Kelsey widened her eyes. “You did those floors? Wow. They look amazing. I know the curator hasn’t stopped talking about your work since he showed up the morning after you finished.”
Pride bit through Rosie’s fatigue. Not just average people noticed her work, but Ronan James and his wife. People of standing in the community. If Rosie wanted to make a lasting impression, these were the type of people she needed to impress.
Ronan looked at Rosie again. “I know you’re busy right now, but why don’t you come by the bank tomorrow afternoon? I’d like to discuss a possible contract with you.”
Stunned, Rosie nodded. “Okay, thank you, Mr. James. I’ll do that.” Stepping away from their table, Rosie passed their order across to Tom and visited two more tables before clearing a few customers from her section. Back at the James’ table, she poured more water, smiling absently while they talked amongst themselves.
The television at the far end of the counter flashed a picture of a man whose swarthy complexion and greasy black and gray hair would forever be seared into Rosie’s memories. Under the picture read his name in white, block letters – Devlyn Caracus. And something else beneath that, but Rosie wasn’t close enough to read it clearly.
She walked the few steps to the counter. “Can you turn that up please?” A couple busboys filled ice beneath the set and one pressed the volume up button.
“...died while in a riot-related incident today. Caracus is survived by five children and two brothers – one of whom is in critical condition from the same event this evening.” The camera changed angles on the newswoman.
Rosie stumbled backwards, catching herself on the counter, but knocking two glasses from the slippery surface. A loud whooping and applause muffled the shattering of glass on tile.
The noise level rose behind her. Shouts and catcalls, a few whistles and some loud clapping caught her attention and she turned to find the majority of the restaurant’s patrons reacting to the news with a fevered excitement bordering on bloodlust.
She didn’t know how to assimilate the anger with the revelation that there were more children. She didn’t know what to say or think.
More children?
Rosie had brothers or sisters? More than Sara Beth? No. She couldn’t comprehend the possibility.
And Caracus was dead? Even thinking of him as a father was next to impossible after the things she’d seen and heard.
A man near the door shouted. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“Bastard should’ve rotted in a hole with rats.” A woman jerked her finger toward the screen, talking loudly to her companions. “Any offspring of his should be hung out to dry. Probably as bad as him and his brothers in that gang of theirs.”
Rosie swallowed, holding her hands tight at her sides. She couldn’t breathe. He’d been the worst kind of devil – more so than even she could explain – but she was one of his children. What would the townspeople do, if they found out about her bloodline? She’d never spoken of it to anyone, but that’s because she didn’t trust many people. Now, if she talked about where she came from and who she was, the mob mentality might turn toward her...
And Sara Beth.
Her breath caught, fear tightening the muscles of her neck. Maybe the rumors of what he did with his gang were more truth than myth, despite what she’d originally hoped. The urban legends of the Caracus Gang riding the trails between Washington State, Idaho, and most of Montana involved stealing, raping, kidnapping, gambling, killing, beatings, and more.
Why had she assumed she and Sara Beth were his only offspring? He’d never married their mother. He’d kept her in a rundown home and beat her every chance he had. He’d only hit Rosie a couple of times and she and her mother had never let him get to Sara Beth.
And there he was again, intent on harming them, even if it was with just his memory.
How badly had he damaged the townsfolk?
How hard would it be for her and Sara Beth to work past the pain he’d caused?
Would it be worth it?
She’d just have to make sure no one ever found out. For her and Sara Beth’s sake. Her protective side reared its head and she ground her teeth. She’d have to do a dang good job of not giving away who they really were.
Or were from.
She’d give anything to erase so much of her past.
Rosie
Chapter 8
PACING NERVOUSLY NEAR the water cooler in the bank lobby, Rosie double-checked the sticky note Sara Beth had taped to the bathroom mirror the night before. A message scribbled in brown eyeliner relayed that Ronan had called and asked Rosie to meet him at the bank at four-forty-five PM to discuss the job.
Fortunately, she had the evening off at the diner.
Dressed in her most conservative outfit, Rosie straightened her shoulders. Even in her best, she stuck out like a raven in a plush jungle. Her blonde hair strayed from the bun she’d attempted at the nape of her neck. And if she rubbed her hands one more time on the thighs of her pantsuit, she’d probably stain it with sweat. She hadn’t brought anything with her. No proposals or business cards. She had a phone manned by a boy-crazy teenager and no email. What would she put down for contact information? Her name and ‘for a good time call?’
Trying not to be conspicuous, Rosie studied the tile flooring. If he wanted her to clean the place like her client at the museum, she’d most likely be doing a deep cleanse the first couple of weeks. The granite tile had a texture similar to silky sandpaper. She almost groaned out loud when she spotted the trim granite along the edges. Granite didn’t take too well to vinegar. She’d be substituting in her mixture and she’d be putting in more work manually. Ugh, that’s not what she wanted to look forward to.
Luckily, the bank had been well-maintained and the job was doable – just a pain in her backside.
“Ms. Scott? Mr. James will see you now.” The brunette teller smiled professionally and pointed toward the bank owner’s office.
