Читать книгу The Sheriff's Second Chance - Michelle Celmer, Michelle Celmer - Страница 10

Chapter Four

“Let her die with dignity,” Jake—of Jake’s Garage—told Caitie later that evening after supper.

“The front end is pretty smashed up,” she said, surprised that so much damage had been done at such a low speed.

“That’s not even the worst of it.” He lifted the hood. “Your block is cracked.”

She didn’t really know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. “So what you’re saying is, it’s definitely not worth fixing.”

“I wouldn’t waste my money.”

She trusted his judgment. It wasn’t the first time her car had been to that garage. Jake had worked on it years ago when his dad owned the business. Jake Senior retired and of course Jake Junior took over. That was the way it worked in Paradise. When the parent retired, the oldest child took over. And in Jake’s case, they didn’t even have to change the sign.

“What should I do with it now?” she asked him.

He slammed the hood and wiped his hands on the greasy rag hanging from the pocket of his pants. “I know a guy who owns a junkyard. He’d take it off your hands, give you a hundred bucks cash for it.”

Someone would actually pay her cash for this pile of junk? “That would be awesome. What do I owe you for looking at it?”

“It was fifty bucks for the tow. No charge to look at it.”

So she would actually make money on the deal? Go figure. Granted not much money, but these days every penny counted.

“Do you take Visa?” she asked Jake.

“Sure do. Let’s go in the office.”

Back in high school Caitie’s car hadn’t been the most reliable thing on four wheels, so she had seen the inside of the garage office enough times to know that virtually nothing had changed. He had the same grimy cash register that had gone out of date sometime in the past century, printed ads on the walls for car products that dated back to before she was born, and the entire office was covered in a fine coat of greasy dust. Even the floor felt sticky under her flip-flops. And though she wasn’t sure what color the walls were originally, now they were a filthy grayish-yellow.

She watched Jake fill out the paperwork. His hands were dry and calloused with painful-looking cracks on his knuckles and grease caked under his nails.

“Fifty bucks even,” he said, and she handed him her credit card.

“When did your dad retire?” she asked as he ran the charge.

“Three years ago.” He gave her the slip to sign, then handed over her receipt, leaving a greasy fingerprint on the edge. “You’ll need to sign the title over.”

“I’ll have to find it.” She was sure her mom had it filed away somewhere safe. “So, do you like owning the business?”

Leaning with one hip propped against the counter, he shrugged. “It is what it is. What else am I gonna do?”

She wanted to say, Hey, I got out, and you can, too. But she would probably just insult him, or come off as uppity. Besides, she wasn’t exactly the poster child for making it in the big city. What Jake did with his life—or didn’t do—was none of her business.

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about superficial things. He’d been four years ahead of her in school, so they didn’t have many friends in common. She was a little relieved when she finally said goodbye and left the garage.

Many of the businesses in town closed their doors at five, but the thrift store stayed open until nine on weekdays. Needing several personal items to get her through the next few weeks, Cait parked her mom’s car in the street and walked the two blocks. She encountered a few familiar faces, but with a baseball cap hiding her hair and dark sunglasses shading her eyes, no one seemed to recognize her.

As she stepped through the automatic door, a wall of cool air enveloped her. The thrift store, as with the rest of town, hadn’t changed much, and it was practically deserted.

She took a quick look around to get her bearings, then located the personal care aisle exactly where it had been the last time she’d visited.

She walked briskly to the aisle and grabbed a cheap bottle of both shampoo and conditioner and a package of disposable razors. Next she headed to the toy/gardening aisle, hoping to find some sort of book on landscaping.

About halfway down the aisle, an adorable, towheaded little boy with curly hair stood intently studying a display of Legos, most of which were on a high shelf just out of his reach.

“Do you need help reaching something?” Caitie asked, and he turned to look at her with bright green inquisitive eyes. Eyes that narrowed suspiciously as he gave her the once-over. She put him at seven or eight years old, and something about him seemed distinctly familiar, though she was almost positive she had never met him.

“I’m not a’sposed to talk to strangers,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made her smile. Smart kid.

“I’m Caitie,” she said, taking off her sunglasses, thinking it would make her look less intimidating.

Like a lightbulb switching on, recognition lit his face. “You’re the lady in the pictures,” he said.

“Pictures?” Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she shoved her sunglasses back on. “What pictures?”

“In the box in Daddy’s closet.”

Uh-oh. There was only one man in town who would have any reason to have photos of her in his closet. She suddenly realized why the boy looked so familiar.

“Shopping incognito?” a familiar voice said from behind her.

She winced and the spaghetti she’d eaten for dinner tossed around in her stomach. Three times in one day? What were the odds? Paradise was a small town, but come on.

She turned to Nate, who was in his street clothes—a pair of navy chino shorts and a white polo shirt. In one hand he held a package of cookies, and in the other a box of tampons, of all things.

“Great disguise,” he said.

Not so great that he hadn’t recognized her. “Now I get it,” she said.

“Get what?”

“Why you were so cranky this morning.” She gestured to the items he was holding. “PMS.”

“Daddy, what’s PMS?” Cody asked.

He shot Caitie a look, then cut his eyes back to his son. “Never mind, Cody.”

Cody was a miniature version of Nate but with Mel’s striking green eyes. Caitie couldn’t help wondering, if she and Nate had stayed together and had a child, who would it look like? Him? Her? A combination of the two?

What was the point in wondering about something that never had and never would happen? Only a man smitten with a woman would buy her feminine products, meaning he must be involved with someone new.

