A Curvy Girl for the Cadet: A Perfect Fit Novella

by Sugar Jamison

  A CURVY GIRL FOR THE CADET

  Sugar Jamison

  Chapter 1

  Daisy Lee Gracen was once known as the world’s worst cook. She was astoundingly bad. If there was a way to mess up a dish, she had found it.

  Super salty spaghetti? She served it.

  Sugarless sugar cookies? She baked them.

  Chicken that was burnt on the outside, and yet a lovely oozy pink on the inside? She had fed it to her mother-in-law and husband, making them both sick, and causing them to flee in horror every time she had approached them with food.

  She hadn’t blamed them. She never liked to cook anyway. Especially when there was a diner right down the street that served a perfectly passable meatloaf.

  She’d rather have a public bikini wax than chop vegetables. And having the hair on her head yanked out by the roots seemed to be a rollicking good time compared to preparing an entire meal.

  The only thing in the kitchen she had liked was the refrigerator. The microwave was okay because it was perfect for heating up instant soup. Or those little pizza bagels things. But even it revolted when she put an aluminum foil wrapped dish in there.

  But out of everything in the kitchen, she hated the oven the most. It was her nemesis with all its temperature settings, knobby things, and set-your-house-on-fire potential. She had burned pizza and boxed mac and cheese. Even water wasn’t immune to ruination. The best thing she had ever made was reservations. And after she nearly burned down her kitchen trying to boil eggs she swore off cooking altogether. Only take out, cold sandwiches, and salads were on her menu. But then she got a little girl and all that had changed.

  A little girl.

  She hadn’t expected that. In fact it was the very last thing she had wanted. Most of the time she couldn’t believe she had one. Nobody thought she would have a kid. She’d sworn she’d never have one.

  She had spent her youth dancing on table tops, and making questionable life choices. She had pierced things in very sensitive places. She drove muscle cars, and jumped out of planes for fun.

  Nothing about her was motherly.

  But somebody had given her a child anyway.

  Her, who had never crawled out of bed before noon unless it was absolutely necessary. Her, who had only orange juice with a big dose of vodka. Her, who found children kind of noisy and icky.

  But a woman called her up out of the blue, and asked her to take home a brown haired little beauty.

  It didn’t matter that she lost her cat, her ex-boyfriend’s snake, and the pet bunny she had as a kid. It didn’t matter that she somehow killed every goldfish she had ever owned. Or that she couldn’t keep a plant alive.

  Social services wanted her to take a tiny human and raise it to be a well-rounded productive citizen when she was barely a well-rounded productive citizen herself, but she had no other choice.

  But it turned out that having a little girl was one of the best things that happened to her. It turned out that this little girl gave her more in the past five years than she could give back to her in a lifetime. It turned out that that girl had changed her life. So instead of vodka with her orange juice, she chased it with a multivitamin. And instead of frequenting dive bars, she hung out at kid parties. She still danced on tables though. But she kept her shirt on now while she did it.

  And right now she was cooking, facing down her nemesis, the oven, and kicking its devious ass, if one were to go by the yummy smells coming out of it. She had to cook to feed her kid. Feed the kid who was there for her, feed the kid who had changed her life, feed the kid who gave her a major case of the warm and fuzzies just by existing.

  She was laughing.

  Daisy heard that little girl giggle just as she finished checking on her ravioli taco bake. Tossing down her nonflammable oven glove, she walked into the living room to see what the cause of that rarely heard sound was. “What are you laughing at, Cookie?”

  “Oh nothing,” Aubrey answered. “Just the scary man.”

  Daisy walked over to the window seat where Aubrey was kneeling. “The scary man?” The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

  But then she saw him. Her next door neighbor. Clayton Calhoun. She didn’t know much about him, except his name, and that he was huge. She knelt next to Aubrey for a moment, about to chastise her for calling their neighbor scary, but she could see how the seven-year-old thought that. He was well over six-feet-tall, with big broad shoulders and a thick tree trunk like body. But that alone didn’t make her want to not come across him in a dark alley. He had a beard, a big bushy beard that covered half his face, and a haircut that could only be described as homeless chic. Plus he always appeared to be scowling, and hauling sharp instruments whenever she saw him. He looked like a big mean angry lumberjack.

  “If you think he’s so scary, why are you laughing?”

  “Because he’s funny.” She shrugged. “He stuck his tongue out at me.”

  “He did?” She watched him as he hoisted a tool belt over his shoulder and walked into his house. “He doesn’t look like the type of guy who would stick out his tongue.” He didn’t look like he had any sense of humor at all.

  Aubrey shrugged. “He did. He’s nice, Mama. He waves to me.”

  “Uh huh,” she nodded, but the word mama stuck in her head. Aubrey had started calling her mama a few days ago instead of Aunt Daisy. At first she thought it was a slip up, but now she called her mama more and more.

  She turned away from the window, pulling Aubrey into her arms and looked into her wide hazel eyes that looked so much like her sister’s it pained her. It was like a hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. “Cookie, you know I’m not your mother, right?” She loved the kid, loved her like she had given birth to her, but somehow it felt like if she claimed to be her mother it would be dishonoring her sister’s memory, like it would be erasing Jane if she let Aubrey call her mama. But she still liked to hear it. She felt like her mama.