Taking a deep breath, Rosie nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and abandoned her pacing route to head in the new direction.
At the collection of chairs a hand pulled at her arm, stopping her.
Spinning, she tensed.
Phillip. What the hell?
His fingers held her like manacles. His tone bit cruelly into the peaceful calm of the lobby. “What are you doing here, little wench? You’re not working at the diner tonight? If I’d known you were extending business hours to include house calls, I would’ve made arrangements.” The skin around his eyes tightened, bringing his eyebrows into a sadistic slant. “Let’s go have dinner.”
His smooth yet demanding timbre gave her uncomfortable chills in all the wrong places – and not in a good way. Phillip’s gaze traveled from her head to the tips of her old-school Mary Jane heels. He licked his lips. “You look more like a high-class escort today, Rosie.” The way he said her name made it sound like a dirty word with an extra syllable.
Something about him seemed less pulled together, less Phillip and more like a junkie unable to hold it together after using their last stash. She’d seen it once at Madam’s when a new girl had moved in and she’d been addicted to heroine. Madam hadn’t tolerated the crash and still made the girl work through the painful few days.
Not that many customers were interested in a frothing, seizing woman.
His increasingly erratic behavior unnerved Rosie.
Tight-lipped, she tried smiling, but couldn’t pull off more than a grimace. She brushed off his shaking hand. “I’m sorry. I’m really busy, Phillip. I’m here for a meeting. Some other time.” She nodded and turned from him, jerking free from his grasp. She ignored the glower her rejection earned her.
Ronan James waited at the edge of the lobby, watching the exchange.
Rosie clenched her hands and held her breath. She offered a warmer smile still tight with nerves and joined Ronan beside the water cooler. “Mr. James, hello. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She offered her hand to s
hake.
He accepted, his grip firm and confident. “Thank you, Rosie. Please, call me Ronan.” Tilting his head toward the departing man, Ronan smiled slowly, calming Rosie’s anxiety. “I’m impressed you turned him down. Not many of the local girls have been able to.” He turned and led her toward his office.
“Well, I’m not ‘most local girls’.” She’d never be able to explain the situation between her and Phillip without having to share her secrets. Desperate to change the subject, Rosie inspected the wall work as they reached his dark wood frame doorway. “You said you’d like to discuss work?”
He indicated the seat across from his desk and nodded as she claimed the chair. “You get right to business. I appreciate that.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, sir. It’s just me and my sister and tonight is my night off, so I was hoping to get home and get her a home-cooked dinner at least one night this week.”
Ronan leaned his elbows on the desk and perused her over his steepled fingers. “Okay, Rosie, I’ll keep it brief. I’d like to hire you on contract for a six-month time period – to start. The job consists of keeping mostly the floors in great shape as well as the other surfaces in the main areas – walls, granite counters and tables, the hard stuff. My office and the other rooms along the corridor are fine and don’t need to be touched. But the main traffic areas, well, to put it nicely, they need help.”
She pointed toward the walls of his office. “I noticed that on the way in here. Your walls, also, have an unfinished look to them because of the lack of primer. They appear dirtier faster. You might consider having them repainted over one of the weekends.” She crossed her ankle over her knee. “But I did see the floor, it will take longer to deep clean than the museum, so the fee will be different for the initial clean.” Oh wow, she couldn’t believe it. Her breath almost caught in her throat. Another client. The museum had been a trial basis.
But Ronan was offering her a real-honest-to-goodness contract!
For six months!
A contract was like guaranteed money. She’d never had guaranteed money ever in her life. A slight thrill shot up her back, tingling at the base of her neck.
“Of course.” He pulled out a ledger and a fine-tipped pen. “I just need to get your business license number as well as contact information and I’ll draw up a contract that you’ll, of course, want to have your lawyer take a look at.”
Deflated, Rosie cast her eyes downward. She picked at her thumb nail. “I, well, I uh, don’t have a lawyer and I don’t have a business license... or contact information other than my home phone number.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. Shame drove heat up her neck and flooded her cheeks.
His tone gentled. “That’s alright. I can give you an advance on the first two months and you can apply for the business license. It’s not exactly ethical for me to recommend a lawyer since the contract could be considered skewed for my benefit, but we have a few here in town and there’s more in Missoula. Just give me your mailing address and phone number for contact information and we’ll be set.”
Hope stirred in Rosie’s tummy. Just when she’d thought her dreams had come and gone like rolling tumbleweeds, Ronan had offered a “fix” to help with the issues in her way. “That is terrific. Thank you so much. When did you want to start?”
She’d start that night, if he wanted. A hand up, not a handout, that’s all she needed and there she was, getting a chance by someone she’d never even had the opportunity to meet before.
Chuckling, he pointed at the clock. “If I hadn’t just seen the museum’s glistening floor, I would say tonight so I could gauge your work drive, but I witnessed the miracle myself. Let’s start next week. That will give me time to draw up the contract as well as get you some keys.” He stood and offered his hand to seal the deal verbally.
