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He glanced away from her and Lisa, as though he wished he could be anywhere but here in the store with them.
“We’re not actually friends,” he admitted. “I met her at...a charity event. And the spelling thing. I...uh...read that in a magazine somewhere.”
“Mom,” Lisa said, “is the car unlocked? I have to go get my backpack.”
“It’s open,” Megan said. Then she watched in amused surprise as her daughter raced outside to get her bag.
Megan glanced at Peyton. She’d found it odd that he’d said anything to Lisa in the first place, but if it caused the girl to voluntarily want to do her schoolwork, well, then she wasn’t about to complain.
Her gaze focused in on the accountant who’d probably already taken inventory of the way she ran the back office, as well as the way she handled her children.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was brilliant.”
“Yeah, well, even geeks can relate to sports fanatics sometimes.”
A geek? That might be true of some accountants, but there was nothing geeky about Peyton Johnson. He looked as though he’d be more comfortable running track or fielding line drives than adding up columns and running spreadsheets behind some sedentary computer. But Megan wasn’t about to say as much.
“It’s not always Bring Your Kids to Work Day around here,” she said.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but Don had left Megan with no other choice if she wanted to keep her health insurance and the extra pay. This was supposed to be a part-time job, but given how often she had to cover for the poor man, she had to come into the shop much more frequently than either of them had planned.
When she realized that Peyton wasn’t going to comment, she continued, “But I’m a single mother, and with Tyler having trouble at school today...” She trailed off, cringing as she heard herself play the deserted-mom card. She didn’t want anyone cutting her any breaks just because she’d been too stupid to resist Todd Redding’s charms.
When she realized Peyton still had yet to respond to anything she’d said, her head began to throb. So she removed the rubber band, releasing her long hair from its high ponytail, and massaged her scalp, trying to ease the ache.
She shook her hair back. All the while, Peyton continued to stare at her.
What was wrong? Had she made another workplace error?
Should she have kept her hair pulled back into the tight elastic? Maybe so, but if she hadn’t let the reddish-blond mass out of its tight confines, she wouldn’t have gotten any relief from the unbearable throbbing above her right ear.
And the only way she could stay in the same room with Peyton and not completely lose her cool was to stop the throbbing.
When he finally spoke, he averted his gaze and said, “Now that you’re back, do you think you can...um...handle things while I get my suitcase and grab a quick bite to eat?”
Suddenly, she found herself staring at his back. The man didn’t even wait for her answer before he bolted out the front door.
Oh, no. She’d been right. He had come to the conclusion that she couldn’t deal with things on her own. He was probably running out to call his boss right now and tell him the Brighton Valley store was such a mess that it wasn’t worth saving.
She wanted to chase after him, but she couldn’t leave the shop unattended.
But wait. He’d said that he was getting his suitcase. And he was coming back to stay in the apartment above the shop.
She needed to go upstairs and freshen things up. She had to change the bedding and get rid of the housecoat Cindy Carpenter kept up there for those days after her chemo treatments when Don wanted her close by so he could keep an eye on her while he worked. She also needed to make sure the kids had picked up any messes they might have made when they’d had their after-school snacks there yesterday.
“Tyler,” she said, “help your sister with her spelling and watch the shop. I need to clean the apartment upstairs.”
“You got it, Mom.”
“And keep an eye out for Mr. Johnson. When he comes back, give me a heads-up.”
“I’ll give you two birdcalls to warn you,” the boy said.
Megan blew out a sigh. “Just keep him in front and send Lisa to get me.”
She couldn’t afford to be anywhere but downstairs and hard at work when he returned.
* * *
Clay couldn’t believe he’d run out of the store like a blushing teenager stumbling over his own tongue. He tried to tell himself that it was his low blood sugar, but he’d eaten enough of those amazing snickerdoodles to raise his glucose levels through the roof. Hopefully, it was just the lack of protein doing a real number on him.
It couldn’t possibly be the way the beautiful single mom had pulled her hair free from its rubber band and had shaken out the silky locks right in front of him.
