He pushed off the ladder and tried to keep his voice even. “Frankie, you won’t get in trouble for trying to help. You’ve done the best you can. This is not your responsibility. Those boys need help. And you don’t know for sure what will happen. They could keep them together.”
Her brow furrowed and she began raking again in slow, short pulls. “I’m trying to help them. I just want to look into a few more things and see if I can make sure they get to stay together.”
Ryan shook his head and wrapped his hand around the rake, forcing her to stop.
“You cannot possibly want three boys living in your house,” he said.
“I don’t know what I want, Captain Grumpy. I just know I can’t throw them out on the street or let someone split them up when they’ve been through hell trying to stay together. I can’t send them off and just forget they were here. That they…”
“They what?”
She looked down. “That they make me feel like I have a purpose. Even if just a temporary one.”
Their hands touched where each of them held tight to the rake. He didn’t want to feel this spark, a connection. Leaves danced across the yard.
His heart clenched hard, making it difficult to speak. He tried to lighten the tone. “Captain Grumpy? What are you, twelve?”
“Just don’t say anything, okay? When Mister Mayor takes you out for your manly beer and tries to figure out how he knows you, don’t say a word about the boys. Please. And hey, why do you look so familiar?” She poked his chest with her free hand.
“Maybe I just have one of those faces,” he said, trapping her hand against his chest. The scent of fall, leaves, and cold earth swirled around them. Her eyes were darker than he’d thought, like they had layers of blue on blue.
“Ha. Yeah. I’ll say you have one of those faces,” she said, her tone was too wary to be complimentary.
Ignoring his better judgment, he moved his hand up on the rake and covered her small fist. Heat crept along his forearm, radiating all the way through him. He didn’t like it, yet he stepped closer.
“You like my face, Frankie?” He leaned down and heard her intake of breath. He didn’t know which one of them was worse at walking away from the temptation.
She flexed her fingers on the hand that was now flat against his chest. She ran her hand up, sparks following her fingers. His gut tightened with the awareness of how effortlessly sexy she was. He heard his heart, her breathing, as she went up on tiptoe. Her lips grazed his ear. A lesser man would have shivered at the sensation of that mouth against his skin. Ryan stood still, holding his breath.
“A lot more than your attitude,” she whispered, giving him a gentle shove and pulling her hand out from under his. She walked into the house, shutting the door loudly. Ryan stood, staring after her, his hand still wrapped around the wood.
Chapter 10
“How come I gotta go and they don’t?” Miles whined from the backseat. Frankie didn’t know if he was supposed to have a car seat so she’d believed him when he said no. He was pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. He didn’t like anything too close to his neck, which meant that he didn’t have his jacket zipped all the way either. She had never considered that being around kids would take so much brainpower. Zipped, not zipped, and how late is too late? Worrying about what they were doing, how they were doing it and if, somehow, what they were doing was going to follow them throughout the whole of their lives, drained Frankie’s energy.
She’d been avoiding phone calls from her mother, her brother, and her dad. Chloe had promised not to say anything for now and admitted that Frankie’s mother had been hounding her for information. Frankie knew it wasn’t fair to keep her family in the dark, but until she knew what she wanted to do, she didn’t want someone else telling her what decisions to make. Ryan, of course, knew everything as well. Thankfully, he’d kept his judgment to a minimum and the obvious admiration he felt about her decision was a boost to her ego. She might not know much about kids, but now that Miles was feeling better, she knew he needed to be in school.
“Because you’re registered at West Lake Elementary and they aren’t. Plus, you’re easier to boss around,” she answered, glancing in the rear view then back at the road. The traffic was light. She wondered how many kids went to school in this town. Mostly a farming community, it was on the outskirts of Minnesota; one of many small towns that surrounded Duluth. Kind of like a ring of small town protection with the big city in the middle.
“Travis used to go to West Lake Junior. How come he don’t gotta go?” Miles said a minute later. His mouth was scrunched up into a pout that made Frankie smile quietly. According to Travis, he’d decided that distance education courses suited him better. Frankie wasn’t sure about that but it was better than Carter’s choice, which had been to quit before going to eleventh grade. She was shocked that they considered school at all, given everything else they’d dealt with.
“Listen, I’m not used to having three boys around. You have to be my helper, okay? Give me a break,” she told him.
Eight year olds had compassion, right? She pulled into the school parking lot, waited for the bus to pull ahead, and found a spot. Kids were walking with friends and parents. One little girl was pushing a stroller while her mom walked behind her, travel mug in hand, chatting with a friend. Frankie’s stomach tipped side to side, like a boat in uneasy waters. She turned around to see that Miles had taken off his seatbelt, turned his body, and shoved his face into the back of the seat. She could see his profile. Sighing, she turned her body and rested her chin on her seat.
“I don’t want to go,” he mumbled.
