Читать книгу Single with Kids - Lynnette Kent - Страница 9

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Rob said. “Are your kids all right?”

Hearing the concern in his voice, Valerie felt the tension inside her relax a little. “We’re fine. The police arrived while the guy was still trying to jimmy the back door lock, so they caught and arrested him on the spot.”

“Thank God. You spent the rest of the night with a neighbor, right?”

“Um…no. We don’t really know our neighbors yet—we only moved in last week.”

“You went to a motel?”

“We stayed here, and I pushed a couple of pieces of furniture in front of the doors.” Valerie thought back to the struggle of sliding the kitchen cupboard across the floor. “Heavy furniture.”

By his stunned silence, she could tell Rob thought her choice a poor one. Who made him the expert, anyway? She could take care of herself and her kids without a man’s input.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about one thing—you do need your locks changed this morning. That’s no problem—I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Thanks.” She set the phone down, propped her chin on her knuckles and closed her eyes. Grace and Connor were still asleep in her bed, where they’d all cuddled once the police had left and the doors were blocked. Valerie had stayed awake, listening to the multitude of night sounds and wondering about the windows, which were locked but vulnerable nonetheless. She’d never been quite so glad to see a sunrise as she was this morning.

Before she could give in to the need for a nap, the black van Rob had driven yesterday pulled into her drive. Blue and white lettering on the side advertised Warren and Sons Locksmiths. Somewhere in the middle of last night’s terse police questions and frantic children’s tears, her brain had latched on to a fact she’d only skimmed yesterday afternoon—Rob Warren was a locksmith. His phone number on Ginny’s information sheet had relieved at least one of her worries.

With a strength that seemed to come out of nowhere, she pushed the TV cabinet away from the front door. “I’m so glad to see you,” she called as he and Ginny crossed the grass. “Thanks for coming out this early.” Her pleasure in seeing him was totally out of proportion to the occasion. He was coming to do a job. Right?

Rob stopped at the foot of the porch steps and grinned at her. “You’re more than welcome. I’d have come last night, if you’d called. I hate to think of y’all barricaded behind furniture to stay safe.” He looked the way a man should on a hot Saturday morning in August—relaxed and comfortable in a dark blue T-shirt and faded jeans that hung a little loose on his long legs, with his hair combed back and damp from a shower.

“Grace and Connor are still asleep,” she said, willing her pulse to slow down. “But it’s good to see you, Ginny. Come in and make yourself at home.”

Ginny moved ahead of her dad, who waited behind her as she slowly climbed the steps—one crutch, then the other and then her braced legs. Her face was a frozen blank, as if she was trying to deny her own effort.

Valerie held the door open, then followed father and daughter inside. “I apologize for the place being such a wreck. We just moved in last week, and I’m still unpacking boxes at night after work. The kitchen’s the neatest, Ginny, if you want to sit in there.”

Unlike her dad, Ginny did not have a ready smile. “Whatever.”

Rob glanced at her with lowered brows, but didn’t comment. “Which locks did this guy mess with?”

“The front and back doors. He wasn’t a pro, obviously, because he didn’t get through either one, and started pounding away with something, trying just to break the door open. The police said he used a tire iron.”

Nodding, Rob turned back to the front door and squatted down to examine the deformed dead bolt and splintered wood around it. His long fingers moved lightly across the different surfaces. He clicked his tongue. “This lock was no great shakes to begin with. But he’s pretty much destroyed your door.” In a clean, easy motion, he straightened to his full height. “How about the back?”

“This way.” She led him through to the kitchen and heard Ginny follow them across the wood floor with a thump of crutches.

“Oops, I haven’t moved that cupboard yet.”

“Excuse me.” His warm hand on her shoulder gently set her aside.

Valerie made sure Ginny took a chair at the kitchen table and then went to join him in pushing the big, heavy piece.

Rob shook his head. “I’ll get this.”

She put her hands on the oak frame. “I can move my own furniture.”

“I see that. But you don’t have to while I’m here. Just step back.”

“All you have to add is ‘little lady’ and I’ll believe you’re John Wayne.” She didn’t smile as she said it.

His eyes widened and his mouth firmed into a straight line. “Well then, since I’m not the Duke, I guess we’ll do it your way.”

“I will admit,” Valerie said when they’d shoved the cupboard against the wall, “that putting this thing in place again with you took a lot less time than moving it by myself.”

Rob gave her a wink before turning to the back door. This time, he didn’t need to bend over to see the damage. “Looks like he went at this one harder ’cause he didn’t figure he’d be seen in back. This is another new door and lock. And the door frame’s damaged, too. Before you can put in a decent lock, that’ll need to be replaced.”

