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“I didn’t mean—”
Strivens glanced toward the trailer again. Softened slightly. “I know,” he said, sounding so tired and sad that the backs of Julie’s eyes scalded. “I know your intentions are good. We’ve come on some hard times, my family and me, but we’re still—” he choked up, swallowed and went on “—we’re still a family. We’ll get by somehow, but only if we all do our part.”
Avoiding Strivens’s eyes, Julie opened the little memo book with its miniature pencil looped through the top and scrawled her cell and school numbers onto a page, then handed it out the window. “If there’s anything I can do to help,” she said, “please call me.”
Strivens took the piece of paper, stared down at it for a long moment, then turned away from Julie, shoving it into his coat pocket as he did so. Prying the ax out of the chopping block, he silently went back to work.
Half an hour later, when Julie pulled into one of the bays of the McKettricks’ multicar garage, it was already dark. The door had barely rolled down behind her before Calvin was scrambling out of his car seat to dash inside the house.
It would have been impossible not to note the contrasts between the mansion on the Silver Spur and the single-wide trailer where Rachel lived with her father and brothers.
Feeling twice her real age, Julie got out, reached into the backseat for her purse and the quilted tote bag she used as a briefcase. Harry, the beagle, could be heard barking a joyous welcome inside the house, and that made her smile.
The kitchen was warm and brightly lit, and fragrant with something savory Esperanza was making for supper.
Hungry and tired, Julie felt a rush of gratitude, smiling her thanks at the other woman as she stepped around Calvin and the dog to carry her things into the guest quarters in back.
After getting out of her skirt and sweater and putting on jeans and a long-sleeved royal-blue T-shirt, Julie washed her face and hands in the guest bath and returned to the kitchen to help Esperanza.
“How many places shall I set?” Julie asked, pausing in front of a set of glass-fronted cupboards. The number varied—sometimes, it was just Esperanza, Calvin and herself, but Tate and Libby and the twins often joined them for supper, even on weeknights, and it wasn’t uncommon for a couple of ranch hands to share in the meal as well.
Esperanza turned from the stove, where she was stirring red sauce in a giant copper skillet. “Four of us tonight,” she answered. “Garrett’s back, you know.”
Julie smiled. “Yes,” she said, knowing how Esperanza loved it when any of her “boys” were around to cook for, fuss over and generally spoil.
Calvin, meanwhile, continued to wrestle with Harry.
“Go wash up,” Julie told her son. “And don’t leave your coat and your backpack lying around, either.”
Calvin gave her a long-suffering look, sighed and got to his feet. He and Harry disappeared into the guest quarters.
Julie had just finished setting the table when she felt the prickle of a thrill at her nape and turned to see Garrett standing in the kitchen. He looked more like a cowboy than a politician, Julie thought, wearing jeans and old boots and a cotton shirt the color of his eyes.
Grinning, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing a pair of muscular forearms.
“Well,” he said, in that soft, slow drawl of his, “howdy all over again.”
Julie, oddly stricken, blinked. “Howdy,” she croaked, froglike.
Esperanza, about to set a platter of enchiladas on the table, chuckled.
“Where is el niño?” she asked, looking around for Calvin.
“I’ll get him,” Julie said, too quickly, dashing out of the room.
When she got back, Calvin in tow, Esperanza was at the table, in her usual place, while Garrett stood leaning against one of the counters, evidently waiting.
Only when Julie was seated, Calvin on the bench beside her, did Garrett pull back the chair at the head of the table and sit.
Everybody bowed their heads, and Esperanza offered thanks.
Calvin had probably been peeking at Garrett through his eyelashes throughout the brief prayer, though Julie could only speculate. Grace seemed particularly appropriate that night.
The Strivens family was having soup. And not enough of it, apparently.
“Aunt Libby had the news on when Audrey and Ava and I got home from school today,” Calvin told Garrett. “I saw you on TV!”
Garrett grinned at that, though Julie caught the briefest glimpse of weariness in his eyes. “All in a day’s work,” he replied easily.
Esperanza gave him a sympathetic glance.
“Tate says the senator ought to be lynched,” Calvin went on cheerfully, his chin and one cheek already smudged with enchilada sauce.
Julie handed him a paper napkin, watched as he bunched it into a wad, dabbed at his face and wiped away only part of the sauce.
Garrett’s grin slipped a little, Julie thought, and a glance at Esperanza revealed the other woman’s quiet concern.
“Is that right?” Garrett responded, very slowly. “Tate said that?”
Calvin nodded, thrilled to be carrying tales. “He didn’t know I heard what he said,” the little boy explained, “but when Aunt Libby poked him with her elbow, he almost choked on his coffee.” A pause. “That was funny.”
Garrett chuckled. “I suppose it was,” he agreed.
“What’s ‘lynched’?” Calvin persisted, gazing up at Julie. “Aunt Libby wouldn’t tell me when I asked her. She said I’d have to ask you, Mom.”
Thanks a lot, sis, Julie thought wryly. “Never mind,” she said. “We’re eating.”
“Is it something yucky, then?”
“Yes.”
“Will it give me bad dreams?”
“Maybe,” Julie said.
Again, Garrett chuckled. “How old are you, buddy?” he asked, watching the child.
“Almost five,” Calvin answered, proudly. “That’s how come they finally let me into kindergarten. Because I’m almost five.”