“I know. But you have to. If you don’t get back to school, your teacher will wonder why,” Frankie said. Her chest ached. She didn’t remember being eight but she was pretty sure she was a happy kid. She had two parents who loved her and a brother who loved torturing her, and most of the time, she had loved school. She’d lived in a great big house that she’d thought her parents could afford. She’d never lacked for food or clothes or anything necessary. She often got to sneak around at fancy, adult parties that seemed glamorous. She knew better now, knew that it was all for show, but at the time, she’d been blissfully unaware. But Miles’s life wasn’t that simple and she had to remember that. Miles turned his face, his watery eyes wide, and his nose, a little red, scrunched up.
“She knows I was sick.”
“Okay. But she’s probably worried and wondering if you’re okay now. And you are. And when you’re okay, you go to school.”
Which was what she would be explaining to the other two when she got back to the house. Ryan’s insistence that the boys shouldn’t be lazing around while she pretended her life hadn’t been upended by discovering them was a wake-up call. Another had been the drop by from the attractive and surprisingly young mayor. The boys had come inside, worry creasing their faces when they’d seen his car. They’d asked if she’d called the mayor to come get them. Frankie didn’t even know if someone could do that, but she didn’t like the fear they’d expressed.
So she’d gone out and made sure Ryan hadn’t said anything. But it was a reminder that she had to make a decision. She didn’t want anyone with authority calling the shots and possibly splitting up the boys. Cameron Ross wore his authority like he wore his expensive suits: like a perfect-fitting glove.
Frankie was certain that if she could just talk to someone in child services in person, she would be able to explain how important it was for these boys to stay together. Maybe she should get to know Cameron a little better. She’d have phoned her parents to ask for advice, but she knew what it would be: Call social services. Not yet.
“Frankie?” Miles said quietly, pulling her out of her own head.
“Yeah?” He looked up at the roof of her car as if he was studying the interior light.
“You gonna pick me up?”
“Yup. At 3:00.” She kept looking at him but he didn’t look back.
“Like for real? You
ain’t gonna leave me here?” His voice was so small and fragile when he said it that Frankie didn’t know if she could answer without choking on the lump in her throat. She swallowed before pasting a smile on her face.
“Look at me, Miles.” He glanced at her but went back to looking at the roof. “My dad always told me never to make a promise unless you knew you could keep it. He said there’re so many other ways to say something, like I’ll try, I’ll do my best, or we’ll see. But he said that if a person gives their word, they need to be sure they can keep it.” She wondered if that was too much for an eight year old. But then he lowered his gaze and locked his chocolate brown eyes on hers, so she continued. Her throat thickened.
“I will be here to pick you up at 3:00. You have my word,” she said. His little lips pushed together like he was puckering them.
“You promise?”
“I promise.” He held out his hand and she realized that he was waiting for her to shake on it. So she did. Then she watched, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, as he grabbed the lunch kit she’d found in Beth’s cupboard that morning, and let himself out of the car. He ran toward the rectangular, brick building. He wasn’t three steps onto the walkway when he ran into a boy he must have known. They smiled at each other and walked the rest of the way up the path together, toward the stairs and double doors. Frankie wiped the tears before they fell.
Chapter 11
When she returned to the house, she was pleased to see a note from Travis saying that he had gone to the library and dragged Carter with him. Frankie didn’t know how long she could let them stay but while they were here, she needed to keep a steady routine. If she didn’t balance her renovations with her writing schedule, she’d get behind. Especially if she was carting Miles back and forth to school. She worried about Carter, but, she wasn’t so old that she couldn’t remember being sixteen. The more she pushed, the more Carter would push back. Hadn’t she moved into this dilapidated shack just because her father had laughed at the very idea? The memory of it still grated on her nerves.
His laugh had faded quickly when she’d held her ground.
“You can’t be serious, Frances,” her dad had said, leaning back in his leather chair. Even with his hair graying on top, he was an attractive man. As his wife expected him to do, he kept his figure trim. Frankie noticed age and fatigue creasing the corners of his eyes.
She held her gaze steady and her shoulders back. “I am. I’m tired of doing nothing. I feel like I’m just floating; that nothing I do matters.”
“You volunteer at the art gallery. You help your mother with her charities and you have your writing hobby.”
Neither the gallery where she helped out two days a week nor her mother’s many charities would miss her presence. Shaking her head, willing him to understand, she stepped closer to his desk. “It’s not enough. I need something…real. I need to know that I belong somewhere. I just don’t feel like it’s here.”
“And how does Robert feel about moving to the middle of nowhere? Into a dilapidated house, no less.” He linked his fingers, resting them under his chin, keeping his voice calm, placating her. Frankie shuffled her feet and broke eye contact.
“He won’t be coming with me. I…I gave back the ring,” she said.
He’d stared, mouth open, waiting for her to tell him she was joking. But she hadn’t been. She didn’t want to hurt Robert, but he wasn’t even surprised when she’d told him. He’d easily find another woman who fit well into his social calendar and lifestyle.
Frankie’s need to leave had been a living thing. When her car had crossed the first state line, she’d felt like she could actually breathe. “And look at me now,” she mumbled. There was a smile on her lips as she opened up her laptop.
