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“Sorry.” Rose looked down and mumbled. “My mother must have forgotten to tell me.”
“No problem. I was curious to see your place close up anyway. Never stopped before, even though I’ve driven by a number of times.” His gaze went to her little stone house. “This is the one from the painting you gave to Lucy, isn’t it?”
“Yes. My quarters, for now.”
“Lucy calls it a fairy-tale house. I can see why.”
Rose turned to look at the cottage. While there was nothing fancy about the humble place, it had charm. The stone walls were thick and covered in moss and ivy. Along the side that had a southern exposure, climbing roses grew, dressed for autumn in yellowed, curled leaves and the hard red globes of rose hips. Soon the remaining leaves would fall, revealing the twist of thorny vines. Inside, Rose would build a fire in the woodstove and huddle under layers of wool blankets, hibernating for the winter.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Evan said.
She half laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t get many visitors.” Suddenly she winced, realizing she’d fallen down as a host. “Shi—er, sugar. Pardon my manners. I should have asked you to sit. We can go—” No, not inside. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thanks. Let’s just sit out here.” Evan didn’t look around for a chair. He lowered his tall frame onto the step where’d she’d parked earlier, then glanced up expectantly.
Of course. She couldn’t remain where she was, standing in front of him. But the step was small and she didn’t like to get too close to strange men, or any men at all, for that matter.
She plopped into the grass, crossing her legs in front of her.
He smiled. “You’ll get cold, sitting on the ground.”
“I’m used to it.”
“All right.” He had an easy manner that smoothed out some of her hackles. “This won’t take long.”
She said nothing, waiting. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest dinner again. Even though, all week, she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d said yes.
In the end, she’d decided that the only sure outcome was that at least one well-meaning meddler would have made it a mission to warn Evan away from her, and that was too humiliating to contemplate for long. Rejecting his overtures—all overtures—was the only way to stay aloof and protect herself.
“I have a job for you,” he said.
“Oh.” A job. That’s all. She stared down at her lap, where her fingers were tightly braided.
“If you’re interested.”
“I’m pretty busy, but…” Might as well admit what he must be thinking. “I could always use the money.” She made minimum wage at the Buck Stop, and her mother’s disability checks were only enough to sustain her. Medical expenses unpaid by her meager insurance coverage were mounting. The cottages brought in the bare minimum it took to pay their utilities and taxes.
“This job isn’t so much about the money. It’s more of a favor, to help me out. But I will pay, of course. Whatever you think. Fifty per session—does that sound good?”
Rose froze inside, even though a part of her knew that Evan could not be saying what it sounded like. She turned an icy glare on him, the same look that worked on the creeps who came into the Buck Stop thinking she was up for grabs. “Fifty bucks for what?”
He was momentarily rattled. “Wha’d’you—” He winced. “Sorry—I should have explained up front.” He laughed at himself, a little awkwardly. “I’m talking about art lessons for Lucy.”
Rose wanted to cringe with embarrassment. Instead she leaned forward and tore out handfuls of grass. Rip, rip. You’re an idiot. Rip. As if a guy like Evan Grant needs you.
“What do you think?”
“Uh, I don’t have any training for that kind of…thing.” Her voice was like rust, corroding her throat. She had no social skills at all. A total loser.
“I’ve seen you in action. You’re a natural.”
“That was only—” Rip, rip. “Off the cuff.”
“Exactly. That’s what Lucy needs. See, she doesn’t react well to the pressure of a structured environment. She’s in kindergarten now, but already her teacher is telling me she’s intimidated by the classroom and the other students.” Evan stopped and boyishly scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair. His forehead had pleated with worry.
Torn blades of grass fell from Rose’s fingers. “But she’s only just started. She’ll be more comfortable when she gets used to the other kids.”
Rose remembered her own experiences in the classroom. After the freedom at home, where she’d been left to her own amusement most of the time, she’d been ill-prepared for school. The first months had been frightening—the teachers, the children, the strict rules and expectations.
Although she’d never learned to fit in, she had adjusted. In her own way. Lucy was lucky—she was much more socialized than Rose had been.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Evan said. “Except that when I saw her with you, and then saw how excited she was to get home and try drawing, it occurred to me that if she had something special to give her confidence, something she’s really good at, that would help her overall, you know?”