He hadn’t seen hair that thick and luscious since... Well, since...he didn’t know when. Megan Adams had such a natural beauty and such a wholesome way about her—just like the cheerleaders in high school he used to pine after, the ones who hadn’t even known he’d existed.
In fact, Megan probably had been a cheerleader and one of the girls who wouldn’t have given him the time of day back then. Probably still wouldn’t, at least in his Peyton Johnson persona.
Hell, after looking at some of the invoices and computer records while she’d been out playing soccer mom, he had to wonder if she even knew the store existed.
The books were a disaster—from the bookkeeping to the mounds of overdue repairs. Clay definitely had his work cut out for him.
Clearly, Megan was in over her head and no amount of homemade cookies would make up for the fact that some immediate personnel changes would need to be made.
How was he going to turn the store around and not let on who he was?
Already he’d made the slip about Mia Hamm to Megan’s daughter. Clay actually did know the World Cup–winning soccer player. He knew a lot of professional athletes and celebrities, thanks to all the charity events he supported and attended. And most of the athletes he associated with knew that they couldn’t float through life on athleticism alone—unlike Todd Redding and some of the other guys on the high school football team. Not that Megan’s daughter, with her matching braids and grass-stained knees, was anything like the jocks who used to pick on him back then.
Still, if he wasn’t careful, he’d blow his cover before he got through the first day. He needed to get away from all that luscious red hair and those big brown eyes so he wouldn’t get soft and say something that would give him away.
Taking a break and getting some solid food, like one of Caroline’s juicy cheeseburgers, in his stomach would help.
Normally, he steered away from red meat and fried foods—ever since he’d moved to California, in fact. It had been part of his attempt to create a new identity to go along with the successful life he’d built for himself.
But he decided that he might as well enjoy a burger and fries now, then get back to healthier choices once he figured out where he could find the nearest Whole Foods Market.
As he strode past the ice-cream store—damn, there were a lot of temptations in this town—his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID, needing to make sure he answered with the right identity. After all, only his assistant knew Clay Jenkins and Peyton Johnson were the same man.
The display read Don Carpenter.
It was about time the store manager called him back. Where was he on a work day? And why in the world would he leave Clay’s precious start-up business in the hands of that gorgeous but distracted and incompetent woman?
“This is Peyton Johnson,” he answered.
“Don Carpenter here. I’m so sorry I missed your call earlier. I’m at the Brighton Valley Medical Center with my wife. They were running some tests when you rang.”
Clay understood medical issues and emergencies came up, but why hadn’t Don called to cancel their appointment? And why hadn’t he hired a reputable backup employee?
“You and I were supposed to meet at noon today,” Clay said.
“I could have sworn we scheduled that for Wednesday.”
“Today is Wednesday.”
“Oh, dear. Normally I take my Cindy in for her treatments on Tuesdays, which I did yesterday. But she passed out early this morning, and I had to bring her in to see her doctor today, and now they’re running tests. So that’s thrown me off-kilter. I’m sorry.”
Cindy must be Don’s wife, and the treatments he mentioned had to be pretty serious if they routinely took place at the hospital each week. Clay couldn’t very well chastise the man for missing work because of his sick wife.
“Don’t worry about it,” Clay said. “I met with Megan. She showed me around and gave me access to everything I need to get started.”
“Oh, good. Megan’s a great gal. And she’s been a big help at the store. The customers love her fresh-baked goods. Single mom, you know, with those two sweet kids.”
Clay didn’t know if sweet was the right word to describe Lisa and Tyler. In fact, one of those kids had been suspended today for not being sweet at all. Of course, Clay could forgive the kid his hacking attempts in an effort to even the score with a class bully. After all, he’d certainly been in Tyler’s shoes back in the day. If Clay stuck around long enough, he’d have to...
Wait a second. What was he thinking?
“Megan’s been a godsend,” Don added. As he continued to sing her praises, Clay wondered if they were talking about the same woman.
“But you won’t meet her when you come into town tomorrow,” Don added. “Wednesday is her normal day off.”
