Any Man of Mine (6 page)

“I think I do. Juanita does, too. She's tough and she's trying to get her life together.”

Tough. The ultimate compliment from my brothers.

“Even Jigs was afraid of Steve,” I added, my voice heavy with innuendo.

“Juanita told me enough about Steve,” Chip said. “She said he was a bully. I'd like to see her move out of town, away from him. By the way, did we ever get a renter for the old house?”

I secretly hoped we wouldn't get a response to any ad. My practical and thrifty brothers wanted to tie into the existing power and gas lines and had built our new house a stone's throw from the old one. Depending on who threw the stones. At any toss, I liked the privacy of not having any one else on the yard.

“No. I thought Neil was going to put an ad in the paper.”

“I don't know if he did, but if the house is empty… Hey, I gotta go.”

The dial tone in my ear signaled the end of another scintillating conversation with my younger brother. Was he looking for a place for Juanita? I hoped not. I was on the hit list of enough other parents of kids in care that the last thing I needed was to have a viable target living right on the yard. I wasn't her caseworker so I didn't know what her situation was. But if she needed a place to stay, it wouldn't be very Christian of me to turn her down.

I was about to pull the headset off when the phone rang again. I glanced at the clock. The office was officially closed, but an innate sense of responsibility had me answering before my tired mind could process the word “no.”

“Hello, Danielle? How are you?”

The deep voice sent my heart into a long, slow flip. Then my brain fired up again. “Oh, just fine, Jigsy,” I said through tight lips. “Been listening to some Schubert lately.”

“Schubert is good. Highly underrated.”

“Nice. What can I do for you?” Jigs/James had left a number of messages the past few days, none of which I was inclined to respond to. But he had caught me now and I was forced to be reasonably civil.

“I thought I'd call. See how you were doing.”

“Let's see. Heart is good. Blood pressure a bit up, but that's understandable given my job. Iron count is low, but as for the rest, I'm fine. And my goodness, look at the time, I have to run.” Then I hung up.

I yanked the earphones off my head, wishing my
little rebellion made me feel more empowered than it did. When I finally got myself back on track I continued working on my resume, wishing I could add more experience than this single job. Then, with a nothing-ventured, nothing-gained exhortation ringing through my head, I put it all together in a neat little package.

My hand hesitated on the Send button. Did I dare leave my father in the care of my brothers? Did I dare stay around and slowly wither away?

I bit my lip, said a quick prayer, then hit the Enter key and sent it off into cyberspace. Now my resume and application were someone else's responsibility. As for Dad, I just had to pray that if the Lord wanted me to have this job, He'd help me find a way to take care of Dad.

 

“Great supper, Dani.” Jace wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away and glanced at Neil with raised eyebrows.

Neil looked up from scraping up the last of the ice cream from his bowl. “Yeah. Really good. Thanks.”

“Is this a new kind of ice cream?” Chip asked. “It's really good.”

“Yes, like the pizza you finished, I bought it all by myself,” I said, secretly pleased that they were at least trying to make amends for their bad behavior the other day.

“So, Dad, Chip said he talked to you about the old
farmhouse on the yard here,” Jace said, glancing from Neil to Chip to our dad.

“You want to rent it out,” he said, finishing off the last of his soup. I didn't dare feed him the artery-clogging pizza, so had made him his favorite tomato soup. Thankfully he wasn't fussy. “Fine by me.”

“How about you, Danielle?” Chip glanced at me. “How do you feel? It would be a good thing to do. Be neighborly.”

I was surprised they asked me, but I saw it as a positive move in a good direction. It would give me a chance to help Juanita out and help keep an eye on her. “I wasn't really keen on it at first, but if everyone else agrees, I'm okay with it. After all, my job is all about helping people and giving them a chance to turn their life around. If that's going to happen, then I'm okay with it.”

“Okay,” Jace said, drawing out the word as he lifted one puzzled eyebrow. “Just making sure.”

“Great.” Chip sat back, relief in his voice. “I'm glad you changed your mind about Jigs.”

I frowned. “Jigs? How did the conversation go from renting the house to Juanita to Jigs.”

