Like a Love Song

by Camille Eide

  No surprise, given Jasmine’s history. “Did you get them to make up?”

  “I think so, but I’ll keep an eye on ’em. Brandi got her stuff back and that seemed to do the trick. She lobbed a few parting cracks at Jas, though. I think Jasmine was more embarrassed than anything else.” Bertie shook her head. “I tell you what, that kid has no fear in her. You should’ve seen her standing toe-to-toe with Brandi. Jasmine’s half her size.”

  “I can picture it. She’s a survivor.”

  The older woman lifted her chin and peered at Sue through the bottom of her glasses. “Reminds me of another headstrong girl I know.”

  Sue leaned back and stretched to relieve the muscle spasms that came from sitting so long. “What else? How are the new girls doing?”

  “The new girls are doing fine. Especially the tall, dark, hunky one.”

  Sue’s jaw dropped. Bertie had no business checking out a guy half her age. “I was getting to that. How are the repairs coming? Have you seen any of his work?”

  “Joe’s doing a fine job, Sue. And fast, too. He can do pretty much any job you give him. Too bad he won’t be around long.”

  “Yeah, too bad.” She had meant it as sarcasm, but it hadn’t come out sounding that way.

  “Although—and I hate to say it—I can already see one problem with having him here.”

  “What?” Apprehension tingled up her spine. The older girls were taking an interest in him? Or worse—the other way around?

  Bertie glanced over her shoulder toward the dining hall. “That fella eats like a football team. We’ve gone through two extra cases of canned food just since he’s been here. And the bread! That last donation of day-old from the Valley Market didn’t even last two days. I don’t know, Sue. Might have to ask him to provide his own meals.”

  Sue frowned. She hated to ask anyone to do that, considering how little she paid the staff. But food was not plentiful at the ranch, never had been. Receiving regular donations of food and supplies from local businesses, families, and churches was never Sue’s idea, but for the kids’ sake, she’d come to appreciate the help. And even more, she’d grown to depend on the extra food to fill in the gaps when funds came up short. “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ll figure something out after we pass inspection.”

  Bertie nodded, but her gaze darted away.

  “What?” Sue said. “Something else wrong?”

  Bertie’s face creased with worry. “Elena’s got family trouble back home. I think she’s gonna leave.”

  “Back home? You mean Mexico?”

  Bertie smoothed a wrinkle in Sue’s blanket. “Her mom’s gotten worse, and Elena is the only family she has. Don’t think it’ll be long before she has to go.”

  “We have to have a full-time boys’ dorm counselor.”

  “Well, as it happens, there’s a guy here now—”

  “No. Joe’s not trained to work with kids.”

  “How’d his background check and references turn out?”

  Fingering the mail, Sue said, “Fine. Glowing, actually. But that’s not the point. You know what it takes, Bert. Not just anyone can handle these kids.”

  A slow smile spread across Bertie’s face. “From what I’ve seen, Joe’s not just anyone.”

  Actually, he did have a way with Chaz. Still, he was barely more than a stranger.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Bertie said, “but the kids really like him. I had a group down at the volleyball pit, and we could hear him singing.” Bertie glanced in the direction of the rise north of the house. “Up in that old boarded-up chapel. They stopped the game and wanted to go see what he was doing.”

  Sue frowned. “What’s he doing in there?”

  Bertie shrugged. “Clearing the clutter maybe. Wasn’t that on the inspection list?”

  It was on the list, but Sue had meant to do it herself. Somehow, the ranch’s first few inspections had overlooked the old chapel perched on the north slope. Since the small building was boarded up and not in use, she saw no reason for it to meet fire code. But the state sent a new inspector who didn’t care that the one-time chapel was now nothing more than a storage shed.

  “What’s in there?” Bertie asked. “Your stuff or the previous owners’?”

  “Furniture, I think. We stored the leftover donations in there after our last fundraiser.” And another fundraiser was needed, if the bank letter topping the stack of mail was what she suspected.

