White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul (17 page)

“Enjoying the calm before the storm?” The Caboose’s early bird specials attracted crowds from the surrounding counties during the week, but an hour’s wait for a table was the norm on Fridays and Saturdays. Mike took a seat next to Virgil.

“You bet. Didn’t expect to see you here until dinner. What’s up?” Virgil blew a smoke ring.

Mike outlined the situation and his plan.

“No problemo. Piece of cake.”

“Virgil, anyone asking questions about our return?”

“People talk. Everyone’s curious. You’re not the type to ask an idle question. What’s on your mind?”

“Talk of the mill fire popping back up?”

“Some. The talk died down a while back. With your uncle dead and so many jobs lost, no one really had time to spend on idle gossip. Out of sight, out of mind, you know what I mean. But since your mom returned to town and then you two bought the Laroque building, everyone’s wondering if you plan to rebuild the mill.” Virgil drank the last of his wine. “We know better, of course.”

Small mercies. “We do indeed. Have you set a retirement date as yet?”

“Nah. Now that it’s finally a reality, I’m not sure I want to retire. There’s only so much fishing a man can do.”

“I thought you wanted to RV across America and Canada.” Mike glanced at the fading sun.

“No fun doing that alone.” Virgil stubbed his cigar on the asphalt and tucked the half a finger left into his shirt pocket. “Gotta get cleaned up for that meeting with your mom.”

“I’m going to wait for her and Valérie out front. See you in a few.”

Mike made it to the front parking lot as Valérie’s daffodil Corvette squealed to a stop. He groaned, for his ashen-faced mother sat in the passenger seat. After Dad’s car accident, Mom had developed a fear of speed.

As he helped his mother out of the car, Mike whispered, “I’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you, son. I don’t think Valérie quite realizes…”

“Hi, Mike. Twice in one day. I must’ve won the stud lottery.” Valérie hooked her arm through his.

He clenched his jaw and forced a smile. “I’m sure Justin will be happy to hear that.”

“Why, Mike Dorland, are you jealous?” Valérie tossed her shoulder-length, auburn mane and rested a palm on his shoulder.

“I hear you two’ve set the date.” Mike carefully disengaged himself from Valérie’s grasp the second they stepped into the Caboose. He spied Virgil standing next to Janie behind the register.

In a quick, deft move, he took his mother’s left side, putting her between him and Valérie. Mike cupped his mother’s elbow and halted at the cashier’s desk. “Mom, this is Virgil Sledden. Virgil, meet Lucinda Dorland.”

“Mrs. Dorland. A pleasure. Mike and Drake talk about you all the time.” Virgil held out a hand.

“They do?” Mom patted her chin-length bob, and her cheeks went rosy. She touched her palm to Virgil’s for the briefest of seconds.

“They do, ma’am, and I understand why. Mike, you didn’t tell me that your mom had you as a teenager.” Virgil moved around the desk and offered his arm to Lucinda. “There’s a nice, quiet booth in the back where we can talk about the dinner. You said sixteen people?”

“Yes.” Mom glanced over her shoulder at him, frowned, and then returned her gaze to Virgil’s. “It’s to celebrate Valérie de Verteuil’s engagement to Justin Laroque.”

“How generous of you, ma’am. I know both young ’uns, of course. Have you a menu in mind?”

“Lucinda. My name’s Lucinda.”

Mike almost fell over his own feet. His mother on a first-name basis with Virgil?

“Lucinda. What a beautiful name. Beats Virgil hands down. Now are you planning a dessert surprise?”

“I hadn’t thought of a surprise. Virgil is a lovely name. A shortened form of Vergilius, I believe. He was a Roman poet circa 70 A.D. and also known as Vergil the Grammarian.”

Mike stumbled again. The narrow spaces between tables forced him and Valérie to trail behind Virgil and his mother.

“No kidding?” Virgil waved at the booth. “Have a seat, Lucinda. Can I offer you a glass of wine? Mike, why don’t you take Valérie to the counter while we get the menu settled? If we’re to plan a surprise for dessert, she can’t be within hearing distance.”

One look at Valérie’s stunned expression and Mike had to disguise his snicker with a fake cough. He had to hand it to Virgil; the man had outmaneuvered the most scheming female in Chabegawn. Virgil had totally deviated from Mike’s plan of presenting Mom and Valérie with a list of available employees for the dinner. A list that excluded Melanie, but this little diversion worked even better and excluded Valérie from the planning completely.

