Clean Slate (5 page)

Louis Rouse paced in front of the wide picture window of
his temporary office, and stared out at the light traffic on Broad Street.
Edenton was a quiet town, but being in town at all meant distractions. He would
have much rather been at his home office in absolute quiet, pondering his
current dilemma, than in this makeshift spartan box he leased out of necessity.

He snatched his phone off the receiver, and dialed his
long-time secretary at her home where she was working that day.

“Yes, Louis?”

“Hi, Alice. Did you get a signature confirmation for that
package you sent to Clara Thys?” He sat for the first time that morning, pulled
the one item of adornment in the room across the desktop, and gripped the edge
in his fist.

“Yes, she accepted it and signed personally two days ago.”

“So, no return?”

“No, not as of yet.”

“Good.”

Better than good. He’d feared she’d read the return
address and refuse it without knowing the contents. He would have done the same
had he been in her shoes.

“Any messages from corporate?”

“A couple. The major gist is they need you to fly to
Thailand to visit that shoe manufacturing facility again. Thursday next.”

He blew out a breath, set down the picture frame, and
rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “Am I going to be back in time
for the wedding?”

“You’ll skid in by the skin of your teeth. I suggest you
get in and get out early.”

“Make it happen.”

“Immediately. Before I go, is there…anything else I can do
for you?”

He willed his shoulders down from his ears and rolled his
head on his tense neck. Sleep hadn’t been coming easy, and what little bit he’d
been getting had been while he was upright in front of cable television. “Did
you speak with Jesse?” he asked.

“I did.”

“What’s the verdict?” Did he really want to know?

Silence for a moment. “He told me to pass on the warning
that she’s asking for a lot of money to settle this.”

“Is this…going to break me?”

“Do you care?”

He picked up the frame again and stared at the two men
within the brushed nickel rectangle. Undoubtedly his from their noses, sharp
cheekbones, out to their broad shoulders and down their tall, athletic bodies
to their feet. Undoubtedly Clara’s with her fair hair, blue eyes, full lips,
and cynical expressions.

She hadn’t been so cynical when he first knew her almost
thirty-five years ago. That grew over time with every new promise he made and
broke. He’d been so weak back then. He was through with being weak, especially
now that one of those men was getting married. That meant grandchildren soon.
He didn’t want his grandchildren to think him weak and cowardly. He was
supposed to be an idol, but he had some work to do to get there.

“I probably care less than I should.”

Alice sighed. “Lou, I don’t know all the details. He’s
forwarding the paperwork to you to review by courier. From what he hinted at,
it’ll hurt, but you’d keep most of your cash assets.”

“Losing the house and family property, then.”

“That’d be my guess.”

He propped his head atop the back of the desk chair and
stared at the drop ceiling.
Is it worth
it? Two hundred years of family history signed away with some paperwork?

His fingers wrapped around the frame one more. It was
missing one more person he loved—never stopped loving.

Yes. It was worth it.

Daisy startled when she looked up to find Ben leaning onto
the end of her worktable. She pushed back her headphones and clutched her chest
as she scanned the barn behind her. It was late and she’d been there alone.
Sneaking up on her probably wasn’t the best idea he’d had all day, but hadn’t
wanted to frighten her by entering the building with a lot of door slamming and
foot stomping, either.

“It’s just me.” He pulled a stool over from a nearby table
and perched at the end of her workstation. “I went out for a ride. Giving Jerry
and Trinity some space. They’re very tolerant of me, but I like to get out of
their hair sometimes. Saw the light on and figured it was you in here finishing
up.”

She nodded and peeled off her latex gloves before pushing
some errant curls back from her face. Her hair was untamed beyond what the
simple elastic she’d looped around a tenuous bun constrained. It looked ready
to collapse at any moment, and he wanted to help it along—to free her
curls so they fell over her shoulders. Maybe thread his fingers through them.
See how soft they were.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Momma doesn’t know what I’m up to, and it took me a long
time tonight to shake her off my trail.”

He pointed to the untended tray of soap at her elbow and
made a beckoning gesture.

She passed it down along with a roll of plastic and some
seals.

They wrapped in silence for a while, though he
occasionally looked up at her to find the blush in her cheeks gradually
receding as she became consumed by her chore. He knew his presence there was
affecting her, although he couldn’t be sure of why. Being easy to talk to was
one of his charms. At least, that’s what everyone said. Getting Daisy to talk
to him was like trying to get a kid to give up her ice cream cone.

He held up one translucent yellow diskette of soap and
inhaled its scent. Lemon, but not cloying or overpowering. It smelled like real
fruit and not some chemically manufactured substitute. “Have you tried these?”