  Bertie followed her gaze and nodded at the envelope. “Problems?”

  Sue laughed. “What, this? No. The state is threatening to take away my license. I wrecked my knee, making me not only maimed but also more in debt. Plus we’re ridiculously short-staffed, and, thanks to the Beaumont estate’s Chapter Eleven bankruptcy, we’ve officially lost a huge chunk of monthly income. I don’t see how a bank letter could possibly be more bad news, do you?”

  Bertie sighed. “Pain meds wearing off, huh?”

  Sue leaned back. “Sorry you got stuck with crab-sitting duty.”

  Rising, Bertie grinned. “No sweat. What’s one more behaviorally challenged kid?” She trudged toward the dining hall, calling over her shoulder, “There’s one piece of mail in that stack you might not want to torch along with the rest of the bills.”

  Sue gathered the pile of mail Bertie had tossed in her lap.

  One lumpy, square envelope coated with tape and sparkly bits stood out. “TO MISS SUSAN” decorated one side in red glitter-glue.

  She peeled away strips of tape, slipped out the folded construction paper, opened it gently, and smoothed the poster.

  It was a collage of drawings, cropped snapshots, poems, magazine pictures, and stickers. And a couple math equations penned in the shape of a heart next to the scrawled signature of Charles P. Montgomery.

  With a smile she couldn’t contain, Sue turned the poster and read every contribution, noting each name or set of initials and the simple, sweet wishes for her speedy recovery. Tears blurred her vision. She scrubbed them away and studied the poster again.

  The kids were the reason she was here, and the reason she would fight tooth and nail to keep their home.

  With a sigh, she shuffled through the rest of the mail, sorting it into piles.

  Junk, bills, and important stuff. The letter from the bank kept falling out of its stack, as if it didn’t think it belonged in the junk pile.

  Hissing out a breath, Sue opened the letter.

  Notice of default with foreclosure proceedings underway.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. When funds got tight, Sue paid what she could on the loan, but staff wages always came first. To avoid auction, she needed to come up with the massive past-due amount. But she also needed to find a way to generate more monthly income. When she’d started the ranch, her operating budget was met through a variety of sources. Some sources made her nervous, but her passion to create a home for unwanted kids drove her to bend a little, to let go of the need to be in full control. Layne had reminded her that other group homes operated on a blend of funds from the state for some of the kids, private funds from some of the adoptive families, and private donors. It was the dependence on donors—something outside her control—that had always unnerved Sue, but in order to realize her dream, she’d taken Layne’s suggestion and allowed others to help. That decision was one she now regretted, one that had come back to bite her just as she’d feared.

  Before the accident, she’d been planning another fundraiser. Now there was no time to waste. She needed to get that project going. She hoped it would bring in enough money.

  Because at this point, hope was all she had, and even that was running out.

  * * *

  When Sue needed a ride to her checkup on Monday, the job fell to Joe again, which worked to his advantage. He needed to get electrical supplies in Bend.

  By Monday, Miss No-Nonsense had clearly returned.

  Another advantage. Some late-night thinking had reminded him that he had no need f
or entanglements. He was here to resolve relational issues, not pile on more. But as Sue crutched her way to his truck unassisted, Joe couldn’t shake the memory of her snuggling against him, or his suspicions about her need to feel safe. And it felt good to be needed, which also didn’t help.

  As they drove to Bend, Sue asked about his progress on the repairs.

  “If I get what I need in town today, I should have everything finished tomorrow.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  He glanced at her. After spending years proving he could be trusted, he wasn’t about to screw up now. And besides, the future of Sue’s home was on the line.

  At the outskirts of town, Sue got a call on her cell. She listened for several seconds, wincing. “Thanks, Layne,” she said in low tones, “but you really didn’t have to sing.” As the caller went on, Sue fingered the tips of her braid. “No, I mean it. What’s the big deal? It’s just a number.” Picking at fuzz on the edge of her knee brace, she heaved a sigh. “Okay, I will. Thanks.”

