A Path Less Traveled (25 page)

As they drove
into town, Trish thought of Andy again, and her heart overflowed. A realization
had taken place over the past few days. She loved him. Not a first love like
what she’d shared with Doc, but something just as deep and just as intense. She
pressed her lips together. This wasn’t something she could allow herself to
consider at this point. Until she knew whether the art lessons would garner
enough interest for her to make a living, it just wouldn’t be fair to any of
them. But maybe one day.

Maybe one day.
Her new mantra.

She parked in
front of the Miller’s Creek Crier newspaper office, cracked the windows, and
turned off the ignition. Swiveling in her seat, she faced her son. “I need to
run this ad into the newspaper office. Unbuckle and come in with me.”

“’kay.” He didn’t
argue, just unclipped his seatbelt and opened the door. More of Andy’s
influence.

Trish and Bo
entered the building to the smell of fresh ink and stale coffee.

Janet Beecher
perched behind the counter, her fingers flying over the computer keyboard. She
glanced up. “Hi.”

Trish slid the
paper across the counter. “Hi, Janet. I need to run this ad for a couple of
weeks.”

The older woman
scanned the words. “Really? You’re going to give art lessons?” Was she excited
or only curious?

“I thought I’d
give it a try.” Trish lowered her gaze. If this flopped, people would consider
her the biggest fool in town. How many different ways had she attempted to make
a living for her and her son over the past few months? She sighed. More than
she cared to count.

“Wonderful. My
group of ladies were mentioning the other day how we needed something like
this. I might be interested.”

Trish’s mouth
dropped open, but she quickly closed it with a smile. “Just let me know what
day and time will work best for you, and I’ll put you down.”

“I’m off on
Mondays.”

By the time they
made their way back out to the car a few minutes later, Trish had managed to
set a firm time for an art lesson the following week—Monday afternoon at 2:30.
She slammed the car door behind her, snagged a notepad from her purse, and
wrote down the appointment with a feeling of satisfaction. A spark of hope
ignited in her heart. Maybe one day.

Her next stop
brought her to Soldano’s. This should be the best time to drop in. It was still
too early for the evening crowd. There were only a few cars in the parking lot,
so hopefully they weren’t too busy yet. Trish hurried inside, Little Bo’s hand
tucked safely in hers. Juan Soldano met her at the counter.

“Welcome, Meez
Trish. Table for two, si?” The Hispanic man smiled, a gold-capped tooth winking
from his grin.

“No, Juan. I’m
not here to eat. I wanted to see if . . .” She paused, unsure of how to ask,
finally just opting to plow ahead. “You wouldn’t need any help during the lunch
hour by any chance?” She peered up at him and waited for the expected “no.”

His coal-colored
eyes widened. “Si, we do need help. Especially since Graciela has gone to work
for Señor Tyler.”

“Gracie’s working
for Andy?”

“Si, si.
She is answering the phone and filing and learning about how to become a
lawyer. Señor Tyler is such a good man. He is going to pay for part of her
schooling. Such a good man.”

A tender smile
made its way to her face. “Yes, he is.”

“Could you work
from eleven until two, Monday through Saturday?”

Trish nodded. Perfect.
She’d work on Andy’s interior design project on the mornings she wasn’t working
at school, then she could work her shift at Soldano’s and go straight to art
lessons. She caught herself. It was only one lesson at this point.
But
maybe, just maybe, one day . . .

* *
* * *

“Bo let’s try you
at short stop.” Andy motioned him to the spot between second and third base.
“If someone hits the ball to you, where do you throw it?” he asked as Bo
trotted to his new position.

“The base ahead
of the lead runner.”

Andy followed
behind him and gave him a high-five. “Atta boy!” Little Bo grinned up at him
and Andy’s heart turned to mush. He’d fallen so quickly for the brown-eyed
fellow who looked just like his mama. Andy glanced to where Trish stood,
dressed in a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt, her fingers entwined in the chain
link fence behind home plate. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she
looked more like a teenager than a mom. She seemed better somehow. Stronger. He
sauntered toward home to hit balls to the team and prayed it was true.

