Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3) (7 page)

MEANING

THE NICE MOMENT turns into an awkward evening.

Jared won’t leave.

Court has made a couple of comments indicating that he’s tired and needs some sleep, but Jared continues to hang out. They talk a lot of racing which at one point I excuse myself from to switch out my laundry.

When I come back the subject has changed to football.

Then it turns to movies, before the subject of concerts came up.

“The Rolling Stones are coming in a couple of weeks,” Court says.

“I love the Stones,” I add. “I have always wanted to see them.”

“Perfect,” Jared says. “I have two tickets and need someone to go with me.”

“I, uh.” I look to Court whose eyes are narrowed and staring at Jared.

“What?” Jared asks me.

“I don’t know what I’ll be doing. The girls will be back, and I’m not sure of our schedule.”

Jared playfully punches Court in the arm. “Come on, buddy. Give your nanny a night off to go and have some fun. And she loves the Stones.”

Court takes on an I-don’t-care expression and doesn’t even look my way. I want to connect with him so I can eye-plead help-me-out-here.

Although, really do I want help? The conversation on the plane keeps replaying in my head, along with Jared’s sigh. This might give me a chance to pick Jared’s brain about what’s going on with the finances at the dealerships. My brain is dying to finagle some numbers.

But it is important for me to make sure Jared doesn’t know my background.

Yes, I’m playing sneaky.

It will keep my brain fresh for these three months hanging with the girls.

I catch a quiet, yet soulful gaze from Court. Shaking my head I realize Court is no more soulful over me than I am over him. “Okay. If Court doesn’t mind, I’ll go.”

“Great.” Jared stands. “I’d better head home. It’s getting late.”

I see a relieved expression cross Court’s face. Jared, it appears, is immune to people’s body language and facial expressions.

“See you later, Jared.” Court steps out of the living room toward the front entryway.

“Goodnight,” I say, more than ready to call it a night myself and crawl into bed.

“Good night to you, pretty lady.” Jared walks over and takes my hand in his. He kisses the back of it gently. I feel my face heat, but not like it does around Court. No, this is from embarrassment. Jared is over the top.

I swear he flicks his tongue on my skin before ending his brushed kiss.

“I can’t wait for our date. Ha. I’m a poet.” He continues to stare at me as he backs out of the living room.

Way over the top.

And he used the word date. His meaning of going to a concert is different from my meaning of going to a concert.

I thought we were simply going to a concert. So I could pick his brain.

I’m so glad Court is already on his way to the door and doesn’t witness the event.

“So, you’re here a few days and already dating my best friend, huh?”

Court has good ears. “He called it a date. I didn’t.”

“Jared always gets the pretty girls.”

The only reason Court wouldn’t get the pretty girls is if he didn’t try. He has everything a woman would want in a man. He’s loaded to the brim with all the star qualities in life.

Yet he lives here, still grieving MaryLeigh’s death, and works from morning until night.

It’s a shame is what it is.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

With those words, he walks from the living room to the side of the house where his bedroom and office are.

My heart hitches disappointment that I might have disappointed him by going to the concert with Jared. Certainly he knows I thought it was just a friend thing.

I had no idea Jared would consider it a date.

And I can’t tell Court about my mission.

THE FIVE A.M. RUN is a little cooler than the previous run a couple of days ago. I shower and barely finish my first cup of coffee before Court saunters into the kitchen. He pours a cup of coffee for himself then nods to me. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

His hair is still wet from his shower and his soap scent lingers softly in the air, making me think of days spent outdoors, breeze blowing. I love the way he dresses for success in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, his gray slacks and beautifully classy-looking black shoes.

“Did you run this morning?” he asks, breaking my starefest.

“I did. Still sultry, but slightly cooler.”

“Florida’s like that. Whenever you’re ready, you can come into my office. I have the information about homeschooling.”

“I’m ready now.” I slide off the bar stool and follow Court.

His office is a manly sort of place with a large fish gracing the top of one of the walls. A big, dark heavy-looking desk and matching office furniture take up a lot of space. There is a small settee with a coffee table in front of it.

“You can sit there if you’d like.” He motions toward the settee. There is a box sitting on the coffee table. A box filled with papers.

Court takes a seat in a straight-backed chair in front of his desk. He turns the chair so it faces me. He points to the box. “There are the notes and such.”

I widen my eyes and nod toward the box. “In there? All that paper?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how organized it is.”

I slide the box to the floor in front of me and fish out the top layers of papers. “I thought all this would be on the computer.”

“MaryLeigh wasn’t big on computers. She liked tangible stuff. Stuff you could actually hold and touch.”