Valerie dropped into a chair at the table. “So we really can’t stay here another night. I know a carpenter won’t come out on Saturday.” On top of a sleepless night—and Con’s phone call—the whole ordeal pressed down on her shoulders with the weight of a millstone. “I hate leaving our stuff at the mercy of whoever comes by. But—”

“Hold on a minute.” Rob sat down across from her, with Ginny between them. “We can do better than that. I’ve hung a few doors in my time, but I’ve got a couple of friends who are professionals. Let me see what I can rustle up.”

“You don’t—”

He didn’t wait for her protest, but whipped out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hey, Adam. Yeah, I actually did. Sorry ’bout that. Listen, have you and Dixon got plans this morning? I have a lady in distress here, and I think you could help.” After an explanation and a few quick words, he closed the phone. “There you go—they’ll be here in about an hour. They were just sitting down to breakfast.”

Valerie set aside her irritation at the “lady in distress” description and got to her feet. “Speaking of food, have you eaten anything, either of you?” She looked at Ginny, who pouted and shook her head. “Well, that’s a problem I can solve right away.”

Rob put up a hand. “Why don’t I just go get some doughnuts, or—”

“Not a chance.” She, too, could boss people around, including this smooth-talking, dictatorial Southern gentleman. “I’ve got a decent breakfast in the fridge and it won’t take long to put together. Do you drink coffee?” she asked, with her head inside the refrigerator. “I try to avoid the stuff on the weekends because I live on it all week, but I can make a pot.”

“I’m a tea drinker, myself.”

“I have some tea bags.” She pushed the refrigerator door closed with her hip. “I’ll make you a cup.”

“Well, actually—do you have any iced tea?”

She stopped in front of him, a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “Iced tea? At breakfast?”

“Lunch, dinner and bedtime, too.” His eyes twinkled, reminding her of Connor at his most mischievous.

“I don’t know how to make iced tea.”

“I could show you.”

“You make tea?”

“My daddy makes the best,” Ginny put in. “He learned from my grandmama. When our family gets together for a picnic, everybody wants Daddy to make the tea.”

Valerie gestured toward the pantry with the milk. “Well, clearly I’m in the presence of a master. Be my guest.”

By the time she’d scrambled eggs and broiled bacon, Rob had produced a pitcher of tea and Grace stood at the door to the kitchen with Connor behind her, blinking at their early guests. “Mom? What’s going on?”

“Good morning, sleepyheads. Come to the table. Mr. Warren and Ginny are here for breakfast, and then Mr. Warren is going to fix the locks on the doors.”

Not budging a step farther, Grace glanced at the back door. “Did that man come back?”

“No. No, he won’t come back. The police took him away, remember?”

“C’mon, dummy, move!” Connor pushed from behind and stomped past his stumbling sister into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.” In the middle of the room, though, he stopped short and pointed at Ginny. “She’s in my chair.”

Valerie nodded at the space next to Rob. “We brought in a new chair for you. Grace, come sit beside me.”

“I’m not sitting next to her.” Connor walked around to his usual place. “Give me my chair.”

Ginny stared at him with a challenge in her eyes. “No.”

“Ginny—” Rob started.

“Mommy,” Connor whined, “I want my chair.”

She took his hand and led him to the other side of the table. “You will sit here. Or you won’t eat.” Her son slouched into the disputed seat. With his arms crossed over his chest, his cheeks puffed and lower lip stuck out, he resembled a grouchy frog.

Ignoring him, Valerie looked at her daughter. “Come sit down, Grace, before the food gets cold.” After another moment of hesitation, Grace sidled in behind the table to sit next to her brother, who promptly blew a raspberry at her.

“Hey.” Rob’s hand closed over Connor’s shoulder. “That’s no fair.”

Connor turned his freckled face toward Rob. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t blow raspberries without a reason.”

“Who says?”

“It’s the rule.”

“Whose rule?”

“Everybody knows raspberries don’t count unless the other guy—or girl—did something to you first.” With a shrug, Rob sat back in his seat. “That’s the law of the land.”

With eyebrows lowered and lips pursed, Connor stared at him for a long time. At last, he turned to Valerie. “Can I have some eggs now?”

“Please,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “Can I please have some eggs now?”

“Good man,” Rob told him with a grin.

Valerie watched as Connor started to smile back, then quickly reverted to his standard belligerent attitude. After a year of his moods, she’d begun to wonder if the cheerful little boy she’d once known would ever reappear. Thanks to Rob Warren, she now saw that he still lurked beneath the mask—daunted but not gone forever.

