Thirty-Two and a Half Complications (5 page)

“If we can find out who robbed the bank, I might be able to get the money back.”

“
We
?” he asked, grumbling. “You got a mouse in your pocket?”

“Very funny.” I headed for the shrub next to the one Bruce Wayne was strong-arming and slammed the shovel into the ground with my foot. “You and I both know you still have some connections to shady characters in Fenton County.”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I ain’t gettin’ involved. Half of Crocker’s boys—the ones that are still hanging around—have it out for me.”

“What about Scooter and Skeeter Malcolm?”

Bruce Wayne pressed his lips together.

“Can’t you just ask around? See if anyone knows anything?”

He scowled. “I’ll think about it, okay? No more pressuring.”

I flashed him a grin. “Fair enough.”

“How’d Violet overextend herself, if you don’t mind me bein’ nosy?”

“She’s spread us out too thin by trying to grow the business too big, too fast, not leaving us with enough financial wiggle room in case something bad happened.”

“Like gettin’ your money stolen in a bank robbery.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Sounds like my dad,” he muttered.

It was my turn to jerk up in surprise. While I hadn’t actually met Bruce Wayne’s parents, I’d seen them in the courtroom during his trial. They’d seemed like nice enough people, although boring as milk toast. I still had a hard time accepting that they’d washed their hands of him. “Your father seems way too conservative for that.”

He shook his head. “Russell isn’t my birth father. I was just two when Momma married him, so she gave me his last name. My dad is at the Tucker Unit with the Arkansas Department of Corrections.”

“
Oh
.” That explained so much.

“Yeah.” Bruce Wayne pried up part of the shrub with his shovel. “My dad had too many pies and not enough fingers.” He looked up at the roof. “Or was it too many fingers and not enough pies?”

I shrugged.

“In any case, this reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad was actually out of prison for a little while. In the weeks before he was arrested again—the one that put him away for good—he was juggling too many things and it caught up with him. He didn’t have a backup plan. Yeah, that’s it. Juggling, not pies.” He paused. “Anyways, it sounds a bit like Miss Violet. No offense intended, of course.”

“None taken.” And besides, he had a point.

He looked me in the eye. “If you decide to start diggin’ into this, be careful. You know you have a penchant for pissing off
shady characters
.”

I nodded, since there was no use denying the truth.

We worked in silence for several minutes before Bruce Wayne cleared his throat. “My father used to lord it over me that my real dad was a good-for-nothing piece of white trash.”

I waited for him to say something more. He rarely shared information about his personal life, let alone his past. I felt honored that he was comfortable enough with me to do so, but I also knew he wasn’t a man to be rushed. Information came out in its own sweet time with Bruce Wayne.

“When I first got in trouble, he declared that the apple don’t fall far from the tree.” He jammed the shovel into the dirt with more force than he usually used. “He used a belt to drive home his point.”

I kept shoveling and when he didn’t say anything for nearly a minute, I decided it was safe to talk. Since he was giving me the gift of sharing his past, I felt safe sharing my own story with someone who would understand. “My momma wasn’t my birth mother. Only I didn’t find out until after she died. My daddy had left my momma with the intention of marrying a woman named Dora. That’s my birth mother. She was pregnant with me when he walked out on my momma.” I swallowed, trying to wet my dry mouth. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about telling him my story. “My momma
hated
me. After I found out about Dora, I found a photo of her holding me when I was a baby. Turns out that I kind of look like her, so I’m sure Momma didn’t care for the reminder. My daddy only came back to her after Dora died, and he brought me with him. He did it for Violet. So I understand what it’s like for a parent to hate you for no good reason other than who provided part of your DNA.” I stopped and waited for Bruce Wayne to look up at me. “I understand.”

He nodded and pressed his lips together. “I can see that you do.”

We worked in silence for a bit longer, but I kept thinking about everything Bruce Wayne had told me. His family had deserted him shortly before his murder arrest, which they’d used as an excuse to completely seal the door on their relationship. The only person he had left was his best friend David. At least I still had Violet, even if she wasn’t perfect. “Bruce Wayne, what are you doin’ for Thanksgiving?”