He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “She’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to shine. Not since her mother passed away.”
Rose picked at the green flecks on her palms. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She felt Evan’s direct gaze on her, like a hot ray of sunshine. “But Krissa’s death was mainly Lucy’s loss. My wife had left me and we were in the middle of divorce proceedings when she found out she had a brain tumor. When the prognosis wasn’t good, she came back home to spend all the time with Lucy that she could.”
“Still, I’m sure you—you must have been—” Rose shrugged when the words stalled again. She wasn’t articulate. Too many years on her own.
“I’m doing okay. It’s Lucy I worry about.”
“She seems like a normal kid.”
“Around you, she is.”
Why me? Rose was truly baffled. She wasn’t even remotely similar to Tess Bucek, whom children flocked to like chicks to a mother hen. The kids that came in the Buck Stop acted as if Rose was a wicked witch who’d seize them for her stew pot if they got too close.
If she’d ever had them, and her situation made that doubtful, her motherly instincts had withered and died long ago. Wild Rose Robbin was the last person Evan should want near his daughter.
“I can’t do it,” she blurted.
“Why not? I mean, if you don’t want to, there’s nothing I can say. I won’t push.” He paused. “But I might beg. For Lucy. She really needs this.”
“I can’t,” Rose repeated miserably. Part of her wanted to. She identified with Lucy’s fears.
“Give it a try,” Evan pleaded. “One lesson.” He put out a hand and touched Rose, his strong fingers gripping her shoulder.
Startled, she pulled away, heart in mouth. She had to stop herself from bolting to prove she wasn’t a total freak. She could deal with normal touching—hand-shakes, pats, rubbing shoulders in a busy supermarket. It was an unexpected male touch that made her adrenaline pump, even when it was a friendly gesture like Evan’s.
He had withdrawn immediately. “Sorry.”
She scrambled to her feet and busied herself with brushing off her jeans, shedding grass like an Easter basket. “Not your problem.”
He got up. “Excuse me if I’ve been an imposition—”
“No, you weren’t,” she said, an unexpected rush of compassion making her want to overcome her fears to reach out. For his daughter, if not for him. “I wish I could help.”
She tipped up her chin. Read the look in his eyes.
He didn’t have to say it. She already knew. She could help, if she really wanted to.
Be generous, she thought. The good karma might come back to you.
Danny’s face flashed in her mind’s eye. Was it possible to develop the motherly instincts she lacked?
She blinked. “All right. Okay. I’ll give it a shot. One time, to see how it goes. But don’t expect me to know what I’m doing.” She rubbed her palms on her jeans, sweating with nervousness at the mere prospect. “Let’s not even call it a lesson. That sounds as if I’d have to come with a plan. Lucy and I can just get together—”
“Thank you.” Impulsively, Evan started to reach out to hug her, but he stopped with his large hands hanging in midair. After a moment of hesitation, he thrust one toward her. “I appreciate this.”
She swallowed thickly and shook his hand, pumping vigorously to show him again that she wasn’t a complete coward. “I make no promises.”
“I do.” Evan looked at her with more confidence and belief than she’d accumulated in her entire lifetime. “I promise you won’t regret this.”
Rose had to turn away from such a bright, bold faith. It left her feeling so empty. “Yeah, well, let’s hope—” She choked off her words. Let’s hope you don’t, either.
“Hope for the best,” Evan said.
Rose nodded.
CHAPTER FOUR
“CAN I BORROW your phone, Mom?”
“Sure.” Maxine sat at the dining table, laying out a hand of solitaire. When Rose had wiped down the table minutes before, she’d seen her mother surreptitiously stick an ashtray and book of matches on the seat of one of the chairs, hidden by the vinyl tablecloth. “Who you calling?”
“Just a friend.” Rose had put the last dish away, squeezed out the sponge, stowed the leftovers. She couldn’t stall any longer. It had been several days, and Evan was expecting her to set up a date for the drawing lesson.
“What kind of friend?”
“That’s my business.”
“My phone.” Maxine’s lips curled into a smug so-there.
Rose might have pointed out that she’d just cooked dinner and cleaned up, in addition to the rest of her daily chores. But she didn’t. She swallowed her tongue the way her mother had been forced to when Black Jack was in one of his moods.
