Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (3 page)

“He didn’t know about Dawson?”

“Guess not. When I mentioned how cute it was my three-year-old had the same type of shoes he was wearing, he almost choked on his thirty-dollar steak.”

Katelyn let out a hoot of laughter. “That doesn’t sound like the most romantic evening.”

“Eh, it’s for the best. He wasn’t right for me anyway. If he doesn’t love my kids, he’s wasting my time.” She gestured toward the door. “I better go check on Jace. She's liable to have brushed her teeth right off by now.”

Katelyn followed Jenna into the petite bathroom with its brilliant blue walls and bright yellow rug fanning the floor. The clear shower curtain with sun rays shooting from the top corner and sand lining the bottom gave the impression of a beach playground. It was louder than most of the rooms in the house, but the kids loved it (evidenced in part by the oodles of bath toys spilling out of the tub and lying on the floor) and Jenna couldn’t refuse when both Jacy and Dawson were smitten with the coastal curtain.

Jacy stood on her white stepstool, examining herself in the mirror while working her toothbrush. “Mommy, Katelyn, look!” She lifted to her tiptoes. “Do I look like a ballerina?”

Jenna swept her daughter’s deep brown hair up in a twist, eyed her in the mirror. “Exactly, love. Now scoot on to bed. I’ll come in to kiss you goodnight."

“‘Kay, Momma.” She spit, rinsed, replaced the brush. “Night, Katelyn. I love you."

“Love you too, Jace. I had fun tonight. You did wonderful in your ballet practice. See you next time!”

“Bye!” Jacy wrapped Katelyn in a quick hug and raced off to her room.

“Was she practicing all night?” Jenna asked.

“All night.”

“That girl. She is so excited about the recital. You should try to be there, Katelyn. She’d love to see you. It’s three weeks from today."

“I’d love to. I’ll check to see what I’ve got going on.”

“Good. Just let me know. Now come on down so I can pay you for services rendered.”

Jenna walked downstairs to where she’d dropped her purse with Katelyn at her heels, remembered she had cash stashed in the kitchen and made her way there instead.

The two strode through the entry hall and inviting living room with its easy, cool colors and informal touches of French Country décor. Despite the kids speeding around every corner, Jenna managed to keep the place looking relatively clean. A calm, uncluttered house somehow made her feel the same. At least most of the time.

She did let some things go, like the poor lawn and her garden, but she had to remind herself the goal wasn’t to be superwoman. There was only so much a woman could do when she had a full workweek and two children. And she knew the kids would remember her time over her clean house or a well-manicured lawn in a decade anyway.

In the kitchen, Jenna handed Katelyn the fifty dollars she’d grabbed from the ATM yesterday. Though her bank account wasn’t busting at the seams, (thanks to zilch help from the ex), she never skimped on paying Katelyn for doing her job. Katelyn was a good girl and the kids loved her. Plus, the dishes were always clean, clothes folded, and toys put away when she came home. Money earned in her mind.

“Thanks again for coming.”

“My pleasure.” Katelyn grinned, “And call me next time you go out.”

“Don’t bet on it anytime soon,” Jenna declared with a laugh. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”

Jenna closed the door against the breezy night air and locked it, turned off the porch lights when she heard Katelyn’s car drive away. She leaned against the cool metal, feeling the exhaustion of a full work day and frustrating night, sighed, then started up the stairs again to make her goodnight rounds.

The door to Dawson’s room was narrowly cracked. She opened it silently the rest of the way and smiled down at her beautiful sleeping boy. He looked like a cherub with the moonlight streaming over his angelic little face.

Dawson was smaller than most kids his age, but he definitely made up for it in activity. He was surely the reason the phrase, ‘He’s all boy,’ was invented.

Once when she was grilling out on the back porch, Jacy ran outside screaming, “Dawson’s mouth is bleeding, Momma!” Jenna frantically raced inside, only to see her boy had found the red Kool-Aid on the top shelf of the pantry, torn the paper right off, and licked the powder. It looked like he was gushing blood from who knew where inside his mouth. Scared her and Jacy right out of their wits.

