Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge (8 page)

The rain was still coming down fast, so they
darted quickly through deep puddles left along a jagged pathway
cracked and broken from neglect, until they reached the top of the
verandah and shelter.

Inside, Laura stripped herself of a wet coat
then turned to retrieve Dexter's. He shook his head and with a
brusque voice demanded, “Where's the phone?”

She sighed inwardly, but directed, “In the
kitchen.” Then watched as he stomped sopping wet and leaving a
trail of water down the hallway.

Shaking her head, she removed her own wet
shoes then followed him. At a small round table tucked into the
corner of the room sat Ellie Green and Poppy Ullman helping
themselves to supper.

Laura smiled apologetically. “Sorry I'm late,
my appointment ran later than I expected. Have the other's
eaten?”

The girls weren't looking at her but with
inquisitive, admiring glances at her companion. He, on his part,
ignored them as he searched out the phone.

“Since when did your shelter include good
looking forty-something men, Laura?”

His back stiffened. Turning heavily on
squelching shoes, he looked across at the young girls under thick
burrowed brows. “Thirty-two. And I'm certainly not staying. If
someone could kindly point out the phone I would be ever so
grateful.” His voice grated on every note, laying on the sarcasm
thick at this last comment.

“Touchy!” Poppy scoffed with a cocky lift of
her brow.

“Don't mind him.” Laura reached for the phone
perched on top of the refrigerator and pulled the extension cord
toward him. “He's always like this.”

Ellie's eyes were huge with interest. “You
know him?”

“Unfortunately.” Which received a ditto snort
from the object of their discussion.

“Who is he?” Ellie pushed for further
information.

Laura paused at this, she had never told
anyone about the incident up in the Hungry Hollow gorge. “Just an
old acquaintance.”

Thankfully behind her, she heard him hang up
and was able to turn away from the questioning stares of the
teenage girls. Just as quickly, he picked up the receiver once more
and began dialing.

Laura frowned. “What did they say?”

“Forty minutes.”

“Who are you calling now?”

“Taxi.”

“I can take you back.”

He ignored her, speaking into the receiver,
“Could I have a taxi sent—”

Without thinking, Laura reached over and hung
up on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Laura frowned at his foul language in front
of the teenage girls but decided to leave it alone. She had another
fight on her hands. “Since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to have a
look around. See for yourself—”

“No way.”

“Why not? You may just have a change of
heart.” The look he shot her spoke volumes. “All right, wrong
choice of words but maybe you'll see something worth saving.”

He looked uneasy as his glance slid from the
girls to Laura. Then his mouth shut in a harsh grimace as he
muttered, “Make it fast.”

She couldn't help but smile, thankful for the
girl’s influence. Naturally he didn't smile back but simply
followed her, brooding.

Her quick tour included the original parlor
presently used as the TV room and library where the sculptured
built-in bookshelves were full of used books from the local book
exchange. It also substituted as their nightly group meetings room.
Across the hall was the large dining room that had no difficulty
seating all nine occupants.

Upstairs, she indicated the rooms where the
girls slept without actually showing him, knowing full well
teenager's desire for privacy. It was after she explained that one
girl, Ingrid Mansfield, occupied the small cramped quarters of the
attic that he finally asked his first question.

“Where do you sleep?”

She blushed even knowing his question was far
from personal. “Downstairs, off the kitchen.”

His brows drew together. “I thought it was a
laundry room?”

“It is.” She looked away, suddenly
embarrassed to admit she slept in a laundry room.

Dexter's brows drew together in obvious
disapproval, before shaking his head and turning toward the
staircase. “Is that all, then?”

“No, not yet.” She went over and took his arm
in her hand. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

Not certain why he allowed her to draw him
down the small corridor, but he found himself following. The feel
of her soft touch on his arm left him with an uncomfortable yet
fully aware sensation. One he would rather ignore. Knowing he
appeared inane, but not caring, he shrugged her touch away. The
action received a tilt of her beautiful profile, acknowledging the
action before she turned and knocked on a door.