She yawned as she nodded her head. “Yes, but just limited
tests to make sure they lather. You don’t really need a good lather to get
clean, but there’s something mental about having bubbles that makes people feel
like soaps working. I think they need a bit of tweaking, but I don’t have
time.”

“Hmm.” He wrapped the soap and placed a silver foil
Natural by Nicolette sticker where the plastic edges came together. “How do you
normally troubleshoot?”

He heard the sharp inhalation of breath and looked up to
find her cheeks flooded yet again.

“I don’t.” She stacked her packaged soaps into the short,
wide cardboard box at the center of the table and added a divider. “Momma does
all the troubleshooting around here if there are any soap issues. This is the
first recipe I’ve devised on my own for N-by-N.”

“What do you think she will say when she finds out?”

Her eyebrows flitted up for a barely a second and she blew
out a scoff. “I guess that’ll depend on whether this endeavor tanks.” She grabbed
a few creamy swirled soaps off his tray and set them on plastic in front of
her. “If people don’t like them, she’ll probably say
I told you so
or something similar.” Her lips pulled up into the
barest smirk and she stole a glance at him.

He nodded his encouragement.

“She doesn’t trust me to think independently, I guess. I
don’t think she’s read the memo that I’m a grown up and am allowed to take
risks if I want.”

Would she consider
me such a risk?

He stood and carried his soaps to the box, never taking his
gaze from hers. Her eyes were some shade between blue and gray he had no name
for, at least not in English, framed by thick, lush, lashes. If she was aware
of her beauty, she certainly didn’t act like it. Any other woman would be
batting those captivating lashes at him. She could barely make eye contact.

“And if you succeed?”

She shrugged and resumed her packaging. “She’ll either
downplay it as a fluke or tell me how ungrateful I am for going at it alone.”

“Sounds like you lose either way.”

“That’s Momma. She’s always been like that, but maybe got
a little worse after the divorce.”

“Divorce?”

Her hands stilled. “Yes. Mine.”

Ah. That explains
it. It’s like tiptoeing across a minefield and not knowing where the detonators
are.

The situation required some delicacy, and he certainly
didn’t want to pry. He wanted her comfortable—at ease with him. But he
knew how to seize opportunities when they were presented. He might not have
another chance to broach the topic again, so he stuck his neck out and put as
much cheer in his voice as he could.

“What happened? Did he decide he wasn’t good enough for
you and gave up on trying?”

She pulled her lips back to reveal the broadest smile he’d
seen her manage in nearly a year. “Not even close. Just the typical
irreconcilable differences type of thing. We were okay dating in high school,
but actually having to move in together under the same roof turned out to be a
real eye-opener.”

“I see.” He really didn’t. She was so gentle and had the
mildest demeanor he’d ever encountered in a woman, redhead or otherwise, and
couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with her. Maybe she had a temper she
kept hidden away?

She pushed some hair behind her ear and pulled over
another stack of soaps. The line of her neck, now visible with her hair tucked
back, was long and his eyes followed it down to the crook of her shoulder.
There was a smattering of freckles on either side of her tank top straps as if
she’d run outside shirtless when God was sprinkling extra bits of color from
the sky. Beyond her shoulders, she didn’t seem to have freckles anywhere else.
Not her arms. Not her cheeks.

His gaze trailed down to the pert mounds of her breasts.

Maybe there
.

He blew out a breath and stood. “I’m going to check the
refrigerator for bottled water,” he said, already in transit, and adjusting the
front of his pants as he moved. “Do you want something?”

“No, thank you. I’m almost finished and want to get home.
Bad enough driving in the dark without having to do it tired. The deer are
awful on the roads this time of year.”

We walked around the partition, opened the refrigerator
and let of whoosh of air escape his lungs in relief in seeing the row of water
bottles in the door. He held one against his forehead and leaned against the
wall, hidden from her sight, swearing to himself in Dutch.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d held a woman. Had it?

* * *

Dork
.

Daisy kept repeating it to herself throughout the morning.
Every time she looked across the center console at Ben driving them in his
brother’s Jeep toward the trade show, she thought it again.

Dork
.

She’d never seen a man look so damned good in pink in her
life, and two of Jerry’s best friends were female impersonators. Nikki had
handed him the N-by-N logo tee with her apologies the previous day during their
covert briefing saying, “Sorry, it’s the only thing left in your size. Maybe
you can find a gray one in Jerry’s laundry.”

He’d shrugged and tried it on for size then and there.
He’d taken his own shirt off to reveal cobblestone abdominal muscles, a trim
waist, and the strong shoulders of a swimmer.

Daisy could hardly see straight until he’d put the pink
thing on for Nikki’s assessment for all the blood in her head.

Dork.