Chip's smile faded to a puzzled look. “Juanita's not renting the house. Jigs is.”

“Y
ou guys are seriously deranged,” I said, glaring at each one of them to make my point.

Chip frowned, uncomprehending. Neil grinned and shrugged. Only Jace had the sense to look a shade embarrassed.

“I don't want him staying here,” I said in my best “don't mess with me” voice.

“Dani, the roof on the house he's living in is leaking,” Chip put in, giving me his best puppy-dog look, ignoring my pithy outburst.

I looked from Neil to Chip to Jace but they were all smiling at me. What was it about Jigs that had my brothers so staunchly on his side? I had never seen them take someone so firmly under their wing before.

I finally turned to my father to appeal to him. “Dad, I don't think it is such a good idea to have a strange man on our yard.”

“He's not strange.” Dad frowned at me. “I thought you went on a date with him.”

Which was why I didn't think it was such a good idea to have strange man on our yard.

“How long does he need a place?” I grudgingly asked, realizing I was cornered.

“Just until he gets his roof fixed,” Neil said, grinning at me.

“Which you guys are going to do, right?”

“Of course.”

I looked from brother to brother and had an ominous feeling. This was not going to go well.

 

I wasn't going to watch, I thought, yanking another weed out of the flower bed. I was going to stay focused on the job at hand and not let my emotions get the better of me.

I tossed a large stinkweed over my shoulder. Then another. Last fall I had been too busy to clean up the flower beds. This meant I now had to hunt through a jungle of weeds to find the perennials. My mother had planted most of them and at one time her flower beds had been her pride and joy.

Now they were humblingly depressing. A testament to my life spent in an office hunting down delinquent parents and deadbeat dads on the phone instead of out in the hale and hearty outdoors.

I needed to get at these flower beds before I forgot what was in them and my brothers took a propane torch to the entire works. They believed in a scorched-
earth policy when it came to weeds and hadn't grasped the whole selective weeding concept.

Even though I was engrossed in my project I easily heard the sounds coming from the little house below us.

“Hey, careful with the couch.” I heard a too familiar voice call out. “It's vintage.”

“Isn't that just a fancy word for junk?” Neil called back.

“It's only junk if it's in the landfill,” James said.

“Isn't that a fancy name for dump?”

This had been going on ever since the white-and-orange rental truck had pulled up to the other house at 6:00 a.m. this morning. I had tried to sleep through the noise of talking and laughter, but my window overlooked the yard and the sound carried up the hill. At 7:00 a.m. I had finally given up and gotten out of bed.

Today was the first Saturday in weeks that I wasn't on call, and I had been looking forward all week to sleeping in, then leisurely working on the yard, possibly taking my horse, Spook, out for a ride. I had been neglecting him of late and the guilt I felt about that was one more notch on my belt. And, up until a week ago, I had been looking forward to spending some time with James. Snake.

I yanked another weed out and tossed it over my shoulder. And another and another, and then had to stop myself because the last “weed” I had pitched was a shoot from one of Mom's favorite lilies.

About fifteen minutes later I had all four flower beds in front of the house done and, in spite of my frustration, was quite pleased with the result. I could easily make out the new spikes of green from the rest of the lilies, the mound of leaves of the columbine and the shoots of the iris and poppies. The other perennials would show themselves later.

“Do you have a broom?”

I screamed, jumped, then spun around.

James's hair was spiked with sweat, whiskers stubbled his chin, dirt smudged his face and a pink T-shirt strained across his broad chest and shoulders. His blue jeans were ripped at one knee and he wore sneakers with the laces trailing.

It was a combination of anger and surprise that made my heart quiver, I assured myself as I planted my fists on my hips.

“A broom?” Oh, you witty and intelligent creature, you. Did you think of that all by yourself?

“Yeah. You know.” He pretended to make a sweeping motion. “Gets rid of dirt with a flick of the wrist?” Then he smiled. Just like he did when I first met him. Just like he did on our date.

