Timber Creek
Page 7“Don’t worry, Mom. I dealt.” He shuddered. “I would’ve come down, but I wanted to fix it for you.”
“You’re too much,” she said, suddenly choked with emotion. Her boy might’ve looked like his dad, but he sure didn’t act like him, and thank heaven for that. Her Luke was always the caretaker, the peacekeeper, though sometimes it made her heart ache. She wanted him to be a boy—to have fun and get dirty. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sorry I made us late.”
She grabbed her purse. “Are you kidding? Don’t you give it a second thought.”
“You won’t really tell Bear on me, will you?”
She had to reach up to scruff his hair. “If Bear doesn’t like it, he can lump it.”
It saddened her, knowing how hard it was to focus on being just a boy when you had a no-good absentee dad. As the oldest, he saw more, noticed more. He remembered more, too, from before, when Rob had actually spent time around the house. When he’d been a real father. A real husband.
Her other boy, Emmett, pushed inside. “I forgot something.”
She caught his collar, stopping him. Her stern-mom tone came back with a vengeance. “Oh, no you don’t. We’re almost out of here. Get back in the car.”
Emmett flinched free, and she could see the machinations clear on his face. He’d just turned eleven, and there was something about that age that had him trying rebellion on for size. “But I wanted to bring my canteen.”
“I’ve got a water bottle already packed for you.” She aimed him back in the direction of the minivan. “Now go.”
She followed him outside, and just as she was about to lock up, she got a good look at her youngest. Helen cursed under her breath. “Ellie Lynn Haskell, stop right there. Where are your shoes?”
Her daughter waggled her foot, showing off a strappy Cinderella sandal with a big Lucite heel covered in silver glitter. “I’ve got shoes.”
The little girl dug in her heels. “He puts me on his shoulders when I don’t feel like walking.”
Helen’s response was instant. “I am not raising myself any princesses.” She prodded her daughter back inside. “You’re a strong girl, and you’re going to walk on your own two feet if I have tell your Uncle Mike myself.”
As Ellie slipped on her sneakers, Helen fumed. It was hard enough watching the Bailey sisters live out their fairy-tale lives every day; she was not raising herself a girl who expected to be carried by a man. She knew the truth—there were no such thing as princes, and she’d not raise Ellie to have any delusions.
Finally, the girl sprang out, sneakers on, and Helen locked the door behind them. “Hallelujah.”
She dropped the kids off, thanking heaven for her in-laws. It wasn’t the first time she’d mused how she’d married the wrong brother. But Mike was a good ten years older and hadn’t been nearly as cute as Rob, and when you were seventeen as she’d been, not much had mattered more than cute.
Mike was happily married now, though there’d been some tough times when he and Judy had been unable to have kids of their own. Eventually, they’d stopped trying, but Helen still caught the wistful looks the couple shot her own kids, and it was always a reminder—in the worst of times and during the hardest of days, she had to thank heaven she had three beautiful children. And God bless Judy and Mike, for there wasn’t a resentful bone in either of their bodies. Instead, they’d spelled her more than the average uncle and aunt would. Maybe Mike felt guilty about his no-good baby brother, but he especially looked out for the kids, taking them on hikes, for bike rides, or to ice cream.
Things their own father should’ve been doing.
But how could Rob be there for their kids when he hadn’t even come home last night?
It’d been happening more and more lately. When he pulled stunts like that, she had no clue where he slept. Maybe he had a hottie on the side—who knew? All she knew was that most nights, by the time her shift ended, he was gone from the house. He’d always leave clues to his existence behind—a plate in the sink, mussed pillows on the couch—and it was those little signs of life that were the hardest to take.
She was pensive as she pulled into the lot of the Thirsty Bear Tavern, and once she slammed the minivan into park, she couldn’t help but peek at her cell, even though she knew what she’d find: nothing. No calls from her husband. No texts, no voice mails. But still, she always checked. And damn her soul for trying.She tossed the silly thing back into her purse, unbuckled, and sneaked a peek at herself in the rearview mirror. At least she still had her looks, not that anyone cared. The good men of Sierra Falls wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, and she had no use for the bad ones—not that she’d let anyone touch her, not really. She had some fool notion that her husband might wake up one day and decide he liked her enough to want to start showing up to their marriage every now and again.
