Authors: Muriel Jensen
“I’m just saying,” Clarissa added pointedly, “that punctuality is important in small-town service. There are less of us to do more work, so it’s a good thing if we don’t hold each other up. Your brother understood that.”
Even Sandy groaned at the comment. “Clarie, he’s a bachelor with two little boys and no parenthood experience. Cut him some slack.”
Nate gave Sandy a grateful smile. He wanted to shout at Clarissa that he’d had one hell of a morning, and that while he wished more than anything that Ben were still here, he hated the comparisons to him because he’d always felt that he’d never measured up to his older brother. It was Ben who’d made the skills Nate did have work for the business.
Instead, remembering what he told the boys to do when they’d been misjudged or misunderstood, he fought for patience. He nodded politely to the older woman. “You’re absolutely right. I won’t be late again.”
At that moment, Jonni and Karen carried in thermal pots of coffee and hot water, a stack of white, diner-style plates and cups, and paper napkins.
“Perfect.” Nate smiled his thanks.
The two disappeared quickly, closing the door behind them.
After doughnuts were selected and beverages poured, Clarissa, the committee’s chairwoman, started the meeting. For all the group’s frivolity, the items on the agenda were efficiently worked through one by one. By ten o’clock they’d decided to do several small projects throughout the fall to accommodate all the groups who wanted to help, culminating with one formal event with a Christmas in Old Astoria theme.
“How formal?” Jerry asked worriedly.
Sandy made a broad gesture, apparently seeing the picture in her head. “You know, something really classy. Something upstairs in the Banker’s Suite.”
“So, dinner and dancing?” Clarissa asked.
The Banker’s Suite occupied the second floor of a former bank built in the Greek Revival style. The upstairs had been remodeled in grand fashion for weddings and other special events.
“Yes, but maybe with a raffle—some special items that’ll really get attention. What do you think?”
A skeptical look went around the table. Clarissa shook her head. “Those twenty-dollar raffles are a thing of the past these days.”
“I know. Bad economy. But what if the tickets were five dollars instead of twenty? People who can afford them will buy several, and people who can’t will buy just one.”
“What special items do you have in mind?” Jerry asked. “I can probably get tickets to the Mariners.” He waggled his eyebrows. “My father-in-law has connections, and he’s crazy about his new grandson. Thinks I’m quite brilliant.”
Sandy rolled her eyes. “Lydia carried this baby for nine months, gave birth after what was probably a grueling labor if the baby takes after you sizewise, and you’re taking credit for him?”
Jerry grinned unabashedly. “I am.”
Clarissa joined him. “You do have to admit that season tickets are a brilliant idea. And that is one beautiful baby. I’ll contribute several items in a winter wardrobe. And my daughter is a jewelry designer in Palm Springs. I’m sure she’ll send us something.”
Sandy applauded. “Okay. You guys are on fire! Except for you, Jerry. You’re just kind of full of smoke. Nate, what can you get us?”
“A couple of free tax returns? I won’t even stipulate that they have to be simple.”
“Wonderful. We all know what getting taxes done costs these days.” She turned to Mike. “Can we count on you for a couple of gourmet baskets and wine?”
“Of course.”
“Great. So what have we left undone?”
Clarissa looked over her notes. “Not much. We’re agreed that we’ll have a series of small events so that all the groups that want to help us can. The high school kids are having a car wash and bake sale. The grade school kids are selling candy. The Astoria Coffee House and the Urban Café are contributing half the proceeds from a particular weekend to the cause. And the Downtown Association has agreed to devote a Saturday from noon to five where a portion of each business’s sales come to us for the food bank. What else? What’s Kiwanis doing, Nate?”
“Our plan is to lend support to whatever the committee wants. And we’re working on the raffle, too. Hunter is trying to get a really big prize to make everyone buy a ticket. Maybe a European trip, with airfare and hotel accommodations.” He went to the door and shouted for Hunter.
His colleague walked into the conference room. “Yes?”
“Can you give us an update on the status of the trip for the raffle?” Nate asked.