“I forgot mine,” he continued, his smile slipping in the face of my obvious displeasure. Just like it did when I discovered his true identity as a snake. “Well, actually, I don't have one. There's no substitute for a true lack of preparation so I'm counting on you to help me out.”

He was making me feel edgy and nervous. “Sure.
I have a broom. Somewhere.” I turned, took a step and promptly got tangled up in the pile of weeds I had accumulated.

Strong hands caught me by my arm.

In a really good romantic movie he would have caught me by both arms, I would have ended up standing face-to-face with him, so close we could have kissed….

Instead I was thrown off balance and I ended up with his hand clamped around my upper arm and me on one knee on the weeds. Very delicate. Very romantic.

Very infuriating.

I jerked my arm away, but James held on, pulling me to my feet.

“Sorry about that,” he said, with an apologetic look.

I brushed my arm, brushing away the feel of his hand on mine, but it didn't disappear as quickly as I would have liked. “I'll get your broom.”

I found one on the back porch and brought it out to him. He was standing in front of the flower beds, looking down at the plants.

“So what are these?” he asked, pointing to the lilies.

“Asiatic lilies.” I shoved the broom toward him. I wasn't about to give him another chance to spout off information that would make him look all sensitive and caring. “Do you need anything else?”

I knew I was being rude and abrupt, but he made me feel unsettled. Too many confusing emotions were attached to this guy—attraction and frustration and anger and glimmers of hope.

I waited a beat, then walked back toward the house.

Please, Lord, help me to be civil to him,
I prayed as I jerked open the door of the porch.
And please, Lord, help me not to fall for him again.
Literally and figuratively.

Over the course of the morning, Chip, Jace and Neil were in and out of the house borrowing window cleaner, a mop, the vacuum cleaner, garbage bags, boxes and, for some inexplicable reason, the cordless phone.

I got the weeds dragged away and then started up the riding lawn mower in a futile attempt to drown out the noise I heard coming from the house. Someone had turned a stereo on and they were playing Keith Urban at full decibel.

Nice try, I thought as I spun around the yard, not falling for the obvious ploy.

An hour later the lawn was mowed, I had trimmed the edges along the flower beds and the sidewalk and I was hot and sweaty. The stereo next door was still going strong. Over the noise I heard sounds of hammering and the whine of a jigsaw. Were they renovating?

As I hung up the Weed Eater in the garage, I forced down my innate curiosity. I didn't need to know what they were up to, but I did need my broom to sweep away the grass. So how could I get it without physically going down there?

Brainwave. I could get Dad to get it and use the excuse that I was making lunch for him.

Brushing the grass clippings off my pants, I toed off my runners and went looking for my dad to get me off the hook.

I found him in his recliner. Asleep. For a moment I tried to reconcile the tired, old man laying in his chair with the vital and alive father who used to go riding with me or take me out on long hikes. The man who would wrestle large, unruly calves when we had to give them shots before putting them out on pasture.

The doctors had warned me, but I couldn't have imagined the change that had come over my father since his heart attack.

I pulled the newspaper off his chest, folded it and put it on the coffee table. As I stroked the hair away from his face I thought of the resume and application I had sent off a couple of days ago.

If I got the job did I dare leave him in my brothers' hands?

If I didn't, did I dare stay around?

The phone rang and I jumped to answer it before its shrill tones woke up my father. I checked the call display as I connected and my heart dropped to my shoes. It was my boss.

“Hey, Casey. What can I do for you?”

“I just got wind of an emergency apprehension and placement.” Was it me, or did he sound even happier than he should have?

“But it's my first Saturday off in weeks,” I whined. “Get Henry Agnew to do it. He's on call.”
And, I wanted to add, more capable of dealing with all the potential for disaster that came with apprehensions.

“I can't get hold of him and this is an emergency. A baby and a two-year-old. We have to move while we can.”

What was this, irresponsible parent week?

If it wasn't for the fact that I wanted—no,
needed
—this other job and, by extension, a good reference from Casey, I would have told him no. Told him to try harder at tracking down Henry and send him to do some real work. But Casey knew I wanted to move on and he was using my situation to his advantage.