“Pretend there’s
a runner headed to third.” Andy tossed the ball into the air and nudged it with
a soft tap toward first base. Brody fielded the ball, tagged the bag, and threw
the ball to the third baseman, who pretended to tag the runner.

“Good job,
Brody!” Carla Clark bellowed from the stands.

“Now pretend
there’s a runner headed home.” Andy hit a grounder to Bo, who fielded it, but
threw the ball to first.

“He said home,
you moron.” Brody snagged the pitch and threw the ball back to Andy.

“That’s okay,
Brody,” yelled his mother. “You’re good enough for the both of you.”

Bo started to
swell up like an old toad, and Andy yanked his head around to glare at Carla.
His attention was sidetracked by Trish. She had Bo’s full attention and held up
one finger at a time, counting.

Bo shot her a
snaggle-toothed grin. Her lips curved upward in response.

Good for them.
They were both learning to deal with adversity. Did that mean they didn’t need
him anymore?

Andy continued to
hit balls to the team, his thoughts on the scene he’d witnessed after the last
game. On his way toward his apartment on the second floor of the City Hall
building, he’d seen Trish and Little Bo behind the grocery store, picking up
boxes. He released a sigh and pounded a ball to center field where one boy
plopped in the grass to tie his shoelaces.

Lord, I feel
like I’m missing something here. There’s gotta be a way to keep them in
Miller’s Creek. Show me how.

Only as the team
ran their after-practice laps, did another idea germinate and take root in his
mind. After the visit with his father tomorrow night, he’d head to Dallas with Trish’s painting in tow.

* *
* * *

Andy strode
toward the upscale Dallas art studio on Saturday morning with Trish’s painting
tucked under one arm. It had been several months since he’d seen the woman who
would’ve been his mother-in-law. His skin crawled as nerves took over. Their
last meeting had been the night of the wedding rehearsal right before he’d
discovered Sheila in the arms of her supposedly ex-boyfriend.

Claire Windsor
poised like an elegant bird behind the counter of the posh Dallas studio, the
air saturated with cloying perfume. When she saw him, her perfectly made-up
face took on a hard edge. “You have a lot of nerve coming here.” Her voice held
venom.

“Hello to you,
too, Claire.”

She didn’t
acknowledge or respond to his greeting. Instead she glared, her eyes searing a
hole straight through his head.

How was he
supposed to cut through her anger to show her Trish’s work? “Look, I know this
is awkward.”

“Awkward? You
back out of a very expensive wedding the day before it’s to take place and have
the nerve to call this awkward?”

Hadn’t Sheila
told her the truth? And if not, how was he supposed to tell her what had
happened without looking like he was making excuses? “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She was still
seeing Brad. I found them kissing after the rehearsal.”

Her eyes widened.

So Sheila hadn’t
mentioned it. So like her.

Claire pursed her
lips in thoughtful repose. Finally she spoke, her tone demanding. “Why are you
here?”

Andy pulled the
large-scaled painting from beneath his arm and rotated it to show her. “I have
a friend who painted this, and wanted to see if you’d be interested in a
showing of her work.”

Claire’s dark-lined
eyes scanned the picture and took on a glint.

Ha! He had her
hooked.

“It’s good. Very
good.” She tilted her head his way. “And where is the artist?” She glanced down
at the signature, a wry smirk curling one corner of her dark lipstick. “Where is
Trish James?”

Andy ignored the
subtle hint in her voice. “Let’s just say she doesn’t have a whole lot of
confidence in her work or herself.”

Claire arched one
perfect eyebrow. “She paints like this and has no confidence?” She narrowed her
eyes into cat-like slits. “Why did you choose me?” Her tone was all business
now.

“Because I
believe you’ll treat her fairly.”

Her expression
softened. “You always know the right thing to say, don’t you, Andy?”

He handed her a
card with Trish’s contact information and raised his shoulders in a slight
shrug. “It’s still your choice, Claire. Here’s where she can be reached.” He
pivoted and headed to the door, turning back to face her before he left. “Oh,
and please don’t tell her I had anything to do with this.”

“I’ll do what I
can, but no promises.”

