Romancing Redemption Page 11

  Michael watched her, his face devoid of emotion. He then studied the floor, his eyebrows scrunched together as he thought. He held up a finger. “And don’t forget the museum canceled your contract.”

  “What? How’d you...” Her knees buckled beneath her and she crumpled to the carpet, arms wrapped around her knees. “You knew?” She sobbed, trying to catch her breath. “The museum canceled, yes. I bet the bank is next.”

  Michael knelt beside her, but she held up her hand, holding him at bay. The words tore from her, everything in her refusing to say them. But she won – her dang pride and affections for Michael won. “Don’t. I want you to go. I’m not good for you and if you keep trying with me, I’ll just rub off on you.” She dropped her hand and whispered. “Please, Michael, just go.”

  “I’m still going to the Cavendish barn raising. If you want to meet me there, I’d be honored.” After he retrieved his hat, he left, quietly closing the door and disappearing.

  Hopefully, she’d helped keep him safe.

  Hopefully, she could breathe again someday.

  “YOU’LL NEVER WORK IN this town again!” Tom’s wife poked Rosie’s chest with a jagged fingernail.

  Rosie tilted her head. “You don’t tell me where I’m working or not working. Go back to your house, Mathilda. The diner isn’t even your business.”

  Spittle formed at the corner of the older woman’s mouth. Her words spewed venom. “You’re nothing but a no-good-filthy-who—”

  “Mathilda! That’s enough. You don’t know anything about Rosie and there you are hurling insults at my best server.” Tom plucked Mathilda’s flying hand from the air and pulled it close to his side. He lowered his voice. “I’m serious. Stop.”

  His wife narrowed her eyes and spoke slowly. “Get her out of here, Tom, now. I mean it.” She stomped from the restaurant, the clack of her shoes loud on the white tile.

  Rosie watched her leave, unable to face what could only be acquiescence on Tom’s face. What else would he do? Mathilda was his wife. Enough said.

  Finally, Rosie glanced at her boss’s face.

  Pity warred with worry on his face. “Dang it, Rosie. I’m so sorry. I can’t do anything about it while she’s in one of her moods. I already regret this. Maybe we could just do a short suspension? I don’t want to lose you. You’re one of the best servers around. I know it and so does she.”

  “But she’s afraid of what people will say, I get it.” Rosie sighed, glancing around at the few customers who may or may not have caught her being fired in all its glory. Which ones were talking about her and which ones didn’t care?

  “Yeah, well, aren’t we all? She’s horrible and I’m sorry. Give it over the weekend, and we can reevaluate, okay? You’re terrific and I don’t want to lose you.” Reiterating his sentiment didn’t help Rosie. She got it. His wife didn’t want a whore working at her restaurant.

  Who did, right?

  She yanked her apron strings free from their knot and rolled it into a ball, stuffing it into her bag. Outside the front door, she paused to make sure she hadn’t jerked any of the money liner loose.

  When she looked up, Phillip stared at her from across the street. Instead of leaning on the wall or even lounging against a pole, he stood with his hands tucked in his pockets. His smirk chilled her. His eyes traced her form and she bit down on the scream building deep in her chest.

  Without a word, she turned and headed toward home.

  What would Sara Beth say, if she knew Rosie had lost her job? Even if it was a temporary leave of absence? She’d start stressing out and with school being hard on her, Rosie didn’t want to add more to it.

  Before she could over-think the decision, she turned into the bar when she reached the door. If Phillip wanted something to watch, he’d be bored as she sat at the bar counter and did nothing.

  Few inhabitants broke up the dim lighting reflecting off the polished wood surfaces. Gus didn’t own the nicest business in town, or even keep it extremely clean, but the important stuff was well maintained – tables, chairs, jukeboxes, and counters all made the list of priorities.

  A couple by the window watched her pass, and Rosie squared her shoulders, plowing her way to the bar. She tapped on the glossy top with the nail of her index finger.

  The door opened behind her, casting a shaft of light to spill into the large room. Rosie didn’t need to look around. Phillip would be standing there and who needed to give him any attention? Not Rosie.

