Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  And wouldn’t her father have hated that?

  He would have hated everything about this house and Shady Grove. Would have hated the life Irene had chosen after he’d died.

  “What did you think of the meatballs?” Irene asked as she put the Parmesan cheese in the stainless-steel fridge. “I used a new recipe.”

  “They were good,” Charlotte said. She nudged Sadie with an elbow.

  Sadie opened her mouth to say they were fine, that they tasted like the same meatballs Irene made every Thursday, but what came out was, “Don’t you get tired of eating the same things week after week?”

  “Really?” Charlotte asked under her breath. “This is something you feel the need to bring up?”

  “What do you mean?” Irene asked Sadie with a confused frown.

  “It’s just so...boring. Meat loaf or steaks or roast beef on Mondays. Chicken on Tuesdays. Pork on Wednesdays. Thursday night is spaghetti, Friday you go out to Horseshoe Manor with the Longs and Kelleys. I bet you order the broiled tilapia every week, too.”

  How could her mother stand living that way? Where was the spontaneity? The fun and excitement. Life was too short and too precious to be so mundane and scheduled.

  Not that Sadie had ever been able to convince Irene of that. She was too stubborn to listen to reason, was always so completely certain she was right, that her way was the one and only way to do something.

  “I like knowing what I’m going to be cooking each day,” Irene said slowly, as if Sadie was the one who had the issue here. “And for your information, we ate at the Wooden Nickel and I had the salmon.”

  For some reason, that tickled Sadie. Her lips quirked. “I stand corrected.”

  Irene ran a hand down the side of her already perfectly smooth hair. “I should hope so.” But she didn’t sound amused or even angry. Worse, much worse, she sounded hurt. “I’ll just bring in the rest of the dishes.”

  “Do you have to antagonize her?” Charlotte asked as soon as they were alone. “It’s like you purposely pick fights just to tick her off.”

  “All I did was ask a simple question.”

  “You asked a question guaranteed to get a rise out of her.”

  That wasn’t true.

  Was it? God, she didn’t even know anymore. She was upset about James, worried about the direction her life was taking and, she realized, guilt making her sick to her stomach, had taken all of that out on her mom.

  “I just don’t understand how she can live this way,” Sadie mumbled. “I wish you could’ve seen her before we moved here. She was so much fun.”

  Sadie remembered those days, moving from town to town, all the wonderful adventures she’d had with her parents. They’d lived all over the country by the time Sadie was nine—New York and Dallas and New Orleans. Every day had been an adventure.

  “She’d been so carefree,” Sadie told her sister, picturing Irene as a young mother, her hair long and loose, her clothes fun and funky. “She used to dance around the living room, throw together dinner out of whatever was in the cupboard, make up endless games. When we moved here, she changed. It’s like she turned into some Stepford wife.”

  And every time Sadie came home, every time she was in Shady Grove, it only reminded her of all she’d lost. Her beloved father, who’d been the light of her life.

  And the woman her mother used to be.

  “Mom’s still plenty fun,” Charlotte insisted, her movements jerky as she shut the dishwasher door, turned the machine on. “But we can’t all live our lives as carefree as you.”

  Sadie’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Some of us have jobs,” Charlotte said, stressing the word. “Responsibilities. People who depend on us.”

  When had Charlotte grown up? Gotten so damned smart and reasonable? Sadie couldn’t argue with a reasonable person. They always tripped up her logic.

  “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t kill her to be spontaneous now and again,” Sadie said. “A person can still have a job—” she mimicked her sister’s tone and how she’d drawn out the word “—responsibilities and all that other stuff and still live a happy life filled with plenty of surprises and carefree moments.”

  “Well, all I’m saying is that it wouldn’t kill you to give Mom a chance. You’re so judgmental.”

  Sadie about choked on her own spit. “Me? I’m judgmental?”

  “Did I stutter? Shall I say it again, this time with a little bit of spontaneity and drama? You,” Charlotte continued, her voice deep and booming as she pointed at Sadie, “are so very judgmental. Emphasis on the mental.”

  “Ha-ha. They teach you that tired joke in college?”

  Charlotte’s lips twitched. “I thought of it all on my own.”

  “I wouldn’t brag about it.” And she was not judgmental. Nor was she the problem here. The problem was her mom always looking down her nose at Sadie and the choices she made.

  “Look,” Charlotte said on a sigh, always the one to give in first, to make concessions, “let’s not fight, okay? We obviously have different opinions on this, but that doesn’t make either of us wrong.” She waited a beat. “Except you.”

  “Except you,” Sadie said at the same time.

  They both grinned.

  “No more fighting,” Sadie agreed. “And as a show of good faith, I’ll even promise that I will do my best not to antagonize, provoke or poke at our mother during the remainder of my stay in Shady Grove.”

  “It’s a spaghetti-day miracle.”

  “Amen,” Sadie said. “Hey, tomorrow’s my first night at O’Riley’s. If you’re not working, stop by. It’d be nice to see a friendly face.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see plenty of friendly faces, many that you know. Besides, tomorrow I’m looking at a house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m buying a house.”

