A Family For Easter. Lee McClain Tobin

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      “That skid-steer loader you brought in needs its fluid levels checked,” Eduardo said mildly.

      “Sorry, man.” Tommy turned toward the small vehicle and started the daily inspection. “I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to go get cleaned up and take my woman out on the town.”

      “On a Tuesday?”

      “Anniversary,” Tommy explained. “My aunt’s taking the kids.”

      A warm band tightened around Eduardo’s heart. He remembered the days when he’d scrambled to get a sitter, had scrimped and saved to take Elizabeth out for a special occasion. She’d argued against the expense, but she’d always given in and they’d had fun, usually ending the evening with dancing.

      “Need the place swept out?” Tommy asked Eduardo.

      “Nah, go on. Have fun. I’ll finish up.”

      “Thanks!”

      As the two men left, a text message buzzed, and Eduardo pulled his phone out of his pocket.

      It’s Fiona. Can you meet me at the Chatterbox?

      Instead of answering, he started pushing a broom across the floor of the storage shed. What did she want to talk to him about? If she wanted to see the estimate on her landscaping job—even after she’d booted him out of her home—he supposed he should give it. But at the café? Why not at her house?

      He pushed debris into a heap and looked for a dustpan. Another message buzzed.

      My treat. I want to apologize.

      No need to apologize, he texted back. But I can meet you and give you your estimate if you’d like.

      Great. Half an hour?

      See you there.

      He pocketed his phone and tamped down the small surge of excitement in his chest. He liked Fiona, found her attractive, if the truth be told, but he wasn’t sure about renting her carriage house. What if she decided to use it as an office again? Or decided to kick them out for reasons he couldn’t understand, as she’d done the other night?

      On the other hand, the situation at their little motel was deteriorating. After Diego and Sofia had spent several noisy hours kicking around a soccer ball outside yesterday, the manager had let Eduardo know that they couldn’t stay much longer. “We just aren’t set up for kids,” the man had said apologetically. “Couple more days, fine, but I’d like to see you move on soon.”

      Which meant he needed to find another place today or tomorrow; easier said than done in the limited rental market of Rescue River.

      Again, the thought of Fiona’s carriage house came to mind.

      Thirty minutes and one speed-shower later, Eduardo reached the Chatterbox. The place wasn’t crowded midafternoon, and Fiona wasn’t there yet.

      He sat down at a table where he could watch the door, waving to a few coworkers from Hinton who were at the counter eating.

      A moment later, Fiona flew into the restaurant, her purse swinging. He stood and she hurried over. “I’m sorry I was late!”

      He glanced at the clock above the door as he moved to pull out her chair. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Hinton workers nudging each other. One of them gave Eduardo a thumbs-up.

      Heat rose in the back of his neck as he sat down across from her. “You’re not late. I was early. Are you hungry?”

      “I am, but I’m not going to get anything. Just coffee. You go ahead, though. It’s my treat.”

      Not in this universe.

      “Are you ready to order?” Their waiter arrived with an order pad.

      “Coffee for both of us, and a piece of cherry pie for me,” Eduardo said.

      “Ice cream?”

      “Absolutely,” he said and looked at Fiona. “You’re sure you don’t want to join me?”

      She bit her lip. “Well... No. No, thank you.”

      After their server walked away, Eduardo pulled out his tablet. “I have your estimate right here.”

      “Wait.” Fiona touched his arm and then pulled her hand back. “I invited you here so I could apologize. I’m sorry I was so rude when you were at my house the other day.”

      “No need to apologize. We all have bad days.” The question was did she make a practice of it? If she did, he probably shouldn’t rely on renting her place.

      “I was having a difficult conversation with my mother,” she went on, “but that’s no excuse. It wasn’t your fault.”

      Ah. Mother-daughter issues. “No problem. Don’t give it another thought. Should we talk about the estimate?”

      “Yes, and the carriage house rental, too.”

      “Okay, sure.” But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he wanted to move his family onto Fiona’s property. She was a lovely lady, and kind, but was she reliable?

      Unfortunately, though, he had no viable alternative.

      He pulled out the tablet computer and started explaining his estimate for the landscaping job, crunching numbers, talking measurements, offering possibilities and alternatives based on price. Usually, the client was right with him on this kind of thing, but Fiona didn’t seem to be paying attention. Was it because she was so wealthy she didn’t care what she spent? Or was she not liking what he was proposing?

      The third time she spaced out, he confronted her. “Look, would you rather I just give you the bottom line? Or are you uninterested? If you don’t want to hire me, you can say it right out.”

      “Oh, no, it’s not that!” Her hands twisted together in a washing motion. “I’m sorry, Eduardo. I just...” She trailed off.

      “I’m in business. I know I’m not right for every potential client.”

      “I’m very interested. I’m just not good with numbers.” She looked embarrassed.

      Funny, he hadn’t pegged Fiona as the ditzy careless type, but that was how she was acting. “No problem,” he lied. He started from the beginning and went through it again, more slowly.

      All the same, he lost her.

      Something tickled at his brain, and before he could stop himself, he blurted it out. “Do you have something like dyslexia?”

      “No!” She looked shocked. “Why would you even say that?”

      “Sorry, crazy idea. It’s just...” He trailed off and then shook his head. “I’m out of line. I shouldn’t have said anything. I apologize.”

      She drew in a breath and visibly composed herself. “It’s okay.”

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