Now and Always (9 page)

“Warren said to buy in bulk when we can,” Katie defended. She picked up a mangled box of stroganoff. “This should last a long time, and I got it for practically nothing.”

“Is it good?”

“I beg your pardon?” The least Tottie could do was to act like she appreciated the wealth of bounty spread out in her kitchen. Katie's knees were weak, and she realized she was still shaken from her ride home. Caffeine. She needed a jolt and fast. “Do we have fresh coffee?”

Tottie nodded, inclining her head toward the pot. She didn't look up from her survey of the pile of oversized cans and boxes. “And what are we supposed to do with all of this?”

“We'll find a place for everything. The main thing is we have it, and we shouldn't have to buy groceries for at least a couple of weeks, maybe a month. Or longer.” She hoped for a ray of approval.

Tottie nudged a bag of onions with her foot. “Twenty pounds of onions?”

“They'll come in handy.”

“Not unless you want onion blossoms every night. They'll rot before I can use them all up.”

“Oh.” Katie hadn't thought of that. “Well . . . we'll put onions in everything. We can find lots of uses for them. They're supposed to be very healthy.”

“Sure we can.” Tottie sounded downright sarcastic. “Well, I guess I can find a place to store most of it. The rest . . . we'll just manage the best we can. Did you get anything I had on my list?”

The list? Katie searched her memory, trying to remember what she had done with the list, and came up empty. “Well, no, maybe not.”

Tottie shook her head and picked up a can without a label. “We can have this for dinner tonight.”

Katie said. “Surprise food.”

“Surprise food.” Tottie's voice was as dry as stale cornbread.

A scent of cigarette smoke drifted in the open window. Katie eased the door open and saw Clara perched on the back porch puffing up a storm. She stepped back inside and shut the window. “Our politician doesn't hear well.”

“Oh, she hears well, but she ignores even better. This morning I caught her using her cell phone.” Tottie shoved a jumbo-sized box of Cheerios into the cabinet and reached for an equally large box of cornflakes.

“I don't understand why she behaves like that.” Katie picked up a bag of potatoes, looked around for a place to put it, and then set it back down. “I know she's nervous someone will find out about this. Otherwise why would she be here? You only have to see those bruises to know she's been beaten. There's no way she would want the media to catch wind of this.”

“Maybe, but the woman doesn't use good sense. She's going to bring the media down on us if she's not careful. Then what will happen to the others?”

Once the election was over, Clara would slap a restraining order against her husband and pray he took heed of the warning.

The housekeeper stared at the remaining grocery items with a helpless air. “Why would she risk her safety by making outside calls?”

“Clara's accustomed to the spotlight and to getting her own way. She doesn't know how to go unnoticed.”

Tottie shoved another box of cereal into the cabinet. “I think we're too lax here at Candlelight.
No one
should know about these women.”

“How could we keep something like that a secret? We've lived here most of our lives. Do you think people wouldn't notice that we always have a house full of women guests?” Katie shook her head. “Besides, the town protects us and so does the church. You know that.”

“Some do. But you're too trusting. Always have been. But one of these days, someone you think you can trust will turn against us, and one of these women could get hurt because we put our faith in the wrong person. Or maybe one of us will.”

Katie turned. “Will what?”

“Get hurt.” Tottie slammed the cabinet door.

Katie sank to a chair. “What would our world be without trust?”

“Trust is good.” Tottie's eyes filled with experience. “But trust in the proper doses. At times you appear to forget that not everyone has your heart. Now get out fresh meat and let's get dinner started.”

Katie's mind raced as she took hamburger out of the freezer. She still wasn't convinced that no one had been following her. It couldn't all have been her imagination. Maybe whoever it was wanted to find the shelter. Clara's husband was almost as high profile as she was, so it wasn't likely he was the culprit. But he could have hired someone to his dirty work. Or it could have been Nate, Meg's abuser. He'd vowed to track her down, and while the man was a full-fledged jerk, he wasn't stupid. Meg could have been in touch with him. The girl was scared and pregnant, which made her extremely vulnerable.