“Holler when you two are done.” Mike grabbed Valérie’s arm and hauled her around. “No need for you to stay and wait. I’m dropping Mom home.”

“I brought your mom here. I’ll take her home.” Valérie hissed the words.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but listen real good. You cause my mother any grief and I’ll make your life hell. You, of all people, should know she hates speeding. I ought to shake the daylights out of you.”

“You can shake me any time you want, baby.” She shot him a half-lidded glance.

“Cut it, Valérie. I’m not interested. And you’re wearing Justin’s ring.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Ring, shming. Justin and I have an understanding.”

He led her out the Caboose’s front door and down the steps. “Again. Not interested.”

“You used to be very interested, baby. Remember that night in the library?”

“We all make mistakes. The trick is not to repeat them.” Mike stopped on a nickel when they reached Valérie’s flashy sports car. “Enjoy your drive home.”

“You’ll pay for that snarky remark, Mike Dorland.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “Your mother’s welcome back to society can be very short-lived. If I hadn’t supported the resolution to let her back into the country club—”

“Don’t try to threaten me, Valérie. Or my mother. You’ll live to regret it. I guarantee you.” Mike didn’t raise his voice, didn’t move a facial muscle, and met her gaze dead-on.

“Hey, bro, what’s cooking?” Drake called out as he exited the Caboose. “Valérie de Verteuil, I haven’t seen you in a monkey’s age.”

Mike suppressed a grin and glanced left when his brother halted at his side.

Drake clasped Valérie’s hand, bent low, and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you are. I like the red hair. Very sexy with the green eyes. I’ve often thought of trying colored contacts. Tell me, do you see everything tinged green?”

The pup had balls and then some. In five sentences, he’d both complimented and insulted Valérie, and the woman had no clue how to react.

“Your brother is quite the studly charmer, Mike.” Valérie tugged her hand free, dug in her purse for keys, and clicked the Unlock button. The car beeped twice. “I’ll see you two next Friday.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds.” Drake opened the door, waited for Valérie to arrange her long legs, and said, “Till Friday,” and clicked the door shut.

They both watched the car peel out of the parking lot.

“What happened to you? It’s a good thing Mom didn’t notice your no-show.”

Drake fell into place when Mike started back to the Caboose.

“Tell me, bro, exactly when did you plan to inform me that we own half of the Caboose?”

Chapter Ten

“What’s up, sis?” Susie lay sprawled on the couch, the remote in her hand, her feet crossed at the ankles and propped on the oak coffee table. “Trouble at the Caboose or the clinic?”

“No.” Melanie stifled a groan. She’d clean forgotten Susie would be home early today. “Where’s Gray?”

“Football practice. How come you’re so late?”

“I have a life, you know. Everything doesn’t revolve around the three of you.” Melanie hung up her coat. “Where’s Mama?”

“Asleep.”

Melanie swung around, her internal alarms pinging. “Asleep?”

“She walked home from the casino. Guess it tired her out.” Susie yawned.

“You tired too?” Melanie separated the bills from the junk mail.

“Yeah. A bit.”

“How about soup and sandwiches for dinner?”

Susie bounded off the couch. “I’m starved. I’ll make the sandwiches. BLTs?”

“Didn’t get to the grocery. No bacon.” And no tips from this morning, but Melanie kept her trap shut. Susie had been talking about not going on to university after she finished with community college, and getting a job instead. Not going to happen. Not on Melanie’s watch.

Susie planted her hands on her hips. “But it’s Friday. You always go to the grocery on Fridays.”

“I didn’t today. Don’t you have an exam to study for or something? I’ll handle dinner. You go do something somewhere else.” Melanie waved a hand at Susie.

“What’s up with you? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you snap.” Susie stretched, throwing her arms over her head, and arched her spine. “Valérie have breakfast at the diner again? Wait a minute. It’s way late. Did Virgil make you work breakfast and lunch?”

“I don’t ask you to give me a blow-by-blow account of every minute of your day, but I can start as of this moment.” Melanie opened the fridge, checked the veggie drawers, and decided on chicken and lentil soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

“What’s up with you? You never lose your temper or sulk.”

Practical, always smiling Melanie who never talked back or wasted a moment brooding about what could’ve been. She was so blasted sick of that Melanie that she could scream.