“Today is Wednesday,” Clay repeated. “I’m in town now.”
The conversation had just made a complete circle, and Clay was no more informed about the happenings at Zorba’s than he’d been three hours ago.
“You’re right,” Don said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night. But I’m afraid I have to hang up now. The doctor is coming with Cindy’s results. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow, Mr. Johnson.”
Clay ended the call, then looked at the phone in his hand and blew out a sigh.
No wonder the shop was falling apart. Don was so caught up with his sick wife that he couldn’t focus on the store. In fact, he’d had to hire in help—and incompetent help at that.
Did Clay even dare leave Megan alone long enough to grab a bite to eat?
Chapter Three
Clay opened the glass door to Caroline’s Diner and scanned the interior of the small-town eatery, with its pale yellow walls and white café-style curtains on the front windows.
To the right of an old-fashioned cash register stood a refrigerated display case filled with desserts—each one clearly homemade. He studied the towering meringues and whipped-cream toppings on the pies, the four-layer chocolate cake, the deep-dish peach cobbler.
He glanced at a blackboard that advertised a full meal for only $7.99. In bright yellow chalk, Caroline had written, “What the Sheriff Ate,” followed by, “Chicken-Fried Steak, Buttered Green Beans, Mashed Potatoes, Country Gravy and Cherry Cobbler.”
The advertised special sounded delicious, but Clay had his heart set on a cheeseburger. Besides, he’d had a near run-in with Caroline’s husband, Sheriff Jennings, once. And the old man had been sixty pounds overweight back then.
Clay doubted if the law enforcement officer could even buckle his gun belt after eating daily meals like that for the past seven years. Of course, Sam Jennings had to be retired by now.
Sally, a salt-and-pepper-haired waitress who’d worked at the diner back when Clay had been in high school—and probably much longer than that—stopped by his table and smiled. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water will be fine.”
“Our iced tea is fresh brewed. How ’bout I get you a tall glass of that with your water?”
This was Texas. If he wanted to fit in, he should probably drink the nectar of his youth.
“Sure, but unsweetened, please.”
Sally clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval, but Clay knew that if he wasn’t careful, his belly would get just as large as old Sheriff Jennings’s.
“You new in town, sugar, or just passing through?” Sally was a nice lady, but curious and a real talker.
While he was glad she hadn’t recognized him, he wasn’t eager to answer too many questions about himself. But then again, he’d gone over his made-up background several times on his flight and his drive into Brighton Valley, so he was prepared. And he hadn’t had a chance to deliver it in full yet, especially since Megan kept running out of the store before they could really talk. So it wouldn’t hurt to test it out on someone, especially when that someone was also likely to know all the town gossip.
Clay kept it brief, though, giving his fake name, mentioning that he was from the Geekon corporate offices and helping out at the computer store down the street.
“What a blessing you must be to Don Carpenter. He’s had his hands full since poor Cindy’s diagnosis. I sure hope she’s feeling better now. That chemo can really take a lot out of a person. You know what I mean?”
No, Clay didn’t know. He’d never had to deal with cancer. His own mother’s bipolar disorder was the closest thing he’d come to dealing with someone’s chronic illness.
But that certainly explained why Don was so concerned about his wife and why Megan had her kids at the shop this afternoon. If this was supposed to be her day off, Clay ought to cut her a little slack. But he still couldn’t sit back and let the store go under.
“I met Megan Adams,” he said. “It’s nice that they have someone helping out at the store.” Clay wasn’t quite buying his comment, but he needed to fish for more information. And already the waitress who was dressed like Dolly Parton’s mousy-haired sister was proving to be a useful tool.
“Don’t you know it! I love that Megan to pieces. She’s a wonderful mom and she’s pure heaven in the kitchen. We sold out of her muffins this morning and only have a few more jars of her preserves left for the week. I know that girl needs the income from Zorba’s, but just between you and me, she’d make a much better living selling her baked goods, jams and jellies than working part-time for Don Carpenter.”
