Kitabı oku: «His Valentine Surprise», sayfa 3

I won’t let that happen, he vowed to himself as he disconnected the call. He would simply redouble his efforts to keep the store open. But he wouldn’t let those efforts stop him from being the father that Vicki deserved.

Chapter Three

“Oh, it’s you.” Since the store was currently deserted, Mark’s words carried.

From just beneath the bell that jangled to announce patrons, six-foot-five Cade Montgomery raised his eyebrows. “Dude, stop falling all over yourself with elation whenever you see me. People will talk.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound unhappy that you’re here,” Mark said. “I was just hoping…”

“That I was a paying customer?” Cade commiserated. In years past, the dark-haired bear of a man had earned a full-time living with guided rafting excursions, but in the current economy, he had to supplement that income with carpentry odd jobs.

“Yeah.”

“It’s the middle of a weekday,” Cade pointed out. “People are either at work or at lunch. You’ll get more business tomorrow.”

“I know.” But would it be enough business? Since Mark had reached the store after this morning’s meeting at Woodside, he’d been consulting vendor catalogs, trying to decide if he could cut costs by dropping certain brands that weren’t selling well or switching distributors.

“Speaking of lunch. I was in the area delivering some shelves to a client and swung by to see if you wanted to grab a burger with me.”

“But that would mean closing the store for an hour.”

Cade glanced meaningfully at the reversible Open sign hanging in the window; the back featured an adjustable clock face. “Gee, if only you had one of those signs that said something like ‘Will Return In….’”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Smart-ass. I was planning to work through lunch because I missed some time this morning. I got called into an unexpected meeting with the new principal at Woodside.”

“About that Fitness Fair?”

“No, about Vicki.” The tiniest matchmaker. Mark had seen movies where children of single parents schemed to get their folks together. But those were always specific matches—one man, one woman. His overachieving daughter had tried to hook him up with the entire damn PTA!

“Vicki? Is she winning an award or something?” Cade asked, unmistakable affection in his voice.

“Not unless the school gives out awards for most inappropriate use of email.”

Cade’s brows shot up. “Don’t follow.”

Mark sighed. “Come on. Let’s get lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

RECAPPING THE MORNING’S ego-bruising events for his friend’s entertainment did not improve Mark’s mood. Even though it had been Cade’s idea to go eat, the man had mostly ignored his bacon burger in favor of laughing at Mark.

“I had no idea your daughter was so proficient with the internet,” Cade said, still chortling. “If I’d known, I would have friended her on Facebook. Hey, think she could talk me through a problem I’ve been having with Outlook?”

“Glad you find this so hilarious,” Mark groused.

“And you don’t? You have to admit, what she did was really cute.”

“Says the man who wasn’t getting lectured by Principal Morgan first thing this morning.”

“That’s right, I remember hearing a new principal moved here from the opposite end of the school district. What’s she like, the female version of Ridenour?” Even though Cade didn’t have any young relatives at the elementary school, it was a small town and everyone had at least a passing acquaintance with Jonathan Ridenour, one of Braeden’s most involved citizens until his heart attack.

At the idea of comparing Shay to Ridenour, Mark finally cracked a grin. Cade was a good guy, but a bit of a hound dog. He’d dated at least half of the attractive single women in the tricounty area yet had no idea that a beautiful blonde had recently taken up residence nearby. “No, she’s not much like Ridenour. Younger, for one thing.”

“Makes sense. Why replace him with someone who would just retire in another year or two?”

Mark frowned, remembering his encounter with Shay. “And I think Jonathan would have been slower to assume it was my fault. He’s got kids, grandkids. He understands that sometimes they just… Do you think I’m a bad father?”

“Hell, no. You adore that little girl. But you know enough to tell her when it’s time to go to bed and not give her whatever she wants just because she throws a fit. Not that I’ve ever seen her throw one,” Cade qualified. “Of course, that’s probably just because you’re such a good dad you’ve taught her better manners than that. Look, don’t ask me about parenting. What do I know? Talk to your sister-in-law if you’re really worried.”

That made Mark feel better. After all, no one questioned that Dee was a great parent, even though her son had been Vicki’s accomplice. Somewhat mollified, he admitted, “It’s not that I think Principal Morgan is wrong, per se, about my getting involved. I just don’t think she can fully appreciate the pressure I’m under as a single dad. She’s never been in the parenting trenches herself.”

