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“My parents are both gone,” she said, which was technically the truth.
“No brothers or sisters?” Holt asked, sprawling back in his chair, which seemed too small to hold him.
She had the lie ready, but somehow it just wouldn’t slide off her tongue. Besides, what harm could there be in at least admitting to Eddie? No doubt he was trying to track her down as they spoke, but the Jeffords wouldn’t know that.
“A brother,” she said, “but we’re not close.” Cara smoothed Ace’s pale hair lovingly. “It’s just us two really.”
Hap shook his head. “It’s a powerful sorrow when a father leaves a young family behind.”
“Yes.” Cara laid her cheek against the top of her son’s head. “Ace was five weeks old when it happened.”
Holt reached out a long arm and laid his fork in his plate. “Mind if I ask how your husband died?”
While she felt the shock that always came with the truth, she carefully masked her emotions. “He fell.”
The two men traded looks, and Holt sat up straight again, looking uncomfortable now, his gaze going to Ace as he once more picked up his fork. “That’s how my father died, too. He fell off an oil derrick trying to fix a pulley.”
Cara took it that Holt’s father and Hap’s son were one in the same. “They say he didn’t suffer,” she offered softly, swallowing hard.
Both Holt and Hap nodded at that. Apparently they’d been told the same thing.
“What’d your man fall from?” Hap asked.
“A highway overpass. He stopped to help a stranded motorist and somehow fell over the railing. No one’s certain just how it happened,” she said, still puzzled, “and the funny thing is, it wasn’t like Addison to stop and help a stranger. Not like him at all.”
Hap laid a gnarled hand upon her arm. “There are mysteries to which none are privy, and greater mysteries revealed to all. We must trust God with the first and thank Him for the last.” Hap looked at Holt.
Cara sensed a certain reluctance in Holt, but she knew the moment had come to discuss business.
“The job requires long hours,” he said. “It pays a salary on the first and the fifteenth.” Holt glanced at his grandfather. “Plus room and board.”
The figure he named didn’t amount to much pay, but she wouldn’t have to worry about food and shelter. “What about Ace? I need to keep him with me. If it’s just housekeeping work, I know I could manage. He won’t be any trouble to anyone.”
“Well, there’s housekeeping and then there’s housekeeping,” Holt said, and for the next fifteen minutes he detailed all that she would be expected to do.
It seemed overwhelming: beds to be made, laundry to be done, floors, bathrooms, draperies, dusting, sanitizing, even kitchens in some of the rooms. Every room. Every day. That did not include meal preparation or registering guests from time to time. But it did include Ace.
“We could give it a try,” Hap said. “If the work and the boy together prove too much for you, we’ll figure something out. It’s not like you’d be on your own around here.”
“Except for Saturday nights,” Holt put in. “I take Granddad out for dinner on Saturday nights.”
“Every other,” Hap corrected, with another of those teasing winks at Cara. “Me and Charlotte, we always took turns with those Saturday nights. All you’d have to do is hang around here and watch the front desk.”
That sounded doable to her. “I take it Charlotte used to work for you?” Cara asked carefully.
Hap chuckled. “Not exactly. Charlotte’s my granddaughter, Holt’s baby sister. She up and married this rich fellow from Dallas.”
“Work she did, though,” Holt added. “More than I ever realized until I had to take over her job myself.”
“Then essentially I’d be replacing you?” Cara exclaimed, pointing. Ace burbled something unintelligible and copied her gesture. Cara quickly pushed both their hands under the table, cheeks heating.
“That’s the idea,” Holt said dryly. He seemed to doubt she could do it. Just the way he swept his hard gaze over her seemed to pronounce her lacking somehow.
Hap waved a hand. “Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” He pointed his fork at Cara. “You and the boy stay the night, take a good look around, think on it, and we’ll all pray this thing to a conclusion. How does that sound?”
Cara smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful for the first time in months. “That sounds fine.”
“Does that mean we get black-eyed peas tomorrow?” Holt asked, digging into his food again.
“Mmm, maybe some greens, too,” Hap said longingly. “There ought to be a can in there. I hope there’s a can in there.”
“I think I’m not used to the same kind of cooking you’re used to eating,” Cara confessed.
“Oh, it’s simple fare,” Hap said, “nothing you can’t manage, I reckon.”
“It’s sure to beat his cooking,” Holt said, wagging his fork at Hap.
Hap pretended to take offense, frowning and grinning. “My cooking’s what’s kept these skin and bones together these past weeks, son, and don’t you forget it. How many meals have you cooked since your sister married? Answer me that.”
“None,” Holt admitted. He grinned at Cara, grooves bracketing his mouth. Suddenly he looked heart-stoppingly attractive, sitting there in his faded chambray shirt that emphasized his strong, wide shoulders. “I like breathing even more than eating,” he quipped and went back to doing just that.
“There you are!” Hap declared, slapping a hand lightly against the edge of the table. He looked cajolingly to Cara. “So do we get them black-eyed peas?”
“Black-eyed peas,” Cara promised, gulping. “For tradition’s sake.”
But, oh, she thought, watching Holt chew a big bite of steak, I could use just a little luck, too.
Cara looked around the tiny, crowded bedroom with dismay. It still contained much that belonged to its previous owner: books, photos, various other keepsakes, even a yellowed set of crocheted doilies. An old-fashioned four-poster bed, dresser, domed-top trunk and wicker laundry hamper left only a narrow corridor of walking space around the bed.
She felt Holt at her back, watching her judge the room, and fought the urge to curl into a tight little ball. She’d hoped never again to live in someone else’s space, meeting their standards rather than her own, always the outsider, never truly belonging or having control of her own life.