Once the kids cleared the table after breakfast, Ginny returned to her chair and Grace and Connor went to get dressed. Valerie attempted to load the dishwasher without Rob’s help.

“I can do that,” he insisted. “You cooked. I want to clean up.”

“I will finish the kitchen,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sit down and drink your tea or go for a walk around the block. But don’t stand here in my way.”

A knock at the front door forestalled his answer. She started to leave the kitchen, then turned back. “Don’t touch the dishwasher,” she warned. “Or heads will roll.”

He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Ginny and I will come along so you can keep an eye on me.”

“Good idea.” When she reached the door, she found two good-looking guys in shorts, T-shirts and sneakers standing on the porch.

The taller one spoke first. “Ms. Manion? I’m Dixon Bell, and this is Adam DeVries. Rob Warren gave us a call about your doors?”

Rob stepped up behind her. “About time y’all showed up. I was beginning to think I’d have to hang these doors by myself.”

“God f-forbid,” Adam DeVries said. “You’d never get them square.”

“Wait a minute.” Valerie shook her head. “I thought I read in the paper…saw somewhere…that the name of the mayor is DeVries.”

The dark-haired man smiled at her. “That’s me. And on b-behalf of New Skye, I’d like to w-welcome you and your f-family to the city. We’re glad to h-have you.” His gaze dropped to the doorknob and he scowled. “Although this is not at all the kind of reception you should have gotten. I’ll be talking to the police chief.”

“Adam owns a construction business,” Rob said over her shoulder. “And when he’s not putting down other people’s best efforts, he does a good job. Dixon has done a lot of restoration work on his own house, so he’s another one you can trust to get your doors hung right.”

She felt as if she was being swept along by a river of masculinity. “I really don’t want to bother you—”

“It’s no bother.” Dixon smiled, and she realized he was nearly as handsome as Rob, with a moonlight-and-magnolias accent all his own. “We’re glad to help a new neighbor.”

Adam pulled a tape measure out of his pocket and reached to the top of her door. “All we have to do is m-measure, then we can get the right-size d-doors and get on with the j-job.” The mayor seemed quieter than his friends, but his steady gaze was reassuring. Valerie decided he had her vote.

“We’ll need to measure the back door and check out the frame,” Rob warned. “That’s got to be replaced, too.”

The men were soon deep into a cryptic conversation involving tools, wood and screws. Valerie stood her ground, trying to understand, hoping to remain an active part of the process. In the end, however, she assured Rob that Ginny was welcome to stay with her while he went for supplies and then watched helplessly from the front porch as the three of them got into a white pickup truck and drove off.

When she turned back into the house, Ginny stood nearby. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Valerie called up her most encouraging smile. “Well, let’s go find out what Grace is up to.” She led Ginny down the hallway to Grace’s bedroom, only to find the door closed. “Grace, are you okay?”

Her daughter opened the door to create a narrow crack she could peer through. “Yes.” Her glance flicked to Ginny and then away.

“Ginny’s here while her dad has gone to get the new doors. I thought the two of your might find something to do together.”

The hesitation in Grace’s face was easy to read, and Valerie felt sure Ginny saw it. But after a long moment, the door opened all the way.

“Sure,” her daughter said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Come in.”

Valerie stepped to the side, giving Ginny room to pass. She could practically feel the temperature drop below freezing. “I’m going to help Connor unpack his room,” she told them. “He’s been waiting all week. So, you two…um…have fun.”

The two girls stared at her, their expressions a similar mix of impatience, resentment and uncertainty. Valerie turned her back and escaped to the simple world of the seven-year-old male. Maybe there she could establish a position of authority.

As she reached Connor’s door, a foam missile hit her in the face.

Then again, maybe not.

GRACE RETREATED to her bed, leaving the other girl the rest of the room. After a couple of minutes, the girl came in—you couldn’t call it walking, exactly, with the crutches. She stopped in the middle of the rug, looked around but didn’t say anything.

“What do you want to play?” Grace said at last, just to end the silence.

“I don’t care,” the girl said without looking at Grace.

“Do you like dolls?”

“Dolls are for babies.”

Grace glanced at her favorites, all lined up on the bed. She hoped they hadn’t heard. “Um…I have puzzles.”

“Boring.”

She didn’t see how they could play dress up. And she didn’t want to play dress up with the girl, anyway. “We could build with Lego’s. Or play Life.”

The girl sighed, went to the chair at the desk and sat down. Grace gasped when she remembered that she’d left her diary there, open. She started to jump up and grab it out from under the girl’s face.

