A Summer to Remember (12 page)

“Sure. And I thought this was a test.” He indicated the entire workspace in front of him.

“Nope, this was me needing help.” Then she relented. “Though it's good to know that you can handle pastry bags and pick a 233 tip out of that messy cabinet filled with tips without asking which one you needed.”

He had the job. Because they liked him and thought he could handle whatever they asked him to do. Strong satisfaction swept through him. He always felt better with a job, even if it was one a blindfolded monkey could do, and this one felt like…more. For the first time in a lot of years, it felt like all the lights had turned green at once.

He couldn't wait to tell Fia.

“I understand you have a dog,” Lucy remarked. “Do you have a place to leave her where she'll be safe?”

“I don't yet.” He intended to get an apartment first thing, definitely one that allowed pets. Until he found such a place and moved in, maybe Fia would be willing to extend her dogsitting a few days more.

“My office is a tiny corner in the back of the storeroom,” Lucy went on. “If you need to bring her in, she should be fine there, and I think we're covered as long as she doesn't come in the kitchen or dining room.”

“Thanks.” The way his luck was running, he should drive to the nearest casino and bet every dime he had. But his parents hadn't raised a fool. A job was a great first step. An apartment would be a great second step. Having money in the bank, though…that was the goal. Fitting in, in a town that seemed to have chosen him as much he'd chosen it. Living a normal life like a normal guy, with all the responsibilities and payoffs of that.

And Fia. She was an important part of the town, the normal life, the payoff.

Maybe the biggest part of all.

M
arti did something Monday afternoon that she rarely ever did: She took off work early. Not by a lot, only ninety minutes, so she could be at the house when Cadence got there. Cadence would have been fine alone, or she could have stayed with Abby until Marti got home at her normal time. Marti just felt the need to…be there.

Her niece was as unobtrusive as a teenager could be. Given that Abby had put Therese through several years of hell, Marti's expectations, she had to admit, had been pretty low. But Cadence was quiet, respectful, helpful. She was trying to fit into a situation that no one thought was ideal, least of all her.
Ideal
would have been her mom staying home in Connecticut and not disrupting her daughter's life while Frank tended to his career. But so far, this was working out well.

Even though Cadence wasn't home yet, the house felt different when Marti walked in. The energy, the vibe, had changed, as if the place itself knew it was no longer just Marti's space. It was a strange sensation, and Marti couldn't say she loved it, but she loved her niece, and that was what counted.

After changing into a sleeveless dress and her favorite ballet flats, she got a bottle of water from the fridge and went outside, leaving the kitchen door open for a little fresh air. She was standing there, studying the patio furniture, when Cadence called her name from inside.

“Out here,” Marti replied.

Cadence came to stand beside her, considering the furniture, too. After a couple of moments, she asked, “What are we looking at?”

“I'm still trying to decide what color to paint the furniture.” Marti glanced at her: hair in an elaborate braid, her uniform—burgundy plaid skirt, white shirt, and burgundy sweater—looking as fresh as when she'd left this morning. “When I was in middle school and high school, I had to wear a uniform almost identical to that. The skirts were never short enough, the shirts were never fitted enough, and there was zero opportunity for individuality.”

“And that suited you just fine, didn't it?”

Marti's brows rose. “No, of course not. I wanted to wear colors—”

“Subdued ones.”

“And patterns—”

“Subtle ones.”

“And different styles—”

“As long as they all quietly whispered ‘class.'”

Cadence was trying to contain her grin, and Marti found herself wanting to smile with her. She feigned huffiness instead. “Are you saying I'm a uniform sort of person?”

“Well…I've been in your closet, Aunt Marti. Everything you own is timeless. There's a few bright colors, but everything else is white, black, navy, or gray. It's all tailored and elegant, the lines are uncluttered, it's all balanced.”

Marti looked for a point to argue with but couldn't find one, so she exaggerated a sigh. “You've spent far too much time shopping with your mother.”

“Tell me about it.” Cadence rolled her eyes before looking at the table again, her head tilted to one side. “Why not just leave it the way it is? It's old. Let it look old. If that doesn't work, then restore it to its original state. But not everything needs to be shiny and new and perfect.”

That wasn't a sentiment she'd learned from her parents, Marti knew. It was a good thing Frank made excellent money, because Belinda insisted on only the best for her family. They liked
everything
perfect. Including their daughter.

