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

by Beth Andrews

  She’d learned to live with it, inside her. But how could she handle it, now that it was outside? Weird, but the story, spoken from her lips, became real—something that really happened and wasn’t just a bad time that existed in the shadowy part of her mind. Like a roman candle, once lit, a chain reaction began; it couldn’t be put back in. And it terrified her.

  Her cell phone blatted the opening bars of “Highway to Hell.” She winced at the irony.

  Jesse chirped, “Hi, sweetie. Get a move on, we’re going shopping.”

  “You must have dialed the wrong number. I don’t shop. Besides, I have a ton of work to do.”

  “Oh, you can work anytime. I don’t get much time off from the diner and I need to buy something to wear for my Fourth of July barbecue. It’s physically impossible for me to go shopping by myself. Really, it’s some kind of genetic deficiency, so you’ve got to go. Think of it as helping the handicapped.”

  Sam took the phone from her ear and stared at it. Distance blurred Jesse’s words into a birdlike chirping. Talking with her was like jumping into a raging river: you didn’t know where it began or ended—best to just let it pick you up and figure things out as you were carried along. She raised the phone, knowing that her friend wouldn’t have noticed her absence.

  “—besides, what are you going to wear? I swear if you show up at my house in jeans and a T-shirt, I’m not letting you in.”

  “If you’d let someone get a word in, you’d save a lot of time. What barbecue? I haven’t heard a thing.”

  “Oh, honey, didn’t I tell you?”

  Sam raised a hand to her suddenly aching head. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

  “Carl and I love to entertain, so when it gets warm, we plan parties. We invite everyone we know and they all bring something to eat. There’ll be music and dancing.”

  Dancing? This was getting worse by the minute.

  “Our parties are legendary. It gives all the women in town a reason to shop for summer clothes. The department stores should be giving me a kickback.”

  “So you have something against T-shirts?” Clothing was not at the top of Sam’s list of priorities, and shopping for it even lower. “You cannot need something new to wear. I know for a fact that you haven’t worn the same outfit twice since I’ve known you. Where do you put all your clothes?”

  “Oh, that’s why I married such a handy guy. Carl remodeled all our bedroom closets to be walk-ins, so I’ve got plenty of room.” Jesse laughed. “Besides, it’s impossible to have too many clothes. Every woman knows that— except for you. I bet all the clothes you own would fit into one closet.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Can’t I just stay home and hit myself in the head with a hammer instead?”

  “If you don’t like shopping, it’s because you haven’t shopped with me before. Be ready, grasshopper.”

  Two hours later, Sam threw herself into a garish orange plastic chair in the food court of the mall in Santa Maria.

  “Have pity and just leave me here to die.” She dropped an armload of colorful shopping bags, and they scattered at her feet. “You didn’t tell me that you only brought me as a beast of burden.” She slumped in the chair, and massaged her sore arches. “Couldn’t you have just rented a burro?”

  “Don’t be silly. You know the only animals allowed in the mall are seeing-eye dogs.”

  Sam was pretty sure she hated Jesse, who looked fresh and cute in tight pink capris, a pink cotton shell and strappy, bejeweled sandals. “How can you look so disgustingly pert? Aren’t you tired? You’re wearing heels, for Chrissake!” She dropped her head on the table.

  “I told you, I’m a professional. I’ll go get you coffee. Then we’ll go buy you something.”

  Sam doubted that even a double shot of espresso would help.

  When Jesse returned, she set a grande and a Danish in front of Sam, and settled in. Sam had seen that look before. The hungry-crow-eyeing-roadkill look. “So. About Nick.”

  Sam was too tired, and knew she’d lose anyway, so she rolled over and showed her belly. “Okay, I had dinner at his house. He’s a great cook.” She sipped her black coffee. “And a better kisser.”

  She ignored her friend’s squeal, but the people at the neighboring tables didn’t.

  “Settle, Yenta. I have questions. And if you’re a friend, you’ll tell me the truth. I deserve to know, in case...” She rolled the hot cup in her hands. “What happened with Nick’s mom?”

