Pulling herself together, she turned to Claire, who sat working at the kitchen’s built-in desk. “Do you need me?”
“Not for a while.” She flashed her movie-star smile. “Coffee’s done.”
Skylar poured herself a mug, thinking how she, too, might be done.
She followed Max outside into the sunny courtyard. Still foggy from a dead sleep on clean sheets and under a roof, she savored whiffs of caffeine and wondered what to do. Maybe her best defense was a gracious offense.
“Max, my room is too comfortable. I better get an alarm clock for tomorrow morning or the guests will be fixing their own breakfast.”
“There’s no clock in there?”
“Not that I can find.”
They followed a stone path around flower beds overrun with rosemary and other herbs she planned to use. At the sunlit center of the courtyard they sat in Adirondack chairs. Like the pinewood benches on the porch, the seats were simply constructed, their natural color unstained.
Skylar nearly inhaled her first taste of coffee and closed her eyes. The Beaumonts understood the essence of coffee. Fresh espresso beans, grinder, and top-of-the-line maker settled the issue of finding a truly good cup there in the backwoods.
She looked at her interrogator. His brows went up and down. His mouth twisted side to side. He cricked his neck.
He reminded her of the Wizard of Oz yanking his curtain shut, trying to hide his true self. Well, she had seen behind the curtain: Max Beaumont’s fierce business persona was all for show.
He shook his head and the phony uptight guy fled the scene. “Details! We don’t have enough clocks. We don’t have enough hand towels. We don’t have enough couches. Good grief. That’s the kind of trivial bunk that makes me want to hightail it to my former office.” He gestured toward an empty space in front of their chairs. “We don’t have a fountain. We won’t have a fountain in time for today’s guests or even next month’s guests because every fountain we choose is either discontinued or on back order. And we don’t have flowers. Lexi has worked marvels on the landscape, but this area is far from what the brochure promises.”
“It sounds as if you’ve all worked marvels. Indio told me a little bit about last year’s fire and your renovations. It doesn’t matter that
Better Homes and Gardens
wouldn’t photograph the place, but so what? They’re not the ones coming. It’s beautiful here and the guests are going to love it as is. They won’t miss flowers or a fountain they’ve never seen. They’ll make do without an extra hand towel.”
He gave her a quick smile. “I appreciate your encouragement.”
“In a way I’m like your first guest.” She smiled. “And the pile of tools in my room didn’t disturb my sleep in the least.”
He smacked his forehead and groaned. “The tools! I apologize. I will take care of them today.”
“Hey, no problem. I’m not complaining in the least.”
“Skylar.” His tone quieted and his brow furrowed. Crossing his legs, he leaned back in the chair, his hands on the armrests, and scrutinized her with marble-hard eyes.
Uh-oh. The businessman was back in the saddle.
She broke out in a cold sweat. Here it came, the third degree. No Claire or Indio in sight to run interference for her. The next few minutes would decide whether or not she got to spend another night in that comfy “oh, by the way” room and work in that kitchen of all kitchens.
Max said, “Where are you from?”
“Ohio?” She wanted to kick herself for the questioning lilt.
“I mean besides that.”
“Oh. Um. Here and there.” She bought time with a shrug and reviewed the history she’d constructed for just such a moment. Enough truth fused to it so that the gaps were covered.
“Here and there?” He prompted.
She sipped more coffee to unglue her suddenly sticky vocal chords. “Yeah. I like to travel. I’m single. I have no responsibilities beyond myself. So I’ve worked my way across much of the West. I lived in Seattle for a while. That’s where I read your mother’s ad in an old copy of the
West Coast Retreat Gazette
and thought,
Hey, why not? I could live in San Diego for a while.
”
“Did you stop between Seattle and here?”
“Not in any one place for long.”
Stick close to the facts.
“I’d saved up enough money to travel for a while. I’m not exactly high maintenance.”
“Most people your age don’t use alarm clocks. They have a cell phone with an alarm-clock tool.”
“Now, that’s high maintenance.” She grinned. Perspiration trickled down her sides, under her shirt. “I bet you’ve noticed I’m not like most people my age. I don’t have a phone, a car, a permanent home, or a five-year plan.”
