New Year, New Love Page 4

  While she concentrated on the roads and traffic, Christa sang along to the radio as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But when Sharon pulled up in front of the store twenty minutes later and Christa shifted in her seat to face her, something faintly disturbing gleamed in her eyes.

  “Aren’t you coming in, Mom?”

  “I’ll just wait in the car and keep the heater going.” Sharon pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and passed it across the seat. “If it costs more than this, don’t buy it.”

  “But… Well, it might take a little while. I have to talk to Steve. And I don’t want you to get cold out here.” She paused, then added quickly, “Besides, don’t you want to meet Steve’s dad?”

  Sharon glanced at the clock on the dash. Half an hour and counting until Gabe arrived. “Not today, Christa.”

  “Why not? You look great.”

  Sharon laughed aloud and glanced at her bulky sweater beneath her heavy coat. “I wasn’t worried about how I look. I’d just like to get home.”

  Christa drew a flower on the misty window with her fingertip. “I thought you liked meeting my friends’ parents.”

  “I do,” Sharon admitted. “Especially the parents of the boys you’re dating.” She turned so she could see Christa better. “Is that what this is all about? Has Steve asked you out?”

  “No.” Christa’s eyes widened. “I mean, he’s nice and everything, but—”

  “But you’re not interested.”

  “No.” Christa wiped away her doodles with her sleeve. “Please come in with me.”

  “All right,” Sharon conceded, turning the car toward an empty space in the lot. Maybe this boy was important to Christa. Her denial had seemed almost too hasty. “I’ll go in with you, but you did promise to make this quick.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You won’t be sorry.”

  Sharon followed Christa across the icy parking lot toward the store. Twice, her feet nearly flew out from under her, but curiosity kept her going. When they stepped inside the heated store, Sharon took a moment to get her bearings.

  Christa had other plans. She grabbed Sharon’s arm and tugged her over to a tall, thin man with sandy hair and thick glasses who stood behind a long counter lined with glass-enclosed cases of electronic equipment. “Are you Mr. Case?”

  He blinked up at them and smiled. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Christa Lawrence, Steve’s friend, and this is my mom.” Christa released Sharon’s arm and took a step back, making Sharon feel as if she’d been placed on the display rack.

  “Oh.” Two bright splotches of red sprang to life on the man’s cheeks and he wiped his hands nervously on his pant legs before extending one toward her. “Oh.”

  Sharon shook it, relieved to find it warm and dry. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  The poor man jerked his hand away and worked up a timid smile. “Oh. Yes. Same here.”

  Poor man. He was obviously painfully shy. Sharon tried to set him at ease. “I understand you have a special pen—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Christa cut her off. “I’ll go find Steve while you two visit.”

  Visit? Sharon opened her mouth to protest, decided doing so would make her seem unforgivably rude, and snapped it shut again. She watched, helpless, while Christa hurried away and disappeared into the back room.

  Obviously, the girl couldn’t wait to see Steve. Sharon sent Mr. Case a weak smile. “I’m sure you’re busy. Why don’t I just find her that pen. If you know what kind it is they need. I’m afraid Christa couldn’t remember.”

  “Pen?” He blinked in obvious confusion.

  Sharon frowned. What was wrong with this man? “Maybe I should just ask Christa.”

  “Oh, but I’m not busy. And I’d like a chance to talk before…” He snorted a laugh and lowered his eyes. “What I mean to say is, we can visit.”

  Great. She’d have to make small talk until either a customer needed his attention or Christa came back. She made a mental note to discuss this with Christa later and said the only thing she could think of. “You have a nice store.”

  Another deep flush stained his cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “Have you been in business long?”

  “Two years.”

  She waited for him to add something to the conversation, but he seemed content to answer her questions. That ought to make the time fly by. “Does your wife work here with you?”

  The question seemed to surprise him. “I’m divorced. I thought you knew that.”

  Why on earth would she know that? Had he taken out an ad in the newspaper?

  He propped his hands on his hips and looked around the tiny store as if seeing it for the first time. The flush on his cheeks deepened another shade. One thing for certain, no one would ever accuse him of being a playboy. He could barely make himself look at her.

  “Well,” he said with a stiff laugh. “Here we are. Would you…would you like me to show you around the store?”

  For one second Sharon considered answering truthfully. She’d spent half her life teaching her daughters not to lie, no matter what the circumstances. But as she looked at the nervous expression on Mr. Case’s face, she couldn’t do it. So, she worked up her best smile and told a whopper. “I’d love to.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMILEE HAD BEEN WAITING all morning for Christa to get home and report. She figured it was a good sign that they’d been gone so long. Even when they got home, and Christa sent dirty looks in her direction as they carried in groceries, she told herself everything had gone well. Christa could be upset about anything. You never knew with her.

  At last, they managed to sneak away to their bedroom. Emilee shut the door behind them and kept her voice down so their mom couldn’t overhear. “Well? How’d it go?”

  Christa flopped onto her bed and scowled at the ceiling. “She didn’t like him. She said he was boring.”

