A wave of heat enveloped her face, and she dropped her gaze. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll do all I can to mold them into well-behaved children. They’re very sweet.”
“And willful,” he said.
She studied the flowers on the carpet until she had the courage to lock eyes with him. “They aren’t small soldiers, you know.They’re children.”
“Children who need to be taught how to behave.”
“At eight, Jordan is just discovering how to handle structured rules and learning about self-discipline. At six, Evan has been dependent on his mother. A mother who’s been ripped away. He’s likely going to be fearful and uncertain about the future. Both children will be dealing with serious issues.”
He hunched his shoulders. “All kids have trauma of some kind.”
“This is the worst kind.”
“You sound like you’ve studied child development.”
“I have.” She didn’t shrink under his stare. “Please, just be gentle with them.They need your love right now more than anything.”
“Of course I love them.”
“Don’t be afraid to show it.They’re good kids.”
“They’re unruly,” he said.
She nodded. “Give them time to grieve.We’ll steer them the right way.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are we going to be on the same page, Gracie?”
“Maybe we’ll bring some good balance between us,” she said, forcing a laugh.
He grinned then. “I’m glad we met. I think the kids will love you.”
She held his gaze. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, Michael. Never.”
He colored and broke the bond of their locked stare. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” she said softly. “No, they wouldn’t.You were our guardian angel today.”
“I’ve never been accused of being an angel,” he said, smiling.
“This is coming home for you, isn’t it?” She glanced around the room. “When did you last live here?”
“I grew up in Bluebird but haven’t lived here since college. Kate and I went to Alpine to school, then I joined the army. She followed me from base to base except when I was sent out of the country.” He grimaced. “Which was too much to her liking. She divorced me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was sorry she died though. She was a good mother.”
She heard the pain in his voice. “It’s hard on the kids.”
“Yeah, I hate that.” His eyes took in his surroundings. “Kind of grim here. But it will do for now.” He rubbed his head. “I sure miss Caesar.”
“Caesar?”
“My dog. He and I worked together for three years. I had to leave him behind in Iraq.”
“You’ve had a lot of changes lately.”
He shifted where he sat.“How are you—really?You obviously ran away from your wedding. Is there anything I can do?”
His tone washed over her with the soothing sensation of blue waves. His sympathy clogged her nose with tears. She hadn’t cried, not yet. It was a luxury she hadn’t afforded herself. There hadn’t been time. Her eyes filled too. Her throat closed, and she struggled to keep the tears from falling. She despised women who used tears to manipulate a man, and she wasn’t going to be one of them.
She sprang to her feet. “If there’s nothing else, can I go to bed?”
He rose. “Of course. I’m sorry about your problems, Gracie.”
“Thanks,” she said through her thick throat.
“I’ll check your references tomorrow.” He nodded toward a garbage sack by her chair. “Rick brought some clothes over. Things will look better in the morning.”
“I’ll be all right.” She grabbed the bag, then rushed from the room and ran up the stairs.
Her eyes burned as tears poured from them, but at least he could not see them. She grabbed a pair of pajamas and stepped into the bathroom she shared with Hope, then ran water hot enough to scald her. As she slid into the hot water, she choked off sobs. Crying never solved anything.
She scrubbed the contamination of her old life from her skin until it was pink and stinging. She and Hope had a chance for a new life here. She couldn’t blow it. If ever she needed wisdom, it was now.The lessons of her past mistakes should show her a new path, and she intended to take it and be smarter.
When she was dressed in the soft cotton pajamas, she grabbed her purse from the floor and went to the connecting bedroom. She took out her cell phone and charger and plugged it in. Almost immediately it beeped, telling her that she had a message.The bed squeaked when she sat on the edge with the phone to her ear and her hands shaking.
Cid’s voice shocked her. “Gracie, where are you? Are you all right? Call me.”
She dropped the phone. He was alive! She put her hand to her mouth. Maybe she’d run too soon. But no. Getting away from him had shown her how completely she’d deluded herself about her reasons for marrying him. Security wasn’t enough to base a relationship on. The marriage would have been a huge mistake. And she doubted Cid could protect her from those men, even if he wasn’t involved— though she suspected he was.
She listened to the message again and tried to ignore the urgency in Cid’s voice, a voice that had always made her see orange clouds. She’d thought that meant excitement.
Gracie jabbed the key to delete the message. Her pulse yammered in her chest, and nausea roiled in her stomach. She was safe here. Of course she was. If she could, she’d toss the cell phone so he couldn’t contact her again. But if she did, her father would never call. Not that she was likely to hear from him, but her hope refused to die.
4
GRACIE’S EYES BURNED LIKE SHE’D LIVED THROUGH A SANDSTORM, BUT IT was lack of sleep that plagued her. She’d propped a chair under the doorknob in her room and in Hope’s, but the early morning light washed away her fears.
In the kitchen, she tugged at the fabric of her borrowed jeans, but it glommed right back onto her skin. It wasn’t that they were the wrong size, but she rarely wore anything that accentuated her figure. She would have worn the new ones she bought, but she’d worn them yesterday over her filthy body and wanted to wash them first.
