“Paid in full,” she said a few moments later, waving the paper in front of Rufus’s nose. As usual, he was perched on his stool, intently assembling a new Dreamhouse. “Three to Colorado. One to New Hampshire. Two to Texas,” she bragged. “How cool is that?”
He pushed his clear goggles to the top of his head and removed his earplugs. “You’re dying to say, ‘I told you so,’ aren’t you?” he asked, spinning to face her.
“Yes. But I’m far too mature. I’ll settle for doing a happy dance.” To prove it, she broke into a silly, silent soft-shoe that made him chuckle.
“Good thing I’ve been stockpiling these.” He looked at the clock that had appeared on the wall that morning. “Are you going to try to ship them today? I’ll help you carry the boxes up to the house for Clive.”
She’d had her first face-to-face with the letter carrier yesterday. “Yes. Clive. I had no idea men could be such big gossips.”
Rufus’s presence might have made the transaction go more smoothly, since quite a few of Clive’s probing questions had been about Rufus and his new business.
Rufus didn’t comment, but he did stand, forcing her to take a step back. They’d both been extra careful to keep their contact strictly professional.
“Any help would be great,” she said, heading toward the area where Rufus stored his finished products. “A quick turnaround will impress the buyers and foster potential referrals. With any luck, they’ll chat us up to their friends.”
“On Facebook?”
She’d shown him a couple of her social networking sites yesterday, after she’d gotten the DSL connected. “Maybe. Or Twitter.”
He didn’t say anything. She got the impression the jury was still out on whether he considered this connection to the outer world a good thing or bad.
“Which ones are going out?” he asked.
Metal shelves had been erected against three walls with two large tables in the center of the room. The place was neat, but his method of organization escaped her completely. Instead of numbering each unit, as she’d suggested, he named them. Sunshine was on the left, one shelf above Air. While he could operate on memory, she was forced to zigzag around like a disoriented bee collecting pollen. Body contact was almost impossible to avoid.
“Oomph,” Rufus grunted when his shoulder grazed hers.
“Should we take turns next time?”
She was kidding but he seemed serious when he muttered, “Good idea.”
Once all six were assembled, he wrapped his arms around four and walked to the door. He waited for her to grab the other two. She carried her load quite effortlessly, but she noticed he was showing signs of exertion by the time they reached the second floor.
“You haven’t had time to look in to my dumbwaiter idea, have you?” he said, carefully setting his load on the shipping desk. They’d had this conversation earlier when discussing logistics. The storage area was convenient for him but too small a space to store peripheral necessities such as boxes, packing peanuts and his printer.
“I checked several sites. The new ones aren’t cheap, but I’ll keep looking. Even wholesale, they’ll probably run a couple of grand.”
“That might be worthwhile if I planned on making a career of this,” he said, his tone pensive.
She grabbed one of the flattened boxes she’d picked up at the post office the day before and popped it open. One size, one rate. “What do you mean?”
“I told you. The money I make from these goes to Stephen’s House. Once it’s up and running…” He shrugged. “Who knows what will happen after that?”
Yeah, yeah, she understood his present needs. Noble and selfless, she got that. But surely that didn’t mean this was a one-shot deal. She couldn’t fathom putting so much time and effort into building a company then simply letting it go. “So…you see yourself getting bored with Dreamhouses and maybe branching out? No pun intended.”
Her smile faltered when he turned to face her. “You’re young and ambitious. You wouldn’t understand.”
That stung. When her father was unjustly accused of molesting a young client, her mother would send Rachel to bed so she could call Jack, who was in college, and tell him all the details Mom deemed inappropriate for Rachel to hear. “You wouldn’t understand, dear,” Mom had always said.
But Rachel did understand. Because she’d sneak down the hall to eavesdrop. That’s how she learned about the lawsuit. Later, her snooping revealed her father’s cancer, and, after a certain point, she overheard him tell her mother about his decision to decline treatment.
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Yeah, right. I’m practically a child. A college-graduate, self-employed, divorced kid. I might lack experience in certain matters, but don’t tell me I lack empathy. I’m not your partner in this business, but I do have a certain vested interest given the amount of time I’ve spent working on selling you. The least you can do is keep me abreast of your long-term strategy. Or lack of one.”
He stretched his neck like a man who had been hunched over a workbench too long. “I told you. I have a goal, not a plan.” He held up his hands. She noticed for the first time a couple of adhesive bandages. “Physically, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it up.”
She fought an irrational desire to kiss his ouchies. A motherly thing to do and she was not the motherly type. Instead of comforting him, she tried to think logically. “You could hire someone to help you. A protégé. All the great masters had them. He or she could assemble the base unit and you could add that special Rufus Miller touch.”
His left eyebrow cocked in a way she’d come to know meant bemusement. “And where would I find such a person?”
“I don’t know, but I could ask Char. She works with lots of artists. Or maybe the local colleges have art departments that offer internships.”
His lips pulled to one side, confirming once again in her mind how much better he’d look without facial hair.