Hitching Ace a little higher on her hip, their outer garments clutched in one hand, she bucked up enough courage to say, “I think we’ll be more comfortable renting a room for the night.”
After a moment of silence, Holt replied, “I’ll get a room key for you.”
Relieved, Cara watched him stride for the lobby. After she’d taken a look at those frozen black-eyed peas—and thankfully found the preparation a simple matter of stewing in water for an hour or so—Hap had suggested Holt show her where she could stay the night. She’d never expected to be offered a room in the apartment.
A chime sounded as Holt crossed the room. Hap, who was stacking dishes in the kitchen, having insisted on helping her clean up after the meal, exclaimed, “Tell ’em I’ll be right out!”
Just then the door opened and two elderly men appeared, their happy voices calling, “We’re here!”
One of the newcomers wore dark pants and a white shirt beneath a sweater vest. More portly than the other, he boasted glasses with heavy black frames and a luxurious head of snow-white hair. The other, dressed in denim and flannel, possessed neither. Spying Cara and Ace, they stepped forward.
“Looks like y’all started the party without us,” the flannel-shirted man said.
The other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”
“Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.
Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”
Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.
The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”
General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”
Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.
She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.
“We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”
“Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.
“I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”
“Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”
Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”
Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”
“That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.
To her surprise, Holt slid it into his pocket before grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. “I’ll just see you settled in.”
“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”
“Hap’s guests,” he said, shrugging on the leather-trimmed canvas coat. “They’ve got enough to make up a table. They won’t miss me.” He lifted a brown cowboy hat from another peg and fitted it onto his head, suddenly seeming ten feet tall. Nodding toward the kitchen, he said, “We can go out through the back.”
Cara put on a smile and moved ahead of him, holding Ace closer to her chest to keep him warm. He babbled in a singsong voice to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement, cold enveloping them.
Shivering, Cara hurried ahead of Holt to the car parked beneath the drive-though. At least, she told herself, they’d gotten a meal out of this and would sleep warm tonight. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.
Chapter Three
“I’ll, um, move the car later, if you don’t mind,” Cara Jane said.
Holt shrugged. It seemed odd to him to leave the car sitting there under the drive-through, but a great deal seemed odd about Cara Jane Wynne. He reached into the trunk of her car for the two bags there.
“You can park your car in that space just to the left of the door to your room,” Holt told her, hoisting their two bags. Neither of them, he noted, weighed enough to tax a child, let alone a grown man. A wise woman wouldn’t pack more than she could tote herself, but Holt figured that starting a new life would require a great deal more than Cara Jane seemed to be carrying.
All that remained in the trunk was a lightweight baby backpack, which told him just how Cara Jane intended to manage her son while she worked. Trying to do such work with a baby strapped to her back seemed foolish to him, but he supposed she’d figure that out soon enough.
While he carried their bags to the room, Cara Jane closed the trunk lid and went to rummage around in the car.
Opening the door, Holt entered and hit the light switch with his elbow. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he hoisted the bags onto the long, low dresser, then went to turn on the heat. The place could best be described as utilitarian, he supposed, but at least it was clean and neat.
She came in moments later carrying Ace, a stuffed diaper bag and a small plastic tub of groceries. Holt took the tub from her and closed the door so the place would warm up. Already the air that blew from the vent above the closet felt toasty enough to take the immediate chill off.
“Should be comfortable in here soon,” he told her. Nodding, she dropped the diaper bag on the bed and turned to face him. “Furniture’s bolted down,” he informed her.
She shrugged. “Safer that way. Ace likes to pull up on whatever he can find.”
“You’re traveling light,” Holt commented, waving a hand at the suitcases.
“I live light,” she replied.
He had no idea what that meant, but he intended to make sure that she had a clear picture of what she would be getting into if Hap hired her. “A job like this requires hard work,” he told her. “Take it from me.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not trying to discourage you, and God knows we can use the help. I just want you to be aware of what you’d be getting into.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I’m not sure you can,” he said, rubbing his ear. “You and the boy want to come along, I’ll show you one of the kitchenettes so you can get a better idea of what you’d be up against.”
For a moment, he thought she might refuse. He had to admit that if he was standing here in nothing more than a jean jacket, he might have balked himself. Where, he wondered, was her coat? Didn’t they wear coats in Oregon?
Cara nodded, held the boy close and headed for the door. Holt followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him and trying not to watch the sway of her hips.
Holt used his passkey to let them in the room next door and snapped on the light. The kitchenettes basically contained two rooms, pass-through closet and bath in one, bed, sitting area and tiny kitchen in the other. Cara stood in the center of the room, the boy on her hip, and looked around. Holt couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes lit at the sight of that puny kitchen. Then she swept her fingertips along the arm of the tweedy sofa.
“It makes into a bed,” he told her, “but because of the lack of space, it’s usually folded up when we get here to clean, so you always have to check the sheets, even if only one person is supposed to be in the room.”
“I see.”
“Then there’s the kitchens,” he went on. “The regulars usually do their own dishes, but if they don’t, you have to. The kitchens have to be meticulously cleaned to keep the bugs out.”
“Good policy.”
“Half our units are kitchenettes,” he pointed out, wanting to ruffle her for some reason. “The rugs have to be cleaned periodically, as well as the draperies.”
“All right.”
“Look,” he said, “I’m an old roughneck, and I’m telling you, it’s hard work.”
She turned on him, her face stony. “Okay, I get it. You don’t think I can handle the job.”
“I didn’t say that. I just want you—”
“To know what I’m getting into,” she finished for him, brushing by on her way to the door. “Yeah, yeah.”
Irritated, he caught her by the crook of the elbow. “I just think you should have all the facts before you make your decision.”
She jerked her gaze up at him. “Are you saying that the job is mine if I want it?”
