Hidden Hills (7 page)

“Mama!” Becky shouted from the top landing of the stairs. “Those mover guys put Maggie's bed in my room!”

“See if she'll trade with you.”

“I don't like her bed!”

“Then see if she'll switch rooms with you.”

“Cool!”

Charlotte doubted the beds were the only mix-up. She hated to admit it, but Jake had been right. Some of her furniture had made the trip without a problem, but other pieces appeared as if she'd bought them at a scratch and dent shop. One of the bedside lamps hadn't survived at all. The old saying “you get what you pay for” was true, but in her case, she'd got what she could afford — the guys were cheap.

Everything she owned had fit into the panel truck except her plants. There wasn't any hurry as long as she got those before the house sold. It had been on the market for over eighteen months without so much as a nibble. She knew it was unrealistic to hope Mrs. Wilson could do any better, but hope was all she had. Time was running out, leaving her with money for only three more payments before the unthinkable happened.

Charlotte forgot her search for a clean cup when a bushy green plant floated past her kitchen window. She checked her reflection in the toaster and ran her fingers through her unruly hair. The pale face staring back was distorted, but there was no denying the dark smudges beneath her eyes. After splashing some water, she grabbed a dishtowel to wipe away the mascara, then realized she wasn't wearing any.

“Hey lady, this thing's heavy. Do you have to take all day?”

The voice was grumpier than she remembered, but the rest of the guy was familiar enough through the screen door. She unhooked the latch. “It's beautiful, Jake.”

“You think so?” His lopsided grin let her know what he thought of her taste. “I wanted to get roses, but the girls at work said this was more neighborly, and since I'm not much at picking flowers — except roses — I like roses.”

Charlotte led him around a stack of unopened boxes, trying to keep her attention on the flowers instead of his blue eyes. “This is a Peace Lily, and I love it.”

“Then I guess it
is
neighborly.”

She found herself wondering how many women he'd bought roses for since his wife passed away. Jake wasn't handsome in the regular sense. His hairline was receding, and his shoulders seemed too wide for his lanky frame, but the man had the most incredible royal blue eyes she'd ever seen. Even his smell had her spirit reaching out for him in a most unneighborly way.

Why was this happening to her? Why now, with this man? Others had tried to flirt with her, and she'd felt nothing. Now a skinny guy brought her a potted plant, and she swooned like a heroine in an old movie. She cut her eyes away from his before she did something stupid. “I feel like a fraud.”

“You do — why?”

“Because I've got all sorts of flowers just waiting for a ride,” she admitted, hoping she didn't sound ungrateful.

“One more won't hurt — will it?”

“No, of course not.” The smell of his cologne was playing havoc with her nervous system. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his fresh male scent. “There's always room for one more.”

He sat the pot on a large box and surveyed the room. “The store's closed tomorrow. We can use the van if you want to.”

“You're offering to move my plants?”

“Sure, why not? It might be fun.”

It should have been so easy to say yes, but something held her back. If he'd been a woman, she wouldn't have hesitated, but he was a man, and men had ulterior motives, especially the great smelling ones like him.

“What store are we talking about?”

“Bett's.”

“The clothing store? You're sure they won't mind?”

“I've used it before.” He rummaged through a box on the kitchen counter and turned with a grin, holding up two Alabama coffee mugs. “I knew you were a fan.”

Charlotte cleared a place on the table and emptied a couple of chairs, while he poured the coffee. It was the first break she'd had all day.

“So you work in a store.” She was surprised at his occupation. The boys complained all week of him spending too much time with his blueprints, and she'd pegged him as being an engineer. “I guess we have more in common than noisy kids.”

“Could be.” He moved his Peace Lily to the sink and gave it a good soaking. She watched him remove the foil, letting the excess water drain through. For someone who knew nothing about flowers, he seemed to know what he was doing. Afterwards, he unpacked three boxes of dishes, putting them in the cabinets before joining her at the table.

