Trust in Me (3 page)

"Overqualified?" She stared at him, her jaw slack. She'd thought her lack of work experience made her
under
qualified. Her father had certainly convinced her she didn't have what it took to make it in the real world.

Kevin scoffed, a spark lighting his eyes. "Hello? Duke University? Dean's list? That's quite an achievement." He cocked his head again. "So why did you transfer to Harrison? We're small potatoes next to Duke."

"I've always wanted to go to Harrison, ever since I was a little girl. My grandmother taught there for years. I used to visit her on summer break and sit at the back of her classroom while she lectured on Shakespeare and Dante and Chaucer. During those summers as a kid, I fell in love with literature and Harrison University, and I never outgrew either love. I'd have started here as a freshman if my father hadn't—"

She caught herself before she launched into a diatribe about how her father had nixed her wishes concerning which college she attended. How could she have been so acquiescent about something so important to her? Her chest tightened with a flash of disgust.

Kevin rocked back in his chair, his expression telling her he was still unconvinced. "But Grayson is a pretty small town. That alone would be a turn off to most people."

She lowered herself back onto her chair and grinned. "That's why I love it. The people here say hello to you on the street, and the scenery is homey and beautiful. The old houses on Elm Street are so enchanting, so inviting. You have picnics and parades, and you don't have to lock your doors at night. Besides, my memories of Nana are here." She sighed deeply. "I love this little town. When I left home, coming here just felt...right. Meant to be."

The corner of Kevin's mouth curled up. "Can't argue with that."

His engaging grin spread a comforting warmth inside her and brought a smile to her lips as well. She wiped her nose again on her crumpled tissue and shot it at the trashcan.

As the tissue arced through the air, Kevin made a loud humming noise that startled Claire. "Yes, she got the shot off before the buzzer. The bucket counts! The home team wins."

He cupped his hands around his mouth and imitated the sound of a roaring crowd.

The chuckle that rose from deep inside her felt odd, felt wrong. Her father generally frowned upon silliness as unbecoming a lady of her breeding.

But when Kevin looked at her with a mischievous light in his chocolate eyes and flashed a crooked smile, she discarded all thoughts of decorum. Laughing felt good. She appreciated his efforts to put her at ease and make her laugh more than she could express.

"You know, if I weren't going to hire you, you could always play hoops." Kevin scribbled something at the bottom of her application.

"You're going to hire me then?"

"When can you start?"

"When do you want me?"

His head snapped up, and he locked a gaze on her that roiled with emotion, simmered with something piercing and hot. Quivery sensations she didn't recognize tumbled inside her, snagging her breath and curling low in her stomach.

Kevin swallowed hard then looked quickly away, muttering something that sounded like
ribbit
.

"Pardon?"

"Be here first thing in the morning. Okay?" His voice sounded thick and husky.

"I will." She stood on suddenly rubbery legs and stepped toward the door. What was that undercurrent that passed between them just now? Or had she imagined that crackling energy that hung in the air? And after the callous way Blaine had used her, why was she so much as looking at another man?

Hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder, she thanked Kevin for his willingness to give her a chance then pulled open the office door.

"Miss Albritton."

She turned back toward him. "Claire."

"Claire..." He didn't look up from his desk, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch with a grin. "I think I might know a place where you could live."

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Before approaching the cottage-like home just off Elm Street, Claire double-checked that she had the right address. The 1920's vintage house, nestled in a copse of dogwoods and sprawling live oaks, reminded her in many ways of her grandmother's home. Not surprising, since Nana had lived only a couple blocks from here before she died.

Pink foxgloves and spiky, blue delphiniums bloomed around the mailbox and the lamppost near the sidewalk. Robins and cardinals twittered in the trees and hopped across the lawn in the fading daylight. Despite the peeling paint and a few broken shingles, the white house had a cozy charm that beckoned to Claire. The modest abode was a far cry from her parents' rambling, impersonal estate, a place where she'd never truly felt at home. As she approached the door, cherished memories of carefree times spent with Nana flickered through her mind like old movies. She'd caught fireflies in a yard like this, eaten her weight in popsicles on a similar front porch, and gotten her first skinned knee playing a rough-and-tumble game of tag her father wouldn't have approved of for a debutante-in-training. Living here would be the perfect solution to more than one problem, if she could just convince the current resident the plan had merit. Not an easy task according to Kevin.