  “You’re right. You deserve to know. It’s not my place to tell you.” Jess considered, tapping her nails on the table. “But you could just as easily find out from anyone in town, I guess.

  “It’s not like it’s a huge secret, anyway. We’re just protective of Nick.” Jesse leaned in, lowering her voice. “Nick’s father was a laborer. He worked odd jobs: road construction, fruit packing, janitor, for a while.” She leaned her chin on her hand. “He was sexy. In the way Mediterranean men are sexy—dark skin, romantic eyes and huge biceps. Half the women in town would have left their husbands if he’d wagged his finger. But he didn’t give any of them a look. He was mad for his wife.” A line appeared between her perfectly penciled eyebrows. “Not, ‘Awww, that’s sweet’ mad. I mean as in rabid-dog mad. He was that jealous.

  “Even so, it might have been okay, but the economy went bad. Nick’s dad couldn’t find a job. Heck, no one around here could. But Nick’s mom found one as a barmaid at a biker bar on the other side of the creek.” She winced. “Everyone in town knew of the couple’s fights. Heck, the walls of their old shack were so thin, it’s amazing we couldn’t hear them yelling from town. The cops were called almost every weekend.”

  “How old was Nick?”

  She looked away. “He was fifteen when his father shot his mother dead in the parking lot of that bar.”

  Sam put a hand to her mouth. “Jesus.”

  “Jesus had nothing to do with it.” Her blue eyes sparked. “There were twenty witnesses, and all of them testified at the trial—they were half in love with Traviata Pinelli. Open and shut case. The bastard got twenty to life.”

  Sam wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more. So she whispered. “And Nick?”

  Jess sat up, her jaw tight. “Well, we weren’t going to let the county take him.”

  “Who is ‘we?’”

  “The town, of course. The poor kid had been through enough. He was a good boy, smart and well-mannered. Old Milt Haversham, on the city council, had pull with the county, and backed them off.” Jesse got busy, throwing their trash into a bag in angry spurts. “We all took turns, cooking and leaving food on his doorstep. And money. And wood. It had to get damn cold in that shack in winter. If he caught us at it, he’d turn us away. He was a proud kid. When he applied for a job at Peterson’s Auto Parts, he damned sure got it.”

  The coffee turned sour in Sam’s stomach. She imagined a younger Nick, vulnerable and hurting. She wasn’t the only one with heavy-duty baggage.

  Jesse’s hands stilled. “But I guess the weight of all that history dragged him down. By the time he graduated, he was hanging with the delinquents, running the back roads at night, drinking. He was on a tear. Two years later he blew out of town, and didn’t come back for over a year.”

  She bent to gather her bags. “The guy who came back is pretty much the one you see today. End of story. And if you tell him I told you this, I’ll make you go shopping every weekend between now and the end of the year. Including Black Friday.”

  Sam regarded her over the rim of her latte. “What’s Black Friday?”

  Jesse rolled her eyes. “I’m going to assume that was a joke, and if it’s not, don’t tell me—I can’t take it. Now. You’ve distracted me enough. On to the important stuff.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like whatever’s cooking un
der all that hair?”

  Jesse cocked her head. “You’re already gorgeous. All we need to do is glamorize the package a little. You’ve got good bones. The key to looking good is knowing what plays up your assets.”

  “Yeah, easy for you to say, Miss Priss.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Jesse leaned over the table and got in her face. “I’d kill for your height. I can’t wear a skirt over my knees without looking like a squat toad, and I can forget ever wearing boots. They make my legs look like toothpicks with canapés at the end.”

  Sam had to smile at that.

  “You are what you wear, sweetie. I know you subscribe to Construction Weekly for business, but you really shouldn’t use it for fashion tips. Look, I’ll show you.” Jesse grabbed her hand, dragging her from the chair.

  “Oh, no, not another store. I don’t think I’m up to this, Jesse.”