  Gus moved toward her, smiling as he wiped down a glass with a white towel. “Rosie, how you doin’? I get to see you here today and the diner tomorrow? I’m lucky. What can I get you?”

  She shook her head, studying the distressed marks in the counter, understanding the beat-up feel of the wood. “No, I was laid off at the diner, Gus. Um, you wouldn’t happen to need any help around here, would you?” Just asking burned her pride. Thankfully, the light was dim enough to hide any flush that might make its way up her cheeks. She wasn’t dumb enough to believe the temporary status Tom had given her suspension.

  Phillip sat on the stool beside her.

  Rosie stiffened, sidling away from him, but unable to move far while Gus stayed put. Mentally Rosie cajoled with Gus to move with her, but apparently her ESP powers didn’t work and he didn’t understand what she wanted.

  Gus put the dry glass on the counter and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Rosie. I’m not in the position to hire, right now.”

  “Yeah, it’s because of the rumors going around, right?” Rosie glanced down, fiddling with the cardboard coaster printed with some alcohol logo. She couldn’t even get hired on at the bar.

  “Hey.” Gus slapped the counter, dragging Rosie’s attention to his face. “You listen to me. I don’t care about rumors or even a person’s past. If you’re good to me, I’m good to you. And Rosie, you’ve never been anything but kind.” He expanded his arms wide, as if trying to encompass the bar in its entirety. “If I didn’t owe a ton of money on keeping this piece of crap hole open and limping along, I would hire help – you – on the spot. But I’m so far in debt, I can’t breathe straight sometimes, you know?” He pointed at her, tucking his head and meeting her gaze with intensity. “Do you hear what I’m saying? I would hire you in a second, if I could. Here, have a drink on me.”

  His words warmed her. “Thanks, Gus, that means a lot.”

  Phillip stood, moving closer to stand beside her elbow. “That was really kind, Gus. I told her over and over that if she hadn’t cleaned at the Ranch, she could’ve made a killing as one of the fillies.” He clucked his tongue. “But Ms. Scott here has weird requirements for the guys she gives it to – they have to work in the dirt and have no class or money.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, she’ll eventually make her way to the whore house, right, Rosie?” He laughed.

  Gus leaned across the bar and grabbed the top of Phillip’s shirt. “Do you mean to tell me, she didn’t work as a prostitute? What the hell are you doing, Nelson? Spreading lies about people? The people of Colby won’t take kindly to that.”

  Phillip pushed from Gus’s grasp, brushing away the wrinkles left in his pressed button-up shirt. “What? Do you think the residents who live here will believe an ex-waitress and a bartender? About what? The truth? She worked at the Ranch. She says she wasn’t one of the women, but that’s her word against the owner’s. She came and worked for me, and then came this way. I don’t know what she’s doing to make her money, but how does she survive with such small wages?” He shook his head, walking around her to the other side, coming to a stop while leaning on the counter. “Nah, I think she’s going to come to her senses as soon as she realizes no one wants to hire her. Won’t you, Rosie? Take me up on my offer? If it still stands.”

  She bit her lip, glaring at the wood grains under her fingers.

  How had she gotten there? When had everything turned south so fast? What would Michael say, if he found out she’d lost her job? He didn’t know much about her, but a steady job was a good, reliabl
e, respectable trait that she had. But now, she had nothing consistent.

  Nothing constant, except Phillip.

  Gus rounded the end of the bar. He pushed against Phillip’s chest, moving him out of the bar like dust on the ground. “You’re outta here. Don’t bother coming back. I don’t allow pricks in here.” He opened the door and shoved Phillip outside.

  Dusting off his hands, he rejoined Rosie and reached across the bar for the shot glass he’d poured. “You need this. I insist.” He snapped his fingers and a large, burly man approached from the rear of the bar. “This is my cousin, Bill. He’ll walk you home. He’s heading that way. Can never be too careful.” He nodded his head toward the exit.