Get me out of here, she thought, taking the cordless phone outside to the dusky backyard, as far as the range allowed. Behind her, the window near the dining table opened with a screech of the sash. Her mother must have had a burst of strength to go along with her nosiness.
Rose’s exhale was visible in the cold air. Frost tonight. She wrapped her sweater tighter and punched out Evan’s number—memorized. He’d written it on the back of a scrap of paper from his wallet and asked her to call as soon as she was certain of her work schedule. She hadn’t told him that she was in charge at the Buck Stop and could arrange any hours she liked as long as the time was covered by the store’s only other employee, a grumpy retiree aptly named Cross who worked to pick up extra income to supplement his social security.
The phone was ringing. “Hullo,” Evan said, harried but cheerful. “Grant residence.”
A match flared inside the house. Rose realized she should have called from work, but all she’d been thinking was to get it over with already.
“Hello?”
It was strange, hearing Evan’s voice on the phone. Familiar, but not. Slightly thrilling.
“Anyone there?”
“Hello,” she finally said. She cleared her throat. “It’s Rose. Robbin. Rose Robbin.”
“Rose. Good to hear from you. Lucy’s been asking about the lesson every day—she’s very excited.”
“I, uh, the store’s been busy lately.”
“I hope you’re not backing out.”
“No. I can be free any afternoon the rest of this week.”
“Well, let’s see. Lucy gets out of school at three and usually goes to her baby-sitter’s house while I have basketball practice. I could probably take time off to run her out to your place—”
“Not my place.” Rose thought frantically, struck by the notion that if she worked it right, she might be able to catch sight of a few minutes of the basketball practice. “I could come to the school, and stay with Lucy while you ran the practice. That way you won’t need the baby-sitter at all.”
The grade school and the high school were separate buildings on the same property, linked by covered walkways that led to a common structure that served both schools. The gymnasium was part of the central building, and surely that’s where they’d meet. Rose held her breath, pressing the phone so tightly to her ear that it hurt.
“I suppose I might ask for a favor and have the art room opened,” Evan said.
“Oh, don’t bother. I’d rather take Lucy outdoors. If that’s all right with you.”
“Nature sketching?”
“Yes.”
“If the weather’s bad—”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“That works for me. I’ll be sure that Lucy dresses warmly.”
“Great. Tomorrow okay?”
“Sure. You’re more eager than I expected.”
Rose felt guilty. She swallowed that, too. “Uh, yeah. I guess maybe it’ll be okay.”
Evan laughed. “There’s the Rose I know.”
He thought he knew her? He’d barely scratched the surface.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Bye.”
His startled “Bye,” came as she was pressing the Off button.
Rose stuck the phone in the pocket of her cardigan and absently rubbed her stinging ear. She supposed she’d been too abrupt. Talking on the phone with “boys” was another social skill she’d never developed properly. None of her boyfriends—if they could be called that—had ever called for her at home. She hadn’t had real dates, either. Just met them at the bridge or the beach. Sometimes she’d been picked up at the side of the road.
She kicked at a pinecone embedded in the stretch of dirt and brittle pine needles that was the backyard. God, she’d been dumb. And naive, even though she’d thought she was tough.
“Rose?” came her mother’s voice, carrying out the window. “Are you finished with the phone?”
“Shut the window, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She went over to the small garden she’d put in that spring. Nothing much to speak of, just a few rows of carrots, squash, cucumbers and lettuce. Several old rusty barrels contained the tomato plants and she bent over them, searching through the cold leaves for the remaining green fruits. More of the tomatoes remained on the vines than she’d expected and she cradled the pile of hard globes in her sweater, her fingertips gone numb with cold.
The wind was sharp and brisk. Beyond the darkness, the river rushed and gurgled, a sound so familiar it had taken moving away for her to miss the soothing constant.
For a long time, she’d believed she hated this place.
Now…maybe not. The memories had faded, even the worst of them. At least to a livable degree.
She’d learned not to expect more than adequacy from her life.
Rose straightened, folding the edge of her sweater over and holding the awkward bundle to her abdomen. She walked to the back door, feeling nearly as unwieldy as a pregnant lady.