  “Quit your whining, grasshopper. You are about to get a lesson from the master in the fine art of shopping. Just sit back, observe and hold your applause until we’re done.”

  Jesse marched into the closest boutique and after ten minutes of rifling the racks, selected a blouse and skirt. “Now, try this on, and when you come out, do not look in the mirror. I want to pull this together before I unveil my masterpiece.”

  Sam thought Jesse was getting a little carried away with the drama, but donned the outfit, anyway.

  Jesse stood back, squinting. “Okay, we’re almost done. Come with me.” Jesse grabbed her hand.

  “Wait, Jesse!” Sam grabbed her leather jacket and shrugged into it. She wasn’t leaving the store like this.

  A teenage clerk accosted them as they walked into the crowded mall. “You can’t leave the store wearing clothes you haven’t paid for!” Jesse stopped, but didn’t let go of Sam’s hand.

  “Cindy Boward, you know where I live. I babysat you when you were making messes in your diapers. Do you think I’m going to leave without paying?”

  Passersby sniggered, and the poor girl flushed scarlet.

  “That’ll teach her to interrupt an artiste at work.” Jesse dragged Sam into a shoe store a few doors down from the boutique and plopped her into a chair at the back of the store. She selected a pair of strappy espadrille sandals with tall cork soles from the display and got a sales clerk to dig in the back for a size ten.

  “Jesse, look, I admit you may have something here, but heeled sandals? I’m going to look like an Amazon.”

  “With your long legs? Are you kidding? Every eye in the place will be on you. You’ve got to learn to flaunt what you’ve got, darlin’. And take off that biker jacket.” The clerk returned with the shoes. Sam looked around, thankful that she didn’t know anyone. When she finished tying on the sandals, Jesse pulled her up in front of the tri-fold mirror.

  Sam just stared.

  “You’d look better if you closed your mouth, hon.”

  “I didn’t know...”

  Jesse’d chosen a handkerchief skirt in a red-and-yellow print, with a hem that ended in points from midthigh on one side to midcalf on the other. Jesse pulled the elastic neckline of the white peasant blouse down, leaving her shoulders bare. It ended in a wide-smocked elastic band, mid–rib cage.

  Jesse then looped dangling earrings through Sam’s ears and lifted her hair, pushing it onto the top of her head. “Voilà!” Jesse looked far too smug.

  I look like a magazine model!

  Men will look at you. The little girl’s warning rang in her head. Their eyes will crawl all over you. Sam wrapped her arms around her waist. The thought of flaunting her body—her skin—made her feel a bit queasy.

  “Nick is going drop at your pretty feet.”

  Nick. She’d love to have Nick see her like this. Have his eyes roaming over her. But could she do it?

  Jesse took her hand. “Now. Let’s talk makeup.”

  Just shoot me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BRAKING FOR THE TURN into Widow Grove’s nursery, Sam grabbed Bugs’s collar to brace him. She couldn’t get the image of a grape arbor, growing by the side of the carriage house, out of her head. Ana had told her over coffee on the porch that if Sam didn’t plant soon, she’d have to wait until next year.

  And she wouldn’t be here next year.

  It’ll make a nice feature when I sell the property.

  She parked the Jeep, then snapped the leash to Bugs’s collar. After his excavation in her backyard, not to mention his performance in Ana’s garden, she was convinced this dog was half mole. She wasn’t taking her eye off him near this much loose dirt.

  “Come on, mutt, let’s go.” She opened her arms and he scrambled into them. The Jeep was tall, and his legs were short. Close up, she noticed his skin was a healthy pink, and the bald patches were starting to sprout hair. She grunted, lifting him down. “Another month or so, and you’ll be ready for your debut at the pound, dude.”

  He galloped the few steps to the end of the leash, and looked back, as if telling her to hurry. She’d miss the pain in the ass. It had only been three months, but she could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t been underfoot.

  Maybe she’d pick up some bulbs for Ana, if she could find something the woman didn’t already own. Sam stopped by about once a week, but was no closer to learning why the old woman was so reclusive. She’d invited Ana to come, but wasn’t surprised when she’d declined. But the fear that flashed across her face at the invitation had been very real.