  “Did he ask her out?”

  “No. Mom said he barely spoke at all, except when he was showing her around the store.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  Christa raised herself onto one elbow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  She didn’t. Emilee sighed in frustration.

  “It gets worse,” Christa said. “She warned me never to do that to her again.”

  Emilee’s stomach knotted. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Christa flopped backward again. The whole bed bounced. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Emilee stepped over a pile of clean clothes Christa hadn’t yet put away and sank onto her own bed. “So now what?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious,” Christa snapped. “We have to think of somebody who’s not boring.”

  “Okay. Think.”

  “You think.” Christa rolled onto her stomach and sent her another dirty look. “I’ve wasted the whole day, and I have to get ready for my date tonight.”

  Emilee glared right back. “You’re always thinking of yourself. Just give it ten more minutes. For Mom.” That was a nice touch. It seemed to work.

  “Fine.” Christa covered her eyes with her arm. “We need to find somebody exciting. Who do we know?”

  Emilee thought for a minute, but she couldn’t come up with anyone. “You know what we need? Someone like…well, like Harrison Ford in Air Force One. She loves him in that old movie. She’s made us watch it with her, like, twenty times.”

  Christa peered at her from beneath her arm. “Good idea. Let’s set Mom up with the fake president of the United States from the nineties.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s not what I mean. I just remember how much she liked the way he protected his wife and daughter in that movie. That’s the kind of guy she needs.”

  Christa let out an irritated sigh. “Where are we going to find a guy like that? I don’t think there are any.”

  “Sure there are. There have to be.” Emilee ran a hand across her
down comforter and wished Christa wouldn’t be so negative. “The important thing is not to let ourselves get discouraged. After all, this was only one man, right?”

  “Right.” Christa didn’t sound convinced.

  “I mean,” Emilee went on, trying to restore Christa’s faith in the plan, “we knew we wouldn’t find the perfect guy immediately, didn’t we?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So, we just keep looking until we find him.”

  “Okay,” Christa said after a moment. “But don’t expect me to do what I did today. I know she was getting suspicious, and now she thinks I have a crush on Steve.”

  “Okay, I promise. Next time, I’ll be in charge of getting Mom where she’s supposed to be.”

  It would be better that way, she added silently. She wouldn’t screw up a perfectly simple assignment the way Christa had. Really. How hard could it be?

  GABE SAT ACROSS from his father, watching the minutes tick by on the round-faced clock on the office wall. If he didn’t get out of here right now, he’d be late.

  Gabe didn’t often spend time in the office. He’d much rather work on-site. But every once in a while, his dad would call him in to discuss business.

  “Accounts payable are through the roof this time,” Harold Malone said, flicking his checkbook with the backs of his fingers. “The statement from Stevens Builders’ Supply is nearly a third again as high as it should be.”

  “We had to buy the materials for the Lawrence job,” Gabe reminded him.

  “The Lawrence job?” Harold sounded confused, as if he couldn’t remember the contract.

  “The lady with the old house,” Gabe reminded him. “On Sycamore. She wants us to finish her basement. I have an appointment with her at one o’clock.”

  “Oh, yes.” Harold nodded slowly, but Gabe could tell he didn’t remember. “Sure.”

  Not for the first time, Gabe worried about leaving his dad in charge of the office. He loved his father and wouldn’t hurt him for the world. But the business was getting to be too much for Harold, and Gabe didn’t know how to convince him to retire. Every time the subject came up, the old man resisted, and Gabe didn’t have the heart to challenge him. This business was his dad’s life. And when he did try to resolve the problem, his mother and his sister, Rosalie, were no help. Three votes against one put Gabe on the losing end of every argument.

  “Do you want me to check the invoices against the bill?” Gabe asked. “I can do that tomorrow at home if it would help.” It would be a waste of time, but it wouldn’t be the first time Gabe had done something unnecessary to make his father happy.

  Harold shook his head and pursed his lips. “No. I’ll take care of that. It’ll give me something to do.” He leaned back in his seat and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “We need new contracts.”

  “Not yet. I’ve still got several to finish before we’re in any position to take on more work. In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about hiring a couple more guys to help.”

  “Hiring a couple more guys?” His dad scowled so hard, a fleshy ridge formed between his eyebrows. “Have you seen Derry Kennedy’s paycheck?”

  “No, but—”

  His dad shoved a check across the desk at Gabe. He scanned it quickly and saw that the net figure nearly doubled what they usually paid Derry for two weeks. He lowered the check and met his dad’s gaze. “He’s been putting in a lot of overtime. We all have. That’s why I think we’d be smart to hire a couple more guys.”

  “Can’t afford it,” Harold snarled.

  “We can’t afford to keep paying overtime,” Gabe pointed out.

  “No, we can’t. You’ll just have to pick up the pace.”

  Resentment flashed through Gabe, but he tried to hold it back. “I’m already putting in at least twelve hours every day,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level.

  “Is it too much for you?”

  “It would be too much for anyone,” Gabe said.

