Chapter Four
The cafeteria smelled like overcooked broccoli and fried eggs.
Not something Rumer would have noticed if Heavenly hadn’t been mentioning it incessantly for the past twenty minutes.
“It really does,” she said, her nose wrinkling, her attention darting from Rumer to the table next to them to the doorway and then, to the line. Restless. Unhappy. Sure as heck not afraid to show it. “It’s the most disgusting smell in the world. Like dog sh—”
“Don’t,” Rumer warned, and she scowled.
“Dog poop on hot cement.”
“I wonder if they’re cutting her skull open right now,” Maddox said, stabbing his grilled cheese sandwich with a fork. “Or maybe they’ve just started shaving off her hair. I asked the doctor, and she said they were going to do that. All of it. Off.” He touched his head, his eyes wide.
“Poor Mommy,” Twila said with a sigh. “She’s going to be sad when she wakes up and her hair is gone.”
“Dweeb,” Heavenly growled, “that is the last thing Sunday is going to be worried about.”
“If she were conscious enough to worry about anything,” Milo agreed, “it would probably be about the fact that Dad is dead and we’re all acting like hooligans.”
It was the first time Rumer had heard him speak.
Surprised, she turned her attention away from Heavenly and her cornrow hair and skin-tight shirt and eyed the little boy. His brother wore a look of perpetual anger: furrowed brow and flashing eyes. Milo’s expression was softer, his eyes wide as if he were in a constant state of curiosity or fear.
He met her eyes and just . . .
Watched. As if he were waiting for a reaction.
“You’re not acting like a hooligan,” she finally said.
“One of us has to behave.”
“And, Mr. Perfect has to be the one. Just like always,” Heavenly snapped, her cornrows nearly shaking with frustration.
“I’m not perfect. I just know how to follow the rules.”
“Because you’re a kiss-up who wants to be the favorite. You’re not going to be. Ever. None of us are. Our own damn mothers didn’t want us. Do you really think someone else actually does?” Heavenly nearly spat.
“Our parents do too want us!” Maddox bellowed, lunging across the table, obviously not quite getting the gist of what Heavenly was saying. Not that Sunday and her husband hadn’t wanted them. That their biological parents hadn’t.
Rumer grabbed him by the back of the shirt and hauled him away before he could do any damage.
“You two obviously have too much time on your hands,” she said, her focus on Heavenly. She’d known the girl was trouble. She’d obviously been right. But, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the tween. This was a tough situation, and she seemed new to the family. Not quite in sync with the rest of the crew, not quite jibing with the way the others interacted.
“And?” Heavenly stared her down, muscles tense, posture combative. She was itching for a fight, but Rumer had given up on those a few years after she’d moved in with Lu.
“I have some jobs you can do at the homestead. That should keep you occupied on the weekends and after school. I’ll talk to your uncle about it and see what he thinks.”
“He’s not my uncle,” Heavenly said, some of her defiance slipping away. “And, this”—she waved her hand in a wide arc that encompassed everyone at the table—“is not my family. So, I really don’t care if you send me to some kids’ ranch.”
“Kids’ ranch? The homestead is where I live,” Rumer said gently, because she suddenly realized her mistake. She’d forgotten Heavenly’s past, her worldview, the secrets she hid from everyone.
And, she did have secrets.
Rumer understood that the same way she understood the defiance, the cavalier attitude toward her siblings, her mother, her family.
“You live on a homestead?” Twila asked. “That’s what they did during westward expansion. Do you have an outhouse? Do you have to pump your water and cart it inside in a big tin pail? Is it like in Little House on the Prairie?”
“No. Nothing like that,” Rumer said. “It’s a small farm with a few barns and a big stable. We train horses so that they’re gentle enough for kids with disabilities to ride.”
“You have horses?” Moisey jumped out of her seat, her upper lip smeared with hot chocolate. “Can we see them?”
“I’d be happy to have you visit, but we have to check with your uncle first.”
“Check with me about what?” Sullivan asked, and Rumer swung around, the chair scraping the floor as she stood.
God, he was handsome!
Even tired. Even with a stubble on his chin and shadows under his eyes, he looked good enough to kiss.
Whoa!
No!
He did not look good enough to kiss.
And, if he did, she was definitely not going to notice.
“We don’t have to check with you about anything,” Heavenly muttered. “And, if we did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m too young to work.”
“What work?” he asked, meeting Rumer’s eyes.
“Lu could use some extra help in the stables. We have several volunteers who come a couple of times a week, but we don’t have anyone on the weekends.”
“Volunteer? I only work for money,” Heavenly muttered, but she looked intrigued.
“That’s pretty mercenary of you,” Sullivan said. “Volunteer work is about others. Not ourselves. And, you’d be doing it for a good cause.”
“What? You getting rid of me for a while on the weekends?” Heavenly snorted. “Because, I know that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“I’d like you better if you weren’t such a liar,” she spat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re sure as hell not the kind-hearted uncle who is happy to take on childcare duty. And, before you try to say anything different, I’ve heard you talking to your brothers about us.”
His jaw tightened, and Rumer was certain she was about to witness a shouting match of epic proportions. Sullivan denying. Heavenly insisting. All of it playing out in the middle of the hospital cafeteria.
“You know,” she began, hoping to distract them, “this is a really stressful time, and—”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about any of you,” Sullivan interrupted, surprising the rest of what Rumer planned to say right out of her head. “This is a big job for one person. Especially a person who has no experience with kids. It’s not easy on you guys, either. I understand that. We’re all just going to have to make the best of it for however long your mother is in the hospital.”
