We Need a Little Christmas (9 page)

Part of Liv wanted to let the conversation drop. The other part knew she had to look this thing in the eye, and she had a feeling she knew what was bothering Rachel. Liv pulled up another chair at the dining room table. “Let's have it.”

“What?” Rachel looked at her, eyes round and guileless.

Liv sighed. “I
know
I've been gone forever. You've been here for Mom and Nammy when I haven't been. I should have made the time.”

“I didn't say that.”

“But it's the truth.”

“The truth,” Rachel said, “is I
like
coming to see Mom. Brian is gone so much, and when I get here Mom always puts food in front of me. Sure, I help her with things. We help each other out. But then you walk in and right away I'm the kid and you're the grown-up.”

A silence welled up across the two feet of kitchen-table-corner that separated them.

“You got Mom to the doctor Saturday,” Liv said quietly. “I should be thanking you for that.”

“You did,” Rachel said. “You also heated up the casserole. And served it.”

“Like that was hard to do. Besides, Mom's hurt, and you're . . .” Liv looked down at Rachel's round middle and risked the word: “Huge.”

A smile tugged up at the corners of Rachel's mouth. “With nearly two months to go.” She rested a hand on her stomach. Her whole face softened, and their rough moment seemed to be over. Rachel never had been one to stay in a bad mood for long. But Liv didn't want to get off the hook that easily.

“I've got a lot to make up for,” Liv said. “Work me like a dog while I'm here.”

“Like I could stop you.” Rachel smiled ruefully. “Don't think I've forgotten all the times you did my chores for me when I was backed up on my homework.”

“Yeah, but what you really wanted was for me to do the
homework
.”

“I've grown up since then.”

Impulsively, Liv stood up and hugged her. “I noticed.”

Chapter 9

“Have you got me on speed dial yet?” Scott caught himself grinning as Liv opened Nammy's front door.

She regarded him with one of her serious looks. “This is only the second time.”

He couldn't help it. The more dressed-down Liv got, the more she got to him. Today she'd tugged her long chestnut waves up into an impatient ponytail. She wore jeans again with a different sweatshirt, this one with an anchor logo. In what was quickly becoming a habit, Scott looked down at her shoes. Tennies again. With little anchors.

She stepped back to usher him in, and Scott entered with a sense of déjà vu. A new to-go pile stood stacked near the front door, so they'd made some progress since he was here last. The living room furniture was still untouched, but as he followed Liv, he saw the kitchen was taking on a stripped-down look, with more boxes and chaos.

He greeted Rachel, and Faye, who sat in the same chair with her foot propped on a footstool. Scott turned off to the hallway leading to the garage and the heater. He was pretty sure what he'd find, and the method he'd tried before was clearly a temporary fix at best. He'd have to own up. He hated that.

Scott made a note of the manufacturer's name. He'd contact them first. That way he'd have something more concrete to tell Liv and her family.

He got back into the dining area in time to hear the
whoosh
as the heater kicked on.

Liv stood waiting near the stove. “Now, Scotty, we're not taking no for an answer this time,” she said. “We really appreciate your help. But you need to tell us what we owe you.”

She wore her best serious, all-business expression, and Scott suspected she was trying to make him forget the way she'd crumpled up in front of him the other day. He could understand that. But she did have a way of overcompensating.

“I didn't really do much of anything,” he said, more truthfully than she knew.

“We're taking time away from your work,” Liv insisted.

Scott leaned against the frame of the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. “We went over this the other day. You know the answer. You don't owe me anything.”

He wanted to add,
Don't make me clunk you with a stick.
It might startle Liv into a smile. But out of context, it wouldn't sound right to Faye and Rachel.

Rachel joined the debate. “Scotty, picking Liv up at the airport is one thing. This is your livelihood.”

Liv sent her sister an appreciative nod.

“Seriously, Scotty—” Liv's mother began.

Scott put up his hand. “Here's the story. Olivia was my favorite customer. Anything I can do for you ladies, I feel like I'm doing for her. So I'd appreciate it if you'd stop giving me guff about it.” He smiled to lighten the jibe. “Besides, with all the business she threw my way, I'm halfway to retirement already.”

He hoped they wouldn't see through that one. In point of fact, he hadn't taken money from Olivia half the time either. Especially when he ended up taking her on one of those home-improvement store runs. More often than not, when they got back to the house, she ended up feeding him. Food was always fair game in lieu of payment for a favor, especially for a guy who'd never learned to cook. Olivia made a mean homemade soup, and her brownies were sinful.