  His dad let out a sharp laugh. “The Malone men have always been hard workers. Just buckle down and do it. We’re not slackers in this family.”

  Gabe battled another flash of resentment. “I never said I wanted to quit. But there’s no way we can meet all the deadlines we currently have unless we bring on more crew.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the clipboard on his lap. “I’ve made up a list of the contracts we have on the books and the deadlines that go with them.”

  Harold’s eyes narrowed as if he thought Gabe had accused him of something. “You don’t think I know which contracts we have?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He tried again. “The point is—”

  “The point is, you’re trying to do my job when you should be out doing your own.”

  Right. Gabe lowered the list to his lap. He shouldn’t be surprised or even disappointed. His dad had shot down every one of his ideas for months. But each time, his frustration level rose, and he honestly wondered if he could hold on until Harold retired—if he ever did.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered. “I’m going to be late.”

  “What are you bent out of shape about?”

  Gabe didn’t have time for an argument. “Nothing.”

  “Good. Don’t forget dinner with the family tomorrow.”

  Gabe stood and snagged his jacket from the back of the chair. “I won’t forget,” he promised, even though he’d begun to dread going since the divorce. Watching Rosalie with her husband, Jack, always left him strangely ill-at-ease, and their children made him think of his daughter and regret the distance between them. He often brought someone with him to keep his mind off such unpleasant thoughts.

  Harold leaned so far back in his chair, the wood creaked. “You’ll be bringing a lady friend, I suppose.”

  “No lady friend. I’ll be there alone.”

  “Alone? What happened to the last lady friend you had?”

  “Natasha?”

  “If that was her name. I can’t keep track anymore.”

  Gabe shrugged. He knew his parents would like to see him married and settled. But he wouldn’t let himself get caught up in that old argument. “Natasha and I aren’t seeing each other any longer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Things just didn’t work out.”

  “No?” His dad seemed to look right through Gabe. “What was the problem this time?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You never want to talk about it.”

  No, he didn’t. He figured he was entitled to a little privacy.

  His dad tapped his fingers on the desk. “Your mother and I thought you were serious about this one.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Gabe warned. “I’ve sworn off women for a while.” Six months, to be exact.

  “Have you?” A smile tugged the corners of Harold’s mouth. “Well, then, I guess I can tell you the truth. Your mother didn’t like this last woman you were seeing very much.”

  That didn’t surprise Gabe at all. His mother, bless her, hadn’t liked any of the women he’d dated since his divorce. And she hadn’t really liked Helene. But she’d always hidden her feelings well, and she’d treated Helene like one of the family while they were married.

  “You know what you need?” Harold creaked back a bit farther in his chair. “A woman like the one I married. Best woman in the world, your mother.”

  Gabe stopped just inside the doorway and smiled. “I won’t argue with you about that.”

  “I’m telling you, son. You find a woman who’ll keep the home fires burning, and you’ll be a happy man.”

  Gabe was still smiling as he left the room. His parents did seem happy in their marriage. But that didn’t mean Gabe wanted what they had.

  No. Another marriage for Gabe Malone was simply not in the cards.

  STIFLING A YAWN, Gabe poured coffee from his thermos for the third time in an hour. He crossed the basement to one of the windows and sat on the floor, propping his back against the roug
h, unfinished wall. Music crackled from the radio he always carried on the job. Wind rattled the windows overhead.

  Taking a sip, he glanced at the two-by-fours he’d stacked against the far wall and listened to Sharon and her daughters moving around upstairs. An occasional burst of laughter rang down the staircase. Footsteps marched back and forth over his head as they did whatever parents and daughters do on Saturday afternoons.

  He should know what they did, he thought with regret. And if Tracy had lived closer, he would know.

  Someone must have said something funny, because the laughter peeled again. The three women sounded more like friends than mother and daughters. He pushed aside another pang and reminded himself he couldn’t do anything about Tracy. The judge hadn’t seen fit to grant him custody. Gabe hadn’t liked the decision, but he’d learned to live with it—most of the time, anyway.

  He could almost hear his father’s voice. Malone men are hard workers. We’re not slackers. We don’t waste time dreaming. Thinking about Tracy would only waste time. He couldn’t change the way things were, but there were things he could control—like finishing this job on time. He’d have to make every minute count to meet the deadline he’d given Sharon earlier, but he could do it. He could, that is, if he didn’t sit around all day.

  He finished his lukewarm coffee, set the cup and thermos aside and started toward the pile of lumber. Before he’d gone even halfway across the room, Christa bounded down the stairs and burst into the basement like a whirlwind carrying a basket of dirty clothes. She flashed a grin and started toward the laundry room.

  Friendly girl. Just like her mother. He smiled back and hefted a two-by-four to his shoulder.

  She stopped outside the laundry room, propped the basket on one hip and turned around to face him. “So, how long were you down here the other day, anyway?”

  He resisted the urge to tease her. He was here to do a job, not get involved in their family’s soap opera. “New Year’s Eve? Not long. Why?”

  She shifted the basket to her other hip. “Did you hear me and my sister talking?”