Andy heaved a
sigh and returned to his car with the painting. He’d done all he could. The
rest was up to God.

Chapter 22

T
he old wood and glass
door squeaked and then slammed. Andy glanced up from his desk as a very nervous
Gracie followed Otis Thacker into his office. “I’m sorry, Andy, but Mr. Thacker
needs to see you.”

Demanded to see
him was more like it. He sent her a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Gracie.” She let
herself out the door as Andy stood and offered a hand. “Nice to see you again,
Mr. Thacker.”

Thacker set his
bulldog jaws and harrumphed, completely ignoring his outstretched hand.

Andy’s eyebrows
rose in spite of his attempt to keep his expression under control. He motioned
to the two leather chairs positioned in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.
Would you like some water or coffee?”

“I didn’t come
here for happy hour. I came to talk business.” The older man groused the words,
then shuffled to the chair and creaked his way into it. He rested both hands on
his cane and glared.

Andy brought a
hand to his nose. That cologne Otis doused himself with must be left over from
the 1960s. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, since
you’re charging me an arm and a leg in retainer fees, I figured it was time to
put you to work.”

“Okay. What are
we looking at?”

Otis jutted out
his jaw, his mouth arching downward in a grouchy rainbow. “I’d like to file
suit against a tenant who broke lease. And I wanna get more than what they owe
since I haven’t been able to lease the building on such short notice.”

“Sorry to hear
that. We’ll do all we can to make sure you receive full compensation.”

“I certainly hope
so since that’s what I’m paying you for. How much is all this gonna cost me
anyway?” Thacker’s voice came out in a gravelly growl.

Andy took a sip
of coffee and cleared his throat. “Well, sir, counting the time to draft the
necessary legal documents and any court time involved, I would guess I’ll be
spending several hours—”

Whack!
Thacker brought his walking cane down hard on the corner of the desk. “Enough
of the legal mumbo-jumbo! How much?”

“Roughly a
thousand dollars.” Andy reached up and tugged on the tie which had suddenly
cinched tighter.

Thacker’s face
turned purple, and his eyes bugged out like a bullfrog on steroids. “A thousand?
Why, that’s highway robbery! I’ve been paying you five hundred a month since
you got here, and haven’t used your services once. Now you’re gonna charge me a
thousand? You might get that out of some of those city dudes in Dallas, but you ain’t gonna get it outta me!” He creaked out of his chair and tottered
toward the door.

Andy’s pulse
escalated, and he hurried to his side. “I’m sure we can work something out, Mr.
Thacker. Please have a seat and let’s talk through this.”

Thacker squinted,
then released a grunt. “Oh, all right.” He waddled back to the chair, his cane
raised. “But I’m not paying you a penny more than five hundred.”

Andy returned to
his seat mulling the matter over in his mind. The old codger had him in between
a rock and a hard place and knew it. As an influential member of Miller’s
Creek, he had the power to make or break his stay as the city attorney. “Tell
you what, since you’ve already paid five hundred this month, we’ll make the
total owed five hundred.” Andy once more positioned himself in the chair and
rolled it under the desk, grabbing a pencil and a legal pad. “Now how much does
your client owe in back rent?”

“Three months
worth. Three thousand dollars.”

Thacker was
getting a thousand bucks a month in rent and choking on paying him? There
weren’t any houses in Miller’s Creek nice enough to qualify for that kind of
lease price. “And where is this house located?”

“House? I never
said it was a house.”

“What is it then?
A building?”

“Yep, and
renovated recently.”

So Otis owned
part of downtown Miller’s Creek. Probably didn’t pay a penny for the
renovation, thanks to Dani’s generous donation. “How many more months remained
on the lease?” He tried to keep his voice on an even keel.

“Eight.”

Andy scribbled
some notes on the legal pad. “You been in contact with this person?”

“Yep. Phoned ‘em
several times, but now they won’t answer my calls.”

No surprise
there. “And did the lessee mention why they were behind and why they were
breaking lease?”

Otis waved a
dismissive hand in the air. “Ah, some sob story about not getting enough
business and needing the money for something else. Said they’d pay as they
could, but I haven’t seen one red dime.”