And made the shelter even more exposed.

Ten

Katie lifted the kitchen curtain as Warren pulled into the drive. He was back with more budget crud, and she couldn't wait to tell him how well she was doing. She opened the door before he had a chance to knock, welcoming him inside. He removed his Stetson, smiling.

“Ready to get to work?”

“Eager to get started!”

Clara glanced up from the newspaper. “Ah, my missing vote. Care to sit down and talk about our differences?”

Meg waddled past. “You're wasting your time. He didn't come to see you. Katie's the draw.”

Warren grinned, taking the good-natured ribbing. “That's not what I hear. I hear Katie and Ben took in the football game the other night. Rumor has it Katie downed three hot dogs and two cokes in the first quarter.”

Heat tinged Katie's cheeks. “Well, really. Who's been shooting off their mouth?”

“Like I'd really tell you.”

Clara pushed back from the table. “I'll let you two have your privacy.”

Katie reached out to stop her. “It's just business, Clara. Warren's helping me work on the budget.”

“Strictly business,” Warren confirmed. “But when we're through, I'll let you tell me how you can better my life if I vote for you.”

Katie led the way to her office. “That was nice of you.”

He shrugged. “She's an interesting dame. Not my political party, but she's smart.” He pulled a chair up to the desk. “Okay. You have some figures for me?”

Katie moved to the desk, catching movement out of the corner of her eye. A small figure made its way toward the barn. Clara. Why would she be going out there? She watched as the woman opened the door and stepped inside.

Turning away, she walked back to the desk as Warren pulled out a notebook and pen. “Well?”

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him. “Read it and weep.”

He frowned as his eyes skimmed the list. Katie had a feeling he was upset at the amount she owed. Just whip out the card and it's yours. Didn't even have to write a check, so it didn't seem like you're really spending money until the bill arrived.

Warren looked up. “Where are your expenditures for the past week?”

“Right here.” She handed him a second paper.

He zeroed in on the figures. “This is what you spent on groceries this week?”

She flushed with pride. “I decided to take your suggestion.”

“I suggested you spend a mint on groceries? I don't remember that.”

“You suggested I buy in bulk.”

The frown faded into a glower. “And your point is?”

“My point is I did what you suggested, and I shopped at Warehouse Blowout. I bought industrial-sized everything — even new foods that Tottie never serves. The total bill was sixty dollars over the amount I'm allowed to spend in a two-week period, but we have enough to last us through the month.” Katie thought about the burgeoning food pantry. Maybe eternity. Her gaze returned to the chicken scribbles on the pad. Warren sat across the desk, enduring her rationalizing of the first week's budget and the sixty-dollar deficit. His face was getting longer by the minute.

“So,” Katie drew a pie chart. “If you add sixty dollars to the allotted hundred and thirty allowed for staples, you get a hundred and ninety. But if I don't have to shop every two weeks, if we can make the staples last, say, a month instead of two weeks, then we have enough left to pay November's utility bill.”

Her calculations might be screwy, but at least she wouldn't have the dreaded overdue call from the electric company this month.

Warren slowly lifted his gaze from the writing pad, and his tone was tense. “Let me get this straight. You bought a hundred and ninety dollars worth of food you don't ordinarily eat in industrial-sized cans and boxes, thinking you can stretch the bimonthly food allowance to monthly, so you can have enough money to pay the utility bill that is already included in your monthly budget.”

“Yes!” He got it. Very few people followed her reasoning. “This way, I'm sixty dollars ahead of the game! Sixty dollars goes a long way in dog food.”

He pitched the pen on the table. “A bargain is only a bargain if it is needed or used. What if your guests refuse to eat the staples you purchased? If they haven't been on the table before, what makes you think it's something they would eat?”

“It's perfectly good food.”

“Like what?”

“Like cans of turnips, succotash, lima beans, and corn relish. I got fifteen boxes of crushed stroganoff for a third of the original price.”

