Lilacs for Laura Page 4

  “I’m thinking garlands around the gazebo and rose topiaries,” her mama was saying. Emily tucked her short blond hair behind one ear and her green eyes brightened as her girls stepped inside. Her look at Laura begged forgiveness, which had already been given. Again.

  “Hello, girls!” Grandma stood to hug them. “I got you earlier,” she kidded Laura, but hugged her again anyway.

  Her mother stood, tall as Rachel, and smoothed her chambray skirt. After Grandma, Mama wrapped long arms around Rachel and Amelia. Then Amelia scrambled into a pressed-back chair and patiently eyed a plate of raspberry scones on the table.

  Kate pulled her fuzzy blue sweater tight around her curves. Laura had an inkling what she’d look like at eighty. Grandma squinted at Rachel through the bottoms of her trifocals.

  “Where’s my vanilla?” she asked without preamble.

  “Kate!” Emily held a scone midair above Amelia’s plate.

  “No problem, Mama,” Rachel said with a laugh. “You don’t have to defend me from Grandma any more.”

  Kate batted a hand at them. “Nonsense!”

  “I offered to buy her vanilla at Heinen’s,” Rachel explained. “It’s right around the corner from work.”

  “Our store carries that imitation crap,” Kate grumbled. “Gotta drive to Springfield for the real thing. So where is it?”

  “Right here in my purse.” Rachel pulled out a small brown bottle and handed it to her. “Here you go, real vanilla.”

  Kate scuffled toward the coat rack in orthopedic shoes and orange support hose. She grabbed her handbag, plopped it on the table, and pulled out crisp bills.

  “That’s not necessary,” Rachel assured her.

  “Don’t give me that crap.” Kate pressed the bills into Rachel’s hand. She dropped the vanilla into her purse, and snapped it closed with arthritic fingers. “Keep the change.”

  Rachel didn’t insult her by arguing. She poured a glass of milk for her daughter.

  Shaking her head, Emily gave Amelia her scone, split and buttered the way she liked it, and joined her mother-in-law at the stove.

  “Thank you!” the child said enthusiastically and took a bite of the flaky biscuit dotted with fresh raspberries.

  Footsteps rumbled on the stairs and four-year-old Jessica ran into the kitchen, sliding across the oiled wooden floor.

  “Whoa!” Rachel reprimanded. “No running in the house.”

  Jessica took one look at her sister and demanded, “Where’s mine?” Her pink cheeks matched her shorts outfit.

  “How do you ask, Jessica?” Rachel gently reminded her.

  The blond-haired tornado ignored her mother and whirled toward her aunt. Yanking Laura’s arms, she wailed. “I want one!”

  Laura bent down to Jessica’s level. “Guess what?” she whispered in the girl’s ear.

  Immediately calmed with the intrigue of a secret, Jessica whispered back, “What?” with big green eyes.

  “You’ll get a scone when you ask nicely, like your mommy said.”

  Jess frowned, but drummed up a sugary, “Please?”

  “That’s better.” Rachel rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh as she prepared Jessica’s scone.

  The child picked out the raspberries with disgust. “I thought this was the good kind!” She smashed it with her fist.

  In a split second, Rachel scooped her up and carried her outside. Her daughter kicked and screamed, “I want Daddy!”

  Rachel stood dejectedly near the back steps as Jessica threw a full-blown tantrum in the grass.

  Three dark male heads, her father’s flecked with gray, appeared in the doorway to the dining and living room.

  “What’s wrong?” John asked, favoring one leg.

  “Jess didn’t like the raspberries,” Laura answered.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Jake replied confidently. With his back to her family, he feasted his eyes on Laura before waltzing outside. How far was he going to take this?

  She caught Rachel’s horrified face before her sister turned away. Laura cringed, clenching her fists and flexing her fingers to calm down.

  Jessica ran into her father’s arms. Jake sat on the back step as she burrowed into his chest with her back to her mother. Arms crossed, Rachel stared at the ground. Tears streamed down her red face, looking like it might explode with anger.

  Tension filled the air like the eerie calm in the eye of a hurricane. Gathering strength, the force of the storm wouldn’t hold off much longer.