Hunter stood near the table, seemingly reluctant to share the news. “It’s not good, I’m afraid,” he reported. “It’s hard for travel agents to comp that kind of thing for us at this point in time. I’ve got a few local hotels and restaurants, but no one can do anything really big.”
Everyone around the table seemed to understand that.
“Does it have to be a trip?” Sandy asked into the quiet.
Nate noticed her eyes roving Hunter’s shoulders as she posed the question, then down the sturdy length of him as he replied.
“I guess not. What else would draw interest?”
“I know an artist,” Sandy said, with enough excitement to get everyone’s attention. “And she’s brilliant. In fact, I’ll bet we can get a painting out of her for the raffle. Something to support the Christmas in Old Astoria theme.”
“Who is it?” Jerry asked.
“Bobbie Molloy. She’s living here while she’s fulfilling a commission for my office.”
Nate looked at Sandy in amazement. “That’s who’s living in your aunt’s old house? She’s my new neighbor.... I didn’t know you knew her.”
“She’s kind of a private person. And she moved here to have time alone to work.”
“Then are you sure she’d want to help us?”
Sandy smiled sweetly. “I’ll talk her into it.”
“Didn’t you already talk her into teaching an art class at Astor?”
Sandy appeared surprised that he knew that. “Yes, I did. Why?”
Nate wasn’t sure why he felt protective of Bobbie Molloy. She insisted that she was doing well, but he remembered vividly how small she seemed, how pale. He wondered if Sandy knew she’d been ill. “Well, she seems a little...fragile.”
Sandy met his eyes and he was suddenly sure she knew everything about Bobbie, and maybe resented his interference. “If we don’t give her something to do, she’s going to spend every waking hour in that studio until she leaves for Italy in January. Her father called me recently to see how she was doing, and I promised him I’d help her get out and meet people.” Sandy looked around the table at the expressions on the committee members’ faces. Her colleagues obviously thought she presumed too much. “What? She was my roommate at Portland State, before she went to the Pacific Northwest College of Art. I care about her.”
“Well, if you ask her for a painting, won’t she still be spending every waking hour in her studio?” Nate asked.
Sandy considered that, then said finally, “As a member of the committee, and her neighbor,
you
can help her gather whatever she needs, check on her progress, support the work in whatever way you can. Why? Do you object to my asking her?”
He thought a moment. Bobbie Molloy seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “No,” he said finally. “Go ahead.”
“I do like the painting idea,” Clarissa said as she closed her notebook and stood. “Okay. Back here next Monday morning same time?” She gave Nate a slightly apologetic smile. “You can be late as long as you arrive with doughnuts again. We’ll all try to get whatever donations we can for the raffle at the Christmas dinner dance, right?”
“Right.” The reply was unanimous.
The group left in a surge. Nate walked them to the door and waved everyone off. Sandy stopped to talk to Jonni.
“You seem very protective of this Bobbie woman,” Hunter said to Nate when he returned. He picked up the last maple bar left on the plate.
Nate scooped the paper trash into a woven basket. “She’s just been through a lot.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me.”
“Hmm.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “She’s my neighbor. She brought some Halloween things over for the boys.”
“You called her fragile. I thought that went out in women along with petticoats and high button shoes.” He pointed with his last bite of maple bar to Sandy. “They’re now all like her—what’s her name?—from your lawyer’s office.”
Nate put the basket down and elbowed him. “Sandy. And she’s got a thing for
you
.”
“What?”
“She was giving you the once-over.”
He didn’t seem to like that. “She’s a pit bull. I’m waiting for a...a—”
“A poodle?” Nate asked. Then he added quietly, “You know, she’s raising two little girls alone. Can’t do that if you’re just a pretty face.”
“What happened to her husband? Probably drove him away.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve seen her at meetings with her kids when she couldn’t get a babysitter.” He held a hand down, palm parallel to the ground at the level of his thigh to indicate height. “Little things. Younger than Sheamus.”
Hunter made a face. “Sounds awful. She probably never gets to watch Sports Center.”