An idea that had been dancing around in her mind all morning suddenly launched itself on to her tongue. “You know…if money is an issue, and I certainly do get that it is, I might have a way to add to your coffers.” She wouldn’t have considered the idea if not for the e-mail she received the night before from Trevor. Her ex wanted to buy “his” Porsche back from her, and he was willing to pay top dollar. Apparently he’d won a couple of big tournaments recently and was feeling flush. That was okay with her. In fact, giving it back felt rather liberating, although she couldn’t say exactly why.
“Like what?” Rufus asked.
“I need a date to my brother’s wedding and I’d be willing to pay for an escort.” She held up her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. How could anybody be so desperate they’d pay good money for fake companionship? Well, real companionship, but fake fraternity.”
Was that the right word? Probably not, but she hadn’t had time to prepare a well-thought out argument.
“What’s the answer?”
“Pardon?”
“How could you be so desperate?”
“Oh. One word. Mom. She loves me but she’s constantly trying to fix me. Not fix me up, although finding the right mate for me is never far from her mind. Mostly, she doesn’t think I’m capable of navigating a proper course to personal fulfillment without the steady hand of a man at the helm.”
She laughed at his look of horror. She hurried to reassure him. “I love her. Really. I do. She wants the best for me. We simply don’t agree what that is. And if I come to the wedding with a date, your presence would take the focus off the fact that I’m alone, and switch it to how absolutely wrong you are for me.”
She kept her tone light, but she was serious.
She fully expected him to say no. So when he asked, “How much?” she nearly fell over.
“Good question. What’s the going rate for a date these days? I don’t want to insult you. How ’bout two hundred dollars?” She was getting a lot more for the Porsche than she’d hoped, she could affor
d to waste a little bit.
“Make it five and I’ll go to the party, too.”
The party was Libby and Cooper’s holiday bash. Obviously, he’d overheard her babbling about it in an online interface she’d had with Char.
Five hundred dollars. He’d made it clear the money he was working so hard to procure was going toward a good cause, not to put new tires on his old truck. “Okay. It’s a deal. On one condition.”
He waited, eyes narrowed.
“You shave.”
His lips pursed again. Such nice, masculine lips. She wished kissing him wasn’t on her “Threat Level: Orange” list of no-nos.
“Deal. On one condition.” He looked serious. “No pictures of me. Zero. Zip. Nada.”
She couldn’t imagine why that was so important but she certainly didn’t plan to argue. “I can live with that. Libby assured me she’s only invited family and close friends. And Kat and Jack aren’t famous so there won’t be any paparazzi at the wedding.”
Her mother would be aghast at Rachel’s choice of date, beard or no beard, but Rachel couldn’t wait to see Rufus’s face sans whiskers. In fact, she was a little giddy imagining how he’d look.
“So,” she said, “let’s get this show on the road. I don’t want to miss Clive. Maybe you should let the dogs out so they can tree him.”
Rufus laughed for real. “He hasn’t gotten out of his truck without me present since Rat-Girl moved in.”
“I love that dog. Did you know she’s started napping on my toes when I’m sitting at the computer? Warm and sweet. I’m really touched.”
He looked at her feet. When his gaze made the return trip, it seemed to slow and study her with a certain wistfulness or longing. He caught her watching, though, and quickly reached for a packing box. Maybe he had his own Threat Levels going on.
Half an hour later, Rufus watched as Rachel charmed the often brusque and grouchy letter carrier with an ease Rufus had never possessed—even when he was at the top of his popularity and people competed to please him.
He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to Rachel’s request to be an escort. Probably something to do with the way she’d characterized her mother. He’d heard a hint of ache beneath her bravado and understood all too well. Rufus had had someone like that in his life for a time—by choice, not by birth, which probably made him some kind of masochist.
Marianne Diminici, his ex-agent, was known as The Great White in Gucci. She’d spelled out her business philosophy from the day he signed with her. “Never forget that handsome men are everywhere. The day you stop making me money is the day I drop you.”
She’d made good on that promise while Rufus was still in the hospital recovering from surgery. She’d sent him flowers, a very large check and a short note.
It was good while it lasted.
M.
Looking at Rachel, he wondered what his life would have been like if he’d gone the normal route: college, marriage, kids and career. Fame and fortune didn’t guarantee happiness. That much he knew for certain.
“A good day all around, wouldn’t you say?” she said, rejoining him with a satisfied smile on her face as Clive’s truck pulled out of the driveway.
He agreed but didn’t say so. “When’s the party?”
Her slight hesitation made him think she might be regretting their bargain. “Tomorrow night. Sixish. Not much time, huh? Do you…need anything?” The pink in her cheeks from the chilly breeze turned a slightly deeper shade. “Like clothes? This isn’t black tie or anything, but my dress is sorta glitzy. I wouldn’t want you to feel out of place.”
She was beautiful when she was flustered. She had no way of knowing he had an entire walk-in closet filled with high-end designer clothes, including shoes that cost more than the entire shipment that just left.
She clapped her hands to her face. “Oh, pooh. Don’t listen to me. Wear whatever you like. And you don’t have to shave if you don’t want to. Really. That was rude and insensitive on my part. I must have been channeling Mom. I’m thankful you agreed to go with me.”