“Uh…nothing. Probably going to Denny’s in Magnolia with David.”

“I want you to come to Thanksgiving dinner at my place.”

“Uh…”

“Give me one good reason why you can’t come.”

He didn’t answer.

“Then it’s settled.” I smiled, finally feeling happy about my first Thanksgiving dinner. “David’s invited too.”

“What about Mason?”

“Mason will love to have you there.” And I had no doubt that it was true. He would welcome them both. That’s one of the things I loved about Mason. While Joe looked down on Bruce Wayne as a man with a criminal record, Mason saw the same potential in him that I recognized. No, Mason wouldn’t be an issue.

It was Violet who worried me.

***

Chapter Four

Several hours later I stood at the entrance to Mason’s office, holding our lunch in two paper bags.

He was sitting hunched over a notepad on his desk, his pen in mid-stroke, when he sensed me in the doorway. A warm smile spread across his face. “I thought I smelled something good.”

I walked over to him and set the bags on the one small empty spot on his desk. “I know you’re smelling Merilee’s pork chops and not me. I’ve been digging up shrubs.”

He glanced up at me with a hungry look. “I thought you promised me a closed-door lunch.”

My stomach quivered. I loved how he could set me aflutter with nothing more than a look and a few words. “I guess you’re wanting me to shut the door then?” I teased.

“Yes.”

I turned around and closed it, then whirled around to face him. “I’m hungry.”

“So am I.” His voice was low and sexy.

The fluttering in my stomach increased. “Mason, your secretary is right outside that door!”

“May I remind you that
you
were the one to suggest the closed door?” He stood and hobbled toward me, then pulled me into his arms, his mouth hovering a half-inch from mine. “We can be quiet.” He kissed me and my knees went weak, which almost made me forget how hungry I was until my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear.

He lifted his head and laughed. “Your stomach has spoken. Let’s eat. So you brought me pork chops?”

“It’s your favorite, right?”

Mason gave me a quick peck on the mouth and took my hand. “You spoil me, Rose.”

“Isn’t that a girlfriend’s job?”

“Well, you do it
exceptionally
well.”

I grinned as we sat down and parceled out the food. “How’d the deposition go?”

He groaned. “I’d rather talk about your morning.”

“I don’t know that mine went much better.” I handed him a napkin and plastic ware. “Violet didn’t take the news about the money very well.”

“Then Violet should have made the deposit last night like she was supposed to.”

I glanced up at him in surprise.

“What?” he asked, stabbing the lettuce in the salad that went with his pork chops. “I pay attention to how you run the nursery. Violet handles the store and the books, including the deposits. You handle the landscaping jobs, deliveries, and collecting money from the job sites.”

He
had
paid attention. “She asked me to host Thanksgiving dinner this year, and I said yes. I hope that’s okay.”

“That depends on whether you agreed because you
wanted
to host it or because she guilted you into it.”

I lifted my club sandwich. “I wanted to do it. It’s going to be our first Thanksgiving together.” I offered him a soft smile. “I’d rather have it at the farm than at Momma’s house.”

“You know,” he said, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “It’s telling how quickly you stopped calling it
your
home and started calling it your
momma’s
house. You made the switch practically minutes after you decided to move to the farm.”

I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right.

He lifted his fork. “I’m just glad—for your sake—that you decided not to sell the farm.”

Me too, even though we could have used the money for the nursery.

Mason grinned. “I love the idea of having Thanksgiving dinner at the farm, but you know I’ve existed on take-out for nearly a decade and can barely boil an egg. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

“Violet’s going to bring some dishes too.”

He hesitated. “Would you mind if my mother came? This could be a good opportunity for her to visit. She’s mentioned coming down to help me find a place to live once I get my settlement, and I think they’re finally close to cutting a check. She can start screening places.”

His words sobered me. After the Crocker mess died down, I’d suggested he move in with me until he found a new place. We’d never intended for it to be a permanent situation, but the thought of him moving out made me sad.