Nate laughed and pushed him toward the door.
* * *
B
OBBIE
COULDN
’
T
BELIEVE
her ears. She sat across the table from Sandy at the Astoria Coffee House, a funky, converted auto repair shop.
Sandy pointed her fork at the chicken, cranberries and walnuts in Bobbie’s salad. “Is that as good as it looks?”
“Yes, and don’t change the subject.” Bobbie tried to sound severe. It wasn’t hard. “You volunteered me to produce a new painting for a fund-raiser? Have you forgotten that you just volunteered me to teach an art class to little children? After helping me get a commission for your office, a project that’s falling behind schedule?”
“Come on. You work fast when you’re inspired.” Sandy took a bite of her Reuben sandwich and remained casual in the face of Bobbie’s indignation. “And everything about Astoria is inspiring. It’ll be good for you to get out and get material, take photos, whatever you do. And the Kiwanis guys promise their total support. They’re gorgeous, you know. Some of them are single and financially comfortable enough to support your art if you decide you like Astoria and want to blow off Italy, after all. And it’ll flex your artistic muscles to help us out for charity. It’s a win-win.”
Bobbie put a hand on her friend’s to stop her from taking another bite. “I like Astoria, but I am not staying here. I’m going to Florence, and I do not need to be this involved, when I’m leaving in January. Not to mention that I need
time
to get the commission done!”
“I thought you were down to just needing to do the calligraphy.”
“On two pieces, but there are two more.”
“You were mixing the mucky stuff.”
“Yeah, well, a shelf and a lot of other junk landed in it.”
“What?”
She explained about the mishap with Arnold and the Raleigh boys.
Sandy leaned back in her chair with a half smile. “So,
that’s
it.”
“That’s what?”
“Why Nate Raleigh was being protective of you. He felt guilty about the boys putting you behind.”
“I don’t understand.”
“At our committee meeting this morning. I proposed you help us, but he said you seemed fragile.”
Bobbie put her fork down, her voice high. “
Fragile?
Me?”
“Calm down.” She nibbled on a potato chip dotted with cracked pepper. “Nobody else knows what an Amazon warrior-woman hides in your delicate body. He’s going to be your go-to guy for Kiwanis.” She frowned. “He seems to think I’m pushy.”
“No!” Bobbie said. “How ever could he have come to such a conclusion?”
Sandy dismissed her sarcasm with a wave of her chip. “The truth is, we really need you. The food bank is practically broke, and if this fund-raiser isn’t a success, I don’t know what the hungry people in this county will do. Now, please. Let’s talk about something else. Oh! You’ll never believe what Zoey said....”
Bobbie pretended to listen as her friend talked on about the girls. She was privately wondering two things. First, how on earth was she going to fulfill all her obligations by the New Year? Because she had to help with the fund-raiser. She’d been sick and she’d been down, but she’d never been hungry. And the thought of
children
being hungry was an abomination.
Second, why had she ever shared her personal struggle with Nate Raleigh? She’d been holding back, trying not to get too involved in Astoria, since she would be here only through December. But thanks to Sandy, she was in up to her eyebrows in community projects. Of course, if her father was coming to visit, she wanted him to think she was connected to the community so he wouldn’t worry.
But if Nate was going to go around calling her fragile, she would have to straighten him out. Even if he meant it kindly, nobody counted her out. She’d fought too hard to get here.
So, she’d add working on the fund-raiser to finishing her commission, teaching the art class and preparing her tiny home and her personal space for her father’s visit.
And she’d teach Nate Raleigh a thing or two about underestimating people. Women. Her.
CHAPTER FOUR
B
Y
THE
TIME
Nate left the office at four-thirty, Halloween had taken over Astoria. Traditionally, businesses welcomed trick-or-treaters in the late afternoon before the Monster Bash took place. Hundreds of costumed children, their parents in tow, swooped down upon the merchants in search of treats. Jonni and Karen stood outside the office with plastic pumpkins filled with candy, seemingly having as much fun as the kids.