Cade swiped a fry through some ketchup. “You think maybe she’s bitter? Got into teaching because she loves kids but never had any of her own? Maybe she’s jealous of people with families.”

Mark opened his mouth to correct his friend’s misconception that Shay was a woman well past her prime, but the waitress came back to refill their drinks and Cade spent the next few minutes flirting with her. Once she was gone, conversation turned to Mark’s store and his idea about contacting nearby lodges and resorts like Hawk Summit.

“You know, there’s actually been some buzz about trying to reopen the campsite on the edge of Braeden,” Cade said. “If that happened, it could indirectly benefit you. Stop by the town meeting next week, make a case for why it would be good for all of us.”

“Maybe.” Mark suspected he could get Dee to babysit, but if he was going to publicly address his fellow towns-people, he needed to come up with something convincing. I don’t want my poor kid to have to move probably wasn’t the most effective argument. Then again, thanks to her email, the general public was already aware that she was unhappy. Surely they wouldn’t want to further traumatize the motherless, dogless child.

“And you could always check out some of those SBA classes offered through the county seat,” Cade added. “Registration fees are minimal and even though you aren’t technically a small business owner, they might have some economical marketing tips you can implement. The more professionally defined your prospective partnership when you approach places like Hawk Summit, the better the chances they’ll accept.”

Mark shook his head, chuckling. “You may have the largest collection of flannel shirts in North Carolina, but I swear you wore a suit in a previous life.”

“Who, me?” Cade sipped his soda, avoiding the implied question. He’d only been in Braeden for four or five years and rarely talked about where he was from or what had brought him there. “Dude, I build cabinets in my garage. But I did date an MBA once. Maybe I picked up some pointers from her.”

As they exited the Burger Shop, automatically bracing against the biting wind, Cade suggested, “Maybe you should date an MBA. Totally solve all your problems—get some informal consulting on the store and make Vic happy. Don’t you think the kid deserves a mother figure?”

Mark ground his back teeth together. “Some of us have an ethical problem using women.”

“I don’t ‘use’ anyone!” Cade sounded legitimately offended. “I may not be looking for anything serious, but that doesn’t mean I’m not fond of the women I spend time with.”

“Sorry. But don’t you think trying to appease my six-year-old would be a pretty crappy reason to ask someone out?”

“Fair enough.” Cade unlocked his truck. “So ask someone out for you. I’ve never busted your chops about living like a monk—statistically speaking, I’m probably dating your share of ladies as well as mine—but it’s been about two years.”

“Are you suggesting there’s a statute of limitations on how long I love my wife?” Mark growled.

“Of course not. If you’re still carrying a torch, that’s your business. I’m just saying…if the problem is you’re nervous about getting back on the horse—”

Mark snorted.

“So to speak.” Cade flashed a grin. “Allowing more time to slip by isn’t going to ease your nerves. It’s like jumping in a pool. Don’t stand on the edge staring down into the deep end, just close your eyes and do it.”

Cade turned the keys in the ignition and neither man spoke as they pulled out of the parking lot. Mark couldn’t help tossing his friend’s advice around his head, though.

After a few minutes, he blurted, “I’ll always love Jess, but I think it would be possible to love someone else, too. In theory.”

“But in practice?”

“Jessica and I met in high school.” He’d only kissed three or four girls before he’d started dating his future wife. “We were together a long time. After the first year she’d been gone, I felt obligated to try again. I went on a few dates over the course of three months and they were so awful that I quit. What’s the point of trying to find room for it in my schedule when it was only making everyone involved miserable? One woman reached over during a movie and held my hand wrong.”

Cade snickered. “How can you hold hands wrong?”

“It’s like having a side of the bed, I guess, but with fingers. Shut up,” Mark said when his friend continued to laugh at him. Okay, it sounded stupid when he tried to explain it out loud, but the truth was, he and Jess had fit seamlessly after so many years together. It wasn’t just that when they held hands his thumb was always on the outside, it was everything.