Unexpectedly, the comparison made her smile. She’d pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind for many years, but returning to her hometown had brought it all up again. There were times she had to consciously work to keep her feelings to herself. Aside from a small circle of people—her nonsupportive family, the despicable Lindstroms, Pastor Mike—it was still a secret to Alouette that she’d once been pregnant.
She didn’t suppose that the townspeople would be too surprised to learn the truth. They’d always believed the worst of Wild Rose.
AFTER AN HOUR OUTDOORS in the quiet, shaded woods, stepping into the school gym was an assault on the senses. The intense illumination from the banks of overhead lights bounced off the varnished floor and white cement-block walls. The sight, sound and fury of the basketball players was overwhelming—running, flying, crashing bodies, shouts and animal grunts, the constant tattoo of the basketball on the floor and the backboard. Evan’s shouts and the shrill pierce of his whistle added to the cacophony.
Although Lucy should have been somewhat accustomed to the raucous scene, Rose wasn’t surprised that the girl remained by the door, staring at the scrimmage in progress with wide eyes. Rose took Lucy’s hand and they walked into the gym, past the rows of blue metal bleachers.
Evan saw them and waved. He said something to his team and then ran across the floor, all bouncy energy and squeaking sneakers. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt with sweatpants, his face and arms glistening with perspiration. “Hey! Lesson over?”
Rose stepped back, her nostrils flared. So much testosterone. Muscles. Male. “We came inside to warm up.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Is that okay?”
“Sure it is. Go ahead and take a seat.” Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another twenty minutes of practice. You’re welcome to stay, but if you’d rather leave…”
“I’ll stay.” Rose was trying not to stare at the boys, but only one thought was running through her head: Danny’s there, Danny’s there.
“Great.” Evan jogged away, turning on nimble feet to continue backward as he added, “There are vending machines in—”
Rose waved him on. “We’re set.” She’d stuck a Thermos of hot chocolate and a few cookies in her backpack.
He saluted and returned to the practice.
She squeezed Lucy’s gloved hand. “Come on. Let’s sit in the bleachers.”
“Can we go all the way to the top?”
“I guess so.” Rose would have liked the close-up view from a courtside seat, but it was probably better if she didn’t draw attention to herself. At Rose’s request, Danny’s adoptive parents had never told him his birth mother’s identity.
Also by Rose’s choice, the contact between her and Ken and Alana Swanson had been kept to a minimum. They were childless and in their forties at the time of the adoption, which would put them in their mid-fifties now. She’d kept her eyes and ears open since returning to Alouette, and by all accounts the Swansons lived a quiet, respectable life. Fifteen years ago, they had offered to share information with Rose, to keep her up-to-date on Danny’s life, even arrange face-to-face visits. She’d thought that knowing him would make her feel worse, so the contact had been limited to photos and cards that were her greatest treasures.
Since her return, she’d daydreamed about what would happen if she changed her mind and asked to be included in their daily life. Not that she’d actually follow through. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble for the Swansons, who’d given Danny an exemplary home.
Rose threw glances at the court as she and Lucy climbed to the top row of the bleachers. Danny was a good player, a sophomore who was expected to be a starting guard this year.
“Still feeling cold?” she asked Lucy, who nodded and shivered. Rose slung her backpack around and set it on the bleacher in front of them. “I brought hot chocolate and cookies. Do you like Chips Ahoy?”
Lucy nodded again.
Rose took out the sketchbooks, then dug in the bottom of the pack for the Thermos. Her gaze remained on the court, watching the players race up and down the floor. Danny wasn’t the tallest, but he stood out, at least to her. He had gleaming black hair and a quick smile. He was skinny but not gangly, more the wiry, compact, athletic type. Like Rose, though she’d gained a little weight over the years and had become sturdy instead of lithe.
Lucy piped up. “Rose?”
“Oh. Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t stare so hard. You’ll look like a stalker.
“Hot chocolate and cookies, coming right up,” she said, pouring out a cup for Lucy. She reached into the backpack for the packet of cookies. “These may be sort of crushed. But you can pick out the biggest pieces.”