Nate wound his way home through the chaos, finally pulling into his driveway when the late afternoon sun was low in the sky. He braked so abruptly that the car rocked. There was a witch in his driveway. Narrowing his eyes, he leaned over the steering wheel and took a second look.
She was still there, complete with a conical hat and flowing black dress. The fall breeze caught the irregular hem and fluttered it around slender ankles and small feet in incongruous tennis shoes. She held a star-tipped wand pointed in his direction. It traced a dramatic swath in the air that suggested he would disintegrate, or explode, or something equally dire.
He was surprised to feel a moment’s cheer. It was Bobbie. She lowered the wand and came toward him, waggling it between her thumb and forefinger.
He opened his window. “Careful with that thing,” he said. “You might turn me into a toad.”
She pointed it at him once more, her expression severe. “You already are a toad. I’m here to—”
Sheamus burst through the back door carrying a small orange basket trimmed with black ribbon and fuzzy, phony spiders bobbing on a wire attached to the handle. His arrival halted her explanation of whatever she was “here to do.” Ask him something? Tell him? He had no idea.
Sheamus held the basket so close to Nate’s face that he went cross-eyed.
“Look, Uncle Nate. Bobbie made peanut butter cookies and some other kind with jam in them and these special ones shaped like pumpkins with orange frosting!”
Nate pushed Sheamus’s hand slightly away so that he could focus on the basket with its elegant assortment of treats. The container itself was a work of art.
Stella wandered out with Dylan, who had an identical basket, except that bats bobbed from the handle.
“I think these are going to require a thank-you note,” she said, giving Bobbie a quick hug. “I’m happy you moved in next door.”
“Yuk!” Dylan made a face. “We did say thank you. And we really meant it.”
“When someone cares enough about you to give you something this special...” Stella pointed to his basket. “You have to be sure they know how happy you are to have it. Are you boys ready to go to the Bash?”
“Maybe you should hit the bathroom first,” Nate suggested.
The boys ran back inside. Stella followed. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea if you took your coats!” she shouted after them before the door closed behind her.
“You know they’re not going to want to hide their costumes,” Bobbie said.
Her comment seemed obvious and it annoyed him that it hadn’t occurred to him first. They were
his
nephews.
“Yes, I do. Thank you for stopping by.” He looked to either side, as though searching for something. “No broom?” he asked pointedly. “How did you get here?”
“Aren’t you cute?” She touched his shoulder threateningly with the wand. “Remember that I can make you bald and ugly.”
“You were going to ask me something,” he reminded her. “Or tell me something.”
A car stopped behind Nate and a crowd of children leaped out, half of them headed for Nate’s house, the other half for Bobbie’s.
She pointed her wand at him. “We’ll talk again. Goodbye.” She ran back across her yard with witchy dignity to intercept the trick-or-treaters.
Monet, sitting on the back porch, ran for cover as the children approached.
Nate pulled the car up into his usual spot, gathered briefcase and computer and went inside as Stella distributed candy into outstretched bags. In the kitchen he dropped his things on a chair and went to pour a cup of coffee, hoping he could down a few sips before the boys reappeared.
“Bobbie’s a lovely neighbor,” Stella said, coming back inside. She opened a bag of treats and refilled the large orange bowl she’d placed on the table. A bony plastic hand hovered over the candy, descending whenever someone reached for a piece. The boys thought it hilarious.
Nate leaned against the counter and savored the caffeine. He was going to need it. “She’s a little bit of a buttinsky,” he said absently.
Stella made an impatient sound at that assessment. “I think it was providence that brought her here.” She arranged the treats, eliciting a grisly laugh from the bowl as the hand descended on hers. “She’s just the kind of woman this household needs.
“You can stop it right now, Stella. You can matchmake for your son, but not for me. And she’s a woman with plans, anyway. She’s moving to Italy after the first of the year.”
Stella nodded. “To study art. She told me. She could do that here for the right man.”
“No. She’s not some little romantic waiting for her Prince Charming. She wants to study art in Florence. She’s determined to dedicate herself to it without the complications of a personal life.”