The weather-warped wood of the front porch creaked disagreeably when she stepped up from the lawn, a portent of what she expected from the homeowner. Flower beds, obviously once well-tended but now strangled by weeds, framed the porch. An occasional splash of pink or red dotted the beds where hardy vinca sprouted, the product of past summers' plantings. If the stubborn flowers couldn't be defeated by neglect or bullied into submission by the encroaching crab grass, then how could she do any less in her mission?

Kevin had offered to call ahead and smooth the way for her, but Claire refused. She could,
would
handle the matter on her own. Besides how difficult could it be to convince a lonely elderly lady to take on a boarder? Just for the summer. Only until a spot opened in the dorms on campus this fall.

Claire smiled as she knocked. Loudly. Kevin had warned her that Mrs. Proctor was hard of hearing.

The front door opened a crack, and a tiny woman peered out. "Yes?"

"Good evening, ma'am. My name's Claire Albritton. Kevin Fuller is a—" She hesitated wondering how to describe her brief acquaintance with Kevin. "—friend of mine."

Well, that was somewhat true. He'd certainly seemed friendly, and he'd helped her toward her goal of self-reliance by giving her a chance with the cashier's job. "May I come in for a moment and speak to you?"

The tiny woman lifted a gnarled and trembling hand to her lips. "Is something the matter? Has something happened to Kevin?"

"Oh, gracious no!"
Shoot
. She'd already bobbled her task, alarming the woman needlessly. Claire mustered a reassuring smile for Mrs. Proctor. "Kevin is just fine. I'd just like to discuss a proposition with you. One that would benefit us both, I believe."

Mrs. Proctor eyed Claire warily. "I'm not interested in anything you're selling."

"I'm not selling anything. I promise. I'm offering you my services."

The woman's heavily-creased face pinched with suspicion. "What services?"

Heavens
. Already the old woman was putting up walls, and Claire hadn't even made it through the front door. Her confidence wilted. She might as well spell out her proposal now, or the woman would soon shut the door in her face.

"Kevin thought you might be willing to rent a room to me. I just moved to town, and nothing else suitable for a single woman is available." Claire glanced over at the tenacious vincas blooming among the weeds and, reinspired, lifted her chin. "Please, Mrs. Proctor, may I come in and explain Kevin's idea?"

A neighbor's dog yapped. Claire held her breath while the woman's expression oscillated between curiosity and distrust. Finally, the door swung wide, and Mrs. Proctor gave her a grudging smile. "Come in then. I suppose I can at least hear you out."

"Thank you." Claire followed the gray-haired woman into the living room, inhaling the musty scents of mildew and age overlaid by the faint aroma of lemon. Even the smells of the house reminded her of Nana's home. The warm breeze from an open window provided the only air circulation in the stuffy room, and, coupled with the nervous jitters squeezing her lungs, Claire found it difficult to breathe.

Mrs. Proctor, who seemed even more frail and petite close up, made slow progress, hobbling with a cane to a wingback chair. Arthritis and a recently broken hip had left the woman nearly immobile, Kevin had explained, yet the woman refused to move from her home or allow a home health nurse to move in with her. The spirited lady flatly denied she needed help, rejected the suggestion that age had caught up with her and left her weak or vulnerable.

Kevin had proposed Claire live in one of the old lady's empty bedrooms primarily so she could keep an eye on the aged woman. Kevin's concern for the elderly lady's needs touched Claire deeply and contributed to the favorable impression he'd already made on her.

Claire studied the haphazard pin curls flattened to Mrs. Proctor's head by a hair net and the fuzzy blue slippers on her feet. Had she woken the woman, even at this early evening hour, or just caught her getting ready for bed?

When the woman had finally eased into her seat, Claire fell back on her social training, initiating polite conversation.

"How do you know Kevin, Mrs. Proctor?" Claire folded her hands in her lap and gave the woman a warm smile.