“What if she . . . ?” Heavenly’s gaze cut to her siblings, and she pressed her lips together. “Fine. I’ll take the stupid volunteer job, but nobody better expect me to like it. Now, if you don’t mind, I need a smoke. See you around.”
She turned on her heels and sauntered away like she was a twenty-year-old with every right in the world to take a cigarette break.
Sullivan just stood there and watched her go.
“Aren’t you going after her?” Rumer prodded. “Because, if you don’t, I will. She can’t smoke. Even if she could, she shouldn’t. Not to mention the fact that she’s got no business wandering around on her own at twelve years old.”
“She’s not smoking. She’s crying,” Twila piped up, her hair still in perfect plaits, her face clean of crumbs or cocoa. No stains on her shirt, coat, or knee-length skirt. No rips in her tights.
“Why do you say that?” Rumer asked, tracking Heavenly as she continued across the cafeteria.
“That’s what she always does. She says she’s smoking, but Mom says she’s never smelled one bit of cigarette smoke on her, and she’s never found cigarettes, either. Heavenly just says that so she can be alone and cry.”
“She can be alone at home. Here, she’s sticking with us.” Sullivan finally moved, following Heavenly across the room. He caught up with her before she reached the door.
He touched her arm, and even from a distance, Rumer could see her flinch, the reaction saying a lot about the tween’s background.
Whatever Sullivan said, it seemed to do the trick. She went from angry, to frustrated, to resigned, the emotions flashing across her face one after another until she finally nodded.
They walked back together. Not touching. Not speaking. Both tense.
“Come on, dweebs,” Heavenly said as she reached the table. “Pastor Mark is waiting in the lobby. We’re going home with him.” She grabbed Milo’s hand, and he stood, sidling up close, his shoulder bumping her side. Maddox scowled but followed suit, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flashing with irritation.
“What about Mom?” Moisey asked, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. All she managed to do was smear the chocolate more.
“She’s in surgery,” Sullivan said, grabbing a napkin from the chrome dispenser and wiping her mouth. He did it gently. As if she were a porcelain doll and he was afraid of breaking her.
She was probably more of a rugby player—tough and invincible—but the gesture was still sweet to watch.
“Here,” Twila said, dipping a napkin in her cup of water and dabbing at Moisey’s face, probably mimicking what she’d seen her mother do.
Rumer looked away.
She didn’t want her heart softening toward this family.
Didn’t want it softening?
Who did she think she was kidding?
It had softened.
But, that didn’t mean she should get more involved.
Sure, the money was good.
Sure, she needed it.
Taking the job would mean paying off Lu’s medical bills well before it was time to return to Seattle in the summer.
The thing was, she didn’t want to witness the downward spiral of this patchwork family. She didn’t want to watch as the stitches that held it together came apart. She sure as heck didn’t want to be the one trying to stitch it back together.
She’d seen Sunday, though.
Lying in that hospital bed. Breathing tube down her throat, ventilator forcing air into her lungs. IVs and tubes and beeping machines, her kids all waiting and hoping and praying that she’d wake up.
And, maybe she would.
Maybe what they were believing in would happen, and Sunday would recover and return to them.
In the meantime, they needed someone.
That was as obvious as sunrise on a cloudless morning.
What wasn’t obvious was who that someone would be.
She followed the group as they walked to the exit. Pastor Mark was waiting near the door. Very tall and a little stooped as if he’d spent most of his life ducking to avoid low-hanging light fixtures and short entryways.
He met Rumer’s eyes and smiled. “I only have enough room in my Chevy for the crew. I’ll bring them to the house and then come back and bring you home,” he offered.
“There’s no need. I can get a ride,” she lied. No way was she calling Aunt Minnie. The woman might be an ace at naturopathic medicine and bookkeeping, but she couldn’t drive to save her life or anyone else’s. She was fine close to home. On clear days. With full sunlight. Having her make the forty-five-minute drive to Spokane during a snowstorm was like asking her to jump out of an airplane without a parachute. It would end badly. No doubt about that.
But, she didn’t want the pastor making the drive again, either. From what she’d gathered, he was married and had a couple of kids. They needed their dad around more than she needed a ride.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his dark eyes looking straight into hers.
“Positive,” she lied again, and immediately felt guilty about it.
She’d spent the last half of her teenage years attending church. Lu might be a hermit, but she didn’t believe in hiding from God. Sunday morning meant dress clothes, makeup-free faces, and a half-hour drive to the little chapel on the hill. It meant hard pews and old organ music and a pastor who preached fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. It also meant women’s auxiliary on Tuesday night, stew and home-baked bread brought to shut-ins. It meant a tiny community of people who’d cared about one another.
She’d loved that part of it.
Even if she hadn’t quite appreciated the pastor’s sermons.
“All right. If you can’t find someone to come out here, give me a call.” He handed her a business card and turned his attention to Sullivan. “Keep me posted on things, okay? I may be able to come back once we figure out who’s going to stay with the kids tonight.”
“Don’t risk the roads,” Sullivan responded. “I’ll call you once she’s out of surgery. I’m thinking I’ll be home in the early morning. It could be sooner or later depending on how things go.”
“Sunday is strong, and the Lord is stronger. She’ll get through this. Ready, guys?” He opened the door, and all five kids filed out without a word of protest or a wave good-bye.
“That’s sad,” Rumer said, watching as they disappeared into the swirling snow.