“I'm a checker at Milner's Market,” she said, then remembered he'd been in her checkout line. “Of course, you already knew that.”

“And do you like it there?” A cookie disappeared into his mouth.

“It's okay.”

“But it's not your life's dream?”

Charlotte hugged the warm cup with both hands. Glancing up, she found herself staring into his probing blue eyes, wondering how much she could reveal before he burst out laughing the way her father-in-law had. She wasn't being fair to Jake, and she knew it. Any man who'd offered to meet her at the clothesline for a good gossip deserved the truth.

“I'm also a cosmetologist,” she said, noting his puzzled expression. “John Milner offered me a job when our insurance coverage at Mitch's firm ran out. I work part-time at the Beauty Boutique.”

“Milner?” Jake dropped into the chair to her right. Leaning back, he reached for another cookie, popping it into his mouth. The teasing light in his blue eyes dimmed. “Is he a special friend?”

She knew what he meant, but decided to take the high road. “Oh, he's special all right, one of the kindest men I've ever met. His wife thinks so too, so you can get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“For your information, my husband won a difficult case for Mr. Milner several years ago, and this was his way of thanking him.”

“I wasn't prying.” His dark blue eyes filled with mischief. “Yes, I was. You seeing anyone on a regular basis?”

“Two girls, two jobs, and a mountain of bills… when am I supposed to have time for a man?” She flipped the tables. “What about you? Any special ladies in your life, right now?”

“Touche'.” He laughed, avoiding her question. “How long have you been a beautician?”

Was this a truce or just another tactic for prying into her personal life? She had nothing to hide, but some things were just hard to explain without making Mitch sound like a control freak. “About a year. I was in cosmetology school when Mitch and I married. I went back last year… got my diploma and passed State Boards.”

“Good for you.” He lifted the coffee mug in salute. “Here's to determination.”

She was touched. It had taken a lot of hard work and no one, other than her parents, had cared. To her in-laws, anything short of a university degree was a waste of time.

“Someday I plan to own a string of shops.” She waited for him to laugh at her dreams, but he didn't. Instead, he crossed his legs and relaxed, as if he was in for a long visit.

“Who watches the girls?”

“Kimmie Jones,” she said, wondering if Jeremy had mentioned sitting to his dad. “She works with me at the shop, but our hours are the same sometimes.”

“And then you'll need Jeremy.”

He'd said it as a statement — a done deal from which he'd been excluded, and it wasn't what she'd meant by asking the boy. It was time to smooth any feathers she might have ruffled. “Only if it's okay with you.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Provided his grades stay up. I might as well tell you he's not one for studying.”

“I won't ask him on a school night.”

He didn't say anything as he stood up, pushing his chair away from the table as if he was leaving. Had he forgotten about her other plants? She hated mentioning it again, since she'd side-stepped giving him an answer, but…

“About my plants?” She watched him closely. “It's a long ride, almost to Wills' Junction.”

At first his expression was blank, as if he'd forgotten what she meant. Then he grinned, looking pleased with himself. “What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”

The morning sun streaked across the room, shining directly into Charlotte's eyes. She moaned, snuggling deeper under the covers, every joint in her body aching from shifting heavy boxes. Sleep, she needed sleep — restful, mind-numbing sleep.

It was no use. She raised her head at the sound of voices coming from the hall. Her bedroom door flew open, followed by her girls bouncing onto her bed. Their giggles put the sun to shame.

“Mama, Mama,” Maggie said, patting Charlotte's cheeks. “I sleep all night in my bed, and I didn't get scared!”

She yawned. “Good.”

“And Mrs. Parker didn't make any noises at all,” Becky added between bounces.

Raking the hair out of her eyes, she raised herself on one elbow. “Becky, Mrs. Parker isn't here anymore. She's in heaven, just like Daddy.”

“But Bruce said…”

“Forget what Bruce said. He was just trying to scare you.”