Garrett gave a low, exclamatory whistle. “I’d have sworn you were fifty-two,” he said, “and short for your age.”
Calvin laughed, delighted by the joke—and the masculine attention.
Julie felt a pang, barely resisted an urge to ruffle her son’s hair in a fit of unrestrained affection. He would have been embarrassed, she thought, and the pang struck again, deeper this time.
Eventually Calvin finished eating, and excused himself to feed Harry and then take him outside. Julie knew he’d ask about lynching again, but she hoped she could put him off until morning.
Esperanza began clearing the table, and waved Julie away when she moved to help.
Calvin and the dog came back inside.
“Time for your bath, big guy,” Julie said.
For once, Calvin didn’t argue. Maybe he wanted to look good in front of Garrett McKettrick; she couldn’t be sure.
Once the boy and his dog had vanished into the guest suite, and Esperanza had served the coffee, started the dishwasher and gone as well, Julie was alone with Garrett.
The realization was deliciously unsettling.
She cleared her throat diplomatically, but when she opened her mouth, intending to make some kind of pitch concerning the foundation’s funding the new computers in full, not a sound came out.
Garrett watched her, amusement flickering in his eyes. He could have thrown her a lifeline, tossed out some conversational tidbit to get things started, but he didn’t. He simply waited for her to make another attempt.
That was when Calvin reappeared, tugging at Julie’s shirtsleeve and startling her half out of her skin. “Do I have to take a bath tonight? I had one last night and I hardly even got dirty today.”
Garrett’s smile set Julie back on her figurative heels.
Flustered, she turned to her son. “Yes, Calvin,” she said firmly, “you do have to take your bath.”
“But Esperanza and I were going to watch TV,” Calvin protested, his usual sunny-sky nature clouding over. “Our favorite show is on, and somebody’s sure to get voted off and sent home.”
Julie turned back to Garrett. “Excuse me,” she said, rising.
Garrett merely nodded.
She took Calvin to their bathroom, where Esperanza was filling the tub. The older woman smiled at Julie—she’d already gotten out the little boy’s pajamas, and they were neatly folded and waiting on the lid of the clothes hamper.
Bless the woman, she went out of her way to be helpful.
Julie felt yet another rush of gratitude.
Harry sat on a hooked rug in the middle of the bathroom, panting and watching the proceedings.
“I’ll make sure young Mr. Calvin is bathed and in his pajamas in time to watch our program,” Esperanza said. Then she made a shooing motion with the backs of her fingers. “You go back to the kitchen.”
Was Esperanza playing matchmaker?
Julie made a little snorting sound as she left the bathroom. Herself and Garrett McKettrick?
Fat chance.
The man was a politician, for cripes’ sake.
Anyway, he had probably lit out for his part of the house by then, either because he’d already forgotten their encounter or because he’d guessed that she was about to ask for something—with all the pride-swallowing that would entail—and wanted to avoid her.
Garrett was still at the table, though, drinking coffee and frowning at the newspaper spread out in front of him. He’d recently topped off his cup—the brew steamed at his right elbow—and when he looked up, Julie saw that he was wearing wire-rimmed glasses.
For some reason, that struck her in a tender place.
Seeing her, he stood.
“I guess you must have heard about Senator Cox,” Garrett said, with a nod toward the paper, his voice deep and solemn and very quiet.
Julie nodded. “I’m sorry,” she told Garrett, and then she felt foolish. “If that’s the appropriate sentiment, I mean,” she stumbled on. “Being sorry, that is.”
She closed her eyes, sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
When she looked at Garrett again, he smiled, took off his glasses and folded down the stems, tucked them into the pocket of his shirt.
His eyes were the heart-bruising blue of a September sky.
His expression, unreadable.
“Did I read you wrong, or did you want to speak to me about something earlier, before the interruption?”
Oh, but there was a slight edge to his tone—or was she imagining that?
Totally confused, Julie raised her chin a notch. “Sit down,” she said. “Please.”
“Not until you do,” Garrett said, grinning again.
Julie smiled, plunked herself down on the bench and waited until Garrett was back in his chair.
She was instantly nervous.
Her heart thrummed away at twice its normal rate, and she knew it wasn’t just because she meant to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.
“The foundation—your family’s, I mean—has very generously promised to match any money the school district can raise to buy new computers and software for use in the library at Blue River High and—”
A sudden blush surged up Julie’s neck and cut off her words. What was the matter with her? Why was she so self-conscious?
This just wasn’t like her.
“And?” Garrett finally prompted, putting his glasses back on.
“We appreciate the gift,” Julie managed lamely.
“You’re welcome,” Garrett said, puzzled now.
Damn her pride.
And for all she knew, Garrett wasn’t even directly involved with the McKettrick family’s foundation. Hadn’t she read once that his cousin, Meg McKettrick O’Ballivan, who lived in Arizona with her famous country-singer husband, handled such things? She would have to do some research before she broached the subject again, could have kicked herself for not thinking of that sooner.
Garrett waited, and though he wasn’t smiling, something danced in his eyes. He was enjoying this.
In the end, though, Julie outwaited him.
Presently, with a tap of one index finger to the front page of the newspaper, he asked, “As a voter, what’s your take on the senator’s future in politics?”