Beautiful? Good Lord! Where did that word
suddenly come from? He had better watch himself. Her bewitching
ways were casting a spell on his unwarranted affections.

Affections? Where the devil were flowery
worlds like these coming from? Suddenly he had a great urge to get
out of the house. A thickness in the air had him feeling tense.

“Look, I better be going. I—” His words
trailed off as they entered one of the bedrooms and a young girl
around the age of fifteen greeted them with a smile from her
position across the foot of a bed. Around her neck was a set of
headphones she was in the process of removing.

“Dexter, I want you to meet our youngest
occupant.”

He nodded politely but indifferently at the
girl.

“No, not her.” Laura shook her head, then
gestured toward a crib against the back wall. “Her.”

Dexter frowned heavily at Laura, not very
happy about the situation, but nevertheless went over and peered
into the crib. Inside was the smallest baby he had ever seen.
Granted, she was the only baby he had ever seen. She had the
tiniest fingers, the tiniest legs, and the tiniest nose. Her big
blue eyes looked up at him with untainted innocence. Her small
unadulterated view of the world was marred by the ironic twist of
reality surrounding her.

When he turned back to Laura, his face was
the usual grim mask he continually wore. “Yours?”

She made a face but shook her head
nevertheless. “Her name's Chantal. At four months, she's our
youngest runaway.”

He glanced at the girl on the bed. “Are you
the mother?”

The girl shook her head. “I'm Jenny Fallon,
Darcy's roommate. I'm babysitting while she's out job hunting.”

“No luck, eh?” Laura addressed the girl.

She grimaced and shook her head.

“And Darcy is—?”

“The mother. Her parent's refuse to allow her
to return home. They didn't accept their daughter's pregnancy.”

Dexter frowned. “But she's only a baby. How
could they allow their own grandchild to live like this?”

Laura shook her head agreeing. “I don't know.
But that isn't my job. I can't solve their home problems. What I
deal with is the teens and their outlook on the situation.
Hopefully, it all comes together and we have a successful reunion.
If not, they will always have a home here with me.”

“You're willing to take that much on? For
people who are virtually strangers to you.”

“They don't remain strangers for long.” She
smiled at Jenny. “Besides, it's nice to know I'm doing something of
worth. Even in a small way.”

He stared at her for a long time. His
features were intense, yet bland and unreadable. Laura had no idea
what was going through that somber head of his.

At last he turned away. “It was nice meeting
you, Jenny. If you'll excuse us.”

“Sure, no problem,” the girl chirped.

Laura followed Dexter out of the room, down
the flight of stairs and to the front corridor entrance. He stopped
to turn and face her. “I can find my own way back to my car. Thank
you for the use of your phone.”

“Wait.” She reached out to stall him. “What
do you think? I mean about the shelter and all?”

He stared at the warm hand on his arm and
frowned. “I've tried to explain. Britten Investments does not put
their money into just any little organization that needs funding.
We have to thoroughly research it and decide we are creating an
asset not a debit. You need some kind of equity, Laura. By all
accounts, you haven't shown me anything of substantial worth. In
short, the market value of your home, the shelter, does not exceed
its liable debts. You could be looking for a loan of some sort, but
again, the principal and interest would be in excess to what you
could actually repay. So we have no income.” He ticked off his
finger. “No earnings, no capital gains, and no profit. It is the
proceeds from all of these which Britten Investment makes it
revenue. Without them, there most definitely could not be a
business transaction between our company and yours.”

Her expression turned melancholy as she
stared down at the floor, arms crossed over her chest. “It's all
dollars and cents to you, isn't it?”

He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, but I’m afraid
so.”

Dexter was glad she wasn't looking at him
because for the first time in years, he had uncanny urge to reach
out and comfort. It was an emotion that both startled and
frightened him, because along with this territory came the caring.
Turning swiftly from her despondent form he reached the front door
and swung it open. Thankfully the rain outside had ceased.