  “What?” Sadie asked. How could her sister buy a house? She was only twenty-four. Was that even legal? “A whole house?”

  “No, part of a house,” Char said drily. “I thought I’d start with just the bedroom and bathroom and see how I like it.”

  “I’m just...you’re so young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Are you sure you want that kind of commitment?”

  But the thought of it, the idea of a house to maintain, of a mortgage and taxes and yard work and being stuck in the same place year after year after year didn’t give Sadie the creeps the way it used to. It actually sounded sort of...nice.

  Too bad the house she pictured as her own was a log home filled with brown furniture. Too bad it already belonged to James.

  And she wasn’t going to think about him. Not after he’d blown her off, had tossed aside their friendship not once, but twice.

  “I want a home of my own,” Charlotte said firmly. “And I found a great place by the river. It’s not too big, not too small, and it has the best kitchen and a yard.”

  “Before you put any money down on it, even one cent, have a building inspector look at it.”

  Charlotte leaned back against the counter, rubbed at a spot on her shorts. “Actually, I’m doing better than that. James said he’d look at it for me.”

  “James is helping you?” Sadie asked. “My James?”

  Charlotte sent her an amused look. “Yes, your friend James. We’re going there tomorrow evening.”

  So that was why Charlotte had been at Bradford House the other day bearing cookies. Not to see Maddie—which hadn’t made sense to Sadie anyway—but to bribe James into helping her.

  Not that she’d needed the bribe. James was a good guy, a sweet one, always ready and willing to lend someone a hand.

  And he was spending Friday evening with her sister. Helping Charlotte.

  When h
e couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Sadie.

  Her stomach burned. Her throat hurt. She averted her gaze, pretended great interest in looking around the kitchen. “Have you seen Elvis?”

  “I believe he’s left the building.” Char smiled widely at her own lame joke. “Dad took him out back.”

  “I’d better go check on them.”

  She kept her movements unhurried as she went into the family room and out through the sliding glass doors to the covered porch. The sun reflected off the crystal water of the inground pool, the deep green of the professionally manicured lawn. Shielding her eyes, she crossed the yard toward the spot where her stepfather stood.

  Will still had his work clothes on—black pants and a short-sleeved white button-down shirt—though he’d removed his tie. He had a ring of dark auburn hair around the crown of his head, like a halo that had fallen and gotten stuck there. The top was shiny and smooth and bald as a baby’s bottom.

  He whipped a thick, braided rope in the air. Elvis, sitting by Will’s feet, watched it fly and land near her mother’s garden shed.

  Will looked down at the dog. “I think you’re missing the whole point.”

  Elvis licked himself.

  “Ah, well. I guess I don’t blame you,” he said, taking something from his shirt pocket. “I throw the rope. You bring it back. I throw it again. It does seem like a fruitless endeavor.”

  He unwrapped a chocolate bar and bit into it.

  Grinning, Sadie crept up behind him, her bare feet sinking into the cool grass. “Busted,” she whispered into Will’s ear.

  He whirled around, his green eyes wide behind his glasses. Looked at her then the candy then her again. Held his hands up. “It’s not mine,” he said solemnly. “I’m just holding it for a friend.”

  “Oh, I believe you. But if you plan on fooling Mom, you’ll need to wipe that spot of chocolate from the corner of your mouth.”

  Using the pad of his thumb, he wiped both corners of his mouth. Smiled and gave a sheepish shrug, his tall frame still thin thanks to his thrice-weekly tennis game. “She’ll know anyway. Your mother always knows.”

  “True. So true.”

  Even though his physician had put him on a strict diet to try to get his cholesterol levels under control, Will was having a hard time giving up sweets. Irene had stopped baking desserts for every meal and had stocked the fridge and pantry with healthy options.

  When she found out he’d snuck candy into the house—or, in this case, onto the property—she’d pick what hair he had left off his head.

  “You’re a brave man,” Sadie told him. “Risking the wrath of Irene.”

  He handed her a piece of chocolate, saluted her with the bar. “A man only lives once.”

  “I’ll eat to that.”

  The rich, dark chocolate melted on her tongue. Part of her wanted to snatch the candy from Will, and not just because it was good, but to keep him safe. Healthy.

  She didn’t want to lose another father.

  Not that she’d ever let Will know how much he meant to her, how much she appreciated him treating her like his own daughter. She couldn’t. To do so seemed disrespectful to Victor’s memory.

  Still, there were a few things she could thank him for.

  “I really appreciate you letting Elvis and me stay here.”

  “My pleasure.” He winked at her. “Taking a daily antihistamine is a small price to pay for having you home.”

  He was such a nice man. Kind and patient. He reminded her a lot of James.

  And damn it, she wasn’t going to think about James anymore. Not after losing sleep over him again last night. Not after she’d finally drifted off around four that morning only to dream of him—hot, sweaty dreams of the way he’d touched her. Kissed her. Dreams she should not be having about someone who was just a friend.