But the girl didn’t seem to notice the diary. “So what happened last night? Did some guy really try to break down your door?”

“Yes.” She shivered when she thought about it.

“Did he make a lot of noise?”

“N-not at first. It got louder, the more he tried.”

“Were you awake the whole time?” The girl seemed really excited. She hadn’t said this much in the entire first week of school.

“I don’t think so. Mom came to get us and took us to her room, then called the police.”

“And you just sat and listened until they came?”

Grace nodded, then swallowed the lump in her throat at the memory.

“Scary, huh? What were you going to do if he got in before the cops came?”

“My mother—” She remembered just in time. Tell nobody. Absolutely no one. “I don’t know.”

But the girl didn’t believe her. “What were you going to say? Your mother…?”

“My mother locked the bedroom door. We were safe enough until the police came.”

The girl’s pale eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s what you meant. I think you were going to say something else.”

She gripped her bedspread with both hands. “No, I wasn’t. That’s all.”

Now the girl did turn to the desk, and she picked up the diary. “I could keep this and give it to your little brother.”

Grace jumped to her feet. “You can’t do that. It’s mine.”

“And if you try to take it away, I’ll tell your mother you were hitting me.” The girl gave a fake smile. “Nobody likes it when you beat up on a cripple.”

“Please, give it back.”

“Tell me what you started to say.”

“I—I can’t. I promised not to.”

“Okay.” She shrugged and then wiggled to her feet, with the diary caught in her hand next to the crutch. “I’ll go see your little brother.”

“Wait. Stop.” Grace took a deep breath. It wouldn’t hurt to tell what. She wouldn’t say where. “I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I—” She glanced at the door, as if her mother could hear.

“Well?”

“My mother has a gun.” Grace dragged in a deep breath. “We sat on the bed facing the door, and she loaded and cocked the gun. If the guy had come in, she was going to blow his head off.”

“Could she do that?”

“She took shooting lessons. I think she could.”

“Wow.” The girl set the diary on the desk. “That’s cool.”

Grace reached out and grabbed the little book, hugging it close to her chest and ran back to her bed.

“But she didn’t get to shoot him, did she?”

“No.” She finished stuffing the book under the mattress, then turned and sat down on top of it. “The police came.”

“Can I see it? The gun?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

This time, she had an answer ready. “My mom hides it. I don’t know where she keeps it.”

“We could look for it.”

“She’d figure out pretty fast what we were looking for. And then we’d get in trouble.” Major trouble, since Grace wasn’t supposed to have said anything in the first place.

“Too bad.” The girl sighed. “That would have been fun.” They both sat and did nothing for a few minutes. “Does your boom box work?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any decent music?”

“What do you think is decent?”

“Canned Tin?”

Grace couldn’t help releasing a smile of relief. “Have you heard their latest CD? It’s awesome.”

“I know. And my dad won’t get me the disk—he says it’s not good music.”

“Your dad’s crazy out of his mind.” She expected to be slapped for the words.

But the girl smiled again—a real smile, this time. “I know.”

DIXON AND ADAM got the doors hung around midafternoon, and shared a glass of iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies with Valerie and the kids before going back to their own families. Then Rob went to work on the locks.

After only a few minutes, he felt eyes boring into the back of his head. A glance to the rear showed Connor standing behind him. “Hey. Want to watch?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Rob turned back to his work, but the sensation of being observed didn’t go away. “Since the other door was about twenty years old,” he said conversationally, “the lock hole on a new door wouldn’t have been in the right place. So we got a door without a pre-drilled hole and I’m gonna make one that matches the old door.” He picked up his router and set the point on the door. “This’ll be loud.” The high-pitched roar of the tool took over for a few minutes.

With the hole drilled, Rob popped out the plug of wood. “That’s all there is to it.” He set the plug to his side and a little behind him, where a small hand promptly snatched it up. “Now I need another, smaller hole for the tongue to go through.”

Step by step, he talked his way through the dead-bolt installation, without ever seeing Connor face-to-face. “All that’s left is to tighten these screws.” He suited actions to words, then stepped back. “Now there’s a good strong bolt on this door, at least.” With the door shut, he locked both the dead bolt and the knob. “I bet nobody’s gonna get that door open without a key any time soon.” Gathering up his tools, he headed for the kitchen without a glance around.

But he paused in the dining room and grinned as he heard the distinct sound of a little boy rattling a doorknob.

By dinnertime, both the front and back doors of the Manion house boasted state-of-the art brass doorknobs, plus heavy-duty dead bolts.