She wrote off the sudden churning in her belly as indigestion, when the truth was, it felt a lot more like jealousy. And that was unacceptable. But rather than walk away, she heard herself ask, “So, I hear you keep pictures of me in a box in your closet.”

Only after the words were out did she realize that she may have just ratted Cody out. What if he wasn’t supposed to be snooping in his dad’s closet? But if Nate was angry he didn’t let it show, nor did he justify her accusation with a response. Cody didn’t even seem to notice. He was back to staring at the Legos.

“Did you pick one?” Nate asked his son.

“The Frost Beast,” Cody said, pointing to the toy he wanted.

Nate took it down from the shelf and handed it to him. “You have your money?”

Cody pulled a crinkled wad of bills from his shorts pocket and showed him.

“Let’s pay for it and get you to your mom’s,” he said, then turned to Caitie. “We have to go.”

“Nice to meet you, Cody,” she said, and he waved goodbye as they walked away. Caitie expelled a huge but silent sigh of relief. Thankfully, by the time she took her items to the register, Nate and his son were gone.

She knew that he had a son, but knowing that and actually seeing them together were two very different things. Knowing he had someone special in his life left her emotions in a ragged, messy jumble, too.

She paid for her things and walked back to her mom’s car. As she was getting in, she happened to glance across the street and noticed Nate and Cody standing on the sidewalk outside the pharmacy, chatting with a fresh-faced young woman. Cody was bent over a stroller by her side, playing with the infant in the seat.

Could that be Nate’s “special” friend? Caitie was too far away to see clearly, but she could tell that the woman was very pretty. And very young.

Too young for him anyway.

The girl must have said something witty, because first he smiled, and then he broke out laughing. Caitie felt a tug of something unpleasant and for one instant of pure insanity longed to have him smile at her that way, to laugh at one of her clever quips. Touch her arm affectionately...

As if he sensed her gaze, Nate looked in Caitie’s direction and caught her staring. The tips of her ears burned with embarrassment, and though her first instinct was to look away, she held her head high and nodded cordially as she climbed into her mom’s car. She chanced a peek in her rearview mirror as she drove away, feeling a deep shaft of disappointment when she realized he wasn’t watching her longingly. And why would he with a pretty young blonde vying for his attention?

Why did she even care? She wasn’t planning to stay here. As soon as she got a job offer she would be back in New York. Back to her real life.

Caitie forced herself to look away and headed home. Her mom, who had complained of a headache after dinner, was already in bed, and it was too late to start working in the yard. Cait parked herself in front of the television in the den, feeling edgy and unsettled for no good reason. She was still awake and watching a Law & Order rerun when her dad got home at midnight.

“Rough day?” he asked when he poked his head in the den to say good-night, the scent of the food he’d been cooking all day embedded in his clothes.

She sighed and said, “You have no idea.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

She shook her head. She wished there were something he could do, but she was a grown woman. She needed to figure this out on her own.

“I hate seeing you so unhappy.” he said, looking troubled.

“I’m not unhappy. I guess I just feel as if I’m in flux. But everything will be better when I find a job and get back to New York.”

“A good night’s sleep will make things clearer.”

He was probably right, but when she climbed into bed an hour later, sleep wouldn’t come. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was moving a million miles an hour.

She dozed off sometime after two and woke at eight-fifteen with a blazing headache, feeling no less confused than she had been last night. She contemplated going back to sleep—and maybe staying asleep until it was time to go back to New York, but the scent of coffee coerced her out from under the covers.

She pulled a robe on over the oversize shirt she slept in and tried to finger-comb the tangles from her hair. When that proved futile, she grabbed a hair tie off the bedside table and pulled her unruly locks back into a messy ponytail instead.

On a typical day her dad would be out the door and on his way to the diner by 5:30 a.m., but when she shuffled into the kitchen he was seated at the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper. Her mom stood at the stove making pancakes, and thick-sliced pepper bacon sizzled on the griddle.

“Playing hooky?” Caitie asked, kissing his balding head.

He looked up from his paper and smiled. “I take two days a week off now.”

“Really?”

“And he never works longer than a ten-hour shift,” her mom said cheerfully. The long hours he worked, and his refusal to hire more help, had always been a source of friction between them.

Caitie poured herself a cup of coffee, then slid into the seat beside his, which had always been “her” regular spot. “How do you manage that?”

“I told you about Curtis,” her mom said, flipping the pancakes onto a plate she had warmed in the oven, cursing when she flipped a little too hard and one landed on the floor.

“Not that I recall,” Caitie said.

“Sure I did. He’s our assistant manager.” She set the serving plate of pancakes and bacon on the table, then she opened the side door and tossed the runaway pancake into the yard for the birds.

Caitie shrugged. “Not ringing a bell.”

“We hired him...how long ago, Lou?”

“Two months ago,” her dad said, helping himself to three pancakes and two slices of bacon.

“Mom, I definitely would have remembered that.”

“Eat something,” her mom said, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and setting it in front of her. “If you lose any more weight, you’ll disappear.”

Her mom piled two pancakes and four slices of bacon on her plate. Feeling her arteries constrict from the potential saturated animal fat, she put two slices back on the serving plate. “I’m not very hungry.”

“What are you up to today?” her dad asked.

“Actually, I had an idea that I wanted to run past you guys,” Caitie said. “How would you feel if I used my time off to do some sprucing up in the yard?”

Her mom blushed with embarrassment. “It looks awful out there, I know. It shames me every time someone comes over.”

“You don’t like to garden anymore?”

“No, I still love it, but it’s these darned headaches holding me back. Intense sunlight will almost always trigger a migraine. I’m limited to working outside late in the evening just before dusk, but I’m so tired by then.”