  She didn’t hesitate, tossing back the tequila with a quick nod. Yeah, she’d accept the help because, for once, she needed it.

  Michael

  Chapter 16

  JEFFREY TOSSED A PAIR of gloves to Michael as he walked through the barn door. “Hey, man, you’re just in time to help muck the stalls.”

  Michael laughed, pulling the rawhide over his hands. He welcomed the warmth of the musty scents around him. “Okay, but I’m warning you, I miss my target sometimes.” Grabbing the nearest shovel, he headed toward the closest stall.

  Following with a pitchfork, Jeffrey reached forward and opened the half-door. “I was kind of hoping you’d let the whole ‘head honcho’ bit get to your head. Seems like I could’ve taken you down a notch or two. Might’ve been fun.” He laughed, ducking beneath the handful of dirt and straw Michael hurled at him.

  “Yeah, man, because you’ve been able to take me in the past.” Michael laughed, his mood at an all-time high.

  For once things settled into place. He mentally tallied up his immediate blessings with each shovel full he pushed.

  One, Rosie might meet him at the barn raising and dance. The might was enough for him.

  Two, he’d been given the chance to be a head foreman. At his age, it wasn’t an everyday promotion.

  Three, he’d been released from Rourke expectations and even though his initial reaction had been to panic, the removal of the shackles allowed him to breathe. He could think past the boundaries of the perimeter fencing, past the pictures of ancestors hanging on the walls, even past the dismal gravestones sitting monument for his parents in the Rourke cemetery plot on the ranch.

  For once, he wasn’t tied to the plans of anyone but himself. And the liberty sang beneath his skin. Rosie seemed to like him as a ranch hand, as a working man. She hadn’t acknowledged his family name or even the money he came from. If she could love him, despite his sudden lack of fortune, their future had even less limits than he’d imagined.

  Laughing and joking, and throwing some hay and other crap at each other, Michael and Jeffrey made quick work of the first side of the stalls. As they crossed the middle of the barn, Ronan entered through the far door and motioned for Michael to join him.

  “Uh oh, the noble jobs start now.” Jeffrey laughed and took the shovel from Michael.

  “Psh.” Michael waved him off and strode to Ronan whose severely somber expression slowed Michael down.

  He approached with caution. “Hey, Mr. James. What can I do for you?”

  “Michael, this is the last thing I want to do.” Ronan reached forward and clasped Michael’s shoulder. He ducked his head. “I just received a phone call from your sister over on Rourke Ranch.” Ronan swallowed, taking a moment to gather himself. “She just informed me that your grandfather passed away earlier this afternoon. He had a stroke out fixing some fences and no one was around.” He pulled Michael in for a full hug. “I’m sorry, son. They want you to head over to the ranch as soon as you’re able. Why don’t you go now?”

  Michael didn’t respond. He nodded his head – maybe? – and tugged the gloves off. He walked in a near-zombie state to the key box and grabbed some keys. Finding the truck and climbing in, Michael couldn’t quite understand what was happening.

  Ronan had mentioned a stroke and his grandfather.

  Disbelief and a sense of unreality pushed his foot harder on the pedal to the floor of the truck.

  Yes, Donald was getting up there in years, but he’d never acted older than thirty-five, even though life experience had formed wrinkles in his skin far surpassing that of a middle-aged man.

  And in Michael’s mind – the older Rourke was invincible. Hell, to the whole world, Donald was a freaking Superman. Everything a younger ranch owner did in a day, Donald finished before breakfast at six.

  Michael wouldn’t be able to accept his death until he saw evidence.

  Even if that proof was the cold body of his grandfather.

  On the other side of Clearwater County, Rourke Ranch took almost an hour to reach by car. Once Michael pulled into the driveway, his foot became almost allergic to the gas pedal and he coasted to the house.

  Domineering in stature at a solid four floors, the exterior of the log home exuded a welcoming warning, as if to say enter but don’t do anything stupid. A large wraparound deck led to the back where Donald and his wife had held many county shindigs and even more family gatherings.