“Yeah. It is. Their dad is dead, and they need their mom, but she’s probably . . .” Sullivan didn’t continue. Maybe he was afraid to speak it aloud, afraid that giving voice to the fear would make it a reality.
“What are the doctors saying?” she asked, falling into step beside him as he walked back to the cafeteria.
“That if she survives, she probably won’t be the same. There’s some damage to the frontal lobe of the brain. The surgeon mentioned a dozen things that could impact. I got the impression that she wasn’t very hopeful for any kind of recovery.”
“The surgeon is one person with one opinion,” she reminded him.
“It’s not just the surgeon. It’s the attending physician, the neurologists, the nurses. Sunday has been in a coma since the accident. The longer it goes on, the less hope for a full recovery. That’s a fact. Not an opinion.”
“Here are a few other facts. The human body has an incredible capacity to heal. Doctors don’t know everything. Nurses don’t, either.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“But?”
“Someone has to decide how far treatment should go, how much disability Sunday would want to live with. My brothers and I have medical power of attorney. If it comes down to it, we decide whether to keep Sunday on life support or take her off it.”
“That’s tough,” she said, feeling herself being pulled into his story, into his life and drama. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to say good-bye and walk away, maybe hitchhike through the storm until she found her way back to the homestead. Anything but stand there listening to the depth and width and volume of the tragedy he was going through.
“I think she’d want to be here for the kids. No matter what.” He grabbed an insulated cup from a cafeteria counter and poured coffee into it. “Want a cup?”
“No. Thanks. I need to get going.” There. She’d said what she should, given herself the out she needed.
“Your ride is on the way?”
“No,” she admitted before she realized the mistake.
He poured a second cup of coffee, dumped in two packets of sugar and three creamers, and handed it to her. “Might as well drink the coffee, then. If your ride is coming from anywhere outside of Spokane, it’s going to take a long time to get here.”
She peered into the cup, eyeing the light-brown brew. Somehow, he’d made it exactly the way she would have. Two sugars. Three creams.
“I’ll probably wait in the lobby,” she murmured.
“Too much drama?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee and watching her over the brim of his cup.
“It’s not drama. It’s real-life tragedy, and you’ve got way more on your plate than anyone should. It will be easier for you to deal with everything if you don’t have an extra person underfoot.” That sounded reasonable. It sounded professional.
It sounded exactly like the excuse it was.
“We met because you were responding to a help-wanted ad. The help-wanted ad was in the paper because I needed help. Help is not another person underfoot.” He took another sip of coffee, grabbed two prepackaged pastries from a basket, and walked to the long line that stretched out from the only open cash register. “But, I’m sure you know that, so I’ll take this conversation to mean you’re no longer interested in the job.”
He sounded so weary, so defeated, she didn’t have the heart to say that it did. “I’m sure you’d rather find someone who doesn’t have other obligations.”
“Rumer, I’m desperate enough to take Bozo the Clown if he shows up on my doorstep. You’ve seen what those kids are like. They’re—”
“Wonderful?”
He smiled, a slow, easy smile that softened all his sharp angles and hard edges. He looked sweet. The kind of guy Rumer would be happy to do a favor for.
Which, of course, meant nothing.
She was a Truehart.
Truehart women had notoriously bad luck when it came to knowing the good guys from the bad ones.
“See? That is exactly why I want to offer you the job.”
“Sullivan—”
“I’ll pay you what I quoted earlier. Plus, an extra thousand dollars a week if you accept my offer now.”
That would pay off Lu’s bills and cushion her account. She’d be able to feed the horses, pay to have the alfalfa planted, hire some weekend help. Get things back on track with the nonprofit. No stress. No fuss. Just Rumer taking care of six kids and a house for the next couple of months.
It was an offer almost too good to refuse.
And, he knew it.
Darn it all!
She could see the calculation in his eyes. He might be grief-stricken and struggling, but he sure as heck knew how to get what he wanted. “That’s an awful lot of money, Sullivan.”
“To take care of an awful lot of problems. Six to be exact. Plus cooking. Housework.” He shrugged. “It seems fair.”
“I’d really need to take some time to think about it.”
“The thousand dollars extra is a bonus for not thinking about it. Or, at least, not thinking about it any more than you did this morning when you donned that yellow suit and drove to Pleasant Valley Farm. I could have been anyone on the other side of that ad. You took a chance then. The only thing different now is that you’ve met me and the kids.”
He was right.
She’d driven to his place with absolutely no idea of what she’d find. For all she’d known, she was going to knock on the door of a serial killer. “I—”
His cell phone rang, and he frowned, trying to balance the coffee and pastries in one hand while he dragged it from his pocket.
She took the coffee and waited while he answered the phone.
It would have been easy enough to leave if he hadn’t offered so much money and if he didn’t look frazzled and concerned, the phone pressed to his ear, the pastries being crushed in his hand.
He didn’t say much. Just listened. Then nodded, cleared his throat, grunted out, “Yes.”
“I need to go up to surgery. Can you pay for this?” He dug a twenty out of his wallet, shoved it and the pastries toward her, his knuckles brushing her abdomen as he rushed to get everything out of his hands.
Coffee sloshed on the floor and on the sleeve of her coat. They were making a royal mess of the cafeteria, but he didn’t seem to notice or to care. He was already running toward the door, sprinting into the hall and disappearing from view.
Which left her in the line with too many things in her hands.
Coffee dripping from her arm.
