For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2)

by Mary J. Williams

  Spying three teenage boys huddled together at a table across the room sharing earnest whispers as they sent furtive glances Nick's way, Rowan had to laugh.

  "Want to bet?"

  Before Nick could figure out what she meant, one of the boys—pushed by his buddies—worked up the nerve to nervously shuffle across the room.

  Trey Paulson. Tall and gangly, his face covered in freckles that matched the bright red hair that flopped over his eyes, Rowan recognized him as one of the high school jocks who often hung out at Murielle's.

  "Mr. Sanders?" Trey squeaked out. Clearing his throat, he wiped his hands on his jeans. "Could I get your autograph?"

  "Sure," Nick said with an affable smile. "Do you have a pen and paper?"

  "I…" Trey's eyes grew wide with panic before a dejected look came over his face. "No, sir."

  Taking pity on the boy who looked as though he might jump out of his skin at any moment, Rowan reached into her bag, pulling out a pad. Digging deeper, she found a pen emblazoned with her company logo.

  Taking her offering, Nick winked.

  "Would your friends like one of these, too?"

  "Yes, sir." Flushed with excitement, Trey motioned the other boys over, his arms flapping like an awkward bird about to take flight.

  Rowan watched as Nick handled the star-struck young men with ease. Kind was the word that first popped into her head. He spoke to them as equals. Getting their names, he made the inscriptions personal, not simply jotting down his name in illegible script.

  And the questions. After finding his voice, Trey began spewing anything and everything that popped into his head. His friends were just as enthusiastic.

  Entertained beyond words, Rowan was sorry she had to leave. But work came before pleasure.

  "I have to go." Standing, she slipped on her heavy jacket, taking the ever-present knit cap from the pocket.

  The boys made themselves at home, taking seats at the table.

  "Give me a minute, guys."

  At the counter, he picked up the waiting box of pastries.

  "Put this on my bill, Mona."

  Not seeing Rowan's frown, he walked with her to her truck.

  "That is the last time you pay my way," Rowan warned. "The pizza last night was one thing, but those rolls are for my crew."

  "Tell you what," Nick said, depositing the box on the seat. "You can buy me lunch, and we'll call it even."

  "Dinner last night. Breakfast this morning? Followed by lunch?" Hiding her pleased smile, Rowan put on her gloves. "You might get sick of me."

  "Unlikely."

  "I'm flattered that you want to spend so much time together." Rowan lowered her voice, not wanting to air Nick's business on the streets of Jasper. "Don't you have something else to do? Something more important?"

  "Important?" Nick looked skeptical.

  "Cold feet?" Rowan asked as she grabbed the steering wheel, pulling herself onto the seat.

  Leaning against the open passenger-side door, Nick shrugged.

  "More like lukewarm."

  "If you need a gentle push, I can set up a meeting."

  Truthfully, Rowan worried. Leo wasn't an easy man at the best of times. Nick was so easygoing and kind. She didn't want him shredded by her stepfather's brusque—sometimes deliberately cruel—manner.

  "No." Nick sounded adamant. "There's no need for you to get in the middle. Though I'm afraid I already put you there."

  "You didn't." Rowan had given Nick and his situation a lot of thought in the wee hours of last night. "You haven't asked anything of me. Leo will understand."

  Honestly, Rowan wasn't sure she spoke the truth. As if sensing her thoughts, Nick met her gaze, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  "I don't care what the man thinks about me." He shrugged. "I came for answers, not to bond with my long-lost father. However, if my actions cause you any trouble, I'll stop."

  Rowan felt a warm glow settle near her heart. Gorgeous, sexy, and a thoughtful gentleman. His mother would be proud of the man he had become.

  "Three questions? Did you come to Jasper to harm Leonard Cartwright?"

  "No," Nick frowned, obviously annoyed that she would bring up the idea.

  "Are you after his money? A free ride? A big payday?" Rowan asked, tempering her unsavory words with a smile.

  Nick sighed, his lips curving slightly as he caught on to where she was headed.

