She took a deep breath, just to make sure there weren’t any bruised ribs, and told herself she didn’t care if Ford’s brother started dating other women. It’s not like she knew the man. “So much for brotherly love.”
“Lorraine left Kent years ago. He’s got a kid. He needs to get married.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate your professional assessment.” She cleared her throat, then did her best to sound casual. “Do you know why she left?”
He shrugged. “She was a bitch.” He held up both hands. “My mom’s exact words. I’m not being critical of a woman. Don’t hurt me.”
“I won’t.”
Ford dropped his arms to his sides. “Kent was crazy about her for years, and they had Reese together. He’s a stable kind of guy. A math teacher. As far as I know, he never cheated. When we spoke right after the divorce, he was pretty broken up about it. I felt kind of bad.”
“Do you think he’s looking to get involved again?”
A stupid question, she thought angrily. It wasn’t as if she was right for him. Even if he found her attractive, he would only want her for sex. Normal men wanted normal women to marry. He was an intelligent single father with kind eyes. Whether he wanted to or not, he wouldn’t stay single for long.
“He told Mom he was. At least he’s not disinterested, which is pretty much the same thing.” He started toward her, but she shook her head.
“No more hugging?” he asked.
“No. But I understand you’re grateful. You’ve bought yourself some time. But once Kent is happily involved, your mother is going to go looking for a woman for you.”
“I’ll figure out something,” he said.
“Great. Problem solved.” She started out of the gym.
“Wait.” He walked alongside her. “Where are you going?”
“For a run.”
“Want some company?”
She rolled her eyes. For all their toughness and attitude, she would swear the guys she worked with were like puppies. Annoying and underfoot, but ultimately kind of adorable.
“Fine, but you have to keep up.”
He winked. “I’ll leave you in the dust.”
“In your dreams.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MORNINGS WERE GIDEON’S favorite time of the day. He liked the quiet when he was alone in the house, the coolness before the sun had completely cleared the mountain. He stood on the widest part of the deck, his elbows bent, his arms moving as he completed the movements. He focused on his breath and flow, feeling the energy in his body.
The slow-paced exercise, a kind of moving meditation, kept him grounded. When he was faithful in his adherence, the nights were less long, the dreams less violent. He’d been distracted, with Carter’s arrival and having Felicia around, and he’d paid the price. Now he inhaled to a slow count of ten and reminded himself he would never be able to forgo the simple practices. They kept him able to function.
He pivoted on his back foot and tightened his muscles as he shifted his weight. Carefully he—
“Yoo-hoo, Gideon? Are you home?”
He brought down his right foot and turned, able to see through the house to the two women peering through the big front window. The old ladies, he thought grimly. Eddie and Gladys. They’d followed him home.
He shook his head and went in through the sliding door on the deck. He was halfway across the living room when he remembered he was wearing nothing more than sweatpants. Sweatpants that sat very low on his hips.
“Goddamn sonofabitch,” he grumbled, detouring into the kitchen where he’d left his T-shirt. He jerked it over his head and pulled it down as he continued walking toward the front door.
“What?” he barked as he jerked it open.
Eddie and Gladys both stared at him. Eddie’s mouth curved up in a smile.
“Were you in the shower?” she asked hopefully.
“No. I was exercising.”
“Naked?”
“Not na**d.”
The first shiver of fear replaced annoyance. He shook off the sensation. They were old ladies. They weren’t going to hurt him...were they?
Gladys pushed her friend aside. “We want to talk to you. It won’t take long.”
Good manners overcame common sense. Gideon stepped back and let them in.
“How can I help you?” he asked as they prowled the living room.
Gladys turned to him first. “What? Oh, why we’re here.” She smiled. “We want you to sponsor our bowling team. We have the shirts all picked out. We’ve chosen the colors and everything. Show him.”
Eddie plopped down on the sofa and pulled a picture out of her large handbag. He inched forward and took it, then stepped back out of range.
“Okay,” he said slowly, studying the fuchsia-colored bowling shirts. They were a new level of ugly.
“You can see why we want them,” Gladys said.
“Not really.”
Eddie ignored him. “Our names get embroidered on the front and the radio station logo goes on the back. That’s advertising for you, which is why you’ll want to pay for the shirts. Lots of people come to the bowling alley. They’ll see the call letters and want to listen.” She paused as if she thought he needed time for the concept to sink in.
He’d been in more dire situations before and understood the need to have a plan of action. However, none of his military training had prepared him to face two old ladies on a mission.
“I get a pretty decent audience share right now,” he said.
Gladys put her hand on her chest and actually seemed to go pale. “You’re telling us no?”
Eddie’s mouth quivered. “I have to sit down,” she said, then shook her head. “Oh, I am sitting. It’s just the trembling gets so bad.” She looked at Gideon, then lowered her voice. “It’s my condition.”
Gladys sat next to her and squeezed her hand. “Honey, you know it upsets you when you talk about it.”
Eddie nodded. “I know. It’s just I really thought with the new shirts and all we had a chance at winning. Just one last time before...” She swallowed. “You know.”
Death, he thought grimly. She meant death. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being played, but he also wasn’t willing to take the chance.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll buy the damn shirts. Order them and send me the bill.”
Eddie beamed. “Do you want to approve the design?”
“No,” he told her, then remembered who he was dealing with. “Yes. I want to see what you’re putting on the shirts before I pay for them.”
“No problem.”
Eddie stood with amazing agility for one so close to her final chapter. Gladys bounced up next to her.