Lucy seemed satisfied by the inelegant refreshments. She had peeled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket. Her pale face was dotted with rosy color—even the tip of her nose. She sat back on the far edge of the bleacher, alternating between sipping and munching, mindlessly swinging her feet so her heels and toes tapped the metal seat with a rattling rhythmic beat.
“You’ve probably been to practice before,” Rose said. Danny was dribbling the ball, so capable and grown-up her heart ached at the visual reminder of the years she’d missed.
“Sometimes,” Lucy said.
“Do you know the players?”
“Uh-huh.” The girl pointed her cookie. “That one’s Steve, that one’s Brad, and that big one’s Jeremy. I call him Germy ’cause he teases me.”
Rose managed to get a chuckle past the lump in her throat.
“The boy with red hair is Corey….”
“And that one, with the basketball?” Senseless, Rose knew, but she wanted to hear her son’s name. To talk about him, even if it was only to a five-year-old.
“Danny. He’s nice.” Lucy bit into the cookie.
“He’s a good player.”
Lucy shrugged.
“What does your dad say?”
“’Bout what?”
Does he like Danny? Is Danny his favorite? Is Danny happy? Does he get good grades, does he have a girlfriend? Does he ever wonder who his birth mother is?
Rose gritted her teeth to keep all that back. “Does your dad think he has a good team this year?”
“I dunno. If he yells at them a lot and blows the whistle too much, that means they are being bad.” Lucy giggled. “My dad says he wishes he had a whistle to stop me when I’m being bad.”
Rose pretended to be shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re ever bad?”
The girl quickly shook her head, her eyes gone wide as if she expected a scolding. “Not very much.”
“That’s okay if you are, you know. I mean—” Rose held up two fingers “—just a smidgen.”
Lucy still looked doubtful. “What’s a smidgen?”
Rose smiled, bringing her fingers within an inch of each other. “About this much.”
Lucy brushed her fingers off on her jeans and replicated the gesture with a look of dawning shrewdness. Rose hoped she hadn’t stepped out of bounds, giving allowances where she had no business. During their art lesson outdoors, she’d been struck again by Lucy’s timid obedience. It hadn’t seemed like a good thing, although some parents might beg to differ. Not Evan, judging by what he’d said the other day. He’d welcome a more emboldened Lucy.
Out on the court, the scrimmage had ended. Evan gave the players a breather, then lined up a row of basketballs along the center line and had the boys perform a drill in which they ran a complicated pattern, picking up balls as they went.
Light and quick on his feet, Danny finished first and ran off for the dressing room. Rose’s eyes followed him hungrily, even though Evan was climbing the bleachers toward her and Lucy and might notice her preoccupation. At the moment, that didn’t matter. She literally couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Evan paused several steps below them, one foot propped on a bleacher seat. “How’s everything up here?”
“Rose bringed Chips Ahoy,” Lucy said as she picked through the remaining crumbs.
The locker room door swung back and forth as the other players entered. A few stragglers took their time, but soon the gym had emptied. Rose focused on Evan’s face and saw he was watching her. Damn. “Is that okay? I didn’t mean to ruin her supper.”
“It’s fine. She usually has a snack after school.”
“MaryAnn makes me eat icky food.” Lucy screwed up her face. “Like wrinkly fruit and crab cake.”
Rose raised her brows. “Crab cake?”
“Carob cake,” Evan said with a smile. “Lucy’s baby-sitter is a health-food nut. I mean a health-food enthusiast.”
“I should have checked with you.” Rose winced. What a lousy caregiver she’d make. Might as well have poured raw sucrose down Lucy’s throat. No wonder the girl seemed so happy—know-nothing Rose had doped her up on sugar.
“Doesn’t matter. She’ll live. It’s better than the burnt charcoal I give her at home.”
“Huh?”
“I’m a lousy cook.” Evan leaned closer to Lucy, propping his elbows on his upraised knee. “I can see that you two had a good time.” He smoothed his daughter’s hair. “Right, Luce?”
She nodded happily. “Yeah, Dad.”
His eyes went to Rose. “Thanks.” He straightened. “Are you willing to wait a few more minutes? I have to run into the locker room to check on the boys and get my wallet. I’ll be right back.”
Rose nodded, filling with renewed anticipation. She might see Danny again when he came back out after showering. Maybe up close this time, if she hustled Lucy out of the bleachers.