Authors: Jannette Spann
Hidden Hills (13 page)
****
Andy and the girls had fallen asleep before they'd reached the gate, but Jeremy and Bruce captured Charlotte's attention with questions ranging from camping and fishing, to tree houses and how many horses the barn would hold. By the time they'd reached Robins Lane, their imaginations had escalated to the point of being world-class fishermen, and Hidden Hills had a bunkhouse with herds of cattle grazing the pastures.
It was hard to remember the last time his boys had gotten along so well, and he owed it all to Charlotte. She'd treated them with the same respect she gave everyone else, and they'd responded in a positive way.
“So what time do I need to be at your house?”
“Right after school, if you can,” Charlotte replied, thankful Kimmie was free in the afternoons to sit with Becky and Maggie.
“No problem,” said the sixteen-year-old. “But Mom says I have to be home no later than nine on a school night.”
Reader Elementary was only three blocks away, so her girls could walk home with Bruce and Jeremy in the afternoons, giving Kimmie time to drive across town from the high school.
She tidied her workstation and swept the hair clippings from her last customer into a plastic dustpan before stopping for lunch. It was one of Norma Martin's rules when she'd hired on â never leave a mess. Lately her life was full of messes, but she was determined to clean them up, one at a time.
The cell phone in Charlotte's pocket vibrated while she poured their drinks, sweet tea for herself and a diet soda for her boss. She took out the phone, glancing at the name â Tom McGregor. This was his third time to call in a week. Laying the phone on the table, it vibrated sporadically, while she ate a banana sandwich.
Norma finished her burger and tossed the wrapper into the trash. "You gonna answer it?”
“Nope.”
“Think he'll give up?”
She popped the final tidbit of sandwich into her mouth. “It's what I'm hoping.”
“Fat chance,” Norma said. “It's a pity his ethics don't match his looks, âcause he's a fine looking man for his age⦠reminds me of a gray fox every time I see him.”
Charlotte sipped her tea. “He's a fox all right⦠gave me a month to come up with the money I owe him or he'll put a lien on the property.”
Norma picked up the phone when it vibrated again, a sure sign it was getting on her nerves. “Joe's Bait Shop.” Click. “That should get rid of him. Do you have the money?”
“No, and I won't have it six months from now either, unless the house sells.”
Norma pushed her chair from the table, signaling the end of her break. “You finish your lunch, honey. It's time for me to get started again.”
After squeezing the last of the curling solution onto the colorful rods wrapping Wylene Franklin's thinning gray hair, she held the older lady's arm, easing her underneath the dryer. Satisfied the woman would be okay, she set the timer. “How did it go last night? Did you have help with the plants?”
“Uh-huh.” Charlotte finished her drink while listing the number of procedures she'd done in the log book. “Jake complained of a hernia, but I think he was joking.”
“And who's Jake?”
“My next-door neighbor.”
“Sounds like a nice guy if he was willing to move those pots.”
“Seems to be.” Charlotte realized too late she shouldn't have mentioned Jake. Her boss was a notorious snoop.
“Aha!”
“Aha, what?”
“You're sweet on the guy.”
She finished eating and pulled off her smock, tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper with the wet towels. “That's absurd. He's just being neighborly.”
“It's one way of looking at it, I guess,” Norma said, not willing to let it rest. “Tell me, is there a Mrs. Jake next-door, or do you have a clean playing field? A lot of wives wouldn't be much competition, what with your looks and all.”
“Norma!” She was shocked her boss would say such a thing. “You know I don't fool around with married men.”
“There's your problem, honey. You don't fool around at all.”
Why argue the point when Norma was right? “He's a widower.”
Her boss paused in the middle of cleaning a hairbrush. “How old is this guy?”
She had a sudden urge to run, but it wouldn't do any good. Reader was a small town. All Norma had to do was ask Mrs. Franklin to name the widowers on Robins Lane, and she'd have Jake's family history in no time.
She dumped her purse on the counter in a frantic attempt to find her keys. “I'm not sure, but his oldest son is thirteen. I guess he's somewhere in his mid-thirties.”
“Mmm.” Her boss licked her lips. “He's at a ripe age. Money in the bank and fire in the⦔
“Norma!”
“Don't act so shocked. You can't tell me you haven't wondered about him.”