“Did you ever find work through a temp agency?”
She wrinkled her nose and then remembered temporary staffing was his specialty. “Oops.”
“It’s okay. Many people don’t understand my business. But we get a lot of applicants down on their luck.”
“I don’t think of myself as down on my luck. I get by fine. I cook and wait tables at funky coffee shops. My bosses aren’t the type to call Kelly Girl. It may surprise you, but in some circles I’m not considered all that strange.”
He chuckled. “It may surprise you that I’m not considered all that strange in some circles either.”
Skylar smiled, stretching tense muscles that ached to form words she could not speak.
You’re like every other middle-aged hypocrite, acting like you know my world, pretending like you don’t think I’m a communicable disease that should be eradicated.
Max said, “We’re not running a funky coffee shop here.”
“I don’t know.” She held up her mug. “The coffee would pass muster.”
“My mother’s technique. It’s been around forever.” He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Danny thinks we should go through a formal process, the whole shebang. Application, references, medical history, drug tests, fingerprints.”
Vertigo crashed over her. Fingerprints?
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. No prints were on file.
Her stomach squeezed itself into a tight knot. Coffee threatened to work its way back up.
“But.” Max’s eyes came into focus. They’d lost the hard look. “My son tends to be overly pragmatic.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where he gets that.”
The guy was teasing? He was teasing. Skylar managed to take a deep, slow breath and let it out.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I’ve been around people a lot longer than Danny has. I’ve been burned, sure, but usually I read character fairly accurately. In my opinion, I can hire you on that alone. Then there’s my mother.”
Skylar waited, expectant at the mention of Indio. Her heartbeat slowed. Her stomach relaxed. The courtyard stopped swimming before her eyes.
He said, “I don’t have her depth of faith. I do have faith, however, in her ability to hear God. She knows when she knows. And she knows you are a direct answer to prayer. So Claire and I want to offer you room and board and a salary.” He named a generous amount. “She’s working on a job description. Once you see that, you can let us know what you decide. Does that sound fair?”
Skylar sensed the burner under her emotional carafe flip to the Off position. The hot mix would not bubble over. For now she was free to stay at the Hacienda Hideaway.
She nodded. “It sounds totally fair. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood and smiled. “For the record, cellular service up here is iffy at best. You’re going to need an alarm clock. I’ll get one for you right after I get rid of that pile of tools.”
She promised herself not to go to seed on the thought that maybe, just maybe, Max Beaumont didn’t think she was a communicable disease.
Wouldn’t that be something?
T
he evening after the family dinner at the hacienda, as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled, Jenna sat at the high school football game on a top bleacher. Several rows separated her from other spectators. Her choice.
It was going to be a long night. According to the scoreboard, there were twelve minutes and twenty seconds left in the game. The
junior
varsity game. The event
before
varsity warm-ups, pep stuff, band stuff, intros, varsity game, halftime, more varsity game, so on and so forth,
ad nauseam
.
The game clock stopped. Twelve minutes and fifteen seconds.
“Hey, Mrs. Mason!” The shout came from below.
Jenna scanned the crowd. People moved about every which way through the stands. As someone sat down, Amber Ames appeared, waving like a lost person at an overhead helicopter. She made a beeline up to Jenna’s row.
Yessiree. It was going to be a really, really long game.
“Hi.” Amber smiled and plopped down beside her.
“Hi.”
“Guess what I learned third hour? Our husbands are seven thousand, seven hundred thirty-one miles from San Diego. Isn’t that the most depressing thing you’ve heard today?”
“It is. Thanks for sharing it.”
“I’m a firm believer that misery loves company. Lucky you.” She bumped her arm against Jenna’s. “Go ahead, tell me the most depressing thing you heard today.”
She didn’t have to think long. “Kevin called last night.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“It was.” Past tense. The glow was long gone. “He said he figured tonight was the first game and he sure hoped I would go to it, sort of as his proxy to encourage the guys he coached last year.”
Amber’s face was expectant.
“That’s it,” Jenna said.
“I take it you don’t like football.”
Jenna sighed. “Watching any sport is like watching mold grow, but . . .” She shrugged.