So Megan had a side job selling homemade goods to the diner? Well, he couldn’t fault her for being industrious. And if her muffins were as good as her cookies, he could understand why they’d sold out.
But was she in dire financial straits? Would she be tempted to pilfer funds from the store?
Once he had some time alone with the books, that’s what he intended to find out.
Two elderly women shuffled in and sat at one of the booths. Mindful not to take up too much of Sally’s time, Clay put in his order for the double-bacon cheeseburger with an extra side of French fries.
He might end up gaining ten pounds, but clearly, patronizing Caroline’s Diner was going to be one of the best ways for him to get information about his store—and the people running it.
Thirty minutes later, after he’d eaten his burger and finished every last fry on his plate, he let Sally talk him into taking a piece of peanut-butter pie to go.
It was still early and he planned to get his suitcase out of the SUV and into the upstairs apartment. Then he’d send Megan home so he could close up the shop and take a good look at the books. The pie would come in handy as a snack because he knew he’d be putting in some long hours tonight.
When he took his check up to the old-fashioned cash register, he glanced at the elderly women and saw them counting out the quarters from their coin purses. He pulled an extra twenty from his wallet. Then, using a pad and pen that rested on the counter, he scratched out a note to let Caroline know he intended to cover the ladies’ meals, too.
After paying his own tab, he handed the surprised waitress a ten dollar bill as a tip and left the diner. On his way back to Zorba’s, he set a slow pace, the memories bogging him down.
Maybe it was seeing the two women counting out their change and being reminded about how he’d once lived in a different world, how he’d once had to struggle to make ends meet, too. His mom might have brought home a paycheck, but he’d been the one to budget the money, pay the bills, buy the groceries and cook the meals. He’d also made sure she took her meds and got up each afternoon so she could go back to work at the lab and start the process all over again—that is, until she’d died.
Maybe seeing Megan with her son, acting like the protective and caring mom Clay had always wished for himself, had poked at some tender spot deep in his heart.
Either way, the past was playing havoc with him. But he did his best to shake it off and to put the memories behind him before returning to work.
As he reentered the shop, he spotted Lisa sitting at the front counter, doodling on what must have been her spelling homework.
“Hey, Mr. Johnson. Do you know anything about athletes who don’t have to read? I heard that gymnasts get to go to school at home, but only for a couple of hours every day because they’re too busy practicing at their gyms. Maybe I should switch from soccer to gymnastics.”
The girl was asking Clay for advice? Heck, he didn’t have any experience with children. He’d never had siblings. And he’d always avoided the kids who’d played sports in school. How was he supposed to know what she should play?
“Everyone needs to be able to read,” he said. “Even gymnasts.”
“What about softball? Mom signed me up for a sports camp this summer through the YMCA. I hope I get to try out all sorts of sports and can figure out which one will get me out of school the most.”
“Why don’t you like school?” Clay scanned the shop, looking around for Megan—or for anyone who could get him out of this awkward conversation.
And speaking of Megan, where was she?
He wanted to get started on the disaster of an office, and it should be nearly time to close up for the day.
“It’s okay,” Lisa said. “Our PE teacher, Mrs. Sanchez, is nice. And I like my friends and having recess. But I don’t like doing seatwork. I’m not good at it. All the letters jumble around, and so I’d rather be outside.”
No wonder the little girl felt more comfortable playing sports than doing her spelling. She was better at it. Clay had felt the same way when he’d been in school—only with sports instead of spelling. It had taken him years to figure out how to dribble a basketball, but once he got ahold of a computer and had his hands on a mouse and keyboard, his fingers had excelled for hours.
“Yes!” Tyler’s voice shouted out from the back, calling Clay from his musing.
He couldn’t allow himself to get soft. And where was Megan? Had she left again?
Clay headed to the back of the shop, where Tyler clicked furiously on a mouse at the workstation. He leaned over to look at the screen and saw the customer claim sticker on the computer’s hard drive. Oh, no. The boy was messing with equipment that had been entrusted to Zorba’s.
“Why are you on that computer?” Clay tried to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, but his frustration level was rising.