“I'm not telling you anything.” She found her keys. “I've got to go.”
“Wimp out if you must,” came the smart-aleck reply. “But this conversation isn't over by a long shot.”
She shoved everything back into her purse as fast as she could. There was nothing her boss liked better than trying to get a rise out of her. “I'm out of here, and believe me, this conversation is definitely over!”
Norma's laugh followed her out the door. Friends like her boss and Annabelle Smith, her co-worker at the market, were hard to come by. But unlike Annabelle, Norma wasn't the sort of person she could confide in. As a beautician, talking was part of the job, and Norma's gift of gab was even better than her styling skills. Her boss wasn't known for keeping secrets.
Charlotte almost made it to her car before noticing Tom McGregor's silver convertible pulling up beside her.
“I'm tired of having to hunt you down.”
“So why bother?” she snapped, irritated with herself for not getting to her car a couple of minutes earlier. She could have driven off, pretending not to have seen him.
The judge stepped out of his car, carrying a manila envelope. “You've had thirty days. Have you got my money?”
“No, I don't.” Mitch had said the money was a gift, and she had believed him. The last time she'd checked, gifts weren't meant to be repaid, but in this case, she'd be willing to return the money, just to prove the judge wrong about her.
He held out the envelope. “This is a promissory note. Since you're determined to sell the house, I'll hold off on the lawsuit until then, but you're going to have to sign this.”
Charlotte unlocked the car and tossed her purse across to the passenger seat. Her anger simmered just below the surface, but she kept her cool. “I'm not signing a promissory or anything else.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But don't say I didn't warn you. If you lose the house to the bank, I'll still get my money, even if it means taking you to court.”
“Like that's supposed to surprise me? Look, Judge, I've changed realtors, so maybe they'll show the house more than the last one.”
“Changing companies was completely unnecessary. Cummins Realty is a reputable firm.”
She stood her ground. “Reputable, maybe, but they weren't getting the job done.”
Judge McGregor crossed his arms, tapping the envelope on his hip. His opinion of her ability to choose a firm, on her own, was evident in his sneer. “Which one have you gone with this time?”
“Wilson Realty.”
He shook his head, a sure indication of his disapproval. “You make nothing but bad decisions.”
“Just which ones are you talking about?”
“Selling the estate, for starters,” he said. “It's been in Ellen's family over a hundred years, and now you're willing to let any Tom-Dick-or-Harry with a checkbook move in.”
“We've been over this before,” Charlotte said, tired of the same old argument. “I'm not discussing it anymore.”
“What about my granddaughters? You've taken them out of their private school and enrolled them in the public system. Just what kind of education do you think they'll get? And what can you possibly gain by moving to your rundown house in a slum neighborhood?”
“It's a good neighborhood.”
“I've told you before, girl. You've got to look successful to be successful.”
“You let me worry about my decisions.” She slid behind the steering wheel and tried to slam the door, but the judge grabbed the handle. His face reflected the fury of the moment.
“You'll never amount to a thing, girl. Someday those girls will see what you've deprived them of, and believe me, they won't thank you for it.”
Using all the strength she had, Charlotte jerked the door out of his hands and put the car in gear. She glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Tom McGregor slam his fist against the door of his new convertible when she drove off. Jake had promised things would work out, but with the judge around, she didn't see it happening.
****
Business at Milner's was slow and didn't improve as the afternoon wore on. With no stock to put up, Ray, the assistant manager, sent everyone home except Charlotte and a bag boy. She glanced at the clock above the office door for what seemed like a hundred times an hour. Only when the last two customers of the night began making their way to her register, did the clock start ticking again.
At half-past eight, the bag boy clocked out. She quickly balanced her register, giving the money to Ray to lock in the safe. The second part of the workday had only been a seven hour shift, but her weekend of lifting and tugging made it seem more like twelve.
She stopped by the time-clock to check the schedule before leaving. Her next day off wasn't until Sunday, which meant she'd be closing again Saturday night, and it created a problem with the sitter. She couldn't ask Kimmie to give up her date, and the girls were already spending Friday night with Mitch's parents.
The overhead lights went off, leaving the bulbs at the back of the store to provide enough illumination for security. She froze when a man's long shadow fell across the work schedule.