On one of his ill-fated dates, he and the woman had gone by a drive-through restaurant to grab food for an outdoor concert and he’d reflexively asked the employee to leave the mayonnaise off her burger. Explaining that he was used to ordering for his late wife had done nothing to ease the first-date tension. Another time, he’d attempted a good-night kiss but they’d both leaned in on the same side, banging their noses together.

“I feel like one of those people who got the full-on amnesia, where they have to relearn everything from words to how to hold a spoon. It’s so damn frustrating.”

Cade considered this. “Maybe it’s all in how you choose to look at it. Take me—learning all about a new woman is part of the fun. It’s exciting. No two are alike.”

That kind of “excitement” held little appeal for Mark. Besides, it wasn’t just getting to know strangers that made dating difficult. He and Jessica had grown up together; in a lot of ways, she’d shaped the adult he became. Because he’d been blessed in finding the woman he wanted to be with so young, he’d never had experience with a breakup or how different women liked to be touched, the types of relationship lessons many guys learned by the time they finished college. When he was out with someone now, it wasn’t only that Mark didn’t know her, he felt like he barely knew himself.

“I admire your confidence with women, but not all of us can be Mr. Smooth,” Mark said wryly. “Turns out, I’m more the stammering and second-guessing type.”

“You don’t know that! Jess clearly thought you were Prince Charming and I’ll bet lots of other women would agree. Three or four awkward evenings in the course of your lifetime is hardly definitive proof that you suck at dating.”

“How comforting. Look, if it will shut you up, I’ll make you a deal. Drop the subject until April, when Coleridge makes a decision about the store. After that, if I’m still here, you can set me up with every single female you know.”

“Every?” Cade laughed. “Better clear your summer calendar.”

“I was being figurative, not literal. Just give me until April.”

“Deal. But I’m not your problem. What kind of deal are you planning to make your daughter?”

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. He definitely needed to follow Principal Morgan’s advice—get more involved with Vicki, keep her busy and happily occupied with other aspects of her life. Because left to her own devices, by April she’d probably be going through the Braeden phone book, calling women individually to ask if they would be interested in dating her daddy.

WHEN MARK WALKED THROUGH the door leading in the house from the garage, Mrs. Norris looked up quizzically from her knitting at the kitchen table and Vicki, who appeared to be doing her homework, squealed with delight.

“Daddy!” She bolted out of her chair and barreled toward him. “Why are you home early?”

“I asked Roddy to come in at four-thirty instead of seven. He said that just this once, he can handle inventory by himself.” Which meant that instead of sleeping in tomorrow, Mark would have to double-check the numbers in the morning, but it seemed like a fair trade-off in order to spend an extra evening reassuring his kid. “Is it okay with you that I’m here already?”

Nodding enthusiastically, she hugged him. But then she pulled away, biting her lower lip and glancing back toward Mrs. Norris. “We were gonna order a pizza for dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.” He extricated himself from his daughter enough to set his laptop case on the kitchen counter, then handed Mrs. Norris the envelope with her weekly paycheck. “Everything going okay here?”

“Vicki was no trouble whatsoever. We made cutout gelatin shapes for afternoon snack and read a chapter book together.” The elderly woman grinned, her cloudy blue eyes suddenly flashing with an impishness that made her look far younger. “But your phone’s been ringing a lot today. Took some mighty interesting messages for you.”

Mark groaned. Were people calling to complain about Vicki’s email…or to answer it? Surely the women of Braeden had more sense than that. Her letter had been a child’s act of desperate whimsy, not a legitimate solicitation in the Braeden Bugle personal ads!

After Mrs. Norris had wished them both a great weekend and headed home, Mark sat in one of the kitchen chairs, studying his daughter. “Any hard homework tonight?”

She shook her head. “Not on Fridays. Just a word search on tall tales and legends. But I can’t find Paul Bunyan.”

“Really? That’s strange. Isn’t he like ten feet tall?”

After looking at him blankly for a second, she giggled. “The word, Daddy. I can’t find the word Paul Bunyan.”

“Ah.” He set up his laptop as she continued her search, wondering if he still got credit for coming home early to be with his daughter even if he planned to work tonight.

A few minutes later, she triumphantly declared, “Finished!”

“Way to go.” He waited until she’d put the sheet back into her red Return to School folder. “Part of the reason I came home early is because we need to talk about some stuff, Vicki-bug.”