  “My mommy is gone,” Aubrey said matter of factly. “You’re here with me.”

  Jane had been gone for over four years now, almost five. A blood clot in her lungs took her unexpectedly which prompted social services to call Daisy and her hard partying husband to take her.

  She and Jane had never been close. Jane had a type A personality. She worked a high powered job in Washington DC. She was classically beautiful, thin and so damn put together while Daisy was none of those things. Daisy was the opposite of Jane and when her sister passed away they hadn’t seen each other in over a year. That’s why she was so surprised that Jane named her as a guardian. But Jane had, and now Daisy had a little girl in her lap who wanted to call her mama.

  She pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I am here with you. I just want to make sure you’re not forgetting your mom. It would make me sad if you forgot her.”

  “I don’t remember her.” She scrunched her forehead. “But I haven’t forgotten her either, you know? You tell me about her and you show me her pictures. She’s my mom. But you’re my mama. You take care of me like a mama. You love me like a mama. And I want to call you mama. I don’t like the word guardian.”

  She buried her face in Aubrey’s sweet scented hair and laughed at her rational statement. “You’re so much like her. It’s like somebody just pressed copy and paste and out you came.” Aubrey was her sister’s little clone, the way she held herself, the way she talked, the way she was so neat and ordered was just so Jane. But the similarities ended there, even though Aubrey was her sister’s kid, she looked just like Daisy with her dark hair and coloring which made people think she was her daughter. And Aubrey was her daughter, even though she didn
’t come from her body, she was the daughter of her heart.

  “You know this is weird for me? It’s been forever and I still can’t believe that I am a grownup who cooks and cleans and has a job and sets an alarm. I never thought I would be anybody’s mother and then you came along and screwed up all my plans to party hard into my eighties. But you’re good for me, Cookie. Do I ever tell you that?”

  She nodded. “We get along nicely.”

  She sounded just like Jane again, who never seemed to let loose and be a kid. She kept her room meticulously clean and her closet color coordinated. She spent her free time in libraries and her college career doing nothing but studying. Daisy always thought her sister was so predictable and boring, but Jane had been full of surprises and Aubrey was one of them.

  Never married Jane had ended up pregnant.

  “I wanted a baby, Daisy. So I found a man and got myself what I wanted.”

  To this day Daisy never knew who Aubrey’s father was or if he knew he had a child walking around in this world. But none of that mattered very much, because Aubrey was hers. Her little godsend and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Chapter 2

  “Yo, Clay!” Clayton Calhoun put down the hammer he had been swinging and looked over to see Abraham, his second in command, standing just a few feet behind him with an annoyed expression on his face.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been calling you for the past few minutes. You didn’t hear me.”

  “No,” he said honestly. When he was working he tuned everything out, his body going on auto pilot. Hammer. Saw. Lift. Move. His mind had shut off. His thoughts had grown quiet. On the job was the only place that it happened. The rest of the time his mind was far less peaceful.

  “Is it lunch yet?” he asked, emerging from his fog. “I’m hungry.”

  “It’s barely past ten.” Abraham shook his head. “You ate two giant muffins an hour ago. How can you be hungry?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m always hungry.” It was true. His mother said he had a hollow leg, but ever since he returned stateside a year and a half ago, he never seemed to be able to get enough to satisfy him. “You should know that about me by now.”

  Abraham probably knew him better than anyone else these days. He had been with him on his last tour in Afghanistan. He had almost died with him there, and when Abraham was looking for work after he got out of the army, Clayton had invited him to Durant, New York, a funky little college town a couple hours away from New York City where he was the foreman of a construction company. Clayton’s friends and family were there, but Abraham got him in a way only another vet could. “If you’re not coming to offer me food or ask me what kind of food I want later, then what the hell do you want?”

  “So, I’m not allowed to bother you unless I come bearing food? I’m not your mom, but I’m sure if I called her she would come rushing down here with a picnic basket for you if you wanted.”

  It was true. If he was hungry she would magically produce a sandwich. If he was tired she would find a place for him to nap. If he wanted to see a view of the ocean, she would find a way to bring it to him. Too bad he didn’t want anything from her. He had spent the better part of the last ten years at war and his mother would do anything in her power to make sure he didn’t go back.

  He didn’t want to tell her that he was thinking about it. He had the opportunity to go back to the only place he’d ever really felt alive, even though death was around every corner.

  “Just tell me what you want so I can get back to work.”

  “Mr. Sanna is here. He wants to talk to you.”

  Mr. Sanna, or Ambrose as he was known to some, was their boss. He was also his best friend’s father and his baby sister’s father-in-law. They were family of sorts, although it didn’t start out that way when he began working for him when he first got out of the army.

  Clayton was surprised when his best friend fell for his sister. It made things a little odd for him, but Alex treated Maggie right and that’s all he could ask for. “Why is he here? Did somebody screw something up that I don’t know about?”

  “You think something goes on around here without you knowing? Just go see what he wants. I’ll think about where we’re going to order lunch from while you’re gone.”