  Joe watched the color creep through Sue’s face as she stowed her phone.

  “It’s your birthday?”

  She flung a stunned look at him.

  “Just a guess. The big three-oh?”

  With an eyeball roll, she nodded.

  He pulled up to a stoplight. “Happy birthday! How are you going to celebrate?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Aw, come on. You have to do something.”

  Sue shook her head. “I never really was into birthdays.”

  Would the other Sue feel the same way? He grinned “Come on. Hot fudge sundae, at least? My treat.”

  She gave a sideways look. “Thanks, really, but no. I’d rather forget it.”

  The light changed, and he accelerated. He gave it one last shot. “You still have to eat, birthday or not. We can call it lunch.” His eyebrows went up. “So what do you like—Chuck E. Cheese?”

  She quirked a brow.

  “Mexican? Texas barbeque?”

  She didn’t answer, but he could tell he was getting warmer.

  “Steak and ribs? Seafood? I know—surf and turf. I’m in the mood for a juicy steak and some jumbo garlic shrimp.” He glanced over just in time to see her tongue poke out to wet her lips. He grinned. “All right. Steak and seafood it is. Right after your appointment. Deal?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can manage a restaurant with this leg.”

  I think you mean ‘torpedo.’ Joe suppressed a smile. “What about takeout?”

  Sue sighed. “I appreciate the thought, Joe, really, but I’d better not.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.” No way. With her slender frame? He still couldn’t believe how light she had been when he carried her into the house after surgery.

  Or how cute …

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m hungry, so if you don’t want to eat, that’s fine, but I hope you don’t mind if I do. I can celebrate your birthday enough for the both of us.”

  “No doubt,” she said under her breath.

  He glanced over and found Sue’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles. Miss Susan had better watch herself. Mocking was almost teasing, which, in some circles, was considered fun.

  While Sue was at her appointment, Joe went to the electrical supply store, which ended up not having the panel he needed. The clerk offered to order it, but it would take a week to get—a week Joe didn’t have. When Joe told the guy he needed it today, the clerk offered to call around town and let Joe know if he’d found one.

  He headed back to the clinic, praying for the sake of Sue’s inspection that the panel would turn up today. When Sue emerged from her doctor appointment, Joe broke the news. “Looks like we have some time to kill. I guess you can’t get out of lunch now.”

  “All right, you win.”

  Joe found a drive-thru burger joint boasting the best milkshakes in the state. “What will you have?”

  “A kid’s burger is fine.”

  Joe turned to the speaker. “Four of your biggest burgers, a couple biggie fries, and three old-fashioned shakes—chocolate, strawberry, and banana.”

  Sue guffawed.

  By the time the girl at the window handed over the last bag, Joe’s stomach sounded like a grumbly, old dog. He parked at the edge of the lot and nudged a loaded bacon cheeseburger toward Sue. Let her diet stand up to that.

  Soon, the smell of melted cheese, sweet onions, pickles, and hot, salted fries won out. Sue took the burger and chowed down, hardly slowing.

  The scratches on her neck had faded a bit. His gaze traveled to the deep hollows above her collarbone. He tried not to stare, but couldn’t help wondering why she was so thin.

  Between bites of burger, Sue nibbled fries and kept eyeballing the chocolate shake.

  He swallowed a mouthful of burger. “Take the chocolate one if you want it. I got dibs on the strawberry.”

  She bit her lip, then grabbed the shake and went to town on it. After slurping awhile, she set it down and pressed a palm against her belly with a painful groan.

  Joe chuckled. “I thought you’d be one of those girls with a sparrow appetite. But man, you can really put it away. I think you just outdid me.”

  With a glare, she reached for the shake and took another couple of slurps.

  “I always thought girls ate less on a date, not more.”

  Sue sputtered. “What? First off, this is in no way a date. And second, with the mountain of food you bought, I don’t need to make sure there’s enough for everyone.” She bit her lip.

