borrowed protection. Gil had been about to go back to his place for condoms when Kerry had remembered what he’d said about Eugenia being the perfect hostess. They’d opened the drawer in the bedside table and sure enough, found their permission to get busy. They’d checked the expiration date, but something must have gone wrong.

  Terribly, horribly wrong.

  Somehow Kerry managed to stop rocking and work her way to her feet. It took her five tries to put on her jeans. Her feet kept missing the leg holes.

  Two hours later, after a dazed trip to Erie for a pregnancy test—the last thing she needed was to run into one of her regulars at the local drugstore—and two back-to-back trips to the bathroom, Kerry’s suspicions were confirmed.

  Dreadfully, doubly, life-changingly confirmed.

  She was pregnant.

  Though she hadn’t really needed either set of twin pink lines to tell her so.

  “Kerry Mae,” she whispered to the blurry white blob staring back at her from the bathroom mirror. “What have you done?”

  Everyone knew condoms weren’t one hundred percent effective. She’d have to tell Gil.

  Nausea struck. Plastic clattered against ceramic as the indicator hit the sink. She whirled around and slumped to her knees, fingers scrabbling at the toilet seat.

  So much for proving she could be responsible.

  So much for making her dad proud.

  So much for her “truce” with Gil.

  Oh, God. What am I doing to do?

  She crossed her arms on the toilet rim and dropped her forehead to her wrists. “What a crap-fest,” she whimpered to the blue-tinted water below. “How am I going to be able to afford a baby?” Or an abortion, if that was the way she decided to go?

  But she already knew she wouldn’t. A tiny portion of the panic was already starting to subside, and in its place flickered an enchanted, wondering warmth. She pushed up onto her knees, and pressed both palms to her belly.

  A baby. She wouldn’t be lonely if she had a baby.

  A split second later, fresh panic chilled her insides. Even if she could afford to raise a child, how would she do it? She couldn’t bring a kid with her to the bar six days of the week. And if they stayed in Castle Creek, how could they live in Eugenia’s apartment? The last thing her customers would want to hear was a crying infant above their heads.

  But if they left Castle Creek, they’d have no support at all. And she’d never make things right with her father. In fact, this...this could be the nail on that particular coffin.

  Should she—could she—give the child up for adoption? Let the child grow up in a financially stable home with a mother who didn’t have a criminal record?

  With a whimper, Kerry pressed her hands to her face. She was getting ahead of herself. She couldn’t make any of these decisions without talking to Gil first. He’d probably tell her to go to hell, but she had to at least try to do the right thing.

  She got up off the bathroom floor, drank a few sips of water and padded back into the bedroom, where she burrowed under the covers, deep enough to hide from the sun.

  * * *

  TUESDAY MORNING, WHILE Gil restocked light bulbs, windshield washer fluid and the old-fashioned candy machine just inside the front door, he kept telling himself the reason he was feeling off-kilter had nothing to do with Kerry Endicott.

  Right. And he could bench-press Audrey Tweedy’s cranberry-colored late-eighties Lincoln.

  He scratched his head as he headed toward the restroom for its daily once-over. No, he couldn’t stop thinking about their night together, but it was more than that. Before flouncing out of the store, she’d tossed out that advice about moving the paint display, and damned if it hadn’t paid off. Several people had asked when he’d started stocking “the fun stuff.” Another customer had thanked him for relocating the paint because she hadn’t liked the feeling of having an audience while picking out a color. She’d walked out with four gallons.

  In the weeks since Kerry had made her suggestions his sales hadn’t skyrocketed, but they’d certainly picked up.

  When his cell rang, he stuffed the roll of paper towels under his arm and frowned at
the screen. His brother again.

  No. Hell, no.

  Gil crammed the phone back in his pocket and set the paper towels aside. He strode toward the office and got down to making a fresh pot of coffee. If he didn’t keep his hands busy, he might break something. On purpose.

  He slapped the filter into place and peeled the lid off the red plastic container. Poured water into the machine, slammed the lid closed and pressed the power button.

  He was not in the mood to spar with Ferrell again. Nor did he want to hear any more about how he was screwing up his own life. He’d spent far too much time fuming over that last conversation.

  “You don’t want to be there at the store any more than I like being poor.”

  As the hollow, gurgling trickle of coffee filled the small kitchen space, he braced his hands on the counter. His palms were so sweaty, they almost slid right off.

  His heart raced as he pushed upright. Wouldn’t that be something. Hit his jaw on the edge of the counter and end up knocking himself out or worse, all because he couldn’t think about his brother without losing his shit.

  Gil wiped his hands on his jeans and contemplated the coffee he no longer wanted. Who was he kidding? Not Seth, and not Ferrell. Himself, maybe.

  Wake up and smell the coffee, asshole.

  He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this responsibility. He wanted to do research, not retail. He wanted to teach. Help people think. Share the import and charisma and myriad applications of math.

  The clank of the bell signaled a customer and he set his jaw. Maybe he should make an appointment with Valerie Flick after all. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, but it also lent his heart a buoyancy he hadn’t felt since...

  He grimaced. He couldn’t even remember. He’d felt the stirrings of it with Kerry, but that had lasted about as long as... Another grimace. It hadn’t lasted much longer than he had, the first time he’d been inside her.

  Way to kill the mood, Coop. He headed out to the front, already mentally comparing his assets and liabilities. The numbers imploded into a smoldering glob of nuclear waste when he saw who waited for him by the register.

 

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