They had a good laugh, but not before he was sent to timeout for climbing where he shouldn’t, and stopping her heart.

Sleeping there in his big boy bed with his stuffed friends and Star Wars fleet surrounding him, Dawson didn’t look like he’d hurt a fly, much less try to make his mother drop dead with fright. But, he
was
all boy.

Wistful, she leaned down and swept the fine blonde hair back from his cool forehead. Certain that his preciousness would only grow with him—underneath those closed lids were the sweetest hazel eyes a boy could have—guaranteed a future of uneasy and taxing years for Jenna. Someday, girls would be everywhere.

She did not mind if that someday was a long time coming.

Gently tucking the covers under his neck, she tiptoed out and down the hall to Jacy’s room, wondering if the tuckered out girl had dozed off yet.

Almost there
, Jenna thought as she approached Jacy’s bed.

“Hey, Momma,” Jacy mumbled sleepily.

“Hey, baby. Just comin’ to give you a kiss goodnight. You had a big day today.”

“Uh-huh. Momma, Daddy’s coming tomorrow, right?”

“I hope so, baby. We’ll just wait and see, okay?”

“Okay. ‘Night. I love you.”

“Love you, too. You’re Momma’s best girl.”

“I’m your only girl,” Jacy said on a drowsy giggle.

“That you are,” Jenna smiled, bent and touched a kiss to Jacy’s forehead, “and always will be.”

Making her way back downstairs, Jenna paused on the landing by a beautiful black and white picture she’d taken of the kids. Her eyes warmed with tears as emotion swelled. Yep, those two little ones filled up a heart indeed.

Celibacy, night one,
she thought as she walked slowly to her bedroom and tumbled into bed. That, and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on Molly.

TWO

Bennett Aston pulled his black 4x4 into the freshly paved driveway at the newest construction on Meadow Drive. He noted the dark brick of the house complimented by the deep olive shutters and knew what’d he brought with him today would suit just fine.

Ben had enjoyed working with the elderly couple who called him up some months ago after purchasing the home and making upgrades and changes to the model, including the standard landscaping plan. Though it had taken considerable patience to explain every aspect of
gardening
, as Mrs. Stonehaven insisted on calling it, rather than what Ben knew it was——a hot, hard day’s work of physical, mental, and for Ben, emotional, labor—he felt confident he’d roped lifelong customers and great references.

After seeing the new home for the first time since its completion, he was happy to say he’d pegged his design, and his clients, just right.

The sedum propped in the bed of the truck, or Autumn Joy as he’d PR’d it to the Mrs., was as close to perfection as any plant could get. It would look great all year, and more importantly, required minimal maintenance. That meant the Stonehavens wouldn't be slaving away trying to keep their curb appeal presentable, and Ben wouldn’t be making multiple trips to re-mulch, re-plant, and re-work the ground.

He opened the truck door with a small shove and heaved his booted feet onto the rich black pavement.

Gathering shovel, trowel, and hose from the back of the truck, he scanned the green and white logo spanning the length of the cab that boasted,

Aston & Sons Landscaping

and marveled how in less than a year, a company could dwindle from three Astons to one. With Ben being the one left standing.

His father’s absence, Ben could understand, even respect and appreciate. Bruce Aston was a man Ben had looked up to as long as he could remember. Thinking of his father flooded him with pride. Bruce was big and burly with a bigger heart and character. He was the hardest worker Ben had ever known, compassionate yet full of grit, with a mischievous sense of humor. Though Ben liked to continually rib his father about being short—Ben considered anything under his six-three frame ‘short’, though at five-ten Bruce couldn't really be considered diminutive—aside from the height, Ben knew Bruce outshined him in every other aspect.