Her face fell. “Am I still in trouble?”

“Well, we need to work on that apology you promised Principal Morgan, and—”

“She’s pretty,” Vicki interrupted.

Mark frowned, not sure if was just a random observation—which he’d discovered were not uncommon from six-year-olds—or if she had a specific purpose for saying so. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

“I thought principals were scary. And mean, like in that cartoon Bobby watches. Our principal is a lot more better.”

They’d had the “cartoons are not accurate” discussion a year and a half ago when Vicki tried to color a tunnel on the wall with black marker. “I’m sure Ms. Morgan likes you and the other kids. Why else would she get a job at a school?”

“I like her, too. Did you like her, Daddy?”

Not particularly. But that was a knee-jerk reaction to her criticism, not the whole truth. The woman was undeniably attractive, but beyond that, he’d been touched by the empathy in her voice when she asked about his wife and he’d admired the way Shay had handled Vicki. She’d addressed the situation with the exact right combination of kind understanding and sternness.

“I thought that she had some good ideas,” he said neutrally. “For instance, she suggested that I find ways you and I can spend more time together. I need your help with that. I know you like ballet, but I can’t see Daddy in a tutu.”

She giggled, the noise so sweet and purely joyful that it warmed him inside.

“So what other activities do you like? Anything we could do together? You haven’t pulled out your bike in a long time. Maybe I could fix up mine and we could go for rides.”

Her smile faded as she squirmed in her seat. “You remember one time I fell down and cut my leg? I had my helmet on and pads but I still got hurt.”

Life was definitely like that sometimes—even when people took all the smart safety precautions, they could find themselves flat on the pavement with the wind knocked out of them, shocked by the pain they didn’t see coming. He remembered getting Jess’s diagnosis like it was yesterday. How could it possibly be so bleak when she was so damn young?

Mark swallowed. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but don’t you think you might want to try again someday?”

“Someday,” she said unenthusiastically, not meeting his gaze.

He started to tell her that the longer she put it off, the more difficult it would become to face her fears, but that reminded him uncomfortably of the lecture Cade had given him today about dating, so he changed the subject. “You know, your cousin Bobby is in science club and plays soccer after school. Are there any sports or clubs you want to join?”

“There was.” She frowned. “But not anymore. Valerie in my class was gonna be a Campside Girl. Her big sister told her it was real fun and Valerie and me wanted to join but there weren’t enough mommies.” She heaved a colossal sigh that spoke volumes about the ongoing injustice of her world. “If I had a mommy, maybe she coulda been a Campside leader.”

“You have a daddy,” he reminded her. “Is there a rule that says troop leaders have to be female?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a kid.”

“Well, I’ll check into it,” he promised her. “Maybe it’s not too late to put together a troop for the spring.” And even if it was, Vicki would see her father making an effort on her behalf. “Now, how about we work on your apology letter and order that pizza?”

“Can we eat it on TV trays and watch a DVD? Pleeease.”

If they put in one of her DVDs, he could keep her company in the living room while simultaneously doing a little research on his computer and working on his remarks for Thursday’s town council meeting. When guilt pinged him over working during their “quality time” together, he decided that while he was at his laptop, he’d also see if Mrs. Frost’s latest email was still in his inbox. It seemed as if the teacher sent out weekly requests for someone to come be the “mystery reader” or assist with a special in-class project.

Mark nodded at his daughter. “Dinner and a movie, you got it.”

She beamed in awed excitement, as if she were in the presence of a superhero. As he made plans to hang out with his best girl, he told himself this was a great way to spend a Friday night. He pushed aside the conversations he’d had today with Dee and Cade and denied the occasional pang that indicated something was missing from his life.

Chapter Four

It took a true friend to call at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning and bully you into braving freezing temperatures, all in the name of your physical health. Shay had even tried arguing, “It can’t set us back that much to miss one workout.”

“Might I remind you,” Geneva said cheerfully, “that we promised not to let each other wiggle out of this? We set goals and a schedule and you were the one who said it was crucial to stick to it, make it a habit. It would be easy to rationalize skipping it once, and then once would become twice and—”

“I got it, I got it. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Shay said.