“Oh.”

“How would you girls like some breakfast?”

They flung themselves into her outstretched arms. “Pancakes!”

“Of course, it's pancakes. Today is Sunday, isn't it?” Hugs from her girls were the best part of the morning. She had started making the special breakfast shortly after Mitch's death as something for them to look forward to.

“Are we going to church?”

“Not today,” Charlotte replied, smarting in her shoulders and lower back. She eased into her old housecoat. “I've got too much to do.”

“But Grandma says…”

“Grandma wouldn't go either if she was hurting like I am.”

“But…”

“We'll find a new church.” She followed her girls into the kitchen. “I promise. Just not today.”

The hot grill sizzled when the batter hit the metal and spread into perfectly round pancakes. She preferred to ignore the number of calories in each bite. Besides, enough work had gone on these past few days to deserve a treat.

Her spatula stopped in mid-flip when Bruce and Andy walked through the back door and headed straight for the breakfast table. At first, she thought they were there to play, but then Jeremy came in, removing extra plates and silverware from the cabinet. “I'll help you with these,” he said, dividing the large stack of pancakes around the table and pouring orange juice for everyone before sitting down.

Charlotte glanced at the door again. She was positive she'd locked it the night before, even double-checked to be sure. Yesterday had been hectic. Had she invited the boys to breakfast and forgotten? At any rate, they were sitting around her table and her soft heart couldn't send them away. Their plates were almost empty, so she mixed another batch of batter, hoping for a bite before the stack disappeared.

“Where's your dad this morning?” she asked, thinking Jake must have had to go to work after all.

“He's sleeping in.”

“What?” He had some nerve, sleeping while she fed his kids! She had a good mind to send them home hungry. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder, and the bowl slipped, splattering batter on the counter, adding to her ill humor. She reached for a rag to wipe the spill and ran into Bruce, holding up his empty plate for a refill. Was there no limit to what these kids could eat?

“Dad's getting old.” The boy licked his lips, eyeing the largest cake on the grill. “He needs his rest.”

“Him's not got no hair,” added the three-year-old, syrup dripping from his chin.

Out of the mouth of babes
. Charlotte grinned in spite of herself. They'd left out sneaky; only a sneak would send his kids over for breakfast without asking.

But then, Jake had agreed to move her plants. The lily still sat on the counter where he'd left it. She'd never had such an appropriate gift. Come to think of it, how many people could say they'd been given a toilet?

She thought of his laughing blue eyes when he'd brought it in, and those same eyes turning dark with pain when he'd told her of his wife's death. He was a nice man, one she'd like to know better. She'd felt his pain, and yet he seemed — if not happy, then content with his life.

“Hey, no fair. You got the big one!”

“Aw hush, Maggie.” Bruce emptied the syrup bottle onto his plate. “I'm a guy, and guys need more food. Ain't that right, Charlotte?”

Before she could answer, there was a loud knock on the door. A hush fell on the room, like the calm before a storm, leaving little doubt as to who was outside. The worried glances bouncing around the table were nothing compared to their dad's when she let him in.

“Have you seen my boys?”

She stepped aside, relief evident in his face when he looked into her kitchen. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“What?”

“Breakfast.” The invitation was more for the sake of good manners than anything else. After all, he had promised to move her plants.

He frowned. “You invited my boys for breakfast without clearing it with me first?”

They were standing in the close confines of the utility porch where his wide shoulders took up more than a fair share of space. Claustrophobia threatened, and she tried to make a hasty retreat to the safety of the kitchen.

“You didn't answer me,” he said, blocking her way with his arm. “Did you invite them?”

Her eyes zeroed in on his arm. “Well,” she said, caught off-guard by the hard strength and the clean male scent. “I can't remember doing it, but they let themselves in and started eating, so I must have.”

He jiggled the knob both inside and out. “Let themselves in, huh? Didn't you lock this last night?”