Twenty dollars crushed in her fist.
Not sure what was happening, but certain it wasn’t good.
She felt sick with worry over a woman she didn’t know, over a family she’d just met, and she couldn’t stop picturing little Moisey, marching down the middle of the road in her boots and tutu.
What would happen to her if her mother didn’t return?
What would happen to Heavenly, Twila, the twins, and Oya?
Would their uncles step up or step away?
And, why was she wondering when it really wasn’t any of her business?
“It isn’t,” she told herself just to emphasize the point.
“Isn’t what?” a man responded.
She glanced back, realized an older gentleman was in line behind her. Medium height, gray hair, eyes filled with amusement, he was holding a cup of coffee and a giant pink bear.
“My business,” she answered mostly because she liked the twinkle in his eyes.
“Ah. So, you’re thinking about making it your business.”
“Absolutely not.”
He snorted.
“I’m not.”
“And, I’m not here to visit my granddaughter and her new baby.”
“Are you?”
“Of course.” He held the bear up so she could get a good look. “Another little girl. This is my second great-granddaughter.”
“Congratulations.” She smiled, and he seemed to take that as an invitation to continue.
“Thank you. I’m hoping for a few more.”
“Great-granddaughters?”
“Great-grandchildren. Girls or boys. I’ve got no preference. I figure nine would be a good number. Three from each of my granddaughters.”
“Are they aware of this?”
“You’re damn right they are! I’ve made it very clear that one of them has to produce the heir to my chocolate empire.”
“You have a chocolate empire?”
“Some people would call it a chocolate shop. Me? I say it’s an empire. Chocolate Haven has been around for more years than the two of us combined.”
“Is it here in Spokane? My grandmother loves good chocolate,” she said, happy to continue the conversation. Lu did love chocolate. Rumer loved people who had twinkles in their eyes, smiles on their faces, and stories to tell.
“Nah. Chocolate Haven is in Benevolence. Ever heard of it?”
“I have. It’s just to the east of where I grew up.”
“And, you’ve never tried my chocolate? Now, you listen.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. “I’m giving you my business card. You go to Chocolate Haven next time you’re near Benevolence. Someone there will hook you up with a pound of the best fudge you’ve ever eaten. On the house. Just tell whoever is there that Byron sent you.”
He dropped the card into her purse and grinned.
“It’s nice to meet you, Byron,” she said, setting the pastries down near the cash register and paying the cashier. “I’m Rumer. Maybe we’ll see each other at your chocolate shop one day.”
She was already moving away, the two cups of coffee in her hands, the pastries in her purse, Sullivan’s change in her pocket.
“That’s an unusual name, kid. You wouldn’t happen to be Rumer Truehart, would you?” Byron called as she headed toward the exit.
Surprised, she stopped and turned to face him again. “That’s right. Have we met?”
“I know your grandmother. Lu. She’s come into Chocolate Haven every few months since she was a kid. Gets herself a pound of s’more fudge and leaves. Not much for talking, that one.”
“No. She’s not,” she said, surprised to meet someone who’d known Lu when she was young. There were no photos of Lu as a child, no class pictures or yearbooks. Nothing that anchored her in time. It had always seemed to Rumer that Lu had been born a crotchety old woman with a big heart, that she’d never been a child or a young woman with dreams.
Of course, she obviously had been all those things, but the past had been off-limits in their conversations. Lu liked to deal in the here and now. She hated waltzing down memory lane. Her words. Not Rumer’s.
“She does talk about you, though. Says you’re the best of the Truehart bunch.”
“That doesn’t sound like Lu.” She wasn’t one for effusive praise. She said it like it was and didn’t bother stroking egos. Ever. Bragging? That was about as likely as Lu going to the casino to gamble away her hard-earned cash.
“God as my witness. She says it every time I ask about her family. How is she? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”
“She had some heart problems. She’s recovering. We’re hoping she’ll be one-hundred percent soon.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What room? Maybe I’ll pop in for a visit after I deliver the bear and chocolate.”
“Lu’s already home. I’m here with someone else.” They were moving down the hall, talking like old friends. He was obviously going up to the maternity ward. Rumer had no idea where she was heading.
Not to the surgical unit, because that would be a mistake. She didn’t think she could spend much more time with Sullivan and still manage to walk away. She didn’t think she could look into his tired face, listen to him talk about his sister-in-law, watch as he grieved, and still refuse the job.
Plus . . .
The money.
Yeah.
That was a big deal.
One that she could only discount if she could convince herself that the offer wasn’t valid, that maybe he was reeling her in and then planned to renege on the agreement. She did, after all, have a terrible record when it came to putting her trust in the wrong people.
Look at Jake.
She’d believed every lie he’d told her until the evidence of his infidelity was right in front of her face. Even then—even looking at the silky thong tangled in the sheets of their bed—she’d tried to believe something other than what she was seeing. She was a Truehart woman, after all.
“Well tell her I said hi. I’ve missed seeing her. How’s Minnie?” Byron said, pulling her from memories she shouldn’t be dwelling on.
“Same as ever.”
“I heard she’s got some kind of doctoring business. One of the ladies from church goes to see her.”
“She’s a naturopath.”
“That’s a fancy word for a doctor who doesn’t like to give traditional medicine, right?”
“Something like that.” They’d reached the bank of elevators and he jabbed one of the buttons. “What floor?” he asked as they stepped inside.
“Four,” she responded, because the truth was, she had Sullivan’s coffee, his pastries, and his change. She also had a need to know what was going on and a deep desire to make all that extra money.
