Her Small-Town Hero. Arlene James

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “You mean, if he was abusive or something.”

      “Exactly.”

      Holt pulled open a drawer and took out a fork. “For all we know, she was never even married.”

      Hap humphed at that. “Don’t strike me as that sort.”

      “Maybe not, but that would explain why she’s not living off her husband’s Social Security somewhere. It just doesn’t add up. She hasn’t been completely honest with us.”

      “No reason she should be, I reckon,” Hap said, hobbling into the other room. “Maybe once she gets to trust us.”

      It seemed to Holt that his grandfather had that backward. How were they supposed to trust her if she didn’t level with them about herself and her situation?

      He cracked half a dozen more eggs and then took a certain pleasure in going after them with the fork.

      Cara tapped on the window, her breath fogging the glass. Wearing the same clothes as he had the day before, Holt looked up from beating something in a bowl and reached out with one hand to flick open the door. His hair stuck up in disarray, and he needed a shave. Somehow that made him all the more attractive.

      “’Morning,” she muttered, sliding into the narrow room sideways, Ace on her hip. The dark shadow of Holt’s beard glinted reddish-gold up close, she noticed.

      “Happy New Year.”

      “Oh. Yes. Happy New Year.”

      “Sleep okay?”

      “Just fine, thank you,” she lied. As if he knew that her conscience pinched her, Ace patted her chest before grabbing a fistful of the front of her aqua-blue T-shirt. “Except,” she amended, “I keep hearing a giant clock in the distance.”

      Holt turned to lean a hip against the counter. “A giant clock?”

      “Well, not tick-tock, exactly. More like ka-shunk, ka-shunk.”

      Holt chuckled, folding his arms. “That’s not a clock, giant or otherwise. It’s a pump jack on an oil well out back.”

      She goggled at him. “Oil well! But wouldn’t that make you rich?”

      Holt flattened his mouth. “Hardly. And it doesn’t belong to us. A previous owner kept the mineral rights to the property.”

      “Ah.” That hardly seemed fair, but what did she know about it? To cover her ignorance, she smiled and asked, “How was the party?”

      He went back to beating what she now recognized as a bowl full of eggs. “’Bout like you’d expect for a room full of old folks and a domino table.”

      Since she’d never had experience with either, she said nothing more about that. “Is your grandfather around?”

      “He is. You and the boy wanting some breakfast?”

      “No. No, thanks. We’ve eaten already.” Crackers, applesauce and warm cheese sticks, but Holt didn’t need to know that. “I can finish that up for you, though, if you want.”

      “If you’re not eating, it wouldn’t be fair to let you cook,” he grumbled.

      “I don’t mind.”

      He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Hap’s in the other room.”

      “Your choice,” she mumbled, stung. So much for winning his favor.

      Slipping by him, she carried Ace into the dining room. Hap sat with his head bent over a big black Bible. He looked up, smiling, and nodded at a chair. She sat down with Ace on her lap. She heard the clump of Holt’s boots as he stepped into the doorway behind her.

      Ignoring Holt, Cara said to his grandfather, “I’d like the job, Mr. Jefford.”

      “Well, now, that’s fine.” Hap gave his head a satisfied nod.

      “There’s just one thing,” she went on, heart thundering. “I’d like for Ace and me to have our own place. If we could stay in one of the kitchenettes, that would be great.”

      While Hap scratched his neck, Holt spoke up. “What’s wrong with Charlotte’s room?”

      “It’s too small,” she said bluntly, not looking at him. “Ace would have to sleep with me all the time.” She addressed Hap again. “I could pay something, maybe half, so you wouldn’t be out the whole rent.”

      To her relief, Holt walked back into the kitchen.

      “No need for that,” Hap said, reaching out to pat her hand. “’Course, if we’re full up and need the space, you and Ace might have to move in here temporarily. That room of Charlotte’s is a mite crowded, but I’m sure she’ll take all her stuff when she and Ty get their house built.”

      He went on chatting for some time about the house that Charlotte and her husband, Tyler, were planning to build in Eden, while Cara floated on a wave of relief and delight. When Holt came in with two plates of scrambled eggs, burnt bacon and white bread, Cara smiled brightly. Employed and with a place of her own, she finally let herself believe that this might work out.

      “I’ll see to those black-eyed peas now,” she said cheerfully, rising to her feet and sliding Ace onto her hip, “and clean up the kitchen once you’re done here.”

      Hap chuckled. “It’s a holiday. The cleaning can wait till later.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Jefford.”

      “Call me Hap. We’re one big happy family here. Glad to count you in.”

      Smiling, Cara nodded and started to turn away, only to be brought back down to earth with a thud when Holt said matter-of-factly, “I’ll be needing your ID and Social Security number.” He forked up a big bite of eggs before pinning her with his gaze. “For the employment papers.” She felt the color drain from her face, even though she’d expected this. He seemed not to notice, digging into his food. “You can give it to me after you get the peas on.”

      She nodded before making her escape.

      One more lie, she told herself. Just one more, and then everything would be fine.

      Chapter Four

      Holt lifted the employment forms from the printer tray and placed it on the desk in front of Cara Jane. “That’s the last one. At least I think so. These are all I use with my crew, and I don’t see why this should be any different.”

      “Your crew?” she asked, busy filling in the blanks.

      Ace played beneath the counter at her feet, crawling back and forth and screeching from time to time. As he answered her, Holt couldn’t help smiling at the sounds of a little one at play. “Roughnecks. I run a crew of roughnecks. Two crews, actually, and three rigs.”

      “Oh.” She kept her gaze trained on the tax form in front of her. “I remember you СКАЧАТЬ