“Well, you certainly would complicate a woman’s life.”
Nate straightened away from the counter. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come on, Nathan. You’re charming and generous and very appealing, but you’re afraid to go the distance.”
“Hey!” He only half pretended injury. “I’m going the distance with two little boys and a business. I don’t have time for romance.”
“I’m talking love, not just romance. You can’t be afraid to face it head-on.”
“What makes you think I’m afraid?”
“You’re thirty-five, handsome, intelligent, successful and you know how to treat a woman. Hunter says your single female clients and a few of the married ones come to the office all the time for your opinion on their finances.”
“That’s business. And he’s not supposed to talk about what goes on at the office.”
“He didn’t share any details.” She gave Nate a knowing smile. “Just that you haven’t a clue that they’re after you. And you’re a smart man. So, you mustn’t
want
to know.”
The doorbell rang. She picked up the laughing bowl and, with a parting wink, headed for the door. “You boys have fun,” she said.
Sheamus raced from the downstairs bathroom as Dylan thundered down the stairs and out the back door. Sheamus caught his uncle’s hand and pulled him. “Come on! Hurry!”
Nate let himself be dragged along, thinking indignantly,
Afraid? Me?
* * *
N
OTHING
SEPARATED
THE
MEN
from the boys quite like Astoria’s annual Monster Bash. The excitement generated by hundreds of hypercharged children, and parents trying to maintain some degree of control, was an all-out sensory assault. Nate felt as though it took over his heartbeat and thrummed through his body like a blood tsunami.
And the candy, cake, punch, contests and prizes only revved the kids higher.
While Dylan and Sheamus posed with dozens of other boys for a superhero photo taken by the
Daily Astorian’
s photographer, Nate tried to stay out of the fray. But two little bite-size fairies collided with his knees. One of the girls spilled punch on his slacks, and the other got frosting on the cuff of his jacket when he leaned down to make sure they were all right. He recognized Sandy’s children, Addie and Zoey.
“Hi, girls,” he said. He kept smiling despite going mildly nuts with the noise and confusion. But if the other parents could cope, so could he.
“Oh, good grief!” Sandy fought her way past someone in a Hulk costume who had gotten between her and the girls, and noticed Nate dabbing at his jacket. “What did they get on you? I’m so sorry.” She extracted a wet wipe from her purse and grabbed his wrist to work on the frosted cuff.
She wore a wildly colored headscarf, a yellow blouse and long red skirt, and the large hoop earrings of a gypsy. As she worked she smiled up at him in dismay. “I’m really sorry. You always look so elegant and we’ve messed you up.”
Nate pulled away to stop her fussing. “Hi, Sandy. I’m fine, really.”
“Girls! Come back!” While she was trying to clean him up, the girls had escaped again. She reached around him just in time to catch Addie’s hand and desperately pointed to Zoey, on his other side. “Stop her, Nate!”
Afraid he’d break that small arm if he grabbed it, he caught the little girl around the waist and scooped her into his arms. He was smacked in the face by a sparkly wing as she put her arm around his neck. The little fairy pushed aside her long blond hair and smiled warmly. She smelled of strawberries. “Hi!” she said. “You’re Sheamus’s daddy.”
A little surprised that she remembered him, Nate didn’t correct her. He was sure he’d met the girls only once, at a parish picnic at St. Mary’s. “And you’re Zoey. You have to stay with your mom or you’ll get lost.”
Addie tugged at his pant leg, clearly competing for attention. “I’m Addie!” she announced in a voice much bigger than seemed appropriate for her size.
He smiled down at her. “Yes, I know. Are you having fun?”
She held up a plastic bag filled with candy. “Yes. You want some?”
“No, thank you. I’m full.”
She clearly didn’t see how anyone could be too full for candy. “Can you pick me up, too?”
Sandy sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry. They’re both man-crazy. I guess because they don’t have one in their lives. You really don’t have to...”