MaryLeigh’s tangible stuff preference would make this job harder. “Okay. I’ll take this box to the, well, I guess to my room and work on it.”

“You can use this space. I’m going to my office. You can use my computer, or your own. Whichever. Also, there’s a phone here if you need to make calls.” He points to a cordless phone sitting in a charger on his desk.

“Okay. Mrs. Stratton indicated that someone was hired at one point to homeschool the girls. Do you know if that information is in here?”

He shrugs and stands. “Probably. Although they weren’t here long.” He makes his way behind his desk and leans over for a moment. He looks like he’s rifling through a drawer.

After about a minute he holds up file folders. “I knew I had some here. You can use these to organize all the information if you want.”

He sets the folders on top of his desk.

I see a printer sitting on a credenza that lines one of the walls. “Is there a scanner on that printer?”

“Yes.”

“If I can download the printer drivers to my computer, I’ll probably scan the documents straight to my computer if that’s okay.”

Nodding his head he sips his coffee. “Sure. Whatever works for you. I think the set up disks for the printer are in this credenza somewhere if you don’t find what you need online.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.” As Court comes around his desk he takes another sip of his coffee. Just as he finishes sipping he misjudges his route, and his left leg slams into the desk, spilling the coffee down the front of his white shirt. He leans his body forward, the liquid missing his slacks.

“That’s hot.” He sets his coffee on his desk and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I don’t do anything but stare at his chest as his shirt flies open.

Oh, my.

He untucks it as he walks out of his office, and I am the recipient of six-pack abs.

Talk about face flushing.

I guess this job does have its perks.

THE DAY GOES BY quickly. It takes me quite a while to organize the box of papers, but I do, laying out piles on top of Court’s desk. I love how his scent invades this room, and when I move his chair, or fan some papers, I’m reminded of him.

I find more papers of the girls’ schoolwork than actual homeschooling information. There are attendance records that don’t seem to be filled out correctly, or if they are, the girls didn’t get much schooling. There’s also a lot of North Carolina information which won’t help me at all.

What Florida contact information I find is a couple of years old, but it gives me a place to start. It seems there is a co-op that I can contact and see where to go from there.

Another discovery that I make is that Bristol and Darling have an aptitude for art. Well, I’m assuming it’s both of them. There are no names on the artwork, but a lot of the pictures are done twice.

It’s interesting, this box. As much as Court’s scent invades this room, I catch a fresh, sunny, flowery scent every now and then on the papers.

Vague memories of seeing MaryLeigh with Court on the television when I did have the unfortunate timing of being at home when a race was on, try to make their way into my mind. Visions of blondness and sunglasses are about all I can recall.

Deciding I need to start scanning the documents, I try to download the printer drivers on my computer. One frustrated hour later, after a slow internet connection and being unable to locate the software in any of the drawers, I shove my jump drive into Court’s computer.

I don’t like working from someone else’s computer, but unless I want to keep digging in this box, this is my best bet.

Mrs. Stratton comes in the office. “Would you like me to make you dinner?”

I look at my watch. Six-thirty. “No. That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“There are plenty of items to make a salad. Several different salad dressings in the refrigerator.”

“Okay. Thanks. That sounds perfect. Have a good evening.”

“Same to you. Are you almost done?”

“Getting there. I have a few more items to scan.” I wave my hand over the many stacks still sitting on Court’s desk.

“Should have been done long ago, in my opinion. But the Mrs. could do no wrong. In anybody’s eyes. Not speaking ill of the dead, mind you, but facts are facts. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With those parting words, she shuts the door.

The sound of the feeder jamming brings me back to reality.

I unjam the feeder, and restart the batch of papers.

The stack is rather large, and when it appears they will go through without jamming, I sit back at Court’s desk. He only has a couple of folders on his desktop, unlike mine which is littered with documents and folders.

A cute picture of Bristol and Darling is his screensaver. As each batch finishes scanning, I hit the display button and name the file, then store it to the jump drive.

A pretty monotonous project.

Quite boring actually.

Until I accidentally hit the wrong drop down box and find myself in Court’s documents folder.

There aren’t too many documents. A lot less than I would expect from a business owner like Court. Unable to stop my curiosity, I scan the titles.

One catches my eye.

TAG Investigation.

What kind of investigation?

Is Court’s company investigating someone or something?

Is somebody investigating Court’s company?

My wandering mind is once again interrupted by the sound of the feeder jamming.

My face flushes at my nosiness.

Whatever is going on with Court’s company is his business, not mine. He hired me to take care of Bristol and Darling, not snoop into his computer files and imagine crazy scenarios. Wringing information out of Jared is entirely different than opening Court’s documents.

