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He made her wonder. About the sadness in his eyes, about him. Had there been anyone in his life? Someone who’d hurt him? Or someone he’d hurt that he felt guilty about?
“Maybe someday I will,” she replied.
Damn it, not your business, Janice. This wasn’t part of the job and that was all she needed to focus on. Abruptly, she raised her voice and called out to her daughter.
“Time to call it a day, kiddo.” While Mama still had knees that functioned.
She felt as if she’d just been dynamited off her comfortable perch. With effort she slowed her pace and left the room, trying very hard not to look as if she was hurrying away from him.
But she was.
As she carried in the laundry basket from the garage later that evening, she noticed that Gordon’s car wasn’t there. Still holding the basket, she passed by the window and glanced out.
The car wasn’t parked at the curb, either. “Kelli, where’s Uncle Gordon?”
The little girl looked up from the book of children’s drawings she was paging through. “He went out.”
Oh God, not on a date, Janice prayed. The only time Gordon didn’t say anything about leaving, didn’t call out a “see you later,” he was going off on a date with someone he knew he shouldn’t be seeing.
Janice set down the basket on the coffee table and sat down beside her daughter on the sofa. “Out? When?”
“A little while ago.” Kelli paused to think. “The seven o’clock news lady was on. He said I couldn’t go with him.”
The idea of Kelli out with Gordon on one of his dates horrified her. “Well, at least he has some grain of sense,” she murmured to herself, then looked at her daughter. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why would you want to go with him?”
“Because he’s going to Phili—Mr. Zabelle’s house,” Kelli amended, knowing that her mother didn’t like her calling grown-ups by their first names.
Janice stared at her daughter. Okay, the two men seemed to get along at lunch, but Gordon just wasn’t in Philippe’s league. Philippe had things together while Gordon was a loosely wound ball of yarn, ready to come apart at the slightest push. “Why would he be going there?”
“To play poker,” Kelli volunteered brightly.
Janice’s mouth dropped open. Poker? Had he gotten caught up in a new obsession? Gordon didn’t do things by half measures. If he started seeing someone, he was planning marriage by the end of the first date. She’d seen him through a number of dependencies, including food and alcohol. He didn’t know how to do anything in moderation—except work, she thought cynically. These days, she was working like a dog not only to pay her own bills, but to help Gordon meet his bankruptcy payments as well. The faster that was paid off, the sooner he’d be able to get on his own two feet.
A cold shiver went down her spine. That wasn’t going to happen if he’d taken up gambling.
She rose to her feet, putting her hand out to her daughter. “C’mon, honey.”
Kelli scooted off the sofa, taking her mother’s hand. “Where are we going?”
“Well, you’re going to Mrs. Addison.” A grandmother three times over, the woman had made it known that she was willing to babysit in the evenings, especially if there was an emergency. This definitely qualified. “I’m going to Mr. Zabelle’s house to bring back Uncle Gordon before he finds another pit to fall into.”
It was obvious that Kelli didn’t quite understand what she was talking about, but she’d latched onto the one thing that was clear to her. Her mother was going to see Philippe. “Mr. Zabelle? Why can’t I go with you?”
Janice grabbed her purse out of the closet. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed for the front door with Kelli in tow. “Because Mama’s going to be using some grown-up words that you’re too young to hear.”
“I watch TV, Mama,” Kelli protested.
She locked the door behind her. “More grown-up than that,” Janice told her tersely.
Her tone was far from warm, but it wasn’t meant for Kelli. She was focused on Gordon, annoyed with him for blundering into yet another possible addiction. She wasn’t overly thrilled with Philippe either, even though the man had no way of knowing about her brother’s addictive personality.
But he would by the time the evening was through.
This was all she needed, Janice thought.
She struggled to keep her temper in-check. As she drove to Philippe’s, it was an effort to keep from pressing down on the accelerator and going over the speed limit.
For most of her adult life, she’d been bailing her brother out of one thing or another. His inability to recognize that he was being taken in by a series of women who only wanted what he could give them, had catapulted him into bankruptcy, which had led him into drinking and then overeating. She’d finally, finally gotten him to come around and be her assistant on these contracting jobs. And now he was sliding backward into something new.
She pressed her lips together, trying not to swear as she eased her foot off the gas. She was doing five miles over the speed limit.
Philippe was a bright man, couldn’t he see that Gordon had a weak, malleable personality?
Damn it, why did she have to be her brother’s keeper, anyway? She had enough to keep her busy.
Getting over that kiss, for instance.
The second she thought of it, of her involuntary reaction, Janice felt her skin tingling.
Get a grip, Janice. You’re supposed to be boiling mad, not a bowl of mush.
By the time she arrived at Philippe’s door, Janice was completely worked up. Instead of ringing the bell, she knocked. Pounded was more like it. The door had taken the place of her brother’s head.
Inside, Alain peered at his brother over a hand that would have gladdened the heart of a professional gambler.
Slim fingers folded the cards in his hand. Alain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You expecting someone to come break down your door, Philippe?”
“Not tonight.” The pounding continued. He sighed, folded his cards and placed them facedown on the table. As he rose, he pointed to the hand. “Don’t anyone try to mess with that, I know what I have.”
“An unhealthy distrust of your relatives is what you have,” Georges commented. “Philippe’s blunt warning wasn’t meant for you,” he told Gordon. “He thinks we cheat. In reality, he’s not that hot a poker player.”
Gordon nodded, finding himself completely at ease in this company of men. It was a pleasant feeling, one he wasn’t accustomed to.
Philippe waved a hand at Georges. “I don’t cheat,” he declared as he opened the door. Turning, he was surprised and not a little pleased to see Janice standing there.