“Thanks so much,” Gladys said, leading the way to the front door. “We appreciate it.”
They walked to the front door and let themselves out. Halfway down the driveway, they turned to each other and did a high five. Octogenarian hands slapped loudly in the quiet of the morning.
He’d been had. Suckered by two old ladies, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. As they drove away, he figured he’d gotten off easy. No doubt they would go perform their show in front of someone else to get another sucker to spring for new bowling balls.
He started to go inside, then saw a mail truck pulling into the driveway. A young woman with a ponytail got out.
“Mr. Boylan?”
“Yes.”
“I have a certified letter I need you to sign for.”
“Sure.”
He scrawled his name, then took the slim letter.
“Have a nice day,” she called as she got into her small truck.
He nodded.
The return address was from a medical lab outside Sacramento. There was only one reason he would be getting correspondence from a lab this way. Inside was the information on Carter.
He went into the house and stood by the front door. For a second he thought about not opening the envelope. He could cheerfully go a long time without knowing. Except he already knew. In his gut and maybe even his heart. There were plenty of clues and lots of physical evidence. The report would only confirm the information he already had.
Still, he tore off the end and pulled out the single sheet of paper. When he read the report, he went to the study and put it in a drawer. Then he walked away.
* * *
SATURDAY AFTERNOON FELICIA walked into the kitchen, not sure what she wanted to do for dinner. She had lots of ingredients but no real sense of how to put them together. Maybe she could go look on the internet.
But her search for inspiration stalled when she saw several dirty dishes sitting on the counter, along with an open package of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The knife was still sticking out of the jar and half the bread was spread over the counter. Two slices had fallen into the sink.
Gideon was out running errands, so she knew he hadn’t done this, which left only Carter. While he wasn’t perfect—most mornings he tossed his dirty clothes on the bed rather than putting them in the basket she’d provided—he was generally neat and considerate. He’d made his own lunch and snacks before, and he’d never left such a big mess.
A sense of unease washed over her. Something was going on, and she didn’t know what. Even more troubling, if someone had stopped and asked her how she knew there was a problem, she couldn’t begin to tell him or her.
She walked down the hall to Carter’s room. The door was half-open. She knocked as she entered.
Carter was sitting in front of his laptop, slouched in his chair. His feet were up on the desk, and he was playing a computer game with lots of shooting and what looked like purple-skinned space aliens.
“Carter,” she began.
“Give me a sec.”
He twisted in his seat as he fired several more times. His shooting style was inefficient, she noted. He wasted a lot of energy and had less than fifty percent accuracy. Not that she was going to give him tips right now.
“Carter,” she repeated. “I need to speak with you.”
He sighed heavily, paused the game and turned to face her. His feet hit the floor with a thunk.
“What?”
She hadn’t realized so much information could be contained in a single word. Not that any of it was good.
For a second she felt as if she’d intruded, that she should apologize and leave him alone. The sense of being uncomfortable, of not fitting in, nearly had her backing away. Then she remembered the kitchen.
“You made a peanut butter sandwich a little while ago.”
“So? I was hungry. Are you saying I shouldn’t eat? Do you want to starve me?”
Felicia processed the words twice and still found no linkage between her comments and his. “I’m saying you left a mess in the kitchen.”
“Oh. That.”
He turned back to his computer screen and picked up the controller.
“Carter.”
“What?”
He didn’t bother turning around.
Frustration joined confusion. “Carter, I’m speaking to you.”
“We’re the only two people in the room. I get that. Unless you want to have a meaningful conversation with the bed.” He chuckled.
“I have no reason to speak to the bed,” she began, only to realize he’d distracted her again. An excellent ploy, she thought with some respect. So this was what it meant to deal with a teenager. Carter had been so easygoing and polite that she’d assumed he wasn’t going to ever be difficult. A mistake on her part. Perhaps he’d just been settling in. Now he was more comfortable and could act like a regular thirteen-year-old.
“Please put down the controller and face me.”
There was another very heavy sigh, but he did as she requested. He raised both eyebrows. “What?”
“You left a mess in the kitchen.”
“Didn’t we already have this conversation?”
“We didn’t finish it. You need to go clean up everything.”
“Sure.” He turned back to the game.
“Now. You need to do it now.”
He spun back to her so quickly, she half expected to see him go flying off the chair.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he yelled. “You’re not my mother.”
He stood and moved toward her. Nothing about the move was threatening, yet she sensed he meant it to be.
“I don’t have to do what you say,” he said, his voice still loud, his posture aggressive. “You’re not my mother!”
Felicia took a step back. Not because she was afraid, but because she felt as if he’d slapped her. She and Carter had gotten along from the first day. They hugged before he went to bed. They hung out together. She cared about him.
Had it all been an act? A way to gain her trust? If so, what was there to achieve from a pretense of affection?
“Repeating a fact we both already know won’t increase its significance,” she said quietly. “Our relationship has little bearing on how you conduct yourself in this house. We are a family unit, however loosely formed. Each of us has responsibilities for the greater good. There are rules and considerations. One of them is that you don’t leave a mess in the kitchen. You will clean it up now.”
He glared at her, his dark eyes bright with emotion. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but after a few seconds, he stalked past her. She heard his heavy footsteps in the kitchen, then the slam of cupboards and the refrigerator door.
She had no explanation for his harsh words, his attitude. Her chest was tight, and she suddenly knew she was only a few seconds from crying. Something she instinctively guessed she couldn’t let him see or know about.