Although Geneva’s house had a much smaller master bedroom, living room and kitchen than the newer one-and-a-half-story brick home Shay was renting, Geneva was the one with a finished basement, one section of which she’d converted into an exercise room.

When Shay had first come to Braeden to sign her rental agreement—with an option to buy, assuming she was named principal for the long term—she’d done a tour of the town to find the essentials: the grocery store, a decent place to buy shoes and a bookstore. That was how she’d met Geneva Daniels, proprietor of Book ’Em Daniels. Most bookshops these days had in-store coffee counters, but Geneva’s small coffee-serving bakery was Hawaiian themed. She specialized in macadamia cookies, pineapple upside-down muffins and Kona blend coffee. The two women had become immediate friends over a plate of Geneva’s coconut-crème tarts.

Of course, Geneva had noted that taste-testing her tropical desserts was taking a toll on her dress size and Shay admitted that she was not as in shape as she would prefer, either. Although scheduling time for fitness wasn’t always simple, when she was active she was more energetic and more mentally focused—both attributes she needed in her mission to impress the parents and faculty at Woodside. Her position as principal was only guaranteed through the end of the year, but if she did a good job, it would become hers permanently.

After she knocked on Geneva’s front door, a large bottle of water in her other hand, her friend greeted her with, “Aerobic warm-up followed by weight training, or high-intensity kickboxing?”

Shay slid free of her bulky winter jacket and hung it on the coatrack. “Maybe I should work out some latent aggression with kickboxing. That will probably make me a better dinner guest at my parents’ tomorrow. All I want is to hear how everyone’s doing and enjoy my mom’s lasagna without sitting through a critique of my life choices. Is that too much to ask?” At the thought of her father’s unintentional patronization and her mother fussing over her, Shay felt primed and ready for an hour of uppercuts and roundhouse kicks.

Geneva made a sympathetic noise. “Been there. As the only unmarried Daniels sibling—out of five, you understand—I was the main cause for parental despair. But then my older brother got divorced and my nephew in Chicago took up graffiti and suddenly I was off the hook.” She paused, looking sheepish. “Tell me I didn’t just sound happy that my brother’s marriage fell apart and my nephew is now tagging.”

Shay followed her friend downstairs, chuckling. “Well, you’re a bad person, we knew this.”

Geneva smirked over her shoulder. “It’s what makes me such a fun friend.”

“Which is why I love you in spite of your sadistic insistence that we exercise.”

When they got downstairs, Geneva admitted, “It might take me a minute to find the right workout. I have a bad habit of not always putting DVDs in the right cases when I’m done with them.”

While she waited, Shay began stretching and sent up a silent prayer that tomorrow’s dinner party would only include her immediate family. Her mother had ambushed her once last year by inviting the single son of some quilting club friend. And Shay had been in a particularly bad mood that night. She’d just found out that her fellow assistant principal at the middle school where she worked was being promoted because their principal was moving up to a job in the superintendent’s cabinet.

“We were equally qualified and I’ve been at that school longer than he has!” she’d complained to her mother while she put ice in all the glasses.

“Look at it from their perspective,” Pamela Morgan had said calmly. “You’re a relatively young female. It’s easier to replace a teacher on maternity leave than the principal! You remember when I was teaching at Grossman and our principal never came back because she decided to stay home with the baby? It caused—”

“I’m not having a baby in the near future.” Shay had smacked the plastic ice cube tray down on the counter. “I’m not even married!”

“Believe me, I know.” Her mother had lowered her voice to a whisper, cutting her gaze toward the dining room. “But you don’t have to be single forever. If you’d just give Bradley a chance…”

In the middle of a hamstring stretch, Shay found herself suddenly recalling Mark Hathaway. She felt a twinge of unexpected kinship with the man. Now that she stopped to think about it, they were in a similar boat, each being pressured by family who loved them to “remedy” their single status. I should just be happy that my mom doesn’t have access to the PTA mailing list.

“HEY, BOSS, YOU MIGHT WANT to come out here,” Roderick Mitchell said from the doorway of Mark’s cramped office on Saturday afternoon. “I, uh, could use your assistance.”