“What's crushed stroganoff?”

“The boxes were crushed, not the stroganoff itself.” Though, Katie realized, that might be misleading. If the boxes were crushed it only stood to reason the pasta was broken. But broken pasta wasn't a crime nor did it alter the taste of stroganoff sauce.

He flipped a page. “What happened to the gas budget?”

“Oh, that. I hit a stump when I was backing out of the drive last Monday. We've been meaning to get someone to remove it but, you know, expenses. Anyway, I wasn't thinking, and I backed over the stump, and I must have knocked a tiny hole in the gas tank because by the end of the day the tank was empty. I took it to the garage and they repaired it.” She fished in her pocket, took out a yellow sheet, and handed it to him. He couldn't be upset about this — emergencies happened, and the budget allowed for crisis.

He skimmed the column.

“A hundred and fifty dollars,” she confirmed, “plus the amount it took to refill the tank. But I had some gas money left from the week before, so I figure I evened out. But look. I can take the extra sixty dollars I've saved on groceries and apply that to the repair bill, and I'll only be ninety dollars short. You've allotted a hundred dollars for emergencies, so deduct that from the hundred and fifty, and I'll still just be a hundred and forty dollars short this month. And believe me, a hundred and forty dollars is pocket change compared to other months.”

Bringing his hand to his nose, he pinched the end, staring back at her. “And how do you make up the hundred and forty dollar deficit?”

She touched her temple with her left hand. “I don't have a solution for that — yet.”

Leaning back in his chair, Warren gave her a dark look. “Okay. You obviously can't run this shelter financially, Katie. Why do you try?”

“Because I love it.”

“I love Porsches, but I don't have one because it's impractical. The same goes for you and this shelter. You haven't heard a word I've said about budgeting.”

“I have,” she contended. “Rome wasn't built in a day.”

“Maybe not, but I seriously doubt if you can get the hang of managing money in a year, and by then it will be too late.”

She frowned. The man was ruthless. She'd just spent two of the most nerve-wracking, caffeine-ragged weeks, and he was critical of her efforts?

“Obviously you've missed something. We have to start at the beginning.”

A painstaking hour later, Katie rubbed the back of her neck and admitted that the budget was going to be hard to follow.

“Money, for most people, is hard to handle. We live in a microwave world. We want it, and we want it in thirty seconds.” Warren pushed back and stretched, his shirt fabric outlining a taut rib cage and stomach. “You've got to stick with it, Katie. Concentrate if you hope to pull out of this. Either that or close the shelter and save yourself a lot of headache.”

She bit her lower lip. Was it worth it? Of course saving Grandpops's farm and the shelter was more than worth it. Other battered shelters were available, but they weren't Candlelight. Candlelight was hers, and if saving it meant forfeiting personal comfort she'd do it.

“I can do it,” she assured Warren as
she walked him to his truck. Judging by the expression on his face, he thought she was blowing smoke, but she wasn't. He might have seen her around all his life, but he didn't know the real Katie, the determined Katie. But he was about to meet her.

“Horses eating you out of house and home?”

“No, but I'm a little worried about the bay. She has a deep cut on her right shoulder that isn't healing. It's scabbed over, but it's so puffy and red that I believe it's infected. I think I'll call Dr. Vincent to come and take a look.”

“Vet charges,” he reminded.

“Not this vet.” Katie grinned. “Tottie baked fifteen apple pies for her last family get-together and wouldn't take a cent. She said she owed us one, and so now we collect.”

“You're amazing. You've got an answer for everything.” He stepped into the cab of his truck. “I need to get home. Got some fence to fix sometime today.”

“What about Clara?”

“What about her?” Obviously chatting with the politician had left his mind.

Carefully shutting the cab door, Katie said, “I'll tell her something came up, and you'll have to visit another day.”

“You don't need to tell her anything. I didn't get around to a visit.” He started the engine. “She'll live.”

She thought that was a little cold, even if Clara deserved it. “Thanks for the help.”