  “How’s the search going for Elvis’s family?” Will asked.

  “Not so well. His picture’s been in the paper for three days and no one’s called yet.”

  “Why don’t you let me pay to have his picture put into a few papers in some of the surrounding towns and Pittsburgh?”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She thought of the cost. Money she could ill afford to spend. She hated borrowing money from her mom and Will, had already had to do so to buy supplies for Elvis.

  She couldn’t even take care of herself. It was beyond embarrassing. This wasn’t the first time she’d been down on her luck and flat broke, but it was the first time she’d had to ask for someone else’s assistance in getting back up.

  It was the first time she wondered if she’d be able to get back up at all.

  But for Elvis, she’d lower herself to asking for help. For a handout. She had to do whatever she could to help him find his family. To help him get back what he’d lost.

  “Thanks,” she said to Will, “I’ll pay you back. Every penny.”

  “Sadie, I don’t expect you to—”

  “I’ll pay you back.” Luckily she was working at O’Riley’s over the weekend. It wouldn’t be much, but it would help put a dent in what she owed.

  And she could start saving to leave.

  “I heard there’s going to be an opening for a receptionist at the medical building,” Will said. “If you’re interested.”

  “I am.” At this point she was interested in pretty much anything except maybe pole dancing and animal husbandry.

  And she’d consider the animal husbandry if the pay was good.

  “It won’t be available for two weeks, but you could get your application in now.”

  Two weeks? Crap. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Especially when it was the first job opening she’d heard about that she was qualified for.

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow, first thing in the morning,” she said as the sliding doors opened and Irene came outside walking toward them, the house phone in her hand.

  Sadie stood in front of Will with her hand behind her back. He tucked the candy wrapper in her palm, stepped smoothly to the side.

  “Is that for me?” he asked.

  “Actually, it’s for Sadie.” She held out the phone. “It’s Frank Montesano.”

  Frank was calling? For her?

  Sadie took the phone, turned her back to her parents. “Hello?”

  “Sadie,” he said, his voice booming over the phone. “It’s Frank. I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

  “Not at all. Is everything all right?” Had something happened to James?

  “Everything’s fine. I was wondering if I could possibly interest you in a job.”

  * * *

  FRIDAY MORNING, JAMES strolled across the parking lot toward the shop as he checked the local forecast on his phone. Years ago, when his father had started the company, he’d built a shop behind his house. The original building—two stories and large enough to hold two semi trucks—had gone through several changes, most notably the addition of an office where Rose worked as office manager.

  His agenda clear in his mind, what he had to get done already prioritized, James switched over to his messages, catching up on a few he’d missed. He had the day’s schedule both on his phone and in his hand on paper. After assigning the workers to their jobs, he needed to stop by the Carlisles’, check on the progress of their foundation. He also needed to drop off the Websters’ estimate and order the lumber for Mrs. Kline’s cupboards.

  Inside the shop was where Eddie—the best at finish work—made one-of-a-kind built-ins, entertainment centers and bookcases, cabinets, vanities and occasionally even furniture. It was also where James, Maddie and their father built stair treads and measured and cut countertops. Across the paved lot, a two-story warehouse housed lumber, doors and w
indows and all supplies kept on hand. Next to it was an oversize garage that held three flatbed trucks used for hauling that lumber or supplies to and from jobs.

  It was, James had to admit, a very nice setup for a thriving business like this one. One his father had built—ha-ha—from the ground up, starting with a workshop in the basement of his and Rose’s first house.

  James often wondered how he’d gotten to be a part of it, how he’d gotten to take on so much responsibility. Without planning to, he’d ended up an integral part of Montesano Construction. Now, for better or worse, it was his life. Or at least a big chunk of it.

  He wasn’t sure how the hell he felt about that.

  He inserted his key into the lock on the door only to discover the handle turned easily. Frowning, he stepped inside. The lights were off, the interior dim and cool. It smelled of stale air and sawdust, a light coating of which covered the concrete floor, machines and workstations.

  He squeezed the key in his hand until the edges bit into his skin. He was going to kill Eddie for not locking up. Swear to God, if so much as one board was missing, he was kicking his brother’s ass.

  Not that anything seemed out of place, and with the shop being behind his parents’ house, they would have noticed if anyone had come and gone—especially if that person was carting machines or supplies. Relaxing his grip, James pocketed the keys. And noted the scent of coffee.

  What the hell?

  He wound his way around the machines toward the rear of the building, turned the corner to the addition where the office, a small bathroom and kitchenette were and found the lights on.

  And Elvis lying on the floor next to the metal desk.

  He hated to repeat himself but...

  What. The. Hell.

  He heard a sound to his right, turned and gaped at Sadie as she came out of the kitchenette, his favorite mug in one hand, a scone in the other.

  “Morning, Jamie,” she said, as chirpy as a freaking bird. “Coffee?”