As I turn my chair to unjam the feeder I almost back into Court.

His gaze is fixed on me, his lips are in a straight line, and his arms are crossed. “Find anything interesting?”

MENACING

I’M AMAZED AT HOW calm I feel with him towering over me, looking more menacing than I know he is.

At least I hope he’s not as menacing as he appears right now.

Since he hasn’t moved there’s nowhere for me to go. My knees are almost touching his as I continue to sit in his chair.

“Wow.” I decide that honesty is the best approach. “This looks really bad, I’m sure, but I didn’t open any of your documents. I accidentally hit the wrong drop down and then the printer jammed, so…”

“So I can thank the printer for keeping you out of my personal files?”

Even though his expression hasn’t changed his tone is lighter.

Or maybe that’s my imagination.

I want to reach up and uncross his arms.

But I don’t.

That would be overstepping boundaries for sure. “I wouldn’t have looked.”

“And I know that because?”

“You don’t. You just have to trust me.”

Uncrossing his arms, he then runs a hand through his hair. His thick, black gorgeous hair.

“I’ve trusted you with my children, but…”

His more relaxed stance has relaxed me. “I’m telling you I didn’t open anything. Please believe me.”

Knowing that I didn’t do anything wrong is normally all it takes for my conscious to feel okay when a situation like this comes up, but for some reason, it’s important for me to know he knows I’m telling the truth.

He backs away, his gaze not leaving me. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Those words don’t settle anything inside me. They keep me on edge, a feeling I don’t like.

He picks up one of the stacks that haven’t been scanned. “Have you been working on this all day?”

He’s not far enough around the desk that I can get to the printer, so I stay seated, which I feel puts me at a great disadvantage. I don’t like looking up to him. “I have.”

I decide not to reveal how interesting I find the information and in some cases, lack of information. I’m sure he knows his wife’s strengths and weaknesses. We all have them.

But MaryLeigh Treyhune definitely had organizational issues.

And issues with authority, it appears.

Now I wish I had paid more attention to the television when my dad watched those races. Not that I could have gleaned much personal information from a few seconds of camera time, but it would have been interesting to see Court’s interaction with MaryLeigh. If he had a smile for her, a kiss on the cheek or the lips before stepping into the race car.

Dale never would kiss me in public on the mouth. He always kissed my cheek or forehead if people were watching. I asked him about it once, and he said if he kissed me the way he did in private he might forget we were in public.

That’s what he said, but he really meant that classy people didn’t kiss on the mouth in public.

It wasn’t a sign of status.

My parents always kissed on the lips.

Hence, no status for the Madisons.

“Why don’t you call it a day?”

Court has now walked over to the door.

“I will. As soon as I unjam these papers. Then, I’m going out. I need to buy a Father’s Day card for my dad. Not that’s it’ll get there by Father’s Day.”

Court stops his exit from the room. “Thanks for the reminder. I need to do the same.”

Then he disappears and I open the printer once again.

“No sense in taking two cars. I’ll drive.”

When I look toward the door where Court’s voice came from, all I see is his hand on the doorframe for a moment.

He’s gone.

As I focus my attention on unjamming the printer, I realize there are far worse things in life than hanging out with Court Treyhune.

WE MAKE QUICK WORK of buying cards. Well, Court much quicker than me. I think he bought the first one he picked up, while I am more particular, reading several before finding the message I want to say to my father.

Seeing how it’s June, we exit the card shop into daylight, even though it’s after eight o’clock. I do notice the nice breeze that seems to never end here in the town of Hampton Cove, making it bearable to be outside.

Although, I must admit, being around Court can throw a heat-wrench into any situation. I try to stay as far away from him physically as I can.

We walk past a café with an outdoor seating area. Most of the tables are occupied, but there are a couple of empty ones.

“Are you hungry?” Court asks.

I think back to the day and the half-sandwich I had for lunch hours ago. I have no reason to lie to Court, except that he might suggest we eat together. And again, there are worse things in life. “Actually, I am. Lunch was a long time ago.”

“Do you want to stop here and grab a bite?” He nods toward the café.

“Sure.”

We walk to the hostess stand and in moments are literally on the other side of the fence as we are seated at a table. Now we are watching others walk by.

It’s awkward sitting here with Court. I barely know him, yet am privy to many personal things about him. I notice other women looking longingly his way as they walk by. They are probably jealous of me, yet if they knew the dynamics of our relationship, they wouldn’t be.

After the waiter brings our drinks, Court looks at me. “I talked to Bristol and Darling earlier. They said to tell you hello.”