After she grabbed the required items, shoved them onto the counter, and kicked the door shut with her foot, Melanie fisted her hands on her hips. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t give me that. You look ready to bawl.” Susie grasped Melanie’s wrist. “Did something happen? Oh gawd, tell me Justin Laroque didn’t corner you again at the bus stop?”

“Let go of me.” She gritted out the warning. Right then she could cheerfully have strangled her sister and not given a flying damn. Melanie opened the bottom cabinet, extracted a pot, and banged it on the counter. “No. Justin did not corner me again.”

“You’ll wake Mama.”

All the temper zinged out of her like the air hissing out of a popped balloon. Melanie closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Brinda dropped me home. She wanted to talk, so we stopped at the truck stop on Route 7. Why don’t you chop the onions and the carrots? I’m going to have a quick shower.”

Melanie grabbed her purse and felt Susie’s eyes burning a hole in her back as she hurried down the narrow hallway. Guilt cascading fast and furious, she shut the door to their shared bedroom, closed her eyes, and leaned against the chilled wood. Her shoulders sagged.

What had she done? What if Susie found out? She was supposed to set the standards for her younger siblings. Lead by example, that’s what Doc G. pontificated day in, day out. Exhaustion slammed through her bones. What she wouldn’t give for one day and one night of no problems, no money worries, no planning each day to the second, no wondering if tomorrow would be the day Mama slipped off the wagon.

But it didn’t do to take it out on Susie. Her sister’d had precious little childhood and had been nothing but a rock during the weeks after Papa and Gramps died and the police and the elders had talked about foster homes. She’d had not one, but two jobs lined up the day after graduating from high school and had point blank refused to consider community college until they had the money situation under control. At twenty-three Susie should’ve been finishing university not working two jobs and still going to community college.

Leaning against the door, Melanie tried to remember the last time she’d reamed Susie for no good reason at all. The day she and Mike Dorland had literally bumped into each other in the cafeteria. The first time she’d ever gazed into his beautiful eyes. Susie had somehow guessed about her instant, mad crush on Mike and teased her about it. They’d almost come to blows.

Mike. Brinda’s little bulletin had started an itching in her palms. If he’d been at the truck stop, she’d not have hesitated to slap his face. The bitter taste of humiliation still coated her tongue.

Melanie thudded her head against the door. By all logic, Brinda’s mortifying news should’ve carved a chunk out of her heart, should’ve eroded the blossoming optimism that the two of them stood a chance, but it hadn’t.

Stop. Stop. Don’t go there. Mike Dorland’s not for you. Not even in your cavewoman wildest fantasies. That’s it. Get your ass in gear, Melanie Frances White. Shower, cook dinner, and forget the last few days.

She dropped her purse on the dresser, kicked off her shoes, tore off the shapeless uniform, and headed to the bathroom. Scrubbing her skin and washing her hair three times didn’t dull the scent of him.

Even after she toweled off furiously, dragging the worn terry hard from shoulder to shoulder, Melanie still smelled of Mike. Wrapping her bathrobe around her, she heaved a huge sigh and wandered into the bedroom, remembered the journal, and dug in her purse, only to stop on a nickel at the sight of Susie sprawled on her side on the single bed against the far wall.

“What do you want, Susie?” Melanie bent over to twist her hair into the damp towel.

Susie’s gasp and startled yelp made her spin around. “What?”

Her sister’s mouth had dropped open, and her eyes had gone saucer-wide.

“Well? What’s with the goldfish moves?” For Susie kept opening and closing her mouth, but uttered not a single word.

“Well, I never. Melanie Frances White, you have a hickey. Big and bold. Who in heck?” Susie tossed her head. “You didn’t say yes to Justin Laroque, did you? I’ll strangle you myself if you let that asswipe get his hands on you.”

“Susan Elizabeth White. Lower your voice and clean up your language.” Melanie wanted to howl. Today of all days, she didn’t need her sister being a pain in the butt. She hurried to the bathroom and checked her image in the mirror. “Nooo.”

“Oh yes. Very definitely yes.”

Melanie glanced up at Susie’s reflection and wondered for the kazillionth time why she couldn’t have inherited height. Susie rested her hands on Melanie’s shoulders.

“I just put two and two together. It’s Mike, isn’t it?”