“Surgical unit is up there. You got a loved one going under the knife?”
“A . . . friend of mine does.” That was the easiest explanation. “He asked me to take care of his kids while she’s in surgery and recovering.”
“I hate to tell you this, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of it. Near as I can tell, you don’t have a kid anywhere near you.” He smiled, and she grinned.
She might be allowing herself to be pulled into more trouble than any one person needed, but at least she was meeting interesting people along the way!
“They went home with their pastor. They live just outside of Benevolence, and with the roads getting bad, it seemed best for them to head home.”
“My daughter-in-law would tell me not to point this out, but I can’t help myself—if you’re watching the kids, wouldn’t it make sense for you to go home with them?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Life is complicated. That’s what makes it interesting.” He winked, and she couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“You’re right about that. The fact of the matter is, I don’t know the person having surgery. I don’t know the family. I don’t know the kids. This morning, I was looking for a job, hoping to make money to help Lu with her medical bills. I drove out to an organic farm and planned to interview with a guy who advertised for a housekeeper and cook. Somehow, I ended up here.”
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side, studying her like she was a bug under a microscope. “Organic farm? Are you talking about Sunday Bradshaw’s place?”
“That’s right.”
“The ad ran in the Benevolence Times this morning. Saw it myself and wondered who would be foolish enough to take on the task.” He must have realized what he said, because his cheeks flushed and he shook his head. “What I mean is—”
“You don’t have to explain. I’ve been asking myself the same question since I walked into the farmhouse and saw the . . . need for help.”
“The mess, you mean? The way I hear things, Sullivan is struggling trying to get it all done.” The elevator doors slid open, and he should have stepped out. Instead, he stood on the threshold. “I didn’t realize Sunday needed another surgery.”
“I got the impression it was unexpected.”
“Well, it’s not unexpected now. Now, it’s known. Obviously, the need for help is even greater during a time like this.”
It wasn’t a question, but she found herself nodding in agreement.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You go on up and tell Sullivan that help is on the way.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll make a few phone calls, and we’ll have an entire contingent of people up here waiting with him.”
“I don’t think he needs anyone to wait with him.”
Too late.
He’d already stepped off the elevator.
The door closed, and she was by herself, staring at the silvery walls and wondering what in the heck had just happened.
* * *
Byron Lamont made fudge, chocolates, and candies that Sullivan had dreamed about and drooled over when he was a kid. He also owned the longest-lived shop in Benevolence, Washington. Fifty or so years after taking over from his father, he was still running the shop and making a profit. By all accounts, he was a great chocolatier, a savvy businessman, and a good friend.
And, he was currently sitting beside Sullivan in the waiting room, asking Rumer dozens of questions she seemed more than willing to answer.
How old was she?
Where had she attended college?
What degree did she have? What kind of job? Was she married? Dating? Engaged? Did she have any kids?
If Sullivan had been the subject of the interrogation, he’d have put a stop to it twenty minutes ago, but Rumer was going with the flow, allowing Byron to ask as many questions as he wanted.
He seemed to want to ask a lot.
Sullivan gave Rumer points for patience. It was a good quality to have. One that he was running very low on. He wasn’t meant to be a parent. He’d known that before he’d been old enough to have kids. He’d listened to his father rant and rave, and he’d realized how easy it might be for anyone to become that person. The one who’d brought kids into the world, but didn’t want anything to do with them. The one who was more judgmental than understanding, more harsh than gentle, more hate-filled than loving.
Of course, his father hadn’t just been harsh, judgmental, or hateful. He’d been purposely cruel to his kids and to his wife. He’d taken everything that was given to him and demanded more. The way he’d viewed things, it had been his right as the head of the home to have what he wanted when he wanted it. When he didn’t get that, he flew off the handle, breaking whatever he could get his hands on. Including his wife’s wrist, her nose, and her heart.
She’d been in a terrible marriage, but she’d managed to be a loving and compassionate mother. Sullivan remembered that. Just like he remembered that she’d been their protector until she died of cancer, putting herself in the crosshairs of her husband’s anger to keep her children from being harmed. It wasn’t long after she died that his father had turned his rage on the four kids she’d left behind. Sullivan had been punched, kicked, and pushed down a flight of stairs. His brothers had been treated similarly. None of them had asked for help from the community. None of them had believed they’d get it. Their mother’s silence had become theirs.
They’d talked about that over the years, about the way silence and secrets had bound them together.
Eventually, they’d learned to avoid being home. They’d spent hours wandering around town, finding more than their fair share of trouble to get into. And, while they were finding trouble, they were planning their escape. They might have been troublemakers, but they’d done well in school. They’d gotten jobs as soon as they were able, and they’d helped one another put aside enough money to leave town for good.
The only one who’d stayed was Matthias.
Stayed and married and had kids whom he’d loved and protected the way a good father should.
Sullivan wanted to do the same for his nieces and nephews. He’d woken up every morning for the past week reminding himself that kids were kids and they sure as hell couldn’t help it if they were up half the night crying for their mom.
The problem was, it hurt to hear them. It hurt to know that Heavenly was in her room, pretending she didn’t care, that Moisey was in bed plotting an escape to some far-off country where magical flowers could create healing potions. It hurt to see the boys struggle and Oya cry and Twila try to be perfect day after day. He felt helpless in the face of their sorrow, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Sure as hell not scream and rant and punch like his father had.
