Читать книгу Second-Time Lucky - Laurie Paige - Страница 9

“We passed our first inspection today,” Jeff told the other members of his household that evening. “I think.”

“Ah, the Family Services witch was here,” Jeremy wisely concluded. “Did she arrive on her broomstick?”

Tony and Krista grinned at the eighteen-year-old’s insouciant remarks.

Jeff did, too. “Nah, they use cars nowadays. It’s part of their disguise. She approved of the house.” He directed a glance at Krista. “She especially liked the way it’s decorated. I told her you did most of it.”

Krista, shy about any kind of praise, blushed and immediately concentrated on her task of setting the table.

When dinner was ready, Jeff paused before taking his seat. “Tonight we celebrate two special events. First, we pay homage to Anthony, who has reached the distinguished age of fourteen.”

Jeremy and Krista cheered and clapped.

“And Krista,” Jeff continued, “our own special princess, who will be eleven tomorrow.”

Krista had taken a lot of teasing over the years about being an April Fool’s baby. She’d asked if she could have her birthday dinner when her brother had his. Tony, good-natured and protective, had okayed the idea.

While Jeff and Tony applauded and offered compliments to Krista, Jeremy brought in the cake Jeff had baked and hidden in the pantry until it was time for it to serve as the centerpiece during the meal.

After eating grilled chicken and roasted vegetables, Jeff and Jeremy lit candles and sang the birthday song. Tony and Krista blew out the candles, then Krista cut the cake.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Jeff said. His smile belied his words as he removed two boxes from behind the sofa and handed them to the birthday honorees.

Jeremy pretended he couldn’t remember where he’d secreted his gifts. He looked behind chairs and in cabinets to no avail.

“In the hall closet,” Krista finally told him, somewhat exasperated by his memory loss.

Jeff hid a grin.

Jeremy snapped his fingers. “That’s right!”

Krista and Tony rolled their eyes, then smothered their laughter behind their hands when their foster cousin returned with two packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“I couldn’t find the gift paper,” he explained.

“It’s stored in your closet,” Jeff said.

“Well, no wonder I couldn’t find it. I never look in the closet.”

That brought more smothered chortles from the younger two. Jeff experienced a return of the odd emotion from earlier in the day, the feeling that they had turned a corner and all would be well with them. If the Family Services people would leave them in peace.

While the kids opened their gifts—a mobile DVD/CD player with headphones from Jeff and three DVDs featuring current music idols from Jeremy for Krista, for Tony, the new sneakers he’d wanted, plus a pedometer to measure his track workouts from Jeremy and books for both of them—Jeff analyzed the visit from Caileen Peters.

Something about her had haunted the remainder of his afternoon. From the moment she’d arrived, he’d noticed things about her.

For instance, she’d liked the flowers he and the kids had planted. She’d been very complimentary of the house and the kids’ bedrooms. That had been a relief.

On a different level, he’d noticed the way she moved, the way she’d inhaled the spring air while she’d admired the garden. He’d liked her calm manner and her smile.

And her hair. The way it gleamed with golden highlights in the sun, like sparks from metal when he was welding. The way the breeze had caused the strands to lift and dance over each other. The way she’d brushed it away from her mouth.

Her lips. Soft-looking. Unintentionally kissable.

The fullness of her breasts that the stern business attire hadn’t been able to hide.

He hadn’t had time to notice a woman in months, maybe years. After a long bout with pain and physical therapy and adjusting to the prosthetic foot, he’d retired from the army with his twenty years in. The pension, plus the disability pay, had helped finance the start of his business.

Next, the three youngsters had moved in with him for six months before the younger two had been taken away. Four months later, all three had disappeared.

The caseworker had given him a lot of grief over that, as if he’d been the one who’d put them in that miserable excuse of a foster home.

That brought his thoughts back to Caileen Peters. At least she didn’t seem to be an ogre like the other woman had been. She’d seemed genuine in her concern for the children.

An unexpected stirring in his blood startled him. Man, he must be getting desperate if he was hung up on a damn social worker!

Krista came to him, interrupting the ridiculous ideas running through his head. She kissed him on the cheek in her sweet, shy manner. “Thank you for the present, Uncle Jeff.”

“Wow, I must be a prince,” he said, clutching his chest. “I just got kissed by a princess.”

“Sorry, Uncle,” Jeremy wisecracked. “Go look in the mirror. You’re still a frog.”

Krista scowled. “He is not a frog! He’s the most wonderful person in all the world!”

“The princess has spoken,” Jeff told his smart-mouth nephew, “and you, Sir Lout, may clean up the dishes.”