  "Again, no." Nick raised an eyebrow. "And that's four questions."

  "Wrong. Number two was the main question with a part A and B."

  "Okay. I'll give you a pass. Though technically, I'm right and you're wrong."

  Rowan laughed. Every second she spent with Nick reinforced her initial attraction. Adding layers. Good thing he wasn't staying in Jasper long or she would be in big trouble. She could handle a flirtation. Maybe even a steamy night or two.

  Despite an engagement that ended badly, Rowan wasn't blocked off to the idea of falling in love. With the right man. Something told her that man wasn't Nick Sanders. Not long term. Not forever.

  "Hey," Nick placed a hand on Rowan's arm. "Why the pensive look?"

  "Work." A small lie was a lot easier than trying to explain where her thoughts had wandered. Rowan started the engine. "I really need to get going."

  "You didn't ask your third question."

  "Lunch. I have sandwiches and hot soup delivered around noon. Want to join my crew and me? The setting isn't elegant but the food is good and the view spectacular."

  "Text me the directions. I'll be there."

  "Are you always so affable?"

  "No."

  Without any elaboration, Nick shut the truck door. With a wave, he returned to Murielle's. As Rowan pulled from her parking spot, she had plenty to think about on the drive to work.

  Last night, Rowan had seen many emotions flash through Nick's eyes. Sadness over the loss of his mother. The helplessness of a childhood filled with more hardship than she could imagine.

  When he teased or flirted, his dark irises were sprinkled with flecks of gold. When he became aroused, they heated to molten chocolate.

  But when Nick stepped back from her truck, Rowan had her first glimpse of a different man. The one who hadn't let his start in life stop him from getting what he wanted.

  Rowan didn't know what would happen when Nick met with Leo. Her stepfather was used to getting everything his own way.

  Something told her she didn't have to worry about Nick. Maybe a hunch. Or the glint in Nick's eyes. This time, Leo may have met his match.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  NICK CONSIDERED HIMSELF to be a patient man. At least professionally.

  Baseball was all about waiting. Waiting on the bench for his time at bat. Waiting for the pitcher to throw the ball. Waiting to make a play when more often than not, the action took place on a different part of the field.

  If Nick lost concentration for even a second, he could cost his team the game.

  In his profession—during the marathon of a one hundred and sixty-two game season—patience wasn't just a virtue, but a vital necessity.

  Perhaps Nick's ability to focus on the trivial things for nine innings—day after day—was why away from the ballpark, he could smell a stall job a mile away. Bullshit, was bullshit. Even when presented in the dulcet tones of a British accent.

  Away from the game, the length of Nick's impatience fuse was much shorter. And burned a damn sight faster.

  "The name is Nick Sanders," Nick said with a barely controlled growl. Instead of kicking a hole in his hotel room door, he stopped pacing and took a seat on the bed. "I would like to make an appointment to see Leonard Cartwright."

  Four times he'd given the information. To four different people. Nick didn't know if he was moving up the food chain or getting shuttled laterally from minion to minion. Either way, the method seemed like a bad way to do business.

  And a great
way to piss off Nick. The woman on the other end of the phone couldn't know the mistake she made. But his close friends would have told her. Poke him once, okay. Poke him four times? Big mistake.

  "Mr. Cartwright is out of the office all this week. If you like, I can transfer you to his assistant. She can tell you when he'll be back."

  Taking a deep breath, Nick reminded himself to keep cool. Blowing up at a voice on the phone—tempting as the thought may be—wouldn't solve anything.

  "I spoke with his assistant three transfers ago. She said Cartwright was in a meeting. After that, the word was that he's out to lunch. Somebody on this merry-go-round claimed he had stepped out for a few minutes."

  "Mr. …?"

  "Sanders. Nick Sanders. I'll give you props for originality. But you should consider coordinating your answers. Is Leonard Cartwright in or isn't he? Ms.—?"

  "Havisham."