How did Cadence feel about that? Eugenie had had certain standards, and Marti had met most of them, but not out of some desire to please her mom. They were just rules that made sense to her when she was a kid. It seemed Cadence had done a lot of things to please Belinda: Ballet (
It doesn't change the fact that I'm clumsy,
she'd confided to Joshua); gymnastics (
When I tumble by accident, it's clumsy; when I do it on purpose, there's a point to it?
); piano (
Whyyy, when I can listen to much better stuff on my iPhone?
); and dressage (
All I wanted was a western saddle, jeans, and boots and to ride the trails in the woods
).

Eugenie, for all her flaws, had never signed up Marti for one single activity that Marti hadn't begged for first.

She turned her attention back to the patio furniture. “You make a good point. I'll find out what it needs to be protected from the weather, and then we'll do as little as possible to it. Okay?” She went to sit in one of the oversized chairs and nodded to Cadence to join her.

“Let me get something to eat first. I'm starving.” She went back inside, then returned with bottled water, an apple, and a granola bar.

“How was school?” God, how long had it been since Marti had imagined asking that of a child? Since the last time Joshua had brought up the subject of babies. At least eight, maybe nine years ago. She'd known before she married him that he wanted kids, but she hadn't been so sure herself. She'd wanted him, though, and had been convinced that her feelings would change. That Joshua's baby would be more special than any other baby. That sheer love would turn her into good mother material.

Since his death…She'd experienced a lot of yearnings, but the need for a child wasn't one of them. The need to replace Joshua wasn't, either. She wouldn't be like her mother after their parents' divorce. Eugenie had been married four times and engaged another four times that Marti knew about. Her mother found comfort in men—temporarily—before realizing that they were crazy-making and fleeing for her own sanity.

Everyone else in the family agreed that Eugenie was the crazy-maker.

Cadence drew her feet into her chair, tucking her skirt snugly, and crunched into the apple. Politely, she waited to swallow before answering. “It was okay, I guess. Abby introduced me to all her friends, and I met kids in my classes. It'll be okay.”

“Such a ringing endorsement.”

Cadence's smile was small, disappearing as she bit into the apple again. When she could speak again, she asked, “Aunt Marti, do you know Dillon Smith?”

Marti blinked, an image of Jessy's brother-in-law popping into her mind. The whole identical-twin thing had been a little disconcerting to start, especially when Dalton was more than a tad formidable, and frankly, Dillon came close. Jessy had coerced him into showing up for parties and dinners, but he didn't seem to fit in. He stood on the outside, figuratively as well as literally on occasion, and made no effort to make friends.

But he was damn fine to look at. He was a leaner, tougher version of Dalton, and he did an outstanding job of filling out a pair of faded jeans, and he loved Jessy the way family should. That made him good in Marti's mind.

“I've met him. I didn't know you had.”

“Yesterday. While Abby was inside.” Cadence wrapped the apple core in a napkin, then tore open the granola bar wrapper. “He lives on a ranch. He's a cowboy. His brother is married to your friend, Jessy. He seems nice.”

When had her niece lost the ability to form compound sentences, and why? Had Dillon said something inappropriate to her? Had he been too friendly—a situation Marti simply couldn't imagine—or otherwise set off Cadence's warning alarms?

Marti's stomach was starting to knot when Cadence drew a deep breath and said in a rush, “They raise palominos and he said I could come out and ride if it was okay with you and I don't want to start riding again yet, but…” She breathed again. “I'd like to see the horses.”

Everything around Marti relaxed. Horses. Of course. Cadence had been crazy about them from the time she was in diapers until about a year into dressage. It had taken her another four years to let her mother know she wanted to quit.

“So you want to go out to the ranch and see the horses? Maybe, if that old excitement is still there, ask Dillon to let you ride?”

“I didn't bring riding clothes or my saddle,” Cadence said, her nose wrinkled. “I just…I haven't even petted a horse since I quit dressage. Mom's kind of all or nothing, you know. I didn't want to do dressage, but quitting that meant quitting horses completely.” She shrugged. “I miss them.”

Marti understood being taken away from something—someone—she loved, and she remembered proud notes from Cadence's parents relating every compliment her trainer gave her.
A natural horsewoman. Has an affinity with all the animals. Firm hand, excellent instincts.

“You go change, and I'll call Jessy and see if this is a good time.”

“Thank you, Aunt Marti.” Cadence didn't squeal the way Abby would have, or jump to her feet and run inside, texting all the way. She picked up the trash from her snack, took her bottle, and walked sedately to the back door. Fourteen going on middle age.

Shaking her head, Marti pulled out her cell phone and found Jessy's fiery red hair in the contact photos. “Hey, Jess, it's Marti. Your brother-in-law invited my niece out to see the horses. Do you think today would be okay?”