“All right, son. That’s it.” Byron nudged his arm, pulling him back from the memories and from his worries.
“That’s what?” Sullivan asked, glancing at Rumer. She looked about as bemused as he felt.
“The end of the interview,” Byron responded. “She’s a perfect candidate for the job you posted in the Benevolence Times.”
“My brothers posted it,” he explained, and Byron scowled.
“Does it matter? She’s still perfect. A teacher.” He held up one finger. “Years of experience.” He held up another. “Hardworking, smart, knowledgeable, single.”
“What’s single have to do with it?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. I guess you were. So, how about we discuss terms?”
“Byron,” Rumer cut in. “Sullivan and I already discussed terms.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” she said, standing and stretching to her full height. She wasn’t much taller than Heavenly, and she didn’t look all that much older.
Although, if he could get Heavenly to scrub all the makeup off her face and wear clothes that didn’t cling to her skin, she might look like the twelve-year-old she was. If Sunday knew how her daughter was dressing . . .
But, she didn’t.
Which was the entire problem. She didn’t know about Heavenly. She didn’t know that Maddox had nearly been suspended three times since Matthias’s funeral. She didn’t know her husband was dead or that her family was falling apart.
“And?” Byron demanded, getting to his feet and taking a cigar from his pocket.
“The terms are good.” Rumer tucked a stray curl behind her ear and met Sullivan’s eyes. The salary he’d quoted was more than fair for the job, but he’d pay her more if it meant he didn’t have to deal with the kids on his own.
“That’s what you think.” Byron clamped the cigar between his teeth and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Let me talk to him for a few minutes alone. I can probably get you more money. I’ve been in the business world for a long time. I know how to negotiate.”
“More isn’t necessary. Sullivan’s offer was generous.”
“Then, you plan to take the job?”
“Well, I . . .”
“You said the terms were good,” Byron reminded her.
“I know but . . .”
“And, with your grandmother being poorly, I’m sure you could use a little extra cash around the homestead. Plus, you said there were medical bills to pay.”
“That was the reason I applied for the job,” she admitted.
“Then, it’s settled. She’ll take the position you’re offering.” He grinned.
“I think I’d better hear that from her,” Sullivan said, meeting Rumer’s eyes. They reminded him of summer skies and spring flowers, of cool rain on hot days.
She reminded him of those things.
Comfort. Warmth. Home.
If he’d had a sketch pad, he’d have drawn her—the sharp angle of her cheekbones, the softer curve of her chin, the slight upward tilt at the corners of her eyes, her expression—the one that said she wasn’t sure if she should say yes, but she couldn’t quite make herself say no.
“What do you think, Rumer? Do you want the job?” He pressed his advantage, and he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt about it. She’d walked into a chaos, and she’d created order. The kids needed that.
He needed that.
“You can have Saturday and Sunday off,” he continued. “If you can stay a few nights a week, that would be a big help. Especially if things don’t improve, and I have to spend more time here. If you can’t, that’s okay, too. We’ll work around it.”
“Lu is fine at night,” she said, smoothing her hair and sighing. “And, I can’t pass up the money, so I’ll say yes to the job.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” he responded, and Byron laughed.
“She’ll warm up to the idea. No one can resist those kids. They’re a handful, but there’s only ever been one sweeter bunch.”
“Your granddaughters?” Sullivan guessed. He’d gone to school with the Lamont sisters. Every one of them had had red hair and bright eyes, freshly washed and pressed clothes, and an air of confidence that came from being loved and valued at home.
“Who else?”
“Not me and my brothers. That’s for damn sure.”
Byron’s bark of laughter mixed with the sound of voices drifting in from the hallway.
“Looks like my backup is here. Better hide this.” Byron shoved the cigar back in his coat pocket. “There’s always a snitch in every crowd.”
“Afraid one of your granddaughters will find out?”
“You’re damn right. Those girls won’t leave me alone about the cigars. They think I should quit for health purposes.” He snorted. “As if a man my age could be any heathier. I fish. I boat. I hike. I even went horse riding a couple of weeks ago.”
“If you want to go again, you should come out to the homestead. I’m sure Lu would love to show you around,” Rumer offered, her gaze jumping to the doorway.
The people they’d heard in the hall were there, filling the doorway, bustling into the room.
“I may take you up on that, kid, and for the record, I haven’t actually smoked a cigar in over a year. I carry them around. Just in case I decide I need one,” Byron said, waving at one of the women who’d walked in. Maybe in her fifties, with short dark hair and hazel eyes, she tapped her watch and smiled.
“That’s Laurie Beth. She drove all the way out here to see my granddaughter. I can’t keep her waiting. See you two around.” He hurried away, taking the woman’s arm and escorting her from the room.
“An old-fashioned gentleman,” Rumer murmured. “Or someone who pretends to be.”
“What you see is what you get with Byron,” Sullivan responded. In all the years he’d lived in Benevolence, he’d never heard anything different. Byron played by the rules. He conducted his business in a way that benefited his family and the community. If he had a problem with someone, he said so. No gossip. No whispering behind people’s backs. No undermining new business or bad-mouthing old ones. Over the years, he’d earned a solid reputation and made a lot of good friends and staunch allies.
Sullivan’s father hadn’t been one of them.
