CHAPTER 1
RUSTY sighed and wondered again if she’d done the right thing in hiring the kid part time. They didn’t need the help in the store. Frank kept busy despite objections from the family about overdoing it after his heart attack a few years earlier. Rusty helped out when she was home from school, and there were any number of Kellys willing to drop everything and help anytime they were needed.
And yet . . . She hadn’t been able to refuse the kid. Maybe it was the quiet desperation in his eyes. It was a look—and a feeling—she was well acquainted with.
“But by the grace of God—and the Kellys—go I,” she murmured, a half smile curving her lips upward.
There was little doubt she’d still be in a run-down trailer living with her shithead of a stepfather, scratching out a hand-to-mouth existence, if Marlene Kelly hadn’t taken Rusty in. Oh, she wouldn’t still be with her stepfather. She would have run away. Eventually. And she’d likely be on the streets somewhere. Prostituting herself just to survive.
A shiver overtook her as long-suppressed memories crowded to the surface. Painful, humiliating memories. Marlene Kelly was a saint. An angel’s angel. Rusty thanked God for her and Frank every single day.
Because of them, she was in university. She’d graduate in a year’s time! With a degree. A life. Prospects! All the things she’d never imagined having. But the best part of it all?
She had a family. An honest-to-goodness, huge, loyal, fiercely loving family. She was a Kelly. Marlene and Frank had even hired a lawyer so Rusty could legally change her name. She’d been reissued a birth certificate and social security card and everything. Rusty Kelly.
Oh, her first name sounded corny and awful with the last name of Kelly. But then she’d had a perfectly normal, mundane name of Barnes before it had been legally changed. Marlene had wanted to adopt her, even though Rusty had already been a legal adult. She didn’t want anything to make Rusty feel as though she weren’t truly a part of the Kelly clan.
But it hadn’t been necessary. Just knowing she was loved and accepted by all of the Kellys—big-ass surly, overprotective brothers and all—was enough for Rusty. That she could go to school and be known as Rusty Kelly still overwhelmed her, and, at times, remembering caught her off guard and she verged precariously on tears. And she’d sworn never to cry again. She left that life behind. All the pain and embarrassment that she’d lived with for the first fifteen years of her existence.
Gone the moment Marlene tenderly enfolded her in the blanket of the Kelly name.
Rusty sighed as she glanced down the aisle at Travis Hanson—if that was even his real name—and wondered again what she’d gotten herself into.
He was the same age as Rusty had been when she’d broken into the Kelly house wanting nothing more than something to eat. He had the same darkness in his eyes. Sadness. But worst of all . . . fear.
As if sensing her scrutiny, Travis looked up from where he was stocking shelves, and unease registered. Poor kid was absolutely inept at keeping his emotions from being broadcast all over his face. That told her that he wasn’t experienced, and so whatever had brought him into this store and put that fear in his eyes was recent.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked in a quiet voice.
He might be fifteen—that was what he’d told her—but he looked a lifetime older. He was much taller than most fifteen-year-old boys. Muscled. Filled out. Not as gangly as so many other boys his age were. He’d aged fast. Grown up. Was old beyond his years.
It was something Rusty could definitely relate to because she’d been forced to grow up when she was only ten years old. For that matter, when had she ever truly been a child?
“Nothing at all,” Rusty said cheerfully, hoping she wasn’t being as obvious as the kid was about her uncertainty. “Was just thinking that after you finish that shelf we could have lunch. There’s a sandwich shop just a few doors down. You hungry?”
The instant flare in his eyes told her that he was indeed hungry. She wondered when his last good meal had been. But she didn’t want to ask because he’d probably just run.
“I, uh, left my wallet at home,” he stammered. “But I can pay you back tomorrow. That is, if you want me to come in.”
Rusty grimaced. Frank didn’t open the hardware store on Sundays. That was church and family day. But Travis didn’t need to know that Frank would have a fit if any of his employees worked on Sunday. Rusty had already decided she’d pay the kid cash under the table from her own pocket if she had to.
“We stock on Sundays,” she said, hoping God would forgive her for that blatant lie. “Store’s not open, but I could definitely use you for a few hours in the morning if you can come in.”
Relief washed through his eyes and his shoulders sagged. “Sure. No problem. I can come in at eight and stay as long as you need me.”
Rusty took a chance and watched his reaction closely. “Sure your mom won’t mind that? I mean, most folks around here go to church and spend time with their family. I’d hate to lose a good employee because your mom was upset over you working.”
His expression became tight, his eyes impassive, but they flickered just once as he replied.
“I don’t have a mother. My sister takes care of me and my younger sister. I like to help out. Eve—I mean she—works too hard. She won’t mind if I work a few hours. We could use the money.”
Rusty tucked that bit of info away and quickly moved on. Travis was extremely uncomfortable and she didn’t want to risk him bolting. Not that she was sure why it mattered. Hell, it would probably be better if the kid didn’t hang around too long because when Frank found out what Rusty had done, he’d probably wonder if she’d lost her mind.
“Okay, then. What would you like to eat? They have a great club sandwich. But they also serve up a pretty mean choke-and-puke burger. A boy your size probably needs the protein.”
Travis grinned. Just a brief smile that erased some of the shadows in his eyes. But just as quickly it faded, leaving a much-too-old-for-his-age man staring back at her.
“Choke-and-puke?”
She laughed. “Yeah. It’s a good thing, though. It’s what my brothers call a really good burger with lots of grease and cheese. Homemade. Not the processed crap you get at fast-food restaurants. Around here, home cooking is a matter of pride. How’s a good choke-and-puke bacon cheeseburger grab you? And it’s my treat. It’s the least I can do to thank you for taking so much work off my shoulders.”
“That sounds great,” he admitted. “And thanks, Rusty. For everything, I mean. This means a lot to me and my sisters.”