With that thought in mind, he added, “Now, if you happened to get any of Millie Bond's lemon bars in that fridge full of food from the church, maybe we'll talk.”

Three red heads, one of them graying, all turned toward each other.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Lunch.” Liv slapped her forehead. “We forgot the casserole we were going to bring.”

Well, it got them off the subject of money, anyway.

“One of us can run back to the house later,” Rachel said.

He didn't want to spark a new debate by volunteering now for a food run. He'd just make it a point to drop back by the house around lunchtime.

* * *

Maybe she just wanted a break.

Maybe she just had a yen to hear a voice that didn't sing soprano.

But somehow, Liv wasn't surprised to find herself riding to the Pine 'n' Dine with Scott a few hours later, picking up lunch to take back to Nammy's.

She
had
to stop this. But dropping off another load at the thrift shop had been a tempting break, and a hot takeout meal sounded better than another reheated casserole. Plus, she'd picked up thank-you gifts yesterday afternoon for the waitresses who'd helped her at the memorial. This was a chance to drop them off.

They walked past the P
LEASE
W
AIT
T
O
B
E
S
EATED
sign and stood at the register.

All right, who was she kidding? Some deep-voiced, blue-eyed companionship had been too tempting to turn down, even if her sister claimed he'd turned into the local Casanova when she wasn't looking. As he stood beside her in the vest she'd scrunched her face against the other day, it still didn't seem likely. But what did it matter? She wouldn't be here long enough to get involved.

All she really knew was he made her feel better, and she would have been disappointed if he hadn't happened to drop by at lunchtime.

“Is their fried chicken still as good as I remember?” she asked.

“If you've gotten used to fast-food fried chicken, it's way better,” Scott said.

A girl with short dark hair came out of the swinging doors that led to the back kitchen. Liv recognized her as one of the sandwich-making waitresses. What was her name again?

“Hey, Tiff,” Scott said behind her.

“Tiffany.” Liv held out a little gift-wrapped box. “Thanks again for helping with those sandwiches the other day. It meant a lot.”

The girl's dark eyes, richly coated with mascara, darted from the box to Liv to Scotty, then back to Liv. At last she stepped forward and accepted the box. “Thank you,” she said. “You didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I've got something for Sherry, too, and your other friend . . .”

Tiffany was looking upward, past her again, at Scotty. A little slow on the uptake, Liv began to catch an undercurrent.

“. . . Chloe. That was it,” Liv persisted, trying to bring Tiffany out of her paralysis.

“Right.” Tiffany's eyes returned to Liv. “She works nights. But she's my roommate. I can give it to her.”

Liv handed her a second box. She'd gone out after Mom's appointment yesterday and picked up some little Christmas necklaces at The North Pole. The owner, Mrs. Swanson, had spoken so fondly of Nammy at the memorial, Liv was glad for the chance to throw a little business her way.

“Thanks again.” Tiffany's glance flicked up past Liv again, more briefly this time. “I'll get Sherry.” She spun to retreat to the kitchen. “Hi, Scotty,” she said, over her shoulder, as she walked away.

Sherry came out a moment later. “Liv! You're still here! I thought you already went back to Texas for your”—Sherry's brow furrowed as she floundered—“home improvement business?”

“Home organizing,” Liv said.

“Oh.” The frown vanished, but the slightly puzzled look remained. “Well, it's great to see you again. You must have a terrific staff to keep things going while you're gone.”

Liv dredged up a smile. “It'll be fine. It's our slow season.”

And she gave Sherry her gift-wrapped necklace, glad to change the subject. Then, at last, they ordered the chicken.

In the parking lot afterward, Scotty opened the truck door for her. “You know, when you can't explain your line of work in ten words or less, it might be a little
too
specialized. What do you put on your business cards, anyway?”

“Home organizer. They know what it is in Dallas.” That sounded more brusque than she meant it to. She undercut it with, “But it says ‘y'all' underneath.”

Scott chuckled, so apparently she hadn't offended him. Liv climbed into the truck, and he came around to slide behind the wheel.

“Seriously,” Liv said, “I wonder if I'll even know what my job is by the time I get back. What in the world did Nammy tell people?”