“You look pretty,Mommy,” Hope said. She slurped down the rest of the milk from her cereal and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Michael’s eyes flickered. “You need some different jeans? You’re tugging on them.”
Gracie rinsed her hands at the sink to delay her answer. If she told him the truth, it would appear she wanted an advance for more clothes. Or a handout. “I’m just not used to stretch jeans,” she said.
She went to the table and began to clear it of the dirty dishes. Cartoons blared from the TV in the living room where Jordan and Evan were.
When Hope scampered off to join the other kids, he leaned forward. “Sit down and tell me about your past jobs. I need to call your references.”
She pulled out a chair and sat down, then poured cereal and milk into her bowl. “Not much to tell. I’ve done several things since I’ve been out on my own—maid service, waitressing. When Hope came along, I wanted to be with her, so I found a job in a day care.”
“You said you hadn’t done that for two years.”
She nodded. “When the director decided to redecorate, I had some ideas, so she turned me loose. Parents loved it, and I got my first job decorating bedrooms. Before I knew it, I had the beginnings of a business.”
“Home decorating?”
“And home staging. It’s been hard making ends meet, but it was work I loved. And I thought I was building a new life.”
“You didn’t have any training?”
“Only what I read in books and magazines.”
“Wow.” He gestured toward the dingy cabinets. “This house is a dump. I hate the thought of my kids living here.”
“It’s got potential.”
“What would you do with it?” he asked.
<
br /> “What’s your favorite music?” she asked.
His brows raised. “What’s music got to do with it?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. This was always the worst part of explaining how she worked. “I find a client’s tastes in music help me figure out what they’ll like.”
“Explain that.”
Usually a client took her claim at face value. She’d rarely delved into the full story. “I have something called synesthesia. Have you ever heard of it? The word means ‘joined sensation.’”
He shook his head, but he took on a more alert expression. “Is it a disability?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I consider it an asset. It’s another layer of senses. Studies show many babies and children have the ability to taste or see sounds.”
“You’re kidding! What does sound taste like?”
She decided not to get into specifics. “It might be how some metaphors came into being. Such as the night being like black velvet. The simile combines sight and touch.”
“So what do you see and taste?”
“All of us are different. I see shapes and colors when I hear music. And I sometimes taste sounds.” And voices, she could have added, but she didn’t want to go there. “So hearing your favorite music helps me picture a design that would be pleasing to you.”
“My favorite music artist is Alan Jackson.”
“Do you have a CD in the house? I haven’t actually listened to any of his music.”
“I have it on my iPod.” He fished a small Shuffle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s all Jackson.”
She hated seeing music for the first time with someone watching. If only she’d figured out a way to get the information without telling him. She held the earbuds close to her ears and played the first song. “Gone Country” blared into her ears. Flashes of color exploded in her vision.Terracotta and periwinkle flowers erupted on a gray-green background. Lowering the earbuds, she handed the iPod back to Michael.
“You know just what to do now?” His eyes held sharp interest.
She nodded. “I think so. For the living room, I’d—”
He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me. I’m just going to let you do it. I want to see what you come up with.”
“But what if you hate it?”
“Has anyone ever hated it?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t either. It’s in your hands.”
“That’s scary.”
He grinned. “Rick knows a neighbor with a crew cab truck for sale. I’m going to go buy it this morning.”
“I’ll jot down some ideas.”
“When I get back this afternoon, let’s take the kids to town for ice cream. I’ll drop you at the hardware store and you can get paint. There’s a small furniture store right next door. Get what you need.”
She managed to maintain her composure, though inside she was dancing.The house was like a tomb. No color, no life. But that was about to change. “Budget?”
“I’ve got five thousand dollars saved.Will that do it?”
“I can stretch that to do the whole house.”
His eyes widened. “No kidding?”
She nodded and glanced around. “I can make curtains, and slipcovers for the sofa. Same with bedding for the kids’ rooms. I can paint those old beds and dressers. Paint is cheap.”
“What about this lousy floor?”
She glanced around the kitchen. “This will take more money than anything else. A new floor and counter will cost, but I can tile it for much less than buying something prefab.”
He studied her face. “You changed the minute we started talking about this. Five minutes ago you were a frightened mouse. Now your color is up, and your eyes are sparkling.”
She laced her fingers together. “It’s something I know.”
“Sounds like it.” He pulled out his phone. “I need to call your references now. Can you give me a couple?”
She nodded and dug out her cell phone, then jotted down two numbers on an old envelope. “This is the day-care director’s number. And the next number is my last client’s. Please don’t tell them where I am, though. Just in case Cid—” She shut up at her own mention of Cid’s name. Michael was smart enough to make a note of it.
She fixed herself some cereal while he stepped into the other room and made the calls. Her references would be stellar, at least. She was a good employee. She’d work her fingers off for her daughter. Laziness had never been Gracie’s failing. Instead, she failed Hope by consistently making the wrong choices.