And so she kept on trying, just in case. If she kept up her looks, maybe Rob would stop looking for whatever it was he thought he was missing. She flipped the visor mirror shut, feeling an inexplicable flicker of hope. She was looking good, if she did say so herself. Her red hair was saucy as ever and still free of gray—thank you, Grandma’s good genes. Plus, she’d saved up her tips and splurged on the Victoria’s Secret catalog, buying a sexy little bra that did wonders for her sagging, mother-of-three assets.
Maybe this would be the day Robbie would answer. Sometimes he did. Maybe this time something had happened, and maybe he was worried she was mad and was too nervous to call. Maybe he needed her to make the first move. She dialed.
It went straight to voice mail.
“Stupid.” She blew out a breath. “No princes in my world.”
Holding her purse on her lap, she stared at the tavern’s front door, gathering herself. Forget her favorite new bra—some days she wished she had a full suit of armor to face the place. It was getting to feel like a real love nest.
The new sheriff was so smitten with Sorrow, you’d have thought she was the only woman on earth. And then, just a couple of weeks ago, Sully had taken off with Marlene, though Helen had a hard time resenting that. She didn’t know Marlene well, and the woman hadn’t always been exactly warm with her, but it was hard to resent someone whose husband had ditched her for his mistress.
Though, maybe if Rob ditched her, she could get on with her life. She was only thirty-two, after all.
She frowned. What was she thinking? She was stuck. As stuck as stuck could be.
And now Laura Bailey was back in town, acting bossier than ever, making her life a nightmare. Control freak, exercise freak, diet freak…the girl was wound up tight, not that anyone judged those things. If anything, every man in a sixty-mile radius was coming by to ogle her, though Laura probably had her head so far up her own butt she didn’t even register the attention.
What Helen wouldn’t do to be noticed. She didn’t want any of those other men, though. She just wanted her husband to step up. She’d been a hot number in her day—not that she was so ancient now—and Rob had once looked at her like that, with all those hungry, lusty looks. All she wanted was for him to be there, with her, just once in a while.
Nobody knew where he went when he disappeared, or if anybody did, they weren’t telling. He still had his job at the hardware store, miracle of miracles, but the paycheck was erratic at best. It seemed the man showed up for work even less frequently than he showed up in their bed.
It certainly didn’t make him enough to be able to provide alimony. Not enough cushion for her to break out and support the kids on her own.
Someone rapped on her hood, and she startled. It was Bear, the tavern owner. She glowered at him through the windshield.
With a roll of her eyes and one last sigh, she got out. “Easy, boss.” She made an elaborate show of checking the time on her cell. “I’ve still got two minutes before I have to clock in.”
“This always happens on the holiday weekends,” he said, beginning the same rant she’d heard a dozen times over the years. “All those fireworks and beers. People get too loose.”
“I did two things yesterday.” She held up a hand to count it out for him. “One: I minded my kids. And two: I minded your tent. So don’t talk to me about beers. And anyway, maybe you should try a little loosening up. Might do you some good.” She passed him, headed into the tavern, and didn’t need to look back to imagine the scowl on his face.
She tucked her purse behind the bar, doing a quick scan of the place. A few men sipped coffee at the counter. An elderly couple sat in one of the booths, working on their breakfast specials. Eddie Jessup was there, too, taking up a whole booth himself, sipping coffee, reading some book—and wasn’t that odd?
The clattering of pans got her attention, and she peeked at the pass-through window, into the kitchen. Glimpses of two blond heads told her she had both Bailey sisters to contend with today.
Helen snagged her apron, tying it on with a sigh. Catching the eye of one of the men at the bar, she said, “Another day, another dollar, huh?”
Her autopilot kicked on, and she did her usual morning jobs—refilling coffees, putting up a fresh pot of decaf and one regular, wiping down the bar, filling a pitcher of water and topping off the tables—eventually making her way into the kitchen to continue her routine in there.
The Bailey sisters spoke over each other, saying, “Morning, Helen.” And, “Hi, Helen.”
“Morning yourselves.” She emptied a fresh bag of English muffins into the bread bin. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">