  Struggling not to let anyone see her outrage, Laura glanced over her family members in the kitchen, hoping to learn if they’d caught Jake’s look.

  Oblivious, her hearing-impaired grandmother stirred gravy at the stove. Looking anxious yet none the wiser, Emily mashed potatoes. Amelia finished her scone and guzzled milk. John shrugged sadly and retreated to the living room.

  But Chad stared at her, wide-eyed and fuming.

  She shook her head, imploring him to keep quiet.

  With a jerk of his head, he motioned her toward the front door. She reluctantly followed him into the yard. He led her toward a grove of maples. And then he turned on her.

  “What’s going on between you and Jake?”

  Her gut wrenched. She debated confessing, almost as much for spite as to give Rachel one more excuse to leave Jake.

  But if Rachel found out the whole truth, she’d hate Laura. She’d lose her security with her own family, causing even more damage to her fragile self-esteem.

  “Jake’s just acting stupid, like he always does.”

  “Has he ever touched you?” Chad’s eyes burned blue with anger. He’d beat the crap out of Jake.

  “No,” she said adamantly. Her brother’s interrogation roused her defenses. She didn’t need his meddling.

  “If Jake lays one finger on you, come to me,” he demanded.

  “Nothing’s going to happen, Chad, and I don’t need my big brother to protect me.” Turning on her heel, she walked away. She could take care of herself. Spilling her guts would only cause more trouble, and she wanted to do the right thing.

  Fresh guilt reared up, dark and ugly.

  Was lying ever the right thing?

  ****

  On Monday morning, Brett rushed through a tune-up on Chief Hunter’s squad car, trying to catch a break by noon. He’d waffled about seeing Laura James again. But all weekend long, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Leaving town or not, he had to see her. His gut instincts shouted to give her a chance.

  Yet he feared repeating the fiasco with Sally. Not only had the guilt been nearly unbearable, she’d hurt him more than he cared to admit. When she didn’t get the diamond she’d expected, Sally promptly left for college.

  Not wise to upset the police chief’s daughter. Brett’s Corvette was pulled over rather frequently that year.

  With half a laugh, he was tempted to cut the wires on that blasted siren. Instead, he slammed the hood of the chief’s car and wiped his greasy fingerprints off the white paint.

  Headed for the sink, he glanced at the clock. Ten ‘til twelve. Plenty of time to get to the gazebo. As he scrubbed his hands, Brett felt his father’s presence behind him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Wayne barked.

  “Going to lunch,” Brett answered casually.

  “You’re not going out today,” Wayne challenged.

  “I’m entitled to a lunch break.”

  “Not if I say you’re not. I run the show around here, boy.”

  “I finished the chief’s car.” Brett set his jaw.

  “You didn’t change the oil.”

  Brett glared at him. “You didn’t mention an oil change.”

  Wayne ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, but didn’t hide the smirk on his face. “Well, he’s picking it up at noon so you’d better get it done.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Brett ground his teeth.

  “Musta forgot.” His father turned away.

  He’d done it i
ntentionally, as punishment for the late lunch on Friday. But Brett was tired of playing games. “I already cleaned up. You’re gonna have to handle it.” He grabbed a blue shop towel to dry his hands.

  Wayne ignored him, looking toward the open door and the sound of crunching gravel. The other Crystal Falls squad car pulled into the lot. Chief Hunter frowned at the weedy gutters before climbing out of the passenger door. Then his deputy drove off, leaving the chief without a ride.

  “Get on it, boy,” Wayne demanded. He approached the chief with a smile and an extended hand. In a proud, booming voice, he said, “Your car will be finished in a few minutes.”

  Brett had two options: suck it up and change the oil, or walk out. Tempted to walk out, he shouldn’t care what Chief Hunter thought. He was leaving town anyway. But he’d finally regained the chief’s respect after what happened with his daughter Sally. And Brett refused to be a jerk like his dad.

  Besides, Wayne could go off on a rampage, police or no police. Nobody needed that hassle.

  Brett frowned at the clock—five ‘til. If he moved fast, he could be done in ten minutes. He could still make it to the gazebo before Laura’s lunch break was over.