Bristol and Darling. Mine and Court’s common denominator, Team Twin. “When you talk to them next, tell them I said hello back.”

“I will.”

Although he asked me on this venture, he is definitely far away in his thoughts. I wonder if he’s thinking about his dad. Or the girls. Or his business.

Or maybe his dead wife.

I can see how they would all captivate his attention.

“So, you and Jared have been friends for a long time?” No harm in finding out a little background information while I can.

“You are interested.” His tone and expression are flat. This is not the impression I want to give.

“Not for reasons you think.” Jared and I wouldn’t last a minute dating. I’d probably end up slapping him across the face, or he’d tire of being unable to impress me with his fake charms.

He scoots his chair back and crosses his right leg over his left leg. “I don’t blame you. Jared is single, nice-looking, according to all the women, and he makes a decent living, although why he never has any money is beyond me. Watch out, you might have to pay for dinner if you go out with him.”

I laugh. “I don’t want to go out with him. Promise.”

“I don’t know. You are going to a concert with him. And here we are, barely settled in our seats and the first thing you do is ask about him. Sounds like you’re interested.”

How do I convince Court that my interest in Jared has nothing to do with the dating factor? “He’s not my type. At all.”

Court half smiles. “What is your type?”

“Somebody more like you.” And there it is. I really said that.

I would like to say his expression looks surprised, but honestly, concerned is more of what I’m seeing on his face.

That’s not good.

“Don’t take it personally,” I add, trying to ease his mind. “I’m talking about your whole persona. Business man. Clean cut. Handsome.”

Court nods. “Jared is all those things.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But there’s something unreal about him. That probably doesn’t make sense to you since you’ve known him so long.”

“He’s complicated, I’ll admit. But he does have a good heart. I just don’t think he knows that.”

The sound of chairs scraping across the concrete invades the atmosphere as the table of four next to us prepare to leave. Even though it appears the two women are with the two guys, I can’t help but notice the women stare at Court as they walk past us.

The guys are not staring at me.

Court demands that kind of attention.

A glimpse tells me one of them recognizes Court, but she doesn’t say anything.

Court is oblivious.

I want to stop talking about Jared. I’ll have to glean information on my own from now on. No more probing Court.

The door to the restaurant opens and I recognize the women who walked by a couple of minutes ago coming back toward their table. I glance over at it, thinking maybe they left something behind.

But they don’t make it to their table.

No, instead they stop at ours.

“We’re sorry to interrupt, but aren’t you Court Treyhune?”

The woman who speaks is a platinum blonde, beautiful and expensively dressed.

Court straightens in his seat. “I am.”

The blonde flushes while her friend doesn’t seem affected at all. “I thought so. I just wanted to tell you I hope your dad is going to be alright. We’ve been praying for him.”

Well, knock me down. An autograph? Yes. Slipping Court a phone number? Yes.

Telling him you’ve been praying for his dad? Never in a million years would I have guessed that would be the reason they sought Court out.

“Thank you.”

For the first time since I’ve been around him, Court seems uncomfortable. His hand has settled on his knee. He has just run his other hand through his hair. And he only speaks those two words.

It’s not my place to intervene.

To speak.

To do so would give these women the impression that I am somebody I’m not.

“We’ll continue to pray,” the blonde says. “Have a good evening.”

She and her friend depart, and I wonder if they hear Court’s second “thank you.”

“That was nice of them.” Why I feel the need to say something in their defense is beyond me.

“Prayer.” Court rubs his chin with his right hand. “Interesting.”

I’m given a moment to think about the exchange as the waiter takes our order. He scoops up our menus and promises to top off our waters momentarily.

He seems oblivious to who Court is.

Which is probably a relief to Court.

“I thought they were going to ask for an autograph.” I might as well throw my thoughts out there.

“Me, too.”

“It’s good to know people are praying for you. I mean, I’m sure you know the whole racing nation is praying, but to hear personally from people, like that lady, has to be good for your soul.”

His eyebrows raise. “Racing nation?”

I feel my eyes widen at my slip of “race speak.” Hearing my daddy all those years has now come to life. “You know, the fans.”

“Are you a fan?”

Are his eyes hopeful?

“Not really. I’ve never followed the sport.” Which isn’t a lie. Daddy followed it, I didn’t.

“I like your name, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

He fiddles with the napkin, his gaze lingering on me. He now seems relaxed again. Like the edge the woman put on him when she mentioned prayer has now left.

Court has no faith, and he doesn’t want to talk about prayer.

It’s a good thing we aren’t involved. That wouldn’t make Mama happy at all.