Bounding from her seat, Rosie almost jumped across the desk to hug him. Normally reserved, her reaction surprised her. She’d never been so excited about anything. Even the apartment she and her sister had found with the money from pawning Madam’s antique pistol they’d stolen.
He held her hand a moment longer than necessary. She cocked her head to the side, waiting for the additional comment she could see he wanted to say.
Ronan brought his other hand up to cover hers. He looked into her eyes and with sincerity, he said. “I’m sorry about Devlyn Caracus, Rosie. That had to come as a shock.”
Like he’d punched her in the gut, the air whooshed from her lungs and she panted to recover. Tears threatened but not half as much as her loss of control. She swallowed, searching the room for an immediate escape. “I don’t... I’m not sure I understand.” She pulled her hand from his and clenched her fingers at her waist. Hold it together, Rosie. Phillip probably told Ronan to cause problems.
“It’s okay. I know about Caracus being your father. I know where you went after your mother died. I don’t care. That’s not why you’re here today.” He offered a soft smile, and held out a hand again but more in a calming gesture than a business move. “I can only imagine what it’s like raising a young girl on your own.”
Rosie’s facial features froze. She probably couldn’t move them, if she tried. She spoke through lips numbed by fear. “What do you want?” Another extortionist to add to her list, except this one already had everything. She’d never get ahead. She’d never be free from her past.
A steely calm flooded her. She suddenly didn’t care who knew. If they couldn’t accept her for what she was, then screw them. Okay, well, maybe not...
Shock jumbled the professional concern from Ronan’s face. “What? No, I don’t want anything. I actually wanted to warn you.” He shoved a chair closer to her, but kept his distance while taking the chair beside hers. “Look, this morning I received correspondence from Federal agents asking that I keep a look out for any of Caracus’s offspring. They sent some grainy photos along, but that’s all they had. Apparently, there’s a reward for any information about the kids and their whereabouts. I’m not sure why.”
The news crushed her. Where did she start? Her shoulders caved in and she hunched over her wringing hands. “Can I... Is it okay, if I see the pictures?”
“Of course.” He stood, reaching across his desk to retrieve a pile of white papers. He reclaimed his seat and offered her the forms slowly.
As if predators stalking prey, the papers seemed to watch her, waiting for her next move. Fingers trembling, she took them, but averted her eyes to seek out Ronan’s gaze. “Can I bring these back to you? I...” She swallowed. How did she explain that she wanted to see what her siblings looked like but she couldn’t bring herself to share such an intimate moment with someone she barely knew?
Holy cow, what if he said something to Michael? He hadn’t to that point, but he was Michael’s boss. The possibilities with having one more person know increased her chances at an ulcer. Who was she kidding? At the rate she was going, she’d have gray hair and stress wrinkles in no time.
“Let me finish. I’m not going to use them. I just want you to know that I check up on everyone who moves to Colby. I’ve known about your past since you rented that small place from Mrs. Norton. I never said anything. I would never say anything. It’s not my information to share.” He nodded toward the papers in her hand. “The only reason I’m even bringing this up, is because I’m not sure what the government wants with his kids, but I think you should be careful. At least your names aren’t on any records that they have.” He winked.
His action startled a laugh from her. “But they’re on your records?”
Ronan lifted an eyebrow and moved from his seat. “I’m very thorough. If you’ll make sure to get me that contact information, Rosie, I’ll be sure to send that contract along immediately.” He pulled the door open and lowered his voice. “But seriously, I would continue keeping your privacy level up. I’d hate for someone you thought you could trust to turn you in.”
Did she still want to work for a man who knew her darkest and ugliest
truths? He didn’t seem to care that she’d lived at the Ranch or that her father was Devlyn Caracus. He’d even given her advice on how to move forward with people, not to trust anyone. Did that mean him?
“I’ll get on the contract right away.” She couldn’t hold back her grin. She couldn’t wait to tell Sara Beth. “Thank you.”
“If I need anything, I’ll leave a message at the diner.” He nodded, his eyes appearing just a little bit kinder.
Or Rosie could be losing it under her stress.
Maybe, if she could get ahead a little bit with money and savings, she’d be able to afford voicemail or even a simple cellphone for her and Sara Beth to share. Maybe, she’d be able to move.
She had so many dreams. But one at a time. And thanks to Ronan James, she just might be on her way to achieving some of them.
Folding the papers in half, Rosie ignored the faces on them. She’d deal with the realities they promised later. In that moment, she wanted to only focus on success and dreams.
Harsh pasts could come from behind later. Wasn’t that how they worked best anyway?
Rosie
Chapter 9
WHEN WOULD SARA BETH get out from school again? Rosie checked her dainty leather-banded wristwatch. Only two-twenty-three. Another forty-five minutes or so. She kicked the wrought iron leg of the randomly placed benches in the town park across from the small high school.
Colby was nothing, if not picture perfect. Town leaders prided themselves on clean streets and neatly groomed landscaping. Tightly trimmed lawn met curbing framing the trees and various cement statues.
The beady eyes of the General Custer likeness had taken on a Phillip-like quality about twenty minutes after Rosie had arrived. She shivered. That man wanted something from her... something she’d never give him.
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