Behind him, Laura heard another mumble of
thanks, then he was gone. She stared after his figure, allowing his
words of finance and equity to sink in. Not a word of sympathy or
compassion, he refused to see faces attached to business
transactions.

With a defeated sigh, she at last turned from
the door and acknowledged that maybe he was right. After all, he
wasn't the only company to turn her down flat. He made it all too
simple to put the blame on him, but being honest she knew that
wasn't fair. No matter how much it hurt to admit, his words rang
true. She had more liabilities than she did assets. Her
organization's only profit was in the heart of those young
girls.

Starting tomorrow she would change her course
of action and search for a new method for receiving financial
backing. Giving a smug snort, she allowed herself the satisfaction
of knowing she would be doing it without Dexter O'Reilly's
help.

* * *

A week later, she stood in front of his desk
at Britten Investment and Financial Group, looking down at his
unsmiling face. “I need your help.”

“Now what?”

“Well, I took your advice and decided I
needed a new resource for raising money.”

“What advice?” He stared at her frowning. “I
didn't give you any advice. I merely explained why we weren't
giving you any money.”

“You also said you were sorry.”

He began to look frustrated as well as
impatient. “I'm not following, Laura, and quite frankly I don't
have the time to sit here and go all over again why we are not
loaning you any money. If you’ve got a point to make, get to it.
I’ve got a full day ahead of me.”

She handed him a pink sheet of paper from a
bundle stacked in the envelope tucked under her arm. “I'm holding a
fund-raising event.”

He took the flyer she handed him and read out
loud, “Charity Bingo Night?”

She nodded proudly. “I hoped you would post
it somewhere in the building.”

Shaking his head, he tossed the paper back at
her. “We don't make it a practice to advertise for other
organizations.”

“But it's for charity.”

Again, he shook his head.

“I thought you wanted to help.”

“No,” he purposefully stated, “I never said
that.”

“But you said you were sorry.”

“Yes, because we weren't able to engage in a
business transaction.” He sighed heavily, running his hands through
his hair before getting to his feet. “Listen, you're on the right
track but simply not thinking big enough. The only thing you'll
accomplish through this bingo night is perhaps raising enough money
to pay your latest utility bill.”

Laura felt despaired. What had she expected?
That Dexter would smile and give his support and approval? With a
dejected inward sigh, she foolishly faced up to the truth she had
been looking for his admiration and perhaps his moral support.

“It's a beginning, and it’s one night. More
nights like this and I should be able to cover some of my
debts.”

“It's going to take a great number of nights,
and you'll soon discover the dollar doesn't stretch as far as you
expected. Those special events will eventually become never ending.
They simply won't accomplish what you're searching for as an
ongoing financial funding source.”

Stubbornly, she balked, “Forgive me, I
suppose I'm stupid where it comes to business. I'm no genius but
I'm doing the only thing I know how.”

Wearily, he closed his eyes. “You're not
stupid. You simply don't understand the field of business.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

He lifted his head and pierced her with a
penetrating gaze. “What I suggest is you close the shelter. I think
it was foolish of you from the beginning to get involved in
something way over your head. You're trying to take the world and
all its problems into your own solitary hands. You've wasted your
father's well intended inheritance, you've raised the hopes of
these young girls, where in fact they'll more than likely be back
out on the streets in less than a few months because you've finally
had to declare bankruptcy. If you quit now you may actually be able
to salvage some of your inheritance, make the repairs required on
the home, and still be able to live comfortably.”

Her beautiful amber-green eyes turned stony.
Snatching up the flyer from his desk she turned hotly on her heel.
“I should have known.”

“Do you honestly believe you're making a
difference in those girls’ lives?” It was snarly asked, causing
Laura to come to an abrupt halt, the hair on the back of her neck
becoming prickly as she felt her spine go stiff.