Mouse was the best office mate. She didn't ask distracting questions. She didn't interrupt when Fia was double-checking her math. She didn't get in Fia's way, asking, “What's that? What's it for? Why did the boss ask you to do it?” No, Mouse slept in the armchair until she tired of its comfyness, then she slept on the floor, then she disappeared down the hall. Fia assumed she was drinking out of the toilet bowl instead of the one filled with bottled water in the kitchen or sleeping in the middle of the bed like the princess she clearly thought she was.

All of Fia's work for the day was done, so she changed into workout capri pants and the smallest T-shirt she owned, still a size too big, and spread out a mat on the floor in front of the TV. When her muscles cramped, there wasn't much she could do, but she took advantage of the good times to stretch and strengthen every muscle that cooperated.

It was after five, and she'd been tempted every half hour since three thirty to call Elliot. She couldn't imagine Lucy and Patricia not hiring him. Truthfully, when she thought about her friends making hiring decisions, she saw them taking on every person who filled out an application. They were so softhearted. Lucy had never made a bad decision in her life, and Patricia had made some awful ones that she'd learned serious lessons from.

She started her yoga routine with easy, gentle stretches, savoring the pull in her muscles, slowing and deepening her breathing. Tensions eased a bit at a time from her forehead, her jaw, her neck, down her shoulders and along her spine. She moved through the sun salutation, then while in a tree pose—standing erect, right foot flat against the inside of her left thigh, hands clasped together above her head—the sensation of being watched drew her gaze to the door.

Elliot stood on the other side, one shoulder resting against the door frame. The Prairie Harts bag in his other hand swayed, and a smile of victory and of pure primal man-likes-what-he-sees sent a shiver through her. It was funny. His face was the same as it had been the day before and the day before, but there were such contrasts between the feelings seeing him inspired in her. At times he struck her as the sweetest, kindest guy in the world. Other times, he was so sexy that a single touch from him might spark a fire that would leave behind nothing but ashes and some serious satisfaction. Still other times, he was such a caregiver that she couldn't remember ever feeling safer.

And always, he displayed balance, a good nature, an unwillingness to let minor annoyances disturb his peace.

Slowly she lowered her foot to the floor, wobbling only once before her legs realized their job was to hold her in place even if they had gone weak. She half wished she'd changed into her regular yoga clothes—snug tank top, even snugger capris—but based on his expression, her successful-dieter-in-baggy-clothes look was fine with him.

Twisting the lock, she pushed the storm door open and pressed back against the wooden door to let him come in. Fairytale flavors perfumed the air around him as he moved past: sugar and chocolate and butter and vanilla. Four of her favorite scents in the world. “Well?” she asked when the storm door swung shut behind him.

“I went. I charmed. I got the job.” He dangled the bag between them. “I also brought treats.”

She folded her arms over her middle. “I knew you would.”

“Get the job or bring treats?”

“Both. Do you love Lucy and Patricia?” Before he could answer, she went on. “Of course you do. Everyone does. And I won't even ask if they loved you. Of course they did. Everyone does.”

He set the bag on the back of the couch, and it rattled. An instant later, four paws hit the floor in the bedroom, then Mouse trotted in, sniffing the air. “I wondered where she had gone,” Fia said as the puppy circled Elliot. “I guess all that snoozing out here made her tired so she needed a real nap.”

“Yeah, getting to sleep on a real bed again is pretty high on my list, too. You want to go out with us tonight? Just drive around, show me which cheap apartments are okay and which ones are rumored to have roaches bigger than Mouse?”

Fia did a quick systems test. No headache. Her muscles were tingling in a good way—no, wait, that was her nerves, but still good. Her stomach wasn't churning; her sight had improved from double vision to single with an extraneous bit of fuzz. She was having a good-enough-to-go-work moment, so she certainly felt good enough to ride around town with Elliot and Mouse. “I'd be happy to. Just let me change clothes.”

“Aw, do you have to?” He hooked on Mouse's leash. “I'm going to take her for a quick walk. Come on out when you're ready.”

Since giving up her trainer job, Fia had discovered she could live days at a time in the same outfit—stained, worn, sweaty—and on those same days, she could forget to comb her hair even once. She hadn't let herself sink so low that she'd stopped brushing her teeth twice a day, but for a while, when everything seemed so hopeless, she'd figured that was inevitable. She would have been carted off to some facility where she would live with people in equally dark places until the margarita girls rescued her.