The ringing telephone interrupted him, and he headed toward the front of the store. Before he could reach the counter, Lisa picked up the receiver and said, “Zorba the Geek’s Computer Repair Shop. Can I help you?”
This was way too much. A seven-year-old was answering the business phone, while a twelve-year-old was back here playing around with a customer’s computer.
Where in the hell was their mother? Clay looked around the small space, his temper rising. Brighton Valley might be a small town, but that didn’t account for the complete lack of professionalism he’d experienced since his arrival a few hours ago.
He had no idea how he’d keep himself from firing Megan on the spot when she returned.
“Tyler,” Lisa’s singsong voice called out from the opening between the two rooms. “Mr. Hochstein wants to know if you got that virus off his computer yet. He has an online poker tournament tomorrow night and needs it back by then.”
“Yep.” Tyler swiped at the keyboard and yelled back to his sister. “I just got the nasty little bugger. And I’m cleaning up the rest of his files right now. But he’s got to stop going to those offshore betting websites, because that’s how he got the virus in the first place. And he just got an instant message.”
Lisa relayed the boy’s response better than Clay had expected her to.
“Mr. Hochstein wants to know who’s looking for him,” the girl said.
“BigPokerMama213. There’s a tournament tomorrow with a twenty-dollar buy-in.”
As the girl repeated the message over the telephone, Clay wondered if they’d somehow broken some kind of law—besides the child labor law.
Did it matter that the kids weren’t actually working or on the payroll? But what about participating in gambling?
He was also a little taken aback by Tyler’s skill at fixing the computer, considering his age. He’d heard of the international betting virus that had a lot of software techs scrambling to immunize their systems from the havoc it could wreak. And this little boy—who’d just been suspended from the last two days of seventh grade—seemed to think that he’d single-handedly conquered the virus.
Clay would have to check it out, but if the boy had actually done that, technological interest and amazement took precedence over customer service.
“How’d you figure out how to fix that virus?” he asked.
As Tyler explained the process in depth, Clay realized the kid was onto something. But before he could respond, a creak sounded through the ceiling above. Apparently, Megan was upstairs in the apartment.
“I’d like to talk more about that,” Clay said. “But go ahead and finish what you’re doing.”
Curious as to what Megan might be up to—or what she might be hiding—he left the kids in the shop and headed toward the stairway that led to the apartment.
Deciding to catch her in the act of ditching work or whatever she might be up to, he quietly slipped upstairs and entered the living room, which held a floral love-seat sofa, coffee table and small television set. Everything looked as if it had just been wiped down, and the rug bore fresh vacuum lines.
The small kitchen was tidy and the little table and chairs held a burning candle that smelled like vanilla.
Classic-rock music wafted from the bedroom, so Clay made his way in that direction. When he reached the doorway, he spotted Megan bent over the bed, tucking the sheets into perfectly creased hospital corners. But the bedding wasn’t anywhere near as intriguing as the view of Megan’s lovely backside, her denim-clad hips swaying in tempo to the Fleetwood Mac song on the bedside clock radio.
Clay shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against the doorjamb and continued to watch her mesmerizing movements, hoping Stevie Nicks never stopped singing.
Over the music, a boy’s voice called out, “Whoops! Caw caaaaw. Caw caaaaw.”
At the kid’s lousy bird call, Megan froze, then slowly turned and caught Clay watching her from the doorway.
From the flush on her cheeks and the panic in her eyes, he figured that she’d just been belatedly warned of his approach.
* * *
By the way Peyton was gawking at her, Megan couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at her for leaving her post at the store or if he was surprised to find her preparing the apartment for him. Either way, she straightened just as her children screeched into the bedroom doorway.
They gathered next to Peyton, with Tyler still making “caw caaaaw” sounds until Lisa gave him a little shove to quiet him.
It must have been blatantly obvious to the man that the kids had been trying to warn her of his presence, which embarrassed her all the more.
“What’s going on?” Peyton asked.
“I was trying to freshen up the apartment. I had no idea you’d planned to stay here, and it wasn’t ready.”