Home At Last. Deborah Raney

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СКАЧАТЬ And I need to get to work. Can I give you a lift home?”

      “Not unless you want to carry me up those stairs?” She nodded toward the open staircase that hugged the back wall of the store.

      “Seriously? You live here?”

      “Last time I checked.” She probably shouldn’t have told him that. Daddy had left for Bowling Green—to see Jerry—at noon and wouldn’t be home till late. Portia was upstairs watching TV. They were essentially alone. Not that she was scared of Link Whitman. She’d had enough dealings with the Whitman family to know they were good people. The grandmother used to live here in Langhorne before they’d put her in a home, and one of the sisters still lived here. The one with the adorable twins.

      “There’s an apartment upstairs, huh? I never knew that. So you guys own the bakery?”

      “Us and the bank.” He didn’t need to know that the apartment was essentially a warren of bedrooms. They’d never had a kitchen upstairs, but had always used the bakery’s kitchen to prepare their meals, which they ate in the dining room or in the little alcove at the bottom of the back kitchen stairs. And when they’d taken Portia in two years ago, they converted the sitting room upstairs to a third bedroom and playroom. Shayla had a small sofa in her room, but she actually preferred the sunny seating area at the back of the bakery with its comfy leather couches and the collection of green plants she babied. Customers gravitated to the cozy nook during the day, but when the bakery closed at three each afternoon, it was all hers.

      “Yeah, I get that,” Link said. “Kind of like my truck . . . me and the bank.” He glanced out the front window to where his pickup was parked.

      She smiled and went on packing up the day-old pastries.

      “My mom really likes your stuff—your baked goods, I mean. Says if she ever got tired of baking for her guests, she’d just let you do it.”

      She felt herself flush. “It’s mostly my dad who does the baking. I’m learning a little, but he does most of it. I just man the counter. And wash dishes. And sweep floors.”

      “And box up stuff for the homeless shelter.” He looked pointedly at the tower of boxes she’d formed atop the empty display case. “That’s really nice of you to do that.”

      She shrugged. “Better than putting it in the Dumpster. Or eating it.” She patted her belly and was rewarded with his laughter. It was his laugh that had attracted her to him the first time they’d met at the shelter in Cape that day. She’d loved talking to him there. Just shooting the breeze, but he always made her laugh. She’d been disappointed when the shelter director told her the IT work was finished.

      Link slipped his cell phone from his jeans pocket and checked the time. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late. I just wanted to make sure everybody was okay.” He started toward the front door.

      But watching his broad shoulders, she felt an urgency rising inside her, as if she might not get another chance to say what she needed to say. “Hey.” She peeled off the plastic gloves and tossed them into the trash, coming around to the other side of the counter where he’d been standing. “Link!” It came out too loud.

      But he wheeled around, curiosity written in his expression. “Yeah?”

      “I feel bad about what I said this morning. I know it wasn’t really your fault.”

      A hint of mischief came to his eyes. “Do you feel bad about beating the snot out of me?”

      She made a show of covering her face with her hands. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that part.” She peeked at him from between her fingers.

      “Oh, I remember all right.” He winced. “Got the bruises to prove it. On top of the bruises your niece gave me.”

      “You’re not serious . . .” She knew her eyes must be as round as the doughnuts she’d just boxed up. “I’m so sorry. I was a little out of my head. Seriously, I feel awful. I didn’t know I hit you that hard. You don’t really have bruises?” She was pretty sure he was exaggerating.

      But what if he wasn’t? What if he filed assault and battery charges against her? Had anyone witnessed what happened? But surely, someone from a family like the Whitmans wouldn’t do such a thing. Still, people could be pretty sue-happy these days.

      She didn’t remember anyone else being in the store at the time or on the street, but surely someone had heard his brakes squeal and come by to see what was going on. She’d wondered if they should have called the police to report what happened. But she could already imagine her father shaking his head adamantly at the idea. No police. It had been that way for men like him—black men—forever, but after what happened with Jerry, Daddy’s disdain—fear even—of the police had risen to a new level. And the whole thing with Ferguson a while back hadn’t helped matters any. It seemed like her father was on edge all the time these days. For no reason. But then, a lot of things had happened “for no reason,” so she couldn’t really blame him.

      A new thought struck her. What if the Chicory Inn quit ordering from the bakery? And told other people in town to do the same? Her stupid mistake might cost them.

      “Quit looking like that.” Link touched her wrist briefly. “I’m just giving you a hard time. I’m fine. Wouldn’t be much of a man if I couldn’t take your wimpy punches.”

      “Hey!” She laughed nervously, but she’d never been so relieved to be teased. And so happy to see his smile reappear. “Don’t make me show you how hard I can hit if I really need to.”

      He put up both hands in surrender but laughed as he did. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of getting you riled up again.”

      “Smart move, Whitman.” Seeing him like this, she remembered how he’d made her feel when he flirted with her the other times he’d come in.

      His smile faded. “Seriously, though. Don’t think anything of it. Like I said, I know my sisters would have reacted the same if one of their kids—or a niece or nephew,” he added quickly, “was in danger. All’s forgiven. You forgive me?”

      She gave him a knowing smile. “For saving Portia’s life, you mean?”

      “Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but now that you mention it . . .”

      “You don’t have to look so smug.”

      He cocked his head, studying her. “Would you want to go out with me?”

      Wow. That was fast. “Out?”

      “As in, on a date? Out on a date?”

      “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

      “It just seemed like the thing to do.”

      She gave him a skeptical look. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not a charity case.”

      “What? Who said anything about charity?”

      “You’re not just asking me because you think you owe it to me because you almost killed Portia.”

      “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Two minutes ago I saved her life. How’d we get back to ‘almost killed her’?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