“The Knights of the Round Table didn’t do dishes,” Jeremy grumbled, then chuckled as he gathered the used plates. The other two helped.

Jeff crossed his prosthetic foot over his right leg and rubbed his left knee. He was tired from the unusually hard day of unpacking and storing his tools and salvaged treasures, but it was a good kind of tired.

A sense of well-being poured over him like a gentle rain. It didn’t get any better than this.

Caileen thought the day couldn’t get any worse than it already was. She’d started out on a sour note, arguing with her daughter about a weekend trip with her boyfriend. Then she’d had a flat tire on the way to the office. The judge in juvenile court had spoken sharply to her for not having all the facts on a case she’d just been given two days ago.

Happy April Fool’s Day.

She should have stayed in bed and called the office and told them she was sick. That’s what she’d felt like doing every day of late. However, she’d never allowed herself to wallow in self-indulgence, so her attendance record had been perfect over the past five years. Where was her gold star?

Ah, well, one day at a time and don’t take anything too seriously. That was her philosophy. Too bad she couldn’t live up to its simplicity.

Turning onto the lane leading to the Aquilon place, she frowned at the pleasant homestead, unreasonably irritated by the flowers, the artfully placed benches and copper sculptures dotted around the landscape.

After parking in the shadow of a cedar tree, she sat there for a minute, aware that the appearance of the place was that of an ideal home. She’d once thought with enough hard work on her part she could make life fit a perfect pattern. Events had taught her it couldn’t be done.

In spite of her stoic acceptance of reality, she felt a twinge of longing for things to somehow be different and one of sadness because they weren’t.

The front door opened and Jeff Aquilon appeared on the rose-bordered deck that served as a porch and defined the entrance to the house. It was warm today and he was dressed in lightweight cargo pants. A tool belt clung to his narrow waist, a hammer dangling from a hoop on it.

Today he looked younger and more relaxed than yesterday. His manner was rather more welcoming. Had she not known he had a prosthetic foot, she probably couldn’t have detected it in the way he moved.

A quizzical glance from him prodded her into remembering why she was here. She picked up the three books, exited the car and went to the porch. “Hello. I remembered the books.” She held them out to him, stopping at the limestone slab that served as a step onto the deck.

His hand brushed hers as he accepted the books. Tingles reverberated along her fingers and up her arm. She drew back in shock while alarm bells went off in her mind.

“Lunch is ready,” he announced, holding the door open.

She stood there as if rooted to the spot. “I, uh, didn’t expect anything. You don’t have to feed me.”

“You’re using your lunch hour to bring the books out. That’s a twenty-minute drive each way. The least I can do is offer you a meal. If that’s allowed?”

“Well, yes. I mean, of course it is. There’s no rule against eating…”

Listening to her flustered statements, she gave a mental groan at how inane she sounded.

“That’s a relief to know,” he murmured sardonically.

That brought her back to an even keel. She stepped into the house, her senses filling with the spicy scent of his aftershave as she passed him, then with the mouth-watering aroma of a hot meal. The table, she saw, was already set with large bowls on striped placemats. A ceramic casserole was in the center on a polished marble lazy Susan.

“It’s beef stew,” he said, laying the books on a sideboard and placing the tool belt beside them.

Not at all sure this was wise, she took a seat. “The books are stories of children who have all the cards stacked against them, but they make it anyway,” she said, keeping the reason for her visit strictly official.

“Kids like to see how others manage in bad situations, I suppose.” He served her from the casserole first and placed a basket of hot fry bread, wrapped in a tea towel, close at hand. A bowl of mixed fruit was at each place.

“This looks wonderful. A well-balanced meal,” she told him in approval. “Lots of fruit and vegetables.”

His slight smile caused her throat to tighten. “I’ve read all the articles on nutrition in the paper, so I’m trying to do a good job for the kids. This was to impress you with my skills.”

Surprised at the admission, she laughed. “I am impressed, I assure you.”

“Good.”

He settled in his chair and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Every time she glanced up, her eyes met his. She wondered what he was thinking…if he approved of her soft pink spring outfit…what he expected from a woman in a personal relationship…why no woman had snagged him long ago….

“Everything is delicious. Did you make the fry bread from scratch?” she asked, desperate to divert her thoughts from this strange pattern.

He shook his head. “My mother used to cook it for my brothers and me. She used boxed biscuit mix. She said that was cheating, but she wouldn’t tell if we wouldn’t. It was our family secret.”

“That’s a good bonding device.”

The dark eyebrows rose in question.

“Having a fun secret to share as a family,” she explained. “Your mother had good parenting instincts.”