  She and Bugs wandered the outdoor aisles, Sam admiring the myriad choices, Bugs investigating the smells around every display. She had bent to read the label on a grapevine when she felt a touch on her shoulder.

  “Excuse me.” An East Indian accent flowed soft and melodious. “Are you Samantha Crozier?”

  At first, Sam thought a young girl stood next to her. “I am.”

  The soft brown eyes held a woman’s awareness, despite being set in doll-like features. Everything about her seemed soft, from her milk-rich coffee skin, the shiny black hair that fell straight to narrow shoulders, the relaxed linen of her blouse and slacks, to the expensive cordovan loafers on her tiny feet.

  The woman held out a business card. “My name is Bina Rani.”

  Sam took the card, ignoring everything but the title, “Clinical Psychologist.” She stiffened.

  “Nick Pinelli asked me to speak to you.”

  “He did, did he?” Nick spoke with a total stranger about her problems? How dare he?

  The woman backed up a step. “I have upset you. I beg your pardon. He recommended that I talk to you about my house.”

  Sam heard the words through a haze of anger, like the sound of buzzing bees in her head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “My husband and I have bought a Victorian home. It needs a lot of work, and I am looking for a contractor. Nick is our mechanic. He told me about you, and that you own a bulldog. When I saw you with the dog...” Her worried eyes scanned Sam’s face. “Are you all right?”

  A potential client. And Nick had sent her. Embarrassment displaced the anger. Sam felt her heartbeat in her ears. Luckily, her red face could be the product of either. “I’m fine.” She slapped a smile on her face and put out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  The woman’s manicured hand disappeared in Sam’s. Tiny women made her feel a bit like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.

  “Your dog is cute. May I pet him?”

  “Sure. Though ‘cute’ is a bit of a stretch.” She tightened the leash, so the woman wouldn’t get slimed.

  Mrs. Rani squatted to pet Bugs. “We own two dogs, a pug and a Pomeranian. Except they really own us.” She smiled up at Sam. “I’d like to talk to you about my house sometime. We are new in the area. Nick couldn’t say enough nice things about your work.”


  Guilt burned. She knew Nick wouldn’t betray her confidence. Didn’t she? She thought of the deep voice, on the phone at night. His eyes, over wine, at dinner. Yes. She did.

  She forced herself to focus. A potential client, and here she stood, mooning like a girl. “I have some time now. Why don’t you tell me about your house?”

  They strolled the sandy paths between rows of potted plants and Bina explained the work her home needed. They shared stories of falling ceilings, outdated plumbing and problems that came with a century-old home.

  When they reached the end of the last row, Sam stopped. “Are you busy for the next hour or so? I’d love to see your house. Maybe I could give you some quick suggestions on where to start.” This woman was nice and easy to talk to, but Sam realized her offer had more to do with a guilty conscience.

  “Oh, would you? I don’t have any appointments until afternoon, so we’d have plenty of time.” Bina gave Sam directions to her house and they agreed to meet there in a half hour.

  Sam and Bugs returned to the aisles, in search of bulbs and grapevines.

  * * *

  THE RANI HOME perched on a small patch of lawn beside the main street of Widow’s Grove. A Victorian in the Eastlake Cottage style, it was compact but tall, the first story set above a half floor with windows at ground level. Obviously, no renovations had yet been made to the outside—the siding was broken in places and paint peeled away in strips.

  Sam lifted Bugs to the sidewalk, then studied the home. Rickety wooden steps led to the small covered porch, its gingerbread scrollwork missing in places. Small windows graced the square bay turret to the right of the porch, and she’d bet her best sharpening stone that the windows leaked.

  Standing on the sidewalk, she squinted to blur the damage and see the facade as a whole, selecting and discarding ideas to repair it without altering the style or integrity of the period.

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  She jumped. Bugs leapt at Bina, who attempted to fend him off and pet him at the same time.