Man With A Mission. Muriel Jensen
Читать онлайн книгу.
see everything. I ran into her later, we talked, and…I’m seeing her next week.” A slight rearrangement of the truth, but the truth all the same.
“Well, see now, that wasn’t so hard.” She gave him a quick hug. “Will you tell me all about it after?”
“The shop, yes,” he said. “Jackie, no.”
She shrugged, seemingly undisturbed. “I’ll just ask the girls at Sunday School. Thanks for dinner, sweetie.”
“Sure, Mom.” He ran down the steps as she closed and locked the door.
Great. Jackie’s girls were in his mother’s Sunday School class. She’d mentioned that once, but he’d forgotten.
When he’d been a kid, she’d had spies everywhere. It had been impossible to see a girl, cruise downtown, or sneak a beer without someone reporting him to his mother.
It was annoying that he was thirty-five, and nothing had changed.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE MET HIS MOTHER’S SPIES on Saturday. He’d been working at Perk Avenue for several hours when the crowd began to gather out front for the ceremony. He’d turned the sign on and it glowed brightly, a tall cup of neon mocha complete with a swirl of whipped cream standing beside a fat teapot. Underneath, the name of the shop was written in elegant neon script. The whole sign appeared to sit atop a triangle of neon lace.
The two matrons who owned the shop applauded their approval then wrapped their arms around him.
Hank went back inside as several people in the gathering crowd came forward to congratulate the women. He was collecting his tools when the front door burst open and a little girl in a flared red coat and matching hat ran in. Long straight blond hair fell to her shoulders. In her gray eyes was a desperate look. He recognized her as Jackie’s youngest. He studied her one brief moment, realizing that except for a slight difference in the shade of her hair, this was what Jackie had looked like as a child.
“Hi,” he said finally, coiling a length of wire. “Lost your mom?”
She shook her head, looking left, then right.
He took another guess. “Bathroom?”
She nodded.
He pointed to the little alcove directly to the right of the door.
“Thank you!” she called as she ran off in that direction.
A moment later, a child he recognized as the little one’s older sister walked in wearing a pink coat but no hat. She had thick dark hair caught at the side of her head in a ponytail. This child must take after her father. His mother had told him Jackie’s girls were Erica and Rachel. He couldn’t recall which was which.
She surveyed the room, then her dark eyes fell on him in concern. A child taught to be wary of strange men. Jackie was doing her job.
He pointed to the alcove behind her. “Your little sister’s in the rest room,” he said.
She started away, then turned to ask, “How did you know she was my sister?”
“I know your mom,” Hank explained. “And I’ve seen the two of you with her.”
“Are you her friend?”
“Ah…not exactly.”
“You don’t like her?”
Tricky question. “Actually, she doesn’t like me very much.”
“How come?”
She was beginning to remind him of her mother even if she did look like her father. She had a compulsion for detail.
How did one explain to a child about a bright love affair that had been halted abruptly by one lover’s reluctance to follow the other? You didn’t, of course.
“We had an argument a long time ago,” he replied, “that we never really fixed.”
She frowned at that. “Mom never lets me and Rachel fight without making up.”
Aha. This was Erica.
“Adults probably get madder than children,” he said. “So quarrels are harder to fix.”
The little one ran out of the bathroom, hat slightly askew. Erica straightened it for her. “This is Rachel,” she said.
He nodded. “And you’re Erica.”
She smiled and came forward to shake his hand.
“I’m Hank Whitcomb,” he said, thinking her social skills were as polished as her appearance. He wiped his hands on a cloth out of his box before taking hers.
“Our mom’s the mayor!” Rachel said with a wide smile, also offering her hand. “We’re supposed to smile and be polite!”
Erica gave her a mildly impatient look. “He knows who we are. He’s a friend of Mom’s.”
“I thought Mom just had friends who were other ladies.”
WHILE THE WIDE WHITE RIBBON for the ceremony was still being stretched across the front of the shop, Jackie ran in search of her girls. She was sure they were fine, but bathroom runs never took this long. She’d thought a quick trip inside the shop would be the quickest solution to Rachel’s second glass of milk that morning. After all, the café wasn’t really open yet and there was no one inside. Erica had followed her sister in.
But a mother’s trepidation filled her anyway as she pushed the door open, knowing that safety should never be presumed, that it only took a moment for…
Her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of her girls in conversation with a large man in jeans and a chambray shirt. His clothes were streaked with dirt, his hair…
He looked up at that moment, blue eyes noting her presence. It was Hank. Sudden awareness of him took her by surprise.
She’d never seen him at work before. The other times she’d run into him, he’d been in street clothes. Even the day he’d moved his office into the City Hall basement, he’d worn a respectable sweater.
But he was a little grubby now, work clothes well-fitting but mussed, his dark hair disturbed from its usually neat side part and falling onto his forehead. A longing that was decidedly sexual curled around inside her and embarrassed her with its intensity.
To further confuse her, she saw enjoyment in his eyes, as though her daughters delighted him. That pleased and flattered her and, along with this sudden desire completely inappropriate to a woman in her eighth month of pregnancy, threw her completely off balance.
She was about to scold the girls for speaking to a stranger when Hank interceded.
“They did nothing wrong,” he said gently, as though he understood and respected her concern. “Rachel ran in looking for the rest room and there was no one else around. I just told her where it was. Then when Erica came in, I told her where to find her sister.”
“And he’s not a stranger, Mom,” Erica said, going to her. “He’s your friend. Even though you guys never made up after the fight.”
Jackie opened her mouth to reply to that, wondering just what he’d told them about their relationship, but decided it was all too entangled.
“There’s a party here after the ribbon-cutting,” Erica said to Hank. “You can sit at our table, so you and Mom can work it out.”
Jackie turned to her in astonishment.
“You don’t let me and Rachel stay mad,” Erica insisted. “And let’s face it, Mom. You don’t have that many friends.”
Jackie couldn’t help the gasp of indignation. “I do, too.” She ignored the childish sound of her own words. “I have lots of friends.”
“But none of them are guys.”