Rufus ran his fingers over his beard. He hadn’t intentionally set out to create a new persona when he moved here, but as his hair grew back after his chemo treatments, he’d found comfort in the normalcy it provided. Long hair hid his scars; a beard made him look less gaunt after the considerable weight loss. Now, both were conveniences that kept people at bay. Everyone except Rachel.
“I’ll shave.”
She still looked worried. “My mother tends to put a lot of stock in appearances, but I don’t. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe. So, please, don’t change a single thing about yourself for my sake.” She reached out and touched his arm. “And I promise to do my best not to let her hurt your feelings.”
That made him smile. She was worried about him. When was the last time someone worried about how he felt? He couldn’t remember.
“I lived in New York. Thick skin comes with the territory.”
Her relief was obvious, but he could tell she still had reservations. He could have cited examples of the reviews he’d received over the years:
“His nose is too large.”
“His ears are too small.”
“His ass is great but there’s a tiny bit of muscle bulk on his upper thigh I’d like him to lose. By Friday.”
The last edict had been issued by an art director on a Wednesday. Rufus had laughed. Marianne had actually called around to see if there was such a thing as instant liposuction of muscle.
Rachel shifted from side to side, drawing his attention to the fact that she wasn’t dressed in five layers of wool, as he was. She wore black pants and boots, but she’d left her jacket in the shop. Her Nordic design sweater had nice lines but didn’t look very warm.
“Cup of tea?” he asked, his voice catching slightly.
She hadn’t been inside the main house since that accidental-naked-bathtub moment.
Her gaze shot toward the house. “Oh. Uh…no, thanks. I think I’ll head into Rapid. A few last-minute gifts for my future nephews.”
Kat’s sons. Rufus had seen them from a distance. They looked like nice kids. The younger one reminded him of his brother.
He walked beside her as they hurried toward the shop. Curious, he asked, “What are you buying them?”
“Mother got them a Wii. Do you know what that is?”
He nodded, amused rather than put out that she assumed he was commercially illiterate.
“I told her I’d pick up a couple of games. I’ve been debating about Guitar Hero. It looks fun, but they might be a little young. I don’t know.”
“Boys like to think they’re old enough for something even if they’re not. I promise you that.”
She laughed. “So I should get it?”
He nodded.
“Okay. But if Kat complains, I’m blaming you.”
To his surprise, Rufus found he didn’t mind. In fact, it felt good to be part of something. Even something as small as giving the wrong advice for a Christmas present.
Had he been missing that kind of connection for a while or had meeting Rachel been the catalyst for change? He didn’t know, but he did know that he was looking forward to this party.
CHAPTER TEN
THE MUSIC WASN’T
traditional Christmas songs. It was bluegrass. Supplied by a live band. Four talented young musicians who played banjo, bass, cello and, of all things, a glockenspiel. Rachel was mesmerized. So much so, she almost forgot that her date was late. “I didn’t know there was going to be a band,” Rachel said to Char, standing beside her.
“A gift from Cooper. Libby’s been a fan of these guys ever since she heard them a few years ago at a music fest in Spearfish. They’re from Boston. Aren’t they awesome?”
Rachel agreed. The lead singer’s voice was lovely and plaintive. The lyrics seemed especially poignant. Or maybe it was the emotional nature of the holiday season. So many chances for disappointment and regret.
She
still harbored some regret about pressuring Rufus to come to this party as her date. Given twenty-eight hours of hindsight, she was certain she’d come off as both insensitive and shallow. Please be my date. But, first, change everything about yourself because I have to try to make my mother believe the impossible—that I’m happy. The fact that her mother wouldn’t believe Rachel could be happy without a man opened up a dialogue Rachel had no intention of pursuing.
“Your date is late,” Char observed.
“So is yours.”
Char’s smile didn’t seem the least bit bothered. “Eli is at Native Arts getting ready. He’s coming as Lakota Santa Claus. Instead of dropping off presents, he’s picking up all the gifts everyone brought to distribute to needy kids on the reservation. Cool, huh?”
Rachel looked at the huge pile of festively wrapped gifts stacked beside the Christmas tree. She’d bought two handmade dolls from Char’s shop and two remote controlled trucks that Jordie and Tag swore were the best. Shopping for the giveaway gifts had been almost as much fun as shopping for Kat’s sons. “Awesome. Are you going with him?”
Char nodded. “I’ve got my elf hat in my purse.” Her smile fell slightly. “It was tough putting Damien on the plane this morning. I wanted him to be here so everyone could meet him, but we had to strike some sort of compromise so he could be with his other mother and siblings.”
Rachel gave her friend a quick hug. “I really admire the way you put Damien’s feelings first, Char. And he’s going to be here for the wedding, right?”
Char’s smile returned with a joy that Rachel envied. She was looking forward to the wedding but not with the same kind of intensity. This was a sort of make-or-break moment for her. She needed to prove to herself—and her toughest critic—that she could accomplish whatever she set out to do.
A server with a small silver tray approached them. “Grilled shrimp with Hawaiian dipping sauce?”
Until He Met Rachel Page 11