  Lilacs For Laura

  Lilacs For Laura

  Chapter 4—Chocolate Éclair

  Brett jumped on the creeper and slid beneath the squad car, pulling along a big black drain pan. From the dark underbelly, he wrenched out the plug and let dirty oil flow into the pan.

  Wayne’s grungy work boots and the chief’s shiny patent leathers appeared near the driver’s door.

  “Of course, a full grease job is included with every oil change,” Wayne emphasized, making sure Brett heard him.

  Cursing under his breath, he would not let his father make him squirm. As the oil drained, he scrambled out and grabbed a fresh oil filter, as well as the grease gun. Hopping back on the creeper, he flew beneath the car and squirted each fitting.

  “Your boy moves fast,” the chief noted.

  “That’s right. I don’t tolerate no less,” Wayne asserted.

  Brett shook his head. His father’s illogical demand for respect only bred resentment. If he ever had kids—and he hoped he did—he’d earn their respect by treating them with dignity and fairness.

  “I hear he graduated college,” the chief remained upbeat.

  “Oh, yeah.” The tinge of envy in Wayne’s voice was hard to miss. “Lotta good that did. Spent all that money on college and he’s still mooching off his old man.”

  Chief Hunter must have been at a loss for words. “Saw you had Baldy’s pickup in here again.” His attempt at a safe subject went awry. Wayne’s boots planted firm and Brett felt the tension like static electricity.

  “Yeah, he’s still hittin’ me up for free labor,” Wayne retorted. “Wasted my youth workin’ for the old hermit. I bought this garage fair and square. Paid him off years ago. I don’t owe Baldy one red cent.”

  “That’s what I was getting at,” the chief backpedaled.

  Brett smiled, spinning on the new filter. Wayne owed Baldy nothing, yet everything. And he knew it. Without Baldy’s help, Wayne would be working for some car dealer, eking out a living. Tight as he was, he was better off than he let on.

  He slapped the fender above Brett’s head. “Hurry up down there. The chief wants to eat lunch.”

  He wasn’t the only one. “Yes, boss,” Brett muttered, Cool Hand Luke style. He pushed the drain pan clear of the car and then shoved off with his foot, making the creeper shoot out from under the car.

  Chief Hunter offered a sympathetic look. Even he was intimidated by Wayne Mitchell. But Brett had been made a fool of for the last time. He stood and wiped his hands.

  “All done?” the chief anxiously stepped toward him.

  “Yes, sir.” Brett nodded.

  Hunter patted his enormous belly. “Well, I’d better grab something to eat.” He heaved his weight into the car, giving the shocks a jolt. The engine started with a roar. Over the noise, he said, “Thank you, son.”

  Brett nodded politely. Had the chief wanted him as a son-in-law? His own father never called him ‘son.’

  “Thanks, Wayne.” The chief seemed skittish about acknowledging Brett’s work. As the massive Chrysler backed out, he stuck his head out the window. “Don’t forget about those gutters. And the paint too, when you get the chance,” he called apologetically and made a hasty exit.

  Thank heaven, at last. Twelve twenty-five. Brett might not catch Laura, but he was getting out of this hole anyway. He washed up and hurried toward the door.

  “I warned you not to walk out on me again,” Wayne growled.

  His metal lunchbox clattered and footsteps thundered behind Brett.

  “What do you think this is, an amusement park where you can come and go as you please?”

  “Yeah, it’s amusing all right.” A harsh laugh escaped Brett’s throat as he faced his father, now inches away.

  “Ain’t nothing amusing about it!” Wayne’s face reddened and his fists clenched as if itching to pound something.

  He’d never punched his son. But in younger days, Brett had endured plenty of whippings rivaling a weed whacker gone haywire. He backed away.

  “Goodbye, Dad,” he said from outside striking range.

  “You walk out that door and you ain’t walking back in.” Narrowing his eyes, Wayne stalked toward him.

  As Brett rushed for the door, a burden lifted from his shoulders. Dad was right. He wasn’t walking back in.

  “You’re fired!” his father boomed, ranting curses.