Mark glanced at the older man in surprise. Besides himself, Roderick Mitchell and Keesha Lewis were the store’s only full-time employees. Mark also employed several part-timers and seasonal help around the Christmas holidays and in the summer, although he’d fired one part-time clerk for being rude to customers and never replaced him. Roddy, now retired from the military, was basically the second-in-command, closing on the nights Mark didn’t. It was rare for the unflappable soldier to need help.

Mark knew that the other guy working today, Ed, was away for his lunch hour. “Please make my day and tell me we’re so swamped with customers that you can’t check them all out.”

“Um…there are about half a dozen people in the store. Female people,” Roderick added. “And most of them have asked if you’re here.”

Mark’s stomach lurched. “Are you kidding? Did Cade put you up to this?”

“No, sir. Although maybe he put the women up to it. Lord knows he has a way with the ladies.”

Recalling the odd way divorced Tara Butcher had giggled this morning when Mark had explained the differences between different brands of sleeping bags, he accepted the reality of the situation. “Actually, we have my daughter to thank for this.” With a resigned sigh, Mark accompanied Roddy onto the display floor.

As Roddy had estimated, there were only seven women—hardly enough to form a crowd. But it was notable that all the customers in the sporting goods store were female and that more than one of them seemed…overdressed for the occasion.

Lydia Fortnaut was the closest to him, and she immediately waved him over to where she stood by the fishing gear. “Yoo-hoo, Mark? I was hoping you could advise me on what works best at the lakes in this area. My sons used to fish with their father, before he ran off with his chiropractor’s receptionist, damn his cheating black heart, and I thought maybe I could take up fishing, that it would give us a way to relate. I’m sure you understand the trials of being a single parent.”

“Happy to help,” he said. “We have lots of great equipment for people just starting out, but to clarify, you do know that fishing is prohibited most places around here until at least March?”

“Yes, but basketball season is in full swing,” a brunette in a tight-fitting sweater interrupted. “And my Anthony…”

The twenty minutes passed in something of a blur as Mark fielded questions from three divorced moms, a woman who had nieces and nephews just his Vicki’s age, and one marathon runner who managed to work into the conversation that she’d never had children but wasn’t averse to being a mother one day.

“Wow,” Roddy said, once the store was empty again. He stood at the cash register looking shell-shocked. “What the hell was that? Not that I’m complaining. We just sold ankle supports, water bottles, an air pump, a camping lantern, sunglasses, fishing lures, a tackle box and two fifty-dollar rods. That Lydia Fortnaut must want you bad.”

Before Mark could explain what had precipitated the sudden rise in female clientele, Roddy snapped his fingers.

“We should institute a ladies’ night at the store! I can’t speak for Ed, but I’m willing to work in just a bow tie and jeans if that would help.”

“I did not need that mental image,” Mark complained.

“Hey, I may be knocking on fifty, but this body is in great shape. I haven’t lost my marine discipline.”

“Vicki desperately wants a mother,” Mark said.

“Understandable for a little girl. Hell, there were times when I was overseas, a grown man and an armed solider, and wanted my mama. What did she do, ask all her little friends to send any single moms your way?”

“No, she sent an email to most all the parents at her elementary school saying that I was in need of a Valentine.” Mark narrowed his eyes. “You laugh, you’re fired.”

“Yes, sir.” Then Roddy bent down, placing his head on his folded arms, and laughed so hard the entire counter shook.

NEED MORE COFFEE. IT WAS a gray Monday morning, and although Shay had made it to work early, her brain seemed to have slept in and stayed home. She’d twice screwed up the prerecorded message that was supposed to go out through the school’s automated phone system, reminding parents of third through fifth graders about the significance of the upcoming standardized testing. Heck with it. She had to leave the building soon anyway for a district meeting about a change this spring in how transfer requests were handled. Maybe she should go now, stop for an espresso on the way and try recording her “important message from your principal” when she returned.

Just as she’d reached in the lower desk drawer for her purse, her phone buzzed.

“Ms. Morgan? Are you available to see Victoria Hathaway? She says she’s supposed to bring you something.”

Vicki’s note of apology. Shay had completely forgotten about it, although she’d been understandably distracted since her brother’s unexpected announcement last night. Bastien had informed his family that he not only had a girlfriend—someone he’d met when she was visiting a friend in the hospital—he was planning to propose soon. Propose!