He reached a hand down for Addie, told her to hang on, and pulled her up against his side. She held on to his neck as he settled her on his arm. She giggled at her sister, then both girls looked around, enjoying their superior view.
He grinned at Sandy. “They seem like a lot of fun.” It was strange how vulnerable she seemed as a mother, yet as a community activist, she was a powerhouse.
She glanced at her daughters adoringly. “They are. Exhausting, but fun. They’re never still a minute, and I’m trying not to think ahead to when they’ll be dating at the same time.” She straightened the hem of Zoey’s dress and asked casually, “Have you and Bobbie talked about the painting?”
He shook his head and frowned. “You told her I called her fragile, didn’t you? Apparently that’s a bad word where she comes from, because when I got home tonight, she waved a wand at me and threatened to make me bald and ugly.”
Sandy laughed, her hoop earrings dancing. “As though she could make you bald. You have that same wonderful hair Ben had.” She smiled reminiscently. “I served on a couple of committees with Sherrie. They were both fun to know. Anyway.” She expelled a sigh, pushing the sensitive subject aside. “As for ugly,” she added, mischief in her grin, “I’m sure it wouldn’t take, no matter how hard she tried.”
Nate was left wondering if Sandy Evans had just given him a compliment.
“Hey, guys!” Hunter appeared beside them in a Frankenstein costume. The Kiwanis Club had helped with the decorating. Suddenly recognizing Sandy, he looked a little nervous. “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you with your red hair covered.”
Nate watched in amazement as Sandy’s gaze softened. She said nothing, but smiled into Hunter’s eyes.
It surprised Nate that the girls didn’t seem frightened of Hunter, despite his full Frankenstein makeup, complete with a large bolt sticking out of his head.
“Ah...” Hunter dragged his eyes away from Sandy and looked around for another subject. He found it in the little fairies that had alighted on Nate’s arms. “How come you have two of those,” he asked, “and I don’t have any?”
“Clearly, I’m more important. Actually, they’re just on loan. I think my purpose here is to provide them with an aerial view. You want one?”
Sheamus walked up to the group, the photo session over, and looked puzzled at the sight of Nate holding Sandy’s daughters. “We aren’t keeping them, are we?”
“No. Here you go, Hunt. Have both. Girls, how about you let Uncle Frankenstein show you around?”
The amenable pair leaned out of his arms toward Hunter without complaint.
“We were about to join the dancing, Hunter,” Sandy told him. “Want to come?”
He looked pleadingly at Nate, who ignored him.
“Do I have to dance?” Hunter asked worriedly.
“No.”
“Then, yes. See you tomorrow, Nate.” He followed her across the room, his arms filled with her children. It was a good look for him, Nate thought.
“Okay.” He put a hand on Sheamus’s shoulder and glanced around for Dylan. “Where’s your brother?”
“He and a couple of his friends were gonna get some punch.”
As Nate looked toward the refreshment table at the other side of the room, he heard a sudden, eerie whooshing noise that was immediately followed by the eruption of a green geyser shooting toward the ceiling. There were cries and screams and a great scattering of children and adults before the geyser collapsed as dramatically as it had risen, drenching everyone nearby.
Nate saw three boys run for the door, one of them a very familiar Iron Man.
He pushed his way through the crowd and reached the table just in time to see the principal of Astor School and the mayor soaked from head to toe in green slime. One of the bad words he’d fought so hard to control in the past few months slipped out. Sheamus, wide-eyed and glued to his side, blinked up at him. “Uncle Nate!”
Nate did the mayor’s personal taxes, and he didn’t really know the principal, but he’d had a conversation with her about the boys right after the accident. She’d been kind and caring. Right now she maintained the carriage of a royal personage—despite the fact that she was green.
“I’m...so sorry,” he said. He looked around frantically for something to help them wipe the slimy stuff off, just as several people ran from the kitchen with a stack of towels.
A woman Nate recognized as the mother of one of Dylan’s friends held his nephew by the arm in one hand and a vampire by his cape in the other. A concerned mummy followed them, looking around furtively, as though considering escape. In the end, he chose to stay with his friends.