  The place was home. His grandparents were his home.

  His throat tight, Michael faced the fact that the last person who’d ever cared enough to be a hard-ass toward him might have died.

  He left the truck in the middle of the drive and walked with painstaking slowness up the steps and to the door. Entering without knocking, he tried seeing the rooms as they were, not as they’d been while he’d grown up in them.

  Quiet sobbing gave him a direction to navigate toward. Down the wide hall and into the kitchen, he found his sister alone, hunched over the table and crying into her folded arms. “Courtenay, are you okay?”

  Dark hair and eyes similar to his own, Courtenay lifted her head, eyelids red-rimmed and cheeks puffy. “Oh, Michael. He’s dead. Brad found him this afternoon.” She glanced at the table and then back at him. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  Michael shook his head and patted her back. “It’s not a big deal. There’s never a perfect way to hear this kind of news, you know?” He couldn’t ask if Grandfather had told her about their fight. If he did and she didn’t know, then he’d be giving her information she’d use against him. And if she did know, she did a pretty good job acting like she hadn’t taken sides. In the Rourke family, you took sides before you even knew there was a problem.

  She wiped her cheeks and offered a stiff smile. “Well, according to Grandfather, you’re doing great things over at Lacey Caverns. You’ve really turned around.” She stood, holding a long square envelope in her hands. She extended it before her until Michael took it. “Bob, Grandpa’s attorney came out with Doctor MacAllister and he left this for you. You’re supposed to sign the paperwork in there and take them into Missoula for some meetings tomorrow.” She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Congratulations, little brother. You did good.”

  Michael’s smile came slow but spread wide. He didn’t owe Courtenay anything, yet she didn’t owe him either. Civility had been sorely lacking between them for a long time. He nodded. “Thanks.” He looked at the thick envelope, turning it over and around, inspecting the expensive paper.

  Courtenay left the room, sniffing, leaving Michael some privacy.

  Drawing a chair out, he sat, resting his arms on the three-inch thick mahogany dining table.

  Tearing open the back of the envelope, Michael then spread five sheets of paper out in a fan-like display in front of him.

  The first was a letter from Donald to his grandson.

  Michael,

  I don’t hold much with emotional displays or pats on the head. You messed up when you were younger, but boy, we all do. It’s part of being a kid.

  When your grandmother and I took you in after your parents passed, I knew it would be a hard haul. You and your father were inseparable. I never could replace him.

  Son, you did a damn fine job of letting me fill in
though.

  Something I never could say.

  I’m proud of you. You’ve done us all proud. And I would like nothing more than to leave Rourke Ranch to you and yours.

  The Rourke family is honored to have you.

  If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I hope I finally told you I love you. If not, consider it said. Even when you made this old man angry, I always loved you. I’ve never been prouder of anyone.

  Hang in there, life’s just getting going.

  Sincerely,

  Donald

  Grandfather

  For the first time since he was twelve and his parents died, Michael lurched forward onto the rest of the printed pages of the will and cried like a baby. A hole inside him filled in with words he’d longed to hear from his grandfather. The only thing was, he couldn’t hug the man to return the sentiment.

  And even as he missed his grandfather for so many things, a dominant fact crept into his mind, holding him back from truly grieving. When he’d been alive, Donald’s anger and stubbornness had allowed Michael to justify his actions in never looking back. With the sentimental words in Michael’s hands and his death, Donald tied his grandson inexorably to the land and Donald’s hope he’d run things.

  Donald had welded shackles on Michael’s ankles to stay put – no matter what.

  All the time they’d wasted fighting. How did Michael let it go?

  The urge to see Rosie and discuss the latest events in his life hit him from out of nowhere. Longing to see her snuck up on him at the most inopportune times.

  He’d get things squared away and then he’d see her at the dance. That weekend loomed almost too far away.

  Yet, he had a decision to make. His responsibilities were to the ranch now. Would he continue with Rosie? Or would he respect his grandfather’s last demands? The weekend suddenly seemed too close for anything but panic.