“I know. It’s not depressing that you’re bored. It’s depressing that a football game makes you just absolutely wallow in his not being where he used to be.”
Jenna blinked, surprised at her insight. “Exactly. Not to mention I can also now wallow in the fact that Kevin is seven thousand, seven hundred thirty-one miles from where he used to be.”
Amber gave her a sad smile. “See? Now, didn’t that feel good? To vent all that negative energy with someone who’s just as miserable as you are?”
Jenna looked at the blonde with appreciation. Amber might exhibit a featherbrained persona, but Jenna was beginning to realize Amber was nothing like that. Not only did she teach
chemistry
, she had plucked Jenna’s heartstrings with the finesse of a master violinist. Twice.
Jenna said, “Thanks. It did feel good. I have friends. You’ll notice, however, that not a one is here tonight holding my hand. My very best friend, Steph, probably would have come but she moved to Dallas last month. Even she, though, can’t quite—well, none of them quite get it, do they?”
“They can’t. Not unless they can say, ‘Been there, done that.’”
“I find myself saying dumb things to defend myself, things like ‘Just walk a mile in my moccasins and then you won’t think I’m such a shrew.’”
“I keep asking for cheese to go with my whine.”
Jenna smiled.
“We could team teach a unit on clichés.” Amber chuckled. “So tell me about this mold growth—I mean this game.”
“I don’t know anything about it. Don’t you?”
“Nope, I just came because it was something to do on a Friday night. And since your Kevin coached last year, I thought you might be here. Given we share the same size in moccasins, I figured hanging out with you might give me a respite.”
Like a cloud moving in front of the sun, Jenna saw a somberness creep over Amber’s face and obliterate its sparkle. The dimples disappeared.
Odd how another’s pain took the edge off her own.
“Thank you, Amber.”
“Thank you.”
“Earlier, when I said that about my friends not being here to hold my hand, I didn’t mean it literally.”
Amber stared at her for a moment, her face going deadpan. “I’m really glad you said that. I was a little concerned about holding your hand.”
“Just so we understand each other.”
“Got it.” Amber burst into laughter.
And Jenna joined in.
N
o way!” Amber stretched her mouth into an elongated oval. “You weren’t a cheerleader?”
Jenna smiled at her reaction. Amber’s exuberance had halved the time it took mold to grow on the football field. Darkness had fallen already and—if she understood the scoreboard—it was almost time for intermission of the varsity game. Intermission? Make that
halftime
. Talk about featherbrained.
“Honestly, Jenna, I took you for Miss Popular when you were in high school. Homecoming queen and all.”
“Nope. I played violin and piano. Orchestra, private lessons, and all that. My older brother was homecoming king a couple years ahead of me. He says I was always too bossy to be popular. I think I still am. The guys here adore Kevin. The girls are friendly to me because it puts them one step closer to the hottest coach they’ve ever seen. For me, they have a nickname.” She waited to see if Amber knew it.
“Bullhead Mason.”
“Yeah. There might be others.”
“I don’t know of any, but I have heard my best students talk about how hard you push them. They see that as a good thing. There’s respect in their voices.”
Jenna shrugged. “You obviously have a good rapport with the kids.” Students kept calling out to Mrs. Ames and climbing up the bleachers to greet her. Some acknowledged Jenna as well, more as a polite afterthought, though.
Now Amber shrugged. “You and I have different personalities. I grew up an Army brat, all over the world. I learned early to roll with the punches. My four older brothers made sure of that. I wasn’t allowed to whine, cry, be shy, or act bossy. Dating was a nightmare. Joey practically had to win a fistfight with each one of my brothers before we got engaged. Heads up!” She blew out a breath. “Two o’clock.”
“What?” Jenna followed Amber’s gaze to their right. Cade Edmunds was climbing the bleachers in their direction.
“Speaking of holding hands . . .” Amber leaned toward her and murmured. “He can hold mine anytime.”
Jenna studied her face, looking for clues. “Are you serious?”
Amber laughed. “Partly. I mean, I wouldn’t
really
hold hands with him, but he is magnetic and inviting in that way. Joey says if I like the bald look, he’ll shave his head.”