  Seriously? As in Great Expectations? Nick wondered how a woman with a posh English accent handled the unavoidable jokes her name must generate. His guess? A cool, withering stare.

  "Either way, Mr. Sanders," the woman's tone grew clipped with annoyance. "A meeting with Mr. Cartwright is out of the question."

  "Aren't you at least going to ask why I want to see him?"

  Silence met Nick's question as Ms. Havisham mulled over her answer. Or was she consulting somebody before getting back to him? Anger settling into a simmering boil, he wondered—not for the first time—if he should have gone to Cartwright's office instead of calling.

  Nick doubted his physical presence would have moved matters along any faster. However, he always found it an advantage when he could look into his opponent's eyes. Like facing a pitcher with the bases loaded and nobody out. One glimpse of panic—no matter how fleeting—and Nick knew he was in control. He was about to bring one or more of those baserunners home.

  The talent for reading an adversary carried over into Nick's personal life. Not that he could always spot a liar. But he watched their eyes. One flicker. A twitch. And he knew the lies were about to flow.

  Unfortunately, Nick hadn't anticipated that his morning would turn into a marathon session of phone tag.

  "If you would like to see Mr. Cartwright, he has an opening on Wednesday morning."

  Nick knew something was off, but he couldn't figure out what. Why the sudden turnaround?

  One thing he knew for certain. The whiff of rotten that filtered through the phone wasn't his imagination. Because? Simple. The instinct he trusted and rarely ignored.

  On the less logical side? Way too many James Bond movies.

  "Ms. Havisham." Breathing deeply, Nick hoped his voice sounded more reasonable than he felt. "My business with Mr. Cartwright won't take long. A few minutes. Surely he can fit me in sooner."

  "Wednesday, Mr. Sanders. Take it or leave it."

  "I'll get back to you."

  "But—"

  Hanging up, Nick collapsed onto the mattress, his phone clutched tightly in his hand.

  Nick had a trump card to play. One that might have gotten him a meeting that very day. If Cartwright was his father, the name Annie Sanders was bound to get a reaction. But when Nick dropped his little bombshell, he wanted to be there to witness the fallout.

  Wednesday. Nick hadn't planned to stay that long. In and out. Wasn't that what he told Travis? Bermuda beckoned. However, the call of warm beaches and bikini-clad women wasn't quite as strong as when he crossed the city limits.

  Just over twenty-four hours ago Nick had never stepped foot in Jasper, Maine. Though nice enough, he wasn't sticking around at Leonard Cartwright's convenience. Perhaps the man would fill in the gaps in Nick's past. More than likely, he would spout nothing but excuses and lies.

  If he hadn't promised himself that he would find the answers he sought, Nick would have packed his bag and headed out of town without a backward glance. For the life of him, he couldn't think of a reason to waste another minute of his time in this town.

  As his phone buzzed, Nick checked the screen. What he saw brought a slow smile to his lips. The text was short, sweet, and to the point.

  Are we still on for lunch?

  Proof he wasn't always right. Rowan was all the reason any man would need to stick around. Closing his eyes, Nick pictured her smile. The situation might be complicated, but the feelings she stirred in him weren't.

  Nick enjoyed Rowan's company. Throw in a healthy dose of old-fashioned lust and what was there to think about? Wednesday wasn't that far off. Besides, only a fool would turn his back on the chance to see a lot more of the beautiful blonde.

  Thumbs nimbly running over the keys, he answered Rowan's text. Short, sweet, and to the point.

  Yes. Please.

  Before he could stand, she answered.

  So polite. A definite virtue. See you soon.

  Polite was good. Saying please and thank you came easily to Nick. But that didn't mean he couldn't be ruthless when necessary.

  Nick would get his information. If Leonard Cartwright gave him a fight, all the better.

  And he would get Rowan. She wasn't anybody's pushover, Nick thought with a smile. But the heat between them was undeniable. Winning his way into her bed would be worth the effort.

  No. Not effort. Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  STARTING A BUSINESS is never an easy undertaking. No matter how well prepared, there are always unexpected twists and turns.