"Oh!" Mrs. Proctor laughed airily and flattened a hand over her heart. The change in the older woman's demeanor at the mention of Kevin's name boded well. "I've known Kevin for years. Taught him in high school. Bright boy, that Kevin, and a kind soul. He checks up on me every now and again, stops by several times in the summer to cut my grass. A real blessing he's been to me, especially since my husband Ernest passed two years ago." The light in the woman's eyes dimmed.

"So you were a teacher. How wonderful. What subject?"

"Civics. And home economics."

Claire smiled and nodded. "My grandmother used to teach literature at Harrison. It's a noble profession."

Mrs. Proctor leaned her cane against the arm of her chair and gave Claire a careful scrutiny. "I'm sure my work history is not what you came to discuss, Miss. What's this about wanting me to rent you a room?"

Squaring her shoulders, Claire plunged in. "Yes, ma'am. I understand that you live by yourself and that your recent fall left you..." She hesitated when Mrs. Proctor's weathered countenance grew shuttered. "That you...might want a bit of help around the house. For safety reasons, it makes sense that you have someone here in case something happens to you, or—"

"I do not need a babysitter, young lady." Mrs. Proctor's tone was clipped and frosty. "If you think I'm going to hire you to take care of me like some invalid—"

"Not at all!" Claire blurted, then realizing she'd interrupted her hostess, she clamped her mouth closed and sat back on the couch.

"But you do think I need your help in some way. That I need you to live in my house, because I've become old and infirm. Is that right?"

Yes
, she almost answered before she thought about how it would sound to Mrs. Proctor. "Well, there is the matter of me renting the room. I need a place to live as much as you need someone who can—"

Grabbing her cane, Mrs. Proctor planted the rubber tip on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Steely determination and independence blazed in her gray eyes. "I do not need anyone's help! I can take care of myself."

The woman's protest resonated inside her. Mrs. Proctor, it seemed, fought the same battle for independence she waged. The fragile looking woman was apparently made of the same tough stuff as the vincas in her flowerbed. She persevered, survived by sheer will. Claire knew that to make the clean break she wanted from her father's control, she'd have to find the same strength and volition.

Mrs. Proctor struggled to her feet, teetering a bit, and Claire instinctively rushed to place a steadying hand under the woman's elbow. The woman swatted her away.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Go on," Mrs. Proctor fussed. With shuffling steps, the older woman headed for the front door, signaling an end to the discussion. "Tell Kevin I appreciate his concern, but the answer is still no. I don't want a roommate, or nursemaid, or a babysitter or whatever else he may call you."

"But I would—"

"Good night, Miss."

Claire's heart sank. She'd barely had a chance to state her case. What little she had said she'd obviously handled badly, probably insulting her hostess in the process. Frustrated and disappointed in herself, she gathered her purse from the Queen Anne couch and followed Mrs. Proctor to the door.

"If you should change your mind—"

"I won't."

Claire balked for a moment the decided to forge ahead. Again she thought of the stubborn flowers outside
. Strength and determination
. "You can get in touch with me at Lowery's Hardware or at the motel near the interstate."

Mrs. Proctor turned carefully and gave her a puzzled look. "At Lowery's?"

"Yes, ma'am. Kevin hired me as a cashier. I start tomorrow."

The elderly woman seemed truly stunned by this news. "I...see."

Uncertain how to respond to the curious stare she received from Mrs. Proctor, Claire nodded stiffly. "Yes...ma'am. I'm ... looking forward to starting work there tomorrow."

Her hostess sent her a pitying smile and shook her head. "Poor dear, you obviously haven't met Ray Lowery then."

***

How the hell was he going to protect Claire from Ray? Kevin swiped a hand over his face and groaned. Hiring her had been a mistake, but he hadn't been able to tell her no. Not when he needed the help at the register so badly. Not when she wanted the work so badly, whatever her reason.

But Ray was a disaster waiting to happen. One lewd comment from the teen and Claire would likely have her wealthy father and his lawyers suing the Lowery family and the hardware store for sexual harassment.