She knew his mother had died several years ago from a rare form of cancer and his father of liver malfunction associated with alcohol when the three boys had been teenagers.

Her own parents, she mused, were alive and well, both now retired and living in Arizona. Her father had been an accountant. They’d never been very close as a family.

She thought of all the times she could have used their help while raising Zia and finishing the work for her counseling degree. But she’d been too proud to ask and they’d been too rigid to volunteer.

Her host’s manner seemed introspective as he gazed out the window for a moment. “She loved us. I think she would have given her life to protect us boys.”

At his tone she again felt that odd stab of envy, as if his life had been richer than hers. She mentally sighed in disgust with herself. She was so dissatisfied of late.

Was this the fabled midlife crisis?

“I know the feeling,” she said, thinking of her daughter and how to pry her away from Sammy Steele.

“How?” he asked. He glanced at her ringless hand. “Do you have children?”

“Yes. A daughter. She’s nineteen.”

When she didn’t add more, he asked, “Is there a father in the picture?”

She nodded stiffly, still feeling the sting of her poor choice in a mate. “We divorced when she was four. I thought we needed a house and steady income. He liked living in a van and surfing the best waves from California to Florida and all beaches between.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“Do you ever hear from him?”

“Zia does. He drops by occasionally and sends cards at Christmas and her birthday.”

“You sound surprised.”

“That he’d remember? I used to be. In some ways, he’s actually a good father. He cares for her. In his own way.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the surfing?”

While his tone was ironic, his smile was real. She smiled, too. “He still surfs, but he owns a construction firm, too. He’s been married three times.”

“You’ve never tried it again?”

“No,” she said quite forcefully. “Once was enough.”

It occurred to her that she’d shared more of herself with this man than with anyone in a long time. She clamped her lips together and reminded herself that she was the counselor and he was the patient.

Well, not really, but he was part of the case that was now under her cognizance. She must maintain the proper professional distance.

“Would you like more stew?” he asked.

Staring at her bowl, she realized she’d eaten all of the delicious meal. “No, thank you. Everything was very good. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a treat.”

“I hope you saved room for birthday cake. We had a joint celebration for Tony and Krista last night.”

The cake was a little lopsided. Crumbs marred the smooth surface of the creamy icing. Four slices were missing, and she could see that it was chocolate inside.

If it had been any more wonderful, she might have burst into tears.

“We prefer chocolate to any other flavor,” he said.

“So do I. I may be a chocoholic.”

He laughed at that, a rich sound that rolled over her with the sudden pleasure of bells heard in the distance on a Sunday morning in late spring. She could have fallen in love with him for his laugh alone.

After eating the delicious cake, which he admitted he’d made from a mix, she went over the story lines in the books she’d brought and suggested the reading order.

“Strength must come from within,” she concluded, “but humans are clan animals. We need others. I think Krista has a good basis in life. She was secure in her mother’s love and that of your brother. From the children’s accounts, he was a good father to them.”

“He didn’t like being tied down. As a family, they moved around a lot until his wife grew tired of it and decided to stay in one spot.”

“Was that when they divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Then both your brothers died.”

He nodded. “Within six months of each other and shortly before I stepped on a mine in a field that was supposed to have been cleared. It was sort of freakish—as if the fates were determined to wipe out the whole family.”

“Sometimes it seems like that,” she murmured. “My records don’t indicate a marriage for you.”

“No. I got the classic Dear John letter when I was in the army.”

“I’m sorry.”

His smile was unexpected. “Don’t be. Oddly, after I got over the wound to my pride, I realized I didn’t really miss her. It was having someone waiting that I missed.”

Caileen thought this over. “You didn’t love her.”

He shrugged. “I suppose not. Not enough for a lasting marriage, I realized later.”

“You were wise to recognize it in time,” she said.

“Well, she was the one who broke it off. I was merely relieved.”

They laughed together. It was the nicest sound.

“I’m going,” Zia said in her defiant voice.

“What about the term paper you’re supposed to turn in next week?” Caileen asked, keeping her tone level when she really wanted to shout and forbid her daughter to go off for a weekend camping trip with the love of her life.

Zia gave her an irritated grimace. “I hate doing term papers. I should have bought one on the Internet.”

Caileen gave a gasp of shock. “That would be cheating.”

“Mother, you are such a Puritan.”

“Maybe so, but you have a whole summer coming up—”

“That’s months away!”

“Two months isn’t a lifetime.”

“Living here feels like it,” Zia grumbled, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough that Caileen could have ignored the statement.

“When you can make it on your own, you’re free to do so,” she told her daughter, wishing Zia hadn’t inherited her stubborn genes.