“That’s a start.” Rob surveyed the finished back door from inside the kitchen. “No junkie’s gonna get through steel and brass before the cops get here.”

“Fantastic.” Valerie stood beside him, her dark, curly hair barely level with his shoulder. “I miss the windows in the door, though. I liked looking out onto the backyard while the kids played.”

“You still can—that’s why we’ve got the storm door, here.” He reached around her shoulder to open the inner panel. “When you’re home, you can leave the door open and look through the glass. Come nighttime, or when you’re away, this thick metal door will keep you safe.”

He followed Valerie out onto the deck, where Ginny sat with a book. Connor and Grace were climbing on the play set in the shade underneath a grove of pines, but Rob didn’t like Ginny using a swing unless he was nearby.

“What I really need is a security system, with all the doors and windows wired.” Valerie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, though the evening was far from cool. “My last two houses had one. Does your company install alarms?”

Rob blew out a deep, frustrated breath. Another potential sale he had to turn down. “No, we don’t. I can send you to a couple of good companies up in Raleigh. But there’s nobody local who installs and monitors alarms yet. I’m pushing my dad, but…” He shrugged. “Mike’s a little set in his ways.”

Valerie looked at him curiously. “Do you like working with your family?”

“Has its ups and downs.” Mostly downs, lately.

“I know I couldn’t work with my dad. He still can’t believe I actually read the financial pages and run whole departments in big companies. And whenever we go home, he tries to tell me how to parent my kids.” She made a wry face. “I don’t go home very often.”

“The grandparents think they know best, don’t they?”

“Of course. And it’s worse since the divorce. He’s sure I don’t know what I’m doing with Connor.” It was her turn to sigh. “Unfortunately, half the time I think he’s right.”

“Don’t give up yet. I imagine it’s hard on a kid, losing his dad. Does he get to see your ex often?”

She turned away to fiddle with the leaf of a potted plant. “No. Con Sr. doesn’t do kids anymore.”

Rob had a word for men like that, but he kept it to himself. The sun had dropped behind the treetops, leaving the deck and the entire backyard in shadow. Valerie lifted a hand to the nape of her neck and massaged the muscles there. He knew she had a headache, from the tiny line between her brows.

“You must be tired,” he said. “I doubt you got much sleep last night.”

“None.” She looked up, smiling. “But tonight I can sleep safe behind my strong new doors.”

That smile was a killer—sweet and saucy, with the dimple, and yet a little shy. He got hit by the strangest need to trace the shape of her mouth with his fingertip. Or to sample the taste of a kiss.

In his head, bells clanged and a siren screamed. Rob backed all the way to the rail of the deck. “I…think Ginny and I had better be getting home. Leave y’all in peace.” Even an argument with his daughter would be preferable to the wild ideas currently racing through his brain. “Ginny, time to go.”

“I really appreciate all you’ve done.” Valerie followed as he wrangled a protesting Ginny to the front door. “I expect a bill for your time and all the materials.”

“You’ll get one,” he promised. “Or my dad’ll be on my back.” He reached the car without further temptation. “’Night,” he said, as Valerie stood by his open window. He pressed the brake and shifted gears, almost escaped.

Then she placed her hand on the door—a capable hand, with well-tended nails and soft-looking skin. “Rob, we need to get together to talk about the first GO! meeting. I’ve got a general plan, but I want you to contribute. When are you free?”

He’d forgotten GO!. “Anytime,” he said, relaxing in the seat, accepting his fate.

“How’s tomorrow afternoon? Around two?”

“Fine. Shall I come here?”

“That’s good.”

“Okay, then. Y’all have a peaceful night.” He couldn’t help adding, “And call me if you need help this time.”

“Sure.” That reassuring smile meant Not a chance.

“Promise.” He glared at her. “Let me hear you say it.”

Valerie put her hand over her heart. “Okay. I promise.”

Rob nodded. “Right.” She stepped back and he made his getaway. Only for a brief reprieve, though. Tomorrow, he would come back…to a woman who inspired ideas he hadn’t allowed inside his brain for years.

Maybe by tomorrow, he’d have recovered from this temporary insanity. Tomorrow, she’d look like every other woman he’d met in the last eight years. Nice. Ordinary. Right?

Yeah, right. Sunday afternoon, Valerie met him at her new front door, wearing a light-blue sundress. Her shoulders were bare and tan, as were her long, smooth legs.

At the sudden spike in his heart rate, Rob acknowledged the fact that this woman might turn out to be the exact opposite from nice and ordinary, after all.