  ****

  Laura sat on the gazebo bench, poking at her salad. The croutons were too crunchy, the lettuce wasn’t crunchy enough, and she was sick to death of eating chicken. But she didn’t want to smell like tuna when Brett arrived.

  Yet here she sat alone. With every scrape of her fork, every creak of the bench, and every whoosh of a passing car, the gazebo echoed like an empty tomb, underscoring the death of her hopes for love and security.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you here again on Monday.’

  He hadn’t meant it. He wasn’t different after all.

  She dumped her iced tea into the grass and tossed her half-eaten salad into a trashcan.

  As she walked toward Rosebuds , delicious aromas wafted from the bakery. Still hungry, and desperately needing comfort, the temptation was more than she could bear. She walked in and ordered a jumbo chocolate éclair.

  ****

  Stunned at being fired, Brett felt more relieved than angry. He parked at the south end of the square and sprinted for the gazebo.

  It was empty. Ice melted into the grass where someone had dumped a drink. Had it been Laura?

  In this very spot, she’d swung her purse at the flapping swan. Her violet eyes had gleamed at his rescue. He had to find her.

  Maybe he’d just missed her. Brett scanned the park, the bridges, the sidewalk toward Rosebuds Flower Shop .

  There, at the other end of the square, Laura hurried past the dress shop, long hair swishing behind her. His heart raced and his palms grew sweaty. He ran, flying onto the bridge over Crystal Creek. Then he skidded to a stop.

  A smiling Latino sashayed up behind her. Brett had seen him swaggering around town, winking at anyone in a skirt. The player moved in and reached his arm around her.

  Brett turned away. No wonder she didn’t want him walking her to work on Friday. Laura had a boyfriend.

  He stared into the rushing falls below the bridge. Feeling like a fool, he trudged back the way he’d come.

  Gut instincts were a bunch of crap.

  ****

  Forget Brett Mitchell. Laura bit into the gooey cream-filled doughnut right there on the sidewalk.

  Heaven! Éclairs always made her feel better.

  Until someone grabbed her behind.

  She jerked. Chocolate frosting went up her nose. Thick cream covered her mouth and the sticky doughnut squashed in her hand. Fuming, she spun around.

&nb
sp; “Jake!” she yelped in surprise.

  Dark, wanton eyes laughed at her as he wiped a hot finger across her lips, gathering chocolate and cream.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” She narrowed her eyes.

  Slowly, sensuously, he sucked off his finger. His full lips curved up on one side. She caught a whiff of musk and wrinkled her nose.

  “What’s wrong, sis? Don’t get your butt pinched often?”

  “Don’t ever touch me again!” Fury rose in her.

  He laughed at her temper. Walking past her, he smacked her behind. “Couldn’t resist,” he whispered over his shoulder.

  Laura smashed the glob of doughnut into the back of his silk shirt. “Couldn’t resist,” she retorted.

  She immediately regretted it.

  Jake turned, raising one eyebrow seductively. “You’ve got spunk. I like that.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the tails from his pants.

  She backed away.

  A gob of chocolate and cream fell to the sidewalk as the shirt slid down his shoulders. He smirked at the sticky mess.

  “Guess you lost your lunch.”

  “Yeah, when I ran into you.”

  “Good one.” He flexed his muscles deliberately as he pulled his arms from the shirt. His bronze chest glowed in the sun.

  Her face and neck burned. “I’m late,” she stammered and shoved past him, nearly crashing into the police chief as he walked by, staring at the sidewalk.

  Jake’s low, bawdy laugh rang in her ears and his musky cologne lingered in the air.

  She stomped into the flower shop, shutting the door soundly enough to shake plants and rattle vases. She couldn’t believe she’d run into Jake, right in front of Myrtle’s Dress Shop, of all places. As if it weren’t bad enough Brett hadn’t shown up.

  Her mother’s eyes widened at the mess on her face. “What happened?”

  “Mr. Rude, Crude and Lewd ‘bumped into me’ and smashed my doughnut.” She rushed into the workroom to wash up.

  On full alert, Emily followed.

  “Why did Rachel ever marry that man?” Laura groaned with angry frustration. “She’s ruining her life trying to rescue some wounded pretty boy.”