Zia looked mulish, but said, “I’ll just go for tonight and come back in the morning and finish the stupid paper.”

“That sounds like a reasonable plan.”

Zia flounced down the hall to her room. Caileen ate her dinner and took the plate to the kitchen. Zia had already stowed her used dishes in the dishwasher.

A neat house was one thing Caileen insisted on. Decent grades were another. Money for tuition was too hard to come by to be wasted.

For a second, she wondered if her daughter saw her as unyielding, the way she viewed her parents. While she tried to be tolerant and understanding, there was a point within herself that couldn’t be breached.

“I’m ready. Sammy will be here any moment.”

Caileen turned from the kitchen window and smiled at her daughter, who had a backpack slung over one shoulder. “What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

Zia sighed. Loudly. “By noon.”

“Great. You can have the car to go to the library. I’m going to work in the yard.”

“You should hire someone to do the mowing. I know, we’re saving for a new roof,” Zia added glumly before Caileen could remind the girl of the harsh reality.

The doorbell rang.

“There’s Sammy. See you tomorrow,” Zia sang out and dashed for the door, the backpack swinging jauntily against her hip. “Uh, Mom, I think it’s someone for you,” she called a few seconds later.

Caileen went into the living room. Jeff Aquilon stood on the porch. “Hello,” she said, flustered at seeing him.

He held up the books. “Krista finished these. I thought I would return them since I was in town.”

Zia stepped back so he could enter. The room seemed much smaller with his presence. Noting the questions in her daughter’s eyes, Caileen introduced the two.

“Mr. Aquilon is the guardian of two of my clients. Zia is my daughter,” she explained to him.

“Call me Jeff,” he said, shaking hands with the girl.

“Thank you,” Zia said. Her smile was quick and dazzling. “There’s a guy in my four o’clock history class at the university whose name is Aquilon.”

“That would be my nephew, Jeremy,” Jeff said, returning the smile. “He’s finishing his senior year in high school, plus taking some college courses. He missed a year, so he’s in a hurry to make it up.”

“I see. Please, won’t you have a seat?”

He glanced at Caileen. She indicated the easy chair and took her place at the end of the sofa.

Zia glanced out the door. “Here’s Sammy. I have to run. Nice meeting you, Jeff.”

With another one of her dazzling smiles, she was out the door and off on her grand adventure. Silence prevailed.

“Did Krista enjoy the stories?” Caileen asked.

“She did. I wondered if you could recommend others. Perhaps longer books. She went through those in two nights and could have done it in one if Wednesday hadn’t been a school night.”

“She has a high reading score, more than two grades above the fifth-grade level. I should have remembered that.”

“Is she gifted? Is that the word the academics use nowadays?”

“Yes, it is.” She stared at him while she considered.

He wore dark slacks and a white shirt, the cuffs rolled up on his arms. The collar was open, revealing a white T-shirt. He looked fit and strong.

Forcing herself to look away, she told him, “I’ll have to check her record, but I think she missed the standard tests for the gifted program last year.”

“Can she take them now?”

Caileen shook her head. “It’s only given once a year and only to fourth graders in elementary school.”

He gave an exasperated snort. “Bureaucracy.”

“You can have her tested, but you’ll have to pay the costs. I can give you the names of the approved testing services so you can consult with them.”

“Good. What do you think of the gifted program in the local school system?”

“Zia loved the field trips and advanced experiments they did, but some teachers just gave extra work to those in the program. The kids didn’t think that was fair.”

He grimaced. “Busywork. I’d hate that, too.” He paused, then added on a thoughtful note, “Your daughter is quite beautiful.” His gaze ran over her as if wondering where the beauty came from.

Caileen nodded. “She looks exactly like her father. Blond, curly hair. Blue eyes. Same shape face. The same tall, slender body. The energy. I always felt as if I were in a mysterious force field when I was with him. When things were good between us.” She winced internally at the last phrase. She hadn’t meant to say that at all.

“Things do change,” he said casually.

“Yes. Sometimes I wish she could have stayed Krista’s age.”

“But kids grow up.”

“And have minds of their own.” She managed a smile.

Then, to her amazement, her eyes misted over as worry over her child assailed her. She blinked rapidly and got the errant tears under control as Jeff prepared to leave.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get home. Friday is Tony’s night to cook dinner. It’s always grilled hamburgers. Krista got after him about the fat content of the potato chips we used to have with them so we’re having lime gelatin with pineapple chunks and grated carrots and grapes instead.” He grinned somewhat wryly as he described the meal.

“That’s nice,” she said. Her voice wobbled.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded and burst into tears.