“What's wrong, Charlotte?” Ray leaned his arm against the wall above the time clock and laughed as if they were sharing a private joke. “You got a problem with the schedule, or were you waiting so we could go to your mansion together?”
She'd never particularly liked the assistant manager, but this was the first time he'd actually made her skin crawl. He brushed against her when he swiped his card, and she moved out of his way. “You're married, Ray.”
“My wife won't care.” He caught her hair at the back of her head, narrowing the distance between them. “Besides, she's out of town.”
She snatched the hair free, trying to step back again, but his other hand caught her neck, jerking her up tight against his body. His hot breath fanned against her face. She could scream, but they were alone â nobody would hear. Fighting the rising panic, she found her inner strength and shoved hard⦠causing him to stagger. “If she doesn't care, then something's wrong with your marriage. You might want to work on it.”
“Why, you conceited little⦔
Not waiting for his angry retort, Charlotte ran outside before he could grab her again. The safety of her car had never felt so good, and she was almost home before realizing she'd left the parking lot. Her hands still trembled when she crossed the tracks on Dove Street. She couldn't let the girls see her upset again; they'd witnessed enough meltdowns at Hidden Hills. It took a moment to steady herself enough to roll the window down, but the cool night air helped to calm her nerves.
It wasn't the first time she and the assistant manager had closed the store alone, but she knew it would be the last. She needed her job, especially the insurance, but she wasn't stupid.
As a precaution, she circled the block a couple of times and pulled the car around to the back of the house, where it couldn't be seen from the street. She killed the switch and sat with the window down to listen for the sound of another car, but the night seemed quiet except for the tree frogs and a stray cat singing in the alley. On a night like this, it was a relief not having to return to Hidden Hills.
Her nerves were still on edge when she left the safety of the car. Shadows caused the darkness to close in until she neared the single light over the back door. Breathing deeply, she focused on the shiniest key on the chain before inserting it into the lock â it didn't work. She swallowed the rising panic and stepped back to look at her surroundings.
“I know it's the right house,” she said, for the sake of hearing her own voice. “There's Kimmie's car, and the awful hedge⦔
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
Charlotte screamed, but nothing came out. Her head cried
run
, only her feet weren't listening. The fight instinct tried to kick in, but all she could do was whimper like a scared pup.
“Are you okay?” Jake came out of the shadows. “I didn't mean to scare you.”
She slugged him with her purse. “Jake! I nearly had a heart attack, thanks to you!”
“I said I was sorry,” he replied, rubbing his arm. “No need to beat me to death.”
“Oh, I didn't hurt you.”
“Did too! Your bag weighs a ton.”
Charlotte took a deep breath, clutching her chest to slow her heart rate. “What are you doing out here, pouncing on me in the middle of the night?”
“It's only nine o'clock. I'd hardly call it the middle of the night.”
Her knees crumpled, and she eased down on the top step to keep from falling. “You would if you were as tired as I am.”
Jake sat beside her. “Bad day?”
“Parts of it.”
“I'd ask if you want to talk about it, but I already know the answer.”
“Uh-huh.” She maneuvered her hot feet out of the work shoes, followed by her socks. Her toes wiggled on the cold cement. “Mmm. Feels good.”
Jake caught her ankles, swirling her around so her feet landed on his knee. “I'll be neighborly and rub the pain away.”
She would have objected, but he began kneading the balls of her feet, and the protest died instantly. Goose bumps raced up her spine when his thumbs pressed against her arches and rubbed backward toward the heels.
He sniffed, holding her ankles at arm's length with one hand. “Shoo-wee, your feet stink!”
“Oh, shut up and rub. You volunteered for the job.”
“Well, yeah⦠but I didn't know these dogs were allergic to soap and water.”
She jerked her feet. “If you're going to gripe⦔
“Be still,” he said, resuming his job. “My fingers are already dirty.”
The large, callused hands moved gently, giving her the sensation of melting chocolate, dripping slowly down the steps like syrup on hot fudge cake. Each toe got its share of attention, including the little pig that went to market.
She imagined his hands on her aching back. “I'll bet you were a masseur in your younger days.”
He stopped. “You think I'm old?”
“Of course not.” She tried to gauge his reaction in the dim light.