Then again, Robert Bradshaw hadn’t been friends or allies with anyone. He’d grown up in town, left to get a degree, returned with a wife and four young kids after he’d earned a fortune in software development. He’d bought a huge old house right off Main Street and fixed it up to be the most impressive property in town—the best materials, the best fixtures, the most expensive appliances and furniture. Lawn-care crews to keep the yard beautiful. Flashy cars to park in the driveway.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who explained anything to his kids or his wife, but Sullivan figured Robert had had something to prove. Maybe that he hadn’t turned out to be a drunken bastard like his father.
Yeah. He hadn’t been a drunk.
The bastard part? Sullivan was pretty damn sure he’d qualified.
“That’s good to know,” Rumer responded. “I’m tired of being surprised by the men in my life.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and she offered a quick, hard smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Obviously, she had some baggage.
Who didn’t?
He might have asked her about it, but Kane Rainier had crossed the room. The sheriff of Benevolence, he’d been the first responder to the accident and had pulled Sunday from the burning wreck of the car. He hadn’t given Sullivan many details. Based on the conditions of the two vehicles involved, there was probably a reason for that.
Not much had been left.
Just burnt-out metal carcasses sitting in a state police impound lot.
“How’s she doing?” Kane asked, his gaze shifting to Rumer and then back to Sullivan.
“They stabilized her. I haven’t heard anything since then.”
“I was hoping the last surgery would be it.” He swiped moisture from his hair. “She seemed to be improving when I was here yesterday.”
“She looks better, that’s for sure.”
“But?”
“Her brain was swelling again. The neurosurgeon wasn’t sure why. Hopefully, they can relieve the pressure and get her back on track. I’m sorry Byron had all of you come out here. There’s really nothing anyone can do but wait.”
“Byron didn’t ask anyone to come. He called the church and got the prayer chain started. I got a call from someone who wanted a ride out here. Next thing I knew, I had four people in my SUV.” He nodded toward four women who were sitting a few feet away. Hand in hand, heads bowed, tight-curled white hair tinged with blue, they were obviously praying.
He was struck by the beauty of that, by the sharp contrast of arthritic hands and smooth polyester fabric, powdered cheeks and red-rouged lips.
Another thing he would have sketched if he’d had his sketch pad: those gnarled hands linked together. Those heads bent so close bluish curl touched bluish curl. Those four sets of legs, ankles crossed just so, boots pulled on to cover nylon-clad legs.
Friendship.
That’s what he’d have called the sketch.
Or, devotion.
“It would have been safer for them to stay home,” he commented, oddly touched by their presence and by the fact that they’d braved the storm to come and pray.
“Sunday never stayed home,” Kane responded. “Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she brought a meal to each one of those ladies. Always hot. Always home-cooked. It didn’t matter what the weather was. Snowstorms. Rain. Wind. She never made a big deal about it, but she enlisted my help a couple of times when one of the kids was sick and Matthias was out of town. I’m sure there were other people who helped. People don’t forget those kinds of things. Deeds done without any expectation of repayment.”
“Obviously, she was well liked by the community,” Sullivan responded, watching as a few more people joined the prayer. He counted fifteen men and women praying or talking quietly with one another. He recognized most of them either from his childhood or from the funeral.
He could have done the rounds, said hello, thanked each and every one of them for coming. It probably would have been the right thing to do, but he didn’t want to look in their eyes and see their sorrow. He already knew how deeply Sunday was loved and how desperately she’d be missed.
What he didn’t know was why he’d insisted on staying away for so long. Why he’d refused so many of Sunday’s invitations to birthdays, Christmases, adoption finalizations.
How many times had she called and asked him to come?
How many times had he said no because he hadn’t wanted to return to Benevolence?
It was the place he’d escaped, and he’d never planned on coming back. Once a year, though, he’d trekked up the Oregon coast and across Washington State. A two-day drive and a three-day visit. He’d always arrived the day after Christmas, handed out a couple of gift cards to the kids, and stayed up late chatting with Matthias and Sunday, filling them in on his life and letting them fill him in on theirs.
He should have listened more closely. Maybe he’d have learned a little about the kids before he’d become their guardian.
He grimaced, rubbing the tense muscles in his neck.
“Sunday sounds like a wonderful person,” Rumer said, cutting into the conversation and pulling his attention away from the regret that had been eating at him since he’d learned of the accident. “I’m looking forward to meeting her once she recovers.” There was a hint of censure in her words and in her tone, and he realized they’d been discussing Sunday like she was already gone.
“She’ll be happy to meet you, too. She’ll probably want every detail of everything the kids have done while she’s been in the hospital.” He tried to lighten his tone. He thought he was mostly successful.
She smiled. “I’ll keep a notebook. She can read it when she’s ready. Photos would be nice, too. Did you take pictures of Twila’s cake?”
“I probably should have.”
“Of course you should have. Things have been crazy, though. You’ve had a lot on your mind. Now you’ve got help. I’ll make sure we document the kids’ important events.”
“Like the choir competition?” Kane asked, his gaze on Rumer. He seemed curious. Sullivan could understand why. Rumer was a stranger who’d suddenly appeared in the middle of a tragedy.
“Is there one?” she asked.
“Benevolence is hosting the regional choral festival at the high school two weekends from now. A thousand or so competitors from fifth grade up to twelfth. Heavenly is performing with the middle school choir. She’s also singing a solo.”
“She is?” Sullivan had heard nothing about that.
“I take it she didn’t mention it to you?”
“She doesn’t mention anything.” Except her desire to go back to wherever she’d been before she’d joined the Bradshaw clan.
“Things have been a little difficult for the family,” Kane reminded him. “She probably forgot.”