Scott handed her the bag of chicken, and its delicious aroma wafted up to her. “I think she told me you help people redo their houses. But she made it sound really complex. And important.” His eyes glimmered at her. “With offices in Taiwan, Beijing . . .”

She closed her eyes, as if cringing from a blow. “Stop, stop.”

She knew Scotty was kidding. She also knew that somehow, somewhere along the line, her reputation had exceeded her. Being the class brain had carried a certain level of expectation, but it all seemed to have magnified since she'd been gone. With a lot of help from Nammy.

“Relax,” Scott said. “She was proud of you, that's all.”

“She might be a little less impressed if she knew about all the ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches I ate those first couple of years.”

“Or maybe she'd be that much more impressed.”

His voice held a warmth that told her he meant what he said. He hadn't started the truck yet, and when she turned his way, he was regarding her with something that might be admiration. Or it might be a little more. Liv fought the urge to shift in her seat, not sure how to react, if in fact there was anything to react to. But the discomfort and uncertainty she felt wasn't unpleasant. It felt like something she'd been missing for a long time. Something different, something exciting. She couldn't remember Kevin ever looking at her this way.

The devilish thought popped into her brain:
Kevin who?

Closely followed by:
Scotty Leroux and me? Really?

It didn't seem nearly as preposterous as it would have just a few days ago. For a moment it seemed almost tempting. Liv drew a long, slow breath and looked down at the white bag in her lap. Taking her eyes off Scott helped her think more clearly. She could be jumping to conclusions, in which case she could really make a fool of herself.

And, she remembered, it wasn't what she was here for. Take care of Nammy's loose ends. Be there for Mom and Rachel. Then get back to Dallas and the business with Terri, who still hadn't called or texted, and hopefully that meant things were going fine without her.

Nope, she and Scott weren't in the cards, and she'd better remember that.

When she raised her eyes to his again, this time a little concern had crept into his expression.

“Are you”—he stopped before the forbidden question came out, then gave her a crooked grin—“hungry?”

Liv grinned back, and things were back to normal. “Absolutely.”

Good thing she hadn't made a fool of herself. As they started back down Evergreen Lane, Liv remembered something else. Another reason she and Scotty Leroux weren't such a great idea. It was really none of her business anyway, but she couldn't resist asking.

Liv waited a few minutes. Then, as offhandedly as she could, she asked, “So what's the story with Tiffany?”

Scott hesitated briefly, then answered in a similar light tone. “Tiffany? We dated for a while a few months ago. We're still friends. Things are just a little . . . awkward.”

It doesn't matter. Leave it alone.
But for some reason, Liv couldn't stop herself. She made her tone playful. “Oh. I heard about that.”

Scott's head jerked her way, eyebrows raised. Quickly, he turned back toward the road. “You heard about me and Tiffany? Not much to tell there.”

“Not just Tiffany.” She didn't know what made her want to needle him. Still facing the windshield, she cast a sidelong glance at Scott for his reaction as she added, “Rachel told me you get around.”

It got a bigger reaction than she expected.

Scott's head jerked in her direction again. Then he pulled to the side of the road and hit the brakes. The sudden stop didn't exactly give her whiplash, but Liv felt herself shift forward and back again.

He leaned back on the headrest and let out a long sigh before he looked at her again. “You're kidding.
Rachel
said that? Your sister, who lives a hundred miles away?”

“Well, she's up here a lot.”

She tried to read his expression. As she watched, exasperation seemed to be warring with amusement.

“Okay,” he said. “I've heard that one, too. Scotty Leroux, serial dater. But people aren't getting a good look at the stats.” Still leaning back in his seat, he started to tick off on his fingers. “Tiffany. Broke up with Adam Gerard, started going out with me. Started dating Steve Pagano two months later. Vicki Martinez. Broke up with Todd Davenport, dated me three months, got
married
to Robert Quinn six months later. Angie Cleghorn. Broke up with—”

“Okay. I think I get it.”

“—Oh, yeah, and she's married now, too. I'm not a serial dater, Liv. I'm a bus station.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget it.” He started the truck again and cast her the familiar lazy grin. “Just saying. For some reason I keep ending up being the transitional guy around here. So unless you broke up with somebody lately, don't worry. You're totally safe.”

She decided not to mention Kevin. Instead, she raised her chin. “What makes you think I was worried?”

His grin didn't falter. “Wishful thinking?”

His eyes rested on hers a moment longer before he drove forward.