  Joe frowned. “What do you mean ‘enough for everyone’?”

  “Nothing.” She fiddled with her straw.

  Was she having trouble supplying food for the kids? “Do you need food? I can help.”

  She studied him as if debating whether or not to admit he’d guessed right. “Sometimes we come up short and have to make things stretch.” She sighed. “But we manage if we’re careful.”

  He couldn’t help taking another look at her pronounced cheekbones. His chest went suddenly numb. Did she go without food to make sure the kids had enough? No wonder she was so light. And so uptight. Hunger had a way of stealing one’s joy.

  Though decades had passed, Joe remembered exactly what constant hunger felt like. “I lived with a big family once. Food was scarce. Making it stretch for the foster kids wasn’t exactly … a priority.” Joe spoke gently. “But it’s obvious you do whatever it takes to make sure everyone in this family is well taken care of.”

  Sue made circles with her cup, swirling its melting contents. “That’s the first time I’ve heard anyone else refer to Juniper Ranch as a ‘family.’”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Families come in all types. Like on a rig. When you work miles from shore, there’s a strong sense of family. Only on a rig, everyone earns their spot. If a new guy—let’s call him ‘John Smith’—proves himself, he goes from being called ‘Smith’ to ‘Cousin John.’ If he goes on to gain the crew’s respect, he might move up to ‘Uncle John.’”

  Sue poked around in her shake with the straw. “We don’t encourage nicknames at the ranch. They’re not usually based on a person’s positive qualities.” She thunked her cup down on the console. “Usually, it’s just mean. Some of the kids came up with Chaz the Spaz. I hate that. Everyone has some flaw that makes them less than perfect.”

  “Maybe they don’t know any other way to bond.”

  “Maybe. I overlook a lot of stuff, but I don’t tolerate put-downs. Everyone needs to feel safe and fully accepted, especially in his or her own home. Most of these kids are here because they have some quirks. They need to feel like they’re an equal part of the family, not an outsider. I can’t control what happens after they leave, but I can teach them not to put each other down and not to let anyone tell them there’s something wrong with them.”

  Her passion for outcasts hit Joe like a boxer’s punch. If only the people he’d depended on as a kid had defended him a fraction as muc
h. If only he’d had someone like Sue on his side when he was being accused of horrible things. Of being a freak.

  Sue turned to him. “But maybe things were different for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On the rig.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “So what was your nickname?”

  Joe felt his face go warm. “Well … the rig boss is usually considered the father figure.”

  Her brows shot up. “Father Paterson?”

  He chuckled at the picture that conjured. “Papa Joe.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  Sue gave a slow shake of her head. “Disturbing.”

  “How’s that?”

  She took a noisy slurp of her milkshake and wiped her mouth. “Dad is the last thing I’d ever call someone I actually respect.” She spoke with such a quiet calm—almost calm enough to disguise the scorched edge to her words.

  “I take it your dad wasn’t exactly Father of the Year.”

  She stuffed her cup into one of the sacks, then crimped the opening closed with crisp, even folds until the bag was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. “No. I’m pretty sure none of the guys my mom brought home qualified for that.”

  Aw, man. Joe lowered his voice to match her tone. “How many were there?”

  If she was feeling any emotion, it was hidden behind an empty smile. “Not a clue. You could ask my mom, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t counting.”

  Man, what a past.

  Slowly, Joe stuffed his wrappers into a sack to hide his amazement that she was actually opening up, then stowed the sack behind the seat. “I'm sorry, Sue. Sounds like you had it pretty rough.”

  Sue gazed out across the parking lot. “Rough? I don’t know. I learned a lot. Like how to confuse a drunk by switching my hiding places. Or how my mom would rather accuse me of lying about her boyfriend than give up the creep.”

  Anger and pity burned through him at the reminder that some parents were capable of such terrible betrayal. “I’m sorry, Sue.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. What’s past is past.”