  Rowan hadn't jumped blindly into the world of landscaping. Besides her education, she compiled reams of research. She contacted the most experienced people she could find. Hours of time spent bending ears and reading emails. If she had a question, she asked. Then followed up with a dozen more.

  Determined, Rowan refused to proceed until she was as prepared as humanly possible.

  Using her own money saved from summer and after-school jobs, Rowan started small while still in college. She built a customer base of people who knew they could count on her to do the job well, on time, and at a fair—often below-market—price.

  Back in those days, Rowan was mostly a one-woman crew. If she needed help now and then, she would hire a local kid to pick up the slack.

  When Rowan was ready to expand, she took out a small business loan—her hand shaking as she signed the papers. A big step she hadn't taken lightly.

  Thank God for Rebecca Gibson. Pretty. Young. The single mother needed a job with flexible hours. Efficient, capable, and—most important—trustworthy. Rebecca quickly became Rowan's right-hand woman. She was able to take on more than one job at once, knowing she had somebody she could count on to keep the work on track.

  In less than two years, Rowan paid off her loan. Instead of putting every penny back into the business—as she had for so long—she started to allow herself the occasional luxury. Like a new set of tires or a trip to the beauty parlor

  After trimming her own hair for so long, having a professional take care of the shaping and styling was a luxury indeed.

  "One more week." Rebecca shook her head, surveying the almost-finished project. "I wondered if you were crazy when you took this job."

  "Join the club," Rowan laughed as she lifted a bag of compost from the back of Rebecca's truck.

  "If I didn't know you so well, I never would have guessed you had any doubts. What's the saying? Never let them see you sweat? That's you to a T."

  "I sweat all the time," Rowan said, emptying the bag into a wheelbarrow.

  "You know what I mean. When most people would be chewing their nails to the quick, you're cool as the proverbial cucumber. I've always envied that quality."

  Rowan appreciated the compliment. However, just because she had a great poker face didn't mean she hadn't spent plenty of anxiety-riddled nights tossing and turning.

  For a long time, Rowan's business survived from job to job. Once that changed, the wise move would have been to stay on the same sure and steady course. Instead, she grabbed at a job that was out of her
company's comfort zone.

  Bigger than anything RTC Landscaping had ever tackled, the Frederick job could have turned into a disaster. Not monetarily. But a lot of Rowan's business came word of mouth. If her reputation took a major hit, it might never recover.

  Go big, or go home. How many times had she reminded herself of that little idiom? When a risk paid off, the reward was worth the sick stomachs and sleepless nights. When the risk failed…? Luckily, Rowan thought with a slight shudder, she wouldn't find out.

  Straightening, hands on hips, Rowan sighed with satisfaction.

  "The last of the plants will be in by Tuesday. After that? A little clean-up and a bit of polish."

  "You did it," Rebecca said.

  "We did it. You. The crew. You've worked your asses off keeping on schedule."

  "My ass was just fine before, thank you very much." Rebecca patted her shapely, jean-covered backside. "I would tell you to keep that in mind for the next time. But why waste my breath?"

  Rowan didn't mention the job she had an eye on. One she might have hesitated over a few months ago. Now? Her confidence in herself and the women who worked for her was at an all-time high.

  "I have to get to the Jenkins place." Rebecca gave Rowan a hug.

  "We're about to break for lunch. Why don't you stay?" Rowan smiled. "Unless you already have plans."

  Rebecca kept company with Darren Stratham. The romance had started slowly—Rebecca's choice, not Darren's. She had two children and a full-time job. Plus the still raw memories of a failed marriage. Finding time for romance was hardly a priority.

  And a banker? Not Rebecca's usual style. She had always gone for the bad boys. Motorcycles and tattoos. Irresponsible and easily lured by big cleavage. What was she supposed to do with a nice, down-to-earth guy?

  Darren's charm, persistence, and the fact that her kids adored him finally won Rebecca over. The tattoo on his right shoulder—a badass leprechaun no less—didn't hurt.