A Family After All. Kathy Altman

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      Liz elbowed her in the ribs. “I’m betting eight inches.”

      Amid the whoops and high fives, Ivy dropped her head into her hands. Please, God, just take me now.

      “How about his current yield?” someone asked.

      “Ivy’s the one with the high yield.” That was Allison. “If she had her way, she’d be yielding all over the place.”

      “That’s enough.” Ivy planted her palms on the table and pushed to her feet. “Thank you all for the advice. It may have been unsolicited, but it was definitely valueless. Now can we please start the meeting?”

      June grinned. “I see what you did there.”

      “Ivy’s right—it’s time to get down to business.” Parker opened her laptop. “Let’s start with—”

      “Wait, I have one, I have one.” Liz was practically bouncing in her seat as she leaned toward Ivy. “Bite low and say hi.”

      Ivy couldn’t help but laugh, Liz looked so delighted with herself.

      “What does that even mean?” Hazel squinted across the table. “You want her to bite his crankshaft? I wouldn’t think that would go over so well.”

      June was nodding sagely. “And do you really think that once she bites him, he’ll stick around long enough for her to say hi?”

      “Oh, please, give the girl a break. It was funny.” Allison grinned. “Besides, every guy likes a little nibble now and then.”

      “Don’t we all,” sighed Hazel. Immediately, Allison and Parker took Hazel to task for finding fault with Liz’s contribution in the first place. While they bickered, Ivy decided to ask Liz about her love life. It was way past time to put someone else on the spot.

      She leaned across the table. “How’s everything between you and Marcus?”

      “Good. It’s good.” Liz hesitated, and her shoulders collapsed. “No, that’s not true. We’ve been dating since April and I don’t know him much better than I did when we met. I mean, I know he has...issues to work through, and he’s told me some stuff, but we’ve—” her cheeks flushed and she lowered her voice “—we’ve hardly been physical at all, let alone had sex.”

      Ivy wondered how much Liz knew about Marcus’s situation. Allison had come to Castle Creek to shame her ex-boyfriend Joe Gallahan into helping her save her job at an advertising firm back in Washington, DC. Joe had agreed but only if she’d help with the motel’s renovations. It hadn’t taken long for them to fall in love all over again—despite serious challenges involving a python, an ex-con out for vengeance and a fire that almost destroyed the motel.

      That ex-con had been Marcus Watts. Allison had stumbled upon him after he’d broken into her room at the motel. The twenty-year-old had been living in the woods, waiting for the opportunity to burn down Sleep at Joe’s because of the horrific abuse he’d suffered while his stepfather owned the place.

      Allison hadn’t confided every detail, but Ivy knew enough to be both sickened and enraged on Marcus’s behalf and to realize it could be a long time before he was ready for any kind of intimacy, emotional or physical.

      She glanced around and saw that everyone else was still engaged in a good-natured argument. “Have you talked to him about it?”

      Liz nodded miserably. “He gets so defensive. He’s seeing a counselor, but I have a feeling a big part of the problem is that he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.”

      “I’m sure you’re doing your best to convince him otherwise.”

      “Yeah, but now I’m thinking I need to follow the same advice everyone is giving you. You know. Totally take the initiative.” Her smile was both tentative and sly. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

      Ivy was saved from responding when Parker stood and tapped a knife against her wineglass. “Someone needs to call this meeting to order. Otherwise you’ll all be spending the night and anyone still here in the morning will have to earn her breakfast by helping out in the greenhouses.”

      “Oh.” June raised her hand. “Speaking of greenhouses, I noticed the floodlights on the hut closest to the parking lot aren’t working.”

      “Those dumb things.” Parker scowled. “There must be some kind of electrical problem, because Harris just changed those bulbs.”

      “I’ll get Joe to take a look at them for you.” Allison bit her lip. “And if there’s anything else along those lines you’d like done, you might want to let him know now. He has another project coming up that’s going to keep him extrabusy.”

      “Hmph.” Hazel popped a strawberry into her mouth and gazed at Allison, brown eyes twinkling. “And here he just put the finishing touches on that brand-new love nest above the motel office. What’s next, a sauna? A swimming pool?”

      “A baby.” Allison aimed a sheepish glance at Ivy and pressed her palms to her stomach. “We’re going to have a baby.”

      * * *

      A SCALDING RUSH of acid taunted the back of Marcus’s throat as he gazed at the other employees gathered in the diner’s kitchen. This was some bad shit going down, and everybody was looking at him.

      One of the waitresses, Rachel, stood beside him, lower lip quivering, and he almost reached for her hand. She had that whole everything-has-to-be-a-drama teen thing going on, but in this case she wasn’t exaggerating.

      “It’ll be okay,” Marcus murmured, but how could he expect her to believe that when he didn’t believe it himself?

      Rachel ignored him, and continued to stare at the diner’s owner. “You’re saying one of us is a thief.”

      “I’m saying there’s money missing.” Cal ran a palm over his gray buzz cut and Marcus shifted his weight. Poor Cal looked closer to tears than Rachel.

      “If it were just one instance,” Cal continued, “I’d chalk it up to a mistake. We all make ’em. But several times over the past month, the drawer’s been short.” His sober gaze traveled from face to face. No one spoke. Someone swallowed, loudly. It was Thursday night, and business was slow. As soon as their one customer had been served his maple-glazed salmon, Cal had gathered the entire evening shift in the kitchen.

      Marcus, the cook. Rachel and Patricia, waitresses. And Noah, who manned the grill during the early shift but had dropped in to pick up his paycheck. All but Noah wore the diner’s uniform of black polo shirts and khakis. They took turns staring at the reddish-brown tiled floor, the empty grill that still smelled of fish and fried onions, and the stainless steel shelves lined with neat rows of plates, glasses, napkins and condiment bottles with the labels turned out.

      They looked everywhere but at Cal.

      “We have to figure this out and put a stop to it,” he said. “I’ll have to sell a truckload of cinnamon rolls to make up for the revenue I’ve lost.”

      “I think just this past week I’ve eaten a truckload of cinnamon rolls.” Patricia patted her ample СКАЧАТЬ