Ben loved every inch of the old man and would work to the death if it meant his father could have a retirement of rest. In all the years on the job, Bruce had never complained and always completed any task with patience, precision and quality.

Ben missed his mentor, but knew his dad needed the time, deserved the rest.

Joseph’s absence was a different story—one Ben didn’t care to consider at the moment. His little brother provoked too many ill feelings and it was too nice a day to worry with a sore subject.

If only Joseph would come home where he belonged, things would get better. Feelings could be talked through, problems worked out. But no, Joe insisted on time, on space. And that’s just what everyone was giving him . . . for way too long in Ben’s opinion.

He tossed the equipment near the beds and went back for load number two and three.

Even with the reasonably cool autumn morning, the southern sun was already beating down and a bead of sweat popped up on his brow. Today’s work was a lot of job for one man.

Maybe he should’ve called a few of the crew to come out, but the truth was, Ben liked doing the work himself. He liked the way his muscles ached after hauling pallets of sod, liked how sweat slid down his back from bending, lifting, bending, lifting. No matter how hot the day or how long the hours, he always felt useful and accomplished after finishing a job.

And today, no matter how much help he had or didn’t have, there was work to be done—mulch to be spread, seeds to be planted, blooms to be re-planted—and Ben wanted to get it done as soon as possible.

It was a Sunday after all. A man had things to do. Go home, shower off the day, eat some dinner.

Maybe he’d catch the tail end of the Titans game if he really set a good pace.

He unloaded more, dug, tilled, maneuvered, watered, measured the space, outlined where the beds would curve out, snake back in.

Securing several jewel-toned tulip bulbs in the tilled earth, he realized with a mix of irritation and guilt that he hoped Heidi didn’t want to have one of her heart-to-hearts when he got home. It generally ended up being a lot of heart from her with a little head nodding from him.

God love her, and he did, but that woman could talk a blue streak. He had heard once that women use over fifteen hundred more words a day than men, and boy did he believe it. Whoever finally stated that fact was a genius . . . with guts.

Ben stood and leaned on his giant shovel, inhaling the mild mid-morning air, and stepped back to admire his half-completed project.

His vision had been classic but elegant for the Stonehavens. Mid-size bushes and plants lining the front of the house, flanked by larger ones at each corner. He’d wanted a few colors to pop, but mainly intended the beauty to come by varying shades of green in the shrubs complimenting the dark shutters and rich tone of the brick.

Today, he’d hauled the smaller items, and tomorrow, he’d return with help and his eight-foot lilacs to complete the look. Their height and beauty were sure to be noticed by neighbors (a Mrs. Stonehaven request), and the variety he'd chosen—Syringa Meyeri—wouldn’t put off too strong a fragrance (also a request due to grandchildren's allergies).

“Hey, Mr. Ben!” A small voice called out, interrupting his thoughts.

He glanced over his shoulder to see a little blonde-headed boy running toward him from the yard diagonal to the Stonehaven’s.

“Mr. Ben, Mr. Ben!” the boy squeaked again.

Ben grinned in surprise and recognition
. Dawson. The feisty, mischievous ball of energy from his Tuesday night karate class. His, since Joseph left it behind.

The boy halted to a stop when he reached Ben’s knee.

“Hey, little guy. What are you doing around these parts?”

“I live there.” Dawson pointed with excitement. “What are
you
doin’ around these parts, Mr. Ben?”

Ben laughed, gave the top of Dawson’s head a playful rub. “Just Ben, remember, Dawson? I’m not an old man. And I'm here because of my job.”

Dawson squinted, confused. “You don’t live here?”

“Nope. I’m working here. Teaching you karate is just one of my jobs,” Ben explained. “Most of the time, I do this.” Ben waved his arm over the wide work area of plants and tools.

“Wow! You’re a flower man?”

“Yes,” Ben chuckled, “I guess I’m a flower man. I make people’s yard and homes look nice with flowers, trees, waterfalls, all kinds of nature.”