He didn’t force her into conversation during the drive,
mostly because Nikki kept calling with last-minute tips and instructions.
“Daisy,” she’d scolded. “Don’t let those people bowl you over. Just smile
pretty and try not to blush yourself to death. Let Ben do the talking and if he
has to defer to you, just keep it simple. We’re not trying to win awards for
public speaking, you hear me?”

Even Nikki thinks
I’m a dork.

Then as they were setting up their booth, she’d caught
sight of a tattoo between his right third and fourth fingers and had grabbed
his hand to study it without asking. When she realized what she’d done, she
drew back with her apologizes.

Dork
.

That put them at the current moment, as Daisy stood
paralyzed, watching trade show patrons file into the long rows of vendors.

He stood in front of her and held out his hand, backside
up, with his fingers splayed. “Go on,” he said with that damned grin. “It’s not
scandalous. Can you make it out?”

Hands trembling, she held his fingers apart and stared at
the ink. She stared some more. She squinted. Finally, she conceded. “That’s not
quite English, is it?”

“No.” He drew his hand out of hers, gently, and studied
his tattoo up close to his face. “Dutch sometimes looks a lot like English.
Sometimes you can sound it out and guess.
Zwemmen
.
Swim.”

He held his other hand out to her and splayed the fingers.
“That one’s not so easy.
Zweven.
Float.”

“I get swim, but why float?”

He grinned at her and turned his attention away
momentarily as a forty-something woman in a killer skirt suit approached the
table with her map and goody bag.

“So, what’s new at N-by-N?” she asked, trailing the tips
of her fingers along the freebie soaps.

“We’re having fun with soap this summer,” Ben said,
handing him one of the folded products sheets Jerry threw together at the last
minute the previous night.

She pushed her glasses down her nose and stared at him
over them. “You’re not Jeremiah. Jerry’s got South in his mouth and prettier
hair than an eleven-and-a-half-inch fashion doll. Who are you?”

He held out a hand and she immediately placed hers inside
it.

Daisy’s core temperature cranked up a tick, and she ground
her teeth at the way the woman beamed at his touch.

Hag.

“Ben Thys. I’m that guy’s brother.”

“Oh?” She clung to his hand long after he stopped shaking.
“Any more where you come from, or is Nikki cloning you?”

He laughed and carefully extricated his fingers from her
grip. He was so graceful about it, there was no way she could be offended. “No,
just the two of us, although on some days I’m sure he wouldn’t mind having a
clone. Nikki keeps him busy. That’s why I’m here.”

“More brothers should be so accommodating. Now, tell me
why my shop should stock this new stuff.”

When she was gone, with a purse full of soap and an
updated catalog, Ben turned back Daisy. “I don’t think that soap’s going to
last long,” he said.

“The sooner we can leave, then,” she mumbled, shooting
daggers at the departing shop owner’s back with her eyes.

“So,
float
.” He
held his hand up again, gesturing to his tattoo with his other hand. “It’s
there as a reminder for me. I was scared of the water as a kid, so floating was
very hard. I couldn’t relax into it, and you know you can’t float unless you
relax.”

She shifted her weight and offered a smile to a woman
approaching with a clipboard. “I don’t know. I never learned to swim.”

“Really?”

She shrugged as he offered a glossy catalog to the
newcomer. The woman took one of each soap and walked away. When she was gone,
Daisy whispered, “Currents at the beach used to scare me so I never learned
there and we didn’t have a pool, so…”

“I see. I’ll make it my ambition to teach you how before I
fly home.”

“Yeah, you’ll never see me in a swimsuit,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?”

She glanced down the aisle toward the crowd clumping
around the booth a company demonstrating a new hair straightening serum. Her curiosity
was piqued, not that she would actually volunteer to be a guinea pig. “Nothing,
Ben. I just…I doubt you’ll have time.”

“Why, are you hopeless?” He chuckled, and the deep sound
made her pull her attention away from the ruckus and look at him. His sunburn
was giving way to a deep tan that looked wonderful in contrast to the pink of
his shirt. Barry would have never worn pink
anything
.
Barry wouldn’t have looked so good in it, anyway, with his ruddy coloring.
Barry had certainly never made all of her feminine muscles clench at the mere
sight of him, whether in or out of a shirt.

She crossed her legs at the ankles and tried not to fall
over when Ben brushed her side with his and leaned down to whisper into her
curls, “Are you holding out on us? What’s in your hair?”

She sucked in some air. “Just…just some lavender stuff
I’ve been playing with to get the frizz under control.”

“It’s divine.” He inhaled deeply and straightened up.
“Seems almost edible.”

She let out a little whimper as he pulled and released one
of her curls before walking to the other end of the table. Thankfully, he
didn’t hear it.

Daisy, Daisy,
dork-dork.