He chuckled. “Just saying I'm past my prime?”
Bright light flooded the steps when Kimmie opened the door, saving Charlotte from replying. “I thought I heard voices.”
“Are my girls asleep?”
“Fed, bathed, and out for the night.”
“Did they give you any trouble?”
“Nothing I couldn't handle, and I left your supper in the oven to keep warm.”
To Charlotte's surprise, Jake slid closer to her side, giving the sitter a clear pathway down the steps. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to keep the girl's book bag from bouncing off his head.
“Goodnight, Kimmie,” he said, rubbing his new bump. “Say hello to your dad for me.”
The girl's car sprang to life, and she reversed out of the yard in a spray of gravel. The dust settled, leaving the night quiet again, except for Charlotte's growling stomach, which reminded her of the time. “Want some supper?”
“No, I ate about an hour ago.” He relaxed against the steps. His arm had somehow managed to wrap around her waist, while his fingers did a gentle tap dance against her ribs. It was much too close for her peace of mind, but he seemed not to notice. “Mom dropped off a chicken casserole. Not much meat, but you should have tasted it⦠best she's ever made.”
“You don't say? I cooked the same thing.” Charlotte stood, gathering her shoes and socks, while putting what she hoped was a safe distance between them. It was time to put this day to rest.
Jake reached into his pocket as he unfolded his lanky frame. “I almost forgot to give you these.”
“More keys? Why would I need those? The ones I've got won't even work.”
A sheepish grin tugged at his mouth. “I sort of changed your locks after I got home tonight.”
Her eyes flashed. “You did what?”
“Now wait,” he said. “I know it sounds a bit high-handed, but I thought it was the least I could do under the circumstances.”
A day she thought couldn't get any worse â just had. “What is it with your family and keys?”
“I knew you'd be hopping mad, but Jeremy gave your key to one of his buddies to make the copies. You could have a dozen keys floating around out there.”
“Oh, my stars!” The implications of what could have happened sank into her tired brain. “What's up with your boys? Why are they out to get me?”
“They like you.”
“Like me?”
“Sure.”
Charlotte dodged a moth headed for the porch light and sure death. “I'd hate to imagine what they'd do if they disliked me!”
Using the utmost care, he placed the new keys in her open palm then closed her fingers around them. “You're holding the only keys to these locks, so guard them with your life.”
“You can count on it.”
The suicidal moth bounced off the light a couple of times before floating to the ground, its landing made softer by a cool breeze rising from the south. Using her free hand, she raised her hair to feel the wind on her neck and sensed Jake had moved closer. The tiny laugh lines feathering his eyes and the black stubble on his face reminded her it'd been a long day for him also. A warm, almost forgotten longing skittered through her body. He was waiting, and all she had to do was meet him halfway, but she couldn't do it.
“Good night, Jake.”
The longing mirrored in his royal blue eyes faded along with his smile, banking his desire for the moment. He released her hand. “Night, Charlotte.”
She mentally straightened her spine, shoving aside the regret she felt for turning him down. The plans for her future were set, and they didn't include him⦠or did they? His arms reached out, and she felt herself leaning toward his lean body. Struggling never entered her mind when she gave in to his warm kiss. Control slid away as before, and she found herself clinging to him like a safe harbor in a violent storm. Being in his arms felt right, and as much as she wanted his kisses to continue, it was way too soon to get serious. It had to stop. Using every ounce of willpower she had, she pushed herself away.
“We can't do this.”
“Why not?” He frowned, reluctant to let go.
“It's not right.”
“Of course it's right. We both feel it.”
“No.”
“Don't lie to me, Charlotte. A minute ago you were all over me. You know you want me.”
“I want a lot of things I can't have, so I'll just have to add you to my list.”
Jake stepped back to fold his arms across his chest, his longing still evident in the dim light. “This is crazy, and you know it. We're both adults.”
Without a word, she retreated to the top step. Maybe she was being unfair, but it made no difference. She wasn't sure of what he was offering. “It's not going to happen.”
“You're right,” he said, man enough to admit defeat. “We hardly know each other. I'm not going to rush you, but if you change your mind, let me know.”
His words hung in the air long after he'd disappeared through the overgrown hedges separating their yards. She didn't trust herself, so she could only pray he was a man of his word.