“I’d think something like that would be difficult to just forget. Assuming she has a choir director or music teacher who’s prepping her, she has to have been reminded of it every day at school.”
“Supposed to be prepping her. Heavenly hasn’t shown up for the last four rehearsals. I only know because I got lassoed into providing traffic control during the event. April Myers is the middle school choir director and music teacher. She’s also on the board of directors for the festival. She’s obviously concerned about Heavenly and doesn’t want to put pressure on her or your family, but she’s mentioned it to me and probably just about anyone else who has anything to do with the competition. I thought I’d mention it to you. From what I hear, Heavenly has some real talent. Maybe that’s her key to staying focused on where she is rather than where she’s been.” He smiled to take any sting out of the words.
“I’ll talk to her,” Sullivan said. As if that would really happen. As if the taciturn, irritable kid would suddenly want to have a nice, friendly conversation about anything.
“No pressure,” Kane responded, his gaze shifting to Rumer again. “I just wanted to mention it since you were discussing documenting things. I’m Kane Rainier, by the way.” He offered a hand, and she took it.
“Rumer Truehart. I’m the Bradshaws’ new housekeeper, nanny, cook, and—”
“Jack of all trades,” Sullivan offered, and she laughed, the sound reminding him of the summer brook that used to run through the backyard when he was a kid.
“That’s as good a title as any.”
“You live in Benevolence?” Kane asked.
“I’m in River Way. Or, right outside of it.”
“One of my deputies grew up there,” he said. “Susan Brenner? She was probably a few years ahead of you in school.”
“Then, I probably didn’t know her. I didn’t move there until I was a teenager.” She smiled, but Sullivan thought she was finished answering questions.
She glanced around the room, gestured to a coffeepot that sat empty near a coffee maker.
“How about some coffee?” she asked, completely ignoring the fact that there were two cups of it sitting on an end table nearby.
She’d set them there when she’d arrived, fished money from her purse and thrust it into his hands along with the two pastries he’d abandoned her with.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done with those or the money.
“I’m good,” Kane responded.
“Sullivan?”
“Actually, I think I’ll see if there’s any news.” He was walking before either of them responded, weaving through the small group and making his way into the hall.
He didn’t realize Rumer was behind him until he reached the nurses’ station and she nearly barreled into his back.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, moving up beside him, head down as she typed a message into her phone. “I wanted to let Minnie and Lu know I wouldn’t be home tonight.”
“Kane can probably give you a ride back,” he responded, his attention on the nurse. She was typing something into a computer, studiously avoiding him. Probably because she knew he wanted an update that she couldn’t give.
“If I go anywhere, it will be back to your place,” Rumer responded, and the nurse looked up, her gaze shifting from Sullivan to Rumer.
“Lucky you,” she said.
“Not so lucky. There are six kids at my place and about twenty loads of unwashed laundry.”
“Six kids? Girlfriend, he must be really good to you!” She grinned.
“Oh. He is, but they’re not his kids. They’re his nieces and nephews. Their mother is in surgery. Sunday Bradshaw? We’re obviously really anxious to get updates on her condition.”
“Sunday Bradshaw.” She typed something into the computer and frowned. “I remember hearing about the car accident on the news. Her husband was killed, right? On their anniversary. Poor thing. She’s been through a lot. Hopefully, she’ll recover and go back home to her kids. Looks like she’s out of surgery as of a minute ago. Someone should be out momentarily to update you.”
Thank God!
That’s all Sullivan could think.
She’d survived. There’d been no further need for resuscitation. Which meant no more tough decisions.
Not tonight anyway.
“Are they bringing her to recovery?” Rumer asked as if she were family and had every right to the information.
“Soon, I’m sure. Surgery is just around the corner. You’ll see the sign on the door. You can’t go in, but you can wait there if you want to see her. I doubt she’ll know you’re around, but sometimes the family finds it comforting.”
“Great! Thanks.” She grabbed Sullivan’s hand and started dragging him in the direction the nurse had indicated.
He went because it beat the hell out of pacing the waiting room.
They rounded the corner, and her hand was still in his, the warmth of it suddenly registering. The smooth silky skin and long narrow fingers. The fine bones and dry palm. He wanted to slide his hand along hers, feel the thrumming pulse in her wrist, the velvety flesh there.
She dropped his hand, nearly jumping away.
As if she’d known his thoughts or felt the same heat zipping through her veins that he did.
She was gorgeous. There was no doubt about it. Smart. Savvy. If he’d been in the market for a relationship, she was exactly the kind of woman he’d have been looking for.
He wasn’t.
He’d dated Sabrina for six months and broken things off two weeks before the accident. Even if Matthias hadn’t been killed and Sullivan hadn’t been thrust into this mess of a situation, he’d have waited a while to find someone new.
The truth was, he’d gotten tired of the game. Tired of the flirtation. The façade. The women who pretended to want one thing while they tried to get another. He was tired of keeping things shallow and light and easy because sharing more than a few pieces of himself made him seem more available than he was.
No leading women on. No hurting them.
That had been his motto for as long as he could remember.
Because, he didn’t want to be his bastard father. A wife at home. A mistress or two on the side. All of them trying to be everything to him while he strung them along.
No kids plus no long-term relationships equaled an easy stress-free life. The equation was simple, and he’d solved it effectively. Until now.
Now, all hell had broken loose, his life had gone up in flames, and the only person standing between him and total destruction was a child-whisperer with silky skin, silvery-blue eyes, and the most tempting lips he’d ever seen.