I forced a smile. “Of course. I love your mother.” And I did. I’d met her twice now. The first time was before Mason and I started dating, when I was still with Joe. She’d been so kind to me, a sharp contrast to Joe’s mother, whom I met the following night. The second time I met Mrs. Deveraux was when Mason was in the hospital after our final showdown with Daniel Crocker. She’d pulled me into a hug and thanked me for saving him, tears running down her cheeks. Mrs. Deveraux had already lost her husband and daughter. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being home alone for the holiday. “Do you think she’d like to stay with us?”

He smiled. “I’m sure she’d love that. I’ll ask her.”

“I invited someone else too.” I paused. “Well, two someones. Bruce Wayne and David.”

Mason studied me for a moment. “Bruce Wayne is always welcome. Besides, it’s your house, Rose, you don’t need my permission.”

“I know, but it involves you too.”

“It sounds like it’s turning into a party.” He beamed at me, happiness radiating from him. “I like it.”

“I guess you’re right.” I laughed. “And I like it too.”

We finished our lunch, making small talk about my current landscaping job and which type of cranberries we preferred for Thanksgiving dinner. (Mason liked real berries and I liked cranberry Jello salad.) To my relief, he purposely avoided all mention of the bank robbery. The entire incident was catching up with me and my stomach was in knots.

I only ate half my sandwich and Mason—being the observant man he was—noticed. “Are you not feeling well? You were starving when you got here and you always have a healthy appetite after working at a job site.”

I pulled his apple pie out of the bag and set it on the desk. “I’m fine. It’s just nerves.” Between the bank robbery and the financial mess Violet had gotten us into, it was a wonder I could choke down anything at all.

“I know things were tight, but how much trouble are you in without the money in that deposit bag?”

I knew in a heartbeat that Mason would whip out a check and write it for any amount I needed—if he had the money. But he didn’t. There was no sense making both of us miserable. “Not to worry. We’ll figure it out. We’ll come up with some creative juggling.”

“Maybe you should take the afternoon off and go home and lie down. You’ve had a rough morning.”

“I’ll be fine. Eat your pie.”

“I don’t feel right eating in front of you.”

“Please,” I laughed, leaning back in the chair. “I thought you had sworn to uphold the truth, Mr. Prosecutor, and that’s an outright lie. You ate half a batch of cookies in front of me just last Sunday.”

“And you know full good and well why I did.”

I lifted my eyebrows in mock reprimand.

“It’s a well-known fact that every batch that comes out of the oven has to be sampled. I was merely performing my civic duty, as any good ADA would.”

“So you were motivated by pure selflessness?” I teased.

He leaned over and pulled me out of the chair and onto his lap. Before I even knew what he had in mind, he was kissing me senseless.

“And what was that?” I asked when he finally lifted his head.

“With all the hours I’ve been puttin’ in these last two weeks, I’ve left you sorely neglected.”

I rubbed his shoulder with my fingertips, then lifted them to his face, staring into his warm hazel eyes. It was easy to get lost in them. “You’re not neglecting me, Mason. We’re makin’ it work. Surely this won’t last forever.”

“The DA is up for re-election next fall. Hopefully, he’ll get replaced and we’ll have a more fair judicial system in Fenton County.”

“Dare to dream.” As far as I could tell, Mason was the only cog in the Fenton County wheel of justice that gave two figs about being fair. “Say, you haven’t had a chance to re-open Dora’s case, have you?”

Guilt flooded his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve been working on all the charges associated with the fiasco in the sheriff’s department, as well as a special project that’s taken precedence.” He sighed. “In fact, I suspect that the DA has caught wind of my project, and all the extra work he’s thrown my way is his attempt to create a roadblock.”

I sucked in my breath. “Can you tell me about it?”

He placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “I’d rather not for now. You’ve got enough to worry about. But I’ll let you know when I’ve made some headway. Okay?”

I knew I could trust him. Mason didn’t keep secrets from me, a refreshing change from Joe, whose entire existence was clouded in secrecy and half-truths. “Okay.”

“Which brings me to another potential issue,” he said, closing the lid on his partially eaten slice of pie. It had to be serious for him to not finish his pie.