With ferocious energy, she scrubbed at the spots on the counter. Every time she thought they’d found a place to settle, something went wrong. This last episode with Cid was just the latest of many. Hope deserved better than this vagabond life, and Gracie clung to a desperate hope that this time things would change.
The spot refused to budge, and she attacked it with renewed force. Though this kitchen was grungy and old, it could be a home for her, for Hope. They could make fond memories here. In Gracie’s mind’s eye, she could see a white picket fence in the backyard, and Hope walking to the podium to accept her high-school diploma. Michael might have given them the key to a decent future.
Michael entered the kitchen again. “They love you. The day-care director couldn’t stop singing your praises. So you’re hired. The kids go back to school in a couple of weeks. I don’t need to report to work until Monday, so I can help you here with the hard stuff.”
She put down the sponge and scouring powder. “I thought you didn’t want to know what I was doing,” she said.
He studied her. “You’re doing it again.The minute we start talking about the house, you change.Your eyes are sparkling again, and your voice is even louder.You must love it.”
“I do.” But more than that, when she worked with color, she could lose herself in it and forget all she’d done.
BY FOUR O’CLOCK THE NEXT DAY, THE HOUSE REEKED OF PAINT, AND Michael’s muscles ached.Work on Monday would be a reprieve.Who would have guessed painting could wear a guy out? The color Gracie picked out for the living room was a gray-green that calmed him. She’d painted his bedroom the same color. The girls’ rooms were a pale lavender he liked as well, and Evan’s room was a dark blue that matched his Dallas Cowboys memorabilia.
Michael watched Gracie from the doorway to Jordan’s room. Kate would never have let the kids help paint, but Gracie put down plastic and showed the kids how to use a paintbrush. Jordan and Evan were working on the headboard of the bed, and not doing a bad job.
Gracie glanced up, and their gazes locked. A pink ponytail holder corralled her blond hair, though an escaped lock brushed her right cheek. “You like the color?” she asked.
“Yeah. But more important, Jordan does.”
“I love it, Daddy,” Jordan proclaimed. She wiped white paint on her jeans.
“I might have to buy her new clothes,” he said, grinning.
“It’s worth it. Learning these things now will give her confidence.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I thought I might check out the attic and see if there’s anything worth using up there.You want to join me?”
“Sure.” She wrapped her roller in a bread sack and laid it on the plastic. “Kids, keep working on the bed. I’ll be back to help you touch it up in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Miss Gracie,” Evan said. “We’re good painters, right?”
“You certainly are,” she agreed with a smile. She stepped past the three children to join Michael in the doorway. “Do you know how to get up there?”
“I found the stairway. It’s at the other end of the hall.” He led her to a door. “Right here.” He’d left the light on, and the glow from the third floor illuminated the stairs. “I’ll go first. Just in case the exterminator didn’t get all the spiders.”
She shuddered. “Be my guest.”
“I want to keep Jordan out of here until I know for sure. She’ll be catching them.”
The stairs were steeper and narrower than normal stairs. They rose quickly to the attic. His head poked into the space, and he glanced around before emerging into the room. “All clear. They’ve vacuumed and cleaned up here too. It’s nice.” He reached down and helped her up the last few steps.
“That’ll give you a workout,” she said, gasping as she joined him on the attic floor.
A jumble of boxes, tables, chairs, rolled-up rugs, lamps, and pictures was stacked in nearly every corner, though it was clear everything had been moved, cleaned, then put back. “Where do we start?” he asked, glancing at Gracie.
Her eyes seemed to drink in the jumble of junk. “Oh look!” She darted forward and hauled out a table.
The finish was cracked and stained. “That’s good?” he asked, raising his brows. “Looks like trash to me.”
Her finger traced the outline of the piece. “You have to look at the lines. This is Arts and Crafts. It’s simple with great lines and will fit beautifully into the design.” She dragged it over to the top of the stairs.
“If you say so. Maybe we should just buy new stuff.This all looks like junk to me.”
“Oh no, this is a treasure trove!” Her muffled voice came from under the eaves. She dragged out a rug, then struggled to unroll it.
“Here, let me help you.” He grabbed an end of the rug and yanked. An Oriental rug lay revealed in the dim light.
Gracie knelt and examined the underside. “It’s a real Persian rug,” she gasped. “It has Iranian knots.” She ran her hand over the brilliant colors. “I don’t think it’s even been on the floor.” She glanced up at him. “We should ask the owners before we use this. It’s probably worth some money.”
“They’re on vacation another week. Allie told me Shannon said she’d seen everything in the attic, and we can use whatever we want. So this is good? I kind of like the colors.”
“It fits my plan perfectly.”
A cell phone rang. It wasn’t his. He glanced at Gracie. She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen.The color drained from her face, and her smile went missing. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t recognize the number.” Animation disappeared from her voice like a switch had been thrown. No trace of her confidence remained.
Lonestar Homecoming Page 4