Instead I stifled my frustration and anger. “Where's this supposed to happen?” I asked, pulling out a pen and paper to take directions.

“Sangudo.”

A two-hour drive away. I wouldn't be home till midnight, which meant poor Spook would have to wait for yet another free day to get some exercise. As I jotted down the relevant information I glanced at my father. My previous reluctance to leave him for another job was now balanced with the stark reality of my current job and my current boss. I couldn't get away from either fast enough.

There wasn't much in the refrigerator for supper. No handy leftovers that I could get the boys to heat up for Dad and themselves. No pizza in the freezer. I fell back on an old staple. Bean soup in the slow
cooker. I quickly dumped the ingredients in the pot, one eye on the clock, then ran upstairs to change.

I slipped on slacks, a soft shirt and a blazer. Low shoes. I never knew what to expect with these apprehensions. I knew that I usually needed to combine the ability to leap over couches in a single bound with a semiprofessional look.

I brushed my hair, pulled it back, put on some makeup and gave myself a critical look. Okay. Time to head into battle. But first, I had to go down to the house and let my brothers know what was going on, which meant facing James again.

The music had been turned down by the time I got there. The hammering had stopped, but the boys were still laughing together. I knocked on the door and Jace yelled at me to come on in.

Chip, Jace, Neil and James were seated around the kitchen table going through what looked like James's photo albums.

“Hey, come on in,” James said, looking up at me with a smile.

“What's up, sis?” Neil asked. His long blond hair was anchored with a baseball cap that was sprinkled with wood shavings.

“I have to go to work.” I wasn't going to look. I wasn't curious about James's house. But in spite of my determination to keep myself aloof, I couldn't help a glance around. The living room looked surprisingly cozy. A couch and two matching chairs. I saw what the boys had been working on. Between the
two large living room windows sat a bookshelf, its wood still gleaming white. It was already filled with books.

The variety of appliances on the kitchen counter surprised me. I think the only kitchen appliance my brothers could correctly identify was the toaster.

“Casey called,” I continued. “I need to do an emergency apprehension and placement. I want one of you to go up to the house once in a while and see how Dad is doing. Maybe keep him company.” I fidgeted with the strap of my briefcase, trying to avoid James's looking at me, but in spite of that, I was more aware of his presence than I was of my brothers. “I made some bean soup. It's in the slow cooker.”

“Can James have some?” Neil asked.

“Sure. Whatever.”

“I thought this was your weekend off?” James asked.

“I did, too,” I said, checking my cell phone to make sure I had enough juice in the battery. “But apparently Casey seems to think I'm the only one that can do this particular job.” I zipped my briefcase shut and finally looked up at him. He was sitting sideways, his elbow resting on the table, his hazel eyes holding mine.

“You should have told him you were busy.”

I held his gaze a moment, surprised that he cared. “Maybe I should have.” The only problem was, I hadn't been working long enough to accumulate
enough years of experience to speak to any future employer. I was counting on my willingness to work when I could to balance that deficiency.

“Be careful you don't burn yourself out.”

His words, spoken in a quiet voice and combined with the intent look in his eyes, softened my resistance to him and kindled a soft glow of pleasure. His concern was an unfamiliar experience for me.

Then I saw Jace nudge James's foot under the table and caught Neil giving James an elbow. Chip winked at him.

For sincerity, judge number one, 5.6.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said icily. “I'll keep it in mind.”

There it was again. A flicker of puzzlement that was either staged or real. I didn't want to spend too much time trying to decipher it. James was officially filed away as a mistake that I wasn't about to repeat.

I left. But as I drove, I found myself remembering his concern, staged or otherwise, wishing it didn't resurrect old yearnings and desires.

I knew I was a romantic, something that living with three brothers, a gruff father and a no-nonsense mother hadn't been able to root out of my life. I loved melancholy music, sad stories, fairy tales, ruffles, lace and delicate things. Sometimes I was convinced I wasn't really a Hemstead. That I had been switched in the hospital and somewhere there was an elegant woman who was dealing with a rough, tough tomboy daughter who hated dolls when
she was young, chewed gum and wore leather and denim.