Four emails from her editor reminded her that she needed to get some articles in before she was fired. Fired didn’t pay bills. Luckily, the articles she wrote for various magazines and the illustrating she’d started doing for picture books did. A new email popped up, letting her know she had a Google Chat meeting later in the week. She met online with several editors each month to review concepts, articles, and story ideas. She liked that every job was different, and she was okay with the uncertainty of it as long as money was coming in. Her parents had thought it was a nice hobby, but often wondered if there were better ways she could spend her time. Such as marrying a well-off man who helped her maintain the lifestyle they’d accustomed her to.
Meaning only to do a quick scan of today’s status updates, Frankie logged onto Facebook. Almost immediately, her messenger window popped up. Chloe’s name appeared at the top of the box.
Chloe: I MISS YOU!
Frankie: Lol. I miss you too. What have you been up to?
Chloe: Work, blah, blah, never mind me. How’s the sticks?
A funny gif of one of the three pigs building a house out of straw popped up.
Frankie: Nice. It’s hardly the sticks. Come visit and you’ll see.
Chloe: Working on it. How’s hot neighbor?
Frankie: What hot neighbor?
Chloe: Very funny. Spill.
She thought about her interactions with Ryan so far.
Frankie: Nothing to tell, my friend. I have to go. Seriously. I’m on deadline. I love you. I’ll text you later.
Chloe: I know a retreat when I read one.
Frankie: <3
If she couldn’t get her thoughts and feelings settled in her own head, she shouldn’t be messaging about them. Though, that was the benefit of having a best friend. Texts and messages were great, but Frankie missed Chloe’s voice. Get to work. She really did need to focus. She sent a quick email to Laura, her editor at Glam-Her, and embarrassed herself with one of her least favorite clichés: promising to ‘get on the ball.’ Opening a word document, she closed her eyes briefly and began typing. She’d been gathering notes for her latest article and, of course, could speak from personal experience on this one.
The Long Wait
Tips for Tiding Yourself Over During Dry Spells
We all know the most obvious solution to a dry spell, but sometimes these things cannot be avoided. In our times of need, there are some sexy substitutes that can…ahem…get you stimulated.
* * *
Okay. She wouldn’t be winning Pulitzers but the bottom line was people read these articles. She wrote them well and had thousands of followers on her blog site and Twitter and through different magazine website blogs. She received emails from many of her readers telling her that she’d helped. She might not be willing to read an article aloud at a family dinner, but she knew they were good.
* * *
Long lonely nights have you doing one of two things: taking care of yourself or looking for the wrong person to fill the void. The former is preferable to the latter.
* * *
The squeaky chime of the doorbell punctuated the end of her sentence. Pushing back from her spot at the kitchen table, she told herself that she’d tried to work. She’d even started. Not her fault she had to answer the door. When she did, her traitorous stomach flip-flopped. Ryan looked down at her, a frown on his full lips, like somehow she’d already pissed him off. She wasn’t sure what his problem was—he’d all but run from her last time she’d stepped too close. She didn’t want to like him. He’d certainly given her reason not to. But he’d also shown concern and kindness, more than once.
“Did you know you scowl? It’s like a default expression,” she said, since he wasn’t saying anything.
He scowled more. “I do not.”
“Okay. Next time I’ll answer the door with a mirror. What’s up?”
Without asking, he stepped into the house. His nearness made her skin feel too tight. Her mind strayed to her article as she shut the door behind him, admiring the way he looked in his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. She made a mental note to include fantasizing as a tip.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. She had her bottom lip in her teeth and hadn’t real
ized she was looking at him at all. Whoops.
“Why are you here?” Redirection was the best offense. Or was it a defense?
“I wondered if the older kid wanted some work. Carter?”
“Aw, you like him!”
His scowl returned and he practically growled, “Jesus. You’re this generation’s Mary Poppins. I want someone to help me clean up my garage. It’s not a damn Oprah special. It’s work I don’t want to do.”
“You swear a lot.”
He arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips as he looked around the room, which she had already painted along with her bedroom. She had a long list of things that still needed to be done.
“You sound like my mother,” he returned. It was Frankie’s turn to scowl. “Just what every girl wants to hear.” She batted her eyelashes at him dramatically and then walked toward the kitchen.
She needed a drink. And some space. Opening the fridge, she turned to ask if he wanted some water. Because, unlike him, she had manners. How had he followed her without making a sound? And why had he gone straight to her laptop? She wondered if she could crawl inside of the fridge until he left. Or maybe if she stood still, he’d just go home. Shutting the fridge with more force than she’d meant to, she set two glasses on the counter, telling herself there was no reason to be embarrassed. She made a good, honest living writing those articles. And what did he do to pay for that fancy house and car?
“Dry spell?” he asked, a hearty chuckle bringing out a smile that was far too sexy for the conversation. She averted her eyes and finished pouring water, for herself only.
“It’s for work,” she replied, her voice stiff. He stepped closer to her and she busied herself taking a long drink of water. His brown eyes were full of humor and it was difficult not to smile. But she managed.
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