  “Just don’t let Kowalski pick. He brought back soup the last time. Soup and salads. Where the hell does he think he is?”

  Clayton stuck his hammer back in his tool belt and walked out of the building they were remodeling to see Ambrose standing by his old school Cadillac. He was a larger than life man standing almost six and half feet, still with jet black hair well into his sixties. He came here in his twenties, a Greek immigrant not knowing any English and built this company from the ground up. Clayton had known this man since they moved here from the Midwest when his father got stationed on a base nearby. He thought of Ambrose as somewhat of a father even though his own father had been around most of his life. But Ambrose had been there for him when his father couldn’t be and he felt much loyalty to the man.

  “Hello, my boy!”

  “Good morning, sir. I thought you were leaving for your cruise with your new girlfriend.”

  “Yes, Miss Maryanne,” Ambrose smiled and if Clayton didn’t know any better he would say that the old man looked dreamy. “She is one of nature’s wonders. I’m looking forward to much time alone with her.”

  “I’d bet you are.” Ambrose had been single since his wife died twenty years ago. Clayton was glad he had found someone. A man like him shouldn’t be alone. “Did you need me to do something before you left?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No. I came to tell you that you are a good boy, like a son to me you are. You are the most efficient foreman I have ever had and we finish jobs early because of you. Early! Whoever heard of such a thing in construction?” He threw back his head and laughed, his chuckle echoing around the construction site.

  Clayton was slightly uncomfortable at hearing those words. Praise wasn’t something he was used to. His father, like him, was a commanding officer in the army and Clayton grew up never hearing what he did right, only what he did wrong. Perfection was only met with silence. His upbringing prepared him for life in the army where no one praised you for doing your job, but Ambrose was different. He would let you know when he was proud of you and at times Clayton found that disconcerting.

  “Uh, thank you, sir.”

  “What is with this sir business?” He patted Clayton’s cheek with his massive hand. “You are not in the army any more, my boy. And I am not your commanding officer.”

  He knew that, in his head he knew that, but he couldn’t help but to think of his crew as his unit and as Ambrose as his higher ranking officer. “Is that all you wanted to tell me, s-Mr. Sanna?”

  “Ambrose.” He shook his head and sighed. “My name is Ambrose. You grew up two houses down from my family. My son is married to your sister. I think you can call me by my first name.”

  “You’re my elder, sir. It’s a sign of respect.”

  “You’re a good boy.” He smiled again. “I’ve come to tell you that I’m giving you my company. Everything including the rental properties. When I get back from my world cruise we sign the papers.” He turned to get back in his car.

  “What?” Clayton blurted out. “I can’t afford to buy this company.”

  “Who said buy? I said give. My son has his bakery. He doesn’t want this place. He wouldn’t be any good at running it even if I did leave it to him. But you are another story. You’re a man who is born to lead other men. You’re perfect to take over. I built this company from nothing. I went from a very poor man to a very rich one because of it and now I’m tired. I’m old and it’s my time to see the world. I want you to have this place because you’re the only one that I trust to have it.”

  “But-but…”

  “You’re a man of few words but now I have made you totally speechless.” He laughed loudly again. “I’ll be bac
k in a month or so. We’ll talk more then.” Ambrose got in his car and drove away.

  It appeared Clayton had a very big choice to make. Stay here and take over the business of the man he admired the most. Or go back to Afghanistan and do what he was born to do. Be a soldier.

  *

  Clayton had a hard time focusing on his work the rest of that day.

  Own his own business.

  Ambrose was going to turn his life’s work over to him with no strings attached.

  He never wanted a business. He’d never thought about it. In fact he had never thought about what he wanted outside of the army. He was supposed to be a career solider. Army for life, just like his father and his grandfather before him, but when that IED went off in that little village, killing some of his men and those kids who had done nothing wrong but go outside to kick a ball around, he decided that maybe a whole life spent in the army wasn’t for him after all.

  So he didn’t reenlist. He got out. He came home to Durant. He got a job at Ambrose’s company and he worked. He existed. He got older, but he didn’t know who he was outside of being First Lieutenant Clayton Calhoun. West Point graduate. Son, grandson and great grandson of life long army men.

  He was feeling… unsatisfied since he got back. When he was over there he had a purpose. He was fighting for his country. Fighting for other’s freedoms. Now with nothing to fight for, he didn’t know who the hell he was.

  “You want to grab a couple of beers?” Abraham asked him as they were packing up for the night. “I know that hot little bartender at Primo’s. She gives me free wings every time I go in.”

  “Another time.” He hoisted his heavy bag of equipment over his shoulder and walked out to his truck.

  “You’re turning down free food and beer?” Abraham frowned at him. “You sick?”

  “No. I’m going to check on my little sister. She’s pregnant and her husband is out of town and I don’t like that she’s in that building alone.”

  “You going by Sweet Eats? Pick me up some of those big ass cinnamon buns and a slice of that triple chocolate cake, and if they have some of that special black forest ice cream left, snag me a couple of pints. And those peanut butter brownies. Bring me about four of those.”