Her eyes were blazing. And there was something very stirring about the image she presented. “Did I forget something?”
“Yes,” she snapped, not waiting to be invited in. “Decency.”
He closed the door behind her. “No, I’m pretty sure I stocked up on that the last time I was at the store.” She wasn’t smiling. “What’s the matter?”
By now, she was no longer thinking rationally. God only knew how much Gordon could have lost. “How could you?” she demanded.
Philippe hadn’t a clue. “How could I what?”
She gritted her teeth. Without her experience of plucking Gordon out of precarious situations, she might have thought Philippe was innocent. “How could you invite my brother to your poker game?”
Philippe shoved his hands into his front pockets. Eventually this was going to make sense. He just had to be patient. “Pretty easily, actually. I said something like, ‘Gordon, want to come to a game I’m holding tonight?’ And he said yes.”
She struggled to keep her voice down. She didn’t want to embarrass her brother in front of other people, but she certainly didn’t want to have to bail him out any more than she was already doing.
“This isn’t funny, Zabelle,” she told him in a low, firm voice. “Gordon’s got an addictive personality. He doesn’t do anything in half measures.” She was rambling, she thought and reined herself in. “I can’t go into details, but this is really a very bad thing. You have to cut him off.”
Philippe still looked like the soul of innocence as he asked her, “You want me to cut off his colored toothpicks?”
About to shout “yes” she stopped and stared at him. “Colored toothpicks?”
He nodded, taking her arm. Thinking he was going to usher her out, she pulled it away. “That’s what we play for. Colored toothpicks.”
She wasn’t about to be distracted. There had to be more than that. “But they represent something, don’t they?”
Philippe nodded. “Well, yeah.”
To his credit, Zabelle didn’t even try to lie about it. Although that didn’t change the bottom line. “Gordon can’t afford it.”
Very complacently, Philippe placed his hands on her shoulders. That he was so calm only infuriated her further. “Janice, calm down. If he’s the big loser, he has to wash the big winner’s car or clean the big winner’s barbecue grill. Something along those lines.”
The fire went out of her eyes. “What? You don’t gamble for money?”
He shook his head. “We play for things, chores mostly. Playing relaxes us and it gives us a chance to get together.” He took a breath. Maybe she’d feel better if he explained a few things to her. Ordinarily, he didn’t like getting personal, but he made an exception. “My father was a professional gambler and he ‘professionally’ lost almost everything my mother worked for. I don’t even play the slot machines in Vegas. I don’t believe in real gambling, but this is just harmless fun, a way to knock off steam, get the adrenaline to kick in without any risk.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, feeling somewhat foolish now. “Really?”
He laced his hand through hers. “Really.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Come see.”
“No, that’s okay,” she demurred. But he was already bringing her in.
Like a boy caught by his mother after curfew, Gordon looked both surprised and uneasy to see her. “What are you doing here?”
Before she could say anything, Philippe was quick to explain. “Janice thought she forgot one of her tools. I wanted to introduce her to you guys—in case any of you lugs has a remodeling job you want done.” Turning to her, he confided, “All of them are as handy as dried out paste.”
Georges merely laughed. “You should talk. At least I know what to do with pointy objects.”
Just standing there, listening to the exchange, she could feel the love in the room. It made her envious and long for a childhood she’d never had.
Chapter Eleven
As Philippe introduced her to the other members of his weekly poker game, Janice was acutely aware of the way her brother was looking at her. As if he knew why she was really there. It wasn’t because of some so-called imaginary tool she’d left behind. She wanted to check up on him, as if he were twelve and she was his mother.
It was all there in his face: annoyance at her unexpected invasion, hurt at her lack of trust. But damn it, could he really blame her? After all he’d put her through? She only had his best interests at heart.
The introductions over, Janice pressed her lips together and mustered a smile that took in all the men gathered around the oblong table.
“Sorry, I didn’t know I’d be barging in on a poker game. Please, go back to playing.” Her eyes met Gordon’s briefly. “I was never here.” She glanced at Philippe. He made a move to follow her as she backed away from the table. “I can see myself out.” Again, her eyes shifted toward her brother. “See you at home, Gordon,” she added as she retreated.
Despite what she’d just told him, Philippe followed her out of the room.
She felt just awful for raising her voice and accusing Philippe of taking advantage of her brother. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided to terminate their contract. But before she could tender an apology, something that never came easily to her, Philippe took her by the arm and drew her over to the side.
“Listen,” he began softly, “I’m sorry I stirred things up for you.”
God, when he looked at her like that with those green eyes of his, she caught herself thinking that she could forgive him for just about anything.
Get a grip, Janice. He’s the guy you’re working for right now, nothing else. Is that clear?
Clear as mud.
“It seemed harmless enough at the time,” Philippe was saying to her. She struggled to focus on his words and not his lips or his eyes. Not exactly easy, given their proximity. “I got the feeling earlier today that your brother’s struggling with a lot of problems and I thought this might help him blow off steam. It does me.”
What kind of problems did Philippe have, she wondered. From everything she’d seen, he led a perfect life.
After a beat, she found her tongue and discovered that it really wasn’t glued to the roof of her mouth. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
The grin was quick, so was the all-but-lethal shot to her gut. “Well, apparently I do. I don’t know if you realized it or not, but there was steam coming out of your ears when you got here and I think you left a perfect replica of your knuckles on my door.”
Okay, so she’d overreacted. Big time. She wasn’t the kind to try to bury a mistake. When she was wrong, she was wrong and she admitted it, but she wanted Philippe to understand why she’d come in looking and sounding like a possessed wild woman.
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